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chazukekani · 3 years

Text

SPOILER ALERT

Here is the quick summary of the first 60 pages of Stormbringer that just revealed today.

Special thanks to Nika, Amir, and my discord server members for proof-reading!

— That is, the 169th possibility

— ‘You are late, my brother.’

Content

Prologue

Code:01 A programme with 2383 lines, just an idea from a group of researchers

Code 02: Dead people do not possess any form of emotion

Code 03: I want to observe Chuuya’s suffer as a human

Code 04: Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again

Epilogue

Afterthought

Harukawa Sango ‘Stormbringer’ Character Setting Gallery

Pre-prologue

Fate whispers to warriors,

‘You cannot go against the storm.’

Warriors whisper back

‘I am the storm.’

— Cao Zhi ‘Luo Shen Fu’

Prologue

It began in a forest at midnight. It was supposed to be a peaceful night, but suddenly a beam appeared in the forest. It’s a huge fire. The forest was on fire. People who lived in the village nearby ran to the forest to see what happened. It was a wrecked airplane that just fell from the sky. People used hammers to dig the airplane to see whether there are any survivors.

Suddenly, a man walked out from the airplane. He seemed fine, but the crowd was shocked.

‘Apologies for my courtesy. In accordance with civil society, I should introduce myself,’ said the man. He pulled out a badge on his chest. The badge was black and words on it were engraved with silver. One of the teenagers from the village read off the words on it

‘I am a detective from Europole (Europe Detective and Police Organisation), which I am an office equipment. Category number 98F78195, made by ability technician Dr. Wollstonecraft. The first ever humanoid computer that serves for worldwide police facilities. Code name is Adam, Adam Frankenstein. It is my pleasure to meet you. I should carry out my mission now, see you.’

Before Adam left, he asked ‘Do you know a person called Nakahara Chuuya?’

Code:01 A programme with 2383 lines, just an idea from a group of researchers

Chuuya couldn't see his dream. Everytime he woke up, he felt like he was in a swamp of mud. Today, Chuuya woke up in his apartment. Just like other’s morning routine, Chuuya took a shower, cleaned himself and left his home.

Chuuya was 16 years old. Since a year he had joined the mafia, Chuuya excelled in his job with the most outstanding performance, and was well recognised in the organisation.

However with all the money and status he got, Chuuya was not satisfied. The thing that he wanted the most was to know his past. Chuuya knew nothing about it. The earliest memory he had was being kidnapped to a military facility 8 years ago.

There was already a branded black car waiting for Chuuya outside his apartment with a group of men in suits and sunglasses. ‘Please go to the regular store,’ said Chuuya.

Chuuya was in charge of supervising the jewel/gemstone transaction within the Mafia and black market, which had been an important source of income for the mafia.

He arrived at the store. Before entering it, a gun was pointed on Chuuya’s head, while there was another gun pointed onto his chest. Bang! What a big sound. Yet there was no blood, but a bunch of colourful ribbons came off.

‘Congratulations to your 1st year since joining the mafia!’, said those men.

Today was the first anniversary for Chuuya joining the mafia, and his friends held a party for him. People who joined the party all belonged to the ‘young club’ of the mafia, which were all 25 years old or younger.

The party-planner was called ‘Piano Man’. He was called Piano Man not because of his black and white outfit, but his way of killing. He liked using the strings of piano keyboards and strangled people to death. Piano Man was very tall, his fingers were long and thin, and always put a smile on his face. He was by far the man who was closest to the position of the Port Mafia executive.

The second man who came to congratulate Chuuya was called Albatross, a man with golden hair. He was a teen that loved smiling and was very talkative. Albatross was in charge of the transportation aspect of the mafia, and was complimented as very efficient and speedy in completing the missions, and was currently living in the same neighbourhood as Chuuya in a high-ended area. He previously belonged to an organisation called ‘Wheelman’.

Albatross proposed a toasting, but Chuuya was not in a good mood. “Did you have a nightmare?” Albatross joked, but Chuuya turned furious after hearing the word ‘nightmare’. Everyone was horrified. ‘No I wasn’t!’ Chuuya shouted. When Chuuya was about to leave the shop, yet another man came in. He was holding a champagne glass, and on his other hand, he was holding a medical drip stand that had a drip injected into his arm. His name was Doc.

Different from other doctors in the gangster industry, Doc graduated in a Northern American university and was awarded with a Doctorate formally. Doctors were highly demanded within the mafia because members could not simply walk into regular hospitals with injuries that were caused by gunshots. Doctors in the PM were treated nicely and respected, thanks to the boss, Mori-san, who was also a former doctor. The reason why Doc became a doctor was because he wanted to get closer to God. ‘The more lives you save, the closer you get to God’ is the motto of Doc. The Bible once wrote that God saved two million lives, so Doc’s goal was to save a similar number of people, which was why he joined the Mafia.

Chuuya still wanted to leave.

“The first year was the toughest, so we need to celebrate that you got through it,’ a gentle voice said. It was a man who had an extraordinarily beautiful appearance. The first year of joining the Mafia was the so-called ‘Deadman Curve’, so a celebration is needed,” said Lippmann, the guy with a pretty face. The work of Lippmann was probably the most unique one out of all of them. He was in charge of the public relations of the Mafia, such as negotiating deals with enterprises, or having meetings with the government. It is more difficult to kill him than killing the Boss of the Mafia because Lippmann was also a famous actor, thus every single action he made would be reported by the media. Hence it was really difficult to get him.

Another man came in, and his name was Ice Man. Unlike Chuuya’s other friends, he was quiet, and wore a simple outfit. Ice Man did not show much emotion, and was low profile. His job was simple, to kill. He did not use an ability, guns or knives to kill. Instead, he used objects that were nearby to kill. Anything, regardless if it’s a pen, wine bottle or the wire of light bulbs could become a murdering tool, hence Ice Man could kill anywhere.

The gathering continued. Chuuya was gradually having a better mood, until Ice Man asked Chuuya ‘where were you born?’ Chuuya immediately grabbed Ice Man’s shirt, and there was such a tension among the guys. Piano Man then revealed that he knew why Chuuya was mad, because Mori told him about Chuuya’s past that he was just an artificial ability experiment that was created by the military. Hence Mori asked Piano Man to invite Chuuya into the younger’s club, in order to have a surveillance on Chuuya. Piano Man pointed out the reason why Chuuya was mad today because he was actually not able to dream. Suddenly, the tension was back. Everyone had their weapons already, but Piano Man took out a present for the 1st anniversary from his coat, and gave it to Chuuya.

It was a photograph, a picture of two people, and one of them was five year old Chuuya.

The picture was taken in an old village in the Western region, Piano Man said. The area was abandoned afterwards but Doc found this picture inside the medical record of the village. Lippmann then added that he had asked a woman to check all the military-related databases, in which she found out that the military once held a recruitment experiment in the Western region. Still, Chuuya’s friends were able to find the family tree of Chuuya, his school, his report card and his birth record. However, such an investigation must not be known to Mori because Mori thought that if Chuuya’s background remained a secret, Chuuya would not betray the Mafia.

Chuuya did not understand why his friends did this for him. Lippmann said because they were companions. He then proposed why not they name the younger’s club as ‘Flags’.

The Flags then went to a billiards bar. All of a sudden, apart from the six people playing the billiards, there was the seventh person who joined the game. He had long arms and legs, and of course very tall. Black hair with brown eyes, and was standing by the table seriously.

All of a sudden, Albatross used his Kulric knife and sliced on the seventh person's head, which produced an uncomfortable noise. Yet, that person escaped from the attack. A fight then broke out because the Flags thought this seventh person was an ability user, and suspected his intention for coming to the Mafia’s facility. However, Ice Man pointed out that this person was not an ability user, but the fight continued.

During the fight, Adam grabbed the legs of the table, and something grew from his hand. It was a small-scale dinosaur, that grew from Adam’s hands as if it were a plant. The battle was intense. Someone shouted Chuuya’s name out of nowhere, and Adam noticed something.

‘Chuuya-san’, Adam greeted Chuuya politely.

‘I am here to protect you,’ Adam replied. Adam introduced himself, and explained his mission. Adam was sent here to arrest an assassin called Paul Verlaine.

When Chuuya heard the name Verlaine, his facial expression changed.

‘Why do you know this name?’ asked Chuuya

‘Chuuya-san, you cannot defeat Verlaine on your own. That’s why I am here. Verlaine was not only an assassin. He is the king of assassins. He is your brother.’ said Adam.

The misconception was relieved, and the Flags, together with Adam, played billiards happily afterwards.

The story continues on 27th Feb

#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs storm bringer #bungou stray dogs storm bringer #bsd storm bringer #bsd nakahara chuuya #nakahara chuuya

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scarletarosa · 4 years

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Set

Egyptian god of chaos, mischief, storms, deserts, battle, danger, virility, and foreign lands

Set (or Sutekh), though often called a “god of evil” was not always viewed that way and actually played quite a benevolent role despite his chaotic nature. He was one of the sons of Nuit and Geb and was thought to have several wives, including the goddesses Nephthys, Neith, Taweret, Anat, and Astarte (with the latter two being taken from Canaan). Set was usually depicted as a man with the head of an unidentified jackal-like animal with square ears. Although there are many theories of what the animal could possibly be, it is also likely that the animal is meant to be unknown, as Set’s domain includes aspects of the strange and terrifying.

Associations: Some of Set’s associated animals include: the hippopotamus, crocodiles, scorpions, snapping turtles, wild pigs, and donkeys – all of which were considered dangerous. In his hands, he holds an ankh (symbol of life) and his scepter. He may also be portrayed as a man with red hair and wearing a red mantle. The colour red is significant due to it representing some of the many qualities of Set. In Ancient Egypt, red was the colour of life, strength, victory, hostility, and chaos. He was said to reside in the Great Bear constellation in the northern sky – an area which symbolized death and darkness. Despite his benevolence, he is a very complex god who can be terrifying, especially to those who anger him. He represents the chaotic sides of nature that brings change, including storms (as well as sandstorms), drought, battle, and the unknown.

Epithets: Set was known to be a fierce protector, especially in battle where he was often invoked as a vanguard. Some of this god’s known epithets include: “Great of Strength”, “The Inebriated One”, “Lord of the Northern Sky”, “The Red Lord”, “He Before Whom the Sky Trembles”, “The Defender”, and “Lord of the Desert”.

Set’s Roles: Among the roles of Set besides protecting his people in battle was an even greater role: the protection of Ra and all of humanity. As the Sun god Ra would sail his course across the sky on his golden ship, Set would accompany him and was the one to fight off Apep, the serpent of evil. Apep was shown as a spirit in the form of a giant red snake and was the embodiment of all corruption. According to myth, Apep would hypnotize Ra and all of his followers, except for Set, who was chaotic and powerful enough to combat him. In order to defend all of creation and ma’at (order), Set would vanquish Apep each day. Set was also known to be a friend of the dead, helping their souls to ascend the ladder to the heavens. He even held the role of preserving the oases in the desert, which were essential for life in Egypt. So not only would Set represent the chaotic forces of the desert, but he would also protect people and their oases from them; holding back the sandstorms and droughts from civilization. From this, we can see that Set was a powerful ally to all, including the gods.

Myths: Despite Set being a protective god, political battles in Ancient Egypt caused him to eventually be portrayed differently. When a war broke out between Upper and Lower Egypt, the two patrons of the lands (Horus and Set) were depicted in a myth which represented the battle. This was the myth of Horus and Set both fighting for the throne. With Lower Egypt being the victor, Set was gradually cast away and held in contempt; many relics of his benevolence were eventually destroyed. Set also plays a role in the well-known myth of tricking and slaying his brother Osiris, in order to usurp his throne. However, Isis managed to resurrect Osiris and conceived a child with him, the god Horus. While in most versions of the myth, the story follows that Horus grows up to be a mighty warrior and defeats Set in battle, after which he banishes him to the desert. But in another version, the majority of the nine gods (the Ennead) decided that Horus was the rightful King due to being the son of Osiris. But Ra believed that Horus was too inexperienced to rule, and claimed that Set would make a more capable King. This trial went on for nearly one hundred years while the people of Egypt suffered under Set's chaotic reign.

Isis was worried for the well-being of Egypt’s people, and so came up with a plan. She took on the guise of a young woman and sat down outside of Set's palace, where she wept terribly. Eventually Set passed by and stopped to ask her what was wrong. The disguised Isis told him of a cruel man, her husband’s own brother, who had murdered him and stolen away her family’s land and cattle, taken away her son’s inheritance, and that now the man sought to kill her son. Not knowing that the man described was himself, Set became deeply moved by the story and was furious. He swore to the young woman that he would seek out the cruel man who had done such things and would kill him, allowing her to regain her land. With this promise, Isis revealed herself to Set before the gods who were secretly listening, and so Set was cast away into the desert, allowing Horus to reign as King.

In a separate myth describing a battle between Horus and Set, the two gods are wrestling naked in a swamp, where Set eventually appears to have a “mighty erection”. This causes Horus to fall face forward into the waters, causing Set to begin having intercourse with him, which they both greatly seem to enjoy. In another attempt to seduce Horus, Set invites him over to his place to eat and sleep together. The two gods get drunk on wine late that night and caress one another, then have sex once again. Horus manages to catch Set’s seed in his hands, which he keeps until he is able to throw it into the Nile. Unaware of this, the drunken Set falls asleep. Horus lets Isis know of what had happened and she is furious, she then has Horus hide his own seed within the lettuce that Set grows so that he will consume it. Due to this, Horus gains the upper-hand over Set.

Personality: Set is a very ancient god who can be called upon for things such as granting strength, courage, protection, vengeance, victory, and confidence. In my experiences with Set, he is very outgoing, flamboyant, generous, protective, and fun-loving. He loves high-energy environments, pranks, and sex (especially sex). Though in times of battle, Set is a very powerful warrior and wields a mace made of meteorites. He is not cruel like how his later myths portrayed him, for in truth, Set is a very strong and loyal ally. Especially when fighting against Apep, the god of evil. Set is also one of the close allies to Lucifer, and fights alongside him to defend others and end corruptions. Though other than battling, Set usually can be found seducing women or just enjoying himself in general. He has a wonderful sense of humour and is a great amount of fun to be around. As he is a ruler of discord, he is able to calm such matters in your life as well and help you to confront them. In my experiences, Set appears as a young man with red hair and green eyes. He also states that the animal he is depicted as in Egypt is indeed an otherworldly creature, as that suits him best.

Every god has a Shadow aspect, which portrays all of their darker natures. For Set, this aspect is named Sutekh, and it is his chaotic destructive side. While Set is normally friendly with others, he as Sutekh is more intimidating and unpredictable. When angered, Set becomes as Sutekh, and is capable of creating great turmoil and madness in the lives of those who offend him.

| Offerings |

Stout beer, whiskey, frothing wine, champagne, sweet red wine, spicy foods, red meats, lettuce wraps, burgers, tacos, lobsters, crabs, shrimp, arrowheads, maces (his favourite weapons), knives and daggers, red rust, spinach, courgetti, cucumbers, coyote pelts, red carnelian, rubies, dried scorpions, star anise, black peppercorns, black silk, bird eggs, red thorns, sour cherries, red grapefruits, red grapes, dark chocolate, sweets, and brightly-coloured sex toys. He also tends to loves shiny and obnoxious sorts of things.

#set #sutekh #egyptian gods #kemetic gods #kemeticism #egyptian polytheism #paganism #deity work

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aoifeanamadan · 3 years

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After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 4386

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

The sky is blue, the sun is hot and Dream hates George.

Everyone knew Dream hated him, really hated him, all smug and sarcastic and closed off. Where Dream was friendly, loud and outgoing, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was above everyone else.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

Support this work on AO3 :)

Chapter Two: Montague versus Capulet

Change is hard. It’s a universal truth. But for Dream, change was foreign. It just didn’t happen. He did the same thing every day. Get up, sunrise, shower, breakfast, get in Sapnap’s truck. The days were all the same, they pushed into each other.

It was as if his life was made up of concrete blocks, one for every day. He was stacking them, and the more weight he added, the less space between the blocks. They were pressed so closely together, the weight of a lifetime keeping them tight, there was no room for opportunities to worm themselves in.

That wasn’t to say it was bad. He liked his life. It was fine. He had friends, hobbies, he did great in school. He was captain of the state champion soccer team. Girls liked him. It was all perfectly fine.

His new weekend arrangements threw a spanner into his routine. Instead of watching Netflix from his couch in his pyjamas, he was sitting at the breakfast table across from his dad. His father’s attempted conversation was a sorry replacement for Netflix’s D-List cartoons.

His dad was him lecturing about something, but it was as if Dream had cotton in his ears. His father’s throwaway words about consequence and responsibility were muted. He was saying something about the image Dream had to project as soccer captain when a ding came from Dream’s phone. It was Sapnap.

Sapnap

(9:37 am) hey im outside lets go

Once Dream read the text he was on his feet, toast in his mouth and jacket in his hand, rushing muffled goodbyes to his father. He heard the vague well wishes as he left.

Sapnap was a good friend, but one of his best traits was knowing when to be the enemy. The second Dream got in the car, he was complaining. About his dad, George, these stupid weekend classes. His lamenting was cut short. Before he could fully develop any of his woes, Sapnap was interrupting.

“Dream shut up,” he whined. It caught Dream off guard, stopping him in the middle of his first anti-George rant of the day. He looked at Sapnap, wounded. Sapnap just rolled his eyes. Dream gave up on the hurt puppy charade. He had only been on the first part of the speech, George’s entitlement. He didn’t even get to parts two, three or four (George’s pretentiousness, George’s fakeness and George’s sense of superiority, respectively). Each part was ten minutes long.

“Dude?” He didn’t like the distant hurt that he could hear in his voice. Sapnap softened.

“Sorry, it’s just like, this is your fault Dream.” This was not how Dream had expected the drive to hell to go. “You started the fight, and it’s not like George wants to do this either.” He knew Sapnap might have been right, but Dream soured at the thought of Sapnap and George’s friendship. Them discussing how Dream had ruined his weekend plans for the next two months, George trying to steal his best friend.

He pushed down the feeling of betrayal, it wasn’t fair to Sapnap. He could reserve that feeling exclusively for George.

“Yeah, maybe.” Dream hummed, noncommittal. He glanced out the window, the school was in sight. It was towering over him, looming and gothic. Dream was suddenly overcome, every part of him was saying don’t go in. He pushed the thoughts down and refocused on Sapnap.

“You might even enjoy it, George is really funny!” Dream could tell he was trying to spin this into a positive, but the thought of having to spend two hours a week with George for two months made him feel hopeless. He imagined it, the hours he’d have to listen to George try to boss him around, trying to make him feel stupid. George would try to one-up him every chance he got, that was just who he was. He could never just let Dream win.

Before Dream could reply, the car was parked. He looked at Sapnap, who didn’t seem quite as sombre as Dream did. To Dream, it felt like a solemn occasion. To Sapnap, it felt like dropping his friend off while he was on his way to do the weekly food shop.

“I don’t want to go in.”

Sapnap, ever sensitive, just laughed. He shoved Dream’s shoulders towards the door in a gentle but firm attempt to get him out of the car.

“Go on Dream, I have to get shit for dinner.”

Dream was walking and into the school before he had the chance to talk himself out of it. He wasn’t worried about the work. How hard could it be to recite some Shakespeare, or whatever it was they did in weekend English. He was worried about who he’d have to work with. He didn’t know anyone taking the class other than George.

When he entered the classroom, he was sure he was in the wrong room. At first, he thought there was no one in there. That was before he noticed the woman in the corner, facing the walls. Dream felt like he was interrupting something. He knocked on the door, which was already open. It was more of a polite way to say ‘Excuse me miss, you’re not possessed, right?’. She whipped around at the sound of Dream’s knuckled on the heavy wood. He was fairly sure she was not possessed.

As she stepped quickly towards him, he noticed her jumper. Plastered across the front there was the face of a multi-coloured pug. Her hair was wild around her, swamping her face, and her glasses made her eyes look like orbs too big for her face.

“Hello dear, sit down please, sit down. Welcome! You must be George?”

Dream rushed to correct her, rather than be mistaken for George of all people, but she had already moved on.

“I am Ms Dahlman, so so happy to have you here in English. What an opportunity! God, you’re so lucky. In my youth, we didn’t have these weekend class options. God, so lucky you all are. I am just so happy to have you here!” She was talking a mile a minute. Dream felt paralysed under her gaze, waiting for her to take a breath so he could interject.

She continued for four minutes, telling him how lucky he was to have this opportunity. He didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t his choice. He did however want to clear up that he was definitely not George.

Before he got his chance, there was another knock at the door. George’s voice came from the doorway, slow and soft. It was a stark contrast to Ms Dahlman.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find the room. I’ve never had weekend classes before.” George was standing, messy-haired and disinterested. Dream thought he looked arrogant. It was just like George to be late, he had no regard for other people’s time. Something shameful in Dream couldn’t wait to tell Sapnap, to prove he was ten times the friend George could be. But he wasn’t sure if good punctuality was quite enough to convince him.

“It’s fine, just come in.” Ms Dahlman sounded pained at the interruption, but she soldiered through. “You can sit down here next to George.”

George, the real George, quirked his eyebrow.

“That’s funny, my name is George too.” Dream wanted to wipe his smug smirk right off his face. Ms Dahlman however, seemed overjoyed with the development.

“Oh! Two George’s! Heavens above, who would’ve ever thought? I knew your name couldn’t be Dream, but that was all it said on the attendance form they gave me! I said to them, I said ‘Dream? Well that can’t be a real name, can it?’ but they told me it was the preferred name, so it was what I was to use. George is much more sensible.” Dream felt his cheeks burning, but he didn’t want to get aggressive. He tried to push the feelings down.

Looking at George, who seemed barely able to contain his laughter, made that a lot harder. Dream nodded at Ms Dahlman, to be polite, but she didn’t notice. She just continued speaking, something Dream was starting to note as a consistent course of action for her.

“As I was saying, the grade you get in this class will be added to your overall GPA for the subject. Normally, it’s used to bring up the average but obviously,” she gestured to the empty class “people just don’t care about English the way they used to.”

Only then did it strike Dream, him and George were the only two taking the class. Unless someone was running 8 minutes late for the first class, no one else was coming. Dream wanted to sink into his chair and never get up again.

Before he could figure out how to melt himself down, Ms Dahlman was explaining their first assignment.

“Now, for the first two months boys you will be writing a speech!” She paused, for dramatic effect. It didn’t work. Dream and George were looking at her with the same badly disguised disinterest. She continued, consistent as ever. “Now I heard about your, how to put this, communicational issues .” She grimaced at the mention of Dream and George’s earlier conflict. “So!” She punctuated herself with a short clap. “The speech will be titled ‘What my partner has taught me.’ It’s going to be a great opportunity for you two to learn how to cooperate!”

Dream did not want the opportunity to cooperate with George. He was stuck up, rude, inconsiderate. He acted as if he was better than everyone else, scoffing and looking down at them. Dream had plenty of friends, he didn’t want or need George.

Ms Dahlman, unsurprisingly, was not finished speaking. And so she continued, taking Dream out of his pessimistic thoughts.

“Now, I can see no reason to keep you here.” Dream and George looked at each other instinctually, then up at her smiling face, waiting for an explanation. “I’ll be giving you sheets that I’ll need to be signed by your parents to prove every week that you’re putting the time in together, as well as a guide to writing the speech. But, really boys, I can’t imagine why you would have to stay in the school.”

Ms Dahlman seemed to be about fifty, possibly older. Dream had no idea how she had navigated the world so far. It seemed she never even paused her monologues to breathe.

She gave the sheets to both Dream and George, and then she just left. She walked out the door and into her car without a glance back. The boys were left stunned in her wake.

Dream looked at George. George looked at Dream. Neither said anything, neither knew what to say.

Before Dream could start the inevitable conversation, George had taken out his phone. Self-obsessed as ever. Dream commented, emboldened by his evident social superiority,

“Well, that’s a bit rude-” Before he could finish, George had interrupted.

“Can you drive?” George hadn’t even spared him a glance. So rude . Dream couldn’t say he was surprised. Dream rolled his eyes. George didn’t seem to notice.

“No. What does that have to do with anything?” Dream didn’t try to stop the animosity from seeping into his voice. George didn’t seem to notice.

“Well I can’t drive either, I got the bus here. And we can’t just stay in here, it smells bad.” Dream didn’t want to admit it, but George was right. It did smell bad.

Dream started to speak. At the same time, George looked up from his phone. They both spoke at the same time, the same idea.

“I’m texting Sapnap.”

“Maybe Sapnap can-”

Dream laughed nervously. George didn’t laugh back. Sapnap was collecting them within ten minutes, a bag of shopping in the back.

Before long, they were sitting together on Sapnap’s couch, alone. Sapnap had left the room to make some food for them. Dream would’ve been happy to sit in silence until Sapnap came back with the snacks, but George wasn’t on the same wavelength.

“So, um, how are you?” George’s voice trailed off as he spoke. It felt like he wanted to be there even less than Dream.

“Good. Fine.” Dream was curt. He hadn’t expected George to make conversation, and he wasn’t going to try and encourage it. George could go back to texting on his phone forever for all Dream cared.

“Good.” George was returning his energy. His friendly conversationalist charade hadn’t lasted very long. Dream tried to settle back into the silence between them.

It didn’t stay like that for long. By the time Sapnap was back, he was entering to hear George yelling.

“Seven billion people in the world and I get stuck doing this with you! Either I’m cursed or God likes playing house.” He was standing on one side of the couch, Dream on the other. Anytime Dream moved, George moved the opposite way.

“Fuck you, George!”

Sapnap just wanted to get everyone some snacks.

He made them recount the argument, word for word, starting with George tapping his fingers ‘too loud’ on the arm of the couch.

Before long, Sapnap was telling them both off. He couldn’t say he was shocked that he had to explain that George telling Dream “I can say with utmost certainty, that you are definitely, A Bitch.” was not working cooperatively.

Dream was just as bad. But he did at least look remorseful while recounting his shout of “Every time you open your mouth I want to push you over the edge of a cliff and I mean that with all my heart.”

In the end, Sapnap made them sit in silence at opposite ends of the couch. Dream tried to feel guilty, he really did, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret squabbling with George, or chasing him around the couch. He was just so awful . Someone needed to knock him down a peg. And it’s not like he couldn’t take it, he was coming back just as hard as Dream. Maybe even harder.

Dream didn’t feel guilty for fighting with George, but he did feel guilty for getting Sapnap tangled up in the middle of it all. Dream could tell he hated the tension he and George had created.

Dream glanced towards George, checking to see if he looked as guilty as Dream felt, only to be met with George’s eyes staring at him. Weirdo. George nodded his head towards Sapnap, then between him and Dream. Dream didn’t want to admit it, but he understood.

George was saying ‘Look what we did.’ He was saying ‘Come on, we’ve to fix this.’

As much as it hurt him, Dream knew George was right. He looked up at him. George was mouthing something. Dream looked at his lips.

He was saying ‘Fuck you.’

Dream couldn’t hold in his laugh, isolated and muffled. Luckily, it was covered up by George’s exaggerated apology.

“Dream, I’m sorry for annoying you on purpose, and then for saying mean things to you.” Dream nearly had to physically restrain himself from jumping up and down, yelling ‘I told you so!’ He had known George was annoying him on purpose. Instead, he announced his apology as a reply.

“That’s okay George. I am sorry for chasing you around the couch and also for saying mean things to you.” He stopped himself from adding the ‘I am also sorry that you are a little bitch.’ He was too mature.

Instead of a relieved laugh, Sapnap’s brow furrowed. Dream could almost hear his mind moving at a mile a minute. George must have noticed it too. They both left it, but Sapnap wasn’t saying anything. And Dream had never considered patience his strongest virtue.

“Just say it Sapnap.” Dream and George were both looking at him expectantly.

“Huh?” Sapnap looked shocked that they had noticed his internal conflict.

“He’s right, whatever you’re thinking. Just say it. I can practically hear you thinking.” George agreed with Dream. It was a day full of firsts.

“Do you guys actually hate each other? Like, there’s no reason to. Or, do you just enjoy the feeling of having someone to hate? I don’t get it.”

Dream didn’t know what to say. They had never talked about it so openly, him and George. It was an unspoken truth, so obvious it didn’t need to be acknowledged.

Montague versus Capulet, Taylor versus Katie, Dream versus George.

George and Dream just stared at each other, frozen. Sapnap moved on before either of them answered.

“You know what, nevermind. It doesn’t even matter.”

The silence made Dream feel guilty, looking at Sapnap made him feel worse. He was holding himself with annoyance, rare but visible. Before Dream could try and apologise, George was changing the subject. If he was someone else, Dream would've been thankful. But he was not anyone else, so Dream thought it was rude.

“So, where is everyone? The house is empty.” George was right. Both of Sapnap’s parents were out, a rare occurrence. The house was quiet, and the noise was obviously missing. There was no smell of cooking, no top of the pops radio. Dream hardened at the thought of George realising there was something wrong in Sapnap’s house before he could. He wasn’t surprised, it was just like George to make sure he mentioned it before Dream got a chance.

Dream scoffed. George didn’t notice, and if he did he didn’t turn around.

“Oh,” Sapnap’s eyes widened, shocked at the observation. Dream made a mental note to pay more attention to how Sapnap was doing. “My dad, he’s- he’s out of town.” Sapnap didn’t say anything else about it. Instead, he did his best to help George and Dream.

They tried to work, they really did, but it was hard. The main task was to listen and learn from each other, but Dream would have rather died than learn anything from George, and the sentiment was clearly reciprocated. It had gotten to the point where neither of them were even saying anything, just looking at Sapnap waiting for instruction.

Sapnap, bless him, he tried his best. But one thing Dream and George could agree on was that it was easy to say no to Sapnap’s ideas.

“Why don’t you bond over your childhoods or something?” Sapnap threw out his fifth idea in ten minutes. Dream and George glanced to each other before replying.

“That’s dumb.”

“Ew, no Sapnap.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes

“Okay, fine. Whatever, you guys have fun.” He took his laptop from the coffee table and put in his headphones, ignoring Dream and George’s shouts of protest.

“No, Sapnap come on! Give us another idea!” Dream whined. Sapnap shook his head, trying to hide a smile.

“Sorry guys, but I do actually have my own work to do.”

Without Sapnap, things went off track quickly. George and Dream were sitting on opposite sides of Sapnap. George was cross-legged on the floor, messing with a piece of paper. Dream was draped across the armchair, head tilting back up to the ceiling. He was tossing up and down a soccer ball.

George and Dream were thinking out loud, having long abandoned brainstorming for their speeches. It was easy to ignore it when they had an infinite two months stretching out in front of them.

“Why did you fight so hard for it to be weekends?” Dream threw the question out into the air, hardly thinking about George’s reply.

“Well, I have shit to do after school.” Dream could not imagine a single thing that George might have to do after school. “Plus, I knew you have soccer training after school. I figured the team couldn’t function without their captain.” George said it sarcastically, but he couldn’t mask the truth in the statement. George knew when Dream had soccer, even if it was probably just because of Sapnap. And he had accommodated him when negotiating their punishment.

George had done something nice for Dream, without even telling him. He had just done it, quiet and personal.

Dream didn’t know how to digest this new information.

He was so preoccupied with the idea of George being in any way considerate, he didn’t notice him picking up a new sheet of paper, tearing off a corner and rolling it up into a ball. Before Dream could glance in his direction, the paper ball had hit him on the nose.

“Hey!” Dream’s head snapped towards George. He had the audacity to smile.

“Oops,” George deadpanned. Dream was whining for Sapnap within the second.

“It wasn’t an accident! It wasn’t and you know it! Sapnap, Sapnap! Tell him!” Sapnap just rolled his eyes. Dream glared at George.

“Try that again. Try it, I dare you.” Dream tried his best to sound tough. He was big, he was intimidating. He was the captain of the state champion soccer team. George couldn’t do shit to him.

George threw another piece of paper.

“Sapnap! He did that on purpose!” Dream whined. He didn’t realise how similar to an eight-year-old he sounded until the words had already left his mouth. Sapnap didn’t even look up from his laptop. He felt the blood rushing to his cheeks.

Dream picked back up his soccer ball from his chest, a plan forming. Before he could even raise his hand, George was talking.

“Throw it, throw it and see what happens to you.” Dream gaped at George, he hadn’t even been looking at him. How did he know the soccer ball was coming? Just then, George did look. His eyes shot up from the paper crane he was making to meet Dream’s.

George’s eyes pierced him, frosty and chilling. Dream didn’t think he had ever looked into someone’s eyes the way he was doing just then. He felt like he could read George’s mind. It was saying ‘ Don’t you fucking dare’. Dream put back down the soccer ball slowly. The second George looked away, he threw it.

As the hours went by, George’s mask of indifference, his icy remarks and snarky comments, they faded away. A different George was filling his place. Still snarky, still acting as if he was just a little bit better than Dream, but different. He was excitable, quicker to smile.

George wasn’t as bad as Dream thought he was. Sure, he was a little bit rude. And he was definitely pretentious. He wasn’t as arrogant as Dream had thought he would be. And, even if it pained him to say it, he was funny.

All these things combined, he wasn’t the worst person to spend time with. No one noticed that the two mandatory hours had passed. They just stayed on Sapnap’s sitting room floor together, talking. George wasn’t a bad listener.

Dream was telling the story of his awful Monday morning, the first day of senior year. He was a good storyteller, he prided himself on that. Even Sapnap had taken off his headphones to listen. He had just gotten to the part of the story where he had to sit next to Weird Sarah. The smile George had been wearing was slipping slowly as he told him the woeful tail of having to sit next to her. George interrupted for the first time in hours.

“Hey, don’t be mean.” George was looking serious, an expression he hadn’t worn in hours. Dream didn’t understand why.

“Sarah’s actually a childhood friend. She’s really nice when you get to know her.”

Dream understood why. He felt like an idiot.

“Oh, shit, shit. Sorry, I didn’t realise. Shit. I’m sorry.” He tried his best to sound sincere, a stained sort of guilt overcoming him. George’s face didn’t change.

“No, it’s okay. It’s fine. I just forgot who you were for a second there.”

Dream felt like shit. Sarah hadn’t even done anything to him. But something in his mind was whispering to him. It wasn’t his fault if George was friends with her. Maybe they were both weird. This was classic George, trying to make him feel bad no matter what he did. Dream tried to push it away, but it was there. Lying underneath his brain, polluting his thoughts.

George, the George that Dream had come to know in that evening at Sapnap’s house, was suddenly gone. He stayed another half-hour, but it wasn’t the same. They focused on the work, writing about speech structures and other things Dream couldn’t have cared less about. And then George was gone, collected from the footpath outside Sapnap’s quiet house by his mother.

Dream and Sapnap were left alone in his sitting room. Dream wanted to sink into the floor and never get up again.

“Well That wasn’t, that wasn’t as bad as I expected.” Sapnap tried his best, but he didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

“It was bad.” Dream groaned, getting down to lie on the carpeted floor.

“Well, don’t undersell it. It wasn’t all bad.” Sapnap prodded him gently in the side with his foot. Dream squirmed.

“It was all bad.” Mixed with the embarrassment, there was a bitter kind of regret. Dream had ruined something good, something new. Before he could sink too far down his hole of sorrow, Sapnap was there.

“You should text him, to like apologise or something.” Sapnap had stood up to clean the sitting room, bring their plates into the kitchen. The conversation was over. Dream heaved himself off the floor, despite the weight of his self-pity.

“Yeah, okay. Okay. Yeah.”

It was later that night when Dream got the chance to text George. It was easier to send difficult texts from the safety of his blanket.

Dream

(10:14 pm) hey, its dream. Im sorry for talking shit about sarah.

(10:15 pm) It was mean and wasnt fair i feel really bad about it

Dream hadn’t realised just how much he actually wanted George’s forgiveness until he saw the three dots next to George’s name.

Gogy<3

(10:16 pm) its cool. dont do it again though it was a dick move

Dream

(10:16 pm) yeah i know :(

Gogy<3

(10:17 pm) also for future reference i never read texts. Message me on sc if you need me its georgenotfound

At 10:18 pm, George got a notification.

Dreamwastaken has added you as a friend.

#dreamnotfound #mcyt #mcyt fic #enemies to lovers #highschool au #dreamxgeorge #dream/george #sapnap #georgenotfound #dream smp #minecraft youtube #minecraft #enemies to friends to lovers #no beta but i used grammerly hehe

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years

Text

Empires on the Horizon I

Jason is a CEO: Part I

Here’s my masterlist for the next part and my other stuff

i fear it might break me

then break

break

let spirit crack you open

-a letter to the king

There was something almost sinister in the whiskey-induced haze of a Manhattan skyline. The buildings nothing but dark blocks, uneven stairs.

There was something lonely about the haze too.

But Jason Grace couldn't give two shits about the blackening playground of buildings, couldn't give two shits about the incredible view from his twenty-second story window, couldn't give two shits about anything except his whiskey bottle and the burn because today could only be described as hell. Worse than hell maybe.

His son of a bitch ex-boyfriend and his son of a bitch new girlfriend, well ex-girlfriend now, had decided to christen his office. The deal he'd been working on for months didn't get legal approval, which meant everything had to be redrafted. And on top of everything his sister called to tell him she’s setting him up on a date with a quote, unquote ‘lovely girl who seems just right for him.’ He wanted to slam his phone across the room, and he would have if he didn't believe she had the supernatural abilities to know when he was pissy.

The shrill ring of said phone interrupted his anger.

"Talk to me"

"Hello Grace, you sound like shit."

"I'd sound better if you didn't fucking call me, you ass."

A laugh echoed down the phone.

"What do you want Valdez?" A smile played at Jason's lips, despite his day.

"Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing," Leo Valdez sighed, "I heard what happened with bimbo and brainless today."

He winced, "I don't know if I want to burn my office or throw them in an unmarked swamp to swim with the crocs."

"We can do both." His friend replied, conviction lacing his words.

He chuckled darkly shaking his head, "I think I'm just gonna drown myself in the good stuff tonight. I'll face the world tomorrow."

"Okay, I've sent over a tub of your favourite ice-cream. Sorry I can't be there; The lady has been raving about this theatre show for months. I'll be dead if I bail now."

"No worries Firefly, thanks for the ice-cream. Let's meet tomorrow for dinner?"

"Sure bro. I'll book us at the Labyrinth."

"Great and bring your better half!"

A laugh was the only reply before the call ended.

Jason collapsed onto the couch, folding his body into the corner of the seat and taking a large swig from the whiskey. Every time his mind wandered to the horrors of the day he drank. It took a horrifyingly short time to see the bottom of the bottle. The world blurred and tilted, swayed like young trees fighting against the wind. Tears spilled hot and fresh down his cheeks- he didn’t bother to wipe them away. Today he was allowed to cry, today he was allowed to break. It was okay, okay...

“OKAY!” He yelled, trying to untangle his legs from the blanket and wipe the drool on his mouth.

The banging at the door started up again and he cursed a blue streak. With a growl he yanked the door open, “What?”

“Well good morning to you too Mr. Grace,” A cheery-faced Hazel Levesque greeted.

“Hazel,” He sighed “Hi, sorry I- come in,”

“Everything okay Boss?”

“Had a bit of a rough day yesterday, I’m sure I smell like the inside of a whiskey bottle,”

“Uh-I don’t know if I should say anything to that,”

“Good call, I might burst into tears if you do.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look but he waved a dismissive hand, picking up the pillows he had flung in rage and the bottle he had discarded just before he crashed on his couch.

“I’m going to go shower; I’ll update you over some breakfast.”

She gave him a long look before nodding and taking up a set at the kitchen counter. He thought about explaining or offering her something to drink but his soul was exhausted; at the very least he could help himself to a shower before he had to face the world.

The water scorched his back, his forehead pressed to the cool tile. He considered himself lucky for having eaten before he got drunk, otherwise he would have spent the morning with his head in a toilet bowl. His brain pounded against his skull but the alcohol was only half to blame; crying for two hours had its fair contribution.

“Okay you can do this. You’ve gotten through a lot of shit, you can get through this.” He stared himself down in his mirror, fixed the clasp on his watch and shouldered his suit jacket.

With a deep breath he stepped out of his room, his business face firmly in place.

“Shall we grab coffee at Reedpipes, you can update me on my schedule on the way.”

“Sounds good Boss let’s go,”

And within a matter of moments they were stepping into their favourite café. Flowers bloomed in the middle of every table and ivy wrapped around the industrial fixtures above them. A bright hello sounded from the barista’s station.

“Good Morning Grover,” He smiled, at the bearded man already frantically working on their orders.

“How’s it going? I haven’t seen you in a hot minute.” Warm eyes twinkled up at him. It took immense self-control not to burst into tears.

Grover, oblivious to his turmoil prattled on, “Hazel how’s the strawberry pot coming along? Did the compos-“

Jason zoned out, the world becoming a blur of sound and moving colours. His mind hurtled him back to yesterday when he had walked into his office– oh gods it hurt to think about. The evidence of them had been everywhere. Clothes strewn on the floor, his papers and trinkets thrown like a hurricane had swept through. And they had just grinned, like they were waiting, like they planned for it. His stomach flipped, ache and regret flooding him.

“Mr Grace!” A small hand shook his shoulders.

He startled back to the present, “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay” Hazel gave him a weird look, “I’ve got our coffees let’s grab a seat.”

He nodded letting her lead them to a little wooden table in the corner of the shop. Sun was just starting to filter in, and the beams caught on the subtle gold accents rimming each table. Once they had settled in across from each other she handed him his cappuccino and took a long slurp of her iced coffee before setting her intimidating golden eyes on him.

“Spill Boss.”

He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Yesterday I went back to my office after the meeting with Titan Industries, we need to do a redraft for that by the way,”

She nodded, already tapping on her phone to diarise an appointment with the legal team.

“So I get the office and Piper and Luke–“ He gulped, steeling himself, “They decided to use my office as their playground.”

He didn’t know how to put it delicately and little Hazel shouldn’t have to hear his real thoughts on the matter which mostly sounded like ‘fucking fucks, stupid dumbass wankers’ and various other curse words

“Oh Jason,” She gasped softly, reaching out a hand to squeeze his, “I am so sorry. Why are you even coming in to work today? You should have taken the day to yourself.”

“I still have a business to run Hazel, and besides I can’t let their selfishness stop me.”

“You are allowed to be hurt Jason.”

“I know, I know. But I can be hurt this weekend, right now we need to redraft that stupid contract and I need to make some calls about the new buildings starting this week,”

“Right will add that, don’t forget we need to get your suit for the alumni dinner on Friday,”

“Ugh I forgot about that, okay just pencil that in for some time today and maybe call Drew or Silena to find out if they can have a few ready for me to try on. Also I have dinner with Valdez tonight so no calls after six thirty.”

“You got it Boss, and hey–“ She tugged at his sleeve making sure he looked at her, “If at any point you need to stop, you let me know. And if I see you neglecting yourself like you did last time, I will book a trip to the smallest island in the middle of the damn ocean and throw you on a plane myself,”

He laughed at his fiery assistant, and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, “Yes ma’am.”

***

Jason’s day wasn’t going great, but it was at least fifty times better than yesterday. All his belongings had been moved to the floor above and his tainted office was being cleaned out. He didn’t know if he wanted to go back there ever again but maybe he could convert it into a room for his employees. At least they won’t be haunted by the events that occurred. His call with Miss Arellano had gone surprisingly well even if the drafting of this stupid Titan Industries project was proving to be a real pain in the ass. He didn’t even know if it was worth it to do this much readjusting.

“Hey boss,” Hazel knocked at his door, “Frank is here to take you to your suit appointment,”

“Damn is it already four?” He frowned at his watch, “Alright give me two minutes to finish this email and then I’ll be ready. You should go home for the day.”

She snorted, “Thanks, but I got some admin to catch up on. You mind if Frank comes back to drop me off at home afterwards though?”

“No problem, you know he would be happy to do it.”

And maybe if Jason hadn’t been so distracted, he would have caught the blush his assistant was trying so hard to stop.

“Right well, let me know if you pick out a suit or if I need to reschedule. Also Mr Valdez called to confirm your reservation at the Labyrinth for seven thirty.”

“Thank you,” He gave her a brief smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before turning his attention back to his blinking cursor.

***

“Hello ladies,” He entered the open, marbled boutique that was Aphrodite’s Armour.

“Jason!” A sweet voice squealed, coming towards him for a hug.

“Hello Silena, how are you?”

“Much better now that my favourite customer is here,”

“Aww,” Another voice pouted, “I thought I was your favourite customer?”

“Babe you don’t count,” Silena laughed, booping her fiancé on the nose.

“Well if it makes you feel any better Drew, I know she’s lying because she says that to all the customers.”

Silena gasped, smacking his arm, “I DO not.”

“Yes you do hun,” Drew laughed, “You here for your suit Mr Grace?”

“Yea it’s for the alumni dinner at SPQR University this Friday,”

“Oh yes we’ve heard a lot about this dinner. We’ve had all manner of folks come in these last few days.” Silena nodded, already making her way to the back of the store.

“I’m sure. It’s the big charity dinner where they get all the ‘successful’ alumni together and then milk us for all we’re worth.” He shook his head with a smile.

“Ah you rich people can afford it,” Drew scoffed, smirking at him over her shoulder.

“Yes I do agree,” He nodded, “Where’s my favourite of you lot?”

“Oh Charlie isn’t in. It’s Wednesday so he has to go to his sites.”

“He’ll be sad he missed you though, I think he has some project he wants to pitch.”

“Tell him to give me a call, I’m always happy to talk business.”

“Yes, although I’m sure he’ll be much happier to get down to business with you,” Drew cackled.

“And how would his two fiancées feel about that?” He raised a blonde brow.

“Quite excited,” Silena bubbled, a glitter in her eyes.

Jason let out a real laugh for the first time all day, “Sorry darlings but I don’t think I’d be much fun right now.”

Drew gave him a kiss on the cheek “Well, we’ll be here when you do.”

“Much appreciated,” He grinned.

“Okay, I think I have the perfect one!” Silena moved from behind the racks shoving a black bag into his hands, “Go try it on.”

He stumbled into the changing room and pulled out a gorgeous maroon suit. The lining was a deep blue and the detailing on the seams matched it perfectly. He knew immediately this would be a favourite of his and got confirmation when two minutes later he stepped out to gasps and applause.

“Mr Grace,” Drew’s eyes were wide.

“This is the best one yet,” Silena sighed, assessing him.

“Thank you ladies, it really is beautiful.”

“I think the wearer may be more so,” A low voice from behind them said.

Jason’s head shot up only for his gaze to land on the most exquisite person he had ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on. The beautiful stranger stood with their hands tucked in their pocket and an appreciative look on their face.

“Oh Mr Jackson we didn’t think you’d be here so early.” Silena jumped into action, ushering him through the door and out of site.

Jason was standing stock-still unable to get the image of sparkling green eyes and molten brown skin out of his head.

“Who was that?” He breathed.

Drew was pulling at his suit, synching it and marking the fabric with needles.

“Oh that was Mr Jackson, he comes in here fairly often too. It’s a wonder you haven’t met before, I’m sure you run around the same social circles, what with your fancy parties and all that,” She was mumbling around a mouth full of measuring tape.

“I’ve never seen him before in my life. Trust me I would remember a face like that.”

That got the seamstress’ attention, “Oh someone has a crush,”

“How could you not? We did see the same person, right? Tall, wonderful curly black hair, unbelievable sea green eyes, a voice like crashing waves and earth and-“

He was cut off by her laughing.

“What?” He frowned.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fall so hard from a five second interaction.”

He blushed, looking away from her all-knowing gaze, “I’m just saying what I saw.”

“Well I’m pretty sure he’s going to the dinner on Friday so maybe you can talk to him there.”

‘He’s what?” He whipped around to look at her, eyes comically wide.

“Yea, he was telling us all about it when he came in earlier this week.”

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, oh gods,” He muttered, heart racing.

“Oh don’t panic, he’s honestly one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet.” She shrugged before pulling at his arm to take the measurement, “Alright, all set to go. You can pick up the suit tomorrow afternoon or we can send it tomorrow evening?’

“Uh yea, send it.” He said distractedly, already pulling on his clothes.

Drew gave him a cheeky smile, “Goodbye Mr Grace,”

“Bye Drew, tell Silena I said bye, and tell Charlie to call me.”

He stepped into the entrance of the shop, but the beautiful man was nowhere to be found. With a final glance around he made his way into the street, ready for dinner with his friends.

“Hello Grace, glad to see you haven’t gone full hermit,”

“Hello Leo,” He snorted, “It was the ice-cream you sent last night. It gave me hope.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” His friend laughed, “How are you though, seriously?”

“I’ve seen better days, but I’ve seen worse too. I’ll get over it.”

“There is no doubt in my mind Jason Grace,” A soft reassurance floated towards them.

He smiled, pushing out of his seat, “Hello Annabeth,” He enveloped her in a hug.

“Hello my darling,” She gave him a gentle smile.

He let her go and she moved around him to give Leo a quick peck. He smiled at her with overflowing adoration and muttered a soft, “Hello love,”

“Tell us what happened?” She sat down next to her boyfriend and reached out to squeeze Jason’s hand.

So he took a deep breath and relayed the story of his nightmare yesterday. By the time he was finished the couple looked like they were ready to storm the castle and beat Luke and Piper with sledgehammers and drawing compasses.

Annabeth’s grey eyes were hard and stormy with anger, “I’m going to kill them,”

“Don’t worry babe I’m there to help.” Leo said vehemently.

Jason couldn’t help but smile at the protectiveness of his friends, “Thank you guys but I’m fine. Really.”

They gave him a dubious look, their expressions so similar it was comical. He gave them another, hopefully, reassuring smile before they launched into a discussion about work.

Both were engineers with too many degrees to count and an abundance of knowledge circling between them. It was almost scary how exquisitely their minds worked. Jason had recruited them time again for his projects– from designing the education center to building the water systems and electricity grids in the downtown area. His work helping small businesses and improving ‘run-down’ neighbourhoods would be a thousand times harder if he didn’t have them to help him in design and implementation. Annabeth, as the civil engineer, often went to sites with him and over saw a fair few of his community projects. Leo was a mechanical engineering professor at the university they all attended but he was always willing to help if need be. Jason was eternally grateful for that because he didn’t trust many others to oversee his works.

When dessert had been cleared away sometime later the three were laughing and ribbing each other like they were back in college and not big-time owners of various companies.

“Okay, okay,” Leo gasped, “No more of your stories man. Annabeth doesn’t need to know all my secrets.”

The lady in question snorted, digging her elbow into his side, “You wish you had secrets. If you can’t recall I was there for ninety percent of your dumbassery in varsity and I’m here for one hundred percent of it now.”

“You don’t know what happened on our guys nights,” Leo narrowed his cassiterite eyes at her.

“Keep telling yourself that honey,” She smirked.

Jason watched on in amusement as Leo’s face morphed into panic.

“Tell me she’s lying Grace?”

Annabeth’s smirk was wicked, “Oh yes Valdez I know about the ‘pants on fire’ situation, and the ‘jumped off a Ferris wheel situation’ and the–“

“Okay stop. How did you ever choose to date me knowing all these things?” He looked at her with some mixture of horror and wonder.

She shrugged, “I figured if you were smart enough to get a PhD and a Masters you were smart enough to know when I’ll kill you for doing something stupid.”

Jason burst out laughing, “She may be taking your space at the top of my favourite’s list Firefly.”

His friend gave him a look of disgust, “That’s just rude, we’ll see who takes your phone away next time you’re drunk on vodka,”

They all dissolved into fits of giggles after that and Jason felt his heart grow a hundred times lighter.

“Are you guys going to the dinner?”

Annabeth nodded, “I heard the university has a proposition for us this year.”

“I’m mostly excited for the mini tacos,” Leo grinned.

“You’re always excited for the tacos,” She rolled her eyes playfully.

“I can’t help it, there’s just something about them, you know?”

Jason couldn’t help but agree. They really were delicious.

“I guess I’ll see you guys there.”

“You can count on it,” Annabeth gave another of her dazzling smiles, reaching forward to rest a hand on his arm.

“And don’t worry bro I know for a fact Luke isn’t going to be there.”

“Yea I know,” He sighed, “I asked Hazel to check this morning.” They stepped into the chilly night.

“Call us if you need anything,” Leo gave him a look before pulling him in for a hug. Annabeth echoed the sentiment and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He watched them walk towards their car, fingers intertwined, Annabeth’s blonde curls resting against Leo’s shoulder. A flutter of ache washed through him at their closeness, their easiness. He had had that once. Until Luke had gotten greedy with his ambition. And he may have had that with Piper if she hadn’t decided to screw his ex.

His life was a mess.

Yet when he crashed into bed that night he felt more hopeful and loved than he had in a long time. He slipped into sleep with a soft smile playing on his lips.

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

Okay what are we saying? How do we feel? GIVE ME THOUGHTS!

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@lesbian-peanuts @leydiangelo @queen-of-demons-and-hell @msdrpreist @sparkythunderstorm @nishlicious-01

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madou-dilou · 4 years

Text

A Requiem for Opeli, a Dragon Prince fanfic (Viren x reader) (sort of)

Despite everything your parents may have said, you enjoyed attending mass.

In the shade of the semicircular vaults of the sanctuary, in the sweet coloured lights of the stained glass windows, in the golden halos of the candles, under the benevolent eye of the saints, surrounded by six chapels for the six sources, the atoms themselves seemed to be scented with incense. Carved in stone, the acanthus flowers and strange fruits decorated the column's capitals, reminding the lost blessing of Xadia. Everything felt so dignified, so humble, so respectful, so soothing, so reliable and so reassuring that it was easy to get carried away by the choir of the nuns. The wise sermons of the High Prelate Opeli, in particular, procured such fervour that you had more than once been caught raising your hand to your chaplain when the ringing of the coins gathered for charity was heard between the rows of benches. However, it was not your habit to pay for strangers, even less for beggars. The Katolis Crown was funding enough leprosariums and hospitals to make it unnecessary for you to contribute. It was always their Majesties Harrow and Sarai who completely emptied their purses filled with gold in the baskets of the Sisters. Even the royal bastard ... what was his name again? Calleon? Callus? Caramel? Chameleon? Anyway, even he did not fail once to loosen his little chubby hands.

Thus the honour of sharing the same bench as their Majesties paid for a similar purse on pain of incurring the royal contempt, and after Their generous contributions would clink no more than mountains of little dims, pennies and piecettes.

Led by the warm alto voice of the High Prelate Opeli, the choir of the nuns spread in pious solemnities.

Et lux fontes duce nos

Defendat nos temptationem

Salvos nos fac de tenebris

Nos, agni decidantur

Dimitte nobis debita nostra

Dona nobis gratia Hi autem de Xadia

On your right, Lady Vassileia yawned. You gave her a nudge:

"Ouch!" she protested softly enough not to interrupt the psalm of the High Prelate. "I wasn't even asleep!"

"Liar," you whispered to her. "Raise your head and listen."

Vassilea had a broken pout that her lace mantilla could not conceal:

"After our phenomenal bender last night, I wonder by what miracle I was able to drag myself to the sanctuary."

You could hardly blame her. In the euphoria that followed your tenth perfect execution of the complex Jarnac move, you had invited your fencing master and your best friend to celebrate the event with a glass of fine wine, a secular cuvée stung in the cellars of the castle in the provinces. One glassful had become a fifth, a tenth, a fifteenth, and to the wise and poignant melody of Who covets the lady the husband must kill had succeeded the bawdy and raucous notes of A sublimated dead for my rising athame, and this until very late at night.

"And not just any rotgut, please!"

"Some Sang-Réal! Heavens, are you insane!" cried Vassilea, seeing you go up from the cellars with two bottles under each arm. "But what will your parents say?"

"Nothing, as usual: they are buried in their books!" had you retorted. "The courses at the University take so much and so much time and energy from them, because who, yes, who will be able to deliver the little people from the sterile dogmas of Faith if not Their Nobility and Their Bookish Knowledge ?!"

The Royal University of Katolis had only opened its gates fifteen years earlier, - it was the late King Harrow's father who inaugurated it. Still, its fame was already reaching every corner of the Pentarchy. Students were taught about everything, aside from dark magic, of course. Mathematics, geometry, geography, politics, history, philosophy, astronomy, ancient draconic, neolandian, evenerian, delbarian, durennian, rhetoric, logic, literature, theology, accounting. Even corpse dissection was taught in this place, despite being legalised only twenty years before- the Faith had uttered loud cries, and it was necessary to double the theology courses to calm their whinings.

"After the hollering that the Faith gave when the Toreha was printed," joked your lord of a father, "no one wants to suffer its snivelling ever again !"

"Everyone has their own copy and everyone can now interpret it in their own way!" added madam your mother. "Obviously, the Faith does not want to lose its grip on consciences!"

"The Faith lost it a long time ago already" snickered sir, "and despite all High Prelate Opeli's booing and hooing to the Council. On the contrary, even, that only demonstrates the truth: if It struggles, it is that it's dying! But, (name), my darling", he added conspiratorially, "won't you shout it all over the place, hm? You know how much displaying scepticism is frowned upon. "

Only the nobles had the privilege of teaching at the Royal University of Katolis, for the moment at least. On the actions took for the education of the little people, to lower the cost of paper and to improve printing techniques, invented some two hundred years earlier, returned the credit for the meteoric increase in the number of students. Even if most of them came from the bourgeoisie and the nobility, and even if the printing works were strictly supervised by a censorship council which limited as much as possible the dissemination of pamphlets and more or less fraudulent wisdom, it was inevitable that this storm of knowledge would trickle over each layer of the population, from the marquis in his castle to the boggy swamp. The Toreha will kill the Church, they said, from murmurs to pamphlets to late drinking in manors, and Human will kill the old Gods of Xadia ...

The nuns' choir continued its hymn in the triforium:

Mors, et vita in morte Fontes nos in deliberationibus

De veteris Dryadalis Xadia quidem apostolos luminis

Accipient in humanitate

Et propitius ero peccatis nostris

Et pascam eorum magicae

Vassiléa yawned to unhook her jaw:

"And then what idea you had of placing us in the last row!" she whimpered as the High Prelate Opeli piously licked a finger to turn a page of the Toreha. "I can't see a drop of it. As if ancient draconic wasn't enough..."

"It's not my fault that we arrived late," you whisper with dignity. "If you had stirred a little earlier, maybe we would be ..."

" You little liar," whispered Vassiléa. "Look at me all these splendid attires. It is surely not to honour the Holy Sources that you took all this trouble ... You have always disdained mass, like your bookworms of parents. Well, I grant you", she added, her eyes bright with mischief," having a job requires a lot of energy ... "

"It isn't even a real job," you protested, feeling the shame rising to your cheeks. "It's generosity, and it has absolutely nothing to do with it."

Vassiléa ignored you royally and whispered in the same mocking tone:

"It is not in the first row that you have the best view, but in the last…"

"I beg your pardon ?"

"… you are not at mass for a priestess but a priest…"

"Vassilea!" you squeaked as silently as possible.

No priest had ever seen himself in the Holy Faith of Pyrenees. The white habit had always been worn by women. If men could regroup in monasteries or abbeys, it would be forever impossible for them to say mass and to pronounce even a single parody of the sacrament. Unless, of course, the reform project discussed for years by the Conclave finally comes to an end, but given the Prelates mulish brains, that was not for the next day ahead.

"You are our soul, our hope and our salvation, Lost sources of Xadia," babbled Opeli far ahead under the stone vaults. "You who were generous enough to give us life and teach us forgiveness and mercy, may you forgive the arrogance of some black sheep and bad apples ..."

"… a divorced priest moreover," persisted Vassilea, "willingly perjury about the vow of chastity, decked out in two brats, dressed endlessly in black and not in white, versed in goety, dissection, the dark arts, spells, occult practices and hmmm, anatomy… "

" Blah, blah, blah, I can't hear anything, the sweet voice of the High Prelate lifts me up in the divine light of the Sources ... and then all that is part of his charm..."

" ... whose arrogant air makes him barely bearable to almost half the yard ..."

" Not even true..."

"… whose endless snoring invariably prevents the whole court from hearing mass ..."

" Vassilea!" you exclaim loud enough to attract a "hush!" imperious from this old cold-fish of Lord Thibalt, sitting in front of you.

"… and whose huge ivory cane that he drags everywhere," replied Vassilea when the gargoyle had turned, "most certainly serves to compensate for a little something."

You suddenly turned your head to your right. Fortunately, the handsome, oh, so handsome talker, who even in his snoring sleep could not leave those, oh, so concerned features, had heard nothing of it. His daughter, on the other hand, a frail brat about seven years old, stuck to her father, looked up from her enormous book and threw a glance at you and your companion, so cold that you both shivered.

"Dirty little mongrel of a chick-crow," you thought, and you tightened your silk mantilla around your carefully braided bun.

Rumours and speculations concerning the kinship of Lord Viren's two children (Soren, nine, and Claudia, seven) were rife at court. They had been assigned for example the High Prelate - she and Viren bickered with such ardour that it could not have happened something between these two. His legendary aversion to clerics added to the strict prohibition of the latter from carrying offspring only made the thing spicier: The Dove and the Crow, what a beautiful heading for a song! Amongst the candidates were also Lady Esmeraldine, because she had black hair and green eyes like Claudia and, as the Queen's servant, some contacts were far from improbable; Erichtoë, a luscious Durenian servant who was said to know something about dark magic; and many others ... Even Queen Sarai had not been spared by hearsay. You had just arrived at the court when this stupid idea had crossed your mind. In your eyes, there was no doubt that a passionate threesome stood at the top of power.

« I don't know where you get these wacky ideas from," your mother sighed when you told her about your suspicions, "because it's common knowledge that the know-it-all crow Lord Viren divorced just two years ago."

You had shrugged. This version was not very compelling. Or, perhaps mentioning the difficulties opposed by the Faith to this still new practice ... but that was not worth the salt of the love triangle.

"And then," continued your mother, "It is enough to look at the queen to see that she refrains from strangling our Grand Mage as soon as he pretends to approach his majesty."

"Precisely," had you insisted, "Is this not proof of bold jealousy between these three? The tension is, at the very least, overwhelming. They spend all their days stuck together. They've known each other for years. And the little prince gets along wonderfully with Soren and Claudia, and he has green eyes like her, and ... "

"Listen, my dear," sighed your mother again, for she spoke only with a sigh, "you better get down to something useful. Or upping your nose with a rubber hose, because in case it escaped your piercing gaze, which I very much doubt, I try to analyse this most boring theology work for my next conferences. "

"But come on, mother ..."

"Frankly," she continued without even listening to you because she never listened to you, "I thank the printing press every day for existence. I can hardly imagine the despair of the unfortunate copyist who had to spend whole years on this crystal-waving nonsense ... "

Whether their progenitor was the fairy queen, a whore from the Suburb of Pillows or a laboratory test tube, little Soren and Claudia were both brought up at court. Despite their promptitude to sneak into the kitchens to raid the jams, to giggle at jokes of a very bad taste or understood only by themselves and to enrage the castle's guards with their tricks; each of them was promised to more than prominent positions.

By the-Sources-knew what bewitchment, Lord Viren had even obtained a very express favour from Their Majesties, however renowned for their intransigence: Soren could miss Sunday Mass (a privilege that the whole court envied him) to participate in the training of the royal guards. Or to parasitise, depends on your allegiance. Claudia meanwhile was required to attend sermons - and as her father's daughter and rightful heir, did not listen to a word of it and always brought enormous books to pass the time. Without willing the fantasy as far as becoming their second mother, you would readily see yourself as a benevolent and affectionate but firm chaperone. A veneer of manners would not do them any harm, did you dream in the secret of your room, and then their father would undoubtedly be delighted to see them find back a semblance of balance.

"Love your enemies," announced the High Prelate far to the other end of the nave, "do good, and lend without hoping for anything. And your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the All-Mighty Sources, for They are good even for the ungrateful and for the bad. "

Her Holiness licked her finger again and turned a page of her copy of the Toreha. Someone in the audience yawned loudly. Several had begun to doze. Viren jumped, fell asleep again, snored more and Claudia horned a corner of her book.

You reached into your pocket and felt the silk of the honey candy bag. Without a doubt, Soren and Claudia would appreciate this little something special. It was a well-known fact that every child loved honey candies. Viren, on the other hand…

Your hand came to curl around the second gift. You did not have to dig your brains too hard to find it, this one: it was the magic oyster from which came out the few precious pearls that you had sown here and there during this memorable evening, two weeks ago ...

Of all the balls celebrating the arrival of spring, Lord Viren had deigned to present himself to only one. However, he distinguished himself by his ease. His tall stature and haughty manners frightened the dancers, but you had not been intimidated. Oh, you still had chills just by thinking of the way his arms tightly surrounded you, hugged you gently as he spun you in music and a storm of silk.

"You dance marvellously, my lord," you had extricated yourself.

"You too, madam."

Then, silence. You had the most considerable difficulty speaking, breathing and thinking while you were in the arms of the High Mage. Not to mention that you have to unscrew your neck to be able to look it in the eyes. I dance with him, he talks to me, touches me. You could perceive the warmth and the firm muscles of his long body through the black brocade.

"Are you still so charming, or is it my lucky day?"

"Is it your rule to speak while dancing?"

You were not going to let yourself be dismantled for so little. You get a new sense of ease in the rhythm of the flute, the viol and the tambourine before responding.

"Only if I consider my partner as worthy of this honour."

Oh, he was worth all the trouble in the world, actually. Particularly draped in this half-cape of black brocade stapled in purple, in this tunic embroidered with sand arabesques, which espoused its movements so gracefully. His beautiful grey eyes narrowed:

"You are too kind. In comparison, my ignorance makes me feel ashamed. I cannot even remember your name."

Had you been a sort of chippy, you would have taken offence and left him there, but you only managed to emit a charmed chuckle as the music sent you to rotate each on its own:

"Oh, your remarkable brain must simply take note of too many things essential to the prosperity of Katolis ..." You accepted his gentle hand around your fingers. "... to think of cluttering up such trivialities."

He laughed, visibly flattered. What a charming laugh he has, you thought.

"Imagine, madam, a demarcated space that you divide in half. You can always divide the two halves into two other halves, and so on."

You were well aware of this paradox. Your parents had bent your hear with it for years; but now that it was spoken in such a low voice, with such gallant inflexions, you found in it all the charms of the world. What could be more normal, coming from a dark mage, and therefore an expert in charms, bewitchments, spells and incantations?

"So this is how memory works, in your opinion: infinitely expandable?"

Viren drew you close to him, and you found that this slightly interested expression suited him perfectly.

"Would you be so fond of paradoxes, my dear ..."

"(name)," you confessed, and you felt yourself blushing even more.

He looked thoughtful, but the two of you jumped at the cry from the pastry buffet: "Hey, father! Try "Cumulonimbus "!". You looked over your partner's large shoulder and the dancing couples to see the two chick-crows, Soren and Claudia, who, spurting out a storm of jelly tarts crumbs, giggled and exchanged elbows.

"Uh, I beg your pardon me, my lord," you stammered, disconcerted, "but ... what did your son just say ?"

Viren then rolled his eyes in the most exasperated expression you had ever seen:

"Something stupid, I'm afraid."

You separated for a few measures before coming back into each other's arms. Oh, those severe features... you felt like his solid arm around your waist was about to leave you, for all your beautiful assurance had abandoned you. Dirty brats ... a pox on them and their incomprehensible bellowings!

"Madam, tell me something."

You thought you heard it wrong. "I beg your pardon, my lord?"

"Tell me something." he went on, in the satisfied tone of someone who had spared his little effect. "If what you say is true, I will give you the next dance. Otherwise, I will leave you there."

You were propelled on a small primitive candy pink cloud while the viol flew away in the treble. The magic of the Sky-Wing elves surged through your human veins, and that of the Star-Touch sparkled your eyes. It was one of your parents' favourite paradoxes. Viren made it easy for you. He rolled out the red carpet for you, he tore the breach apart for you. To believe that he really wanted to feel your hand pass through his well-groomed hair, caress his sharp cheekbone, flatter his so baroque beard, follow the outline of these oh-so-concerned eyebrows, pass the alliance around this ring finger…

Just as you were about to mischievously pronounce the magic formula "You are going to leave me there", the music abruptly slowed down and stopped. The dancers were already bowing, including yourself, and looking up, Viren looked at you with such a contemptuous air that you were left breathless. Oh, but what made me wait so long? you vexed yourself, watching his black half-cape fall gracefully as he walked away towards the-Sources-knew-where, probably towards the cheese buffet, or pray her Grace Sarai to honour him with a dance, or interrupt the last marvellous idea of his brats. He took my silence for hesitation and foolishness. Oh, I ruined everything ...

And today was the perfect opportunity to correct the situation.

Having taken great care to your hair - carefully twisted by your maid in a braided updo in elven fashion, your outfit - purple silks embroidered with red, gold brooch and bear arms, and your perfume - you had tried one half a dozen before setting your sights on a rose fragrance; in short, you had carefully put all the odds on your side.

Of course, you were under no illusions: your good looks were not your only asset, far from it. Lord Viren was known for his unconditional love of libraries, being buried in books very late at night to the point that he had lost the use of beds to prefer that of the oh so uncomfortable benches of the Sanctuary. So your hand caressed the little volume in your pocket with all the kindness in the world. Enigmas, paradoxes and insoluble problems, headlined the cover page. And, calligraphed just below by your quill pen: "except perhaps for you." You had hesitated with "except, for you, perhaps", or "for you, except, perhaps", and to finish off with a "my lord", which gave a choice: "except perhaps for you, my lord "," except, my lord, perhaps for you "," My lord, except, for you, perhaps "and "for you, my lord, except, perhaps.". Then you realised that the formula would probably be too full to suit the close friendship to which you aspired, which made you set your sights on the first attempt. A close friendship, and maybe more. You simply added your first name and tenderly blew on the still fresh ink. Just your first name: there was no doubt that the dance was still as vivid in his memory as it was in yours.

"The Sources teach us that love is given without expecting anything in return," babbled the High Prelate under the vaults once the nuns had finished their pious fourths, fifths and sixths, "and that one can't buy love. They brought Xadia out of nothing, overwhelmed it with their generosity and their benevolence, expecting nothing in return for the spread of this love and this ... this ... "

You were drawn out of your flowery thoughts by the rustling of unsuccessfully turned pages, followed by annoyed mumbles. You and Vassilea unscrew your necks together: far away at the other end of the nave, Opeli was fighting with her copy of the Toreha:

"This ... forgive me, my lords, but this page ..."

She licked her finger, pinched the paper, muttered insults to the fool who had used this new printing ink which made the vellum stick, removed her richly decorated copy from the varnished ebony lectern. In the audience, there were wonderings, whisperings, chuckling.

"Opeli, perhaps I can provide you some help…"

"No, your Grace, you, slurp, you are very kind, but ... but ..."

You risked a glance to your right. If Viren still hadn't quit his sleepiness, you found that Claudia was exceptionally agitated, all of a sudden. Her back was shaken with convulsions, and her little legs were frantic in the incense dust. Look at her fidgeting on her bench. It's as if she had the devil in her.

"Is it me or ... is she just dying of laughter?" you murmured, but Vassilea did not hear you, as busy as she was babbling with her neighbour in front.

Should I have the sleeper? You caught yourself thinking you might wake him up with a kiss. However, you were torn from your reveries by the sound of a cough that emanated from the other end of the nave. Increasingly puzzled glances were exchanged. People left their drowsiness, people quit their reverie, people stopped cleaning their nails or their noses. The concerned survey flew from look to look and from mouth to mouth. Voices and coughs rose under the vaults of the sanctuary. Some rose from their benches and gathered around the gaping High Prelate; however, Queen Sarai had removed her her hood, opened the collar of her cassock and started to give her massive pats on the back while His Majesty cried out to let her some space. The little prince started to cry.

"No, kof, sire, I assure you ... I swear that everything is, kof, kof, perfectly, huurng... perfectly fine!" assured the High Prelate, whose borborygmus intensified until nausea.

"Breathe, Opeli, just breathe, that's it! Oh, you, just move away, you scavengers !"

However, the movement began to gain assistance, including nuns. Useless prayers were muttered, inutiles advices were shouted. The benches and the triforiums began to bleat like the lambs from the Toreha. Half of them were standing, wringing their necks for a better view. The other, whether driven by the opportunity to seize or seized themselves by fear, rushed casually through the central alley and the aisles towards the portal of the sanctuary with one idea: be with the devil as soon as possible.

"(name), come on! Get up!" peeped Vassiléa, grabbing your shoulder. She was apparently part of the second category.

It would have been wise to follow her, but you were as if you were screwed to your bench. And this little chick-crow choking on laughter. Poison, did you understand. Poison on the very pages of the Toreha.

You bound from the bench and grabbed Viren's shoulder. He was the only sleeper who hadn't woken up.

"My lord, get up!" you bellowed. "We have to go!"

"What are you doing? Just drop him!" squealed Vassilea before joining the silk tidal wave.

Faced with Viren who continued to snore, you hesitated to give him a slap. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Claudia suddenly calming down. This child is mad, you thought, stark raving mad. From the chick-crow's lips pulled out something strange, which you did not understand. Then her eyes opened on a purple glow. An abyss of purple. You jumped, wanted to silence her, but could only remain crucified on the spot. So that's what Dark Magic is. When, in Claudia's eyes, a void of darkness replaced the purple, making her look like a fly, you knew this was the end. The Romanesque portal of the Sanctuary was wide open, and daylight pierced the nave on all sides. There was no one left under the vaults. Except for the convulsing, gaping High Prelate, the royal family, yourself, Lord Viren and ... this little witch ...

You close your eyes and prepare to die. Ô Six lost Sources of Xadia. In the name of the Sky, the Sun, the Moon, the Stars, the Earth and the Ocean. Amen.

A few seconds later, you opened an eye.

"Ho!" resounded the voice of the High Prelate, whose inflexions no longer foreshadowed imminent death. "I'm finally breathing!"

You swivelled and watched their Majesties pick up Opélie, hair undone, the collar wide open, the silver tiara crooked and the hood in disorder, but the skin as white and smooth as usual. "May the Sources be praised -burp… ha!"

To the cry of surprise echoed a ridiculous sound ... but so characteristic.

"Crôaaa."

Then, silence.

"Is it ... a toad?" you heard. Her Grace Sarai sounded just as lost as you were.

You had a thrill of horror. You had a holy terror of toads.

The king did not reply. Opeli, back on her feet, watched the beast hopping on the pavement of the sanctuary.

"What is... Six Sources, I..."

Hup ! A second one bound out from her lips. This is but a dream, you told to yourself, your nails clenching into your flesh. Nothing but a very strange dream, and I'm about to wake up.

"What the fuck is that..." her Grace Sarai muttered, back to her old soldiery level of language.

The little royal mongrel bent down, trembling, and picked up one while Opeli was getting her clothes together with a frenetic hurry. "It's a toad, mommy."

No one said a word, except the beasts which were going on with their grotesque wanderings under the high vaults in the sepulchral silence. From jump to jump, the little gargoyles were sauntering under the great saints' stone eyes. The incense was struggling to hide the smell of carrion with rose from the kings asleep under the marble. The candle's tiny glims almost had something pathetic. The dawn's daylight was splinting through the vitrals and the portal wide open like a wound. It was drowning the pious penumbra in a chasm of white light. Those little monsters appeared only clearer.

The stones had echoed nothing but nun's canticles, ever, but neither the Sources nor the gigantic wrapped praying statues rose to smite the outrage. The minuscule blasphemers were jumping and croaking in the holy light with complete impunity.

"Crôa."

You took a few steps in the centre alley, towards the altar, but you stopped, unable to move forward.

King Harrow seemed to be about to open his mouth when two chuckles rose into the nave, very close to you, two high-pitched laughs, two children's laughs, joined by a third one, lower and more discrete. Apparently, Lord Viren had woken up... and was laughing with Claudia while the other crow-chick, Soren, arose from behind a pillar, spitting out all his lungs by dint of laughing. He was the one who laughed the loudest.

But wasn't he supposed to be paraziting the royal guards' training? you heard yourself thinking, while Opeli stammered, straightening her cassock's collar :

"Lord Viren, will you, at last, explain to me what's going on in there ?"

As he didn't answer, to busy to retain a laugh, she rose her voice :

"As if you weren't satisfied enough with disturbing the mass..."

She put her hand to her mouth, to her stomach, bent over in two: wasted effort. A third toad leaps again from her pious lads, redoubling the hilarity of the crows family. You were speechless. To see Viren laugh so bluntly, he whose features were known as nothing but deeply thoughtful, exasperated by the stupidity of others or at best the vaguely contrite or amused grin; that was at least as extraordinary as the presence of toads.

«Opeli, say something religious." suddenly said Sarai, to the astonishment of sane people.

"I beg your pardon?" Opeli said «, and a fourth beast came to complete the croaking concert.

The crows chortled again. The din through the transepts, the triforiums, the naves, the crypts, the chapels, it aroused so much and so much echo that it seemed sanctuary's walls were going to crumble, collapse and fall too.

"My lord!" intervened the queen, and her voice resounded so dryly in the nave that the laughter died immediately, "Would you be kind enough to explain to us the reason for this masquerade. That you invariably spend the whole mass snoring because you are not surprised by your own grandeur, we can accept; but I will not tolerate your preventing ... "

"Oh no, your Grace," he replied. He had risen all at once, to his full height, and had even engaged his mage scepter by banging it against the marble paving which resounded loudly under the vaults; you were amazed by the coldness dryness of his deep voice. "Believe me, I had no idea what was going on today. I swear."

"The word of a dark mage? The big deal - burp!" spat the High Prelate as, summoned by the concept "Word", a fifth beast came to join its comrades. The king glared at her, and she remained silent:

"In this case, how do you explain this masquerade?"

"Mascewhat?" repeated the blond chick-crow with a perfectly bewildered expression.

You suddenly found back all your senses and your reason. Your hand was raised, and your index finger was planted on Claudia, whose face was ravaged by a barely contained giggle:

"She did this!" you denounced, and the resonance of your own voice surprised you.

The look that Viren gave you pierced your heart.

A look to blast Justice herself.

Gazing around, you realised that even their Majesties were frankly disapproving. The betrayal was all the more burning. Here you were who found yourself making common cause with the sanctimonious clap-trap spitter...

Soren stood in front his sister, his fists clenched, ready to fight, but the little girl released the hand that her father had put on her shoulder:

"It was Soren's idea, but I am indeed the prime contractor!" she squealed in a tone of immeasurable pride. "Well, the powder on the book, it was me, I had read it in a novel! It took me weeks to finish this selenic powder, especially since it had to stick to the pages without being seen! "

Your gaze came to rest on the Toréha, which had fallen from the lectern to crash on the ground. "After the bawling with which the Faith stunned us when Toreha was printed two hundred years ago, no one wants to undergo its whining again. Everyone has their copy now, and everyone can now interpret it in their own way!" Although only a printed copy, this book was made according to the rules of art. The illuminations were each hand-painted. The cover alone, crimson leather inlaid with precious stones, was a real work of art. Most of the pages had fallen from the fall, and the glue would render the copy forever unusable.

You had never been very fond of books, but this truth shook you.

"And we also had to put some in the holy water stoup so that everyone receives a little!"

"Ah," muttered the mage, "so that's why you insisted that I dip my hands in it…"

"Yes, and then a spot of dark magic so the prank more would be even more credible -"

"A prank?" remonstrated the High Prelate. "A prank! I almost died, your Majesties, you are witnesses! This child tried to poison me! You will not tell me that I am over-principles!"

You nodded with firmness.

"These ... creatures are from the selenial-shadowed magic," Viren explained in a low voice as if he was lecturing some of complete bonehead, "commonly known as "moon magic", which places them under the seal of illusions. Not only visual ones but also tactile, olfactory and auditory."

He put his staff against the bench with a thousand precautions - the object did not echoed less loudly, then he hunched his endless spine and bent his knee to grab one of the little blasphemers, then straightened up and began to pat it with the palm of his hand:

"In other words, these toads are only the product of a gigantic collective hallucination, and the Your Holiness's convulsions are only the natural reaction of a human body solicited from within by primal magic. It was nothing but an illusion, my lady, which means that at no time were you in danger of death. "

A dismayed silence followed the declaration. The infamous beasts pursued their a capella which resounded under the pious crossheads of warheads. Never had they seemed so real.

You took a deep breath, wiped your hands in your fine gown, bend down in a silk frill and overcame your repulsion to catch one of those. The coldness and the roughness of the pustular skin, the fixedness of the globular eyes, the absence of muzzle, the greyish colour, the viscosity of the drool which flowed in your hand. By the Sources, what a horror ... a grimace of pure disgust distorting your features, you closed your eyes, then your fist, suddenly. You open your eyes, your hand: nothing.

Your empty palm was stared at, then the abandoned benches and triforiums as well.

The idea that the Sanctuary had been deserted, emptied and ridiculed by the fault of mere chimaeras was almost simply inconceivable.

No conversation, no essay, no pamphlet, no book or rant had ever laid bare such a decay. The printing might have dug its grave, but it was simply inconceivable that the collapse would take so little, so little ... A shiver ran through your spine. The Toreha killed the Church, and the Human killed the Sources.

Opeli put her hand to her mouth, bur nothing came out.

"However," said Viren, who still continued to caress his toad, in a softer voice, a fascinated and even admiring tone, "it is the first time in my life that I have seen such tangible illusions and - "

"You, you will have plenty others occasions to show off, but right now, stop this," interrupted Sarai as little Claudia displayed a smug smile of pride. "You two," she went on to the address of the two chick-crows, stop all this shi ... pandemonium. At once."

As if with regret, Claudia pulled out a collar from under her collar and pulled out a shrivelled toad leg from her bag.

"Wait a minute!" Opeli interrupted her incisively. "I hope you don't plan on using dark magic in here! "

"Well, madam," said Viren, "it's either that or you spend the rest of your life spitting illusions and chimaeras. Oh, silly me, that's already the case ..."

"I BEG YOUR PARDON?! -burps! ha, you dirty beast!"

"Crôaaaa!"

"Enough, both of you!" growled the king, in the tone of someone who felt the headache coming.

The endless squabbles of the High Mage and the High Prelate were an integral part of court life, and they were regarded with a particular mixture of fun and lassitude, a bit like watching a brat always laughing at the same joke. Today, however, did not seem in the mood to tolerate their tussles. His Majesty, moreover, had not finished:

"Among all that you could have offered your father," he belched in a tone where pierced like a kind of mischief, "did your choice absolutely had to fall on this farce?"

"Hmm?" said Viren, stopping to caress the toad, which landed very unsightly on the marble paving. "What did you say ?"

You suddenly remembered the weight clogging your pocket and bit your lips.

Viren frowned. Opeli would have proposed to him that he did not look more dazed.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FATHER!" bellowed Soren, without taking into account the resonance of the sanctuary which made the audience wince.

"Did you enjoy the show?" asked Claudia, pulling on the velvet doublet. "You had a lot of fun, huh, right?" Then, as he didn't answer, "Did you ? Yes, you did, did you ? Huh? Huh? Huh, right?"

"Right, dad! Right! Dadadadadadadadadadad -"

Your hand tightened around the small book. Insoluble enigmas, problems and paradoxes, except perhaps for you.

"Dadadadadadadadadaaaaaad -." The croaks of toads and crows, they made quite a duet.

A true Requiem... and not only to your blended family dreams.

Your eyes turned to the High Prelate. She was just as flabbergasted as you were, judging by her stillness and her gaping mouth. The stone seemed to have swallowed her. Petrified. A new statue for the nave, you thought, holy, helpless, pious and terrified facing the march of Progress. This wasn't just the white dove reached by the toad's drool. This wasn't just some sort of priestess carrion over which crows would have a feast on among her fellows dead villagers. This was the terror of the woman of the sanctuary in front of the lead letters, of the silver tiara in front of the race of time, the terror of the priesthood in front of the changing souls.

As you pinged in a whirlwind of silk, perfume, incense, discomfiture and disarray towards the portal of the sanctuary, you heard his Majesty inquiring with all the good nature of the world:

"Maybe you could stop the illusion now?"

"Yes," added her Grace, "it seems to me that you had enough fun for today. Or, wait, maybe you can tinker us some illusion of High Prelate, now that you've broken this one ? "

"Sarai!"

"What? I'm not right? Look at that, darling, it's not moving anymore. Oh, Opeli, please shut that mouth, or you're going to attract flies. And then, come on, smile a little, hey ! It's not the end of the world !"

"Ah, well, it seems you also broke your father, here he is petrified on the spot. They pair well, aren't they? Viren, if I say "history book"," melting camembert" or "crème brûlée torched with whiskey", will you find back the use of your smile or your legs? Aaaah, there, you see!"

"Oh, what a happy, united family... Aaaaaaw, you are so cute when you are happy, Viren !"

"Actually, no, you should stop smiling, it becomes really unhealthy. "

"Crôa, crôa, crôaaa."

"Callum, drop this notebook and this pencil! And you two, stop with these toads, that's enough!"

The last thing you heard before closing the gate on the tomb of the Age of the Gods was the voice of Viren:

"Oh no, Claudia."

Then: "Leave them a little longer, will you?"

And there you go ! : D

Well, I warned you that it was a somewhat special Viren x reader ...

But, I mean, look at the scene where Viren takes power Napoleon style (the one where he is a thousand times sexier than all the scenes of Aaravos put together): everyone completely ignores Opélie to acclaim Viren the Savior ... Okay, everyone is terrified of the elves, all right, but that's not enough to ignore the Church, the law and traditions. There had to be some deeper reasons. Same for Harrow's communism, moreover, he is so enlightened for an absolute monarch of divine right that it can only come from an intellectual broth having macerated for decades, even centuries ... And then look all these huge libraries throughout the castle! Look at how nobody cares about Opeli throughout the series!

I hope you enjoyed the dance in the arms of the dark, tall and handsome advisor ;) and that seeing the Magefam reunited and happy put a little balm in your heart during this complicated period. Fluff, fluff: 3

Reviews are appreciated :3

#viren #opeli #viren x reader #fanfiction #tdp fanfiction #tdp world-building #tdp viren #reader #religion in TDP

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delicrieux · 5 years

Text

the phases of a firework

pairing: fred weasley x f!reader

fandom: harry potter

summary: fred weasley experiences the lana del rey-esque american dream

d’s note: not written by me, but rather by a lovely nonnie! it’s a honor to post it xoxo leave some love in the comments!

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I. Lifting Charge

Mother says they’re going to Florida for the summer. Florida means mosquitos, and sunburns, and salty skin and hair and breath because yes, Florida is a fucking cesspool, but for some reason, he doesn’t find himself thinking of any of that and is actually, really when you think about it, kind of calm. Everyone in the household finds this alarming. -“You’re not upset?” -“No.” -“Disappointed?” -“Not really.” -“Dad’s got a cousin in the Keys, that’s why we’re going.” -“Sounds like it’ll be nice.” -“We went to Egypt, you know, like, saw the pyramids and everything.” -“We can make sand pyramids.” But Florida doesn’t have sand. It doesn’t have beaches, either, at least not the part they could afford, because Molly and Arthur Weasley had scraped together everything to get that trip, because the kids didn’t need to know that it was possibly the last time they could leave the Burrow for a summer, because things weren’t safe at home and maybe a temporary home could suffice for a while. They didn’t need to think about the fact that people would die, statistically speaking, people they probably knew, and the kids didn’t need to worry or ask questions or complain, and they didn’t, because all they could afford was a trailer, enchanted, yes, but not exactly a condo, but you know what, no one really paid it any mind. Everyone was quiet, actually, and Molly and Arthur Weasley gripped their trunks and asked themselves how they thought they could hide a war under a swimming suit.

II. Time Delay Fuse

It’s not that it’s hot out, it’s just that balding grass patches and What Type of Blue Even is That sky doesn’t attract many, or really anyone at all. Ginny is on her side of the bunker, writing letters to friends, or maybe no one, just herself. Ron has been napping since they hopped off the portkey, Percy didn’t bother to come, and the parents are off doing parent-y things. George is who’s left, and that’s never a problem, but he’s worried about sunburns, and Fred assures him mate, we’ve got sunblock but it isn’t enough, and that’s why he’s sitting by himself in a lawn chair, Wayfarers resting on a sweating nose, and Johnny Thunder’s playing in a distant trailer and world. It’s oddly therapeutic, the bottom of the classes. There’s no worries, no cares, it’s like retirement but better because there’s no one they know anywhere around, and everything is finally kind of calm. He finds that alarming. -“You like fireworks?” It’s a nasal, chirpy sort of a voice she has. Like an alarm. An alarm goes off in him, not anything bad, just the inner male siren that blares and rings and screams Girl! Girl! Girl! He smiles to himself, thinking about the gargling sort of noise that would make when spoken aloud. George would’ve found it funny. -“Hello?” -“Sorry?” -“Fireworks. You good with them?” He doesn’t know why he’s nodding, maybe it’s because her hair shines that weird, oil gas spilled on a pavement colour, or maybe it’s because she’s standing there, expecting him to go, and who is he to disappoint, and he finds himself leaving the security of the lawn chair and following her up and into the empty part of the balding grass field. It takes half a day and three bottles of what the fuck is this anyway and they’ve managed to set up the perfect show. It’s the fourth of July, American Independence Day, yet it feels like everyone in the park is shackled.

III. Bursting Charge

He’s proud, drunk, and finding himself patriotic for a country he’s spent barely seven hours in. He’s had too much of Swamp Juice, that’s what she calls it, the mixture of Fanta and Bourbon, and the bottom of his stomach is twinkling and tingling, like there are mini little bombs going off in his gut. She says it’s a normal feeling, but he’s not too sure about that. He’s had liquor, of course he has, and one could consider him a sommelier, of sorts, in the way teenagers often pride themselves on knowledge of Grown Up Things. One of his favourite memories are when he and George broke into the liquor cabinet and stayed up till six in the morning downing bottle after bottle of gigglewater. Their stomach hurt, cramped, and their eyes were dried, but it was a night he’d cherish to the grave. But that wasn’t the same feeling. That was what it meant to be drunk and happy, happy that you’re drunk and drunk enough to be happy, but this, the sinking yet soaring and bubbling and fizzling sort of brew in his gut wasn’t that at all, and he’d heard Charlie mention a year back about some guy he’d met that bred some creature he couldn’t remember the name of at the moment. Charlie’d said it was indistinguishable, a feeling you get once or twice. Fred didn’t believe in soulmates, and he didn’t know if he really believed in being in love. It was a dangerous thought to have in a time as dangerous as these, but it wasn’t as if he cared all that much about the danger of things. -“You gonna dance?” She had her hand stretched out to his, hip cocked and lip quirked, and maybe it was the way the fireworks danced behind her shoulders. She was metallic nail polish and Disney World flip flops, two dollar tube tops and stolen hair ties, but she was smiling at him through a Cherry Coca Cola flavoured lip gloss grin, and who is he to disappoint, so he’s standing, swaying, dancing along to the sound of cracking and popping and booms, and he may have snuck in an enchanted firework or two, and the crowd is cheering and smiling and just nearly crying, and so is he when she leans in for a kiss. They’re proud, drunk, and Fred decides that Cherry Coca Cola is the greatest drink in the world.

IV. Stars

The summer stays hot, in every way possible. They spend afternoons melting ice cubes on each others backs and smoking cheap hash on the roof of her mobile home. He learns her parents are dead. She learns his aren’t. He doesn’t invite her to meet the family, but she, in a way, invites herself, and Molly and Arthur are absolutely ashamed when they find out that Fred didn’t immediately bring over the poor girl, look at her, she’s far too skinny. Ginny, dear, put on a kettle and a warm meal, she’s positively gaunt! She finds it amusing. She has dinner that night in the Weasley vacation trailer, and every night after it, too. Fred doesn’t mind. Some nights, he sneaks to her place and they read travel maps, planning future road trips to Nevada and eating Quaker Oats by the handful. She looks at the stars, he looks at her, it’s all very cliche, including her admiration for his super cool accent. He finds it amusing. -“So, what’s gonna happen when summer ends?” -“Whatya mean?” She huffs her smoke, a sign he’s familiar with. She’s frustrated but calm. Patient, but not for long. -“I mean, what’s gonna happen to you? To us? You’ve got school, yeah, but after, I mean, like, I don’t wanna jump to conclusions or anything but-” -“I like you.” -“I like you, too.” -“And I like hanging out with you.” The light in her joint goes out, and it matches the light in her eyes. -“So that’s it then.” - “I’ve just, I mean, there’s a lot going on back at home and, really, I don’t wanna drag you into it.” -“Yeah.” -“There’s a lot, really, there is, and I just wouldn’t want to-” -“No, yeah, it’s fine. I get it.” It takes him a few days, and a few talks with George, but it’s three in the morning and he’s had some liquid luck and he’s knocking on her door in Tommy Bahama shorts and a Life is Good shirt and he’s pretty sure he should’ve put deodorant on and spent more than two-fifty on the gesture but- -“It’s three in the fucking morning, Freddie. Either I’m about to die or you’re about to die, and neither option is really good, so what the fuck-” -“Marry me.” She stops talking, and breathing, and she’s about to laugh until he holds up a plastic little Made in China ring he got at one of those machines in the front of the supermarket, and it probably doesn’t even fit her, but all she can really think is thank God it’s not a damn Ring Pop. -“Are you fucking kidding me, red?” -“I don’t mean today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon. I mean that when that thing going on is over, and when I’m out of school and ready to live life, I wanna live it with you. We could get a bigger trailer, or maybe an RV, and we could ride around America and, and collect special fireworks from around the world. We could have a kid or two, and they could live with us, or maybe we’d just start out with a dog, I don’t know, all I know is I wanna live my life like it’s a never-ending summer with you.” She’s not sure now if she’s laughing or tearing up, either is pathetic, but she crosses her arms over her Betty Boop pajama top and decides to find this adolescent adoration somehow sweet. - “What colour RV are you thinking?” - “Red.”

V. Ash

It’s in the form of a letter, and in a way, that’s better than a call, because then they couldn’t hear her sobbing on the other end. She doesn’t really know why she’s crying. They hadn’t spoken in years. They were sixteen and stupid, as all sixteen year olds are, but the worst part is believing in that sixteen year old dream and thinking the flame was still lit. She couldn’t blame it on her age anymore. She was just stupid. She stares at the paper, passed away, as if that was a better way of phrasing it instead of just saying dead. She can’t be too horribly upset. As far as she was concerned, he’d been dead for four years. Four years. Fuck. He was four, already. -“Where are we headed?” -“I dunno. Nevada?” -“Cool.” He’s got his hand stuffed in a Quaker Oats box, and she finds hers traveling to the two-fifty Made in China ring she keeps on her neck. She’ll tell Molly and Arthur someday soon, maybe once they hit Oregon, she’s not ready for England winters, because right now, life is red. Red with pain and anger, yeah, but also with love, and with red hair, and red lips, and red Cola, and red American fireworks, and red rings, and flip flops, and RVs, and yes, life fucking sucks and war fucking sucks and everything nowadays should be really very alarming, but when she sits back in the driver seat, travel maps sprawled and a four year old in a faded Life is Good shirt sitting in the passenger seat, she finds that life is actually, really when you think about it, kind of calm.

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jahaanofmenaphos · 4 years

Photo

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

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QUEST 08: MARK OF ZEMOUREGAL

QUEST SUMMARY:

Because of Jahaan’s betrayal of Zamorak during their heist of the Stone of Jas, Zemouregal takes the matter of revenge into his own hands. When Jahaan looks to get even, he enlists the help of his Mahjarrat allies to take the fight to Zemouregal…

CHAPTER 2: EYE FOR AN EYE

Ahh, Prifddinas. The greatest city of the elves. Nay, the greatest settlement in all of Gielinor! Since hearing the tales of a crystal empire as a child, Jahaan had always wanted to visit. However, they didn’t let just anyone in, and their seclusion was part of why they’d survived since the First Age without external conflict. Throughout the God Wars the elves protected themselves by erecting massive granite walls across their eastern border, refusing to involve themselves in the conflicts of the other gods, as was their goddess’ intention. The aforementioned goddess? Seren, a name spoken in curiosity among the other races of Gielinor. Nobody really knew too much about the origins of the crystalline goddess, only that she brought the elves from their homeworld of Tarddiad. The legend goes that Seren became mesmerised by the elves and their way of living, and upon seeing one of them die of age, was overcome with such great sorrow that she tried to use her godly powers to extend their lifespan. However, in doing so, she accidentally tied them to her, causing them to grow ill and perish when out of her presence for too long. Thus, when Guthix’s Edicts required Seren to depart, she shattered herself into a million crystal fragments so that a part of her would always be with her elves. At some point towards the end of the Fifth Age, Seren had been reformed, and lived among her elves once more. At some point during its history, tales claim that Prifddinas had somehow, miraculously, reverted to the size of a single crystal seed. Yes, the largest settlement in all of Gielinor had shrunk to the size of an acorn, with the residents inside frozen in time. To top it all off, the legend claims that the elders of Prifddinas sung the city back to life.

Whether that was true or not, Jahaan was very skeptical. The saying goes that stranger things have happened, but, really, have they?

But when Jahaan emerged on a tall hilltop, surrounded by luscious forests and looking down over the crystal walls of the city, elven history was the furthest thing from his mind.

He’d never seen such shades of green before. Not murky likes the swamps of Morytania, not artificial like how greenery in Falador felt, not tainted like the plant life in Canifis and Draynor. Even the gnomes couldn’t lay claim to such a brilliant shade of nature’s favourite colour; this was what the elder gods had intended when they wove forests out of the anima. But the only thing more brilliant than the shades of nature were the crystals, shining like diamonds in the glow of the morning sun.

The entire city was constructed from these crystals, a substitute from the bulky wood and crude stone seen across most of Gielinor. The craftsmanship, the way the crystal bends to the will of the architect… Jahaan didn’t know enough about Prifddinas to know how the city was built from these crystals, or where they came from, and one day he hoped to find out, just as he hoped to walk through the city gates and up to the Tower of Voices, rumoured to be one of the tallest structures in all of Gielinor. Considering how it reached up into the heavens even from this distance, Jahaan could clearly see the rumours had some merit.

It was rare to see elves outside of Prifddinas. After all, why would they ever need to leave? Everything one could ever need was inside those crystal walls, from banks to bars, sawmills to staff shops, altars to anvils. It was a compact Gielinor. There were elves roaming the territory just outside of their walls; there had been a civil war among them not too long before Prifddinas’ supposed ‘restoration’ and smaller factions were still camped out south of the border. Alongside this, their were whisperings about elves in West Ardougne, and they were grave tales indeed. Talks of death guards, a fake plague, regicide and the intended mass killing of all of West Ardougne’s residents in order to summon a ‘dark lord’.

The thought of it made Jahaan’s head spin and his stomach churn.

So little is known about the elves, it’s hard to know what to believe. That’s why Jahaan wanted to go to Prifddinas, to search for information that his people in the Khandarin Desert had never concerned themselves with, being at opposite ends of the world and all.

This is the closest he’d ever come to the elven city, and after taking just a brief view from the hilltop, he never wanted to leave.

“Whoa…” was all he said, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Do you like it?” Sliske asked, but he knew it was a rhetorical question. Shifting his robe out of the way, he took a seat on the thick grass below. “This is about as close as, ah, someone like me can get without entering into the Shadow Realm, but it’s still quite a view.”

“Yeah, I do like it,” Jahaan’s eyes were transfixed on the crystal city as he took a seat beside the Mahjarrat. There was a peace inside him he hadn’t felt in hours, a respite from the anguish and worry. “I like it a lot.”

The two stared at the horizon for what felt like an eon, enjoying the serenity of the sunrise as it crept over the crystals in the distance.

Finally, it was Sliske who broke their content silence. Smiling without humour, he quietly whispered, more to himself than to Jahaan, “It must be nice, knowing there will always be a world after this one.”

“Huh?” Jahaan didn’t quite hear that.

“I said, it must be nice, living in a place like that,” he ‘repeated’, nodding his head towards Prifddinas with a wistful expression.

Jahaan didn’t completely believe that’s what he said, but he didn’t press it further. There was a peacefulness between the two of them, and Jahaan didn’t want to be the one to ruin it. Instead, he moved slightly closer to Sliske, and didn’t shy away when the Mahjarrat wrapped a warm, protective arm around him, pulling him softly against his chest.

It was the first time he’d felt at peace for a long while.

The two of them remained in quiet contemplation after that. Jahaan spent too much of it wondering what was going through the Mahjarrat’s mind. Sliske was an enigma, a puzzle to him, the quiet and the storm, but moreover, he was one thing Jahaan was becoming less and less reluctant to admit…

He’s not as bad as he seemed.

Jahaan began to struggle to remember why he hated the Mahjarrat in the first place. He didn’t particularly want to remember. He had enough enemies, enough Mahjarrat enemies at that, to actively want another one.

Suddenly, his throat began to sour and the calmness inside his mind began to cloud.

Zemouregal.

The storm in his head was brewing once more, manifesting as a knot in his stomach and a lump in his throat.

“I want him dead, Sliske,” Jahaan’s voice was grave; he didn’t need to say who he meant. “I want him dead, and I won't wait five hundred years for it to happen.”

The Mahjarrat kept looking towards Prifddinas as he said, “You're not the only one that wants him gone, you know. I can help you... but at a cost.”

Jahaan didn't blink. “Name your price.”

“I want your soul.”

Now Jahaan blinked. “E-Excuse me?”

“I want your soul,” Sliske repeated, returning his gaze to Jahaan.

“Why? Do you want to… to make me a wight?” Jahaan shook his head in unnerved disbelief.

Quickly, Sliske replied, “Asking questions isn't part of the deal. You accept unconditionally, or you don’t accept my help at all.”

Jahaan thought for a long, hard moment, challenging Sliske’s satisfied expression. Finally, he declared, “If you help me kill him, you can have whatever the hell you want.”

And so it was settled. They were going to kill Zemouregal. Not just the two of them, mind - Sliske stated that it wouldn’t be too hard to persuade Azzanadra and Wahisietel to eliminate the threat he poses once and for all. Just by being a Zamorakian, Azzanadra already had skin in the game. Wahisietel might take a little bit more convincing, and Jahaan offered to talk to him while Sliske went to Azzanadra. Knowing the strained relationship between the two brothers, Jahaan knew he stood a better chance than Sliske did at enlisting Wahisietel to their cause.

Firstly, however, Jahaan had to get Ozan somewhere more permanent to recuperate. The poor man was still sound asleep, comatose, but at least he was alive.

“Do you have anyone you trust he can stay with? Anyone that can protect him?” Sliske inquired.

“You mean, do I know anyone capable of fending of a Mahjarrat?” Jahaan shook his head. “No.”

“They shouldn’t have to fight off Zemmy,” Sliske assured. “He thinks you’re dead, remember? And one of the upsides of being dead is that no-one comes looking for you. So as long as you don’t parade him in Varrock Square, he should be safe.”

Considering this, Jahaan replied, “In that case, I know where he can go.”

Jahaan emerged just in front of the bridge connecting Draynor to the Wizards' Tower, dropping to his knees and sending Ozan tumbling to the ground upon landing. Sliske hadn’t stuck around long enough to ensure a smooth landing, it seemed. Groaning in pain, Jahaan quickly realised that once the adrenaline had worn off, he was in no fit shape. Wincing with a silent apology to Ozan, he tested out his legs again before picking up his friend and carrying him over the bridge.

It didn’t take long for the Wizards' to allow Jahaan inside, seeing the state of the poor man he was holding. The wizards were well acquainted with Ozan by this point, and Jahaan had met a fair few of them on his travels too.

Ushered into the medical bay, Ozan was set down on one of the cots as someone went to find Ariane. It didn’t take long for her to make it down, rushing to Ozan’s side with her heart in her throat. “What happened to him?”

Gulping, Jahaan stammered as he explained, “T-There was a fire… I w-was attacked, and he was d-drugged, and…”

Trailing off, Jahaan’s head was so foggy he honestly had no idea where to begin; he felt like he was trapped inside an awful dream, the edges of the world blurry and faded. Reality was far too much to handle.

“You were attacked? So it was arson...” when Ariane turned to Jahaan, the man noted her eyes were much more accusational than concerned, and he was taken aback, especially as she was quick to demand, “What have you got him mixed up in this time?”

Mouth hung agape, Jahaan took a few paces back, his wide eyes held captive by her glare. “W-What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Jahaan,” Ariane snapped, the soothing hand she wrapped inside Ozan’s lifeless ones juxtaposed harshly with her seething tone, though she tried to keep her voice down to a quiet hiss. “You’re a picture of guilt. Let me guess, you ticked off the wrong people and they came back for revenge. Only this time, Ozan was collateral damage. Ozan told me about the company you’ve been keeping; was it the same Mahjarrat who killed Guthix that did this to him?”

“N-No… I mean, yes it was a Mahjarrat, but not the same one,” Jahaan stated, nervously rubbing the back of his head, injured from each of Ariane’s cutting words that felt as if they were closing in around his throat. “Yes, this is all my fault. But I’m going to make it right.”

“Make it right?” Ariane replied with incredulation. “You’re only liable to make things worse! Why Guthix ever chose you as-”

She cut herself off there, taking a long breath to calm herself. Even Ariane looked slightly regretful at where her words were leading her.

The sentiment, however, had already stung, and Jahaan had no words to say.

Despite mutually knowing each other for years through Ozan, Jahaan had always gotten the impression that Ariane had never taken to him. Occasionally he’d ask Ozan if this were the case, and he’d laugh and deny it, saying it was all in Jahaan’s head. But deep down, he always knew, and now he had confirmation.

Sighing heavily, Ariane continued, in a much lower and measured voice this time, “We’ll heal him as much as we can and keep him safe. When he’s awake, you can come and visit him. After that, I don’t want you seeing Ozan ever again.”

Jahaan used the invitation box to make his way back to the Empyrean Citadel. He needed time to deliberate his encounter with Ariane, but now wasn’t the moment. Work had to be done, and the more time he wasted, the more likely Zemouregal would find out he was alive, and thus the element of surprise would be lost.

Sliske had offered to teleport Jahaan to Nardah in order to avoid the magic carpet debacle again, something for which Jahaan was incredibly grateful. He didn’t think his head could take another round of motion sickness.

The dust settled, and Jahaan was back in Nardah. Well, about half a mile outside Nardah; Sliske didn’t think a Mahjarrat springing into their town centre would go down well for anyone, except for the pitchfork selling business.

Trudging through the sand, Jahaan was almost thankful his armour had been destroyed, but less thankful that he hadn’t refilled his waterskin, making a mental note to do that when he got to the town’s fountain.

When he reached Ali the Wise’s house, he barely had to knock before the door was thrown open, stern and suspicious eyes darting past Jahaan and into the distance. “Come inside,” he ushered, quickly, taking one last look behind him before he closed the door.

“What’s the matter?” Jahaan inquired, puzzled.

“Sliske was nearby,” Wahisietel stated. “I felt his presence. Thought you might be him at my door.”

“I think he’s got a few inches on me, can’t see how you could mistake us,” Jahaan chuckled.

Wahisietel furrowed his brow as Jahaan’s relaxed demeanour. “Are you not concerned? It was you who came here to escape him not that long ago.”

“Sliske brought me here,” Jahaan explained, smiling at the reaction it brought to the disguised Mahjarrat’s face. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything. You might wanna sit down for this one…”

While Jahaan conversed with Wahisietel, Sliske went to go convince Azzanadra to join their plight. He slipped off his disguise as soon as he entered the Temple at what used to be Senntisten. Azzanadra, having sensed his arrival, was pensively waiting at the other end of the chamber, nearest the altar.

“Sliske,” he gruffly greeted, folding his arms over his chest. “You have got quite the nerve to be showing your face around here after your excommunication.”

“Ah yes, well,” Sliske clapped his hands together. “I was hoping we might be able to sweep that one under the rug, for now at least. I have a proposition for you. One I think you'd rather enjoy...”

Wahisietel nearly spit the tea out from his mouth. “You’re going to kill Zemouregal?!”

Hushing him, Jahaan hissed, “Why don’t you shout a little louder, I don’t think the barber in Falador heard you.”

“My apologies, I just…” shaking his head, Wahisietel composed himself. “This is no small feat. Zemouregal is not to be brushed off lightly, as you know. While I do wish to see his head unattached from his shoulders, I-”

Looking down at Jahaan’s expression, Wahisietel winced. “Apologies for my turn of phrase. Sir Tiffy Cashien was a noble knight, and Thaerisk Cemphier seemed like a good man, in the brief time I spent with them. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

“Their loss has to be avenged,” Jahaan resolved, gravely. “I know the risks, but I can’t let them be murdered in vain. What would you do in my shoes?”

From the change of expression on his face, it appeared as if this was a turning point for Wahisietel. “It would be hypocritical of me to say I would act any differently. They may call me ‘Ali the Wise’ in these human lands, but I am still of the Mahjarrat. One thing that still sticks in my craw, though, is Sliske’s involvement in it all. Why is he helping you?”

“He wants my soul,” Jahaan replied as nonchalantly as possible, amused by the look of surprise that elicited from his Mahjarrat companion. “Obviously I’m not going to let that happen. Your brother is-”

“Half-brother.”

“Your half-brother is… he’s not as bad as you say he is, but even I have limits.”

“I must ask, why do you defend him so?” Wahisietel inquired, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He murdered Guthix in front of you, tricked you, betrayed you, lied to you, stalked you, and from what I’ve heard from Azzanadra, he’s attacked you as well. I don’t understand your loyalty. You know, you remind me of Azzanadra, but at least I can understand that one. Well, somewhat.”

Crinkling his brow, Jahaan asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you see - and this stays strictly between us, you hear? - back in the Zarosian Empire, and even on Freneskae, Azzanadra and Sliske went through a period of being… close.”

Jahaan blinked. “Close?”

“Close,” Wahisietel reiterated, his hands conducting an invisible orchestra in front of him as his mind danced for the right words. “You humans might refer to it as a relationship.”

Now it was Jahaan who nearly spit out his tea. “Sliske and Azzanadra were an item?!”

Jahaan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and it seemed Wahisietel was struggling with the same dilemma as he replied, “I know, it’s baffling why they’d waste their time on such things. But Azzanadra was the leader of the church, and Sliske was the leader of the secret police. No-one would dare speak out against them. On Freneskae, few were aware of their dynamic. Those that were kept silent, for they were outpowered. I understand Sliske’s charm and charisma, things he used to his advantage whenever he was bored in Senntisten. Such a trivial past-time. People fell under his spell, and it was always their downfall. Even Zaros’ most beloved pontifex could not escape.”

Wahisietel returned to his tea. “After all these years, it still baffles me why Azzanadra resolves to trust Sliske, and now you’re following his lead. Heh. As long as-”

Wahisietel froze, his cup glued to the tops of his lips, his eyes wide with realisation. Slowly, he raised his head and glared through Jahaan with a strange mix of confusion and abject horror. “Please, for Zaros’ sake, please tell me I’m wrong…”

Jahaan winced, breaking contact with Wahisietel’s eyes. It was all the confirmation he needed, yet the Mahjarrat pressed, “What did he do to you?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Jahaan assured, biting the inside of his lip. “He… he tried, but nothing happened. Believe me.”

Wahisietel’s unwavering glare bore holes through the man. “But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

Jahaan’s shameful inability to meet Wahisietel’s gaze said everything that needed to be said.

The Mahjarrat mumbled something in infernal, rising to his feet as he paced the room. “I warned you about him, Jahaan. But I never knew that… never could have DREAMED that… that you would…”

Stopping to face Jahaan, he stated with unwavering assurance, “He does not harbour feelings. He is incapable. He just uses people for his own amusement, then he discards them when they stop being entertaining, or when they are no longer useful. I don’t know what game he’s playing with you, but he’s playing a game, Jahaan!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Jahaan shot up, ever so slightly taller than Wahisietel when he was in his Ali form. “I know what he’s like, Wahisietel - I’ve got first-hand fucking experience with that. But damnit, he’s inside my head, always inside my head, and I can’t take it!”

Suddenly, Jahaan whirled on the thing closest to him - a bookshelf - in order to expend the pent-up rage his outburst had summoned. Unfortunately, the books were a little less forgiving than Jahaan would have liked, and the thick novels put up a decent defence; Jahaan clutched his battered hand, the knuckles already forming a purple bruise, his fingers shaking and unable to move. “Gods, FUCK!” Jahaan cursed, turning back to Wahisietel with an indignant expression akin to, ‘do you see what they did to me?!’. Muttering lowly, though with the slightest hint of an amused smile, Wahisietel went to get a medical kit.

A few bandages and another cup of tea later, Jahaan had calmed down, feeling rather embarrassed about his childish flare-up. Miraculously, nothing had fractured; Jahaan deduced he was too exhausted to give the punch all he had. That, or he just had a pathetically weak right hook, which he’d rather not be the case.

The silence that followed was awkward, each man lost in their own contemplation of the preceding events. Eventually, it was Wahisietel who broke the quiet, carefully beginning, “I have said my piece in regards to you and my half-brother. I trust that you know what you are doing.”

“You shouldn’t, because I don’t even know what I’m doing,” Jahaan sniffed a humourless laugh.

“I just wish I knew why he wanted my soul. I thought he wanted to make me a wight, but when I asked him, he deflected. I don’t think that’s the case, but why else would he want my soul?”

Stroking the beard his human form had adopted, Wahisietel replied, “Sliske has always been fascinated in souls. He used to talk to me about a Teragardian magister by the name of ‘Oreb’, who experimented with the power of souls and hypothesised that souls can be transferred from one body to another. This is the same magister who took in Nomad as his pupil, much later in life. Sliske was particularly interested in his theories.”

“Why was that, do you reckon?”

“Well, for one, Mahjarrat don’t have souls. Therefore, we cannot pass onto an afterlife, for a soul is required to do such a thing. For all his blustering, there is one thing Sliske fears: death.”

Suddenly, it clicked into place, the phrase Jahaan thought he didn’t quite hear outside of Prifddinas: ‘It must be nice, knowing there will always be a world after this one’.

“So, he wants my soul so he can go to an afterlife?” Jahaan surmised. “But that would leave me with the inability to go to one myself.”

Frowning, Wahisietel grimly restated, “He uses people. He doesn’t take interest in them unless they have something to offer.”

“But…” Jahaan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But why my soul? Why not just anyone?”

Shrugging, Wahisietel confessed, “That I cannot be sure of, I’m afraid.”

“Is there anything I can do to protect myself, if he tries to take my soul by force?”

His frown deepening, Wahisietel replied, “There is no spell, prayer or curse that I’m aware of that can do such a thing. My advice is to not get into a situation where your soul in vulnerable. Though how you would go about that, I am not sure. I don’t even know how he would go about transferring your soul into himself.”

This uncertainty didn’t exactly fill Jahaan with much comfort. Then again, Sliske was uncertainty incarnate; sipping his tea, Jahaan continued on, “These random, bizarre acts of kindness from Sliske... I don't know what to make of them. I can't ever tell if he's being genuine, or if he's just messing with me. I know, I know, you say he only ever uses people, but… but maybe he can be nice - even a broken clock is right twice a day, right? I mean, he saved my life at the Ritual, he helped keep Ozan safe…”

Jahaan neglected to mention their recent excursion to the outskirts of Prifddinas. He didn't quite know why, but sharing that information so freely just didn't feel right. It was like a secret he promised not to tell, unspoken though it was.

Wahisietel did not look impressed. “You do not know him like I know him, Jahaan, and I hope you never meet the Sliske I once knew.”

A crooked smile broke into Jahaan’s features, one devoid of humour. “I’ve heard stories.”

“Stories do not do his actions justice, but that is a conversation for another time,” setting down his teacup, Wahisietel closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, like he was trying to shift Sliske’s ghost from his thoughts. “Now, about Zemouregal - are you serious about killing him?”

His resolve returned, Jahaan stated, “I am.”

“And you say that Azzanadra is aiding us in this?”

“Sliske’s gone to convince him.”

“Then perhaps it would pay us to join him,” Wahisietel declared, reverting to his Mahjarrat form. “We’re going to need to strategise, after all.”

Meanwhile...

“Hmm… well, we certainly have enough firepower on our side to outmatch him,” Azzanadra was pondering aloud, running through the idea in his head. Sliske wasn’t all that surprised he could talk Azzanadra into killing Zemouregal so easily; there was no love lost between the two, after all. “It would be one less opponent at the next Ritual. Out of all the Zamorakians, he certainly is the most insufferable.”

Turning towards Sliske, he declared, “If the World Guardian manages to get Wahisietel on our side, then you have my support too. Zaros can only be pleased at us for sending that traitor into the void.”

Knowing he’d succeeded, Sliske grinned. “Oh, the Empty Lord will be most pleased. The World Guardian is convincing my brother now. He agreed to meet us here if all was successful.”

Looking around at the renovated chamber, Sliske admired the attention to detail Azzanadra had put into the restoration. Whomever the carpenter was, Sliske made a mental note to ask for their information if he ever decided to renovate the Barrows. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Brings back memories.”

Sighing wistfully, Azzanadra replied, “It feels like home.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sliske countered, “You don’t feel like Freneskae is your home anymore?”

“I stopped feeling that way as soon as Zaros took us in,” Azzanadra gazed longingly at the symbol on the far wall. “There is no home without him.”

“Right…” Sliske awkwardly rocked on his heels. He’d never felt the devotion his Mahjarrat companion had to the Empty Lord. Oh, he’d been loyal. He’d even been a follower. One might have called him devout, at a pinch. But Azzanadra was on an entirely different level.

Then again, Sliske agreed it did feel nice being back in the temple. It reminded him of a time when he had a role in society, and while that inevitably grew boring, such times had a treasured place in his memories. Those were days that would never be seen again.

It was then he turned to study Azzanadra, who was repositioning the candles on the altar. His robes draped perfectly over him, like a royal coat, and while he did insist on wearing that ridiculous hat, he managed to pull it off with prowess and grace.

So to did Azzanadra bring back some welcomed memories.

Sliske saw an opportunity, and he decided to test the waters.

He slipped closer to Azzanadra, his shadow a sneering presence that towered over them both. With a coy smirk, he smoothly remarked, “You know, it’s been such a long time since you and I have been alone together.”

There was no way Azzanadra didn’t get the insinuation; he met Sliske with stern eyes. “There’s good reason for that.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?” Sliske gently brushed his hand over Azzanadra’s, who to their mutual surprise did not immediately flinch away.

“Don’t act so innocent,” Azzanadra snapped. “You know damn well what I mean.”

“The excommination?” sniffing a faint laugh, Sliske looked up at the taller Mahjarrat with half-lidded eyes and moved closer to him, so that their chests touched. “Since when has Zaros ever gotten between us before? I seem to remember a certain Pontifex Maximus regularly calling the Praefectus Praetorio into his office for more than just matters of state...”

Sliske let the words linger, hot breath on Azzanadra’s cheek.

At that moment, Wahisietel and Jahaan emerged inside the temple. Catching the scene, Jahaan forced himself to suppress a smirk as he remarked, “Are we interrupting something?”

Wahisietel just shook his head with disappointment.

Sighing with frustration, Sliske whirled around and commented, “Crackerjack timing, and here I thought Wahi would take longer to convince.”

Despite himself, Jahaan felt like giggling, and covered his mouth with his hand until he was certain he’d contained himself. During this, Wahisietel spoke up, “Jahaan has told me of your plan, Sliske. What say you, Azzanadra?”

“I am willing to partake,” Azzanadra declared. “We have three times his power. It is the perfect opportunity. And,” he turned to Jahaan, trying to muster what to a Mahjarrat would pass as ‘sympathy’. “We finally have the incentive to remove that stain from this world. I am sorry at the price you and your comrades had to pay, Jahaan.”

Jahaan nodded solemnly in way of thanks. “So, when do we go? Tonight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sliske was the first one to cut in. “You are running on nothing but fumes. You need to rest if you are to be of any help to us.”

Jahaan opened his mouth to protest, but the action betrayed him, turning into a yawn. Smugly, Sliske grinned.

“Fine,” Jahaan conceded, admitting to himself that he was exhausted. “When then?”

“Five days,” Azzanadra stated. “While I admire your enthusiasm, Sliske’s right - you need to be of use to us, and you can’t do that unless you have armour and a weapon. Your previous set was destroyed in the fire, yes? I will provide you with another set, specially made.”

Gobsmacked, Jahaan had to shake his head to order his thoughts. “That… that is incredibly generous of you, Azzanadra. Thank you, deeply.”

Azzanadra managed the faintest of smiles. “It is the least I could do. After all, it was you who brought my lord back to me.”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#sliske #azzanadra #wahisietel

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yourhero404 · 6 years

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what's up! it's ya boy! got a good one for you i think. "our best friend's dragged us to this super creepy large cemetery, and now they both ditched and it's just us out here with the graves, and oh shit did you hear that? was that coming from the church?" AU with Amajiki and a gender neutral reader? (i would've gone with trans male but i think this should be for everyone to enjoy!! so gender neutral for everybody!!) i imagine that the reader hates being outside in the dark but stays brave!

A/N: Yay, you’re back!! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ I love this prompt oh my god askldjfh (also, you’re so sweet ily so much already, im glad to see you♥) (also please forgive me if there’s errors?? I finished this up during work since im swamped this week o o f )

TAMAKI

The two of them walked behind their much rowdier friends, keeping close to one another as their eyes darted to their surroundings. (Y/n) kept their spine abnormally straight with their chest puffed out, though their nervousness was evident by their tight-lipped expression- the same could not be said for their dark-haired counterpart.

They glanced at him from the corner of their eye, noticing how hunched over his stature was- more than usual, that is. His eyes were swimming with fear, darting around him so fast it was hard to tell just what he was focused on, if he was focused at all. Neither of you paid attention to the pair of braver people in front of you, leading to you staggering backwards after running into a stronger back.

“How ya guys holding up?” Mirio asked, giving them both a thumbs up, despite whatever answer they gave, “Good!”

“Do you remember a time he ever gave us a chance to answer?” you lean towards Tamaki and whisper.

“No, not really,” he mumbled back.

(Y/n) took a moment to actually look around, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness and make out the figures looming in the shadows- the four of them had stopped for some reason that their paranoid mind had tuned out. The moon lit up the backs of tombstones, the breeze caused empty branches to shake, and a large, ominous building sat a few yards away. Their focus fell on that rather than the creepy idea of them being surrounded by the deceased- it was a run down church of some sort and seemingly untouched for decades, vines had taken over as different parts started to crumble and allotted dirt and grime plagued the once crisp, holy walls. Their eyes had to have been playing tricks on them- there was no possible way the curtains in the window pulled themselves shut. They must have been staring for far too long or their body seemed far too stiff, causing Tamaki to lightly brush his fingertips against their wrist to snap them back to reality.

“(Y/n), are you alright?” he asked, letting his fingers linger against their skin, “You seem tense.”

“Tamaki, are you really one to talk?” they teased, trying to reign their brave-faced façade back in, “You’re always tense.”

“Exactly why I’m concerned; I’m always nervous but you… aren’t usually like this,” his voice grew quiet, afraid of crossing a line.

“Ah, it’s nothing…” they laughed half-heartedly, “It’s just uh… just a creepy place to be if you think about it. We’re surrounded by dead people in the middle of the night- wait… what are we even doing here-“ they turned to where Mirio once stood, now blinking in surprise in the realization that he was gone, “Where did Mirio go?”

“He and Nejire left a little while ago- said something about needing to go head back to town to get something…”

“How long ago did they leave?”

“…10 minutes ago-“

“You stood there and let me space off for 10 whole minutes?” they asked, their expression a mixture of confusion and despair.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you incase it upset you…”

They sighed, shaking their head and raising a hand to point at the church- their hand shook violently and concerned Tamaki to the point that he gently pushed their hand down to their side, neither of them realizing just how long he held on to them afterwards.

“That, that’s what I was spacing out on. Doesn’t it seem weird to you?”

“(Y/n), everything about this trip seems weird to me.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong…” they squinted in attempt to focus their vision, honing in on the window they previously saw movement in, “But I… I saw something in there. Actually, I saw the curtain move, not an actual person… but still, I definitely saw something-“

“Please don’t say that,” he stammered with a nervous smile.

“I’m not kidding Tama,” the use of the simple nickname they gave him let him know they meant business, “I watched the curtain pull shut. There’s someone in there.”

He looked between them and the building, slowly shrinking as he folding into himself out of fear. Without warning, he jumped up with a small squeal which caused them to do the same- the wind blowing through the empty branches above them made a soft whistling sound that could be mistaken as a howl. Just as the two of them started to settle down and catch their breath, their attention was turned to the loud calling of a crow, startling them enough to cause shivers down their spines.

They huddle close together, standing close enough to relish in each others body heat and let silence fall upon them as a comfort. Leaning against the closest tombstone, they felt Tamaki lightly brush his fingertips against their arm, keeping his eyes glued to their shoes; (Y/n) welcomed the action by moving to intertwine their fingers together and smile at the blush that took over their friends face.

“Scared, Tamaki?” they teased, their cheeky smile dropping the instant he looked at them as though they were ridiculous.

“What kind of question was that!” his voice came out shrill, “Besides, you’re scared too!”

“I’m not scared! I’m just… unsettled by the idea of being out here… at night. I already said that.”

“Afraid of the dark?”

“Afraid of what’s in the dark!” they swung their intertwined hands in emphasis, “Think about it- who knows what’s really out here! Anything can come up and-“

“Please stop that,” Tamaki begged once again, cutting them off by placing his free hand over their mouth.

Both of them took a moment before realizing just how close their bodies had become, causing a blush to spread across every inch of exposed skin between the two of them. Tamaki removed his hand and instead moved to scratch the back of his neck nervously- though (Y/n) kept their hold on his other hand.

“Sorry…” he started, clearing his throat and staring at the ground, only looking at them with quick glances, “It’s just uh… that story Mirio told us- I don’t want you to accidentally jinx it.”

“Which story? He’s always spouting out nonsense.”

“The one about…” his eyes trained on the church, leaning his face in close to whisper as if something could hear him, “The nun.”

“Uhg,” they whined, “Why did you remind me! Now what I saw made more sense!”

The two of them turn their full attention to the building now, letting their eyes hyper-fixate on any view they may have into the building.

Recalling the story Mirio made, they envisioned each and every scene, letting it play out in front of their eyes in real time. It was a simple story, really; A soft, gentle nun who was loved amongst everyone had met her untimely end with a brutal swing of the axe held by one angry teenage orphan who couldn’t handle rejection well. But the details Mirio had used to spruce up his story, sound effects and all, set up a terrifying and gory play; (Y/n) and Tamaki both cringed, knowing just what the other had pictured.

“(Y/n)…” Tamaki whispered, “Do you see that? The stain glass window.”

They looked through the colours, watching a dark shadow pass behind the shards of glass on the second floor. It moved from one window to another- the closer it got to the clear window at the front of the building, the tighter their hands held one another’s. Before either of them could process what they had been witnessing, a bright, white figure smacked against the window, a loud, screeching howl following suit. The figure seemed crazed, eyes bulging and mouth opened wide to compensate their scream- Tamaki and (Y/n) noticed the tattered habit it dawned, the fear finally striking their hearts.

Screams bubbled up both of their throats- though Tamaki surprised them almost as much as the ghost had. Watching the ghost of nuns past must have overrode his fear, kicking his hero instincts into high gear- surprisingly strong arms lifted them from the ground, throwing their face against the side of his neck as he carried them bridal style, running in the opposite direction of the church- fighting back a lecture the entire way and settled on simply screaming about how they warned them about jinxing the story as he ran as far away as he could without looking back.

Little did the two of them know, their friends had made their way into that church as (Y/n) and Tamaki had been distracted- stood together and nervously attempted their version of flirting. Mirio and Nejire had planned from the beginning to scare the new awkward friends into staying as close as they could, comforting one another in an attempt to finally get them together- though it seemed to work a little two well. They laughed at their plans, watching as Tamaki had somehow found the courage to whisk (Y/n) away, but what were the two of them watching on the floor above?

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aedwardstyles · 6 years

Text

BOXER HARRY FANFIC A/U

Chapter 4

(A/N) : I know this chapter took way too long and I’m so sorry extremely sorry for that. I was just swamped in shit that life brings and i wasn’t able to write properly. Really hope you guys like this chapter. All suggestions are open and requests are open as well. All the love - A ❤️

Warnings : swearing maybe.

Sitting there in a small café in the wee hours of the morning, waiting for a man who had texted you earlier your mind raced to all possible places. Why did Louis want to meet you? Had something happened to Harry? Or maybe Harry had sent him here to tell you off or something. Whatever it was it had surely managed to keep you awake for the past 6 hours and you had a feeling you weren’t going to be subjected to a good nap anytime soon. Huffing you took your phone out to check the time. He was a whole 45 minutes late but before you could call or text him the small cafés glass door opened and in came the man you had been waiting for. He was huffing and rubbing his hands together. The dead of the winter had definitely got him good. He quickly spotted you and waved with a smile, you waved back and he quickly made his way to where you were seated. Pulling out a chair he quickly seated himself and smiled at you

“I’m really sorry i got late. There was huge snow on the way and God it feels like fucking Jack Frost is nipping at me nose.” He said.

You replied with a smile. “Oh no worries. I..um didn’t order for you cause I didn’t know what you’d want.”

“That’s fine. I’m not gonna have anything anyway. Jus’ came here to talk to yeh.” He said. His expressions were dead serious now and you too had become worried for the most part. “So um I know yeh must be thinking where I got your number and all and I just wanna tell yeh I’m no creep.” He smiled and you let out a breathy chuckle too.

“I didn’t really think you were, but um where did you get my number.” I inquired while sipping my coffee.

“Oh yeah about that. So last night when Harry came back after dropping you off he just closed himself up in that little room and kept drinking until his arse was on fire.” He chuckled. “So when I went to take him home he kept babbling about you in the car. Look love, I’m not sure what really happened between you too but from what I’ve seen he really cares about yeh. He’s always worried before shows and makes me check if you’re there. Gets a little disappointed when yeh aren’t. I found your number on a note in his pocket and thought I’d give you a ring myself cause he wasn’t going too. ”

You swallowed thickly and began to speak. “Louis is he okay?”

Louis quickly changed his demeanour realising he had just increased your worries by a hundred. “Oh yeah yeah don’t worry love.” He said smiling. “Look all I wanna say is that I need you to contact Harry. I would really appreciate it if you’d talk to him and try making him to open up to yeh. For the past 5 years the only girl I’ve seen walk up to Harry was to get in his pants and I see you’re not doing that. I see genuine care for him in your eyes and the same for you in his. I know this might sound really weird, but I’m asking you this as a favour.”

You quickly nodded, knowing that you would never think twice about helping your best friend. Or ex best friend You suppose. “I’d love to help Louis. But um I really don’t have his number or anything and on top of that he’s told me strictly not to come to his matches.”

“Oh yeah I know about that but don’t worry. There’s gonna be an art exhibition on the 15th, Harry’s gonna be there with me. It’s gonna be pretty underground and low-key so if you’re willing to come there I could arrange tickets for you and you could make it look like a coincidence.” He said

“Wait, are you talking about the one at the Gagosian“. I inquired and he nodded. “You don’t have to get me tickets then.” He gave me a questioning look and I explained. “I’m a small journalist you see for a newspaper and my company’s sending me to cover that exhibition.”

“Oh well then that’s great then. Look love, I’m sorry I know I’m probably asking you a lot and you really can say no to me. But its just besides being Harry’s manager I’m his friend too and I can’t see him drowning in his sink hole of a life anymore.” He sighed.

“No no please Louis, don’t. It’s okay. I would love to help him in any way possible. He definitely isn’t the Harry I used to know and if in any way I can make him the old Harry I would love too.”

“Thankyou (Y/N) I really appreciate you doing this. This means s-“ He was interrupted by his phone ringing and mumbling a quick sorry he took it. It was something important and he said he had to go. With a quick farewell he left and you kept sitting there since it was still an hour till your work day officially started. Sitting there all you could was look back on your old times with harry. How everything was so perfect. How I always admired the Styles/Twist family, they were all so perfect together. I was disturbed by my thoughts by a call of my boss who wanted to see ,e there and I quickly went about my day.

——

Harry’s POV

Harry had spent a handful of this evening admiring fine art. With every abstract piece from every little artist he was encapsulated by the art. All the paintings and sculptures had kept his mind at ease throughout the whole night, with a few glasses of champagne in his system and art around him Harry thought nothing could disturb his night away. That is until He caught sight of movement in his peripheral vision before a voice spoke.

“Who would’ve thought Harry Edward Styles would become an art enthusiast.” The woman beside him uttered in a teasing tone and Harry quickly moved his vision at the familiarity of the voice. It was her. Again. The first thought that came to his mind was to tell her to bugger off but his thought was interrupted when his eyes betrayed him and he began admiring her. She stood there in all her elegance. Wearing a spaghetti strap black silk dress, her curls draped beautifully over her shoulders, small earrings that shone through, dark lipstick that brought attention to her cherry lips. And then he felt himself to be taken away from all the art to the simple grassed grounds of her mother’s garden looking at her admiring her, properly gawking at her without a care in the world, that is until she spoke. Again and made him nervous. Again.

“I’m not a sculpture Mr.Styles, stop ogling me.” She said, a slight smirk tugged at the corner of her lips and Harry felt a hue of red spreading to his cheeks. He quickly gazed away scared to be caught by her.

“Why are yeh here, I told you I di-“

“Oh my gosh you are such a narcissist.” She exclaimed, the smirk on her lips had now widened and even though her vision had not once turned to him, she still was able to make account for the heat rising on his cheeks. She decided to not push it further and knowing Harry from past experience she knew he was now in it for good.

With those words she turned her back towards Harry and began strutting throughout the small hallway towards the other artworks and before she knew she heard a pair of boots following her in suit.

“What do you mean by that.”

“By what.”

“Calling me a narcissist. I’m not a narcissist.”

“Are you sure about that Mr.Styles.” She inquired, her gaze still fixed on the art filled walls, and his on the living art walking beside him. She expected him to retort back with a clever answer or at least an answer but he didn’t. Just kept walking with her, the silence between wasn’t uncomfortable or unbearable yet it was soothing and knowing. After a few minutes of walking together he heard a slight buzz and she took our her phone. Receiving the call she mumbled a quick “okay” and hung up. She began walking towards the exit and soon we were out of the building. And finally she decided to bless me with her gaze.

“I’m going home now. You should too it’s late.” She said

“Are you going alone.” I nervously inquired and she nodded. I quickly made my way to stand beside her told her that I would walk her home as it was too late for her to go alone. The walk to her home was filled with small talk and stolen glances. She told me about her job, her aspirations of becoming a journalist for the New York Times one day, about her shitty boss who always smelled like rotten tomatoes and possibly everything that she could fit in a 20 minute stroll.

As she spoke I could not move my vision from the Aphrodite walking beside me. Her skin shone under the moon light, her eyes sparkled and oh when she spoke. Her voice send a surge of warmth throughout my body. Her laugh was like the first wave of spring after a harsh winter.

I cursed to myself when we reached to her destination, wanting this walk to never end. She slowly turned towards me and began speaking saying her thanks for everything and anything but to be honest I wasn’t paying attention to any of it. All I could think about was her lips. Her cherry lips that were once laced with a beautiful colour now had specks of it. How they moved so gracefully when she spoke and how it was taking me everything in my body not to crash my harsh ones against her soft ones.

“Harry, Harry” she quickly waved her hand infront of my eyes and I snapped back to reality from my unholy thoughts. “You sure have a thing for staring.” She giggled and that is when something inside me snapped. Without a second thought I crashed my lips against hers and my entire body felt as if I was in the Heavenly Kingdoms. Damn this woman is going to ruin me.

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harrystyles fanfics imagines series one direction niall horan liam payne louis tomlinson #one direction fanfiction

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lifeasabashly · 6 years

Text

Berwick

So I’ve been applying for this camp, through work for the last four years or so, and this year, after almost deciding that I didn’t need it anymore, I got picked to go. It is based in the Berwick Forest, 40km out of Dunedin in May which usually would sound like a whole lot of miserable to me (as I am a sad sack throughout most of Winter) but for some reason I was keen to go.

Arriving at an empty airport in Dunedin and realising I had been left behind was a shit start that really made me question if I had made the right choice. But that was the last time I had that thought. I got picked up by one of the Lions Club members eventually and dropped at the camp where everyone was already sitting in their ‘watches’ with their GP lines and beanies. I was in Green watch which suited me fab, my fav colour. I immediately was thrown into the team building exercise where we were writing a story about a hole in a balloon. It’s interesting thinking back now to those people I met, and how those relationships changed and grew over the 8 days I was there.

My watch was made up of Moe (said Moy) (60s), Mark (60s), Julie (50s), Myself (26), Max (24), Erin (21), Kohan (19), William (18), Mikayla (18) & Harry (18). Such a range of people from all walks of life.

I’d miss the orientation session, along with Charlie and Morgan from Trustpower so we briefly sat down and went through this before heading to our bunks. Being last meant I got a top bunk - which I was fine with as it meant I was closer to the warmth (and farts I guess).

We woke EARLY the next morning, about 5.40am to bagpipes blasting outside our room. I freaking love bagpipes so this actually put me in such a good mood. We got dressed and headed to our first activity which was like a brain teaser type activity in the common room. It was far too early for me to be able to contribute anything useful and I’m pretty shit at these types of things anyway so was happy to let the team lead us to success! Finally at 7 we got breakfast, typical camp style lining up for cereals, toasts, porridge the works. I went hard out of fear of not eating again for a long time and a huge day ahead. Before I knew it we were kitted up in our wetsuits heading to our first big activity - Kayaking. Now I’m not really for or against Kayaking. Can be fun, sometimes it’s just boring so I was keen to see what they had planned. We started in a pool, the tiny, local community pool that used to be used by a school that was now shut down. The water was ice. I wore my socks in. They made us do flips in the kayaks and taught us how to safely exit if we did flip on the river.

Then we were in the river. I had chosen my paddle and kayak that I felt would suit me best, plus they were perfectly colour coordinated so thought I was away for the win. We had barely disembarked before one of our watch Will, had fallen out of his kayak. He was complaining it was too small and hard to maneuver. Me being the good Samaritan *coughs* offered him mine. This was my first mistake and lesson learnt. Never be nice. His kayak was tiny, it took me 3 goes to get in the damn thing without falling out. I was wearing my sneakers (as the river was colder than the pool) and I was incredibly cramped and uncomfortable the whole river journey. To my dismay when I fell out on a turn, I was trapped by my sneaker and spent a good 3 minutes flailing about until Will caught up and was able to help me out. Overall it was still fun though. When I had to get out of the kayak at one point to - kiss the front (the things these instructors made you do) I bruised both legs and by the end of the float (due to falling out so much) I was a freezing, shivering mess. But I DID IT. I think they were worried about hypothermia though as they sent me straight to the van where the heater was blasting.

We headed back to lunch which was sandwiches and hot pies. God I love a good pie. So delightful. Then we had tea prep so I spent the next hour peeling & chopping carrots with Mikayla.

Straight into Knots & the Confidence course after lunch. I gotta say, I am possibly the worst knot tier in the history of the planet. I had to be shown about 300 times before it stuck and then the next day I still couldn’t tell you what the damn knots were called. Lucky I had a watch full of able humans who had done guides and were just onto it to help me through the rest of the week where knots were ESSENTIAL to survival! The confidence course was fun. The very first part was a tyre wall which I felt very prepared for after spending Intermediate sitting on the tyre wall at lunch times. I must admit, once I was at the top I was still abit shaky/nervous going over the top. Even more so when we had to carry a bucket full of water over too! Erin struggled with this one, she just would not budge at one point, saying her arms/legs were giving up, bawling her eyes out and Leanne (one of our instructors) would not let her give up. She made it over and I’m glad, but I definitely had a moment of - this feels like bullying. It just shows you though, some people need it. The rest of the course was pretty tame, tarzan ropes onto walls, that sort of jam. It wasn’t until the last bit - a firemans pole that I got a bit nervous again. I don’t know what it is about them but they freak me out. This one was exceptionally high too! Leanne was there giving me technique and before I knew it I was at the bottom. Embarrassed at how easy it was! Unfortunately Moe, was close on my tail and did it straight after me without any technique and sped to the bottom where she snapped her ankle in three places. I got to do First Aid, but poor Moe was gutted. Her ankle did the floppy thing like Harry’s arm in Harry Potter. It was pretty gross but intriguing. She was in no pain! Just shock I guess. Ironically that night after dinner, we had our First Aid training. I was in bed by 9 and asleep by 9.01 for sure. Absolutely shattered.

Day two! We had games first thing from 6am-7am. Again, puzzles in the morning, not my forte. Esp not before kai. After breakfast we had toilet duties which is always a barrel of laughs right? Then on to abseiling. This was based at camp. The hill to the top was a bit of a bitch to get to but abseiling was fun! We did it three times, the third time blind folded. Beef was our instructor. He was a spunk. After lunch we were back on to knots and bush craft which I don’t overly remember doing but again I think this is because I was hopeless at it and all the knots seemed the same to me. Looking at the schedule it’s hard to believe that this took up most of the afternoon. I remember we had to pull a pole somewhere and tow a truck though. Then Dinner, then night exercise. This one was us carrying a massive heavy pole from one side of the camp to the other as a team. It wasn’t awesome. The walk back under the stars was lovely though.

Monday was our first sports session - Netball. I loved it. It made me think how some days I would just play netball and that’s all the exercise I would do.... this was just the first thing for the day! Our team lost, JUST. But our commitment and passion was 10/10! Next was mountain biking which I was super excited for but MAN it was hard. We got kitted up with bikes/helmets and then did some practice stuff on the icy grass/mud. We then headed up the hill. I could bike up all of 2 minutes as it was steep AF. Everyone had to get off and walk most of it. We learnt how to jump logs and break/maneuver down steep hills. I came off the bike twice, one time landing on another stationary bike but it was so awesome! Then we got to boost down the hill. It was SO fast. I felt alive. I loved it. 100% Mountain biker for life.

After lunch we were back into it with a ‘Bridge Exercise’ - they gave us tiny hints to what we were doing throughout the course - but they never really helped. This was intense. When we realized what we had to do, get from one side of the bridge, underneath it and come up on the other side - there was a lot of planning involved. And actually doing it, (and trusting your teams knots) was pretty crazy! We aren’t allowed to share photos of this and I didn’t get any, any way but this was such a cool challenge. After dinner our night exercise this night was hilarious. We were all blindfolded and either had to lead or direct our watch around camp. It was pretty freaky putting your trust in strangers this way, especially at night. I DID end up in a swamp. But it was so fun. Making the most of our other senses and what not. Pretty cool. And just when we thought we were finally done for the night, blindfolds off. I hear this blood-curdling scream and Leanne comes racing up to us in full diva/drunk actor mode yelling about how she pushed her brother ‘Eric’ off a cliff and he’s dying at the bottom. So off we trot following her to save Eric. I got the fun task of taking care of drunk Leanne who was going on about popping cherries, working her ‘night job’ and the likes. Much to Harry’s disgust as Leanne is his mums best friend. So entertaining. Finally with Eric stretchered back to camp and bandaged we were allowed to go to bed.

Tuesday Tramp Day! This was what I was most nervous about, a 15km tramp through the wilderness. Seemed like not far but boy was it ever. It took us 12 hours. We went the wrong way twice and not just a few steps like probably 2-3kms each time. No instructors, reception, just a map (that wasn’t the best if I may add!) The majority of the tramp was up hill and it was hard. Erin couldn’t hack it. She got blisters day one and the whole tramp (before she got taken out) she was moaning about them and stopping every 20 steps. It meant we moved incredibly slow - I didn’t really get a chance to get tired. She was though. I felt sad for her because everyone was tired/sore in some way and she couldn’t just push herself. Anyway, she got taken out with Max, who was borderline collapsing at every turn and then we could pick up the pace. By 7.30pm it was dark, cold and we were so over it. By 8.30 we were finally at The Hilton, exhausted and starving. I ate mince boiled with instant mash potato and peas. It looked like spew but I devoured it. Then I went to bed, it’s possibly one of the worst huts I’ve stayed in. Made New Beers look like a resort. But I slept solidly.

Wednesday we were up early to make our way to the Mahinerangi Dam. Damn son. It was huge. We had lunch first - chicken AND ham luncheon sandwiches - just bread and butter no shit, dried apricots and a cup-a-soup. Gourmet I tell you. We set up our tents, wet and dirty from the previous 2 watches and then got set up for our dam abseil. First one, no biggy, no dramas for me. Second one... I’m not quite sure what happened but I was afraid. I didn’t realise I wasn’t going to be able to use my feet and would just have to lower myself down. I think the shock of that suddenly happening just set me off and I burst into tears. Sobbed the whole dam way down. Need any more damn puns? Damn. Others didn’t do the second one, but Harry and Max went all profesh on us, bouncing off the walls like Spiderman. Show offs.

After the dam activities, we were off for another wetties exercise. Raft building. Each team member had to sail out to the island and back without getting our lines wet or drownies. It was actually a really easy task and we finished it so early we had heaps of free time. FREE TIME!? At Berwick? NEVER. I went and set up my tent, I got nominated to tent with the boys as we only had 3 person tents plus we wanted to avoid the snorers (Mark, Will, Max, Erin...) Kohan, in my tent didn’t bring a bed roll, so Harry and I ended up putting our two together and sharing. We played some president which I was excellent at for once. We had some snacks, then went and made dinner. Pasta packets - Mac & Cheese. This was actually pretty tasty. I ate heaps! After dinner we had another activity. Learning to use a GPS. They are super legit - who knew!? And Geo-caching is a thing. I’m 26 and I’d never heard of this, but people leave notes for other people around the world to find. It’s like a world-wide treasure hunt! So cool! Thankfully we got to have an early night and headed back to the tent. I slept in full gear - beanie, puffer jacket, merinos, socks - the works and was still shivering. I’m actually so glad there was no way of knowing how cold it was that night but there was ice on our tent in the morning.

Thursday was another 4 hour tramp back to camp. We got lost... again and were late getting back. We went straight into lunch then an Initiative course. This was probably the best ever. Or maybe it was just I remember it so well as it was near the end of the week. It was loads of team-based activities that weren’t physically demanding but just hilarious and you had to use your brain and trust your homies to succeed. I got heaved over walls, thrown through ‘spider webs’, held my fingers against holes in a giant drum while the team filled it with water #frozenfingers. I had to sit on Harrys shoudlers so we could all fit onto this platform after swinging across a mudpit. We then had to dive into another mudpit/lake, do a massive flying fox, ropes again and more. Dinner, then more sport afterwards. Cricket, which would have been amazing except it was inside and you couldn’t smash it so I got out pretty quickly. Had a few successful bowls however.

Friday morning we had more sport - football (lame but fun for others) then breakfast and cleaning. Everyone was back from the tramps Friday and we were on dinner so had to prepare a shit tonne for the ‘’roast meal’ (8 Roast Beefs!). It was a huge job. Then we were off for our ‘river exercise’ which we were told - all being well you shouldn’t get wet. I have to admit by this point, I had very little clothing left and reaaaallly didn’t want to get wet if I could avoid it. So when our first team mate came across the river and dropped to the side, a sodden mess- I was hugely disappointed. I think this was the only task we actually had to ask an instructor for help. We had to be split into two groups on each side of the river and using our ropes (not getting them wet) we had to get each team member to the other side of the river and back. Thankfully, by the time I had to go across, not only was I being pulled back and forth #noeffortrequired but I did not touch the river with any part of my body! Great success! Harry got dunked which was sad for him but hilarious for everyone else. Back to camp for a quick lunch then we had another group activity (bridge building) and then orienteering. Both were fun, but orienteering took us ages! Makayla, Harry and I were in a team and these two just spent the time waffling. I had to be mother hen quite frequently to keep them on the job at hand! We played some truth or dare which was great on my part because I am an excellent question master and kept orienteering fun, but it was cool because you got to explore the whole camp. I saw a baby wild pig! And there was probably 3 times total I said over the course - surely they wouldn’t make us go up/down/through there.... alas, it was the right way. When we finally got back, Kev the instructor was on his way out to us to check we weren’t dead. Dinner was a bit emotional as it was our last night... then we had to go do our performance ‘Welcome to Berwick’. It was in the tune to ‘My House’ by Flo Rida and our watches show was definitely the best. We even had backing music... just saying. After that we all headed back to the rooms to spend time together before lights off as I knew I had an earlier flight Sat morning and wouldn’t get to do the last relay or wind down drinks/BBQ. Harry was quite distraught. He was crying and saying he didn’t want to leave and that Makayla and I were his best friends and I was just amazing. It was all quite overwhelming for me. I loved these two, so easily and quickly in this weird environment we’d been thrust in - but I guess for me I had a lot of friends, Chris and life to go back to and neither of them didn’t have quite that. So I will try be good friends to them both, because I think they need that. I know they’re gonna do great things. It’s exciting to watch.

Saturday morning was spent cleaning, trying to find all my shit and then a few tears saying goodbyes (even from me! Shock Horror!) Kev drove me away in the van and it was hard leaving. I really could have stayed there another week or more I think. I just loved it.The truth is I really didn’t miss home that much, I was too tired or busy... I didn’t think I had missed Chris even until I saw him and burst into tears. Now being back, it’s hard to explain how life-changing and inspirational it was. I feel like a dick talking to people about it and saying that that’s exactly what it was for me but people don’t really get it unless they’ve been. I LOVED not using my phone or having it anywhere near me, I LOVED the people I met and stories we shared, I LOVED being outside, being dirty and being completely me without anyone's expectations. I loved learning all these new skills and really pushing myself and then finding out how awesome I could be!

Finally, I must admit though, I LOVED coming home to an ice cold bourbon with Chris too. #OGhobby

#berwick #camp #newzealand #dunedin #blog #personal #camping #outdoor #dangan ronpa lab experiment au #outwardbound

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years

Text

His Blood Runs Gold V

Percy is a God: Part V

Here’s my masterlist for the next part and my other stuff

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it’s a quality of the gods

to see a creature with its back broken

and be unmoved.

-It’s a Quality of the Gods, Suniti Namjoshi

They raced through the ocean, stopping only briefly when the call of the sea forced Percy to pause, to listen, to aid. Jason would stand back and watch as his friend– his friend– became somehow more powerful and more human.

“Okay, I think that’s the last of the turtles.” He smiled, turning to face the demigod who was already staring.

“You ready to go?”

“Lead the way Jackson.”

A few thousand miles, passed by in a blur of blue and sand, saw them to their destination.

“This is it, 0°00'0.00" N -77°59'18.59" W. The equator.”

Night had fallen but that made no difference this far underwater. Percy drew Riptide, using the glow of the sword to illuminate the space.

“Are you sure?”

The god just gave him a look.

“Sorry, the sea makes me jumpy. I want to get out of here as soon as possible and searching in the wrong place is just going to delay us.”

“Well instead of jabbering let’s get on with it.”

With a nod, Jason drew his own gold sword and started swimming.

“We’re looking for the Arrow of Hate right?”

“Yes prophecy says, ‘Retrieve the arrow of foe but gain a scar’” The demigod recited.

“I seem to remember Annabeth telling me Eros has two arrows, one of lead and one of gold.” He mused.

“So we’re looking for something the colour of charcoal?” Jason mumbled, “Any idea how big?”

“No but I suspect it gives off some real bad vibes if it confers hate.”

“Don’t all godly weapons give off bad vibes?” Blue eyes rolled in exasperation.

Percy just snorted, and turned to a cluster of coral trees, carefully pulling the branches apart to peer in-between.

“You really think it’s gonna be this easy?” He called, using the currents to carry his voice.

“I’m just ignoring the fact that we’ve been here for a full five minutes and nothing has tried to kill us.”

He huffed a laugh, “Let’s hurry this up and keep it that way.”

“Right with you on–“

“Grace?”

“I think I found it!”

Within moments he was by the blonde’s side. Jason pointed to a glinting sliver behind a cluster of rocks.

“Well that looks like a divine object if I ever saw one.” Percy shrugged

Together they swam towards it. Jason wrapped his fingers around a jagged edge and with his other hand reached for the arrow.

An enormous, swamp green eye opened. And then a second, and third, and fourth, fifth, sixth. Too many to count. Eye after horrid, vile eye opened until there were too many to count.

“We really are foolish, aren’t we?” He whispered, letting go of the cold, smooth arrow-shaft, and releasing his grip on the rock. Not a rock. The rugged hide of whatever this thing was.

“Hope really is a fool’s choice.” Percy echoed the sentiment, staring in horror at the beast before them.

“You think we can take it?”

“I don’t think we have a choice, Grace.”

Indeed, they did not, for rising higher, higher, higher than mountains was the monster from a grown man’s nightmares.

“I have not smelt the blood of a god in many moons,” It hissed, “But I still remember the taste.”

“Listen buddy, my mom says I’m sweet and all, but I don’t actually taste like that.” Percy piped up.

“The prodigy of Poseidon. Even down here the currents have whispered your name.” Its voice sounded like the darkest parts of winter. Like the coldest parts of night.

“Truly I’m honoured mister, but I’m just helping my friend. Would you mind if we grab that little arrow from you and then we’ll be on our way?”

All the eyes turned to him, unblinking, curious, hungry.

“I do not see why,” A gaping, rotted mouth curled up, “I should give away a treasure and not get one in return.”

“That arrow does not belong to you,” Jason said.

“Nothing belongs to anyone Son of Jupiter. That is the first thing Lupa should have taught you.”

“How do you–“

“I have been around a very long-time half-blood. I see many things.”

“Don’t think you have much of a choice,” Percy mumbled.

The monster cackled, “I see why the beings of Tartarus do not like you Olympian. You are much too quick in wits for their puny brains to keep up.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying. Thank you!” Percy flung up his arms, “At least someone gets me. Jason, I like this one can we keep it?”

“You can do whatever you want, I just need the arrow.”

“What is your name?” The demigod asked.

Ah so they were going with the distraction tactic.

“I am older than language itself half-blood. You could not pronounce my birthright.” Its glee was the edge of a serrated sword.

Percy inched around, slowly, steadily, and hoped the monster kept all its eyes firmly on Jason.

“You old monsters always tell me that but in the end you all bleed the same.”

With a lunge, as quick and vicious as a snake, the god grabbed the arrow and yanked. In his hands the metal glowed, radiating power– horrible, ancient power.

“Jason I got it, let’s go!”

But when Percy turned to his friend once more, the breath tore from his lungs.

“Let him go.” That voice was ice, it was death, it was destruction, it was God.

“Or what Son of Poseidon?” The creature sneered, squeezing the demigod just a little tighter between its short, ragged limbs.

Jason gasped, writhing and squirming to get loose. His sword lay far below, a gold speck of light.

“Did you really think your meek attempt at distraction would work? My eyes miss nothing.”

Percy didn’t deign to give it a reply, instead summoning everything within him.

“Let. Him. Go.” It was a final caution, a last chance for surrender.

The creature grinned. Percy erupted.

He slammed ropes of water into the body of the monster, whips that should have blinded those disgusting eyes. The water bounced off, recoiled from the gleam in all those pupils.

The God growled and cleaved a hole in the ocean. Suddenly they were surrounded by nothing. A dome of water hovered over them but not a drop touched their skin.

The monster laughed, “That little trick may have worked on my weak cousin, stupid Ketos, but it will not work on me Percy Jackson. I have survived all manner of life. The oceans were not always so deep.”

“What are you?” He breathed, slamming the sea back together. His anger froze the world around him.

“You are very powerful,” It said, staring at the ice that surrounded them.

“What are you?” The god repeated, and it was savagery that glittered in his ocean eyes.

“I am your worst nightmare.” That sickening smile again.

Jason had stopped moving. They noticed at the same time, turning to look at the demigod. He was limp, golden skin leeched of colour, electric blue eyes closed, closed, closed.

“The poison must have worked.”

Percy looked up, looked straight into the monster, “The what?”

“Oh, you did not know?” It taunted, “My skin is poison, blessed by the goddess of misery herself. It protects my eyes. It has been very useful these long years.”

He had tasted fear like a metallic tinge coating his tongue. He had felt anger like lava under his skin. He had even experienced true sadness like a greyed canvas of life. But never, never had he felt the complete lack of emotions. The world was so quiet. So dull, muted. There was nothing. There was no-one.

“Do not worry Son of Poseidon, your friend has lived a good life.”

He smiled. The monster did not smile back.

“You keep calling me that,” The God said, “But you do not remember who Poseidon is, what he can do.”

A thousand eyes blinked. Widened at the gleam in his own sea-green eyes. Percy Jackson slammed his hands onto the rock-made skin and laughed.

For a split second there was a complete absence of sound, and then… BOOM. The Son of Poseidon started an earthquake.

The monster screamed; its body split, cracked, exploded. The roar of pain and despair was music to the god’s ears. He grinned, wicked and wild as pieces of shrapnel ripped off it, as they pierced everything, drawing foul black blood.

And when all that was left of the creature was dust and debris, Percy willed the ocean to scatter the remains.

Everything came back into sharp focus all at once. Jason. A broken noise escaped him as he dove for the unmoving body on the ocean floor.

It didn’t matter.

Jason Grace was dead.

The roar the god let loose, could be heard from the heavens.

It was not grief. It was a warning.

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hollowworldentertainment · 4 years

Text

The Land of Gods

“So this is the plane of the gods?”

The plague artery scoffed as he stared around an empty white plane that stretched as far as his eyes could see.

“No, idiot.”

“This is the…”

“Waiting room, through that door is Ill’akese’s version of the god plane.”

The Plague artery turned to see a door towering above him. Ill’akese had already shuffled his way to it, pushing against it with all his might. The door started to peel back, spores and a vile smell started to escape through the opening in the door. The Plague artery stomped over to the door and with his un altered arm he forced the door open through the foliage that laid behind it, revealing an unending jungle infected with disease and fungal spores. Above his head he stared at the dust and spores that were illuminated by the light gleaming through the sickly canopy. The children dressed as Ill’akese climbed on the Plague Artery, each of them finding scared flesh and bone to grab onto to allow them to roost for the upcoming walk. One made its way to his shoulder so that it may talk.

“Ill’akese is gone, he moves fast on this plane. We will show you were to go.” The child pointed down a winding path to their left. “Go down there big guy, it is a long walk for us slow ones.”

The plague Artery started to walk down the path, his loud stomping feet shaking the fauna from their hiding spaces. Deathly looking birds fluttered through the air as they fled, shaking off the last of their dwindling feathers to the ground. A couple of the children leaped from their mount, they scampered around after the feathers. They did not fight over who got what, but it seemed they were drawn to the lighter colours. Rushing the desired colours but moving on if another reached the feather before them. The Artery looked around at the desperate children.

“Why the feathers?”

“Money I guess, us angels have to find a way to entertain ourselves. The rarer the items you have, the more valuable it is. Those lighter colours are worth much more.”

The artery took a moment to leap into the air, stomping onto the ground with all his weight, shaking the remaining children from him excluding the one on his shoulders. The remaining birds in the area took flight, littering the ground with variously shaded feathers. The children all went into a frenzy, filling their pockets and bags with feathers.

“You are much nicer than the others, they don’t let us ride them, let alone help us.”

“I like you kids, you interest me.”

“Not kids, well once kids. We have been imbued with the powers from Ill’akese. We are now angels.”

The Artery continued stomping on, fighting his way through the thick jungle.

“Well you are kids to me, what are we looking for, where are we going?”

“We are not looking, we know where we are going. We are going to a swamp town, where all of ill’akese’s champions and angels live. There we wait for the plan.”

“Plan hmm, well we have a long trip I assume. Feel like sharing the plan with me…uh.”

“Ahlia, Ahlia is my name. As for the plan, I don’t know it. No one can be bothered to listen to Ill’akese for long periods of time. He talks slow.”

The Artery grunted a chuckle of understanding, releasing a Hornet from his toothy maw. Ahlia pulled a small jar from his messenger bag, he hastily climbed the Plague arteries head, using the sunken in scarred skin to climb faster. Leaping Ahlia captured the hornet in his jar, falling into a large hand that placed him back to his original seating position.

“Live insects worth a bit?”

Ahlia stared into the jar, watching the hornet with great intent.

“Worth vast amounts, ever since Ill’akese married Ma. Voke.”

“Goddess of Insects, if I recall.”

“Yes, yes. Ever since they married Ill’akese started to work on a big plan.”

The other children started climbing back onto the Plague artery, all of which tried to get a good look at the jar Ahlia was holding. She quickly packed it away back into her messenger bag. The remaining children cried out a complaint before returning to their resting positions. A head the Artery could see a vibrant glow that flickered through the trees.

“We are close, that is the swamp fires.”

“Camp fires?”

“No, natural swamp fire. Burning gas, lights up the swamp. Leads to the town.”

“Does the town have a name?”

“Daizosea”

The remainder of the trip was completed without talk. On occasion, the children would leap forth and gather what they could, but would quickly return to their stomping mount. After several hours of journey, they arrived at Daizosea, a town which littered the swamp with a careless sprinkle of haphazardly constructed housing.

“Not what I expected, I thought there would be more. Less shit too.”

“We are not builders, we are kids, and beasts such as yourself. We did not have the knowledge for good town.”

The Artery waded through the shallow waters, the angels climbed higher to avoid the rising waters. As he stood before the walkway the angels all jumped off and started running through the town.

“You’re not leaving?” The Plague artery said as he climbed onto the walkway.

“Comfy, like being up high. Besides, you make bugs.”

Ahlia directed the Plague artery through Daizosea until they reached the centre where a colossal statue stood of Ill’akese and Ma. Voke during their wedding ceremony.

“Ill’akese is made from infected wood and Ma. Voke is made from insect carapaces.”

“It is a statement for sure, where are we going Ahlia?”

“To Ma. Voke, she will tell you plan.”

The duo walked to the exterior of a gigantic willow tree being illuminated by a swarm of fire bugs.

“In there.”

The Plague Artery gave an unimpressed look to Ahlia, he then marched forward under the dense drooping branches. Inside was a woman’s form, with wings of an Atlas Moth. Behind her Ill’akese was stirring a large cauldron, filling it with fistfuls of dried grasses.

“Hey Ma.” Ahlia chirped at first chance.

Ma. Voke turned slowly and focused on Ahlia, she smiled and spoke softly.

“I see you have found a friend Ahlia, he is beautiful too.”

“He makes bugs, plagued ones.”

Ma. Voke smiled and turned to Ill’akese.

“How delightful. How can we help your friend?”

“He wants the plan.”

“Of course he does, but we don’t tell our secrets to all who ask. Come and empty you blood vial here Ahlia, Ill’akese needs it for his next infection.”

Ahlia leaped from Plague Artery and ran over to Ill’akese, emptying her vial into his cauldron while Ma. Voke wandered over to Plague artery.

“To know our secrets, you must prove your worth. Let your insects drink from the cauldron, go forth and spread our disease to the first group you see.”

The Plague artery pumped the brood sacs on his arm and let loose a swarm of scorpion flies which sat on the edge of the cauldron drinking in the vile blue liquid which coloured their abdomens. After Ahlia emptied her blood vile she returned to Plague arteries shoulder, back to her original spot.

“Your friend is returning to Hollow. Shall you follow?”

Ahlia sat staring through her mask, un answering she stared at Ma. Voke.

“I do not mind, I can protect her.”

A deep sickly cackle came from Ill’akese, Ma. Voke gave a slight giggle before speaking.

“You are a champion of a god, but she is an angel. I asked because a more likely scenario would her be saving you. A task that can become tiresome.”

The scorpion flies flew back and climbed back inside the various holes of Plague artery as his right arms brood pouches started to wriggle with new life.

“Don’t get used to that. Your arm will not replenish this fast on Hollow. It will take the correct time, if the insect takes twelve weeks to develop, so it shall.”

“I will remember that. With Ahlia’s permission we will leave now.”

Ahlia shifted as new bones spurted from her seat, creating a barrier to stop her from falling from Plague’s shoulder.

“She is stubborn, enjoy your trip. She knows how to return.”

Both Ahlia and the Plague artery were surround with a blinding light, as their eyes adjusted they found themselves back on Hollow.

“Let’s go Plague, need to find some new friends.”

The Plague artery turned on the spot. “I know where we are.”

He spun and locked his gaze on a path the winded through the hilly plains he stood in.

“I know where we fucking are.” He started marching. “I got some friends to visit.”

“Woah, you never move this fast. Must be a good friend.”

“The greatest of friends.” Plague continued to stomp down the path, his eyes a blaze from determination.

Meanwhile down the path laid an orchard, its vines being tendered to by a plethora of poorly dressed individuals. Their beleaguered form hastily touched, trimmed, and directed vines through their canopies, allowing the anti-gravity fruit to dangle upwards towards the sky. A sound blared from sirens atop posts, scattered through the orchard. The workers lowered their shaking hands and gathered their tools, they rushed from the vines, keeping their heads down to avoid the low canopy. They moved with purpose to small shacks that were laid around the Orchard, the doors all closing before a second alarm sounded. A single individual was still trying to gather tools they had left spread around. As they clawed for their last tool a foot fell heavy onto her hand, crushing it to the tool. She screamed out in fear ignoring the pain.

“Please, he is not here. No one needs to know just let me get back to my shack.”

She furiously tugged at her hand, peeling skin from bone as she manically screamed at the armed guard standing on her until she felt the crawling speech of her master.

“You missed out my dare.” He gingerly touched her head, petting her.

“Clearly you are tired, come take a rest in my home my sweet.”

A second guard arrived to help carry the frantic girl away. She screamed and kicked as the two guards wrestled her to the nearby manor. Licking his lips, the lord stroked his weedy moustache, leering at the other houses he turned to follow the still struggling woman.

“He the one, he the friend?”

“He is, and I am going to ruin him. I used to work here, just days ago. He must of used some enhancers because the fruit have advanced about three months.”

“Four months.”

“I am sorry, what?”

“You were gone four months from Hollow.”

The duo shared a moment of silence from their vantage point.

“We were gone a matter of hours. That god realm have a different rate of time?”

A little chuckle came from behind Ahlia’s plague mask.

“No, time passes the same. That teleport however took a while. It is not Ma. Voke’s specialty.”

“Fucking gods.”

“So, when are we going to kill this lord?”

“Never, I want to ruin him. Death is too easy. Do you know the most used currency of Hollow?”

“Gold, silver, copper?”

Plague looks deeply at the small homes that were in small clusters around the orchard.

“Slaves. Which are only as good as their health.”

Plague moved around the boarder of the orchard, treading as quietly as he could till he reached the back of the manor.

“That centre room, that is his.”

Plague thought deeply and his scorpion flies started to fly off around the manor, returning to the orchard to start infecting the vines and slaves with the illness Ill’akese crafted. A lone fly flew up to the window of the Lords room, sneaking under the window frame to walk around his room.

The lords attention was on the slave girl now bound and beaten to his bed.

“Mmm, you are a tease. Flaunting your stuff in my orchard, if you play your cards right you might earn the right to be my personal staff.”

The young woman shook from the bones, she stared down to her own body averting the lords gaze. The insect made its way to the bed, staying from sight.

“It is a shame that my guards beat you so bad.” He brushed the young woman’s face. “I would have liked to do it myself, I prefer my own work.”

As he brushed her face she recoiled, sending him into a frenzy he leaped onto her body and started shredding her clothes and thrusting himself upon her.The scorpion fly took this moment to bite into the slave girl, she watched as the fly pierced her skin, transferring Ill’akese’s new disease into her before flying away to the rest of the swarm. The young woman knew exactly what was to happen.

Mid thrust the lord stopped as he noticed the eyes from the young girl start to darken and her ears started to bleed. Her vision completely gone and her hearing failing she started laughing.

“What’s wrong? Not enjoying yourself?” She spat into the lords gapping mouth, filling it with a viscous green phlegm filled spit. He immediately turned and vomited off the side of the bed, again and again as the fluid transfer started to take effect. His body purging the virus before it could take hold, stepping off the bed he cleaned his mouth and backed away.

The young girls body now convulsing she started to spit black and shout praise.

“Ill’akese I am your vessel, make me to what you need. I bow beneath you.”

Her voice drowned out but the vile fluids filling her mouth until she finally drowned. The lord ran as fast as he could to his front deck, a deck that he uses to observe over his slaves. Looking down he could see the swarm of scorpion flies infecting everything in their path.

“My plants, slaves, my, my guards.”

He slumped down to the ground as the chaos and panic started to see his wealth turn to vile greens and projectile blacks from the mouths of his slaves and guards. His plants bubbling with infection, the fruits dethatching and drifting into the air before the rot took hold and brought them back to the ground. He turned to flee but found himself facing down Plague and Ahlia. The plague artery growling at the lord.

“Going somewhere? I don’t move that silently, you must have been distracted to miss me.”

“Please, no. I have money I have assets.” The lord fell to his knees. “Take what you want, please don’t hurt me.”

Ahlia looked around. “It does not seem like you have many assets left, it is kind of funny how you would build an orchard in a swamp.”

Confused the lord turned, seeing that the infection had started to turn the land. What was once fertile mounds of rich dirt that had been turned over generations, now a mushy silt with weeds growing rapidly.

“My families land, we spent generations perfecting this soil. All gone.”

Plague started to stomp off, leaving the lord to look over his ruined fortune.

“Wait, you can’t leave me. You have to fix this.”

Ahlia laughed for Plague did not hear over his own stomping. She turned on his shoulder to face the lord.

“We did, what we do.”

The lord opened his mouth and shook his head in confusion.

“What does that mean?”

“Means we go. You can stay.”

The lord stopped pursuing and stood in disbelief as the gargantuan beast of what was once a man stomped through his home. The duo reached the front door and stared out as the orchard was sinking deeper into the now marshy soil, with a swarm of scorpion flies attacking everything in sight.

“How do we get back to Ill’akese?”

“Why do you want to go back? Nothing there, here seems nice.”

The plague artery stared at the marshland before him. A grin stretched across his face as he stepped out into the soft soil.

“You could be lord.”

“Not could, shall.”

The plague artery roared into the air, pumping his brood sacs he let loose another swarm of scorpion flies into the air.

Meanwhile on sun heated rock the young girl awoke to her skin burning on the stones. Her form being lifted by Bea’tality.

“You renounce me as soon as you see a way out, punishment is an infinite years in hell. Once served you may be reincarnated to continue your journey to become a deity. Fear not, even though you will feel every year down here, it will be a fraction of the time on Hollow.”

Bea’tality disappeared into the sky leaving behind the reality of the young lady. She looked out to the lands before her and wept, screaming into the air she alerted those around her. Closing her eyes she waited for what was to happen next.

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