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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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Is that a Cinderella AU part I see? Yes, yes, it is! And one hopefully not as dark and devoid of hope as the last part...

Charlie’s castle carpenter tunic is based on this design; Bill’s castle guard uniform, referenced in a previous part, is based on this real uniform from 16th century France, though with a Royaumanian-worthy blue/red color scheme. My headcanon is that Charlie (who’s described as stocky in the books) is 5′5″, only two inches taller than his “unofficial twin,” Carewyn, while Bill is a friggin’ giant the tallest of the Cursebreaking squad at 6′1″ (one inch taller than Ben Copper at full height and the same height as his actor, Domhnall Gleeson!). The entire Cromwell family is on the smaller side, with Charles as the tallest at 5′10″. Oh, and yes, the Cromwells are all a piece of work, but Charles is indisputably the worst apple in the bushel. 😒

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn was discovered outside by her aunts Pearl and Claire and uncle Blaise and brought inside. When they interrogated her about why she had returned to the estate in the middle of the night, however, Carewyn was unable to answer them. She was unable to speak at all -- nor was she able to eat, drink, or sleep. Instead she simply settled down in a huddled ball on her old cot by the fireplace and stayed there, her arms around her knees and her eyes devoid of all light or awareness.

Whatever had happened, Charles seemed to have determined Carewyn would be of no use to him in the palace, the way she was -- and so, at dawn, he sent a messenger to the King and Queen, telling them that she’d taken ill and would have to remain at home in the interim.

Carewyn’s cousins at first took some vindictive pleasure out of bullying her, now that she was back under their roof. Arsen and Kain actually picked Carewyn up off the ground and pushed her around like some human-sized doll while Elmer sang a mean little song he’d written about her --

“Cindy-Cindy-Cinderwyn, the finest of her class --

The duchess of the dust and soot, her kingdom’s made of ash!

She went to court; oh, did they chortle, snicker, and guffaw --

So Cindy-Cindy-Cinderwyn ran home, crying, ‘Mama!’”

Before long, though, her lack of a reaction seemed to make it not so fun of a game. Within two days, Tristan, the youngest of Carewyn’s cousins, actually threw a tantrum because Carewyn completely ignored him splashing his paints all over her.

“What’s wrong with you!?” the boy screamed, beside himself. “Why won’t you get mad at me?! Why won’t you run away and cry?! Why are you so -- so -- WEIRD?!”

Blaise was most perturbed when his son actually burst full-on into tears. Clenching his jaw furiously, he brought an arm around Tristan and swept him back inside and away from the vacant-eyed Carewyn. Then he went straight to the dining hall to speak to Charles.

“Father, something must be done about Winnie,” he hissed. “This is not normal.”

Pearl leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Her behavior is shameful. To think the Cromwell blood runs through the veins of that girl...”

“It’s pathetic, that’s what it is,” said Claire in sycophantic agreement.

“Winnie may be a pathetic thing, but she is our thing,” Blaise shot back fiercely, “and she’s practically dead as she is.”

He turned to Charles.

“We’ve already lost Lane and sent Jacob off,” he said in a quiet, cold voice. “Are we to simply let Winnie waste away?”

Charles had his hands folded in front of him on the table. At Blaise’s words, his own almond-shaped blue eyes -- identical to his children’s and nearly all of his grandchildren’s -- narrowed.

“I must admit, it is a shame that Carewyn has stopped being useful,” he said lowly. “Iris may still be a set of eyes for us inside the palace, but she’s hardly clever enough to do much of anything on her own that’s useful.”

Claire actually looked hurt. “Father...Iris just sent us a letter this morning. Was it not useful to you?”

Charles’s eyes were very cold upon his daughter. “Hardly. She spent a good chunk of it complaining that Carewyn did something to the Prince, before leaving the palace...clearly trying to make excuses for her own failure to hold Prince Henri’s attention.”

Claire’s eyes welled up with shame and she hung her head.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that Iris has blamed Winnie for stealing one of her suitors’ attention,” said Pearl seriously, “but we have yet to get any explanation about why she’s returned to us against your instructions. And Claire and I did hear a horse galloping away, that night. Could it have been Prince Henri?”

Blaise scoffed. “Doubtful. You think a Prince would ever favor a plain girl with no dowry or status?”

“You warned Winnie yourself that the Prince could want her as a conquest,” Pearl said darkly. “Heartbreak would more than explain her current state...”

The idea made Blaise flush with rage.

“Whoever rode that horse, it was not the Prince,” said Charles very smoothly. He rose to his feet, picking up his dragon-headed cane and strolling over to the window to look out. “From what my informants have told me...Prince Henri was at the Royaumanian army camp that entire night.”

His children all straightened up, taken aback.

“At the war front?” said Pearl, shocked.

“Yes,” said Charles. “It quite upset their Majesties. Even more so when he returned to the palace in the morning dressed like a commoner and declared to them and the entire royal court that he intended to open up peace talks with the soon-to-be King of Florence.”

“Soon-to-be King?” said Blaise, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Then the old one kicked the bucket?”

“Yes...and it turns out the replacement Crown Prince is something of a populist. From what I’ve heard, his very first decision as future monarch was to ask every Florentine nobleman to -- should they wish to remain at court -- donate a portion of their wealth to him, so that he could then use it to buy a feast and custom-tailored clothing for his soldiers.”

Charles was clearly offended by the idea. Blaise was too.

“Uppity brat,” he sneered. “I guess that’s what’s you get, when you choose a bastard peasant as your future king...”

Pearl, however, looked a bit more cynical. “Seems rather unwise, to antagonize those who come closest to you in status...”

“On the contrary,” said Charles. “It’s most shrewd. As Blaise said, the boy was the King’s illegitimate son. That would offend the standards of just about anyone of good breeding...thus it would be foolish to try to court them for approval. A rat can communicate best with other rats -- and sadly, a swarm of rats is just what you get, when they gather: a band of filthy, hungry, disgusting creatures who will eat away at what we hold dear.”

His blue eyes flashed.

“And now our Prince fancies becoming allies with such vermin.”

Claire looked uncertainly at Pearl and Blaise. Both of them looked perturbed.

“If the War ends, there’ll be less money in the future for us,” Blaise growled. “Our investments in armaments built this estate...”

“My investments, Blaise,” Charles said in a very cool voice. “Do not forget that even the ones done in your and my son-in-laws’ names were still orchestrated by me.”

He pushed his palm down into the top of his cane, his long fingers trailing over the metallic snout of the dragon-head handle.

“It’s far worse than that, however. The Royaumanian royal family’s financial troubles was what has lent me their ear from the beginning. Gave me access to their decision-making -- gave me some leverage in coaxing them to join our two families. Should the King and Queen become friends and allies with Florence’s new royal brat, they may get the idea to redistribute their courtiers’ wealth as he has, to alleviate the nation’s debts...meaning we not only won’t be bringing in as much money as before, but that we’ll also have to submit to parting with what we already have, just to indulge in petty charity.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed upon his reflection in the ice-trimmed window.

“Our family’s chance at ascending into royalty...at the absolute, irreversible power owed us...is slipping away.”

Claire got up and tried to comfort her father by taking hold of his shoulder. “But Father...surely there’s still some hope? If Iris -- ”

But Charles warded Claire off with the back of his hand, sweeping across the room.

“If your daughter thinks that a mere maidservant was able to captivate the Prince more than her, then perhaps it’s the maidservant who I should enlist in getting our family what we deserve.”

He shot a look over his shoulder at Pearl. “Fetch Carewyn and bring her to me.”

Pearl dragged Carewyn up to the dining hall by her arm. The ginger-haired Cromwell hadn’t changed clothes or washed since she’d returned home, so her face was covered in cinders and her forest green and white dress was still splashed with the paints Tristan had thrown on her.

At the start, Charles feigned concern, saying he hated seeing his granddaughter looking so ill and unhappy, but his words barely penetrated Carewyn’s mind. They were just more lies -- just like everything else out of his mouth. She should know...being a liar herself. So she didn’t say a word in response. She made no response at all. And soon enough, Charles did come around to what he really wanted.

“His Highness is set to make a fatal error...but you have his ear. We need you to return to your duties in the palace and ensure that he does not trust the Prince called Cosimo.”

Carewyn’s lightless, empty eyes ran over her grandfather’s face for a long moment...but she did not answer.

“This is a noble duty, child,” said Charles. Although he put on a smile, it did not touch his eyes. “This is your chance to protect both your family and your country. The Florentines have been our enemies since before your mother was born...and now they seek to feign honor long enough to lure our Prince into their jaws...”

He brought a hand down onto Carewyn’s shoulder.

“Jacob would be proud, knowing you were helping him in his fight against them.”

Carewyn stared at Charles. Her almond-shaped blue eyes were as dark and turbulent as two miniature hurricanes. And yet, she did not speak.

Charles tilted his head, raising his eyebrows and considering her expression with that cold, detached smile. “Come now, my dear...will you not speak to your grandfather? I do so hate to see you like this.”

Carewyn’s gaze drifted away as Charles’s eyes bore into her -- and yet the silence dragged on with neither breaking it.

Pearl, Claire, and Blaise, for their parts, were becoming all the more unsettled by Carewyn’s lack of a response. Blaise actually strode forward and shouted at her.

“You will speak when spoken to, you ungrateful little -- !”

He made as if to strike Carewyn, but Pearl grabbed his forearm and held it back, flashing him a warning look before turning her righteous anger onto Carewyn.

“Your grandfather requires your services, Winnie,” Pearl said very sharply. “Don’t you have something to say to him?”

Even with this, however, Carewyn didn’t say anything. Then, with as much energy and emotion as a ghost, she stepped back and out of Charles’s grip and turned to go.

Something flickered in Charles’s expression.

“I did not give you permission to leave,” he said very softly.

But Carewyn didn’t answer or turn around. Claire had to block the doorframe to keep her from leaving the room.

“Your grandfather said you’re not allowed to go,” Claire said, her voice trying to be sharp but instead sounding rather unsettled.

Carewyn stared at Claire with those hollow, empty eyes in silence as Charles approached her from behind.

“You will do your duty to this family, child,” he said. It was striking how much scarier his voice sounded, when it was quieter -- Charles Cromwell was the sort of man who didn’t need to shout in order to be intimidating. “After all...that is the pact we made when I took you and your brother in, is it not?”

He took hold of Carewyn’s shoulder, whispering in her ear.

“Do not forget that everything you have is because of my charity. I have no desire to punish you...but I shall withdraw my kindnesses, if I must.”

Carewyn was very still. Then she once again broke out of Charles’s grip and tried to move past Claire.

Before she could get far, however, Charles snatched her up by the hair. With a strangled cry of pain, Carewyn was thrown to the ground with astonishing force, Charles’s fist clenched fast around her hair.

“Your head is not the only thing in my hands, Carewyn,” he reminded her very coldly. “I hope you remember that.”

He wrenched her up onto her feet by her hair, and Carewyn had to clench her teeth to keep herself from crying out again.

“I have been very patient with your theatrics...but I grow weary of coddling you. Should I send some message to Jacob, so that you behave? Perhaps if your head is not one you will defend, perhaps his is...”

“Liar.”

The word escaped Carewyn’s mouth as a wispy, hollow rasp, and yet it was enough to make everyone in the room stiffen. Somewhere out in the hall, one might’ve caught a quickly stifled intake of breath.

Carewyn’s eyes, although so dark, seemed to have gained an odd gleam in the back of them, like flaming cinders in a dying fire, as she stared up at Charles.

“You’re a liar,” she said again, her broken voice as rough as sandpaper in her throat as it rose in volume. “I know your life isn’t bound to Jacob’s. Any spell you could’ve had cast on him would have broken at midnight, the very night you sent him away -- the very night you ripped him away from me and sent him off to War against his will!”

Her blue eyes flared with hatred.

“That’s why you’ve never once gotten word from him -- because there’s no word you could receive from him at all! Admit it!”

There was a horrible silence. Pearl, Blaise, and Claire all looked from Carewyn to Charles and back.

Charles bore down upon his granddaughter, his face as cold as some ivory mask with hard, diamond-like eyes.

“So that’s what this is about,” he said softly. “Assigning blame. Very well, Carewyn...let us discuss this. You came to me as a child, sobbing and distraught beyond words...begging me to save your brother’s life when he was already on death’s door. You had nothing to offer me at that time, nor did your brother -- and yet I, out of the goodness of my heart, agreed to take you in. All I asked was that you show proper gratitude...a term you accepted at the time, and yet now have seen fit to break.”

He yanked Carewyn up by her hair and threw her into the table with a WHAM. Carewyn cried out in pain, before crumpling to the floor in a heap.

“I spent a good deal of my own money and discarded my own honor to try to find someone to save your brother’s life, if only to bring the light back to your eyes. Jacob was brought back to health and you were reunited with him, just as you’d hoped. And yet now you seek to demonize my wish that you show gratitude? That I collect on the debt owed me?”

He brought the heel of his shoe down on Carewyn’s shoulder with force, slamming her face down against the floor.

“And worse,” he whispered, “you wish to demonize the fact that, all these years, I was too grief-stricken to tell you of your brother’s passing?”

Blaise, Claire, and Pearl all stiffened. Only Claire, however, looked shocked.

“Jacob is...dead?” she whispered shakily.��

“I knew such a revelation would be crippling to a fragile, weak heart such as yours,” said Charles, his diamond-like eyes very hard upon the back of Carewyn’s head. “I knew that the knowledge that your brother died the morning after his departure, and that his body had to be burned with every other prisoner in those barracks instead of receiving a proper burial...would break your heart.”

Carewyn had started to shake. Her face had lost all of its color, and the flicker of rebellion she’d shown mere moments ago had gone out.

“You’ve never been a stupid girl, Carewyn. You really should have figured it out years ago...and yet, like a child who believes in Yuletide gift-givers, you latched onto your brother’s memory even when all logic said you shouldn’t. I’m certain everyone else in this family saw through my pretense -- knew that it was merely something to placate you, soothe your temperamental emotions. They always have made it difficult for you to see things clearly.”

Charles's eyes narrowed.

“You were the one who disregarded your duty to the man who put a roof over your head, clothed you and fed you. Perhaps the truth wouldn’t be so crippling if you had simply done as I wished...rather than chase after a ghost.”

Tears streamed down Carewyn’s face. Although her eyes were so hollow and she shook so badly, however, the grief inside of her was not just numbing. It had grown to such an extent that it for a moment made her lose her head completely. In a violent move, she wrenched herself off the ground with a mad scream and threw a fist right at Charles’s face. Unfortunately Carewyn had never been particularly strong -- and so Charles was able to seize her wrist, twisting it away from him and holding her back with little difficulty.

“Blaise,” said Charles icily. “Fetch the whip.”

Blaise looked stricken. “Father -- ”

“The child requires discipline,” he said without looking at his son. “I will not have her thinking that following her brother’s example is acceptable behavior.”

Blaise closed his eyes and bowed his head. Then, with a grim look on his face, he swept from the dining hall.

When he entered the hallway, he found all of Carewyn’s cousins (excluding Iris, who of course was still back at the palace) huddled up against the wall. They’d clearly been listening to every word...and for once, none of them looked the least bit amused. Their faces were all very pale.

Blaise considered them all for a moment in silence. Then he brought an arm around his son and led him away.

“Come, Tristan. You will return to your room and stay there until I come fetch you.”

Everyone at the Cromwell estate tried to block out the screams of pain that echoed out of the dining hall. After just under an hour, Charles finally stopped, whether out of physical tiredness or just having finally spent his temper, and bid Pearl and Claire to carry Carewyn up to the tower room at the back of the estate. Charles didn’t want her to leave that room again until she was prepared to behave appropriately.

Carewyn had expected Pearl and Claire to simply throw her on the floor and leave her there. Instead, however, Pearl sent Claire to go fetch some towels and cold water, and she hoisted Carewyn up onto the worn feather cot on the far end. Her aunts then removed her torn dress so that they could clean the open gashes Charles’s whip had delivered to her back.

As far back as Carewyn could remember, her aunts had never liked her. Her mother Lane had even told stories about her siblings and how Charles had pressured his children to compete against each other their whole lives. When Carewyn had moved in, Pearl had refused to look her in the face for over a month...and thanks to her daughters’ dislike for Carewyn, Claire had always treated her niece just as coldly. And yet, now...for some reason, they sat with her.

“...Why are you doing this?”

Carewyn couldn’t see either Pearl or Claire’s faces while she was lying on her stomach, but she heard the mattress give a light squeak, as if Claire had shifted slightly to look at Pearl.

“Don’t you think you’ve questioned your elders more than enough already?” said Pearl in a very hard voice.

She brought a cold cloth up to the largest gash on Carewyn’s shoulder, dabbing at it lightly.

“You may be a stupid, arrogant, pathetic girl, Winnie,” she said quietly, “...but I know the pain of losing one’s sibling.”

Carewyn felt some pity in her heart despite herself.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Pearl scoffed. “Thank me by doing as your grandfather says.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. Then she turned her head away from her aunts and didn’t reply.

Taking her silence as a refusal, Pearl withdrew quickly and hoisted herself up off the worn mattress.

“Come, Claire.”

Claire hesitantly inched herself up off the mattress too, fetching the bucket of water from the floor as she went. Carewyn could see her glance back at her, when she reached the doorframe.

“Your grandfather bid you stay in here until you behave,” said Claire, and her voice sounded almost reproachful. “Please don’t make him punish you further.”

But Carewyn did not make any move or sound. And so Claire closed the door behind her, and Pearl locked it with a loud CLACK behind them.

Once Pearl and Claire descended the stairs of the tower, however, they caught the sound of raised voices from outside the open manor door. One of the voices they recognized as Blaise’s -- the other, they couldn’t have known, belonged to Charlie Weasley.

When Carewyn’s friends learned that she would not be returning to the palace, they all reacted with concern. They knew how crippling the revelation of Jacob’s death had been, but the knowledge that she was back with her family, rather than at the palace where they could help her heal, well...that only made the whole affair worse. Clearly, as KC pointed out, the King and Queen probably wouldn’t have been that lenient toward a servant who was unable to work and had no reason to suspect anything malevolent in Charles wanting to “take care” of his granddaughter. After all, Andre himself had also presumed Carewyn was well-treated by her family, before he’d been forced to conclude otherwise.

“I’ll tell them the truth -- ” Andre had said forcefully, but Badeea only shook her head sadly.

“It won’t help, your Highness,” she murmured.

KC nodded grimly. “Carewyn is Lord Cromwell’s ward, Andre. Her only possible legal guardian and benefactor. That means she belongs to him, whether we like it or not. No matter how badly she’s treated, or what she’s told you about him, he’ll still have that power over her. And as long as he’s a Lord with more financial capitol than our entire family does combined...the King and Queen won’t want to discipline him.”

Bill and Charlie, however, just couldn’t accept this. So after their scheduled duties, they visited the Cromwell estate themselves, requesting to see Carewyn. When Blaise tried to turn them away, the exchange got more heated.

“I’ve already told you that Winnie will not see you,” Blaise said, his blue eyes flashing at the two brothers.

“We’d like to hear that from her, please,” said Bill, but his politeness had a noticeable edge to it.

“She is in no condition to entertain anyone, least of all a pair of peasant boys who presume to trespass on our land and make demands. Now get out.”

“We’re not leaving until we see Carey!” Charlie said fiercely.

“You will leave now, or I shall see to it that you are thrown out,” snarled Blaise.

“Go ahead and try it!” said Charlie, getting right up in the blond man’s face.

“What’s all this now?”

Charles Cromwell had emerged from the open door of the manor. Dashing out after him were Pearl and Claire.

Blaise’s eyes flared. “A couple of troublemakers who’ve come looking for Winnie. ‘Westley,’ they call themselves -- ”

“Weasley,” corrected Bill. His eyes were narrowed as he faced Charles. “Bill and Charlie Weasley. We worked in the palace with Carewyn -- we heard she was sick and came to see her.”

Charles glanced at Pearl and Claire out the side of his eye, before his eyes swiveled back over to the two Weasleys.

“...I’m afraid my dear Carewyn is resting upstairs.”

“May we see her, please?” Bill said. Once again, his words were polite, but his voice was very firm and pointed.

“No,” said Charles. “You may not.”

His eyes narrowed upon Bill’s freckled face. One could wonder what he saw in Bill that day -- whether it was the protective “big brother” affect that reminded him of his deceased grandson Jacob, the sincere devotion Bill felt for his granddaughter Carewyn, or simply the pure distrust and dislike toward him -- but whatever it was, it served to make the Lord’s face that bit more mask-like as he considered the ginger-haired castle guard.

“‘Bill Weasley,’ you said your name was? Well, Mr. Weasley...you can be rest assured that Carewyn is being quite well taken care of, here with her family, where she belongs.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Charles raised his eyebrows very coolly.

“We know all about what you did to Carey, Cromwell,” said Charlie. “We know full well how you ‘take care’ of your family...unless you think Jacob would actually speak on your behalf, if he were still alive?”

Charles, amazingly, didn’t react at all to this, but it only served to make his mask-like face that much more unsettling.

“No one feels Jacob’s loss more than I. And I should thank you not to question that, boy.”

His eyes flickered from him to Bill.

“I don’t know what Carewyn has told you...but I’m afraid I must apologize for it, all the same. The child has always had a difficult relationship with the truth...she’s often spun tales to...try to make herself seem more appealing, to the people around her.”

“Takes a liar to know one, I guess,” spat Charlie.

Pearl’s eyes flared. “You have some nerve to speak to a nobleman thusly -- ”

“Pearl,” Charles soothed her, but his voice was hardly warm or comforting. Instead his eyes bore into Charlie with a darker glint. “You do yourself and your brother no favors in insulting me. I could have been kind and offered to send word, when Carewyn was well enough to see you...but I can see clearly that the both of you would be a toxic influence on my granddaughter, should I allow you to associate with her.”

“Toxic?” repeated Charlie, his voice rising. “You son of a -- !”

“Noble bloodline, unlike you,” Charles Cromwell said in a very low, foreboding voice. “One with enough money and influence to force you to comply with my wishes, if I must.”

Charlie wasn’t intimidated. “You do that, and we’ll tell the whole world about what you did. Reckon you won’t have quite so much respect from everyone, once they learn you used magic to trick Carey into staying under your thumb -- ”

“A dangerous accusation for anyone to make,” said Charles, his foreboding voice deepening further. “More still for a boy relying solely on the flawed testimony of a maidservant...and belonging to a family so impoverished by its size that they’d have no means to rebuild, in the event of some unforeseen tragedy...”

Charlie’s eyes widened dangerously. He looked like he wanted to punch Carewyn’s grandfather right in the face, but Bill took hold of his brother’s shoulders from behind, in a gesture that seemed to be both holding him back and expressing support.

Charles’s eyes -- the same color and shape as Carewyn’s, but infinitely crueler -- flashed up at Bill.

“I can tell that you -- like me -- are the sort of man who wishes to protect his family, Bill Weasley,” Charles said coldly. “If you wish to do so...then you will ensure that neither you nor your family comes near mine again. Do I make myself clear?”

Bill and Charles glared at each other for a very long moment, silently burning brown on icy, diamond-like blue.

“Crystal,” Bill murmured at last.

Charlie looked up at Bill, horrified. “Bill -- ”

“Come on, Charlie,” Bill cut him off quietly. “Let’s go.”

Bill steered Charlie away and off of the Cromwell estate. Once they’d cleared the gate, Charlie whirled on his brother.

“Bill, you can’t be okay with this! If old Lord Cromwell won’t let us see Carey, then something’s gotta be wrong! We can’t just -- ”

“I know,” said Bill.

Glancing over his shoulder, he walked with Charlie a few more feet to make sure they were out of earshot. Then he said quietly,

“Charlie...make up an excuse for the King and Queen about why their carriage is going to need more time to fix than you thought. We’re going to need it.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #bill weasley #charlie weasley #charles cromwell #blaise cromwell #pearl cromwell #claire cromwell #my art #my writing #...okay originally this was going to be two parts BUT #I figured you guys needed a bit more hope after how bad of a part the last one was #so I decided not to cut this in half #going back to work tomorrow~!!#so next part might take a little longer but I'll try to finish it soon #please keep liking/reblogging/commenting if you're enjoying! xoxo

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theflashdriver · 4 years

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Waves of Fate (A Silvaze Modern/Soulmate AU)

Beaches were supposed to be happy places, books always described them that way at least. People came to the beach to have fun, to play games and relax. It was supposed place of joy, where smiles supposedly reigned supreme and you could count on the sun parting the clouds to grant a blue sky.

A grey sky hung over the pale white sands of the secluded, manmade, beach the belonged to the Sol estate. A family made wealthy through inheritance and investment; the sole monarchs of the estate had built themselves a high castle, separate from the common rabble, to settle and grow. Unfortunately for them however, perhaps due to their greed, the pair’s first and only child had arrived with a certain abnormality. That grey sky also hung over that very child, the twelve-year-old Blaze the cat, as she stared down at her workbook.

It was peculiar for her to take lessons by the beachside but, with some effort from her tutor to convince the feline’s parents, a bizarre and impromptu lesson had been quickly organised. Sat atop a thick picnic blanket, wearing a smile so caring that the young girl could practically feel it, was the in-house tutor for the estate, Vanilla. Contrary to the scowl Blaze wore as she carefully considered what to write next, the youngster didn’t dislike the rabbit. She had in fact, even at this young age, come to truly appreciate the role the tutor filled. The feline’s parents were always either distracted or busy, she couldn’t particularly tell or care which, but Vanilla, a mother herself, always found time to listen and care. Even in situations like this… even when the young girl claimed that she wanted nothing more than to be alone.

“How’s it going Blaze? Are you stuck?” Stubborn as ever, trying not to listen, the kitten bit her tongue, “You don’t need to write too much, just think of this as practice writing letters.”

Attempting to make a show of it, the feline (dressed in dungarees rather than her school uniform) silently continued her cursive work until she harshly dotted the end of a sentence, “I’m fine Vanilla,” As she looked up and caught the rabbit’s eyes, Blaze realised that, though she had technically answered the question, something further had been revealed. Of the people she knew, Vanilla was the only one who could peer into her heart and see the truth. The child’s eyes returned to the page, “I’m writing fine I just… you know…”

“I know you don’t believe in this and you think it’s foolish but that’s fine. A hint of whimsy is just what you need right now. Just think of it as a break from boring maths questions and everything else,” It was fortunate that the words everything else were cut off by a certain rummaging sound and a bread triangle entering the corner of her vision, “Gardon made these while I was talking with your parents, would you like to partake?”

Unable to resist her gentle charm any longer, regardless of how arduous today had been, Blaze set her book aside and claimed the wrapped meal with a muted, “Thank you.”

“It’s not the best day for a picnic, but it’s far from the worst,” Vanilla mused, claiming a sandwich of her own, “Not too windy and the forecast doesn’t call for rain, it’ll be smooth sailing for your letter.”

“Assuming it doesn’t just wash back onto the beach,” She glumly shrugged, undoing the wrapping and taking her first bite. Salmon, probably fresh from this morning. Once she’d swallowed, Blaze couldn’t help but look up to her tutor again, “Is it really cold? Are you okay?”

“Oh, no, dear. It’s not that cold, just a little chilly. I’ll be fine, honestly,” Blaze met her smile with an incredulous stare. The rabbit’s face somehow grew even softer, “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind just a little warming up,” Without even hesitating, the tutor reached across again; this time an empty hand was extended.

Blaze took the comparatively large hand in her own and, trying her hardest to be gentle, allowed a few small flames to build on the back of her knuckles. The heat immediately began to radiate, even though the flames were stagnant in terms of both position and size. Absentmindedly, ears drooping without their owner’s consent, she spoke, “It’s not hard to control them when I’m comfortable. It’s easier when it’s just you and me.”

“I know dear but, one day, it’ll be easy all the time. I’m certain of it,” Vanilla promised, drawing back her hand and pressing it to her cheeks, “That was lovely of you, thank you.”

A half mile behind them, in the estate’s main building, cindered remains were likely still being swept up. An attempt to set up a playdate with the children of another wealthy family hadn’t gone over well, but the issue wasn’t as mundane as that. To say Blaze didn’t get along with the other children was certainly an understatement, the feline’s very first encounter with those infants had ended in tears and a ball of fire. Today, when her parents refused to see reason, a similar explosive display had ignited the living room couch before spreading to the wallpaper. Of course, plans were in place for this sort of occurrence, the house’s sprinkler system had gone off, but it hadn’t cooled her parent’s scorn. She’d scarcely been able to dry herself and change before Vanilla had plucked her from the house.

“You’re welcome,” Was all she could manage to mumble.

“And whoever gets this letter will surely love you for your gift,” A seriousness lingered in the rabbit’s tone, despite the multiple layers of foolishness behind her claim, “Not despite it.”

Blaze scoffed before quickly finishing her sandwich, not yet returning to her work, “Who even thought this superstition up? I know I’ve read about it before but never like this…”

“This one in particular was thought up by the wives and children of widow sailors, as tragic as that is,” The bunny half cringed, “As I’ve told you, when a destined pair send messages out to sea, they’ll receive a sign of their connection. The ocean will take you letter and, just and only this once, deliver it to your soulmate as long as it meets the right conditions.”

“It has to be fully written by one person, it can’t include that person’s name, physical description, hints to find that person or to try and organise a meeting. It also has to be the first message a person sends to sea and no one else is allowed to read it until it reaches the intended individual,” Blaze recalled aloud, “Making it seem all the more pointless. All you can really tell them is what you’re like and what’s happening to you and, regardless, it’s not going to reach anyone. How are you even going to mark this if you’re not allowed to read it?”

“Come on Blaze, when I was your age, I wanted so badly for a handsome prince to sweep me off my feet. I must have rewritten my letter a hundred times,” Vanilla chastised, plainly ignoring the kitten’s question, “You can tell them what you think loving them will be like, your hopes and dreams. No one else will ever get to read it, only you and them,” Admittedly, that was true. Whatever she wrote down here would likely be lost to the sea, “And even if it doesn’t work, no one who finds it would ever know it came from you. It’s a thought exercise as much as it is a writing one, a way to air your frustrations and ambitions.”

The kitten claimed her journal again, trying her hardest to ignore the cloudy sky above. For whatever reason, her pen felt heavier than it had just a moment prior. She let her thoughts flow onto the page, their pace kept by a modest barrier of consideration, and tried her hardest not to overdo it. In truth, she’d never really considered what she wanted from a partner or what a partner might want from her. Did she even want a partner? Part of her didn’t, and she was certain that would come across in her writing, but she couldn’t deny that she saw the appeal. The idea of someone loving her for her flames was more than a little farfetched but someone who could see past them and still love her? Someone who actively, genuinely, wasn’t afraid of her? How could she say no to that?

Finally, Blaze clicked her pen closed. Vanilla perked up, “Is it done?”

“I think so…” The young feline hummed before drawing her eyes to the page and giving it a final read.

To whomever comes to possess this note,

I hope we can meet and that, when we do, that the reason behind our link becomes clear rather than being the mere whim of coincidence. I have been instructed that, in this letter, I am to tell you about myself. While I was born into fortuitous circumstances, I have not lived the most fortunate of lives: though I am privileged in some ways, I am far more socially handicapped than the majority of my peers. I handle criticism poorly as I always try to give my all, regardless of the actual importance of any given assignment.

My peers don’t think too highly of me, many of them fear me, but the few truly close to me claim that I am mature for my age and intelligent. I’ve recently started to play the violin and have practiced ballet for as long as I can remember. As for other interests, though they’ll undoubtedly change by the time we meet, classical literature and music has always appealed to me. If we are destined to be together then I doubt you are a pilot, so this is probably unimportant, but I do have a fear of heights. I’m sorry if you wanted more details but I’m quite confused as to what is safe to include, in accordance with this dubious tradition.

I don’t think I’m the easiest person to love, both for reasons that should become clear to you and my inherent defensiveness. Though my investment in this idea of soulmates may be limited, the thought that there is someone out there who will love me for who I am is, undeniably, appealing. I may not be the best at displaying how I feel but, if we are to care for each, I will try my best to show you that I care. To be honest, I don’t know what to expect or to ask of you beyond that you keep an open mind if we do meet. Perhaps, just as this rumour being true would, you will surprise me.

Please stay safe and write soon, from your soulmate.

“It’s a little… melancholy,” Blaze admitted, trying not to wince, “But I don’t want to rewrite it. It’s good enough.”

It was all written in her neatest handwriting, entirely cursive and eloquent. There wasn’t a single spelling error, not one that she could identify at least, and it looked professional enough? She’d written it in the manner she’d learned to write all of her letters and, perhaps, that was a little too formal for the occasion. Then again, it wasn’t as though it would actually reach anyone.

And, of course, she hadn’t mentioned her flames; not in explicit terms at least.

“Is it how you truly feel?” Vanilla questioned, “Is it how you want to introduce yourself to them.”

Blaze took another moment, considering it for just a moment more, before tearing the paper from her jotter and rolling it into a tight scroll, “Yes.”

The tutor turned to rummage through her bag again, this time drawing forth three things: a ribbon to bind the note, a small (cleaned and untinted) glass bottle and a whittled down cork from an old wine bottle. Blaze took the ribbon first, gently securing her note, and trying not to crumple it, before gingerly sliding it into the bottle’s narrow mouth. She let Vanilla secure the cork in place, not much trusting that it’d hold if she did it. Then though, curiously, the rabbit produced another object from her bag. A small violet tealight, brand new and untouched.

“I think it might be nice to seal the bottle in your own, unique, way,” The rabbit explained, tilting the cantle upside down and holding it above the now sealed bottle, “With a little bit of fire, we can make a wax lid.”

The tealight exchanged hands, Vanilla held the bottle in place. Just as her prior heating, the tutor was likely the only one who would trust her to do this. Well, perhaps Gardon would too on a good day. Blaze snuck her forefinger around the tealight’s metal casing and birthed a burgeoning flame directly into the wax. The reaction was almost immediate, purple, lavender scented, wax began to drip down in gooey clumps and gather atop the cork. It took a while, and some shifting, to completely cover both the entryway. Most of the candle was diminished by the time it was done, the bubbling mass gradually cooling on the glass.

Vanilla drew it back, gently blowing on it, “Good job, Blaze. That’s perfect.”

In the silence that hung as the wax cooled, Blaze couldn’t help but dwell on her future a little. She knew she was young, far too young to be seriously considering these things, most children her age would still be focused on becoming a pop singer or filling some other extravagant niche. Her parents wanted her to focus on law, become a judge or an attorney, but, despite how important those callings were, they didn’t appeal to her. The only thing she knew that she wanted was to be away from here, to find somewhere that she could settle herself and actually be free to think, but that was so long away. She was bound to this place, bound to her parents, for the-

A gentle hand pushed up the feline’s chin and brought her to look the elder rabbit in the eye, “You might not meet whoever gets this letter for some time, but I promise you, Blaze, you will find them. You won’t be here forever; you feel so trapped forever. With their help or otherwise, I know you’ll do great things.”

The tutor rose, passing the bottle to its first owner. The kitten stumbled to her feet, taking it but quickly reaching out and holding her teacher’s hand. Barren white sand crunched underfoot, the clouds refused to part even now. It wasn’t long until she was at the cusp of the water, the lapping waves mere centimetres from the toe of their shoes. The older of the two drew up the hem of her skirt, Blaze awkwardly fumbled with her dungaree’s legs before retaking the rabbit’s hand. Vanilla took the first step into the foamy waters, but Blaze was quick to follow after. They waded until the sea reached the young feline’s knee, a glance from Vanilla informed her that was far enough.

Gently, Blaze set the bottle in the water. They stood for a moment, just to see that it would leave their sight. The tide was receding, they’d see the bottle bob above the waves every so often as it was gradually being carried towards the horizon. It was off to either meet with a watery grave or find some person somewhere else in the world.

“Well, now we just have to wait and see,” The rabbit smiled, turning and gently retaking her hand, “I’m sure it’ll reach someone wonderful. I can’t wait to see you two together. Its been so long since I’ve seen young love, I’m sure your Prince Charming will be wonderful.”

“M-Miss Vanilla,” The little girl couldn’t help but whine, “I don’t want a Prince.”

“Oh? What is it you want then?” She asked, nearing the water’s end.

“I don’t know…” Blaze murmured, giving it just half a moment’s thought, “I just want a friend. I just want someone else who will be nice to me.”

“Can’t they be both?” Vanilla laughed, taking the first step onto dry land.

The young girl hadn’t considered that, but she wasn’t sure that she liked it. She was about to speak up in defiance when she felt something peculiar. A wave had passed behind her, lapping just above her heels, but it had hit differently somehow. It’d almost felt too hard.

Turning to look over her shoulder, Blaze frowned as her eyes scanned the water. Among the waves, hitched in the sand, was a bottle. Had her note followed them back? Breaking off from Vanilla, the young girl crouched to get a closer look. Something about this bottle looked different. It wasn’t sealed with wax, it had a screw on lid. What’s more, this bottle was tinted green. Dumbfounded, without so much as thinking, she reached down and plucked the bottle from the water.

“Miss Vanilla?”

-----------

Butterflies flapped in her stomach as though they were giant eagles pursuing some sort of endlessly evasive prey. Blaze the cat, age twenty-two, had just spent the last twelve hours traveling with three overstuffed suitcases and a violin case. She’d departed a train forty minutes ago and had been walking ever since but, prior to that, she’d endured two different taxi rides and a full four hours failing to ignore a window seat view on a flight. To say that she was exhausted would be an understatement, she’d travelled further from her home before but never on her own and never like this, but to say she was unhappy would be entirely false. Blaze the cat was free, free from the Sol estate and free from all that came with it. She had finally claimed control over her life.

She’d never thought that the violin would be her escape; music simply been her hobby, but it had borne an unimaginable fruit. She’d managed to land herself third chair in an orchestra with a high probability of moving further up the ranks. The concertmaster was apparently reaching her elder years, looking for a protégé and to breathe new life into the group. A well-placed audition tape and a handful of politely worded emails had secured her the position. Sure, the job as it was now wasn’t enough to fully support her, but with her education the feline was certain she’d manage to pick up another form of income.

That orchestra job had led her here, Station Square; a city filled to bursting with opportunity which just so happened to also contain a cheap apartment-share near the city’s centre. An application for said lodgings had brought her to the door she was now standing outside of, an entrance to the supposed accommodation that persisted above an old pizzeria. She didn’t know where she’d anticipated her life to restart but the fact it was somewhere this plain honestly excited her. No more private beach; she had to build her own luxury.

First impressions were important, she’d been chastised about them her entire life. She’d tried to dress modestly, what few of her more expensive outfits she’d brought she intended to sell online. Her hair was fixed into a tall ponytail that almost crowned her head, a ponytail that she’d already remade five times today. A long brown trench coat, the brown top button of which she redid, was successfully obscuring a comfortable striped t-shirt and (surprisingly expensive yet unassuming) bootcut jeans.

Once she was certain everything was in place and she had some form of greeting in mind, she dared to press the grimy electric buzzer. Almost immediately, a slightly overloud and static riddled voice answered her call, “Hello? Is that Blaze?”

“Yes, hello. I take it this is the residence of Silver the hedgehog?” She answered.

“Yeah, that’s me! It’s so nice to finally meet you, I hope…” He seemed to catch himself mid-sentence, though he went quiet, the buzzing persisted, “Oh, oops, I should probably open the door. Sorry! I’ll be right down!”

The buzzing finally faded and, once again, Blaze was left alone. That was the first time she’d ever heard his voice and, admittedly, she hadn’t been able to hear it very well. He sounded a lot more excitable than she’d truly anticipated. Their communication up until now had been limited to brief emails and, as a result, she didn’t actually know very much about the man she’d be living with for the foreseeable future. He had no criminal record, the flat itself both looked nice and was affordable, but beyond his job working in the museum and need for an additional housemate, that was the limit of her knowledge. Well, that and the picture attached to his=

Before Blaze could ponder on it for any longer, the white painted door before her swung open and a figure practically burst into view. She wasn’t sure who or what she’d expected out of this museum worker, but she certainly wasn’t this. A set of seven ludicrously long quills immediately consumed Blaze’s vision, followed by a set of excitable yellow eyes and a vaguely sun-kissed muzzle. He was rather peculiarly dressed too; he wore a jumper with a strangely low cut that allowed a seemingly endless flare of white chest fur to slip free. As if that wasn’t odd enough, he wore gloves that were lit by a bizarre cyan symbol on both their front and back.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Blaze!” His smile matched his eyes so very perfectly.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Silver,” She half bowed, already feeling a little overwhelmed. The picture she’d seen had made him look demurer, his quills had been tied back and he’d been in his work uniform. She truly hadn’t considered that he’d be a head taller than her.

Almost immediately, he seemed to notice her luggage. Without even blinking, he gestured past her, “Oh, you must be exhausted. I can help with those!” Blaze’s surprise transmuted into total befuddlement at what happened next. With that wave of the hedgehog’s hand, those cyan symbols began to glow much brighter and Blaze heard shifting behind her. Before she could turn, all four of her bags had taken to the air and hovered above her head, “I’ll take them up and show you around, come on.”

She stood in the doorway for a moment, entirely dumbfounded. She knew people with powers like hers existed, but they were rare enough that she had never met another. To think that the first person she’d ever stay with, the first person she’d encounter, was capable of such a feat though? This Silver was filled to burst with surprises. Catching herself though, butterfly-eagles still running rampant in her stomach, Blaze began to give chase.

The hallway leading up to the flat itself wasn’t very well lit, but it was homely enough. It led up to a landing where (judging by the small pile) shoes were supposed to be kicked off. Following it was a glass door that immediately opened into a small and very well stocked kitchen. It didn’t smell like anything was cooking at the moment but, judging by the drying rack, he had been hard at work.

“I cook quite a lot,” As he called back, Blaze couldn’t help but notice the hedgehog had gone from walking to floating amongst her luggage, “Are you much of a chef?”

“Not particularly,” Blaze admitted, nonchalantly. What few cooking lessons she’d received had gone especially poorly.

“Oh, well, if you’re ever in trouble or want to learn then let me know,” He offered, spinning back around to face forward, “I made a little something to celebrate your arrival, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh, thank you,” She said, now doubly surprised at his fast kindness.

Blaze took a sniff but, curiously, couldn’t smell whatever it was he’d mentioned. The hedgehog had clearly done a good job of cleaning up in preparation for her arrival, but then again… she had no idea whether the apartment had been messy in the first place. She passed an open door that seemed to lead into a small combination dining room and sitting room. Two patchwork couches sat near the room’s centre, a modest TV cresting just over them and a coffee table between them.

“Is this a violin case?” He called back, drawing her attention away from the room.

“Yes, it is,” She responded, noticing that he’d turned mid-flight and was now hovering the violin between them, “I’m joining city’s orchestra. I’ll need to practice fairly often, but if there’s ever a time you need quiet then feel free to say.”

“Oh, no, free to play it all you want honestly, the place downstairs just does take away and, apparently, the floor is pretty well soundproofed,” He said, that excitement still clinging to his voice as he landed outside a door, “That’s amazing, I’ve always wanted to meet a violinist. I can’t wait to hear you play, you must be wonderful!”

“I’m well practiced,” She coyly admitted, not used to barrages of kindness (let alone praise). She could feel herself locking up but tried to fight it, “Is this my room?”

“Oh, yeah. It is,” The hedgehog nodded, patting himself down before seeming to realise something. With a wave of his hand up the hallway, Blaze watched as a small set of keys raced their way from the kitchen area to float in front of her, “Almost forgot these.”

“Th-Thank you,” Blaze cursed her stutter, plucking them from the air. They found their way to the lock but, before she dared to push inside, she decided to feed her curiosity. He seemed so very open, it couldn’t hurt to pry, “How long have you been able to do that?”

“For as long as I can remember. It comes in pretty handy around the house, if you ever need anything moved then just say,” He grinned, clearly somewhat proud to have made a positive impression with his powers.

“I see,” She hummed, turning the key. She certainly wasn’t comfortable immediately revealing her power to him but, then again, her name was probably a bit of a give-away. Ideally, he wouldn’t question it, “It does seem rather useful.”

Blaze pushed the door open and found herself faced, for the first time today, with a sight she’d expected. The room wasn’t even half the size of her prior bedroom, its walls were both blank and painted off-white. Unlike the other rooms in the house, a grey carpet persisted underfoot. Blaze watched as her bags hovered through the door and landed inside in a small, neat, pile.

“I know it’s not especially stunning, but the landlord says you can decorate it if you want. I did my room up a couple months ago, before I moved in. It’s easier than you think, I’d be happy to help,” Blaze couldn’t tell whether it was due to her cold expression or some sudden realisation, but the hedgehog seemed to falter and turn away, “S-Sorry, I’ve never had a flatmate before, I guess I’m a little overexcited.”

“You haven’t?” She questioned though, in hindsight, the underdeveloped room spoke volumes.

“I’ve moved from place to place quite a lot, living in tiny, two-room, apartments,” He explained.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll manage to figure this out between the two of us,” She wanted to give a reassuring smile but was fairly certain it would only scare him off. It seemed like neither of them were particularly good at this, “Thank you, Silver.”

“I’ll leave you to get comfortable. If you need anything I’ll just be, uh, in here,” He tapped the door opposite, assumedly his bedroom, “There’s an en suite in your room and, um, I think that’s everything? If you need me then just call.”

Blaze nodded and allowed herself the smallest of smiles, “Perhaps, once I’ve put everything away, we could look over the paperwork?”

“Oh, sure, okay! Just say when,” He managed to grin again, ducking back into his room but not bothering to close the door.

Blaze matched him, stepping inside and heaving a sigh of relief. She’d made it through her first interaction with her flatmate, she’d made it to her new home, she was so close to relaxation. There was a small, single, bed against the wall with a tiny wooden bedside cabinet next to it. A reasonably sized, yet still small in her experience, closet was set up against the far wall and she could see the door that likely led to the bathroom. This was liveable, she could do this, it was just the first step in something new.

Unpacking her clothes and amenities took quite a lot longer than she’d anticipated, getting everything onto hangers and into the right place was relaxing albeit slow. There was nowhere especially practical to place her violin so it’d ended up propped against the far wall for the foreseeable future. The final of her bags still sat where Silver had placed it, entirely filled. Vanilla had packed it for her, saying its contents were mere food and cutlery, but she had made the feline promise not to open it until she was settled in her new home. Well, it was finally time.

Blaze hoisted the bag onto her freshly made bed, immediately creasing her work but not especially minding. She quickly brought the zip around, popping the top open, and was stunned by what she saw. The rabbit hadn’t lied, cutlery and non-perishables of all sorts filled the base of the bag, but a small note affixed to an object that Blaze hadn’t even thought about in almost ten years sat atop the other goods. A certain bottle that had washed up on the beach just after she had sent her own message to sea.

Vanilla’s note was short and simple, “Enjoy your new life, don’t forget to write and remember, they’re out there somewhere,” Concluded with a small, winking, smiley face.

Slipping onto the bed, Blaze found herself cradling both the note and the bottle. While that day on the beach stuck out in her mind like a sore thumb, perhaps due to the familial chaos that had come before it, the contents of this bottle did not. She hadn’t thought about that day often, especially not in the latter six of those twelve years, but whenever a book or a person mentioned the concept of soulmates she’d recall but never mention the occurrence. Admittedly, the young feline had long accepted that the note had in fact been written by Vanilla in an attempt to cheer her up following her childish strop. She didn’t believe in such nonsense then and she certainly didn’t now. Still, what was the harm in giving the coincidental note another read for nostalgia’s sake?

Blaze unscrewed the lid, giving the green aluminium top a quick once over before setting it on her bedside table. Wherever it had come from, the bottle had long lost any identifiable markings, but it was more bulbous than that containing any drink she’d ever had. She managed to get a finger in and, with some difficulty, pluck the note free. The sheet felt more like card than paper and was riddled with creases from its initial folding so many years ago. The handwriting was, admittedly, awful. She’d written her note as a child, but this letter looked to have been written with extreme haste. Regardless, due mostly to the large spaces between words, Blaze could make it all out.

It read:

“Hi there! If you’re reading this then I guess you know who I am? Just in case; I’m your soulmate! I can’t wait to meet you, I’m sure we’re going to get along great! I can’t write all that much about myself, otherwise the bottle will sink to the bottom of the sea, but I’m supposed to describe what I think our relationship might be like? But I’ve never been in one before, I’ve never had a soulmate before, so I’m not sure what to do or what to tell you.

People tell me that I’m a little blunt and that I wear my heart on my sleeve and that I’m pretty gullible. I’m not so sure, but I guess they’d know better than me? I really like sweet food! I can’t have a lot of it, we can’t really afford it, but that’s okay because it’s not good for me anyway. I also really like history books. The lost worlds of the past are so interesting to me and I’d love to discover more of them. I hope you like them too! I guess I can’t write about this too much, but I have a special skill that comes in useful quite a lot. It helps me tidy up and cook and get to all sorts of places, even ones I’m not really supposed to.

I don’t know you yet, but I hope you’re nice. I don’t really know a lot about love, a lot of my friends think it’s gross but not me! I think it’s nice knowing that there’s someone out there for me and I’m just waiting to meet someone. If I can make a difference, even if it’s just for one person, then I’ll be happy, so I’ll try my hardest to make you happy! I’m learning to cook and bake so you don’t have to worry about that, I can already make spaghetti!

Please stay safe and I can’t wait to read what you send me!

From your soulmate”

Blaze’s nose wrinkled as she reached the end of the note. She’d decided years ago that Vanilla had written this note, perhaps with her left hand so as to forge childish writing, but something was bothering her. The feline’s eyes traced back up the note, specifically lingering on the mention of a special skill that helped the individual to cook and clean. A foolish thought entered her head, a quiet whisper that was still loud enough to break the otherwise peaceful silence. Reading over the page again, the bluntness and earnestness mentioned further loudened that quiet voice.

Catching herself in her own stupidity, Blaze quickly rerolled the paper and returned it to its bottle. Not quite knowing what to do with it now, feeling a bizarre heat on her face, she set it on her bedside cabinet and threw her gaze to her lap. Attempting to escape the heat, and realising she’d been too distracted to do so earlier, she undid her jacket and shrugged it from her shoulders.

The occurrence ten years ago was just one of many bizarre occurrences in the flame producing feline’s life, she’d seen her fair share of oddness and coincidence. There was absolutely no way that this bottle had come from the person she was now living with, she’d long decided it was a forgery made to keep her happy. It wasn’t like anyone was pulling at the strings of fate. Even if Vanilla hadn’t made it, for a bottle from someone else, someone who clearly believed in the superstition, to have drifted to shore while she was out there... that was possible, wasn’t it? Just as it was possible she’d seen some vague familiarities between the man she’d just met and that note’s writer.

She took her head in her hands, she was being ridiculous. It must have all been induced by her nerves, she was in a new city and living with a stranger, of course she was going to overthink things. There was no way she’d just stumbled into living with her soulmate; she didn’t even believe in soulmates. She’d never believed in soulmates and now, of all times, wasn’t the time to start. Blaze rose from the bed, collected the goods from her remaining suitcase and made a beeline for the door.

When she stepped into the hall though, her eyes were unintentionally drawn through the askew door of his bedroom. Though she could only see perhaps the smallest quarter, assuming that their rooms were the same, she’d locked eyes with a corkboard. A corkboard with many sticky notes tacked to it but also a small, curled, notebook page stuck to it rather than pierced by a tack. With each passing second Blaze felt her face grow hotter and heard her thoughts grow evermore foolish. It was as though fate was tempting her to burst into the room and look at it, or at the very least ask him about it. But that was the height of foolishness, she’d surely sound insane or rude at the very best. What self-respecting adult believed in such a fairy-tale, let alone would discuss it with a new flatmate on the first day they’d even met! She couldn’t ask about that leaflet now of all times! That would look ridiculous!

His mention of always wanting to meet a violinist metamorphosed in her mind from a show of kindness to a potential deeply held honesty. She didn’t recall much of the letter she’d written, but Blaze knew that she’d listed some of her hobbies. She’d only just started to play the stringed instrument, it’d surely been included.

Finding herself lost and dazed in the hallway, Blaze couldn’t help but call out, “Silver?”

She heard what sounded like the hedgehog falling over before he rushed into the doorway, quills wildly tossed, “Hey, is everything alright?”

Blaze swallowed, “I’ve just got some stuff to put in the kitchen and I think I’m ready to sign the papers, as long as you’re not busy?”

“Oh no, don’t worry; I was just doing a little reading, let’s do it,” He beamed, taking to the air again and leading the way to the kitchen.

She felt an immediate impulse to enter his room, he’d left the door open, but Blaze knew that was foolish. No, the much louder thought in Blaze’s brain was questioning what he was reading. The hedgehog worked in a museum; it was likely that he liked to read about history. Even if he was, it would have just been another coincidence… but things were lining up more and more. What was today? Was this all just some bizarre dream?

Blaze begrudgingly followed the white hedgehog, finding herself analysing him more than she probably should. His fur and quills were unkempt but it wasn’t as though he was dirty, just fluffy. She supposed his fur must just have grown out like that. The strange cyan energy he produced seemed to let him guide both himself and objects through the air… perhaps even other people. Blaze could certainly see how useful this power would be for cleaning… it probably let him make multiple dishes and clean at the same time too, pending how it worked.

Heat flashed across her face again and, reflexively, she balled her fists. Though she’d long learned to keep her powers under control, their connection to her emotions was a constant worry. Embarrassment, of all emotions, was one she hadn’t yet managed to control. While it lacked the ferocity and excitability of anger, it was still especially important to keep it subdued. If she let them, these thoughts would do much more than reveal her power. She might burn down her new home before she could spend a night-

“Blaze?” His voice tore her from her thoughts, he’d made it to the kitchen while she’d frozen up in the hall, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine I’m just,” She scrambled for the right words, marching towards him, “I’ve not settled yet, I’m still getting used to this arrangement. Just getting my bearings.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” He nodded, still smiling so very brightly, “Take all the time you need. You said online that you’d never lived away from home before, right?”

“I’d visit hotels with my family but, outside that, yes,” Blaze answered, stepping into the kitchen, “I know I’m a little old for that to be the case but…”

“No, no. Don’t worry, I get it and I know it’s pretty scary,” He smiled, leaning against the kitchen counter, “I’ve moved around a lot and your first night in a new place is always weird, let alone your first time anywhere new,” His smile faltered just a little, he began to scratch among his quills, “I’m sorry if I’m making it worse. I’ve been trying to make things more comfortable but I’m probably going a little overboard, right?”

“N-No, no, you’re doing fine,” Blaze quickly replied but she knew that her stutter betrayed the truth. Her failure to convey what she was actually feeling was simultaneously a blessing and a curse this evening. She tried to smile, “Thank you, Silver.”

“It’s no problem. You can put your stuff wherever you want, but I cleaned these two cupboards out for you. I keep the pots and pans in the big drawer and the cutlery in the one above that,” He pointed, his grin slightly returning, “Oh and there should be enough fridge space, I hope?”

Setting the bag down again, Blaze quickly began to unload Vanilla’s parting gifts. She kept the hedgehog in the corner of her eye, watching as he pulled a magnet from the fridge and slid free a small bundle of papers. Assumedly, that was the lease. He then, seeming to realise he didn’t have a pen, gestured up the hall again. The face he, likely unknowingly, pulled as he reached for the pen was far too serious, his soft features barely allowed for it. He seemed very innocent, harmless even; judging by his apologies, despite his attempts to appear confident, this was surely all very new to him too.

“Is something wrong? Is there not enough space?” He asked, catching her staring.

“N-No, no. It’s fine, there’s more than enough,” She quickly looked away, shoving bushels of pasta into the cupboard as she tried her damnedest not to ignore the little voice screaming inside her. The voice that kept repeating the line in that note, that the writer was often described as wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Too many pieces of this non-existent puzzle were lining up, far too many. As she shifted to put away her cutlery, lost in thought, she very almost knocked into him. Even if it was all somehow true, even though that was entirely possible, then that didn’t actually mean anything. It wasn’t like just knowing some miraculous coincidence had happened meant they were bound to stay together forever or fall in love or whatever. She didn’t know him, he didn’t know her either! They’d hardly even talked!

As the last pan clattered into place, Blaze dared to throw another glance his way. The hedgehog had set the paperwork down on the unit and entered the fridge. Blaze hadn’t ever looked for a relationship before and she certainly hadn’t intended to now. She hadn’t really looked at boys or girls or anyone for that matter, but something was bothering her. Perhaps it was just a result of his earnestness, perhaps it was because he looked so fluffy and soft, but there was something almost… charming about him. Was he attractive? Was he cute? Beauty was supposed to be in the eye of the beholder and this beholder had literally no idea what she found attractive.

The moment his bright yellow eyes hit hers, she understood that aspect of herself just a little better. He’d leaned out of the fridge, having not actually taken anything, “I noticed that we need a witness, do you know anyone else around here who you’d like to be it? I can witness it if that’s okay with you but, you know, don’t want to impose or anything. Landlord owns the place downstairs and said you can just leave it there.”

“I-I’m fine with that, yes,” She quickly rose to stand straight, taking the pen and papers from him, “Don’t worry, Silver. I’m just getting my bearings; you’ve been nothing but helpful.”

His smile returned, the spark of joy in those eyes rocked Blaze to her core, “If you’re sure. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Blaze quickly threw her eyes toward the document. She’d read it before online, of course she had, but it was her only escape! She quickly filled in her share before blindly passing the sheet back to Silver for his witness confirmation signature, pretending to be distracted by the spice rack.

When she finally dared to look at him, Blaze found that Silver had casually let go of the objects he’d gathered and left them to hang in the air. Though she’d tried to fight it, Blaze couldn’t help but peer at his handwriting. He’d signed his name twice, both on the landlord’s copy and her own. It’d been at least ten years since the message in the bottle had been written, of course the writer’s handwriting would have changed over that time, but Blaze couldn’t help noticing the slightly scrawled nature of his penmanship. His handwriting wasn’t bad per say but it wasn’t in cursive, and it certainly wasn’t what you’d call neat. Though she longed to think of it in any other way, that was yet another strike in the soulmate column.

“Oh, um,” The hedgehog’s hand returned to his quills, “I don’t know if you’ve had dinner or anything, and you don’t need to eat it if you don’t want it, but I was so excited for you coming so,” He gestured into the fridge, “I made a cheesecake. Feel free to grab a slice whenever, it looks like it's properly set now.”

The hedgehog couldn’t just cook, he could bake. Alone that fact would mean nothing but, with all this compiling evidence, Blaze felt her head spin and more heat jumped to her face. She shifted by him, glancing into the fridge, and sure enough, there it sat. A biscuit base topped with a creamy yellow mass and decorated with what looked to be some kind of cherry or strawberry jell or jam. She took hold of the door to steady herself, feeling the heat gather and gather on her face until a single spark ignited near the tip of her nose and, with a small pop, burgeoned into a flame. Blaze ran her free hand down her face, snuffing it immediately, but the thoughts that prompted it still ran rampant in her mind.

“Eh, Blaze? Are you okay?” She heard him shift and felt him looking over her shoulder, standing so very close, “You’ve gone all red.”

She had no idea how much of that he’s seen but, regardless, his innocence was astounding. His reaction to that pop and a palpable burst of heat from the fridge wasn’t to question what had happened but if she was okay. His concern for her was so very plain, his heart truly was fastened to his sleeve, he truly was very naïve. She had no idea what his life had been like up until this point, no idea who he really was just as he had no idea who she truly was. They were just a pair of very socially awkward individuals, albeit in very different ways, who happened to have collided due to the machinations of either fate or coincidence. She still couldn’t just up and tell him about these thoughts or the message she’d received but, regardless of them and whether this was fate or not, it was only right that she got to the bottom of this.

“I-I’ll have some if you will,” She blurted out, turning away from the fridge and towards him. Though embarrassment was surely twisting her face into a grimace, he still looked so kindly, “Maybe we should have a sit down and… get to know each other a little better?” The day’s travel had run her ragged, but nothing could compare to this past fifteen minutes, “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

#silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #soulmate #fanfiction

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gainaxvel3o · 4 years

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A Miraculous Tale of Rubybug and Cat Blake Chapter 4

Previous / First / Next

The Scorpion and the Frog

"Today, students, we are going to be picking partners."

Everyone groaned. Glynda had expected this reaction from years of experience. She also expected them to get with the program once she laid out the rules.

"It is true that fashion is a competitive industry," She continued. "However no one gets to the top by themselves. Designers and models need to be able to work together in order to get anywhere. I will be picking out the teams for the rest of the semester."

Ruby Rose shook nervously in her seat. She knew that something like this would have to happen. Bringing her hands to together she prayed to get a good partner.

"Let's see here… May Zhedong and Nolan Porfirio…"

Darn, she was looking forward to teaming up with May. She looked so cute with the jacket and beanie! Okay let's see who else was up.

"Coco Adel and Velvet Scarletina, you two worked together very well I'll admit."

Another missed opportunity. Maybe she could ask them tips on fashion? They've done work in the industry maybe she can-

"Ruby Rose and Weiss Schnee."

Oh no. Oh noooo.

Ruby slowly turned her head to the girl next to herself. Weiss stared at her, her eye twitching in annoyance.

"…"

"… heh heh, hi?"

Weiss looked away, passing her judgement towards the smaller girl. It was going to be an exhausting assignment it seemed.

_______________________________________________________________________

They've been at this for hours.

Roman's bruised face swelled in pain from the baton that had been used to torment him. The cop, a dark-skinned woman with platinum blonde and brown hair shaved on the sides, had been interrogating him for information. Her name was Harriet if he heard right.

"What do you know about the bug?" She yelled at him. "Where did you get that power?"

Roman chuckled darkly, in spite of the agony he was in now. "What's there to know? She beat my ass. I don't remember what I did. That's what I told you."

"Fuckin hell no one gets powers and then forgets!"

"I did. Now quit whining to me."

"Enough Harriet." A pale man came over. He grabbed Harriet's arm. "We're not going to learn anything about the situation by beating him up. Let's move on to more pressing matters."

Harriet scoffed. "Fine. You got lucky pal."

"Yeah I feel soooo lucky right now…" Roman wiped the blood from his face. "Take me back to my cell so I don't have to deal with you animals."

Harriet roughly picked him up. Vine and herself opened the door and escorted the prisoner back to his cell. They passed by several guards who saluted them.

"The Chief isn't going to like this," Harriet said. "With Mayor Ironwood's campaign in question the city's going crazy. If I could get my hands on that ladybug…"

"Now is not the time for that." Vine said. "When they show up, they'll show up. For now we gather information."

"Yeah…"

As they were enveloped in their conversation, they didn't notice one guard fidgeting nervously. Travis Cornetto pulled out a loaf of bread from his pocket, passing inside of the cell.

"I couldn't get more," Cornetto said. "Sorry."

A pale hand took the bread. He examined it a bit, before immediately devouring it. Tyrian Callows hasn't had food in a while."

"You're such a gracious host…" Tyrian ate the food gladly. "Maybe there's a chance you can be made beautiful yet."

_______________________________________________________________________

"Relax Ruby, this isn't so bad."

"Not so bad! This is terrible!"

Ruby paced back and forth in the bathroom ass Tikki tried to calm her down.

"I'm teaming up with WEISS SCHNEE, the crabbiest girl I ever met even though she's a model and she could be really helpful to me but I made her mad on the first day so my career as a fashion designer might even be over before it began-"

"Ruby."

"-and she's my roommate so what if I show up as Ladybug and she finds out it's me? What if she uses me for some evil nefarious purpose like shining her shoes or taking her places even though one of those bad guys attack-"

"Ruby."

"Oh my goodness this is the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to me!"

"RUBY!"

She let out a tiny gasp as Tikki got right up to her line of sight.

"Listen Ruby," Tikki said. "You're gonna ace the assignment and be fine. Nothing is going to happen. Now we need to talk about Nooro."

Ruby nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah you're right. I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"We need to figure out where he's being located. I can sense darkness sometimes, but not himself. Do you think we have time to patrol today?"

"Sure!" Ruby said. "I can make time. I mean, Weiss might try to go to the teacher to get a different partner so during lunch break I can sneak away. A magnificent plan if I say so myself hohoho!"

Ruby pointed her finger at no particular place as she puffed her chest out. She posed as if she was a sea captain out on a maiden voyage. The image made Tikki sigh a bit in fond exasperation.

"Oh Ruby," Tikki's ears started vibrating. "I hear someone coming! Return!"

Tikki disappeared into Ruby's earrings. Just as she did, the door opened. Blake Belladonna came through the door, looking up in surprise to see someone was already inside.

"Oh it's you Ruby."

At the sound of Blake's voice, Ruby jumped.

"HOLY CRUD IT'S BLAKE!" She nearly screamed. "Sorry. I was uh… thinking? Out loud? With my lips? Human beings have lips I think."

Blake chuckled. "They certainly do. What seems to be the problem?"

"Well today is supposed to be the day we partnered up for the semester." Ruby explained. "I got teamed up with Weiss Schnee!"

"Ooof, I wish you the best of luck with that." Blake then blinked. "Wait she was in your class?"

"Yeah. She missed the first class due to a scheduling slip up." Ruby sighed. "Now what am I gonna dooooo?"

"It might not be so bad. A partner who's also your roommate can be very useful, especially someone like Weiss. She probably has a few fashion tips?"

"But she's so crabby! I want a non-crabby partner…" Ruby then realized. "Why don't you be my partner?"

"Me? We don't attend the same class and… I'm not pretty enough."

"You're very pretty! But you're right, not the same class. Daaaarn."

"Maybe you should to get along?" Blake tried to ignore the blush that was on her face. "You might be able to get something interesting done. If worst comes to worst just ask the teacher to pair you up with someone else."

"Uggghhhh why are you so right Blake?"

"I'm just experienced I think," Blake brushed a few hair strands away. "Sorry Ruby I need to um…"

"Oh oh! I can go!" Ruby laughed. "I need to go find Weiss anyway! Thank you!"

Ruby ran back out of the bathroom. Blake watched her go, letting a smile form on her lips. As she did so Plagg emerged from the ring. His smile was a little bit more mischievous than Blake's.

"Someone called you were pretty~ When's the wedding?"

"Shut up Plagg."

_______________________________________________________________________

Tyrian Callows was not a murderer. He was a serial killer.

Why distinguish the difference? Because a typical murderer is too broad, too plain to describe a being such as himself. To put it simply, Tyrian was beautiful. His hands twitched with powerful uncontrollable desire. He waited to snap the neck out of anyone who would get close to him. He wanted to take knives and stab them into someone's face. He wanted tear open insides and spread them around himself. These are the things that made him feel beautiful.

Tyrian was not insane. Insane would imply Tyrian didn't know what he was doing was wrong. He knew that he was a being of evil and did not care, because in those moments where he butchered and murdered he felt beautiful.

Cornetto was… fine. Another meat puppet alongside other meat puppets. He at least brought the food. They've been starving him for days, so someone keeping him alive is something commendable. He'll still die of course, but Tyrian will make sure he goes out beautifully.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a pretty little purple butterfly floating towards him. Tyrian remembered one time as a kid where he managed to capture a butterfly and slowly sliced off it's wings. He wanted to see what a butterfly looked like without it's wings. Tyrian took the butterfly in his hand.

"Gotcha," Tyrian smiled. "I needed a distraction from this shitty cage."

"Would a distraction really be enough to satisfy your needs, Mr. Callows?"

He got up startled. "Who the fuck are you?! How'd you get in my head?!"

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm your Monarch, here to fulfill your wish."

"My wish?" He laughed, utterly bewildered. "My only wish is to be beautiful! Someone like you wouldn't understand what I've been searching for."

"Oh but I do. I've seen the way you work. That death, that chaos, those things make you a most magnificent specimen. I wish to see more of it."

"You… you do?" Tyrian said in a small voice. "You understand?"

"Indeed. Such beauty is what I seek as well. However, may propose something to you? Something you may not have considered?"

"Hmmm… go on. You peaked my interest."

"I'm glad I have. You do what you do to find beauty for yourself. But what if you could make the world around you beautiful as well? What if I can give you the power to cave out your desires?

Tyrian's eyes widened at that. Beauty for the world? He had thought such a dream was impossible to fulfill. A foolish desire! But here the voice in his head had offered him a chance to fulfill it?

"You're certainly being tempting," Tyrian bowed. "What's the catch? What do you need me to do?"

"Oh not much. I only require a set of earrings and a ring from a pair of teenagers unworthy of your talents. Other than that… you can bring as much death and destruction as you want. Why keep the world from seeing beauty for what it is?"

"Yes… yes yes YES!"

Tyrian got onto his knees and bowed. He held his head low in gratitude and awe.

"I'll serve as your Huntsman, my Queen, and bring you what you desire! It is my thanks for allowing me to find what I seek!"

"A Huntsman… I like the sound of that… Go my partner. Bring me the miraculous!"

Outside the cell, Cornetto had been hearing Tyrian whisper to himself over the past few minutes. He was disgusted as much as everyone but the crimes Tyrian committed, but he was not a man who wanted to see people suffer. That was why he brought food for the criminal.

"Tyrian please keep quiet the others are trying to-"

The cell door was destroyed right away. A slash from a tail incapacitated Cornetto, dropping his carved body to the ground.

"What the hell!?" A guard yelled. "This shit is happenin' again!"

They tried attacking with batons, but the villain was quick. He used his new pincers to stab their throats with bursted with blood. He raised his head towards the ceiling.

"I have a calling to fulfill, an order to complete!" The newly powered villain screamed across the prison. "I'm Scorpio, one of the Monarch's fine Huntsmen, here to bring beauty to this world!"

Cornetto for his part clutched his chest. He looked at Tyrian weakly, trying to form a single sentence.

"But… why…?"

Tyrian heard the question and grinned maliciously.

"Because I'm beautiful."

_______________________________________________________________________

Okay this was going to be hard.

Ruby had been heading to the table with Yang and her friends (she assumed they were friends, they wouldn't all sit together on the same table if they weren't right?) until she spotted Weiss sitting by herself.

She had the same demeanor that she had in class and the past few days. Indifference. Annoyance. The threat to murder anyone who dared to talk to her. Ruby was reluctant but she figured there was no better time to take Blake's advice. It was here or in their room, where Weiss could shut her off by slamming the door to her part of the dorm.

"Here goes nothing…"

She steeled herself. Ruby walked over to Weiss with the best smile she could muster. She sat her hand on the table, ready to say something hopefully awe inspiring, something that will get Weiss Schnee to finally-

"No."

Ruby blinked. "But I didn't even say anything."

"I knew what you were going ask." Weiss said. "No, I don't want to work with you, I won't work with you, I will not be working with you. An obvious upstart like yourself has no place in a University like this one."

Ruby blinked again. "Oh. Well thanks for making it easy then!"

She started moving away, which made Weiss' eye twitch in annoyance.

"That's it? You just give up immediately?"

"Yeah," Ruby shrugged. "I mean, you don't like me, I think you're a jerk, I'm not gonna sit through a million rounds of you putting me down while we work. Go ahead and get another partner. I don't mind at all."

"Hmph," Weiss crossed her arms. "If you fold like that so easily you won't make it far in the fashion industry."

"And if you act like a jerk then the only people in your fan club will be your butler. That you probably paid for." Ruby stuck her tongue out. "Have a nice day!"

She skipped a few steps away from Weiss, who had been left sputtering at this act of defiance. Internally Ruby was screaming at herself.

‘HolycrapIjustinsultedWeissSchneemycareerisoverbutthatfeltsogoodbutsobadbutsogoodbutsobad-’

"Hey Rubes!" Ah, Yang was waving at her sister. "What's the deal with you and Ice Queen?"

"Oh not much I was partnered up with her and then I may have just insulted her."

"Ooooohhh," Nora bopped Ruby's nose. "Tell us how it went! Were her schnees broken in despair?"

"I think Ruby would end up suspended if she did that," Ren said. "Ruby, you should be covert in your revenge. I have plans I can share."

"Can we not talk about revenge at the table?" Jaune said. "I'm trying to eat my bagels."

Pyrrha offered up a bagel of her own. "Why not have this?"

Jaune took it, looking rather funny as he devoured the bagel. "You're a life saver Pyrrha, an angel among this Earth."

Pyrrha smiled, an action that made everyone on the table skip a beat due to how pure and sweet and wonderful it was. Ruby herself would be entranced by it if it weren't for her earrings suddenly vibrating.

'An alert? Oh not now, I haven't eaten lunch yet Tikki couldn't you wait a minute-?'

The TV interrupted the thought process. Lisa Lavender appeared on the screen to give the news.

"We interrupt this program to bring you a breaking news report! Another super powered being is on the loose in the city, maiming and doing worse to civilians down on the street!

The camera switched to footage on the scene. A shaky, barely medium quality of a scorpion creature attacking people appeared. The camera was shaky

"He is calling out for Ladybug and Chat Noir to find him, the connection between them uncertain. Could they be in league?"

"Now that's bulloney!" Nora slammer fists on the table. "Ladybug wouldn't be in league with any bad guys! Didn't she save everyone from dumb bowler hat guy and his donkey army?!"

'I most certainly did Nora, and I have to go over there quick!' Ruby thought. 'I gotta get outta here!'

"Uh I need to…" She said out loud. "Find materials for my project!"

"Already? You just got here though?" Yang raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have class later?"

Ruby was already making her way to the exit. "I do, but if I hurry up I can make it! Bye!"

The group watched their youngest leave, Yang already feeling sad she left. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"She'll be fine." Pyrrha said. "I'm sure she knows what she's doing."

"Yeah Yang," Jaune laughed. "I mean, It's not like she's gonna go fight the guy on the tv or something."

_______________________________________________________________________

The quest for beauty was going surprisingly well.

These ugly, dirty people stared at him and ran, terrified in the face of himself. Scorpio was now true beauty. Not that anyone would understand of course. No one except, of course, his Queen. The Monarch offered him a chance to bring true beauty to all. He just needed to get the Miraculous.

"Hey! You brats!" Scorpio yelled. "Show yourselves Ladybug and Chat Noir! I want the Miraculous you got!"

A shadow dropped from a rooftop. Chat Noir narrowed her eyes at the creature before her. His skin was scaly, looking less human and more armor-like. He had a trench coat with a white sleeveless jacket underneath it. Leather belts were strapped to it, along with white pants. A bright red amulet around his neck stuck out like a sore thumb if offset by golden eyes that shimmered with sadistic glee. His tail slithered from side to side.

"Who are you?" Chat Noir asked. "What do you want with Ladybug and I?"

One of them was here. Good. Scorpio grinned.

"The Monarch wants your Miraculous, kitty cat." He said. "As her Huntsman, I came here to take it for her!"

"No thanks," Chat readied her staff. "You'll have to work for it."

The battle thus began swiftly. Tyrian lunged at the cat themes heroine, but she slammed her staff into his head, slamming him head first into concrete. Chat narrowly dodged the tail strike to the face. She kept her distance as pincers bursted fresh from Scorpio's hands.

"I know plenty about work," Scorpio grinned. "I'll get the miraculous and then carve you up into something truly beautiful!"

As the pincers came close to her face, Chat used the staff to block them. Scorpio was pushing her to the defensive, forcing Chat Noir to step back bit by bit.

'Think Blake, think!' Blake thought to herself frantically. 'I need to keep him busy until Ladybug gets here.'

Where was Ladybug? Blake really wished she had asked for her phone number or something. Only Ladybug had the power to de-grimmify this… Huntsman he called himself? The whole business is getting more insane the further Blake delved into it.

"What's the matter kitty cat?" Scorpio called out again. "Need a pound of tuna?"

"Sounds delicious but no." Chat said. "I'm in the mood for some tail though."

She swiped the staff towards his left leg, knocking Scorpio off balance. At another swing from his tail Chat jumped above the man, avoiding it slamming the staff against his stomach. Chat kept the staff ready as Scorpio clutched his stomach.

"Ugh, not bad not bad." He said. "I've never won a fair fight to be honest. Maybe that's why-"

He jumped away from Chat, flipping around to catch a civilian in his arm.

"-I like pull a fast one!"

"H-help!" The woman's neck was held tight, cutting off her words. "Hck-!"

Chat Noir found herself in a tough bind. Scorpio was not someone to be trusted. If he had his way, he would kill that woman and herself as soon as the miraculous was in his hands. But could she risk this woman's life for a gamble?

"Come on! Give me the ring, or whatever you use to make that trashy suit!"

Blake gritted her teeth. She moved her fingers towards the ring-

"Hold on Chat Noir!"

Ladybugs are often said to be creatures of luck. It seems it held true to the costumed heroine, who caught the villain's hand with her yoyo, pulling him away from the civilian. Ladybug landed next to Chat Noir, standing up to retrieve the yoyo.

"Hope I'm not too late Chat."

"Could have been a little faster honestly." Chat said. "Otherwise thanks for coming."

Due to the distraction the civilian ran away from the scene. As soon as Scorpio recovered and saw the two heroes, he knew he was in trouble. One against one was one thing, but two against one is a bit much for his brain to compute.

Yet he knew couldn't disappoint his Queen. She had given his life purpose! There had to be something, ANYTHING he could do.

"Seems you got me cornered." Scorpio said. "I'll take a page from the cat's example, I'll make you work to get to me!"

He made a jump, surprising the heroes by how high he could get. He made it to a rooftop and ran.

"We need to go after him!" Ladybug prepared her yoyo. "He might be up to something, so don't split from me okay?"

Chat Noir snorted, as if offended by that remark.

"Like I was going to leave you out my sight, my lady."

_______________________________________________________________________

Weiss Schnee stomped the hallways with purpose.

That annoying upstart… not only were they roommates, not only were they attending the same class, but she had to nerve to insult her like that? It was madness. She had to get another partner immediately. One who knew better.

She made a turn to the left of the hallyway, in the direction of Ms. Goodwitch's classroom. That teacher better have an explanation for her pick-

"Huh? Miss Schnee!"

Weiss had almost bumped into the Headmaster. Salem Ozpin recovered, and sighed upon noticing who bumped into her.

"My apologies. How is your day going?" Salem asked warmly. "Is Beacon to your liking?"

"It's… fine." Weiss said. "I'm trying to exchange partners."

"Oh I won't be keeping you. Who is your partner?"

"Ruby Rose," Her name came out so bitterly on Weiss lips it's like she's choking on poisoned air. "That upstart is an insult to this school. She comes here thinking she knows better than me, a model in the industry? I wouldn't be surprised if she got here through connections!"

"Oh I see…" Salem said. "Miss Schnee, do you know who recruited Ruby into this school?"

"A dope I presume."

"Well admittedly I can be that sometimes, but I think my decisions have turned out for the best."

Weiss blinked.

"That girl is quite remarkable. She was the class president for three years, arranged banquets and parties while designing truly impressive fashion work. Ruby had posted some of the work on her blog, which was how I found her out."

Weiss blinked again.

"If you give her a chance, Weiss, I think she can be really useful for your career as well as her own." Salem's smiled never left her lips. Not once. "Was there anything you needed?"

"… no ma'am." Weiss said quietly. "I think I just remembered something."

"Oh I know what that's like. Just one more thing before you go though…" Salem crossed her arms. "You are not the only one who works hard Miss Schnee. This is a privileged academy and few enter here without a skill of some sort. You cannot operate alone as you are now. My husband believed in strength in numbers when he was around. I think the same way. Do you understand?"

At that, Weiss nodded. "I will take your words into consideration, Miss Ozpin."

She walked off. It was less of a stomp and more of a gentle click clack of the heels that made noise on the hallways. Salem's smile became slightly more mischievous as she saw her student go.

"I bet you're proud, Ozma. She and Miss Rose certainly have potential."

_______________________________________________________________________

Scorpio was fast. But Ladybug and Chat Noir were pretty fast too.

"He's entering the warehouse!" Ladybug threw the yoyo at a nearby pole. "He might try to isolate us while we're inside."

"Right. Let's stick together."

With that exchange, Chat wrapped her arms around Ladybug's waist (which didn't make the red and black hero blush in any way, no siree). Once secured, Ladybug swung them both across the street, smashing through the windows. They landed squarely on the floor.

"Should we have broken through the window like that?" Chat asked. "We're probably going to get fined for that you know."

"Eh, I can fix it with a Miraculous Cure anyway." Ladybug said without worry. "Not like either of us have superhero insurance. Or would it be miraculous insurance?"

"Beats me." Chat just shrugged. "What do you think we should do?"

The two inspected the area. Several boxes were stacked together, a forklift still having boxes on the lift implying that work had been done here recently. No sign of Scorpio… yet.

"Stick together. Did he give any hint about where his possessed item could be?"

"Hmmm…" Chat tapped on her staff thinking about it. "No hint I'm afraid but I think his amulet could be it. We should focus on disabling his tail."

A pair of eyes peered from behind a box, gazing down at the unsuspecting duo.

"Good idea. If we can take that down, we'll be able to search for his object more efficiently. First we gotta find him."

The duo jumped when they heard a sinister laugh echo across the room. They kept their guard up.

"How cute. Just taking out my tail and you think you're enough to beat me? Not in a million years will you be able to take out a prized Huntsman of the Monarch!"

"Monarch huh?" Ladybug seized the moment. "Is that who you're working for?"

"Yes… She is a Queen among queens, a goddess to be revered! She understands the true beauty in death and chaos, she completes me! With the miraculous her ultimate plan will be fulfilled! HehehehehehehehehBWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

That laugh made both heroes shiver in fear. Ruby had heard it on the news, but it was here in this moment she remembered she wasn't dealing with a regular villain but a serial killer who would do whatever it takes to kill her.

'I need to trick him somehow.' She thought. 'How did Yang always trick guys into giving away whether they wanna get into her pants or not? Oh wait, it's reverse psychology!'

"If she picked you the Monarch's clearly off her rocker." Ladybug said out loud. "I mean, Scorpion guy? How uncreative can you get?"

"Tch, I see what you're doing but it's not going to-"

"No she has a point." Chat continued. "For someone all about brining beauty to the world you are simply ugly and disgusting. You never belonged in a world like this one."

Scorpio's eye twitched. "I am beautiful."

"No. Jewels are beautiful. Cats are beautiful. Butterflies are beautiful. You though? You're an ugly scorpion guy who can only make ugly things."

"Do not listen to them Tyrian," Monarch whispered into his ear. "They are trying to trick you!"

"OH YEAH?!" Scorpio- no, Tyrian, yelled. "JUST YOU WAIT, I'LL CARVE YOUR BODIES INTO THE MOST MAGNIFICENT SCULPTURES THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN!"

His purpose forgotten, the villain lunged at the opposing duo. His tail struck nothing except the ground where they originally stood.

"Ladybug, we have a chance now!"

Tyrian felt a yoyo wrap around his tail. He realized quickly what they were trying to do.

"No," He panicked. "Not the tail not the tail not the- AAAAAAHHHHH!"

Tyrian missed it as soon Ladybug decapitated the stinger. She. Cut. Off. His. Stinger. The beauty he possessed had been ravaged into disgusting ugliness.

"We got him Chat!" She yelled. "Search him!"

No. Scorpio could not allow this to stand. Tyrian will not allow this to STAND.

"YOU'RE DEAD MEAT NOW KIDS!"

The amulet glowed red. With speed the heroes had no time to react to, Scorpio slashed at their abdomens, then elbowed them to the floor. He turned around, grinning at seeing Ladybug in pain. The girl took her away his stinger, now he'll take her life.

Or would if his pincer hadn't been blocked by the staff.

"You seem to be forgetting it's two against one." Chat said, panting hard. "Come and get me."

Ladybug swiped at his leg. He pulled it back to avoid the attack, but Ladybug kicked his stomach in the mean time.

"Come and get us." Ladybug said. "Grab the amulet, Chat!"

Scorpio swung his tail around, trying to hit them with anything even without the stinger. However, Ladybug and Chat were quicker. Ladybug threw the yoyo at the villain's chin as Chat readied her hand.

"Go for it Chat!"

"No… no please!" Tyrian pleaded. "I want to be beautiful!"

"CATACLYSM!"

As soon as the words were spoken, the amulet was destroyed. A glowing violet butterfly flew out from the broken object.

"Right then!" Ladybug captured the butterfly in the yoyo. "Miraculous…"

"NO PLEASE STOP!"

"… LADYBUG!"

A red glow came and went, an army of ladybugs swarming the area. The damage from Scorpio's pincers were undone, as were the windows repaired from the heroes' breaking into the place. Tyrian no longer had the scaly body he possessed before. Instead, he wore his prison uniform, his dark hair and desperate face visible for all to see.

"No… no I disappointed my Queen…" Tyrian dug his nail into his head. "I failed, I failed, I didn't bring beauty like I was supposed to!"

Ladybug and Chat Noir could only stare at each other awkwardly as the now de-powered serial killer sobbed pathetically onto the floor. In spite of everything he had done and tried to do Ruby couldn't help but feel just a little sorry for him. Only a little. Pity was not the same thing sympathy.

The doors opened. A pair of cops stormed in with guns pointed at the heroes

"FREEZE RIGHT THERE!" Harriet yelled at them. "You're under arrest for vigilantism!"

"You have the right to remain silent." A female officer with short brown haired and dark skin said. "Resist and we won't hesitate."

Ladybug and Chat held their arms in the air. Ruby was confused by this turn of events.

"Um, we just stopped the bad guy?" She said. "We even fixed the damage, so what the problem?"

"My lady, I don't think they'll take anything but our surrender into account." Chat said. "We need to make a break for it as soon as possible."

"Try anything and we'll fire!"

Tyrian didn't hear the police's words. How could he? The butterfly's beautiful voice had disappeared. The quest for beauty was in vain. Now… he stared at Ladybug, who had his back turned to him.

He will have revenge.

"I really think you're being a bit unreasonable officer," Ladybug continued. "Perhaps if you lower your weapons we might be able to have a conversation-"

Suddenly a pair of arms surrounded her neck and stomach. Tyrian snarled.

"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU FOR RUINING EVERYTHING! I WON'T EVEN TURN YOU INTO A WORK OF ART, I'LL JUST USE YOUR SKIN TO WIPE MY ASS WITH IT!"

Chat looked on in horror as Ladybug struggled against his grip. If it weren't for the police holding guns at them she would do something. There was one trick, but Chat wasn't sure she was fast enough to try it. She reached into her pockets.

"L-let go of me!"

"YOU TOOK AWAY MY POWER! I WAS SCORPIO! I AM SCOR-"

His words were cut off. Whatever they would be, Ladybug only heard a loud sound and felt the arms around her slip away. She turned to watch Tyrian fall to the ground. A bullet wound on the forehead bled across the face. There was no peace in his eyes. Only shock.

"If you move then you're gonna end up like him," Harriet pointed the gun at them again. "Get down!"

"NINJA VANISH!"

Smoke bursted from the shell Chat threw onto the ground. It was thick and instantaneous. One… two… three… Harriet fired the gun into the smoke but she didn't hear anyone get hit.

"Damn it!" She looked around. "Find them!"

As they searched the warehouse from top to bottom, Chat helped Ladybug up to the rooftop. Ladybug let out a sigh of a relief.

"That was a pretty cool trick you did Chat. You really pulled us out of a jam."

"I didn't know if it was going to work. Glad it did." Chat put a hand on her partner's shoulder. "You alright?"

"Y-" Ladybug caught herself. Her eyes grew wide. "No. No I'm not okay. They shot a man in the head! I know he was a killer but- but what the hell?!"

She felt arms wrap around her. Ladybug hugged back.

"It was a difficult situation, my lady." Chat said. "It was shocking, wrong even. If had to be his death or yours I'm not shameful over it but it goes to show we need to be more careful from now on."

"I… I should have been better. I could have sensed him or-"

"No. That man jumped you. It was unexpected. You are not at fault for what he did, just as you are not at fault for what the officer."

"But-"

"But nothing. We got away and prevented another disaster. There is nothing more to it than that."

Ladybug held onto Chat tighter. Five minutes were spent like that, trying to make sense out of the freak accident they fell into. Blake had been afraid about what would happen during an encounter with the police. She thanked her stars that neither herself nor Ladybug got out of there without much of a scuffle.

A moment later, Ladybug let go of Chat. "Thank you Chat. Glad to have you as a partner I can count on."

"Heh, same for you my lady." Chat smiled. "See you around?"

"Sure!" Ladybug returned the smile. "Thanks again Chat!"

_______________________________________________________________________

As it turned out, Ruby had been pretty lucky to avoid her next class. Judging from what she had heard, Professor Port's lectures had only gotten more rambly and pointless.

She returned to her room and shut the door quickly. The image of the man's head exploded from a bullet was still burned into her memory. Ruby breathed in and out repeatedly. She needed time away from people.

"Ruby Rose."

That was a person. That was definitely a person Ruby just heard. Weiss Schnee was sitting on a chair in Ruby's workspace. She had been inspecting a paper detailing a new design idea.

"Weiss, please not right now." Ruby waved her away. "I'm tired and anxious and the last thing I need is you coming in and putting me down again-"

"If you would let me talk you might hear something different." Weiss said. "I am willing to be your partner."

Ruby blinked. "What?"

"I'll help you Ruby Rose." She got up. "I realized that I was being unfair in my assessment of you. Clearly you have some skill in order to get into this University. This design?" She handed the paper to Ruby. "It's not a bad one. With sharpening it could be brilliant."

"… thanks?" Ruby was definitely surprised to hear that. "So what? You want us to remain partners?"

"Yes. I will be critical, but if we can put aside our differences we just might be able to get through the semester. I will try to give useful advice, and you have control over how the final project will turn out."

Weiss stretched our her hand. "Deal?"

Ruby looked at the hand. Then back to Weiss. Then back again. She took the hand and shook it.

"Huh. I guess you're not all bad Weiss."

"Shut up dolt."

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whitherliliesbloom · 4 years

Text

The joyous cries of the fae could be heard throughout the Kingdom of Rainbows, as the people tossed popfires and glittering streamers across the sky.

“Hail to the new Queen of Il Mheg!”

Plentiful offerings had been given to the newly crowned fae that day, gifts of all kinds from both friends and new subjects that sat untouched in the middle of the empty throne room.

And in the dark of the new Titania’s private chambers, crumpled on the floor, the queen clutched onto the brooch bearing the last king’s insignia and wept by her bedside alone.

[[ Backstory for Illya, the kingdom of the fae and a bit of lore regarding previous Titanias and Urianger for the fae au! Tagging all the peeps who are involved in the fae au or at least have participated in it once: @ofthesilverlining, @yumeaino, @maiden-born-in-snow, @mintdrop, @wysteria-ffxiv,@windupnamazu, @firstblesssed, @astralyehga ]]

“Am I right to assume that you’ve kept by the queen’s side for long now?” with a clumsy flutter of his glowing blue wings, Alphinaud clutched the stack of books he had graciously offered to sort, flew up and begun sliding them into the gaps in the top row of shelves, spine side out as requested.

He wasn’t given an answer right away, and he casts a glance backwards towards the elder man, who stood in front of his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. The firefly that buzzed within the confines of the glass lamp did little to light up the room, barely illuminating a circle around the man as he frowned down at the scattered documents on the table.

When Urianger finally snaps out of his train of thought, he lifts his head to look at Alphinaud, now returned to make another round of gathering up the books that had laid abandoned on the floor and returning them to the shelf they belonged.

“Indeed I have. Moreso, I have served as the advisor for the past many Titanias of Il Mheg.”

Fae certainly live a long time, but for Urianger to even live long enough to see the coming and going of several generations of rulers, Alphinaud would guess that he is way beyond several times his own age.

Though Alphinaud has not served for very long for the fae, he has thrown questions about enough to learn a great deal more than he had when he first set foot within the kingdom.

‘Titania’ is in fact, not the name of the queen, but a title given to the monarch of the fae, whether it be king or queen. The words of Titania hold with absolute authority, and with that authority came an equal status of power to match. Though time is but a mere concept to the fae, he has been made aware that the Titania of the current is decades younger than those that came before her. For what reason however, he has yet to uncover.

His knowledge on fae culture, and by extension potential leads regarding the cursed ailment that haunted his kind were gathered by his own merit - a combination of relentless questions directed to the fae, private readings into the scrolls the fae owned, and also a great deal of intuition on his part. His knowledge on the queen however, is limited.. and what little he knows of her has been information so graciously supplied by her very own advisor.

It would be a lie to say he isn’t even a bit curious about Titania, the faerie he only ever sees fleetingly during respites between both their busy schedules. Titania held a grace and air to her that was befitting of queen, and yet at the very same, her demeanor was not so much different from the fae around her.

In fact, she was perhaps a tad too gentle. Soft was her voice that she could not even bear to yell when the fuath had flooded the flower beds near Longmirror Lake once again. He saw the way she bit the insides of her cheeks as she overheard the words of a pixie who spoke ill of her efforts to restore the nectarine supplies within the kingdom, and the tragically sad smile she gave him when she caught his gaze trained on her.

It made him wonder what drove her.. made him wonder what circumstances she’s had to endure prior to his arrival.

He wondered if he could possibly have the audacity to learn more about her - the girl beneath the shine of her crown and the fluttering of her gown.

“Then.. Would it be out of line for me to inquire more about Her Majesty?”

Alphinaud’s words pierce through the silence, and causes Urianger to pause in his moments. His eyes narrow and his gaze slowly trails towards the mortal. And though Urianger had made it a point to sharpen his glare, he could tell by the unflinching stare back from Alphinaud, that the young man had no intentions of taking back his words.. nor did he seem at all unsure about what he was asking for.

“You wish to know about Titania.”

“That I do.. If I may, at least.. I wish to know all about her, and perhaps even what came before her.”

“Pray, why the sudden interest in our history?”

Alphinaud’s chapped lips curl into something of a sheepish smile.

“Is that not what I am here for? To learn? T’would be a waste of her majesty’s blessing if I don’t learn as much as much as I can about the fae.”

With a slump of his shoulders, Uriangers sighs and shakes his head. The curiosity and stubbornness of mortals have always been one of their worst qualities.. And yet, it was through those very qualities that he knew, that he has seen Alphinaud’s sincerity towards their cause.. and the queen.

How long has it been since he has seen the queen’s eyes glitter as brightly as they do when she lays eyes upon this boy? Or the pride that he senses welling in her bosom when she hears of praises about his kind deeds throughout the kingdom? Even a man, as old as he would not seek to stop the flowers of youth blossoming when he sees one.

Urianger reaches to grab the lamp that sat on the table, and saunters towards the back of the room, where a worn, old flag of the Rainbow Kingdom hung proudly.

“Thy kind is truly fortunate that the age of our old traditions are far behind us..”

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

The fae kingdom was truly beautiful in all its splendor. From the deepest parts of their oceans, to the highest top of their mountain, did the land of the fae prosper in all its glory. All of fae folk lived in harmony, in no small part thanks to Titania, and the Royal Guards who served under them.

And yet, beneath the beauty of the land came a hidden secret.

Their soil was dyed red with the blood of mortals. Mortals who would dare trespass the land of the fae, for whatever reason it may be. They were all to be brought before the king or queen of the fae and executed without delay, and their bodies are to be used as a reminder of the gruesome fate that awaited those who would dare thread upon land that was not theirs.

For many years, did the fae live in isolation, but peace under this undisputable law.

Urianger has seen many mortals fall before his eyes - head cut from their necks and their remains to be thrown and forgotten.. and he has seen many others more under the care of his shadow.

He could not count the number of Titanias he has attempted to convince to abolish this law.. for how could he sit idly by while the lives of potentially innocent mortals were lost to ignorance or perhaps even accident? And when yet another king or queen is crowned who is far too stubborn in their ways to change tradition, he would go behind their backs, hiding the mortals away and helping them escape.

He isn’t always successful, and the lives of those he could not afford to save always did weight heavy on his mind, and served to deepen the creases that would form into his skin as wrinkles of age.

There would be no such need for such betrayal, such secrets if Titania were one of reason, if he had more power than a mere advisor, who in reality, truly had no real power.

That is.. until the son of King Everard - Lachlan. The next in line out of many kings Urianger would have to serve.. one he was prepared to have to betray the trust of yet again.

To his surprise, and the shock of the entirety of the kingdom however, upon being crowned the new Titania, Lachlan’s very first act was one that broke the long established rule upon the land - the execution of any mortals who came to Il Mheg.

Under his new rule, all mortals are to be welcome with opened arms. with no exceptions, no trial and no borders.

To this day, Urianger knew not the reason for Lachlan’s open mindedness towards the mortals.. what he did know however, was the chaos that befell the kingdom following the order of his law.

A swarm of mortals that immediately came into the kingdom for a myriad of reasons.. Some had nothing but the purest of intentions - children and the innocent who merely wished to learn about the kingdom and people who has kept themselves in isolate for so long. Some wished to open trade with the fae, some wished to study the fae... and a good majority of the others merely wanted to plunder.

And plunder they did- from the sap of their trees, the water from their lakes, the crystals from their mountains and even the very roofs above their homes. Wherever the humans went, came the desecration of their once beautiful home, left with nothing but rot and emptiness that the fae were left to handle on their own.

Lachlan’s law had certainly brought about change to the kingdom, one that his subjects all felt, agreed were for the worse.

By the time his wife, the queen Cocona had thought to bring upon the ban of mortals once more, the damage had already been done beyond repair. Millennia of prosperity and peace had been swiftly undone in less than a single decade.

With their land polluted, resources depleted, and their faith in the rulers of the kingdom drained, the fae folk did bid in whispered breath for Titania to be dismissed.

How could they place their trust in the one who had allowed their home to be destroyed so swiftly by outsiders? How could they bear to serve and smile upon the one who had been the direct cause of their suffering?

Under traditions, Titania would still have many years remaining to sit upon the throne.

Sensing however, that goodwill and morale had been utterly lost on him, for the first time in the history of the land of the fae, did King Titania willingly give up the crown early and placed it upon his only daughter, before leaving the kingdom with his wife to never return again.

Many rejoiced upon the King’s leave, praising the new queen who had sworn to serve the remaining years of her service and what her birth guardians had owed to restore the kingdom to its former glory.

The new Titania’s coronation should have been one filled with great joy and celebration.

Few in the kingdom truly saw the deep sorrow the queen felt, however.. a relatively youthful fae thrust upon the throne several decades too early, made responsible for the restoration of the kingdom that her father had been said to destroy.. and above all else, the disappearance of her parents, who had left naught for her but a singular brooch behind for her to remember them by.

That such a huge burden would be placed upon a singular fae was too much. Urianger knew this, and had thus begun taking a far more involved role than he has in generations in ensuring the queen’s welfare.

He would deliver her her meals when she forgets to have them, write her missives that she could not handle on her own, teach her many, many subjects that a fae of her age wouldn’t usually already know.

And he’d quietly listen to her sobs from behind closed doors, wondering if he had perhaps been a better advisor to her father, that he would not have deprived a girl of her youth so cruelly.

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

“.....For her to bear such burdens alone...” The scowl Alphinaud wore upon his expression was all Urianger needed to see before nodding in agreement.

“And I admit to bearing a part of the blame for her majesty’s plight.. The problems the kingdom faces, even those that were not of her doing, are now placed squarely upon her majesty’s shoulders..”

“Then I would share part of that burden.”

The elder man is taken aback by the swiftness of Alphinaud’s words, nor did he expect the determined clenching of the boy’s fists.

“You know not what it is you claim. Your lifespan is but a fraction of fae folk.”

“That may be so.. But I can still help her.” His wings carry him towards the door, assured in their movements now than ever before. “For as long as I still have her blessing, I am a fae.. I have every right, and every wish to lighten the burden of my queen.”

The door to Urianger’s cottage opens, letting a flood of moonlight envelope Alphinaud’s form. His wings are glowing brighter than ever, and just before the young man thinks to fully leave, he casts a final glance back towards Urianger.

“If I may trouble you yet another question... What is her name? Her true name.”

It takes a few long moments of silence for Urianger to finally bow his head, lips twitched upwards into a small, barely visible smile.

“The name of Titania, one that has not been spoken to her for years.. is Illya.”

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #alphinaud leveilleur #urianger augurelt #illya skawi #fanfic #mine #alphinaud #urianger #fairy queen au #fairy au #we've come so far #wow this ended up one overly long ramble probably nobody will read in its entirety #im so sorry #i just finished studying and i wanted to write the backstory for the fae au...

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docholligay · 5 years

Text

By The Better Angels

A release from the Patreon vaults! Me on my Crystal Tokyo shit! Some of you love it, some of you hate it, but much like a dandelion, it will come every season.

This was Rachelle's prompt! This has been a really interesting thing to write for me--it's been rewarding, it's been frustrating, this fic so desperately did not want to be written, like yanking a thistle root. But I FINALLY MADE IT, and there are parts of it I really think are quite nice. I would love to hear what you think! Thank you!! approx 4,400 words.

The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature--Abraham Lincoln.

Loyalty.

It was what the moon had been built upon, all those years ago, and the palace of the Crystal Kingdom glistened in the sunlight, throwing daggers of light onto the gardens and into the eyes of those who might pass by and challenge it directly, and in the wind, Michiru could hear the word rise again.

Rei was wise and Rei could See and Rei was a fool, and all of her assurances and protests that Usagi was Usagi, and so there was nothing to fear, were the mutterings of a self-blinded prophet who refused to hear the echo of the past off the walls.

That Usagi had brought the world under her government, for whatever reason, was sign enough that Serenity lived in her, willing to bring an entire world to heel. That she was happy for them to call her queen.

Michiru picked at the raiments of her formal uniform, stiff and odd at her throat. Military, almost.

She was here to accept the assignment as the Commissioner of the Former Europe, if scuttlebutt was to be believed, and there was no reason not to--even in this new world, Michiru still slid herself easily into gossip and rumor, where people would confess things to her without ever knowing quite why.

It was meant to be an honor, to rule under the Queen, to have an entire continent at her beck and call. Ami had received the Former North America not two weeks ago, and Mako the South, and Mina was expected to be awarded the former Asia after her work on the uprising in Korea. But, like many things that were pressed upon Michiru that were meant to be desirable, she wanted nothing of it.

Usagi had always been selfish, at her worst, and there is nothing that brings out the worst in people quite as well as being royalty. Michiru would know that better than anyone, raised to be quite the little princess herself, and it had created something rotten in her, something spoiled and petty and small.

And she never even had a military backing her.

“The world’s at peace.” Rei had said it with an air of uncertainty, as if she did not quite believe it herself. “There’s no more war.” She had jutted out her chin, then, daring Michiru to argue with her.

But the absence of war was not peace, as Michiru saw it, and in the days passing Usagi’s full receipt of the Crystal’s power, it was true enough that entire cadres of weapons were destroyed, and that no one raised an arm against each other in this bright new world, but when one is not left with even the ploughshares to beat back into swords, revolution is slow in coming.

And she had her Commissioners now, to quell any uprisings, and her white dress stayed unmarred in the Crystal Palace.

She pulled her documents out of her pocket, all the same now, with little indication of what one’s country might have been previously other than the line that indicated languages spoken. And that, too, was changing in this world, as all schools were teaching Japanese--Usagi had never taken to English, and Serenity had no intention of learning, even after Commissioner Mizuno had advised it was the path of least resistance due to wide current global knowledge, if she sought a single tongue--and all official business took place in the same.

Michiru Kaioh looked at her picture, with the faraway and empty eyes, and felt a pang. As much as she sat in this beautiful garden, built and irrigated off the labor of others, dwelling on the slow slide of this world into complete monarchical nonsense, she knew she had her own part in it. There were no angels in the Crystal Empire.

She had fought what was called ‘valiantly’ at some ridiculous medal ceremony, where Mamoru had droned on and on in the way Michiru had never grown to find amusing, just another man who enjoyed his own soliloquy. She had charged into battle in a way that would have made Haruka proud. She had put herself in danger to protect her queen and the future.

That was a lie, it was too pure and touched too much of that word loyalty to be true.

She had been trying to get herself killed.

___

The sky was broken open like a shattered bowl, the black leaking through the dissipating bright blue, starless, moonless, draining toward the earth in slow and syrupy droops, and Haruka’s mouth fell open.

They had seen so much in their time in battle, and yet, in this moment, it felt as if they had seen nothing at all.

“What is that?” Haruka asked quietly, as if Michiru, as always, would know.

Michiru’s eyes closed for a moment, one long blink that returned her to all the dreams she had been having over the months, all the destruction she knew would come.

“We will prevail,” she replied, in her half-truth, having seen so many outcomes where Usagi rose triumphant, “and this will be the last of it.”

For a woman who was rarely sure of many things--futures as far out as she saw them twisted and moved and changed in the wind--this she knew for certain. Whether they won or lost today, the battles would cease on the galaxical stage. This was a defining moment, in so many ways,for all of them.

Haruka grinned. “Of course. Then we’ll get started on that family, huh?”

“Usagi will be tested as well,” Michiru added, afraid to respond to Haruka’s softly lilting joy, “we all will.”

Haruka took her hand. “I know you don’t love Usagi, but she’s always come through for us. She’s more than just...what new queen old queen thing she’s supposed to be. She more than just the princess. She’s Usagi.”

Michiru squeezed her hand. “I certainly hope you are correct.”

___

Her mind shifted, sometimes, like watercolors one over the other, creating some new shade that she not quite know.

Usag cried less, these days, and while she was certain that was a good thing--and anyhow wasn’t there so much less to cry about now?--it was unsettling to have someone criticize her, hate her even, and not feel moved to tears.

Perhaps this was all a part of growing up.

This was her destiny, and she had latched to it and set her life by it, and if the stars had said it was destiny, than how could it be wrong? And besides, she assured herself, she had helped so many people by bringing them peace, by uniting the world as one. Coming together, that was the beauty of the world she had created, and her palace showed it.

The finest marble from what had been Italy, crystal polished to a shine in the country that had once been Brazil, gold leaf from the former China, and those were only the very beginnings of the building. She had imported artisans from all shores to show their loyalty to their new kingdom by contributing to the palace.

Today’s parade and ceremony would be the same, combining so many elements of the lands that she now served, because, the voice in her head reasoned in its whisper, she was serving them, by taking the difficulty of rule, and bringing them to the palace.

It would be mostly things of those areas that Michiru now looked over, but there would always be a thing or two else that Usagi had discovered a fondness for, some French pastries, Swiss Chocolate.

Her mind shifted again, and she thought of Michiru, and how sad she would be, with Haruka gone, and how seeing the rest of her girls would only remind her of the space that was empty in the assembled line. Maybe she would have the cake be champagne, the light cake Michiru favored, with soft lines of cream and rose.

“I can’t,” she said aloud, to no one in particular, “I already ordered chocolate and strawberry.”

“What?” Rei turned to her, her black hair gliding like a veil around her shoulder.

She had forgotten Rei was there.

“I was thinking about the Michiru’s ceremony today,” she fiddled nervously, “I should have done better with the cake, but I ordered the wrong cake.”

“You ordered your favorite.” Rei replied.

___

The rocks tingled with the force of the power that struck them, and Michiru felt that same tingle go up her spine, triggering a memory instead of fear. Fear was of no use now, here at the end or the beginning of everything.

“Do you recall the first time we danced?” Michiru looked at Haruka, the rock crumble falling around them.

Haruka glanced over at her with a disbelieving grin. “Right now, Michi?”

“So you do not.” She teased, smiling back.

“‘Course I do,” another strike hit, “in your living room.”

Michiru had often teased that Haruka was the angel of her better nature, and Haruka pretended to understand it better than she did. She looked the part now, the mica of the stone settling into her ash hair, her shoulders and strands glittering like a tapestry on a church wall.

“You were so uncertain.” Michiru touched her arm gently, the world falling down around them but away from their love.

Haruka chuckled. “How was I gonna know how to waltz? Didn’t do that a lot.”

“You were quite natural, I must say.”

Michiru looked at her, at her soft grey eyes, and was immediately swept back to that day, to how nervous she had been, how she had taken Michiru’s hand shakily, but when she touched Michiru’s back, it was electric. She had never felt anything quite so alive, not since she was a child.

Haruka put her hand on Michiru’s.

“May I have this dance?”

____

The fire was quiet, and this disturbed Rei the most. That things should be odd otherwise, with the world being reorganized, made sense, but that the fire only mumbled and murmured to her, babbling like a brook in indistinct words, this concerned her.

And so, she told no one.

It wasn’t concealment, she swore to herself. It was a simple matter of having no one to tell, no one with the clearance and the need to know, no one she could trust that would understand.

Michiru was so distant. She spoke to Rei in small, short sentences, and Rei told herself this was because she had lost Haruka, and it had hurt her so deeply. Her unhappiness with the kingdom lay in the fact that Haruka was no longer in it.

Michiru would never forgive Usagi, because Haruka had died for her. This Rei knew, and that this was the source of Michiru’s distance and criticism Rei was sure.

She knew that, even as the fire gave no reply to the question.

The world was stable now, and no one could deny this was true. How else was it supposed to be done? She felt a small, slow sizzle rise in her, but she could not make out the words in the steam, the smoke of her own self-assured and silent fire rising around it.

She looked out the window and over the palace gardens, down where Michiru sat, doodling in a notebook thoughtfully. There was a time they would have been together. There was a time Rei would have been taking tea with Michiru, as they waited, and Mina would have teased Rei in that way that was barely teasing, and Rei would have smelled the oversweet and too bright peach of Mina’s hair as she moved.

She had not smelled it since that night in the tent, lost and scarred and trying to feel alive.

Mina had left. Rei stayed.

Our loyalties are funny things, and Rei could not leave Usagi, even when she insisted on being called Queen Serenity, even when she looked over the map of the world and saw it all covered in one color, one land, one country, and even when there was a whisper in the back of her mind that it may be an imperfect peace.

It wasn’t a whisper, it was a scream. But the fire never screamed, just stayed silent, gazing at her from across the room, refusing to tell her what she refused to know.

___

Battles are too loud, and battles are too quiet, and Michiru had always resented the duality of these feelings.

She looked for Haruka, her eyes scanning the battlefield as the enemies surrounded her. They would win this day. That was assured. She and Haruka had chosen to fight, and so fact and fate became one.

Not everything else was.

Not the things Michiru truly wanted to know.

She cut her way through whatever rose up in front of her, and they may have been enemies, and they may have been friends, but none of them were Haruka, and Haruka was the only god she sought, the only thing in which she still had faith, and that faith carried her heart, even as she felt a copper taste at the very edge of her mouth.

Even as she saw the bright gold announcement of the attack hit the sky, saw it lay waste to the large corp, falling like dominos at a children’s table, and even as she saw it stop, and flicker, and collapse in on itself.

The faith preserved. The foolish hope, taken from her lips and given to Michiru’s, that it was the light of an announcing angel, heralding not just any victory, but hers.

Michiru bit her lip harder, and the bright tin taste filled her mouth.

___

There are angels, it is written.

There are angels, it is painted, in sweet and dulcet tones, and these are the angels the world imagines, curls of soft golden and rose hair around soft and rosebud mouths, smiling beatifically at the humans they serve.

There are angels, it is sung, with rich and joyful voices raised to heaven, a perfect chorus, each one supporting the other, welcoming and warming the children of God on earth, waiting for the day when they return to the holiest realms.

But Michiru had seen how the stories got twisted, and the way a soldier could become soft and warm in the right concert hall, the right oils. She went back to the beginning. Back to where something terrible and beautiful was born, and so she knew that an angel was no soft womanly creature, gently guiding, but she was a flaming creature of wings and eyes, who brought a sword of fire to the land.

Angels, you see, come in many forms.

She had reflected upon this as she readied for the banquet, as she heard Haruka, softly, asking her to be an angel, asking her to protect Usagi.

Haruka had once accused her of being unfair, but Michiru could in no way match Haruka’s cruelty in leaving her here, asking Michiru to protect that which took Haruka from her.

She touched the gold rings at her neck, one plain as brass, the other decorated in a slight herringbone that Haruka had called, “just enough flair.”

What a cruel girl.

But she would do it. She had pulled Haruka into the whirlwind of their lives, two sparrows in a hurricane of fate, all those years ago, and simply because she had wanted Haruka, a thing her parents could not buy her, and it was a deserved punishment that she loved Haruka so desperately, and that she was forced to watch Haruka’s life as a senshi.

And so she pulled on a golden breastplate, engraved with rich detailing, as if one lace had been woven into the metal, details in silvers and rose golds. It shone magnificently in the light, as she knew it would. It was made for this day, and she had described lovingly to the man who made it how she would wear it for all official state functions and so it must be the brightest shine that could be achieved.

Usagi would pay for it, she knew, the hiccups between world reigns nothing more than moving from a member of the Kaioh court to Serenity’s, though courtly manners were few in Usagi’s first court.

She was learning, though. Or unlearning. Michiru was not sure which way she preferred the phrase, when the results were the same.

The dagger she now carried was not the chipped and tarnished thing that had accompanied her in her senshi life--their uniforms, their bodies, had always healed, but the weapons held the scars--but a new gift, given after the wars and the ascension of the crystal, sharp as the night and glittering.

A worn and dented sword lay in the corner, no replacement meant for it. No one to replace it for.

____

The wind whistled by her, low and tuneless and nothing of the song she had known in Haruka’s.

The wind. It had been silly, Haruka’s insistence on her element, so desired before she knew her own power, wanting only to be the thing that moves the sea.

Haruka did not understand that the wind caused a wave, but the earth brought forth a tsunami.

Michiru understood. Something deep in her moved, with Haruka at her side, something powerful and dangerous.

Michiru has Seen this sign in the sky before, and Michiru is no one’s fool, and Michiru knows what it must mean.

But the heart and the mind and the mouth can all speak different languages, and Michiru ear refused to recognize any of them, and she ran.

____

Sometimes Usagi did not recognize her own voice, and her mouth offered edicts that her heart did not understand.

And yet, they were not foreign. She had heard, of course, that there was something inside her that was her and was not her, and she had seen the Senshi wrestle with the same, whether they considered it a monster or a gift or barely saw it at all.

She was meant to be queen. This had always been her destiny. Whatever Usagi Tsukino had been, she was born to be something else. She had married Mamoru, and spurned Seiya, for that had been foretold. The crystal was her future and the siren song, and that made it beautiful, didn’t it?

Destiny was beautiful. To be a princess, a queen, was a dream.

And yet the happenings of this world unsettled her, even as she was the one who turned the world, and thing that unsettled her the most was the sense of discord inside of her, like water in the bottom of a boat, sloshing back and forth, listing her to one side and then the other.

And for now, she was as Usagi Tsukino as she had ever been, and her mind turned to the cake she had ordered, the cake that was her favorite. She hadn’t meant to do that, she had meant to order that light, frothy sort of thing that Michiru liked.

But Usagi had wanted chocolate and strawberry, hadn’t she?

And you are the queen, a voice from far away and very near said, and the people love you. And they love what you love.

That the senshi loved her and chose to protect her and be with her was a constant reassurance in her head. She was their family, and always had been, wasn’t she?

Yes, Usagi Tsukino had only ever brought light to the lives of her lonely senshi, and though it felt uncomfortable, she was doing the same to the world now. It was hard, when you started out with something different, something that called you to be something better. She had cried when she fought her first battles. And some of her last.

That would be a good thing to bring into the speech, that she had cried, like them, like the people, but Michiru was resolute, Michiru kept her eyes forward. Serenity was only their queen, who could only understand them, and she set people like Michiru to be the real leaders.

They were the ones with force.

She didn’t feel like crying much, these days, even when Rei looked at her in a way that might have seemed strange once upon a time, even when she noted that her senshi stayed to their assigned posts and rarely came to the palace.

Well, yes, why would they come to the palace? The senshi were only ever born to execute your vision.

Her vision. Usagi had a vision for the world, and that vision was coming true, a vision where all were educated in the ways of the Crystal Kingdom, where everyone could have Japanese as the language, where everyone got New Year’s off, so they could celebrate the most important holiday with their families, a place where the world could be as it always should have been, the kingdom of the moon brought to earth, finally, with her and Endymion.

Usagi opened her mouth and Serenity called for the guards, drawing another edict from her mind, as a wave passed over the vessel that was one person and two of them at once, rocking it back into the darkness.

___

A light in the sky led to an angel, in the stories, but all Michiru saw, in the grim gloaming was a pale and still creature, lying on the ground, carved from the light that had brought her, red too-bright and gauche against it.

The Seeing showed what might be, a mirror only, and it was not the architect of the world, and yet Michiru hated it still.

Her knees hit the ground next to Haruka--she would know this only later, looking at the bruises on them, for in that moment she felt nothing at all but a tear beginning where her heart should be.

Haruka breathed, not yet dead, her eyes wavering as she looked up at Michiru, the self-styled king of the sky now beneath it all, back to the earth where she truly belonged, and spoke.

____

Haruka’s statue gazed down at her as she was walked into the fine court, laden with gold and silver woven silks, streaming down the sides of the palace walls, sourced from lands that had once had names of their own, written in scripts that curved and moved with the words, blocked in now by the stroke of the Crystal Kingdom and all its official language. The table itself sang tribute to the kingdom, the dishware pure and glittering under the opened skylights, as if eating off spring water, cold and clean.

But Michiru’s eyes stayed on the statue as she passed, knowing that she could look at it as long as she desired with little question from anyone in the court. She was appreciating what Serenity had done, they said, making that statue as tribute for her fallen lover, which was always how they put it, as sculpted and inhuman as the statue itself.

For they had gotten her wrong, too, in the statue. Though maybe in those early days she would have enjoyed being seen that way, resolute and stone, but Michiru had loved her too long, and however much Haruka might have wanted to be remembered as a soldier, Michiru could only remember the girl, who had a tough shell and a tender heart, who took life personally and gave herself no grace, who fed the squirrels and whose hair tossed in the wind when she laughed.

Theirs was the love of legends, and like all legends, it had been polished and made in the ways that served the tale, and there was nothing of thunderstorms under the covers, sharing a cup of tea, nothing of teasing Haruka over some silly dramatics, just a carved and chipped and utterly wrong story of two soldiers.

But she would keep a promise to Haruka today. That part of the story was true.

Michiru stood at Serenity’s side, smiling and clapping politely, the sheen of her gold and teal armor bright under the lights, nearly blinding all who looked at her.

Which was precisely what she had intended.

The spark of discontent in this world shall not become a flame, my love.

“Sailor Neptune, who served so valiantly and ensured our kingdom,”

All shall remember Usagi as the girl who was, and not as the Queen she is becoming.

“I hope, in the name of the Moon, you will accept this commission,”

Let your memory guide me. Cast my selfishness aside, Haruka, my love.

“Over the lands formerly known as the European continent, now united under the Crystal Kingdom,”

The angel of my better nature.

Michiru moved quickly, in ways she had not since that day in battle, grown languid and pale like the bright white flowers that grew in Serenity’s garden, giving rich perfume, rich enough to hide the iron scent of blood. But the flush was in her cheek now, and the speed, and her hand moved to her dagger at her belt quickly, whirling it into a grip in her hand, and she plunged it through Serenity’s back, and hit Usagi’s heart.

There was barely a cry before Michiru felt her own back pierced by the smooth and seductive touch of an arrow through her, running a slender and steel rod through both she and Usagi, binding them both together as they had been from the first.

“Michiru, you gotta do one thing.”

“Haruka, my love, hush--”

“No, you gotta, you gotta be loyal to Usagi, I--you.”

“Haruka...” She stroked Haruka’s hair, angry already with Usagi, angry at the Crystal Kingdom that rose on the horizon, angry with the promise Haruka was going to force her to make.

“Please, Michiru.” Her eyes were bright even as the rest of her was fading, the last bloom on a rose bush in winter.

And she could not deny her.

“The angel on my shoulder,” She kissed Haruka softly, “I will protect Usagi. From all things.”

She had held Haruka, and Haruka had died, and a promise made was a promise kept. Usagi was safe now, from the tyrant that was born inside of her, the slowly growing crystal that was inside of them all, watching and waiting to become.

Michiru looked back up at the court, that last bloom of Michiru’s faraway memory bright cherry on her lips now, and murmured one last edict to the Crystal Kingdom.

“Loyalty.”

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fahrenheit-not · 5 years

Text

Star Boy

A/N: Hello darlings! This is going to be my first ever writing on tumblr ever so please go easy on me haha. I hope you enjoy it and please leave me some comments and requests for further writings in my inbox 💕

(Also this hasn’t been checked for any mistakes yet so sorry if there are any!)

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Pairing: Brian May x Fem!Reader

Prompt: sometimes you get self conscious, doubtful, and insecure but you do your best to keep your emotions at bay, until one day you find yourself staring in the mirror and can’t help but break down. That’s when Brian comes in and saves your day

Word count: 1,555

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Somedays it just got to you, the self-doubt and dislike for the way that you looked. Most times it just hit you like an oncoming train. Something as small as glancing in the mirror or deciding what to wear in the morning could set off a whole range of emotions which could spiral into another horrible breakdown.

Over the past few months those thoughts hadn’t gotten to you much. You felt more confident and proud of who you were now that you had been with the love of your life. He made you felt special and loved every second you were with him. Even when you weren’t the lasting effects he had on you stayed until the next time you saw him.

Today was the next time you’d see him. Your love Brian was coming over to hang out for your half year anniversary and you were so giddy all week in anticipation. The feeling of monarch butterflies floating around in your stomach whenever you even thought of the curly haired cutie and your date coming up.

You had so much planned for the two of you. A nice romantic dinner, some films you had on tape, and with your surge of confidence lately maybe it would be the time you initiated it, the always breathtaking, steamy, and loving sex you would have with Brian. He would always be the one to sense when you were in the mood and make a move to please you. But tonight you wanted to please him and initiate it yourself. You even bought a nice pair of lingerie for underneath the dress you’d had planned out for the night. Of course the nerves were starting to get to you but just thinking about how happy Brian would be made you push away those thoughts.

It was finally time to start getting ready as soon as you got home from work. This morning you already woke up to a sweet delivery of roses on your porch and a heart melting note from the ever so romantic Brian. It read “Love, I can’t believe it’s already been half a year. I can’t wait for the celebration. I’ll see you soon. All my love, your star boy.”

Star boy had been the nick name you gave him when you met in college. You had been a shy girl studying (choice major) when you met Brian by chance at a college party, he was studying astrophysics. Since you first met him you could feel yourself go soft for him, practically gushing silently as you two became best friends. As your relationship developed so did your nick name for him.

You remembered it so clearly, going to a festival dedicated to space exploration and astrophysics. There had been a booth with jewelry of stars and little trinkets related to space. You saw a necklace and immediately it reminded you of him. You’d slip away from the sweetheart for a few moments to buy the necklace before returning with a love filled smile on your face. Looking up at Brian you handed him the box with the necklace

“Open it” was all you could say, watching his expression change into one of confusion, eyebrow raised. Then he opened it up and saw the silver chain with a small star hanging from it. You could see the twinkle in his eye and his expression change

“Y/N this is...beautiful.” His gaze moved from the necklace to you when he said the last word. To you it felt as if he was describing you not the necklace but you shook it off with a soft blush feathered across your cheeks.

“Anything for you star boy”

The memory was something you looked back on fondly nearly everyday you called him that. Even now you thought back fondly on the memory as you slipped out of you r work clothes and sifted through the clothes in your closet before your eyes landed on the dress bag at the back of your closet. You bit your lip nervously and grabbed it, laying it out on the mattress and unzipping it. The dress was gorgeous and slightly more revealing than your typical choice. The length went to slightly above the knees and the neckline revealed your cleavage nicely as well as your shoulders. The color complimented your skin tone just nicely and it was your favorite color.

Suddenly you felt anxious about tonight. You had hoped this wouldn’t happen but of course it did, you felt your head start to spin with thoughts of doubt and worry. What if this dress wouldn’t please Brian, what if you just weren’t good enough for him in general. You tried your best to push the thoughts aside as you put on your sexy lingerie and slipped into the dress, putting on a pair of shoes that went well with your dress. You needed to stop doubting yourself and just have fun tonight. Your star boy would be here soon enough and you didn’t want to keep him waiting.

You made your way into the bathroom and ran your fingers through your hair, fixing up the locks before you saw yourself in the mirror and all your self-conscious thoughts started to absolutely overwhelm you for the first time in months, your eyes becoming wet with tears and your breathing becoming restricted. What if you really weren’t good enough for him? What if you just couldn’t please him with the way you looked and how you were? Before you knew it you were fully crying and looking away from the mirror, feeling disgusted with yourself from all the thoughts spiraling in your head, you just couldn’t shake them.

The crying sounded all throughout your apartment, you had lost track of time and before you knew it Brian was at your door. He wanted to surprise you so instead of knocking he used his spare key and clutched a jewelry box in his hand along with a second bouquet of flowers, this time your favorites. But once Brian had made it into the apartment his heart sank at the sound of misery coming from the bathroom down the hallway.

Brian immediately ran into the hallway and to the bathroom which was already open. What he saw before him absolutely broke his heart, you sitting down on the ground curled up, looking stunning in your dress and heels, hair all done up and crying your heart out.

He frowned heavily and set down the flowers and jewelry box, walking over and kneeling down right in front of you. He scared you since he had suddenly just shown up in front of you. You gasped and jumped a bit as your eyes opened and looked at him. Brian had taken your hand and gave it a sweet kiss

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? It pains me to see you like this” He sat down right next to you on that bathroom floor and pulled you close to him.

At that you started to sob even harder, leaning into him and burying your face into his chest and barely getting out what you were trying to say.

“I’m....I’m sorry. I just wanted to look nice for you....and I’m not good enough.” You did your best to lift your head and wipe your eyes, looking up and into Brian’s soft eyes and comforting features.

Brian shook his head and pulled you in close, kissing your cheek sweetly and holding you

“Darling, you could be passed out in a pile of garbage wearing a trash bag and you’d still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Brian’s choice of words made you giggle ever so slightly. He always knew exactly what to say to make you feel better even at your worst times. Your eyes lifted again to look at him

“I love you so much....I’m sorry I kind of ruined our plans didn’t I?”

Brian just smiled at you fondly, wiping the tears from your cheeks and kissing you so sweetly it made you melt against him “y/n, you could never ruin our plans. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.”

You nodded up at him and stood up from your spot on the bathroom floor with some help from Brian. As you were about to leave the bathroom your eyes were caught by the bouquet of flowers and jewelry box. Brian noticed and smiled, quickly moving in front of you and picking them up. He handed the bouquet of flowers over and you immediately cooed, standing on your toes to give him a sweet and thankful kiss but he pulled away sooner than you would’ve liked

“That’s not the best part my love.” He gave you a cheeky grin and held out the jewelry box which you looked at him as you took it from his large hands, finally giving in and opening it up. Your jaw dropped and you could’ve cried a second time that night as you stared into the box. Brian couldn’t stop grinning at you as he watched, reaching to around his neck and pulling the star necklace out of the collar of his shirt so now it was visible. The necklace he gave you was identical to the one you gave him back in college.

“Now we can match, my star girl.”

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A/N: Alright! That was my first writing I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you did 💕

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romcomathon2016 · 6 years

Text

A Christmas Prince (USA, 2017)

And now, a special bonus edition, not for any actual occasion, but just because we freaking felt like it. God bless you, Netflix, for this glorious season when all the worst Hallmark movies ever made arise out of the depths for easy streaming upon demand. Happy holidays, Romcomathon readership! (We will also be watching an equally terrible non-Netflix movie, it looks like, on actual Christmas. Prepare yourselves.)

Predictions: Alex, having read the description, knew that it was about a reporter and a prince, perhaps falling in love through a house of lies. Kat, not having read the description, predicted that Christmas was a place as well as a time, and perhaps the Prince of Christmas -- A CHRISTMAS PRINCE, IF YOU WILL -- was looking for a bride. At Christmastime. Perhaps the Kingdom of Christmas only merges with the regular world at Christmastime!!!! Who can say.

Plot: Uh… Kat was joking, but may not have been entirely mistaken. Whereas she was picturing some sort of seasonal magical fairy kingdom, Aldovia is instead a supposedly real country that crowns its monarchs at the Christmas Eve Ball???? But let's back up a bit and explain.

Rose McIver is a "junior editor," aka peon?? at a fashion magazine in "New York" (a whole variety of skylines were used here, though...huh), who inexplicably gets sent to a foreign country to cover the possible abdication of a playboy prince, Ben Lamb. Obviously he turns out to not really be a playboy; she assumes a fake identity by accident (is mistaken for the princess's soon-to-arrive new American tutor); and she immediately finds her way into both his good graces and those of his wayward, overprotected little sister -- who, by the way, has spina bifida AND is super sad about their father's death a year ago. There was literally not a heartstring that this movie did not attempt to tug, y’all; we are shocked that there wasn't a baby animal of some kind wearing a ribbon around its neck at a pivotal moment.

Anyway, Prince Ben Lamb just doesn't know if he wants to be king, guys. Can he handle it? Can he handle it?? No, kind of seems like he can't, tbh, but since his scheming cousin, next in line, seems like a truly terrible person, he should probably try. But wait! Plot twist! Rose McIver stumbles across an incredibly poorly-hidden secret compartment in the king's hunting lodge -- after having been rescued by Prince Ben Lamb from a wolf in the snowy woods, mind you (...yes) -- and discovers SECRET ADOPTION PAPERS. PRINCE BEN LAMB IS ADOPTED, AND NOBODY KNEW!!!! Well, except his parents, presumably.

Here we start a new paragraph specifically to ask HOW. HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THE ROYAL FAMILY SOMEHOW ADOPTED A CHILD AND KEPT IT SECRET FROM EVERYONE. EVERYONE.

Naturally, Scheming Cousin and his lady friend (actually Prince Ben Lamb's former lady friend, but let's not get into it) discover this as well, because Rose McIver is the worst undercover reporter in the world, and they decide to keep this information under their fancy evil hats until the Right Moment. When is the Right Moment, you ask? Obviously, at the Christmas Eve Ball/coronation. Yes, two for the price of one. The Aldovian monarchy is v. practical and/or thrifty that way! They also have the Prime Minister do the ceremony (perhaps not wanting to spring for a priest), and he (perhaps having never before seen a coronation?!) runs the whole thing like a wedding. Does anyone object to the prince's crowning, he asks, or forever hold your peace?? Guess who doesn't hold their peace, guys -- lol, it's Scheming Cousin. THE PRINCE IS ADOPTED!!!!!!!!

Man, what unfortunate timing, now that Prince Ben Lamb has finally gotten his act together and agreed to be king. Also unfortunate: the scheming duo reveals the truth about Rose McIver's identity. WHAT IS EVEN LEFT FOR PRINCE BEN LAMB TO BELIEVE IN???? He doesn't know who Rose McIver is! HE DOESN'T KNOW WHO HE IS EITHER. Also, the Prime Minister clearly has no mind of his own, and the Queen somehow has no power???? (We suppose that makes sense, though, since this nation is apparently stuck in like the 1100s or something, because girls still can't inherit and the line skips right over Prince Ben Lamb’s sister??) Anyway, they're all just like, welp, it's Christmas Eve, so we couldn't possibly wait a day to reasonably discuss our nation’s future, and instead we absolutely must crown Scheming Cousin immediately. All is lost.

Rose McIver, meanwhile, is at the airport headed home, all dejected and stuff, when she has a sudden epiphany about the secret poem the prince showed her in the hunting lodge. (SO MUCH SECRET STUFF IN THIS HUNTING LODGE, YOU GUYS. WHAT WAS EVEN GOING ON WITH THE KING. WHY DID HE SHARE NOTHING WITH HIS QUEEN OR HIS COUNCIL????) She rushes back to the castle and breaks open the homemade acorn Christmas ornament that the dead king left for the queen (...yeah), and lo and behold, a secret decree naming his adopted son worthy to be king. The king even took care to mention that it wasn't about blood or anything, but rather about Prince Ben Lamb's good character, which incidentally, Prince Ben Lamb was worried about. HOW PRESCIENT OF HIM. (Though not as prescient as if he had done the normal thing and publicized this before his death and avoided this whole debacle. :|)

Rose McIver bursts into the SECOND coronation; the Prime Minister again has no trouble accepting this latest sudden, poorly-verified turn of events; and Prince Ben Lamb gets properly crowned. Rose McIver goes back home to “New York” and writes a very schmaltzy story about how great he is. Her editor, surprisingly, does not want to publish this CRAZY STORY that she paid for Rose McIver to get, so Rose McIver quits and starts a weirdly successful blog instead. Then, on New Year's Eve, King Ben Lamb turns up on the doorstep of her father's diner and proposes to her. YUP, YOU READ THAT CORRECTLY, READER. THE KING OF A NATION PROPOSES TO A WOMAN HE KNEW FOR ONE WEEK UNDER AN ASSUMED IDENTITY. THE END.

Best Scene: It is impossible to choose, perhaps because there was not a single scene in this glorious Christmas masterpiece that did not seem like it had been ripped from another film and spliced into this one in iMovie. The number of lines that we predicted out loud before they were said on screen was, shall we say, astonishing, but then again, not astonishing at all.

Worst Scene: All of the best scenes were the worst scenes, and all of the worst scenes were the best scenes.

Best Line: "You haven't thought about this. I mean, we barely know each other." -- Rose McIver, saying what we are all thinking. I mean, who would marry this royal idiot?? HE HAS BAD JUDGMENT AND WILL SOON BE DEPOSED, AND THEN WHERE WILL YOU BE?? Points for having good sense for once, Rose McIver. Points lost for capitulating moments later.

Worst Line: "A palace is a lonely place for a king without a queen." -- King Ben Lamb, during his proposal speech, all of which was awful, just to be clear. Although we did enjoy how his answer to pretty much all her objections was, money can solve everything! I mean. He's not entirely wrong. The royal family is probably very rich from all the money they've saved on coronations.

Highlights of the Watching Experience: Ummmm, reading the article that Entertainment Weekly wrote about it?? This article, a journalistic tour de force of the sort Rose McIver could never compose, addresses all of the concerns that we could not fit in this blog post. It is accurate and hilarious. Read it here.

Also, this whole watching experience was a highlight of our year. Literally the tropiest film we've ever watched. Cannot believe how many different clichés they managed to cram into one movie.

How Many POC in the Film: Like...2-4? One of her two friends was black (the other was a gay man, of course), a jerk reporter at the magazine was also black, and there may or may not have been an Asian person or two sprinkled in in Aldovia, with hardly any lines. Not awesome, for 2017.

Alternate Scenes: So, how did Rose McIver end up needing to be rescued from a wolf, you ask? Well, it's because she stole a horse from the stables to stalk Prince Ben Lamb, and then it threw her and left her in the snow, à la Beauty and the Beast. Only this low-budget cinematic wonder could only afford one wolf, evidently. Excitingly, though, in the moment before this wolf came on screen, we were wondering if it was going to be a werewolf, and if this movie was REALLY going to take a turn. Truthfully, readers, we kind of wish that had happened. We would watch that alternate film. Possible titles -- iWerewolf? A Christmas Wolf?

Was the Poster Better or Worse than the Film: BETTER. Now, we know we’ve suggested that no film could be better than this one, but this badly-photoshopped family holiday card is clearly the poster for a movie about the Prince of Hell, who rises out of his pentacle in a tower of flame to claim as his bride Rose McIver, who happens to love Christmas. Whereas of course the Prince of Hell hates Christmas, because it's Jesus’s birthday, and he is the Prince of Hell (duh). Hijinks ensue; eventually they overcome their differences, and maybe the Prince of Hell abdicates his hellish throne in order to live on Earth with Rose McIver. The final scene is, of course, them in their charming living room, enjoying Christmas. The Prince jokingly puts a devil-themed ornament on the Christmas tree (yes, they make those; we double-checked). "Oh, you!" says Rose McIver. They giggle together. Pan out into the snow.

Score: 4 out of 10 pasted-together-out-of-a-random-Hallmark-plot-generator smooches. Soooooo bad, you guys. Probably zero actual-movie smooches. But 10 out of 10 smooches in our still-laughing hearts!

Ranking: 72, out of the 109 movies we’ve seen so far. Sadly, we would rather rewatch this than a shocking number of other things. IT WASN'T GOOD, JUST TO BE CLEAR. NOT GOOD AT ALL. Yet...what a grand old time we had. This is the most perfect terrible movie we have ever watched or could ever imagine watching.

#a christmas prince #rose mciver #ben lamb #2017 #special bonus edition

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sergeant-angels-trashcan · 7 years

Text

I’m formulating a...slightly batshit and highly unlikely theory about Jaqen H’ghar and like...I gotta share.

The facts are these:

Jaqen H’ghar is from Lorath. He tells us this in A Clash of Kings, Arya II. Here’s what A World of Ice and Fire has to say about Lorathi speech patterns:

Accordingly, the Boash'i put aside even their own names, and spoke of themselves as "a man" or "a woman" rather than say "I" or "me" or "mine." Though the cult of the Blind God withered and died out more than a thousand years ago, certain of these habits of speech endure even now in Lorath, where men and women of the noble classes regard it as inutterably vulgar to speak of one's self directly.

So, what’s that mean for Jaqen, or the Face of Jaqen? Well, either he’s a commoner from Lorath from a very very long time ago, or he’s a Lorathi nobleman. The nobleman kind of makes sense--a Faceless Man was sent to King’s Landing for reasons unknown, perhaps a nobleman of any sort was seen as a good choice.

Before I move on, I want to point out an interesting parallel though:

These new Lorathi were worshippers of Boash, the Blind God. Rejecting all other deities, the followers of Boash ate no flesh, drank no wine, and walked barefoot through the world, clad only in hair shirts and hides. Their eunuch priests wore eyeless hoods in honor of their god; only in darkness, they believed, would their third eye open, allowing them to see the "higher truths" of creation that lay concealed behind the world's illusions. The worshippers of Boash believed that all life was sacred and eternal; that men and women were equal; that lords and peasants, rich and poor, slave and master, man and beast were all alike, all equally worthy, all creatures of god. An essential part of their doctrine was an extreme abnegation of self; only by freeing themselves of human vanity could men hope to become one with the godhood.

that....that sounds sort of familiar, right? Where have I heard this before?

"You should. Stay, and the Many-Faced God will take your ears, your nose, your tongue. He will take your sad grey eyes that have seen so much. He will take your hands, your feet, your arms and legs, your private parts. He will take your hopes and dreams, your loves and hates. Those who enter His service must give up all that makes them who they are. Can you do that?" He cupped her chin and gazed deep into her eyes, so deep it made her shiver. "No," he said, "I do not think you can." A Feast for Crows, Arya II

Hmm.

Probably not important.

So far, we have a face from Lorath that’s either really old, or modern and noble, which seems a little too convenient to not be a coincidence.

Here’s the thing: we don’t know how often Faceless Men wear their own faces. It’s implied the Waif wears her own face, and we know Arya often does--in that we’re explicitly told when she is no longer Arya. So is Jaqen a face, or is he the Faceless? Because with what we know of him--based solely on his speech patterns, which, I’ll admit, is a little thin--that face is either old af, like, thousands of years old, or a nobleman, which we’re told somewhere is a rare breed to seek out facelessness. But if Jaqen is the Faceless Man, any sort of worship of the Blind God would predispose him to the mindset of the Faceless Men.

We also have a pretty solid lead on the fact that Jaqen, or the Faceless Man wearing Jaqen’s face, is currently in Oldtown, as per the prologue of A Feast for Crows. He’s killed someone, but he hasn’t gone back to the house of Black and White. He’s hanging around for intel? Maybe? Faceless Men aren’t spies, though. They’re assassins. We’ve seen how swiftly they work once they reach the person or place they need to be, which raises two points: either the Faceless Man formerly known as Jaqen is not there on orders to kill someone, heavily implying that he’s not there as an agent of the House of Black and White, or that he’s waiting for his target to show up. Which would be weird, except...

Well hold on now just a minute. We know someone else who talks about three eyes.

"Close your eyes," said the three-eyed crow. "Slip your skin, as you do when you join with Summer. But this time, go into the roots instead. Follow them up through the earth, to the trees upon the hill, and tell me what you see."

"Once you have mastered your gifts, you may look where you will and see what the trees have seen, be it yesterday or last year or a thousand ages past. Men live their lives trapped in an eternal present, between the mists of memory and the sea of shadow that is all we know of the days to come.”

A Dance With Dragons, Bran III

So if we’re willing, we can make an assumption that priests, maybe even just regular ol’ worshippers, of the Blind God of Lorath, were greenseers, able to see what has happened, maybe even having green dreams to see what will happen.

And sure, this is interesting, I hear you say. All that stuff about him knowing Arya was a girl lines up, what with his FM observational skills and maybe a green dream thrown in there.

But, I can hear you continue, like, what’s the point?

Well, that brings me to another question: why was Jaqen in King’s Landing--more specifically, why the fuck was he in the black cells? We see him in action in Harrenhal. We learn about the FM and how they operate. Making mistakes, like getting caught assassinating a political figure, is a human mistake, not a Faceless Man mistake. Look at who else was in the black cells with him! Biter is not a normal criminal. HE EATS THE LIVING FLESH OFF OF PEOPLE. THE BLACK CELLS ARE NOT COUNTY LOCKUP. They aren’t a fun, happy place. You’ll live, if you’re in the black cells, like. Probably, you’ll live, and you won’t die a horrific torturous death unless Cersei sent you there...

But also, isn’t one of Varys’ disguises the guy in charge of the black cells? Rugen, right?

And what’s a thing Varys is really big on? He’s big on deposing despot monarchs for rulers who know what the hell they’re doing, that’s what:

"Ser Kevan. Forgive me if you can. I bear you no ill will. This was not done from malice. It was for the realm. For the children... Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk...He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them."

So Varys has highly political motivations, he’s definitely down to overthrow leaders who abuse their subjects, and he was in charge of a place that housed a FM for an unknown amount of time.

And if the Assassin Formerly Known as Jaqen H’ghar was completely down with the Faceless Men, this might not matter. There are, however, theories that Jaqen is actually a rogue FM.

Jaqen being a rogue assassin makes a lot of his actions make more sense--or at least, him being right on the cusp of going rogue. Aside from whatever mysterious thing he’s doing in Oldtown, there’s the fact that he recruited Arya in the first place. Nobody super thrilled with Arya being at the House of Black and White. She’s female, she’s highborn, and she’s not really good at giving up her identity. She tries, god love her, but she seems very atypical as far as assassin recruits go.

There’s also the fact that Jaqen knows why she wants to learn how to change her face, which is to kill people for personal reasons, pretty much the antithesis of the HoBaW as we know it, and yet he gives her the coin anyway. This is either a cruel recruiting scheme by this particular FM, a stupid one, or one that plays into an agenda.

What agenda? Well, to get a feel for that, we’re going to have to look at why the Faceless Men started killing people in the first place.

"The tale of our beginnings. If you would be one of us, you had best know who we are and how we came to be....We have flowered in Braavos amongst these northern fogs, but we first took root in Valyria, amongst the wretched slaves who toiled in the deep mines beneath the Fourteen Flames that lit the Freehold's nights of old...Slaves perished by the score, but their masters did not care. Red gold and yellow gold and silver were reckoned to be more precious than the lives of slaves, for slaves were cheap in the old Freehold. During war, the Valyrians took them by the thousands. In times of peace they bred them, though only the worst were sent down to die in the red darkness."

"Didn't the slaves rise up and fight?"

"Some did," he said. "Revolts were common in the mines, but few accomplished much. The dragonlords of the old Freehold were strong in sorcery, and lesser men defied them at their peril. The first Faceless Man was one who did."

"Who was he?" Arya blurted, before she stopped to think.

"No one," he answered. "Some say he was a slave himself. Others insist he was a freeholder's son, born of noble stock. Some will even tell you he was an overseer who took pity on his charges. The truth is, no one knows. Whoever he was, he moved amongst the slaves and would hear them at their prayers...Yet their gods made no answer, and their suffering went on. Are their gods all deaf? he wondered . . . until a realization came upon him, one night in the red darkness.

"All gods have their instruments, men and women who serve them and help to work their will on earth. The slaves were not crying out to a hundred different gods, as it seemed, but to one god with a hundred different faces . . . and he was that god's instrument. That very night he chose the most wretched of the slaves, the one who had prayed most earnestly for release, and freed him from his bondage. The first gift had been given."

Arya drew back from him. "He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!"

"He would bring the gift to them as well . . . but that is a tale for another day, one best shared with no one." He cocked his head. "And who are you, child?" A Feast for Crows, Arya II

There’s a lot to unpack here, and i’m going to try and do it as coherently as possible.

The origin of the Faceless Men is in line with the motivations of many of our central characters. Defending the defenseless and not abusing authority is something we see Daenerys, Jon, Arya, even Stannis struggle with. We see Cersei, Robert, Joffrey and a great many more characters fail at this.

Killing the masters is an important theme in the books, and the fact that it’s explicitly stated in the origin of a supposedly neutral in-world organization is fascinating. Daenerys is the clear link, since she literally kills masters.

And since we’re talking about a Targaryen, let’s talk about that bit with the metals in it: red gold, yellow gold, and silver. Red, yellow, and silver are all colors used in the sigils for three of the most prominent houses in this story. Those colors are also used when describing certain families. Of course, three is an important number narratively--Arya got three deaths from Jaqen, Dany has three dragons, three Lannister children, three Lannister bastards, three eyes, so many threes.

This could be linking to the three cities Dany has liberated--Meereen(silver? bricks of many colors), Yunkai(yellow brick), and Astapor (red brick)--or it could be a link to Westeros and the war happening there now. Red gold--Lannisters; yellow gold--Baratheons; Silver--Targaryens. Of course, you could also see red gold as symbolizing Targaryens, yellow gold the Lannisters, and Silver the Starks. However you slice it, there’s a link between what happened in those mines and what is happening now. People in power disregarding the lives of those they are in power over. This link--between the origins of the Faceless Men and the events occurring in the world of Westeros right now--is important for trying to figure out what Jaqen or was-once-Jaqen might be doing.

I want to jump back to the black cells, and Varys here for a second:

Perhaps Jaqen wasn’t in King’s Landing for some huge political mission. Maybe he was sent to kill someone in the black cells, as the first Faceless Man killed a slave, not a master. Jaqen being in the black cells on purpose doesn’t make any less sense than him being caught for carelessness, right? Combine that with the Blind God and seeing truth in darkness, well...maybe he stayed in the black cells because he saw that he needed to be with Yoren’s group.

Arya’s chapters at the House of Black and White are full of sense-words. Sight, hearing, blind, darkness, touch, deaf. It provides an interesting contrast to “ Stay, and the Many-Faced God will take your ears, your nose, your tongue. He will take your sad grey eyes that have seen so much. He will take your hands, your feet, your arms and legs, your private parts.” It’s also an interesting counterpoint to the Blind God, mentioned earlier, and the pleas of the slaves in the mines of Valyria, “Are their gods all deaf? he wondered . . . until a realization came upon him, one night in the red darkness.”

Red, dark, underground, fire, someone who heard Arya’s prayers.

What if Jaqen--or Jaqen’s face--is the first Faceless Man? Only the worst were sent down to die in the red darkness and Jaqen was in the black cells in the Red Keep. We don’t know anything about who Jaqen was while he was alive, but as I said earlier, his speech patterns indicate either an ancient Lorathi, or a noble one. There’s also the fact that he very nearly died in a fire, and that he tells Arya that The Red God is owed three names. (though I’d really like to talk about how a faceless man who has no name is justifying three names. It means there’s no loophole for the faceless men. If Jaqen is the name of the face, then he’s condemned to the fate of the face. if Jaqen is the name of the faceless, he’s either not truly faceless, because he still has a name, or the whole point of “becoming no one” is flawed, because if you are no one then it shouldn’t matter who you were).

So we have fire, we have underground, we have Jaqen. We have Jaqen potentially assassinating Balon Greyjoy. We have Jaqen in Oldtown, presumably there for information.

We have the faith of the Blind God, which sounds an awful lot like parts of how the Faceless become Faceless.

We have Jaqen basically not acting in line with the operating procedures of the House of Black and White, but perhaps working in line with the original goals of the faceless men.

These are absolutely tenuous threads that tie the face of Jaqen H’ghar of Lorath to the mines of Valyria (taken as a slave? a nobleman who happened to visit? someone in charge? all work with Lorath’s relationship to Valyria) to the origin of the Faceless Men. But if we just take this idea for a second--that the face of Jaqen H’ghar is the original FM, some other things start to line up. His interest in the dragon book at Oldtown. His ability to change faces faster than other FM. An original FM face being donned and suddenly going “well THIS is not what I meant at all when I founded this order of assassins” not only lends weight to Jaqen going rogue (he now has a very clear motivation for it) but is also interesting in an intention vs reality sort of way (which could be a commentary on the concept of organized religion)

The problem with this theory, of course, is that once the face of Jaqen disappears, so to do his motivations.

Right?

But, okay. We’re assuming the face of Jaqen is very old. It holds that it may also be very powerful. The kindly man mentions the dragonlords being strong in sorcery, and the order itself uses blood magic. Who’s to say the face of Jaqen H’ghar possesses the wearer? For that matter, the Faceless Men deal in blood magic, for all we know there’s a way to permanently bind a face to a faceless.

If that’s not it, well, there’s a lot of necromancy in this world. Maybe some idiot thought it would be a good idea to slap an old face on a new, dead body to beef up the ranks, and Jaqen is the result.

If Jaqen’s face is Original Recipe/A Faceless Man Original Design FallWinter Collection, then I imagine it’s not supposed to be getting used for a lot. Or at all.

Jaqen H’ghar is dead kinda takes on new meaning, doesn’t it?

Maybe the guy who wore the face of Jaqen was just a FM who was already leaning towards going rogue, and meeting Varys is what helped shift his path as far as Westeros was concerned. Maybe there’s no ridiculously complicated backstory apart from Faceless Men sometimes being unsuccessful in truly becoming neutral agents. Maybe he’s in Oldtown on assignment.

Or maybe Jaqen H’ghar is the founder of your religious order, and he is very disappointed in how you have twisted his teachings.

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