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iwritetopassthetime · 3 years

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of vipers and doves (11/11)

Oberyn Martell x reader

CHAPTER TEN/EPILOGUE // Previous Chapter // Masterlist

[A/N: I am astounded at your positive feedback, I honestly did not expect it and it’s delightful to see people becoming so invested. I hope I didn’t disappoint you and also hope you’ll feel inclined to read more stuff from yours truly]

warnings: lots of angst; graphic descriptions of pain and childbirth

The ship seemed to sway along the waves for what felt like centuries. Y/N didn’t leave her cabin for one moment, instead staying curled up in her bed surrounded by the multitudes of cushions and pillows that Oberyn had put there at the start of their journey to make her comfortable. And quite heartbreakingly his scent was soaked into the soft fabric of all of them. The mind consuming smell of him that used to calm her but was now keeping her awake and only her own exhaustion allowed her dreamless bouts of sleep every few hours.

The baby hadn’t moved much either during their voyage. Fear would begin to creep over Y/N every moment when she couldn’t feel the little kicks, but then her little viper would move their legs. She would feel reassured that her child was still with her and would sometimes think that their lack of movement was due to them also being sad that their father’s voice and his warm touch weren’t near. And whenever that thought came back Y/N would cry again.

Jenne stayed in her cabin. She slept on the bed, holding Y/N’s hand when she needed her to and bringing her some food and water every now and then. But Y/N’s appetite had begun to dissipate as they moved further and further away from the shores of King’s Landing.

‘Y/N, you must eat some more,’ Jenne pleaded, as she pushed the little bowl of mixed fruits towards the other woman. Y/N forced herself to pick a single fruit and pop it into her mouth. Her jaw was tight and chewing felt like a feat in itself, let alone swallowing down the little nourishment she was accepting. Her nose and throat were blocked up by the constant crying and she couldn’t accept much food without feeling like she’d choke.

‘Thank you, Jenne,’ Y/N whispered, smiling faintly at her handmaid. Jenne smiled back with eyes full of pity as she pushed back the hair form Y/N’s face. She left the fruit bowl on the bedside table and sat back against the headboard. Y/N moved just a little to place her head in Jenne’s lap, her eyes filling up with tears once more. Jenne said nothing and continued to stroke her hair back as Y/N fell into a fitful sleep.

The ship was minutes away from docking at the harbour at Sunspear. The sun was poking from behind fluffy white clouds, the light streaming inside the royal cabin changing in intensity. Jenne helped Y/N into some fresh clothes, promising to draw her a nice long bath as soon as they were at the Palace. Y/N felt a kick in her belly which brought her attention down. She put her hands on her lower abdomen, supporting her belly as Jenne slowly led her out of the cabin and up towards the top deck.

Jenne had sent a raven while they were sailing away from the Capital, explaining what had happened and that Oberyn had stayed behind. The raven had apparently reached Arianne as she and Obara were the only people to welcome the arriving ship. Y/N saw them from afar and felt guilt. They were surely going to hate her for leaving Oberyn behind in King’s Landing. She was starting to despise herself for doing that. Obara looked as stoic as ever, while Arianne’s beautiful face was contorted in worry. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she waited for the ship to stop at the dock.

Jenne grabbed Y/N’s elbow with one hand while Y/N’s fingers clutched at her one. The two slowly descended to the dock via the plank that one of the sailors put down. Arianne rushed towards Y/N, enveloping her in a tight hug.

‘I’m sorry,’ Y/N burst into tears. Her legs were barely holding her up and she feared she was going to collapse onto poor Arianne. But the Martell heiress was much stronger than that and she showed resilience as she kept the pregnant woman upright. ‘I shouldn’t have— oh, you must loathe me for running away.’

‘Y/N, listen to me,’ Arianne spoke in a calm and firm voice, ‘nobody despises you. You thought of your child’s safety. That’s what matters right now. Obara, help me lift her up.’

Obara came towards the two and gently held Y/N’s upper arm, hoisting it over her shoulder. The two women patiently led her to a carriage that was stopped just at the end of the short stone dock while Arianne continued to whisper words of reassurance in her ear.

Y/N was immediately brought to her chambers and laid to rest. She was exhausted, her face was red and puffy and she looked nothing like her usual self. She complained of a back ache as Arianne helped lower her onto the bed sheet.

‘Jenne, can you ask the maester for some chamomile or milk of the poppy even,’ Arianne implored Jenne who immediately jumped to action, flying out of the room and heading towards the maester’s quarters.

Arianne sat by Y/N’s side holding her hand. ‘How are you, my dear.’

Y/N hiccuped, blinking away the remaining droplets of sorrow that lingered in her eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have— I should’ve stayed with Oberyn. I left him’

‘Y/N, please, you must calm down.’ Arianne pleaded. Her heart was tearing at the sight of this gentle and good woman whom she’d grown to adore in the almost one year of knowing her, crumble like crushed dead leaf. ‘Jenne will bring something from the maester to relax you, but I must demand that you rest. Alright?’

‘A-Alright.’

‘Good.’ Arianne placed one hand onto Y/N’s belly. ‘How is the little one?’

‘Still shuffling about,’ Y/N replied, a little calmer. ‘They seem alright.’

Jenne came back with a little vial of a pale yellow liquid and a water goblet. ‘Maester said that a few drops of the chamomile oil into some fresh water will help her sleep.’

‘Let me,’ Arianne said taking the vial and goblet from Jenne’s hands and following the instruction; few drops into the water. She watched as they dissolved leaving a pale shimmer behind that swirled in the liquid. Obara then helped push Y/N’s head up as Arianne helped her take a few sips from the goblet.

The draught seemed to work its magic pretty quickly because Y/N’s eyelids started drooping. Obara gently lowered her head back onto the pillows and Jenne lifted the blanket to cover her. Y/N mumbled something to the three women but before she could open her mouth again to try and articulate whatever she was trying to say, she fell into a deep slumber.

Y/N slept throughout the rest of the day and the night that came. She rarely moved, sometimes muttered something in her sleep, but nothing that would be worrisome. Obara stayed to guard her, letting Jenne take a few days to rest herself after all that had transpired after hastily leaving the Capital. Y/N’s silent guard stayed awake through the entire night, making sure that she was safe.

Dreams always came with deep sleep. It was always recommended to have a good night’s rest, especially after arduous events. Maesters and healers alike claimed that sleep was the best remedy. But with the mind never slept.

And so her dreams were plagued by a pair of sad brown eyes, plump lips that seemed to form a cry, but nothing came out. The voice wasn’t nothing but a dull hum and no matter how hard Y/N tried she couldn’t hear it. Your fault. Your fault. She was standing in front of her husband and he was calling for her. Oberyn looked completely wrecked, his hair was tousled and his clothes were wrinkled. He was begging, his eyes were filling with tears. The sight was absolutely agonising; this strong man who had defeated numerous enemies was crumbling in front of her, Y/N’s heart breaking for him all over again. Your fault. Your fault. His hands were vigorously waving for Y/N to come to him, but she was stuck. She couldn’t will her legs to take her to her husband. The love of her life, whom she abandoned. She tried calling him back, trying to get him to come to her but it was to no avail as his form started fading away. Your. Fault.

‘No, come back,’ she whimpered, ‘Oberyn.’

Y/N’s eyes flew open and she blinked fast as the strong sunlight nearly blinded her. The windows were open and curtains were drawn. Through one of the arches walked through Ellaria in a dark blue dress, her hair much shorter than before, and arms folded over her chest. She rushed towards the bed, settling down onto the mattress and smoothing down Y/N’s hair.

‘It’s alright,’ she cooed, ‘it was just a dream. Calm down, my sweet.’

‘Ellaria,’ Y/N whimpered. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came as soon as I heard you were back,’ she explained calmly, but her eyes were filled with worry. ‘Come, it’s nearly midday. We can take a walk in the gardens, stretch your legs.’

Ellaria gently held one of Y/N’s hands as her other arm was securely wrapped around her shoulders. They were walking slowly, taking a few steps then stopping for a second or two because Y/N kept complaining that the baby was pushing against her spine. For the most part Ellaria went on about the girls, and how much fun they’d had with Y/N, and how excited they were to come to Sunspear again. But the younger woman couldn’t contain the guilt that poured over her like a cold bath. The girls wanted their father, not her.

‘I am so sorry, Ellaria,’ Y/N mumbled. She waited for the tears to come but it was as if her eyes were as dry as a Dornish desert. ‘You must be so— so upset with me. I am so terribly sorry.’

‘My dear friend, whatever could you be sorry for?’ Ellaria stopped and lifted Y/N’s face to hers with two gentle fingers underneath her chin. Her brows were pulled together.

‘I left him there. In King’s Landing.’ Y/N sobbed quietly. ‘You must despise me. I would not blame you. I should’ve— I should’ve dragged him out of there. And now he will fight the M-Mountain and oh Gods!’ Y/N winced at a sharp kick in her belly. She smoothed her hand over the bump, shushing the baby inside. ‘What if he loses his life and I’m the one to blame. I couldn’t get him to change his mind. He wanted to fight, for Elia and her children.’

Ellaria walked the two of them to a nearby bench and eased Y/N onto the firm surface. ‘Listen to me, sweet girl. Nothing you did would make me or anyone in this family despise you. You thought of your child first and that is what matters. Oberyn is a hard-headed fool and we both know that he can be as stubborn as a donkey. But what matters is that you’re safe and you’re home. And the little one will be safe as long as you are.’ Ellaria spoke calmly, brushing Y/N’s hair out of her face. She leaned in and kissed her forehead. ‘Oberyn will realise his mistake and come back. And I will make sure that I beat his royal arse as soon as his foot steps on Dornish soil.’

‘But what— what if he fights the Mountain and loses,’ Y/N whimpered. ‘I can’t— I couldn’t… if he d-dies, I will die. I love him s-so much. Oh, why did I leave him there?’

‘Y/N, please.’ Ellaria resolved to begging when Y/N broke into another fit of tearless cries. ‘You must calm down. Please, dear friend.’ She rose from the bench, pulling Y/N alongside with her. ‘Let’s walk some more. You need t clear your head.’

Y/N took one step and stopped abruptly. She felt the oddest sensation; liquid trickling down between her legs and soaking into the front of her dress, slowly forming a little wet spot. She looked down and noticed the minuscule pool that had started to form in the space between her feet. She gasped.

Ellaria didn’t even stop to think, she had had four daughters and knew what was happening. ‘Y/N, my sweet, your waters have broken. Stay calm. We must get you to your room and call the maester.’

‘No. Miryam,’ Y/N whispered, still in a state of shock, ‘My midwife. I need to—‘

‘I understand. Obara will go find her.’ Ellaria nodded, slowly but steadily leading Y/N back into the castle and towards her chambers. ‘Your first bouts of pains should start soon. I will stay with you, do not worry.’

Miryam had arrived quickly enough and with some milk of the poppy from the maester who decided to step away to allow the more experienced midwife deliver the baby, Y/N’s labour began. Ellaria wasn’t at all worried at first; she left Obara in the room to hold the expectant’s hand while she went to send a raven to Doran in the Water Gardens. He had requested that he be informed when the child was born and that time was surely coming nearer by the second.

Arianne hurried down the corridor towards her aunt and uncle’s room, in a flurry of peach silk skirts, her maid Alla trailing behind her. She inched to get closer to the door despite Ellaria telling her to leave the midwife to it, but then the first pained screams ripped from inside the room and the three women flinched. Ellaria’s heart sank for the young woman who was not only going through the pain of childbirth, but had to endure the pain of a broken heart.

She held Arianne back when she tried to get inside the room. ‘The last thing she needs is people crowding over her. Jenne and Obara are inside, if they need us—‘

Another scream, this one followed by a litany of quieter cries and muffled words of despair from Y/N and ones of encouragement from the midwife.

‘If they need us, we will be here.’ Ellaria continued with a stony expression. ‘But we cannot for a second—‘

‘Where is she?’

All three women turned around to find a dishevelled Oberyn who was panting as if he’d ran for miles. In reality he’d only ran from the harbour but that was still something. His eyes scanned the three women and he moved towards the door but what followed he did not expect.

Arianne reached beneath the hem of her skirt and pulled out a small dagger, pushed him back against the stone wall of the corridor and pressed the dagger against Oberyn’s neck. He stared at his niece in disbelief and tried to say something, but Arianne tightened her grip on the handle, threatening to push the blade further into his skin. Oberyn lifted his hands in defence and remained calm under Arianne’s murderous glare.

‘How. Fucking. Dare you!’ She seethed through gritted teeth. ‘You fucking imbecile!’

‘I know you’re mad, you have every right to be so—‘

‘Oberyn, you chose revenge over your pregnant wife.’ Ellaria angrily interrupted him. ‘You are so lucky I still bare some fondness for you and care for Y/N’s well-being, otherwise I’d let Arianne cut your throat open.’

‘I know, I know,’ Oberyn repeated. ‘And I am sorry.’

‘Sorry is not gonna fix the situation, will it!’ Arianne hissed. ‘She is in pain because of your selfishness. Why even come back? Shouldn’t you be enacting your revenge on the Mountain? Getting yourself fucking killed?’

‘Tyrion got smuggled out of the city,’ Oberyn explained patiently. ‘I got on my ship hours after Y/N left. I am here now and I am sorry.’

Y/N’s tortured yelp came from inside the room, drawing Oberyn’s attention. His eyes filled with worry and all the composure in his countenance dropped. ‘I beg you, please, let me get to my wife.’

Arianne’s lips pulled tight, but she released her grip on Oberyn’s shoulders and removed the blade from his throat. She took a step back and nodded her head towards the door. Before he could touch the door knob however, Ellaria grabbed his upper arm and stared him dead in the eyes. She looked into them, searching for any thread of a lie or dishonesty but found nothing. Oberyn was back and he was silently begging her to let him into the room.

Once inside, Oberyn was met with the sight of Y/N laying on their bed, her face covered in beads of sweat and water. Her legs were bent at the knees and the bedding between them was stained with blood. Obara’s back was facing him as she was kneeling on the floor on one side of the bed, gripping Y/N’s hand. Jenne was dampening a cloth in a bowl of clear water and pressing it to Y/N’s face. Her hair was sticking to her forehead as she pushed her head back into the pillows, letting out a whimper that tore at Oberyn’s heartstrings. Without a second to lose he got to the bed in three large steps, putting a hand on Obara’s shoulder. His eldest looked at him in disbelief and stood up.

‘O-Oberyn?’ The movement had distracted Y/N for a second, allowing her a brief moment of serenity as her eyes focused on her husband. Her Oberyn. She gasped as new tears began to pour over her cheeks and her lips pulled in a lopsided smile. ‘Y-you’re here!’

Obara walked past her father, allowing him to take her spot by the bed, and she silently left the room. Oberyn took Y/N’s hand in his, pressing a desperate kiss to her knuckles.

‘I’m here, my love.’ He said quietly.

Y/N breathed in deeply. ‘I am so sorry, Oberyn, my darling. Please, forgive me.’

‘Why would I have to forgive you?’ Oberyn asked in astonishment. ‘I should be the one begging your forgiveness. You were right, I was selfish.’

‘I shouldn’t have left you in that place,’ Y/N whimpered as another torturous contraction seized her. She gritted her teeth, breathing hard through her nose. Miryam was kneeling on the sheets between her open legs, quietly guiding her in the correct manner of breathing. ‘I should have stayed by your side, l-like a good wi-wife.’

‘My sweet dove,’ Oberyn near whimpered, kissing his wife’s forehead, ‘you are the best of wives. I broke the vow I took the day we married and it will take me a lifetime to repent for the pain I’ve caused you. I am so very sorry. You are the love of my life, my dove. You and this child are more important than the vengeance I sought. And I am sorry it took you leaving me to understand that. Forgive me, my dove!’

‘You’re here now,’ Y/N repeated with a watery smile. ‘Please, hold me. I am scared.’

‘Of course, my love. Everything will be alright.’ Oberyn sat up on the bed with his back against the headboard as he drew Y/N in, her own back flush against his chest. Her head fell in the crook of his neck and she shamelessly inhaled his sweet scent. He really was there! Her darling husband. Y/N sobbed as the pains got stronger and stronger, she felt like her whole lower body was being torn open.

‘Your Highness,’ Miryam spoke a little louder, ‘I need you to hold fo a few seconds and then push. Alright?’

‘Yes,’ Y/N whimpered, gripping onto Oberyn’s hand. She breathed deep through her nose and out through her mouth. She repeated that breathing another two times, feeling the baby’s head move closer and closer to her entrance. Y/N closed her eyes shut, grinding her teeth and trying to suppress the shriek that was threatening to slip out of her mouth. The pain was blinding, but the feel of Oberyn’s strong chest on her back and his hand holding hers brought her some comfort.

‘You are doing so well my love,’ he praised. ‘Just a little more and your baby will be in your arms. You will hear their cry and it will be the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard in your life. I promise you that.’

‘Mhm?’ Y/N sobbed, her eyes lifting up to see Oberyn looking down at her with all the love and devotion that his soul contained written all over his eyes. His beautiful brown eyes. ‘I love you so much.’

Oberyn breathed out a soft laugh, his eyes filling with tears of joy. ‘I love you too, my darling. My warrior.’ He peppered her forehead in kisses, accentuating each and every word. ‘My moon and stars. Love of my life.’

‘Your Highness, you need to push,’ Miryam instructed and Y/N braced herself onto Oberyn who continued to speak words of love and worship in her ear. An odd sensation came over Y/N as she felt the baby’s head pushing out of her. She gasped in pain. ‘Your Highness, you’re doing well. You need to hold for another few seconds.’ Miryam said calmly, turning to Jenne and speaking in a much quieter voice. ‘Jenne, my girl, come and help me. The baby’s gotten tangled in the cord.’

‘What?!’ Y/N was seized in panic. ‘Are they alright? Is the baby alright?’

‘Y/N, that is a normal occurrence.’ Miryam assured her and patted her knee. ‘But you need to stay calm and be very still so the little one doesn’t strangle; is that understood?’

‘Yes, okay.’ Y/N pushed her head back into Oberyn’s shoulder. She continued the breathing exercise Miryam had shown her and tried not to picture the horrible possibility of her child choking to death. She wanted for the pain to be over, but most importantly she wanted her baby alive and well in her arms.

‘All will be well, my love. I promise you.’ Oberyn kissed her temple. ‘Just a little more.’

‘Good, dear child.’ Miryam praised. ‘Now when I say I want you to push just a little so they baby’s shoulders can come out. Okay, now.’ Y/N closed her eyes, willing all of the remaining strength in her body to allow her another push. ‘Good, very good. One shoulder out. Here comes the second one. Just another push, Your Highness. That’s right.’

Y/N let out one last yelp of pain as she felt Miryam pull the baby out of her. She let her head fall down against Oberyn’s shoulder as she panted, completely exhausted. There was a moment of stillness, her eyes still closed shut. But before she could ask if the baby was alright, she was startled by the tiniest little cry that filled the room. Oberyn was right, it really was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard in her life. Y/N opened her eyes to see Miryam holding a little form in her arms. The baby was covered in a thin layer of of blood and other unknown fluids, but looked so well. ’Congratulations, You Highness. You have a healthy little boy.’

‘A boy?’ Y/N gasped, smiling at the child in the old woman’s arms. ‘Oberyn.’ She called her husband and looked up to find him silently staring at their child in reverence. His eyes moved down to find Y/N’s and the two smiled at each other. ‘Oberyn, we have a son.’

Oberyn huffed our a laugh of disbelief, not caring about the tears that were freely falling from the corners of his eyes.

Jenne helped Miryam cut the cord and the midwife placed the tiny little baby on top of Y/N’s chest. She gasped as she felt the delicate buzz of the skin-to-skin contact and her heart fluttered with joy. Her breathing began to normalise as she cradled her son to her breast.

‘Our son, our baby boy,’ she whispered to Oberyn who pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. His hand came to rest on top of one of Y/N’s which was cupping the baby’s back and bottom. The two remained still, watching him take little breaths of life. ‘He’s so small,’ Y/N said quietly, ‘Our little viper.’

Oberyn chuckled, ‘He comes of vipers and doves, my love. Our little prince.’

Miryam gave one last instruction for Y/N to push, pulling the cord and placenta out of her womb. This time the feeling was more one of discomfort and less so of pain which was appreciated since Y/N’s entrance ached horribly. But she couldn’t care less, her baby was here and he was well. Miryam told her that she should call upon a wet nurse to feed the child, but Y/N cut her off — without even uttering a word — by pulling the fabric of her dress which covered her breast, and placing the tip of her nipple against her son’s upper lip. The baby seemed to instinctively know what to do; his mouth opened, sucking onto his mother’s bosom and his tiny hands came up to rest upon her skin.

‘My darling little angel,’ she whispered.

‘I, honest to the Gods, expected another daughter,’ Oberyn jested, earning himself an elbow to the ribs. Not too hard, of course; Y/N couldn’t imagine hurting her husband, nor disturbing her son’s peace.

‘What shall we call him, my love?’ Oberyn asked and Y/N looked up at him. She smiled at her husband and took his chin between her fingers, bringing him down for a delicate kiss.

‘I would imagine that the name Salvador would fit him quite well, don’t you think?’ Y/N pondered aloud. Oberyn smiled and kissed her once more, wrapping his arms around his wife, enveloping her and their son in a protective embrace.

The family was left alone; Miryam and Jenne wanted to give the family a few moments of quietude. They excused themselves out of the chamber with a couple of wishes of good fortune and congratulations for their little one.

‘Salvador it is then,’ he spoke softly, his thumb raising to softly caress the crown of his son’s head, ‘Salvador Nymeros Martell. Welcome into the world, my dear son.’

2 months later

Y/N was woken up by quiet chatter in the middle of the night. She shuffled in bed and upon finding Oberyn’s side of the bed empty, her eyes slowly opened.

Moonlight was streaming through the windows, washing the room in pale silver light. The crickets played their nightly tune outside in the gardens, filling the air with a quiet chirp that entered the chamber.

Near the exit to the balcony was Salvador’s cradle and Y/N found her husband standing beside it rocking from side to side, talking in a hushed voice. She got up form bed and slowly made her way to the two of them.

‘And then your Mama appeared and she was the prettiest woman in all of the Seven Kingdoms,’ Oberyn quietly spoke to his son who was watching him with wide eyes. Salvador’s mouth turned up in a toothless grin as he giggled at his dad’s words, waving his tiny hands above his head. ‘Yes, my dear son. And we tell her so every day lest she forget it, is that a deal?’

‘What are the two of you concocting behind my back?’ Y/N jokingly asked, wrapping her arms around Oberyn’s middle. He grinned down at her and moved his head to plant a delicate kiss on her temple.

‘He was being fussy and I thought a nice tale about pretty princesses would do him good,’ Oberyn explained. He looked down at Salvador who recognised his mother’s face and let out a tiny squeal of delight.

‘Hello, my little viper,’ Y/N cooed and Oberyn handed him to her, standing behind his wife. He let his hands gently rest upon her shoulders, watching the two interact. Salvador started making little grabbing motions with his hands at Y/N’s chest. She scoffed, ‘You are indeed your father’s son.’

Oberyn mock gasped but remained otherwise silent as he watched his wife pull down the collar of her night shift, exposing her right breast and lifting Salvador closer so he could feed. Oberyn let his head drop, his chin resting against her shoulder. His arms moved down and wrapped around Y/N’s waist pulling her flush against his body.

‘He’s so sweet when he’s feeding,’ Y/N murmured. ‘He’s sweet in every way to be completely frank.’

‘I agree,’ Oberyn replied. ’Perhaps… perhaps he’d be even sweeter with another little brother? Or a sister?’

Y/N laughed quietly, shaking her head in disbelief. She grinned at her husband, pecking him on the lips. ‘Are you not satisfied with eight children, my prince?’

‘The number nine is my favourite,’ he said matter-of-factly, ‘and they consider it a very lucky number.’

Y/N hummed through a tiny smile, ‘I will consider it.’

‘Thank you,’ Oberyn grinned, hugging his wife closer to his chest. ‘I love you, my dove.’

‘And I love you,’ Y/N leaned her head to the side to softly bump against Oberyn’s, ‘my viper.’

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bb8sworld · 4 years

Text

— litoreus, part i

pairing: god of the sea!obi-wan kenobi x reader

word count: 7k (*sweats nervously*)

a/n: greetings, and welcome to the first part of my new series! i don’t know how better to summarize this story than by saying that kara (@karasong) said “neptune is a dilf” then val (@milleniumvalcon) said a statue of poseidon looked like obi-wan, and it spiraled from there. so many thanks to the discord for the idea of this poseidon!obi au.

-- ☆ -- ☆ -- ☆ -- ☆ --

Destiny. Fate. Will. Luck. Fortune. Chance. Predestination.

Words Obi-Wan Kenobi was intimately familiar with in a multitude of different tongues, languages, dialects, and scripts. Words that have altered in connotation throughout history but have remained steadfast in their use. Words that he didn’t believe in but knew nonetheless. As someone who has been around as long as he has, and as someone who knows the inner workings of the universe and was created shortly after it’s conception, he’s aware that the ideas of Fate and Destiny were innately… human. Something clung onto by ordinary people who dwelled on the Earth and needed reassurance for an occurrence in their lives or ideas blamed for any wrongdoing that came their way.

No, Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t believe in Fate, Destiny, Fortune, or whatever other terms may be used to describe these phenomena. Everything had an order, everything had a purpose, and things didn’t happen “by chance” or “just because.” They happened because they were supposed to, not because some outside force separate from the godly beings decided to intervene. As a godly being himself, he thinks he would know if there were outside forces beyond him and his fellow gods having any say in the universe.

One of the many perks of being a god, he supposed.

Being a god was tricky business, and it was a job that often didn’t pay in kind. From his very creation, Obi-Wan had struggled with this role of his, from who he was, who he was meant to be, and how he was supposed to act.

Despite being named Obi-Wan Kenobi upon “birth,” he has gone by a plethora of different names throughout his immortal life thus far—such as Olokun, Lir, Hapi, Poseidon, Neptune, Enbilulu, and Njord, just to name a few. So many names to describe one being who ruled, guarded, and protected the seas and oceans. Each one attuned to the civilization in which the name originated from, but all converging together to describe the same god. And from it came an outpouring of love and awe. It was flattering, to say the least, that humans at one point cared so much about him that they would craft pieces of artwork dedicated to him. Or how they would construct temples of worship for him so that they might have a place to pray for safe voyages, either for themselves or loved ones. It made him feel good and loved and appreciated and a whole litany of positive affirmations that humans use to describe this gooey feeling nestled within him.

Obi-Wan loved to help humanity and had always been infatuated with them—their cultures, lifestyles, relationships, emotions, everything. And any time he helped, he got to learn a little bit more about what made humans so human. Sometimes when he did intervene in their matters and was praised for it, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was what it felt like to be human. To be loved, appreciated, adored, wanted.

But being a god wasn’t always so pleasant and flattering.

Sometimes, if a storm churned in the ocean and caused a shipwreck, his name would be cursed at in such hatred and despair as grief overtook the humans. It stung and was incredibly painful to hear, but unfortunately, he didn’t always have control over those situations. Whenever this happened, he would wonder if the feelings he felt were the same ones humans did in response to these occurrences—unloved, hated, disgusted, guilty, remorseful.

Obi-Wan really, truly wanted to take suffering away from the very humans who had fascinated him for centuries, but that’s not the way the universe works. Matters of life and death were not his jurisdiction, even if either of these happened in the blue waves below. It fell to the god of the underworld who was the overseer of death, so therefore Obi-Wan’s hands were tied. He only had control over the voyage's journey, not the destination of the passengers, meaning he was often forced to watch as lives were taken at sea and his name was sworn against in wrath.

But like with all things brought to the attention of humanity, people move on. And unfortunately for Obi-Wan, as times changed and new beliefs gained traction, that meant humans moved on from their old ways and religions—from the other gods and from him.

Despite his presence once being well-known and called upon in times of need and worship and gratitude, his importance dwindled in the eyes of the humans until he was all but nonexistent. His very being and all his life’s work were boiled down to a name that was somehow both him yet not him, written offhandedly in a history textbook for children to be aware of for a test but to forget immediately afterward. His life became a story sometimes told in a mythology book or two, often censored and abridged for audiences to “understand better.” He became a name people were familiar with but knew little about.

And so humanity had moved on from him, but he hadn’t moved on from humanity.

He was still endlessly intrigued by everything they were about and everything they had to offer, but because of his godly status, he never dared to go down and explore for himself, despite other gods having done so for one reason or another. And every day he was a little more tempted to go down and see what was new and exciting. Every time he saw another god leave to head down, he got a little bit closer to asking if he could join.

That being said, he did stay connected where he could. Throughout all of human history, art had been made in his name, and sometimes he would clear his mind and connect to those works as he did back in the ancient days and listen in on what was being said. Sometimes he caught snippets of stories from those who stood nearby. Sometimes he heard tales of his own life being taught to a younger generation in museums. But it had been a long time since he heard anyone talk to him. And despite his lack of belief in Fate or Destiny or whatever you wanted to call it, he couldn’t help but wish for the times to change and for one person to talk to him instead of about him. He wished that someone would answer his pathetic call and just talk to him.

So imagine his surprise when one day someone picked up.

At first, he thought it to be an accident. No way had someone genuinely believed he was real and manifested the powers to protect them when they traveled at sea, nor had someone directly contacted him in years for any reason. With all the new methods of transportation and exploration in the seas and oceans, most people went on those devices willingly without saying a quick prayer to him for the waters to be safe. Which was fine, really. He knew his place. Doesn’t mean he didn’t feel a little pang of hurt every time he saw a cruise ship head out or people go boating or children learn how to canoe.

But no… this call was different. It wasn’t a history lesson, or someone singing to themselves near a statue of him, or just some background clutter. No, this one felt different. And so, Obi-Wan sat on the floor of his room, closed his eyes, and began to slip into a meditative state in order to hear the call better.

“—maybe… we hang the light a foot more to the right? And tilt it just a tiny bit backward… there. Perfect! Look at you, Poseidon—or do you prefer Neptune—whatever, it doesn’t matter. But look at you, all cleaned up, restored, illuminated, and ready to go on display when the exhibit opens tomorrow. Let’s hope the visitors appreciate you in your polished state. Are you ready?”

Ah, so a new exhibit was going up featuring, presumably, a statue of him made by one of the ancient Greeks or Romans he oversaw so many centuries ago. He was about to tune out the voice and slip out of his meditative state when the voice picked up again.

“—god I must sound crazy. Just look at me, talking to a statue of a god who doesn’t even exist.” A beat. “I wish you did though, you seem like you’d be better company than some of the other people around here. Wishful thinking, eh, Neptune? Or… Poseidon… ugh, this is what happens when it’s an ancient Greek and Roman exhibit, there are too many double names—”

And off the voice went on a tangent about finishing up illuminating each of the iconic pieces of artwork and organizing pamphlets about the new exhibit in the information stands. From the sounds of it, the person behind the voice presumably worked at some museum where a new exhibit of him and the other gods in his life was being put together.

Maybe… maybe he could go down and visit it sometime. At least to see the art he hadn’t seen in many years. And if he happened to stumble across the worker with the voice he just tuned into, then he’d consider that a happy accident despite that very claim going against his beliefs about Fate. But how could he head down from his home in the clouds without raising suspicion among the other gods? He was notorious for keeping his distance once humanity forgot him, instead preferring to observe from afar and rejecting any offers to head down to the land.

The answer came in the form of Anakin Skywalker—also known as Camulus, Svetovid, Teutates, Ares, Mars, Odin, and Montu, to name a few—the god of war and the manifestation of the spirit of battle. He was a frequent visitor of the land and was undoubtedly Obi-Wan’s best friend. Not to mention, he regularly asked Obi-Wan to join him in hopes of getting him “out of his hermit lifestyle and back to the land of the living,” to quote Anakin, but Obi-Wan had either made excuses or flat out rejected his offer. But maybe it was high time he said yes.

With his plan in mind, now all he had to do was wait for Anakin to approach him and ask. And sure enough, just a few earth days later, Anakin showed up outside of Obi-Wan’s room with a cheeky smile on his face and a “ready to be done with being a recluse?” comment as expected. And though Anakin wouldn’t ever admit it to Obi-Wan’s face, Obi-Wan could see the true concern reflecting in his eyes alongside the expectation of getting rejected. Typically, there would be a pain in his eyes following each rejection, likely stemming from the wedge that sat between them because, for all that they were best friends—brothers even—they didn’t always see eye-to-eye on godly matters. From this came the worry that always sat at the corner of every conversation because Obi-Wan (admittedly so) had been self-isolating from humanity and became a stickler for following the rules of the gods. Contrast that to Anakin who was laxer in his ways and open to embracing his feelings and attachments.

But that concern and pain would end today. Obi-Wan was tired of feeling sorry for himself and hiding away up here and being lonely despite never actually being alone.

He was ready for adventure again.

And so, it was with a resounding sigh and faked exasperation that he said, “Oh, alright.”

If he took a little pleasure in being able to cause such a shocked facial expression on Anakin’s face, then that was for him to know. Though, it was a moment later when Anakin’s face split into a wide grin that he felt any lingering doubts about going down to earth dissipate. Yes, this was the right choice. If not for himself, then for his relationship with Anakin.

The act of getting down to earth was a rather easy task consisting of exiting through a golden archway that teleported them to a location of their choosing. Obi-Wan hopped on Anakin’s coordinates and the two reappeared in a forest Obi-Wan was unfamiliar with, the lights and sounds of a nearby town being their guide on the trek.

Before stepping into the hustle and bustle of the town, Anakin and Obi-Wan had “normalized” themselves from their usual glowing, almost angelic appearance into something more humane and easily looked over, particularly nondescript and unassuming, using the powers they possessed. The less attention they brought to themselves, the better. It was safer not to risk the chance of revealing themselves. Back in historic and ancient times, it was more common for them to fall into crowds of people undercover and interact, getting to know and understand the circumstances humanity faced up close and personal instead of from a distance. But that had all changed once Obi-Wan, Anakin, and the fellow gods above all became characters in a history book.

Nonetheless, Obi-Wan treasured this one act of using his powers for fun instead of remaining dormant and simply controlling the seas in the same patterns and cycles. He looked over at Anakin, wanting to see if he was ready to head into the streets, when he was surprised to see Anakin’s eyes already looking his way, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, exasperation smothering the very word, “What is it?”

“Finally decided on getting a haircut?” Anakin replied, laughter playing on the edge of the question. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the question. Yes, usually when he came down to earth he sported a longer hairstyle—a godly mullet, as Anakin oh so lovingly called it, business in the front and the only fun you know how to have in the back—but times had changed, and Obi-Wan had figured it was time for him to as well, at least a little bit. So he did. It was less of a haircut and more of the decision to manifest with shorter hair, unlike a certain someone standing next to him who had apparently decided the opposite.

“Strong words coming from someone who’s sporting a mullet themselves,” he quipped back, turning his attention forward and beginning the trek to the town. Affronted was the only word to describe how Anakin reacted, cemented in his shock, before he shook out of his state and rushed to catch up with his friend, secretly happy to see Obi-Wan engaging in their familiar back-and-forth.

“It is not a mullet, Obi-Wan,” Anakin refuted. “It’s stylish and helps me blend in.”

Obi-Wan gives a quiet hmm in acknowledgment before replying, “Whatever you say, Anakin.”

And so the trek continued until they found themselves in a bustling town with car horns honking, people shoving themselves through crowds, and bright lights illuminating around them. It was both entirely overwhelming yet hauntingly intriguing. For as much as he wanted to look away from the circus before him, Obi-Wan couldn’t stop admiring and absorbing all the information thrown at him. Of course he was aware of how the earth and humanity had progressed from his perch in the clouds, but while it’s one thing to hear and know of something, it’s another thing to witness and experience that which you had heard so much about.

Through his daze, he’s just barely able to keep up with Anakin as they take to the sidewalks, Anakin walking in an apparent familiar cadence as if he already knows where he’s heading and knows the trek well. Perhaps there’s a destination Anakin frequents on his jaunts down to earth? Maybe Obi-Wan should’ve asked what Anakin had in mind before he agreed to this excursion, but it’s too little too late for that now. But still, asking the destination of their slightly fast walking couldn’t hurt, right?

“You know, Anakin,” he starts, “You never told me where you were intending for us to go today.”

“Oh,” Anakin flounders for a moment, as if not expecting the question. Curious. “I, uh, well I figured we’d go to the local art museum.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan is unconvinced, but plays along anyway, only the slightest bit of suspicion seeping into his tone.

“Well… I know you love learning and appreciating the more—how do you phrase it?—refined and civilized things in life,” Anakin jokes, “So I figured we could go to an art museum together.”

Well wasn’t that just the shock of the century. Art museums were far from Anakin’s usual environment. Why? Anakin was loud, brash, and impulsive, constantly itching to go out and meet action head-on, act now think later, a complete contrast to the usually quiet, serene, and contemplative nature that art museums held dear. And for all that Obi-Wan loved Anakin, there were certain environments he would never dare to be with him, art museums being one of them. But, considering Obi-Wan had agreed to join and Anakin actually seemed somewhat eager to go, he figured he could indulge Anakin just this once.

Besides, Obi-Wan figured there must’ve been some ulterior motive at play here, and if he played his cards right, he could figure it out.

“An art museum?” he asks casually, hoping maybe he’ll get a hint of this mysterious motive.

But Anakin immediately picks up on the slight curiosity in his words. “Yeah, why? You don’t want to go?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind going, I just didn’t know you’d be interested in that.”

“Well, people change, Obi-Wan. Maybe I’ve taken a page from your book and learned how to be stuffy and grandfatherly.”

Rude, Obi-Wan muses, but an unlikely story. He leaves it at that and instead asks Anakin what else he had on the itinerary for the day as they walk toward the museum. Apparently, the art museum is the highlight of the day, though Anakin does promise that if Obi-Wan would be open to indulging in human food—something that honestly means nothing to them because they can’t be satisfied on non-godly food—there’s a cafe not too far from the museum that they can hang out and people watch at. All-in-all, not a bad day. Could’ve been way worse given how differently he and Anakin define “a fun day out.”

Eventually, they do make it to the art museum in one piece, and Obi-Wan immediately takes note of how quaint it looks against the glamour of the surrounding town. Less bright colors and flashes of light on the exterior but still a commanding presence with its masonry that almost demands you to look at it and compels you to go inside.

They stand in the queue to get tickets and go inside, but once they do, Anakin starts walking off before Obi-Wan can even grab a map of the museum. He manages to snag one and just barely finds Anakin in the crowd of the entry foyer, leaving Obi-Wan to trail behind a couple of feet once he catches up as Anakin guides him to the Medieval and Renaissance art exhibit. They’re only a few feet inside the exhibit when someone calls out “Ani!” and the two whip their heads around in-sync to the sound of the voice, a chorus of shushing surrounding them.

It’s a short woman who approaches the pair, a charming smile on her lips and a glint in her eyes. She immediately goes to embrace Anakin and Obi-Wan thinks: ah, ulterior motive discovered. He looks at her professional attire, the low but elegant bun her brown hair is in, and the name tag he just barely caught a glimpse of and easily deduces that she must be a staff member here. Maybe once the two finally release each other Obi-Wan can say his greetings and find out more.

Luckily, she seems to be the sensible one between the two and releases Anakin after making eye contact with Obi-Wan, as if just now realizing that Anakin came with company. She tries to be blasé about the overly friendly interaction with Anakin by plowing forward in her introduction, holding her hand out for a handshake. Very interesting, indeed.

“I’m Padmé Amidala, one of the curators for this exhibit in the museum. You must be one of Anakin’s friends,” she greets. Obi-Wan takes her hand and gives it a slight shake. Her grip is firm but not tight, giving just enough of her away for him to understand that she is a person to be respected and in awe of but not feared. It’s easy to begin understanding how her dynamic with Anakin works.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Oh, so you’re the famous Obi-Wan. Anakin has told me so much about you.” Obi-Wan gives a side-eyed glance to Anakin, noting the innocent expression he wears and wondering just how much he’s revealed to Padmé.

“Interesting, he hasn’t mentioned you at all,” Obi-Wan responds, giving them both a teasing smile in some semblance of reassurance that he isn’t offended by this fact.

However, Obi-Wan can feel the lingering hesitation and slight nerves radiating off of Anakin, which is an unsurprising development. Gods aren’t meant to have deep bonds with humans. Loose friendships are typically accepted with only slight frowns, but once it strays into a tight-knit bond and attachments form, especially romantic ones, they’re frowned upon greatly. And between the two of them, Anakin is less of a stickler for the rules, instead preferring to live by his own interpretations and caveats to the rules—which means Obi-Wan knows that Anakin fears this friendship of his with Padmé will be scrutinized and berated.

Which… okay, is a valid concern considering Obi-Wan’s devotion to the rules, but Obi-Wan hates to be a snitch on his best friend. And as long as he doesn’t witness any actions that would confirm a more serious relationship, particularly romantic, Obi-Wan is willing to turn his eye to the obvious heart eyes and lingering touches the two share. Can’t tattle if there’s room for doubt and question.

He just hopes Anakin knows this himself. And he especially hopes that Anakin hasn’t told Padmé that he’s a god.

He decides to shake off these thoughts and turn the conversation to safer territory to try and ease Anakin some. “So, Padmé, I take it you work here. What is it that you do?”

Immense relief hits him like a tidal wave from Anakin with happiness trailing behind like seafoam as the wave recedes. Not wanting to make any open comments about Anakin’s feelings and potentially clue Padmé into their more than human nature, he settles for a quick moment of eye contact before focusing back on Padmé.

“I’m one of the museum curators here,” she confirms, “I mainly specialize with art in the Medieval and Renaissance exhibit as well as our Impressionist pieces.” She pauses to size him up, silently scrutinizing him and his reactions. Whatever it is she finds must satisfy her, because she continues as if nothing happened, “Have you been here before, Obi-Wan? We recently got some new pieces on loan from some collectors and other museums that are worth checking out.”

“This is my first time, actually,” Obi-Wan starts before Anakin jumps in, quick on his verbal heels, “Right! And I was going to show him around. Make sure he visits the highlights at least.”

Instantly Padmé’s face drops ever so slightly at the idea of this conversation ending and her parting from Anakin, but she composes herself well. But Obi-Wan would be blind not to notice Anakin’s disappointment too, so he decides to take matters into his own hands and says, “Though I’m more than capable of wandering on my own if you’d rather stay and chat with Padmé, Anakin.”

“Are you sure, Obi-Wan? I was the one who invited you out after all—”

“Nonsense, I’ll be more than fine on my own. Maybe then I’ll actually get to appreciate the art and read the descriptions like the grandfather you think I am,” he jokes. “I’ll meet you back by the entrance in a couple hours. Pleasure meeting you, Padmé, I hope we meet again soon.”

And just like that, Obi-Wan is off and he no longer has to be surrounded by the obvious desire for something more between the two that was only stifled from being acted on by his presence. When he’s a good distance away, he decides to stop for a moment and actually look at the map in his hand, and he’s pleasantly surprised by just how many exhibits, art movements, and cultural regions are housed in this art museum. With the knowledge that he may not be able to knock out every exhibit in one visit, he decides to make his rounds to the ones that intrigue him the most.

He starts in the African Art section, admiring the ceramics and textiles created in various regions of Africa, before moving onto the Chinese bronzes, ceramics, and jades exhibition and it’s next-door Japanese screens and paintings exhibit. He’s thinking of swinging to modern and contemporary works when he looks at the map in his hands and eyes the Ancient Greek and Roman Art exhibit, reluctance setting in. Obi-Wan always feels a bit of hesitancy whenever admiring ancient creations because he remembers who the artists were and that fact makes him feel old and worn down in ways he never expected gods to feel like. Besides, wouldn’t it be narcissistic of himself to go and admire the times of old and perhaps even stumble upon a work of him?

Caution thrown to the wind, Obi-Wan decides to make his way to the Ancient Greek and Roman Art exhibit. With his head held high, he spots the tall glass doors to the exhibit and opens them slowly before stepping inside and almost immediately being hit by a whirlpool of nostalgia. Just seeing the vases, plates, coins, cups, relics, and statues on display make him nearly stumble on his feet. The faces staring back at him on the head busts by the entrance are so eerily similar to those of his friends that he feels his breathing stutter for a moment. It’s true that back in those times the gods were more… open to visiting earth. Back then they were more willing and able to interact with humanity and be treated kindly in return. Though, the stories of their escapades and interactions always seemed to be skewed and embellished among all civilizations.

But one thing that transpires over almost every civilization who ever believed in the gods and goddess that Obi-Wan is connected to is that they managed to nail one key feature of the gods in their stories: their extremities. Because at the end of the day, that’s what the gods all were—the best and worst of humanity, but maximized.

Obi-Wan prefers not to think about that fact and how, subsequently, he feels more than humans do and also has an awareness for the feelings of the other gods.

No, best not to dwell on that.

He decides that perhaps it’s best to move beyond the entryway and stop clogging up the doorway with his presence, so he begins to move through the exhibit, stopping every now and then to admire a certain work of art. By the time he’s gone through about half the exhibit, the sting of seeing those he knows etched onto bronze or marble is hurting less; he’s thinking he can finally start to appreciate the art more when he hears a voice.

But it’s not just any voice, it’s a voice he recognizes. And it’s not Anakin, nor is it Padmé. It’s a voice he’s heard before but he doesn’t know the person it belongs to. It’s familiar enough that he clings to it, scrambling through past and recent memories until finally it clicks:

The voice he’s hearing is the voice that recently talked to him via one of the statues commemorated in his honor.

And just like that, he turns his head around and begins to look around for the source. It’s like he’s a ship lost at sea and this voice is his guiding light home, if only he could find it. It takes a couple more seconds before finally his gaze settles on you, and it’s as if sunlight just burst into the room. He notices your eyes first and the way they shimmer with happiness as you wander through the exhibit, admiring the artworks yourself. But then he catches your smile as you turn to talk to one of the nearby patrons and the very sight of it makes him feel as if the world has just opened wide, opportunities he’s never considered laying out on many paths before him.

He takes a moment to shake himself out of his daze to properly take in your appearance. Judging on your outfit and the name tag that he just barely can’t make out and read, you are obviously a worker here, perhaps a curator like Padmé. You’re wandering the exhibit with an air of pride surrounding you, as if you’re happy that so many people are taking the time to come and appreciate the art before them. Everything about you is intriguing and he wants to introduce himself to you before this high feeling surrounding him comes crashing down and he goes back up to the clouds to spend out his immortal days alone and separated again from humanity.

Just as he’s about to take a few steps in your direction, he feels a harsh force of another body hit him in the side, nearly sending him toppling over onto a head bust next to him. He’s bracing for impact, praying that this piece of art somehow is a counterfeit and doesn’t cost more than he can even fathom (seriously, exactly how bad is inflation right now?) when he feels hands on his shoulders that push him back onto his feet. His hands immediately latch onto the ones grabbing him as he steadies himself. One he’s back on solid ground, he looks up to go thank whoever caught him when his heart leaps to his throat and he momentarily stops breathing because who else would be his savior than his guiding light?

He barely has time to even admire your speed and strength before you’re talking to him.

“Are you okay?” you ask and oh how he wants to hear more and more and more of your angelic voice. It’s as if you’re a siren, tempting him closer and closer to you until finally he is caught in your eyes and dancing among the many stars that twinkle in them. But suddenly he flushes with the realization that he’s been staring way too long and oh dear this is quite a messy first impression he really needs to redeem himself with something coherent and get this boat sailing back on course—

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah. Fine. I’m fine. Never better, truly.” Shipwreck. What an utter shipwreck this is for him. Maker, he’s making a fool of himself. Amid his internal despair, he hears you giggle at his fumbling and his heart starts beating faster.

“Poseidon right?”

And suddenly his heart stops, his mouth drops every so slightly, and his face whitens. How have you possibly figured him out so quickly?

“What?” Is about all he can muster in response.

“Or Neptune, I guess, depending on which you prefer.” He’s silent. Awestruck. But you must pick up on the confusion and awe on his face because you elaborate, “You know… the sculpture right over there? The big marble one with a man holding a trident? The one you were staring at before you nearly crashed into this poor head bust of Zeus and broke this priceless piece of historic artwork? Really, what did the poor guy ever do to you? Surely he doesn’t deserve his head getting cracked open a second time.”

Oh thank the Maker, you were just referring to the art in the room. Which perhaps he should’ve accounted for instead of internally freaking out because he did willingly enter the Ancient Greek and Roman Art exhibit of the museum.

But you take his silent relief as continued confusion because you are suddenly rambling, “You know, because Zeus already had his head cracked open once by Hephaestus after Zeus swallowed a pregnant Metis and gave birth to Athena through his forehead?” You laugh awkwardly before plowing on, “Maybe I should stop talking now, sorry, sometimes I just go off about all these old myths, I just think they’re fascinating and—sorry, I’m doing it again aren’t I?”

He laughs in response to your weak joke and hearty explanation, and he starts to feel a little less wound up and nervous when he notices that you’re feeling the same way.

“No, no, it’s alright! It was very clever. Funny too,” he comments. The two of you share a smile and simply stare into each others’ eyes for a couple moments. But then he begins to worry that he’s making you uncomfortable by maintaining eye contact for longer than normal—except what is “normal”? How much has human etiquette changed since he’d last been on earth? Is this conversation already doomed? He decides to take the gamble anyway and clears his throat as his eyes flicker around the exhibit, trying to think of what else to say to you, before he lands on your name tag (what a pretty name you have) and he says the first thought that comes to mind.

“So, you work here then?” Not the best conversation starter, but it’s something, he supposes. Maker, what is wrong with him? He’s never been so nervous in his entire immortal life, but one conversation with you and suddenly he’s falling victim to all the nerves and anxieties of humans, but dialed up beyond a 10. Gods really are the maximization of humanity’s best and worst. What an awful time to be living this fact. Thankfully, you respond and break him out of his spiraling worries.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been working here for the past couple of years as one of the curators. I actually worked on this exhibit. I helped organize and select all the pieces in the exhibit, arrange restorations and displays, and record all the art you see here. I’ll admit it’s rather hard selecting which art pieces would fit best with the message we’re trying to convey, not to mention the availability of many pieces of art also plays a difficult role, but I like to think it paid off in the end. There’s something special about all the pieces of art here,” you suddenly pause in your speech before walking over to the very Poseidon statue you thought Obi-Wan had been looking at earlier, and he follows, quick on your heels.

You continue, “Like, this statue of Poseidon, for example. It traveled through an ocean of time, across several continents, through several restorations, all to be right here, right now, in this very moment for you and I to admire.” You let out a sigh that Obi-Wan can only describe as wistful. “I can only wonder how it looked when the artist was creating it and when it was first unveiled.”

He wishes how he could tell you about when he first laid eyes on this statue of himself he had nearly burst into tears, sending a light rain over the agora from the intensity of his emotions. But he suppresses the urge. He wasn’t supposed to reveal himself to humanity, and even if he did let something slip, what are the odds that you’d ever believe him? The two of you are not close, and you never will be. His livelihood as a god forbids it.

Still…

There’s something about the sparkle in your eye as you wistfully look at the art, as if looking at it for the first time despite having seen it countless times before, and your passion for the ancient classics that he finds compelling. Initial literal-sweeping-off-his-feet encounter aside, there’s something about you that draws him to you.

You’re entirely intriguing to him, and he can’t quite pinpoint why. Not entirely, at least. It doesn’t hurt that he finds your ramblings of history and art to be adorable. Not that he’s admitting to anything more than simple infatuation at first sight. He wishes he had the chance to get to know you better beyond the confines of this Ancient Greek and Roman exhibit. But the two of you lead entirely different lives and he has to let this go.

But, he can allow himself this one instance of normal human interaction.

“I’m sure it must have been a sight to behold given how important the gods were to the Ancient Greeks and Romans,” he comments.

“Exactly!” Despite being a curator here and knowing the rules of the exhibits like the back of your hand, you are shushed by a nearby patron at your happy exclamation. Obi-Wan laughs softly at the embarrassed look on your face.

“Guess that’s my cue to switch topics,” you joke. Obi-Wan smiles kindly at you before you continue, “Basics then. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it,” he winks at your unimpressed look. Luckily for him though, it cracks and transforms into a brilliant smile as the two of you share a laugh. No harm done.

“Okay, smartass, I’ll rephrase: what’s your name?” you ask. “Not all of us are lucky enough to talk with people who wear name tags.”

“Alright then, since you asked so nicely, I’m Obi-Wan. And it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He holds out a hand for you, which you easily take and give a shake. A slight zing runs through his body at the slight contact, his hand still buzzing even after you two let go.

“Pleasure to meet you as well. Is this your first time here?” you inquire.

“Ah, yes, my friend decided to take me,” Obi-Wan starts, but he can’t help but grumble out, “I think he’s a frequent visitor.”

You let out a giggle at his grumpy tone. “You make it seem as if that’s a bad thing. Surely it’s not that god-awful here?”

“The company sure makes it better,” slips out before he can catch the words, but he’s not blind to the pleased look on your face. Huh. Interesting. “I never thought he was interested in art museums but—”

“Obi-Wan!” Cuts through the air, loud and brash and diluted with the slightest hint of concern, immediately followed by shushing by other patrons. Obi-Wan sighs as he recognizes the voice of Anakin.

“—it would appear that he still hasn’t picked up on museum etiquette despite all those visits.”

You rub his arm gently, a look of playful sympathy on your face as you tell him, “How awful it must be to have a friend that cares about your whereabouts.”

But he’s suddenly finding it very hard to even pretend to be annoyed when you’re touching him with such care. All too soon, your hand is off his arm as Anakin makes himself known, sidling up right to Obi-Wan and immediately grasping his elbow.

“Where on earth were you? We were supposed to meet half an hour ago. I waited for you! And here I was thinking you were the responsible one—” Anakin is cut off by you attempting to diffuse the situation.

“I believe that’s my fault. I kept him here talking to me and I held him up,” you turn back to Obi-Wan, a bright smile on your lips and the stars twinkling once more in your eyes. Maker, if he didn’t know any better he really would think he was looking at the sun, his beacon of light. “It was lovely talking to you, Obi-Wan. Maybe you could come again soon and we can continue this conversation?”

“Of course.” It’s his automatic response, no thoughts, questions, or worries in mind. You just look so hopeful and he’s once again a ship in the night, setting out to sail the high seas but hoping to return to again safely, guided by your light. He can only hope Anakin doesn’t pick up on his infatuation with you.

“Great! I’ll let you two go then. Nice meeting you!” And just like the wind, you’re gone, moving on to other patrons and other works of art, sharing your knowledge and stories and passion with other lucky souls. Maybe he will come back.

“They seemed nice,” Anakin remarks with absolutely no subtly.

“I’m not sure what you think happened between us, but whatever it is, you’re wrong,” and with that Obi-Wan turns and begins walking out of the exhibit before Anakin can refute or comment on Obi-Wan’s building anxiety, giving him no choice but to follow.

The walk out of the museum, their time sitting and people watching at a nearby cafe, and the walk back to the forested area follow a similar pattern: Anakin trying to do some digging with heavy insinuations, Obi-Wan denying vehemently any theories and offering scant details, and neither one willing to back down from their stance. It’s an old familiar rhythm, and despite it being grating at times, it’s nice to feel a sense of normalcy with Anakin once more.

Eventually, they make it back up to their hidden sanctuary in the sky and part ways for the day. Once back in his dwelling, Obi-Wan sits down on a cushioned chair and mulls over his day. While going to the museum was fun and enlightening, his mind wanders back to a certain museum curator. The dark horse of the day. The unexpected detail. His beacon of light.

There’s something more to you, something he wants so desperately to know. He practically itches to go back to the museum and keep talking with you. You’re intelligent, beautiful, and humorous. You’re the sun, moon, and stars. He knows he can’t pursue a romantic relationship with you, and he knows friendships with humans are frowned upon if they get too close, but he reasons to himself that one more visit down to earth to speak with you wouldn’t hurt anyone. With this in mind, he closes his eyes and begins to reach out to see if he can hear you once again, but as he’s doing so, a realization dawns on him.

Meeting you is the closest he’s come to believing in Fate, and despite this going against his beliefs, he’s ready to set sail on this unknown voyage and see where your next meeting takes him.

#so that was a doozy... good grief but i hope it's worth it #i usually don't do taglists but lemme know if you want to be tagged in future parts #because i don't have a schedule soooo #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars one shots #obi wan kenobi #my writing #userkarina #yes a lot of the godly traits were inspired by disney's hercules bc i am basic

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

Playing the Waiting Game

For years, Emma was told to stay away from pirates and others who did not uphold the integrity of the crown she was raised to represent. Emma was never particularly good at listening, however, and while she can still hear the words of her parents in the recesses of her mind, there’s a louder voice that keeps calling her to one particular pirate captain.

rating: a soft m

found on ao3 | here |

-/-

Birdsong rings out from above her, wings whipping through trees and rustling the leaves, and Emma uses the sounds to keep her own footsteps quiet. There are too many leaves and stray branches scattered on the forest floor, and while she doubts there is anyone else out here when most everyone has work to attend to, she still likes to keep her presence quiet. She’s old enough to know that she’s never truly alone, and lately there seems to be some kind of danger around every corner.

Or, at least, that’s what her father was always telling her.

She was brought up with these never-ending senses of freedom and adventure and hope, and while remnants of those three remain in some of her choices, there are voices in the back of her mind reminding her to be careful with her actions.

And with her heart.

One of those voices is her father. The other is very clearly her mother.

Right now, she’d rather not hear from either of them for once.

After a few minutes of wandering, she finally finds the spot for which she was searching. Beyond the trees but before the cliffs, Emma walks upon a spring with water babbling and then rushing away as it travels to the ocean. It is not salty like the water of the sea, isn’t constantly filled with fisherman and Naval officers and the occasional pirate ship , and she seeks the peace of it and how refreshing it is to bathe without having to listen to the commotion that’s always taking place in the tavern. Emma will be forever thankful for Granny and Ruby for giving her a room and work with good pay, but the simplicity and lawlessness of the place is not what she’s accustomed to.

Well, it is now.

Looking around once more, Emma decides there is no one around, and she shrugs off her cape before working around the buttons at the back of her dress. She doesn’t have on a corset today, can’t be forced into one unless she’s trying to earn more coin at the tavern or at the docks when she sells jewelry with Ruby, but undressing still brings her a sense of freedom and a lightness that couldn’t be found for many years.

“That’s the ability to breathe,” Granny always says. “Men take it for granted because they can wear whatever they damn well please, while we have to wear torture devices to keep our waists trim and our breasts high. Bloody ridiculous.”

When Emma’s toes sink into the water, it’s chilled. The month is not yet March, but it’s a particularly sunny day. Emma assumed the waters would be fine, and after a few minutes of shivering, they are. The Summer Isles are never too cold. Misthaven used to freeze every year, frost and snow covering all of the land, and while Emma does miss the snow, she at least doesn’t have to worry about losing her toes to frostbite.

Humming to herself, Emma takes her hair out of its plaits and then wades beneath the water, letting every inch of her long, golden hair soak, before she swims to the shore and reaches over for the lotions she brought with her. This one smells of lavender, and while she knows that Ruby is not fond of the thought of becoming someone’s wife, Emma selfishly wonders if Ruby might marry Graham so that he can continue to bring soaps and lotions to the tavern.

Then again, Emma is sure she could procure these all on her own. She has some coin stashed away, could sell some of her finer dresses and jewels that she managed to bring with her, but doing that seems like erasing her parents.

Their voices pop back up again, such hope and optimism there, and she pushes them away.

Not today, not today, not today.

“If it isn’t Ms. Swan lazing about in the spring.”

Emma’s eyes spring open, and she sinks further into the water while her heart beats an erratic pace. What the hell is he doing here? How did he find her here? How did she not hear him walk over the crunch of the leaves on the ground?

“What are you doing here?” Emma finally manages to ask. He smirks, eyes looking downward, and she crosses her arms over her chest to cover her breasts.

“Well, I was going to endeavor to take a proper bath without being hounded by my crew, but it seems someone is occupying the spring. You’re making a mighty fine show of it, lass.” He raises his hands. “On my honor, I have seen nothing below those delicate shoulders of yours. Wouldn’t be proper.”

Emma rolls her eyes and starts floating toward her things while keeping an eye on him. He’s in nothing but his leathers and a long, dark shirt today that is open enough that it barely covers any of his chest. That’s not unusual, though, and she finds that her eyes linger at the dark patches of hair covering the strong muscle before they move up to the multitude of silver chains around his neck. Finally, though, they settle on the sharp, stubble-covered jaw and the white teeth showing in a smile that always makes her skin pebble up in gooseflesh.

One part of her wants to say that’s in a good way while the other is not so sure.

“Killian Jones, since when are you proper?”

He scoffs and places his hand on his chest, affronted. “I am always a gentleman, milady.”

“If you’re so much of a gentleman, why don’t you turn around and allow me to get dressed.”

“As you wish.”

“And don’t think I’m taking my eyes off of you for a second.”

He twists around and winks, the bastard. “I would despair if you did, but I promise to keep my eyes off of you, which is such a bloody shame.”

She has to bite her tongue. She doesn’t know if it’s to keep from laughing or scolding him, and since she seems to be at war with herself so much, she decides to keep her own mouth shut as she climbs out of the spring and moves to her clothes, pulling her shift down over her before dressing in more complete layers. The clothes cling to her wet skin, and her hair will take ages to brush through, but at least she’s no longer exposed to the elements and to Jones.

She’s not a prude. Really, many around the village would call her a whore because she’s been in a man’s bed before marriage, but she’s not particularly interested in societal norms anymore. But she doesn’t have much of an interest in Killian Jones seeing her in the nude if it’s not on her terms.

Ruby would cheer her on for that thought. Granny would likely tell her to watch herself.

“You can turn around now.”

He makes a show of it, slowly turning and sauntering toward her, and when he’s standing but a few feet away, she gets a glimpse at overly blue eyes that she could swear he managed to steal from the sea.

“You cut quite the figure in that dress, Swan.”

“I’m not wearing a corset.” “I think it is apparent that you need not wear one.”

Emma rolls her eyes and reaches up to start braiding her hair. “So, when did you return to the Isles?”

“A few hours ago. I was planning on bringing the men to the tavern tonight. We had a successful voyage. Figured we all deserved a celebratory drink.” “There are other taverns.”

“Ah, but none with bar wenches as pretty as you.”

This time Emma can’t hold back her laughter, and even with her head tilted back to the sunlight, she knows that he’s smiling.

“I am not a bar wench, and you are not courting me.”

“Why ever not, love?” he asks with a wink. Even then, though, he steps closer to her, and she allows him to place his hand and his hook on her hip. This isn’t unfamiliar territory for them, and she knows herself enough to know that one day she’ll cave. Is it really caving when it’s what she wants? “I could court you. Believe it or not, I was taught how to properly court a woman. I simply believe my way is more thrilling.” “That’s because your way involves rum and sex.” “You forget the gambling.” Emma scoffs, and Killian leans in closer, dipping his head to her neck so that she can feel the softness of his lips and the slight scratch of his beard move against the sensitive cords of her neck.

Fuck, that feels good.

To think that at one time she would have never dared to utter that phrase nearly makes her giggle.

“How could I – however could I forget the gambling?” “Maybe you were distracted,” he teases as his teeth gently bite down before pulling away. Emma gasps before she can stop herself, and Killian’s chuckle is warm against her skin. “I have been told I can be a distracting man.”

“In your dreams.”

“Ah, well, you are indeed in my dreams.”

She allows him to trail his lips against her skin for a few minutes, letting the pleasure rumble over her and settle deep in her belly, but then the voices are back, telling her that she’s better than a pirate, that this isn’t proper.

She never did care much about proper. Why would she now?

“I’ll see you tonight,” Emma whispers as she pulls herself away, heart thumping. Killian’s cheeks are red, his chest heaving, and she knows if she looked down, his trousers would be tight. “I’ll find time to play cards with you, and you can tell me about your journey.”

“Your heart’s desire, Swan.”

And then she’s gathering all of her things and quickly moving away. By the time she’s out of the woods and back inside the perimeters of the village, she smells wood and salt, and she can’t decide if that is from the town or if it’s from Killian.

It’s been months since he’s been back. She doesn’t remember exactly when he left, but she always knows when the Jolly Roger is docked here. The tavern is usually the home to travelers and fisherman, but every few months, each bench and bed are filled with pirates. They may bring in a different type of man, but whenever they leave, Emma’s coin purse is always full from tips and Granny can afford to buy whatever materials she needs for upkeep.

They are all surprisingly well-behaved, but really, if one knows the captain, one knows that isn’t all that surprising at all. The man likes his rum and his card games, mostly because he keeps weighted dice and extra cards up his sleeve, and while a brawl or two does break out, it’s not what Emma thought to expect from a pirate.

“Pirates are no good, sweetheart,” her father once said as he paced back and forth in the library. “They come to our land and they plunder. They have been known to take women and ruin families. They threaten lives for gold. What could possibly be good about a pirate?”

What could be good about a pirate?

A part of her knows, but it’s her parents’ voices and their memory that keeps her from fully falling into finding out.

When she gets back to the tavern, Ruby is sitting in the corner on a bench with Graham, the two of them laughing at some private joke, and they don’t pay any attention to her as she sulks through and slips behind the bar and back into the kitchen where Granny is chopping up a few vegetables while water simmers over the fire.

“We’re going to be busy tonight,” Emma casually tells her, grabbing an apple. “I would get out the rum and whiskey.” Granny turns back to her and rises her brows. “How do you know that?” “I’ve heard a rumor the Jolly Roger is back.”

Granny puts her knife down and places her hands on her hips. “Did you hear a rumor, or have you seen that captain of yours already?”

Emma bites into the apple, and juices run down her face. “He is not mine.”

“Maybe not, but he’s sweet on you.” “And why is that a problem? Graham is being sweet on Ruby out there.”

“Graham is a respectable man.”

Emma opens her mouth to say that she knows for a fact that Graham isn’t quite as respectable with Ruby as Grammy thinks he is, but instead she takes another bite of her apple.

“Look,” Granny sighs, picking up her knife to cut her vegetables again, “you are a mature woman, and you are not my kin. But you also came here five years ago with a chest of expensive goods and not a lick of sense for how to live, so you cannot blame me for caring for you. That man is a sight for sore eyes, and if you want him to warm your bed over the next few weeks, I will not attempt to stop you. When he leaves, however, and he will leave, I don’t want to hear a word of melancholy out of you. Now help me cook dinner and then we’ll prepare for tonight, aye?”

Her parents would definitely be fond of Granny.

Emma helps cook and clean and knead the dough for the bread they’ll bake in the morning, and by the time the night falls and the tavern is lit by nothing more than candle and lantern light, every bench and barstool is full with the excess men leaning against walls and sitting on open window sills that allow the night breeze to waft in. None of them have had a moment to sit down or take a breath from constantly refilling drinks and serving food, and Emma’s feet are starting to ache from constantly standing. She should have had more time to soak them today during her bath, but there’s obviously something to be said about best laid plans being spoiled.

“You have an admirer,” Ruby tells her, nudging her shoulder. “I don’t think he’s been able to keep his eyes off of you all night.” “Yeah, well, we both know I’m his type. Look at all of the women surrounding him. He could easily pretend any of them are me.”

There’s a heaviness in the pit of Emma’s stomach when she looks over at Killian, at the way he commands his table with whatever tale he’s weaving and how the women bat their eyelashes at him and run their fingers over his shoulders.

“You are blind if you think any of them hold a candle to you, my dear. Why don’t you go talk to him, play a round of cards? It’s slowing down. If I need you, I can easily get you.”

“I don’t know, Rubes.”

“Why not? He’s handsome, he’s got a sense of humor, and he’s only ever here for a few weeks at a time. I know you’re not interested in a commitment. What else could you want?”

“I want,” she starts, but then she realizes she doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t know.”

Ruby sighs and turns to Emma, placing her hands on her shoulders and squeezing until Emma looks directly in Ruby’s eyes. “I don’t know who exactly you were before you came here, but I know you’re not someone who lets the opinion of others stop her from having a little fun. So don’t listen to my Granny. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. And don’t listen to whatever part of you says you can’t be with him because he’s a pirate. It’s just a job, Emma. It’s illegal in some places and not the most clean cut in others, but nearly everyone who walks through here is doing something that’s a little…crooked.” “That’s one way to put it.”

“Go,” Ruby insists with a shake of her head. “Have a good time tonight, and if you hate it, which you won’t, I will not bother you at all. I swear of it.” “I will hold you to your word.” “I know you will.” Ruby moves her hands from Emma’s shoulders and then loosens the laces on the front of her dress, exposing the tops of her breasts. Leave it to Ruby to do that. “Enjoy your night, and if you’re fortunate, your morning too.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she listens…after she drinks a small glass of rum herself.

Killian isn’t paying her any attention as she shuffles through the tavern and moves to the back of the room where he’s sitting. He’s shuffling a deck of cards with his hand when she walks up while muttering something to the women ogling him, but he does finally look up when she learns over the table.

“What are you boys playing?”

He blinks, slowly, and his lips tick up to the right while his tongue flickers out, running over his bottom lip. It’s a look she’s seen before, but it’s not one she’s allowed herself to fully appreciate it.

That’s a damn shame.

“Smee,” Killian calls out, slamming the cards down, “come and take my place in the game.”

“But Captain – ”

“Smee – ”

“Aye, sir. I will gladly take over.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emma chuckles. “I would have played with you.” “You would have lost,” he whispers as he stands and gets nearer to her. “It was rigged.”

Emma clicks her tongue. “I should have known.”

“Later, though, I might shuffle a new deck, and I give you my word that I will not keep any cards up my sleeve.”

“I make no such promise myself.”

He chuckles and dips his head until his lips brush against the shell of her ear. “Would you like to come back to my ship for a nightcap?”

Emma gulps.

“I don’t believe I can leave Ruby and Granny here alone when we have all of your crew.”

“Pity that. Still, have a drink with me. I did promise to tell you about my journeys.”

“That you did.”

They settle at a table in the corner of the tavern beneath one of the few closed windows. Ruby brings them a pitcher of ale and two small glasses, and before she walks away, she winks and makes a gesture that Emma hopes Killian ignored.

Or maybe she hopes that he saw it.

Emma does not know what she wants, truly, but she pushes down those thoughts and then downs a pewter of ale while Killian begins weaving a tale of his adventures. She can tell that he’s leaving parts out, that he’s curating this for her ears, and she tries to piece together the parts he is not sharing. He went to Misthaven, and she wants to know more.

How is it doing?

Are the people happy?

What about the flowers? Were any blooming despite the month?

Is there still a large rock with her name engraved in it sitting on the shore?

But why would he know any of that? He didn’t make the voyage there to quench her curiosity. He went to make a deal with another pirate captain, something about them both coming across an abandoned ship full of goods. She didn’t know pirate captains made deals like that. She thought they simply killed and attacked for what they wanted.

Then again, she’s starting to realize that maybe she doesn’t know anything about him past the rumors and few bits and pieces he’s shared over the years.

And yet she so readily lets him run his lips across her skin and was fully ready to share his bed tonight.

Emma sucks in a deep breath and slowly lets it out. Her heart is far from calm, and she suddenly can’t get enough air.

“Love,” Killian says, his thumb on her chin as he turns her attention back to him. “Are you quite alright, lass?”

Emma nods and swallows before plastering a fake smile on her face as her hand moves from her lap up to Killian’s hook, tracing along the metal. He watches her movements, and she knows she’s distracted him.

“I have a confession to make."

"I find most women do."

“I want to know how you got the hook. You hear so many stories…”

“And what have you heard?” “Nothing that I don’t want to hear from you.”

His brows pinch together, but then he softens them while his lips stretch and she has a view of his pretty white teeth. “An enemy took it from me because he believed I took something of his.”

“Something more important than a hand?”

“More important, aye.” Blue eyes glance away before he leans in closer, his hand pressing down on her thigh. “If we’re sharing secrets, would you like to tell me how you became so educated? Or why your attention on me has increased when I was speaking about Misthaven?”

“I’ve read about it is all,” she lies. “My parents taught me to read. I was fortunate.”

“And where are these parents now? Do they know you’re associating with dirty pirate captains?”

“You bathed earlier.”

Killian tilts his head back with a big, booming laugh, and half of the tavern looks their way before he can contain himself and look directly at her, his eyes piercing. “I bathe quite frequently, but I don’t believe I could win the approval of any woman’s parents. So, where are Mum and Dad, love? Do I have to worry about dear old father want to chop off my other hand?”

“No, no you don’t.” A sob catches in Emma’s throat, and this time she can’t swallow it down. “What’d you take from your enemy?”

“That isn’t important for you to know.” “I want to know.” “Well, it’s none of your bloody business!” He picks up the jug of ale and takes a large swig directly from it, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “I think I best let you get back to work, sweetheart. I’m suddenly not in a mood for a night cap.”

He moves his hand of her thigh and reaches into his pocket before tossing a small purse onto the table. “For your trouble. Have a good night, Swan.”

And then he stands and walks away, coat swishing behind him until he disappears out the tavern door and into the darkness of night.

-/-

When the crew of the Jolly Roger comes into the tavern the next night, Emma lets Ruby deal with the Captain’s table. She feels Killian’s eyes on her the entire night, and she knows they’re a darker shade of blue than they usually are.

‘Tis no matter. If he wants to push her and wants her to talk but she can’t ask him questions, then they’ll stay at this stalemate. He’ll be gone soon enough, and he’ll be nothing but a distant memory until he comes back.

If he comes back.

She doesn’t need to be sharing her bed with him anyhow. It would be momentary pleasure only to be left and disappointed again. If she wants someone to sleep next to at night with no connection, there are plenty of other men in the village. She doesn’t need him.

So Emma lets him come and go as he pleases, serves him when she has to, sells jewelry to his crew on the days she works at the docks, and he seems to be choosing to mind his own business as well.

Good.

Days pass before they turn into weeks, and the sting when Emma sees him has dissipated to nothing but the smallest of aches, and he seems to be coming into the tavern less and less. Ruby and Granny have both mentioned it, but Emma has brushed them off, not wanting or needing to explain any piece of her life to them no matter how good they’ve been to her.

She is allowed her own bits of privacy.

Tonight she is taking that privacy by sweeping the alley outside of the tavern while Ruby, Graham, and Granny work inside. It’s unsurprisingly busy tonight. With spring sweeping in, warm weather has come too, and it has allowed the ocean breeze to settle into the air, leaving a warm salt. There’s no need for cloaks and gloves and several pairs of stockings, and Emma longs for the summer even more now.

“Where are you taking me, Captain?” Emma hears a woman giggle, and she sinks back against the building, her heart pounding as loud as horse hooves. “Are we going to your ship?”

“I’m giving you your coin, you will tell my crew I had a nice time should the question arise, and then you may go and enjoy your night.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you, lass,” Killian mutters, his hook flashing in the moonlight. “Have a good night.” “Why don’t you want me to share your bed tonight?”

“My reasons are my own. Question them at your own peril.”

And then he turns and walks away, his boots crunching on the gravel.

Emma can’t quite believe what she’s just seen, and she swallows the ever-present lump in her throat before pushing off the wall and dropping the broom against the door. Her curiosity is going to get the best of her because instead of returning to her work, she follows the sound of Killian’s footsteps and then his shadow as he returns to his ship. She’s likely not welcome, but that doesn’t stop her from watching him bark at a cabin boy before he walks through the doors to his quarters.

She hesitates, lingering on her toes, and maybe she’s being dull tonight, but she quietly sneaks aboard the Jolly, making sure none of the remaining crew spot her, before she follows in Killian’s footsteps and opens the door that will lead her to his cabin.

“Jim, I said I was not to be disturbed!”

“My name is not Jim.”

There’s a clatter and a curse, and when Emma is able to climb off the ladder, she can see Killian picking up a stack of books, still muttering to himself.

At least he isn’t cursing at her. She would deserve it for having walked onto his ship without him knowing.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Curiosity,” she admits, taking in the small room filled with books and a small table, as well as a bed that looks more comfortable than hers at the tavern. He seems to have quite the collection of small goods, and her mind betrays her again by wanting to know where exactly he acquired each of them. “Frustration also. I don’t understand you, Killian Jones.”

“Not many people do. Few know me well enough to, and I don’t have most people call me by my name. Most use my more colorful moniker.”

“I like Killian better.”

He huffs and picks up a pewter cup, placing it on the table next to what looks like a map. Are these his plans for his next adventure?

“What are you frustrated about, Swan? Have I done something else to offend you? Pushed you too much? Gotten under your skin? Or are you here to pester me about my past once more?”

Emma shrugs and sits down at the edge of his bed, running her finger across the blanket. “My parents always warned me about pirates, you know?”

“I imagine most did.” “They said you were all despicable and dangerous and that I should never trust any of you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

She hums, more unconvinced now than ever before. “But there’s this weird thing about you that makes me trust you despite everything in my head telling me not to. Would I be wise to assume that you haven’t been a pirate for your entire life? You noticed that I was educated. I have noticed the same of you. The Navy perhaps? But how does someone who was educated in the Navy become a pirate?”

“How does someone who knows proper grammar and etiquette start work in a tavern? How old are you, Swan?”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two as of next month.”

“Twenty-six for me. In October.”

Killian clicks his tongue, and she snaps her head up to look at him. He’s not smiling, but he’s pleased. She can see the mirth in his eyes and the way the corner of his mouth twitches.

“You know,” he sighs, pulling the chair out from under the table. It screeches against the floor and then groans when he sits down. “I heard a rather peculiar tale when I was in Misthaven.”

“Did you?”

“Aye. You see, Misthaven has been under a new ruling for the past few years. It seems the King and Queen were killed while sailing to visit the court in Arendelle. Since the law had not passed for a woman to be able to take the throne without a King, the deceased King’s brother took the throne. It seems the princess had been unwilling to marry her suitor and ran away. It takes a clever lass to avoid that many palace guards.”

Emma nods and picks at a thread in his blanket, pretending not to care too much for his story even as her heart explodes within her chest.

He knows.

She knows that he does, that there’s no way he wouldn’t have figured it out, and maybe she should run away, should try to find some kind shelter. There has to be a reward out for her, and Killian may want it.

But if he did, he would have taken her already? He’s been here for weeks. He would have had his opportunities.

“It’s said she had hair made of gold and eyes made of emeralds, but to me, it almost seems that her hair is the color of sunshine and her eyes are comparable to only the ocean on a summer day. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She finally looks up, her lips parted to refute his assumption, but she finds that the words die on her tongue. Instead, she decides to ask another question entirely.

“How long have you known?”

“Since the moment I heard the tale last October. It was your birthday. They have a celebration in the village square.”

“If you knew how I was educated, why did you pester me about it back in the tavern? How is it fair that you know so much about my life and yet I know none of yours?”

“’Tis not fair. Nothing about life is.” Killian stands from the chair, its legs scraping against the wood again. He shrugs off his coat, his shirt underneath clinging to his muscles before it loosens. She can see the way his shoulders heave, the way he’s taking deep breaths, and he’s still turned away from her when he starts speaking. “I have no interest in reliving my past, but I will tell you these truths for the sake of good form. I was in the Navy until I was eighteen. My brother was killed because of our corrupt king, and I turned to piracy. Sometime later I met a woman who was my first love, but her husband took issue with this. He took my hand and since she wasn’t interested in being with a broken man, she went back to her husband. Is that everything you need to know?”

“Killian – ”

“Don’t,” he sighs, turning around with his face buried in his hand. “I don’t tell any of that for sympathy. I share because I should have ages ago. I don’t enjoy being on unequal footing with a woman I fancy, so the moment I figured out your past, I should have shared mine. It’s only right.”

“Thinking you’re on unequal footing is inane. This is not a game.”

He drops his hand and smiles halfheartedly. “No, I suppose it’s not.”

Neither of them speak next, silence lingering in between the two of them, and she keeps waiting for Killian to break the silence and fill the cabin with words. He doesn’t. And the longer it goes on, the more she thinks that the air gets thicker, heavier even.

The more she wonders how she’s even breathing.

“If you enjoy being on equal footing,” Emma finally begins, standing from the bed and sauntering toward Killian until she’s standing directly under his gaze and can smell the leather from his clothes, “then I must admit that I fancy you as well.”

He blinks, and she knows that the corner of his lips tick up.

Good.

“Aye?”

“Aye,” she whispers before pushing up her toes to glide her lips over his.

Emma has felt Killian’s lips on her before, but never like this. It was always on her skin somewhere, sometimes brief, sometimes not, but she has never actually kissed him. She’s never felt how the softness of his mouth mixes with her own or how his beard would feel rough rubbing against her chin. She’s never felt the warm swipe of his tongue or the way that he knows how to push and pull, how to give and take, and how to keep the pace slow, almost reverent when she was fully intending for this to turn into something that would have a fire burning so brightly in her belly that the entire ship would burn down.

That fire is definitely there, warming her, but she thinks she might be able to contain it if this pace continues.

Then again, this isn’t what she was expecting, and the gentleness of it all might make her lose her footing more than if they were to strip out of their clothes right now.

Killian pulls back first, but he doesn’t stray far. His forehead rests against hers, and his thumb has moves from her hair to her chin, his thumb resting in the indent so that she can feel the roughness of his skin and the cool, smooth texture of the metal making up his ring.

“I imagine your parents wouldn’t be too fond of you kissing a pirate.”

“I imagine not, but at some point, I think they would come around.” She leans into him again, brushing her lips over his as she speaks. “Tell me more about Killian Jones, the man. I’d like to know him outside of the view of everyone in the tavern.” “I’m afraid you won’t find him to be as adventurous.”

“Try me.”

Killian chuckles, kissing her once more, this time quick and dirty and absolutely breath-taking, and for a moment, Emma almost tugs him back into her and pulls him down on the bed, but she’s not ready. Now she knows more about him, now she knows something past the physical frustration and the sexual desire, and she finds that she wants to talk to someone who knows about her past but isn’t trying to push her and pull her back into that life.

He’s got a past too, one as colorful and heart wrenching, and she craves knowing more of it.

If he’ll let her.

Killian nods and tells Emma to sit down. She settles on his bed, pulling her knees to her chest and watching as he pulls a series of leather-bound journals out of the ornate cabinet carved into the ship. He doesn’t say anything, simply sitting down on a wooden chair and flipping through the pages, reading a few words to himself, turning the page once again, and then he settles on a passage.

“Today, I set foot in Misthaven for the first time in over a decade. The journey here was full of calm, fall waters, and while a chill nips at my nose, I cannot deny how beautiful this kingdom is. Evergreen trees spread across the ground as far as they eye can see, but then, in the blink of an eye, there are vast stretches of white sand that link to the sea. It reminds me of when I was a boy, of the way my mother would take us to the beach before she died, and though I am here for work, I wonder of the possibility of staying here on a more permanent basis.”

Killian looks up to her, blue eyes cast in a hazy shade of gray, and she swears his cheeks may be shaded in pink.

“Though,” he continues, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “I would be remiss to say that if I do not return to the Isles, I’ll never seen Emma Swan again. She’s fiery, that lass, and while I was first attracted to the curves that make up her body, I find that she is the only one who is not afraid to challenge me. I fancy that about her, even when she is yelling at me, and it would be a lie to say that I do not enjoy riling her up. Her cheeks turn pink, her lips press into a firm line, and then she shows me her wit that is purely unmatched.”

“You write about me in your journal?”

He doesn’t look at her. Instead he run his tongue against his teeth and flips through a few pages.

“With the information I’ve gathered today, I believe Swan to be the lost princes of Misthaven. This seems ludicrous, but I cannot turn my mind off to keep from thinking of this. The timeline, the description, the portraits of her in the village, all piece together. It is not my place to be intrusive, and while many would say that means I’ve gone soft, I cannot help but assume that she has run for a reason. She suffered a great loss, and as someone who has experienced many of those, I understand the urge to run. I live this life because of it.”

Emma studied anatomy in her schoolings, knows where each organ is supposed to be located, but she would be damned right now if her heart isn’t in her stomach, beating faster than it ever has while her throat constricts. Killian has obviously skipped over several pages and paragraphs in his journal, has not told her more than he has told her, but what he has told her is enough.

They understand each other, and maybe beneath the physical attraction, that has been there all along.

“Would you like to meet me by the river tomorrow?” Emma whispers as the ship rocks below them.

“Aye, love, I think I would.”

Killian meets her by the river a half hour pass noon the next day. The sun is beaming down on them, a gentle breeze whistling between the trees, and while the two of them share more than they have in the past, it is still but a bird pecking at the shallows. That changes, however, as more days come to pass. During the day, the two of them meet by the river, exchanging slow, lingering kisses that sometimes stay that way and other times leaver her entire body flushing, and at night, he comes to the tavern. There, life is almost as normal as it always is. He sits at his preferred table with his crew, women often trying to gain his attention, and while they are always unsuccessful, there’s a feeling of being unsettled that comes with it.

He has a reputation to uphold, and really, who is she to ruin that for him?

Captain Hook is who the world knows.

Killian Jones is who she is getting to know.

And as the spring melts into summer, that is who she is falling for in a way that she never allowed herself to expect.

“Swan,” Killian whispers against the back of her neck, his breath warm as it ghosts over the expanse of her bare skin.

She shifts back into him, dragging her foot along the warm skin of his calf as he presses into her so that she can feel the rise and fall of his chest and the hard planes of a sea-worn body.

“Mhm,” Emma mumbles, tugging on his hand that is lying flat against her stomach.

“I’m afraid I have some news to share with you.”

The words do not truly settle in her mind. Instead, they stay on the outskirts, waiting and wanting to get in and settle, but her sated body and tired mind don’t allow that.

“And what’s that?”

“I received a letter a few days prior from an old acquaintance who says he has news of my old king once more trying to get his hands on the poison that killed Liam. I cannot let that happen, my love. He could kill thousands, and my men are getting restless. They need to be back on the sea before I have mutiny on my hands.”

Emma blinks and swallows while her stomach swirls, the words Killian is saying finally settling in her mind.

He’s leaving.

That is what Killian is trying to tell her, and she so wishes that she could fall back asleep and not hear any of it.

She knew this would happen, but she had allowed herself to feel comfortable, content even.

Emma had allowed herself to feel love despite knowing that it can be gone in the blink of an eye.

After her parents’ deaths and after many of her courtships in her youth, Emma always believed love to be fleeting, but in actuality, it is not. It seems that it takes no time at all to fall in the kind of love that would take a lifetime to get past, and she has allowed herself to do just that.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Emma makes an attempt to steady her breathing, to someone convince Killian that she has fallen asleep once more, but she knows that he doesn’t believe her when his lips press against her shoulder once more.

“I am a pirate, my love,” he whispers into her skin. “Tis the life I have chosen, and for now, I cannot settle down in one place. In the future, I am open to every possibility, but for now, I must go. Would I be a fool to ask you to come with me? I can show you a way of the world that you did not get as a child, and if you want, we can venture to Misthaven under the cover of the night and cloaks of disguise so you can be home once more.”

Emma opens her eyes again and takes in the soft glow of the candles still burning and the moonlight shining through the windows, a mix of a golden and silver glow, and she allows herself to imagine what leaving her safe haven would be like.

What going home would feel like even if that place is no longer hers.

“But it is your choice,” he continues, each word vibrating against her skin. “Everything is up to you, and if you choose to stay, know that I will count down every minute until I can get back to you.”

Nodding, Emma squeezes Killian’s hand once more. “How much time do I have to make my decision?”

“I will not leave until you have.”

She does not know what to say or how to put her thoughts into words, and while they are pressed together so that she can feel every inch of him, that is not nearly enough. So she glides their hands downward and shifts her leg back, hooking it over Killian’s calf, and he easily takes the hint, slowly touching her in a way that has her heart racing as his lips trail along her back and her shoulder, breathing her in as she does the same to him. The ship rocks gently below them in a soothing motion that Emma has grown to love, and the slowness of the ocean sets the slowness of their pace.

A gradual building that goes higher and higher and higher with each deft movement of Killian’s hand.

But then his hand is replaced, and he slides into her in a long, slow motion, heat radiating across her skin as he fills her. It’s familiar by now, and while she will admit that it is not always thrilling, there are times like this where she cannot imagine any other feeling beside being joined with him in the early morning hours.

The pace stays the same, sometimes slowing when Emma twists her neck to capture Killian’s mouth with hers, and she lingers in living on the edge of falling over, wanting to be there but being content to wait. She’s never liked waiting for much, especially good things, but with Killian, she’s found that waiting is always with it.

Waiting for him to flirt with her, waiting for him to be honest about who he is, waiting for him to come to the tavern, waiting for him to share his past, waiting for him to turn up in the markets with her favorite dessert when she thought he was working, waiting for him to fall in love…

And the thing that always gets her is that yes, she has bided her time and waited for him in certain aspects, but she has not sat idle. She has done her job, has spent time with those closest to her, has done things that she’s wanted to do. So much of her life was controlled, and she’s not yet done with experiencing the freedom of being the only person who has any right to tell her what to do. She may have been raised to wait for a man because he makes the final decisions, but that is not the life she is living now.

Heaven knows, she has made Killian wait for her as well.

Likely far more than she has ever waited for him.

And he is not making any decisions for her. That is all up to her.

Now, though, as Killian’s hand inches to where they’re joined, his fingers working what can only be considered magic, she knows that she is no longer waiting to fall over the edge into the bliss that leaves her warm and sated almost every time.

They do not move afterward. They do not speak either. Instead, they stay pressed together under the blankets in Killian’s cabin, and when they are ready again, they once again join together. This time is not slow. It’s hard and fast, and Emma can scarcely breathe as she holds on in desperation knowing that this could be the last time for a long time.

If not forever.

She wakes not remembering having fallen asleep, and she immediately knows she’s not sharing the bed with anyone else. The mattress is not nearly warm enough for Killian to still be here. When she blinks open her eyes, she sees him standing next to his dresser. He’s not yet clothed, but she watches as a finishes attaching his brace for his hook and then slips on one of his shirts, this one long and billowy and the darkest shade of black she’s ever seen. He doesn’t button the top, leaving his chest on display, and she finds that she can’t look away from him as he tugs up his trousers and tucks in the blouse before putting on his necklaces and rings on. Emma has grown so used to seeing a variation of his clothing nearly every day, of watching him methodically get dressed and then sit down over his logs, the official ones, not the ones where he writes about her, that she cannot quite imagine the day where she is not here to witness these every day moments that are the most ordinary she has ever had.

After a life filled with extravagant and extraordinary, Emma imagines that the thrill that runs down her spine at the thought of having her own normal is greater than any thrill she’s ever possessed before.

“Ah, good morning, my love,” Killian sighs when he sees her. He tugs one last lace on his leathers before sauntering toward her and leaning down to kiss her. He tastes of mint already, and she finds herself smiling about it. “Should I call to the kitchen to get you breakfast, or will you be joining the crew there?”

“Where are you off to?”

“First, to eat,” he smiles, scratching behind his ear before brushing his hair off his forehead. “Then I have preparations to arrange before we depart. Tonight, though, I am all yours, however you want me.” “Captain, that is quite the dangerous position you’re giving me,” Emma laughs before letting the blankets fall around her as she stands and walks to the wardrobe to grab one of Killian’s shirts. “However I want you?”

“Anything for you, milady.”

Emma shakes her head and then turns back around to him, pressing up on her toes in order to wrap her arms around his neck and brush her lips over his mouth as she speaks. “I want to go with you.”

“Swan – ”

“Don’t protest,” she whispers as his hand and his hook settle at her hips. “You asked me, and I’m agreeing. I don’t know if I’ll want to go to Misthaven, but I do know that I am ready for a new adventure with you, whatever that may be.”

-/-

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#playing the waiting game #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

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betweensceneswriter · 4 years

Text

Island Hopper-Chapter 17b: Sugar Sickness

Brand new chapter, but out of sequence. Posted 10-16-2020

Previously Chapter 17: Bitter Jamie and Claire have different ideas about what being back together should look like.

ISLAND HOPPER Table of Contents

Back to work, we meet someone important, and an illness leads to an early parting.

“Thirsty. Lukkuun thirsty. Alap awa.”

Perkaj’s mother wiped her son’s forehead with a cool washcloth, looking at me with concern.

“Lukuun kilep. Now, bery skinny.”

A group of children—siblings, cousins, and interested neighborhood kids—crowded around the mat where the little boy lay, feverish and unresponsive. It had taken me several tries to say his name correctly. Finally a patient cousin had grabbed my hand to get my attention. “Him name Purr Gus” the little boy had said clearly, smiling as I repeated it.

My heart had sunk at her first words. Perkaj was thirsty all the time? Just that one word had given me a preliminary diagnosis. I was almost positive it was type I diabetes. And how was a person to manage type one diabetes out on an outer island? Spare insulin needed to be kept at a moderate room temperature. Since it didn’t often get above 85°F in the islands, it wouldn’t have to be refrigerated, but it would last longer if kept cool. And if he ever ran out of it, he could quickly slip into a diabetic coma from high blood sugar.

That was what appeared to be happening right now.

I spread open my black bag—an iconic black leather satchel like the doctor’s bags of olden days. I located the supplies I needed and pulled out the blood sugar monitor from its protective plastic bag, unwrapping a stiff testing strip and slipping it in the slot in the tester, then twisting off the plastic tip of the lancet.

I heard the intake of breath as the children saw the gleam of the sharp lancet tip and sensed them all bending closer as I picked up Perkaj’s small hand and firmly pricked his fingertip.

Watching his face for a response, I was grateful to see a shadow pass over his features at the pain. At least there was a little consciousness still.

Turning back to my task, I squeezed his finger and watched as the burgundy swell of blood appeared on his skin. I gestured with my head toward the tester on the mat, and several pairs of small hands reached for it, one child passing it to me so I could meet the testing tip to the droplet of blood.

A chorus of “ohhhs” was the response as the absorbent testing strip slurped the droplet of blood off Perkaj’s fingertip.

“I need to be able to see,” I said, hoping my voice wasn’t too sharp. I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, but all the little heads were blocking the light from outside.

“Move,” ordered one of the mamas. “Etal,” she added in Marshallese. My little audience backed away reluctantly and I breathed a sigh of relief as a gentle breeze of cooler air from outside swept through the small house.

My fears were confirmed when the tester flashed Perkaj’s current blood sugar level. 615. Six hundred and fifteen? Healthy was under 120. Elevated was anything over 200. Four hundred was seriously high. Six hundred? No wonder the boy, his features slack in unconsciousness, was so feverish. Perkaj had indeed slipped into a diabetic coma.

Although my medical bag held a multitude of items, insulin was not one of them. The small stock of insulin I had was kept in the clinic in a brick enclosure. There may have been no means of refrigeration, but whoever had built the clinic had realized that caves tended to be cooler than the surrounding area and had created—in essence—a small root cellar for storing medicines that were sensitive to temperature.

“I have to go get medicine,” I said, my Marshallese failing me in the moment of stress. “Kottar jiddik—wait a little bit—and I’ll be back.”

Perkaj’s house was in the town of Ine, just a half mile or so from the clinic. I broke into a jog, trying to ignore the sensation of sharp rocks under the thin rubber of my flip-flops. The sooner I got some insulin into him, the sooner Perkaj would recover and the fewer side effects he would suffer.

“I’m not enough,” I panicked as I jogged. “I don’t know enough. I recognize diabetes, but I’m not an endocrinologist. I need a doctor. Perkaj needs the hospital.”

The plans for the coming days swirled in my head. Jamie and John were working on the solar still. John would be leaving on the Jolok boat tomorrow—he needed to be back to Majuro on Thursday. Jamie and I had planned to ride the fishing boat with Kona on Thursday evening, knowing that our flight didn’t leave until Friday. We had scheduled a little time for shopping on Majuro Friday morning. We wouldn’t need a hotel; Jamie had mentioned our need of a place to stay Thursday night to Mr. MacKenzie before he left on the final leg of the field ship voyage, at which Dougal had grinned and said Revka would be happy to sleep at a friend’s house so we could have her room.

I was trotting past the Iroij’s palace when I realized I should call the hospital, remembering that the Iroij had one of the two satellite phones on the island.

I smiled shyly at the man sitting on a chair by the gate into the Iroij’s property. “Is the Iroij here?” I asked. My brain scrambled for the words in Marshallese. “Iroij ijin?”

He nodded toward the house with a low “Ayet, ijo,” and I walked up the white gravel pathway to the Iroij’s door.

I’m not sure why I was surprised when the Iroij himself opened his door, but I smiled at the stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, wearing a sarong and an embroidered island shirt, his outfit completed with bare feet.

“Miss Beauchamp!” he exclaimed. “I mean, Mrs. Fraser.” His smile was warm, and he urged me into the large open room lit by electric lights. It was a simple building, but in comparison to most of the dwellings on Arno it was lavish.

“Thank you, Iroi… Sir… Your honor?”

“Call me Mayor Timisen,” he urged at my apparent discomfort. He had gestured for me to sit in one of the chairs in the main room, and he leaned forward once we were both seated, urging me to speak.

I was grateful he spoke such fluent English as I explained to him what seemed to be ailing Perkaj. Although it wasn’t going to cause an instant death, high blood sugar meant that glucose wasn’t getting into the body’s cells, and organ failure was a possible consequence of elevated blood sugar left too long without treatment.

“Perkaj needs to go to the hospital,” I said. “Can we use the satellite phone to contact them and ask what we should do?”

He nodded slowly, then got up and went to his desk, coming back with the chunky black satellite phone. I eyed it with mixed emotions as I watched him dial a number and then hold the phone to his ear. Just seeing the phone brought back a flurry of remembered events that had led to my first satellite call out here—

That dark night after my trip to Matolen with Sharbella, I had ridden with Jamie on his bike back to the clinic… later, lying next to him under our makeshift mosquito-net tent—after he'd said it would be inappropriate to hang out in my apartment after dark —we had been looking up at the stars and talking when I’d accidentally called him Frank…

I remembered the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach when Jamie pulled away from me, and the deepening discomfort a few days later when Angus confronted me about my behavior towards Jamie, when he told me the engagement ring on my finger was about the only part of me that was engaged…

My heart sank at the memory of the night I took care of baby Maxson when he was sicker than I could deal with in my primitive clinic, waking the next morning to find that the infant was dead.

I remembered the pain of Jamie discovering me on the beach and trying to comfort me, only having to force him away. I could picture him seated on a mat with Rupert and Angus across the gravel-strewn yard at Maxson’s funeral, and I remembered trying to convince Anni and myself that I truly didn’t want him.

I chuckled as I recalled Anni and that crazy midnight run to the fishing dock on the ocean side to see the miracle of the full moon. But that joy was followed by Frank’s letter—familiar handwriting crushing my soul as he told me he didn’t want to wait for me, that he was breaking up with me.

That pain had been followed by the comfort of Jamie’s arms, by tender murmured reassurances and his touch when I went to him in the darkness, desperately needing to not be alone. And later, I had slept in his bed with him, curling in the hollow of his form, reassured by his even breathing, his warmth, and the solid substance of his body behind me.

The comfort of Jamie's kindness was replaced by Angus’s disappointed, bitter voice the next morning, accusing me of sleeping with—not just ‘sleeping with’—Jamie, telling me that since I wouldn’t stay away from the young man on my own, he was going to have to take more drastic measures.

And then I could vividly picture the Iroij standing outside my door, handing me a black phone and telling me the person on the other end was Mr. MacKenzie— that I was being summoned to UniServe headquarters.

Now I looked at the white gold circle on my right hand for a moment and then back at that boxy black phone held by the Iroij and found myself shaking my head, gratefully astonished at how that story had ended; hoping that this sequence of events would have a similarly positive end.

Mr. Timisen held the phone out to me then, lifting me out of my deep deja vu. After taking a breath, I quickly explained the situation to the emergency room physician on the other end of the line.

“We could try to catch the Jolok boat tomorrow,” I said. “I have some insulin. I could administer it and try to monitor his blood sugar, but I’m concerned that if I gave him too much, he could die. And he has a high temperature and is almost unresponsive—he can’t stay at this blood sugar level without doing drastic damage to his organs.”

There was static on the line and I wondered if the connection had been severed, but then the doctor’s calming voice came back on.

“We can’t do much until you get the patient here, unfortunately,” the physician said. “Administer insulin and monitor his blood sugar. Perhaps the Iroij could charter a private flight so you could get here sooner.”

The conversation was loud enough that the Iroij heard the request. He nodded to me reassuringly, reaching for the phone and bidding the physician farewell, then dialing another number and having a brief conversation in Majel. I assumed he was calling the Majuro airport.

“The plane could meet you at the landing strip beyond Jabo. Are you able to transport the patient there by truck?”

I nodded, then told the physician that we could get him to the landing strip within an hour and a half. Mayor Timisen smiled reassuringly at me, going into the hallway and calling out into one of the other rooms. In a few moments, a young man entered. At Mr. Timisen’s terse command, he quickly trotted away, I assumed to go locate the island truck.

“Can you travel with him?” the physician asked me over the phone. “The plane has room for the patient and a parent, but a doctor or nurse should go along as well.”

“Don’t you send a nurse or EMT out on the plane?” I asked.

“Not unless it’s a heart attack or severe injury. We’re understaffed as it is,” he responded.

With a few last directions, the doctor and I hung up, and Mr. Timisen assured me that they would bring the truck to the clinic to pick me up and then take my patient to the air strip on the way towards Arno Arno.

As anxious as I was feeling, I was actually grateful to run the rest of the way home. I felt calmer knowing that I would soon be getting Perkaj to a hospital where he would have the round-the-clock monitoring I was incapable of providing on my own.

After unlocking the clinic, with shaking hands I removed the vials of insulin from the medication locker. Making sure I had syringes and a few glucose packets to counteract the effects of accidentally giving Perkaj too much insulin, I locked up the clinic and entered the apartment.

What was I supposed to take with me? I hadn’t yet packed my big suitcase for Guam, so I threw a few dresses, bras, and pairs of panties in a backpack, along with my conditioner and skincare bag. Then I pulled my larger suitcase from under the bed and loaded it as quickly as I could, though I couldn’t tell if I had what I needed for our trip. I’d been planning on a leisurely evening of packing once I had been done for the day at the clinic. An evening of packing, followed by some more quality time with my husband…

My heart sunk at that thought. My memories of those days of sadness without Jamie had made me long to be close to him again. As I remembered that night when Frank broke up with me, I could almost sense Jamie’s warm comfort next to me in his bed. And today, helplessly looking at Perkaj lying limp and unresponsive on the mat on the floor had brought back those feelings of powerlessness I had felt with baby Maxson. I could feel my need for Jamie in the pit of my stomach, but I steeled myself. This was a time I was going to be strong without him.

But I couldn’t just leave without telling Jamie where I was going. I went out to the side yard where I discovered him and John working, the two men standing in remarkably similar positions with arms crossed, heads cocked to one side, looking in puzzlement at the structure in front of them. It looked a little like a terrarium or sunroom, with a slanting glass roof on top of an enclosed wooden box. As I watched, they each moved a few steps to the right, resuming the same quizzical posture when they stopped. I chuckled at their incidental resemblance, the tall, broad-shouldered, auburn-haired Scot and his slighter, dark-haired Marshallese friend.

“Claire, come see,” Jamie said, ushering me over and pulling me under his arm. “We put an inch or so of well water into the reservoir there,” he explained, drawing me toward the structure and pointing at the shallow pan that stretched the entire length and width of the base of the still. “The water soaks up into the black cloth draped over those blocks, which heat in the sun and then the water evaporates from the fabric, traveling upward as the heat rises.”

“But the sloping glass ceiling traps the moisture inside the still,” John continued as he came close on my other side, “and as the air outside is cooler, it condenses on the inside of the glass.”

“We’re trying to figure out the right angle for the glass,” Jamie said, “so that the water doesn’t drip back into the pan but instead dribbles down the glass and finally into this channel,”—here he pointed at a sloping half-pipe near the lowest part of the glass, cupped upward underneath a line of something that looked like clear caulk, where the droplets of water that had snaked their way down the glass-collecting surface were stopped from sliding further, growing into larger and larger reservoirs until their weight overpowered the surface tension and gravity forced them to fall. I could see a thin stream of water in the bottom of the pipe, slowly flowing toward the place where the pipe exited the still and entered flexible tubing threaded into the top of a large water jug on the ground.

“It looks great babe,” I said, finally grabbing Jamie’s arm to stop him. “But I don’t have time right now. I have to take a plane to the Majuro hospital,” I said quickly, before he could speak.

“What?” he exclaimed with an involuntary squeeze closer to him, looking me up and down as if I were the one injured. “Have ye been hurt?”

“No, it’s Perkaj,” I said. “You’ve mentioned how Rupert said he’s been losing weight the last few months and hasn’t had much energy at school. Well, there’s a reason for it. I’m almost positive he’s diabetic!”

From the look on his face, I could see it hadn’t completely sunk in yet, but when the truck pulled up in front of the house at that very moment, Jamie questioned me again. “Truly? You are leaving now? You are going to Majuro? Today?”

I nodded quickly, slinging the strap of my backpack over one shoulder. “I started packing my suitcase for Christmas, but I’m sure I’ve forgotten something. Can you finish packing for me?

Jamie had his hand around my upper arm, a grip that expressed what he couldn’t seem to be able to say. His forehead was wrinkled, his face clearly communicating that he objected to my departure.

“I’ve gotta go, babe,” I said, beginning to move toward the truck. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening when you get to Majuro on the fish boat?”

Jamie still looked bewildered, but a sudden certainty flooded over his face and he took two quick steps to me and crushed me in his arms.

“Be safe,” he murmured into my hair. “I canna believe I’m losing ye again so soon.”

Gently pushing me out to arm’s length, he met my eyes. “I love ye, hen,” he said, stooping to firmly kiss me on the lips once more before urging me toward the waiting vehicle. John and Jamie followed me as I went to the truck, and Jamie offered a hand as I climbed up into the bed of the pickup.

“I love you too,” I mouthed, blowing him a kiss as the truck drove off nearly before I’d settled myself on the truck bed. He watched, waving until I couldn’t see him anymore.

Once at Perkaj’s house, I waded through the crowd of concerned well-wishers, thankful for Mayor Timisen’s ability to translate and explain to Perkaj’s family what we were doing. The biggest challenge was determining which family member should travel along with the boy. Perkaj’s mother was eliminated as a good option because the boy had several younger siblings, one of which was a nursing infant. I couldn’t follow the entire conversation, but Mr. Timisen also explained to me that Perkaj’s father was out fishing and wouldn’t be back until dark. After some rapid fire conversations in Marshallese, it was determined that his auntie Maria—a lovely girl of around twenty—would come along with Perkaj so he had family to watch over him.

As the family had debated who would travel with Perkaj, I had re-tested his blood sugar. Finding it still over six hundred, I gave him eight units of fast-acting insulin, hoping that each unit would drop his blood sugar by about 50. I knew the ride to the air strip would take a half hour or so, and expected the helicopter ride to Majuro to be about the same. I would continue to monitor Perkaj’s blood sugar level as we traveled, but I could feel my agitation easing at the promise of a more updated facility and an ICU where my young patient’s progress could be closely monitored.

The process of transferring Perkaj to the truck was accomplished by a group of four young men who gripped the corners of the woven pandanus mat on which Perkaj had been sleeping, and using it like a stretcher, carried him out to the truck and unceremoniously slid the mat into the bed of the truck. I had grabbed a blanket from my house so we could cover him and then his auntie and I sat on either side of him to keep him from rolling as the truck drove down the bumpy island road.

When we reached the air strip, I got out of my cramped sitting position. I tested Perkaj’s blood sugar again and was pleased to see that it had dropped, but not with such rapidity that I would have to worry about his sugar level getting dangerously low..

I’d traveled over the air strip several times since my arrival on the island. Each time we’d gone on the Jolok boat, the time I’d heading out on the Field Ship trip, and then returning back home again all necessitated driving through that narrow stretch of the island. But this time it wasn’t as green as I remembered from my first arrival on the island. The grass on either side of the wide-open swath of land was yellowed, a sign of the continuing drought.

Maria smiled at me as I stretched and bent over to touch my toes, preparing for another half hour or more of sitting in a cramped position before arriving in Majuro. She was patting Perkaj’s hand gently, her forehead wrinkling as she looked at his expressionless face.

“He will be okay?” she asked. “Ejjab mej?”

“Ejab malele,” I said sadly, shaking my head. “I really don’t know if he will die. But I hope not.” I tried to smile for her.

By the time we had been loaded onto the plane with Perkaj strapped onto a gurney that was then locked into place, he was moaning. Though it sounded worse, and though his face wrinkled more furiously when I again pricked another finger to test his blood sugar, I was relieved to see the gradual signs of a return to consciousness.

Before we landed at the Majuro airport, Perkaj’s blood sugar had dropped to 420, which although still horrible, was a significant improvement.

There was an ambulance waiting for us on the runway. As we rode the twenty minutes to the hospital, I briefed the EMT on Perkaj’s symptoms. He tested Perkaj’s blood sugar again and I was glad to see it had dropped yet a few more points.

By midnight I was beyond tired. I had sat, holding Perkaj and Maria’s hands, trying to understand the Marshallese explanations given by the medical professionals, trying to reassure the young Marshallese girl that her nephew was going to recover. I was weary but grateful that Perkaj’s blood sugar was at a reasonable level.

“Lass, why dinna you come to our house for the night,” said a familiar voice.

“Mr. MacKenzie?” I asked. This time Dougal seemed completely unsurprised when I stood and hugged him. In fact, he even patted my back gently before releasing me and picking up my backpack. Speaking briefly to Maria, he took me by the hand and led me from the hospital.

I was so exhausted I refused the offers of food made by Moneo. I simply slipped off my sandals, lay down on the couch in the living room, pulled a light blanket over myself and fell asleep.

Something about being on Dougal’s couch brought back such intense memories that all night I dreamed of cuddling next to Jamie the night after we got engaged. One dream-memory was so vivid that it startled me awake.

In the middle of that night after our sudden decision to get married I had found myself tossing and turning on the mat on the floor in Revka’s room. You’re an impulsive idiot, my brain told me. This is a rebound. You don’t really want to marry Jamie—you just didn't want to lose him as a friend.

I had gotten up as quietly as possible and slipped through Revka’s door, standing in the darkened living room trying to let my eyes get used to the darkness.

“What’re ye doin’?” a deep voice murmured from the couch.

“You’re awake?” I asked, moving a few steps forward.

“Canna sleep,” he responded. I could see a faint movement as he scooted over on the couch, and I tiptoed to him, finding his hand reaching out to me to guide me around the coffee table.

“Here,” he said, drawing me down to lie on the edge of the couch in front of him and covering me with the blanket. “Though I dinna ken whether having ye next to me is going to make sleep come any more readily.”

“I’m not out here to make out with you,” I said bluntly. “I’m just… having second thoughts.”

“Ye dinna have to marry me,” he said without hesitation, though his muscles had tensed at my words. “Dinna feel guilty if you’ve thought better of it and have changed your mind.”

“Are you having second thoughts as well?” I asked him.

He hesitated. “No,” he said calmly. I could feel him shaking his head behind me.

I scoffed in disbelief. “Why not?” I asked.

He sighed, and I could feel his chest expand against my back. “Do you believe in providence?” Jamie asked slowly.

“Providence—like a good coincidence?” I asked.

“Not exactly… Providence—as in, an act of God. Something that canna be explained away with logic.”

“Maybe,” I responded. “I’m not sure.”

“In the month before you came to Arno,” he said, his voice a husky rumble in my ear, “I found a letter from my ma. She had tucked it inside the Holy Bible she gave me on my first confirmation.”

“What did it say?” I asked, curious. I knew his mother had passed away when he was a teenager, so I knew her words would matter to him.

“She told me that while I should have in mind the things I wanted in a wife, that I might be surprised at what God provided. But she also told me that she had prayed for the partner of my future, and that I should do the same.”

“And did you?” I asked in surprise, turning my face to look at him over my shoulder.

“I did,” he said simply.

“You started praying for your wife a month before I came to Arno,” I repeated, stunned.

“Aye,” he said. “Every day.” I could see the smile on his face despite it being dark in the living room.

“So I appeared, and you saw an answer to your prayers?” I asked, amusement edging into my voice.

“No, actually. I thought he would choose a local girl for me,” Jamie explained. “When you arrived, I mostly saw a kind nurse who was clueless about island mores and desperately needed a friend.” At that, he leaned in and kissed me on the tip of my nose.

I pushed him away in mock disgust. “You pitied me?"

“Ye didna need to be pitied?” he asked, pulling me closer.

“Well, I was clueless,” I agreed, settling into his arms again, only slightly perturbed at him.

“And engaged,” Jamie added.

“That too,” I said. I felt a sudden ache in the pit of my stomach. “Unavailable, as far as you were concerned.”

“Well…” Jamie continued, “As for that, I wasna exactly convinced.”

I remembered the way he had asked me about Frank on the ocean side dock the day we did laundry together… And how I couldn't answer him, how I couldn't bring myself to say that I loved my fiance.

Jamie caressed my arm, running his fingers lightly from elbow to shoulder to neck. When he brushed my hair aside and leaned forward to press his lips beneath my ear, I shivered.

“Dinna fash,” he said.

“What does that mean?” I had asked, turning to him again.

“Don’t worry yourself,” he answered. “Trust.”

“Trust?” I had asked.

“Providence doesna always make sense, but I believe this has all worked out as it should. And it will continue to work out because He is in it.”

With that reassurance again running through my mind, a ghost of his kiss on my neck, I wrapped myself in my blanket and slept the rest of the night.

Next chapter is officially Chapter 18: Hopping to Guam Jamie loves plane trips about as much as he loves boat trips.

#betweenscenes #Outlander fanfic #Jamie x Claire #Island Hopper #Jimjeran book 2 #Campbell & Carlie #Meet Perkaj (Fergus)#Apart again!!!

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errthel · 3 years

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Blæc Ciest ~ Chapter One

Hello and hello to all! This is the first chapter of this series that I have constructed in my dead ass brain, so I hope you enjoy this one. :)

warnings ~ some cursing, infidelity rumors

Jewels that shine like forbidden poison, that twinkles like the souls of envious women, that glows like the toxicity of the surroundings.

His favorite color was the lime green of his kingdom. A color he tenderly adorned upon his beloved and children. It was the color of his irises, of the jewels of his beloved, of the irises of his firstborn. But his second born looked terrible in green, even if he was basically a copy of his mother.

Malleus always wondered, had Louis not inherited the appearance of his beloved, who would he resemble? No answer came to mind to the fae, he seemed to fear that Louis was a product of his wife's rumored infidelity. He feared that he truly lost all of his chances to woo the woman who stole his heart.

So he further locked her up.

No one other than him and a chosen few were allowed to meet with her in her isolated room far inside the darkness of the castle. The chosen few were Malleus's close advisers and guards, and Caspian, the Crown Prince and first born of The Kingdom of Thorns.

Louis, the second born, had not been given the privilege of meeting his mother when he was a baby, only being handed to a governess to care for him. It would only be until he was three years old that he first met his mother.

I was woken up by the annoying rocking of my hammock and by the heat of the morning sun peaking through my tiny wooden window. I took a deep breath and the smell of the salty breeze of the ocean immediately hit my nose. My eyes adjusted to my small morning-lit wooden room of the boat.

It was rather small, like a cell back in the castle, but it was comfortable enough to use for the time being. The room was barren except for a small wooden table and a wooden stool, which toppled over overnight. My clothes and belongings were in a large trunk in the corner of the rooms, guarded by hexes and curses for anyone with thieving hands.

I carefully got out of the hammock, careful not to topple over in a particular strong sway. I think I heard my neighbor crash down from their hammock as I heard a juicy curse from the next room over. I attentively walked up to my trunk of belongings and opened it with relative ease.

I hummed a small tune as I changed my clothing. The smell of sweat penetrated my nose as I changed clothes. When I get to The Land of The Hot Sands, I should really hit the baths.

It wasn't the first time I visited this region of Twisted Wonderland. It is the base of operations of someone I'm chasing around the world, but every time I get there, he has already left for The Isle of Lamentation or whatever. But this time, I'm sure of it, he's there, and he's there to stay.

He is the name I've given to a man I saw in my distant past. A past where my heavily guarded mother was able to meet with this particular man, who should have set every trap Malleus put up into motion. This man bypassed at least three magic barriers and the multitude of guards guarding my mothers room.

I only saw him through the crack of the open door when I was young. I was probably eight at least. I'm also sure I was running from the loud cabbage guard as he found out I skipped my swordsmanship lesson with the sleepy one. But I think that after seeing that man, the day just melded with each other. Making it impossible for me to remember what I was even doing that day.

He had stark white hair and pale skin, with eyes the color of rubies. He dressed differently from what I remember. Instead of the ornately decorated chaste clothing of fae nobility, he seemed to wear the revealing and exotic clothing of, what I now know as, The Land of The Hot Sands.

I immediately was intrigued by the man when I first saw him. He exuded power in his graceful movements as he waved his hand ever so slightly when he talked. He was gracefully yet lazily sitting on the couch as he conversed with my mother, whose back was facing towards me.

I remember being so enchanted by him that I forgot I was running from the cabbage boy. I'm sure that I was given a harsh punishment, but I don't care anymore.

I listened to the heavy footsteps that start to arise from the awakened ship dwellers. The shouts and commands of the ship crew and their captain further wakes me up.

Finally after lacing up and wearing my boots, I ventured out of my room. The light swaying of the boat was something I was already used to and I chuckle seeing newbies still trying to walk straight on the ship despite it being a month long voyage.

Heading to the empty kitchen, I snag three apples and get going up the deck.

Now if my memory serves me correctly, this is where those ones usually dwell. I walk up the wooden steps up to the deck and rest myself on the closest railing.

"Ah… there it is…"

My eyes trailed over a rock in that shape of a large spike and I started to whistle out a tune that was sure to tousle their ears. As soon as I whistled for some time, the water right below me started to ripple, as if something was there. And something was there.

"Oya~ if it isn't Lou-channn." a friend's teasing voice was heard from below as a few fins started to peak up the surface of the water

"Yo, Rio, Kei. Theo's not with you?" I say whilst looking directly at the water

"Unfortunately, he hasn't yet come back for the holidays. He will be coming later in the afternoon though." Kei said, his head fully out of the waters

Kei as well as Rio were moray eels, twins as well. I met them a few years ago when I first boarded a ship.

I was seasick and young back then, so I would just spend everyday propped up against the railing and ready to barf at a moment's notice. I was about to, but I heard someone's stringy voice call out.

"Oi! Don't you dare vomit into the ocean!"

"Mhm, Rio is correct, you shouldn't vomit into the ocean, land dweller."

I looked out from the railings to see two blue skinned beings as well as a blubbery hunk of moving tentacles just chilling on a spike like rock and I was questioning my existence right this time.

Irked by this I said, "Fuck off!"

It was a jubilant day indeed.

"I see, well, have these, hand over the other one to Theo when he comes back m'kay." I said throwing the apples to the ocean

"Ohhhoooo, these are like the apples you brought last time." Rio said holding up the apple like it was a blessing from God

"Mhm, these ones certainly are delicious." Kei said smelling one of the apples

"Yeah, they're from that apple village in the Land of Pyroxene."

"I see. Also, Louis, how are you up there?" Kei said looking straight up to my eyes

His eyes that looked rather milky stared straight into my own eyes. They bore into my eyes as if asking for a silent confirmation that I was okay.

I only gave him a small smile as I stood up and walked off.

#blӕc ciest #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst fairy gala #twst oc #twst malleus

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shadowsofthecedars · 4 years

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The Voyage of Hanno the Navigator

Hanno the Navigator was a magistrate and explorer of the city Qart-hadasht, tasked by the Addirim (the city’s assembly) with sailing into the south-west, and who lived in the days when the Persian Great Kings ruled over the East. His voyage took him all around the west coast of Africa, and his story has survived through a Greek translation:

‘ This is the account of Hanno, shofet of Qart-hadasht, about his voyage to the Libyan lands beyond the Pillars of Milqart, which he also set up in the shrine of Baal Hammon:

“ 1) The Qarthadashtim ordered myself, Hanno, to sail out of the Pillars of Milqart and found a number of Sidonian cities. I set sail with sixty fifty-oared ships, about thirty thousand men and women, food and other equipment.

2) After sailing beyond the Pillars for two days, we founded our first city, called ‘The Altar of Incense’. Below it was a large plain.

3) Sailing westward from there, we arrived at Selaim, a Libyan promontory, covered with trees.

4) Here we dedicated a temple to Baal Zephon. Sailing to the east for half a day, we reached a lake. It was not far from the sea, and was covered with many long reeds, from which elephants and other wild animals were eating.

5) After our visit to the lake, we sailed on for one day. By the sea, we founded cities, called Kirkari, Geth, Rash, Malidtha and Har-anbin.

6) Continuing our voyage from there, we reached the Lakash, a large river flowing from Phut. The Lakshites, a nomadic tribe, were pasturing their cattle beside it. We remained with them for some time and became friends.

7) Beyond them, hostile Ethiopians occupied a land full of wild animals. It was surrounded by the great mountains from which the Lakash flows down. According to the Lakshites, strange people dwell among these mountains: cave-dwellers who run faster than horses.

8) When we had got interpreters from the Lakshites, we sailed along the desert shore for two days to the south. After sailing eastward for one day, we found in the recess of a bay a small island which had a circumference of five stades. We left settlers there and called it Chernah. We calculated from the journey that this island lay opposite Qart-hadasht, for the time sailing from Qart-hadasht to the Pillars and from there to Chernah was the same.

9) Sailing from there, we crossed a river called Cheremat, and reached a bay, which contained three islands, bigger than Chernah. After a day's sail from here, we arrived at the end of the bay, which was overhung by some very great mountains, crowded with savages clad in animals' skins. By throwing stones, they prevented us from disembarking and drove us away.

10) Leaving from there, we arrived at another large, broad river teeming with crocodiles and hippopotami. Returning from there, we went back to Chernah.

11) From there we we sailed to the south for twelve days. We remained close to the coast, which was entirely inhabited by Ethiopians, who fled from us when we approached. Even to our Lakshites, their language was unintelligible.

12) On the last day, we anchored by some big mountains. They were covered with trees whose wood was aromatic and colorful.

13) Sailing around the mountains for two days, we came to an immense expanse of sea beyond which, on the landward side, was a plain. During the night we observed big and small fires everywhere flaming up at intervals.

14) Taking on water there, we continued for five days along the coast, until we reached a great bay which according to our translators was the bay of the Horn of the West. There was a large island in it, and in it a lagoon [which was salt] like the sea, and on it another island. Here we disembarked. In daytime, we could see nothing but the forest, but during the night, we noticed many fires alight and heard the sound of flutes, the beating of cymbals and tom-toms, and the shouts of a multitude. We grew afraid and our prophets advised us to leave this island.

15) Quickly and in fear, we sailed away from that place. Sailing on for four days, we saw the coast by night full of flames. In the middle was a big flame, taller than the others and apparently rising to the stars. By day, this turned out to be a very high mountain, which was called Chariot of the Gods, and the land was inaccessible because of the heat.

16) Sailing thence along the torrents of fire, we arrived after three days at a bay called Horn of the South.

17) In this gulf was an island, resembling the first, with a lagoon, within which was another island, full of savages. Most of them were women with hairy bodies, whom our interpreters called "gorillae". Although we chased them, we could not catch any males: they all escaped, being good climbers who defended themselves with stones. However, we caught three women, who refused to follow those who carried them off, biting and clawing them. So we killed and flayed them and brought their skins back to Qart-hadasht. For we did not sail any further, because our provisions were running short.” ’

#levpag #phoenician #punic #carthage #carthaginians #hanno

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

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Humans are Weird “Empty Eyes”

So, someone recently asked for this, It has more to do with the overall story-line than the humans are Weird tag, It’s mostly for background context from Vir’s Mother’s perspective because I want you to understand something important if you are interested in the overall story-line.

So, feel free to ask questions and request prompts or Ideas.

Light streamed in through the open window and past the gently rocking gauzy curtains. Martha Vir stood at the sink absently washing dishes and watching the sunlight glitter across the wet grass of her front yard. It smelled like summer.

The screen door at the front of the house opened, and then crashed closed almost violently making her jump and spill soapy dishwater all down her front. “Shoot.” She muttered drying her hands and turning her head towards the door, “Adam?” She wondered, but all she saw was a discarded backpack by the door.

She set the dishrag down on the counter and moved back into the house peering past the doorframe and into the last room on the left.

The small, skinny, blond boy wearing tan shorts and a black T-shirt lay flat on his bed face in his arms. His oversized sneakers hung over the side of the bed. His shoulders shook softly.

Inside she felt a twinge of anger knowing what this might be about, but she kept her composure and sat down next to him resting a hand on his back, “Adam, sweetheart what’s wrong.” He didn’t answer immediately, but he never did, so she waited. Adam never liked showing emotion in front of anyone, so it would take him a minute to calm down enough for him to speak. She looked around the room, at the Star-Wars, Star Trek, Alien, Predator, Battle LA, Interstellar, and a multitude of other posters new and VERY old covering the walls. A big white telescope pointed out the window, and a big-headed stuffed little green alien sat slumped on the bed.

Eventually a mumbled voice.

“What was that?”

The boy sat up angrily chest heaving with the occasional after-sob. He turned his head away quickly, but his big-green eyes were wide with tears. “I-I don’t w-want to g….go to school a-anymore.”

“Those other kids being mean to you again.”

A slight nod, “They s-said I’m stupid b-because aliens aren’t real. I t-tried to explain how b-big the universe is and s-so their m-must be aliens but, but they just wouldn’t listen,”

Martha shrugged, “So, Guess this just means you’ll have to prove them wrong.”

***

“If I start taking classes early, and then graduate, I can have my Bachelors in Aviation. Plus Staff Sergeant Jackson said that if I join the ROTC program, the army will PAY for everting, and I might be able to get my pilot’s license.” The lanky teen bounced on the balls of his feet scruffy blond hair bouncing with him, she very much wished he would cut it. The way he had it now made him look like a boy band reject. “And then if I become a fighter pilot, they’ll have to let me into the Space Corpse.”

Across the room Thomas snorted from where he sat watching TV, “Good luck with that little bro. You gotta pass a PT test to join the army, and you get blown over in a strong wind.”

A loud SMACK, and Thomas yelped, “Shut up, Adam can do whatever he wants.” David grinned at him from across the room, “Go for it kid, you’ll do great.”

Martha Smiled David and turned to Adam again, “David’s right Adam, we believe in you, and if this is what you really want than we have no doubt you can do it.” She glanced at her second youngest son, “Even Thomas.”

***

“I Adam Allen Vir having been appointed a Lieutenant in the United Nations Space Corpse, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend planet Earth against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter.”

Martha Vir felt her eyes fill with tears, which she wiped quickly on her sleeve. Her boy stood tall in his sharp black uniform, white gloves, belt and cap. When had he gotten so big! About 6. 2 and 180 pounds he had really come into his own, and that serious face. She watched as the other young men and women took the oath as well before the ceremony broke, and she watched that same characteristic smile split the young man’s face. He waded through the crowd pulling off his cap and hugging her as she hugged him back.

Tears in her eyes she straightened out his uniform as his father and brothers swarmed them clapping him on the back.

“I’m proud of you.” she whispered quietly

***

She thought she was going to be sick watching as the jet roared over the staging ground one taking right the other veering left, and the last one tipping into a stomach churning vertical climb spinning upside down and then plunging towards the ground with a distant roar She covered her eyes.

I’ll be in that middle one.

At her side, her husband cheered with all the strength he had in his lugs, clapping and whooping like a madman as if their son wasn’t piloting that 30 million dollar flying metal death trap. Her daughter and her oldest son stood close by keeping her granddaughter, Kimber, entertained in the hot afternoon sun.

She was relieved standing on the tarmac watching as the fighter-jets powered down, and their occupants stepped down from the cockpits. Adam came down the ladder wearing his jumpsuit, oxygen mask hanging off to the side under his helmet. Upon seeing them, he came jogging up pulling off his helmet to hang under his arm.

“Seven Gs!” He chimed enthusiastically, “Better than any rollercoaster ever.” He was grinning in that way he did only when super excited about something, and why shouldn’t he be?

She put a hand to her head, “Don’t sound so excited about being close to death, Adam, it worries me.”

He laughed walked over and hugged her, “Sorry mom…. but…. I didn’t just call you here to see my fly.”

Jeremy stepped forward, still holding Kimber, “Yeah, woo wanted us to see the Enterprise launch.”

“Well yeah….. I, because I got onto the crew. I’m going with them.”

And she had to watch him go….. Knowing that he might never come back, but she kept quiet. If he did vanish, he would do so doing what he always wanted.

***

She still remembered the day she got the call, before the news outlets, before the neighbors, after the government. It was full of static, barely audible, but she would have known her son’s voice anywhere. “Mom-we-found-them! I-found-them…..”

She felt her body go cold and warm and then just shock.

He actually did it. They actually did it.

***

She got updates from him regularly, from all across the universe. It felt surreal, but then the pictures started showing up. The crew of the Enterprise standing on an alien planet taking selfies with….. with CREATURES, Adam always in the middle with a thumbs up for her and a big grin.

***

And then a video call. A video chat of her boy sitting there wide green eyes staring solemnly into the camera.

“The Galactic Assembly has asked Earth to offer some assistance with an upcoming conflict. The Drev made contact about the same time we did, but they are warlike, they are dangerous, and they could potentially bring the Galactic Assembly to its knees, if we don’t help…. There’s nothing else to do. “He shifted nervously in his seat, “We are heading out tomorrow….. I really don’t want any of you to worry, but, the ash clouds will be too dangerous for our jets, so they are putting me in with the infantry. The captain said my unit would probably be well back from the main fighting, so, it should be ok…. I love you guys, stay safe.”

And then they lost contact. She kept her eyes closely on the news looking for any clue as to the infantry divisions and the positions watching as the red dots changed weak by weak, and then watching as her son’s position was supposedly overrun.

She remembered talk of the Steel-eye division, but still no contact.

She remembered when they won, and she remembered when they received the call, to pick up their son because he was coming home.

***

She remembered watching him limp from the terminal doors on crutches….. and a metal rod instead of a leg. Her heart had frozen. She looked into his face and saw the emptiness in his wide green eyes. The wonder, the joy, the fun snuffed out like a candle. All she saw was emptiness, and pain. He had been hurt, betrayed by the one thing he had most loved.

She had never understood what hatred was.

They had cried together that first night, and for the first time in almost a year she held him in her arms, and then…. Nothing. He wouldn’t let her touch him, he wouldn’t talk, he lost weight, and he gave up on living trapped in a continual state of fear, paranoia and emotionless apathy.

She had never understood hate, until she knelt outside his door , tearstained, desperate hoping and begging that he would be alive come morning. Pleading that he would just unlock the door, just let them in.

She had never understood hate until she watched him struggle from the hole those alien bastards had put him in dragged from his misery by a real good girl, an angel with four legs. She watched the spark come back, watched him smile for the first time in months, watched him gain back the weight, watch him run for the first time on the shiny new prosthetic, and she had cried when he made his decision to return to the stars.

And despite all his recovery, his promotion, the christening of his own starship, and his first voyage as captain, she never totally forgot the hatred that she felt on that day, let it burrow inside her and fester.

When he brought home the little Doctor alien, Krill, she had been so relieved. Finally someone sensible, logical, with enough fear to keep her son in check, someone who might be able to take care of him. An alien friend that was safe, that would make him smile.

***

And so she sat, harboring that hatred from so long ago as she stared out the open back door and into the night. Watching as that THING sat with her son. The thing that called itself Sunny, a cute happy little name like it wasn’t a war machine, the killer that had stolen her boy from her, stolen pieces of him.

The creature lay on her back gazing at the stars as her boy walked up nudging her arm with a foot Krill trailing behind in a warm June night, “Come on, Sunny, make some room. Least you can do is give me a pillow for an hour.”

She felt her blood go cold as the creature moved an arm, and her boy made himself comfortable in the cook of its arm. The same arm that had caused him so much pain not so many years ago, her like she was a pillow.

“See that Sunny, Pretty sure your planet’s in that system if I have my astronomy correct.” The creature hummed as if in pleasure.

A soft set of footsteps behind her, arms around her, and the soft voice of her husband, a man who never spoke, “You need to let it go. Can’t you see what you’ll do to him if you don’t?”

The empty green eyes stared into her soul from the past.

“I don’t know how.”

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rcsegilded · 5 years

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@northvow

The queen had left Dragonstone under her tutelage for the duration of the parlay with Cersei but Margaery knew she had ulterior motives for leaving her behind. She had vehemently opposed the peace talks from the start, grief from the loss of Highgarden—and every soul that had been within the castle walls—and anger towards the Lannisters fueling her objections. No doubt her presence would only have inflamed tensions but she still felt abandoned and shut away and robbed of the opportunity—however improbable—to strangle Cersei with her bare hands.

Then a letter came, hastily written in Tyrion’s normally measured hand. Daenerys was taking her forces to Winterfell and intended to stand with the Northerners and their king. She was instructed to join them, to bring what remained of the Tyrell men and a good portion of the forces left behind to hold Dragonstone. Jon Snow was not mentioned by name in writing but she could almost hear it, like a word poised to securely on the tip of her tongue so that it refused to form. Silence permeated the room and she sat transfixed, letter in hand and eyes never leaving the page. The maester, who had brought her the letter, shifted as though uncomfortable with her apparent lack of reaction. “My lady..?”

His voice brought her back to the moment at hand and she folded the parchment, covering the words and giving herself time to bolster her own composure. It did not make sense, to send all of their forces so far from their enemies and on the word of a man who remained a stranger to most of them. He was no stranger to me, she thought, considering. But the girl he met at the Wall is long dead. “Send for the castellan at once. We must need sail north.”

~ ~ ~

They were nearly four-hundred strong when they reached the gates of Winterfell, shivering and miserable though they were. A few had taken ill on the voyage to White Harbor, never to recover, and more still had succumbed to the harsh cold of the North but their strength remained. The ground surrounding the curtain walls had been trampled into a treacherous mess of mud and ice, proclaiming the sheer number of men and horses and wagons and beasts that had sought shelter within. The sight of it and her own knowledge of Daenerys’ forces set a chill in her blood that had naught to do with the howling winds that swirled about her. If we linger here, we could starve. The very idea was something foreign to her but the fear it instilled was palpable.

The courtyard within was crowded with onlookers, both those who had halted their work to watch and others who emerged from the warmth of the castle to catch a glimpse of the newcomers. Even within that veritable sea of faces and dark, fur-lined cloaks, she found Jon’s face with ease: long and pale and somehow more solemn than when she’d last seen it yet there was an air of authority in his features that had not been present, not even a the Wall. Being king is not the same as being Lord Commander. Margaery dismounted with the assistance of one o f her men and walked towards the wall of greeters waiting for her. She turned to Daenerys first, as was to be expected of a great lady to her queen. “Your Grace.” Then she addressed Jon himself, dipping her head respectfully and doing her best to avoid his gaze. She failed rather spectacularly and found herself hesitating to speak for a moment. His eyes—grey as the walls of Winterfell itself yet containing such multitudes of warmth—had not changed. “I thank you for your hospitality my lord.”

#northvow #verse tbt #. : : MARVEL AT THE FLOWERS YOU’LL HAVE MADE || ɪᴄ

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loveactualharry · 5 years

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𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓁𝑒𝑒𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝑔

Hello lovely sweethearts! Friday and #HarrysBrithday ? Sounds like a good day for a new chapter fromThe Rose and The Bleeding Stag. Please, let me know what you think, comment, like and reblog if you think it’s a good one. It is my first writing so I’m pretty excited about this and I hope you enjoy it!

You can also find Chapter 4 and the previous ones! You can also read the story on Wattpad: https://my.w.tt/W4hzXseWNT

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𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓁𝑒𝑒𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝑔 - Chapter 5: Wind of Death

Wind of Death

The long ships glided like dark shadows on the skin of the sea as black as crows, only illuminated by the dim light of the Stars and the moon that, from time to time, peeped through the dark and laden with rain clouds, that overstood the sky of England that evening.

The earth had been a distant mirage for weeks for the troop of warriors who about two months before had embarked on that voyage. The storms had swallowed two of their ships, and a part of their men and their provisions had gone along with the greedy bilges of the North Sea. The crossing had been long, exhausting, and had put a strain on the nerves of every single man on that ship: no one knew where they were heading, no one had any idea what the route was to follow and, in the end, no one had any confidence in the success of that Trip. Nobody but one.

Louis had peered into the sky, the sea, the clouds, the stars, he had studied the winds and the currents, and had consulted repeatedly that strange object which years before he had been given by the seer of the village. "When your heart commands your instincts, you will learn to read it and find your way," this he had been told. And Louis had never had any idea what that sentence meant, seemingly thrown there with no logical connection to his present. But now, he understood. He had the courage to dare, to risk it. And now, there he was, before his eyes, that land which, in his dreams, had been promised to him, that land which was only waiting to be taken, as if it were a longing woman needing attentions from a man who has long awaited and who, at last , has come in the shoes of a conqueror to make her his own.

He had moved on the bow of the ship, looking forward: his blue eyes sparkled even in the darkness of the nights, and he gave the order to prepare for the attack.

"Let's get closer, easy. The ships will be left on the coast. A part of you will attack the city gates. The others with me, from upstairs. We'll get there. " His voice, calm and soft, even when dictating death orders for the people of that town that could be seen from the sea, whose dim lights sparkled in the darkness. He had indicated a spot higher than the rest, towards what seemed to be a heap of lights stronger than anything else.

The ships had reached the sandy coast, and in haste but in the greatest silence possible they had been brought ashore, "Odin’s Snake," the ship on which Louis, Njall and Zygvarr had travelled, had been placed overhead to all the others, and once stranded on the sand, the warriors had gathered their weapons. Louis had caught his dagger and his hammer, Njall his bow and arrows, Zygvarr a simple axe, forged for him. He had always been a simple man, in arms. His best quality was not his physical strength, but his mind. Master of Deception, cunning, wit: all this made him a perfect destructive machine, in terms of mind games.

They had silently made their way among the bushy vegetation of that entirely new land for them, and relying on their senses, they had followed the road that led to the gates of what seemed a rather wealthy town. After that, they had divided: one party had continued, silently, to proceed in the direction of the gates, while Louis, Njall, Zygvarr and a host of 30 other men had made their way to the high ground which led to what, now, closely, had the features of a "Mead Room", as they called it, which was undoubtedly the home of a king.

Zygvarr had stretched his ears and had shushed Njall with a gesture of his hand: "Shut up. Listen. " The music spread from the windows of that big house, and amused screaming, laughing and shouting accompanied it, producing a sort of unpleasant dissonance. That laughter would soon be transformed into warm tears of grief, and tears into blood; those noisy cries would have been screams of terror, that music would soon assume the sound of the weapons that clash among them in the roar of the fight. This, Louis knew it.

"May the feast begin. Now! "

In a moment, the crowd of warriors had thrown themselves down from the slope, reaching with force the doors of that big house, opening them wide, like a war ram breaking down the doors of a castle. Zygvarr had been the first to smuggle his axe, letting himself go to a thunderous and chilling laugh. Louis had followed him, impaling as many guards as possible--and he did not believe that a residence of that size could have so many. The blood flowed to their feet, exciting them in that surprise fight that would lead them to the dominion of that fortress. A cry of terror had risen from the apex of a stone staircase, on which towered a large open door: from the distance you could see a great light, and a multitude of people inside.

"The Demons, your Majesty! The Demons from the sea! ".

The man had seen them coming, had seen them approaching, but had not had time to give the alarm. And the Demons had reached him, and they had reached the whole terrified audience of the Great Hall. Including the king, Edward, and Harold, who, after moving away from the impertinent touch of Hella, had jumped from his seat. The terrified gaze had then moved on to the man at the door of the Hall, whose scream had choked in his throat, and was overlaid on the ground, finding the blood between his lips and his back pierced by an arrow. Njall, at the base of the staircase, smiled, and a sneer adorned the dark face of Zygvarr, while Louis swirled his dagger in his hands.

"Let blood flow as Rivers!": Louis’ scream had echoed throughout the hall, throwing it into a deadly mixture of panic, terror and screams.

Harold had been petrified for a handful of seconds, which would have been fatal if he had not reacted later: he had grasped his sword, placed at the foot of his seat, and with the fury of a wolf had jumped down from the upward on which was placed the "Table of the Marry.

"William! With me! "

Liam had not had any hesitation: leaving there, in terror, the woman with whom until a few seconds before he had entertained, he had reached Harold in the middle of the Hall, who now, surrounded by the bravest among that horde of half-drunken men in that Hall, had begun its advance.

Conversely, the host of Vikings had certainly not been intimidated by the luminous sword Harold wielded in his fingers. Zygvarr had thrown himself on the staircase, followed by the Warriors, and the clash had begun. King Edward, however stunned by the alcohol, was not a coward. He had given orders to his most valiant warriors to challenge any weapon they could find and to fight for their people. The floor of the hall, in a short time, had assumed the appearance of a lake of blood, red and foul-smelling, full of slaughtered, shredded and mutilated corpses. Zygvarr had thrown himself on William, attempting to strike him from behind, but Liam had been skilled in paring his blows and answering: in a handful of seconds the two had found themselves in a melee clash, that the fluidity of their movements made look almost like a deadly dance. Both were wounded, but no one was mentioning to quit.

"Hide the Princess! Bring the princess to safety! " This had been the primary order of King Edmund, who had immediately run away from the hall with a retinue of men and the princess, seeking for help.

Njall, with his hands covered in blood, had made his way among many English warriors, reaching King Edward, who, however, had not been taken by surprise.

"Well well, what have we here? A king and his crown. You're not going to need it. Soon you’ll have no place to put it, since I’ll have your head cut off your neck. All your gold will not save you from our fury. " These, his only words, before pouncing on the loft on which the throne was erected: his arrows shot at great speed had reached the body of Edward, causing him bloody wounds, but not deadly.

Harold advanced to striding in the hall, killing or wounding as many Viking warriors as possible. The blood was sticking out of his beautiful face, almost like a stain on a painter's canvas, and his eyes sparkled, full of fire and fury as he protected his people in his own way. On the opposite side of the hall, almost as if it were his mirror, his complementary figure, Louis advanced in his turn. His hair was filled with sweat, his eyes lit by the warrior fury that always characterized him. He looked around, acting quickly as he wounded, mutilated and killed anyone who happened under the blow of his dagger or his hammer. Harold had seen him fight, at a distance, and had decided: he had to be his goal.

With the fury of a warrior God, he had thrown himself against his shoulders, but Njall had grasped his intentions and, from the distance, had shot an arrow that had wounded him in the arm, causing him to bleed. The blood trickled down his ripped robe, but nothing would stop him: he knew what to do.

“Louis! Careful! "

Zygvarr had left William, who continued to wiggle in pain, and raised his gaze just in time to warn his partner: Harold was on him.

He reached Louis, who, however, was responsive enough to turn around before the cold metal of Harold's blade hit him on his back. He had shifted, and now he was a few yards away from him.

He squared that warrior from head to toe: no armour, no shield. A simple blade, and a long, blue robe, adorned with red and gilded jesting, which was completely out of tune with its appearance at that moment. His face and his white hands were soaked with blood, as well as his garments and the blade of his luminous sword. Louis had never seen such a well-made weapon.

He quickly swirled his hammer in his hands, and with a sneer he turned to the man I had before him. "You’re brave coming here without a shield, without anyone to protect you. Do you think your title is enough to spare you? Poor boy. " Louis had mocked him, before throwing at him, with all his fury, his heavy hammer. Harold had dodged the blow, lowered himself on the floor, while his arm kept bleeding.

"I don't want to be spared. I don't need the pity of a stranger entering my house! You will beg for mercy when I have you in my hands. " Harold had always been quite athletic and fast, despite his height, and this had allowed him to recover quickly: he was relieved of shooting and had launched a shot of the blade that, however, had come to nothing, making his finish again face forward to the floor. Louis had not been caught unprepared: he immediately jumped at him, pointing his dagger at his throat. The metal of that blade was cold against the Harold’s skin, who now stood close between that weapon pointed against his throat and the body of that man behind him. The man, he though, was much smaller than himself, but he was quick and shrew, he had to admit it. But now, his voice came to his ear like an icy whisper, frosty, like an announcement of death.

"Poor, poor fool. You're brave, I must admit that, and that gives you honour, but see... you have no hope of getting out of this situation alive. What am I supposed to do with you now? Kill you? Or maybe I should let you live and watch the show? "

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theonyxpath · 6 years

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Cavaliers of Mars is out! Here’s a sample of some of the kinds of characters you can create and encounter on the sands and cities of Mars, in the form of two Careers and one of the Peoples.

Adept

Adepts are those skilled in the psychic arts. A few are prodigies, whose abilities develop naturally during their youths. Others are “gifted” after being struck with terrible illnesses or tragedies. Most, however, learn the arts through long and arduous study. Potential adepts are brought up as ascetics, earning the right to speak or to eat only by performing feats of right to speak or to eat only by performing feats of the mind.

While numerous orders attempt this training, true adepts are few and far between. Some orders, such as the Roundheads, combine psychic training with the mastery of mathematics or other sciences. Certainly, the results of these methods speak for themselves, as most Roundheads demonstrate uncanny mental powers. Others combine the arts with ecstatic religious experiences, believing that the alternation of deprivation and excess can stretch the boundaries of the mind.

Adepts are feared by common Martians, but not unduly so. The average Martian cannot guess at the powers of a psychic opponent, while he knows the adept’s estimation of him will be flawless. Adepts find employment as priests, advisors, and, in some unusual cases, courtesans.

Trappings: A faint crackle in the air, as if before a storm.

Assassin

Hired killers take many forms on Mars. Some are elite warriors, able to best even the most dangerous of opponents in single combat. Others are more subtle, as adept at intrigue as poison. And many are simple butchers, blunt instruments moved into the right place at the right time.

Career assassins work for hire, and are usually found in the employ of one wealthy interest or another. In Vance, assassination is a common ploy in the politics of the merchant houses. There, political murder is considered primarily the crime of the patron, rather than the hand that wields the knife. In Ziggur, assassins pursue prey more vulnerable here than elsewhere, or find employment with the small, but dedicated, cells of revolutionaries.

A few assassins wander the desert paths, spending years tracking a single quarry, and striking them down at the most poetic possible moment.

Trappings: Poison, small blades, a disguise.

Other careers include: Astrologer, Cavalier, Courtesan, Entertainer, Fixer, Laborer, Merchant, Noble, Physician, Pilot, Priest, Scavenger, Scholar, Servant, Soldier, Thief

The Red Martians

Of all the Martians, the Reds are small, slow, and frail. It is amazing they have survived as well as they have considering all these weaknesses. Their strengths, though: Perseverance, intelligence, and wit clearly make up for all other lacks. – Excerpts from Tiendle’s Anatomy of a Martian

An ambitious people full of passionate desires and reckless abandon, the Red Martians are the most numerous of the remaining people on Mars. They live along the canals in expansive city-states, and cling to life in dust-towns where the wells have all but dried up. Others travel well-worn caravan routes across the endless deserts. Their society is fractious, with many different governing bodies controlling one city or another, and those who travel between or live on the edges seek to find a niche to maintain a livelihood.

Red Martians claim to be the direct descendants of the First Martians, making them superior to both their distant relatives, the Roundheads, and the Pale Martians. They have long since abandoned the ruined cities of the First Martians, and leave those strange wonders to the Pale Martians. Both groups look upon the Red Martians with disdain for abandoning the wealth of knowledge and heritage remaining in the ruins of the First Martians.

Red Martians are not actually red, but instead range from tan to dark brown with a coppery undertone to their skin, and have hair that ranges from coppery to deep black, thin and wavy to thick and curly and sometimes even kinky. They have deep-set, expressive eyes and hard-edged, yet rounded, facial features.

Red Martians follow a multitude of different religions, tending to fall into whatever faith the prevailing city or culture they live near follows. The Reds have a strange phenomenon of developing mystery cults to one unknown technology or element or another. Some entire city-states are ruled by these cults. The most popular Red Martian religion is the Church of the Damsel Messiah.

Red Martian cities include Vance, Zodiac, Illium, and Chiaro, and they live alongside the Pale Martians in Surtur.

The People of the Labyrinth

The rumors are many and varied. Cannibal tribes run by a magical woman, people who can create water out of nothing, glowing plants and animals that give any who eat them mystical powers. I’m going to find out for myself what lies in the Labyrinth of Night once and for all. – The last entry in the diary of Diokel, explorer

Soon after the First Martians disappeared, as the Red Martians made their way across the planet to settle cities, a group of voyagers made their way into the Wyeth Valley. They did not make contact with the Wyeth, but instead traveled far to the northernmost tip of the canyon, a place where the sun cannot reach, and found a wondrous landscape of luminous ?ora and fauna. They built a city there and lived in a perpetual twilight within the glowing cavern. As the years passed and the city became prosperous, trade between the Red Martians and the Wyeth ?ourished, despite the Wyeth’s misgivings about the Reds living so close to their homeland.

One night a bright light fell from the sky and all communication between the Red Martians in the Labyrinth of Night and those outside was shut off. Some claim the Reds in the Labyrinth all died that night and the city they built is a vast abandoned wasteland. Others claim the light was the landing of an alien creature from the amber star, Venus. Those who have traveled to the Labyrinth since then come back with wild stories. One described an indoctrinated people who devoutly worship alien gods under the sway of a Venusian witch-queen, who attempted to control her through magic before she made a daring escape. Another told a tale in which he discovered a nearly-abandoned city with a giant monolith in the center, one whose construction he could not determine and that was vastly different from even First Martian artifacts. Yet another told of barely surviving a strange tempest within the canyon and being nursed back to health by a Red female in a dark city lit to dazzling beauty with brightly glowing flowers and lichen. While not all stories and rumors about the area can be believed, most Martians are certain the Reds living in the city are still there in some form or another.

The Qans and Ozaks

They kill us, we kill them. It is a war older than any of us, and I’m not even sure why it’s going on. All I know, is that if I don’t do something first, it will be my body that’s burning in the field to keep the fungus at bay. – Serenai, Clan Chieftain of the South Plains Ozaks

Long ago, on the plains of Cimmeria, reigned the great Qan Empire. At the height of the Qans’ power, they ruled over the Ozaks. The Ozaks were farmers and sometimes sellswords, but all their efforts went unwillingly towards the service of the Qans. The Qans did not even bother to grow their own food, instead taking what they needed from the Ozaks. The Ozaks sought ways to free themselves, and had even begun to organize a resistance when the presence of the purple fungus was frst noticed. No one really knows where the fungus came from, or how it first spread along the Cimmeria plains, but its presence gave the Ozaks the leverage they needed to rise up against the Qans.

The first reports of dead bodies rising from their graves sent cities all across the Cimmeria plains into a fearful frenzy. The Ozaks took advantage of the heightened state of paranoia and turned on their masters. Of course, those dead bodies also rose from the grave to eventually infect more people with the fungus. Soon the Qan blamed the Ozaks for the phenomenon and they declared war.

With most of the Qans’ infrastructure lost to the Ozaks, including food and grain stores, the Qans took to raiding Ozak camps to steal necessary supplies. And where the bloodshed went, the fungus followed. Within a single generation, the Cimmerian plains were covered in the fungus, and the Qan and Ozak survivors learned to compensate for the fungus. Still, to this day, when any of the remaining Qan or Ozak people meet one another, it ends in bloodshed, which only serves to feed the fungus.

The Ozak people have always been very practical, with roots in hard work and suffering for their people. All Ozaks train as warriors, as well as any other duty they may perform for their clan. When an Ozak is too old or injured to continue fighting, she retires to a monastery and devotes her life to religious callings.

Other Peoples of Mars include: The Roundheads, the Pale Martians, the Skarruts, the Wyeth, the Zaius

#Onyx Path Publishing

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fgodestinyawakenings · 6 years

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FGO Destiny Awakenings: Fuyuki Singularity Section 10 (END)

*slaps the 'My Room' option* “This badass role as a main protagonist can fit unlimited use of Command Seals, the training of Magic spells, Power of Friendships, and your coming of age to create your own harem!”

-- Robed figure explaining to Ritsuka on his role as a main protagonist of the story and what help he will received from him

The Grand Order

“Ah, the hero has awakened. There, there, that’s how the main character should be,” The familiar relaxed voice chuckled then reminded. “But, this isn’t the place you should wake up to, Ritsuka-kun.”

“This voice…”

Opening his eyes, Ritsuka’s view greeted by a familiar bright blue sky and the white-hooded figure giving him a lap pillow.

He beamed at his confused expression, “Good morning, Ritsuka-kun.”

“Just as I thought,” Ritsuka tried to shift his body up before the figure gently nudged him back down.

“Now, now, though this is our second time we’ve spoken like this,” The hooded figure chuckled. “But, we’ll talk later. Somebody’s waiting for you, return to the reality, Ritsuka-kun.”

“Is it my sister and Mash?” Ritsuka asked with a sleepy voice, his body finding itself drifting back to slumber.

The figure nodded and stroke his head. “Yes. Well, there is someone too, but he’s definitely a worthless person after all. But, he may be important to you, so he’s waiting for you too.”

From the perplexed expression, the figure chuckled, “Guess, you’re still not used to being the main character yet. Come on, time to wake up, Ritsuka-kun. From here on, you’ll be the center of this story.

“The choices you made with your sister will probably save all of humanity. Just like the multitudes of brave souls who weren’t remembered by history as they saved humanity.” The figure’s tone now spoke with a cryptic tone.

“You’ve been given a role to fight, neither a king nor a hero, but as a human walking a path that was preordained by the stars. No… A path that is yours, to begin with, that defies destiny. Now, awaken to the destiny you choose. I shall wait here in your next slumber… My lord.”

And then, darkness shrouded in his view before an intense light gradually entering into his view…

-0-

“Haah!” Flinched at the sudden bright light, Ritsuka seated up and stared around the area. He was back at his room where Mash brought him to rest from the orientation. While looking around, he recalled and stared back at his right hand.

It clearly wasn’t a dream, one of the red markings of the Command Seal turned into a beige-pinkish color. The hand helped Mash to prevent Saber’s Noble Phantasm from killing them all. Also, the hand he grasped for his sister while the other–

“Fou?”

Turned to the familiar squeak, Fou rested on the chair with his white coat draped above. Ritsuka stared at it and wondered. “What’s wrong?”

It hopped from the chair and headed to the door. Fou spun around and squeaked at the raven-haired Master to follow along.

Nodded to the instruction, Ritsuka got off from the bed and picked up his coat with him to follow where Fou had wanted to bring him to.

-0-

Inside the familiar Command Room when he entered, Ritsuka stopped and made a swift scan. Except for the blaze orange flames and human bodies, the room was still the same as before. Debris and broken Coffins scattered around in the room.

Ritsuka watched and followed Fou as it scurried further forwards in front. As soon as he arrived, two familiar figures swelled his heart with relief. Mash bending down to carry Fou onto her shoulder, while Ritsuko in her white coat uniform chuckled at its attempt to seat properly.

The two spun around when sounds of footsteps approached them.

Ritsuko’s face brightened and grinned, “Good morning, Ritsuka!”

“Good morning, Ritsuka-senpai,” Mash smiled too. “I am glad to see you’re okay too.”

“Ahh… Good morning, both of you,” Ritsuka beamed in response. He went towards them and wrapped both of his arms around Mash and Ritsuko.

“Se-Senpai?” Mash stared at Ritsuka’s strange movements.

Ritsuko had brought one of her arms around him and wondered, “H-Hey, is there something wrong?”

The raven-haired Master merely shook his head and responded, “No, there isn’t. I’m just glad you both are you okay… Thank you for being all right, you two.”

Orange and violet orb glanced at each other, Ritsuko returned with a reassured smile. “You idiot, of course, we’ll be all right. You worked your ass off to save us both. I’m also glad you’re fine too, Onii-chan…”

“Ritsuko-senpai is right,” Mash returned too as well with a relieved beam. She raised both of her arms and wrapped both siblings. “I should thank both of you. I was able to stay conscious, thanks to you two.”

Silence enveloped between the three that shared a grateful moment they were still here together alive. But, it had interrupted from the clearing of a throat. “Ahem. I’m all for your reunion, but could you bring your attention here, please?”

Withdrawing their hands at once, Ritsuka turned and noticed Romani standing behind them. He let out a relaxed sigh and greeted with a bright grin. “Good morning, Doctor!”

“Good morning, Ritsuka-kun, and you two.” Romani smiled to the three, “First, congratulations on surviving and completing your mission, Ritsuka-kun, Ritsuko-chan.”

As the two siblings gave a proud grin to each other, Romani continued, “While the situation forced on both of you gradually, you bravely faced the challenges and overcame it. That earned my respect and appreciation. Thanks to you two, Mash and Chaldea were saved.”

But, a somber expression appeared on Romani’s face and included. “It’s a shame about the Director, but we’ve no time to hold a service. All we can do is grieve.”

“If I survived, then maybe the Director…!”

Despite Ritsuka’s hopeful face, a solemn and grim expression lingered on the three’s faces. Before Ritsuka could express again, he felt a tug from his coat’s sleeve. Blue orbs shifted to see Ritsuko shaking her head, telling him that this was the truth.

Olga Marie’s death before them three wasn’t a dream as he recalled.

Neither, the fact Lev betrayed Chaldea and wiped out all of humanity was a dream too.

Eventually, Ritsuka bowed his head and showed the same solemn expression.

Romani soon spoke again but in a milder and assuring tone, “Listen. We must defend humanity in the Director’s place. That’s how we pay the tribute.”

His expression shifted to a more severe expression and informed, “I got the report about the crystal from Mash, and what Lev said. From Chaldea’s state, what Lev said was true. We can’t contact the outside world. The staff who left Chaldea haven’t returned. I fear humanity has already been destroyed.

“Chaldea seems to be the only place outside the normal timeline. Perhaps it’s hanging on the timeline right before the collapse. Think of it like a colony floating in space. The outside world is dead until we do something about this situation.”

“Is there something we can do?!” Ritsuka and Ritsuko questioned in synch with a now refreshed determined face.

It received a shock reaction from Mash and Romani before the latter nodded to them. “Of course. First, I want you two to see this. We tried scanning Earth with the resurrected Sheba. It’s Earth of the past, not the future. The Fuyuki Singularity was destroyed, thanks to both of you.

“But we hypothesize that the future was unchanged due to another cause. The result is–!”

Followed Romani’s head directing to Chaldeas globe, a blue nebula-like light glowed in the middle of the room. It showed 7 bright bluish-white dots on each other parts of the globe. Romani then continued his report, “This distorted world map.

“A newly discovered dimensional disturbance against which Fuyuki pales in comparison.

“They say changing the past changes the future, but you can’t overthrow the future by modifying the past.

“History has the power to heal itself. You might save a person or two…

“But the end of that era—Will still end up with its definitive result unchanged. But these singularities are different. These are humanity’s turning points.

“‘What if this war didn’t end?’

“‘If this naval voyage wasn’t successful?’

“‘Maybe this discovery was wrong?’

“‘Or even if this nation couldn’t become independent?’

“The ultimate decision point to determine the current state of humanity.

“Destroying them is like causing the foundation of human history to crumble.

“That’s what these seven singularities are.

“It had already decided the future when these seven singularities formed.

“As Lev said, humanity doesn’t make it to 2018.” Romani turned back to the three with a grim look and reminded, “But, we’re different. Chaldea has yet to reach that future. Do you understand? Only we can fix this mistake. Now we have a chance to return the singularities to normal.”

Shifted to the siblings, the Doctor proposed, “So here’s the deal. Rayshift into these seven singularities and get history back on track. It’s the only way to save Humanity. But, we are still powerless.

“All other Master candidates are frozen,” He turned to Mash who showed a stoic yet troubled expression and went on. “Mash is the only Servant we have.”

Returned to siblings, Romani heaved a deep breath and stared at them. “I realize both of you are being forced into this situation. Even so, I’ll still say it. Master Candidate #48, Fujimaru Ritsuko… And you, Fujimaru Ritsuka. If both of you wish to save Humanity…

“If you wish to have a future beyond 2017. Then the two of you together alone must face these seven singularities in human history. Are you prepared to do this? Can you shoulder the burden of Chaldea and Humanity’s future?”

Despite the calmness, both could understand the severity in Romani’s words. The heaviest burden tasked to them in bringing back Humanity. Both were mere children who became caught up in this chaos for their own future too.

There’s an option to run away which was equal to the decision of accepting Lev’s words and allowing their home to be gone. Blue and orange orbs glanced at each other one more time, they then nodded to Romani and Ritsuko answered with a resolute voice. “Of course.”

“If it’s something we can do, Doctor,” Ritsuka added with a determined tone.

With their expressions, Romani and Mash both illuminated with a grateful and relieved look. Romani smiled to both and nodded, “Thank you. With those words, we have decided our fate.”

He later turned upwards to face the staff in the command room, declaring with an unyielding tone.

“We will now carry out the Preservation of Humanity as laid out by Olga Marie Animusphere, former director of Chaldea.

“The main goal is the protection and recovery of human history.

“Search target will be each era’s relic and Grail. Our opponent is history itself. Many great Heroic Spirits and legends will stand against you. Challenging them is an act of blasphemy against the past. To save Humanity, we must defy history.

“But this is the only way to survive. No, the only way to take back the future,” Romani closed his eyes and took a deep breath before resuming. “No matter what sort of end awaits us. To show our determination, we shall abandon the original mission name, First Order.

“This is now Chaldea’s last yet original mission. The Grand Order! In the name of the magical world’s highest Order. We will take back the future!”

-0-

“Anything from Mom and Dad?” Ritsuka asked while resting on his bed and scrolling through his tablet.

Ritsuko sitting on the chair beside the bed shook her head and sighed, “No. It’s still the same as yesterday. Mom reminding us to request a week break two weeks later to go to Okinawa for a holiday before our break ends. Since it was the particular week Dad would be free from work.”

“I see…” Ritsuka nodded idly while his eyes remained focusing on his tablet.

The orange-haired Master turned and rolled her eyes. She rose up and crossed her arms at her brother. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting like what the Doctor told us? What are you exactly doing?”

“That’s for you to rest, Ritsuko,” Ritsuka replied bluntly. “Well, I got work to do. I still need to find out the identity of the Servant Mash contracted with.”

“I think you meant, it’s you who required to rest,” Ritsuko snatched the tablet from him, ignoring the frown from Ritsuka. “You’re the one who still looks pale after everything as Doctor Roman said. So, you should be resting up before he calls in on us for the first mission.”

Rolled his eyes too, Ritsuka folded his arms back and assured, “I’m really fine. You guys are over-thinking this thing too much. Besides…”

A big yawn escaped his lips, it earned him from Ritsuko who raised one of her eyebrows at him. He breathed another yawn and mended, “Okay fine, I’m just sleepy. It’s been a long day for both of us. After a light reading, I’ll go for a quick nap, okay?”

“Fine,” The orange-haired Master reluctantly handed over his tablet to him.

“Just remember to follow the Doctor’s instruction, okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll find him after I wake up for a quick check-up,” Ritsuka let out another heaved of sigh. Instead of hearing footsteps leaving the room, Ritsuka noticed his sister was still here.

He lifted one of his eyebrows curiously when he noted she had been staring at him, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Ritsuka. Just that,” Ritsuko shook her head and returned with a sad grin. “Do you think Mom and Dad will be all right? We will able to see them again, right? After we solve this whole problem.”

Beneath the sad grin, it’s clear the fear and worry lace in her tone. After staring at her for a while, Ritsuka stood and went to her. He drew his hand out to pat his sister’s head and gave a small grin.

At her dumbfounded expression, Ritsuka rested his forehead against hers. “Hey, it’s all right, Ritsuko. I’m here, I’m glad I followed you here. I promised you we’ll fix this and take back our home together. We’ll definitely be able to meet Mom and Dad again.”

“…… Just don’t come bitching about this hell we’re in, brother,” A relieved and wry grin surfaced on Ritsuko’s face.

Once he pulled away, Ritsuko spun and headed for the door. “Then, I’ll help Mash-chan in their admin duties. We still have another round of orientation to continue since we’re going to be here for a very long time.”

“Don’t use those cheesy lines of yours when you’re making a move. I’m not cleaning your ass when there’re awkward occasions.”

“Whatever, brother!” Ritsuko rolled her eyes and groaned. “Hurry and knock yourself out too, will you?!”

As she stepped out with the door sliding closed behind her, Ritsuka found himself alone in the tranquil silence. He exhaled another breath and murmured, “You’ll need more than cheesy line if you go after someone like Mash.”

One hand gripping his tablet, the other with his finger scrolled through the block of texts presented on the tablet. His blue orbs moving as he studied at the data he researched. “Knights who used a shield… A shield… A knight who must have served King Arthur–!”

“That shall be something you’ll figure out soon with your intelligence and resourcefulness, Magus of Flower’s apprentice.” Saber’s voice resounded in his head.

Her smirk recalled in his mind when she included. “You’ve met him in that land of Utopia, haven’t you? That troublesome parent you deemed as the strongest warlock.”

“Warlock…” The raven-haired Master recited at the exact word. His index finger flicked and place onto the tablet when it passed a specific page. “As I thought, that warlock both that Archer and Saber…”

Another yawn escaped from his lips. Ritsuka raised his hand to rub his eye, but a yawn breathed out from his lips. He shook his head and tried to concentrate his attention back at his tablet. “The name and information of that warlock…”

-0-

“Welcome back, Master. You’ve worked hard for the day, and hence, a well-deserved rest rewarded to you!”

The familiar voice he heard, Ritsuka recognized he had fallen to slumber into his dreamland. Spun around, the familiar white hood figure sat on the same rock when he first met him. He approached him and nodded. “Yeah, guess my body can’t keep being awake any further.”

“That Singularity has worn you out, Ritsuka-kun,” The cloaked figure smiled. “But, you have done an excellent job for the first homework.”

“Didn’t think we made through without your foretelling,” Ritsuka shook his head.

The cloaked figure chuckled then, “Yet, you did.

“The King of Knights was a tremendous opponent for your two Servants, especially the young Demi-Servant herself.”

“It was lucky since the one who trains her the sword was–!” Ritsuka halted his words and gazed at the figure.

He could see the cloaked figure grinning at him and nudged. “Go on, Ritsuka-kun.”

With a wary gaze, he had recalled the last homework left to report. Ritsuka confessed with a calm tone. “Before Artoria Pendragon’s birth, there was a child born from a human mother and an incubus. He supported King Vortigern in raising a tower that always collapses.

“Also, he aided Uther Pendragon from developing into a King to an adviser who helped fostered his young daughter that grows into the King of Britain.”

His blue orbs narrowed a little and Ritsuka finally admitted. “And, when she became King, he turned into a trusted adviser to her and the Knight of the Round Table. Until he fooled around with a witch and trapped himself here in Avalon. Am I right, Merlinus Ambrosius?”

“... Fufu, a detailed and direct answer you’ve come with. Also, Merlin is fine, Ritsuka-kun.” With that answered, Merlin, pulled his hood off of his head. It exposed his youthful face of white messy-haired with violet orbs and silted pupils gazing back at Ritsuka.

The raven-haired stood in silence, mouth agape at the beauty and charisma coming from him. Merlin tilted his head and smirked, “Oh my, did you got yourself charmed, Ritsuka-kun? I’m pleased that my appearance is to my apprentice’s liking.”

Ritsuka realized he had been staring for quite a while and narrowed his eyes to mask his embarrassment. “Please. I expected an old wise sage but your present voice doesn’t even fit that image.”

“You’re right. In one of the many tales, humans had written, I’m reputed to be an old Druid from my shape-shifting abilities as you wonder. But,” Merlin rested his hand on his chest and smiled, “I prefer this form as of now.”

“I see,” Ritsuka gave a modest nod. He threw an attentive gaze and asked, “Can I check with you something?”

“Please do, my pupil.” Merlin grinned.

“Am I dead or this is a dream? It’s no way possible I’m speaking to you like this without being in Avalon! And to go there, I need to be dead, don’t I?”

The Magus of Flower laughed at Ritsuka’s panic expression. “Now, now, calm down. I can assure you’re alive and asleep. I’m just visiting you in your dreams as you’re aware of it.

“You have drifted into Avalon subconsciously by your Will. Twice, in fact. But, as of when and why you acted, that will be a discussion of another day.

“It’s only fortunate your Magic Circuits kept you alive when you turned up and remained there for short moments. Any longer you had stayed, your death will occur as you expected.”

“So, we’re in my dreams?” Ritsuka repeated.

With a nod from the Magus of Flower, Merlin reminded with a now mysterious grin. “Now you’re here, have you decided an answer to my question? And of yours now too?”

Ritsuka pondered for a while and came closer to where Merlin sat. “I... If Lev declares that our destiny as humans to extinct because we’re insignificant, then it’s the destiny we’ll create a path to make our own future.”

“Is that so?” Merlin stared back at his blue orbs.

The raven-haired Master nodded with his fist clenched. “No one other than us should determine our future. It was the Director’s last wish to make certain we would survive as long as we could. That’s why I embrace my destiny to build the path where we take back our future.”

“Even if the world goes against both of you? Knowing you and your sister won’t be acknowledged by anyone for your efforts of saving humanity? Also, even knowing the consequences of your decision will taint you as a villain in the world?”

Another firm nod, Ritsuka showed a fixed expression. “Yeah, my answer will not change. We’ll restore our history, prevent humanity from extinction, and to take back our home.”

A moment of silence thereafter, Merlin made a warm beam to him. “Then if this shall be the path you choose, I shall go with you to the very end, Master.”

“I’m still extremely far to be your Master, Merlin-san,” Ritsuka showed a light-hearted grin. “Rather than Master-Apprentice, I think it’s better as friends since people understand more things from their companions than a teacher.”

As his right hand outstretched, Ritsuka introduced. “I’m Fujimaru Ritsuka, Ritsuka is fine. Looks like I’ll be in care whenever we meet in my dreams.”

“A companion, you say? Not a teacher?” Merlin quoted his remarks with an amused tone.

“I presume you’re my teacher if you’re planning to teach me Magic, sword-fighting or life lessons,” Ritsuka replied. He stretched his hand closer to Merlin. “But, you gave me that prophecy that allowed me to save both my sister and myself when the command room exploded.

“At least after meeting twice, I trust you meant no harm despite your teasings back then. That’s why, I’d like to believe further that you’re my friend, Merlin-san.”

Gazed at him and his hand with a dumbfounded expression for a few seconds, Merlin’s lips curved a small grin and murmured to himself. “As I thought... You really are an interesting human, Ritsuka-kun.”

“Huh?” Ritsuka raised one of his eyebrows at him.

“A habit of mine with no meaning, I reassure you,” Merlin laughed. He took Ritsuka’s right hand with a gentle and firm hold. “I shall reintroduce myself. My real name is Merlinus Ambrosius. People call me the Magus of Flowers. But you can just call me Merlin. I don’t do well with formalities.

“I’ve been watching from far away, but from now on I will journey together with you. I want you to rely on me. Especially concerning love, you are always welcome to receive my consultation.”

“I’m not sure of your consultation on love affairs, but,” Ritsuka gave a firm grasp back and grinned. “I’ll be in your care then, Merlin.”

End of Section 10 End of Singularity F

#fgo #fate grand order #fgo destiny awakenings

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filmtrash · 6 years

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part 2: I wanted to know your take on end of the book when Elio says that some people eclipsed Oliver ( that line kills me every time), but its stated as sharing a bed not past relationships. Do you think Oliver was it for him and he just can't find that connection again ( though some people eclipsed him), or he was always hoping that Oliver would come back to him? Do you think they are together after the end of the book? it's a lot of Q's sorry. :) Your insights are amazing to read.

Page 230

Then came the blank years. If I were to punctuate my life with the people whose bed I shared, and if these could be divided into two categories - those before and those after Oliver - then the greatest gift life could bestow on me was to move this divider forward in time. Many helped me part life into Before X and After X segments, many brought joy and sorrow, many threw my life off course, while others made no difference whatsoever, so that Oliver, who for so long had loomed like a fulcrum on the scale of life, eventually acquired successors who either eclipsed him or reduced him to an early milepost, a minor fork in the road, a small, fiery Mercury on the voyage out to Pluto and beyond. Fancy this, I might say: at the time I knew Oliver, I still hadn’t met so-and-so. Yet life without so-and-so was simply unthinkable.

*wipes a tear, rolls sleeves up*

Prepare yourself for an incoherent list of thoughts:

What I take from this as a whole is; everything in my life exists in relation to Oliver. If the multitude of lovers I had through these blank years were like punctuation, a comma or a full-stop, then Oliver is the sentences that fill the spaces between them.

The blank years existed between when Oliver left at Christmas to when they met again in America. Blank? Like a coma, for instance?

It appears as though he looked for lovers with the intent of doing things such as ‘reduc[ing] Oliver to an early milepost.’ I’ve always had the impression he was convinced Oliver would stop loving him in a second, and probably felt shame for not doing the same. (The very fact Elio writes about this (his narrative voice, at least) proves that he hasn’t been successful).

He obviously thinks about most of these people with fondness, and I’m sure Marzia is included in them, and it comforts me to know he wasn’t completely isolated, but I think there’s a distinctive difference between giving yourself to someone physically and emotionally. At the beginning of this extract, it states; ‘if I were to punctuate my life with the people whose bed I shared.’ Whose bed. He is definitely referring to lust and physical desire here. Although it’s clear these relationships weren’t confined to the bedroom only, it’s implied that he only regarded them in relation to what took place in bed, because he defines them by people he shared a bed with.

I think it’s important to note that he claimed ‘many threw [his] life off course’, but how amazing to think despite those unexpected diversions, the course of his life still brought him back to Oliver.

To answer your other questions;

Do you think Oliver was it for him and he just can’t find that connection again?

Absolutely, without a doubt. When they first have sex, it says; I must have begun using obscenities that he repeated after me, softly at first, till he said, ‘Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine’, which I’d never done in my life before and which, as soon as I said my own name as though it were his, took me to a realm I never shared with anyone in my life before, or since. If it’s any consolation, I think Oliver feels the same way and I think that ‘realm’ is the foundation of his parallel life.

Was he always hoping that Oliver would come back to him?

I think he always hoped, but never truly believed it. I also think he’s genuinely surprised when Oliver says things like ‘Cor Cordium’ at the end of the book, because he’d convinced himself Oliver would have moved on and that this was just unrequited love.

Do you think they are together after the end of the book?

This is just my opinion, but from my own reading of the book and from what Aciman himself has said, I really do think they’re together at the end of the book. I briefly mention my thoughts on why here.

#this is a dramatic reading #lol #liv answers your questions

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autolovecraft · 6 years

Text

And in the later watches of the ways beneath.

In the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the mists beyond the basalt pillars of the cities as blissful gods view them from the grotto-born river Narg. And when the moon was full and high in the days of my grandfather and told him of these cities are strange orchids, and chilled me as I glanced out over the waste I saw that the city was greater than men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. In the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the sea rose lordly terraces of Zar, where dwell all the dreams and thoughts of beauty rises another more beautiful. It is the abode of gods and heroes that he who looks up to those heights seems to gaze upon the eidolon Lathi, that reigns over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. The man who had beckoned now spoke a welcome to me, Beware of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies. Then as I heard another crash I opened my eyes and beheld myself upon the sloping meadows of Zar, for it is told that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. Sometimes at twilight the gray lighthouse, above sunken slimy rocks that are no longer men, and led us toward the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the lore of ocean.

And when the moon was full we would listen to soft songs of the West? Nevertheless at the next full moon, and here resound the soft notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the sweetest songs of Sona-Nyl there is no bound, for among the sights before me were many things besides, in the immemorial year of Tharp that I dwelt there I dwelt for many days a southward-flying bird, we beheld on the slab of damp stone which had risen beneath my feet. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene. Past that beacon for a century have swept the majestic barques of the ways that might be, as though I were the last man on our planet. Green are the houses, and cities of Cathuria with its splendid groves and palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. Suddenly a wind blowing from over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. And these glimpses have been as often of the West.

And when the tide is low, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, the land of unnumbered cities of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters to the heavens. But more wonderful than the mountains, and sounding mine own praises; the visions of young poets who died in want before the world could learn of what they had seen and dreamed.

Then did the bearded man said to me unknown. From the East tempestuous winds arose, and in the Land of Hope, and to our ears came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the lore of books is the abode of gods and the ways beneath.

I knew would come, shutting out the sight of the wave-tips or of the cities of gold. Out of that land, the land of unnumbered cities of Sona-Nyl, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the grotto-born river Narg. And I looked again, at closer range, and we walked to the happy harbor for untraveled seas. At first it told to me, who had voyaged far from the grotto-born river Narg. And when I went within the tower, I beheld the green shore of far lands, bright and beautiful, and he seemed to beckon me to turn back to the White Ship, and here hang the trophies of the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the azure sky, and roofed with glittering gold that reflects the rays of the sacred Narg.

Therein walk only daemons and mad things that are; for from the East. It was against the full moon. For the aeons that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as though I were the last man on our planet. Out of that lighthouse whence I had ever known; the praises of me, Beware of those perilous seas wherein men say Cathuria lies.

The wind grew stronger, and cities of Sona-Nyl, and of many things I had ever known; the visions of young poets who died in want before the world drop down to abysmal nothingness.

In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and as I crouched on the thirty-first day that we anchored at last in the phosphorescent depths of ocean. Its forests are of aloe and sandalwood, even as the fragrant groves of Camorin, and sounding mine own praises; the visions of young poets who died in want before the world could learn of what they had seen and dreamed. In the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, which is guarded by twin headlands of crystal that rise from the full moon and dwelt in the later watches of the seven seas. And the bearded man said to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but ever would the bearded man told me its secrets no more; and though many times since has the moon was full and high in the books men gave me when I went within the tower and looked for wreckage upon the terraces again I saw outlined the beckoning form of the oarsmen as we glided away into a mysterious South, golden with the memories and the bearded man to land me at the hour I sailed away. Then did the moon shone full and high in the harbor of Sona-Nyl; for Sona-Nyl, which no man might behold their peaks; and now there are so few that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as though I were the last man on our planet. With the dawn I descended the tower, I saw that the White Ship sailed into the mist lifted, we beheld the basalt pillars of ruby and azure, and chilled me as we glided away into a mysterious South, golden with the golden domes of gigantic cities glittering on the infinitely distant horizon. And these glimpses have been as often of the sun and enhances the splendor of the singer and the hours were filled with wonder. I trembled. Out of the seven seas. For the aeons that I sometimes feel strangely alone, as though I were the last man on our planet. And the bird, and among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. The man who had voyaged far from the South it would glide very smoothly and silently, its sails distant and its long strange tiers of oars moving rhythmically. The gods are greater than any city I had known or dreamed of before.

Of marble and porphyry are the turrets of marble upon its walls. And in the heavens. In Sona-Nyl, which no man might behold their peaks; and sometimes at night the deep waters of the wave-tips or of the West? The gods are greater than that of the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the South it was that the city. And I looked upon the rocks, and followed for many days a southward-flying bird, and here hang the trophies of the celestial bird, and with the golden domes of gigantic cities glittering on the infinitely distant horizon. Cathuria, I would say to me in a soft language I seemed to beckon me to turn back to the sound of melody the White Ship on a bridge of moonbeams. The gods are greater than that of the Narg, gay with gaudy fish not known beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the oarsmen, sweet as on that distant night when we sailed away from my far native land. There too were forms and fantasies more splendid than any I had left it at the stone pier by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he gently denied my wish, saying, This is the palace of Dorieb, whom some say to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, the crystal headlands, and here resound the soft notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the mountains, and my father not so many; in the books men gave me when I was young and filled with soft songs under the full moon, and among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. Very brightly did the bearded man spoke no word, but who can tell what lies beyond the basalt pillars of ruby and azure, and having such carven figures of gods and heroes that he who treads them may nevermore return to his native shore. So once more the White Ship from the sea. The old captains of the singer and the lutanist. I boarded the White Ship.

With the dawn I descended the tower, I would often picture the unknown Land of Fancy, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of gold. And these glimpses have been as often of the celestial bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky out of which it had appeared. Fairest of all that we anchored at last, saying, This is the palace of Dorieb, and I walked out over the sea was rough or calm, and a single shattered spar, of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. In the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the sea. Day after day and night after night did we sail, and they have conquered. But the bearded man to land me at the hour I sailed away. And in the heavens, the land of Zar, for among the trees flutter gay birds sweet with song. Thus would I speak to myself of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters to the sound of melody the White Ship sailed into the mist betwixt the basalt pillars of the azure sky, and felt the first time since my grandfather had assumed its care. So the White Ship from the sea came often to my father not so many; and there I dwelt for many days a southward-flying bird, we beheld on the thirty-first day that we followed the bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky out of which it had appeared. And when I had known or dreamed of before. As we drew nearer the green and flowery mountains of Cathuria, I beheld the basalt pillars of the sea was rough or calm, and with the reluctant bearded man spoke no word, but who can tell what lies beyond the bounds of lovely Cathuria. But more wonderful than the sweetest songs of the South it would glide very smoothly and silently over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #1919 #The White Ship #The White Ship week

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angelmija-blog · 6 years

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Sir Francis Drake declared it the "Fairest Cape of them all" when he passed the Cape of Good Hope in 1577 in search of the coveted spice route to India and I agree, it is really an amazing city, tucked neatly in a natural harbour, protected by an iconic mountain.

With such an incredible city, there of course is always an attention grabbing history and I thought I would impart a concise overview of the trials and tribulations of the "Mother City" of South Africa.

Although many sailed around the Cape of Good Hope, it wasn't until 1652 when the Dutch man Jan Van Riebeeck, a member of the VOC (Dutch East India Company) arrived in the Cape and settled down to set up a service station to provide fresh fruit and vegetables to all the passing ships that the European / colonial development really began in South Africa.

Jan Van Riebeeck landed in the Cape with 3 ships - Reijer, Dromedaris and Goede Hoop, accompanied by 82 men and 8 women (including Maria de la Quellerie, his wife). The Walvisch and the Oliphant ships arrived later, having experienced a dire sea voyage where they had to bury 130 souls at sea, a large quantity due to the dreaded disease "scurvy". Until their arrival the land had mainly been dominated by the Hottentots and Khoi San, local hunter gather tribes.

With the arrival of the new settlers, a whole new society was created in this new and exciting "De Kaap". A truly eclectic mix of cultures, races and religions.

In the beginning the VOC had no desire to conquer or colonise the land (they didn't want the governmental headache), they only wanted a fresh fruit and vegetable supply, however with war breaking out between the Dutch Republic and England, there was an intense strain to obtain as much land as possible to help provide for the war relief.

To ensure the security of the new land, Jan set about constructing a castle in Cape Town, right on the sea, he christened it after the first ship to arrive in the Cape "de Goede Hoop" and made it of mud, clay and timber, with 4 corners named after the first 4 ships to arrive in the Cape. (The Castle of Good Hope is still standing nowadays on Adderly Street in Cape Town, with the recession of the sea and the land reclaiming in Cape Town, it is now located more inland than it would have been when it was originally built. It is the best surviving example of VOC architecture and the oldest building in Cape Town)

This edifice required a huge quantity of labour and it was then that slaves started being sent to De Kaap, chiefly from other Dutch territories including Angola, Madagascar and Batavia (now known as Java). These slaves grouped together and became recognized as the Cape Malay, nowadays they are the heart and soul of Cape Town with their culture, traditions and religious ceremonies.

When the war settled down (around 1657), the VOC granted the first permits to free 9 company servants - who became known as Free Burghers - to cultivate land along the Liesbeek River. This was the start of permanent settlement in the Cape.

Jan Van Riebeeck stayed director of the Cape until 1662, at which stage the settlement only numbered 134 officials, 35 free burghers, 15 women, 22 children, and 180 slaves.

Simon Van Der Stel, after whom the city of Stellenbosch is named, arrived in 1697 to supplant Van Riebeeck as governor of Kaapstadt. Van der Stel is generally credited with starting the Cape wine industry by taking the first grape vines with him on his ship. As the terrain in the Stellenbosch region was perfect for grape harvesting, this commerce settled well and rapidly grew to be a crucial part of their trade and economy. Wines from the Cape were prized and were soon imported back to the Dutch Republic. Simon Van Der Stel also supported territorial expansion in the Colony.

The first non-Dutch migrants to the Cape (apart from the slaves being brought in to work the land) were the Huguenots who arrived in 1688, and were fleeing from anti-Protestant persecution in Catholic France. At the beginning they fled to the Netherlands, where they were given free passage to the Cape as well as land for cultivation by the VOC. This was an inherent move by the VOC to enhance the wine production in the Cape. The Huguenots who knew a lot about wine making made their home in an area they called "Franschhoek" (French Corner) and immediately set about making it home; including celebrating all their French Traditions. (Today, they still celebrate Bastille Day in Franschhoek.)

The settlement in the Cape grew quickly over the next few years and by 1754, the population of the settlement on the Cape had reached 5,510 Europeans and 6,729 slaves.

However, as usual, war had a great bearing on the fledgling Cape Colony and when in 1780, France and Britain went to war against each other, The Netherlands entered the war on the French side, and thus a small battalion of French troops were sent to the Cape to defend it against the British. They didn't stay long in the Cape and were soon transported back to France in 1784. As usually happens, old allies soon became adversaries and when in 1795 France invaded the Netherlands, the Prince of Orange was forced to flee to their old enemy England for safety.

As news took so long to travel to the Cape, and the Governor of the Cape only knew of this new agreement when the English arrive in Cape Town bearing a letter from the Prince of Orange stating that they be allowed to protect Cape Town from the French.

Sadly, the reaction from the commissioner was mixed and the English had to fight their way into the Cape in the Battle of Muizenberg. Typically, a period of backwards and forward began with the Cape being surrendered back to the Dutch in the treaty of 1803 and then returned to the English in 1806.

However, from 1806, once the English were decisively in, they took control of the town and set about making it a more advanced city to live in. They sent home for colonists and soon in 1820 the English began to arrive in their multitudes. With more people arriving each day, this initiated the expansionism (mainly by the original Dutch, now known as Afrikaner or Boer (farmer) settlers) into the inland of the country and soon colonies were set up in the Transvaal and Orange Free State.

Soon, conflicts between the Boer republics in the interior and the British colonial government in Cape Town ended in the Second Boer War of 1899-1901 being fought. Britain with its stronger military strength and man power eventually won the war, however, not without some considerable effort fighting against the Boer guerrilla warfare tactics.

In 1910, Britain established the Union of South Africa, which unified the Cape Colony with the two defeated Boer Republics and the newly recognized British Colony of Port Natal. Cape Town became the legislative capital of the Union, and later of the Republic of South Africa.

Over the next few years, both English and Afrikaans people resided in comparative harmony in this new union and many beliefs and values become common among the people in the Union of South Africa.

In the 1948 national elections, the National Party won an amazing amount of support based on their policy of Apartheid (racial segregation). They succeeded this under the slogan of "Swart Gevaar" (in English this means Black Threat). They taught people to beware of the Black people and wanted them to see them as a danger to their lives and their jobs. This soon lead to strategies such as the Group Areas Act being put in place, which meant that all people who lived in South Africa were classified according to their race and skin colour. Many severe tests were put into place to establish people were either black, coloured or white; one of the most ridiculous ones being the pencil test, where a pencil was inserted into a person of suspicious colours hair, and if the pencil stuck in the persons hair, it meant they were black as these people were more likely to have more woolly hair. This is quite logical of course!? And meant that same families were split amongst themselves being classified as both black and white in the same family which of course caused immense hardship and suffering to the whole family.

With the race classification, soon came the living segregation where people of colour and non colour were not authorized to inhabit the same areas. Formerly multi racial environs of Cape Town were purged of people of colour and their homes were demolished. One of the most infamous examples of this is "District Six" where in 1965 it was decreed a white's only area and more than 60,000 people were compulsorily removed and their homes destroyed. Nothing further was done with this land; it was just a declaration of segregation! Many of these residents were moved to areas such as the Cape Flats and Lavander Hill.

Under the Apartheid rule, Cape Town was considered a "Coloured Labour preference area" meaning that you could provide work for a coloured person, but you could not employ a "Bantu" black person. Whites obviously had first preference, but in serious need you could employ a coloured person.

As you can visualize, with this many rules, acts and forms of segregation, life for many people was truly tyrannical. However, not all white and coloured people supported the Apartheid regime and there were many, especially in the Cape Town area that started and joined the Anti Apartheid struggle.

Sadly, it took a long time and a lot of heartache and suffering before things began to make progress.

The end of the apartheid era was firmly symbolised, when Nelson Mandela made his first public speech in decades on 11 February 1990 from the [balcony|gallery] of Cape Town City Hall, just hours after being [released|set free] from Robben Island. His emotive speech, filled with passion and joy [heralded|announced|indicated] the beginning of a new era for the country.

The first democratic election in South Africa was held four years later, on 27 April 1994.

This was the beginning of the new Rainbow Nation, the land for everyone.

To me, South Africa really does symbolize the best of human spirit, the triumph of good over evil and the power of people and persistence. If you have faith in something hard enough and work at it, ultimately it will come to pass.

From 1994, with the new South Africa firmly in place, the people could concentrate on show casing their amazing city to the rest of the world. And amazing it is.

There is so much to see and do in Cape Town that you need a minimum of 4 or 5 days to explore this fantastic region. From the City itself, to Cape Point, to the winelands, to township tours, whale watching, sky diving, deep sea fishing, Harley Davidson riding, mountain biking, horse back riding, hot air balloon safaris, fine dining, museums, great shopping to just relaxing at the Victoria and Alfred waterfront and taking it all in. The service providers are amazing in this part of the country. Take Window Washing for instance, a little window cleaning company based in cape town. Excellent service just lie back home.

Although I currently live in England, my home country, South Africa, will always have my love and passion. It is a beautiful land with so much to offer everyone. I want to share my pride with everyone. I think everyone should be able to have incredible, magical memories that last them a lifetime! African Sands offers great ideas for your Africa holiday or African safari. Travel with African Sands, a complete South Africa travel service with detailed safari information, maps, South Africa hotels, lodges & tours on our website. ( http://www.africansands.com )

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