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hellzabeth · 3 years

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i have opinions about The Prince of Egypt musical adaption and you’re going to listen to them: An Essay

So, quick disclaimer: The Prince of Egypt is one of my favourite movies of all time. The casting, the music, the animation, I think it’s one of the top-tier movies that have ever been made. I went into seeing the London West End production of PoE with a full expectation that nothing I saw on stage would ever live up to how much I love the movie. I was fully aware there are plenty of limitations to what can be shown live on a stage with human actors and props.

That being said, I was enormously disappointed with how the whole thing was handled.

The Good

Now before I launch into a whole tirade of what I didn’t like about the production, it does behoove me to say what I think they did do well.  

The casting of the role of Moses was done fantastically, as was Miriam, Tzipporah, and Yocheved. The swings and the ensemble were really engaged and well placed, going through lots of quick changes to go from Hebrews to Egyptians to Midianites and back. 

The two Egyptian queens, wifes of Seti and Ramses, are actually given names, lines, and character beyond being simply tacked onto their respective kings. We get to see how they feel about the events happening around them, and there’s even a scene where Ramses meets his wife and courts her, whereas in the movie, she stands in the background and says nothing. This is one of the areas I was hoping the musical, which would naturally have a longer run-time, would expand on, and I was pleased to see the opportunity was taken.

Light projections on enormous curtains were used to very good effect, taking us instantly inside the walls of the palace and then out to the desert.  

Over all, the work was really put in to be engaging and emotional, and the orchestra really worked to deliver the right musical beats. 

One of two stand out scenes as being done very well was the opening “Deliver Us”, which included a bone-chilling moment of Egyptians separating a mother and her baby, with her screams as she’s dragged off-stage, and the blood on the guard’s sword. It really brings home the fear as Yocheved tries to lead Aaron and Miriam to the river with her, not to mention Yocheved’s actress nailed the lullaby.  

The second was at the other end of the show, “When You Believe” was beautifully performed by the whole cast, though it was somewhat stunted by what came before...

The Bad

Oh boy.

So the main problem with this show is not the music, not the staging, not even that sometimes the ensemble was a little off-beat (the lai-lai-lai section in Though Heaven’s Eyes comes to mind). Any mistakes there can all be forgiven, since sometimes things just happen in live performance, someone’s a bit off or something’s just not possible to do on the budget allotted.  

The problem is in the script.

The Prince of Egypt movie is a story that stands not only on the shoulders of its fantastic music and visuals, but also on its emotive retelling and portrayal of the characters within - mainly Moses and Ramses. And while the stage musical does spend a lot of time with the two mains, it neglects two other, incredibly important characters.

Pharaoh Seti, and God.  

In the movie, Seti strikes an intimidating figure. He is old, hardened, and wise in the ways of ruling his kingdom - and is voiced by Patrick Stewart, who brings his A-game to the role. Both Moses and Ramses admire him and look up to him immensely as young men, and the relationship he has with both of them deeply informs their characters as the story progresses. It’s from Seti that Moses learns that taking responsibility for your actions is the respectable thing to do (and later, the true horror of having your idol turn out to be not what you think), and it’s from Seti that Ramses takes a huge inferiority complex.

There are two lines that Seti gets in the movie, one spoken to Moses, and one to Ramses. These two lines define Moses and Ramses’ actions later on in the story:

To Ramses - “One weak link can break the chain of a mighty dynasty!” To Moses - “Oh my son... they were only slaves.”

Guess which two lines are absent from the musical?

One Weak Link is turned into an upbeat song, rather than shouted at a terrified and cowed young Ramses. Instead of being openly a traumatic, internalised moment of negative character development for Ramses, it’s treated as a general philosophy that Seti passes down to his son. Instead of a judgement that is hung over Ramses’ head like a sword of Damocles, lingering in his mind through the whole story and coming up in a shouted argument with Moses later, it’s said and then moved on from.  

The “they were only slaves” comment, on the other hand, is absent entirely. This changes Moses’ relationship with Seti enormously, as well as his relationship with the Hebrew people. Upon finding the mural depicting the killing of the slave children, Moses is appropriately horrified, and Seti shows up to comfort him and defend his terrible actions. Moses leaves this interaction... and then sings about how this is indeed all he ever wanted! He has no moment of horrific realisation that his father thinks of the slaves as lesser, as lives that can be thrown away. This means that the scene where he kills the guard doesn’t lead into a discussion of morality with Ramses as he runs away, but rather Moses breaking down about his heritage as though it’s a negative, instead of something he’s realised is just as valuable as his life as an Egyptian. Instead of Moses being shown as having a strong moral core that protests against the idea of any life being lesser, he bemoans his Hebrew blood loudly, and makes little mention of the man he killed. His issue that causes him to run away is being adopted, rather than his guilt that he’s a murderer, and nothing Ramses can say will change it.

Later on, we don’t see Ramses express this opinion either (in the movie - M:”Seti’s hands bore the blood of thousands of children!” R:“Hah, slaves!” M:“My people!”) so it seems the core reasoning for the necessity of the extremes God had to go to in order to convince Ramses to let the Hebrews go is completely gone.

Which leads us into God Himself, as a character.  

God is a tricky topic in general. He is hard to talk about as a concept and as a character, and even harder to depict in a way that won’t offend someone. The Prince of Egypt movie always struck me as a very good depiction of the Old Testament God - vengeful and strong-willed, commanding and yet nurturing, capable of great mercy and great cruelty in one fell swoop. God is incredibly present in the story, a character in and of Himself, speaking with Moses rather than simply commanding him. The conversation at the Burning Bush is bone-chillingly beautiful. Moses is allowed to question, he’s allowed to enquire, he’s allowed to express how he feels about God’s choice, and God is given the chance to respond (and reprimand, and comfort).

In the musical, the Burning Bush scene lasts all of two minutes, during which God (the ensemble cast, acting as one moving flame, speaking in unison) monologues to Moses, and Moses is not given room to question, talk to, or build a relationship with God. Later on, once some of the plagues have gotten underway, Moses rails against God, flinches in his resolve, and tries to back out... and God says nothing. It’s Miriam and the spirit of Yocheved that convince Moses to keep going. As a character, God is nearly absent. Even when it comes to calling upon the Plagues, or parting the Red Sea, God’s voice is absent. Moses does not pray. He does not even use the staff that God encouraged him to pick up as a symbol of his becoming a shepherd of the Hebrews out of Egypt.  

It’s these little changes, these little absences of such vital lines and presences, that ends up changing the whole vibe of the show. Seti is more like a dad than an emotionally distant authority figure, and God is more like an emotionally distant authority figure than a character at all. Ultimately, the whole feeling that one is left with at the end…

The Ugly

… is that the script doesn’t like God, or religion in general.

A bold statement to make, considering the source material is one of the central biblical stories in EVERY Abrahamic religion. Moses as a figure is considered so important and close to god, that The Prince of Egypt, even with its sensitive portrayal, cannot be aired in a number of Islamic states, because it’s considered disrespectful to depict any of the prophets, especially an important one like Moses. Moses is arguably the MOST important prophet in the Jewish canon.

However, I haven’t highlighted one of the most noticeable script changes - the elevation of Hotep, the high priest, to main antagonist.

In the original movie, Hotep is a secondary villain, a crony to the Pharaohs, bumbling and snide and two-faced. He and his fellow priest Hoy are there primarily to juxtapose how charlatans can control power through flattery and slight of hand, reassuring Ramses that Moses’ miracles are merely magic the same as what they can do. They even get a whole villain song, “Playing With The Big Boys” which is a lovely deconstruction of lyrics vs visuals, where while the priests boast that their gods and magic are much more powerful, in the background the staff, transformed into a snake by god, devours and defeats the priests’ snake handily. The takeaway from the song is that God’s power is true, and doesn’t need theatrics.

It’s a good little nugget of wordless world building. And it is completely absent from the stage musical, with only a vague reference to the chant of all the gods names.

Hoy is gone, and Hotep is the only priest. He actively speaks out against the Pharaoh, boasts about having all the power, and is played as bombastic and proud. He’s a wildly different character, even threatening Ramses at one point. In the end, it’s shown that Ramses won’t let the Hebrews go not because he has inherited his father Seti’s cruel attitude towards the lives he considers beneath him, but because he is being actively bullied by the priest, and will lose his power and credibility if he doesn’t do as he’s told. Ramses is even given a whole song about how little power he really has. The script desperately wants us to feel sorry for Ramses’ position and hate the unrepentantly, cartoonishly evil priest.

That’s another matter as well - a LOT of time is dedicated to making the Egyptians more human and sympathetic, portraying them as largely ignorant of the suffering beneath them, rather than actively participating in slavery. Characters speak out of turn without regard for formality and class, even to the royal family. They are casual, chummy even. And this would be fine - in fact, it’s good to have that sort of third dimension to characters, even ones who are doing reprehensible things, to show the total normalcy and banality of evil - if it were not for the fact they still include a completely open-and-shut case of evil right next to them.

Hotep has no redeeming features. And on the other side, God is barely present, certainly not in a relatable context. Moses has several lines about how cruel and unnecessary God’s plagues are - and you know what, in this version, they are unnecessary! Ramses is not the stone-hearted ruler that his movie counterpart is, he has no baggage over being a potential failure, because it was never really given to him in the same way! By taking away Ramses’ threatening nature, numbers like the Plagues lose half their appeal, as the back-and-forth ‘you who I called brother’ lines between Moses and Ramses are completely absent. Moses is faithless, and is less torn between the horror of what he’s doing and the necessity of it for the freedom of his people, and more left scrabbling for meaning that he doesn’t find. And the only thing hanging over Ramses is Hotep nit-picking everything he does and threatening him, which is considerably less compelling than the script seems to think it is.

This is best exemplified at the end, when all the issues come to a head. The angel of Death comes and takes the Egyptian first borns (which was actually a well done scene), and the Hebrews leave to a rousing rendition of When You Believe. But then we cut to Ramses and Hotep, with Hotep openly threatening to revolt against the Pharaoh - whom was believed, especially by the priesthood, to be a living god! Hotep is so devoid of redeeming features he cannot even be trusted to stand by his beliefs! - unless Ramses agrees to chase after the Hebrews. Reluctantly, Ramses is badgered into the attempt.

Back with the Hebrews, Moses parts the Red Sea… not with his faith, not by praying to God for another miracle, not even by using his staff as in the most famous scene of the movie… but by holding out his hand and demanding the ‘magic’ work. Setting aside the disrespect of Abrahamic religions to call one of the most famous miracles “magic” (and my oh my, if there was a fundamentalist of any religion in the audience they might have gasped to hear it), it again belittles the work of God, and puts all the onus on Moses, not as a conduit for God’s work, but as the worker himself. Then, the Egyptians arrive in pursuit, lead by Hotep, not Ramses. Moses sends the Hebrews through first, lead by Miriam, and stays behind with Tzipporah… to offer his life in penance to Ramses! The script has completely stripped both Ramses and Moses of their convictions towards their causes, and Moses cannot even stand by his decision to lead his people.

Then, in a moment of jarring melodrama, Moses has a sudden vision that Ramses, his brother, will one day be called Ramses the Great (an actual historical Pharaoh who reigned 1279-1213 BCE). There is no historical evidence that this was the Ramses that ruled over the Hebrews (there are 11 Pharaohs called Ramses through the history of Ancient Egypt), and maybe if the scene was acted a little better, it wouldn’t have been so sudden or jarring. Even more jarring, is that then Hotep arrives with the rest of the army, and Ramses refuses to lead the charge into the parted sea. Hotep does so himself, and is the one to have the final dramatic moment, being crushed under the water.

The Takeaway

After watching the show, I’m afraid I could never recommend it as either a play, an adaption, or even as a faithful retelling of a bible story. Its character drama isn’t compelling enough to be good as a standalone play, with it two main characters declawed and their core motivations reduced to a squabble between brothers rather than a grand interplay between two cultures and ideas and trauma handed down from their father. As an adaption of the movie it’s upsettingly bad, with grand numbers like the Plagues rendered piecemeal and fan favourites like Playing With The Big Boys missing entirely. As a retelling of the bible story, it’s insulting, completely cutting God out of the equation, taking no opportunity to reintroduce Aaron as an important character (which he was, in the bible, as Moses was a notoriously bad public speaker, with a stutter, and Aaron often interpreted for him) and more importantly, completely erasing God’s influence from the narrative.

I don’t know who this show was… for, in that case. If it wasn’t for drama lovers, movie fans, or people of the faith, then who the hell was it for? Why change such a critically acclaimed and well-beloved story? Why take away all these defining moments? If you wanted to tell a story about how religion is the true evil, how God can command people to do terrible things, and how those who uphold organised religion like Hotep are unrepentant, one-dimensional monsters… why would you tell that through the Prince of Egypt?

Underwhelming at best, infuriating at worst… just watch the movie. Or read Exodus. At least the Bible’s free.

#the prince of egypt #the prince of egypt musical #PoE #review #essay

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heliosthegriffin · 3 years

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Jaune of the Dead II

-------------- Two Hours earlier ------------

“C’mon Rubes, you can’t depressed all day just because you’re imaginary boyfriend ghosted you.” Yang said playfully to Ruby.

“He’s not imaginary! He’s taller than dad, blonde, and wears a white trench-coat, I keep telling you this! That the mean Schnee made me blow up, and then he showed up did a glowy thing, and I felt great! Then walked me to the place, and then disappeared like a ghost! Then I found out he supercharged my aura! How do think I could have done so well in Initiation!” Ruby said to her sister rapid-fire.

A tall redhead puts her hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t sell yourself so short Ruby, accepting your successes is necessary for good mental health, and from what I saw was enough to put some huntsmen to shame.”

Ruby pouts. “Yeah, I know! The thing is I can’t one shot a Nevermore and fly on my own! The thing is I know how strong I am, and I am not strong enough to do those on my own!”

Yang and Pyrrha sigh.

“Ruby, c’mon you’re awesome! You’re talented and you’re strong, so stop selling yourself short, wait never-mind that does apply to you.” Yang said with a shit-eating grin.

Ruby’s face was a brilliant red as she started pounding weakly against Yang’s arms. “Yannng! I drink milk, I’ll be tall one day!”

“If you say so, Rosebud.”

Pyrrha watched the exchange with a amused smile, feeling very pleased with her team so far.

She hadn’t expected to partner up with a prodigy and her sister, but destiny was full of twists and turns.

Many, many twists, like Yang’s partner and the leader of team BYRN.

Bleiss Schnee.

The notorious Black Sheep of the Schnee household and disowned daughter of Jacque Schnee for reason’s kept private, though considering what she heard of the man in the day she has known Bleiss, it didn’t paint flattering picture why he did what he did.

Who disowned their child based on appearance?

*BZZZ-BZZZ-BZZZZ*

*SNORE-SNORE*

The Black Sheep slept noisily in a dark corner of the room with her limbs thrown all across the bed as she slept under neath a black canopy bed with... her toys all still vibrating under her sheets.

A series of black glyphs floated menacingly around her bed as she slept.

Thankfully the curtains on the side of canopy bed only showed a hazy figure behind the curtains.

Bleiss had made her team go out last night to celebrate making it through initiation. They had gone to club after club, well Yang and her did, Pyrrha and Ruby left not feeling comfortable on that scene.

Yang had come back to the dorm alone, as Bleiss wanted to find someone to ‘Break her in half while folding her legs over her head,” or to find “A soft little sub to break between her legs.”

Bleiss had somehow come back empty-handed and frustrated.

Then she brought out the toys.

It had been hours before she went to sleep.

She had no idea how Ruby slept through it all, especially Yang screaming bloody murder trying to break her glyphs, which when broken unleashed somesort of insect like grimm that stung Yang without mercy.

Pyrrha was one-hundred percent sure that she started moaning louder to annoy Yang.

Thankfully, Ruby seemed to know what was going on. Apparently having walked in on Yang in a private moment before, but she still blushed red at noticing what her leader was doing calling it ‘Filthy.’

Pyrrha was also sure that it was a fools errand to try and wake her up for class. Bleiss had struck her as the type to have a couple trips up her sleeve. It did make Pyrrha ponder why she needed defenses why she slept though, but following those paths of thought those only led to dark explanations. Bleiss might make it clear one day if they grew close, and maybe, hopefully, it would have a more happy origin.

Bleiss had also made clear as leader of Team BYRN, she would go to class when she damn well felt like it. She had pointed out a loophole in the Beacon Rule book, apparently she could skip class as long as she maintained a 90% average in her classes, she could not be dropped from the classes.

A rule that was normally reserved for 3rd and 4th years who often took missions and had spend time recovering and could not attend classes, so were normally given abridged lesson and makeup tests.

Pyrrha had no idea how she going to do it, but she’d try her best to support her leader.

Pyrrha looked back to her teammates, and hopefully friends.

Yang had gotten Ruby into a headlock and was rubbing her head with her knuckles.

“Ah! AH! AH! I yield, I yield!”

“Yeah, you do, who’s the big sister, I’m the big sister, woo-woo!”

Yang dropped Ruby to the ground, who then started pouting.

Then a look of realization hit her. “See that proves it!” Pyrrha raised a elegant brow towards Ruby. “Proves what?”

“That I didn’t do all that crazy awesome stuff at initiation on my own! If I could Yang wouldn’t be able to beat me up like that!”

Pyrrha gave it some thought she had a good point.

Yang flexed her arms. “I don’t though, maybe you’re just making it excuses.”

“Maybe you just a big head!”

Yang smirks at Ruby, and then cups her chest. “I got some big somethings!”

“Ah, Yang!”

Pyrrha shook her head at her teammates antics, then her internal clock told her they had around ten minutes before class started.

Pyrrha gently clapped her hands together, not loud enough to cause shock, but enough to gain attention.

“Ahem, I do believe we have classes soon.”

The sisters looked at each other and then started cleaning themselves up for class.

Ah, she could scarcely imagine the day becoming more interesting.

--- 10 minutes prior ---

Professor Port’s lesson was interesting if veiled behind misdirection. At first Pyrrha had considered that he might be a little self-absorbed, until she started listening closely. He was purposely distracting them with long-winded stories to test their observation skills, which if one actually paid attention to would start to reveal valuable information on Grimm.

Bleiss’s twin had also the same class period as them along with her team, SBRN, Saturn. It seemed Weiss went out of her way to ignore all of them expect Pyrrha, offering her hollow praise and empty compliments.

Pyrrha had politely decline her offer to take notes together. Her team seemed nice, but it was clear there was division among-st them.

Weiss then proved to be as superficial as Pyrrha thought, having clearly been taking notes but not understanding the subtext. Prof. Port had to step in once it was clear the Greater Borbatusk was too much for her, it’s armor plating across its back and head, remained unscratched till Prof. Port grabbed it by it’s tusk and flipped it, cutting it’s belly open.

“Well, children let this be a lesson to you all, that if nothing else remember you have room to grow! And to cut a Borbatusk across the belly! HO-Ho-ho!” Despite his cheery demeanor, Pyrrha couldn’t help but notice the glint of disappointment in his eyes.

Pyrrha wished she had imagined the pleased look in Weiss partner’s eyes at her failure, and her teammates apathy towards their leaders failure. What had she done to sow such discontent in her team?

The class was dismissed and they walked to their next class, a new one if rumors were true, one that had been set up merely a day ago before suddenly being added to their schedule.

What, a odd occurrence.

It was hosted by a new teacher too, one Pyrrha had never even heard of, or the seniors if the rumors where true. But, if the rumors were true, which they usually weren’t, he was the youngest teacher in Beacon history.

How exciting.

Pyrrha, Ruby, and Yang stood outside the door staring at Weiss with her teammates entering beside her.

“I see my sister is not coming to this class, either.”

“Nope.” Yang said popping the p.

Weiss gave them all a haughty look. “Fine by me, that noisy harlot is an annoyance anyway.” She gave Pyrrha a fake smile. “It’s not too late to make the best team in Beacon history,” She looked towards the sisters. “I don’t mind trading one of mind for her to join.”

Pyrrha felt a flash of anger inside her, that was mirrored on Yang’s face, but she quickly suppressed it. “I’m sorry, but,” She put a hand on Ruby’s shoulder, and gave Yang a winning smile. “I feel I’m already on Beacon’s best team.”

Weiss scowled and stomped into the classroom.

Yang simmered before tskking. “What’s her problem.”

“I sincerely have not idea.” Pyrrha actually did if one did consider what was heard about Jacque Schnee. But, best wait before jumping the gun.

“She’s shorter than me, she probably mad she doesn’t have enough milk.” Ruby said seriously.

A snorting laugh echoed out of Yang and Pyrrha.

Pyrrha wiped a tear out of her eye.

Yang laughed. “Yeah, I bet she doesn’t have enough milk!” Yang said giving Pyrrha a knowing nod.

“I’m glad you two understand the power of milk!” Ruby said going into the classroom.

Pyrrha and Yang followed in after Ruby, and where momentarily amazed by the interior of the classroom.

It was bigger on the inside, with shelves of books covering the walls, diagrams and maps covering the walls, not an inch of the room was bare. Where there were not diagrams and books, where glass-cases, and various objects, ranging from swords, glass shards, skeletons, and weird objects that Pyrrha couldn’t hope to identify.

This did not look like the work of a day or two, this room looked as though it had been used for years!

“Wow, impressive.” Yang said from beside her. Then she scowled. “Uh-oh, looks like we got trouble this period.” She said elbowing Pyrrha to get her attention to nod towards a group of people even Pyrrha had no tolerance for.

Team VMMP; Vampire.

Vernal Wennbar

Milita Malachite

Melanie Malachite

Neo Politan.

A team of thugs and low-lifers that had somehow managed to get into Beacon.

Who, unfortunately had real skill to back up their attitude.

Yang squinted her eyes. “Something is off about them tho,”

Pyrrha had to blink thought to make sure they were the same team, though.

They were so quiet, and actually dressed for class.

Was.. Was Vernal wearing makeup?

No, she must be imagining things.

Pyrrha decided to ignore them and go sit with Ruby, Yang following behind her.

Then they waited, the class deathly quiet.

Team VMMP unusually quiet had been more than enough to cow the others into silence.

6 minutes passed.

5 minutes passed.

4 minutes passed.

and soon it would be only one minute before class started.

Their teacher, who ever it might be, hadn’t appeared yet.

Then came the sound.

*Clack-Clack-Clack*

Of heavy shoes rhythmic hitting the floor.

It had started near the edge of their hearing, sounding as if it was coming from across the school. Only for it to grow louder and louder, becoming more noticeable till it was evident it was coming towards them.

10:00.

He entered exactly as the 9:59 went to 10:00, right on time.

A head of long, messy, blonde hair came through the doorway, the hair easily coming to his mid-back. His face sharp and judgmental, but looking handsome in a imperious way. Two deep blue bloodshot eyes scanned the room as he went in, underneath his eyes were deep black bags, that spoke of a lack of sleep.

His body language tense and wary, not that much of his body could be seen as hit was covered by a billowy white leather duster, which opened to reveal stained, faded, well worn, and stitched up work clothes and pair of heavy duty work boots.

A sheathed sword on his belt.

That’s not what drew Pyrrha’s attention to him though, no it was her semblance. He was wearing metal gauntlets too over his hands and had some sort of metal armor underneath his clothes or maybe worked into them.

He was also wearing five necklaces, had a dozen rings, and had nearly twenty pounds of things, Pyrrha couldn’t imagine what, stuffed into his pockets. And that was just metal! It wouldn’t surprise her if he had more in there made of other materials.

Why did he have all those things?

She then heard Ruby’s breath hitch. “That’s him!” Ruby whispered to her and Yang.

Before she cold react he spoke.

It was not what she expected.

It was quiet, very quiet, tired too, like he had just woken up. His voice was deep, but raspy like he had a cold. But it commanded attention and impossible to ignore as within its core was a razor thin edge of Power. Of something that made his voice make her her shiver and alert to him.

‘He is dangerous,’ Something insider her warned.

“My name is Jaune Arc, I am eighteen years old, and I will teach you all the in’s and out’s of advanced aura manipulation, Soul Theory, and defense against the Paranormal. Any questions?”

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

9 years and 360 days ago

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

Little Jaune Arc was on his own.

He didn’t get it.

He told his parents, but they laughed at him and told him everything was fine. There was no scary lady in his closet.

He told them again. They laughed again.

He told them everyday, but they weren’t laughing anymore, they were mad.

They said if he kept making up stories for attention they’d ground him.

When he asked if he could sleep in their room, they said he was a big boy and had to sleep in his room.

Jaune stopped talking to his parents on the fourth day. They hadn’t even gone into his room. It was like that with everyone though, no one seemed to believe him, or want to go near his room!

Alicia was out hunting and out of Scroll range.

He tried Saphron and his elder sisters, but they were too busy for him. Saphron was always talking to Terra. And told him to get more creative if he wanted attention from her. Terra just laughed at him.

June was always on her scroll, and told him to buzz off.

Daisy wanted to watch tv or to paint, and told him he was distracting her, or be a model for her.

Jazz would just turn her music up till he left, or drag him into dancing.

Grace would just make him work in the garden with her, but everything he said went in one ear and out the other.

And the Rachel?

She is too young, couldn’t even walk yet.

He vented to them anyway. That was a new phrase he learned. He also learned what a phrase was at school.

“I don’t get it,” He said to his youngest sibling. “they won’t take me seriously! I keep asking and asking them to just wait till a storm hits and stay with me, but they just keep laughing, getting mad, or ignoring me!”

Little Jaune Arc grabbed his hair with both hands.

“It’s so annoying! Why is this happening?”

Rachel just played with her toys, pretending to drive a car.

A glint appeared in Jaune’s eyes.

He started playing too.

He sighed though.

“What should I do, what should I do?” He repeated to himself.

“I tried to get them to look at the window, but they keep ignoring it, I tried showing them my scars and they said they were from playing in the woods, it’s like everything I say is just being ignored.”

Jaune rolled the toy car back and forth.

Rachel bumped her car into his, pinching Jaune’s finger inbetween the metal.

A light white glow appeared on his hand.

Jaune looked at his finger in wonder.

He focused on it and tried to force the feeling back out.

Nothing happened.

Jaune frowned and looked at his hand.

He grabbed a toy car and slammed at his pinky.

A warm feeling engulfed his pinky as a white light block the car, the car bouncing off of it.

He tried to imagine it being warm again.

A faint white light ghosted over his finger, before dying.

“Hmm,” He looked at his finger. “I have no idea what I just did,” He looked at Rachel. “but, you helped.” He gave Rachel a kiss on the forehead. “Thanks sis, I don’t know if you can understand me, but thanks anyway.”

Rachel looked at him with baby blues and gave a toothy smile and giggled.

“You want to keep playing?”

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

An: Pyrrha’s more fun to write than I thought she would be. Next up though, on the fan fic list is Arc Acres, then Dead Knight, then Prodigy AU, then Sacred Rites II.

#Jaune of the Dead #Jaune Arc #Ruby Rose #Pyrrha Nikos #Yang Xiao-Long

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neuvillette · 3 years

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Paperwork - FrUK Fic (18+ish)

During the industrial boom in England, someone in particular has been working himself to the bone.

Fuck... There it was again, that near-painful pang in his ribs from thinking about that bastard. That arrogant prick had whispered to him so closely that day so long ago that the memory of the hot breath from his lips still seemed to be lingering on his ears-- or was that just his own fiery blush? Either way, it wasn't going anywhere. Whenever he was alone his thoughts would instantly crack back to that insufferable shit. How his lips were so plush and too naturally red to be decent... How those blue eyes drifted lazily along wherever they pleased, often up and down his body. How he hoped that they one day would look back at him so pleadingly, begging for something almost too shameful to fulfill. He knew approximately how the man looked under his clothes, since he was prone to low cut shirts, high hems, translucent fabric. He had a tight waist and broad shoulders, he had hips that almost could be considered too wide, ones that would probably be good to hold onto tightly and grip red marks into. His chest, like much of his body, was soft, not flabby exactly, but plush enough to squeeze and nibble at. Fuck, FUCK, that pang came again, searing through his chest as he battled to think of something else. He had work to get done, and a lot of it. These kinds of thoughts were not only immoral but incredibly inconvenient, and the toll they took on his body meant he had to go through an arduous process to relieve himself, if only for a little while. His teeth all pressed down together as his jaw clenched, he could feel the pressure all throughout his face as he tried to just get on with it. There wasn't that much paperwork left, right? Just a bit more. A small distraction would do him some good. He only realised he was tapping his mostly-dry dip pen against his desk when he noticed how the rhythm was starting to seep elsewhere into his mind; tap tap tap, thrusts against a document, against something soft, warm, moans echoing in arches over the staccato beat, and--- He dropped the pen unceremoniously onto his desk, caked-on ink splattering down as he pressed his forehead into his hand. He had been slipping too hard recently. His bosses hadn’t been pleased with his work as of late; though he had been toiling during similar hours and put in the same effort he always had, they said he needed to rise up to meet changing standards. He used to do work with his hands, but that wasn’t needed anymore. He used to be their guard dog, or at least their work horse. For everything it was, at least the action of his youth was invigorating. At least he wasn’t monitored, and had time to do things for himself, instead of being their tool all hours of the day. He had time to work with his hands, his hands. To create things that were valuable, that were helpful to the, to his, people around him. Now he was… well. He was expendable. But not so expendable that they would waste his capacity to do paperwork. Industry was booming, one couldn’t just expect to stand by with what had been accepted in the past. Labour was becoming more standardised, more efficient, more impersonal… Not that he had ever been the most personable chap. While he enjoyed working with his hands, making things one by one, the gritty way, the difficult way, he made efforts to internalise what they had said to him. They needed his mind, his edge, to work on this stuff. That’s what he was for, after all; not forging swords, not stringing bows, not tilling soil or growing things; but intellectual, gentlemanly, removed work. Detached, necessary, proper. It suited him, he tried to tell himself. He wasn’t one easily inclined to the personable, nor to saccharine slop… Not when communicating with others, anyhow. Buried and smeared while being hidden amongst mounds of paperwork were brief scribbles of poetry, of sketches of mistily reimagined silhouettes, flowing romantic prose incapable of coming out through his own halting speech, of faintly grasped memories of torrid expressions he needed to recall through flowing strokes of a figure, but those all were secrets even he wasn’t meant to have access to. Shameful, that’s what it was. Inefficient, ineffective, and shameful. An outlet for his needs to make something, perhaps, but… Certainly they sated other desires as well.

The distance between them should have helped; should have given him time to correct and corral his feelings, mold them back into form briskly, scaldingly, sharply--as one does when shaping copper. Instead he had gone too soft, too half-hearted, and his self-inflicted blows to his psyche had been too gentle. The metal of his desire had set and crisped up before he could steer himself back on track, and now he had to re-anneal, to subject himself back to fiery disavowal and guilt before the exacting measures of self-restraint would be effective. Yes, he quite liked that idea. He couldn’t have his metallurgy back but he could certainly think of his rehabilitation as such. He had forged many a sword, an arrow tip, an axe, before. His personality would be the same. Scalded and quenched and hammered into shape. And with his skill he could tap incessantly, exactingly, forcefully thrusting against the teasingly giving metal and-- blast it, again! It was achingly difficult to ignore. The distance only seemed to make his delinquent misgivings have more courage to rise up again out of turn. When he was face to face with those capricious blue eyes long enough to remember the wretched personality that tagged along with them it was easier to keep his goal in mind, but the longer he went without a glimpse of the sour man himself, the more alluring the rest of it seemed. Had they even written letters? Well, he hadn’t sent any. He had received a fair handful until they had run dry. He had almost convinced himself that he was glad of it. A few lines in the others flowery script were too laden with implications to be safe; he had already resigned himself to the idea of his correspondence being read at his supervisor’s discretion, so it was best if the letters wasted away entirely rather than risk the uncovery by his betters of whatever hintingly depraved thing would find itself penned inside a perfumed envelope. Near the end of their dispatchment, the notes had gotten quite irritated it seemed, demanding reply. His excuse for his silence was that he simply didn’t have time to dally on such things, but in truth he wanted to show himself that he could deny the temptation. It was easy to tell himself that he had enough to worry about with dozens of signatures to scrawl, appeals and drafts to write, documents and proposals to uncritically approve. With considerable effort, he plucked the intricately carved ivory dip pen off of the desk before blotting it back into his blue-glass inkwell. Just a few more of these documents and he’d be able to wallow in his own home instead of his suffocating office. The half-hearted, half-present signatures left a streaky trail of black as his newly inkstained hand trailed across the page, though the final few letters were jaggedly interrupted with a rapping at the office door.

“Yes, sir, I’ve already said I would finish them by today,” his calling tone was harsh but clearly deferent; he was a lively one, but part of being a man was knowing his duty and thusly his place. Even so, he didn’t bother glancing up from his efforts to correct the broken signing at the tail end of the page as the door slowly opened, creaking unceremoniously.

“If it’s really necessary I can work past my contractual hour, though I must note that your well-intentioned checkings-in aren’t conducive to getting any actual work done.” This comment was much more pointed, though not so much so as to be crossing a line. Still, the silent presence above his desk, looming, made him rethink his words for a slight moment before he got the better of himself. No need to look up as if they can dole out some sort of punishment! To you, of all people! No, you’re working together under the same sense of duty… Right? Keep your head down and show them your dedication and vigour. If they’ve got a problem they can bloody well deal with it, that’s not something that’s important enough to interrupt this work.

« Ah. Scribbling pen names has stopped you from writing back ? You are a much more petulant boy than before, their puppy-dog training is not working on you. » The two sentences were connected not in theme but in the rolling, keen tone they were carried by. The former was a lazy observation and the latter was crafted solely to rile him up. The door quietly shut behind, and there was a graceful and soundless moment afterwards. In a second of skillful self-control, he did not drop the pen but instead cooly placed its nib back into its proper receptacle, as much as he was inclined to throw it at his guest. For a flitting pause, a scorching rage surged through him. What about no reply hadn’t gotten through that dense skull, and what made him think, after it all, that he could flicker back in, no doubt impermanently, just to ruin all his progress, and--

God he needed to see him.

He would not ever, never, let him know that.

“As spineless and will-less as ever, then, Bonnefoy. Resolute enough to travel across the channel to be a nuisance but not enough to do any work or get any admirable aims in life.” Fuck, that hadn’t enough venom, it was transparent and flimsy. Traceable. He made sure his glower was deep enough to offset what he was certain was too-soft a rebuttal. It hadn’t done enough, though.

« So you have missed me ! Yes, you know, I do enjoy to come here and to anger you. » A quick beat passed.

« You know I had to come and-- mmm… scorn you for ungentlemanly not replying to my letters. » Well, it seemed he was being equally as transparent. He almost shivered. It was one thing to have his feelings discovered, but if they both were in agreement over what was happening, it was much more difficult to steer away from what was coming.

“Scold. You mean scold.” He added curtly, taking his pen back up as he glanced back down at his paperwork. He had been staring at his face up until then, he just realised. Blue eyes as infuriating as ever, that new obnoxious french hairstyle, the unneeded tightness in the waist and legs of the waistcoat and trousers, the volatile expression of something genuine.

“Your english still hasn’t improved.” He continued with a comment he knew would be ignored, but he needed to get it out there. Keep up the guise of nagging conversation.

« Your office is so away from the rest in here. Isolated like always. And no windows, a prison ! Poor little sad Englishman, and of course no time to write letters, not one bit. » They were talking by, not to, each other, though they were saying the same things. He had decided to sit upon the edge of the bureau, clearly an excuse to stir up some fabricated bile for their equally as convincing argument.

“I’m working upon this desk, thank you! And I’ve been working for months now. You were not invited and are not wanted; you’ve found your way in and can find your way out. Good day, Bonnefoy.” His pulse was hammering now, if only he could direct it at that copper-- beat his will into place, keep it straight and unmarred, stay determined. The Frenchman was simply smiling away with that look of acute, cutting, though well-intended observation. He was not going to leave on his own. With a return of the pen to its place, he stood, making an attempt to usher his unwelcome guest out. Francis rose as well, and as he did so the Englishman made no further attempt to get to his office door. Instead they stood together, steadfast.

« Say hello to me. It’s been so long, and I want to hear it and you want to say it. Just hello. » It was a tender plea as much as it was a command. The fool really thought he was entitled to it, but only in the way two who have known each other a long time are entitled to hear the news of someone’s workday or what dreams filled their last night’s sleep. They weren’t touching, but they could. His own face was beet red as he decided whether or not he should deny the request, angry and upset at more than the situation and himself. It was boiling over, the tapping beats in his chest and throat weren’t subsiding. He had to do something. He wished he had a bloody window so he could toss the intruder out of it, grasp him by his ruffled collar and throw him out the door, or against a wall, or over his desk, or--

“You-- I can’t believe you--” He was cut off by a look, and maybe Francis had moved forward slightly with his deep gaze, bridged the gap a little to make it easier, but maybe he hadn’t, and maybe he had grabbed at the nicely pressed wool jacket of his own accord, pulled at the stupidly styled french coif to reach for a kiss, to stumble into the wall behind them all on his own. He certainly was the one pressing them together, at least preliminarily. Bonnefoy, having planned something along these lines, was quick to fill in the needed friction after a blink.

« That’s-- hmm… one way to say hello. » The teasing tone was almost enough to make him stop entirely and snap him out of it, possibly stear himself back onto a more proper path, but Francis was smiling again and it was just too earnest as he craned his neck back in anticipation to be kissed there. They both knew this was the only hello he’d be able to manage. Any further acknowledgement of a budding warmth between them beyond the physical was more than he could honestly bear. For now, the more openly flagrant refusal of the two to meet gentlemanly expectations would have to be their letters that were few and far between, punctuated by occasional tysts like this, though the sentiment always lingered, and he was afraid it was growing. He had a period in his youth, with no supervision on open seas, when he didn’t hold himself to such a high standard in these matters. It had taken a fair amount of diligence to push himself back on track, but now--... Well, he could feel himself slipping again, but this time he knew better. Somehow the refutation of his desires of it all made it all the more difficult to deny. But Francis wasn’t giving him much pause to think more deeply about these things, and the wretched glint in his eye made it seem like he knew just what was on his mind. Why did he always know!? It hurt, to be so well understood in a shame the other refused to acknowledge. When had Francis ever been shameful of anything? He pretended to be, but only to be irritating. Every so often when they’d do this, he’d resort to saying such horrible things about how he relished his sanctity being soiled when they both knew perfectly well that no such thing was ever there in the first place. Francis made no signs to do so tonight, not as impatient hands were fiddling with buttons and edging him over to sit back on top of the desk. That pansy French fashion was great for enticing the eye but by god, the buttons! Warm, manicured hands met his and Bonneyfoy grinned.

« You do not need to open my shirt. » What a stupid assumption.

“Just because I don’t-- stop that! I can do it on my own, you’re not making it any easier. I could just rip the damn thing if you prefer-- I don’t have to but. Well, I get to,” His huff was met with an expression that looked sickeningly soft. Was this not injustice enough? To acquiesce to desire, but now his carnal lusts were being interpreted as tenderness! Maybe it was a bit of that, but blast it, Francis could at least pretend he didn’t know. It wasn’t like this was something special for him, anyway. That fop was getting it on with anything that moved and looked his way, and now Francis was lording it over him that he liked him! He was probably smug, pleased that he had ordained to come down and give him the pleasure of a single, solitary fuck while he was off cavorting with--

« Please, let me. You’re tense, I can help. » There he went with that tenderness again, too visceral to be faked. The beat in time of the two sharing a glance was raw and it shut him up quite well. Francis kept chatting as he placed the Englishman’s hands under his shirt as he nimbly undid his own buttons. The other was content to grab about underneath as he waited.

« You need to learn to say no to them. Get more time away. They make you feel worse inside, and that is not very handsome at all. » And there he went with the sap. It was easy to slide his hands around to the small of Francis’s back and hold him steady as he kissed him to shut the man up. Surprisingly, Francis pushed him away to finish opening his buttons. The Englishman did not appreciate that.

« Despair is becoming on you, but even you need to be patient. I’m not going anywhere. » They both knew that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t complaining when Francis plucked his own cold hands out of the back of the Frenchman’s trousers and placed them on the man's freshly revealed chest. He could feel Francis shiver under him, his own hands were much colder than the other’s hot skin. A moment of impulse made him squeeze possibly a bit more roughly than he should have, and Francis did that little gasping moan of his he always did. It had been so long that he hardly remembered it anymore, but it was quite the experience to hear it again. The more he groped the chest, the tighter the legs around his waist would get. Oh, his poor paperwork, it was only slightly out of the way of being crushed and pushed about… Maybe he could move it before they got on with it all, it would only take a--

That familiar warm hand grabbed his jaw tightly and pulled his gaze back away from the documents on his desk, the both of them pausing only for a moment before they kissed again and all thought of paperwork was forgotten in favour of instant gratification. He could feel Francis smile triumphantly as he kept up his slightly desperate grabbing and squeezing, his hips starting to move up against the open legs resting on his desk. It was rather ungraceful, Francis’s legs snaked tight around him as he pressed their bodies together. In the one moment before he would no longer be able to resist himself, a clutching shock of guilt crackled through his chest. Unbeknownst to him, his face contorted slightly, a grimace of pain and reconsideration. Francis didn’t see, or, at least, didn’t pause. Instead, the hot, slender fingers that still held his jaw were keeping the pair kissing as a rhythm not dissimilar to one that the Englishman was familiar with was hammered out against the solid office desk. If only he could say he forgot the expectations of his bosses and the world at large for those moments, but he couldn’t. His will was stronger, however. At least, his will when combined with his desires. Besides, it was difficult to pause when his pervasive nuisance was sitting its fat arse on his desk, when they were clutched and and hugging together as tightly as his wax seals pressed to his paperwork that was currently watching the display. His hands were suddenly disordered-- after months, years even, of writing when told to, shaking hands properly, adjusting ties, now they had free reign to fly wherever they fancied. Tangled in bouncing blond locks one moment, then back squeezing his partner’s chest, then slipped down the back of the loosened trousers upon his bureau. There wasn’t much time until the nonsensical French interjections fizzled into dripping moans, and even less of a beat until a quicker, tense breath of air joined in. Chests still together, their hearts raced. He was the first to pull away and face the wall with a few curses as Francis was left sitting. Realising the fruitlessness of any attempt to clean himself there, he circled around to tend to the ever-patient papers awaiting his return as he dutifully stacked them in his carrying case.

“I should be going, then. These need finishing. Ta.” Miraculously, he found the coldness he had been attempting to muster up upon his companion’s arrival, though it was a tad too late. Francis wasn’t altogether pleased with the change in tone, although he understood the haste required after their torrid encounter.

« But I need a-- Angleterre, you-- ! » His shirt unbuttoned and tousled, and his trousers hanging off of his hips, Francis slipped to place himself in front of the door.

« You are bringing me to your flat, or your kennel, or wherever it is they keep you when you aren’t here. »

“Not if you’re going to speak French, I won’t.” A raised eyebrow came with the easy, chilled reply.

« Do not get smart with me. » Francis shot back, deft fingers working to button his shirt and press down his clothing as swiftly and naturally as bird preening itself. The other’s stern expression and eyes looking elsewhere told him as much as he needed to know. He softened, if only slightly.

« Look, I’m just as presentable as you. It’s a business trip, would that make you feel better ? I won’t bother you as you do your paperwork. I’ll even make you tea and something real to eat as you finish up. Hein ? »

Another few beats between them, and, ever the gentleman, he opened the door for Francis after giving them both a once-over.

“We’ll need to be quick, alright? These pants are already uncomf--... Go.” He gestured briskly out the door, and followed after the other man who seemed far more pleased with himself and the situation. What was he doing? Why was he-- well, that didn’t matter. All he had to worry about was getting back to his own room and not being seen by anyone in so disheveled a state… Besides, Francis seemed to be making no effort to be inconspicuous-- loudly asking for directions to his living arrangements because it had just been so long since he had seen them, and in French, no less. Though determined not to look at him, what made it worse was that he could just sense that sickening grin creeping up Francis’s face, spreading more and more by the minute. If only he had just remembered how irritating and inconvenient, unprofessional and repulsive the Frenchman was… Being apart for so long made him more alluring when he really knew what the bastard was like. If he had been prepared, why, he wouldn’t be bounding after him, through dirty, smoggy streets; his heart racing, his stern glare only slightly beating out the flutter in his chest and the small twitch at the corner of his lips. Incorrigible.

#fruk #ukfr #england/france #france/england #hetalia fic #hetalia fanfiction

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kiribakuhappiness · 3 years

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👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

Ahh, this question is always so interesting!

First I just want to define the terms above - in case some people aren't aware of their meaning!

Planner: Relatively self-explanatory, a planner is someone who plans out their entire story from start to finish before they even think about writing it. Character backstories, settings, relationship connections, timelines, order of events and their significance, important symbolic details, everything is entirely fleshed out before that pen hits that paper or before those fingertips start tapping away at that keyboard!

Pros: - No need to stop writing for every new plot point/chapter - Generally very well fleshed out characters and scenes. - Plenty of room for constructing well thought-out foreshadowing.

Cons: - Takes a lot of time and effort before the writing process can even begin. - Generally very difficult to tweak details later on, as it creates a domino effect regarding the remainder of the preemptive planning.

Panster: Coined from the term "by the seat of one's pants," a panster is someone who gets a vague idea for a story and takes off running with it. No direction or planned events needed, just their juicy inspiration and a blank document! Pansters are also usually known for writing scenes out of order.

Pros: - Lots of creative freedom. - No feeling of being weighed down by a predetermined path/plot. - Great technique when writing a story that will contain a lot of plot twists.

Cons: - So. Much. Editing. - Will generally end up doing everything that a Planner would do, just later on in the game. - Character motivations + plot structures can suffer by becoming cloudy and unclear/unexplained.

Planster: Probably the easiest to identify/define after learning about the other two, but a planster is someone who is a healthy mix of both! Most writers are plansters, as the range is much more varied and so, by default, contains the medium average. Plansters will get a new story idea, make a few notes or plan out a few important scenes/details, and then use that like a vague roadmap for their stories similar to the dodgy early-2000's Google Maps Directions.

Pros: - A healthy amount of creative freedom when coming up with new scenes and characters. - Easier to make midcourse adjustments in regard to plot devices, foreshadowing, etc.

Cons: - Writer's block can set in when struggling to connect one vague predetermined plot point to the next.

As for my answer, I am very much a Planster, leaning more towards Panster! Usually when I come up with a new story idea, it's a very vague concept, but a concept nonetheless.

So, take Why Is Everything So Weird With the Lights Off? as an example!

When I started that fic, my only notes going into it were these (copy + pasted from my notes app):

Bakugou appears at Kirishima's door; he's been drinking (third year, reasonable age to engage in such activity). Kirishima's first time seeing Bakugou drunk. Bakugou has come to confess his feelings - Kirishima can't imagine why Bakugou would think that midnight on a school night is a good time to strike up a conversation, but what kind of friend would he be if he turned him away? Kirishima's chivalry to be a good friend battles internally with his desire to be with Bakugou as the night progresses. Bakugou is uncharacteristically touchy and honest about his wants to hang out with Kirishima (internally, he's frustrated that he keeps fucking up his attempts to confess, and so tries to stay later and later to get it right). "'M not fuckin' comfortable," he [Bakugou] says [from the makeshift bed on the floor], louder and firmer, as if that will change anything. From beginning - no attraction/romance detected between them. As story progresses - lines start to cross and blur and Kirishima's buried feelings for Bakugou become more apparent to the reader. (Their relationship has started to subtly change, as all relationships tend to do.)

As you can see, there's very little in-depth details here. I don't really go into long-winded explanations and I don't really focus on anything regarding the setting or plot points. Of course, the type of notes I take and the amount of attention to details I give vary drastically regarding the project, but the entire idea is at least glossed over so I don't forget it, and I always try my best to be firm when considering Character Motive (ie; Bakugou drunkenly arrives with the one and only goal to finally confess his feelings to Kirishima), the rest of the fic and all of its minor details come as a result from these motives.

I'll give another example where I went into A LOT more detail, again, copy + pasted from my notes app! Disclaimer: major spoilers for unwritten chapters regarding Fighting Tooth and Claw to Get Back to You.

[Upon UA Katsuki + Fantasy Katsuki meeting for the first time]

"It is fucking winter?"

"Yeah. It's fuckin' winter."

[Right before they switch back] - UA Katsuki experiences a darkness where he finally meets Barbarian Bakugou face-to-face. They approach each other, movements mirrored, and it's UA Katsuki who raises a hand out towards him first, which Barbarian Bakugou hesitates to accept (he is resentful and ashamed of UA Katsuki and believes him to be ignorant and immature). But UA Katsuki needs to know what happened right before the switch, he needs to unlock that memory, and Barbarian Bakugou is reluctantly curious about his unwavering determination, so they clasp their hands together in a strong grip and are thrust into a new place - sunny and filled with green grass. The barbarian clan is there, Dragon Eijirou included, as they prepare to train for several moons straight before migrating away for the winter. Barbarian Bakugou and Dragon Eijirou leave to go train on their own, unbeknownst to them that Eri is following. They banter for a bit and kiss before bakugou wraps an intimidating hand around his neck and jaw. "Are you going to fight me or not?" Dragon Eijirou grins at that, still giving him a sultry, distracted look despite the fingers clasped threateningly around his neck. "What do I get if I win?" He teases. Barbarian Bakugou smirks before he gives Dragon Eijirou's head a light shove in the opposite direction, who steps out of his space again just as easily as he had entered it. "Off, you dumb lizard," Barbarian Bakugou grumbled, still looking amused before he reached over and pulled the glinting, golden sword (All Might) from its holster on his hip and brandished it towards Eijirou, whose red eyes glisten with a new kind of want as he stared at it - the dragon part of him yearning to collect such a valuable treasure. "You would look good as a King, Katsuki," he tells him. Katsuki's smirk grows wider. "And you as a dragon, if you'd ever hurry the fuck up." He gave the sword a vague sway through the space between them and Eijirou's eyes flash dangerously. "Come and take it from me. I know you want to," Katsuki goaded. Eijirou turns into a dragon and they fight.

[Choice made when Imperial soldiers attack during their training session (mentioned at beginning of story by Sero)] - All Might (sword) is falling off the cliff's edge, while Dragon Eijirou is about to get shot by a piercing arrow. Barbarian Bakugou chooses to try and save Dragon Eijirou (abandoning the sword and his future Kingdom), who calls out "NO" even as a dragon who shouldn't be able to speak (he doesn't want Bakugou to lose his throne just for him), which causes Barbarian Bakugou to stop abruptly in shock. The arrow is shot and pierces Dragon Eijirou's underbelly. He lets out a loud roar before he plummets down into the forest out of sight (leading to his capture). Barbarian Bakugou sees red, reaching down to grab the nearest abandoned steel sword (one shown at beginning of story that UA Kirishima shatters) that he then uses to swing down and slice into the shoulder of the soldier that had shot Dragon Eijirou. More soldiers descend into the valley. Katsuki hears a scream and turns to see Eri lying on the ground, terrified as a soldier holds up a crossbow at her. "TO THE END OF ALL DRAGONS!" The man yelled (revealing that Eri, in the fantasy timeline, is also a dragon, and explains her fondness for Barbarian Bakugou when she joins their group and observes how he treats Dragon Eijirou with kindness instead of prejudiced fear). Barbarian Bakugou's feet move without thinking as he lunges in front of Eri, just as her fingertips reach out and graze along his shoulder before everything goes black.

When UA Katsuki awakes again, he is in the hospital on campus, and Kirishima is sleeping in the chair beside him.

[fantasy setting, after the switch back. Barbarian Bakugou - despite still being offered the throne for Musutafu - declines. Izuku and Todoroki are preparing to go back to the kingdom with the news of the vanquish of the Imperial Army, gazing out at Bakugou's barbarian clan as he absently moves about the crowd, barking orders and preparing his clan for travel. Dragon Eijirou joins them to watch as well.] "I am surprised to learn of Kacchan's abandonment of the throne. I thought there was nothing in this world that could replace his desire to be King," Izuku mused out loud to him. "He would have made a great leader."

Dragon Eijirou grinned from beside him. "You're wrong, Izuku," he states simply. "He already is a great leader."

Because of the complexity of the story, with all its many plot twists and such a large cast of important characters, my notes are far more in depth here than they are for my other fic - however, these notes wouldn't necessarily be structured enough to be considered a Planner-mindset, as there is still plenty of room for added details, dialogue, etc.

Phew! What a fucking post :,D a big ole chonker - I hope you enjoyed reading at least, if you've made it this far! 🧡

Fanfic Ask Game - send me a question! ☺️

#fic ask game #kiribaku #writing #personal #asks

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themadauthorshatter · 3 years

Text

A lot of you seem to really like that Swap AU for Red Queen, so...

Time for a Part 2!!!!!

Like with Glass Sword, we start with Mare and crew on a train, Shade next to her while the rest their rifles aimed at Maven, who sits resolutely.

Kilorn is especially pissed because he doesn't trust the crown prince's younger brother, nor even when the bastard almost got all of them killed. Twice.

Maven snips that he was at fault for the second time, but Kilorn's stupider than he already is, if he thinks Maven palnned for Ptolemus to survive and come came to hunt them all down.

Mare barks at Maven to shut up, but Kilorn is more direct, punching the traitor prince in the nose.

Before he can do more, Farley calls him off, telling him he can kick Maven's ass later, when they're not on the train.

Reluctantly, Kilorn backs off and leaves Maven to wipe his nose off.

Mare, in an effort to diffuse the tension, asks where they're all going, anyway.

Shade and Farley glance at each other, then to Maven, before Shade explains they're on their way to Tuck.

Both Mare and Maven are confused, but there's no time for questions because they get attacked, as in their train gets derailed and is crushed like a tin can, chasing everyone outside.

ACTION TIME!!!!!!

Everyone hightails it out as they and the rest of the team with them fight off Silver forces. Their main goal is to get to what looks like a cliffside; Farley points to it and shouts they run there.

Mare notices the sudden lack of Maven, but shakes it off; he can either die or catch up somehow, it's every man for himself right now.

Mare does well in fending for herself, like before, but that stops when she's found and surrounded by a huge number of Silvers who are not afraid to rittle her with bullets, if she does anything.

The only reason they ARE afraid is because their General gave them a very strict order to not shoot unless he says so.

And this General is Cal, who instantly notices that Maven is missing and asks Mare where he is.

Mare challenges him, wondering if he's planning on shooting his brother himself, if she gives him up.

Cal snaps, asking if she's really defending someone who betrayed her, after lying to her for so long.

Mare still doesn't reveal that Maven ran, and instead growls that if Cal's trying to bring her back, it won't work, because she's not getting her family killed with her.

And she sure as hell isn't trusting the person who screwed her over in the first place.

Those words put a hole in Cal's chest and he turns to whoever is his second in command.

"Open fire."

The poor bastard doesn't get a chance to do anything because Mare brings the plane(I think it's a Snap Dragon?) down, and blue flames fly out and drive away most of the Silvers.

Turns out Maven didn't run far at all, and instead gestures for Mare to run for the cliffside, which she does.

Mare and Maven cover themselves and each other, even as Cal says, 'fuck it,' and gives chase, the boys engage in a firefight from a distance.

Before things can get serious, Mare and Maven make it the cliffside and jump, Cal shouting that they can't run or hide forever. They will be found, and they will pay for their crimes, one way or another, regardless of their rank or the color of their blood. Even if Cal has to be the one to find them and execute them, they will face justice.

Mare and Maven find themselves in the submarine like before and Maven is made to stick around because no one wants to go looking for him, should he decide to run off and get lost.

It's here that Maven expresses that if Cal's hunting them, then they're all on borrowed time, 'them' being him, Mare, the Scarlet Guard, and any Newbloods Elara bothered to remember.

While he gets patched up, Shade asks why that's such a big deal, seeing as how they managed to get away.

Maven makes it clear: Cal does not know how to sit still. He's a hunter, a GOOD hunter. He'll solve problems with action, not words. He has an entire legion at his command, too, and both Samos children on his side.

And Cal can't think for himself to save his life. Most of his decisions come from someone else.

And guess who decided that Mare, Maven, and the Guard need to be erased?

It paints a clear picture for everyone, and Farley asks Mare to think about the Newbloods and try to remember any specific names, or pick out someone they need to pick up before leaving.

Mare doesn't have too long to think because they arrive at Tuck.

It's raining and pouring, but the group still gets to the surface, where Mare reunites with Bree. (Hooray!)

And Maven is captured by the Colonel.

Unlike before, there is and isn't a rush to find the Newbloods, there is because Elara and Tibe can pull the names of on a computer, print a list, and have them all killed, but there isn't because they need to look through the blood base to find the names, which will probably take a while because no Silver ever pays a Red any mind.

Mare still wants to go and talks Shade, Farley, Kilorn into helping, but also stipulates that she needs to bring Maven with, because he knows the most as a Silver she doesn't trust him in his own(Sure, good cover).

They're agaunst the idea, but Kilorn caves and helps her get Maven out.

Speaking of Maven, what's he been doing? Simple. Trying to find a way out without going inside. Elara's in his head and he can't get her to leave.

He's been in his cell for a few days, but has been more cooperative than Cal, turning his back to eat, not beating his knuckles bloody, and even trying to rearrange so he doesn't absolutely lose it.

He's chilling against the wall when Mare and Kilorn come in, and he's so excited to see BOTH of them for a change.

Neither really notice how the acrylic is scuffed up.

At least until Kilorn throws Mare in and locks them both inside of the cell.

They're left anger and unhappy and, after some back and forth, Mare asks what Maven about Tuck.

He admits he doesn't know much; geography was more up Cal's league, but Mare doesn't have Cal with her, she has Maven, and he apologizes for not being what or who she wants.

Mare doesn't respond and they remain silent for up to a few days.

In one of those days, Maven has a really bad phantom Elara headache, and from all the stress of what's happened.

While they sit across from each other, Mare against one wall and Maven against the other, Maven cluthes his head and screams until he runs out of breath, which he catches before screaming again.

Mare, out of curiosity and having similar feelings, after realizing what she said to Cal and how she's in over her head, joins him.

It feels good to get it out, so she keeps going.

Both scream until they're sick of it and sit back against the wall, sitting side by side.

They're met up by the Colonel, who comments in both the layout of the room and literally screaming matching before cutting to the trace.

The crown prince made an offer they can't refuse: one of the traitors for the removal of the measures as a whole. It doesn't matter which one, they just need one of them alive, and the Colonel wants to keep Mare around, for the sake of the 'Newbloods' Julien told her about.

Maven, not exactly buying it, asks why they only need ONE of them when both would be more valuable.

The Colonel warns him not to get cocky, but Maven pieces it together:

The COLONEL offered one in return for both, seeing as how both Mare and Maven have seen the list. All Elara really needs is one of them, and then she, Tibe, and Cal have access to find and hunt down the Newbloods. After that, they'll probably kill him.

Maven, understanding there's no real way he's getting out of this(if he refuses, Mare's getting sent to them instead, and then he'll have to deal with the fact he got her killed and her grieving friend and family), asks when he'll be leaving.

The Colonel nods and states whenever the jet is ready. Just as he leaves to let Maven and Mare say goodbye, he tells Maven that enough men and women have been killed, so with his death, at least he'll stop children from following.

Maven and Mare watch him leave.

Only to see him fall back.

Kilorn has returned with Farley and Shade in toe, Farley holding up a set of keys to the cell.

Like before, they leave via the Black Run, but this time it's Farley that has to pilot because Cal's not around in this timeline- I mean, AU.😁

Also like before, after some discourse from Kilorn and and maybe teasing from Shade(because he calls Maven the 'little prince' to be harmless), they find Nix Marsten, and if he beat the daylights out of Cal, he beats THE EVER AND NEVER LOVING SHIT OUT OF MAVEN.

Did he lead his daughters to their deaths? No.

Was he there with Cal when it was planned that they take a legion across a river/waterfall? Yes.

Was he known for instilling a little bit of reasoning in Cal? Yes.

Did he do that when Cal made the decision to cross a waterfall to fight an enemy force? No.

Maven is incredibly guilty, having been a few people behind when he saw the girls went over the falls, screaming, sputtering, and crying for someone to help them even when they went over the edge and screamed most of the way down.

He says that he knows it's useless, but he's too sorry for words. Too many Reds have died and soon Newbloods like Nix, Mare, and Shade will follow, if they don't hurry.

Nix, reluctant, goes with them, but asks firmly that Maven be kept the HELL away from him.

With Cal, Tibe, and Elara, the Queen is led to the Silent Stone cells, where Cal is sitting.

She asks the Sentinel to leave them, and he does, before asking Cal why he can't follow simple orders, for a General?

Cal snaps that he DID follow those orders. He just didn't retriwve Mare and Maven because Mare threw a plane at them and he and Maven had a firefight before they escaped.

And it was not his fault there was a submarine there and that it was on a cliffside.

Elara laughs out and tells him that he'd better be able to explain that to his father, because he's just about ready to kill him, Mare, and Maven himself.

Cal gives a laugh, asking if she'd like that to happen, seeing as how that was her plan.

Elara takes a breath and warns Cal that if it weren't for the Silent Stone, she would have disposed of him the same way she did with Coriane; in her own words, "the weak bitch stole the crown from me once, and I won't let her bastard take it again."

Cal asks when he's getting executed, but Elara smirks.

No need, because they found Maven and Mare, and Tibe, who loves Coriane's son SO much, is sparing him for Maven, who's getting thrown to Volo Samos and Rem Rhambos.

After that, she'll scramble his brains with a fork until he's more broken than both his parents put together, regardless of his place as the crown prince of Norta; this ain't The Folk of The Air, people. She can marry and ally to whomever, but ELARA is going to rule Norta and will make the Lakelands and the other countries surrounding Norta kowtow to her will.

Cal watches her leave, nervous for himself, but more concerned for Maven.

Well, at least he hears, "WHY IS EVERYONE SO USELESS LATELY!?" down the hall.

Elara returns and Cal makes a suggestion to where Maven and Mare are going, for it's population amd the fact Elara hates the place in general:

Harbor Bay.

And he has a way to bring Mare back, one he made a while back.

And Part 2 is going to need a Part 2 because this is going to be longer than I thought😅

#red queen #swap au #mare barrow #maven calore #mareven #healthy mareven #tiberias calore vii #cal calore #elara merandus #slight violence tw #death mention tw #shade barrow

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azurevi · 4 years

Text

on land where we can touch the moon (1/?)

Ok, so this is a really random idea, but it’s basically The Little Mermaid with Azul. And I wish I could excuse myself by saying that I was drunk writing this, but really I was just rushing it because I’ve been sitting on it for far too long. Anyways, enjoy!

Pairing : Azul / genderneutral reader

Characters : Grim, Ace and Deuce

Warnings/Triggers : none

Word count : 3,371

PART2 PART 3

“Isn’t this great,” you made a show of strolling along the railing, the beer in your hand threatening to spill. “The salty sea air, the wind blowing in your face. Perfect day to be at sea!”

“Yes, well-” Jack paused mid-sentence to lean over the side. He sounded as though he was retching. “It is indeed a favourable weather, your royal highness- urk!”

“Now, what did I say about formalities, Jack?”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Call me by my first name, if only for today. It’s a direct order.’”

You went up to soothe his back. When he pulled his head up, his eyes were glossy and cheeks purple. “It’s inappropriate for you to see me in this state, your majesty,”

“So you’re defying my orders now? And on my birthday, no less?”

“That man is all work and no fun,” Ace commented bitterly. He and Deuce were on the opposite side of the ship, holding their respective mugs of beer.

“That’s what makes him the knight commander,” Deuce said.

“A knight commander who’s seasick, huh?”

“Shut up, both of you!“

You chortled blatantly, chest light and hair spraying in the wind.

"Fireball Attack!”

There was a sharp yell, and Grim’s fur was all up in your face before you knew it.

“Hey, hey! Someone’s in a good mood!” You cradled him in your arms. His fur was fluffy and sticking up in the air in all directions.

While you were entertaining your attention-starved familiar, your personal knights had managed to get into yet another fistfight. Jack, the poor commander, was cornered on the edge of the ship, his golden, distinguished pin somehow threatening to slip off in his fingers.

“If I drop my badge, I swear on my wage you’re getting extra morning training and night patrols for the next whole year-!”

He gagged slightly before turning sharply, elbowing Ace in the process. His arm jolted, and the badge escaped his firm pinch, glistening in the air. Time seemed to slow as it made its way downwards, all the while the knights’ mouths grew rounder and rounder.

It plummeted right into the sea, made an insignificant plop and continued sinking quietly, slowly, until the sea muted the screams on deck and the light dwindled.

“We should really stay away, Rory,”

“Quit being a chicken,”

Lovett was falling behind. Rory had insisted that they visit this deeper and lesser known part of the ocean due to a half-hearted dare. And Rory, headstrong that she was, would never back down from a challenge.

“Haven’t you heard? Deep where the light doesn’t reach lives the evil Sea Merchant! A force to be reckoned with! It’s-”

Lovett swivelled swiftly. He was pretty sure something had just swam past from behind.

“Oh, for the love of Poseidon, please don’t eat me for I’m just a standard merman!”

“Will you zip?” Rory was already a few feets ahead. Lovett continued to mumble prayers as he flapped his tail harder.

There was almost no light now, but they could still make out the outlines of rocks and corals. It was uncanny how there was nary a sign of life, not even a lanternfish.

“What’s- what’s the dare anyways?”

“To steal something from the evil Sea Merchant’s collection,”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Lovett gasped. He had yet to notice how they’d swam into a forest of seaweeds. Some clung to their tails as they swam by and tickled their sides.

Something strong and somewhat slimy wrapped around Lovett’s arm. Presuming that it was just another irritating weed, he swung his arm back and forth. It only seemed to grow tighter.

“Great seas, what-” he turned to inspect. “Oh- oh- ten-TENTACLE!”

Rory sprinted around at the scream. “Holy-” she murmured, speechless and shocked to the core.

Wrapped around Lovett’s elbow was no doubt a tentacle lined with suckers. For a while, it didn’t seem to be moving, but then Lovett was yanked away like lightning.

“Lovett!”

The first thought that came to his mind was that he was going to be eaten. That was until he was met with a frowning face. One under silver messy hair. Then his eyes traveled down the seemingly countless slithering tentacles that stretched out from the man, and he was trembling in fear again.

“Please-! Don’t eat me! I have the least nutritional diet!”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he squinted at Lovett for an agonizingly long time before finally letting him loose. Lovett squirmed and backed away. The area where he had been held had become swollen red.

“Lovett?” Rory had just gotten into the scene. Lovett didn’t wait a second to break into a run, but Rory caught him by his elbow where it was still hurting.

“We gotta run, Rory-”

‘Huh. What, it’s just Ashengrotto? Have you forgotten about him already?“

Lovett whimpered when Rory advanced on the man. He narrowed his gaze behind a neat pair of glasses. Lovett half expected Rory to be squeezed to death on the spot.

"You’re lurking down here now? How lame. And I see that you still got those hideous fingers of yours,” Rory gestured at his tentacles. “You seriously don’t remember him, Lovett? You have shit memories. Does Azul Ashengrotto from college ring a bell?”

It took Lovett a long, long time to get it. “That’s right, you’re Azul! Man, how you’ve changed- wait, are you the Sea Merchant?”

There was nothing that could rival the bitterness in Azul’s voice. “Pleased to see you again, Lovett,”

“Is it easier to prey on fishes down here? Or are you just that insecure about yourself?” Rory paid no mind to their conversation.

“… It’s none of your business,”

“It actually is. You see, knowing that an ink-blasting octopus lives in the same water as I do is really unnerving-”

“Then make your leave.”

Rory’s smug look faltered.

“Why should I? You don’t even own this part of the ocean-”

“Oh? Who are these friends of yours, Azul?”

A singsong voice once again interrupted Rory. She turned on her spot, only to find herself face to face with a grinning face.

“Eek-!”

“Oh! If this isn’t Rory~ how kind of you to visit us!”

Lovett backed away quietly. He wasn’t going to stay for anymore of this horror. When two hands slammed onto his shoulders, he shrieked a key higher than any other that’s been sung by opera singers.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a far more stern and solid voice asked. It was one of those voices you hear in persuading commercials.

It was the Leech brothers, in their long, slender eel forms.

Lovett thought that was it. This was his doom. He was either going to get eaten alive or squeezed to his demise. He should never have agreed to come here. And now he was going to die. He didn’t even get to experience life-

“It’s fine, Jade, Floyd,” Azul said calmly. The hands on Lovett’s shoulders retreated, and Rory rushed towards him hastily and pulled him up and up until they were out of the seaweeds.

“I can’t believe you let them off that easily!” Floyd complained, pouting hard. “We could’ve had some fun with them first, and yet you decided to play good guy?”

Azul didn’t reply. The three of them travelled between rocks and reefs, and while Azul seemed to be in search of something, the twins were merely accompanying.

“I believe he has his reasons,” Jade said, pausing in anticipation. When Azul didn’t soothe his curiosity, he sighed and decided to drop the topic.

Azul rummaged through the swaying weeds and peeked into the slits of the rocks. Nothing seemed to have piqued his interest. Then they swam even further away from where they’d started and reached a sunken ship.

While almost the entirety of the hull had rotten away the structure of the ship still remained intact. Anemones and sponges had claimed the pieces of wood. Tiny shrimps traveled freely between poles and debrises.

Jade and Floyd followed tightly like bodyguards. They were at least mildly worried after the encounter with Rory and Lovett. They could still recall vividly how notorious Rory was and what a relief that they never had to meet again.

If anything, Azul seemed frustrated. His tentacles worked individually, shoving aside inconvenience hastily just like his hands. It was as though he’d lost something priced and valued.

“Let’s split up, alright? Treasure hunt’s no fun if we’re just following one another,” Floyd said as he rounded a corner and out of sight. Jade hesitantly stayed behind as well, leaving Azul to his own.

He’d been here so many times that he’d lost count. There was always something new and from the land somewhere between the ruins. But this time, it seemed to have become just another bland, boring place without any aesthetic value.

That was until something flickered in the corner of his eyes. It was so weak that it would’ve gone unnoticed by, say, Jade and Floyd, but Azul had always been delicate in treasure hunting. Nothing ever slipped his sight.

It looked like a badge. A golden brimmed badge with two crossed swords in the middle, and at the bottom carved two grand words - 'Knight Commander’.

“Oh, what’s that you’ve got there?”

“Ahh!"

Azul spoke up finally in a long time. The brothers had at some point started following him again.

"Looks like a badge,”

“Bet it sank just a few hours ago. It looks very intact,”

“Yeah,” Azul flipped it between his fingers, eyes tracing in fascination. “It’s not everyday you see something like this,”

His mood seemed to have lightened after this discovery. He was gratified. It’d been a while since he last found anything worthy enough to add to his collection of trinkets from ashore. It put a smile to his face just remembering his towering shelves of tiny valuables.

Azul owned a secret grotto that even the Leech brothers knew nothing of. He’d made sure that it was known only to him.

It was where he stored all the human objects he’d found undersea. Things like a trident but with four tips or a shallow, handled bowl. There were items as big as a golden pot and others as small as a hairclip. Everywhere he turned they were shimmering and singing about the unknown world outside the water, where mermaids had legs and walked instead of swimming, where they could dance instead of just swaying and flapping tails. Where they could go so many different places - forests and deserts, mountains and caves - many more than what the ocean held.

And they could reach the moon. The ageless, pensive moon that Azul could only wish to caress. But no matter how hard he stretched, it was only in his dreams where the moon would come down in all its glory, close enough to blind his eyes.

He needed to reach it. There was no other way. It was the single entity in the world that knew all the truths and lies, all the corruptions and praises. He had to see it, then he would get the answers - the truth he’d always hungered for.

Muffled rumbles snapped him out of his intensity. When he looked up from under the grotto, he’d thought he was hallucinating.

The usually azure (and rather bland, may he add) current was now painted with red- no, yellow- purple- it was changing with every muted clap. It might have as well been the end of the world with its bizarreness. However, there was something else stirring in Azul’s heart aside from confusion.

Curiosity. A haste force that was tingling in all his eight tentacles, as if there was no way to rid of the sensation except to swim towards the source.

It was wrong on so many levels. He’d been taught by teachers, friends and his parents that to go beyond the water was basically pleading to be killed. Humans are nothing but greedy, spineless, nasty fish-eaters who are incapable of emotions, that’s what everyone said.

Was that really the case, though? As Azul surveyed his collections, he found it harder by second to believe in the lore. How would they explain all these sparkling and antique cosmetics? How could a world that made so many wonderful things be bad?

And so he pushed aside all doubts that were chaining his limbs and flew towards the surface.

The moment he broke the fabric of water and chill air entered his ears, he was taken back by the sight before him.

A colossal wooden ship was sailing right above. Behind it, lights and fire burnt themselves in the sky then fell into the water dimly. There were singing and whooping aboard where he couldn’t see. The grandness of it all was so deafening that Azul failed to hear the voice of reason in his head as he neared the boat.

There was an opening at the side of the ship. Azul carefully stuck his head up so he wouldn’t be seen. At least not without squinting.

There were about five people dancing and hollering, some holding drinks in their hands while the others blowing into their snarfblats with reddened cheeks.

“Encore! Encore!” a red-haired guy yelled. Then there was an airy laugh in response. Azul turned sharply towards where it came from.

Azul was… awestruck, to say the least. You were grinning from eye to eye, which were diminished into slits. As you laughed on, Azul felt his chest lighten little by little. It was one of those laughs that pulled you closer and assured you that the world around was but a facade. He could listen to your laugh for the rest of his life and he’d never be distressed again.

“Alright, but can we first reveal the massive unknown that’s been standing here for the past hours? You know I can see it right?” you asked with confidence, and this confidence was just humble enough not to be arrogant.

“As you wish, mademoiselle,” another man with dark blue hair bowed with a flourish, then approached the object in question which was covered with a drape. He was at least tipsy with his wavering and unsteady steps.

“Presenting-!” he hollered before yanking the drape off. Surprisingly it was a golden statue made to resemble you.

You recoiled in mild distaste, but your smile remained. Azul pondered about how you still managed to radiate a cheerfulness despite your negative reaction.

It also occurred to him that it was made in gold. Out of all his collectibles there was rarely even a gold necklace. You must have a reputation for someone to make you such a big deal.

“Well, here’s your birthday present, milady,” the tipsy man was throwing names spontaneously now. The red-haired had to drag him away from the railing several times. You had all resumed singing and dancing. Azul was so captivated by your figure that he didn’t even notice the fireworks dying down.

You and a dark-skinned man were leaning right next him now. What looked like a cat but with flame shaped ears and a devil’s tail started sniffing in the vicinity. Azul was having a hard time staying out of its way and eavesdropping on your conversation.

“You sure you don’t want some?” you raised your mug to his face, which he declined respectfully.

“I’d prefer to stay sober,” he said. “You know, I don’t wish to spoil your birthday, but the king’s being more pressing than ever,”

“Yeah? About what?”

He stared at you for a moment before answering, as if he was trying to look pass your display.

“About marriage, of course,”

You didn’t answer. Though the corners of your lips were still raised in the aftermath of all the previous hypes, you were obviously unhappy to be there. Azul wished the man would shut up and bring your smile back instead.

“It’s not just the King, your highness. The whole kingdom wants to see you happily settled down with the right person,”

��Jack-” you took a deep, deep breath. “It’s not something that can come quicker just because you’re anxious. I have to find the right person-”

“I understand…” Jack mumbled under his breath. He didn’t look like he understood at all.

“- and they’re out there somewhere. I’m sure. I just haven’t found them yet,” you turned and dangled your arms over the railing. Azul quietly swam under your hands. He could probably touch your fingertips if he stretched hard enough.

“When I see them, it’s gonna hit me. Like bam! Like lightning-”

As if hearing your prayer the sky cracked open with a loud cry and grew darker still. The other men scattered out hurriedly, looking as though they’d never drunk anything.

“Hurricane coming in! Stand fast, secure the rigging!”

It all happened so fast. The wind was so strong that Azul could almost feel himself being blown away. The sky rumbled again and lightning started a rapid fire where it’d striked. He noticed a rock looming just ahead, but no one on board seemed to have noticed it.

He should probably go. It’s the safest under the sea. The sky couldn’t hurt a hair of his. But then he heard your screams of commands, and suddenly he was a brave knight willing to give up his life for the princette.

You weren’t on the ship when he neared. Instead, you were already secured on a piece of log, as well as the other men. He exhaled a relieved sigh, but it didn’t last as he heard cries from the ship.

“Ah! Get away you nasty fire- help!” cried a high-pitched voice.

“Oh no, Grim!” you gasped. Without a second thought, you let loose of the log and rushed towards the burning ship. The broken ship gave you better access as you hopped on, but the moment you’d secured your familiar, the ship roared and you tripped and fell.

“Look out!” Azul yelled out futilely. The ship ran straight into the rock and BOOM, everything was set ablaze. Azul dodged between dropping debrises mindlessly as he roamed around in search of you.

When nothing was found above, he dived back into the water and there you were - sinking into the water, growing darker and darker by second. He was next to you in a blink - thanks to his fast-moving tentacles.

Your group had already gone out of sight when he emerged again, but to his best luck there was a piece of land just near, and he raced there like he was going to lose his own life if he was too late. It was only when you were pulled up on the dryland that he could soothe his pounding heartbeat.

He was bewildered at the fact that he could breathe on land just as well as he did under water. Aside from the sand that had started sticking to his tentacles the moment they touched, nothing seemed to be out of place.

“Hey,” he’d never rescued a drowning human before. He didn’t even know what drowning was.

“Are you dead?” he slapped your cheek lightly. Your chest didn’t seem to be heaving, and your lips were as pale as snow.

“Hey-”

“Blergh!” Your head jerked up and suddenly you were coughing up water. Azul squeaked before scurrying over to hide behind a rock.

Your head was drooping back and forth as you held yourself up with wobbly arms. Then you started turning around and locked eyes with Azul’s as he peeked out tentatively.

Oh, it’s bad. This is very bad.

“Who-” you started to stand, and at the same time Azul began to reach for the water stealthily so you wouldn’t notice. He knew he’d be screwed if he was spotted.

“Y/N!” someone cried from far away, and you turned to look. The split second was just enough for him to crawl back into the water and out of sight.

The water washed the sand off him quickly, erasing all the evidence that he’d been out there violating one of the strictest rules under the sea, but despite all, he found himself already missing the crisp air above.

If any, he’d grown more fond of the unknown world that you lived in.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #sie writes

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jabbajambler · 3 years

Text

Powerless

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x f!OC

Word Count: 2,090

*GIF by @babyyodastuff*

The bar was vacant except for a few tipsy aliens. Their words slurred together as they spoke and slung their arms around one another. They started to sing some sort of song, but the lyrics were soon lost in the puddle of sounds. It was then nothing more than a hum that drifted in the air.

Honestly, any sound would've been better than this conversation. Every look in that cruel woman's green eyes made me want to spring across the table with my saber. I was sure Din wouldn't complain too much.

"Trask is a black market port," Bo Katan leaned against the table with a determined look in her eyes. There was something lying beneath that stare, something she wanted. "They're staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet. We're seizing those weapons and using them to retake our home world."

I laughed, choking on my drink as I tried to hold it in. Mandalore? Was she serious? That planet was a wasteland and it was partially her fault. I could feel her cold glare on me before she continued.

"Once we've done that," her voice was darker now, "we'll seat a new Mandalore on the throne."

"That planet is cursed," Din spoke with ease as I struggled to hold back my grin. "Anyone who goes there dies. Once the Empire knew they couldn't control it, they made sure no one else could either."

I shrugged, "with the Empire gone, who knows, but that planet is a wasteland."

Bo Katan's hungry green eyes focused on mine. "And who exactly are you?"

My throat felt dry at her mocking question. She held a slight grin on her face as she tilted her head to the side, batting her eyes as though there were no hints of resentment. I still tried to hold my head high despite the feeling of her staring down at me. "I am Myrah Koor," I said, my stomach dropping slightly as I said it, "adopted daughter of Aaryn Skywalker and Obi Wan Kenobi. I suspect you remember them, don't you?"

"I do. You don't like me," she rolled her eyes and placed her hands beneath her chin, "why? From what I remember, I helped your family."

"You betrayed my family," I snapped as the overwhelming anger started to swell in my chest. "You're a cheat and a liar and-"

Bo Katan scoffed, "don't believe everything you hear." She shrugged me off and turned back to Din whose momentary focus was on me. I could see how my face flushed red and warm in the reflection of his visor.

"Our enemies want to separate us," her gaze drifted over to me quickly, "but Mandalorians are stronger together"

I struggled to hold in my fury as the heat consumed my body. I swore one more sly comment and she would have wished she wore the helmet all the time. The gentle brush of leather against my hand distracted me, pulling me from my rage-filled thoughts. Din's hand was quick to pull away from mine before the others had questioned it.

As if we weren't already as dramatic as possible on the boat. Surely they weren't that naive.

"That's not part of my plan," Din answered Bo quickly as he turned his gaze to the child who watched the exchange curiously. "I've been quested to return this Child to the Jedi."

Her eyes flickered between me and the child. "And she wasn't good enough?" she hummed, "what do you know of the Jedi?"

"Nothing. I was hoping you would help me by Creed."

Her lips lifted into a small, smug smile as she looked between her other Mandalorian friends, "I can lead you to one of their kind," she spoke quietly, "but first, we need your help on a mission?"

I scoffed, "what sort of mission do we need to help you with? You three seem to be perfectly capable on your own.'

"We usually are," she snapped before taking a deep breath and straightening in her seat, "but this is more intense than what we usually deal with on Trask."

"Let me guess," I leaned forward in my seat with my arms folded on the table, "imperials? I'm shocked you don't feel like betraying the galaxy and go side with them. After all, isn't that what you're good at?"

Koska, her brunette friend, had to hold her back from lunging at me across the table. Even the slight squeeze on my arm told me to settle down. If I went any further, I was sure to have a knife in my chest or her hands wrapped around my neck until I blacked out. I certainly wasn't going to die at her hands.

"Yes," Koska finished for Bo Katan as she and their other friend tried to calm her down, "they're imperial and highly guarded. We will provide more details at sunrise. Should we meet here?"

Din quickly shook his head, "meet at the west docks. We'll rendezvous there in the morning."

"Right, well," she huffed, "you should probably get going."

The hand on my arm lifted me from my seat before I could fit in another snarky remark. I couldn't even shout anything on my way out because we were out in a flash. I almost thought Din forgot the kid with the way he tugged me out of the building.

"What were you thinking?" he snapped once we reached the cool, night air.

I shrugged, "I was thinking that she was a traitor to her family and mine. Listen, she carries a long history with her, one that I'm not too fond of. Let's leave it at that."

"Fine."

The docks were so empty at night. Or was it morning? It felt like we had accompanied Clan Kryze for ages. Each stare was full of threats, maybe even promises, of destruction. Bo Katan knew the weight of her words and how they would carry with Din. She knew that the child was everything to us and if she could use us to her benefit, she would.

It wasn't like it would cause her any grief. She'd done it many times before. To her, people who suffered from strong emotions were simply pawns in her game. As though we deserved to suffer from loving something so much.

The child, I mean.

My family must be under some sort of Kryze-Curse where we are forced to do their bidding. I wish I could break it. I would like to be the last sort-of-Kenobi to suffer by their hands.

The air smelled like fish. Dead fish. It was absolutely horrid yet the child couldn't get enough. He smiled sleepily as he breathed in the air. The moon lit up the dark sky and reflected across the vast ocean. The light rippled across the waves so perfectly, I almost thought it was a dream.

As we journeyed towards the Razor Crest, the wood creaked. Every single step was followed by a small sound of it bending beneath our boots.

Step.

Creak.

Step

Creak.

The monotonous sound was followed by the slight splash of the waves against the wood. It felt like the dock was moving with the water. Honestly, it probably was. Who knew how far down the posts went and the planet was almost entirely ocean. It wasn't such a far-fetched idea.

We no longer had to await the painfully slow door of the Razor Crest thanks to the gaping hole that took its place. In some ways, it was nice. Still, a part of me worried about being robbed in our sleep. That is, if we had any valuables left.

"We could get a motel room if you want," Din's gentle voice floated through the air. He sounded shy, almost ashamed of the state the ship was in.

"No," I gave him a weary smile, "we'll just be careful. There may be more weird aliens out to kill us."

He breathed out a huff of air, a quiet laugh if you could even call it that, and shook his head. "Right. As if you can't handle that."

"If I can't, I know I have you right beside me," I held the child close to my chest as I sat on the edge of the cot. At least one thing was still intact. My eyes drifted to the small hammock above me as the child reached for it. His brown eyes were wide and his lips trembled as he struggled to grab it. I breathed out a soft chuckle and lifted him into it, pulling a small blanket over his body.

He couldn't speak, I knew that. Or, at least he hadn't done so yet, but I felt gratefulness swarm my mind as though he was communicating subconsciously.

"Go ahead and sleep," Din cut through the child and I's silent moment, "I'll keep watch."

Of course, ever the gentleman. Or he still didn't trust me. I assumed it was the latter, but I wouldn't say anything. I didn't need to incite another argument, let alone bring up any questions about what happened today. Sure, he knew my history as a force-user but I didn't need any more questions. As far as he knew, I could move things with my mind, heal people, and had a 'laser sword.' That was enough for now.

"Alright," I agreed with a friendly smile, "but I expect you to wake me up as soon as you're tired-" he started to speak before I started up again, "and you're taking the cot as soon as it's my turn. You can't get out of this one either. I'm not letting you sleep on the floor or in your chair."

Din stood silent for a moment. His brain was undoubtedly searching for some excuse to avoid a somewhat decent night's sleep. Eventually, his head fell down with the chin of his helmet resting against his chest plate. A long, exhausted sigh escaped him, followed by a quiet, reluctant, "fine."

"Wait, really?" My eyes grew wide as his simple agreement. He was never one to easily follow anything unless it was his idea, especially so quickly. I felt a short laugh bubble out of my chest, "have I finally tamed the wild Mandalorian?"

"Stop," he grumbled.

I held back my laughs as I stood up and circled him, "next up, we see a rogue Mandalorian, broken away from his pack. At first, he seems untamable. He's unable to be captured, but then! A Jedi? She's caught him, fed him, shown him all the true joys in life! Now, he has no choice but to become a domesticated Mandalorian, politely obeying every word the Jedi says-"

His hand closed over my mouth, his other arm wrapped around my back to pull me near. "Not another word," he spoke quietly.

"Apparently not as well trained as I thought. Maybe we need to teach him some manners," I winked and pushed his hand away from my mouth. My nose scrunched up in disgust, "and how to clean his clothes. Those smell rotten."

"Well, I did fall in the ocean," he stated simply and pulled his arms back to his side.

I snickered and sat back in the cot, pushing myself towards the back wall, "it's a good thing someone was there to save you, then. Must've been some beautiful, strong woman, right?"

"Yeah," his voice came out breathy, but quickly went back into his regular, stiff tone, "too bad she's annoying."

My jaw fell slightly, leaving my mouth gaping as I stared at him. A joke? A funny one too. I laughed and fell back in the bed. My head hit the thin pillow, bouncing slightly against the mattress. "Whatever," I rolled my eyes with a wide smile on my face, "just make sure you wake me up, okay?"

I could hear a small hum in agreement as I shut my eyes. For the first week in Coruscant I was terrified to fall asleep. New places used to always scare me and I never showed my face before I was alongside Din. Now, I was safe. Everywhere I go, I know there is someone to protect me.

Instead of succumbing to the aching pains of sleep like I used to, I drifted off easily with a smile on my face. I knew, no matter what happened between us, he wouldn't let anything get to me.

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do-androids-dream-ao3acc · 3 years

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There was a prompt by @frances-the-red:

Oh no! Geralt lost his engagement ring! 😱 What happened and how is the godling Hansi involved? (Just a silly little prompt if you ever become bored. Love your writing! 🧡)

I changed the engagement ring to wedding ring because there has never actually been an engagement, let’s just say that’s not a Nilfgaard custom ;) Also, I changed Hansi to the more common Johnny. I think nobody will understand the joke anyway and English-speaking gamers just know him by this name. Hansi is his name in the german dubbing (which is the same as Johnny) and that happens to be the name of my favorite Heavy Metal singer, too. And I love that you prompted me with it :)

One last thing: I had to alter the outcome of a specific Witcher 3 quest for this. Usually, Sarah only meets Johnny if you throw her out of the house where Corinne meets her. So for this story, let’s just assume it went a bit different.

Enough babbling! This one is called “A seeker enthralled by a flame” (Avantasia lyrics this time), read under the cut or on AO3. 5330 words, rated G.

The second of waking up, Geralt realized something was fundamentally wrong.

This had nothing to do with the fact that dull rays of the sun shining through the curtains indicated morning was already advanced. Nothing to do with him waking up in a foreign bed. Or that half of his body was hanging out, as if it missed the habit of a much larger bed. All of this was not unusual. So what was it? When his eyes opened, Geralt immediately knew where he was (in Novigrad), what he had been doing the night before (getting drunk with Dandelion and Zoltan out of pure reunion), and why he was here (a contract, of course, and this was a stopover on the way back).

Nothing of all this was wrong. What he could see of the room without moving his head (possibly one too many beers) was normal. A guest room at the Chameleon, furnished with Dandelion's somewhat exuberant taste and clearly refined by Priscilla's hand; fresh flowers and fruit on a sideboard. The fingertips of Geralt's right hand brushed wood. It took him a moment to realize that his arm was hanging out of the bed, touching the floor. The floor felt normal, as did his body, which was slowly waking up and painfully reminding him that he needed to pee.

But he was not ready yet. His mind was still trying to trace this feeling, even if it might well have been only a vague thought from a dream. Lost in thought, he involuntarily began tapping a kind of rhythm on the floor, an odd imitation of what Emhyr did when he became impatient. And then he understood. An ice-cold feeling ran through his abdomen, and the natural need was gone.

The ring was missing.

Hastily Geralt raised his hand, straightening in the bed, bringing his fingers close to his face, staring. His ring finger had a small, light-colored indentation, an imprint that made it even more evident that something was missing. His wedding ring was gone. Against better judgment, Geralt jumped out of bed and carefully examined the floor; he even crawled under the bed, checked every crack, combed the whole room.

It was simply easier to assume that the ring had slipped off his finger (it sat perfectly, he never took it off, not even when he put on gloves and went into battle) than to believe someone had dared to steal it from him. That was ridiculous. Stealing from a witcher? In one of the hottest establishments in town (a fucking wicked, disgusting town full of disgusting subjects, well). Even drunk as he had been last night, that was not possible. Who would dare to enter his room without him noticing (impossible) and pull a ring off his finger?

It was undoubtedly a valuable piece, but the silver... Geralt's eyes immediately darted to the wall next to the bed, although he had long known what he would see. The swords were still there, leaning neatly against the wall in their scabbards.

That didn't make any sense. Who would steal a ring when there were two swords whose common material value was significantly higher? Indeed, the blades were almost unsaleable – no merchant in his right mind would buy witchers' swords, especially those whose engraved runes were more than clearly traceable to the owner. Nevertheless, Geralt hurriedly began to check the rest of his equipment. The armor, the saddlebags... everything was there; nothing was missing.

Geralt sat down on the bed, resting his slightly aching skull on his hands. Had he perhaps lost the ring during the evening? Or – even worse – had he, in a frenzy, agreed to use the piece as a prize in a game of Gwent? He was notorious (well, in the eyes of a certain man at least) for occasionally doing idiotic things, but Geralt thought something like that was out of the question.

Besides, he didn't want to imagine that possibility because it would have meant that, in a few days, he would have had to confront his husband to tell him he had lost the ring. The symbol of their love come true, the flame that he always carried with him like the one in his heart....

"Silly. And you're hyperventilating."

There wasn't really a voice in his head, but he could imagine it very well (and that was very close to what Emhyr would actually say before he found out the ring was gone). Besides, the voice was right. Geralt took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. If the idea of being robbed seemed absurd, at least there was a way to find out if it was valid. All he had to do was focus on possible clues in the room. However, that was easier said than done; after all, he was in Novigrad, in a much-frequented house – supposedly the most popular in the whole city. Looking for traces in this room was like telling a dog to search through a massive pile of shit to find out if his best friend had been there.

The same was true for the smell. However, chance aided him – this room didn't seem to be used quite as often. Perhaps Dandelion indeed did keep it only for friends at all times, or maybe he exaggerated his establishment's popularity. In any case, most of the traces and smells that Geralt's senses picked up were older and not of concern. Quite clearly, his own smell still hung in the room, an almost visible cloud of alcohol, leather, horse.... well, he had arrived only a few hours before. But there was something else. More like a hunch that someone else had actually been here – a kind of whiff, an indefinable but strangely familiar smell, as if he had sensed it once before, and a tiny trail of footsteps, as delicate as if that had been just a ghost. But a ghost would have left no visible traces at all.

Even these were almost impossible to see, smell or feel. It was strange, but at least a better explanation than that he had simply lost the ring. Still, what creature would have managed to pull the thing off his finger and disappear with it completely without a sound and almost without a trace? There was only one way to find out, and, if possible, before anyone saw him without the ring. Now it didn't seem like such a good idea that he had presented it so openly (because he was damn proud of it).

Geralt left the Chameleon like a suitor who had fallen asleep over his secret lover – very quietly. No one was awake yet anyway. He disappeared without a message, which was not that unusual, and sneaked out through the back exit. It was challenging to follow the delicate breeze on the streets and impossible to make out the tracks anymore. Almost as if the thief had fled across the rooftops – a not so unlikely possibility. Besides, the city itself stank of all the shit that places like these stink of: too many people and their numerous vices.

His motivation was high (if not desperate), so his focus was tremendous. The sight of a witcher trudging through Novigrad with a grim expression on his face, looking neither left nor right, was not common even here. As so often, his reputation preceded him, and if he had bothered to look into the eyes of the people who hurriedly avoided him, he probably could have guessed which of the numerous things said about him they were most likely to believe. He didn't care anyway. Geralt followed the fleeting trail of a breeze mixed with so many smells that it became almost impossible to keep track of it.

Twice he lost it, once he almost lost his nerve, and yet he held on convulsively to that one delicate scent. It led him out of the city, which was good; it would be easier to track now. Only briefly did he give up following the scent because, outside the city gate, he was sure to find it again. The trail led directly away from the main road, which didn't surprise him. The brazen thief surely had not been interested in encountering any guards. So he unhitched his horse from the capable businessman who had recently started running a livery stable near the entrance.

*//////{<>==================-

It went cross-country, over meadows and fields, which Geralt had to ride around as a precaution if he did not want to incur the farmers' wrath, and he lost valuable time, but never the trail. Whoever had taken the ring had been nimble, and they were several hours ahead of him. But he wondered where this would lead. The ring had hardly been stolen by a magpie that had flown into its nest with it. So why through the countryside and into the forest? Maybe the thief just wanted to hide and wait because there was no direct way to the next town from here, and Geralt still considered it doubtful that it would be possible to sell the ring, just like the swords. However, some crazy collectors paid a fortune for witcher's memorabilia. Maybe there was a black market for his wedding ring. This was such a monstrous thought that he already imagined what he would do to the thief if….

Geralt stopped as if rooted to the spot. The scent ceased here, in a small clearing of beech trees, in the middle of a meadow, sprinkled with daisies and wild herbs. He had been leading Roach on the reins for quite a while because the forest had become too dense. Now he let go, patted her briefly, and whispered to her to be good and stay put, which earned him a snort that sounded almost contemptuous.

The trail might end here, but that didn't mean he had lost it. He perceived a presence that was trying to hide, but... Geralt looked up.

"Johnny," he said. "You can come down now."

Up there, perched in a treetop, sat the reason why the smell had appeared familiar to him from the very beginning. He had just not been able to assign it to the little godling immediately. In fact, Geralt had not expected to see him again at all.

"I don't want to," resounded a pitched voice from above.

"I can imagine, but I'd rather you come down. My neck hurts from staring up."

"That's old age."

"I'm sure you know something about that," Geralt replied patiently. "Come down now. I want to ask you something."

Johnny grumbled, and he played coy for a few more seconds, but he seemed to realize that he would not escape the witcher just by hiding in the tree. So he climbed down the bark as nimbly as a squirrel, but when he reached the ground, he still kept some distance.

"Long time no see, witcher," he chirped, though also with a certain mistrust – which, in Geralt's opinion, he had good reason to feel.

"Johnny, you know it's dangerous for you to show yourself outside," Geralt began carefully.

The little one grimaced.

"I'm careful. Besides, sometimes it's pretty boring to just sit inside all the time."

"You promised to watch Corinne – and Sarah, didn't you?"

"And I do! Really!"

Now a genuine smile covered the godling's face, who outwardly and also in many traits almost resembled a child. The smile might have as much to do with his conspecific Sarah as with the sorceress who had taken them in. They could have lived a pleasant life in the wilderness, where they would not have had to hide all the time. But the godling's natural kindness had driven Sarah to return to Novigrad as if she felt a connection with the oneiromancer, and Johnny had gone along. It was certainly not a forever bond, but it seemed to work.

"I'm sure you do," Geralt replied, "But listen.... is it possible you paid me a visit last night?"

Johnny's big eyes had an innocent look.

"Maybe?"

"And did you maybe take something that doesn't belong to you?"

Johnny scratched his head.

"Well, that would depend on how you define property, I guess."

Geralt sighed.

"My ring, Johnny. Why did you steal my ring? And don't even try to deny it. I know you have it in your little pouch."

Involuntarily, the godling's gaze went to the slim bag he carried over his shoulder. There could hardly be a more apparent admission of guilt, and he noticed his mistake immediately.

"Oh, unfair," he complained. "You tricked me. That'll teach me to play with witchers again."

"This isn't a game, Johnny," Geralt said, now noticeably more severe. "Give the ring back."

"Oh, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"I need it."

"For what?" sighed Geralt.

"That's a secret," the godling quickly replied.

"Johnny..."

"No, no, I won't be fooled again!"

"I'm sure Corinne doesn't know anything about it. Right? Would she approve?"

"You're not going to rat me out, are you? That's not proper between friends."

Johnny was visibly indignant now.

"It's not proper between friends to steal from each other, either."

The godling sighed.

"Oh, fine. Suppose you don't rat me out! Promise!"

Geralt counted very slowly inwardly to ten before answering, albeit through clenched teeth.

"I promise. So?"

"Well, if you can give anything on a witcher's word of honor.... I'll try to summon Liuba."

Geralt stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Liuba, the goddess of love?"

Johnny nodded eagerly. Geralt narrowed his eyes.

"Listen, I have no idea how this works among you godlings, but if Sarah isn't interested in you in that way, summoning a tricky goddess certainly isn't the best approach..."

"Dumbass. It's not for me," Johnny interrupted him. "It's about Corinne. She's been pretty lonely since she started taking care of us. She doesn't go out much, and even though we've offered to leave, she says she doesn't want us to. As far as we know, there are hardly any mages left in town. It is reasonably safe, but most are suspicious. And Corinne believes that no one who doesn't understand her powers can love her."

"Did she say that?"

Johnny sighed theatrically.

"We're magical beings, witcher. She doesn't have to say anything."

"All right, but... Johnny, you and Sarah are already very rare. Gods are – well, in many cases, just myths. Things made up by humans who found winter too cold and dark. And even if Liuba does exist, she may not be the best choice. According to her legend, she more or less killed a woman who asked her for help. Which technically fulfilled the deal to reunite her with her beloved, who happened to die on the battlefield at the same time."

"Hogwash," the godling replied contemptuously. "I do believe that gods exist. And that they are nothing other than magical beings, just like us. You should understand that, even if your magic is a flyspeck compared to what I can do. That they are myths, yes, that is a merit of the humans, and that's good because otherwise, they would have probably wiped them all out. This way, they've just forgotten many of them."

Annoyed, Geralt blew a strand of hair out of his face.

"All right, let's not argue about the existence of gods. Why does my ring have to be the pledge to call her?"

"It must be a symbol of true love," Johnny said seriously.

"Surely there will be enough love to be found in Novigrad..."

"You don't understand! What do you think I have tried already? Garters, lockets with drawings in them, love letters.... None of it worked. This may be a big city, but true love is rarely found."

"You stole all that?"

The godling shrugged.

"And a lot of wedding rings," he admitted. "But yours is special. There's much stronger magic in that."

"There's no magic in it at all," Geralt objected.

Johnny chuckled.

"You have no idea. There is destiny in true love, and the two combined are a rarity. Your ring radiates that. No wonder you don't realize it. You can't do anything but light fires and make people look elsewhere when you don't like them."

"That's not quite what..."

"That's some magic you don't know a thing about," Johnny continued. "Why you, of all people, have a ring like that is beyond me. There are far more beautiful wedding rings; believe me, I've had enough in my hand. But I haven't seen one that had an engraving like that. Even the metal was chosen with care. Almost all the wedding rings I saw were gold; yours is not."

"But what makes you think you can conjure Liuba here in the wilderness, of all places?"

"Ha, my dear, research!"

Johnny tapped his nose, a strangely touching gesture, even if it was meant to express superiority.

"Corinne had picked up some books so we wouldn't be bored. I honestly believe, secretly, that she genuinely thinks we're like children because of our shape. Well, anyway, one of the books was about local legends in the area. It was not difficult to get to the right place. The book said that some lovers claimed to have seen Liuba there."

"Did the book also say that it was dangerous?" Geralt asked dryly.

"It said that only true love could summon her," the godling replied unaffected. "Otherwise, Liuba would punish the callers. That's why I need your ring, you see."

"Well, let's say I believe all that; what happens if you succeed in calling the goddess with this pledge?" asked Geralt.

"She will accept the gift and fulfill my wish: that Corinne meets the love of her life. You know, she wouldn't have to take care of us. We can do it quite well on our own. But Sarah thinks we make sure her powers don't turn against her. I guess all this dream magic isn't that much fun."

"I can't let that happen," Geralt said seriously.

"What, you don't begrudge Corinne finding someone she loves?" asked Johnny indignantly.

"This isn't about Corinne. You can't give my ring to some goddess. This is my wedding ring, Johnny. It's very important to me."

"Weren't you listening? That's also one reason why it'll be so valuable to Liuba."

"I get it," Geralt replied grimly. "But it's my ring, and you can't have it. You'll have to find something else."

"I told you, I've already tried."

"All right... I'll try. I'll get you a pledge of true love that's just as good."

Johnny grimaced.

"I don't think that's possible."

"You do believe that you can summon a goddess, and I don't think that will work, either with my ring or if we sacrifice a virgin."

"That's barbaric," Johnny said indignantly.

"That's why we're not doing it," Geralt returned irritably. "Listen, you know I could just take that ring off you. But I don't want to hurt you or your, well, religious feelings. So I'm going to help you and get you another love symbol. I'm convinced it doesn't even have to be magical."

"But..."

"You don't even know her legend," Geralt continued. "The woman who summoned Liuba paid with jewelry. Among them was possibly a love pledge, a gift, but that's only part of the ritual, isn't it?"

Johnny nodded slowly.

"Well, there are a few other things required as well, I've already obtained them all, wasn't exactly easy either."

"You mean you stole those too."

"How could I have bought them?" the godling replied innocently. "So, what's your plan?“

*//////{<>==================-

Geralt didn't believe for a second that Johnny would succeed in summoning a goddess - let alone that she was anything more than a legend. What he did believe, however, was that maybe something was there. The fact that the information in Johnny's book pointed explicitly to a particular location was hardly a coincidence. Also that the ritual was described in detail – although the special ingredient, namely the love pledge, was mentioned rather vaguely in the book, as he had gotten out of Johnny after some more inquiring. Geralt thought it possible that perhaps something really could be summoned at this point, but certainly not a goddess. A specter, perhaps, or a cursed being, a corgowrath, a Shishiga… whatever it was, he believed it to be rare and old, probably dangerous.

He asked the godling not to try to start the ritual without him but to prepare it so that they could start right away when Geralt returned. Meanwhile, he rode back to Novigrad, spending an outrageous amount of money on a small silver box decorated with tacky rose petals made of tiny, inexpensive gems. Then he spent considerable time unobtrusively looking around for a mage or sorceress. He could by no means go to Corinne with his request without betraying Johnny – which he didn't want to do because it was clear to him that the godling meant well. But as a being exceedingly connected with nature, he lacked the sense for many human characteristics, and he did not grasp the danger that could hide in such magical incantation. Furthermore, Geralt was aware that he would only get his ring back safely if he played at least partially by Johnny's rules. And in the end, it was always about playing with these creatures.

He found a mage who, even if they officially no longer had to hide, made a somewhat nervous impression. Geralt had the box covered with a spell that he had thought about for a while and was reasonably sure that Johnny wouldn't recognize what was actually behind it. This took a while, and the mage relaxed a bit, even admitting at the end that he still slept poorly, albeit the city was safe for his kind again. However, prejudices did not disappear from people's minds so quickly. Emhyr held back on the presence of soldiers in the city; it was still a sensitive topic in negotiations. Of the northern kingdoms, no one felt responsible either, which is why crime still flourished in Novigrad. Before leaving, Geralt recommended that the mage visit Corinne – just for safety. Briefly, the thought crossed his mind that he was traveling in the matter of love, after all. That was ridiculous, and besides, it was none of his business.

When he returned, Johnny had prepared the ritual. He had set up a circle in the clearing, made of half-burned candles and at least one unused one. In the middle of it, he had placed a pile of gifts, mainly jewelry and love letters, all stolen like the candles – like Geralt's ring, but it was not among the other stuff. The godling noticed Geralt's look and defended himself by saying that all of this was only for security, to strengthen the spell.

"I really don't think that's going to work," Geralt said, "not even with this."

He held up the silver box.

"For someone who possesses such a mighty token of love, you're surprisingly doubtful of its power," Johnny remarked pointedly.

"Maybe, but I'm a reformed skeptic when it comes to love."

Johnny shook his head.

"So, what did you bring?"

"In this box," Geralt claimed dramatically, "I had one of my memories magically locked away."

"What?"

"A memory of a loving moment."

"Memories are powerful," Johnny mused. "I just hope it's nothing objectionable?"

Geralt shrugged.

"Love has many facets. Ultimately, it's up to your goddess to decide, isn't it?"

The godling still looked a little indecisive, but finally, he nodded.

"All right, I'll tell you how we do it," Geralt continued.

"But I've read the book, I know..."

"Well, you can do it as the book says. But as soon as the time comes when the box is needed, you give me back the ring. At that exact moment, you hear?"

Johnny tilted his head.

"That's not stupid," he said appreciatively. "You think if your little box isn't strong enough, after all, Liuba will be attracted to the power of the ring. In the end, the memory in your little box might still be enough for her. Clever."

"Exactly," Geralt lied without batting an eye.

"That way, you can keep the ring, and I can still talk to her.... it's just a little bit of cheating. I like it," Johnny said. "Let's get started."

So they began. Geralt lit the candles in the order Johnny solemnly told him to. He had even stolen a flint, which Geralt thought was almost more dangerous than anything else he had done. Then began a litany of mumbled words, a strange mixture of elder speech and some gibberish. Maybe some swear words, who could tell for sure.

At some point, the godling reached into his little bag, and at last, Geralt saw his ring again. The sight of it stung him a little. Perhaps it was indeed strange how attached he was to this object. Still, he did not regard the ring as a mere object.

"It's time," Johnny whispered, his face a single mask of concentration, his big eyes half-closed.

Geralt held out his hand with the box. The atmosphere was strange. Evening had fallen on the small clearing; the light had given way to a pale gray, at the edge of which still hung the last pink of the setting sun. The birds' singing from the forest had stopped; not even the woodpecker, which had been hammering on some trees almost all day, could still be heard. Actually, all sounds had fallen silent, even that of small animals in the undergrowth. Although a gentle breeze was blowing, not even a rustle could be heard.

That was strange, but even stranger was that the air, which had been pure and clear all day, seemed to condense. Johnny had insisted that Geralt put down the swords, but he had placed them on the floor not too far from him and was now glancing at them. If any specter was indeed going to show itself, he had to be quick. The silver sword was prepared in case, but since he didn't know what he was up against, he had to decide on a possible potion at the last second. And he had to get Johnny to safety somehow.

"Now," Geralt hissed as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Promptly, he held out the box to Johnny. The latter’s eyes seemed even bigger than usual, and a delighted smile now appeared on his face. He took the box and gave the ring to Geralt, who immediately put it on his finger. At the same moment, a strange glow seemed to fill the air. Geralt stood waiting at the edge of the candle circle, his knees slightly bent, ready to make a daring leap towards the swords. It seemed to grow darker around them, while a bright spot of light remained in the center of the circle. The air crackled. Suddenly Johnny chuckled and lowered his eyes in a shy gesture. Geralt stared over at him, frowning.

"What's going on?"

The godling did not answer. He seemed not to perceive Geralt at all. Then he nodded and began to speak incoherently.

"That's right," he said, and "What mage?"

He chuckled again. Then he pointed to Geralt.

"No, he has no idea," he said.

The witcher wondered if Johnny had gone mad. Nothing was there. It seemed as if an apparition was about to materialize, but at the same time, as if something prevented it from doing so. Johnny spoke to the air. Geralt thought carefully. What creature could manage to make itself entirely invisible for a witcher, not even causing the medallion to vibrate? It was also strange that the changed atmosphere had nothing dangerous about it at all. Nevertheless, he thought it impossible that Johnny was talking to a love goddess right now – or that she would show herself to the godling, of all people, who had nothing to offer but a handful of jewelry and a small box covered with a strong but rather silly spell. This only confirmed his suspicion that it was not about a love pledge at all. Geralt took a quick look at his ring. The engraved flame on it seemed to glow red. He ran the index finger of his left hand over it. It was all in his imagination; there was nothing at all.

Just at that moment, the strange sensation hovering over the surroundings disappeared, and suddenly, the birds began to sing again. The light was back as before. Everything was exactly as before, just as if nothing had ever happened – only the candles had all gone out.

"What was that just now?" Geralt addressed the godling.

Johnny looked at him innocently, the box still in his hand.

"Look, she didn't take it at all. Nor any of the other stuff. She said she'd do it for free for me. You got all worked up over your ring for nothing!"

"Better safe than sorry," Geralt grumbled, "What did she say, your goddess?"

He sounded so skeptical that Johnny burst out laughing.

"You don't believe it even now, do you? I suppose you didn't see anything? Well, these gods play by their own rules, my dear. She said Corinne's already been taken care of. I don't know what that means, but I think Sarah and I won't have to worry about her anytime soon."

"I see," Geralt replied. He couldn't think of any other answer. He made a mental note to ask Dandelion to check on Corinne occasionally. While he didn't actually believe Johnny had been talking to a goddess, as long as he didn't know what he was dealing with, he preferred to play it safe. If there was some spectral being around, someone would have to take care of it sooner or later.

*//////{<>==================-

"You're late."

Emhyr, engrossed in papers in his study as usual at this hour, did not precisely toss aside his quill at the sight of Geralt, but he leaned back, regarding his spouse intently.

"Late?" asked Geralt, after closing the door and making sure they were indeed alone (occasionally, there were minions in the alcoves, scurrying out at a hint). Only then did he casually stroll around the table to pick up the kiss he thought he richly deserved. He got it, and it felt like he had actually been gone too long. The fact that he then sat down on the desk, however, earned him a disapproving look.

"You're crumpling important documents. All I’m saying is that, according to my information, you had already arrived in Novigrad about a week ago. Usually, you stay a day or two, then you head back."

"You sent your spies after me?"

"Certainly not."

"So you have spies in Novigrad?"

"Don't act surprised," Emhyr returned. "With your penchant for dubious adventures, you can't blame me for occasionally liking to know where you hang out."

"Dubious... pah."

Geralt grinned cockily.

"Then why didn't your spies tell you where I was if you think I should have been back by now?"

Emhyr didn't bat an eye, but at least he had to admit, "I'm afraid they... lost sight of you at some point."

"Well, maybe I just don't let myself be watched on my dubious adventures," Geralt countered. "I'll tell you about it sometime; however, right now, I want to get rid of the dust from the journey. Just this much: I was traveling in matters of love."

Emhyr folded his arms, raising his brows.

"Is this going to be some weird attempt to make me jealous?"

"Oh, would that work?"

"Sure, though it would be high treason."

"High treason?"

"Of course," Emhyr replied calmly, "betraying the Emperor is high treason."

"In that case," Geralt said, "it's a good thing your spies didn't get me."

He wiped away Emhyr's now slightly confused expression with another kiss. Before closing his eyes, he took one last look at his ring.

This story was probably better left a secret after all.

#writing #fanfiction #Emhyr/Geralt #Emralt #Witcher 3

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theimprobabledreamersworld · 3 years

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It’s taken a month... but one of the last chapters of ‘My Past Became Our Future’ is finally posted! I’m honestly still in awe at the fact that this first attempt of multi-chaptered fic writing was even read at all on Ao3... let alone just over 600 times! I’m so grateful for the support, whether it was on here or Ao3 <3 Thank you all for being on this journey with me! <3

One or two chapters to go!

Read on Ao3 or below. Warnings are below the line!

You can also read it from the beginning through this link!

Taglist for this story: @psychedelicships @jwillowwolf @lost-in-thought-20 @red-imeanblue @stardustlv

Chapter Fifteen:

Warnings: Swearing, weapons and descriptions, brief violence, blood, threat and angst.

“It’s the story of the one’s who never saw it coming. They never saw it coming.”

Virgil froze to the spot as he watched Thomas and Nico struggle to free themselves from the hold they were under. Remus and Patton had the same glint of malevolence in their eyes, it was clear that they were never going to change. The room was in chaos, Virgil couldn’t get his mind to focus on only one thing

“Virgil! I need you over here. I’m losing him and Roman isn’t helping at all.” The words were blurry, almost as if they were being called out far off into the distance. He looked out of the corner of his eye and saw blood seeping through Janus’ shirt with Roman staring in silence. Virgil had never seen this look on Roman’s face before, a look of… helpless, uncertainty… fear.

Patton could see the strain the whole situation was taking on Virgil and continued to smile, he thought that Virgil was going to crack, to give in. It would be a cold, dark day in hell before that ever happened. He decided to stall for time while he tried to come up with a plan. His body ached and there was dull pain radiating in his chest, his legs, his arms… his mind. He tensed every part of his body, focusing on the pressure that encompassed the action before relaxing while a deep breath, he looked Patton in the eye and faking a questioning look in his eyes. Patton took the bait, and laughed once more at Virgil. He tried to keep calm and make sure that Patton still thought that he had the upper hand. “Come on, Virgil. You’re not that stupid. Surely you know what the deal is now. You come back to me. Right now… or everyone you love will die.”

Virgil gasped as he realised just how determined Patton was. What was so important about Virgil coming back? He has so many assassins in The Family… why was he so desperate? He didn’t have time to think about that right now, he saw Thomas and Nico wincing in pain as they struggled against the hold of Remus and Patton then the one thing he didn’t see coming, glimmering in the corner of his eye. Roman, standing over Logan… holding a gun. It couldn’t be. He held eye contact with Patton while slowly moving his hand into his hoodie pocket. He felt the tinkling of metal but… His gun. The secret one he took from behind the painting, it was gone. That bastard, while he was pleading for Janus’ life, he must have taken it while Logan was convincing him to stay and help. He knew they should have left when they had the chance. It was a stalemate. Everyone was talking over each other, it was becoming difficult to process it all.

“Virgil! I can’t do this alone. I need you!” Logan called out while pressing his hands hard on Janus’ side trying to stem the blood flow. Either he didn’t see the gun looming over his head, or he was somehow managing to ignore it.

“You know what you have to do Virgil.” Patton called out in a sing-song voice.

“You can’t escape this, just accept your fate.” Remus chimed in, his voice was still raspy from where Virgil had knocked him to the ground but the malicious intent was still there, it somehow added to the gravity of the situation.

“Just go Virgil! Run!” Thomas’ voice was strained but the desperation was clear.

“We’ll be fine, we’ll find you. Just grab Logan and get the hell out of here!” Nico’s voice was equally strained, and despite that offer being incredibly appealing, he knew his husband. There was no way he would leave now, not when someone’s life was in the balance. Everyone’s voices were melding into one, there were lights flashing behind his eyes and the stabbing pain in his head was making everything worse. He clutched his head before screaming and shouting out into the room.

“SHUT UP! All of you shut up! Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Remus, face the other way. You’re putting me off.” He heard Thomas snigger before the room fell silent around them. Patton and Remus looked at each other in sheer confusion. Remus even appeared to be contemplating whether he should turn around or not, but realised that Thomas was still under his grip, so he stood grounded in place.

He looked over to Logan where Roman was standing above him. The feeling of panic tried to surge through him as the gun was aimed squarely at Logan’s head, but he could see Roman’s hand trembling. He was breaking under the gravity of the situation. His mind began to race as the pieces started to click.

Roman.

He was the solution. Of course! How could he have been so stupid and not noticed it before! He began to laugh, this is where things would turn around. He could get what he wanted while saving everyone… especially the people he loved. He wouldn’t have to kill anyone, Virgil could prove that he wasn’t like them anymore. Once and for all.

“Oh Patton, Patton, Patton… I think it’s me who has a new deal for you.” He began to laugh louder, a new-found confidence danced in his eyes and when he looked up at Patton, he saw him wince ever so slightly.

“D- d- do you really think you’re in a position to argue with me, Virgil. I have you surrounded, your only way out is to give it up, and come back to your Family.” The stammer in Patton’s voice stunned him temporarily, in all the years he had unfortunately known this man, he was never one to slip out of control. He always ensured his confidence remained at the forefront like a mask, watching it slip was oddly satisfying.

“Logan, darling. Stop.” Virgil looked firmly at Patton as he said those three words that created a deafening silence in the room. Logan turned around sharply, the look of frustration thankfully hidden from Virgil.

“What?! If I stop. He will die!” The desperation in his otherwise stern tone was apparent. Logan hated when he was told to do stop doing something, especially when it benefitted another person. It’s one of the many things he loved about his husband, but now was not the time. As he turned to look at him, there was a short almost silent gasp. Logan must have finally noticed the gun, they stared at each other and Virgil needed him to understand. He widened his eyes ever so slightly, a subtle hint that he was practically begging him to go along with this. It was clear that Logan had no idea what was going on, but he nodded to show his agreement. As Logan stopped applying pressure to Janus’ wound and his hand slowly slipped to the side. In turn, Roman’s hand began to tremble aggressively and the gun rattled, he was close to getting what he needed. He just needed to push a little more.

“I know… Here’s my deal, Patton. You let us go. You don’t follow us, you never try to find me again… and we’ll save Janus’ life.” He saw the gun fall to Roman’s side in the corner of his eye, and as it clattered to the floor, he was relieved that his plan came to fruition. His smirk was wiped off his face by Patton laughing maniacally into Nico’s ear, he had to change his grip to wipe away the tears of laughter running down his face. Nico took the opportunity to try and prise Patton’s arm away from his neck but it only made him squeeze harder, and Nico gave up almost immediately.

“Oh please. Don’t patronise me… Do you really think I care enough about HIM to let go of my most valuable asset?” Patton was so busy gloating that he didn’t even notice that Roman had left his post, and was slowly creeping up behind him and Remus, his eyes almost glowing red with rage.

“No, I knew you wouldn’t. You could replace him in a heartbeat. I was counting on him.” He pointed behind the two as Roman kicked Patton in the back, he cried out in pain and was forced to let Nico go in the process. During the distraction, Remus instinctively let Thomas go. He stood in front of Patton like he always does, his only role was the follow Patton’s orders and protect him. Virgil had to admit, he was unfortunately good at that. Roman drew his sword from its sheath before forcing the two of them against the wall. When Virgil saw that he had the upper hand, he went over to Logan. He was assured that Thomas and Nico would keep everyone back too.

“What do you need?” He asked in a calculated way, Logan threw some gauze at him and Virgil looked at him slightly confused as what to do with it.

“You need to hold this here, I can’t stop this bleed on my own.” Logan took Virgil’s hand and helped him press down on Janus’ side. He only just noticed an out of sight wound was out of control, it was a miracle that Janus was still alive. They worked together and slowly, Virgil could apply less pressure as Logan delicately stitched the wound. As Logan finished up, Janus’ pulse began to steady and his eyes fluttered into the realm of consciousness. Virgil turned to Roman and nodded in reassurance who sighed in relief. He patted Janus on the shoulder as he slowly came around before standing up and holding a hand out for Logan to take. He had to use all of his dwindling strength to pull Logan up who staggered violently before steadying himself against Virgil.

It was over. It was finally over. As they looked around the carnage that had destroyed the place they had called home for the last five years and shared a look. They needed to go, it was now or never.

They walked away from Janus carefully over the broken glass and irreplaceable memories towards the door. Virgil tapped Thomas and Nico on the shoulder and Roman nodded as he silently promised to keep the other two behind the sword. Virgil made a small gesture, something to indicate that Roman could always come with them, but his eyes flitted towards Janus and he shook his head with a soft smile on his face. He understood, those two were like brothers after all, deep down he knew that Roman wouldn’t leave without him but he would have felt guilty if he didn’t offer. He let the others walk out in front of him so he could look Patton in the eye one more time. Patton began to chuckle darkly and Virgil couldn’t help but stop dead in his tracks.

“I hope you enjoy your brand new life Virgil, but let me reassure you about one thing… You really are going to regret this.” His voice grew more sinister with every word and the threat seemed sincere. He tried to push it aside, but he was intrigued about this whole situation. He knew that he shouldn’t engage with Patton, but he needed to know.

“Why have you been so determined to get me back, Patton? You’ve had your choice of assassins over the years, yet you keep circling around to me. I don’t understand. Why me?” Patton sighed, debating whether or not he should explain.

“It… it wasn’t my choice. I was being ordered to have you return. If you had read those letters we kept sending you, you would have known. Believe it or not, I don’t care… but we were warning you.”

“Wait. There’s someone above you? That doesn’t make sense! You have never mentioned this in the entire time that I’ve known you. So there’s another person pulling the strings?” Virgil couldn’t believe what he was hearing, this was impossible.

“Be that as it may, that still doesn’t explain why.” Virgil tilted his head as he tried to wrap his head around everything. He could hear the others scrambling to get everything together outside, there was also a part of his mind who knew this was probably just a way of stalling for time. However, when Patton looked away and then looked back at Virgil again, there was a glimmer of something in his eye- an emotion he had never seen on Patton’s face, but one he knew all too well.

“Oh. I see…” He laughed bitterly. “All this time, I thought you were just bitter about me breaking free of you… but bitterness is a paralytic… Love. Now that’s a much more vicious motivator.” Patton’s eyes appeared to glimmer with something that resembled shame, he glanced over at Remus who nodded. Whoever this person was, it must be someone important for Patton of all people to be in love.

“Well, good luck with that. You’ll never see me again. That’s a promise.” He turned and patted Roman on the shoulder one final time before walking into the hallway meeting the others. They looked at him with concern and he nods to let them know he was okay. Thomas handed him a bag which he put on his back before linking arms with Logan and the four of them finally walked out the front door.

“He’ll find you Virgil. Don’t you forget th-.” The words were cut off by the door slamming shut behind them. Logan squeezed his hand tightly, reassuring him that it was just an empty threat. He couldn’t shake the feeling though it might come to fruition one day… but for now, the four of them could move on. He could breathe again for the first time in so long, the constant weight on his shoulders was finally lifted. They carried on walking for a while until they reached a hotel they could stay in for the night, and although they had made it out alive, they all looked over their shoulder periodically just to make sure no one was lingering. The hotel was apparently desperate for business considering they didn’t ask any questions or seem to mind their physical appearance. Nico paid for it all and Virgil made a mental note that he needed to repay him as soon as possible, and not just for the hotel.

They all walked wearily up the stairs to their two separate rooms which were next to each other. They agreed that they would discuss everything in the morning and closed the doors to the world. Virgil sighed and dumped his bag unceremoniously on the floor before holding onto the chair for support and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Logan sighed sarcastically and placed the bag along with his own neatly on the table before turning to Virgil with a smile.

“You did it, and you have no idea how proud I am of you.” The sincerity and love in Logan’s voice was the catalyst. Virgil trembled, gripping the chair until his knuckles turned white. He turned to Logan and his legs buckled, a loud sob escaped from his mouth and Logan raced forward and caught Virgil before he fell. He wrapped his arms around Virgil supporting him while all of the emotions he was forced to supress escaped from him like a river that had burst its banks. Virgil tried to push away from Logan, but it only made him hold on tighter. Eventually he gave in and placed his arms around Logan, he cried until he was sore, but Logan just held him close until the tears turned to quiet sniffles. Virgil pulled away and put his forehead against Logans.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay. I know, my dear. You’re safe with me. We’re both safe. I promise, I promise… I’m not letting go.” Logan’s voice was warm and comforting, soothing him of all of his worries. As they both collapsed onto the bed, they fell asleep instantly. For the first time in so many years, he slept through the whole night knowing the one he loved would be safe. Knowing that he was safe.

They had each other, and it was time that they lived the life they deserved.

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spoiler1001 · 3 years

Text

The trek back was harsh. Molly stayed by Caleb, despite the spell keeping Caleb warm. Once they hit warm weather Mollymauk had placed his metal piercings, jingling every time he walked.

The boat ride home was safe, despite Uk'otoa being a threat. Mollymauk sat by the front of the boat, glaring. The snow seemed to melt and vaporize around him. The tower was set up at night, comforts made readily available. There was practically a party every night, with joy and dancing.

Molly pulled Caleb towards an empty room. "You never did take me waltzing." Molly smiled. He wore a lovely lace suit, purple and blues. It had a gold lining, sparkling in the light. Caleb cupped Molly's face.

"You are a blessing, Mollymauk," Caleb whispered. Molly chirped.

"You're too kind if a bit slow to dance." Molly laughed. Caleb blushed.

"That's a sin we have to rectify." Caleb laughed.

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

There was a group of people waiting for them at the border. Three figures, an old man, a woman, and a man Caleb's age sat by waiting for him.

"You take forever to travel. I taught you better than to keep others waiting." The old man sneered. Caleb glared and set his jaw.

"We do not do things on your schedule." Caleb snapped, his hands getting very warm very quickly.

"Yes, I am aware. We just need to clear something up." Trent spoke, looking at Mollymauk.

"Did you kill DeRogna for political reasons?" Astrid spoke up.

"She tried to kill me, I simply got even." Molly stood in front of Caleb. "The second time…"

"We are aware of the monster she was. We just need to see that this was not an attack on the Cerberus Assembly as a whole." Eodwulf spoke up. He regarded Molly with a raised eyebrow. "Someone like you could be a valuable ally."

"Oh, I am. Just not directly for you." Molly rested his hand on his sword.

"I see. Caleb is in safe hands." Eodwulf grinned. Molly had to swallow the instinct to snarl.

"It's almost dark, maybe a family dinner is an order, Bren, if you would." Trent smiled. It had the same aura as a rag doll, half-rotted due to the weather and bugs, maybe with small insects still crawling over it.

"Right." Caleb looked around. It was broad daylight. "I can set up a tower."

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

The tower was set up in record time. The rooms were set up differently. They were paired off, Veth with Jester, Beau with Yasha and, and Fjord with Caduceus. The Guest room was set up for Wulf and Astrid.

"The ninth floor is yours. You can make your way to it." Caleb spoke clearly and floated up to his room, as usual, shared with Molly.

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

"Are you ok?" Molly's voice was quiet.

"I want them out of my house, my home," Caleb growled. Molly just sighed.

"If you want to kill them…" Molly suggested, whispering in his ear. Caleb laughed. It was pained, raspy with breaths. "Not them… just Trent. They are just like me."

"I would say that 'no one is like you' but I recognize what you mean. I would also point out that the moment they attack us, they are in the same boat as the old man." Molly's tail moved in the air. Caleb, while in thought, grabbed the tail, absentmindedly tracing runes onto it. Molly just hummed.

"You introduced yourself as a liar to us, but you seemed to keep yourself to your word." Caleb mused.

"I never said who I was lying to," Molly responded.

"Lies to oneself may be the hardest to undo." Caleb hummed. A moment passed with the tip of Molly's tail still in Caleb's hand. "I'm just so tired…" he whispered, dropping the tail.

"Take a nap," Molly suggested. Caleb just nodded.

"Could you stay? I don't feel comfortable sleeping alone with him here." Caleb grabbed Molly's shirt.

Molly smiled. "The fact that you've decided to trust me with that shows how far we've come since we've met."

Caleb just nodded, removing the tie keeping his hair back and laid on the bed, Frumpkin settling on his chest.

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

Caleb felt a hand on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered open, looking up to see Molly, his hair also down, framing his face. Molly's voice was too mumbled for his half-asleep brain to comprehend. He only heard the rasping tone. Caleb blinked and was silent as his brain turned back on.

"...can you understand me?" Molly asked.

"As of now, yes. Before, no." Caleb just smiled.

Molly just chuckled, then he turned serious. "It's dinner time. We need to wake up."

"I got it. Just let me get dressed." Caleb sat up. "I'm sorry for sleeping that long."

"You were tired. It happens." Molly nodded and tied his hair back. "Let's get this over with."

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

The dinner was cold. The food was perfectly heated, but icy looks were being sent across the table. Molly sat next to Caleb, wearing some fancy outfit, one that clung to him, accenting every tattoo and his horn jewelry was shining. His eyes were made up. There were so many things about him and his outfit that Caleb had no idea what he should focus on first. All he knew was that he was looking at one of the most valuable pieces of treasure.

"You seem to surround yourself with colorful people." Trent hummed. "And none of them are capable of protecting anyone."

"That is a bit unfair." Jester pouted.

"And how many times has Lady DeRogna fallen because of you and your friends," Trent spoke. None of them were eating. It was silent before Jester gasped. Fjord turned his head to see red coming out of Jester's eyes. Beau jumped up and went to help her but there was a spell cast. She froze, encased in ice. The group groaned and grabbed at each other, shaking. Molly grabbed Caleb, who just saw the blood on the table in front of him. Oh. There wasn't even pain; he just felt numb. Molly was shouting something but he couldn't hear it. Then Molly looked confused for a second and looked down. A metal blade poked out of the scar on his chest. Oh. Oh. Caleb reached out to Molly, squeezing his shirt.

The tower dissolved around them, Caleb felt the ground rush up to him as he blacked out.

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

Caleb jerked awake to fingers in his hair and soothing purrs on his chest and next to him.

"Bad dream?" Molly tried to comfort him. Caleb just took a deep breath and relaxed.

"I'm here. You're safe." Molly promised.

"Did you ever think I was evil?" Caleb whispered.

"No. I saw your pain. I thought you were good. Better than me." He whispered. "I think you have the potential to be better than most of us."

"Most-?"

"Caduceus and Yasha."

"That makes sense." Caleb cracked a smile.

"And they trust you completely. So you're not evil. The old man you made sleep in the dungeon? He's evil." Molly played with his hair.

"When did you-"

"I overshot the first time I broke into the tower."

"You were allowed through the door."

"Would have taken too long." Molly shrugged. "My firefly needed me."

"That's cheesy."

Molly just purred in response, lulling Caleb back to sleep.

#critical role #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #widomauk #lucien critical role #117 fic finally finished #you know who to blame for this.#and i wrote this with love #just assume the infernal word for firefly is widogast.

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darkxknight · 3 years

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IC INFO

Character Name: Bruce Wayne Alias: Batman Age: 45 Face Claim: Matt Bomer Species: Human Home Earth: Earth-49

History:

▸ Born the only son and child of Dr Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne (nee Kane) in Crest Hill, Bristol Township, Gotham City, New Jersey. His parents were well respected within the community and gave Bruce a life of privilege as well as tried to instill a good moral code within him. His early childhood was quite idyllic until one night when his parents took him to the Monarch Theater where they saw The Mark of Zorro. After the film, a mugger named Joe Chill attempted to rob them at gunpoint, and panicked, shooting both Thomas and Martha dead.

▸ After the death of his parents, Bruce was raised by the family butler (and Bruce's godfather), Alfred Pennyworth. He was also checked in upon by one of Thomas' friends and co-workers, Dr Leslie Thompkins. He was allowed to remain in Wayne Manor under Alfred's care. He continued to attend school and excelled in his studies, but Bruce's primary focus was no longer that of a young boy. Tragedy had stolen what innocence he had.

▸ As time past, he became obsessed with learning the meaning behind his parents death. At the age of 18, Bruce used the relationship he had with a girl - who was the daughter of a mob boss - to locate Joe Chill. Bruce learned that there was no deeper meaning to his parents' deaths, Joe just simply needed money.

▸ Bruce took an avid interest in martial arts and sword fighting and after discovering what he had from Joe Chill, he decided to travel the world and expand his knowledge. At 21, he spent a great deal of time studying martial arts off masters like Shihan Matsuda in the Himalayas. He studied the ins and outs of technological gadgetry under the guidance of a brilliant inventor, Sergei Alexandrov. He also learned how to drive cars in life-or-death situations from Brazilian criminal, Don Miguel. Bruce also delved into criminology, chemistry, and even acting to hone his skills in becoming a one man army to bring justice back to his home city. He was gone for three years before he returned to Gotham.

▸ Upon his return to Gotham, Bruce wanted to keep it a private affair but his Uncle, Philip Kane, had other ideas. While Philip appeared happy his nephew had returned home, he was also dubious of the young Bruce and plotted against him behind his back. Bruce was able to obtain his inheritance, which was not only the Wayne family fortunes but also controlling power over the family's main corporation, Wayne Enterprises. Bruce had idealistic goals on how he wanted to run the company, which was a huge shake up to how the business had run since his parents death.

▸ Bruce Wayne became Batman. He took the fight to the Red Hood Gang and was immediately successful in defeating the criminals at the A.C.E Chemicals factory. During the fight, Bruce's Uncle, Philip Kane, was found out to be a secret member of the Red Hood Gang and was unfortunately killed in the battle. Red Hood One was also believed to be killed in the fight, falling into a vat of chemicals below where he and Batman had fought.

▸ Despite leading a double life, Bruce kept up many public appearances so people were completely unaware of his nightly habits. One such outing was to The Haly Circus, where a fun night out turned into tragedy for the acrobat family known as the Flying Graysons. The only survivor of the family being the Grayson's son, Richard (or, as he preferred, Dick). Being able to sympathize with Dick's tragedy and knowing that the crime committed against the boy's family was no accident, Bruce came forward with an offer to become Dick's legal guardian.

▸ The relationship between Bruce and Dick didn't get off to the easiest of starts and one night Dick ran away to try and solve the case of his parents' murder on his own. Bruce went out as Batman and managed to pick the boy up and brought him back to the cave, where he then revealed himself as Batman. Bruce offered Dick the chance to become his partner and train with him but Dick had to play by his rules. Dick accepted and took on the mantle of Robin.

▸ Over the years, Batman and Robin were a formidable duo against the criminals of Gotham but one night Robin was shot by the Joker. Despite all they had been through, Bruce called an end to Dick's career. This put a huge strain on their relationship, which had grown more than that of partners but also father and son. Dick left - he would still return to Gotham as needed but there was a definite tension in the air.

▸ Sometime later, Batman catches a bold kid trying to steal the tires off the Batmobile. Jason Todd was a little punk but Bruce was impressed with his spirit, cleverness, and tenacity. After an attempt to place Jason into child protective services failed, Bruce stepped forward and took Jason in as his ward and later adopted son.

▸ Bruce trained Jason to be the second Robin and it is clear from the very beginning that Jason was a completely different style of Robin to Dick. Jason was a fighter and knew how to handle himself in a brawl but his finesse and detective skills needed work. When Jason was 15, he ran away after hearing that his birth mother was still alive. Bruce was too late in working out that it was a well laid trap for the young man and barely arrived in time to see the building Jason was held captive in explode. Devastated, Bruce took Jason's body back to Gotham and buried him in the Wayne family's plot - vowing to never take on another Robin.

▸ In the wake of Jason's death, Batman became more ruthless. Just teetering on the edge of the "no kill" rule he had established for himself. Several allies the Batman had worked with along the way (including the Justice League, which he had founded along with Superman, Wonder Woman and other heroes) noticed the change in Bruce but seemed to be clueless on how to curb the rage the Dark Knight felt.

▸ Tim Drake had been following Batman's career as long as he could remember and it was the 13 year old that picked up on the problem. Batman needed a Robin. After a failed attempt to get Dick to come back and be Robin, Tim offered himself for the role. Bruce refused - afraid that tragedy would strike again. Eventually though, Tim - with the assistance of Dick and Alfred - stole the Robin suit and managed to save Batman. This action spurred Bruce into considering Tim to be the third Robin.

▸ Out of all the Robins, Bruce trained Tim the hardest, sending him off to exotic places to develop his martial arts skills and partnering him with other Batman allies to push him further. Tim never backed down but he also had a level head and a maturity that was beyond his years that made him a valuable partner. Unlike the other Robins, Tim still had parents when he started in the vigilante life but as was the way with heroes, tragedy has its way of catching up. After Tim's father was killed by Captain Boomerang, Bruce made the offer to adopt him. Laws had changed that he couldn't just make Tim a ward like Dick and Jason had been, so adoption papers were filed and Tim became Bruce's legal son.

▸ Talia al Ghul, daughter of the demon and long time enemy of Batman's, Ra's al Ghul, dropped the 10 year old bombshell of a son in his lap. 10 years before, Batman and Talia had a lustful affair which ended abruptly and with Bruce having no knowledge that a child had been conceived. Damian was an assassin without remorse, a fact his mother took great pride in, and was originally unimpressed with Bruce and didn't understand the "no kill" policy his father had adopted in regards to his enemies.

▸ Things have returned to normal for Bruce and his family for the moment. As normal as they get when you're a family of vigilantes. As always, Bruce has several different cases on the run and as long as crime doesn't sleep, neither will justice.

Positive Traits: Focused, strong moral compass, protective, extremely sharp mind Negative Traits: Closed off, secretive, rarely shares true emotions or feelings

#[[i'm whatever gotham needs me to be ;; bruce wayne]]

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ddaengyoonmin · 5 years

Text

Chapter 7

Pairing: Jungkook x reader, Taehyung x reader, Jimin x reader eventual Ot7 x reader in later chapters

Genre: fluff, angst, smut in later chapters

Theme: Based kinda on sword art online a lot of similar ideas and themes kinda combining the idea of them trapped in the game, but the world is closer to ALFheim online

Warnings: kidnapping? Light mature content. Swearing

Word count: 3k+

Next -> Chapter 8

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When Jungkook returned he had a serious expression placed on his face. “Okay, group meeting.”

Taehyung and yourself were seated on the bed facing Jungkook. Jimin was standing next to the bed on your side. The three of you curious as to why your leader had called a group meeting, wondering what he had found out from chatting with other parties.

“These may just be rumors, but a few players are convinced that the boss for this floor is a little ways out from this town. Someone stumbled across a cave this morning while out on a quest.” He sucked in a deep breath “A party nearby heard the screams but only made it there just in time to watch his HP hit zero. They flew away back to town, too scared to attempt it themselves but they figured it’d be for the good of everyone to spread the news.”

Your hand clapped over your mouth, not being able to imagine having to witness something so terrible. You knew people had died in the game from the headsets being removed, but this was the first you’d heard of someone dying from an in game enemy.

Jungkook continued. “I want to try and take it on. Our levels are higher than most everyone here, and I think if we upgrade our spells a bit we shouldn’t have a problem with it”

Your eyes widened and you snapped your head towards Taehyung to see what he thought of Jungkook's daring suggestion.

Tae’s face was scrunched in thought. “You really think we can? Y/N is still pretty weak”

“I’m not weak!” you shot out, not really sure why you thought to defend yourself at his remark. He was right, even Chimchim was still 4 levels ahead of you. But, you didn’t want to be thought of as someone who can’t pull their weight in the party. If the only way out of this hell of a game was to get to the 100th floor you wanted to do everything you could to help. To save not just yourself but the thousands of innocent people struggling to stay alive, if this was something your team could do, and Jungkook believed in you, you wanted to try.

Jungkook nodded confirming that these were his honest thoughts. “Y/N is necessary. She's the only one with healing spells. I’m going to have her stay back and observe us while we fight. If any of us get lower than half health she’s going to try and heal us from as safe of a distance as possible.”

Taehyung nodded understanding, he seemed to approve of this plan.

“I want to help out any way I can, I’m down for that plan, it’s smart” you gently smiled at Jungkook.

Yet he avoided looking at you, continuing to direct his gaze to Taehyung. “There's one more thing I heard, I think it's best if you and me talked privately about this one” he spoke to the green haired man.

Jimin and you exchanged confused looks, why were the two of you being left out of something? What had he heard?

Taehyung and Jungkook stepped out of the room into the hall. Jimin went and laid down on the bed, scrolling through the spell shop on his screen and humming to himself. Your curiosity had the better of you though. You quietly tiptoed to the door with an ear pressed against it, trying to make out some of Tae and Jungkook’s secretive conversation. Jimin let out a hushed chuckle when he saw what you were doing.

You surprisingly were able to hear a lot of what was being said.

“Wait, Killing other players? For their loot? What kind of evil person would do something like that. I take back everything I said to y/n about your morality. That’s insane.”

“Wait, what the fuck were saying about me Tae? Ugh, nevermind. You’re an ass. We’ll discuss that later. Yes, there are a few different parties resorting to this strategy now to stay alive and ahead in the game. It's unbelievable, but two people from separate parties told me they and their traveling companions had witnessed it on their travels. They had heard one of the strategies they were using...was to send one member from their party as a solo player to join another party, usually posing as an unthreatening weak player, so that they can assess what kind of valuables the party has, and how to best take them out. When they aren’t expecting it and vulnerable the original party comes in and takes them all out…”

You heard a loud gasp you asume was Taehyung. “You don’t think…”

“That’s exactly what I think. And that's why I didn’t want to say this in front of him, we need to keep a extra close eye on him, if you see him sneaking off on his own anywhere let me know immediately”

Now it’s your turn to gasp, pulling yourself quickly from the door and stumbling back. You twisted yourself around staring wide eyed at Jimin. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t, he’s strange...but hes no murderer. But there was the other night, he disappeared and was obviously hiding something. Even today he didn’t collect any items for himself, could it be he didn’t mind because he just planned on ending up with them later?

Jimin sat up and stiffened at your actions, “What is it?” He whispered. You shook your head, feeling some denial, and also not wanting to alert Jimin that there was suspicion of his motives in joining your group.

“It’s nothing Jimin” you had to try and think of an excuse for your worried expression “They just were talking about something personal that I shouldn’t have heard…”

Jimin tilted his head up in understanding “Ah, talking about wanting to team up and fuck you probably huh?” he joked.

Joke or not, your face turned bright red immediately. “JIMIN!” you shouted, causing the catlike man to roll around on the bed in laughter pointing at your shocked expression

“Oh I’m so right aren’t I, I called it” he giggled through forming tears in his eyes while holding his aching stomach. He really seemed to be amusing himself. You on the other hand were less than amused and you ran over and smacked him hard on the shoulder.

“Don’t say such dirty things!” you snapped.

Upon hearing your loud shouts Taehyung and Jungkook rushed into the room with worried expressions, the feeling probably heightened due to what you had just heard them discussing. Relief flooding through them as they saw Jimin laughing and you unharmed.

“Y/N Can you come with me, I need to talk to you alone as well”

Well that had you taken aback. The whole day Jungkook had been avoiding you and now he wants to be alone with you?

You agreed and followed him out the door leaving Taehyung in the room with Jimin.

“So what's up?” You looked at him curiously

“Sorry to make you feel left out a second ago, I didn’t want to leave Jimin alone...I have some suspicions about him I need to talk to you about, I know you’ve grown fond of him so please don’t get mad” He pursed his lips looking slightly upset.

“I think I already know…” you mumbled “I kinda was listening through the door…” you admitted with a hint of embarrassment in your tone.

“Oh,” His eyes narrowed “Did you tell him?” he was referring to Jimin. Was he really worrying that you’d out Jungkook to Jimin about his suspicions?

“I’ve never been one to tell another’s secret if I could help it” you said with a shrug “so no, If you’re right it's probably best he doesn’t know, If you’re wrong it would just hurt his feelings to think that you would suspect him like that”

Jungkook grinned widely “That's smart thinking, thanks.” he trailed his fingers through his jet black hair.

That smile. That habit that you found so attractive. You were reminded of the first time that you had met him, meeting that handsome man that saved you in your time of need, he had made your heart beat fast. Your heart now was beating so fast you felt it would grow its own wings and fly right out of your chest. He was close. Only about a foot away from you and his eyes were gently resting on you, gaze not leaving your face.

“We haven’t been alone since before…” Jungkook suddenly stuttered. He seemed softer, not like Leader Jungkook, closer to the player you’d met in the field your first day.

“Yeah...you’re right”

He stepped even closer to you. A chill ran through your body, making your blood feel cold, or on fire, you couldn’t really tell the difference. Reminded again of when he whispered in your ear when first meeting you. He was so close, about to whisper in your ear again. You felt his warm breath tickle the side of your face. You tried to gulp silently but he may have heard since you could hear a breathy chuckle leave his lips.

“You know I’m really disappointed we didn’t get that date” he quietly spoke

You felt warmth in your cheeks and you were sure that you were blushing.

“Me too, I had been thinking about that...I wondered if you forgot” you whispered

He pulled back with a serious look on his face, he put a hand on your shoulder.

“Really?” cocking his head to the side slightly. “You think I’d forget that I had to miss out on potentially the best date ever, with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met?” His voice light and flirtatious, you couldn’t help but melt at his words.

“I just felt like, we had so much to worry about...you had too much to worry about to be concerned with things like that anymore” you stuttered, unable to speak smoothly as his intense gaze and flirting was making you shy, and your knees weak.

You moved yourself to lean against the wall of the hallway, that way less of a chance you’d fall if Jungkook continued on making you feel weak this way. You had to admit to yourself that you yourself had in a way forgotten about the initial feelings you’d had for Jungkook. With this life and death game you were in it seemed like such a trivial thing to care about. But now, with him so close, and alone with you, those feelings had a chance to surface again. He was a stunningly attractive man, his voice was smooth like melted butter and when he looked at you like he was right now, it felt like you and him were the only people in the world.

Jungkook sighed, and lifted your chin up to him with careful fingers.

“I agree that there are big things to be concerned about, I’m aware of the dangers, and we’ve all needed to focus on those things to survive. But, I feel I’ve been neglecting some other things that are essential for survival. What's the point of staying alive if you aren’t living. You know what I mean?”

His hand moved from your chin to holding the side of your head, thumb brushing against your cheek softly.

He spoke again, “At first I thought this should all wait until we get out of the game, but now...I feel like we have no idea how long we’ll be here. So why should we deprive ourselves of some of the joy’s that still can exist here?”

You let out a small gasp as his hand that was not on your face had found a place to rest on your hip. He was now so near to you that you felt yourself try and retreat in nervousness, only to have your back be met with the wall you had been leaning on.

“I can tell how I make you feel. You’re nervous around me, and you watch me all the time. If I’m wrong let me know, but If I’m right…” He leaned in, his lips only inches from yours. He stopped, his dark eyes flicking back and forth between your lips and your eyes.

You nodded ever so slightly and gasped out a “Yes Jungkook.” he was right. Why deprive yourself of some of the good things you could still do in this world. You could die tomorrow in this game or god forbid he could...and you realized you don’t want to waste this time you had right now. This was only a game, but these feelings you had weren’t a product of some digital creation. You wanted him, and he wanted you.

At your words Jungkook’s lips fell onto yours. His hand wandering from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you close into him. His lips were so soft and warm, and kissing him felt like heaven. You felt yourself moan into his lips as his kissing got more desperate. At your noise he pulled back slightly “Fuck. y/n. You’re so perfect” he dove back in, this time more needy and much quicker. His hand that was on your hips started to pull you into him so that you were pressed fully against his body.

His tongue started to lightly flick at your lips requesting entrance, and you were more than happy to allow his tongue to intertwine with your own. With that he inched forward pressing you between the wall and his body, his hand now squeezing your waist. It was his turn to let out a soft gruff moan. “Damn I wish we had the room to ourselves” he muttered, and pulled away from you. “I gotta stop. You’re getting me way too worked up for your own good” he smirked and winked at you. You now notice a small tent in his pants where he’d been pressed against you.

You pouted and gave him puppy dog eyes.

“Fuck, don’t do that” He shook his head and gave you a quick kiss on the nose. “Don’t worry. I promise it won’t be the last time this happens”

He motioned for you to go back to the room. “I’ll be in shortly” he said with a slightly embarrassed smile. “I gotta let this situation here go down”

You giggled at the mention of his ‘situation’

“I wish I could help” you said playfully

You swore you heard a low growl leave his lips. “Me too...one day”

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

It had been over a week now since the day that you’d heard Jungkook’s suspicions of Jimin. Nothing else had happened to cause any worry so you were starting to feel like maybe the suspicions was all for nothing.

The boss that was rumored to have been found still hadn’t been discovered. There were many parties all searching for it, Jungkook always took the time to chat with other groups of players at the end of each day for any updates on its location but no one had any luck yet.

You all had leveled up significantly and you’d added many spells into your collection. ‘Hurricane’ was your recent favorite addition, by putting your hands together you could form a large ball of fast moving water to shoot at any target. Taehyung had improved on his paralyzing spells and added sleep spells into his collection. Jungkook had been excited over leveling up his sneaking skills, he could practically make himself invisible at this point.

Mood wise, Jungkook seemed to have gotten over the fight a week prior, it helped that Jimin had been holding himself back when it came to you.

You hadn’t gotten another chance to be alone with him again since that night, you’d tried a few times but Taehyung always seemed to have some sixth sense for when you and Jungkook would get close to being able to kiss again. He would pop up out of nowhere and seem to ruin the moment as if he knew there was something up between the two of you.

That night when you were all in bed, satisfied with your progress for the day, a familiar noise startled you out of your sleep.

Jimin was leaving again.

This time you’d follow him. You silently crept out of your bed on the floor, debated on waking up Jungkook but decided on letting him rest.

You tiptoed down the hall, trying to scope out where Jimin could’ve snuck off to. Once you reached the lobby and found it empty you realized that the door out of the inn had just swung shut. So out you went.

You saw the silhouette of Jimin walking around to the alleyway between the inn and the building next to it. Wishing you had Jungkook's sneak skills you tried your best to stay hidden as you crept, holding yourself close to the wall and peeking your head around the corner.

There he was. With two others. You tried your best to make out their whispering, but to no avail. You couldn't really see the others, the glow of their screens gave little light to their faces. One seemed to have red wings, and the other had orange wings and large, possibly fox like ears sticking out from on top of his head.

Suddenly they stopped conversing and all whipped around to your direction. ‘Shit’ you thought in a panic, whipping your head around and trying to hurry back inside before they saw you.

Before you could reach the door to the inn a Large hand gripped your arm. “Uh uh. I don’t think so” A gruff voice said.

You tried to shake yourself loose “Let go of me!” you cried out.

The second one of Jimin’s mysterious companions grabbed your other arm, dragging you away from the door. “Not until we explain ourselves”

The two of them dragged you far, and it was so dark you could barely see where you were going. Jimin trailed behind silently. You felt betrayed and hurt that the man that had spent so much time with you, that you had saved and stood up for so many times was letting this happen to you.

They tossed you to the ground once you had reached another alleyway many buildings down from the inn. You yelped out in pain as you hit the stones below. “Please don't kill me. I’ll give you all my items” you choked out.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts smut #bts angst #bts x you #bts imagines #jin x reader #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #jimin x reader #hoseok x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #ot7 au #ot7 fanfic #ot7 x reader #ot7 x you

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alchemist-shizun · 5 years

Text

I Can See My Kingdom Now

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 3: Time and again boys are raised to be men

Word Count: 10,176

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Deceit.

Pairing(s): Eventual Logicality and Prinxiety. (hints to Royality, they’re forced into an arranged marriage)

Warnings: -Mild cursing (there's just one cuss word) -Minor character death -Negative thoughts -Panic attack -Insomnia -Some kind of selective mutism -Toxic parental behavior -Mentions of hallucinations -Food mention -Self-esteem issues and self-deprecation

Summary: Growing up isn't easy for anybody. Especially when you're the new around, when you feel like you lost everything or when it seems you have the world against you.

A/N: Or of how I’m projecting slightly into one of the characters. As for the next update, I don't have much ready so you'll have to be waiting a bit for it, nothing specific this time. I'm currently working on a Prinxiety one-shot that I hope I can release soon, plus in September I'll be participating in the little event with daily prompts dedicated to the series. Also, I'll be soon starting the last year of high school, so updates will be definitely slower, but I won't give up, promise. Thank you for sticking around till now, I'll hear from you soon!

✾

❝ You are broken and callow Cautious and safe You are boundless in beauty With fright in your face ❞

The first years through his “learning how to be a valuable prince” had passed, and Roman was already grateful for the castle servants, who seldom sneaked in his room extra food. It wasn't like they were making it too hard for him and basically throwing knowledge at him or expecting him to be a natural and ace every single lesson.

His teachers adjusted to him, they let him take his time and were more than happy to explain concepts more than once.

It was just that he felt like he had to learn how to live all over again: first came posture, back at the orphanage none really cared if you were walking, skipping along the pavement, even running at times.

Here you had to keep your body in a particular position, your head straight, especially among other aristocrats. Your step had to be measured, every part of your body talked for you most of the times.

A step back could mean disdain, fright, a step forward could be interest, trust, a hand towards you is a chance to dance or an offer for a hug.

Roman had met many nobles, apart from the royals from Tinfea, after he came back to the palace; they all wanted to congratulate his parents and meet the famous lost prince. The story they knew was that a naïve servant had let the gates open and he had wandered outside by himself until he got lost for good.

As a child, he liked the attention of numerous people, but how to behave around them wasn't exactly his expertise.

Every time he did something unusual, the strangers would mention how adorable he was. His parents would smile and stroke his hair gently, a sign that, regardless of his inexperience, he was doing a good job.

To help him to get used to it, servants that casually met him in the hallways reminded him of his posture. Eventually, he got there.

While also practicing that, which reminded him to always look up to people and never look down on them, he learnt what kind of behavior he had to keep during meals, which silverware to use, how many servings there were in each meal, which one was his reserved seat.

To make it fun, he established a game between him and his parents: it consisted on guessing the food that was going to be served by the kitchen servants. It was a secret between him and the cook, but he'd occasionally sneak in the kitchen to get a “general idea”, as he liked to call it, of the possibilities. He totally wasn't cheating. Besides, he loved how his parents compared him to a magician every time he succeeded.

They made everything easier for his age, enjoyable even.

Everyday he learnt something new and everyday he was aghast: it happened even as he woke up in his chambers for the first time.

He had been woken up by the gentle daylight of the morning that was peering through the translucent curtains, pulled apart by one of the servants he had seen going around the corridors before going to sleep.

He had tried to snuggle closer to the covers and the pillows, shielding himself from the eventual tasks he had to complete during the day.

The servant had approached him and, with honey-like words, they persuaded him to get up. Only that he was simply expected to sit up on his bed.

Ever since he came to the castle, a servant would meet him in the morning to wake him up, then they'd be helped by a couple more to bring in the room a dressing table with a mirror, a chair, some objects and utensils they needed, meanwhile one of them would look into a wooden case full of rich fabrics that Roman didn't even know to distinguish.

The servants always helped him get up on his feet, they led him to the chair to sit down and they washed his face, his hair got combed and treated with products that made them soft and perfumed. Different types of oils and creams were smeared every day on his skin as they undressed him, careful not to get the night vest dirty.

No wonder they forced him to take a hot bath every night.

When they were done with that he got up, almost completely naked, and they proceeded to help him put on his clothes, which were layers on layers of various types of cloth. He didn't even know all of their names.

He looked at his minute figure on the tall mirror nailed on the wall which was perpendicular to the bed: splashes of red, gold, white and black blinded his sight as he noticed his hair tied at the nape of his neck.

After breakfast he had his first lessons of reading and writing in the library; his teacher was the same one that taught him about the history of their kingdom. She was an old lady with a streak of bright green in her white hair and a perpetual knowing look that made her seem like she had lived as long as the planet had existed. As if she knew everything there was to know.

Roman had always found her somewhat intimidating, which led to an ever-growing respect towards her: in a couple of months he had been able to read fluently and write with little to no mistakes.

The lady was amazed at how he kept practicing and demanding for books narrating fables. To the point that, unable to stop herself, she finally asked.

« What is it that interests you so much? » she lent him the second book that week, she was afraid she would run out of them soon. She made a mental note to send a man to the nearest kingdom.

« They remind me of the village I was in. » he said, eyeing the book cover with enthusiasm.

« How so? »

« I used to make up stories with a friend! » he looked up at her with a warm smile « Father said I'll visit him soon. » he added, excitement in his eyes.

Something sour set in the lady's mouth. She knew better, as always.

She couldn't help but smile back and place her hands her hips.

« Perhaps after you learn a bit of those history lessons I gave you, will you? A prince has to know everything about his kingdom if he wants to rule someday, understood? »

He let out a small huff « Of course, ma'am. »

She pat his head. « That's good. » and, as she stared at his back to check his posture while he walked away, a sad look couldn't help but make its way through her face.

After Roman had mastered all the first lessons, he was taught how to speak properly in the presence of nobles, elders, young people and the plebs in general. It was a surprisingly young servant that helped him, since sometimes it could happen that some wise and skilled enough servants could be “promoted” as teachers for the king's children.

All the letters in front of the prince seemed to swirl around his head and pressing at both sides when he looked at all the different meanings a single word could have. All the different ways that you could say something so that you could be understood by all types of audiences. The best moments were when he used the wrong linguistic register and he ended up talking to a kid the way you would treat an emperor.

At the same time he took up art lessons with that same servant. Roman found out they were not only good at how to behave with someone but they could also make the nicest instant portraits. The first one she did of him, he hanged it right after in his room, on the side of his half-empty bookshelf he asked his parents to bring in after a couple of gifts from his history teacher.

The second reaction was simply a request to teach him how to be as good as them. So they started going out of the palace daily, then into the gardens, to just sit down and draw from reference. He kept trying, transforming nature in swirls of colors and pencil figures.

Before he could say he was pretty good at it, a couple of years would have to pass, but he was content enough with just staying outside and enjoy the artistic point of view his servant offered him.

Twice a week, on the other hand, they stayed inside and flipped through a history of art book, full of pictures and analysis of the paintings or architectures.

Then, there was one of Roman's favorite things: he began sword fighting lessons. A valuable prince needed to have an eclectic knowledge and skills, but most of all if he wanted to protect a whole kingdom, he had to be able to protect himself first.

One of the Royal Guard's knights was lent to teach him; Roman believed he was going to have one of those basic lessons in which you went into the backyard of the castle, out of earshot not to disturb anyone with the clanging noise of metal.

Never in his life he would have imagined to be led into a ballroom and met with a curly dark petrol-haired man and a mischievous smile: he had two perfectly created wooden swords behind his back, like a ninja about to unsheathe his own katanas.

Roman approached the man with a confused yet composed look and when he stopped a few feet away, he held that stare.

The knight's expression shifted to a thoughtful one, never leaving that slight curve of his lips; he saw Roman, a tiny child, refraining from taking his eyes off of him, a well-trained man from the Royal Guard. And he didn't find fear in those honey-like irises, he was expectant. Rigid, but ready.

At this point silence had been enough to still keep her around. The knight threw a sword at the boy with no warning, it was definitely a test for his reflexes.

It was a habit that he always did with his new apprentices, it felt like some kind of superstitious gesture, if the person didn't catch it was probably going to have a lot of trouble teaching. On the other hand if they did …

The knight could only watch as the hilt of the wooden sword flew in Roman's hand, perfectly adjusting to his grip.

… well, it was going to be fun.

« I like you. »

The prince flashed him a satisfied smile.

The older man got a few steps closer and leaned down, Roman could see the red in his eyes that previously he thought was an unusual shade of brown.

« Shall we dance? »

Always busy with lessons and writing down stories to read to his loving parents, Roman found himself being fifteen, the village and its inhabitants was a distant memory he couldn't have the luxury to think about.

He didn't even realize he stopped asking about Virgil. He didn't realise he stopped thinking about him or the orphanage. It was less hurtful to pretend it all didn't exist than accept he would have never been able to come back. They hated him by now, probably.

His history lessons were so persistent he could now recite all his ancestors' lives backwards. Or in alphabetic order. Or in any kind of order, really. As he let go of the lessons he had mastered, new ones would come up almost instantly and, sometimes, take away even more time than the ones he had before.

Not that he wanted to complain, he'd be exhausted enough to have no trouble sleeping and never waking up a single time in the middle of the night. Which made the actual waking up ten times more challenging.

But most of all, he loved a lot of the lessons he got. Especially singing. You don't know where Roman is and it's time for his daily walk around the front garden's sculptures? He's probably moving around a large room and singing his heart out.

What was frustrating but also very surprising was how good he sang, as if he was a natural, born to entertain those around him with enchanting melodies.

His teacher couldn't believe it the first time he heard him. Soon enough, they had started a duet of voice and harp strings, creating symphonies in every different possible way.

Sometimes they really had to drag him out of rooms to participate to at least thirty minutes of his other teachings, and yes, a prince needs to know about the gods, the pontifex can't do everything by themselves.

Roman walked down the castle's external stairs, as white as the clouds above him, he occasionally thought that maybe there was a spell keeping them so clean and candid.

There was an old sage leading him towards the marble sculptures that ran along the garden's limit. Same impeccable color of the castle.

Nothing got ruined in their royal bubble, it seemed there was an invisible defense around their property. That was were the odd legend of their kingdom came from.

« Remember this one? » the sage, another one of the teachers, pointed to the marble figure they were standing in front of, halfway through the garden.

« Yes. » Roman studied the sculpture, an androgynous-looking anthropomorphic god stared him down, eyes white and empty, they had a crown on their half extended left arm, with bifurcated tips at the top.

The other hand kept their vest up, pressing it on their chest, over their heart. The pattern on it displayed, in a bas-relief, detailed and messy curves and swirls.

« The God of Death, ruler of the Underworld, also called “Dark Kingdom”. That's the reason of the crown. » the old man nodded, satisfied with the answer, but that wasn't where Roman had finished. « The vest suggests the symbol of dark magic, as they were believed to be the First Sorcerer. »

« You could have stopped before … »

Roman arched an eyebrow, it was unlikely for a man like him to be skeptical towards the Forbidden Topic. « I'm not afraid of two words. »

« You're aware of the reason why we refrain to mention it, aren't you? »

« I am. But I don't think it is right to belittle a God, or conceal one of their most important features, only because of a human dilemma. Isn't it impious to bend a deity's description to a mortal rule? » Roman turned back to his teacher, expecting a frown on the man's face.

Instead, the facade the sage was keeping up suddenly fell, only to be replaced by a satisfied and content expression; he pat the top of the boy's head while nodding slightly.

« Very good, Roman. I take you've read those books I suggested? »

The little prince showed a sheepish smile. « I guess I enjoy myths. »

Their conversation went on, the topics somehow brushing philosophy at times, but was soon abruptly interrupted by the loud noise of hooves on the stone pavement between the two sections of the garden.

Their glances turned towards the entrance, where a carriage was let in through the gates.

Both prince and sage straightened their postures and waited for the mysterious person to show themselves. They didn't expect a boy around Roman's age to come out of the carriage, all dressed up as an obvious piece of nobility, by himself.

As he got closer, Roman could notice the sneering look that engulfed him, red hair almost looked like fire under the hit of the sun rays.

The boy stopped a few feet away from them, then bowed down. « I am Desmond Ananke, marquis of the kingdom of Elis. » when he looked up, he found himself transfixed by those pitch-black eyes, as dark as a moonless night, or the moment right before your eyes adjust to the blackness of a room.

He felt dizzy for a second, was that even natural? Magic?

He came back to life when he felt the sage's hand being placed on his shoulder, when he looked over to the teacher he surprisingly found a sour expression. Roman decided to just nod at the boy, a cue for him to state the meaning of the visit.

« My parents agreed upon sending me for the monthly donation we had planned decades ago. » he turned his head to the older man. « I'm positive you wouldn't mind if I helped myself up the stairs to meet the sovereigns. » a smirk was all he needed to show for the man to understand.

He stayed silent for a few beats, then let go of the prince and stepped aside.

Desmond, before excusing himself, got a closer look to the boy. « So you must be the famous Roman Bia, I suppose. » he held his hand towards him, if he expected a handshake, he wasn't ready for the marquis to take his own hand and place a kiss on the top of his knuckles.

He looked up at him, Roman's hand still close to his lips « Your surname means “brutal strength”. I wonder if your delicacy can contrast that. »

Roman had no clue what that meant, he felt Desmond's stare on him, the warmth his hand was irradiating on his skin and the general discomfort of the whole situation. Was he supposed to answer? Was it a compliment? Did he know …

« I wonder if you're aware our prince is only fifteen and has been promised to the prince of Tinfea for five years by now. » Roman was glad his sword fighting teacher had come to the rescue, he was probably being late to his lesson.

The marquis eyed him, his smile slightly faltered and he carefully snatched his hand away.

Without any further word, he excused himself and began pacing towards the palace.

Roman had retrieved his hand as if he had just touched a burning pot, only that the only fire he felt right under his skin was dancing around his cheeks and ears because of the embarrassment. He looked at the place where the marquis once stood with a confused expression.

What was his deal?

« That motherf- »

« Language! »

« Gods! » the knight put his hands on his face and slid them up on his hair in a desperate gesture. « Stop lecturing me, dad. »

« I am not your father. » the sage gave him a puzzled look while the knight rolled his eyes.

« Maybe when you stop treating me like a child, you won't be. Well! » he clasped his gloved hands together and turned to a silent Roman that was wondering whether or not he should have let them have their moment and leave. « Ready for your lesson, kid? » Roman simply nodded.

They excused themselves from the elder and the knight, Crowley was his name, as he finally recalled, slid his arm around Roman's shoulder in a friendly way, only to lower down a little and speak to him more clearly.

« Look, that guy from before? Bad news. » he made a face. « I'll tell you, just because our kingdom is so awesome, the more outer people try to take advantage and benefit from us. »

« They're envious? »

« That's an understatement, but yeah, pretty much. » Roman felt some kind of burning feeling in his chest.

« Can't they just focus on improving their own kingdom instead of taking things from us? »

Crowley grinned. « Oh, is our prince getting bitter? »

« Hah. Not at all. I'm keeping my cool here. I'm in perfect conditions. » he flashed him a perfectly constructed smile. « See? »

« Sure, my lord. In perfect conditions of pretending, should I call the jester and tell him to call some actors to join you? »

« Oh, gladly, thank you so much. »

As they entered the fighting room, chuckling, they made their way towards their steel swords and started their usual sparring.

« Still, you should know … » the swords kept on clashing with no result. « … that boy from before talked about a donation. »

Roman started to lose some ground. « Yes? I never heard of that. »

« In my opinion, it's stupid. Arcadia has to donate part of our treasure to help other kingdoms. »

« What? » Roman's movements looked even more aggressive, tenacious.

« Apparently, it's the only way to assure they don't move war against us. » he sighed as Roman made a mistake in his posture, but regained it quickly.

« Wouldn't that lead us to eventually fall? It's not like the gods gift us gold every month. »

« That's what I've been saying. And the king's advisor too. They're ruining us anyway, this is only the slower method, the king said. »

« This is ridiculous. » the knight noticed Roman was basically throwing all his hits on him.

« I know, not to mention that marquis clearly wanted to woo you. »

« Woo me? »

« He wanted to marry you, to, of course, get your nobility status from the kingdom's alliance. There's no love there. » Crowley noticed Roman's expression hardening with rage. « Only strategy. » the prince scoffed, annoyed. « Like a mere tool. »

That's when Crowley realized his tactic was working and, in a matter of seconds, he found his sword clattering to the floor. Roman stopped moving, awed by his own doing and looked up to his teacher both smiling widely.

« Well done, kid. » he reached to pat his head, but Roman ignored that and wrapped his hands around him in a happy hug. He literally started screaming of joy.

« Gods, I did it! Did you see that? Did you see how I landed that sword? That was awesome! » he trailed off complimenting himself and pacing around the room, excitement printed on his face.

Crowley, amused, kept on watching Roman's little burst of happiness. Still, he realized it was now time for him to let other lessons take up his time. Like …

« Courting. This guy needs to learn courting. »

He was sixteen when it happened. Roman was enjoying one of the books his literature teacher had recommended, sitting at the library's table. He loved those lessons and was waiting for them to start.

His eyes lit up when he heard the door opening, but he never expected to find one of his servants and a gloomy expression. They approached him and took his hand while watery eyes threatened to start tearing up.

« Crowley is dead. »

That was the last thing he heard before zoning out, his heart sank and he felt numb; his hearing stopped working, it was as if the servant was talking to an inanimate object. They continued talking about how he died while helping a kingdom in a battle and was found lifeless, but Roman's mind couldn't process any more information.

Crowley is dead.

He could still see his mischievous red eyes in the corner of his own, now covered by a tragic and dark veil, his mouth agape as if he wanted to say something but there was nothing else to say at the same time. It was written all over his face.

Crowley is dead.

The servant brought him back to consciousness by touching his shoulder, the memory of his teacher doing the same burned in his mind, tears welled up in his eyes and found the strength to sprint away from a startled servant and run down the castle halls.

Crowley is dead.

He knew who he was looking for. His sight was clouded, making it harder to recognize his surroundings. He didn't care he was running, he didn't care his sobs could have been audible from outer space. He received concerned but knowing looks by anyone he crossed paths with. Then he found the room.

Crowley is dead.

His trembling hand turned the shiny and cold handle that almost blinded him. After closing the door behind him he rushed over to the person he knew needed comfort the most, just like him.

Roman hugged the sage, Nicephorus, he hugged him tight and pretended they didn't notice each other's red eyes. They also pretended they didn't hear their crying, seemingly unstoppable. Nicephorus pretended he didn't lose who could have seemed like his son, Roman pretended he didn't lose the brother he never had.

You can never judge whether someone's life was happy until it's gone.

Roman was seventeen. He was also finally allowed to make little trips outside of the palace and meet his people: he went mostly around the center, where his parents didn't prohibit him to go. Seven years kept inside the castle, busy with his education and getting to know his parents and kingdom, and everything about the village was now long gone from his mind, a distant memory he didn't dig into anymore.

Saying that he was well recognized by his people was an understatement. The people loved him. They cheered for him when his carriage made its way towards the center's plaza. He'd greet every single one of them, he let them hold his hands, he kissed little children's heads and willingly let them lead him through the city.

He wasn't like those royal people that looked down on the plebs with indifference from their carriages, he enjoyed interacting with others, being able to confront his life with the one of the others.

He often listened to their problems and realized that this type of confrontation helped the royalty greatly in fixing the kingdom's problems for the better; dealing directly with the people that faced issues that could be resolved was one of their best mechanisms.

And not only had he a great relationship with his people, but also the one with his servants couldn't be of any less importance. They were happy to spend time with him when his parents couldn't, as much as he was grateful for them for anything they had done.

People outside stopped believing he was a real prince, how could someone so kind-hearted have no dark feature?

They didn't know about his nightmares, for sure.

Or all the times he felt like he was remembering something of the night he disappeared, only to break down right after, the only comfort being his mother's embrace.

And despite being surrounded by a multitude of loved ones who loved him back, they didn't know about the loneliness he felt when he finally reached eighteen.

« Roman, dear, the Pais family is coming very soon, will you come to meet them? »

Yes, even with a guaranteed fiancé.

Royal courting was weird in their days: the two promised could see each other little to no time at all, preferably spending as less time together as they could. Meals with parents were fine, they even had the luxury to sit in front of each other, talk sometimes, but out of those? One or two hours a day were enough, thank you very much.

So, what the Tinfea and Arcadia families were doing to follow these unfathomable laws was meeting once a year, celebrating one year less to the upcoming wedding.

And now that Roman was eighteen, well, things were only starting to get faster.

« We're going to speed up the preparations with them today, you can finally spend some more time with the lovable Patton, aren't you happy? » his father was at his left as they made their way towards the entrance of the castle.

« Truly charmed. » he mused, not particularly focused on his question. It wasn't like he didn't want to meet him, or thought he wasn't at all an appreciable companion, but the little time they spent together wasn't enough for him. He wasn't even allowed to send letters; their relationship only started as acquaintances and went back to strangers after a couple of months of not seeing each other.

Roman thought that was ridiculously inconvenient for both of them.

« Wait, is Logan going to be here? »

« Honey, of course, he's always been. » Roman made a slightly frustrated pout at that.

« Don't be like that. He's their closest advisor. »

« I know, but I don't like him. He makes me feel incompetent. »

« He's older than you, Roman, it's normal if his knowledge is higher than yours. »

« And you should respect him as such. Then you will get along just fine. »

The prince sighed, he couldn't argue with that. What they always said was that he could at least act like he was glad to have someone as guest.

Furthermore, he loved acting. He couldn't remember how many times he had sneaked out to get to the local theatre to watch actors perform, or perform himself after he made sure none was there.

« Oh, I forgot to tell you! » Roman's mother turned to him, beaming. « This time, they're going to stay here longer. We're going to put into action what Logan had suggested two years ago. »

Well, that was certainly new.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Patton had often wondered why things were a certain way.

He sounded like a kid when he kept on asking different questions about the subject he was debating with someone.

Why were clouds like that? Are stars motionless? Why is grass green and not blue? How come animals didn't talk, do they even understand us?

As he grew up and reached adulthood, the questions would change into more soul-searching ones.

Does happiness really exist? Is the mind more important than the heart? What's the difference between justice and revenge? When is it required to be selfless and when is it allowed to be selfish?

One time at fourteen he found himself stargazing and wondering if he could even reach the stars one day, that sky glitter that winked and smiled at him every night. He had approached Logan's chamber and ran in the room out of breath, at which a startled seer blinked a couple of times, frozen still, and looked at him with arched eyebrows.

« Hey Lo- » a couple of short breaths. « You're a magician, right? »

A slow nod came from the older boy, whose gears began turning in his head, trying to predict which kind of outcome that conversation was going to lead to.

« So can you fly?! » Pat had clasped his hands together in little fists in front of his mouth and leaned in towards the chair his friend was sitting in.

Logan wondered if he could have either expected that kind of question or if he definitely wasn't aware this scenario could have ever taken place.

Eventually, he decided to get up from his chair and, kindly, escort Patton out of his room, while the prince whined about wanting to reach the sky.

After he closed the door behind himself, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he fought back an amused smile that was threatening to form on his lips.

Of course, he lost, but in his defense, he was pretty tired.

After the prince's fifteenth birthday, Logan wondered sadly why they had to unquestionably stop attending lessons together; they had less time to spend with each other now that Patton was up to courting lessons most of his day, while he retreated to his room pretty much always to self-teach himself the remaining of magic knowledge. His sovereigns told him he didn't need teachers anymore, they meant to praise him for his own talents at such a young age. But he didn't somehow feel satisfied.

On the contrary, his heart sank when he stopped in front of their closed room and heard that they were actually glad their son was going to spend less time with him and that they couldn't wait to get rid of him.

He stayed silent and moved on.

When Patton reached sixteen, Logan decided he hated feelings.

He hated feelings because he could not conceive his kingdom's rules and what sometimes they did to people, how it changed them and made them treat him from a respectable member to a simple servant undeserving of any kind of attention. He decided to stop showing such feelings as he now found them useless: what could he do with his emptiness? The anger? Disappointment? Loneliness? All the other emotions he didn't want to name? Things that only slowed down his work?

Well, there was one thing he surely could do, which was bury them deep inside and never listen to them again.

And so he did.

At seventeen, Patton was having a mental breakdown. Too many things were happening at once: preparations for the wedding (already, though Roman was still fourteen), the fate of the curse approaching which he tried to ignore, his teenage mood swings, him reaching soon adulthood and the always more persistent lessons. About literally anything.

It was especially the lessons that stressed him out. In one of them in particular, in which he had to learn how to dance but was failing miserably, he concluded it was best to abruptly storm out of the room and take his frustration out on the grass he was stomping as he made a beeline for the flower garden of the east side of the castle.

Stressful tears were prickling his eyes, he carefully wiped them away on his sleeve, growing discontent was spreading inside him since he didn't want to cry, and yet he was too vulnerable to stop himself. Why did he feel so weak?

Patton took a deep breath and made his way through the garden, hands curled in fists at his side, when he eventually had to stop himself once again.

Logan was sitting on the ground, a couple of feet away from him, he was leaning on some flowers, examining them, while some objects – related to magic, Patton thought – were lying all around him.

Suddenly aware of a viewer, his friend- wait, were they even still friends? How long ago was the last time they talked for real?

Patton grimaced, he couldn't even remember that.

Nonetheless, Logan looked up at him with a blank stare, it only faltered for a moment as he noticed the slight redness around the prince's pupils.

They kept staring silently, until eventually the mage broke the silence between them, after he turned his attention back to the flowers he was observing attentively.

« What can I help you with? » there was no real interest in his voice, no signs of concern (although he definitely knew Patton was missing his lesson), the lack of anything bothered the prince in a way he couldn't comprehend. It's like that uneasiness you feel when someone slightly moved everything in your room and you can't tell what has changed.

Patton as well couldn't tell what had happened to make their relationship so different from before.

And maybe it was exactly because of that, maybe because of how much pressure they were putting in him, the expectation of his parents that he could master all his teachings in no time, the absence of the comfort he once found in friendship with his servants, whatever case it may have been, that he found himself dropping on his knees and throwing his arms around Logan's shoulders.

Patton tried to hide his face on the other's robes, tightening his grip as little sobs shook his body.

Whatever grudge Logan could have been holding against him (which, mind you, he didn't, since Patton was just that impossible to despise), he cast that aside and surrounded the younger one's chest with his own arms, hesitantly.

They sat there for a couple of minutes as the prince let out all the displeasure and the other boy just tried to help with soft rubs on his back.

As soon as he felt an ounce of relief, Patton broke the hug and took a deep breath, after muttering an apology.

« I don't know what's happening. To me, or in general. » he sighed, a hand touching his forehead while he looked down.

Since they had basically been ignoring each other, he was expecting a remark, he thought he was going to tell him he was an idiot and it was his fault, he would have believed that.

Instead, Logan nodded. « That's perfectly understandable. »

Patton looked up at him in confusion and disbelief. « How? »

A humming sound escaped the mage's throat. « How about you describe what is bothering you? »

« Uh. » he was looking at the sky, but focusing on his thoughts. « It's like I'm in a cage. Everybody's telling me what to do, what to wear, how to act. Or who I have to talk to. » he looked Logan in the eyes. « When was even the last time talked properly? » his azure irises darkened in a greyish color. « I feel like I have no friends anymore. »

Logan's heart sank at the words, he knew he was included in that group and he couldn't help but feel ashamed for accepting the distance they suddenly began to keep, instead of doing something about it.

« It is only normal that you're getting badly affected by the situation. Look at yourself, » Patton lifted his hands to observe them. « you're clearly stressed out. Are you getting enough sleep? » there were so many questions he wanted to ask. They barely saw each other out of meals.

« Do I, they expect me to be asleep the moment they escort me to my chamber. »

One problem less ticked off of Logan's mental list.

« We both know your drinking and eating schedules are practically perfect, so I guess this is partially about pressure. Everything at once. »

« Yeah, it's mostly because of this “perfect” you said. Everyone expects me to be perfect, my parents- »

« That's it! » Logan abruptly interrupted, pointing a finger towards the sky, a knowing smile making his way through his face. He dropped the objects he was carefully putting away in his bag.

« Uh? I barely finished … »

« Listen. Don't you think your parents are a bit … too much into this? They have started preparations way ahead of time, they can't stop talking about the wedding's details when neither you nor Roman reached adulthood yet. It seems to me that they want this more than you do. To the point that they don't care about your feelings. » the words tasted sour in his mouth, talking badly about your king and queen wasn't exactly the main topic in a kingdom, but he saw the prince slowly nod in agreement.

It wasn't the first time he had noticed that, either.

« My feelings … yeah, they're definitely messed up. » he found the will to giggle.

After a beat, Logan continued with his reasoning « I can't honestly believe you forgot my most important lessons. » he looked away to open the only vial that was lying on the ground and poured a drop of its content on a dying withered flower that immediately blossomed in a soft pink hue. When he looked back at his friend he met a confused but pensive gaze, mixed with amazement by the little magic trick.

« You're your own person, Patton. You don't have to act like anyone but yourself. Break free of those puppet strings, they're not unbreakable. You can be a prince in your own way. »

Patton showed him one of his brightest smiles, gaining all the inspiration he could have ever possibly asked for. He could still be himself while having lessons or while in front of other nobility members.

« You're right! » he beamed, getting confidently on his feet. He felt like he could take on the world by himself. « Plus, how much can they go against a prince? »

Logan rolled his eyes. « As much as they like if he starts getting full of himself. »

« Aw, come on, I was just kidding. »

They made their way towards the castle's ballroom, while catching up on the things they had been up to in the past year.

Time, of course, flew by in an instant and they were already facing the entrance of the ballroom. They stopped in their tracks.

Patton turned to the magician. « I don't know if a “thank you” is enough. But I appreciate that you didn't reject me being all emotional. » he then shrugged with a small smile. « Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the smallest things. »

Logan shook his head. « You don't have to thank me. I only helped a friend in need. »

The prince almost jumped in joy at the label, it was a sign their relationship wasn't destroyed by outer circumstances, which was what Patton had feared the most. How could he have gotten such an amazing friend? He felt the desire to surround himself with more people like him.

« And remember, if you don't understand something, write it down. Only then it might become clearer. » the seer shared one of the most important pieces of information he could give in order to prevent future breakdowns anytime soon.

Patton considered carefully his words as if he had just found out a glowing treasure, then nodded. « Will do. » he made to turn away, placing his hand on the door's handle.

« Sorry for forgetting what you taught me! » he apologized with a sheepish grin. Logan only chuckled and started to step away, when he got called again.

« And Lo? » he gave him his full attention and suddenly found Patton's hand on his arm.

Patton gazed deeply in his dark eyes. « Please, talk to me more. »

And just like that, he disappeared into the room, resuming his dance lesson with a lighter feeling in his chest.

It was the moment in which Logan felt a colder spot where the prince's hand once was and his cheeks burning red that he decided he hated feelings even more.

At eighteen Patton understood that he could be a bit freer, but his parents wouldn't let it slide so easily. At least not without some guilt trip or psychological pressure.

King, queen, prince and seer (who had also become their personal adviser since they didn't find a way to get rid of him) were sitting on a carriage, seemingly talking about topics of no relevance. But one would know better than believe aristocrats didn't measure their every word, sticking hidden meanings or snide remarks in sentences here and there.

It was their charm, how they could hold a conversation while talking about something completely different.

« Did you hear about this? They say that Roman kid had already caught up with his lost lessons in less than two years, isn't that a prodigy? » their favorite topic was throwing Patton down with their “oh-so-perfect” examples.

They always told him so many things about him, things he wasn't even sure were entirely true. So many voices went around castles. Ever since Arcadia's prince came back, he had been in everyone's words and minds.

Of course, Patton's parents used all the information they could get, thinking they could have been able to attach those puppet strings back to his body.

They tried and sometimes they succeeded in grazing even just slightly his self-worth.

Self-esteem issues weren't late to the party as well.

Patton noticed a pattern in the arguments: they would find anything that didn't please them, blame him and eventually start to criticize him. His looks, his behavior, his intelligence, either the first thing they saw or the first thought that came to their mind.

Initially he apologized as much as it felt fake. But he didn't like lying every time there was a fight, though doing the opposite made the situation worse.

His parents would get frustrated by his silence, the yelling would increase for minutes until they got tired and gave up on him.

So Patton only stared at the marble pavement, his eyes danced around its colored details, a blank expression surrounded his face; when they finally let him free he'd only run back to his room.

After that there were two different outcomes: one would simply picture him crying to let out all of the horrible things they told him, as if he could shake them off and forget about it.

The other would display him lying down with a weird feeling in his guts. It was something that mixed with wanting to fight someone and wanting to fight himself. As if he deserved to feel pain. But the only thing he allowed himself was to think of all the remarks he could have done, if only they didn't make the situation worse.

Many could wonder how he managed to endure the whole thing. Patton had the kindness of his servants to get him through the day, the food they sneaked in every time he left during meals because he couldn't just bear it.

And he had a best friend he could rely on anytime he wanted or needed to vent. Especially when he saved him from annoying situations.

The conversation between his parents continued, their eulogy towards Roman never seemed to stop.

Patton breathed out slow and deep through his nose, he knew the last thing he needed was a reminder of his inferiority complex when he was on his way to Roman.

The funny thing about it was that he couldn't even blame Roman for how he felt, on the contrary the boy was always so sweet and welcoming. It was more how everybody portrayed him to be the perfect prince he could never achieve.

« On the topic of talents. » Logan, the foretold savior, spoke only after giving a sidelong glance to the younger boy.

The sovereigns immediately shut their conversation to Patton's relief.

« Since we are second in prosperity to Arcadia, I was thinking we should value our people more. » he had them hanging on his every word. « Maybe we should organize some kind of event that aims at that specific goal. »

The two adults' faces lit up, ideas flowing in their minds. Every argument on how to somehow be better than Arcadia was valid for both of them, it was the perfect diversion.

« We definitely agree. Please do tell us what you have in mind. »

Instead of going off with one of his explanations, (that often became monologues), he turned to Patton.

« What about you? Would you like that? » a faint smile crossed the prince's lips, ignoring the voices in his mind that said “How can he give his opinion? He understands nothing of it!”

« I would love that, Logan. » he nodded. « It would be ideal for our people to stand out in their specialties. I'd want to know if the best poems ever written belonged to one of our humble and simple villagers. » he stopped looking out the window to glance at his parents' shocked expressions, their mouths left hung open upon hearing his valid opinion. Suddenly they didn't have anything to remark.

He felt something very similar to pure bliss. Then he shifted his gaze to Logan. « Don't you think? »

Pride glimmered in the magician's eyes. « Exactly my thought. We could also participate or just watch, if so you desire. »

« Thank you for your suggestion! » Patton smiled even wider and Logan knew that he also silently thanked him for the attention.

After Logan finished displaying his idea, the sovereigns kept quiet for the whole trip to Arcadia's castle and Patton couldn't have been any more glad about it.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

How could he have been such an idiot?

Hopes and dreams, fake abstract concepts made up only to ruin people's expectations.

What was hope? It only meant relate to the future in a way that will eventually result in experiencing anxiety and anguish, whether it is a happy future you're looking for or a negative outcome that you're fearing. It is never something that helps you relax, but it keeps you in a restless mood, always unsettled because you know you're waiting for something and you're paying very much attention to it.

It is as if you're waiting for a delivery that has even the infinitesimal possibility to get lost into the nothingness. Or waiting for a person that promised to come back, a promise that has a high percent chance to be broken anyway.

But your hopes get in the way and erase any pessimistic belief, without realizing you're actually deteriorating yourself. With hope comes illusion and after that you're only left with pain.

Growing up, Virgil learnt to take nothing for granted and have very little trust in all the people who presented themselves in front of him.

To say that his parting from Roman had been a hard hit for him was an understatement: ever since then, he had never been able to get close to someone just as much or have any friendship quite as strong. It didn't feel worth it anymore.

Everything constantly reminded him of Roman and he just was so tired, he wanted the world to stop.

There had been many attempts by the school's children to get him to cheer up, but every single gesture failed its goal like they weren't even trying hard enough. But they were, when he wandered in the streets the villagers would greet him with a genuine smile on their lips, Virgil would only nod at them, unimpressed by the sudden interest.

Kids had tried to play with him, offered to go spend time in the woods together, but nothing could do. It reminded him too much of him and their memories were the last things he wanted to experience all over again.

He was eleven when hope started to fade out and disappointment took over him, a wave of sadness brushed his feet as strange thoughts began to force themselves into his mind.

These thoughts were the ones that tried to keep him awake at night, they persuaded him to think that it was better to embrace the darkness of the night, in which none would bother him as they all drifted off to sleep.

At first they scared him, so much he tried to scream to throw them away, panic didn't help his breathing problems and every other night his parents were kneeling down in his room, trying to steady him in every possible way.

At twelve, things were getting impossibly worse, because he couldn't help but comply to those musings. The first time, he found himself getting up from the small mattress, a myriad of thoughts screaming at him, so much that he preferred to stay silent, afraid that if he were to part his lips the harshness of howl-like shrieks would escape his mouth and leave him with little to no voice. The second time, he was found deadly still, bloodshot stapled open eyes, in front of the village's town hall at five in the morning by a pair of very concerned and frightened parents.

At thirteen night didn't exist anymore and the fair skin under his eyes slowly faded into a dark and purple-ish tone, he decided it was not worth to have those oniric impossible encounters in dreams or nightmares, even if his sleep deprivation did quite help making the unreal look real during his waking hours. His daylight hallucinations.

He had stopped talking at all, only considering someone when he really thought it necessary, scared they could catch him interacting with the unreal, unable to tell one from the other.

At fourteen he had visited all the doctors and magicians his family could reach, and at times their solutions were too … expensive. Out of the eight of them, there was one that stuck with Virgil, his words often played in his head as a reminder that, yes, something was definitely wrong with him. He couldn't remember his full name, something with Emile … was it? He was the only one that talked about his head. His mind; Emile's eyes had glowed, a light that made him look quite mischievous, though he truly was kind-hearted, and Virgil felt like he was piercing through his soul.

He had told him it was a mess, inside his mind. Virgil could have sworn he had heard a crack in his voice, as if he had been about to cry or needed consolation, after feeling how he did daily; but then again his reality was fake most of the time.

At fifteen the tables turned. Most of the villagers just chose to avoid him. Even if bullying didn't exist in his school, his classmates would have been too scared to approach him. A little part of him was glad he could occupy his mind with all the issues that rained down on him at once, so that he could shove his oldest problem in the deepest part of his heart and never think about it again.

It had been five years.

He couldn't say he was always successful, the best case scenario displayed a train of different thoughts that would suppress the topic he didn't want to think about. But other times … the outcome would destroy his mind.

He had never gotten angry at Roman for disappearing into the void.

He couldn't help but put the blame on himself; for god knows what reason why, he started feeling like Roman had now found better people, what if they had been friends out of pity? Sure, they were good at make-believe, and yet … Roman had never left him alone. He did feel genuine, after all.

There was too much contrast between his beliefs, but somehow he still couldn't help but crumble down in his own self-deprecation. It was none else's fault but his if he never came back. For all that he could know, by now Roman had probably already found plenty of people like him; better than him, perhaps, which wasn't that much of an impossible quest. It wasn't like he had any particular talent or was special in any way, really. Being replaced could have been just as easy even in his small little village.

He was still fifteen when he finally stepped into their forest after 5 years, for some reason he had gotten sentimental and, almost magically, his feet led him in front of the forest's entrance. He was retracing the same path they had followed the last time they were together, the sparkles caused by the sun hitting the water were already blinding his eyes as he stepped down the hill that now looked much smaller than how he remembered.

And then, the one thing that would change his life forever.

He looked at his left and that same fox from five years earlier was standing there, a cold glare piercing him through golden irises, Virgil thought he had lost his mind and the hallucinations due to lack of sleep were getting worse.

But the creature looked different, yet quite the same, he could tell it was the same one he saw, even though it seemed older.

Black fur was now added to its former colors at the base of its paws. It seemed it wanted to frighten him, but also persuade him.

Virgil held its stare, the animal didn't seem to move an inch.

« What? » he snapped, arms slightly opening in the act.

The yellow-eyed fox started pacing towards him, an elegant posture was still somehow kept in its cautious movements.

Virgil didn't take his eyes off of it, it felt like 5 years earlier: it was as if there was some sort of force tugging him in a particular direction. It was stronger than before and the lingering feeling of the animal's glare on him provoked some sort of persuasion and curiosity altogether.

The little villager just stood and watched as the creature paced forward until little to no space was left between them, then something switched in its expression after it looked around and set its focus back on Virgil with gloomy eyes.

Was it looking for Roman?

« He's not here. » Virgil wished he had said it with the most collected tone, but surprisingly found his voice cracked as if it had been smashed through a thousand palaces. It sounded rough, colliding with the ethereal aura of the place. The fox tilted its head slightly.

« What are you waiting for? It's not like he will come back. » another crash, he felt himself rapidly break down like most of the times when he listened to the thoughts screaming and raging in his head. He let his burning eyes fall to the ground and close, as the dark corners of his mind took completely over him.

« … ever. He won't- » his breath hitched and when he opened his eyes again he was on the ground, almost at eye-level with the pitying creature. He looked at his hands in terror, they were trembling visibly, his breathing grew shorter, sharp, but never like those wheezes he learnt to recognize. This was something else. How long had it been since he had last spoken to someone?

This was worse. So much worse.

His fingers brushed his cheek to find it soaking in overflowing tears already making their way on his skin; he digged his hands in his hair as to hold on for dear life. He hated when this happened. He had no control over himself, he felt hopeless, more helpless than usual, rationality flew out of his body, it was as if all of his feelings had smashed the button of “overload”, while a clutching sensation weighted down his stomach.

His mind raced between flashbacks of his childhood, belittling himself, the urge to just give up and lie down forever until someone would eventually pick him up and live his life in his place.

He was completely huddled on himself when he felt something soft trying to make its way through his limbs, as if it wanted him to relax his body and get his arms away from his face. Virgil had no choice but to comply and let the fox … help him? He felt too weak to care about what was happening anyway.

When the animal started brushing its head against Virgil's hand, he suddenly remembered about one of the doctors' suggestion; he opened his eyes and focused on his surroundings.

Five things he could see. The green blades of grass, the glimmering lake, those funny shaped clouds, the trees all around him and the fox by his side. He took another deep breath that he let out from the mouth.

Four things he could touch. The lightweight of his simple clothes, the soles of his shoes, his bangs brushing his forehead and the soft fur through his fingers. He closed his eyes.

Three things he could hear. Birds flying out of their nests to get some food for their nestlings, his rapid breath slowing down, little fishes occasionally jumping out of the lake and then back on the water.

Two things he could smell. The flowers that had started blossoming in that period, the simple essence of the forest's nature.

One thing he could taste. Oh. Had he eaten yet today?

His evened out and steady breathing had him finally relaxed, he kind of felt a smile tugging at his lips for some reason, maybe it was the comfort of the little animal, maybe because he finally got a hold of himself.

But while he pet the unusual friend, there was something he didn't notice. Someone he didn't see, but that could see him. It was somewhere Virgil had never reached. One of the deepest parts of the forest.

The man grinned in his dark room while the only source of light was a cloud of magic smoke in front of him, beaming with the picture of Virgil sitting on the grass and smiling at the fox.

The brightness touched his face with delicacy, yet you could make out the details of it with simplicity.

Like the burnt skin on the left side of his face that made it look like little scales were all over his cheek. Or the literal glowing, bright yellow eyes that slowly turned into a mild shade of white as the vision and smoke both faded away.

The man in the dark smirked.

« Perfect. »

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