#also I always liked the idea that while the crowns can become a multitude of different weapons they each have one that’s special/unique | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yelenasdog · 3 years

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heavy is the head that wears the crown (mob!arvin russell x fem! pastor’s daughter! reader)

genre: angst+fluff

summary: arvin had always heard the saying “heavy is the head that wears the crown” but never truly understood what it meant. not until now

words: 4.06k

warnings: since this is based off of a tdatt, family death, mentions of death, mentions of mobs, kissing, marriage, murder, smoking, suicide, cancer and i think that’s it. it’s also kinda melodramatic, and i haven’t watched tdalt in a while so a lot could be plot inaccurate also idk anything abt the mob or mafia so like dont k*ll me thx i just like joe pesci

a/n: first, i owe the amazing concept of mob!arv to @kelieah ! so go follow her for more mob!arvin goodness!! basically i’m obsessed w 90s mob movies and watched goodfellas and casino and few too many times lately and oops here we r! i tried to write this from the narrator in tdatt’s view, so if u wanna read it like that then cool! btw the pic w the dress is just an idea of the dress reader is wearing not what she looks like! ok enjoy i’ll stop rambling

·。·。·。

“So, Arvin. I was told you paint houses? That true?”

Arvin hesitated, opening his mouth and closing it again. He wasn’t a painter, no, he killed people. For a price, that is.

But rather than saying no, the jab in his side from his uncle told him to answer otherwise.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

The Pastor nodded, taking a drag from his cigar, imported all the way from Cuba. He then placed what was left of the long stick in the crystal tray in front of him, the tapping of it on the reflective surface seeming almost deafening.

“Can all your family be traced down to one place, son?”

Arvin gulped, avoiding his eyes, darting his own around the heavily decorated room. Another jab to his side. He winced, meeting the older man’s eyes. He may not know much about the life he was about to enter, but he knew enough about what that meant.

“Yes, sir. They can be, minus my father and my mother. They’re gone.”

Not even a full beat of silence later, the Pastor spoke.

“How’d he die?”

Arvin was taken aback, though he knew that question was coming. His jaw clenched, as did his fist by his side. If the Pastor noticed, he didn’t speak on it, barely lifting his eyes from the document resting on his desk.

“Suicide, after the war.”

“And your mother?”

He took his lip in between his teeth, feeling the skin break, the tears well in his eyes for reasons he would excuse as the pain he was inflicting.

“Cancer. It happened when I was young, I didn’t barely even know her.”

The pastor looked up, slimming his eyes. This time he did notice the glimmering droplets, welling up in his chestnut colored eyes, threatening to fall. He appreciated the boy’s attempt to keep his emotions in check in front of his would be superior, leaning back into his chair.

“It’s alright, boy. You’re allowed to cry, it was your mother.” His southern accent was thick like molasses, his words drawing out. Arvin still felt that it wasn’t acceptable, though, so he only sniffled and directed his chin further up towards the ceiling. He stood there for a while, nerves running through his every cell. It was electric, like white lighting making its way through his veins at a painstakingly slow pace.

“Right then.”

The pastor stood, walking towards Arvin and his uncle. His expensive loafers tapped along the cold floor as he went, the sound pestering to the ears of Arvin, taunting him. He reached a soft hand out, which the boy standing opposite to him gladly took. He observed how the Pastor’s hand was without scars, calluses. Anything that would point to evidence of him being a killer, doing his own dirty work (or “the Lord’s work” as he liked to put it).

“Welcome to the family, son.”

And as Arvin smiled widely and shook his hand with an iron grip, he began to wonder what his new life would entail doing the “Lord’s work”.

He thought he had a pretty good idea, but boy, was he wrong.

“So, how’d it go?”

It was later, and Arvin was sitting with one his most favorite people, Y/n. The pair were resting in an open field, the wildflowers around her just almost competing with the beauty she held. He bashfully looked to the dirt under his shoes, noticing how only inches away, her hands picked at the damp grass.

“Went well, I think. He told me I’m ‘part of the family now’.”

She smiled at him, and in that moment with her hair so widely astray, and wearing that pale blue dress he adored so much, Arvin’s heart felt a certain emotion he hadn’t necessarily felt for someone at this multitude before. He had felt it for Lenora, his mother, his aunt and uncle. But it was different, then. Because now as he sat with her by his side, his love for her was realized at its full potential.

She began to ramble on, congratulating him on becoming a member of her father’s so called “family”, telling him how proud she was. He couldn’t keep focused on the sweet words that were falling from her lips like honey, though, as he was too caught up in his own head, his own thoughts.

“Arv?” She asked, voice laced with slight concern, but mostly with curiosity.

“Sorry, darlin’. Just thinking.”

She blushes, it’s the first time he’s called her that before. She tries to carry on conversation, though with her heart beating through that pretty dress of her’s, it was a bit difficult.

“About what?” She questioned, doing her very best not to pry too far, to be invasive in the very reserved Arvin’s mind.

Truthfully? He was promising himself that he would marry her one day, make her his wife. But telling her that he was only thinking “‘bout the future” would have to do. I mean, truthfully, he really was!

So he answered her, and she was content with said answer, abandoning the subject and returning to many praises for Arv. The standards for the “family” were high, and though she believed in him fiercely, she knew that at his core Arvin was the sweetest soul she’d ever met, and she was skeptical he could put that aside to do whatever the job would require.

“Arvin?”

He looked up, and she nearly lost her breath. It was Arvin’s sunkissed skin, tanned from working under the hot sun, the beams beating down on him. Or perhaps it was the freckles that lightly dusted his crooked nose, like a constellation from the cosmos above. Maybe even it was the mop that sat on his head, the color all the same of those sweet brown eyes of his. Whatever it was, she felt it could only mean one thing.

Y/n Y/l/n was confident she loved Arvin Russell.

“Hmm?” He asked, tilting his head like a confused canine. Adorably endearing, she thought.

And though she had much to say, she was afraid that if he were the dog in question, then the puppy had got her tongue, so to say.

“Y/n/n?” The boy said, nudging her with his elbow, making a melodious giggle erupt from her chest. “What, cat got your tongue?” Arvin teased, and she only shook her head and smiled, as he had no idea how correct he really was.

“You could say that.”

The two shared laughs over the exchange, and at some point (neither of them are quite sure when, how, or who leaned in first), their lips connected in a short and sweet kiss. It seemed that it only lasted for a moment, and as soon as they pulled apart, Arvin and Y/n both were dying for more.

But they resisted, Arvin reaching out a cautious hand to entangle with hers. She bashfully grinned, as did he (though he did his best to resist).

“Y/n, I really like you.” He had said, his thumb running small circles upon her skin. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you like me too.” He laughed, nervous notes to the sound.

“And well, I was wondering if you’d like to be my girlfr-”

And with a light groan, Y/n had wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing both of them to the ground. She connected their lips, the kiss so oddly blunt, an attack on his lips that he had no plan of fighting off. His hands found her hair, and her’s moved to the sides of his face, holding him so tightly, as if she was afraid he would let go.

“Yes.” She pulled away panting, her lips swollen, his flushed. “Yes, I’d love to be your girlfriend, Arvin.”

They smiled as bright as the setting sun above them, and Arvin pulled her close as she buried her face in the warm crook of his neck. They stayed like that ‘till the sun went down and the stars came out of hiding, the cool summer breeze blowing around them. They both still felt it, then, the love they had only just began to realize was there. And they would continue to feel it for years to come.

Like when Arvin would get back from a job, sometimes with blood splattered on his crisp white shirts, his dirty work getting, well, dirty. She would slowly peel it from his body, taking care to make sure he wasn’t hurt. She would do her best to wash the crimson stains from the fabric, sighing if it was seeming to be of no use. Arvin would come up behind her where she was working at the sink, wrapping his strong arms around her middle and resting his head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Arv,” she would start, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face, “damn thing won’t budge.” Arvin would just chuckle, reaching up a gentle hand, gentle only for her, to tuck the hair behind her ear, quietly speaking.

“Well I think it looks pretty good, darlin’. It’ll do just fine.” He would spin her around to face him, and pepper small kisses on her skin, smiling at her reaction. And if he was hurt, she would take care to use a warm washcloth, wiping the scarlet splatters from his creamy complexion.

The juxtaposition of the shades was always bewildering for her, oddly beautiful in a way. She never said so, though, only muttering praises of how proud she was, how strong he is, things like that. And Arvin would watch her, honey colored eyes following her as she moved about to fix him right up. No pain would have any real effect on him, not when she was there to reassure him, make him whole again.

As Arvin moved up in their small town world, in the “family”, he remained just as kind, just as gentle. Nothing really changed, no, only the lines on his forehead deepening and the crows feet becoming darker when he smiled; And Y/n’s role, as well. She stopped cleaning him up, stopped trying to rid his shirts of bloody reminders of his living. Arvin seemed to no longer be “painting walls’, but rather making sure jobs were done, everyone was staying in their places.

And things led to another, and all of a sudden Y/n and Arvin were moving into a big house, bigger than Arvin had ever even been in before. Deals and arrangements were made, settlements too.

One regular Tuesday, Arvin came home from what Y/n could tell had been a long, long, day. He was exhausted, but had this unmistakable look of excitement and joy plastered to his face. He had come in bursting through the door, not even taking off his hat or overcoat before making his way over to Y/n and kissing her silly.

“Well hello to you, too, Arv.” She laughed, amusement and curiosity both equally swirling around in her brain, wondering what could possibly have inspired this behavior.

“Things are happening, sweetheart, good, good things.” He took her hands in his, briefly shaking them before planting a kiss to them and walking away, a big smile on his face. And truth be told, not that she would admit it, it scared the Hell outta her. She wasn’t quite sure as to why, but something was itching at her brain, warning her that whatever was brewing wasn't a good thing. But nevertheless, she maintained her grin, painted lips never faltering.

The next day, when the “good things” were supposed to be happening, Arvin was seriously wondering why on God’s green Earth he had expected this to be easy.

“Come again, son?”

Arvin swallowed, shifting on his feet. He mentally scolded himself for ending up in this position again, standing in front of the Pastor’s desk, all kinds of confused. But it had to be this way, it was for the best, he knew. The sun shone through the window above the desk in front of him, right into his eyes, nearly blinding him. The Pastor didn’t really care, though.

“I’m asking for your blessing to ask Y/n’s hand in marriage, sir.”

The older man slowly nodded in understanding, taking a long drag from the expensive cigar between his fat fingers, the gold ring on his pinky also shining brightly under the harsh sun’s light.

“I just thought that after our arrangement-”

“Arvin, I don’t regret making you an heir, I don’t.” He stated, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Hell, I can feel something big and bad coming, boy, you understand? I know God’s will is holding out on us, on this family. But it’s running thin.”

The young man clenched his jaw, internally cringing on what that might mean to the family, for the family, what it meant for Y/n. He bit his tongue, feeling the iron seep onto his taste buds.

“And I know those damn Teagardins are plotting, they’re plotting for our downfall. Making you next in line is something they won’t see coming, and I trust it’ll stay that way. But I don’t quite understand

“Well I love your daughter, I love her so much that it hurts. And if worst comes to worst…” he stopped, his bottom lip wavering for a moment, trying to carefully dance around the different outcomes of this conversation. “I feel I’ll be better able to protect her if we’re married, if she’s truly mine.” That part might have been a lie. Y/n has never been his, never would be. She was her own person, outside Arvin, outside the family. It was what he loved about her above all else.

The Pastor was quiet for a moment contemplating his response, calculating it.

“Would you die for her?”

“Yes.” The answer came without thought, it was automatic for Arvin.

The Pastor smiled widely, lifting his arms.

“So, when’s the wedding, Arv?

Turns out, it was exactly a year, a month, and 6 days until Y/n and Arvin would tie the knot. Arvin had spent time, waiting to find the perfect moment to ask her the big question. He had decided on a night where the moon was bright and the sky was clear. They sat together in what they had donned “their” field, the greenery around them rustling in the wind. Though he was nervous, he had delivered a stunning speech that had taken poor Y/n’s heart by force. It ended up with both of them crying like babies and a shiny ring on Y/n’s finger.

The wedding itself had taken place on a beautiful summer’s day, and Y/n had worn a pretty white dress that had made Arvin almost faint when he saw her, standing there on her father’s arm. She was all decked out in the most expensive diamonds and pearls, courtesy of her father, making her shine like a crystal of sorts.

It was the best night of her life, Arv’s too. But the joy they had felt must have an inevitable end, as the worst night (Arvin’s too) was soon to follow.

It had been an ambush, the death of the Y/l/n family. The death toll had managed to wrack up every member immediate member of the esteemed mob family, including the Pastor, his wife, and their two sons. A bomb planted in the trunk of their Cadillac that had gone off, placed there by who knows.

When Arvin had heard, his immediate reaction was to thank God that Y/n had decided to stay with him that day, to go lay in the fields just the two of them. Immediately after she had been told, she had fallen into Arvin, her entire body weight being put into his arms. Sobs wracked through her frame, her tears dampening Arvin’s yellow button up.

Once she had “come to”, Y/n had grown to be furious rather than sad. As when you look at the lineage of her family, look at the ranks of the mob and who’s to rise to power when the one in front of them dies, well Arvin was right after Y/n’s big brother, Jamie.

And Y/n had loved her big brother, she had loved him very much and would like to believe that Arvin, her sweet, sweet Arvin, would never do anything of that multitude just to satiate his hunger and appetite for power. The hunger for power she wasn’t even aware he possessed. But how in the Hell was she even supposed to be sure?

“I want to believe you, Arv, I do. But I can’t! It don’t make any damn sense, Arvin!”

“You really think that low of me, Y/n/n?”

Y/n had been shouting, trying to confront him for a crime he hadn’t committed. But Arvin was calm as he spoke, his eyes only watering and his voice only bordering on wavering. Y/n reached a trembling hand to her scalp, pulling lightly on her roots. The tears slipping down her face were hot and salty and she hated it so much.

“What else am I supposed to think?” She lifted an arm, sniffling before putting her other one on her waist, the blue of her dress, the same dress Arvin adored so much, just barely matching what was to become of her mood. She was started to regress, the red hot anger from before transforming to a stormy blue of unsure waters.

“My whole family is dead, and it just so happened that you asked me to stay with you the day they died! My whole family is dead!” She screamed, her voice a crescendo of sorts. “And everyone is clean, Arv, except you. You got the motive, you got the alibi, I’ll give you that much.” She paused, briefly wiping her nose and looking to the blank wall to the left of her father’s office. “It’s funny;” she dryly chuckled, and Arvin looked up.

“You went from doing my daddy’s dirty work to gettin’ some poor bastard to do your own. Ironic isn’t it?”

Arvin stepped towards her, pain twisting his insides up to see his best girl afraid of him, cowering away from his touch.

“You still have me, Y/n. I’m your family.”

She looked to her feet and back to him, shaking her head.

“No, Arv. You’re not. And you will be sorry for what you did to him, to all of them. You will be.” She said, walking away with her heels clicking heavily on the wooden floors. Arvin stood still for a while, not quite sure where to go next. But it dawned on him as the stained glass shone down on his feet in the most poetic manner, that he was already there.

So he dragged his feet along with him, breaths ragged and short, his head slowly tilting up towards the glorious light. He only had to go a few feet, before he sat down in the old leather chair, the only emotions he felt being those of an imposter. He thought back to all the nervous conversations he’d had with the pastor while he was sitting in that chair, a trembling Arvin usually standing opposite, awaiting instruction.

He darted his eyes across the mahogany surface in front of him, looking at all the various things that he only could associate with Y/n’s father. His valued cigar box, the crystalline tray that rested next to it. (He swore he could still smell the fresh smoke, wafting from the little dish.) He opened it, the latch clinking before his hand reached in and his fingers clasped around one of the thick rolls of tobacco. Before he could light it, he felt overwhelmed all of a sudden, and dropped it back into the box, slamming the lid.

He laid back, resting his weary head. Arvin took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, before falling into a not so peaceful slumber.

He was only woken minutes later, Joseph, Y/n’s uncle, wanting to know if Arvin had seen her lately. He shook his head, muttering an annoyed “No”. Joseph got the idea relatively quickly, exiting the room. He heard the chapel’s doors close, taking that as his queue to leave once he saw the time. So he grabbed his hat and his coat, leaving the office and making his way through the dimly lit space. His attention was caught, though, by the cross by the front pews, so beautifully shining. Arvin put down his things, and walked over to the pew, sitting down on the uncomfortable hardwood. He bowed his head, putting his interlocked fingers utop the surface in front of him.

He hadn’t done this in awhile, this whole praying thing. It seemed naive in his way of life, with the things that happened around him, the people lost. But nonetheless, if ever, now was a good time to try.

“Heavenly Father, I, I, uh, I need to talk to you. To, uh, set the record straight.” His hands were sweaty, tears welling in his eyes.

“Y/n, she’s- well she’s the love of my life, God, and I don’t think she loves me anymore. Hell, she wants me dead. But I don’t blame her, I couldn’t ever. Not after...” he paused, his bottom lip shaking, “Not if she thinks I killed her family. But I didn’t, Father, I didn’t and I could never. But she don’t see that. I need her to see that.” He raised his voice, the bitter droplets rolling down his reddened cheeks, hitting his shoes.

“I can’t live without her, I won’t. So I guess I’m askin’ you a favor, Lord. Just… let her know I didn’t do it, that I would never hurt her.” His voice cracked, his words barely audible, not that whoever was listening cared.

“That I love her so much.”

Arvin muttered something of an “Amen”, and then just sat there for he wasn’t sure how long. His silence was interrupted by a mellow and raw voice, cutting through the silence like the sharpest dagger.

“It was the Teagardin family. I just found out.”

Arvin stood and turned so fast he dizzied himself, having to hold onto the back of the pew for stability. His bottom lip quivered, his flushed features gaining a confused look.

“Y/n/n? How long you been there?” He questioned, not bothering to wipe his eyes. She shifted from one foot to the other, fumbling with her hands.

“Long enough.”

There was a mutual understanding at her few words from the two of them, and an apology within them all the same. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose runny and her overall appearance disheveled. Despite that, just the fact that she was there, to him, made her the most beautiful girl in the world.

Arvin could tell she was holding herself back, her emotions, too, as she started to speak, barely able to get through a sentence as she rambled about how she shouldn’t have assumed things, and that it wasn’t right of her to accuse her beloved of something so dire. But none of it mattered to Arvin as he strode towards her, her words only ceasing when he finally wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m so sorry, Arv.” She sobbed, gripping onto him for dear life. That was all she said, repeating it over and over again with the exception of “I love you” also being reiterated.

Her husband spoke over her hushed tone, saying “It’s alright, doll, I know. You were right to think that, it’s not your fault. It was never your fault.” They continued that way for some time until they both regained their bearings, Arvin wrapping an arm around her shoulders and walking down the front stairs of the chapel.

“Let’s go home, sweet girl.” He had said, so they did. Arvin kissed the side of her head, regarding once more how he loved her, before starting the ride home, his hand on her thigh the whole time, not wanting to let her go for even a second.

His mind was plagued with thoughts of the past, and he remembered an old saying he had heard long ago. What was it? Ah, you know what they say.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

·。·。·。

how we feeling folks did we like? gimme feedback if u wanna! mwah love u, take care of urself

xx hj

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talesofnovembria · 3 years

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Are you worthy?

The game had begun.

Two had already taken off into the depths of the castle, eager to begin their search. It was expected of those present to make their way out of the central room to the rest of the building, just as those two had done… but she hesitated. This was a game, but relatively anything in regards to an end goal, or even rules had been left a mystery. All the contestants had were a vague idea on where to go from this starting point.

Use your head. You don’t know what to expect, none of us do. It would be smarter to work together.

A tiny voice crawling in her head managed to point out the obvious, “It’s a game. There can only be one winner.”

He was right, of course, but there were a couple problems with that. For one, this was a game of honor. Any other sort of scenario like this one, it would have been smarter for her to go on her own, prepare herself for the inevitable conflict, and there was nothing to solidly deter her away from that in the present situation… except for one thing. Looking around the room at the others here, only two of whom she recognized.

And recognized was not the same as knowing them. What were they capable of? The Divine King had made it very clear this event came with risk, and all of them had still made the conscious decision to attend. It seemed to be one of the aspects that had all of them on edge before the announcement of the game’s beginning. It wasn’t hard for her gaze to wash over the others and feel that with not only her background, but her line of work, might give her some kind of unfair advantage. What could any of them do to her?

And where was the honor in that?

For two, the very threat of some kind of unknown risk. Again that nagging question came back… what were they capable of? Spirits and humans in a world where the very rules of existence were so unclear. How would they protect themselves? A worrying feeling sank into her very being. If this were her own team, she’d leave no man behind. They were a team for a reason.

The blue haired girl, Vivi… the blond with one metal arm, Arthur… and a spirit tinted to the color of blue, who’s name she didn’t know. They were the only ones currently left in the room… in a way, her team… but only if they saw it the same way.

And that led her to be the one to address them first, “I don't know about the rest of you, but I think we may stand a better chance sticking together. See what this place has to offer. If you'll allow me, I'll go where you do."

Arthur had gone up to the Divine King, not only to make sure he was alright, but to see if maybe there was some more information the host of the event might have to offer to them. He only confirmed what she assumed, that this was meant to be a free-for-all. Only one winner.

At one point or another… it must be expected that they would turn on one another. A sickening feeling in some regard.

But one good thing had come of focusing on him first. He’d been the first to agree with her, though proposed an idea of his own. Splitting into two smaller groups. There was safety in numbers… but he had one point. Even if the four of them aimed to work together, they could cover more ground if they split up. He had also brought up the prospect of looking for the others as well, though that plan wasn’t as desirable. All of them had to remember they were still part of a game.

If they came across the others, then fine, but they should also look to give themselves a fighting chance rather than spending all their time looking for someone else.

She hadn’t paid much attention to what the blue spirit was doing, though her attention had finally retreated from her own inner thoughts when Vivi spoke up, "We have no idea what could be waiting for us out there. We don't know if we'll be strong in numbers, but it's worth a try."

She had paced ahead, coming to the now unlocked doors that lead to the rest of the castle. She’d given a glance over her shoulder to ensure the other three were coming, “Come on then! Let’s get this show on the road!”

Well, she certainly had enthusiasm to share.

This really was the team then?

The blue haired one taking charge.

The skittish, but caring, blond.

The bone covered spirit in formal wear.

And an unusual canine companion.

A strange combination, and yet fitting in a way.

"It seems the decision has been made then," she mused more to herself than the others in the room. Once she had also come to the doors, she offered a passing glance to the other two members of their team. Eventually, they came back to Vivi, "It would be a good idea if we also keep track of where we are and where we have been. At least that way if we come across something that may be dangerous, we have somewhere we can return to. I'm open to suggestions on where we go first."

Vivi hadn’t offered a suggestion, but her ears turned to listen to those behind her.

"Would... do you want to... maybe partner up with me for now...? While we look around. Or-- I mean if you'd rather with one of the others that's fine and all I just.... Yeah...."

“I’d love to go with you.”

"Let's go, big guy. You follow me for now, okay? We'll see what we can find."

It seemed those two had made their decision, but there was no need to press the issue. She’d simply remembered her first thought. So long as they were helping each other out, then this was a tactical way of seeing more of the castle grounds before they found their way back to one another. Rather than try to press the issue, she accepted it. Calling over to Arthur, "I'll go off with Vivi then for now. We can always meet up later and compare findings. Good luck you two."

He waved, calling back to them, "Good luck to you guys too! I'll try to pick up anyone we run into if I can."

From there, they went their separate ways.

Salena hadn’t noticed until too late that Vivi was no longer with her. A mocking tone whispered through her head, “Nice going. Not a few minutes in and you’ve lost your new partner. Good job mutt.”

Hush.

She should turn around, look for Vivi… but she should also take part in the actual game. The girl looked like she could take care of herself, if their one interaction prior to this was anything to go off of. She… should press on ahead for now. They were bound to meet up again at some point.

So long as she was beginning her exploration, it was best to take navigating in a methodical approach. She should start with the current floor, but that line of thinking could always change.

How… unsettling it was she found herself in the throne room first. The room was pristine, stone under her feet and along the walls. The space was enclosed, yet light seemed to flood in from around her. Stained glass made a multitude of colors shimmer in the stone room. There were smaller spirits here, simpler than the Divine King, or even the one that had gone off with Arthur. They noticed her when she entered, but had largely gone back to their cleaning duties.

So these spirits were the King’s his staff in a way. They were ignored for the time being, as they didn’t appear to be a threat.

At the very center of the room was the throne itself, adorned in gold, vines and sunflowers decorating the seat. There were ancient symbols here, ones neither one of them could understand. This kingdom was unique, and it would be foolish to assume that even in Alexander’s massive library, there would be anything on these designs. Statues lined along the walls, giving the whole room a beautiful, but regal setting.

Not like the frozen throne that flashed no more than a split second. That’s in the past.

Her feet carried her closer to the throne, her fingers tracing over the symbols, as well as the soft texture of the sunflowers’ petals. They were old, but somehow still full of life. A shine in the corner of her eye caught her attention. There, in the center seat was a crown. Golden… decorated in jewels.

Her name echoed from what felt like every surface in the room. She found her fingers laced over the top of the piece. This had to be the Divine King’s crown yes? Why then were they chanting as if she were meant to take it? How could she? Was it just part of the game… or were they tempting her? It was a role unfitting for her, one she’d never want.

She never deserved a crown upon her head… she didn’t even deserve to be here in the first place.

It was becoming unbearable. Too many voices buzzing around in one spot. Silence them.

The beast pushed herself to her feet, leaving the crown in its place. She couldn’t take it, and she dared not to look back at the reactions of the spirits pushing her to make her choice. Their hums filled her ears as she walked towards the staircase in the back of the room. She’d noticed it briefly before other things had called her attention.

“I thought you said you were going to take a methodical approach to this exploration thing.”

And I am.

“You’re going up a flight of stairs.”

Look, the upper floors are bound to be fewer than the ground level, so I’ll work my way from the top to the bottom. That still keeps the methodical approach in mind.

“Whatever you say dear.”

He faded into the background again, just as another shine caught her eye. They’d been scanning around the area as she had her internal conflict. Every room could hold something important, even the staircases, so best to see if there was anything that looked out of place or unordinary. What she’d managed to find was a… pin? It was golden in color, but nothing around here showed any hint as to what this might have gone to.

Or at least, nothing did until she had gone up a few more steps.

There were more of those spirits there, a white pillar towering over their smaller forms. They were trying to pick up some smaller objects along the ground with their… what she could only assume were hands. That made her raise an eyebrow. Weren’t they spirits? Could they not pick up anything regardless of the item’s size? Were the ‘rules’ here really that specific? A soft sigh passed through her lips, gathering two more pins to go with the one she’d already found.

Her hand seemed to hover over the gem resting with them. At first glance, it looked like an ordinary gem… but looks could always be deceiving. Even he knew that. He’d probably have her move on from here, untrusting of something that honestly looked similar to a prison of his own.

How he hated his time trapped in that tiny crystal.

Thankfully they were not alone. Surely these spirits could understand her, and therefore answer a simple question, "That gem. Is it dangerous?"

A shake of their heads. With that confirmed, she took it into her arms.

There was one little other tidbit of information the spirits had spilled: His Majesty would be rather upset if he found out they were irresponsible and dropped it on accident.

That in itself seemed so… out of character. Granted, it’s not like the man wasn’t capable of getting mad, but rather it seemed silly to get upset over an item like this. It was just by itself, and on display… and it wasn’t dangerous. Well, if that was the case, might as well help out.

“Oh yes, let’s waste some time worrying over a little display rather than continuing on our way.”

And like most of his backseat commentary, she ignored that comment.

The spirits offered no help, but it seemed simple enough to figure out. There were three pins, two gold and one silver, with the silver one being longer than the gold ones. Ok, so it made sense then that the two gold ones would go near one another. The silver one must be like a support pin for the gem, which would leave the smaller ones being used to hold it up. It didn’t take long to put everything in place. She stood back from her work…

Only to be showered in confetti… Now where did that come from?

She just went with it, ignoring the snickering echoing in her head.

"Well, at least the display is fixed. Probably don't want to leave this laying around for the Divine to find hmm?"

As if one could sense this, it had made the proper cleaning items appear, working on the mess. Meanwhile, the other one had another plan. It had dropped something in her lap… a key? No clue as to what it had gone, just left with her before they disappeared. Guess that was her cue to leave, but not before she made one final remark.

A waste of time was this?

“Hush mutt.”

The key was tucked away into one of the pockets on her shorts, making her way to the top of the stairs. Just as she got there, a voice made her look back the way she came. There was… someone younger coming towards her, with… white hair? She crossed her arms, “Might want to watch where you are going unless you want to trip, or run into someone."

That advice largely went ignored, the stranger coming to her. She held a flower in her hands, one that was offered to her, "For you! Everybody gets a flower!"

"Alright? Thanks?"

And with that she was on her way. That was…

“Strange? Unprompted? Odd? Take your pick.” She shook her head, taking the flower as she tucked it behind her ear. Might as well keep the small gift that was offered to her. Finally, she could get back to the path she’d begun once her first foot hit the stairs. There were hallways, but there had to be another staircase around that would lead her to the top floor. She can check the rooms on this floor when she was done on the upper level.

Sure enough, she found what she was looking for. Nothing caught her eyes this time, though the sound of windchimes in the air filled her ears. She closed her eyes, listening to the calming tune.

It’s almost peaceful here.

“Don’t let your guard down. There’s no telling what will happen.”

I know.

What stretched out before them was a balcony, three separate areas to choose from. Yes, this would make for easier searching, then she could return to the second floor. There were only three rooms, and if they were hidden this far up, there had to be some secrets kept here. Items of mystery and value, although cliché, were usually in a basement, or on the highest floor. The same seemed to ring true here. She had her options laid before her, though one room in particular drew her attention towards it. A calling perhaps? She’d gotten feelings like this before, so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary.

Salena pushed the door open, her gaze falling on a sword. Magic seemed to pulse off it, a light glow surrounding it as she stepped into the room. From what she could tell, the sword was made by an expert. She had a specialty in crafting weapons herself, but there was power radiating off this one, even if it was stuck in stone. There were… runic symbols? Something carved along the blade itself. This certainly put a fair amount of her work to shame.

A voice echoed softly around her.

Such A Furry Little Face....You Have Come So Far, Haven't You, Dear One?

...

Tell me...Are You Worthy?

Worthy? There was an easy answer to that, yet instead of answering with that response she stepped closer, "Worthy.. that in itself is a very vague question. Worthy of what? Of the blade before me? Of the Divine's blessing should I win? To win? I could go on.."

Worthy Of Whatever You Feel You Are Worthy Of...I Am Merely A Weapon To Be Used By Whoever Finds Me. I Shall Carry Out Whatever You Feel Worthy Of, Whatever Means That Much To You.

A sword in a stone. It was here because it was meant to be pulled out by someone yes? Someone worthy from the sound of it. So then why was she wrapping her hand around the hilt as if she thought she might be able to pull it out?

"And what if I believe that I'm not truly worthy of anything?"

Then You May Choose The Path Of Unworthiness. It Is A Painful Route To Take, Dear One.

A tingle of what felt like static sparked under her fingers. A sense of panic began to wash over her, “Let go of the blade.”

That just made her grip it tighter. Teeth grit together, ears pinning back against her head, a slightly strained voice released from her mouth, "You say that as if I don't know that road. It's one I chose to walk long before I came here. I don't understand it, probably never will. How can others see worth in someone like me when I can't see it in myself?"

The static feeling began to race up her arm.

.....You Have Already Felt That Pain, Yes?

Her arm started glowing. Glowing a bright yellow that shone even from under her long sleeved clothing.

“Salena! Let go of the damn sword!”

None of them noticed the sword come out a few inches.

You Must Learn To Find That Self Worth, Then. So Many Here See You As A Good Friend.

A snarl ruptured from her throat, a familiar pain shooting through her arm. She knew this feeling, the hairs starting to smoke amongst the sea of gold. Her head was screaming at her to let go, yet for some stupid reason, she was still hanging on. Her free hand moved to the stone under her, having knelt down in front of the blade shortly before, now running her claws along them… as if that might mitigate some of the pain. She fought to get her words out, "Is it wrong that I don't understand why? There are those here that barely know me."

No Problem At All. Healing Takes Time And Work. But The Strangers Who Look At You...Do Look At You With Understanding. You Must Look Inside Your Own Heart To See The Worth That They See In You. You May Find It To Be True In The End.

More pain…

“You damn bitch! I am begging you! Let go of the damn blade!”

Her eyes widened.

Fire… Burning fire!

“Oh hell no! You are not doing this on me!”

He raced through the hallways of her mind. By now, he knew exactly which alcove was connected to which set of memories. He only needed to find the ones on ‘him’ and his followers. None of them could risk an attack coming out of the panic seeping into her very mind. The locks on the doors were cracking, wood splintering under the strain. Well, not if he could help it.

“She should just listen to me. Let go of the damn thing hurting her, but noooo. She has to be her usual stubborn self.” His hand waved, more chains crawling over the doors. That should keep them from surfacing. With any luck, she’d come to her senses before even his locks broke.

Her head pressed further into the cool metal of the blade, huffs escaping her maw. How much longer should she keep going on? No… it didn’t matter how long. Endure.

"Understanding huh...? Like me...?"

Her eyes closed, thinking back to all those in her life. Alexander. Malceum. Cassandra. Hell, even the Good Doctor himself.

What about Arthur and Vivi? She saw worth in them, and they did in her did they? These strangers she just met but might be just like her?

She opened her eyes, finally seeming to come to an internal understanding. She fought against the pain, using her free hand to push herself up from the ground, "I've always wondered what I kept fighting for... Why keep going if there was no point, that I had no worth...? I was taken in... everyone sees a worth in me that I can't... bogged down by my past sins.. my past mistakes.. But so long as I am still here, at least I have those worth keeping safe. Maybe if I can finally do just that.. I'll be able to see it for myself.. Until then..."

Her one grip on the blade tightened, knuckles probably would be white were it not only for her fur, but the constant glow shining off it, "I won't stop fighting. Maybe I'm worthy, maybe I'm not, maybe you really are right. Isn't that how it usually is sometimes? Having to be told something you should already know?"

A long silence.

You Are A Wise Woman, Indeed. Hurt By The Fate Life Has Given You...But You Have Grown To Understand A Lot Of Things.

The pain finally died away, the glow fading to reveal her normal fur… or at least normal save for the slight black marks on the end, tiny wisps of smoke, and the irritated red of burns see running across her skin. A calm breeze passed around her form, her arm trembling roughly from the trial she endured.

Ah, Yes. I See...I Understand...Well. Aside From That. I Only Pray Life Gets Better For You From Here On Out, Madam Salena. But I Am Impressed With How You Manage Through Your Troubles.

Even with the pain gone, her hand still refused to let go of the hilt; although, she did manage to crack a smile, "How can I do anything else? Anything to ensure I don't lose what I have left to hold onto. I hope that you may find someone worthy of you."

A selfless lady, indeed. I could not be any prouder, even if we just met.

A sentient weapon? Proud of her? It really shouldn’t be… but who was she to try and convince it otherwise?

The echoing voice giggles around her, About that worthiness....

...

I think I already have a few choices.

From there, the sword sank back into the stone, silence surrounding her. Her hand released its grip, allowing her to stagger over to the closest wall. No way she was going anywhere else for a little while. Her uninjured arm clinged to the other one, stinging racing through her entire side. Her back pressed against the stone, lowering herself down. The sword shouldn’t mind if she rested here for a while.

And then on cue, a frustrated voice rang in her head.

“I can’t believe you! Actually no, scratch that. I can believe you would do something as stupid as this! It’s light magic! You know what that does to you! I told you to fucking stop, but as always, you don’t want to listen to me. I don’t know why I stay with you half the time when you do things like this! Oh right, because if I didn’t I wouldn’t have a willing host. This game just started and look at what you’ve done day one. Not looking good for-”

Alastair…

“Don’t interrupt me.”

Alastair please…

“What the fuck do you want?”

Do you think I’m worthy?

He fell silent for a short while before the voice came back, “Worthy of what?”

Anything.

“I think that if you weren’t worthy of something, you wouldn’t have a home… a family, a husband, people that care about you… shall I go on?”

I asked for your opinion, not what those in my life might think.

An audible sigh, “Look dear, I can’t give you all the answers. It’s just as the hunk of metal told you. It’s kind of something you have to answer for yourself.”

She fell to silence. There was another sigh, “Come on, you need to rest. Once you have, we need to get your arm treated. Just, close your eyes and sleep, I’ll take care of your nightmares.”

Thank you…

“Yeah yeah, just rest.”

Her eyes closed, head leaning back against the stone wall. In the darkness, a presence was felt. Golden looked upon her for a brief moment before fading back into nothingness.

What an interesting first day.

---

((Cameo appearances from: The Divine King / @diviinc, Vivi / @viviskull, Arthur / @punsandfuturekingsmen, Lament / @lamentinglewis, Jun / @thetownfarmer))

#Event!: The Divine King's Game Of Honor #bitch in armor - salena #helpful? hollow - the good doctor #Reblog-able #tw; injury #((I have wanted to write this part out in greater detail for a while now))#((Especially since Sal technically has a little tag along with her that hasn't made himself known yet))#((I hope you all enjoy!!))

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sabraeal · 3 years

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All That Remains, Chapter 7: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure [Part 4]

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @claudeng80′s birthday! I’m only a week and change late this time, but everyone knows what they’re getting into when they request this fic for gifts-- aka, me dithering for weeks on if a chapter needs to be cut and where it inevitably needs to happen. But here is an almost 5K labor of love...and a little bit of hope... :3c

It would easy to speak of good and evil, would it not? To condemn a sorceress for her conjuring, to pity a girl and her deception. That is the way such tales are crafted: for simplicity, moral lines drawn in the sand.

But life does not fit so easily into the pages made to contain it. A line of prose may distill it to its essence, but a word spoken, an act done by a living creature-- these contain multitudes.

“Well.” Lady Mihoko fixes a shrewd glance over the rim of her teacup, pinning Shirayuki to her chair. Bombazine may creak with her every breath, but when Mihoko sets her demitasse upon its saucer, it is silent. “You are much improved.

The words alone would make a compliment, but with the way her ladyship threads them through her teeth, it is an accusation. Her eyes narrow even now, a proctor determined to catch her pupil filching answers from across the aisle.

Still, it’s the kindest words Mihoko has ever managed to spare, and Shirayuki seizes them with both hands. “Thank you, Lady Mihoko.”

All her ladyship’s fine graces do not restrain her from a humorless grunt. “Do not think it so fine a feat. You could hardly have gotten much worse.” With another contemplative sip, she adds, “But your progress is at least...heartening. You might not be entirely hopeless.”

Polite, tea-appropriate smile firmly in place, Shirayuki casts her eyes down at her plate. How fortunate she is to be able to experience such a fine example of being damned by faint praise.

He mouth does not twitch; by now, she knows better than to allow any of her facial muscles free reign in the presence of the lady-- but it does waver. It was not her own voice lilting those words.

A toe nudges her ankle; the consort’s countenance is carefully composed of bland inquiry across from her.

“You are too kind,” Shirayuki manages, smile polished back to its original brilliance.

“I am.” She settles back in her chair, spine straight as a rod, conveying that her enjoyment of the meal now resides firmly in the past. “You are lucky indeed that Her Majesty deigned to take a girl like you under her wing. How fitting it is that my best student is responsible for righting my worst.”

“It is only because I had such a good tutor that I could even attempt to teach.” The consort sets her own cup onto its saucer, mouth rounded in a pleasant curve. Shirayuki’s never mastered the art of it, to smile to brightly with so little teeth or crinkling around the eyes, but on Haki the effect seems natural, right. “But I must say that Lady Shirayuki is a pleasure as a student. A quick mind and a dedicated learner.”

“What she lack in aptitude she certainly makes up with vigor,” Mihoko allows grudgingly. “In my day, that would not be near enough to make a lady.”

It would be easy to condemn the sorceress, would it not? To raise the roses from their bed and cast the bright light of truth upon them, to drag her into the village square and expose her as a deceiver, a most vile villainess to lead this stray girl astray. We would stretch our hands through the pages if we could but shake our girl awake, if we could put our hands around the throat of the conjuress and see she never bent another illusion--

But that would miss the point entirely. You were told, so long ago now, that life does not fit into the narrow confines fiction demands. Surely you have not forgot?

There is a reason for every action. Unfortunately.

“That is true enough.”

The consort speaks in honeyed tones, mouth composed in a thoughtful pout. But that, Shirayuki knows, is merely an inoffensive mask she wears, one that may be discarded at a moment’s notice. It is always her eyes betray her, burning with an intelligence she can never fully quench.

“But was that not also the era of the former Viscount Yuris? Or the Counts of Sui and Lido?” It should be an accusation, a condemnation, but from the consort’s mouth, it is little more than a polite conversation, small talk between two peers. “So many traitors in so few years.”

Shirayuki may have gained some dominion over her face, but not near enough to keep from glancing at Lady Mihoko.

“That is the nature of the peerage,” her ladyship says after a long moment, mouth pursed in a moue of discomfort. “There are always some that choose to overreach their bounds. It is up to every lord to manage his lands in his own way. Though I know Your Majesties have...newer ideas about such things.”

“Better ideas,” the consort reminds her, both silk and steel entwined. “Under the late king, the court grew indolent, as did the crown. If he had not passed when he did, Clarines might have become another Tanbarun.”

Shirayuki’s teeth grit down, stemming the tide of protest that crashes against them. She had fled her home with little pride or trust in its royals, and it’s not as if she cares for the institution, but-- Raj was no longer the embarrassment he’d once been. It’d be a long time before he’d earn as lofty a reputation as Izana or Zen, but, well, he was trying. And as long as his father remained on the throne, that was enough.

She doubts either of them would appreciate the opinion. It’s not as if any of this is about Tanbarun after all.

Mihoko clucks her tongue. “I would not venture to say we had fallen so far as that.”

“No,” Haki agrees, so pleasant. “But I would.”

A silver spoon clatters to a dish, Mihoko’s aged fingers trembling above it. “That would be your prerogative, Your Majesty.”

“It is my prerogative to see to the quality of my husband’s court, my lady. While once this may have referred to the breeding of its members, I believe we have come beyond that. After all, Lord Zakura was hardly born with silver in hand, or Lord Sui, or Countess Yuris.” The consort hums, delicately setting aside her demitasse. “There would be worse things than to see one of the finest minds of our time raised to a position which suited it.”

Her ladyship does not smile-- a terrible business, nowadays, she would cluck, spoon chiming against the rim of her cup, men should know that every smile returns tenfold in ten years’ time-- but there is a softening in her face. Not of agreement, but allowance.

“We shall see,” she sniffs, waving away another tray of sandwiches. “In time. But none of that removes what a wonders you have wrought with this one, and in less than a month’s time.”

Haki dips her head, the barest bow. “Imagine what a lifetime might bring.”

“Yes.” Mihoko narrows her eyes above the rim of her cup. “Quite unforeseeable.”

What does it mean to conjure, to summon something from nothingness, to breathe life where there once was none? It is no mere illusion; not smoke and mirrors and lies shined until gleaming. Not just a lady’s magic, no substance nor thought, made of wishes and air alone.

No, it is creation; the act of sinking one’s hands into clay and forming something utterly unlike its origin, to take one’s will and give it form. It is any surprise that it is the provenance of women?

But that is the thing, is it not? For every creation, there must be a will, must be a spark. For man to be made flesh, there must first be clay. For illusion to be made real, there first must be a wish.

“One, two-- a sprightly pace if it pleases you, my lady! Lift your feet--”

Sweat spirals down her spine, but Shirayuki picks her heels up of the floor, her sashay the barest whisper of slipper sliding across wood. Far from the ethereal wood nymphs cavorting across the palace’s walls, but it carries her across the floor with far more grace than she’s ever managed before. Like flying, provided it was a hen across the chicken yard.

Shirayuki careens more than glides to the next sequence-- the turn, three, four, return, one, two-- and her heart lodges firmly in the vicinity of her throat. She’s never managed this one before, not without stomping on Arundo’s toes or gravity ruthlessly asserting it dominion over her, dragging her to the earth where she belonged, but--

Haki’s hand squeezes tight around hers before lightening into a lift, pulling right over her head. She curls under it, up-up-down, before swinging back, far less measured, but a thousand times more triumphant.

So many of these story children start with nothing-- unloved and unmissed, abandoned by their parents, scorned by those meant to replace them. But this girl--

This girl was loved. She did not have the mother and father that so many other had, one taken by fate and the other duty; but her grandparents tended her in their place. While other little girls were scrubbing floors, or chopping wood, or being chased into the forest with only the bread in their pockets, she was adored; a treasure on her home’s hearth.

And then, in a breath, it was gone. No time for tears, for contemplation. No time for grief.

She does what all bold little girls do: she moves forward, she adapts. All those fears and grief she locks away; a little drawer inside her mind that only opens in the dead of night, when sleep won’t come to her. How worn those memories are by now, frayed about the edges, folded and thin from neglect.

Strange how it is always children who bear the heaviest burdens. Stranger still that they can grow to used to them, that they can bear them even unto adulthood and hardly realizing they are carrying them at all.

That is, of course, until they are lifted.

“You did it!” Haki catches her arms, stopping Shirayuki’s body from crashing into hers, a smile stretched wide across her face. “With not a step missed.”

“I did,” she bursts breathlessly, nearly sagging in relief. “I did!”

A clap cracks in the cavernous room, but it is only Arundo, his own mouth parted in delight. “Brava, my lady! I am most impressed.”

“As well you should be!” The consort steps back, letting her stand on her own two feet. “There are plenty young ladies I have seen on a dance floor that have not done half so well as Lady Shirayuki.”

Even flushed with victory, Shirayuki knows that for an exaggeration; a thick bit of flattery to bolster her confidence. But it hardly matters, not when she traveled the whole floor without a single misstep.

“I truly despaired of ever teaching Lady Shirayuki much more than swaying in place.” Arundo glances at her partner shyly, color high in his cheeks. “I see it merely took a deft lead.”

“Ah, Master Arundo, it takes a woman to understand how difficult a lady’s part may be.” Haki huffs out a laugh that is far less dainty than one she uses in front of courtiers, sweeping long strands of gold from the frame of her face. “If I knew which place to help, it is only because I remember where I most needed it. As my dancing instructor used to say, we all start at the same place.”

“Still,” Arundo insists, “for you to be able to dance the man and the woman’s part-- a most impressive feat!”

“Not at all!” Haki loops the last of her wisps around her ears, and just like that, the consort’s smiling mask slips into place. “This is but a simple waltz. You yourself must know a hundred or more, and dance both parts with skill besides.”

The dance master waggles a finger at her, playful. “Ah, but in the realm of grace and elegance, Your Majesty has far outstripped my paltry skill.”

With the high drama for which the Viandese were known, Arundo swept into a deep bow, bending near in half. Over his back, Haki glanced at her wide-eyed, mouth twitching, though any proof of it was gone before he rose.

“Please, Master Arundo, I am merely well-practiced.” The consort’s mouth tilts, a wry smile playing at her lips. “Izana and I often switch when we...”

Haki’s eyes pulse wide, her cheeks blossoming with a delicate pink. “In any case, I would not have done so well had Lady Shirayuki not already been through the best instruction.”

You see, Miss? Obi’s laugh is bright in her ears, as if he were only right beside her. Anyone can do it. And if you stumble, only stand on my feet and I’ll guide us both through it--

An arm slips through hers, the consort leaning close. “Won’t my brother be surprised to see such progress?”

Shirayuki cannot fathom why Makiri might care about her dancing. He’s seen it before, both of them often pressed into the same endless dinner parties at Lilias, the sort that always seemed to turn into dancing and awkward moonlight professions. He’d been light on his feet when any of the girls dared to approach, not a born dancer like Haki, but a competent one; when she’d clomped past him, dragged by regretful partners, he’d only raised an eyebrow-- an improvement upon the usual sneers she garnered from fellow revelers. He’d never been forced onto her dance card, but still--

Haki slips her a wink, and oh, it’s not her brother she means, but Zen.

You’re supposed to be learning to dance with him, after all. Even in memory, Obi’s smile cuts like a knife’s edge. No wife dances with any man besides her husband.

Shirayuki’s palms sting where her nails cut crescent into them. This room, it’s-- it’s far, far too small. Too tight. So confining, little more than a cage--

“Shall we break for a moment?” Arundo’s jovial lilt crashes through her thoughts like a bird to a window. “And then we shall start the next!”

“A perfect idea, Master Arundo.” Haki smiles down at her, so bright that the shadows of her thoughts burn away. “I dare say my sister has earned a break.”

It was always just enough for this little girl: a grandfather, a grandmother, a loving home and hearth. There had been no dreams of another there, not even when she lost them, not even when she pruned her roses and found another set of hands to take hers. Not even when those hands became a home in themselves.

But with a single word, uttered so casually, a drawer springs open.

Sister. The word echoes through Shirayuki’s head as they walk. There’s an itch of irritation beneath her skin, a pebble in her metaphorical shoe, but still--

Sister. She’s damp, not gently dewed like Haki, so drenched in sweat that her dress clings to her. Fatigued too, every muscle aching, including a few that hadn’t been in her textbooks. She has every reason to want to bury herself in her covers, to try to find the reason her skin feels too tight.

But that’s not what her attention’s caught on, not in the slightest.

“I’m not your sister,” she says, wishing she hadn’t at all. It would be so easy for it to be taken away, for that soft glow in her chest to be snuffed out.

“No,” Haki agrees, looping her arm through hers as if it belongs there, as if she belongs. “But you will be.”

In the morning the girl rose, the cottage empty save for the scent of honeysuckle and forsythia. Her small feet padded across the floor, right to the window latched tight against the night. She pushed up to tip-toe, fingers flicking against metal, and--

And her first sight was a garden, piled high with blooms; a paradise that belonged on a canvas in oils, not at her fingertips.

Do you see? the sorceress asks, rising from where she tends her beds. I awake to this glory every morning. You could as well, if you wanted.

I can’t, the girl says, certain.

The sorceress blinks. And why not?

I... The girl stares out over all this beauty, its scent surrounding her. I do not remember.

Ah, well then. The sorceress smiles, the way she always thought her mother would, had she known her. Then stay a while, and perhaps we will help you remember together.

“May I...” Shirayuki hesitates, biting her lip as they take another winding curve through the halls. The longer she stays within the palace, the more she’s certain: she could live a lifetime here and never knows all the twists and turns it takes. “My I ask you a question?”

The consort peers down at her, both eyebrows lifted in gentle question. “You may.”

“How do you do this all day?” Shirayuki restrains herself from sagging in her stays, whalebone the spine that keeps her upright. “It’s hardly evening and if I hold my shoulder back a moment longer, I think I’ll...”

Collapse, she means to say, but it lingers at the tip of her tongue, too sweet, too untrue. Scream is close, rend this dress to pieces closer still, but closest--

Her mind snaps tight around the thought, a steel trap with a wolf’s paw between its teeth. From the murmurings she’s heard since she first came to Clarines, Wistal has seen enough madness for a lifetime.

“Ah, you see, the secret is--” Haki leans in, looping her arm through hers-- “I don’t.”

Shirayuki blinks.

“You are still learning,” the consort continues, setting herself upright, setting their arms into the proper form ladies strolling. “And thus, you must memorize protocol every day, eat your meals under supervision, and practice the mazurka. I, however, have mastered all this, and thus, I cannot remember the last time I waltzed outside a ball.”

“But the etiquette--” the poise, the presence, the elocution-- “surely..?”

“Well, of course.” She shrugs, jostling their elbows. “But those lessons were a part of my childhood, much like how you probably learned to cook and clean and pick herbs instead of poison. It all becomes second nature to you, in time.”

Shirayuki doesn’t have the heart to tell her how easy it was to mistake mushrooms, but her point-- well, it’s a good one. “I’m not sure that will ever happen for me.”

“Perhaps not,” the consort allows mildly. “Certainly they will never seem as natural to you as they might to a lady born to manors and castles. And had you continued to try to learn manners from a book, than you would have had no hope at all. But--” Haki pulls her closer to her side, mouth curled with satisfaction-- “you are not alone, you have me.”

Her cheeks flush with heat; the very same as the flame that warms her chest. “Do I?”

“You do.” The consort nods, the sort that says she expects her will to be followed to the letter. “I have always wanted to share these things with someone. Alas, I was given but a single brother, and he my elder. But now I have you.”

What was it we said? A human heart has four chambers, beating in concert. A complex thing, a puzzle box of wants and desires, one buried beneath the other, a dangerous tower of longing crushed inside a container too small to hold it. And all of us live our lives never knowing its depths, not until a drawer springs open, and oh--

Oh how easy it is for our longing to sneak up on us, all unknowing. How easy it is to be blinded by it.

When the consort smiles-- really, truly smiles-- it’s too bright, like looking into the sun, and Shirayuki has to duck her head or be blinded. She’s light-headed from only a moment of basking in its radiance; she can’t imagine what might happen if she dared to look more.

“Besides,” Haki continues blithely, skirts brushing their slippers as they walk. “You could drop an entire tureen on my brother and I think he would adore you just the same. Maybe even more, if you dropped it on the right person.”

A laugh bubbles up from her, and oh, oh, it has been far too long-- it leaves her, a cage thing finally freed from its chains, and rampages through the hall.

Haki stares down at her, pale eyes wide and almost wary. For a moment her mouth works, rounding as if she might say, a lady laughs like a bell, not a gong, just like Mihoko--

And then she joins in, just as wild.

But how can she forget about her precious boy, you might ask? How can she forget about her home?

The answer is easy enough: one must only provide a new one. Oh, how easily a heart may be fooled when the illusion is so pleasant, when it is so wanted. Men on the verge of death imagine entire cities in the desert, oases just over the horizon, luring them yet another step to their doom. When there is no relief, no hope, when only doubts encompass us--

That is when we are most in need of fiction. Of an escape, of respite. How simple it can be to close ones eyes to harsh reality when it is paradise that lays before them.

But take heart-- such things never last. They cannot. It is folly to suggest there is no life without suffering-- an excuse to give breath to all kinds of evil-- but for plenty to have meaning, there must be a lack. To know joy there must be sadness, to know wisdom there must be ignorance, and when all one’s days are filled with a mindless, monotonous bliss--

Well, there is no paradise from which man does not escape, and no garden that will keep a little girl from what she seeks.

“Ah!” Haki’s jolts ahead, a filly at the end of her lead. Shirayuki nearly is dragged with her, her feet stumbling over the hem of her gown, but the consort extricates herself just in time, setting her to rights.

“Just-- just wait here a moment, if you would,” the consort tells her, fingers wound tight over the rounds of her shoulders. “It seems as though there is, ah, someone waiting for me at the door. I’ll only be-- a moment.”

Shirayuki blinks as the consort scurries away, skirts sweeping against the carpet in a rhythm and pace too hurried for Clarines’ stately queen. “But, your room is...”

Around the corner, she almost says, a better shorthand for not yet visible, which is what she means. Both points are moot; the consort springs away long before she can speak, the only part of her that remains the lagging lace of her train. And then even that is gone, all disappeared down the hall.

Perhaps it is the angle, Shirayuki allows. With her on the inside of the turn and the consort on the outside...?

Well, it hardly matters. She huffs out a breath, straightening her shoulders, and comes to stand in the intersection. This is a safe enough place to wait; the consort’s chambers are the first door on this hall, and--

And there is someone waiting. Or was, since all she catches of them the flash of a white coat.

The girl knows every inch of this garden in time, every undying bloom. For that is what they must be, at least for them to be so many, for so long. There are daffodils and daisies, dahlias and tulips, marigolds and gardenias, lilacs and lilies of the valley. A hundred flowers and more, too many to ever name crawling up lattice and sprawling over the bounds of their beds.

And yet, there is something missing. It sits at the tip of her tongue, begging to be said, but she cannot find the word, no matter how long she thinks on it. The only thing that comes to her is the memory of loam, and the warmth of hands brushing hers.

Don’t ever leave me, the sorceress would say, a smile on her lips, fingers tangled in her hair.

How could I, the girl would laugh, an inexplicable knot of dread tightening in her belly, when everything is so beautiful here?

“Shirayuki!”

Haki approaches her, smile wide and warm but also-- strain lingers at the corners. Maybe even displeasure. “I thought you were going to wait.”

“I was,” she says, wide-eyed. “I mean, I am. Who was...”

“No one.” The consort waves her off. “Just a delivery. A tisane. For my migraines. I ran out just the other day.”

“Oh.” Her mouth works, grasping for the words that had come so easily no so long ago, but now were like grinding glass. “From the pharm--?”

“Come!” Haki sweeps her arm up into her own, pulling her firmly against her side. “It’s time for dinner, isn’t it? We must see that you’re ready.”

It ends like this: she finds a petal.

It is no crimson red, no passionate pink, but instead a simple and clean white, not so unlike the gardenia. But it is too small for such a flower, too rounded, too plush. She presses it between her fingers and it is familiar as her own skin, as the scent of vanilla on the air, and yet she cannot find the name, nor envision the bloom from whence it fell. Surely it is nothing in this garden.

What it that you have? the sorceress asks, her voice suddenly sharp, like a blade placed between skin and bloated tick. Give it here.

The little girl has not reason not to. It must have blown in from elsewhere.

The sorceress takes it in her hand, slender fingers curling into a fist around it. When they unfurl it is gone, merely dust in the wind.

We need none of that world here, the sorceress says, kinder but firm. You will never leave me, after all.

Of course, the girl says, turning to her with a wide smile. The sorceress has a new hat on, black and covered in flowers, even finer than the ones she’s worn before. Why would I, when--?

Her teeth snap down, words stuck between them. It’s the only way to be safe, the only way to stop herself from saying now what she knows she cannot. Right there, painted on the cloth, next to a blood red dahlia--

--There is a rose. The sorceress’s hat has roses, and this garden does not.

Of course, she says again, stilted. This is where I belong.

Shirayuki stands frozen in the hall, mind churning like a mill’s wheel in the storm of her thoughts. The summer months mean whites and creams and ivories are in season, a playful palette that the consort’s court adorns with floral embroidery. But she did not see a floating train of silk, or the fluttering layers of linen, but instead--

A white coat. A brown paper package done up with twine and ink scrawled illegibly on the outside, passed so quickly from one hand to the next. The scent of herbs is fresh on the air, valerian among them.

She misses it. Almost as much as she misses...

“Shirayuki?” The consort tugs at her, a question writ across her brow. “Is something wrong?”

“Haki...” Her hands clench at her side. “Has there been any news of Obi?”

That is the thing about magic: it is easy to weave wishes into illusion, but to maintain it-- a different matter entirely. A woman may send all her roses underground, never to be seen again, but to remember to remove them from every vase, from the back of a brush, from a hat--

Impossible.

“Obi?” The consort’s grip tightens, even as her smile spread wide. “No, none at all.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #All That Remains #snow queen AU #ans #i really and truly thought i'd get to finish out this section #but NO #it is not to be #to be fair it's one of the longest in the story #and it has the most like...plot movement in one piece #so i guess it makes sense #but SIGH #soon guys #soon we'll get to the turn on this #NEXT CHAPTER FOR SURE

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flowerflamestars · 3 years

Note

THOUGHTS about the mate bond in shoreless sea though. Like we know it's motives are wobbly, Rhys' parents didn't get along, but it seems like the goal was that he be born. In Daylight, yes they're compatible, but also we get Illyria and the freeing of the gods, BUT if Nesta can break the bond and Elain can see multiple possibilities (I see Elain's power working similarly to the bond), I LOVE the implication that they chose this timeline from the start like Elain has to step in when bonds fail :P

Hi!! SO so very many thoughts:

I don’t like the way the bond is handled in the books. We get this vague framing for it that’s destiny sure, but more specifically, it’s biological destiny. And that’s gross, on a multitude of levels. Wildly reductive of what we’re supposed to think is this rare, beautiful thing. It’s a soulbond, and I can’t treat it like it’s all about babies.

So the through-line in Daylight, what makes Starlight, and is VERY featured in Shoreless Sea, is that love is a choice. Real love is always also, freedom.

There’s a part played for laughs in Daylight where Lucien keeps telling Cassian the bond is magical phenomenon. It’s made of you, it’s what you make it.

And that’s how I like to use it. Fate exists, but the destiny you run head first into is your choice. Elain can see every possibility, but there will never be infinite possibilities.

The bond itself is fated- there’s no path where, for example, Nesta didn’t meet Cassian- but what you need shapes what that bond becomes.

It happens like a flashpoint, the snap.

For example, Rhysand’s parents (who I, for the record, think Rhys very heavily projects his issues onto), but who this works for: they literally meet while she’s being dragged off. What does she need? Someone to save her. Someone strong. Someone who will never take away her wings, never deny her any part of herself.

What did Rhysand’s dad need? Someone who was all his and not the crowns. Someone to be ruthless for. A counterweight to his rigidity.

Rhys says they had a bad marriage. But all we really know is that both sides of that were served well- Lady Night flew her whole life, lived in a palace no one, not even her husband could winnow to. Rhysand’s hardass dad was completely the kind of person to walk down ten thousand steps every day, and probably did. His heir was raised in Illyria. I would bet money he knew about the weaver test.

I think they just...weren’t soft? with each other? they were both pragmatic people, looking to the future, and probably an incredible team.

Elain and Lucien: Elain needed someone to understand her, when she went too deep. Needed someone who wasn’t the Night Court, wasn’t saddled by war the same way. A companion, an anchor to life.

Lucien needed a family. Someone that was his to protect, a reason to keep going, to even imagine the future existed.

They’re family, they’re like siblings, because that’s the bond they chose and so it became the bond.

The matebond is a tie between souls who always meet- magic, the whatness of a person- of course it’s love. But there’s so very many kinds of love to be experienced.

I love that you see Elain’s power that way! Because it really is that. She sees the Shoreless Sea timeline in Daylight, sees the mistakes.

This is absolutely magical fuckery I made up, but stay with me: mates always meet. There’s a sameness between them. (Feyre and Rhys, both nothing the world has ever seen before, ect)

Human Nesta is no less Cassian’s mate than she was as a God wearing a faery face- because there’s no future where she doesn’t become fae, in some way.

But the path diverged. A Cassian who chooses Rhys, who doesn’t know how to stop fighting, who won’t ever fight for himself- stops being a Cassian who becomes Nesta’s equal, remade by the rage of the mountain gods into something more.

He picked wrong- he’s never going to be her godly equal, the circle is never going to close.

Why? because this time he didn’t ask Azriel to go after her. And with Az there, they were too busy fighting about peace vs slaughter for Cassian to find that scrap of silver silk he carried for bravery. Because he’s so worn down that by the time he goes to see Morrigan he stays, and lets her say all that bullshit, almost believes it.

Cassian stays as mortal as immortal faeries can be, and the future breaks.

He rejected the bond- shut Nesta out so soundly be can’t even find her when she leaves.

Even Gods can have mates, but Nesta’s mate is not God like her. She can bring back the dead, she can swallow the world. She could probably build a new one entirely, if Elain helped.

We know even normal faeries can reject the bond so soundly it breaks.

I think Nesta, who has built a life, who hasn’t heard a whisper from Cassian since, jesus, that horrible Solstice long ago, who knows now that she deserves better, would tire of the idea that there’s one last tie that can pull her back. Rein her in. The he never wanted her as she really was, even if she’d been willing to die for him.

Because they lived.

They lived and isn’t that a new life? this whole new world, an entire eternity. Cassian doesn’t just not come to find her, he leaves her alone immediately.

Nesta, bloody, trailing behind on a battlefield while Cassian is supported by Morrigan.

I think Nesta plucked up that thread of soul like a life that could be cut and broke it, shattered it like the chain it was when it became clear there was no going back.

#on this fine valentines day I apparently reveal A LOT about what I think makes love meaningful #Elain definitely saw Tarquin coming!#the second he hands Nesta a sunhat #I like to think the whole future crystalized #I don't know why I so totally don't believe rhys about his own parents #but the way he talks about his mother just screams UTTER mommy issues #and he fully like hated his dad #for...whatever reason #what we actually know about former Lady Night is such a more rich complex ruthless picture and I love that for her #yes Shoreless Sea is in Daylight for like two sentences #Tarquin is never going to be Nestas mate and thats fine #he loves her #the oceans of the world will still love her when he's gone #Nesta Archeron will never drown again #and that's enough for him

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mypersonmyg · 4 years

Note

Reader keeping secrets from ________ Reader leading a double life a an underground artist and ________ has no idea but is a fan? Sorry that’s all I can come up with on short notice lol Hope you have fun writing whatever you work on! 😀

Pairing: Taehyung x tagger!reader

WC: 1.7k

Genre: artist au

Rating: pg

Warnings: None.

A/N: I may do a part 2 if you want. Idk, I’m just tired.

“Did you see?” You glance up from your laptop as Taehyung walks through the front door, eyes glued to his phone. When you don’t respond he looks up expectantly and you shrug your shoulders with a tilt of the head. “Purple Panda tagged last night and it’s all over my feed.”

“Oh, cool.” You glance back down at your laptop, never interested in having lengthy conversations with your boyfriend about his favorite local artist and their hidden identity. “I’m kinda feeling pizza tonight, are you in?”

“Did you hear what I said?” He takes a seat on the arm of the couch and presses a kiss against the crown of your head. You hum continuing to type against your keyboard without pretense.

“Yeah, artist, tag, social feed. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with this person,” You lower your screen and angle yourself toward him. “Sure they’re amazing at what they do, but what they do is also pretty illegal.”

Taehyung pulls his lip into a contemplative pout, his hands coming to massage your shoulders, the feeling relieving the tension that had taken over your muscles. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, the sound of Yeontan’s feet patter occasionally across the floor.

“Why don’t you like them?” You’re caught off guard by the sudden question, never having said anything about your personal feelings.

“What do you mean? I never said that.”

“True, but you’re always telling me that I shouldn’t invest so much time in this and you can’t help but to constantly point out the lack of legality in their work.” You huff, pushing yourself from the confines of the couch cushions and onto your feet. Taehyung is hot on your trail as you head to the kitchen, grabbing your keys from the counter.

“I don’t hate them, I just don’t think you should invest so much time in trying to discover a person who doesn’t want to be discovered. They have a pseudonym for a reason and that reason is not for you to try to expose their true identity.” It had become a sort of hobby for Taehyung to try and crack the code of Purple Panda. He enjoyed their art so much that he figured finding them would be next best to actually creating the pieces himself.

He followed every lead that filled his social feeds and he even roped Namjoon and Jimin into the whole ordeal. You on the other hand were content with knowing nothing of this person aside from what they paint on buildings. You’ve tried and failed to get Taehyung to let go of this idea that he could find the elusive artist, but he just poked fun at you for being jealous or asked questions like this one.

“I’m going to go and grab us some pizza, why don’t you watch a movie or something, hmm?” You pat Taehyung’s arm and peck his cheek, your purse being thrown over one shoulder.

“Yeah, sure.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and watches you walk out of the house, the door clicking shut behind you. He walks to the front, pacing back and forth near the window to allow himself to watch you pull out of the drive. When he’s sure that you won’t be pulling back in he makes a beeline to the hall closet, Yeontan hot on his trail. “I think I know why she hates Purple Panda so much, Tannie.”

The dog yaps, jumping around Taehyung as he bends to the ground pulling at a box that’s stuffed deep in the junk filled closet. Yeontan nips at his pant legs, like he’s trying to stop Taehyung from completing his task, but Taehyung simply scoops the dog up and cuddles him to his chest. He manages to wrestle the box out with his one free hand and he places Yeontan back into the hall where the dog trots away indignantly.

Taehyung had grown increasingly suspicious of your behavior in the past few weeks and had taken to keeping a close eye on you. His first avenue was to assume the worst, the odd hours in which you’d claim to have errands or plans with friends not making the choice difficult. It was Namjoon’s comforting voice of reason that had talked him down from that ledge and since then he’s been grasping at anything to connect your behavior.

The latest in his growing suspicions is the way in which you disregard his excitement for his most recent favorite artist. Purple Panda is a tagger, an expert in Taehyung’s opinion, and has been running throughout the city making their mark for the better part of a year now. The first time he’d come to you with full cheeks and his phone resting in his palm you’d been just as excited as him. The new artist becoming a popular topic of discussion between the two of you.

That had all changed after the first month, when Taehyung had decided that he wanted to meet this infamous tagger no matter what it took. It was a usual night, the two of you cuddled up in bed when he’d shared his plans with you. The way you had stiffened beneath him should’ve been his first clue that something was wrong, but he’d thought nothing of it, the chill that often filled the room a logical enough explanation.

Now, he had taken notice of your hasty subject changes and how you avoided fully answering any questions he had pertaining to the Purple Panda. In fact, it seemed that the more he dug in the more annoyed you got with him. You weren’t snapping, but there was definitely a slight edge to your voice when you would issue him a response.

Taehyung had again expressed his beliefs with Namjoon who told him that the best way to find out the truth would be for him to confront you directly. That was when Jimin had opted to butt into the conversation and tell Taehyung that was the worst idea.

“She’s not just gonna come and tell you flat out. You have to be smarter than her, do a little sleuthing and wait until you have proof.” This idea sounded much more appealing to Taehyung, perhaps because it allowed him to put his detective skills to the test though he would never admit the underlying excitement. So he’d taken to paying extra close attention to you when you left and when you came home. The way you reacted to different questions and conversations.

When he’d spoken to you today he noted a twitch in your nose, a tell-tale sign that you were keeping something from him. Over the past weeks he had picked up on your routine. You would come into the house and sometimes immediately open the closet door before coming to greet him and oftentimes open it again before you left. One of these times he stepped into the closet and looked for any sign that you’d disrupted one of the multitudes of storage boxes piled into the tiny space.

He’d spotted a box slightly protruding from the back and pulled it out immediately to find that there was nothing inside save for an old dirty rag. He figured that whatever you were taking whenever you left the house must be kept in that box. If he was as good a detective as he liked to believe he guessed that the box would be filled with spray paint. He intended to sneak out of bed tonight to see if his assumptions were true, but your sudden decision to leave the house gave him a window of opportunity. So here he sits, the box before him, filled with what he hopes is the answer to his mystery. The box is much heavier than the first time he’d come across it which he found a good sign.

“Here goes,” He says to no one in particular, his hand coming to lift the cardboard flap that hid the contents from view. His eyes had involuntarily, his nerves getting the best of him. If what he finds isn’t what he’s expecting he isn’t sure what it could be or how he’ll react.

He takes a deep breath and peers into the box.

“Gotcha,” He smiles from ear to ear, half used spray paint cans stuffed into a worn duffle greeting him. He lifts one of the cans, a purple one adorning the name of your chosen pseudonym and he smiles at his excellent deductive reasoning.

When the shock and triumph wears off he begins to wonder why you would hide something from him. But more importantly how you got into tagging in the first place. You’d told him plenty of times that there were many dangers that came from this form of expression and he can’t imagine a reason why you would put yourself in danger of getting caught.

He slumps against the wall, tossing a can back and forth between his hands while he thinks. His head snaps toward the front door when he hears you struggling on the other side, the ruffling of your purse and the mumbled obscenities almost bringing a smile to his face. He glances between the door and the paint, contemplating his next move.

Confront or let it go?

He wants nothing more than to confront you, make you tell him why you’d kept it a secret from him, but he’s also certain that there had to be a logical reason and he doesn’t want to pressure you. Just as you’re sliding your key into the door he makes the decision to stuff the paint back into the box and the box back into the closet.

“Hey, the line was so short today. Lucky us!” You hold the pizza you’d purchased out and he takes the box with a smile. “What have you been up to?”

“Nothing, just trying to find out more about Purple Panda.” He watches you visibly flinch, covering it with a smile as you lead him to the kitchen. “I was kind of thinking you’re right though.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“If they want to be discovered then they’ll do it in their own time.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” You send him a smile and slide the pizza onto the table. Taehyung slides into his chair and grabs your hand placing a gentle kiss against your knuckles.

“And I will wait forever if that’s what it takes.”

#bangtanhq #bangtanidx #ficswithluv #mikrogalaxynet #bangtanarmynet #taehyung x reader #bts drabble #blue1928

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harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years

Text

The Heart of the Camellia(Part 7)

The big days is getting closer and you are making good time with the flowers, all thanks to a very helpful devil known as Vergil Sparda. You decide to bring him a thank you gift, which results in a invitation to dinner with the rest of the crew.

And here it is! Sorry for the delay...this holiday season is kicking my butt.😤 I'll do my best to finish this part before the year is out, but it may not happen since I’m planning another fic to be a nice ‘n’ spicy holiday treat😏

Anyway! Without further ado, the first half of Part 7! And here’s the link to the list of all the flowers featured in this part. 🌸💖🌸

Chapter 1: Family of Flowers

For the past few weeks, you have been working nonstop, arranging all the final details and flowers for the Sparda wedding. You did not have the time to take a day off until now, and you are not enjoying it in the garden for once. Instead, you are bustling around your kitchen, preheating the oven before sprinkling flour all over the counter and turning out a ball of red velvet dough onto its surface.

You always thought that if you were not a gardener and florist extraordinaire, you would probably be a pastry chef. There is just something about baking sweet treats that brings you the same exact joy as tending to the flowers in your garden. And sometimes, you can have the best of both professions: decorative treats depicting beautiful blooms or even having actual flowers in the treat itself! That is exactly what you plan to do to the dough you are currently rolling out, spreading a layer of cinnamon and brown sugar over it before rolling it up jelly-roll style.

It’s not blueberry or apple, but I hope he likes it all the same, you thought nervously as you grab a knife and begin slicing the log of dough.

Vergil has visited your garden every single day since that demon attack near your home. You always welcome him with open arms and a warm smile despite being really busy, and he always adamantly offers his assistance with whatever you are working on that day. Those times you taught him a thing or two become your saving grace, lessening the burden and stress of getting this done on such short notice. It does make you feel a bit guilty though for needing help, and you have tried to let him know that he should not feel obligated to aid you. But he just gives you what you refer to as his “motivational smolder” and tells you that his assistance only seems fair since he is the one that suggested your shop.

The power of Sparda now includes the talent for arranging flowers! You giggle softly as you place the red velvet dough slices onto a greased pan, making sure they are not too close to each other before covering them with a kitchen towel. They need a little time to rise before baking, so you wash your hands and remove your apron before heading out into the garden. Might as well make a flower crown while I wait! You meander idly among the flowers, scanning the multitude of colorful blooms as you figure out which lucky flowers will be in your crown.

You take a quick look at the cluster of wisteria creeping through the quaint archway of your outdoor workshop. Its hanging blooms sway softly in the light wind of the afternoon as you think about its meaning: the welcoming flower of enduring love. The small blossoms would do well as the base of the flower crown. You reach for the traditional purple blooms, but your hand pauses when you spot a cluster of pink wisteria. A soft smile curls on your lips as you pick a couple of those vines instead since its meaning perfectly matches your own most recent feelings of blossoming love.

It only takes a few more steps through the garden until you find the other lucky flowers to grace your crown. A couple of butterflies are fluttering around your asters, the talisman of love and patience. While the butterflies enjoy their sweet nectar, you ponder which color would look best with pink wisteria. Let’s see: white, red, pink, purple, blue…aha! A group of lavender asters catch your eye and you enthusiastically pick a big bunch of the starry blooms.

You make your way back to the house and head for your office, grabbing the necessary supplies needed before sitting down at your desk. Your mind begins to wander as you measure a couple of pieces of florist wire around your head, replaying all the moments Vergil made you laugh and blush while helping you. You remember the time he had to take off his signature coat, and he caught you staring at his impressive arms. That cocky smirk of his never fails to make your heart tremble. There was also the time he got his hair wet, his grumpy face reminding you a cat getting caught in a rainstorm. His silver blue eyes flashed in irritation and he scowled when you could not hold your laughter any longer.

Your trip down memory lane ends when you wrap the final piece of floral tape around an aster. There! You hold it out for inspection, making sure that all the blooms are in tip top shape before going to the mirror down the hall. Your hair is already styled into a loose fishtail braid, so all you need is a couple of bobby pins to keep it in place. Luckily, you always carry some in your dress pocket, and it only takes a few careful moments of pining before the flower crown adorns your head. You do a little spin in the mirror, making sure the pink floral pattern of your dress matches the crown as it softly flares out.

You have never looked more ravishing than you do at this moment.

Vergil’s words come to the forefront of your mind, sending pleasant tingles all through your body. You bounce around like a bumblebee in front of the mirror while giggling and clapping your hands in excitement. As you head back to the kitchen, you recall how happy those words made you that day when they were uttered from your handsome devil. Honestly, you are still slightly shocked that he accepted your dandelions. And when he presented a cabbage rose and put it in your hair...your cheeks still turn pink just thinking about it!

When you to get to the kitchen, you make sure that the red velvet slices have risen enough before sliding them into the preheated oven. While they bake to perfection you get started on another craft project: putting together a decorative pastry box. You reach into the cupboard where some are stored and take out a light pink one with an elegant white swirl pattern. A bright idea suddenly pops into your head as you put the box together and you quickly go back to your office for a felt tip pen.

You meticulously write in perfect cursive Things that fall on the inside of the lid, making sure it is written in the perfect position so it can be read correctly when opened. Next, you write some things that fall inside the bottom of the box, purposefully putting the most important thing in the middle. Lastly, you measure out a square of translucent parchment paper and place it inside the box.

The timer goes off on your stove and you promptly put on an ovenmitt before taking out the pan. Your keen eyes check to see if the red velvet cinnamon rolls are done before setting them to the side. While they cool off a bit, you swiftly whip up some white icing and drizzle it over the warm rolls. The sugary glaze melts beautifully and drips off the side of the rolls, making you lick your lips as you begin to crave the baked treat.

No, no, no…these aren’t for me, you silently chide yourself as you open a nearby drawer to grab a spatula and diligently lift the rolls from the pan, placing them carefully into the prepared pastry box. You are just about to close the box when you think of a last-minute detail for the rolls, instantly rushing out your back door and straight to the rose section of your garden. While you are browsing and smelling the roses, you check on the special ones you are secretly growing for Vergil. Their blue buds have begun to bloom, but they are not quite ready for presenting yet.

Your lips curve into a fond smile as you remember the day you first met your prickly devil, frantically planting blue roses in the rain as soon as you arrived home. You always pictured the rose among his briars to be blue, extraordinarily wonderful and unique as well as notoriously unattainable. But you meant what you said to Vergil in the book café…that despite impossible odds you will never back down as you gently pry apart the thorns in search of such splendor.

Ah! This is no time to dilly-dally! You shake your head and redouble your efforts to concentrate on the task at hand. After a couple more minutes of browsing you pick a small bunch of sweetbriar roses and hurry back to the kitchen, grabbing a handful of forget-me-nots on the way for flower shower purposes. You rinse the sweetbriar roses in the sink, dry them with a paper towel, and garnish the rolls with their bright pink blooms. And when you are done decorating, your red velvet cinnamon rolls look more like a delicious bouquet of red roses.

Perfect!

A rush of excitement bursts through your body as you close the pastry box and seal it shut with a floral sticker. You also grab a small box full of homemade strawberry donuts you made earlier and place it on top of the pastry box. They are for Dante since he occasionally came over to help as well, usually doing the regular deliveries around the city for you. It also ensures that he does not try to steal one of Vergil’s treats. There is one thing you have found out while hanging out with both Sons of Sparda: they bicker and fight constantly like normal siblings. Well, almost normal if you count summoning swords as an everyday occurrence during arguments.

You grab your purse, carry the boxes down the hall, and head out the front door. The weather is clear and sunny as you walk happily down the street towards Vergil’s home and place of employment. You are not sure if he will be there or if he will even be happy to see you after dropping by unannounced, but considering how many times he has startled you with his sudden presence in your garden…it only seems fair that you pop by and surprise him your sweet rosy treats.

Hopefully, he won’t be too annoyed with me once he sees these edible blooms! you thought with a giggle, already seeing the grumpy lines on Vergil’s face easing into softer expression. This is the only thing you could think of to properly thank him for all the help with the flowers…and for always being there to protect you. It did not escape your notice that he is always ever vigilant, his keen eyes watching for any sign of danger while he helped you with the flowers. And he would always urge you to go back inside your house as soon as night fell when he could not stay late, making you promise him that you would not do any late-night harvesting. And you always smile and oblige him because you know that is his own way of showing that he really cares for you too.

It does not take long for you to walk the short distance from your house to the shop. You pause at the foot of the steps and look up the building, noting the stylish neon sign reading Devil May Cry above the double doors. Well, here goes nothing! You enthusiastically hop up the steps and knock on the door…but nobody answers. Hmm, they must not be home. Your cheerful demeanor deflates a little, but you are not willing to give up yet. You knock again and there is still no answer. You glance down at the handle and decide to turn it, even though you guess it is probably locked.

But to your surprise, the handle turns without much effort and the door cracks open. You peek your head through the door and take a look inside the shop. The lights are on, but it is very quiet. Your eyes make out a couch, a desk, and a jukebox. “Hello?” you call out, hearing your voice echo throughout the room. “Is anyone here?” You wait a moment for a reply before opening the door wider and passing through the threshold of the shop.

The door closes behind you and your eyes scan around what looks to be an office of sorts. You are now able to see a small bar in one corner of the room and a staircase to your left beside the desk. Your nose twitches as you detect the faint odor of something moldy underneath the musty smell of dust. This must be Dante’s space, you conclude, there is no way Vergil would be this messy! You walk over to the desk and put the pastry boxes down gently on it, pushing aside a couple of swimsuit magazines to make some room along with your purse.

An ornate picture frame sitting in one corner of the desk catches your eye. You get curious about whose portrait is in the frame, so you go around the desk to get a better look. A beautiful woman with golden blond hair wrapped in a crimson red shawl stands alone in the picture, green eyes sparkling as a tender smile graces her lips. Oh wow…this must be their mother. You remember Vergil describing her to you once, emphasizing the way she gently nurtured him and his brother with kindness. Your heart breaks when you recall the sadness that is always in his eyes when he talks about her...both of her boys must miss her a lot.

You can sympathize with them a little, mourning the loss of your own mother...even though you are not certain if she is even passed away. Your head tilts as you remember the burgundy roses Dante always asks for when he visits. The last small bouquet must have wilted since they are nowhere to be seen on the desk. Why didn’t I think to bring more? you silently berate yourself, but quickly come up with an alternative. You reach into your dress pocket, take out a few forget-me-nots, and place them in front of the portrait of Eva Sparda.

There. Gone but not forgotten.

You call out a couple more times just to make sure that there really is no one home. When only silence answers, you decide to at least put your baked treats in their kitchen. “They must have one…right?” you mutter quietly to yourself as you look around. There is a beat-up fridge next to the jukebox, but you do spot a side room by the bar and go check to see if it leads to a real kitchen.

And it turns out that it does…but this poor kitchen has seen better days. The trashcan is overflowing as well as surrounded by multiple bags of what is assuredly more trash. There are an assortment of dirty dishes, tools, and knick-knacks on the countertops and the sink is full of even more dishes…even though there is a dishwasher right next to it. Just the very sight of all this filth and clutter in the kitchen makes your skin crawl. You slowly back away like an animal sensing a nearby predator and take a deep breath.

Oh no no no…this will not do.

The sudden urge to clean overwhelms you as your fists clench tight and you stick your chin out in determination. You march back into the gross kitchen and start opening up cabinets, figuring out where they keep their cleaning supplies. Your very thorough search results in a roll of paper towels, cleaning spray, and a half empty box of trash bags. The dishwasher happens to be empty, so you load it up with the dirty dishes from the sink before moving onto the absolute mountain of trash. One by one you take each bag out to the outdoor trashcan next to the stoop of the shop until it is completely full, leaving only one bag left to sit beside the can.

The next place you hit during your cleaning frenzy is the kitchen countertops. You put all the dirty dishes in the sink, collect the tools and knick-knacks into one pile, and throw away all trash into the now empty trashcan. There are a few stains on the counters, so you spritz the surface with the cleaning spray and wipe them down with paper towels. You swipe the light sweat you worked up off your brow, knocking your flower crown askew as you check your progress.

The countertops are spotless, the dishwasher is almost done cleaning the first load of dishes, and the floor is completely clear of all trash. It can be cleaner…but this will have to do for now. You nod your head in approval while you cross your arms and smirk in victory. You go back to the desk, pick up the pastry boxes, and take them back to the now neat and tidy kitchen. As you place them on the clean counter you notice a stain you missed during your cleaning tirade. Your eyes squint in annoyance as you reach for the cleaning spray and wipe the pesky stain away before deeming this kitchen officially spick and span.

“Wow! I can’t believe Dante actually hired someone to clean his mess!”

A feminine voice knocks you out of your cleaning stupor and you turn towards the door. A woman with short dark hair is standing in the entrance as she stares at you curiously. You notice that one of her eyes is red while the other bluish green. Her attire confuses you slightly, a mix of casual and military with the silky white blouse and black leather leggings covering her legs.

“Oh! Uh…I’m not…well, you see…”

As you struggle a little to explain your spontaneous cleaning session, another woman steps up next to the dark-haired lady. Your eyes widen as you try to hold back a shocked gasp. Her face is the spitting image of Vergil’s mother, but instead of a red shawl she is wearing black leather pants and a revealing corset that shows off her midriff. She also does not exude the warmth of the woman in the portrait as she eyes you suspiciously. You clear your throat and try to explain yourself again when another woman in a white summer dress peeks through the other two, her auburn locks and sunny smile instantly recognizable as she waves at you.

“Hey!” Kyrie beams as she gently pushes past the two women and pulls you into her welcoming embrace. “It’s great to see you again!” You return the hug with a grateful grin before she stands next to you and loops her hand around your arm. “Lady, Trish…this is Y/N!” she introduces you with a bright smile. “The florist who saved my big day!”

Both women glance at each other as their expressions lighten up with realization. “Oh! You’re the flower friend I keep hearing about!” The dark short haired woman, who you believe is Lady, leans casually against the doorframe. “Nice to meet you!” she exclaims with a playfully wave.

“Hey,” the other woman, who must be Trish, addresses you with a slight nod of her head.

Before you can even respond, Nero peeks over Lady’s shoulder. He scans the clean kitchen and blinks his eyes in disbelief. “Are we even in the right place?”

Nico pokes her head around Trish’s arm and takes a gander as well. “Yeah, where’d all the trash go?”

All their expectant eyes are suddenly upon you and you could not help to feel a little self-conscious as you shrug your shoulders. “I uh…can’t stand a messy kitchen?” you feebly explain with a toothy grin.

“So, you broke into my shop just to clean my kitchen, huh?”

A very amused Dante makes his way through the small crowd that has amassed around the doorway. “Aloe there!” he exclaims with a cheeky grin and a wink. You roll your eyes as he strokes his stubbly chin and walks into his now immaculate kitchen. His usual unkempt hair is pulled up into a ponytail and, for some reason, he is not wearing his very expensive red leather coat or his grubby gray shirt.

“What’s up, succa?” you reply back with your own grin before playfully glaring at him, not even fazed by his shirtless appearance. Dante leans casually against the counter as you launch into a perfectly rational explanation of your actions. “Okay, first of all, I did not break in…the door was unlocked.”

“Really, Dante? How foolish.”

Your body shivers the moment you hear the familiar snarky voice of Vergil. He pushes past the crowd around the kitchen doorway and your eyes widen as you notice that he is not wearing his usual vest and coat. Whoa…the power of Sparda must include all the muscles. Kyrie gently squeeze your arm, which blessedly reminds you that this is not the time to be caught ogling his bare chest. You hope no one becomes aware of your flushed state, but a sharp glint in Vergil’s fierce gaze tells you that he definitely notices the all too familiar blush on your cheeks.

Dante answers his brother criticism nonchalantly, either totally oblivious of your flustered state or showing mercy by pretending that nothing is amiss. “Huh, guess I forgot to lock the door…my bad!”

You try very hard not to stutter as you continue with your tangent. “Second of all, I can’t stand a messy kitchen. And third of all…I needed the room!”

Trish chuckles and nods. “She’s got ya there, Dante.”

“Yeah!” Lady agrees as she steps into the kitchen and pokes Dante’s accusingly on the arm. “Except it should be you cleaning your own damn mess!”

But Dante is too busy fixated on the last point you made. “Making room?” He quirks an eyebrow as his eyes light up in anticipation. “For what?”

“I made you both some treats!” You give both the brothers a big grin as they both look down at the counter. Vergil furrows his brow as he eyes the pastry boxes with curious interest while Dante is already gunning for the biggest box. “Hey!” you snap as you lightly slap his hand away. “No! That one is Vergil’s.” You pick up and hold out the smaller box towards him. “This one is yours.”

A round of snickers resounds in the kitchen while Dante shakes his hand, even though you are pretty sure that he is exaggerating his injury. “Aww c’mon, Buttercup!” he pouts. “How come frowny flower over there gets the bigger box? I thought I was your favorite,” he claims in a hurt tone while clutching his chest. You catch Vergil rolling his eyes and shaking his head at his brother.

“Don’t be ranunculus!” you laugh while waving the boxed treats in front of his face. “It’s what you’ve been hounding me to make every time you visit,” you gleefully entice him with an arched eyebrow.

“Strawberry donuts?!” Dante gasps in surprise as he finally reaches the coveted prize he has been begging for ever since you first met him in your garden.

Lady lunges for the pastry box and successfully grabs it before Dante. “I believe these will do nicely as compensation!” she explains hastily while running out of the kitchen.

“Compensation?! For what?!” Dante yells as he pursues his donut thief.

“You’re welcome!” you call out dryly before shaking your head at them. Trish shrugs as she follows behind Dante and Lady while Kyrie laughs quietly besides you. Vergil’s eyes flicker between the lone pastry box and you as he walks closer to the counter. Kyrie says that she is going to check and make sure they are not making even more of a mess of the shop before retreating from the kitchen…leaving you alone with a very bare-chested Vergil Sparda.

You can feel heat emanating from his body as he steps up close to you and it takes all of your willpower to not openly gawk at his perfectly sculpted abdomen or his well-defined pecs. “You do know he’ll just beg you for more food now, right?” Vergil points out as he peers down at you.

“Oh, it’s okay!” You smile up at him and laugh softly. “I thought it would be a nice thank you gift for him.” You slide his own thank you gift on the counter towards him. “And it did distract him from stealing your treats!”

Vergil hums as his lips lift into a soft smile. “Very clever,” he comments as he raises his hand and carefully adjusts the slightly crooked flower crown on your head. Your mind checks out for a moment as the scent of bergamot overpowers your senses. “How are you doing today, Y/N?”

“I’m doing pretty boy…GOOD. Pretty good!” you stammer, quickly correcting your blundering words. But it is already too late since Vergil totally heard your blunt admiration. His soft smile turns into a smug grin as your cheeks turn absolutely red with embarrassment. “Yeah…I’m doing pretty good,” you mutter weakly as you avoid his amused gaze, taking a sudden interest in your shoes.

“I’m glad that you’re doing…pretty good,” Vergil suddenly murmurs by your ear, causing you to squeal softly in surprise. You look back up at him and huff in annoyance at the sight of his very pleased expression as he opens the pastry box. “You made these for me?” He tilts his head a little as he leans in to get a better look at the decadent bouquet of red velvet roses and the phrase written on the inside of the lid.

You nod your head demurely. “I wanted to thank you for helping me with the flowers. It’s one of my favorite recipes. Do you wanna try a bite?” you offer as you reach for the roll of paper towels still sitting on the counter. “If you don’t like it I could-”

“I’d enjoy anything made by you,” he gently interjects, silver blue eyes shifting over to meet your gaze. They bore into you with a soft intensity that only Vergil can pull off. You smile at his genuine compliment as you rip a square of paper towel and place it next to the box. “But if you insist,” he chuckles as you carefully take out one of the sweet rolls, revealing the word petals, rain, and stars beneath the translucent parchment paper.

You place the red velvet treat on the paper towel and unravel a small piece of the roll, making sure that it has a healthy portion of icing on it before offering it to him. Vergil squints at the words you have written on the bottom of the box as he takes the piece of sweet roll, giving it a light sniff before taking a bite. Moments like this always makes you so happy as you watch him chew, seeing a spark of delight in his eyes as he tastes your homed baked treat. It also gives you a good excuse to subtly admire his well-defined jawline and velvety pink lips.

“Good?” you ask as soon as he swallows the treat, not even trying to hide the excitement in your voice.

“It’s delicious,” he declares with a grateful smirk.

You notice a small glob of icing stuck by one of his charming dimples. “You have a little…” you trail off as you gesture towards his cheek, trying to denote where he should wipe his face. He brushes that side of his face, but the glob of icing somehow survives the sweeping of his hand. “Here,” you sigh as you take a step closer to him. “I’ll just…” You reach up with your hand and swipe the icing off with your thumb.

“There we go!” you remark as another one of your devious ploys pops into you head. Your lips curl into an impish grin as you bring your hand to your mouth and suck the icing off your thumb, making sure your eyes never stray from Vergil’s intense gaze as you do so. You see the pupils of his eyes dilate dramatically as they hone in on your mouth, watching attentively as your tongue peeks out a little to lick the icing. The barest hint of blush appears on his cheeks when you hum in pleasure. You let the provocative moment drag on for a bit before asking the usual question that always brings him back to reality.

“Flower for your thoughts?”

That stunning jawline you adore so much clenches tight as the sharp glint in Vergil’s eyes from earlier comes back in full force. The soft blue hue of his irises seems to ignite as your entire body is electrified by the low rumbling growl emitting from his throat. Your heart beats faster than the wings of a hummingbird as the gorgeous devil of your daydreams and fantasies leans in closer…

The sound of the kitchen door crashing unceremoniously against the wall makes you jump back in alarm. Both of your heads snap over and you sigh in relief when you see it is just Dante lying on the floor. He is clutching the now beat up pastry box close to his chest while vigorously chewing the strawberry donut sticking out of his mouth. You are a little annoyed with him since you will never find out what would have happened if he had not interrupted Vergil’s approach…but you know that it is not his fault, so you just let your agitation go with a sweet smile.

Vergil snarls and stares down at his meddlesome brother menacingly, scolding him for frightening you with his ridiculous antics. Dante grins sheepishly as he stands up and apologizes for scaring you, but you just laugh since you have gotten used to his sudden bursts of chaotic energy. His mischievous eyes dart between you and Vergil before he informs his surly brother that they still need get ready before everyone leaves them behind. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion before they shoot up as you realize just how long you have been here.

“Oh snapdragons! It’s almost dinner time!”

You let out a string of your own apologies for taking up their time with your surprise visit as you rush out of the kitchen. Nero, Kyrie, and Nico are sitting in the couch while Trish and Lady are standing by the bar in the corner of the office. They all look over in interest as you scurry over to the desk and sling your purse over your shoulder. You are about to say your farewells to everyone when a familiar hand brushes against your arm.

Vergil gently coaxes you to turn around and face him. You notice that endearing crinkle between his brow is scrunched up in thought as he speaks. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

“Would you like to join us forever?!” came Dante’s very boisterous addendum from the kitchen. This earns a very harsh glower directed at the kitchen door from Vergil while you giggle softly. Everyone else in the shop either laughs or just sighs and shakes their head at the door.

You glance over at Vergil’s hand still holding onto your arm, considering his gracious invitation to dinner with the whole crew. You cannot even recall the last time you went out to eat in the city, much less spend time with anyone outside of your business. In fact, you have not been this sociable in a long time…seeing the whole crew laughing and joking together reminds you of the family you wished you had growing up.

The longing for familial company bubbles in the pit of your stomach now. You have gotten used to being alone all the time, but maybe…you are like that one bud that blooms too soon in a bed of flowers: lonely for a time as its petals bask in the sunlight, but waiting patiently as it hopes for rain…so that the fellow buds may grow, bloom, and become a family of flowers.

Perhaps the rain has finally come.

Perhaps you don’t have to be a lonely flower.

“Yes!” you blurt out as you run a finger up the inside of Vergil’s forearm, gazing up at him warmly as you subtly get his attention. A brilliant smile blooms on your face as you nod your head eagerly. “Yes…I’d love to join you all for dinner!”

Vergil begins to smile back, but the crashing of the kitchen door again twists his lips into a grimace. Dante zooms by the desk, puts an arm around his brother’s shoulder, and practically pulls him up the stairs. Their brotherly squabbles echo through the office and, going by the harsh grunt, ends when Dante gets stabbed.

Kyrie ushers you to sit on the couch while you wait, chatting about how you made the strawberry donuts and promising to swap recipes sometime. Nero and Nico soon join in and, as you laugh along with Kyrie at all their jokes and banter, you no longer feel like that one lone bud hoping for rain.

You have finally found your family of flowers at Devil May Cry.

Read Part 7 (Ch. 2) here

Read on Ao3

My Master List if you want more. 💕

Tagging: @drusoona, @bettybattaglia, @exsultry, @thedyingmoon, @veenus-ow, @meowykittenn, @fandomhell97, @vergilsangel, @venomous-lawyer, @thenightgazer, @cherryvane, @yesno18, @diabeticsugarush, @queenmuzz, @mary-v-o-n, @tinamalee, @a-midsummer-nights-odyssey, @divinity-deos, @ancientwhitefire, @agentdedf1sh, @clevermentalitybeliever

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 4 years

Text

Mistletoe

“What can I help with, Elena?” Mateo asked as he strolled into the palace living room where Elena was elbow-deep into a box full of streamers, wreaths, bows and other Navidad decorations.

“Oh great, you’re here, Mateo!” Elena sighed gratefully, “I’ve already decorated most of the rooms but it always takes two to put up the high-up decorations’ She gestured to the arch of the doorway he was standing under.

“I’m always here to help.” Mateo shrugged off his green coat that he wore to journey from a visit to his Mom’s home. “Still I must say you’ve done a great job on your own.”

And it was true, though he had only properly viewed the living room, from what he saw of the palace, it was truly the Navidad season. There were bows on every piece of furniture, the ever present smell of gingerbread and tamales, candles lit the grand staircase and one can see pile of decorative presents at strategically placed corners in the halls.

As for the living room, it too had presents and bows and such stuff, but the Navidad tree was the true centerpiece.

“Thank you.” Elena beamed, “I just really love Navidad. Mami, Isa and I would spend the whole day decorating for it. We even made some decorations ourselves like this.” She held up a rather weathered wreath with browning pine needles and a faded white paper ribbon that Mateo could see was adorably scrawled with childrens’ drawings.

Mateo smiled, both at the wreath and at the nostalgic gaze that touched Elena. She looked so thoughtful, so beautiful when she was lost in thought.

Mateo shook his head to try to rid of that irritate thought. The one that added how beautiful Elena was with everything she did, or however she looked. Not that it was easy. Mateo thought Elena always looked amazing.

Mateo internally sighed. He had been trying to fight his feelings but it was impossible.

He tried to act normally, he didn’t make any motion to treat her especially different from how he acted with Naomi or Gabe, but he couldn’t help himself. With her, he felt himself soften a little. He felt closer to her in that if there was ever a choice between personal glory and Elena’s, he would try to help Elena achieve her triumph before him. He felt like he could be more vulnerable around her. He could confide in her about his fears and insecurities. He didn’t feel like he needed to hide any part of himself from her. And what’s more, he didn’t want to. Which is why this crush feeling was killing him.

“What would you like me to do first?” Mateo asked going for lightheartedness while these thoughts swirled in his head.

“Just help string these across the walls.” Elena handed him a string of popcorn and cranberries, and three wreaths to obviously hang at intervals.

Mateo carefully took them from her arms and climbed up the step stool that was by the wall so he could up the string by the nails already in placed. The only sound being his muffled ouches from the pine needles scrapping and Elena singing softly under her breath.

“You need nothing more than those you adore. On this holiday, let love light the way.”

An unconscious smile quirked the corner of Mateo’s mouth as he listened to one of his favorite sounds in the world. Elena’s voice.

With Elena’s lovely singing filling the silence, Mateo’s thoughts wandered off to how much he cared for the crown princess.

He supposed it had started sometime around the aftermath of Fiero’s first attack and when she proclaimed him her only choice for the royal wizard. There was just something, like a feeling of gratitude that she saw something in him that he hadn’t been able to believe in himself. A magic within as she sang it. She had been the only one who showed such trust and belief in his magic skills. He didn’t want to let her down.

He had thought that was normal. Some friendly devotion between princess and royal wizard, between friends. But then he began noticing Elena even more. The way her optimism lit up whatever room she was in. Her devotion to her kingdom. How she always believed in the best of everyone. Her strength after everything she had gone through.

The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to get to know her. He learned some of her fears and her weaknesses and that only fueled his desire to help her. He wanted to be the one she could lean on. He said it as much when they went to Vallestrella, “I’ll always be here for you, Elena. No matter what.”

He would have to be crazy not to notice her gorgeous looks too. Her kind, enthusiastic face whose smile was like the sun, her bright eyes… he could go on and on about the multitude of traits that separated Elena from anyone else Mateo had ever met or even heard about.

His feelings, all the things he liked about her had become even stronger during the past month as Elena flitted about with her plans and excitement for the coming celebrations. During Navidad, Elena seemed particularly aglow with happiness and joy, and her dresses gave her an air of exquisite grace--like she was always floating with its fluttering silks. She was wearing the white and red poinsettia-like dress again, but she paired it this year with red velvet with fur around the cuffs and lining.

And her spirit was infectious, it just made Mateo want to sing along with her.

It was one of the many things that made him love her. The way she brought everyone together during the bright and dark times. He enjoyed those lighthearted moments as much as he treasured the faith she had in him during the bad. He only hoped he wouldn’t come to fail her in future adventures.

Suddenly Elena’s voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Can you help me?" Elena asked with a surprising demure voice.

"Yeah, yeah, of course!" Mateo answered enthusiastically so that’s why he took a pause before walking bringing his step stool to the other side of the archway that Elena was decorating. He didn’t want to appear too eager.

“Thanks so much for the help. I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.” Elena made an exaggerated swipe of her brow as if the whole decorating business was an exhausting manual labor.

“It’s no problem.” Mateo played along, flexing what few muscles he had like Gabe would.

Elena turned to look at him with a gaze much more thoughtful than before, “I just want to say thanks in general. You’ve done a lot for me this year. Well, ever since I met you really. You’ve really been there for me no matter what.”

Mateo blushed at Elena’s compliment, busying himself with a random streamer so she wouldn’t see his burning red face. Then they lapsed into silence once more.

It was probably for the best. He didn’t want to say something so obvious like what he did was nothing, she was the one who was amazing. She was so compassionate and determined and strong, everyone was lucky to have met her. Or say something about how gorgeous he thought she looked and then for her to realize what a lovestruck crush he had. It would completely ruin their friendship. No it was best to keep that to himself.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of her closeness. Electricity ran down his spine every time they brushed against each other and he even got a sniff of her hair as she leaned over him to fix a lopsided bow. It smelled of pine needles and traces of hot cocoa. All the enticing scents of the season that he associated with peace and happiness, also associated with her. It was intoxicating.

A few minutes or maybe a half-hour later, Mateo wasn’t sure-time always seemed to fly by when he was around Elena, they stepped down their respective stools to look over their handiwork.

“I think it looks gr-” Mateo began to say when he was cut off by Elena suddenly grasping his shoulder. Another shock of spine tingles that made him shudder.

Mateo whipped his face around to see what had brought on her gasp. She was staring up at the chandelier which sparkled with the crystal it was made of as well as the opaque candles that had been placed in the candleholders that gave it an added ethereal glow. The whole thing was so sparkly that Mateo almost missed what truly got Elena’s attention.

It was a tiny sprig of green shrubbery with a red velvet bow tying it to the chandelier. It was so auspicious, it was like it was a teasing child, winking with mischievousness.

Mateo looked up and felt his world froze for a moment.

Mistletoe...the meaning behind it laid thousands of situations and opportunities for him to come out of it, both good and bad.

Instinctively he looked toward Elena to see what she was thinking, even though a small part of him feared that she would recoil in disgust. Even though he knew that situation was irrational. She was far too kind to do that. At most she would make a polite diversion.

But when he looked at her, no polite diversion was coming from Elena’s lips.

Elena was looking at him with a warm smile. He knew she should be used to such looks from her by now but it still took his breath away. Never in his life had he thought he would fully trust in someone to see him and think of him as strong and capable and wise like he was worthy to follow the legacy laid by Alacazar.

Something else was in her eyes that made him blush though. It was the sparkle. A roguish sparkle in her eyes to be exact. The kind that Mateo had seen a few times when Naomi admired Gabe’s handsomeness. And it was directed at him.

Mateo never thought of himself as particularly handsome, not to the likes of Gabe. Him, guapo was not the first word to come to mind. Maybe skinny, lanky if he was asking his mom. But not guapo. The idea that Elena would see him as guapo seemed ridiculous but with how she looked at him, a slight brush staining her cheeks, he allowed himself to imagine that she did and that twinkle wasn’t just a roguish twinkle of mischievousness at the situation they had gotten themselves into.

Elena had sidled up against him, not to make the first move but to grasp his hands. His hands were still somehow cold, but hers was incredibly warm and she widely played with his fingers. Mateo couldn’t help but note that they were almost the same size. He saw her cast a furtive glance between his lips and the mistletoe, she opened her mouth and then closed it. A blush starting to spread across her face. Once more she looked uncharacteristically demure.

The realization hit Mateo like a lightning bolt. Was it possible?

Elena’s second false start fixed Mateo’s feelings of indecision. She quite possibly liked him, and clearly she wasn’t sure if she should act or not because she didn’t know his feelings.

What were the words she had just been singing? Let love light the way? Yes, he would let his love light the way!

This was his chance to be bold and do it. To reveal all he felt to her. That he loved her. Her passionate, competitive, impulsive, enthusiastic, hilarious, vulnerable, compassionate, capable self in all her flaws and strengths. He just loved her.

Mateo took a step forward and cupped her cheek, tilting her chin so their lips were almost pressing each other. It was just the two of them, and as he stared at her warm brown eyes, he felt their surroundings fade away. As she leaned in, he felt his senses heightened to all sorts of small points that he didn’t have time to fully appreciate before like ruffle of her dress, the faint whiff of the wreath with its pine needles. But overpowering all these senses was the heat of their bodies, so close they were to another.

He licked his suddenly dry lips in anticipation, and his heart pounded faster than before. Before he could even lean in, Elena, his impatient spitfire, pulled him towards her. Their lips crashed against each other with longing fervor that Mateo felt was equal to the blast of magic he used all those years ago when he fixed the snowstorm on Navidad. That snowstorm could happen again tonight, blast all the cold air in but he wouldn’t notice. Losing some of his self-conscious inhibitions in the heat of the moment, he boldly slid his arms around her waist to pull her closer.

As they came apart, he chose not to move. He just felt the warmth of their arms around each other and the smell of her shampooed hair and savor the feeling of that he was floating on air. He couldn’t believe he kissed Elena!

And from the slight sparkle in her eyes, it seemed like the moment wasn’t just going to end there with the mistletoe.

“Mateo,” Elena said, her tone full of meaning, “I liked that.”

“Me too.” He stuttered, a hope rising in his chest that he couldn’t quite hold back and at the moment, he thought there was no reason to. A sort of calm overcame him too. Relaxing him. This feel right. The kiss, holding hands with her right now. It all felt right. He always felt a bit uller, more whole when he was with her.

Elena smiled, “Feliz Navidad, Mateo.” The words were simple, platonic-sounding to any outsider. But they both knew that it meant so much more.

Without words they were confirming that something special had grown between them. A love that was cemented through the experiences they shared together, the concerns and joys they had in common and the simple fact that they seemed inextricably drawn to each other’s lives. There was no one reason or maybe a whole host of reasons, but they felt the best when they were together.

“I always have a Feliz Navidad when I’m around you, Elena” Mateo smiled and kissed her once more on the lips, savoring the sweet smell of yule log and pine, with his heart bursting with happiness for the Navidad holiday and the princess beside him.

#eleteo #eoa secret santa 2019 #elena castillo flores #mateo de alva #my fanfic #elena of avalor #my fanfiction #mistletoe

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mandos-little-friend · 4 years

Text

A Party, a Promise, and Spotchka

The Mandalorian Fan Fiction

Rating: General

Characters: Din Djarin, Omera, Winta

Relationship: DinxOmera

Summary: After ten years the immediate threat is gone, and Din and the child have settled on Sorgan as a home base, but are still frequently traveling in the search for the child’s people or those that could train him. Some people are not okay with this arrangement. Includes some Mandalorian headcanon of my own making.

Notes: Just posting this here first, I may put it over on AO3 later. There may be more, but I wanted to get this main idea out of my head primarily.

Feedback always welcome.

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

On a cool summer evening on a small, backwater planet, a tiny fishing village celebrated. A band of three played rustic instruments with gusto while many of those gathered clasped hands and stomped feet and laughed. Torches had been set up all around the center of the village adding light to the moons’ illumination and allowing the party to continue long into the night. Poles had been erected on which strands of flowered garland streamed overhead, and tables of homemade food and never-ending pitchers of spotchka were set up at frequent intervals.

In the center of the merriment was the couple of honor, bride and groom dancing together while laughing and waving at their family and friends, like multitudes of newlyweds that came before them. However in this instant the bride was carrying a child unlike the humans of the village – small, green, large-eared. The child laughed and raised his hands in the air in celebration.

Din Djarin stood off from the crowd smiling contentedly as his child was bounced gleefully in Winta’s arms. The girl – no, woman now – was as radiant as any bride should be. She wore a gauzy dress of a rich plum color, which Din had himself purchased for her as a wedding gift. A wreath of flowers in pinks and purples and blues circled her flowing dark hair. The smile hadn’t left her face since the simple hand-fastening ceremony had completed and her bridegroom had swept her up into an ecstatic embrace. They had eaten and danced and drank what seemed to be a krill pond’s worth of spotchka, and all the while Din stood back and watched, only offering nods to the few villagers that felt comfortable enough to approach him. After all, he had no official place in the festivities, while the mother of the bride, equally as radiant, mingled and accepted all manner of congratulations, occasionally giving him a smile and a wave.

Once the latest song of a particularly hectic tempo fell to an end, the musicians took an opportunity to catch their breath and partake of the refreshments. Din watched as Winta gave his boy a squeeze and set him down, the child then running with carefree abandon into a group of adults who immediately began showering him with attention. Winta grabbed a mug off a table and downed it quickly before turning and catching sight of Din. He nodded to her and she stared at him for a moment, the previous smile fading. Finally, after wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she marched towards him, grabbed his wrist and kept walking without waiting to see if he would follow.

Perplexed, he allowed himself to be led past several huts, until they were between the village and the forest far enough away that the sounds of the reception were barely echos. Too far away from the torches, the only light was the weak silvery glow from the moons, however the filters in his helmet amplified the light enough to see that Winta was clearly upset.

“What’s wrong?” he asked trying to reach for her hand, but she pulled away from him. She swayed a moment from what Din suspected was the alcohol.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked sharply.

Din sighed, the datachip in his pocket weighing heavily. “Yes, we are.”

“Momma knows?”

“Of course. We agreed to wait until after your wedding.”

She looked down at her hands that were now clasped together tightly. “She cries, you know.”

Din blinked. “What…? I don’t understand.”

Her head flew up, eyes blazing. “When you leave!” she hissed. “Every time, for two or three nights. She thinks I don’t know, but I do. I’d hate you for it, but then you’d come back and everything would be good again. Until the next time…”

“Winta -”

“She’s had marriage proposals too. At least three. Turned them all down.” He tried to open his mouth but she cut him off. “I’m not going to be there anymore! She’s going to be alone, completely alone, and it’s not fair!”

“It’s not like you’re moving off-planet,” he observed quietly.

Her eyes widened in anger and one clenched fist came up and rapped on his beskar-covered chest. “That’s not the point! She deserves more. She deserves a commitment from you!”

Din gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Winta, I can only make a marriage vow to another Mandalorian. Either she would have to swear the Creed, or I would have to break mine,” he finished softly. She looked up at him and he could see the tracks of tears flowing down her cheeks.

“We’re not important enough for you?”

“That’s...that’s not...you both are of extreme importance to me. But so is my boy. I need to find his people, and I need to protect him. I’ve sworn it. The best way I can do that is as a Mandalorian.” He swallowed. “Do you remember me explaining dar’manda?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“My Creed is my core, it is who I am. To be stripped of it, to lose my soul…even in service of my heart, it’s unthinkable, profane.” He sighed. This wasn’t a conversation he’d planned to have tonight.

“What if you never find them?” she asked, previous rage gone, now sounding like the girl he’d first met ten years prior.

“I honestly don’t know. I can’t stop looking just because it’s inconvenient for me.” He pulled back and crossed his arms. “When I finally got the nerve to come back here, when I’d felt it was safe enough, I did question if it was the right thing. It seemed selfish to invade your lives after so many years. Your mother and I spoke for a long time about expectations, about what I could offer...and what I couldn’t.”

Winta was looking at the ground again. He reached out and lifted her chin with a finger. “I know your heart is in the right place, but maybe trust that your mother is strong enough to make her needs well known?”

She sobbed and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that!”

He wrapped his arms around her tenderly. “Never apologize for fighting for those you love, cyar'ika,” he whispered to her.

They stayed like that for several moments, until light footfalls and a small cough caught their attention. They both turned to see Omera approach, clutching a shawl around her shoulders against the cool evening air. Flowers of the same color as Winta’s crown were woven through her hair and she was radiant in the moonlight. “There you are,” she said with a smile. “What are you two doing out here?”

“I was just giving Winta a proper Mandalorian blessing for a bright, prosperous future,” Din said and Winta hastily wiped tears from her cheeks.

Omera beamed at both of them. “Well, your new husband is getting worried sick that you’ve changed your mind already.”

“Oh no,” Winta gasped, then giggled.

“Go find him and make sure he knows you’ll never let him go.”

Winta threw her arms around Omera. “I love you, Momma,” Din heard her whisper, then she was running back towards the party with the energy of youth and love.

“So, are you going to tell me what this was really about?”

Din sighed. “She’s concerned about you being alone.”

“Hmm.”

“She says you cry. When I leave.”

“Ah. Can’t hide anything from that kid.”

“So it’s true?”

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s a...void, at night right after you go, getting used to sleeping alone all over again. But it passes. Nothing wrong with a good cry once in a while.” She smiled up at him in that way that made his stomach feel like melted beskar.

He was silent for a moment, then, “She also said you’d turned down a few proposals of marriage?”

“Oh, she did!” Omera exclaimed. “Well yes, I’ve been turning those down for years. Any single person of child-bearing age is considered fair game around here. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Nothing?”

She shook her head firmly. “Nothing.” She moved closer and put her arm around his waist. “Trust me, if I had only wanted to be married again, I would have done so years before I met you.”

He pulled her in tight, gently placing his helmet against the top of her head. He had a sudden need to feel the silky hair beneath his lips and smell the flowers that were nestled in the tresses. “Omera,” he said softly. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, eventually, but I suppose now is as good time as any.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “What?”

“You know my Creed is based on the Six Actions?” he asked.

She nodded, hesitantly. “The Resol…”

“Resol’nare. Yes. The Actions include protecting one’s family and clan, and rallying to the call of the Mandalore, the leader, in times of battle.”

Omera nodded, but her face had gone tense. “Are you saying you’ve been called to fight?”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “But the Resol’nare demands I be ready and able to go to battle if it should come to that.” He swallowed. “For most Mandalorians a life spent following the Ways of the Mandalore end...abruptly and early.” She frowned at him. He laid a hand gently on her shoulder and continued. “But many do survive a life of battle, past the time they are able to safely contribute.”

He pulled away from her and turned slightly, to gather his words carefully. “A Mandalorian may be deemed unable to fight effectively due to age, or infirmity, or serious injury. They become a liability in battle.”

“And then what?” she asked softly from his shoulder. “Are they rejected?”

“No! Not at all. They are revered for having both the discipline and the fortitude to survive. But there is an opportunity at that time. To be relieved of the duty to serve the Mandalore, if they so choose. They are given full funeral rites, their name is remembered and honored along with those who fell in battle.”

“Wait, you’re not saying they...die?” she said.

Din turned back to her. “Only symbolically. They remove their armor and are released from the Creed. They are not dar’manda but they must leave the tribe, forever. While the physical body still remains, it is as if the soul has already gone to Manda.”

“And does this happen a lot?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Most Mandalorians would rather die than be separated from their loved ones, their tribe, their home. Many, choose to...go out on their own terms rather than become a burden.”

“Oh.”

“But,” he stressed, “most do not have a life outside the tribe. They have no where to go. No one to go to,” he finished, placing a hand along the side of her head.

“Oh!” she whispered and smiled brightly.

He smiled back, and realized just how much he wanted her to see that. Instead he said, “I can’t promise this is something that will happen soon. But I’m nearly fifty. My joints ache most mornings. My back…” He chuckled. He’d lost count of just how many times he’d fallen or been thrown down violently. “But my son still needs me.”

“I know,” she said firmly, taking his hand in both of hers. “I know.”

“And I need you,” he whispered hoarsely. She pressed into him, laying her cheek against his chest. “Some day,” he promised and stroked the back of her hair. Flower petals rained down to the ground. “I can’t say when, but the day will come. Will that be enough?”

“Yes. More than enough.”

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

Mando’a translations:

Resol’nare - Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life dar'manda - a state of not being Mandalorian - not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul - regarded with absolute dread by most traditional-minded Mando'ade cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart

#the mandalorian #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #din djarin #omera #winta #dinxomera #din x omera #mandomera #made up mandalorian headcanon

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mysteriomanifesto · 4 years

Text

The straw that breaks the camel’s back (1 / 2)

Having slunk back to the deserted office space, Quentin notes the remnants of party streamers and empty red party cups on some of the workstations ( sloppy ), the developer having missed out on his team’s holiday revelries in favour of working remotely from his makeshift ‘home’ before begrudgingly accepting the invitation to the party at Avengers Tower. A folded green crown consisting of flimsy tissue paper had been placed at his personal workspace ( a consolation prize ), digits taking a hold of it to bemusedly place it upon his head ( regardless of his disinclination, he needed a bit of holiday cheer ).

Pensively turning it over in his hand, the encrypted drive provided by Stark is inserted into the computer, the engineer settling into the office chair as caution inevitably sets in - booting up a sandboxing environment to isolate the device, the machine is disconnected from the rest of his work network ( suspicion was a terrible thing ). Dexterous fingertips glide over the keyboard and Beck begins breezing through the multitude of digital barriers that had been setup on the device, teasing breadcrumbs seemingly laid out for the developer in a manner that only he would be able to progress through, clues that echo a number of old memories during his time at Stark Industries. He would pause to reminisce but the man’s too busy enjoying the challenge at hand, each one eliciting a broadening of his smug smile until---

A 12 minute media file is his final prize, its date of creation and modification set to Christmas Day 2017 - a curious eye casts over the title ( AC/DC - Shoot to Thrill ) before pressing play, an inward groan arising as the heavy guitars inevitably assault his senses ( he hated the aging band with a passion ). A few boredom inducing seconds pass during which the engineer considers pausing the video when the music fades, colour emerging onto a blank screen as a familiar voice candidly addresses him.

“Hi...” Tony faces straight into the camera, a lopsided grin coupled with a raise of his dark brow.

Despite the men’s awkward conversation within the last few hours burdened by avoidant gazes and terse words, for a moment ( no matter how brief ) Quentin feels as if the futurist is addressing him directly with such familiarity for the first time in years. He rambles for a short period, telltale signs of anxiety hidden behind overcompensating extroverted gestures and speech patterns ( Quentin knows when Tony's nervous ), but Beck doesn't mind, finding his uneasy expression evolving into a hint of a smile - there’s a distinct swell of emotion which he had convinced himself into thinking that he no longer possessed ( fondness was a tricky thing, given their circumstances ). And then things start to get interesting...

“...you’ve been looking for something. I don’t know if it’s a purpose or if it’s just some guidance but I know that you were. Nobody told me… it’s just the type of person you always were. Ambitious, driven and determined to be the best...”

Quentin stills, the complimentary words echoing assessments of the engineer over the years from a range of mentors spanning from primary school all the way up to post-grad days. However, they were often conversely counterbalanced with negative traits that he was told to work on ( egotistical, lacking empathy, hostile when challenged... ). But there's no sign of that here, instead the brunet enjoying the sensation of having his ego stroked, basking in the reverence that he always craves ( it’s what he deserves ).

"...you know how much of an impression you made on my life? Regardless of the work you did for my company, but also the person you are. The type of personality you have is truly captivating and ever since that day we parted ways… there was one thing that stuck with me...”

There’s an uncomfortable pause as Tony’s expression falls, the man reciting a few key familiar sentences that see blue eyes despondently lowering in recollection.

“This means everything to me. I’ve given my best years to its development. I sacrificed weddings, funerals and Bar Mitzvahs. But that doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?"

Beck bites down on his inner cheek as his own words from after the MIT demo are reflected back to him, swallowing down any undesirable sense of remorse. It wasn't his proudest moment, the man having completely lost control as impulses ran into overdrive to give the billionaire a piece of his mind, supposed negligence perceived amidst heightened paranoia. Years may have passed but Beck didn't regret doing so at the expense of their working relationship - sometimes it was best to get everything out in the open to know the true intention and feelings of others ( no matter how painfully disappointing ).

" ...the mere fact that you thought of me as this heartless, self-centred person. I struggled with that idea for a really long time. Not only did it strike a chord, but it also made me feel like I was truly becoming my father…"

Quentin's brain switches off for a moment, attention diverting to a nearby bottle of nondescript amber beverage which had been idly left there ( it might be tequila? ). If this segment of the video was going to turn into another guilt-driven digression of Tony's about Howard Stark, the brunet wouldn't be above skipping it ( he doesn't care, it's boring, get over it - he had problems with his own father but he doesn’t bitch about it all the time, not repeatedly using the broken relationship as an excuse for the decisions he makes in his life - have some accountability for fuck’s sake ). Unscrewing the cap and taking a tentative sip, Beck's features twist in shuddering distaste ( yep, definitely tequila ), soon taking another swig to help take the edge off. Good timing too as the other man's self-aware spiel about the senior Stark finally draws to an end, segueing into something of more intrigue.

“...nobody knows about this... This was under strict supervision… On this operating system you opened, there’s only one more file. It’s a quarter of the code you wrote for your illusion technology prototype… giving you the code is going against everything my company’s lawyers swear against---"

The video is abruptly paused with a flick of Beck’s wrist, the unwanted distraction of the bottle pushed to one side, the emergence of a second hidden file drawing his primary attention. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the revelation ( or perhaps a combination of both ), but Quentin can feel his heart pounding against his temples, his breath quickening as blue eyes frantically scan the reams of code embedded in the system just for him. Based on what he sees, it doesn’t feel like a quarter of the code ( considerably less ), disjointed syntax missing vital elements to tie is altogether - he notes the header comments present for each section of painstakingly prolonged algorithms ( PROPERTY OF STARK INDUSTRIES ), copyright and authorship continually stripping and omitting Beck from the list of accredited developers regardless of the futurist’s words of placation. Quentin’s fist firmly clenches around the ergonomic mouse being used at the terminal, audible strain suddenly evident as one of the embedded buttons pops out of place.

“But I can’t hold onto something that was never truly mine. It might be a quarter, but that’s a start, right? I’ve fought tooth and nail to get everything back to you and I was told only under extreme circumstances would they allow it… So, the day I die, you get everything you’ve worked for, back. Could be tomorrow, could be in 10 years. But on that day you can have everything back. If this is not what you wanted from me---”

Quentin had stopped listening several sentences ago, an eerie blankness to his expression that sees him slowly blink, soon stopping the video entirely - desperately scrolling back to the beginning, he watches it again. Twice. Thrice. More time is divulged poking and prodding at the inner workings of the encrypted device for hours to come ( maybe he had missed something? ), hoping to find something else that would ease this growing disquiet sensation. There’s nothing else, the man forgetting to breathe at regular intervals in his steadily flourishing rage, a pocket of air trapped at the back of his throat as his visage grows increasingly incensed.

Taking a hold of his phone to delve into his list of contacts while adjusting his headset, Beck’s thinly veiled resolve completely crumbles and something finally snaps.

[ PART 2 ]

#one shot #🔮: Mysterious Things #mark xlvl #post-#fao: stark holiday party #//namely the thread with Tony #//a big thank you to Skye for providing me with #//A Lot to work with for this <3 #//the video dialogue was twice as long but #//ofc Quentin only focuses on certain parts :''')#//sigh It Begins

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ahsien-saffari1-blog · 5 years

Text

Ice vs Fire (Poss. AU)

Prompt/Inspiration: He didn't understand what he'd done to them, but he would by the time they were finished.

Genre: Angst (Family angst I suppose?) and Fantasy

Pairing(s): None yet, but there will be

Word Count: 2536

Warnings: Brotherly fighting, mild violence (A single punch)

A/N: This ended up sparking an entire AU in my mind, so you’ll probably see more shorts or ‘mini chapters’ regarding this story in the future. I hope you like it and please let me know if you’d be interested in reading more about the AU!

“But, but sir, the new school curriculum barely provides any room for the children to have fun and grow their creativity-” Logan raised his hand, effectively silencing the stuttering school advisor. With a dull sigh he turned to face the man who was looking quite pale.

“Emotional control and logical thinking are more important than,” He paused, glancing back down at the parchment of proposed ideas that had been given to him, “Arts and crafts or music. Therefore, more valuable teachings will take up the periods of schooling that were otherwise being wasted in future semesters.”

“My king, please-” Logan gave him a cold look that sent shivers down the man's spine and he shut his mouth, eyes widening as Logan proceeded to crumple up the parchment before tossing it into the lit fireplace where it began to burn.

“I have made my rulings perfectly clear,” He said, tone cold and even, a silent threat in his eyes.

“If you wish to voice any further complaints you will need to file an official one. Otherwise, we are done here.” The school advisor took in a shaky breath, but nodded, giving a low bow.

“Yes, of course my king, my sincerest apologies, I was only trying to-”

“Leave.” Logan said, cutting the man off who quickly raced out of the room as he felt the temperature begin to drop.

Logan sighed, massaging his temples as he headed to his desk where the newest stack of papers to be gone over and signed for today sat.

He had more important things to do than to listen to that idiots ramblings, he was running a kingdom all on his own now after all and he intended to continue to increase its efficiency and fix the multitude of errors he’d found within it while his father had been ruler.

“Logan, what the hell do you think you’ve been doing?!” Roman hissed as he stormed into the middle of a meeting between Logan and a few of his advisors, the door of the room crashing loudly into the wall. Literal fire was flickering at the tips of his hair, crackling softly as he glared daggers at Logan.

Logan frowned at this, annoyed at the interruption even though he hadn't seen or heard from Roman in quite a while.

“Roman, while I am unsure as to what exactly you are referring to,” This only seemed to make Roman angrier, his hair sparking brighter, “I am in the middle of an important meeting and don’t have time to deal with one of your illogical outbursts.”

“Illogical outbursts?” Roman repeated, sounding incredulous as he approached the table, slamming his hands down onto the wood.

The advisors in the room winced and, all but one, quickly got up and left the room, their presence being replaced by a couple of guards standing warily in the doorway. Logan simply stared coldly at Roman.

“Do you really think that me being pissed about the fact that my own brother didn't even bother to send me a letter letting me know our father was ill or that you were becoming king illogical? That being pissed at you for proceeding to put into motion changes father would never have agreed to before he'd even been properly mourned over, is overreacting?! Changes, mind you, that could end up dooming our entire kingdom and people all while I was away without a word?!” Logan met Roman’s burning gaze with his own cold one.

"Did you just assume that I'd be fine with you claiming the crown on your own?! That I wouldn't want to take part in ruling my own kingdom?! Cause that's sure what it seems like." Logan pursed his lips at this, resting his now clasped hands on the table.

“I was actually present and paying attention in every course we took to prepare us to rule this kingdom, unlike you. I am also realistic, level-headed, and strict. Therefore, I am better suited to act as King.”

He motioned to Roman, “You on the other hand were always skipping your lessons and are still too much like a child: reckless, impulsive, over-dramatic, hot headed, and unrealistic in your goals and beliefs.”

Roman grinded his teeth, hands digging into the wood of the table as he fought the urge to forcefully shut Logan up.

“And as such, I saw no reason in waiting for you to return from your prolonged ‘adventure' as you put it, to put my plans and changes into order.”

“My adventure has proven to be more complicated than I previously assumed, I didn't intend for it to take so long, okay?! Besides! How was I to know that you would do all of this the moment father died!?”

Logan stiffened at this and stood up from his chair, hands pressed against his end of the table, an imperfect mirroring of Roman.

“It is not my fault that you cared more about your ridiculous adventures than father.” Logan said, teeth grit, “You were the one that wasn’t there by his side when he passed. You were the one that abandoned this kingdom when it needed us most.”

“I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HE WAS SICK LOGAN!” Roman basically screamed, the smell of burnt wood in the air as his palms pressed harder into the table. “So maybe if you’d actually bothered to send a letter to let me know what had happened I would have been home sooner!”

“And if you had just grown up and stopped playing pretend adventures out in the woods you’d have had been here to say goodbye and oppose my changes.” Logan shot back, the wood beneath his own hands beginning to frost over.

“But you weren’t here. And so my changes have been approved and will be implemented whether you agree with them or not.”

Logan, glancing down momentarily, noticed the frost branching out from his hands and quickly removed them from the table, adjusting his outfit as he looked at Roman with cool anger and forced indifference.

"Perhaps these consequences will finally teach you to start taking life more seriously."

A tense silence fell over the room as they stared down each other, both refusing to give.

"I bet my presence wouldn't even have made a difference to you." Roman finally said, still furious, but his volume lower. "You've probably been planning this all along, haven't you?”

Roman was practically shaking with anger as he lifted one hand up from the table to point at Logan, a smoldering hand mark permanently burned into the table where it had been resting.

“How you'd make everything the way you wanted it to be: sterile, robotic, heartless, and cold, all for the sake of efficiency." He shook his head, giving a barking laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest and sneered at Logan.

“I bet that even if I’d been here to go against you it wouldn’t have made a difference. You probably already had contingency plans to get me out of your way once he was gone, didn’t you?” Logan was breathing hard, hands clasped tightly behind his back, gaze icy and the atmosphere around him chilling as Roman continued to attack him.

“Do you even care about a single person within this world?! Because from here it seems like all you’ve ever cared about are rules and order! That’s all you’ve ever cared about!” He threw his hands up, “You never consider people, Logan."

“That is quite enough Roman.” Logan said icily, his words quivering ever so slightly in anger. Roman paid him no mind, Logan’s demand for his silence only fanning the flames of his anger, hair sparking angrily.

“No, it is not enough Logan! You’ve crossed a line here that I am not willing to back down on. I refuse to stand by while you turn our father's kingdom into something unrecognizable! Our people are creative and amazing and passionate and you plan to rip that all away from them for the sake of rules and efficiency!”

“Our father ran this kingdom like a fool,” Logan finally hissed out through his teeth, eyes sparking a cold blue with hints of gold and the air within the room dropped in temperature, “And all I’m doing is cleaning up the mess.” Roman took a step back as if Logan had just backhanded him with that admittance.

“So you can either fall into line and support me Roman,” He paused to let that sink in, “Or you’ll quickly find yourself on the wrong side of the law.”

His eyes narrowed, “Because you may be my brother and a prince, but that in no way excuses you from reprimandation or consequences if you continue to go against the rules and regulations of this land. I am not our father.”

Roman didn’t say anything for multiple seconds and just stared at Logan, having a hard time believing that this was really happening. That this emotionless monster was his brother. Sure, he had always been rather cold and emotionally distant, but not this bad. Had something happened to him while Roman had been gone to turn him this cold and cruel?

Roman's expression finally hardened again and he shook his head, clearing away those thoughts.

“You know what, for all I know maybe you poisoned father while I was away just to make sure you got what you wanted." Logan’s eyes widened at this comment, knuckles whitening as he pressed his hands together even harder behind his back, but Roman wasn’t finished speaking as he marched up to Logan.

“You’re certainly heartless enough to do it.”

“I don’t take kindly to your accusations.” Logan said, just barely holding in his anger as he held his ground, “And I suggest you leave now before you do something you regret.”

Roman laughed at this before he suddenly winded up his fist and proceeded to punch Logan in the face, sending him to the ground. Within seconds multiple guards were on top of Roman, wrestling him to the ground.

Logan, face slack with surprise, brought a hand up to his left cheek, which was mildly burned, wincing as he applied a small amount of pressure to it. He then looked over at Roman - who was now being pinned face-first into the ground.

Roman simply grinned back at him and spit out, “I highly doubt I’ll ever regret doing that.”

Logan grit his teeth as he stood up from the floor, one hand against the injured side of his face in an attempt to cool it down. A cold fire burned in his eyes he made direct eye-contact with Roman and spoke very clearly.

“Having made wild accusations about me, the king, as well as making an attempt on my life, I have no choice but to brand you a traitor to this kingdom and have you sent to the dungeons.”

Roman’s grin dropped and he stared at Logan open mouthed - feeling oddly heavy cuffs placed around his wrists - before he began to feel as if something was being drained out of him.

“W-What?” He finally asked in disbelief. He had expected Logan to have made him apologize, give him some sort of ‘labor’ task, or have him removed to his room, not label him with treason and throw him in jail! Why had he even gotten so fired up in the first place?! Hadn't he come here with the intention of getting help?

“N-no!” Roman said, volume rising, “No, you can’t do that! I’m the prince of this kingdom! The people will riot when they find out!”

Through pursed lips Logan gave a cold and thin grin.

“I can and I am, and any citizen who chooses to speak out against this will be dealt with.” Logan turned his back on Roman as his head advisor stood up from the table and crouching down beside Roman, spoke quietly, a grin on his face.

“And once they learn that their precious Prince Roman attempted to assassinate his own brother for the right to the crown the moment he returned home, I don't think they’ll have as much of a problem with the ruling.”

“Why you!” Roman’s words were silenced as something was tied around his mouth even as he began to struggle furiously against the multiple guards that were now forcing him onto his feet and dragging him out of the room. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to stab his brother through.

However, panic shown in Roman’s eyes as he found that he could no longer use his powers anymore. He couldn’t get his hands to heat up and no longer heard the crackling of his hair. Were the cuffs they’d put on him specifically designed?! This had to be a nightmare, right? How could this be happening?

“Let go of me!” He managed to mumble out past the gag as he was finally pulled out of the room, still fighting as hard as he could even without his powers available to him. Logan couldn’t do this. This couldn’t be happening.

Logan, after waiting a few moments to compose himself, finally left the room to find all of his other advisors standing outside, looking very uneasy and hesitant as they looked away from the cursing Roman being dragged off to the injured and particularly cold Logan.

“My king, are you alright?” One of them finally asked, the burn marks and swelling still visible even though Logan had an icy hand pressed against it.

“The meeting will have to be postponed until tomorrow,” Logan said stiffly as he moved past them, his head advisor trailing behind him silently, “I need to be treated for my injury and file the necessary papers to renounce Roman’s title of prince due to his treasonous actions.”

He ignored the stunned and disbelieving looks of the advisors and walked off, his head advisor trailing behind him as Logan began to discuss the paperwork that would need to be filed in order to retract Roman’s title.

“I hope this is all just a terrible misunderstanding,” Patton said quietly to Petunia, a horse. “Surely his own brother wouldn’t intentionally hide the death of their father just to keep him away from the castle so he could be crowned the sole ruler, right?”

Petunia neighed softly in response, nudging the side of Patton’s head with her nose.

“That’s true, but I also don’t want us all to have to be on the run from two kingdoms.” He sighed, resting his head against the stone wall beside him, currently waiting at a hidden back entrance to the castle. They’d all agreed it was better to be safe than sorry. “It would only make fixing this whole mess even harder.”

Petunia responded with a longer neigh this time and Patton laughed in response, giving her a light pat.

“Fine, fine, I’ll only keep worrying about it if he doesn’t turn up by the end of the two hours.” Patton was silent for a moment before he looked to Petunia again and asked curiously, “Want me to make you a flower trail for your mane while we continue to wait?”

Patton grinned when Petunia pawed at the ground with her front hoof and whinnied, clearly approving of the idea.

#sanders sides fanfic #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #fanfic #fan fiction #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #roman prince #logan prince #angst #sanders sides au #Forgot italicization doesn't copy over #Had to go back through and fix that

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pitterpatterpot · 5 years

Text

Lion’s Pride: Chapter Nineteen

21.

“Aedion,” Evangeline watches from where she sits on his and Lysandra’s bed, eyebrows bunched, “why don’t you just make him a flower crown?”

“Because you like flower crowns,” Aedion groans, continuing to pace. “Gavriel doesn’t exactly jump for joy at the idea of them.”

“You could get him another sword?”

“Evangeline, sweetheart, believe me when I sadly say that it is possible to have too many swords,” Aedion sighs, collapsing next to her. “I didn’t think it was possible, but when they’re the only gift you receive you become tired of them.”

Evangeline hums, stretching out beside him. “You could make him a cake? It’s what he did for you for your birthday.”

“Gavriel made that?” Aedion sits up, awed. “I didn’t know he could cook like that.”

“He did,” Evangeline rolls over onto her stomach, smiling. “Why don’t you cook him something? You’re a fantastic cook. You always use the right spices for meats.”

“But that’s hunting and camping,” Aedion bunches his brows. “Baking in an actual kitchen is completely different.”

“What’s the worse that could happen?”

~~~

“THE ENTIRE DAMN KITCHEN. THE ENTIRE DAMN KITCHEN UP IN SMOKE. WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU COOKING?”

Aedion sags against the dripping wet workbench of the kitchen, still smelling of smoke as Rowan gestures to the oven which is still coughing clouds of black smoke.

In his defence, the entire kitchen was not on fire. Just the oven. And it wasn’t his fault that some fae with water abilities smelt the smoke, assumed the worse and flooded the pace.

“I-“

“IT’S STILL BUBBLING!” Rowan roars, pointing to the black mass inside the oven. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”

Never has Aedion seen Rowan raise his voice to such standards with such an incredulous tone mixed in. But, in the king’s defence, he had been dragged away from Aelin by the alarm. Aelin, and the bed. During a very interesting position.

One that Aedion does not want to go into detail about or ever mentally approach with a ten-foot-long thought stick.

“A cake,” Aedion winces at how small and pitiful the words sound compared to the damage of the kitchen.

After his outburst, Rowan seems to have nothing to say, just as put out by the simple explanation as the general. The king simple sags against the bench and places his head in his hands. Aedion has seen that look before. Seen it in the eyes of tired commanders and generals who have had enough of their troops bullshit and don’t care if the idiots land on their own swords anymore. Slowly Aedion begins to edge towards the door, eyes darting between it and his king.

“Maybe I’ll just-“

“Get out.”

“Right.”

~~~

“Aedion, darling,” Aelin combs her fingers through her cousin's hair, “my dear cousin whom I love-“

“I’ll never enter the kitchens again,” Aedion groans, leaning against the foot of her bed, head flopping back.

“Good,” Aelin deadpans and starts dividing his hair. “Why don’t you just buy Gavriel something?”

“Like what?” Aedion allows his eyes to close, mostly to help ignore Rowan, who glare’s at Aedion from where he sits in his favourite chair.

He should have figured that Aedion would go straight to Aelin for advice after the kitchens. As soon as he had returned from the mayhem he had found them divulging in chocolate, discussing a multitude of things and Aelin begging Aedion to allow her to do his hair.

Damn sibling/cousin time. He understands their closeness, particularly after they squabble or need comfort, but it would satisfy him greatly to see Aelin kick Aedion out of their room at least once.

But no. Not when they need comfort in the apparent form of food and talk.

“I don’t know,” Aelin shrugs. “Maybe some books? You two like the same author.”

“But that’s not very thoughtful, and we’ve finished all of his books,” Aedion groans, tipping his head back. “I got him nothing for the holidays, and he seemed to let that pass since we went out later, but I can’t not give him something for Fathers Day.”

“Why don’t you just ask him what he wants?” Aelin balances a hair tie between her lips as she speaks, fingers moving rhythmically.

“I did. He said he doesn’t care and that he’ll treasure whatever he receives from me,” Aedion growls.

Aelin scowls. “I didn’t know he could be such a bastard.”

Aedion nods slowly, allowing Aelin’s hands to keep with the movement. Rowan, from his chair, snorts and picks up a book. It earns him a glare from them both.

“What have you done so far?” Aelin combs hair with her fingers away from his ear.

“I made him flower crowns, but Evangeline likes them and I realised Gavriel wouldn’t want them so I gave them to her. I also made a cake, but you know how well that went.”

He ignores Rowan’s groan at the memory.

Aelin pauses in her movements and frowns. “But you’re great at cooking?”

“Not under pressure!”

“I’m sure there are many areas of which you are unable to perform while under pressure,” Rowan murmurs, earning a vicious snarl from Aedion.

“Finished,” Aelin ties off the end of Aedion’s hair. “Two braids, each on the side of your head leading to just a simple ponytail.”

“Damn, you’re still good at this,” Aedion examines himself in a small mirror Aelin gifts him.

“Of course I am,” Aelin wipes her hands against her thighs. “Want to do mine?”

“Sure-“

“No,” Rowan stands, dropping his book on the side table. “I’m not waiting for you to do her hair. That’s it. You’re coming with me.”

Aedion frowns, running his hands through his hair to undo the braids as he stands. “Why?”

“Because we’re all going to have a chat,” Rowan opens the door, standing to the side. “Come. Everyone’s waiting in the lounge room.”

Trooping out, Aedion ignores the heated looks the king and queen share.

The king will be returning to his quarters after the meeting.

~~~

“Gods,” Aedion sits on the soft couch with his head in his hands, the cadre members all watching him, “why do I always feel like you’re all calling me in for an intervention?”

“Trust me, we’ve thought about that,” Fenrys grins from the fireplace. “But it’s much easier to just meet up with you here.”

“We need to discuss Fathers Day,” Vaughan says softly, biting his lip. “Now, we know that your relationship with Gavriel has been growing, but we want you to know that no one expects anything from you, least of all Gavriel. You don’t need to push yourself into doing anything with or for him that you’re not comfortable yet just to please him or because you’re afraid your relationship will fail if you don’t.”

It takes a moment for Aedion to look away from the male, wondering how exactly he seemed to know Aedion’s exact thoughts. Instead, the demi-fae focuses more on his clasped hands, swallowing down his words. Too many times his father's old friends have come to talk to him about such things. Too many times have they asked probing questions out of what Aedion assumes is a concern. It raises the question of how they define him; Gavriel’s child or a fellow male.

“We know you called Gavriel ‘father’ Aedion,” Rowan contributes. “You haven’t called him since, and if that’s because you’re not ready then that’s fine and-“

“Stop,” Aedion growls, leaning back and rubbing at his eyes. “Just… look, I called Gavriel my father because he is my father. I have accepted that fact. I didn’t call him it because I felt pressured or frightened. And I’m not worried about Father’s Day because it’s too much, I’m worried because I legitimately want him to enjoy it, you bastards.”

They all pause and frown at him. It makes him itch, the concern in their gazes. He doesn’t need attention on every move he makes, he doesn’t need people continuously ‘checking’ on him and he doesn’t need others assuming his emotions to be ready to step in even when not asked.

“Aedion,” Vaughan sinks down into the couch. “Gavriel will be delighted with whatever you do.”

“I know he will be,” Aedion sighs, sagging back. “But that doesn’t mean I will be.”

Hesitating, Fenrys leans forward. “Boyo, I think that above everything else Gavriel would want you to talk to him more. Particularly about your past.”

Talk. That’s all anyone seems to want to do. As if moving forward isn’t important at all; the past is all that needs to be dragged up.

“I didn’t come for this kind of discussion,” Aedion fails to keep the growl from his voice. “If you don’t have any ideas as to what I can get him then I’m leaving.”

Groaning, Vaughan settles back in the seat. “Aedion, if you take him out to lunch it will honestly be all that Gavriel will talk about for a month.”

“He still brags about you taking him along hunting last week,” Rowan shakes his head, mirth in his eyes. “He finds a way to worm it Into every conversation.”

“If you spend the day with him Gavriel won’t know what to do with himself,” Fenrys grins. “I’m telling you now. He doesn’t care about gifts; he’ll be over the moon if he knows you put effort into planning a day with him.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Aedion nods his head. A day together. That would be suitable for them both and easier than agonising over an item to purchase.

Perhaps a day out would be best, and there’s never any better time to ask than the present.

~~~

Clenching his fists at his side, Aedion waits for Gavriel’s response. It took more courage than Aedion had expected to knock on his father’s bedroom door and ask if he wished to spend the day (Father’s Day) visiting the city with him. Gavriel continues to stare at him and it shocks Aedion as tears suddenly spring to Gavriel’s eyes and his father needs to turn away for a moment. Very few times has Aedion ever seen Gavriel shed a tear; when they visited his mother’s grave and Gavriel thought Aedion couldn’t see him sneaking out at night to speak to her and once when Aedion told a particularly bad story about his time in the war camps and his father needed to leave the room, Aedion glancing the wetness in his eyes before he left. Tears of gratefulness, love and sorrow.

Aedion can only hope these are tears of joy and not horror.

“I- shit - Gavriel?”

“I’m fine,” and he is, he smiles at Aedion brightly. “What did you have planned?”

There shouldn’t have been such a weight on Aedion’s chest. Or at least, he should have noticed it was there before it was lifted.

“Um,” suddenly, Aedion is much more unsure about the situation. “Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”

“Then breakfast,” Aedion resists the urge to shuffle. “I know a place, by the river bank and near the markets. We could go there and eat and talk?”

“That sounds perfect,” Gavriel is still smiling so, so wide.

Right. A place for breakfast. It’s alright, Aedion has a plan for this. Lysandra and he went to the nice place a little while ago, the food had been good, so this will also be good. That’s a Father’s Day thing, right? Breakfast? Something along those lines. Aedion’s fairly sure he’s supposed to cook the breakfast himself but after the last accident, it would be better for everyone if he simply bought it.

It doesn’t take long to get to the small shop, picking seats in the courtyard just underneath a tree. It’s pleasant, peaceful, both of them ordering their meals easily and grabbing refreshing drinks.

“So…” Aedion taps his finger against the surface of the table.

They have absolutely nothing to talk about. At once Aedion is struck with the horror that he’s forgotten all topics of polite conversation. Usually, it flows easily between the two of them, or at least lately it has been, but now that he tries no thoughts come to the general’s mind.

“Thank you, for this,” Gavriel has a little smile as if he can guess Aedion’s inner struggle. “I am enjoying myself, Aedion. This is exactly what I could have asked for.”

And that makes the prince sink back in his seat in relief. Breakfast was a good idea. A good one. Nothing like the cake.

“I’m surprised, in all honesty,” Gavriel admits softly, watching the people bustle up and down the street. “I didn’t think so many people would want to celebrate this day.”

“Many will be visiting the graves,” Aedion regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips, yet knows that they are the truth.

Too many fathers were lost. He can only thank the gods Gavriel was not one of them.

“How do you know this place?” Gavriel asks, watching as their food is placed down.

“Lysandra and I made it a mission to see where all the best places to eat are,” Aedion grins. “We have half the city covered.”

Chuckling, Gavriel sips his drink. “Of course you do. How has the development of Caraverre been?”

“Good. The primary buildings should be ready by next spring,” Aedion spears a berry on his fork. “After that, we’ll just need to work on the movement of supplies and infrastructure.”

“How does it feel to be a lord?” Gavriel comes close to smirking.

“Not much different from being a price,” Aedion hums playfully. “You know, the grovelling, the compliments, the gifts. The usual pampering.”

He can see Gavriel sigh. “I forget how alike you and Aelin are sometimes.”

“Now that’s just your fault.”

“Trust me, I’m fully aware.”

The rest of the meal is smooth, pleasant. It’s still warm enough in the season that they can both shed their jackets, leaving their skin to be warmed by the sun above them. Soon their plates are empty, Aedion and Gavriel just picking at the few crumbs left, not wanting to break their conversation and leave even when it’s obvious they have no further reason to stay.

“Rowan missed the opponent,” Gavriel explains a small scar on his forearm. “Well, missed isn’t the right word. He slices right through his arm, had too much force and couldn’t keep from nicking me.”

Aedion raises his brows and releases a low whistle. “How many of your injuries are from the others?”

“I’d rather not sit here all day trying to work that out,” Gavriel chuckles. “That one looks particularly nasty.”

Holding up his arm, Aedion looks to the scar running down the inside of his arm just below the crook of his elbow. “It healed well thanks to my fae blood but I somehow gained an infection. The healers needed to cut it open again to treat it.”

Gavriel’s brows furrowed. “It must have been horrible conditions if an infection was actually able to spread.”

Shrugging lightly, Aedion places his hand back down. “I didn’t go to the healers the first time, we were preparing for another attack and I just thought it would heal properly by itself. It wasn’t bothering me so I left it.”

“It wasn’t bothering you?” Gavriel repeats slowly, raising a brow.

“Like you never ignored an injury in the middle of battle.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I’m the parent,” Gavriel sips his drink, “that’s how.”

Grumbling, Aedion mutters something along the lines of ‘hypocrisy’ that makes Gavriel smile. So easy. It is so easy to say these things now.

“Ready to head out?” Gavriel asks, finally placing down his fork. “We could walk along the river.”

“That sounds nice,” Aedion agrees, standing and pushing in his seat. “We just need to stay away from the east end.”

“Why?”

“They don’t like me over in the east end.”

“…Aedion…”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” and he really might. “Let’s just head out now.”

“Thank you for breakfast,” Gavriel smiles softly, warmth radiating from the action.

That warmth seeps into Aedion’s chest, creating a smile on his own face like lava creating a crack in the firm earth.

~~~

“So it went well?” Lysandra grins, poking Aedion’s back.

“You know it did,” Aedion’s voice is muffled by the pillow.

The shifter leans over the semi-fae, sitting cross-legged next to Aedion as he’s splayed out on his stomach in sleep shorts and nothing else. It comes to the point where she’s sprawled entirely across his back, leeching his body warmth.

“Well?” Lysandra pokes the soft bit of a shoulder again. “No details?”

An annoyed huff shakes the body. “We had breakfast. Walked by the river. He told me stories. That’s it.”

“You came back smiling,” Lysandra grins, eyes bright with joy. “Really smiling.”

Aedion rolls over, throwing her off with a smirk. “Well, I do tend to do that when happy.”

“You giggled before.” Those green eyes are flirtatious, teasing now.

“I did not.”

“You did! Before bathing!”

“It was a chuckle!”

“It was adorable,” Lysandra smirks. “I like it when you’re happy.”

That causes his eyes, mouth and heart to soften as he curls his hand around hers. “And I like it when you’re happy.”

“You know what would make me even happier?” Lysandra’s voice drops, her breath brushing against his lips.

A smirk curls around his lips, one hand drifting up to lay across her hip. “Hmm?”

“If you tried to bake me a cake…” soft lips brush against his cheek.

“Consider it done, my lady,” Aedion turns his head, a soft smile meeting another.

~~~

“Just to be clear,” Rowan narrows his eyes, watching Aedion open the oven, “this is the only thing you’re allowed to bake. And it’s only because you have Gavriel’s supervision.”

True to his word, the Lion stands to the side, covered in flour and wiping his hands. At his name, he glances up before turning back to the dishes. It had been embarrassing to have to ask for his father’s aid, but considering that the male has over five hundred years of cooking experience it was perhaps the right decision compared to Aedion’s very limited baking experience. At least the cake is a proper chocolate brown instead of the strange black it had been when Aedion put it in the oven days before.

“Lysandra ordered us to do it,” Aedion stands and wipes his hands, throwing his father the towel to do the same.

“So whatever she says you do?” Rowan raises a brow, eyeing a bowl filled with excess mixture that Aedion walks towards.

“Isn’t that how you and Aelin work?” Aedion muses lightly, lifting a spoonful of mixture to his mouth to eat, ignoring both Gavriel and Rowan’s disgusted looks.

“I am your king, you know.”

“You’re also a-“

“Aedion,” Gavriel’s voice floats from the sink, a tinge or warning in the tone.

Scowling, Aedion turns back to the smirking Rowan. “You’re also my little cousin's mate, so watch yourself.”

“It’s amusing to watch you be censored by Gavriel,” Rowan smiles, knowing that the simple act can spark more rage than a smirk. “I wonder if he’ll wash your mouth out with soap next for stealing from the bowl and swearing as often as you do.”

“Both of you,” Gavriel calls out, “can leave the kitchen if you’re going to fight. Aedion, don’t eat all the mixture, I deserve a majority of it. Rowan, leave my child alone. You owe me.”

Both fae males scowl at the other before slowly turning away, Rowan leaving the kitchen and Aedion stacking used bowls.

“You could not antagonise him, you know,” Gavriel sighs, walking past to pat Aedion on the shoulder.

His son sends him a truly bewildered look. “What else would I do to amuse myself?”

~~~

It turns out that the amusement doesn’t last long. Not when Aedion feels the need to slip back to the kitchens in the middle of the night, pressing a kiss against Lysandra’s temple to soothe her as he slips from between the sheets, flicking away a few chocolate crabs as he does so. Warm water, possibly with a bit of lemon is what he needs. Uncomplicated yet something rare enough that he was never given it during his time in the war camps. Something soothing, even if his cousin scoffs at the idea of warm water with simple lemon. Once he opens to the door to the kitchen he takes a step back, prepared to close it before he’s noticed.

“Come on in, boyo. The kettle is already on.”

Sighing, Aedion walks in and takes a seat across the table from Fenrys. “Why are you up?”

Fenrys sends him a dry look. “I’m fairly certain it’s the same reason you are. Unless you’d prefer that I ask that question to answer yours, your highness?”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t know how you are Gavriel’s child,” Fenrys sighs, propping his chin in his hand. “So rude.”

“Uh huh,” Aedion mutters, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t get it either.”

The silence that falls is unsettling, Aedion looking into his drink as Fenrys’s dark eyes focus on the table. So much in common, so much to talk about, yet no way to truly speak.

“Gavriel is worried about you.”

There it is.

“Gavriel is always worried,” Aedion mutters, sipping his drink. “Find a new topic.”

Fenrys snorts. “You think I don’t know that? It’s just that you’re his main topic of discussion nowadays. Anyone asks where they should go to eat and he immediately suggests places you’ve gone or taken him, and then explains the meals you’ve had. Anyone wants to know directions, bam, a conversation about how good you are at navigating the land. People needing to know information on weapons and immediately the Wolf of the North jumps into the conversation. Don’t underestimate how much of his mind you take up.”

Even as he scowls and flushes something squirms pleasantly in Aedion’s chest. “I get it.”

“He also mentions how reckless you are. Particularly when it comes to injuries,” Fenrys stares at Aedion from over his rim. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t get some particularly bad hits taken care of because you hoped they’d finish you off.”

Their eyes meet, a strong tension filling the silence. How many times will discussions like this continue? How many times will subjects like these be brought into light when all they wish to do is ignore them? The very statement itself causes something sick and hideous to rear itself, to scream and thrash inside of Aedion at the act of being disturbed when it was resting for so long.

“Relax,” Fenrys sighs once Aedion’s teeth begin to show, “I’m not gonna pry. I mean, I think you should give Gavriel some more content so he doesn’t keep freaking himself out, but I’m not going to do to you what I’ve had done to me.”

“I wish they’d stop,” Aedion growls, placing his cup back on the table. “As if I want to fucking talk about it.”

Fenrys eyes him, strangely diluted compared to his usual behaviour. “So you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Alright,” Fenrys shrugs, looking away.

They stew in the silence, Aedion confused by his own anger at the outcome as he makes himself a second cup, Fenrys still working at his tea.

“Why are you up?” Aedion finally asks, trying to keep from snapping. “Why are you here.”

“Same reason as you, boyo,” Fenrys relaxes back in his seat. “I’ve said it before. There’s not much else to say unless you want to talk.”

“I don’t.”

“Alright.”

“We don’t need to.”

“I know,” a small smile tugs at the corner of Fenrys’s mouth. “It’s alright if you don’t as long as you know that you can.”

“It’s fine,” Aedion hisses under his breath, clutching his mug closer. “Sounds like you want to talk.”

“I would,” Fenrys gently stirs his spoon through his tea, “but you’ve made it clear that you don’t want to. I understand why you wouldn’t, being reminded of those kinds of things, of the way you were moved and used and-“

“Stop.”

It’s a halting, sharp word that pauses Fenrys in his tracks. Jaw clenched, Aedion stares at the other male, muscles tense and strained. Fenrys for his part remains lax in his seat, even breaking eye contact to drink his tea. Too far. Too far and too much after the dream he’s just had.

“I know,” Fenrys says quietly once he lowers his cup, seeing something familiar in Aedion’s eyes. “Fuck, boyo, I know.”

“Then stop it.”

“I would, but I honestly think you’re just trying to pretend it all didn’t happen, and that doesn’t work. Trust me. How many times have you asked Lysandra not to touch you, and vice versa?”

Now Aedion’s chair is scrapping back, his mug slamming down on the table as he prepares to leave the room. “Fuck you.”

“Well,” Fenrys releases a dry, lifeless laugh, “isn’t that what happened?”

Swallowing thickly, Aedion shakes his head, betrayal clear in his eyes. “Why?”

“I’m not doing this to be cruel,” Fenrys groans, rubbing at his face, “but I can see that you’re trying to push through things. At least for me, Maeve is dead. You still have people out and walking who laid you down against sheets and hard ground and-“

“Gods, enough!” Aedion backs away from the table. “Do you- do you get some sick satisfaction out of this? Out of reminding me of it? Is that why you’re making this night more terrible than it already is? Because you can’t stand to see me actually try to function like a normal person?”

Something in Fenrys’s expression cracks as if he’s realised the words that have left his mouth. “Fuck, Aedion, no I-“

“I don’t need you talking to me like this!” Aedion’s voice wavers as he braces his hands on the table. “I don’t need you reminding me of all the shit I’ve been through as if I don’t think about it nearly every day!”

Shaking his head, Fenrys braces his elbows on the table and places his head in his hands. “Fuck, no, none of this is what I was trying to do.”

“What?” Aedion seethes. “What exactly were you trying to do? And I swear to the gods if Gavriel put you up to this-“

“He didn’t!” Fenrys lays his hands flat on the table. “I wanted to talk to you!”

“You’ve done a great job at it!” Aedion hates the way his voice shakes. “What the fuck makes you think it’s- it’s alright to-“

“Aedion-“

“You know! You know so why the hell would you say those things?” Fuck whoever may be listening, fuck keeping his voice down. “You know what it’s like to be violated, so why do you keep pushing it?”

Standing, Fenrys sends Aedion a pleading look. “I shouldn’t have said it, I know, I’m sorry. I just… I need someone to talk to, I need to know I’m not alone in this.”

“I’m sick,” Aedion can’t keep his body from shaking, from the words spitting, “of having to act like the adult for those older than me. I missed out on my childhood because of it.”

Fenrys’s very self seems to fold slightly. “I know.”

“It was never fair.”

“I know.” More creases are added to the male.

“And you,” Aedion sucks in a breath, “you do not get to do that to me, you do not get to make me feel like shit just so you can talk to me about your fucking feelings.”

“Aedion,” Fenrys lowers his voice, truth ringing in his tone, “that’s not what I was trying to do at all.”

“Well, you had a fucking good way of showing it,” Aedion snarls.

“I’m sorry,” Fenrys sits and places his head back in his hands. “I went about everything wrong.”

“Yes, you did,” Aedion crosses his arms, swallowing once again. “If you want to talk then damn talk.”

“Right,” Fenrys winces. “I just… I know you’re not alright. And as someone who’s been dealing with this crap for hundreds of years I can tell you that you’re never going to be fully alright.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“But,” Fenrys pushes on, “there will be days better than others. There will be days when it doesn’t cross your mind, or when you can forget for a moment. These things stick with you and follow you, but they don’t always have to engulf your life. I just want you to know that.”

Slowly, Aedion pulls his chair back out and sits down. “I know that.”

“Right.”

“If you need to talk about shit then don’t insult me first. Just talk.”

“I know,” Fenrys’s voice is rough. “It’s just…”

They can’t talk. How can they?

“I know,” Aedion repeats the older male’s words. “This is not what I was expecting when I wanted a drink.”

“…There’s scotch in that cabinet.”

“I’ll get the larger glasses, you get ready to talk. I know where Aelin hides the chocolates and, trust me, we’ll need them.”

~~~

Aedion rests his head against his soft, cool pillow, the gentle fabric fighting against the ache in his head. Lysandra, bless her, left a glass of water on the table by his bed for him. Maybe once he musters the effort he can attempt lifting an arm to drink it. Three knocks sound out on the door, causing Aedion to groan as they slice through his head in slow succession.

“Aedion,” Gavriel keeps his voice low and he cracks open the door, “Fenrys told me that you and he would be disabled for the day.”

He simply wraps the blanket tighter around himself, moving onto his stomach to bury his head into the pillow to block the small amount of light coming from the doorway. To Aedion’s relief, Gavriel closes the door. To his horror, his father is still in the room and pulling up a chair by the bed.

“So…” Aedion inwardly groans at Gavriel’s ‘we’re about to have a discussion’ tone. “You and Fenrys. Most of the scotch and chocolate is gone from this floor’s kitchen.”

“We had a bonding moment,” Aedion says, the words heavily muffled by the pillow.

“A bonding moment?”

“Mhmm.”

“You know,” Gavriel settles into the seat, “you could talk over something other then what we suspect was three bottles of scotch.”

“But then,” Aedion turns his head slightly, voice thick and rough, “it wouldn’t have been as much fun.”

To his relief, Gavriel is wearing an amused smile as he shakes his head, soft delight in his eyes. “I see. And how are you feeling now?”

The Lion has to resist laughing at the long, uncharacteristic whine Aedion releases into the pillow, knowing that it’ll be a torturous sound.

“That bad?”

Another muffled groan.

“Alright,” Gavriel makes to stand. “Just checking in. I’ll leave you to recover like Fenrys is-“

“Wait,” Aedion croaks, lifting his head. “Do you… worry about me? All the time?”

Thinking, Gavriel sinks back into his seat. “Not all the time. But often.”

“You don’t need to,” Aedion groans, already sick of the conversation. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m not near as bad as I used to be.”

“I know,” Gavriel gives a strained smile, “but believe it or not, that’s what worries me.”

Aedion blinks. “What?”

“I worry about what past you had to suffer through alone more than I worry about you now,” Gavriel’s expression is soft, if not a little sad.

“I- alright, I’m too hung over for this discussion,” Aedion growls, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. “Let me sleep. We can pick this up when my brain isn’t flooded with alcohol.”

Gavriel raises his brows. “You know, I would have thought you’d want to avoid a conversation about this-“

“Yeah, well, you’ve caught me on an emotionally available day,” Aedion waves to the door. “Apparently all anyone wants to do lately is talk. Meet me tomorrow when I can stand and we’ll talk.”

“I know you struggle with things such as thing, so this level of emotional maturity you’re demonstrating is-“

“I. Am. Hung. Over,” Aedion grounds out, shoving his face into the pillow. “Tell me how proud you are of me tomorrow.”

Chuckling, Gavriel quietly stands. “Don’t worry, I will.”

Fuck, that shouldn’t make Aedion so happy when his brain is still throbbing.

~~~

“So yesterday you said, and I quote, ‘I worry about what past you had to suffer through alone more than I worry about you now,’ elaborate on that,” Aedion sits across from Gavriel in the Lion’s office, his father pausing in paperwork to stare at his son.

“I… how do you remember that? You were heavily hung over.”

“You’d be surprised at how well I’ve become at multitasking while both drunk and hungover,” Aedion sips his water, expression dark and grim. “Now talk. Apparently, that’s what everyone wants to do lately and Fenrys was right.”

“About?”

“About listening instead of trying to ignore it. And that sometimes when people want to talk it’s for their sake as much as your own.”

Gavriel blinks in wonderment. “I- what did you two talk about?”

“Many topics,” Aedion scowls. “Now start talking before I decide this is a bad idea and leave.”

“There isn’t really much to say, I mean-“

“Oh, no, gods no,” Aedion sits up straighter. “You don’t get to strain conversations out of me every time you think I’ve had so much as a single bad day or I say one passing comment and then throw off your own worries.”

“Fine,” Gavriel sighs and shakes his head. “I suppose that’s fair. I meant that I worry more about what you felt when you were alone and how it affected you. I know that you’re getting better, that you have support now, but back then you didn’t. And that terrifies me.”

Aedion sits for a moment, thinking in silence before talking. “Would it make you feel better if I told you more about that time? About how it really was?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Gavriel runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into talking about a damaging time.”

Aedion taps his fingers against his cup, deep in thought.

Worry begins to enter Gavriel’s mind. “Aedion, I mean it when I say that you don’t have to speak if you don’t want to, or if these are topics of conversations you aren’t ready to approach yet.”

“What if,” Aedion swallows thickly, looking down at his hands, “I did tell you some things but you might not like them?”

Gavriel settles his pen down and braces his arms on the table, eyes flooded with soft concern. “Aedion, at this point it’s not about what I would or would not like. It’s about what you feel the need to talk about if you want to at all. I’m never going to judge you for whatever you are afraid of. Trust me when I say that even as a male of honour I have committed many unnecessary cruel acts over the last hundreds of years.”

“Sometimes, when I walked off the battlefields, I didn’t get injuries aided to on purpose,” Aedion’s smile is ugly, ugly and sharp and cruel. “That first battle when I couldn’t believe I was one of the last ones standing? The one I told you about in Rosamel?”

Gavriel nods in recognition.

“I didn’t go to the healers. I only had cuts, I was fine thanks to my healing abilities, but there were times when I thought about how much easier it would be if a battle could be my last.”

“Aedion-“

“I shouldn’t have thought that alright? I had people relying on me to do stuff a child shouldn’t even have to think about. I had to try to find a purpose again amongst all the complete and utter shit going on around me. And it was hard. Kyllian was right when he said I broke someone’s arm the first time he met me. I pulled bullshit like that a lot. I was… I was ugly. I fought a lot, fucked a lot and at times only lived out of a guilty need to try to hold Terrasen together,” Aedion’s cruel smile twists into a scowl, “so you were right, it was hell back and then and I had no one to help me. But that shits already happened, so stop feeling guilty about the crap you couldn’t protect or save me from and just look after me now. Please. It’s… it’s what I wanted, back when I had no one. Back when I was watching children be collected by their parents and I was sent to the armoury to get new armour.”

It takes effort, for Gavriel not to clench his hands tighter, to not let his complete and utter horror show on his face. Ugly… that’s the word Aedion uses to describe himself and his state of being back in that time. But what other words could he think to use? Gavriel, Gavriel to his horror can only think of words along the lines of mess and broken. Shame curdles in his gut at the fact that he can only summon those descriptions of his son at the time, but what else is there to use?

Aedion was a child. Of course, he would be desperate for an escape from that hell.

But he held on.

And he succeeded.

And… Gavriel doesn’t need to say that. Not with the way his son is looking at him with a clenched jaw and furious, determined eyes. Aedion knows and no longer needs to hear it justified back to himself. He doesn’t need that reassurance from Gavriel on this topic, now when he fought and struggled through those personal battles to become victorious all by himself. All Aedion needs Gavriel to do now is… is listen. Not validate. Listen. Listen as Aedion explains exactly what Gavriel and others have forced out of him.

So Gavriel stands the same time Aedion does, walks around the desk and collects his son in his arms. “Of course you would have wanted to leave that hell.”

Aedion shudders against him in relief. “You’re not going to become mad? Or frightened?”

“Do you ever think of doing those things now?”

“No. Not now. Not when I have things back.”

Gavriel pulls back, his hands still firmly placed on Aedion’s shoulders. “Then no, I’m not frightened. I am horrified that you ever thought I would be mad at you for such things.”

“You tend to worry.”

“Aedion, look at our lives. How can I not?” Gavriel grins, his entire body beginning to relax.

“Fair enough,” Aedion sighs. “I’m going back to bed.”

“I thought you rested enough?”

“I’m emotionally exhausted,” Aedion growls, glaring. “I deserve more sleep. Tell no one to disturb me.”

“Fenrys is looking for you.”

“Tell him I’m dead.”

~~~

“Evangeline is seeing someone.”

Aedion’s body stiffens as Lysandra continues to brush her hair, sitting on the edge of the bed. Slowly, Aedion rolls onto his back then sits up, blinking at once in both confusion and horror.

“I…” Aedion collects his thoughts. “This cannot be happening today.”

“Technically,” Lysandra fights a smile, “it’s evening. And I don’t see why this is such a travesty.”

“Of course you don’t,” Aedion groans, collapsing back again. “What happens when whoever it is breaks her heart?”

“Aedion,” Lysandra snorts a small laugh, placing down her brush, “I’m fairly certain we won’t need to worry about that. Evangeline can take care of herself.”

“I know she can,” Aedion groans, covering his face, “but that doesn’t change the horror of the situation.”

“You’ve been awfully dramatic lately.”

“It’s surprisingly freeing.”

“I think I might give it a go tomorrow,” Lysandra lies beside him, placing one hand on his chest. “For tonight…”

“Another cat nap?” Aedion smirks. “Alright, just try not to shift in your sleep again. You’re heavy in snow leopard form.”

It earns him a whack on the chest.

Sorry for the long wait and this being such a short chapter! As always, all requests not fulfilled in this chapter will be continued on in the next. It’s just been busy lately and I figured you guys would probably want the chapter sooner than later. I hope you’ve enjoyed it!

#aedion ashryver #gavriel #cadre #aelin ashryver #lysandra #evangaline

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douxreviews · 5 years

Text

The Magicians - ‘The Serpent’ Review

“Some God of War. He only liked them when they were too weak to fight.”

Library’s become ever-more fascist, Alice splits in two, and big revelations are made, but not on-screen.

I’m going to be honest: I didn’t feel great about this episode after I watched it the first time. And then I watched it again and found I was better able to understand it and appreciate some of what it was exploring. But I still don’t feel great about it.

Here’s what I liked: the Alice on Alice conflict. From the moment she split I was excited. It’s like taking Gestalt’s empty chair technique and making it literal, and the psychology student in me was living for it. Even better, the execution was pretty great. It allowed the show to directly with Alice’s main conflict, which is that there was a part of her pre-niffin who was sheepish and kind and scared, there was a part of her post-niffin who was arrogant and dominant and selfish, and each part hates the other, blames the other for everything that’s gone wrong. But the thing is, they’re all Alice and all to blame. And she needs them both. She needs to be selfish to survive, but she needs to be cautious to avoid blowing stuff up. Both her arrogance and her fear can put everyone in danger. But she can’t lock either part of herself up and manage, and even if she could she wouldn’t be able to survive long.

It’s an interesting issue to explore, because it’s probably come up for a lot of us. It would be nice to be able to erase or at least lock up the parts of ourselves we don’t like. It’s harder to admit we’re more complicated than that and the whole of ourselves is the source of our problems and our triumphs. So we need to learn to better the parts of ourselves we don’t like, to see the good and bad in them, and, at the least, try to cope with them. But what I like best about what the show does with Alice is that she doesn’t really figure out how to do any of this. Both parts of herself work together to finish the spell, but that’s not because of any real epiphany. She (they?) just realized she didn’t have much of a choice. Alice still has a lot of growing to do. And, really, don’t we all?

While this is going on Zelda learns more about the Library—namely, that it’s devolving into a fascist regime. I didn’t appreciate this plot much the first time around. I thought Zelda finally realized the Library was corrupt after the Library kept the killer deweys in circulation and that the revelation that Everett was her mentor was revealed too late. I still somewhat feel that way. But after my rewatch I do feel more interested in the Library’s continued corruption. Throughout the season we’ve seen this grow slowly. They were meant to keep everyone safe by carefully distributing magic. But they unfairly favored trained magicians over hedges, manipulated people into the Library in exchange for magic and education, rewarded people who posted magic-monitors in their homes, the list goes on. Manipulation, indoctrination, invasion of privacy. And finally, faking a terrorist organization to create fear. The Library wants power, it will do anything to fuel that.

This whole idea of obtaining power by any means necessary isn’t new. What’s more interesting is seeing people why people might trust the Library, believe in its cause and believe that cause is just or that helping it would be a good option (Zelda, Fogg). Seeing Fogg struggle with when to cut ties with the Library, whether that would help or hurt, if that’s cowardly or selfish. Seeing Kady and Alice forced to make ethically-questionable decisions while trying to help those harmed by the Library (using Harriet’s vulnerable position as leverage). And seeing the harm that not only fear, but also apathy can have. When considering what to do about the terrorists, Kaylee Frye the Librarian asks if the terrorists are even the Library’s problem. She doesn’t care about the safety of the hedges, it’s likely few librarians do, and that makes her much more likely to go along with whatever the Library has planned regardless of the cost. And then there’s fear itself. While remembering The Monster’s destruction, The Monster insults Enyalius for going after souls too weak to fight. The same can be said for Everret. It seems Everret fears the hedges—he needs their submission to raise the Library up—and he uses fear to keep them down. And maybe this is—in part—what war is.

In Fillory, things go down with the prophecy. But also, not really. Fen doesn’t want to overthrow Margo, Margo has her eyes on Fen for all of a minute before asking (forcing) Fen to dethrone her so she can go off and find something to save Eliot. It’s all resolved pretty easily. That said, I did appreciate that Margo and Fen didn’t act out of character or that just enough information wasn’t kept from them to make things more dramatic. But I just didn’t understand why Margo had to ask Fen to dethrone her at all. The only explanation I can think of is that Margo had to leave Fillory to go to the desert, and that’s not allowed for kings. But I don’t remember being told the desert was out of the realm. And I also don’t know that leaving Fillory is still not allowed. Ember and Umber are dead and Fillory is a quasi-democracy, do the rules even apply anymore? All this confusion messed with the story’s emotional beats. Not entirely—I’m not a monster—I still felt for Margo losing the crown she worked so hard to get for the realm she cares so much for. But enough.

Finally, there was The Monster stuff. There, we almost get information about Julia’s “transition”, but then we don’t; Alice finds the binder but doesn’t open it up. And then we almost get information about The Monster’s plan, but then we don’t; Eliot tells Penny 23 the plan off-screen, Penny 23’s just about to tell Julia and Quentin the plan when the show ends. It all kind of feels cheap, especially the final cliffhanger. The Magicians has ended episodes—entire seasons—in cliffhangers before without it feeling cheap. But something about the multitude of not-reveals, the show looking away at just the right moment, and ending the episode almost mid-scene was too much. I wish the episode ended right after Margo’s last moment instead. Seeing her walk out to the desert listening to 80s music would be a fitting lead-in to the musical in the desert. And it would’ve felt way less cheap.

Bits and Pieces

-- Kady got to use her mad punching skills, which elevates any episode. Sucks for Alice, though.

-- Zelda gets a back-story! She was a hedge, her mom died, she was found in an ally. Zelda’s right, it does sound dramatic.

-- It was great seeing Harriet and getting her back, but I wish she and Marlee Matlin had more to do than just struggle to communicate with Alice while Alice deals with her stuff and share new plot information. Hopefully she’ll be on again.

-- I feel (maybe unreasonably) defensive of Julia. Zelda says she trusts Kady because she was able to try to understand the woman responsible for Penny 40s death (which must be Julia, right?). But that wasn’t really Julia’s fault, both Kady and Penny 40 agreed to help take down Reynard, Julia never asked Penny 40 to go down to the poison room, and it’s not her fault Reynard was evil and raped her and killed most everyone else. And, even so, both Julia and Kady summoned OLU in the first place. It just felt victim-blamey to me and I didn’t appreciate it from Zelda (I wouldn’t from anyone). End of rant.

-- Speaking of Julia, I found it interesting seeing how quickly she offered to shift the focus from her god problems to The Monster problems. Her story has been moving along pretty slowly (probably because if she powered up she would be hard to keep on the show) and maybe this an in-show reason why. Her issues always fall second to The Monster or even the Library issues, because those are life and death.

-- I also liked seeing Penny 23 advocate for Julia (suggesting they try to research the binder while working on The Monster stuff) and Julia advocate for Penny 23 (trying to keep him from putting himself in danger with The Monster, etc.). And they almost kissed! But The Monster cock-blocked them. Maybe now that he’s alive they’ll have that dinner he promised her.

-- Margo found out Eliot’s alive! And immediately had sex with Josh. Fen’s facial expressions were amazing.

The Monster: “Are you aware that there is big money for psychics who are in actually big giant fakers?” I actually did know that, Monster! John Oliver just did a whole segment about it.

Ru, Queen of West Loria: “During the feast you will order the castle doors open where upon my men will enter and chop off—” Fen: “Enjoy the desert course.” Ru: “Did you really think I was gonna say that?” Fen: “Hoped.”

Margo, about Fen: “That false-toed bitch!”

Margo: “Wait! I curse Fen’s name, but if I were you I’d listen to her! And wait! Be nice to her! Your grandkid’s grandkids will fear me!”

Three out of four fascist libraries.

Edit: Thanks to Percysowner and late-ish night reflections I now understand that Margo needed to be dethroned so the Fillory-hating people of The Foremost would agree meet with her.

Ariel Williams

#The Magicians #Alice Quinn #Margo Hanson #Eliot Waugh #Quentin Coldwater #Julia Wicker #The Magicians Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

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krycss · 5 years

Text

Actions Speak Louder Than Words | Jacob Seed x f!Deputy

Chapter 12

[Read on AO3]

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

OOF! Sorry for the lateness everyone! I'm writing this and my Red Dead Redemption 2 fic, Crossroads, at the same time. I originally was pushing out a chapter for both fics each week but seeing as the chapters for Crossroads end up being around 10k words each I decided to alternate publishing. So you'll get a new chapter of this every other week.

Otherwise, enjoy! Wedding time!

Be sure to check out the art I made for this chapter as well: here.

The next few weeks after Jacob’s proposal were a whirlwind of activity. When the other Seeds had found out they quickly took up the reins of getting everything set up for the couple – much to Jacob’s complaint. The man would be happy if it was just the two of them and Joseph but Joseph had insisted that it has to be a special occasion for his older brother. Especially during these trying times before the Collapse, Joseph had added. So for now it was simply up to Rook and Jacob to continue their work for the Project while the others handled the wedding.

Jacob was more than happy to let the others deal with it.

Rook was antsy, to say the least.

Growing up she had all these ideas of her perfect wedding – a big venue, the fanciest dress, her family and friends, a world-tour honeymoon. She knew she couldn’t get that, but it didn’t matter. The one thing she didn’t plan for as a teenager was a scruffy, somewhat psychotic, ex-military, pseudo-cultist to take a hold of her heart. And if that meant they spent the rest of their lives in Hope County for the foreseeable future, then she was happy with that. It didn’t matter if they had a big, extravagant wedding, or a small one where they just hung out with the rest of the Seed family for the day. She just wanted to be with Jacob.

She thought of inviting some of her closest friends in the resistance. She had picked up the radio a multitude of times. If nothing else, she wanted Kim there, the woman at least wouldn’t be too surprised since she was the first to know about Rook and Jacob. She wasn’t sure if Nick would allow her though because of her pregnancy. And the dangerous cult aspect. Sharky and Hurk would probably come just for the prospect of a good party – they’d certainly provide entertainment. She briefly considered Adalaide but quickly got rid of that idea. Everyone else though, they wouldn’t understand. And she didn’t blame them. Perhaps she could bring Cheeseburger, she certainly missed the big goof. She wasn’t certain that Joseph, or anyone really, would be thrilled with that though.

It was sad, Rook thought, that every time she’d leave the Veteran’s Center she had to look over her shoulder. She used to bulldoze her way through Hope County with no worries of anyone getting the jump on her. They had to worry about her getting the jump on them. Now, however, she was always paranoid that someone was going to kidnap her again – it was becoming a bit of a nuisance. She wasn’t sure if she was more upset about being scared of the kidnapping part, or the fact that if anyone did it’d probably be by people she once called friends.

Still, she had to leave. Especially with the wedding planning. She just couldn’t let the others handle everything. Jacob had insisted he come along to protect her but Rook had continuously turned him down. One, because she knew he didn’t want to sit for hours with Faith talking about fabrics for the dress and decorations, but also because she was planning a surprise for the man. If he had figured something was up he didn’t say, but he was smart. If anything, he was at least a little suspicious. Any time he asked why she had to go at least three times a week to visit with his siblings he was met with a variety of answers. “We’re choosing flower arrangements”, “we’re going over music”, or “Joseph just wants to go over some things.” They weren’t complete lies. She was doing those things – Jacob insisted he came along for the food tasting, though, much to Rook’s amusement.

She had something she needed to do with all of his siblings, and she wanted – no needed – it to be a surprise for Jacob. He had done so much for her these past few months, it was the least she could do.

Hope County was experiencing an eerie sense of peace this past week. Joseph wanted nothing to go wrong on the day of the wedding and so he had been slowly taking Project members off the roads in order to make sure his island was protected. Whether or not the Resistance knew why, there was no word. The radio chatter that Jacob and Rook did pick up was mostly the same, if not for a bit of confusion on the Resistance’s end.

Still, Rook didn’t want to think about that stuff at the moment. She was currently being pampered on by Faith and a few of her followers as they got ready for the big day. She was inside one of the houses in Joseph’s Compound while Jacob was in another.

They had kept her makeup simple – a light dusting of powder, some eyeliner, and a red lipstick. Faith’s followers were currently working on a crown of Bliss leaves. Rook was thankful that Faith was still understanding about her hesitance on the flower and instead was just using the leaves which would cause none of the effects. Another of her followers had lightly curled her black hair. Rook had been keeping it up in either a bun or a ponytail since she started officially working at the Veteran’s Center so she was thankful for the opportunity to, quite literally, let her hair down.

Faith had insisted on making Rook’s dress for her and she couldn’t complain, the final product was beautiful. The top half, which ended just above her waistline, was covered in the same lace as Faith’s dress while the bottom half was layered in chiffon that flowed behind her. It wasn’t too long, but dragged just a bit.

Rook smiled at herself in the mirror. It had taken some time, but she was starting to look past her scars. The holes had started to close up, like when you forget put your earrings back in for a few years. She imagined that after a while they’d end up just barely noticeable. She felt…beautiful. For the first time in a very long time. Jacob had told her many times in their private moments, but she had never believed it herself. At the thought of the man Rook’s smiled widened. She couldn’t wait to see what he looked like. Apparently John had insisted on dressing his older brother. Rook would admit she appreciated it as she was sure Jacob would have just worn his normal look, if not a bit cleaner. Bless him, she thought.

Faith walked up to Rook and they both looked her over in the mirror. She handed her the bouquet, it was a mix of the Bliss leaves as well as a few wild flowers from the area. The stems were wrapped in a piece of burlap and around that were Jacob’s dog tags. Rook fiddled with them for a moment.

“You ready?” Faith whispered excitedly.

Rook nodded.

There was a knock at the door, quick but gentle. Faith answered it and Joseph was standing there. He had on his white shirt and jacket for the occasion. He smiled at Rook when he spotted her and she met him halfway for a hug.

“You look lovely.” He pulled back to press their foreheads together.

Faith’s followers followed her out of the house to head towards the church with a quick goodbye to Rook.

Rook took in a shaky breath.

“Nervous?” Joseph asked with a smile as he held out his arm.

Rook wrapped her free hand around his offered arm, holding her bouquet in the other. She shrugged.

“It’s okay if you need to change your mind, I can improvise.” He winked, causing her to laugh softly.

Rook looked around the compound. There were still some members of Eden’s Gate wandering around. If they weren’t here outside the church, then they were down closer to the water where the reception was being held. She could faintly smell the food being prepared from where they stood. The few people that were around smiled at her. She wasn’t certain if it was for her or the Father, though. She still got some looks and a few comments from some of the members that didn’t think her joining made up for the deaths she had created on their side. Mostly everyone in the Veteran’s Center respected her though so she didn’t mind if people outside had their questions. She looked back and saw that the wrought iron Eden’s Gate fence was locked and guarded by more soldiers than was probably necessary.

They were now standing in front of the church itself. Nothing much had changed on the outside except for a few garlands of flowers around the door to announce the occasion. Faith poked her head through the door quickly, letting them know everything was good to go and that they could enter when they heard the music begin. Joseph thanked her. Rook let out a shaky breath and she looked up at Joseph with a grin. She bounced on the balls of her feet, thankful for the low heels that Faith had given her so she wouldn’t injure herself.

She wasn’t nervous, she was excited.

Her nerves did, however, flare up when she heard the piano begin to belt out a familiar tune. Joseph placed his free arm over the hand she had wrapped around the crux of his elbow.

“It’s time.”

Rook nodded, taking in a deep breath as the door opened.

The first thing to hit her was the smell. Gone was the dusty, stale air of the church from the last time she was there. Instead the windows were open, allowing a draft as well as the many flowers that Faith had decorated the place with that gave off a great multitude of scents. The two members holding the doors open nodded at Rook who smiled back quickly. She was thankful that she didn’t really know many people in the Project which meant that the amount of people inside the church was rather small. She glanced over the heads that had turned around when the doors had opened. She spotted the members of her team from the Veteran’s Center. The largest man of her group, a normally stoic man named Tex, was currently fighting a losing battle with his watery eyes. The others were smiling, both at her and at Tex’s expense. Rook had tried to get Jacob to allow Pratt to show up if he wanted, but he had turned her down for some reason. The rest of the faces were a mix of familiar people from the Center as well as a few unknowns.

A small gasp drew her attention to the stage on the opposite side of the church. Rook’s eyes connected with Jacob and she couldn’t stop the smile on her face if she wanted to. He had a crisp, white button up shirt that was rolled to his elbows. Over that was a red waistcoat with black dress pants and shoes. She would have to thank John later for making her soon-to-be husband finally own some nice clothes.

Her eyes were brought back up to Jacob’s and she couldn’t remove them from the man as she got closer. Finally, after the short walk which felt much longer, Joseph released her arm and pressed his forehead to hers before leading her to Jacob. She passed her bouquet to Faith who was standing behind her. Both of her hands were now held within Jacob’s. She still loved looking at the difference in their hand sizes. Joseph was beginning the ceremony but her and Jacob were in their own little world as his voice became distorted. Soft was not a word she thought she’d ever use with Jacob, but right now that’s how he looked. They were both smiling at one another and she was certain her cheeks were going to hurt later but it would be worth it.

They were drawn from their little world by Joseph placing a hand on Jacob’s shoulder, causing the small crowd to chuckle a bit.

“Jacob,” Joseph smiled at his brother. “Your vows, if you will.”

Jacob nodded, coughing a bit as he was brought back to the moment.

“I, uh, I never believed in love. If I did it was a long time ago. Cat, you’ve believed in me when no one else would, and you’ve shown me how to love again with unconditional acceptance. I’m not sure a lifetime is long enough to return all you’ve given me in our short time knowing one another, but I promise to spend the rest of my days by your side. I promise to protect you, and I know you’ll have my back as well. I promise to be a home for you. A safe haven.” He smiled down at her and Rook could feel a tear slide down her cheek.

“I didn’t know I needed you, but once you came into my life, I knew it was always only you. For now and always.” Jacob let out a sigh as he ended.

Rook could only imagine the mess she looked with her tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t take a hand to wipe them as she was currently clutching tightly to Jacob’s to keep her from simply jumping the man. Jacob looked about ready to cry himself, she could see the tears forming in his eyes but could tell he was keeping them in check and not allowing them to fall.

Joseph turned to Rook who nodded at him, then to Jacob, and then to the crowd.

“Catherine has also elected to recite her own vows.” Joseph placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Jacob’s eyes widened and glanced between the two of them.

Surprise successful, Rook thought as she smiled up at him. She let out a nervous breath of air and forced herself to keep her eyes trained on Jacob’s. She had been spending the past few weeks practicing speaking with the rest of the Seeds. Small bits of conversation here and there in order for this moment. She wasn’t certain if she’d be able to talk to anyone else any time soon, but this was enough for now.

“T-they say actions speak louder than words.” Rook began, squeezing tightly to Jacob’s hands. She took a deep breath, steadying her voice. She could do this, she told herself. “You were there to bring me out of a dark place, and I promise to always be there to do the same for you.”

She gently squeezed his hands again, gaining the confidence to push out the last of her vows with what energy she had left.

“No matter what trials we encounter together, or-or how much time as passed, I know that our love will never fade. I know that we’ll always find our strength in one another, and that we’ll continue to grow side by side. I promise to love only you for as long as I am able. Yesterday, tomorrow, and today. A-always.”

When she was done she could feel her hands shaking like crazy. Jacob was running his thumbs over her knuckles soothingly.

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered.

If he was controlling his tears before, he had given up as a few fell down his cheeks. He didn’t bother getting rid of his either.

Joseph spoke up again, gaining their attention. “Jacob, do you take Catherine to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others and holding unto her in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer as long as you both shall live?”

Jacob smiled down at her. “I do.”

“And do you, Catherine, take Jacob to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do!” Rook grinned.

Joseph took the rings they had picked out earlier from his pocket. He handed the first to Jacob as they went over the words. The ring was a simple, thin, gold band. When he was finished he quickly brought it to his lips, kissing the ring on her finger. Rook was still smiling as she took the ring from Joseph and went to place it on Jacob’s. Her voice stuttered as she recited her part but she didn’t think anyone was judging her for it. When the ring was on his finger she did the same and brought his hand to her lips.

“Well,” Joseph brought their attention back to him. “With the power invested in me as the Father by the grace of God, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Brother, you may kiss your bride.”

Jacob barely had time to react as Rook took the initiative and leapt into his arms, she could feel him laughing against her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms instinctively held her up in the air and she’s so lost in the moment that she didn’t notice the applause from those inside the church until Jacob finally placed her back on the ground.

She was no longer Catherine Rook.

She was Catherine Seed now.

Cat couldn’t keep the smile from her face as they all walked down to the reception area. They stopped briefly for someone to take a few quick photos to commemorate the event, but not enough to seem vain according to Joseph. She could faintly hear music mixed with chatter from those who were already waiting. It was mostly just those who were staying in the Compound. Cat didn’t mind the crowd, besides, she imagined a few of them were happy to have a chance to party for a little bit. Her hand was linked with Jacob’s, her husband. It wasn’t as weird to think about as she thought it would be. Any time she looked up at him he had a smile on his face. It was nice to see him show his emotions more, he usually kept it between the two of them.

As they got closer the guests there turned their attention and started clapping. Cat smiled in thanks but she was fairly certain it was mostly for Jacob and the other Seeds. Though, she thought, she was now a Seed too.

Joseph stepped into the cleared space in the middle of the tables.

“My Children,” everyone quieted. “I want to thank you all for coming and celebrating the union of our beloved brother, Jacob and his new wife Catherine. Before the libations begin, I’d like to invite the new couple to enjoy their first dance.”

As he left the space to join John and Faith and the guests clapped politely as Cat and Jacob stepped forward.

Jacob already had a suspicious grin going on.

“What are you up to?” Cat whispered, her eyes scrutinizing his face.

She realized what it was very quickly. The song began and Cat immediately let her face drop to his chest as she laughed. She had put his dog tags back around her neck and could feel them press into her own chest.

“Only you…” She felt Jacob’s soft singing through his chest as they swayed to the music.

“You’re ridiculous.” Cat spoke. “Good thing you deconditioned me or this would be a hell of a party.”

She tuned out the people around her. She might not be comfortable talking with them, but she could at least talk to Jacob around them.

“I know.” He placed a kiss to the top of her head. “We really did it, huh?”

He brought her into a spin which earned a laugh.

“We really did. Funny how this worked out.”

“I never thought…” He brought her back close. “I never thought I’d have this chance, you know. I had given up on the idea of marriage as a possibility for me.”

Cat looked up at him, giving him her full attention.

“Didn’t think anyone would give me the chance, no one seemed to want to get past all of this.” He gestured to his face and arms. “And then there was you.”

“And I wormed my way into your heart with my stubbornness.” Cat pulled him down to kiss him quickly.

“That you did.” He hummed. “Though, I don’t think you would have considered marrying me back when we first met.” He laughed through his nose.

“Cages aren’t exactly romantic, but I still found you attractive, don’t worry.” She winked at him.

They continued dancing, mostly just swaying around the area as neither bothered to properly learn to dance for the wedding, until the song wound own. Everyone clapped once more as they made their way over to their table where the rest of the Seeds were sitting. They took the two seats in the middle. Faith was the first to make a quick speech, toasting to her new sister and wishing them all the love. John went next, teasing his older brother about finding a woman far too good for him to which Jacob agreed. Finally, Joseph. His speech, of course, was grand and filled with biblical metaphors and mentions of the Collapse but Cat didn’t mind. She was just thankful that he had allowed their union despite the trouble she had given them in the past. A few of her teammates also had some words to say though it was mostly just simple congratulations and then the party really began.

The food was rather good, simple but good. It was a lot of vegetables that had been grown in the compound as well as some of the supplies that could be spared from John’s bunker. There was a part of Cat that had wished for a bar at the party, but alas, that wasn’t allowed. She could tell Jacob and John were thinking the same thing and Cat couldn’t wait for the start of her honeymoon. She already knew what she wanted to do at some point: a simple fishing trip with her new husband and case of good beer. Smiling at that thought, she was brought out of her reverie by Joseph coming up next to her.

“Catherine, there’s something you should see by the front gate.” He whispered in her ear.

Cat looked over at him, confused.

“W-w-what do you mean?” She blindly reached for Jacob’s hand next to her to steady her speech.

“You’ll have to see for yourself.”

He stood and walked away slowly, allowing Cat time to follow.

She dragged Jacob along with her although she knew he would have followed anyways. Her confusion continued until she could see the still-closed white gate. The people behind it, however, were enough to cause her steps to fumble, knocking Jacob into her back. It was a bit of a shock to see Armstrong and Whitehorse, but what really caught her off guard was seeing Hudson, Burke, and Pratt as well. Joey was still in a bit of disheveled mess seeming to have been taken from John’s bunker rapidly. Burke was practically glowing from his time with Faith, literally. And Pratt was staring at her, or rather, behind her. His eyes were hard but still respectful as he stared at Jacob. The others though, Armstrong, Hudson, and Whitehorse, were staring at her. A mix of emotion on each of their faces. Confusion from Whitehorse, what looked like disgust from Armstrong, and anger from Hudson.

Joseph stood in front of Cat.

“When I originally ordered the capture of them it was to punish them, to punish you.” He said quietly. “But you are my sister now, and it would be cruel of me to keep your friends locked away. I understand if you want to say goodbye and so I had them brought here with their…escorts.”

Cat nodded slowly. She felt Jacob squeeze her shoulder and she melted into his touch. She turned to look at him.

“I-I don’t know if I’ll be able to talk to them.”

“I’ll be right here, unless you want me to go with you.” He whispered, brushing a loose hair from her face.

She took in a deep breath before walking off towards the gate. Her steps were unsteady but she held her head up. She stood far enough away from the gate to keep out of reach – just in case – but close enough to hear them.

It was silent for a while.

“What did you do?” Armstrong gritted through her teeth.

Cat turned to look back at Jacob.

“Hey!” Armstrong called out. “I’m talking to you, don’t look at him.”

Cat flinched and her head turned back.

“I-I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-shouldn’t have left like I did.” She twisted the ring around her finger. “But I’m happy here. I-I really am.”

“He kept you in a cage!” Joey cried out. “He tortured you, his brother tortured you. His brother tortured me! We were partners.” She growled out. She was holding her side, obviously still wounded.

“I k-know! It’s different-”

“You betrayed us, Dep. Look at you now.” Armstrong spoke up again. “A Seed.” She practically spat the name out.

“It doesn’t – It doesn’t have to be like t-this. Just go.” Rook pleaded.

“Tsk.” Armstrong went to help Hudson to the van that was waiting behind them. “After everything you did for us, for the County. You’re just gonna give it up? For them?”

Cat’s shoulders straightened at that. “I did s-so much for all of you. I didn’t ask for a t-thank you. But you wouldn’t have gotten n-nearly as f-far without me. And you know it.” She grit her teeth. She was the backbone of that resistance for a long time. How dare they throw it back at her.

Armstrong just shook her head as she walked to the driver’s seat. Hudson kept her eyes forward as she sat in the back. Whitehorse helped Burke into the back before turning towards Cat. He gave her a small smile. She wasn’t sure if she was happy that he didn’t say anything, or upset. Pratt stood there for a while. His eyes flicked between her and Jacob.

“Y-you’re welcome to stay with us, Staci. I don’t t-think we’d be able to handle all that work without you.” Cat smiled quickly.

“I…” He hesitated.

“Pratt! Let’s go!” Hudson yelled out from the van.

He shrunk into his shoulders, his gaze drawn to the dirt as he walked back to the van. As he got in, he chanced a glance up at Cat and then Jacob again before the van took off, leaving a trail of dirt in the air.

Cat stood there a moment, watching the van as it drove quickly down the dirt path until it was out of sight. She didn’t realize she was shaking until Jacob wrapped his arms around her shoulders, tucking his chin on the top of her head.

“It’ll be okay.” He whispered.

Cat nodded, careful not to bump his chin. “Let’s head back. We’ve got a cake to eat.” She smiled, pushing the negative thoughts away for the time being. It could wait until they were alone.

The rest of the party was rather uneventful when compared to the shock of seeing her friends again. Still, Cat wasn’t about to let it get her down. This was a happy day for her, even if her friends didn’t see it that way. She briefly wondered if they’d even be considered her friends anymore.

John had somehow managed to get ahold of the most extravagant cake he could find. It was probably the most expensive thing there next to his custom Eden’s Gate buckle and earrings.

“Ah, Cat.” John sighed dramatically as she sat next to her with a piece of cake. “I still don’t know what you see in my older brother. It’s not too late to change your mind, you know?” He winked slowly, letting her know he was teasing.

Cat laughed, shaking her head as Jacob stole the cake from John’s plate in retaliation.

“Don’t worry, Johnny.” Cat bumped her shoulder with his. “You’ll find someone who can put up with you.”

As the party wound down the people there slowly began to trickle out. The Project couldn’t be put on hold for much longer and they still had jobs to do. Eventually all that was left was the Seed family, Cat included. She was currently sitting in Jacob’s lap, soaking up his energy as her social interactions for the day had been drained away. Joseph called for everyone’s attention.

“I heard from the Voice again last night.” He ran the beads of his rosary through his fingers. “The Collapse should be coming any time now. We need to make sure we’re prepared. Now more than ever.”

The four siblings nodded, discussing quietly everything they still had left to do. Cat was currently focusing on her new wedding ring. She still couldn’t believe it had actually happened. She hadn’t even met the man that long ago but, she supposed that when you knew you found the one it was always meant to be. Besides, she thought, if Joseph was right and the world was about to end, well, she at least picked the right man for the apocalypse lifestyle. Jacob then nudged her shoulder a small bit, drawing her attention.

“You ready to go?” He whispered.

Cat nodded, she was eager to get him alone. She felt the urge to scratch at her lust tattoo. They might not have been planning their wedding, but they had certainly been planning their honeymoon. They couldn’t exactly go on a vacation out of the county, but they did have a cabin hidden away in the Whitetails that they could stay at to get away from it all just for a bit.

They said their goodbyes to their family before heading off. Jacob’s truck was already packed with some things they would need so they hopped right in.

“I hope you know that my vows weren’t my only surprise for you.” Cat smirked over at Jacob.

He let his gaze fall away from the road for a moment to follow her hand as it pulled up the edge of her dress. The red garter around her thigh was enough of a hint for Jacob to press the pedal to the floor earning a whoop of laughter from his wife.

#fic: actions speak louder than words #my ocs: catherine rook #far cry 5 #jacob seed #jacob seed x female deputy #fc5 #fc5 fic #hopefully this shows up in the tags

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heathcliffdt · 5 years

Text

Star Charts

Summary: When a young scholar was summoned by the Emperor to shed light on a political matter, Lan Fan didn't expect that she would also be learning a thing or two from him about speaking out her mind.

It had been four years since Ling Yao was crowned Emperor of Xing, and Xing had come to the conclusion that the Dawn Emperor was an unconventional ruler. He challenged archaic traditions of the country which, to his own volition, would lead to its own demise and detriment. While a lot had lauded him for his creativity, the older people criticized him, of course. And the stronger clans. And the bureaucrats also.

When he assumed the throne, his policies scandalized a lot of people. On top of his tier of radical reforms was the unification of the fifty clans (which was met by a mixed swarm of criticisms), alongside the integration of Xing to the international political arena.

The next agenda on his list was entering an economic treaty with Aerugo. Of course he had consulted a multitude of scholars who specialize in economics and commerce, but it was always Mei Chang whom he relied the most. But since the Princess was finishing her research dissertation on her alkahestry, her visits to the Imperial Palace had become sporadic. Which led to Ling impatiently meeting with a man Mei sent in her place.

"State your name and purpose," Ling said.

A young lean man stood before the Emperor's throne. He Carried himself with a sense of pride but not proud enough to insult. The man bowed. "My name is Xuezhe of the Hai clan, and I hail from the South Lands of the Vermilion Bird. I was summoned by the courts to be of assistance to the Emperor in the entering of the trade treaty with Aerugo. Aside from the status of jieyuan, this one specialized in public policy and alkahestry, and knowledgeable of the philosophy of the Yuh-gāa texts. This one is also equipped with the practical knowledge of western alchemy."

From behind the pillars, a third soul lurked the throne room. Lan Fan observed the scholar. Interesting, she thought to herself. The young man's credentials were quite impressive, and the fact that Princess Chang sent for him as her replacement meant that he is competent. She, however, sensed that the Emperor was not impressed. He was dubious in trusting other consultants.

"Uh huh," Ling loftily placed his chin over his knuckles. "If Chang trusts you, then perhaps I can rely on you. She described her affinity with you by stating that you shared your dissertation with her," the Emperor said.

"That is correct, my lord. The Princess Chang and I are established colleagues."

"Alright then. What did Chang relay?"

"The Princess had left in my hands her report of the current economic statuses of both Xing and Aerugo. Since Aerugo is primarily bordered by seas in the south, the country's main exports are pearls and crude oil. The report also provided Aerugo-Amestris trade partnership as a point of comparison," Xuezhe said.

"And what about the comparative analysis?"

"During the reign of late Fuhrer-President, King Bradley, Aerugo and Amestris were on a hostile footing. Aerugo even provided arms to Ishval during the Ishval Civil War, highlighting more of their conflict with Amestris. It is only during General Grumman's term did the conflict reach resolution."

"It is too early to say how the economic ties are faring for both countries, however. Did Chang advise to not enter the treaty?"

"The Princess did not have anything stated in her report that goes against such."

Ling clapped his hands. "It's settled then. Xing is entering economic relations with Aerugo."

"If the Imperial Majesty permits, but this one wishes to provide insight."

Lan Fan raised her eyebrows at the young man's boldness. She looked at the emperor as he studied the young man who held himself with boldness.

"Proceed," Ling said.

"I do not wish to sound tactless, but the Dawn Emperor's action of establishing economic ties with Amestris two years ago has caused quite of a stir from the nationalists. Apparently, they weren't too fond of the inter-country integration as they thought that it would leave Xing vulnerable to foreign investors."

Ling did not respond immediately. From what her senses told her, Lan Fan assumed that Ling was not quite happy with what the young man has just said. As the pillars prohibited her from seeing Ling's face clearly, she sensed that Ling's Dragon's Pulse was imitating the intensity of a trouble lake.

"Are you saying that there are those who contest my decisions for the country?"

Lan Fan knew this was a trick question. Of course they all know the answer to this question.

"Yes, my king."

Another deafening silence filled the throne room. She didn't flinch nor breathe until Ling finally spoke.

"Thank you for the insight, Xuezhe. I shall have my decision finalized by tomorrow morning. You may be discharged."

The man bowed for the last time and exited the throne room.

He never talked to her casually anymore. Not even when they were alone. It was alienating on her part, since it was a new sort of treatment from Ling. Ever since their return from Amestris, a lot of things changed for the two of them. The estrangement did not actually occur until Ling was crowned Dawn Emperor of Xing.

Amestris changed them in a lot of ways. Amestris was...liberating. The western world thrived on liberal ideologies, and Lan Fan had always been amazed by how emancipating their ideals were. It was a revolutionary breakthrough. She had never seen a culture of peoples move so diversely and fluidly as that in Amestris. And the women, especially the women—oh, how Lan Fan envied them! Had Fuu lived and heard her thoughts, she would have earned a good slap from him for even thinking of such vanity. Amestrian women possessed the strongest hearts Lan Fan ever saw. Edward Elric's fiancé, Winry Rockbell, was not groomed to keep the house in order and in place—she pursued dreams and passion, and no man ever scoffed at the woman's attempt. She was respected in her field. In fact, she even excelled in the field of mechanical automail engineering. Lan Fan, on her part however, received haughty laughter when people learned that a praetorian woman served as a crown prince's personal guard. If only she could carry herself with such dignity as the Amestrian women did!

Lan Fan did not scoff at Xingese culture and tradition—she was just restricted in the isolated world of Xing. With that, she would never ever forget Amestris.

Of course, she had her few theories as to why her liege refrained from talking to her. Their relationship used to be undeniably intact; their journey to Amestris changed them in more than a couple of ways. It pained to see her king grow out his comedic self. She could only guess just how painful the experience of having to tend to thousands of souls and one homunculus in his body. She on the other part, lost her only family.

Every time the Emperor entered his private chambers, she wished that he would talk to her. She wished that Ling would just drop the whole act they were putting up in front of nosy people and address her just as he used to back in Amestris—just like a person. She chastised herself mentally every time she caught herself wishing for this. Who was she to demand more than of her duty?

Lan Fan from behind her mask looked at him. In reality, it was just for a moment, but it felt that it stretched so for hours. It was a plea. Look at me. Say something, at least. I still am a person.

But Ling never spared her a glance. Lan Fan bowed and left the room.

The currents of the Dragon's Pulse raced through Lan Fan's skin like lightning and electricity—the Emperor's tension indicated that he was well aware at the look in Lan Fan's eyes. It was a deliberate choice to not look at her.

On some days, Lan Fan thought she may be a sad person after all. She used to not have the time to reflect on her emotions, but things never fell into place after the death of Fuu. Legends said that once a soul departs from its body, it undergoes a process of beautiful decay: the breath becomes one with the wind and clouds, the sweat and tears with dew and rain, the blood with the river, the eyes with the stars and cosmos, the voice with the roars of thunders, the limbs with the hands of the compass of the earth. Lan Fan would look at her windowsill on days where the weather could not be made out. She would listen to the lost sparrows twittering their hearts out.

As the senile body of Fuu became one with the earth, retiring back to its organic origins, Lan Fan wondered whatever happened to his soul. Maybe the lost sparrows on her windowsill had an idea. Or who knows, maybe one of them was Fuu's soul.

Sometimes, she forgot that she had a voice in the first place. It was in the comforting songs of the lost swallows that would remind her that she had a voice. Loneliness crept up on her like a meticulous madman ready to frame her for a murder she did not even commit.

True to her brand, she was always by his side.

But on tamed lazy days, the Emperor relieved his Shadow. He preferred being alone now when the palace courts were closed and the he was not hearing petitions from people, or when there were no sessions summoned by him with the consuls to discuss of Xing's political and economic policies. It was one of those days when Ling told her to loosen up. She was always hesitant to leave his side, but he would always reassure her that he would be fine on his own and he will be committing no attempts of sneaking out of the palace.

"I won't be leaving my chambers. Take the afternoon off."

The guard did not shift in her stance. She also dared not speak to contradict him. In the simpler days, it would have been easy. Like the assertive women of Amestris, she used to aver that no, young master, grandfather said to stay put.

Now she merely pleaded with her eyes through the slit of her mask. Had anyone had seen her actions, she would definitely be reprimanded for such misbehavior. She looked him directly in the eye, but he strayed his eyes away from hers.

The Emperor took a deep breath. "Look, I promise I won't leave the chambers until twilight. Just…take the noon off."

As quick as a zap, the starkness in her eyes relaxed. Her eyes tendered as she sighed in defeat. With a bow, she pivoted on her heel and left the Emperor alone.

The Dawn Emperor resided in the Jiāo Tài Diàn Hall located at the center of the Inner Court. Lan Fan found herself straddling along the eastern wing of the Hall when the Emperor told her to take the afternoon off. She was not quite sure where she was heading but her feet dragged her to the humanities library and archives.

In her rough estimations, the archive room was as huge as the throne room, if not larger. It was musty and rather humid, and it smelled of damp earth after a summer rain shower. The library at the Yao House did not even hold a candle to the colossal one in the Emperor's Hall.

Lan Fan mused around the towering shelves. It seemed that they were recently cleaned and dusted. If she were to do the cleaning, preserving and bookkeeping of all the records, she would have drowned the moment she started flipping through the catalogue. She recalled the time before they left for Amestris; she and the Emperor spent days locked up in the library of the Yao House as Ling crammed all important information in the last minute, consuming one piece of knowledge after the other—geography, the tale of Xerxes, basic alchemy, the proper Amestrian grammar and greetings.

Lan Fan ended up in between the shelves of categories of Xingese literature and art. She ran her metallic fingers across the row of spines of poetry.

"Hello," said a voice.

Like a panther about to prowl, Lan Fan quickly snapped out of her dreamy trance. She turned on her heel, facing the direction of the voice. Was her guard that idly down that she failed to sense the approach of another pulse near her?

"Sorry about that. I didn't mean to scare you."

It was the young scholar from the Hai clan sent by Princess Chang on her place. He offered her an amicable smile. Lan Fan straightened herself immediately. She silently thanked the gods as her mask refrained the young man from seeing her beet red flustered face.

"I was not aware the Emperor's Shadow was fond of literature."

Lan Fan struggled for words to come out of her. She was no longer used to being talked to. She cleared her throat before attempting to speak again. "I, uh, I am not fond of it, actually."

"Oh? Is that so?" she could see the subtle disappointment in the shift of the young man's irises. "Perhaps more of the practical sciences appeal to you?"

Lan Fan simply shook her head.

"Huh. Not the sciences, not the arts then," he pulled a thick hardbound book from the shelves and flipped through the crisp pages. "Did alchemy ever leave a mark on you then? When you visited Amestris, I mean?"

Lan Fan felt her face grew hotter with her embarrassment rising. She simply was a shy person. Also, she found talking and chatting rather inconvenient. She was supposed to be the Emperor's Shadows, and shadows do not speak. Of course, there had been improvements on her shyness in the past years, however. She overcame the initial reaction of stuttering and fiddling when being spoken to. But it had been months since she had the last decent conversation.

The young scholar, Xuezhe, was kind and considerate in his approach to Lan Fan. He was aware that he startled Lan Fan. Gently rowing through the course of the conversation, he tried to be cordial.

"Alchemy," she cleared her throat. "is something I do not quite understand."

Xuezhe smiled at her. "But you spent years in the land of alchemy, did you not?"

"I did. But I never transmuted anything. Not everyone in Amestris does alchemy."

The young man chuckled. "Of course. It was just an assumption that maybe alchemy strikes your liking. The western lands utilize the art in such different manner compared to alkahestry."

Lan Fan felt her face reddened again. Thank the gods for my mask, again. She thought that she sounded too off-putting in her last response. Clearly, the young man was just being polite by asking about her thoughts on alchemy. He did not know anything about her, instead of the fact that she accompanied the Emperor to Amestris, the alchemy capital.

"Isn't alchemy a science instead of art?" she asked.

"Alchemy? A science?"

"The Amestrians, the alchemists, they used it as a form of art, I think. They could convert cement to statues."

"I suppose it all boils down to perspective."

"Perspective?"

"Sure. One may even use it as a way of living," Xuezhe returned the book back to the shelves, and continued to rummage through the other titles.

"Forgive my asking, but didn't you mention that you are an alkahestrist? In your introduction to the Emperor, that is."

"Yes. That is how I made acquaintance with Lady Chang. We exchanged researches since our specialization, though not the same, are closely related to each other. Lady Chang is specializing in medicine, while I in physical therapy."

Lan Fan recalled that her automail mechanic was a renowned alkahestrist who also specialize in physical therapy. She wondered if Xuezhe knew him.

The young man reverted his gaze from the rows of books to Lan Fan. From his post, he studied her intently. It only made her blush even harder. "I don't think I have the best impression on you now. Especially with my boldness in speech, and with the consultation with the Emperor earlier. I would like to apologize for that."

"You are just doing your job. The Emperor appreciates frank honesty instead of flowery telltales."

"Well, it was nice talking with you, my lady. I shall see you around."

"Likewise."

"Oh, I never caught a name," Xuezhe said. On that day, Lan Fan should have tallied how many times she was embarrassed by Xuezhe's straightforwardness. She knew she admired him for that, despite for having talked to him for just a couple of minutes, but sometimes she wished she could retreat back to the darkness like a shadow.

She was simply no longer used to kindness.

"Lan Fan," she supplied. "My name is Lan Fan."

"Alright then, Lady Lan Fan. It was nice meeting you."

Lan Fan found herself a friend.

It had been a long time since an affair excited her. On the days the Emperor relieved her from her post, she would bolt for the library since Xuezhe killed his time in the company of literature.

Xuezhe extended his stay in the imperial palace as per the request of the Emperor. This was because the Emperor heeded Xuezhe's advice, and suspended the signing of the economic treaty with Aeurugo. He was simply waiting for the Emperor to summon his presence, alongside that of the Minister of Commerce, to finally decide on the agreement with Aerugo.

"You are quite well-versed in a lot of things," Lan Fan said.

The scholar chuckled. They were seated in the long desks in the library. Three books were opened before Xuezhe beside a fresh roll of parchment paper and quill by his side as opposed to the traditional brush. "Not really, my lady. I was just doing my job."

"You persuaded the Emperor in holding the signing of the trade treaty with Aerugo."

"Ah. Lady Chang might have just overlooked the possible implications should we immediately enter trade with foreign countries. She's as busy as a bull." Xuezhe's quill scratched on the surface of parchments as he jotted down notes.

"The Emperor is racking his head with this treaty with Aerugo. He might be pushing himself too hard."

"The Emperor is a good emperor," Xuezhe carefully placed the tip of his quill on top of the lid of his ink bottle. He stretched his arms and held the parchment nearer to his eyes and laid down on top of the table to dry. "Though not quite popular to a certain some, he has done a lot in a matter of just four years. They just do not like his unconventional ways."

"His unconventional ways bring about change."

"And people are afraid of change. Don't you think, lady?"

Lan Fan shrugged.

"A good emperor is also a kind emperor, and Lady Chang has attested to Emperor Yao's kindness."

"She told you that? And to think she berates the Emperor in front of him," Lan Fan couldn't help but giggle at the thought.

"She did. She has proclaimed nothing but the goodness of the Emperor. She spoke highly of him. Not to mention that he is the intelligent one too."

"But he does not like to study commerce and economics, particularly," Lan Fan added and let out a small laugh.

"And that's just what makes him a better Emperor. He is skeptical that is why he frequently consults Lady Chang."

Lan Fan's eyes veered away from Xuezhe. He was right, she thought, that the Emperor was a good emperor. That the Emperor was a good, kind and smart emperor altogether. She couldn't help but smile with satisfaction that her young Lord despite being met with travails and strong criticisms was going down the right path. Fuu would have been immensely proud.

"The Emperor must have had it in his stars," Xuezhe said, causing Lan Fan to avert her attention back to him.

"His stars? You mean his reading?"

"Sure. He must have been fated right from the start to make Xing great."

"I suppose so."

A pause ensued. Lan Fan studied the young scholar sitting across her. He closed his books and stacked them neatly atop each other. He then clasped his hands, placing it on top of the desk.

"Do you mind if I ask you about your reading?" Xuezhe asked.

Lan Fan bit her lower lip. She did not know of her star charts. Usually, it was the new mothers who approach divination tellers to seek for the reading of their children's fates. Lan Fan did not know if her own mother had her fate read. If she did, Fuu never mentioned anything. She told Xuezhe that she had no idea what her star chart spoke about her.

"I would have taken a look at your palms instead," Xuezhe said.

"But my other palm is metal."

"That is fine," he screwed his ink bottle closed and scooped up the parchment papers. "Unlike these reports, the fates are not written with indelible ink, my lady. It is your own will to heed or stray from your providence."

When Lan Fan returned to Ling's chambers that night to resume her post, her soul was radiating.

It radiated so brightly that Ling's dormant Dragon's Pulse awakened immediately the moment Lan Fan entered the room. Lan Fan's energy was like a Drachman tundra in the showers of sunlight and the first flowers blooming in the face of spring. Ling observed Lan Fan discreetly. Something was different.

Most of the times, Lan Fan's energy was a tamed fox. An undisturbed body of water. But what could have made her as unsettled as she was at that moment?

It would have been easy if he just asked her. But he no longer talked to her, he recalled. It was Ling's own actions which led to them in a certain situation. Apparently, he was unworthy to know just why she was ecstatic and happy.

"You may want to keep your qi in check," he remarked.

Lan Fan straightened her stance at Ling's words. He felt that her qi fell to slumber. "Oh. I did not notice. Apologies, my Lord."

Well, that was an attempt, he thought to himself. He tried to get her to to talk, and he knew it was a futile shot. It annoyed him that he could never talk to her as casually as they did before. "If you're going to have your qi swarm all over the place, you might as well shout to everyone that your guard is down. Just tell me if you're tired of doing your job."

It wasn't his intention to lash out on her, but he just did.

"Understood, my lord."

"Understood?" he echoed. Ling felt a vein in his head popped. He knew that Lan Fan did nothing wrong, but he failed to comprehend why was he so frustrated with Lan Fan. "Understood what exactly, huh, Lan Fan? Well, from what I understand in your actions, you are tired of doing your job. That's it, isn't it?"

Lan Fan's eyebrows crunched in confusion. She failed for words to come out of her lips. The Emperor just accused her of dissatisfaction and ingratitude! How could she even defend herself?

"You're mistaken, Your Highness. I could neve—"

"Please!" He ran his hands over his face, exhibiting how much worse his frustration was getting. "Will you just cut the bullshit, Lan Fan? Just drop it, for once."

Lan Fan paused. For awhile, this was all she was ever praying for from him—to acknowledge her presence. That she was there. But now that Ling was talking to her, he was very pissed off. She could feel Ling's frustration spread to her own skin, like a leech sucking the radiating happiness she entered the room with.

"You're frustrated," she said.

"I. Am not. I am not frustrated," he lied.

"You are. I just don't understand why."

"Would you please be honest with me? Can you do that, Lan Fan?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Are you tired, huh? Do you not want to do this anymore? Because if you are, then be my guest!"

"Why are you angry? I don't understand why you're angry."

Ling didn't respond. He turned his back at her and walked towards his desk. Mountains of reports and petitions were stacked.

"If in any way, I wronged you, I'm sorry." Lan Fan said. Ling placed his hands over the desk. "It may not be my intention, but I'm sorry."

Well, that's not fair, Ling thought to himself. He was every bit unfair to her. She never wronged him; if anything, it was he who owed her an apology. It was he who jumped into conclusions rashly. And how could he even doubt her loyalty to him? At the moment, he had a hard time contemplating that his frustration stemmed from the fact that Lan Fan was in fact happy. And it had been a long time since Lan Fan was happy. Old habits die hard, and if that was even a consolation on his part, vainly he convinced himself that Greed never actually left him.

Not knowing the source of Lan Fan's happiness—or that there simply were other things that made Lan Fan happy—was a manifestation of his Greed.

"You are leaving already?"

"Yes, my lady. I am finished with my job, and the Emperor seemed satisfied with his decision regarding Aerugo."

Lan Fan and Xuezhe were walking along the north wing of the Jiāo Tài Diàn Hall. Xuezhe had with him his things packed already. "I need to head back to my family to tend to an ailing uncle."

"I wish your uncle good health."

"Thank you, my lady. And I wish you that too."

Lan Fan offered him a soft smile. "You are too kind, Xuezhe."

"But you are kinder for having stomached my tactlessness."

"I wouldn't say tactless. Perhaps, bold or straightforward."

Xuezhe chuckled. "Not only you are kind, but you are also polite to use euphemisms on me."

The both let out a soft laughter. Lan Fan's qi was, in Ling's words, all over the place. Her soul was warm and light like the sun during the dawn. It had been such a long time since she had a hearty laugh. She couldn't help but be grateful for the presence of Xuezhe.

"Lady Lan Fan, I have something to give to you," Xuezhe said. He struggled a little bit with retrieving the small package wrapped in brown paper neatly tied up by a baler twine and handed it to Lan Fan.

"I couldn't accept this."

"Please, I insist."

Reluctantly, she took the package from Xuezhe's hands. She held it up slightly above her head to see if she could make out what was inside the wrapper. "What is it?"

"I recall that you told me that you are not aware of your reading of your star chart the night you were born. And while I still believe that you are worth more than your fate, this is a small storybook to comfort you on nights you feel alone."

Lan Fan untangled the strings. It was a compact little book of stories and myths of Xingese tales and legends. These stories immortalized in the book Xuezhe gave her were known by all people in Xing. But the book felt every bit personal, and not just any children's book to be let in libraries. Lan Fan flipped through the pages of the book; it was not brand new, and the pages were crisp and oxygen-deprived yellow in the edges. Some pages were even dog-eared, with some passages either highlighted or underlined.

"Xuezhe," she clasped the book closed. The scholar, at Lan Fan's call, shifted his eyes on her. "Do you happen to know where souls go after they depart the bodies?"

Xuezhe raised his eyebrows at the question thrown at him. Lan Fan was hoping that he had the answer but all he could provide was uncertainty. "I'm afraid I don't know."

Lan Fan pursed her lips and nodded.

"I do know the flesh becomes one with the earths as their organic elements are made of them."

"But the soul?"

Xuezhe shook his head in admission of his ignorance, still sporting a humble and soft smile. "You do realize that you have a beautiful mind, do you?"

While the exchange of farewells took place between Lan Fan and Xuezhe, at the other end of the corridor was the Emperor. Once again, he felt a rather unbalanced surge of emotions through his Dragon's Pulse. The energy was too foul, too eager, too lively, too…much. When he walked a few meters, he saw that it emulated from the two figures at the other end of the hall. It was Lan Fan and Xuezhe.

As soon as the scholar and the guard saw the Emperor approached, the two cut their chitchat and bowed.

"At ease," Ling said. Xuezhe and Lan Fan stood up straight. "Leaving so soon?"

"Yes, Imperial Majesty. I am needed back at home. Thank you for extending your hospitability to me."

Ling raised his hand. "Thank you too for your assistance. Chang was right to put her confidence in you."

"It is an honor to have served the Emperor. I will always be on call."

"You're a busy man, and I'm afraid I will take more of your time when we are to conduct the feasibility studies. Your wisdom is of great help, and your loyalty is greatly appreciated, Xuezhe. Have a safe trip back home. May the gods bless you and your clan."

Xuezhe did another earnest bow before turning to Lan Fan. "It has been a pleasure to have been in your company, Lady Lan Fan. I will pray to the gods for your wellbeing."

When Xuezhe left, Ling discovered three things: one, he needed to buy more time before entering the agreement with Aerugo to ease the internal tension from the nationalists; two was that a budding friendship was borne between his Shadow and the scholar, and this was evidenced by the small book he gifted her; and third, it was Xuezhe who caused Lan Fan's qi go ecstatic. Ling wouldn't be surprised if it went haywire.

After the scholar's departure, Ling would study Lan Fan intently. He did so in a manner discreet, from the sidelines, because he did not want to be caught by her that he's all eyes on her. Ling may be stealthy, but Lan Fan is a good vassal, and she was stealthier than Ling. It did not take long enough for her to pick up that Ling was studying her, watching her. She kept her qi on low; sometimes, she even blocked Ling's Dragon's Pulse.

Had this been a few weeks back, it would have undoubtedly made her happy. She would have relished in it. Ling never spared her any passing glances. But after that uneventful night, when he suddenly lashed out on her due to an inexplicable source of rage, she just wished he didn't pay her any attention anymore. She would have resumed to being the diligent Emperor's Shadow that she is.

It had been awhile since the Palace was at peace. There were no meetings with the ministers, no motions to be heard by various interest and advocacy groups, no social gatherings. Ling used to enjoy the social gaiety but he eventually grew tired of it. He was trotting lazily around his private chambers that afternoon. Lan Fan was also inside the private chambers. She situated herself in the inner columns of the anteroom.

Of course, both were aware of the presence of suffocating tension all over the place.

Eventually, it was Ling who shattered the silence. Everything was always on his call, to be honest. Lan Fan knew her place—the most she could do was to aspire to be as bold as Winry Rockbell, a strong and unfaltering woman of Amestris. Lan Fan could only wish. She could only peer through the fine thin slits of her ivory mask.

"I'm sorry for what happened that night," Ling said.

Lan Fan licked her lips. Always, always, she struggled to articulate words.

"It was unfair of me. You shouldn't have witnessed that fit. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"Everything is fine, Your Highness. There is no need to apologize." As expected, a precise and obedient response. Frugal in the amount of words.

"Lan Fan," he barely breathed her name. "What's wrong? Tell me, please."

"N-nothing's wrong, my Lord. Why do you ask?"

"If something wrong happened to you, I can never forgive myself."

Had Lan Fan the liberty to act on her own accord, she would be the one lash out in anger, in frustration. How could he say this now? After all these years he acted indifferently towards her needs? Towards her person?

"You say that as if you haven't been disregarding me the last few years," she said.

Ling stood frozen on his tracks. He lifted his head slowly to look at her, and then walked toward her direction. Did he expect such brevity from Lan Fan? No, he did not. He was the one who stirred the conversation first, dropped the first pebble on the lake. "Wh-what?"

It took awhile before Lan Fan spoke again. "You said you worry for my wellbeing."

"I do."

"You would not have had you talked to me." She chastised herself mentally. Grandfather, I'm sorry for the insubordination. But grandfather was not present. And if she thought harder, maybe the border between her and Ling could disappear.

"Take off your mask."

Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "What?"

"Take off your mask."

She did as she was told so. When she removed her mask, she felt her face flushed red. She didn't dare look at Ling, but he studied her face, his eyes squinting to catch the tiniest detail her face held.

"You're right," he said, letting out a sigh. "I have been disregarding you. For a long time. I'm sorry."

"Don't," she said. "Don't apologize. You aren't my keeper. You have no duty to me."

Ling chuckled. "No, Lan Fan. You got that wrong. A king is no king without his people."

"Of course," a weary smiled tugged at her lips. "How could I forget that?"

"I'm sorry. Sincerely."

She didn't respond. She just licked her lips. Ling gave her a faint smile. "Since when did you become so…straightforward?"

At this, Lan Fan felt her cheeks burned. "I-I, I didn-I'm sorry, I didn't, Young Lor—"

Ling lifted a hand. "No, no. No need to apologize. I was just wondering since when you and Xuezhe had started this affair. He clearly did rub his traits on you."

Lan Fan's eyes widened at horror. She was so embarrassed by Ling's remark that she felt the dire need to defend herself. "That i-isn-you are, uh, that is wrong, Young Lord. Xuezhe, he is just—"

"Hey, it's alright. You don't have to explain everything, you know," Ling snickered at the stuttering helpless Lan Fan. "I'm not daft, Lan Fan."

"My Lord, you got it all wrong. You are mistaken."

Ling's smile disappeared. Oh?, he thought to himself. Lan Fan was struggling, and she seemed defiant in Ling's allegations. "Lan Fan," he said. "why are you ashamed? Xuezhe is a respectable man. If anything, you should be brimming with pride. Am I not right?"

"You got it all wrong," she shook her head. "Xuezhe, he is kind, yes. But there is nothing more between him and me, my Lord. I had just made a friend, if you can call it that."

"But, your qi. I felt your qi."

"My qi? What about it, my Lord?"

"Your qi, it was…brimming. It was radiating. When you were with him."

"Oh."

Oh.

That moment came to Lan Fan as a lightbulb moment, an epiphany—so that was what the Young Master was thinking! Her energy gave it all away. She was too preoccupied to keep her emotions in check, that it was too animated. No wonder Ling easily picked up on its unusually bright presence. But the Emperor's allegations were not flat out correct. There were some creases that Lan Fan needed to straighten. "My Lord, I do not deny what I was feeling when I was Xuezhe. You are right."

Ling's face could not be read. It was as blank as a clear slate, but she could tell that he was listening earnestly.

"Xuezhe, he made me…happy. But I think, I think it is only that."

"Only that? What do you mean?"

"Only that. Nothing more. Like I said, he is just a good friend, and he made me happy," Ling noticed a warm—no, an endearing smile drew at Lan Fan's face. "I had not experienced for quite some time now what it feels like to be happy. I'm as good as dead. I'm grateful for Xuezhe because he made me feel happy. He made me feel that I am not alone."

"So, I am right? That you're unhappy."

Guiltily, she nodded. "But not as your retainer, if that's what you mean. I can never think of anywhere else in the world than be by your side."

"But you are unhappy?"

"I am. At times, my Lord, I am unhappy."

A surge of guilt suddenly swelled Ling's chest. Lan Fan's honesty hurt. What he did was shameful—he ran away form the fact that Lan Fan may be hurting in silence.

"I feel lonely sometimes. Especially when we got back from Amestris. Not that I'm blaming you, my Lord, no! But, if you really want the truth…"

"A lot of things changed. That's it, isn't it, Lan Fan?"

She nodded.

"And a lot has changed between the two of us."

A daunting silence filled the room. She did not know how to respond anymore. For years, this had been the lengthiest she had spoken to the Emperor. It felt foreign, yet at the same time, it felt everything that she was used to. Her emotions didn't know where to place themselves, not after when Ling actually admitted that things changed between them.

"I'm ashamed of myself, Lan Fan."

She carefully raised her head to face him. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, Your Highness."

"No, Lan Fan. For the longest time, I tried to run away from the fact that you might be unsatisfied with your life. I've been selfish. And I knew that you still grieve yet I never payed you any attention. I feel unworthy of talking to you."

Lan Fan always knew Ling manifested the sin of Greed the most; while other clans fought for their security and safety, he fought to be on the top. But with this confession, she didn't know that her Emperor was a proud emperor. His dismissal of acknowledging her presence stemmed from pride.

Like a sweet kiss of the October air on her cheek, she felt Ling's hand gently clasped her left cheek. "I don't deserve you," he said.

Hot tears prickled her eyes at his caress. She relished in his touch. She placed a hand, her prosthetic one, on top of Ling's hand which was still tenderly caressing her cheek.

"Forgive me, Lan Fan. I don't deserve you. Not since your sacrifices, not since Fuu's death. Not ever."

"Even so, I will remain immovable by your side. You are the only star that matters in my charts. I have nothing else to lose. Nothing but you."

Lan Fan would later skim through the book Xuezhe gave her. She reread through the legend of the body becoming one with the earth but still no answer was provided as to where souls go after it leaves its flesh. Ling said her continuous search for answer was human's inherent faculty of clinging to hope after a loss. While she continued to search for the whereabouts of Fuu's soul—may it be in the lost sparrows in her window or someplace else—she remained steadfast by Ling's side, basking in his abundant love he provided her.

#lingfan #fma #lingfan fic #fma fic #ling yao #lan fan #scribbles

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jamlocked · 5 years

Note

For the identity ask thing: 2, 6, 15 :)

2. have you ever found a writer who thinks just like you? if so, who?

Uhhhh…hmm. I think there’s a reason I’ve lived on a steady diet of Terry Pratchett since I first read Reaper Man at age ten. But then, the very fact I start reading him young could mean that he influence the way I thought, rather than just resonating with how I thought already. Either way, a pretty bloody good worldview to identify with.

I also have to shout out to @summeringminor here; we might differ in the odd Jim Moriarty headcanon, but we’re both pretty much here for the beauty of pain and suffering. :D

6. are you religious/spiritual?

In a word…yeah. I guess. I would not call myself religious at all, though I grew up going to church most weeks. The older I’ve got, the more anti-organised religion I’ve become. Hard not to be, when you start seeing the things people do and say while using God as an excuse. But I also can’t deny that I’ve known many, many wonderful people who are religious and use that faith to do great, helpful, caring things. I will also never tell anyone they’re wrong to believe what they believe, as long as they’re not hurting anyone else with those beliefs.

As for me, personally - well, I’m not an aetheist, lets put it that way. It’s complicated, in that no one ever really knows, but really simple in that I have no trouble believing in a higher power. And it may just be humans and our collective power, but if so there’s no truer God than that.

15. five most influential books over your lifetime.

…oh man. What a question. GAH.

Okay, well, I’m just going to pick five that have stood out at different points in my life because otherwise I will have a shortlist of hundreds.

Good Omens - Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

I must have read this a dozen times when I was a teenager. I used to get to the end of it, then go right back and start it over again. I think it was the first book that made me think about religion, and the way it is in the world. I think I was about eleven when I read it first, which was also the age I was both confirmed, and stopped going to church. Reading Good Omens made me think about religion outside the confines of organised religion, and massively expanded my horizons.

It - Stephen King.

I was also a teenager when I read this. I think books are usually the most influential when you’re that age, probably? Anyway, I think I was thirteen. There had been lots of books - every book, practically; I used to read one a day - that I just couldn’t stop until I’d finished. But this is the first one I clearly remember not wanting to finish. It scared the everloving shit out of me, but it sucked me into a world that was so fully realised, both on the page and in my head, that I just couldn’t get out of it. That was the first horror book I read, the first Stephen King, and it opened my eyes to a whole new kind of fiction. I’d read a multitude of kid’s books, and Enid Blyton, and I’ve mentioned my early love of Terry Pratchett. I’d also devoured a good chunk of the classics by that age (I counted Far From the Madding Crowd as my favourite book) - but this was something new. I read a ton of SK after that, but none quite held the magic of It.

Unnamed kid’s story/author unknown

Okay, so, in primary school you get set reading books for your age, et cetera, and when you get through those you’re allowed to be a ‘free reader’ - or that’s how it was when I was that age, idk. So anyway, I blazed through all the set stuff, and once I had the freedom of the library, I picked up this random book of short stories one afternoon. They were age-appropriate, of course, and this one story was about a group of kids who built their own go-karts, and had a massive race with them. Maybe once a year, maybe more often, idk. So of course, there was one kid who was better than all of them, won every time, built his own kart and no one could beat him et cetera. I strapped in for the usual kid’s fare of a new pretender showing up, and either taking the crown, or this kid - who I think was called Billy - overcoming the odds to win again. It was told from the POV of another kid, who also raced but couldn’t touch Billy. And Billy seemed like a decent guy, he wasn’t a bully or anything.

So anyway, blah blah, they built their karts, they had the race. All was as expected. And then…a car showed up. Billy and New Pretender were neck and neck at the finish line, everyone’s screaming and cheering, and…Billy crashes into the car. God, I can still remember my shock, and how I jumped from ‘this is exciting, but normal’ to ‘omg, wtf is happening.’ But I also remember thinking, ‘but he won, and he’ll be fine.’ And the reason I remember it all so clearly is because…well, here’s Billy’s final words. ‘No, I didn’t. I lost.’

Someone told him that he won the race. But he didn’t, and then he hit the car, and then he died. And he died knowing he’d been beaten.

Like…I was young when I read this, about eight. Maybe younger. The notion that the focus of a story could not win and then actually die…I was not prepared for that. It stuck with me as the first real idea that things don’t always turn out the way you think. Good guys don’t always win, you don’t always achieve the things you think you will. A pretty hard lesson for a primary schooler, but it made me think about things in a different way from then on.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance - Robert M. Pirsig

Moving on from childhood…this book. Fuck, man, this book. I was 21 or 22 when I read it, and I‘m not even going to talk too much about about it because I can’t remember the details. There’s too much in it to try and explain anyway. But I remember reading it because my best mate recced it, and it didn’t seem very promising at first. And then I got sucked in, and I just could not stop. It’s semi-autobiographical, it’s about a road trip a man is taking with his son, it’s all about philosophy and self, and then mental illness, and…God. There wasn’t a single page that didn’t make me think. It made me start a course in philosophy. It was just a wonderful experience from start to finish, and I’ve never read it since because I don’t want to break that magic. But I will read it again. I’m going to find free time, and indulge myself fully. It was just that good.

sdlfkj I really can’t pick a fifth and I’m rambling on forever, so I’m going to go for a really simple and obvious choice.

The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkein

My dad gave my sister a copy of this when I was ten, and she was thirteen. I remember thinking how grown up it looked because it was all black and had a dragon on the front. By the time I was twelve I had nicked it off her bookshelf, and I don’t think she ever got it back. It’s another one I read endlessly through my teen years, and it was influential because it my first introduction to that type of fantasy. I couldn’t tell you exactly why Tolkein’s fantasy feels different to Pratchett’s - maybe it’s just more Old Worlde, and of course the writing style is more old-fashioned. It just felt more highbrow, less ‘fun’, but just as enjoyable. It was like travelling back in time, as well as to a different world. I massively preferred the Discworld to Middle Earth - and still do - but I remember loving The Hobbit for its introduction to something I’d never come across before. And when I wrote my first fantasy story when I was about fifteen, it was a perfectly terrible mish-mash of pterry’s satirical style and Tolkien’s highbrow backdrop (and I am serious when I say it was terrible. It was terrible). But any time I think of books that have influenced me and what I like, what I use as a touchstone, what I think of fondly - The Hobbit is always among the first that springs to mind.

(I re-read it a couple of years ago, and was struck by how simplistic and childlike it seemed. Inevitable, given I’m so much older and have read so much more now. But it doesn’t diminish the fond memories I have of that first love for it.)

I AM SORRY FOR RAMBLING ON FOREVER. Me and books, idk. But thanks for the ask. :)

#all about meme #books #ask meme #SORRY

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