#the tragedy of being born to serve the stars before yourself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meraki-kintsukuroi · 3 years

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a star is dying, but the universe won't let it.

(or alternatively: you're burning out like a dying star but these hands that have loved you even long before will never let you go, even if it means getting burnt along.)

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, light angst, soft fluff, references to depression and to the pandemic, and maybe probably a bit of child abuse it doesn't happen though its just mentioned, implied long-distance relationship, space, morbid, and colour metaphors, discussions about death and dying, shit writing and word vomit (bc im rusty as hell).

pairings : kindaichi yuutaro/reader (gn! reader & ambiguous relationship bc ytf not)

wc : 1, 755

a/n: dedicated to @haru-senji for being in the same situation as I and to all the other people who are as well, hang in there you guys, love you and please stay safe <3.

"Hey 'tarou are you up...?", Yuutarou hears you call out to him in the dark, breaking the silence in the night with your voice faint and small, almost lost against the loud howling wind of the dim sky.

He shifts, twisting his body to where you are, and in the dark--despite of it all--reaches for you when you don't pull or push him away and squeezes the hand you let him hold.

(Intimacy between skin has always been a line you jump in and out of and yuutaro wonders if there ever could be a day where he can hold you without you flinching or shrinking away, and without him saying that its okay despite the hurt in his heart or the deep open scars in yours.)

"Mm, yeah..?", he asks, voice a deep low rasp from the silence that had long been stretching between you, "What is it?"

There is a pregnant pause before you speak. It stretches long and wide much like the ones before and he can't help but be reminded of sea and the sky and he thinks that even in the vastness of it all with you besides him, your backs against the grass of some far away place, underneath all the darkness and twinkling nights, and far away from all uninvited eyes. He thinks that if you were to say anything here and now he would keep it lock in his chest until the day he died.

(Because happiness is limited in a world that is almost at its limit, only holding on to whatever thin silver lining there was to just not fall into the void of nothingness and cease to exist.)

"Do you know how a star is born?",

The ex-volleyball captain blinks once and then twice, and thinks of a grand king who he had served for three long years, of a boy turned king-enemy, to a friend that he had found once lost, of a gymnasium so big that it had to be the whole universe with how many stars, planets, and other celestial bodies there had been, but no matter how much he had thought of it, those astral objects that he had thought of was only at their prime and not at their beginning.

(Those people, those upperclassmen, those players, those rivals, his teammates, had been and always been stars--the moon, the sun, the planet--his universe.

He wonders how proud, those who have seen them at their very beginning feel? To see the rock with no fuel burn with utmost energy along with others who are just as bright as them.)

"No, I don't.", He says, a quiet thing and hears you hum, before feeling you twist and turn before finally settling again, not once letting his hand go as you did so.

(He does not comment on how closer you are to him now, afraid you'd pull away and distance yourself from him again.)

"How about when they die?", you ask him instead, and across the vast meadow he hears the crickets chirping this season's song "Do you know how they die?"

Yuutaro closes his eyes, and thinks of an explosion, of bright colours and a supernova exploding in the expanse of space, of the destruction that follows the grief that comes along with the loss of something as bright as a star.

He thinks of the king-prince-boy and how he had exploded into nothing but colours of red, black, and blue of the grand king who had burst out crying hues of green, grey, and teal, of a dark black empty gym with no bright light or palette in sight.

"They, uh, collapse i think...?" He says trailing off, trying to rack his left part of the brain of the lessons he hadn't slept in science class, "Yeah they do--And then they, they, uh... explode into supernovas? Yeah they explode into supernovas." He finishes unhappy but accepting all the same.

It's not like he was as blunt but smooth with his words just like his best-friend, not sweet like honey, or rough but straight to the point. He was still an awkward, tongue tied, and still fumbling idiot even after all this time. Even when he had hit a growth spurt or even after hitting a major milestone in his life, He was still the tall awkward boy people know who had just grown into an adults body to fit an adult's clothes.

You hum again, and he feels you inching closer, but not close enough to hold you the way he wants to--needs to--

(He pushes the greed--the fear of loosing you--letting go of you away. He can't, does not, will never be selfish, he can't allow it, not when he knows all too well what happens to you and the people around you, suffer through all too well.)

"Do you think we'll go out like that?", you ask him again, voice almost like a child afraid, "Like a supernova exploding in colours?"

He feels you shift again, and this time he thinks you're much closer to him than before and he thinks that you might be facing him this time too, he doesn't know it's too dark to see (but even so, even so, even so please come closer so I can hold you so--)

"Or do you think, we'll go out like a daisy crushed by the one who's supposed to take care of it?"

And something about that question, something about the way you say those words, makes his heart scream and mind twist in agony.

Because he thinks of the world, and how its marching to an unknown point and how much its scaring people. Thinks of you and your home that's only getting so much colder with each day passing. Thinks of himself and how he's just like a ghost wandering with a lover that's slowly collapsing--dying underneath the weight, of the pain of it all, that's too much for them to bear and not being able to do anything about it because-- "the only person who can save you is yourself, and you know that better than anyone else Yuutaro." His mother had once said.

And he knows, he knows, he knows, he goddamn knows, that things are getting worse for you--for him-and for everyone else, but he will fight God and his angels if it meant at least being able to carry some of the burden you had to carry all because the people who was suppose to do it but couldn't so you had to learn how to carry it all by yourself even after all this time.

Because Yuutaro with all his awkwardness and flaws had never been alone.

You however, have been painfully all by your lonesome.

And you meant to him that much to say the least.

"I don't know really." he murmurs truthfully, and squeezes your hand as an I'm sorry that i can't help you lift your pain that I was years too late to even try to do so and now you're hurting so much that you're almost at you're breaking point, and even if you don't know why or what, he still tries to.

Because he was just a ghost with no body or home wandering around this world, trying his darn best to find himself again for a lover that's slowly collapsing and loosing the brightness that they once were.

"Lots of people die in many ways you know?", He says not having one single clue about what's he saying but continues on because happiness is a fickle thing and is it selfish of him to hold your hand and keep you safe from the monsters that was supposed to love you for a bit much longer?

"We're not stars or flowers or anything,", He says with a finality he didn't know he had.

"We're people and we die when we die.", he goes on to say, and he thinks of an accident on the news, a tragedy in a script, and a genocide written on the history books, and thinks that for all the fire and hydrogen or whatever that makes up a star, planet, comet, or whatever. They were all still painfully human even on their last moments.

That they'd all bleed, cry, turn ugly, and at the end of it all die in more ways than one, because humanity is a fickle thing and they were no different.

That he was still human despite being a ghost of he once was, that you were still human even if you were a rotting corpse murdered by the monsters that were your own flesh and blood by the burdens and self-projections that they always had.

That the tyrant he had hated so much was just a boy underneath all the gore, grime, and blood, and that the grand king he had served underneath all the gold and silver and bronze was just human too.

They all were.

"But what if someone wants to go already and the people around them don't want them to...?" He hears you mutter softly, and he squeezes your hand again replying.

"Then don't.", He mutters tiredly just as much you are to the world, the monsters, and at yourself, "Live."

"Do you think we'll ever...", you trail off, and he knows from your tone that you must be struggling with what words to say so he squeezes your hand again because this is the only way you'll let him show his love for you other than his presence (because you're so, so, so scared and he is too, for you and for him as well.)

"Live again?"

Because he's a ghost of a star cluster once formed and you're a rotting corpse of a white dwarf floating in space with no way or direction to what home once was.

"I don't know really.." He says again, and crosses the gap between you deciding fuck it and presses his forehead against yours pushing on as he goes on, "But we'll cross the bridge when we get there all right?"

You don't pull away nor you push him away, instead you tense before relaxing again, and this time instead of him you're the one who squeezes his hand instead.

"Yeah we'll cross the bridge when we get there."

And in the dark--despite the dark, he thinks that maybe you're smiling in what it seems for a long while now, and he thinks that maybe, maybe he is too.

(And when morning comes maybe you both start trying to live again.)

#FROM THE CARCASSES OF LITERATURE;#haikyuu x reader #kindaichi yuutarou #kindaichi x reader #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #kindaichi fluff #kindaichi angst #kindaichi yūtarō #jkfhskfsdfh #pls dont let this flop #im actually pretty proud of this when i was wriing but like #posting this just gives me 100+ anxiety kadshadkja #kindaichi yutaro #haikyuu scenarios

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findopulencerp · 2 years

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𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖌𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖟

appears as though he was born 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖙𝖜𝖔 years ago but is actually 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖉, he is a 𝖛𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊 who lives in 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘 as a 𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖈 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘𝖙. he looks an awful lot like 𝖔𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗 𝖎𝖘𝖆𝖆𝖈.

“At the trial of God, we will ask: Why did you allow all this? And the answer will be an acho: Why did you allow all this?”

tw: parental loss, death

God loves you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. But if people love each other there can be no happy end to it — you can't make homes out of human beings. Someone should have already told you that.

So do we simply stare at what's horrible and forgive it?

Sometimes you can hear your bones straining under the weight of all the lives you've lived; orphan, son, father. You can endure the agony of consciousness, the filth of life, the loss. The tragedy in you is so quiet sometimes I forget that you are suffering.

People go but how they left always stays; your physician father dead of the diseases he dedicated his life to curing, your mother gone soon after that. You outlive them even as a mortal, a young Guatemalan boy orphaned before the age of ten.

A new ward of the state, you were taken in by the nuns from the orphanage just down the road from where you used to live. You'd seen the children before, walking around barefoot, begging for more food in the streets. Your clothes they took from you, distributed them to those more in need of them. A boy, not much older than you, later came to thank you for the new shoes he'd gotten. You realise there are sadder things than your fate. Some people were never loved like you were.

Those who escape hell never talk about it and nothing much bothers them after that. You changed, didn't you? Closed your mouth more. Grew up softer, less volatile, less awake. A child of God, a student to his commands, so scared of dying without ever really being seen. You ached for the rest of life. Your youth left you hollow and empty as the spaces between stars.

Your very childlike loneliness is what brought you to God. There is nothing you want more than to be adored. Is that why you devote yourself to Him? Because when you do, He might say, "I love you"? A young boy, from his very birth destined to the church. Serving God, your father, is all you have ever known, and all you will know. In belief you have everything you need.

From your cot you never see them coming, your ribs breaking, sinking, head first so fast you don't have time to pray; they left behind their ash-tree and blood fragrance, and red pearls on your bedsheets. No emotions. No regrets. No warnings.

You no longer submit to decay.

But war is never satisfied with flesh; fresh, branded, smoked, with or without blood. Blue blood, dark, thick, whatever kind. Within each inch of space, you feel the change dark and dense; and when you move it seems as if you moved through a substance as solid as flesh, as if you are within another and within yourself at once. Desperate with hunger, you kill your first and only man, his spirit left hanging suspended in the cold, still air.

You never, never tell them. Never tell anyone anything ever. Never tell anyone anything again. Yet they find you; a pitchforked mob ripped from the pages of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein drive you out of your homeland. You are left adrift in the world, vowing to only feed off the corpses of animals until God releases from your curse.

You eventually find your way to Opulence. The blood on your teeth begins to taste like a poem, like religion, like the way God used to love you. In the church as old as the town itself you find solace— a home you never thought you'd know. You have lost and loved, cried and laughed yourself to the being you are today. A father, a son, an orphan.

“what power did he attain when settling in opulence?”

Román has developed an inviting aura for himself. He has a calming effect on others, and people find confiding in him incredibly easy. As if something celestial in the body of a man, he is unwanting, unyielding, benevolent. there is a grace to him, which few can name, but the halo of his curly dark hair shines almost unmistakably.

this character is...retired

#supernatural rp #oc rp #town rp #horror rp #new rp #oscar isaac fc #retired

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mimssides · 3 years

Text

Never Met You

Chapter 9: Bittersweet

Sweetness turned bitter. It is happiness tilted with the knowledge that something can never happen again.

Logan had never had to actively fight on a battlefield. They had prepared him during all his life for the moment when it would come so far. They had taught him to think quick, to act without remorse and to see the danger behind his back. Logan had been better at it than the rest of his unit. He had wielded his sword with skilful, analysed situations rapidly and accurately, and was willing to make the hard decisions.

None of his upper-ups had ever thought that he would become the one to sit on the throne. None of them had expected him to stand in the soldiers’ camps, on the wet and soaking soil in the robe of a king and a crown sitting on his head.

Logan had not expected so either. But here he was. The battle had begun and all he could do was wait. Nurses, a few elderly people, too old to fight but still wishing to fulfil their duty, had stayed back in the camps with him and were preparing for the incoming wounded. Janus was somewhere amongst them as well. He had insisted on staying with his king and was helping in the ways he could.

“I will go to the eastern gate. Maybe someone will need my help there,” Logan announced to Green who was putting down some boxes with various medical equipment in it.

The guard quickly placed them on the ground and made sure that the medics had seen it and ran over to Logan. It was not that Logan had requested him to stay by his side at all times, nor had Janus for that matter, but Green refused to leave Logan out of his sight even for a moment since they had left in the early morning.

Logan simply accepted his behaviour and they walked silently to the gate. Just one younger man was there as well, keeping his eyes out for the first soldiers to head back. There was nothing to be done there. Logan had known and so had Green. There was not much to be done here anyway.

They could see the battle. They heared orders being shouted and people screaming. Logan’s chest hurt from the sight. He lowered his gaze and turned it over to Green. He was staring at the horizon with a steely glare, his upper lip shivering with barely concealed rage.

“This is a tragedy,” Logan mumbled and Green’s eyes flickered over to him.

“It’s an outrage.”

Logan’s eyes went wide as he heard those words. Green was direct, was harsh if needed and could overexaggerate his words like no other but the pure anger in his voice was nothing like any of the things he had heard him say before.

“The audacity to not listen to reason, the audacity to fight for land which he isn’t even interested in. Just making a point by sacrificing the lives of the people he wanted to protect. I can’t believe him. I can’t believe that he let Jean talk him into this nonsense.”

Whistling. A static high note rang in Logan’s ears.

“What?”

Green didn’t look at him. He didn’t even seem to register Logan’s tone or his confusion. No, Green was wrapped up in his thoughts and forgot who he was speaking with for the first time since Logan had met him two and half months ago.

“George is hot-headed and proud but he’s not evil or cruel. He didn’t hate King Aneas and he knows that you are smarter than him. He could talk to you. He could confide in you as he did- He confided in all of us after- His brother is the most ludicrous thing that happened to him and now he is listening to a man who hungers for the power he chose to give up himself? What kind of move is this? How stupid has he gotten?”

“Green?”

He flinched and ripped his eyes away from the horizon and looked at Logan as if he had been slapped. His name had gotten him back to reality and out of his head.

“Why do you talk about King George as if you knew him? Who is we and what is the meaning of this?” Logan asked sharply and Green gulped.

Green stepped back. There was nothing around them that could serve him as a distraction. There was nothing he could do to dodge the question. And he didn’t want to. He so badly wanted to say what was going on, who he was and just fall in Logan’s arms and be held by him.

But that was not something he could have anymore.

“I can’t say, Your Majesty!” Green said pained and held up his hands defensively. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I – I apologize. All of this is driving me crazy, I – I must be losing my mind a little.”

Green chuckled weakly but Logan just glared. He glared not because he distrusted or was angry with Green but because there was something he didn’t know, something he felt like he should know and yet didn’t. He was frustrated with himself and with Green for not letting him help him.

“Who are you really?” Logan blurted and stepped closer to him before a shout stopped their conversation at once.

The shout was Logan’s title and it came from the young man, who was the only one in their proximity. And besides his title he also screamed a warning, Logan would never be able to recall. He turned around himself and faced a young man, almost still an adolescent, wearing the uniform of the Raganian army.

A sword was in his hand, eyes focused on Logan’s chest and he bolted forwards.

With a sword Logan knew exactly how to parry this hit.

With a shield he could have blocked it.

With his dagger in his boot, he could have done something as well.

But none of those things were available to him at the moment. All he could do was try simply dodge out of the way. And he was about to do so.

Green was quicker. Green shot in front of him, sword drawn almost in time. But his movement was stifled by surprise, the sword not able to parry the other blade.

Steel met his flesh just beneath the ribcage. There was much force in the young man’s panic, enough to send the sword through him. Green’s blade fell and blood soaked through his shirt. He looked down to the weapon in him, followed it to the hand which was holding it still. Followed the arm and the met the young man’s gaze.

He was mortified. Green smiled.

“Good hit, kid. It’s important to always … believe … in your strikes... It’s important to follow … through.”

He was on the ground, sword still in him. He hadn’t thought that it would hurt so badly.

“SteP AWAY FROM HIM!”

Green’s sight was getting blurry. He was losing too much blood. He would die. He would bleed out. How his father and mother had bled out. He would die.

Thud.

Pain. So much pain and faintness in his head.

“Green?”

Something wonderful was resting on his arm. His sight focused. There was Logan. His Logan. Was this the last time he would see him?

“‘m scared... thought dying would feel … different” Green muttered.

Logan was smiling. He was smiling. Why was he smiling?

“The medics are almost here. They will do everything to safe you.”

Logan was crying. He was smiling but he was crying. He was being strong for Green.

“nobody … should have to be saved … Patton …”

Logan put his hand on his cheek.

“Don’t worry about him. I will make sure this ends now. None of my citizens should suffer like you. I will do it for them. I will do it for you.”

***

“And there he is,” █████ said softly and leaned against the doorframe.

Logan was sitting in front of his vanity, eyes glued on the mirror until his partner, now his husband, had called for him. With shining eyes Logan turned around and looked at █████ with wobbly lips. Quickly, █████ stepped inside and closed the door. He knew that despite it being their wedding day, Logan would not appreciate for everybody to see his more emotional side.

Seven steps and █████ stood next to Logan, got on one knee besides his chair and draped his arm around Logan. Logan leaned into it and they let their heads meet gently as they looked in the mirror.

“I am so lucky to have married the most beautiful man in the world,” █████ said and watched Logan’s cheeks turn red as a smug smile grew on his own lips.

Logan leaned closer against him and mumbled: “I do not think that something like the most beautiful man exists in an objective sense but I appreciate the compliment. You look quite stunning yourself.”

Gingerly, Logan touched █████’s bangs and pushed them back before he pressed a little peck on █████’s cheek. He then pulled back, so █████ could stand up. █████ did so only to sit down on Logan’s armrest and to stare at his husband in awe. Softly, he rested his head on Logan’s and smiled at their reflection. Logan’s smile did not quite match his pure enthusiasm as it was slightly subdued.

“What is it, my lovely bug?” █████ asked.

Logan rolled his eyes barely masking the fondness behind the motion.

“Are you nervous for your coronation?”

Logan’s gaze fell into his lap. Gently, █████ squeezed his shoulder and stood up to stand behind him. With no further ado he began to massage Logan’s shoulders and pressed a little kiss on top of his head.

“I know that this is what I want,” Logan said after a few moments.

█████ hummed agreeingly and Logan continued: “I have your blessing as well as your brother’s. The people seem to like me well enough and the fraction of people who are against me taking the throne next to you have never been so quiet. I just-”

Through the mirror Logan caught █████’s look.

“What if I cannot be the king the people deserve?”

█████ halted. Within the blink of an eye, he straightened up and rose his chin just ever so slightly. The posture was perfect and regal. One of a king. Logan gulped. He knew that could never be him.

“Do you think I am what the people deserve? Do you think I was not nervous before I officially got crowned, after having ruled for six years as a child ████? I was born to do this, Logan. I was trained and educated for it and yet I know I’m not the ████ the people deserve.”

He took a deep breath, hands joined behind his back, voice clear and strong as he continued: “But I was all they had. It was not a choice for me or anyone else to make. And so, I gave my all to be enough for them.”

Suddenly the stiffness was gone and █████ let his posture drop and all but draped himself over his husband’s shoulders.

“But it’ll never be enough, my star. And it’s okay. I’m trying every day and they forgive me when I fail. And they will forgive you even more. Because you, my love, you are so much more qualified to do what I am doing. I have seen you attend my meetings, talk with my council and stand your ground with the nobility in such a masterful way. You have Roman’s diplomatic nature and are a greater strategist than I could ever wish to be. You were the first thing I dared to take for myself since my parents’ assassination and I have never regretted it ever since.”

No, Logan did not cry. █████ did not wipe away his tears as he got in front of him and caressed his cheeks with his thumbs.

“I love you beyond words,” Logan said quietly and watched █████’s face light up like a million stars.

“Oh, and I love you eternally, my beautiful, beautiful husband,” █████ said and they kissed.

It tasted a little bit salty. Maybe █████ was a little bit emotional as well.

“You will do great for them, Lo. I know it.”

Logan tilted his head to the side and pulled █████ onto his lap. With a yelp and a laugh, he complied and let Logan give him an uncharacteristically firm hug. █████ hugged back and waited for Logan to let go. He didn’t. Not for a long time.

Gingerly, █████ tapped Logan’s shoulder and hummed: “What is there still, my bug?”

Logan squeezed █████ close to his chest.

“I will be good for you. No matter what you think, but I know this world has never seen a ████ as kind and as grateful as you and I will make you see that. I will make you realize that you are far more that the people ever deserved.”

No, █████ did not cry. Logan did not wipe away his tears as he stood up with his husband and got ready for his coronation.

***

A rush of warmth ran through Green and the fear was gone. He didn’t manage to focus on Logan anymore but he didn’t need to. He knew he was there. He knew he would follow through. He closed his eyes with a smile.

***

Logan knelt next to Green’s body. There was a red patch of blood on his knee. He swallowed thickly and lifted his hands up to his head. Graciously, he took of his crown and put it down above Green’s head. Then he rose from the ground and shot a look to the young man who had tried to warn him.

“Your sword and then get the medics,” Logan said and without question was handed the sword.

The man ran and shouted for help immediately and Logan turned towards the one who had tried to stab him. With barely any effort he slapped the sword out of his hand and grabbed him by the back of his neck, twisted him around and held him against his chest, sword tickling his throat.

And then Logan walked. He walked towards the battlefield; his heartbeat steady but slow. The young man in his grip was trembling but Logan didn’t care. He would soon be where the fight was and nothing would stop him anymore. Not Janus’s calls for him to wait, not the sight of a battle.

Nothing could stop him now, as he stood behind his men with an enemy pressed against him and crippling grief in his chest.

Logan stood still and took a breath. And then he screamed from the bottom of his soul. He screamed out in terror, in anger and in misery. And the soldiers in front of him stopped. They stopped and watched their king step forward with a young trembling man in his grip. They watched as he moved further and further until he stood in midst of the battlefield, enemies as well as allies stopped to move around him.

“What are you doing?” Logan called out to the soldiers around him.

No one moved.

“This solider just injured a man fatally. A man who did nothing but protect me. A man who wanted to go home to a child he cares very much about. And this soldier is young too. He will have to live with what he has done for the rest of his life.”

Logan lowered his sword and pushed the man away from his chest, hand still tightly holding onto the back of his neck.

“You all will have to live with what you are doing here right now. You will kill each other in the name of a crown I am not willing to wear anymore. Not if I can’t stand with you. Because I am one of you. I am a soldier. I was trained as one, lived as one in my youth and expected to die as one. But I did not, and that is not for I am smarter, richer or more powerful than you, but it is because my prince was kind. My prince believes that my wish for peace and prosperity for all people is the only way to rule and so do I.”

He let go of the man and the man turned to look at him. In shock he watched Logan Rayne’s tears fall.

“You are the people. You are those who fight our fights. You are more than your generals and your kings. You are what makes your homes your homes. You can end this war now before anything worse happens. You can lay down your weapons and go home. Go home to your families, your animals and your houses and do what you want to do instead of injuring and killing strangers.”

And then Logan dropped his sword to the ground. He looked around the crowd with his chin held high, despite the tears running down his cheeks. He watched his own soldiers lower their weapons. A moment or two passed and the “enemy” did so as well.

Logan lowered his head. A whimper shook his body but he caught himself and looked over the soldiers again.

Weaker but still clear Logan said: “Whoever is hurt may go back to the camps. We will treat anyone who needs help. That includes Raganian solider too.”

A few of his soldiers confirmed and Logan nodded at them. Slowly, he folded his hands behind his back and began to walk towards the camp. Soldiers began to follow him. The closer he got to the camp, the closer he got to the little group of people gathered around the eastern entrance, the more his legs started to feel faint. Someone caught him when he tumbled and he put his hand over his mouth as he spotted the stretcher which was put beside Green’s body.

“Your Majesty?”

Logan looked to the soldier who had caught him. She looked concerned and he tried to regain his balance.

“Excuse me,” Logan said and shot her a half-hearted smile, “today seems not to be my day.”

She just nodded and stayed by his side. They got closer to the entrance and Logan watched as several people lifted Green on the stretcher. People were talking and orders were thrown around hastily as they carried him away and Logan regained a bit more composure and told the soldier that she could go. He would be fine.

“Logan!!!”

But apparently Janus wasn’t.

Agitated Logan looked around until he finally spotted the Royal Advisor running towards him from the entrance. He almost tumbled over his own feet and Logan found himself unnerved but at the same time relieved. He wasn’t the only one to struggle with everything that was happening.

Just before Logan Janus stopped and finally Logan realized that Janus was holding his crown and had red eyes. He felt his stomach sink and his eyes automatically flickered towards the medic who disappeared in a tent with Green.

“Why are they all coming back? What did you do?” Janus asked and his fingers clenched around the golden object in his hands.

Logan inhaled and exhaled slowly. He knew the smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes.

“I advised them to stop. And they did. This battle is over,” he said easily and put his hands on Janus’s.

Janus gulped. There was nothing of his usual composure left, nothing of his snark or his silver tongue. Logan had to take matters in his own hands. Quickly he ordered a few soldiers who were unharmed to spread the news, inform Roman of what had happened. He asked around if anyone needed more help and designated someone to be in charge of the camp for the time being, as he retreated in his tent together with Janus.

Logan soon took a seat on the makeshift bench they had put in the middle and tapped on the spot next to him. Janus sat down. He was fiddling with his fingers, visibly shaken and Logan gave him a minute to collect himself.

Minutes passed and Logan expected Janus to talk but nothing came. He was just unnerved and fearful and Logan decided to put his and on Janus’s knee and waited for his friend to look at him. It took him merely a moment and he met his king’s gaze.

“What is on your mind?” Logan asked kindly his throat feeling dry from the words he had shouted earlier.

In front of him, Janus grabbed the edge of the bench, his knuckles turning white and his shoulders began to shake. And for the first time ever Logan watched Janus begin to cry. He watched as his body shook and his lips refused to stay pressed together and wails and sobs escaped his lips. And despite his own pain, despite his own regret and guilt, Logan sat closer and took Janus in the arm. He knew he was no Roman whose hugs seemed to be able to cure every sadness in the world, but he had to be enough for the moment. And Janus didn’t recoil. He let Logan hold him, buried his head against his chest and gave into the soft pats Logan drew on his back.

And between his wails and tears Janus muttered something. Logan heard it.

“I thought it was Roman. I thought I saw Roman on the ground. Then I thought it was Aneas. I saw his corpse again. I saw it.”

***

Noon and the afternoon passed. Some of the tents were already gone and a few soldiers had already returned to the castle. Logan and Janus would stay here until the next morning when they would get back with the rest of the injured soldiers. They would be treated close to the castle. Green would be one of them, if he survived the day. It wasn’t clear yet.

It was around six in the afternoon when two horses approached the camp, one black and one white with Virgil and Roman on them respectively. Roman had dealt with the first people to come back from the battlefront and had given all the instructions which had been needed in these first moments, before he had put himself on a horse and rode straight towards the battle himself. Because these messages hadn’t been sent by Janus and he needed to know why it hadn’t been Janus who had asked for him.

When he got down from his horse, Virgil close to him, he soon found out why. Janus came running for him, cradled his face the second he reached him and looked his eyes. He was dishevelled and no word formed as he opened his mouth to say something. Anything really.

Roman took him in his arms. He felt his heartbeat speed up and shot a look to Virgil who looked just as alarmed as Roman did. Quickly they tried to figure out where Logan was to get some answers but the king was faster than they were. Logan walked towards them, shot a quick look around and motioned them to follow him into his tent. Janus clung to Roman on the whole way and Virgil ended up patting the Royal Advisors back out of worry for his companion.

The second they were out of earshot from the rest of the camp inside the tent, Roman asked: “Okay, what on earth is going on? The messenger told me that you simply stopped the war with a speech? What happened and what did you say?”

Logan told them to sit down and he retold what had gone down these past few hours. He left out who had protected him and at first it seemed that neither Roman nor Virgil questioned the absence of Green. But there came the point where Roman noticed and finally asked the question.

“Where is Green helping actually? I haven’t seen him yet.”

Logan paused too long. Virgil was the first to realize and shot up from the ground in front of Janus’s feet. Roman looked at him confused and the realisation didn’t come until a few moments later when Virgil began to speak.

“In what condition is he?” Virgil asked.

Roman’s eyes grew wide. His ears were filled with white noise and suddenly everything went black.

***

The one good thing that came out of Roman fainting was that Janus finally snapped out of his state of panic and started to function again. Quickly he had placed the prince on Logan’s bed with Virgil’s help and they left him with Logan in favour of making sure that everything was running smoothly in the camp.

The atmosphere was calm and very little had been heavily injured. And yet Virgil felt how a thick fog of uneasiness was laying about them all. The voices of the people were hushed as they spoke and for once he could tell that it was not because he was close but because of something different. It took a moment for Virgil to catch on but soon he found that the closer they got to the tent where Green was treated the quieter everything had gotten. He asked Janus about it and he told him that everyone, even those who hadn’t known Green before this day, had reacted strongly to seeing him hurt. A few had even started crying despite themselves.

Without saying both men knew that this was not only odd but had to be related to with whatever spell had been put over Green. Yet all of that speculation would be for naught if Green would die of his injuries and as of now none of the medics treating him had come out to tell them anything about his state.

And so, the evening came. Logan and Roman rested in the tent, both feeling rather emotional over what had happened today. Janus, while still unnerved, was now taking care of the organisation and left Virgil to keep an eye on their royals. It was not much that Virgil could do but make sure that both Logan and Roman took their meal, which turned out to be rather difficult in Logan’s case ash he had trouble to keep his food down and decided to only eat a few spoons of the soup they had been given.

After dinner, Logan was lying on his bed, Roman’s head on his lap, as Virgil sat next to the entrance and listened to what was happening on the outside. This form of closeness was not something Logan let himself have all too often and yet he could not imagine how he would do if he didn’t have Roman around. The comfort of the prince’s presence was enormous and was the only thing what kept Logan going at this point.

“We’ll have to find out who he is, after we get back.”

Logan lifted his head and glimpsed to Roman. The vibrant green eyes caught Logan’s mismatched ones and Roman nodded his head for empathise.

“He’s not just someone and we both know it. Our reactions should not be as extreme as they are, Logan.”

Logan bit his lips. Could it not be that all of this was just because they were under such immense stress? That he was this emotional because the air of a war was still occupying the atmosphere? It had to be this and not some weird conspiracy, correct?

“I can’t agree,” Logan said stricter than he felt. “The situation is extreme and we should not make assumptions on several oddly placed coincidences.”

Before Roman could answer, Virgil stood up. Both royals sat up and watched as Virgil opened the tent for Janus to enter. From the outside they heard a few people talk with each other.

The fabric of the opening closed and Janus looked over the two and then to Virgil. There was a short twitch on his lips and he turned back to look at Logan and Roman. Subconsciously, both of them held their breath.

“I just got news from the medics who are treating Green,” Janus said and put his left hand over his heart. “They told me he was in stable condition and can be-”

He didn’t get to say the rest as Logan dissolved in tears of relief. Janus was soon by his side, holding him from the side as Virgil brought him some water. Roman was crying himself but a smile kept itself steady on his lips.

He had been right and now not even Logan could disagree with him anymore.

___

Link for AO3, Taglist, Masterlist, and next Chapters are in my first reblog!

#intrulogical #remus sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #background romantic anaroceit #fatal injury #stabbing #blood #fainting #crying #sobbing #angst #happy end #fantasy au #Never Met You #eir writes #please reblog

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

in the stars tonight | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members - seokjin, taehyung, namjoon]

⇢ genre: series, ANGST, enemies to lovers au, actor!jimin, actor!oc, (eventual) fluff if you squint

⇢ word count: 8.4

⇢ genre: Landing a role that might launch your entire career as an actor had come with the most unpredictable and daunting circumstances: grappling with the tragic loss of your boyfriend, Namjoon, and co-starring in a film with the vexing yet enchanting (and famous), Park Jimin.

⇢ warnings: explicit language, themes of grief/loss, themes of depression, (many) mentions of death, mentions of driving under the influence (please stay safe!!), themes of alcoholism, themes of escapism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of internal dialogue with one deceased boyfriend, arguing/bickering, seokjin being seokjin, eventual love triangle (ish) feud

♪ playlist: dynamite - bts, move! - niki, saint nobody - jessie reyez, through the night - iu, ilomilo - billie eilish, the truth untold - bts, slow dancing in the dark - joji ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: i, and i cannot emphasize this enough, can't believe this came out of me.... it was just a lil idea in my head, but then it expanded into this entire story that was way too long to fit into a one shot. so, here's me serving up a hot plate of enemies to lovers with a generous side of angst and longing!!! i hope y'all enjoy (and hate) arrogant jimin as much as i did hehe <3 ps i have no idea how long i want this series to be i'm lowkey winging it

The world does not slow down for anything. Not for catastrophes or miracles or even something as devastatingly common as death.

When your boyfriend of three years, Namjoon, lost his life due to another's drunken mistake, you realized this. The world revolves on a scheduled orbit, and not even your tragedy wedged a wrench big enough to halt life just a moment. Just to let you breathe and grieve without feeling left behind. However, you were left behind, both by the world and him.

Every sun and moon, every skipped meal, every unfulfilled rain-check, every isolated Saturday night, and every cancelled audition that came as quickly as they left paid tribute to this merciless phenomenon. It seemed you now existed just to watch the days pass, just to balefully relive the moments before Namjoon's passing. And that seemed to have been the only way you could have survived. To make a recluse of yourself because if the world was careless enough to let someone as amazing as him go, then what held it back from spilling even more wreckage into your life? For the past six months, you stuck to the cold, dead past. It was all you had to hold onto; letting go meant plummeting into a depth far too unknown and inescapable.

You and Namjoon were steadfast. You were still steadfast, or more appropriately, stuck now that you had no one to be loyal to anymore.

You and him were one of those couples other people saw and wished they could replicate into their own lives, but when it came down to it, rooted for your happy ending with him. The type similar to that of highschool sweethearts who beat the odds, or the type whose encounter fell along the silver lines of fate. Something beautiful that automatically made all the love poems authenticated by you and him. And when he held you, the idea of worry or evil seemed like concepts that did not exist past fictional tales. So warm, so loving, now gone.

The way in which you and Namjoon grew over the three years you were able to love him was in a convergent manner.

Your branches and vines were woven into his, and his into yours. Even your roots, the elements of your past, began to entangle beneath the soil. To root between each other meant there had been a foundation from which you grew, a stability that was once neat. There was no boundary of which would discern your life from his. And at one, more favorable, point in time, your life did belong to him. Namjoon was someone you only knew for a mere fraction of your life, however the moment he wandered into it, you had unlearned how to continue without him.

You didn't think you would have to relearn.

But then one decision forced you to do so. One person, who decided paying fifteen bucks for an Uber was not a wise enough investment, ripped out the plant of his body from your shared soil by means of inebriated judgment and a missed red light. You had no choice but to absorb the cruel sustenance of the sun completely alone. Most of your branches of life were left barren, with torn twigs where your body once borne fruit and leaves and beauty. But the roots were where most of the pain inhabited. A stubborn, sharp ache resided in your chest, deep enough that you might have had to be cut open and searched through to find the source.

It had been six months of 'Sorry for your loss' and 'Gone too soon' and your personal least favorite 'He's in a better place now'. It made you angry, because was there a place better for him that didn't have you in it? How could anyone know what was better for him when they didn't experience something as tender and gentle and loving as your relationship?

But none of the sympathetic smiles or half-hearted condolences made you quite as angry as the monster who was too selfish to call someone to drive them and consequently punctuating the eternity you were meant to spend with Namjoon. You always followed the virtue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Forgiveness was a sweeter release than anything else, but if you could, you would take that drunk driver's life in a heartbeat. You would have gauged out your own eyes if the chance fell into your reach.

Though, no matter how hard you screamed at the universe for hurting you, despite the countless pleas to somehow retrospectively tell Namjoon not to go out for something as trivial as toothpaste so he might be alive today, holding your hand in this waiting room, telling you that you're going to do great, you knew the world wouldn't stop for you or your sorrow.

It revolves, waits for no one, and you had to pace yourself to jump back into the turning carousel of life.

"___. We're ready for you!" His voice was ten notches above a volume that wouldn't irritate you. The only hint you let slip that his tone made you want to throw this script at his crotch was the muted sigh.

You knew this audition was going to play out like the rest. They would ask you to read, stop you in the middle of your monologue, then say something like 'Thank you for your time, we'll get back to you soon' which was show business code for 'We are not giving you the role'. The only reason you were here was because you had been out of work for too long, the piles of overdue bills on your kitchen table a cruel reminder of that. Plus, you knew Namjoon would have told you to go.

He would have said something like, 'Get your lazy ass out of bed and go to that audition! You don't want Hollywood to miss out on a star just because you want to sleep in fifteen more minutes'. And it would have worked. It always had. Now, the only motivation that came to your aid was the echo of his voice, and even that had begun its slow descent into forget. Other than that, guidance of your own volition was as fleeting and disarrayed as a violent wind.

"Hi, my name is ___, and I will be auditioning for the lead. Jordan." Your hand must have been fielding its way through a nervous tick. The person you assumed was the director was eyeing the way it had been contorting at your side, and you hated showing that you were nervous.

"Perfect! We've already casted the other lead role. This audition will mostly be based on whether we think you'll have good chemistry with him." Him. So your possible running mate was a man. Before a list of names engraved on rows of stars cemented into the Hollywood walk of fame ran through your head, you lifted the script and collected all the air your lungs would allow.

Maybe, you thought, my courage and passion might come with it.

And when you opened your mouth, something magical that you credited to talent claimed sovereignty over your body. Now, you were Jordan. Jordan didn't have a dead boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, or luggage enough grief to sink a depression into the crust of the Earth. Jordan was a kind, low-energy, and sentimental artist coming into an age of overwhelming success and fortune —and love.

That's what alluded you in acting. For a moment, you could escape your life, leave your pain on the back burner while you emerged into someone who was unacquainted with the pain of losing the love of your life. It was akin to a drug, administering an intoxicating fill of temporary serotonin. Instant relief, and if you got this job you would have your fix of this twisted sort of high that tempered the Namjoon-sized void in your life. And Jordan's life definitely seemed to have, quite literally, all the things yours lacked.

"Wow, ___, was it? That was absolutely incredible!" The hand-covered whisper that followed this appraisal gave you time to begrudgingly peel of the Jordan mask. Within a half second, all the pain seemed to compound into your body. If you hadn't already shaped your entire life around that weight, you would have fallen over. Though you had done this, and even worse, you had been shouldering it for so long, you would have felt naked without such a burden. "Okay, well, we have a few more auditions but I think we have our Jordan! We'll send your manager the full script along with the schedule for the first week of shooting in about two weeks."

"Uh-" If you had not said something quick, the opportunity might have slipped away all too fast, the way Namjoon had. You vowed to grab hold of anything remotely good that arose into your life, giving you more than late nights of choked sobs and transfixed gazes out of half-curtained windows. This offer was clutched tightly in your fist. "Oh... Th- thank you! Thank you! Fuck, thank you so much. This means so much to me, thank you!"

Before you proliferated the meaning of the words thank you and the director's smile turned into rolled eyes, you stumbled your way out of the door. Waiting on the other side was a world that might strike against you with partially docile cruelty. The wind pressed against your skin, almost blowing away all your grief with the help of this successful audition.

That feeling, as always, was as comforting as it was fleeting. Because the scars of your past would not have budged for any brash current. Because your next thought disrupted the scant flourish of joy. It was the thing that came easier and sooner to you than eating and blinking; telling Namjoon any news of both good and bad ranks, sharing your life to celebrate or stress over. One of the many things that remained by an undissolvable adhesive along your mind. You tried to soak it away with liquor or smoke it out with weed, but there was no breaking of habits you loved almost as much as Namjoon.

I did it, Joon. I landed my first role. You thought, because that was the closest you could have gotten to relaying the news.

Your heart began to physically hurt. Heartaches were literal in your case. Literal and grim. You felt the grip of loss pierce its sharp thorns into your flesh. It had nearly been as painful as all the times your words were met to deceased ears, speaking to someone that had not belonged to you anymore. Six months had passed and pain cannot tell time in the way people can. So, you knew the marathon of your grief was one that followed its own metaphorical clock. You just had to keep running in hopes you could make it out alive.

Though, being Jordan for the next six months would help momentarily satiate your grief. If there were a remote for your emotions, this role would be the mute button. Your pain would still move as it usually would, but now it would be silent. You wouldn't have to listen to its unforgiving taunts and crippling obscenities. It was only just that you were paid reparations for six months of utter misery with six more months of narcotic, soundless distractions.

Two Weeks Later

If the universe had given you one good thing, it was skill and dedication to your craft. The script was memorized in just short of four days, and even a sizable amount of lines of the other characters had been stacked atop your memory. Doing an acceptable job at this role wasn't something that was worried you. In fact, the idea of wearing another's life on your body and on your heart was something you looked forward to.

It was a bit difficult to convince yourself how good this natural born gift was when the universe took something that felt a thousand times more crucial to your existence. Acting, or anything else that planted joy in you, was a consolation prize for merely participating in life. Namjoon was the reward you were meant to win in the end.

And you had no idea what the hell to do when the prize becomes in all of the sense of the word unattainable.

You hadn't driven in six months, despite the run-down Honda parked in front of your street, desperate to be given some sort of purpose. It was too much. Ever since the accident, the idea of manning a wheel that could take away more than it could ever offer was a responsibility you felt entirely too daunted to assume. Even though seat hogs, missed busses, and overcrowded walkways had been inconveniences of an indescribable level, it wasn't enough to put your body into the same vehicle that derailed your life.

Luckily, the bus stop was only three blocks away from the studio. It gave you plenty of time to get into character, however it also nestled in a span of time for Namjoon's voice to filter in and out through running your lines.

He talked to you a lot. As much as it made you want to cry, you held onto it, feeling as though it might be the last of his voice you'd be able to recall. If Namjoon's internal commentary were to suddenly disperse, you might forget his voice entirely. And you wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but you would always answer back. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes, when company forced you into sanity, you responded mentally. It kept you separate from life and any form of interaction with actual people, but it felt better than living in a world without him. Additionally, it helped keep his voice alive, which when you thought about it, was such sick irony. His voice, alive, his heart and mine and soul, dead.

And that was the only downside to acting. When there was another mind you had to engage in, Namjoon couldn't have broken the barrier and his voice wouldn't even register as an echo. Perhaps that was why you waited so long to dive back into your job. It felt synonymous with betrayal to do anything that would sever your connection already hanging by a single, fragile thread.

"___? Hello?" You were immune to every condescending gesture or vernacular weaponized in Hollywood by now. Your makeup artist's snaps fell into the base of annoyance you had grown used to. "Did you hear me? You're all ready."

Her voice wasn't too abrasive. If anything, you should be the one apologizing for dazing in and out of consciousness. Though, Namjoon's sweet compliments about how beautiful you looked with your stage makeup should have been the one to acquire this remorse.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, tired. Not used to waking up at six in the morning quite yet."

"Well, get used to it, or you'll have a rough few months ahead of you." Her laugh had shed whatever shell of pretentiousness once veiled her previous impression. "I'm Nayeon, by the way. I've heard many great things about you, ___. Let's hope you live up to the hype."

Nayeon's nudge was friendly, and it comforted you that within the first day you hadn't pissed off the person who could easily turn your face clown-like with a few heavy strokes of her brush. She was beautiful, too. If she hadn't been dressed in a black T-shirt strewn with foundation and powder stains, then you would have mistaken her for an actress.

"Let's hope so... I guess the director was selling me better than myself." Your eyes scanned the area, though no one seemed a fitting candidate to be your lead. "So, who's the other lead?"

"Park Jimin. I'm surprised they didn't tell you yet. I guess it's some obscure, artistic director decision to keep you in the dark. I’m lowkey fangirling right now… But, don't tell anyone that." Before you could respond, let alone react, Nayeon had collected all the products she needed for her next subject and was about a yard away from you. "Good luck, rookie!"

Park Jimin. You've definitely heard of him, but it surprised you that someone like him accepted a role in a romantic, indie, coming of age film that had not the budget to pay half of what he usually made in his repertoire of previous movies. He was certainly what one would consider an 'A-list' celebrity. The type paparazzi actually cared to stalk, and fans recognized in public, but were too shy to approach due to his sheer intimidation. It hadn't eased your nerves that he was notoriously withdrawn when it came to the behind the scenes portion of shooting a movie.

And, like any decent person, you did your very best to refrain from placing judgments without the opportunity for them to fill in their own narrative. Most of what you ‘knew’ of Jimin had been hearsay. However, you had some hunch Jimin wouldn't qualify as one who labored tirelessly for the roles he had landed or authenticated any sort of compassion with his rising fame.

See, acting and snagging a big role in a movie was characterized as a tall building for you. If one reached the top floor, then they would assume a wealth of opportunities and Oscar nominations and acclimation. Of course, this film industrial structure had various modes of climbing to the top. Some had stairs which called for more excretion and effort but still, all you needed were persistent legs, then each step would eventually get you where you wanted to be.

You had more of a ladder. Each wrung was slanted at an angle of which only deepened your brawl with success and had not been sanded down enough to save you from a generous supply of splinters. After a while, your hands began to ache and the fear that some high-society type would kick the base of your ladder always stalked the forefront of your worries. It certainly had not been a choice means of arrival to whatever awaited you on that top floor, however it was the only one available.

And while you had a ladder to overcome, Jimin had an elevator. The most he'd ever expend to reach that coveted floor was a few presses of a button. And perhaps his only sacrifice would be sharing the elevator with one or two others. Things just worked out for people like him. And an elevator’s delivery was always in a manner that was quicker than the likes of a staircase or a ladder.

When he arrived on set, dragging himself like his own body was a weight he shouldn't have to carry himself, you fought that instinct of yours to assume everything you needed to know from him.

Just because he's wearing sunglasses inside doesn't mean he's some arrogant asshole, even if that is the most cliché character trait of one. This internal lecture was certainly of Namjoon's doing, since he was always one to never run out of allotting the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah, I guess. But, come on, he looks like a fucking idiot. You replied as if he were really there before walking up to the callous man with your gauntlet thrown down by default. No need getting on Jimin's bad side, because you were sure it's complement was being blacklisted from the film industry. Instead of sharp edges you offered him a non-threatening smile and handshake.

Play nice. Namjoon reminded you before you had the chance to decide what you wanted to say.

"Hi! It's such an honor to be working with you. I'm ___." Jimin looked at your hand like you had filled it with mud and were intending on smearing his Gucci jacket, which you assumed was worth more than your monthly apartment rent. "Um, wanna touch base before we start shooting or..."

If his admonished glare at your hand wasn't encouragement enough to retract it back into yourself, then what he said, or more fittingly, what he didn't say next was.

The way his sigh infused a scoff within it made you feel small. It felt like fire, how thoroughly it burned you into a pile of ash, but then it felt like a gust of prickled wind that would scatter your remains completely. If it had not been for the way his head shifted from your head to your toe, you wouldn't have known that his shielded eyes were trailing the length of your body. Such a glare seemed like a calculation of your worth; it must have totaled out to that of a fly he had to swat away because the second you stood on the outside of his peripheries you stopped existing in his world altogether.

His back made a longer impression on you than his eyes, and that was your que to huddle yourself in the corner and stick to the two things you were best at.

Imaginary conversations with Namjoon and rerunning through your already memorized lines.

Before you say anything, I already think he's a prick. It might be pathetic to have instigated theoretical conversations with your dead boyfriend, but the world wouldn't know he would have scolded you first for already constructing an agenda to avoid Park Jimin whenever you could. You just felt an itch to lay down the first word.

You never know, maybe he had a bad day.

Yeah, well people like him don't need to be professional unlike the rest of us. I mean, I'm on the verge of openly conversing with you and I'm the one that has to turn the other cheek? Your script was decorated with a number of wrinkles. Proof that your anger was sleeping from your insides in the form of tightly gripped hands that were pretending to pinch Jimin's skin instead of the script. For once, you felt some grain-sized semblance of luck for having a grasp of acting to pull off pretending to love Jimin.

"Hey." You weren't quite thrilled to meet the person you had imagined pushing down a staircase standing over you. Without his glasses, it was difficult to remember why you had been so angry with him and you hated that. His eyes consisted of more than just irises and pupils, though you would not have been able to place what exactly accompanied these features. They were just eyes, after all, parts of a body. Functional. Mechanical facets of being. And yet, his seemed more than that. More than just sense mechanics. Perhaps beauty.

But for him to have been beautiful, it would have tainted the very idea of beauty.

"We're about to start shooting. Don't make this difficult, I'm trying to leave on time."

"Okay... Sure." Those were the two words you substituted for the 'fuck you' itching to crawl from your throat.

"I'm Jimin, but you know that already." The way he spoke was punctuated as though it was a waste of his time to spend any attention on you. If you weren't already drained of your strength from that tube of toothpaste that was some sort of paraphernalia of the night Namjoon became an article of your past, then you would have rolled your eyes or retorted with something that would knock him down a peg.

"I do." Your own weak will bothered you more than Jimin. "Um, I-"

"Let's not." Though he had no idea what you were about to say, a part of you agreed to not even indulge in small talk with him. It would be too forced and uncomfortable and that might leak into your performance on camera. Still, he had an abrasive way of going about it that made you want to disagree with him just to be able to lie contrary to him.

"Fine." It rolled off your tongue easily, like silk. His lingering eyes had you wondering if you somehow impressed him with your passive agreement or insulted him for not groveling for his approval. Either one would have satisfied you.

"Alright! Looks like you two got acquainted. We're jumping right in." The director, Kim Seokjin, was chirpy. Even if this project wasn't necessarily mainstream or highly anticipated, he was the type to salvage all his passion and pour it into anything he created. It comforted you knowing someone other than you found this to be somewhat life changing. "Please, Jimin, ___, on your marks. This is the scene where you two meet, so we're hoping you two can infuse that feeling of being slightly awkward but nevertheless enthralled in each other's presence. Got it?"

"Yessir." You said, and Jimin only produced a nod which seemed generous for him. Fighting the urge to snarl or squeeze your brows together came as a difficulty you had to practice at.

"Slate! Quiet on set..." Seokjin’s voice filled the empty space of the entire studio.

"Scene one, take one." Just as the snap of the slate reverberated through the room, your eyes changed just as abruptly. Your gaze upon the set transformed it into your reality. You looked at Jimin and now saw Laurie, a young soul filled with enough dreams and kindness one could have mistaken him for a cloud; the kind that spoke in loving whispers and gentle caresses. He reminded you a lot of someone else you knew.

You tucked Namjoon's voice away with the rest of your grief and became Jordan.

Amazing things seemed to happen when you least expected them too. You guessed that was the nature of amazing things, for if you expected them then they probably wouldn’t feel so amazing. About halfway through the scene, after a number of cuts, re-shoots, directorial notes, you noticed something. Or more so, this something willed you to notice.

Once you fell into stride with your character, it became easier to pick up on the person acting opposite of you. Maybe you hadn't given Jimin enough credit before. You knew maybe was an understatement, though you felt a sting admitting talent had fallen into his hands just as all his accomplishments had.

Jimin's acting rested on the side most polar to your own. You replicated, he revolutionized. You became your character, shrinking yourself enough so that one wouldn't have been able to tell who you were beyond who you were playing. Jimin, however, made the character his own. There was no minimizing his own body to fit into the mold of the character. Jimin was the mold, and he sculpted the character to fit along himself. He forged his movements, voice, and confidence into whichever role he played and brought life to someone strewn with a signature of his own soul polishing said character. All the while, he was inventive with each intention and emotion that were strung into his lines.

It was difficult to pull this off, being that you could easily begin to just play yourself in a movie and neglect any character mannerisms that you were supposed to portray, however Jimin seems to slip in and out of his role with ease. And with each take, he peppered in more dimensions to a character. He gave meaning and depth to a person constructed onto a paper script until you couldn't believe this person didn't exist in real life.

That was the amazing thing that kept your well-rehearsed lines behind an impermeable wall of reluctant admiration.

What hadn't helped, though seemed to have been timed to a tee to unwind your sensibility, and timing had always worked against you like you had done wrong to it, was the part when Laurie was written to sneak his hand along your waist after Jordan stepped backwards into his body.

His palm felt so warm. So warm that the entire world felt too cold for you to be anywhere but apart from his touch. Then, all your lines spilled from your recollection. He was standing close behind you, the plush of his cheek tickling your ear and sending the entire world away so you and he could reserve this moment just for yourselves.

"Your line." His whisper wouldn't be picked up by the mic, though it had no trouble debilitating the rest of your senses. Did he intend for it to blur any sort of attraction his character felt for you into the life beyond the camera?

The director called cut to the scene, and it felt like a lifetime before you were released from the entrapping heat of Jimin's body. When you spun around, hoping you could at least dig through your throat to pull out a deflated apology, the smirk laced along his lips illustrated every bit of his arrogance and once again shut you up.

From the way his eyebrow was arched, you assumed he must have read your mind. He knew what he did to you, and it reminded you of everything you disliked about Jimin. Presumptuous, prideful in his taunts. It also reminded you that he stood many floors above you in this architectural competition of acting. You were grabbing hold of each wrung as you went, unprepared for something as disarming as Jimin. All he had to do was peer down at the sight of you to make you feel a hundred times lower than him.

“___? What’s wrong?” You looked over to find Seokjin’s half worried, half irritated expression.

“No, nothing. Sorry, I just blanked for a second.” Jimin’s snide chuckle at your confession to a faulty performance didn’t help simmer the burn of embarrassment.

"It’s okay, I get it.” The director offered a smile as a peace offering, and since he looked not seven years older than you, it had you assuming he was the laid-back type. “Let's take five. We'll block a few of the scenes and finish the rest of this and we'll call it a day."

You made your nest over at the snack bar. Shoving half of a donut into your mouth had almost resurged your energy. Nayeon made a swift return to pat your face with more powder.

"Hey, you're pretty damn good." You were stuck with a mouthful of donut to null any chance of responding. "Except for when you kinda just shut down at that last scene."

You would have felt embarrassed, or rather more embarrassed than you currently did, if it weren't for the light laugh that followed. All you had to reply with was a shrug.

"I mean, I don't blame you. Jimin's pretty hot and if I were cozying up to him during a scene I'm sure I would also fuck up my lines." Nayeon finished applying whatever touch ups she felt necessary, not without a suggestive eye arch. This either meant she was going to shuffle over to another actor in need of visual repair or she would stay and talk. Her continued monologue advocating for Jimin's talents and good looks proved the latter was what you had in store. "I mean, damn. Also, I'm pretty sure he's got abs under that shirt. So, are you into him? Is that it?”

"It's not like that." The harsh delivery gave an impression contrary to what you said. "I mean, I just... He's just really good at this. I guess I got kinda intimidated."

Normally, you would have sought Namjoon's voice ringing in your head about how you could do this, reminding you how he believed in you. It would have gotten you through the scene however, Jordan didn't know Joon.

"Well, he won an Oscar for a reason, babe." You finished the rest of your donut and begun a prowl for another savory comfort food. "I mean, damn, twenty-five and already winning Oscars and getting nominations. It ain't for nothing."

"Yes, this is helping so much, thank you." You twisted in sarcasm as if that would make you seem any less intimidated. Again, Nayeon laughed off any shroud of roughness coating your words.

"What, do you want me to lie? Is that how you want to start this friendship, with lies?" Her elbow nudged you, and that alone communicated more than the brief exchanges you two shared. Now, you had a friend. Someone else to talk with that wasn't a figment of your own imagination.

Look at you, already making friends. Your smile was not as hidden as you attempted for it to be. Namjoon's little encouragements had that effect on you.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing." You scarfed down the mini muffin, turning towards Nayeon. "Just happy my makeup artist goes easy on the blush."

She winked, and you felt ready to be sent back into the throes of this film. You weren't keen on Jimin feeling closer to a competitor than a partner in this project, however if that is how he wanted it to be, you were never one to submit so easily. You were determined to level this playing field, and your communion with victory felt like a well-deserved birthright.

"Thought I told you I wanted to go home on time, rookie." You watched his lips shape such venomous words, since his eyes, the unnamed, nearly beautiful presence, might have sunk you back into that state of speechlessness.

"I take it you're not a method actor, since Laurie is so sweet and you're a fucking ass." It felt good for all of one second before a series of reprimands fueled by none other than Namjoon now had you on the brink of apologizing.

"Feisty, huh?" Again, his lips eased out sharp words as if they would not nick the plump skin as it went.

You hoped Joon had nothing to say about how you were now tracing the lush of Jimin's lips. And yes, it had been six months, though you knew your love-ridden heart had yet to free its hands from grabbing hold of Namjoon, still, the feeling of attraction, no matter how brisk it might have been, felt like you were committing adultery. Adultery, over someone who was dead. You weren't the one who left him behind, and at the same time, you never got that shiny patent of closure. There was no break-up, so perhaps that was an explanation as to why your heart was foolishly stuck in love, never realizing its oath to loyalty was graced upon the deceased.

You thought of love now, while you were supposed to be getting into character. You thought of the one thing you once had held worn so easily, and now you had been chasing it knowing your legs weren’t enough to catch up.

There was a well in your eyes, supplied by the same source which fossilized a ragged lump in your throat. And you must have blinked twice as many times as you normally would since Jimin's eyebrows met halfway between his forehead as he watched you. Or, more disappointingly, he might have noticed your tendency to grow red in more places than just the whites of your eyes when you were about to cry. Holding those tears in hadn't helped with keeping your skin less flushed.

It frustrated you that he might have noticed, which only twisted you tighter into the verge of crying. You knew it was unlikely that his watchfulness of your pre-breakdown expression was due to a lapse of genuine concern. For all you knew, he was subtracting even more value from your worth, plummeting you into negative integers.

And if you weren't so dedicated to your craft, then you wouldn't have the ardor nor the ability to pull off acting like you loved him.

Nayeon is a good makeup artist, I think you have a thick enough cover of foundation and powder to hide it. That of course, along with any sliver of light in this dark tunnel, had always been attributed to Namjoon. He was the reason you kept going, the reason you had been able to get out of bed to drink a glass of water once in a while, the reason you did not completely break down every time a tube of toothpaste fell into your line of vision. Him and the memorialized voice was what chipped the lump free from your throat and dried your tears before they had the chance to spill.

"What-" Whatever motivated Jimin to ask you something had been gone almost immediately after it sprouted.

"Quiet on set!" There was no way you'd figure out what he was going to say if the director had mandated pre-shooting silence.

The rest of your day went accordingly. Nothing too devastating happened that cleared away the momentum of excitement of this being your first big role. Though, not that you weren't beyond grateful for this chance, you made a chore of reminding yourself to be aware of your good fortune.

And, with the help of a few well-placed improvisations that made you seem somewhat of a visionary in your craft, your previous mistake had been washed with water under the bridge in the director's eyes. It escalated your ego and confidence to watch Jimin scavenge for an unpracticed reaction to go along with the slight details or lines you infused into the scene. At a certain point, you could almost describe him as impressed with your acting. Maybe enough to bump your worth up a few decimals, not that that should be occupying your worries.

"Wow, ___! Look's like we hired the right thespian. Great work! By the looks of it, things will flow easier from here." The director, who you finally felt on a first name basis with, approached with a hug. Though, usually this would have sent red alerts, you could tell Seokjin had no ill intentions of the predatory type. "Also, you two have chemistry, but it's not quite there yet. I want this to be believable. There has to be some real life element of camaraderie if this story is going to be genuine."

"So, what exactly are you asking of us?" Jimin, of course, sounded all but thrilled with whatever Seokjin was suggesting even when it hadn't been specified yet. And though you hadn't expressed it outwardly, this aversion for what Seokjin has been suggesting was shared.

"I don't know, get to know each other? Method acting works usually. I mean, Jared Leto did it for that movie and he seemed pretty crazy." The attention was never yours to claim once Jimin had already pressed his phone to his ear and Seokjin was off reevaluating the shots taken today.

You were alone again. Surrounded by an entire crew and cast, but alone nonetheless. Your version of escapism was never as consistent as you needed it to be. All it took was a moment of stillness for you to drift into some place much darker than your current reality. Jordan was sealed away for now, and you were trapped in your own body. It felt horrible. Being you without the man who loved and cared for such a kindred soul felt no different than writhing in pain. Being you without him was empty. Before long, you might have fallen faint in front of your coworkers.

The only target you could acquire as of now was Jimin, taken away from the world for reasons much less burdensome than your own. Where you had a plight of grief to sift through, Jimin had a phone and most likely a supply of friends to text and busy himself with. Seokjin wanted you to get to know him, try your hand at method acting so to speak, and that was the excuse which allowed you to walk over and try to kindle some sort of conversation.

"Hey, so, uh..." The pause came to no avail, since it seemed as though you could have said nothing at all judging from his reaction. "Hey."

It took a fictitious clearing of your throat and three more seconds of unwavering silence to lure his eyes from his phone.

"What?"

As it had been for this entire day, everything involving Jimin was made to be some sort of challenge. A feat you had to overcome without an ounce of reprieve, just to remain standing.

"Seokjin said we should, like, get to know each other. Or, at least get along. I think that's a good idea." His eyes gave absolutely no clues to anything below the exterior of an expressionless face.

"Why are you trying so hard?" You waited for him to laugh, or even for a laugh of your own to slip and loosen the tension. A laugh to make what he just said a joke, victimless banter, because it would have been wildly insulting if that were the most genuine thing he had said to you all day.

"What the hell does that mean?" Your arms were crossed as if that would keep your heart safe from his cruel tactlessness.

"I'm not taking this shit seriously." He laughed, but it wasn't the one that you wanted previously. It sunk wounds deeper, with such a dull edge too. "It's just a side job so people think I'm humble, or whatever my manager said."

The puzzle began to piece together, it took this admittance from Jimin for the picture to emerge from ambiguity. This movie was some form of damage control for his reputation, and that might be because your accurately placed criticisms of his lackluster humbleness did not stand solitarily. Your big break had been reduced to a convenient plot of image reconstruction. You were familiar with anger, it was one of your trickier stages of grief to surmount, but it still affected you to the same degree as before.

He didn't expect a response. You could gather that much from the way he instantly turned back to his phone, rendering you nonexistent once again. Namjoon would have told you to remain civil. But Namjoon was gone. It hurt to think that way, but if his voice hadn't emerged to mitigate this situation now, then Jimin was yours for the taking.

"You're a fucking ass." It seems brash was the only approach to seize immediate attention from Jimin. His eyes widened as if you had grown twice as large and the vision of you wouldn't fit in his narrowed, judgmental glare. "This may be a joke or a throw away gig for you, but this means a lot to me."

"Wanna back off, Jesus. I only-"

"No, I don't wanna back off. I haven't had the best year, and having a co-star that treats me like shit isn't really helping either. And, I get it, you're some sort of elitist who thinks they earned their success." You scoffed, tethering his eyes with yours as though there were a string tying them together. And with each step closer you took, the knot only secured tighter. "But people like you, men like you, don't do shit to earn where they are. But it's so cute the way you think you did! Truly, it's embarrassing watching you flaunt your ego around like you actually have something to be proud of."

"So it's like that, huh? You know, I was almost starting to respect you." The fact that his delivery suggested this was some sort of badge of honor made him all the more pathetic. You should not have put it past Jimin to boast over paying a fundamental level of respect where it's due.

"Wow," You doused a generous layer of sarcasm over your throat so the words came out so. "Basic human decency? From you? How can I ever repay you for such kindness?”

"I said almost."

"You're pathetic."

"Like you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well at least I don't pretend I'm hot shit." The tip of your shoes finally closed the gap between his. Again, you were snared in his warmth, however it didn't feel as tranquil as before. Now, it was closer to a pot of boiling water, evaporating flesh and bone until you were steam floating along the air, bendable and displayed out thinly.

"You don't pretend because you're just that bad of an actor, huh?"

It suffocated you, being this close with him; the blurry details of his face became sharp this way. His eyes were hypnotically watchful of your lips, preparing for your next gambit. You surrendered only a smirk, hoping it would antagonize him. And you could have sworn standing at the furthest point of the Earth from Jimin wouldn't appease this invasive thronging. The universe had yet to expand wide enough to provide an acceptable distance away from him. Until then, you were left with shallow bouts of breath tasting of metallic hatred, hoping those would alchemize into words that would make you seem more intimidating that you really were.

"Please, I could act circles around you. Your performance is transparent. Anyone with a scope of the basics of acting could see through you."

"Is that so?" You hated how quick you had been to notice his tongue slip along his lower lip. He must have found this delicious, patronizing someone who only had 'friend number five' or 'cashier' as proof of their employment. Jimin was greedy, devouring all the blood spilled from his wounding retorts.

In some perverse way, being the focus of his attention had you feeling fulfilled. Jimin, the man commonly sought after among the demographic of teenagers and middle-aged women. Not only were you proving your merits of qualification to act alongside him, but you had something to prove to yourself. You weren't going to let Jimin push you around without pushing him right back. You were strong enough to fight. It seemed to have come natural to you to enjoy provoking anger in him. It felt as if you were finally accomplishing something that was unattainable to anyone else.

And even if you wanted to retreat, his gaze guaranteed your obedience. It was a battle, along with every other exchange you have had with him. Even when silence was the only parcel between you two, when the only semblance of noise was heavy, jaded inhales, it felt as though you and he were at wits to gather more air than the other. To see who would fall breathless first.

"You're pathetic." His words hit like physical blows, and you might have had to check for bruises along your ribs and torso from the churning sensation in your stomach.

"If I'm pathetic, I don't know what that makes you." You wanted your rebuttal to feel like fire. You wanted to scorch and sear blisters along his flawless skin for proof of any successful hit. “A privileged boy with enough of daddy’s money to get him any job he wants. But, I’m the pathetic one?”

He appeared unscathed, with one end of his lips rugged upwards, mocking you without needing any of the words to do so. Perhaps he'd gotten the best of you, as you were searching through your arsenal of refutes only to find it overspent. It would not have surprised you to discover his supply of acidic insults piling without a visible dent.

His eyes looked fully employed in studying you, and you felt disrobed to be under such scrutiny from a stranger. Jimin seemed to have been reading you like words on a page, armed with a twisted smile that was unnervingly addictive, but you tried your hardest to keep your book closed. You didn’t want him to know how weak you really were.

"God, you're so-"

"Oh, great! Both of you are still here." Seokjin's voice reminded you that there was a world of events beyond you and Jimin. For a moment, you had felt secluded into a universe constructed especially for any collateral destruction that might have come of whatever war was about to be waged. "I have some notes for you two. Go home, read, digest, and come prepared tomorrow! I have full confidence in the two of you."

"Thanks." Succinct yet not lacking any tonal sentiment, Jimin got the first word in with the director, leaving you scrambling to find yours.

"Thank you." You were frustrated in how recycled your responses felt after Jimin handled them. Actors like you always fed on scraps of the higher-ups, and they were never as appetizing or filling as you would hope.

"See ya, ___." Your name sounded awful on his tongue, like his voice had filtered out the good parts of it and the waste remained spilling from his lips. Like dirt or decayed flesh, or both, and saying your name was akin to saying a slur.

"Fuck you." Those words couldn't sift through your screwed jaw or muffled throat, but it gave you satisfaction that it had been said in the slightest.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the bus stop that the realization pummeled you down a hole you hadn’t recollected being dredged. That whole time, what might have been the product of a mere ten minutes, was the longest segment you had gone without thinking of him.

It was the most intimately you had ever engaged in a conversation with someone other than the late, imagined voice in your head. And it was the most you've gone without consulting with said voice before speaking. You simply spoke, and listened, and responded; like you were normal. You couldn't tell whether that was good, because maybe you would finally be able to move forward with the world, perhaps catch up with the life you were supposed to be living. But, at the same time, the guilt festering something acrid in the pit of your stomach had you convinced this wasn't entirely sunny skies and bright futures.

"I'm sorry." What frightened you, besides your mental slip to keep the words meant for Namjoon in your head, was the unreturned sound of his ringing through. It took the longest ten seconds of your life for the mental silence to be furtively trimmed by your own train of thoughts.

Jimin had done this to you, that you were entirely sure of. Jimin and his carnivorous tongue and greedy glare had drained your head of its second conscious. The one it had adopted when Namjoon's body could no longer harbor it. And that's how he lived on, through you.

Jimin took that away, somehow. You could almost kill him for it, but you had not favored a life in prison nor tabloids that headlined the Park Jimin being murdered or 'Crazy, Jealous Co-star On Murderous Rampage Targets Jimin'. So, for the time being, all that was accessible was quiet hatred.

And you took that over nothing. You hated Park Jimin.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts angst #bts x reader #bts series #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin enemiestolovers!au #actor!jimin #jimin x reader #jimin series #bts enemies to lovers #in the stars tonight #rubycoast

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phoenix-downer · 5 years

Text

Royalty AU

For SoKai Week Day 4 - AU Day

So a month or so ago I shared an excerpt from a Royalty AU I’m working on. This is the prologue and first chapter from that AU, which includes the excerpt, but I’m excited to finally be able to share it with you all! I’m hoping to eventually post the whole thing, but for now, enjoy!

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Prologue

Once upon a time, the many worlds were one great World. The people could move freely between one realm and the next, coming and going as they pleased. But then a great catastrophe split them apart and made the one World the many worlds. The truth was all but lost, living on only in legend and fairytale. All until a brave explorer from Radiant Garden journeyed into the stars to seek his fortune and found another world instead.

New pathways were opened; new means of travel invented. And before long, the worlds were connected once more, and the explorer declared ruler over all. He appointed ruling families over each of the worlds to ensure the subjects of his kingdom were treated fairly and justly.

He was loved by all, and the day of his passing proved to be a time of great mourning. But his daughter proved to be a worthy successor to his name, and so was her son, until a long dynasty of kings and queens had ruled over the worlds, their family name synonymous with greatness and Radiant Garden, their home world, their flourishing capital.

Along with this dynasty came cultural changes and new traditions. Before long it was customary for the heir of the ruling family to choose a spouse from among the ruling families of the other worlds. In this way the family line continued on, bringing in people from many different worlds under the explorer’s great name.

And so as soon as the newest heir to the throne was born, a little princess named Kairi, the other ruling families began their jostling and competing anew for favor from the royal family in the hopes that their young sons would someday join her side as husband and king.

One such family had an heir only a year older than the princess. His name was Riku, and from a young age the princess took a liking to him and to his bodyguard. Even though Sora was a year younger than Riku, his family had served Destiny Island’s royal family for generations as their knights and protectors, so it was only natural that the young Sora would carry on his parent’s legacy and protect Riku. The two were inseparable, and on Riku’s many visits to Radiant Garden to see the princess, Sora was always by the prince’s side.

As the years passed and the three children grew older, an air of resignation settled over the other worlds. Riku’s place at Kairi’s side seemed all but guaranteed. He and Sora were with her every moment their families could spare them, and whispers and rumors of a royal marriage flitted from one eager ear to the next.

But then tragedy such as the worlds had not known since their sundering struck. Strange creatures of darkness emerged from the shadows to steal the hearts of the people and then the hearts of the worlds. And one fateful night, they came to Destiny Islands.

Prince Riku fought bravely with Sora by his side to defend their homeland, but the creatures were powerful indeed. In the end, not even Riku’s Keyblade, the prized weapon of Destiny Island’s ruling family, was enough to defeat the darkness. And so the world was engulfed, and its people lost along with it.

Princess Kairi was fourteen years old, only four years away from being able to marry. Girls her age were encouraged to celebrate their youth and indulge their fancies before settling down into the responsibilities of marriage and adult life, but Kairi wanted no part in such frivolities.

Her usual cheerful manner mellowed into something more serious, more somber, and she wore tomboyish clothes and insisted on learning how to wield the royal family’s Keyblade. It reacted to the strength of her heart, changing shape and design till it matched her tastes, proving she was the true heir to its power.

“No more worlds will fall to darkness,” she vowed, and the deep heaviness in her eyes, which once had been full of life and light, had everyone whispering.

“See how she loved Prince Riku!” they said to each other. “See how she mourns his loss!”

Of the lost prince’s knight not much was said at all, for the people cared little about those who had no royal blood running through their veins.

Soon the whispers turned to speculation, because now that the obvious choice for the princess’s hand was no longer a contester, hopes long dormant for the futures of young sons reawakened, and the jostling began again.

The princess would have no part of it. Any time the subject of marriage was broached, she was either silent or insisted she would not marry. This brought her parents great grief, as without a husband there would be no heir, and without an heir, no claim to the throne, for she was their only child. And so the months turned into a year, and then into two years, and then three, and before long her eighteenth birthday was at hand.

“The future of the kingdom is at stake!” her father the king cried in a fit of exasperation one evening over dinner. “You must marry!”

“I won’t!” Kairi slathered her dinner rolls with enough butter to make her mother scowl. “I don’t need a husband. I can rule just fine without one.” She stuffed the rolls in her mouth and glared at her father, violet eyes flashing and temper flaring.

“Your ability to rule is not what is in question, dear,” her mother said. “Our concerns lie with what happens after you leave this world and join our ancestors in the land of Kingdom Hearts.”

“I have cousins,” she said, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “One of them or their children or their children’s children can rule after me.”

“Isn’t there anyone at all who holds your interest?” her father pleaded, gripping the edge of the table. “What about that fellow you met the other day, Prince Hans was it—”

Kairi set her glass down with so much force its contents nearly splashed out. “No. Absolutely not.”

“But surely there’s someone who suits you?” her mother asked.

“There was,” Kairi corrected. “There was someone who would have suited me just fine, but he’s gone now.” A wistful look entered her eyes, and she rested her chin on her hand and sighed.

“Prince Riku?” her mother asked, but Kairi was silent.

“Kairi,” her father said, more gently this time, “we know how you feel about the loss of Riku, but you are young. You can find love again.”

“But I don’t want to,” she said. “All of the princes I’ve met weren’t right for me at all. And I don’t think I was right for them, either.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep searching,” her father said.

“Kairi, what if we held a ball for your birthday and invited the princes from every world to attend?” her mother asked. It hadn’t escaped her notice how much her daughter liked to dance. “That way you have a chance to meet them in a less formal setting.”

Kairi played with a strand of her red hair. “I do like dancing,” she said slowly.

“And there won’t be any pressure,” her mother quickly said. “This is just so you can meet more eligible boys.”

Kairi chewed her lip. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to meet more people. At the very least, it’ll be good for figuring out who’s best suited for fighting.” She giggled. “Maybe I can challenge some of them to a joust, even.”

Her father groaned, because ever since Destiny Islands had fallen, it was battle this, strategy that. Not even a ball for her birthday was enough to get her mind off the conflict and the creatures of darkness that had claimed her friends. No other worlds had fallen to darkness since then, but the threat loomed over everyone and tragedy had only been prevented through painstaking measures.

“Then is it decided?” her mother asked, and she nodded.

How little any of them knew just how much their lives were about to change.

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Chapter 1 - The Masquerade Ball

“A fox mask? Very clever, dear,” Kairi’s mother said as she took her own mask, an elegant swan with luxurious feathers, off the dressing table and put it on. “It suits you well.”

Kairi grinned and lifted her mask up, the faux fur tickling her cheeks. “I don’t want anyone to be able to recognize me until the right moment.”

“And a masquerade is just the right thing for that. Maybe you’ll get to know some of these princes as yourself instead of as the princess of our lands.”

“That’s the idea,” Kairi said, putting the mask back on and readjusting it over her hair. She’d suggested the ball be a masquerade, and thankfully her mother had agreed.

The truth was, she missed the easy intimacy she’d shared with Sora and Riku, even coming up on four years since their loss. If just one other guy would treat her, not like royalty, but like Kairi, then maybe, just maybe, she might—

The sharp pang in her chest told her no. But it was too late to cancel the ball now; the guests would be arriving soon. The early birds probably had already. Kairi tugged at the poofy skirt of her dress and sighed. It was just the right shade of pink that looked good with red hair, but it was stifling compared to her battle clothes.

She summoned her Keyblade. It was a good match for the dress, elegant and graceful with its colorful flowers and ocean waves. Her eyes lingered on the little paopu charm hanging on its keychain, another reminder of what she’d lost.

Paopu fruit wasn’t native to Radiant Garden. But it was to Destiny Islands, and all the advisors in her father’s court had raised their eyebrows when they’d first seen it. For a Keyblade reflected its bearer’s heart, and something about Destiny Islands was dear to hers, they’d all said.

Not something, someone, but there was no use telling them that. They thought her Keyblade would change once enough time had passed, but it hadn’t. It still looked the same as the very first time she’d summoned it.

“Kairi, dear? Is everything alright?” her mother asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

“Yes,” she said, hastily letting her Keyblade disappear. She let her mother fuss over her just a little bit longer, and then it was time to go greet the guests.

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“Would you like to dance again?” asked Kairi’s… very enthusiastic dance partner. He wore a weasel mask and had curly blond hair that popped out all over the edges. Going by his size, tone, and manner, he couldn’t be older than fourteen. He was very sweet, but Kairi was about ready to duck into a side room for a break. She made a big show of panting and fanning herself to make it seem like she was exhausted so as to spare his feelings.

“Sorry, but I think I’ll sit this one out.” She nodded towards the refreshments table halfway across the ballroom. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll—”

“I can go get something for you!” he said, and with that he was off. Kairi groaned. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. She’d lost count of the number of partners she’d danced with after the tenth guy. Even with her mask on it seemed like half the guests had already figured out who she was.

“Would it be rude to hide?” she wondered aloud to herself as she stared after the boy.

“Not if you have a partner in crime,” came a deep voice in response. Kairi turned to face the newcomer, because her mask made it nearly impossible to use her peripheral vision.

He was taller than Weasel Boy and wore a yellow leopard mask and well-fitted suit. His hair was slicked back, and Kairi was drawn to his smile. It was contagious, and she couldn’t help but return it.

“And you are?” she asked, tugging at a strand of hair that had escaped from her disguise.

He pointed at his mask. “A leopard. I know, I know, it looks like a cheetah, but—”

“Does not.” She took a step closer and stood on her tiptoes so she could poke one of the spots. “See? They’re too big to be a cheetah’s. Clearly a leopard.”

His smile grew even wider. “At least someone around here has the right idea.”

Kairi grinned. Part of the reason she’d wanted a masquerade in the first place was because she liked animals so much.

“And who do you think I am?” she asked. A test, to see how he would answer, to see if he was just like all the others.

He was silent for a moment. “A fox,” he finally answered. “Though if it’s okay with you, I think I’ll call you Miss Fox.” He looked in the direction of the refreshments table. “Looks like Mr. Weasel will be making his grand return soon. If you’re still wanting to hide, now would be a good time to escape.”

“Well, Mr. Leopard, take me away,” she said, giggling as she offered her hand. He took it, and off they went, winding through the crowd with ease and getting lost amongst the throng of masks and colorful costumes. His grip was strong, the skin on his hands rough and calloused. Probably from holding a weapon – perhaps this mysterious stranger was a warrior of some kind.

He led them away from everyone else and into the garden outside. The evening breeze was a welcome relief from the stuffiness of her dress and mask, and she sat down on the smooth marble of the fountain. A sculpture of one of her ancestors held a koi that spat a steady stream of water into its basin, and Kairi dipped her hand into the cool liquid.

“Now that we’re away from prying eyes…. Who are you, really?” she asked, running her fingers through the water. “I feel like I’ve met you before.”

“Maybe you have, princess,” he said softly.

Drat. So he did know who she was. Still, it was hard to ignore the way her heart had sped up at the change in his voice.

“Are you a prince?” she asked.

“I’m a leopard,” he said as he examined the nearby rosebushes, searching for something.

Kairi chewed her lip. His tone made it clear he didn’t wish to discuss the matter any further, but she really did want to know who he was. It was only fair, since he knew her identity.

“How do you know who I am?” she asked as he turned his attention to the next flowerbed.

“The mask doesn’t hide your hair.”

Kairi sighed. She should have worn a veil or hood if she’d really wanted her identity to stay a secret. “What, is my hair color famous now?” she asked. Red hair wasn’t that unusual, even it was a trademark of the royal family.

He paused, bent over a group of snapdragons. “Your beauty is spoken of throughout the worlds, yes.”

“Is it really?” This was news to her. Maybe that explained the increase in suitors lately.

“Yes. And they say you grow prettier every day,” he said.

“What else do they say about me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual as she flicked water onto the koi statue.

He straightened and turned to her. “That you’re becoming a great warrior. That you’re shaping up to be a worthy successor of your father. And… that you refuse to marry despite your parents’ wishes.”

She thought she saw his lips twitch at that, but then he turned away and resumed his search.

“Well, the last one is certainly true,” she muttered, her hand going to her necklace and fiddling with it. “This whole ball is a ploy by my parents to find me a husband.”

“What, you don’t want to get married?” His tone was inquisitive, almost disbelieving.

She sighed. “Not to any of the princes they have in mind, no. None of them suit me, and I’m not right for them at all, either.”

She thought of the latest meeting with Prince Hans. Nope, not her type. Not her type at all.

“So you aren’t against marriage, just against marrying the wrong person,” he said, running his fingers across the velvety leaf of a Lamb’s Ear before turning his attention to the next group of flowers.

“Exactly,” Kairi said. Why could this stranger understand when her own parents couldn’t?

“Was there ever… was there ever a right person?” he asked.

She was taken aback by the boldness of his question. He had no right to know such things, and yet… she found herself compelled to open up to him.

“Yes. But he’s… he’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was far heavier than she was expecting it to be.

“It happened several years ago,” she said, as if that somehow lessened the pain. Everyone expected the wound to have healed, but no matter how much time had passed, she still couldn’t get over his loss.

“And yet your voice betrays you, princess,” he said, his voice low. “There were rumors, you know. Rumors about a prince—”

“He wasn’t a prince,” she said. Why did everyone always think it was Riku? It was true, Riku was her friend, but he was like a brother to her. And yet everyone always thought he was the one she—

“He wasn’t?” the stranger asked, his voice slow and deliberate with just a touch of surprise.

“No. His friend was. He was training to be a knight.”

“A knight?” he asked, his voice going up a few pitches.

“Do you have something against knights?” Kairi asked, raising her eyebrow. Too bad he couldn’t see it through her mask. It was true, the other royals tended to be snobby about class, but… for whatever reason, she’d hoped for better from him.

“No, it’s just that I—” He paused and cleared his throat. “I thought the royal family only allows its heirs to marry members of other ruling families.”

She shrugged. “It does, but I don’t care. As soon as I’m queen, I’m changing the rules.”

“You haven’t given up hope, then,” he said. “You think he’s still alive.”

Kairi’s hand went to her heart. “Yes. Because… because I can… oh, forget it,” she said, her cheeks flushing. She was grateful the mask was hiding her face right now.

He smiled sadly and held out a purple flower, plucked right from the garden around them.

“You should listen to your heart, Kairi. It’s never lead you wrong before, and it sure hasn’t now.”

An aster. Her favorite flower. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. The deep voice, the slicked back hair, the disguise concealing his face—she hadn’t realized. She hadn’t known. But the moment he’d said her name—

Heart pounding, fingers trembling, she stood and reached for his mask. He lowered his head so she could more easily inch it off his face. First his nose was visible, then his cheeks. His features were more angular now, the plumpness of childhood almost completely gone, but as soon as she saw his eyes, she knew. They were as beautiful as ever, no, maybe even more beautiful – blue as the sky, but hinting at a depth of experience and wisdom that hadn’t been in them before.

He’d changed in their years apart. But his smile – well, that would always be the same. She smiled back and touched his face. His skin was dry and rough, like he’d spent hours and hours outside in the wind.

“You’re alive,” she said softly. “You’re really here. This isn’t a dream.”

He closed his eyes and melted into her touch. Her fingers traced a path across his cheek, and he took a deep breath and sighed. She found a small scar that hadn’t been there before, a little dent on his forehead. Frowning, she ran her thumb across it, wondering how it had happened.

“All this time, I believed you were alive,” she said. “And yet— I wouldn’t listen to my own heart. Everyone told me you were dead, and I—”

His eyes opened. “Who told you to doubt yourself?” he asked, catching her hand and putting his over it, the ridges of his fingertips brushing over her own. “Who told you to doubt me?”

“I… I was afraid—”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’ll always come back to you, Kairi. I promise.”

She fought back the tears. She’d dreamed of this moment, but she’d never thought it would actually come true.

He reached for her mask and gently tugged it off, a look of awe and then wonder filling his eyes. “The rumors were true,” he said, almost reverently. He ran his hand through her hair, brushing the parts that had gotten tousled out of her eyes.

The mask was no longer there to hide her face from him. What did he see in it? Were her feelings on full display?

She had the sudden urge to tousle his hair. It didn’t seem right for it to be slicked back like that. So she did, running her fingers through it in a way she only could have imagined before. His hair was softer than she thought it would be, its strands smooth and silky. As each spike returned to its rightful place, he looked less like a stranger and more like the Sora she knew.

“Sora, what happened?” she asked presently. Happy as she was to have him back, she still wanted to know the reason for his long absence.

“There’s a lot I have to tell you, but now’s not the time,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We need to find Riku first.”

“Riku’s alive?” she asked as he led her past flowering shrubs and rose bushes and back towards the castle. She’d hoped, once she’d found out about Sora—

“Yes. He’s here, but—”

“Princess!” a thundering voice called as they reached the outskirts of the party. A dozen heads turned Kairi’s way, and she ducked behind Sora and sighed.

“Drat, I’ve been spotted,” she muttered.

“Sorry, I should have let you put your mask back on first.”

Well, they had two options: they could try to run away, or they could face things head on.

Kairi was tired of running. She was tired of hiding. So she clung to Sora’s hand and dragged him through the gathering throng and back inside the ballroom instead.

“Kairi, what are you—”

“Trust me,” she commanded, and he didn’t say anything. Which meant they could hear the whispering and murmuring that much more clearly as she parted the crowds with her mere presence. Fancy ball clothes or not, she was still heir to the throne, and the people knew it.

“Who is he?”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“Is he a prince?”

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t look like royalty.”

“Why is the princess with him?”

“She shouldn’t mingle with commoners.”

“Are they promised to each other?”

“She has good taste if they are. He’s handsome.”

“If she weren’t dragging him along like a drowned rat, I’d make a move myself.”

“Why him though?”

“Well, even our princess has needs.”

Kairi shot the gossiper a glare. “You will not speak about me or my fiancé that way.”

That got him to shut up. “My apologies, princess.”

“Kairi, w-what?” Sora sputtered. She turned to look at him, and his eyes were wide.

“I told you. Once I’m queen, I’m changing the law. It won’t matter. Nothing will stop us from being together.” She resumed their march to her parents.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, tugging back. “You can’t just—”

“Oh yes I can. We’re engaged, got it?”

“But I didn’t even propose!”

“Well, I just did. Who says we have to do things the old-fashioned way?”

He stopped again, and that forced her to stop, too. “But I just got back. Don’t you think this is a little fast? You don’t even know where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing—”

“None of that matters. All I care about is that you’re here.”

He squeezed her hand. “Kairi, please. We have to talk.”

She hesitated. The way he was looking at her right now, he must be very serious about this, and Sora had been so rarely serious in their happy childhood days spent together that she knew this must be important.

But before she could offer to take him somewhere private, her parents spotted them from the top of the grand staircase. At some point they had taken off their masks, maybe because enough people had figured out who they were anyway. Her father’s mouth had dropped open, and her mother looked as if she’d just seen a ghost.

“Sora? Is that really you?” she called down.

Sora’s face broke into a grin. “It sure is, Your Majesty,” he said, letting go of Kairi’s hand so he could bow. “Knight and Personal Guardian of His Royal Highness, Prince Riku, reporting for duty.”

Well, it was now or never. Kairi grabbed a hold of his hand and led him up the plush red velvet stairs.

“Is Prince Riku with you?” her father called.

Sora glanced around and frowned as he and Kairi continued their ascent. “He is, but he must be, er, a little busy at the moment—”

Her mother pulled a lacey handkerchief out and dabbed her eyes with it. “Oh thank goodness! Both you and Riku safe! But how?”

“It’s a long story, Your Majesties. We ended up in this place called Traverse Town, a haven for people whose worlds have been lost to darkness, and then—”

Her father waved his hands as they reached the top of the staircase. “Well, never mind about all that. We can discuss it later. Kairi, this is great news, don’t you think? You and Riku can marry now, just like you always wanted!”

Sora coughed and shifted next to her, and Kairi cleared her throat.

“Actually, father, the man I want to marry is before you now.”

Multiple emotions warred across her father’s face at this. Her mother, on the other hand, didn’t seem terribly surprised.

“Sora?” he asked incredulously. “He’s not even a knight yet, let alone royalty!”

Sora scratched his cheek. “About that, Your Majesty, Riku did knight me, otherwise I wouldn’t have used the title for myself. I passed all the tests, and—”

“No. I forbid it!” her father cried. “You must marry a man from one of the ruling families! That is the law and it cannot be changed!”

Kairi glared at him. “I don’t care what the law says. I’m going to marry Sora!”

Her father’s face turned red at her outburst. “Enough! You will not marry a commoner, and that is that!”

“Sora’s not a commoner, he’s a knight! Besides, that law is old and stupid and I don’t care what it says! If you won’t let me marry Sora, then I won’t marry anyone at all!”

The ballroom, which had been deathly quiet in the wake of her argument with her father, let out a collective gasp.

She turned and looked at them all. “You heard me right. There is one man in all the worlds it would please me to marry.” She took Sora’s hand in hers and smiled at him. “Sora will be my husband, if he’ll have me.”

Sora’s hand was sweaty, and he took a deep breath and swallowed. “I—”

Her father interrupted him before he could answer, a vein bulging in his forehead. “If you accept my daughter’s proposal, then she will have to give up the throne! Think about her future, Sora!”

Her mother put her hand on his shoulder. “Dear, isn’t it best if we—”

“Fine!” Kairi said, sick of all of this. Sick of the nagging. Sick of being told she couldn’t marry who she wanted. Sick of being told she had to marry some man she didn’t love, all for the sake of keeping up appearances. “I’m gonna marry Sora, and no one can stop me! I’ll… I’ll give up the crown if I have to! At least this way I’ll be happy! At least this way I’ll get to be with a man that I—”

Her father held up his hand. “Enough. We will discuss this more in private.”

Before he could continue what he was about to say, the room went dark. Kairi whipped her head around to see what the disturbance was.

There, in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by green smoke, was a tall, elegant woman dressed in black and purple robes and wielding a staff. A large raven was perched on her shoulder, and as a smile curved across her lips, a sick feeling settled over Kairi’s stomach.

“My oh my, what have we here?” she said at last, her voice smooth as silk. “A royal ball for a royal princess?”

Kairi gripped Sora’s hand tighter. The way the woman’s icy gaze had fixated on her made her stomach flip. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed her father whispering to one of the guards and her mother gesture for another one to come over.

The woman chuckled as she surveyed the people frozen around her, and her laughter was icy, chilling. “Look at everyone here tonight! All the nobles from all the lands! Truly the event of the year!” She looked at Kairi again, and Kairi’s blood ran cold.

“Who are you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady despite her racing heart.

“My name is Maleficent, Your Royal Highness, and it’s a shame I wasn’t invited to attend.”

#sokai #sokaiweek #sokaiweek2019 #sora #kairi #kh fanfiction #phoenix writes #phoenix downer #royalty au #romance #pining #reunion #long post

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cinema-tv-etc · 5 years

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Franco Zeffirelli: Film and opera director who revelled in the lavish and theatrical

The last of Italy’s post-war cinema giants, Zeffirelli worked with many of the greatest stars of the 20th century

Tom Vallance - Saturday 15 June 2019

Franco Zeffirelli, who described his style as “lavish in scale and unashamedly theatrical”, was one of the most influential, flamboyant and controversial designer-directors of the 20th century. His Florentine background and love of the Renaissance permeated his diverse work, which encompassed theatre, cinema and his greatest love, opera.

Initially an actor, then designer of sets and costumes, Zeffirelli – who has died aged 96 – confounded his mentor and lover Luchino Visconti by successfully becoming a prolific director who triumphed at La Scala, Milan, with his first operatic production, then stunned Covent Garden with his vivid staging of Cavalleria Rusticana and Pagliacci. His Shakespearean productions at the Old Vic included a legendary version of Romeo and Juliet with Judi Dench, and a rapturously received Much Ado About Nothing with Maggie Smith, Albert Finney and Robert Stephens.

His best films were either Shakespearean or operatic ones, and included The Taming of the Shrew with Taylor and Burton, a Romeo and Juliet with two teenage unknowns, and Hamlet with Mel Gibson – plus a sumptuous film of La Traviata and a sweepingly dramatic, though drastically reshaped and cut, version of Verdi’s Otello with Placido Domingo. The treasured Covent Garden productions of Lucia di Lammermoor with Joan Sutherland and Tosca with Maria Callas were his work, and he created one of the most lavish opera productions ever seen with his Turandot at the Metropolitan.

On television his epic production Jesus of Nazareth has become a worldwide staple. He worked with both Olivier and Gielgud, and he gathered together an all-star cast for his film Tea With Mussolini, loosely based on his own childhood memories of the expatriate British ladies in Italy who helped raise him just before the Second World War. He also fought with the Italian resistance during the conflict, found God when he was nearly killed in a car accident with Gina Lollobrigida, and since 1960 had been heavily involved in right-wing politics, eventually becoming a member of the Italian senate, representing the Forza Italia party in 1996.

Born out of wedlock in Florence, Italy in 1923, his surname was the result of an accident. Since his father would not acknowledge him, and his mother was married, he had to be given an invented name and his mother chose Zeffiretti, after the “little breezes” of an aria in Cosi Fan Tutte, but it was misspelt in the register as Zeffirelli. He was raised by a peasant woman for two years, then after his mother was widowed she took him into her family, but her death when Zeffirelli was six years old resulted in his being passed to his father’s cousin, Aunt Lide.

His initial ambition was to be an architect, but Lide’s lover Gustavo was an amateur baritone, and he introduced the boy to opera and the cinema, both of which were to be life-long passions. He later described his reaction to his first opera, Die Walkure, as “hardly a refined appreciation, more like a child of today gawping at Star Wars”.

He had his first real taste of theatre when, while fighting with the partisans in the Second World War, he met the music and ballet expert Richard Buckle and helped him stage a troop show. Seeing Olivier’s film of Henry V chrystallised Zeffirelli’s ambition. He recalled: “I knew then what I was going to do. Architecture was not for me; it had to be the stage. I wanted to do something like the production I was witnessing.”

After the war, he was working as an assistant scenic painter when he met the man he described as “probably the single most important person I have ever known”, the director Luchino Visconti. On their first meeting backstage he told Visconti that he was an actor, to which Visconti replied: “So you should be, with your looks.”

Visconti gave the youth small parts in his stage productions of Crime and Punishment (1946) and Eurydice (1947), and he made his screen debut in Luigi Zampa’s L’Onorevole Angelina (1947) starring Anna Magnani, after which Visconti used Zeffirelli and Francesco Rosi as his assistants on his film La Terra Trema (1948), filmed on location with a cast of Sicilian fishermen, and distinguished by its superb photography. Said Zeffirelli: “This is my main debt to Luchino in filmmaking: his passionate attention to detail. Everything was always researched to a point far beyond the needs of the actual scene. You immersed yourself in the period, the place, its culture, so that even though the audience might not take in every detail they would be absolutely convinced of its essential ‘rightness’.”

For a production of As You Like It (1948) Visconti hired Salvador Dali as designer but, when the surrealist’s plans proved impractical, Visconti asked Zeffirelli to help out. He then gave Zeffirelli the first work for which he was independently credited, as designer of Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire (1949).

Visconti and Zeffirelli were now living together in Rome, but worked separately for a spell before reuniting for the film Bellissima (1951) starring Anna Magnani, on which Zeffirelli again served as an assistant. After working briefly with Rossellini and Antonioni, he designed one of Visconti’s greatest theatrical triumphs, a production of Chekhov’s Three Sisters (1952), and worked as his assistant on the film Senso (1954), but the often stormy relationship of the two men was coming to an end.

When Zeffirelli was asked to design a production of Rossini’s L’Italiana in Algeri at La Scala, he saw it as an opportunity to break with the world of Roman theatre. With its cast clad mainly in light blues and whites, the sunny production of 1953 was rapturously received and the manager of La Scala, Antonio Ghiringhelli, decided to follow it with La Cenerentola (1954) with the same creative team.

But director Corrado Pavolini had fallen ill, and Zeffirelli, with the backing of Simionato, asked if he could be both director and designer. The result was another great success, and the director’s first experience of handling a large chorus.

Zeffirelli was immediately asked to direct two productions the following season, Donizetti’s L’Elisir d’amore and Rossini’s Il Turco in Italia (both 1955). He was also told that Maria Callas wanted to sing Donna Fiorilla in the Rossini and had specifically asked that he should direct it.

Zeffirelli had first met Callas when As You Like It had been running in Rome at the same time as Parsifal, in which Callas sang the role of Kundry. Tullio Serafin, who was a major influence on Zeffirelli, introduced both him and Visconti to “this very plump Greek-American girl with a terrible New York whine allied to a rather prim, matronly manner. She sounded awful and looked worse.” Then she had sung, and Zefirelli had been entranced. “I followed her to Florence to see her Traviata and hung around her dressing room like a lovesick boy,” he recalled.

Zeffirelli would shortly realise his longstanding ambition to direct a film. Camping (1957) was a modest, sentimental story of two young lovers on a motorcycle, but the public liked it. He was then called back to Dallas, Texas, to stage La Traviata for Callas, and succeeded in eclipsing Visconti’s previous staging with an audaciously cinematic production, using multiple sets and dispensing entirely with the interval between the second and third acts.

At the end of 1959 Zeffirelli was invited back to Covent Garden to create new productions of Cavalleria Rusticana and Pagliacci, which were to prompt the Old Vic to ask him to direct Romeo and Juliet, with the particular request that he reproduce the Mediterranean feeling of his opera productions. For this Zeffirelli was determined to use a truly youthful leading pair and cast two young players starting out, Judi Dench and John Stride. “Judi was small and doll-like and looked even younger than her age, just the way I’d always imagined Juliet should be,” he said. The production, so different from all previous accounts of Shakespeare’s tragedy – the director even replaced the balcony with battlements – was loathed by London’s theatre critics next day, who condemned the acting, the sets and the direction. But the following Sunday London’s most respected critic, Kenneth Tynan, called it “a revelation, even perhaps a revolution ... The Vic has done nothing better for a decade.” Romeo and Juliet immediately became a sell-out and extended the length of its season.

The following year, 1961, Zeffirelli directed Fastaff at Covent Garden, then made his debut at Glyndebourne with L’Elisir d’amore. In Dallas, he staged a controversial Don Giovanni with Joan Sutherland and Elizabeth Schwarzkopf, setting the opera in the burnt-out aftermath of a catastrophe, then returned to England to create an Othello for the Royal Shakespeare Company at Stratford. It turned out disastrously. Wanting an elegant, cultured Othello, he cast John Gielgud, with young Ian Bannen as Iago. “Whatever chemistry makes a director and his actors work was missing with us three ... Gielgud and Bannen were like oil and water and somehow Gielgud and I never seemed to react together.” A few months later the Old Vic Romeo and Juliet opened in New York and was a critical and commercial triumph, with Zeffirelli receiving a special Tony Award for design and direction.

In 1967 he directed his first major film, The Taming of the Shrew (1967), starring Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, and described by one critic as “a mixture of classical Shakespeare, the Marx brothers and a Renaissance painting”. It was a great success, and Zeffirelli followed it with Romeo and Juliet (1968), starring newcomers Leonard Whiting and Olivia Hussey. Writer Bruce Robinson, who played Benvolio in the film, later claimed that Zeffirelli tried to seduce him, and that he was the model for the lecherous Uncle Monty in Robinson’s 1987 film Withnail and I.

Given a small budget by Paramount, Romeo and Juliet made $50m – the highest ratio of investment to earnings in the history of the studio. “The effect on me was stunning,” he said. “It made me a lot of money, transforming me from someone who’d always lived at the limits of his income to someone who could be described as rich, and it elevated me from being a European celebrity to someone who was famous internationally.”

A few months later Zefferelli was critically injured when the car he was in, driven by Gina Lollobrigida, skidded and smashed into a barrier, sending him through the windscreen. Months of facial surgery preceded his return to work with a triumphant staging of Pagliacci and Cavalleria Rusticana at the Metropolitan. His accident had delayed his plans to film the life of Francis of Assissi, which he thought relevant to the “peace and love” movement of the Sixties. Titled Brother Sun, Sister Moon, the film appeared in 1972 and was criticised as simplistic and naive.

In 1975 Zeffirelli embarked on a project that would take two years to complete – an ambitious television miniseries based on the life of Christ, titled Jesus of Nazareth. Featuring a starry cast supporting Robert Powell as Jesus and Olivia Hussey as Mary, the series was screened worldwide over Easter and was given the exceptional accolade of a mention by the Pope in his Psalm Sunday message.

Zeffirelli next staged Alfred de Musset’s Lorenzaccio for the Comedie Francaise, and a triumphant Otello at La Scala (both 1976). Starring Placido Domingo, Mirella Freni and Piero Cappuccilli, with Carlos Kleiber conducting, Otello was the first La Scala premiere to be televised live.

A second de Filippo play, Filumena, was another hit for the National, after which Zeffirelli went to Hollywood. Though his films The Champ (1979) and Endless Love (1981) attracted audiences, they were decried by critics.

Returning to La Scala in 1981 to stage Cavelleria Rusticana and Pagliacci, both starring Domingo, Zeffirelli filmed both productions, partly in the opera house and partly on location in Sicily. When shown on television in the US, Pagliaci won both a Grammy and Emmy. Teresa Stratas, the film’s soprano, then starred in La Boheme for Zeffirelli at the Metropolitan, and he realised he had the perfect star for a filmed version of La Traviata. When Jose Carreras declined to play Alfredo, Domingo accepted the role.

Visually entrancing, and extremely moving, La Traviata is one of the finest opera films. The film version of Otello is comparable in its power and spectacle, though marred for purists by some drastic cutting.

In 1985 Zeffirelli designed his first ballet, Swan Lake, for La Scala, his revolutionary approach – particularly his replacement of tutus with calf-length dresses for the ballerinas �� causing Mikhail Baryshnikov to withdraw from the production. He then made a film his detractors seized on – a ludicrous account of Toscanini’s early years, Young Toscanini (1988). The director was happier with an impressive Hamlet (1990) starring Mel Gibson, and a television film of Don Carlos (1992). But a version of Jane Eyre (1996) suffered from the mismatching of its leads, Charlotte Gainsbourg and William Hurt.

The cast of Tea With Mussolini (1999) was high-powered, including Maggie Smith, Judi Dench, Joan Plowright, Lily Tomlin and Cher, and made Zeffirelli’s labour of love watchable if unsatisfying.

His last films were Callas Forever (2002), a dramatisation of the singer’s last years, and Tre Fratelli (2005). In 2003 he was nominated for a Laurence Olivier Award for his set designs for Absolutely! (Perhaps), and in November 2004 he was given an honorary knighthood.

In 2009, he was awarded the inaugural Premio Colesseo, which is given to those who have enhanced Rome’s reputation.

Franco Zeffirelli, film and opera director, born 12 February 1923, died 15 June 2019

https://www.independent.co.uk/news/obituaries/franco-zeffirelli-obituary-film-theatre-director-italy-romeo-and-juliet-tosca-maria-callas-a8959971.html

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 5 years

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i don't think you got my ask, so I'll resend it just in case. i was wondering if you could recommend a good fan fic with a lot of feelings and that will suck it me until i finished.

Hey Nonnie,

I’m going to recommend some of my favourites. Feelings galore, I assure you! These are all fics that I read over and over and over again because they’re just SO GOOD. All of them are complete, with an interesting and beautifully developedpremise, outstanding characterisation and just all-round excellent writing. Enjoy!

Hugs, Marjan

Glass Houses by @sanctumslider

In an alternate universe, all babies are born with a level of empathic sensitivity to others; an ability to sense emotions, to glimpse deep into a person’s soul with just a kiss. Except Kurt Hummel. Registering at a mere 0.5 on the Hawkins Scale of Empathic Sensitivity, Kurt has resigned himself to a lonely life, empty of touch or true love. That is, until the mysterious Blaine Anderson transfers to McKinley, and everything Kurt thought he knew was changed. But finding love is never easy, even in a world where everyone’s emotions are shared. This is the story of the boy who could not feel, and the boy who felt too much.

Catalysis by @nadiacreek

Kurt Hummel chose his soulmate too early. Blaine Anderson thought he’d never have a chance to choose one at all.

Missing Pieces by @sunshineoptimismandangels

Even after living in New York City for three years Kurt Hummel still hasn’t found love. He thought that the city of his dreams would make all of his dreams come true, but maybe he just isn’t made for romance. That is until Kurt is home for the summer, helping his father run his growing Android Repair shop and getting to know hid dad’s latest acquisition, a handsome and sweet android with curly hair, and a kind smile and a love for musicals. Maybe Kurt will discover that love isn’t what he always thought it was.

It’s Not Babysitting by @anxioussquirrel

AU, present time. Kurt Hummel is 28 and has been living in New York for ten years now. He has a good job, nice apartment and two best friends anyone could wish for: Sebastian, a snarky lawyer, and Cooper, a workaholic investment specialist. What he doesn’t have is luck in relationships. But then Blaine, Cooper’s 17-year-old brother comes to NY to spend the summer. He turns out to be gorgeous and quickly develops a huge crush on Kurt…

Westerville Abbey by @hkvoyage

Blaine is the second son of the earl of Westerville, and is considered the spare heir. After his 18th birthday, he attends the London Season to fulfill his duty of finding a wife. He soon realizes he is more attracted to the new footman. Kurt, who has just arrived at Westerville Abbey to work alongside his father, becomes equally as smitten with the earl’s youngest son. Will Blaine and Kurt be able to overcome their class differences in 1910s England? Will their forbidden love survive WW1? A Downton Abbey inspired historical Klaine AU.

Chrysalis by @flowerfan2

Just after graduating from NYU, a car accident puts Blaine into a coma. No one expects him to wake up. Almost three years later, Kurt sees a man in a wheelchair who couldn’t be anyone else. A story of love and new beginnings. Canon compliant through 6x11, then AU.

Vegas Verse by imaginentertain

This verse contains two fics, and in my opinion, the sequel surpasses the first story, which is quite a feat, as that one is superb already.

Serenade My Heart by @mrscriss2012

Kurt Hummel is a hugely successful actor, who suddenly finds himself having to take care of three small children. Blaine Anderson is a struggling musician, hired to teach piano. Only, Blaine has never taught piano before, and Kurt has never had to be a parent before. It’s a voyage of discovery for all of them.

Blaine’s Muse by @lady-divine-writes

Blaine is an artist with the perfect life, hopelessly in love with his husband and his muse, Kurt. But when a tragedy takes his muse away, how will he find the strength to go on?

For Better or For Worse by @antarcticbird

Kurt and Blaine are the perfect match - according to their test scores. Reality looks a little bit different.

True Like by DualWielding

Kurt loves his job at the off-Broadway theater. As for Blaine Anderson, Kurt might have to work with him, but he doesn’t have to like him.

Written On My Heart by @gingerfic

Kurt draws Blaine’s name in a massive secret pal exchange at work. He doesn’t know Blaine, and thinks he is giving to a female. Will he decide to reveal himself and actually meet Blaine at the end of the six weeks?Meanwhile, he has started noticing an attractive stranger…

Don’t You Want Me by @quixoticity

Blaine Anderson’s plans of a life spent performing were derailed in his senior year, and he had to compromise on everything he’d dreamed of - except love. Kurt Hummel, haughty and aloof Broadway darling, was forced to come back to Ohio where there was nothing left for him but painful memories - until he noticed a pair of fine eyes. (Pride & Prejudice inspired, but set in present day)

Desperate Times… by @caramelcoffeeaddict

Blaine Anderson is a college student studying theater. He is also a well known porn star that goes by the name Devon Anders. When Kurt Hummel starts having some financial difficulties he asks his classmate Blaine to help him get a job doing porn.Virgin!Kurt / Pornstar!Blaine AU

Stripped Bare by @missbeizy

Blaine is a married, twenty-seven year old businessman. Kurt (aka “Porcelain”) is a performing arts student who works as an erotic dancer to put himself through college. The last thing they expect to find in life is each other.

Still Good by legallyblained

This is my family. I found it, all on my own. Is little, and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good.

Kurt and Blaine are both single dads, and their complicated lives end up getting tangled together.

Keep my heart captive, set me free by @keepmyheartcaptive

D/s AU - Kurt Hummel had always dreamed of a fairy-tale bond, a perfect, kind and caring Dom. Blaine Anderson had always dreamed of someone who stands out from the boring crowd, someone real, and pure. When their worlds collide, will either of them get what they had dreamed of?

Too Late by @zavocado

When Blaine came out at sixteen, everything changed. Fifty years in the future, sixteen year old Kurt is still hiding himself away, lost in the misery of a friendless high school life with only the memories of a dark-haired, kind boy who helped him when his mother died. A story of lost chances, saviors, and how love transcends the limits of Time. soulmates!Klaine, AU

Threadbare by @merikg

Slave!Blaine AU. Blaine is a service-slave owned by a hotel. He is available for rent as a courtesy to guests to entertain them during their stay. His life is irrevocably changed one night when he is called to to serve by fashion designer Kurt Hummel. Very Klaine.

All I ever need is everything verse by @damnpene

After years apart Kurt and Blaine have moved on from one another and built separate lives. Kurt is developing a quiet reputation off-Broadway. Blaine is a fledgling musical theatre writer and producer on the West Coast.

Then they reconnect - because of the music, because of the theater. Because of course they do.

How Kurt Hummel Loses His Virginity by @scatter-the-stars

Tired of being a virgin, and not having anybody be interested in him, shy and insecure, Kurt, decides that for his twentieth birthday, as a present to himself, he will hire an escort and lose the big V. Little does he know, that when he meets Blaine, his escort, everything will change.

life is like a song by @luthien82

AU-ish - Kurt and Blaine have been best friends since college. They would do anything for each other, which Blaine proves when Kurt confesses he has to go home for a wedding - a wedding where everyone expects him to bring his long time boyfriend. The thing is: Kurt doesn’t have one. But he has a Blaine, who is willing to help. Enter one group of crazy, well meaning friends, a week full of wedding preparations, and lots of sexual tension and you’ve got yourself a mix that’s just bound to blow up in their faces…

Is It Weird? by @a-simple-rainbow

Blaine sends his Topics in Contemporary Music mid-term essay to the wrong e-mail address, writing an extra m where it was supposed to read Humel. Kurt, spending a semester abroad in Paris, is having a challenging night of essay writing and procrastination, and goes a little bit beyond letting Blaine know he got the wrong person, sparking what will soon be described as a “weird pen-palish thing we got going on” that takes them both by surprise and leaves them hopeful and giddy.

Love is the End by @heartsmadeofbooks

After the unthinkable happens on his wedding day, Kurt Hummel has to learn how to navigate life after heartbreak. But he is not alone – his best friend, Blaine Anderson, is there to take him on a journey back to happiness and love.

#klaine fanfiction #all the feels #these fics are excellent i can vouch for them #Klaine #Klaine fanfic #fic finder

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yourdailykitsch · 6 years

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Before it became the location famous for the cost-effective, shabby-turned-chic homes seen on HGTV's "Fixer Upper," Waco, Texas, was perhaps best known for the bungled 51-day siege near the city by federal law enforcement of cult leader David Koresh's Branch Davidian compound, which ended in tragedy in spring 1993.

A new Paramount Network six-part miniseries aims to remind viewers of — or, depending on their age, introduce them to— the harrowing standoff as the 25th anniversary nears.

"Waco" chronicles the days leading up to and the eventual storming of the apocalyptic religious sect's homestead by federal agents. The raid culminated in a deadly fire; in the end, four federal agents and more than 70 Branch Davidian members, including 17 children under age 10, died. In the months that followed, probes into the standoff called into question the tactics and judgment of federal officials on the case.

"Friday Night Lights" alum Taylor Kitsch stars as the charismatic cult leader, while Oscar-nominated actor Michael Shannon ("The Shape of Water," "Nocturnal Animals") plays FBI negotiator Gary Noesner.

The miniseries, which premieres Wednesday, is a key property helping to shape the identity of the Paramount Network, a rebranding of Viacom's male-skewing Spike channel that launched last week, as a general entertainment destination. And it underscores how television programmers are eager to get a piece of the true-crime frenzy gripping viewers.

"The story of Waco is very important, historically, and very compelling," said Keith Cox, the network's president of development and programming. "For us, as we rebrand... it was the perfect piece that we think will really speak to an audience… People love true crime. They just make for really gripping, emotional and riveting storytelling."

(The miniseries has had its own complicated history. The Weinstein Co. was one of its producers, but the producing credits were removed in wake of the sexual harassment and rape allegations leveled against Harvey Weinstein.)

For writers John Erick Dowdle and Drew Dowdle, whose film credits include 2015's "No Escape" and 2010's "Devil," the journey to telling the story of the infamous standoff began four years ago as they were trying to flesh out a villain for an unrelated film script.

"We thought, 'What if he grew up in a cult, like the Branch Davidians?'" John Erick recalled. That led them to a book by David Thibodeau, one of the sect's surviving members, titled "A Place Called Waco."

"Five pages into it," John Erick said, "I called Drew and was like, 'You have to read this.' It was totally different than what I remembered of the news accounts." They quickly came to the realization that unpacking the true story would be more compelling than their fiction.

"We find that people over the age of 35 tend to remember a distorted version of what really happened, the media narrative of the time," Drew said. "And people under the age of 35 largely don't know about it at all, or they've heard it loosely referenced. It was a story that was running the risk of being permanently erased in the history books in a distorted, untrue version. And to some extent, we wanted to tell a more balanced version of it."

The brothers knew they wanted to go beyond the news reports, because in their view, one of the major failures of the media was its distance from the action.

The duo interviewed agents from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms and the FBI, as well as theologians, lawyers and surviving Branch Davidian members in an attempt to offer both an inside view of what unfolded and multiple perspectives of the entities that battled it out over the nearly two- month ordeal. The pair also relied on "Stalling for Time: My Life as an FBI Hostage Negotiator," a book written by Noesner, for insight into the perspective of authorities. Both Thibodeau and Noesner served as consultants on the miniseries.

The Dowdles' goal was to present a "no bad guys" account that would challenge the preconceptions of viewers.

"What we're saying is there's not one right side — it's not the FBI or the ATF or the Branch Davidians who are the bad guys," Drew said. "All three of those entities had complicated situations. It led to some very poor decisions, for sure."

"We wanted to see why people do the things they do," added John Erick.

For Kitsch, that meant not making a judgment call on whether Koresh was a stone-cold psychopath or a disturbed man with a troubled childhood in search of purpose.

"You didn't know what you were getting," Kitsch said. "That was fun to play, because I could turn a whole scene around if I wanted to, and it would be justifiable, because that guy wore his heart on his sleeve and was very emotional and manipulative. He was incredibly loving at times, and then at times just no bueno [not good]...I don't think you'll ever fully understand the why."

The actor, whose other credits include HBO's "True Detective" and "Lone Survivor," says he immersed himself in all-things Koresh in the four months he had to prepare for the role, poring over hundreds of hours of video and recruiting tapes, as well as peppering Thibodeau with questions. In addition to shedding 30 pounds, Kitsch took guitar and singing lessons — Koresh was a skilled musician who led a band made up of his followers — and studied the Bible.

Shannon, who relied heavily on Noesner's book and discussions with the since-retired FBI agent, chose not to try an impersonation, since it was futile — the men are very different physically, he said, "I don't think anyone would ever mistake me for Gary Noesner." Instead, his focus was trying to capture how Noesner's mind ticked, the way he approached his work and the different emotions that resulted from the stressful situations in which he operated.

"It wasn't easy what Gary had to do — that's an understatement," said Shannon, currently appearing in the staging of Brett Neveu's "Traitor" in Chicago. "The challenge of negotiating with David was big enough on its own. But Gary was getting thwarted and second-guessed by his own co-workers, which made it doubly difficult… I was completely fascinated by that."

In attempting to create a mutli-dimensional portrait of all the players, the brothers have been criticized by those who believe they underplay the allegations of child abuse, including statutory rape, made against Koresh and the sect's members.

The Dowdles acknowledge that they don't spend a lot of time exploring the topic, in part because it was "tricky" — while they believe that Koresh, who operated with an Old Testament mind-set, was guilty of statutory rape, they felt that other reports of physical abuse were overblown or inconclusive.

The Waco standoff has been the subject of various film and TV projects through the years but has resurfaced in recent months with the approach of the 25th anniversary. Koresh was one of the many leaders Evan Peters portrayed in the cult-focused season of "American Horror Story" that wrapped its run in November. And it has prompted a number of specials, including the upcoming A&E documentary "Waco: Madman or Messiah."

Cox said viewers too young to remember the events — Kitsch, for example, was 11— or not yet born, will still be intrigued.

"It was a huge event in American history," he said. "But if you don't know it, you're going to find yourself getting on the computer and Googling.'

The last installment will be shown on Feb. 28, the 25th anniversary of the start of the siege. With more than two decades of hindsight, what is the legacy of the deadly tragedy?

"I think it's a pretty terrible one," Kitsch said. "It's something that people can't forget about, but want to kind of just sweep it under the rug… what I've taken away is: Don't be so quick to just formulate an opinion on, like, a headline or something — know the source, know where it's coming from."

#taylor kitsch #waco #Michael Shannon #david koresh

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tentoriwrites · 6 years

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Choose Your Own Adventure Prologue: Uesugi, Date, Takeda

It was early evening as I sat in the central cloister of the teahouse. There was a garden there with a huge cherry tree. The last of the wispy blossoms were hanging from the branches, a stray petal wafting lazily to the ground from time to time. On the mossy ground, leaning against the tree trunk, a moment of reprieve from the busy day found me. I rubbed my fingers over the rough bark of the roots I had nestled myself between. It wouldn’t be long before I would have to get dressed again… With my head carefully resting against the trunk, I looked up at the sky. Brief glimpses of the moon and stars through the branches, still thin of foliage, illuminated the darkening space. I reached my hand up slowly trying to grab hold of the moon, trying to catch it so it would carry me away. I sang a melancholy song I made up a long time ago, when I was young and foolish enough to hope. A prayer to the moon for it to take me away. My song was interrupted by the sliding open of a door directly in front of me.

“I was certain it was coming from here…” A man’s voice said as he came to the edge of the veranda. He was a stunning picture illuminated by the pale moon light filtering through the branches overhead. Had my wish actually come true? Had the Lord of the Moon come to take me away? Surely, he was far too beautiful to be a mere mortal. “This place is absolutely beautiful…” He sighed with a smile as he looked around. Then he caught sight of me amongst the roots and quirked is head to the side. I tried to hide the fact I had been outright staring at him but looking as casual as possible. “You must be the goddess presiding over this garden…” He commented as he crouched down, surely watching my cheeks turn a shade of pink through my white makeup.

“Forgive me, Milord. I am simply an entertainer.” I replied as I got to my feet and bowed deeply to him.

“I’ve never been entertained by a goddess before…” I slowly raised up to see his serenely smiling face. Mine was burning so hot I thought it might catch fire. No one has ever complimented me so directly or openly. “My name is Uesugi Kenshin. May I have yours, my Goddess?” I looked at him wide-eyed. So he was not the Moon come to take me away after all. And yet, I was not as disappointed about this as I thought I might.

“Mejiro is what they call me, Milord Uesugi. Forgive me, I was not expecting you just yet. Please allow me to change into something more appropriate.” My speech sped up as I started to leave. “I’ll have your room prepared right away as well.”

“My room is already prepared.” His gentle voice replied and I stopped to look at him. He just gestured around him with a broad sweep of his hands. “And I doubt any clothes made by mortal men could make a goddess more beautiful than you are now…” I was utterly confounded by this man. I can generally tell flattery for the sake of being flirtatious but that didn’t seem to be what he was doing at all.

“If that is what you wish, Milord…” I replied with a weary smile and a bow. I joined him on the veranda before spotting some people in the room behind him.

“Whoa! She really is pretty, Lord Kenshin!” A young samurai beamed with utmost enthusiasm as soon as he saw me. I just looked at him utterly stunned for his directness.

“Will you ever learn not to just blurt out whatever comes to mind?” A mother hen-ish samurai sighed, rubbing one of his temples as he spoke. Beyond him a hostess was standing in the hall looking at me petrified.

“I’m sorry he just heard you from the other hall and came over.” She explained in a frantic whisper as I approached her.

“Please let them know the change of rooms for Lord Uesugi. We will need the food and drinks brought here now.” I replied with a smile, putting her at ease. She nodded and left. “Forgive me, Milords it will be just a few minutes for the food and drinks.” One of the men looked utterly exasperated by the whole ordeal as I set about lighting the braziers and lanterns.

“You really shouldn’t indulge him. If a room was already prepared you should take us to it.” He sighed rubbing his temples.

“But this room has such a beautiful view. Besides, I found the goddess of a great cherry tree. Surely it was fate that brought us together.” Lord Kenshin went on as everyone made themselves comfortable. “Do you believe in fate?” He asked looking directly at me.

“I believe in the Fate of tragedy if nothing else.” I replied honestly before I could stop myself. I quickly covered in the face of his curious look. “We live in a tragic time, Milord. I am no less aware of that, safe in the walls of this place.” I gestured around me with a small wave of my hands. He smiled sanguinely, a smile so genuine that it threatened to break me then and there.

“It is such a tragedy for a bird to be stuck in a cage…” He mused as he reached his blithe fingers out and caressed my cheek gently.

“Milord! We have been over this! It is not appropriate to just touch people whenever you want!” The rather mother hen type of samurai fussed as he grabbed Lord Kenshin’s hand and yanked it away.

“I just wanted to make sure she was real! You never let me have any fun Kanetsugu…” He pouted as he sat down on the veranda. I couldn’t help but laugh at this odd sort of dynamic between them.

“Milord Kanetsugu.” I commented happily as I moved about the room positioning cushions for everyone. “I have had the privilege of serving a great many people. Not all of them so kind as your Lord Uesugi.” I added as everyone settled themselves around the table.

“Seems you already learned flattery will get you everywhere with Lord Kenshin…” A samurai with silvery hair scoffed playfully from his seat.

“That isn’t entirely true Kageie…” Lord Kenshin more or less whined. Before anyone else could say anything one of the hostesses announced the drinks and food were ready. They brought everything in followed by the Lord Proprietor. He shot me a look, a look I knew all too well. He was quite good at hiding the malice in his eyes but I knew it was there and what it meant. I unconsciously stiffened as he bowed deeply, apologetically to Lord Kenshin.

“Please forgive me, Milord. It seems one of my entertainers does not know how to present herself to someone such as yourself.” He got up and yanked me to my feet by the arm. “Allow me to bring someone with more respect for your station…” He started to yank me out of the room when someone grabbed my wrist.

“If it’s all the same to you, I asked the little cherry goddess to stay just as she was…” I followed his hand up to his face. He was smiling all the same but there was something completely different about how he was looking at my lord… Something akin to malice behind the ethereal depths of his eyes. It sent a chill down my spine and I quickly shot my glance to my lord. He begrudgingly let go of my arm and looked as congenially as ever at Lord Kenshin.

“If that is what you would like, Milord.” He bowed again and took his leave just as two more hostesses brought my koto in and sat it on the floor. Once my Lord was well out of ear shot, Lord Kenshin let go of my wrist, the ice gone from behind his eyes once more.

“An even greater tragedy that foolish men exist who would delight in trampling the flowers in the garden… Too blind to see their true beauty.” He commented as he took me by the arm and settled me at the koto. I tried to fix my troubled expression with a smile.

“It is as you say, Milord. But, all things are destined to die the moment they are born.” I put on my happiest smile to dispel the tension in the room. “Enough with such heavy thoughts! Have you any requests, Milords?” They were some of the most jovial people I had ever met… Poor Lord Kanetsugu tried so hard to keep them in line. Despite his best efforts, by the end of the night I was teaching Lord Kenshin how to do fan dances. As graceful as he seemed, he was not much for this kind of dance. He fell down laughing, causing the whole room to burst along with him, myself included. That was when Lord Kanetsugu decided it was time for them to leave.

“Thank you for the wonderful evening, our lovely sakura goddess.” Lord Kenshin bemused as he stood to leave.

“The pleasure has been all mine, Lord Kenshin.” I answered with a bow, hiding the blush on my cheeks. “But I promise you, I am no goddess…” I added with a sigh. He’s the one that seems not of this world…

“Perhaps you have just forgotten what you once were.” His suggestion hung on the air as he turned to walk away. As if on some kind of cue, a stiff wind blew down through the garden throwing the last of the cherry petals over the floor around me. I gasped, staring at his back as he walked away. I shook my head smiling in self-deprecation for letting my imagination get away from me... again… I turned to go back out to the veranda.

“If gods do exist, surely they have forsaken me…” I whispered looking back up at the moon. “They certainly pay me no mind…”

“Then the gods are all fools…” A voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I spun around to see Lord Kenshin standing behind me, a pristine cherry blossom in his hand. He gently pushed it into my hair, all the while wearing an ethereal smile. I just stood there stunned as he spoke again. “If your wings are ever strong enough to fly you to Kasugayama, I’ll be sure there’s a tree for you to roost in.” I started to get lost in his eyes a moment as he leaned down to speak so only I would hear. “If I don’t come back steal you from the cherry tree, that is…” My heart throbbed as I watched him walk away. How foolish of me to have hoped he would return…

“I have been overlooking your behavior somewhat considering how much money you earn for me…” The Lord Proprietor growled as he dragged me up the stairs toward my room by the collar. “I will NOT tolerate this kind of behavior when you KNOW we have important guests…” He hissed in my ear before throwing me through the open door of my room.

“I was shopping on my day off! I was never told someone had requested me.” I protested indignantly as I got to my feet.

“Since when has anyone HAD to request you?” He whipped back equally indignant. “You are mine and when I say you’re working, you’re working.”

“So, you’re saying I can never leave this place because on a whim you might make me work? I am no slave, no piece of property.” I glared at him fiercely and he came right up to me. I knew what he was going to do. I side-stepped a punch he was about to throw into my gut and leveled him with one sweep of my foot. “You seem to forget, I had samurai brothers…” I looked up at Yuzuke, my “chaperone.” “Get him out of here…” Yuzuke helped the Lord Proprietor to his feet.

“This isn��t over…” He growled making a move towards me again. I smacked him as hard as I could upside the face.

“It is if you want me ready in time to greet these guests of yours…” I hissed as Yuzuke started to pull him away.

“She has a point, Boss…” He soothed as the Lord Proprietor wrenched his arm free.

“Later…” He hissed as I turned my back to him and the door slammed shut.

“Let’s get you dressed, little songbird…” Mistress Yuki soothed as she ran her hand across my cheek. “You’ve not forgotten your lessons…” She went on with a satisfied smile. I put my hand on top of hers and smiled.

“I had an excellent teacher.” She smiled a bit broader before moving her hands down to my obi.

“Don’t forget, there are other lessons I can teach you, if you’re ever interested…” She whispered playfully as she untied my obi with one hand and run her long, blithe fingers into the front of my kimono, below my obi, with the other.

“Later…” I replied in a hoarse whisper as I blushed and looked away. “If you’re still here later.”

“Of course, little songbird…” She was still teasing me as she worked the obi loose. With Mistress Yuki’s help, it took no time at all for me to get ready. We had done this together countless times before. The older I got, the more she teased me about how beautiful I had gotten and how she’d love to put more on my body than a kimono… I was no longer able to determine if she was teasing me or if she was serious…

“Off you go now…” She gave me a nudge down the hall causing me to trip a little. “Don’t forget, when all else fails, show a bit of neck…” She winked at me and I shook my head in exasperation. It was only then I realized, no one told me who was on the other side of the doors. I looked back and Mistress Yuki quickly, she was leaning against a pillar. “Date…” She whispered and I nodded.

“Excuse me, Lord Date?” I asked quietly.

“Please come in.” A smooth, dignified voice called. I pushed the door open and the first thing I heard as a gasp.

“Wow! This place has some of the prettiest girls around!” A jovial voice added from the young samurai across the room.

“Yes, they certainly are something to behold. But that doesn’t mean you need to be so forward about it.” That smooth voice chided from an older man. The third person in the room said nothing.

“Thank you for such kind words, Milord. You honor me.” I bowed to the young samurai before settling myself in the room.

“Word is that you are quite the singer.” The older samurai went on after introductions had been made. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

“The honor is mine, Milord Katakura.”

“Truthfully, I have heard rumors that you are equally talented in poetry.” He went in with a hint of intrigue.

“If we are being truthful, then my best game is shiritori.” I conceded which, seemed to delight him all the more. So, three of us started the game. Failure to produce a word immediately resulted in a drink. Poor Lord Shigezane had become far too drunk to play quite early on. Lord Katakura put up a valiant effort but we eventually called it a tie, both of us having drank more than our fair share of sake. Only after Lord Kojuro’s desire for a game had been satisfied, did I notice Lord Masamune had hardly drank anything and ate almost nothing. I poured him a cup out of courtesy. I took a sip from my own cup before asking if they had any requests for songs. Only after I had taken a drink did Lord Masamune finally drink something. AH HA! So that’s the problem… I knew I couldn’t just come right out and say anything so I started suggesting that Lord Shigezane eat to make sure he didn’t get a hangover. I would take a nibble of everything I suggested to emphasize how good it tasted. Finally, Lord Masamune was eating! Now I finally felt like I could call this day a success…

While Lord Masamune picked I started to play the koto and sing. I had no way of knowing if he liked it or not. Lord Masamune only seemed to have one expression, or rather a lack of one… At the end of the night I had been unable to elicit any reaction at all out of him. I sighed inwardly knowing the Lord Proprietor was already mad so Lord Masamune’s displeasure would just make things worse.

“Thank you.” A quiet, calm voice said as I bowed to the Date as they left. “It was… a nice night.” I peeked up and saw Lord Masamune’s back as he was leaving.

“Do forgive Lord Masamune, he is a man of few words.” Lord Kojuro offered with a smile. “Perhaps if you are ever in Oshu, you would grace us again.” He added with a bow.

“Yeah! Come see us sometime, Doll!” Lord Shigezane beamed. I breathed a sigh of relief as I shuffled out of the room. Mistress Yuki was waiting for me in the hall.

“Well that went better than expected…” She mused as we wandered up to my room.

“Yes, but I’m already exhausted and I still have to deal with him.” I lamented as I started to get changed.

“Oh… I wouldn’t worry about him. He seems to have expelled all his energy on something. I don’t suppose he’ll be waking up any time soon.” She had a coy look on her face and I knew she had something to do with it.

“Mistress Yuki… Why, out of all the girls, have you taken such a liking to me?” I asked the same question I had asked her for years but never got a straight answer to.

“Because out of all the girls here…” She began in her sultry voice as she pulled the kimono from my shoulders. “You being here is the most tragic.”

“Ah yes, well the Fate of Tragedy is even more fond of me than you.” I sighed as I changed into my bedclothes.

“You could have come with me and escaped all this…” She went on as she stopped me from pulling my clothes on all the way. She traced an old faded scar on my back with a cold, slender finger.

“You know I could never…” I stopped myself in mid-thought. “I just don’t have it in me to kill someone in cold blood…” I went on deciding that was the more convincing argument than I don’t think I could seduce a man. She’d have a real field day with that. She started to laugh quietly and I knew she was smirking. Surely she had already seen through me.

“If you not being able to seduce a man is the problem, you should know that voice of yours is as silver as my hair…” She teased before something cold on my back sent me jumping in shock. “Relax, it’s a balm for the scars. It will make them less pronounced.”

“Oh… Thank you…” I replied as I eased back down in a sitting position. “Mistress Yuki…”

“Yes, little songbird?” She has called me that since the day I met her a decade ago.

“Why do you do this for me? I can’t repay you…” I often asked this question but I never got a straight answer to it either. It was usually, “I have to have a reason?” That would be the end of it.

“If I had to give you an answer…” She wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder. “I have my own reasons… Let’s just leave it at that…”

“You’re never going to give me a straight answer, are you?” I grumbled as I shrugged her off my shoulders.

“Maybe one day, when you’re ready for the answer!” She teased with a wink.

“I’m not sure why I even bothered but, at least I got a different answer this time…” I chuckled a little as I got up to get dressed again.

“You should get a good night’s sleep. You’ll be going on a trip in a few days.” She handed me a letter.

“You read my mail?” I asked incredulously as I took the letter. She just looked at me coyly and smiled.

“You get the best love letters! I was hoping for more juicy poetry lines for my romances.” She replied with a smirk. “You really should answer some of those letters or you’ll get a reputation you know.”

“Oh, and what kind of reputation is that?” She was distracting me far too much to read right now. “As a stuck-up woman?”

“As only liking women…” She whispered as she leaned in and traced my lips with her finger tip. I looked at her wide-eyed and blushing.

“Mistress Yuki…” I whispered averting my eyes. She was entirely too pleased by my reaction.

“What’s the matter, little songbird? Cat got your tongue?” She mused as she pulled away, dragging her finger across my lips one last time for embarrassingly good measure. When I looked back at her to poke fun at her terrible pun I noticed something. For the first time, there was some other expression than her usual playfulness. I couldn’t quite figure out what was different about her expression though… “You should read that letter, I’ll start packing for you.”

“Oh… um… thank you.” I quickly read the letter then looked at her in total disbelief. “Lord Nagamasa and Lady Oichi were serious about having me entertain them…” I muttered as my hand fell to my lap, the letter slipping from my hands. It fluttered listlessly across the floor, landing next to Mistress Yuki.

“This is a tremendous opportunity. If you can get a new patron like Nagamasa…” Mistress Yuki’s voice trailed off, her implication already fully acknowledged by my brain. It is what I had already been thinking. “So, you had better do your best!” She added with a sly grin.

The day before I was supposed to leave, I had one final client to see before setting off. I could hear people bustling around the streets through my opened window. I looked down at the street, people watching as best I could from where my window was on the building. “Is this your luggage?” Yuzuke called and I got down off my toes.

“Yes, has someone come for it already?” I asked confused as he hefted my wooden chest onto his shoulder.

“Or Lord is leaving with your Father tonight.” Was all he said before leaving the room, sliding the door shut.

“If Father is leaving tonight… Who is taking me to…” I let out a long, labored sigh. “Yuzuke… so I have a warden at all times…” I groaned angrily as I collapsed to my knees with a huff.

As I prepared to go, Mistess Yuki dropped by my room once again. She had her usual smile but I could tell from her stance that something was a foot. “What’s wrong?” I asked as I put on my makeup.

“That brother of mine wandered off and got lost again. I really should go find him…” She sighed speaking as if the whole affair bored her.

“The youngest one?” She never told me their names, or how old they were but I few she had two brothers.

“No, the oldest one…” She sighed again as she idly twisted a piece of hair in her fingers.

“That is unusual, is it not?” My eye brows arched as I turned to look at her. “You don’t think…” She pressed a finger to her lips and winked at me. Oh right… I’m not supposed to know… “I’m just saying… You said he had that illness a while back…” I went on to cover. “He could be laid up somewhere.”

“That is possible I suppose. No one knows what goes on in his head though.” She replied sauntering up to me slowly. She worked her fingers into my hair pulling it back in long smooth strokes. “You know, I probably won’t see you again for a quite some time.” There was no hint of emotion in her voice as she focused on my hair.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone but I can’t imagine it would be very long.” I commented thoughtfully.

“My brother ran off so he wouldn’t be stuck with the youngest.” She replied tersely as she gave my hair a particularly rough tug. I winced and immediately grabbed at her hand. “Sorry, little Songbird.” She soothed and kissed my hand softly.

“Why would he run off because of your other brother? Can you tell me?” I wondered out of genuine concern. She rolled her eyes but I could tell her annoyance was with the situation and not me.

“He’s a handful and now someone has to train him in the family profession since he’ll come of age soon.” She muttered tugging my hair roughly again.

“Owe! I know I said I like it a little rough but we’ve discussed hair pulling!” I yelped out a joke trying to soothe her mood. She dropped my hair instantly and her cold fingers slipped easily into my loosened kimono.

“Do we now?” Her voice was sultry and sweet in my ear as she pressed against my back.

“It was a joke to make you less irritated!” I yelped out again as her hands ventured places I would have rather she not touch right now. The color of my cheeks seeping through my unfinished makeup.

“You should know better than to make jokes like that…” She whispered and her lips brushed my ear with each syllable she uttered. “That silver voice of yours has a way with people you know…”

“I think it’s more you’re a cat looking for a meal…” I joked again as she slid her hands out slowly, grazing over my skin causing me to shiver. She scoffed at my joke and I caught a genuine smile out of the corner of my eye. She smiled into my neck before kissing it.

“Songbird’s are hardly big enough to consider a snack…” She mused before sliding her hand over the cloth covering my chest. She gave my breast a firm squeeze causing me to jump a little, cheeks a vibrant red now. “Why would I settle for mochi when I can have daifuku?” She mused Before working her fingers into my hair again. I couldn’t help but pout a little at her clear jab at the difference in size between us. That was really cruel...

“Oh, and you’re interested in what as a meal? Tigers?” I joked again dispelling the slight sting of her teasing.

“As it just so happens, yes. And one of those tigers is on his way here...” She answered in a more matter of fact tone than I could ever talk about such things. “You have been requested to entertain Takeda Shingen, the Tiger of Kai.”

“Is that so?” I wasn’t really interested in who I served or what their position was in the world. It was all the same to me. Figure out what they liked, put the mask on, get through another day.

“You’ll have a hard time with him if you’re not willing to bend that moral virtue of yours a little bit.” Her voice was teasing but I could tell she was trying to veil meaning in her words. “If you can make it with him, you’d have no real excuse not to come with me…” She punctuated the last sentence by shoving a hair pin through the restrained tresses. I sat in deep contemplation for a few moments as she finished my hair.

“So you’re saying I’ll need to seduce him a little?” I finally asked quietly.

“Let’s just say you will need to dance a fine line in order to keep him interested but not give him the wrong impression of you.” Was the only explanation she cared to give. “He has quite the reputation for being a charmer. If you can charm him instead…” She went on as she got to her feet again. She stopped at the door and I turned to bid her good-bye. The ice cold look in her eyes sent a chill down my spine. “One of Takeda’s retainers keeps a ninja in his employ. If he is with them, avoid him at all costs… Remember what I told you about ninja…” She was completely serious, more serious than I had heard her in a long time.

“I remember…” I whispered rather mechanically.

“That’s a good girl! Have fun!” She winked at me before disappearing.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, it seemed I would have normal night entertaining one of our high-profile guests. They had already requested me, they were in their proper room, and they were precisely on time. I announced myself cheerfully and a resonant, confident voice bid me enter. It was immediately apparent who Takeda Shingen was. This man, with is hair like a sky a blaze with the setting sun all at once made me want to crawl away from his presence and yet not want to move.

“You are the singer I’ve heard so much about.” He beamed as soon as I entered the room.

“I am honored my reputation has spread so far, Milord.” I answered with a bow. “It is my honor to entertain you tonight.” I added for good measure. I quickly scanned the room noting the two other figures there.

“This is Sanada Yukimura and his friend Saizo.” Lord Shingen commented as I bowed to them. I couldn’t help but notice Lord Yukimura was blushing fiercely. Lord Shingen seemed to realize what I was wondering about. “Don’t mind Yukimura, he’s just shy around girls. Especially if he finds them attractive.”

“Milord Shingen…” Lord Yukimura whined as his blush spread from his cheeks to the whole of his face.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Yukimura. She’s a beautiful young woman!” Lord Shingen laughed, his whole body shaking. There it was… Just what I expected based on how Mistress Yuki spoke. Flattery for the sake of flattery. I smiled and hid my face behind my sleeve.

“Milord!” I gasped with fake embarrassment. “Surely you are not speaking of me.” I turned away from him and back to Lord Yukimura. “You’ve no reason to be shy around me, Milord.” I smiled brightly at him as I lowered my sleeve which, only made his cheeks more red. Ok… good to know, don’t look at him too much…

“Just get the little lord enough sake and he’s clay in your hands…” A man with silver hair replied rather bored as he lounged lazily on some cushions.

“We certainly do not lack in sake!” I beamed taking a flask and cup. I filled the cup and offered it to Lord Shingen before doing likewise for Lord Yukimura. He reached out apprehensively to take the cup, cheeks a shade of red akin to a perfectly ripe apple. His fingers slipped but I managed to catch the cup immediately placing it back in his hands. “I’m very sorry, Milord.” I apologized, taking the blame to make him feel less nervous.

“Oh no it was all my fault.” He made a hasty apology before taking an even hastier drink. I poured a cup for Saizo but when I went to hand it to him something struck me. His face looked utterly disinterested but there was ice behind his copper colored eyes. The last time I saw that look was when Mistress Yuki met me for the first time. She had been trying to size me up. Surely he saw that little exchange with Lord Yukimura and now he was suspicious.

“Mistress Yuki asked me to say hello to you, Master Saizo.” I remarked after he had taken the cup. “She was regretful she had to leave before you arrived.”

“Is that so?” His answer was ambiguous at best but Lord Shingen chuckle heartily.

“Yes. Something about a wayward brother…” Sorry Mistress Yuki, not sorry! This is for that jab about the size of my chest!

“Leave it to Saizo to have a following…” Lord Shingen joked before finishing the last of his sake. “You wouldn’t know it but Saizo there has even more moves than I do.”

“Milord Shingen! I… I don’t think… that’s really… an appropriate thing… to be… talking about…” Lord Yukimura sputtered, the volume of his voice getting quietly while his blush grew deeper and more widespread. I didn’t know someone’s neck could blush… I just giggled as I turned to pour Lord Shingen more sake. When I turned to offer more to Lord Yukimura and Saizo, Saizo was gone. SUCCESS IS MINE!

“Ahh… It seems he was more eager to see Mistress Yuki than he let on.” I mused with a smile. “I suppose that just means more sake for you, Lord Yukimura.” I filled his cup up, although he insisted on leaving it on the floor this time.

“It’s no fun if we’re the only people drinking…” Lord Shingen grinned like a cat eying its prey as he shook a sake bottle in one hand and offered me a cup with the other. I smiled though it wasn’t for him. I have been drinking for money for years, Milord… If you think you’ll win so easily…

“Well… Maybe a cup or two. But I really don’t drink often…” I replied with feigned apprehension, taking the cup from him slowly. He smiled broadly as he cracked open the bottle.

“Get over here, Yukimura. Let me pour for you.” Lord Yukimura shuffled over and settled himself as far away from me as he could while still being in reach for Lord Shingen to fill his cup. All the while, he was mumbling something about how inappropriate it was for one woman to be drinking in alone with two men. Something about how he had to be responsible for my honor… Lord Shingen obviously heard him and chuckled once more.

“Yukimura…” The younger samurai’s gaze snapped up to his Lord. “There’s a guy right outside the door. Relax…”

“Wha???” He looked over at the door.

“That is not to say we suspect either of you capable of ill-action. But…” I knocked my head from side to side slowly. “Not all of those who request me are quite as respectful.” Lord Yukimura’s blush disappeared instantly, replaced by a starkly serious face.

“I promise you, on my honor as a samurai, I will not allow anyone to touch you without your permission so long as I am present.” The absolute earnestness in his sky-blue eyes was shocking and yet… comforting. He absolutely looked like he would kill a man for me if they even looked at me wrong. His utmost respect of me was so stark in contrast to what I was used to. For a moment it made me think of my older brother, Shintaro. I had always thought if I could find a man like Shintaro, I would be the luckiest woman in the world but, I never expected I would ever meet him.

“Th… thank you… Lord Yukimura. That means more to me than I could ever… ever express.” I couldn’t help but be honest in the face of his declaration.

“Enough of that! Drink up you two!” Lord Shingen urged before knocking back his own cup. That is how we passed the evening, drinking with me singing occasionally. Hours went by and Lord Yukimura had consumed more flasks of sake than I could count. Something told me, having a drinking contest with him was a bad idea…

“Laaaaddddyyyy Meeeejiiiiirooooo!” The highly inebriated samurai called to me as he plodded over. He bore a warm and happy smile as he sat his sake flask down.

“I think you’ve had just a bit too much, Yukimura.” Lord Shingen called but he was chuckling. “I’m sorry for him. Let me get him…” He moved to get up.

“Oh no, it’s fine…” I mused as Lord Yukimura settled his head on my lap. His cheeks were tinged pink but I knew now it was from the alcohol.

“He’s not usually this forward with women, even when he’s drunk. But he’s really drunk.” Lord Shingen explained easing back down.

“I would rather it be a happy drunk than an angry one.” I sighed smiling.

“Lady Mejiro! I have a favor to ask.” Lord Yukimura muttered quietly as he looked glassy eyed at the floor.

“What is it, Lord Yukimura.”

“Every great one hassss a name. But my shpear doessssn’t have a… a… name.” He pouted as he spoke. “Would you give my shpear a name?”

“Your spear?” I looked over to Lord Shingen.

“That’s his preferred weapon in battle.” I nodded in understanding.

“Yeash my shpear!” He beamed thrusting a hand into the air, index finger pointing at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “Do you want to see my shpear?”

“You don’t have your spear with you.” Lord Shingen pointed out.

“Shure I dooooo!” He beamed with a fool’s grin as his hand fell back to the floor with a thud.

“If that’s the spear you’re wanting a name for, you should come up with that on your own…” Lord Shingen huffed out as he laughed. “This is hardly the place to show a young woman that spear…”

“Wh… wha… what are you… talking about, Mi… Milord?” He looked bleary eyed over at Lord Shingen.

“That’s ok, Lord Yukimura, I don’t need to see it to give it a name.” I pressed a finger to my lips and thought a moment. “You are called the soul of the Sanada… and the fire for battle burns bright in you…” He looked up at me expectantly, his eyes only half open from his drunken stupor. “How about Burning Soul?”

“Burning Soul?” He mulled the name over in his head a moment then smiled. “I like it!” He turned back to looking at the floor. I chuckled at how boyish he behaved now and how different it was from when they had arrived.

“Thank you for indulging him but I think it’s time to leave.” Lord Shingen got to his feet and grabbed a now unconscious Lord Yukimura by the arms. A pair of retainers moved to take him out of the room. Lord Shingen then turned back to me, a mischievous look on his face. “You were every bit what the rumors said.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed your evening, Lord Takeda.” I bowed deeply to him.

“If you ever decide you want to serve a real man, come see me in Kai.” He offered but unlike so many others there was not a hint of joking in his voice. He was serious… Taken aback by his forward offer I just stared up at him a moment. The smile returned to his face and he bowed to me. “It has been an honor.”

“The honor was mine…” I replied confounded by his seemingly earnest show of respect. He offered me his hand and helped me to my feet. “Thank you, Milord.” I couldn’t help but look up at his face. He released my hand and pulled me close by the waist.

“If you prefer, I could take you away with me tonight.” He purred in my ear with all the gentleness of spring breeze. “Consider it. If you decide to spread your wings I’m staying at the inn just down the way.” I was trembling slightly in shock and excitement. This was… the most serious anyone had ever seemed about taking me away.

“You’re serious?” I whispered into his chest as he held me. My voice cracked threatening to take my mask along with it.

“Always.” He replied as he slowly pulled away.

“But what if the Lord Proprietor…” He pressed a finger to my lips.

“It is known you’re an Asakura…” He started with a confident grin that bordered on cocky. “The Asakura may be old but no one can match the power of the Takeda. If you come with me, no one will be able to take you back from me.” He went on before taking a step back. “Think it over…” Then he turned on his heel and left. I fell to my knees from nerves and sake. My jumbled thoughts were snapped instantly by an amused chuckle from the doorway. I looked up and saw Mistress Yuki leaning casually against a pillar outside looking at me with a knowing smile. She slowly stepped into the room, her amused smile melting into one of devilish intent.

“Well look at you…” She teased as she bent over and offered me her hand. “Catching the Tiger of Kai by the toe… Or should I say by the…”

“YUKI!” I snapped embarrassed. “Surely that’s not all he wants from me!” I hissed at a much lower volume. “I mean he offered to fight the family if it came to that. That seems a bit extreme if he were only interested in a concubine.”

“Clearly, you’re not familiar with the Tiger of Kai’s reputation…” She mused as she started to pull me out of the room. “Let’s just say I think he could give me a good run… If you catch my meaning.” She winked at me and I started to blush a little. “At the very least I wouldn’t have to use my usual techniques…” She added with a slight shrug. “More importantly, what are you going to do?” She stopped and looked right through me.

“I’m going to perform for Lord Nagamasa and Lady Oichi.” I replied without a moment’s hesitation. “I have no way of knowing what his intentions are. He could very well use me to warm his bed tonight and leave me in the morning.” I started to walk away. “I have no intention of being used in such a manner.”

“But what if he were serious?” She was playing devil’s advocate and I knew it.

“If he were truly serious in his pursuits, he would come for me again.” I replied over my shoulder.

“That’s a good girl…” She mused. “Never chase after a man. Always make him come to you. If he keeps coming back to you, then and only then do you give him that precious heart of yours…” I stopped and looked at her. That was the most bizarre thing she has ever said to me… Easily one of the most useful. But before I could press her on the matter, she disappeared.

Continue?

Yes

#slbp #choose your own adventure #fanfic #fanfiction

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onceabluemoonwrites · 6 years

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Heaven Hatred (Falling Down)

Fandom: Yuri on Ice

Summary: Yuri burns, and he’ll burn the heavens down.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri on Ice

FF.net | AO3 | Tumblr (my other entries: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7)

You can find my writing progress here. If you can’t keep straight who’s what anymore, here’s a list, plus some extra background information for those who’d like to read it!

My fic master list here.

This was written for the Yuri on Ice Fantasy week ( @yoifantasyweek for those interested in checking out the other authors) 11/13/17- Day One: Red. I chose the prompt ‘’Anger’’.

This is part of the Land of Gods and Monsters ‘verse, but can be read as a standalone fic. You can find a note on the chronology of this ‘verse here.

‘’Ангел, dance to the tunes of heaven. To the glory of the Gods! Their power ever-growing, their visages beautiful, everlasting as if hewn from stone. Exalt their being, creature of heaven, and raise them higher than the sun!

Your existence a blessing, your steps a song, your every word a prayer unto the highest powers.

May you walk the halls of marble forever, untainted one.’’

God, how Yuri hates heaven.

They say angels have hearts of glass- but Yuri’s is diamond, indestructible, and maybe that’s why he is different.

A heart of diamond. A little stroke against it lights a fire. Flames where a gem should be as cold as ice. He carries it softly at first, cultivating it in the hallowed halls he walks. It’s warm inside of him, while the world is cold.

Yuri sings in the choir with the other children, young voices still high, purity ringing through. But when he dances- oh, when he dances on the ice, he cannot contain himself.

Besides, why should he? He’s an angel, if he carries fire, it must be holy.

His rhythm speeds up. The other angels cry: ‘’He’s out of tune, out of control!’’

Yuri laughs, raising his arms, because he’s not out of tune, he’s dancing to another tune altogether. Agape turns into appassionato – and his fire is rising, rising, until the ice gives underneath the heat.

The fairies scream. ‘’Don’t melt it, don’t destroy it! What are you doing, burning child?’’

And this, he discovers, is art. To burn, but not to burn up. So he dances on ice and revels in the audience’s gaze. He binds knives under white-hot coal feet, and cuts the ice with every move he makes.

He is an angel and he worships only himself.

An inferno born with wings.

The first time Yuri sees the silver-haired angel, it is a revelation. He is tragedy in motion, a dying star personified. Where Yuri is fire, anger, passion, Victor is death, the last breath before man is gone, the blue rose laid on a grave.

He is beautiful in his fall, the grace of his death the ultimate attraction.

Yuri… Yuri doesn’t want to be Victor, he wants to go where Victor is and go higher.

Why have wings, if you don’t use them to elevate yourself?

Yuri will be the greatest one alive and nobody is going to stop him.

He loves Victor for his defiance of Heaven, he loves him for not serving a God. He loves him so, so much- but Victor takes one look at the God of Spring (God of Daisies, God of Flowers, God of Sprouts and Budding Things. God of- of- God of Yuri’s hatred) and he’s gone.

The flames turn into a wildfire, spreading like the anger inside his bones and Yuri is spitting, furious. His face contorts with it, appassionato notes rising, anger and hatred feeding him until he knows he will fall and does not care.

He’ll fall sky-ward, because he’s contrary like that, defying the Heavens at every turn. He’ll soar higher than the Heavens, soar with the fire of Hell burning inside of him.

He’ll burn them down.

The notes of a new tune are heard.

It’s Yuri’s Inferno, Angel of Fire.

Welcome to the madness.

Author’s note

So this is the story behind this part in the Land of Gods and Monsters:

‘’There is no ice in Yuri’s soldier eyes, only fire. The boy is a blazing inferno and people watch him. The fascination with fire, the desire to play and the thrill of being burned are as old as time. They can’t resist.’’

I listened to Agape (both the normal version and the music box version), Allegro Appassionato and The Greatest by Sia while writing this! And yes, the ‘’Angel of Fire’’ part was a reference to a fictional piece of music in the YOI universe called ‘’Angel of the Fire Festival’’ which was Yuri’s original exhibition skate, before he decided to go with ‘’Welcome to the Madness’’.

#yoifantasyweek #yuri plisetsky #victor nikiforov #fic #yoi #angel #heaven hatred (falling down)#the land of gods and monsters verse #deity au #onceabluemoonwrites fic #fanfiction #fanfic #my posts #yoi fantasy week

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the-erickson-labrynthian · 6 years

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The Cobalt Prince, Prologue; Act I, Scene I.

(Welcome to an old project of mine I have been wanting to share for a long time, the play “The Cobalt Prince” a manuscript I wrote back in 2017 under the poetic persona of Antoine Defairre. I’m happy to finally deliver the product to an audience for the first time, and I hope you are ready to read a tale of loss, love, passion, obsession, and death. Feel free to follow me for more and tell me what you think of the project! Without further adue...)

Prologue:

[A man walks upon the stage. He is old. Though he hobbles, he carries a sort of arrogance in his stride, sure that none understand the world quite as much as he. A ragged brown robe overtakes his face. He is a poor man. He walks upon center stage and looks to the ground as he speaks. This is Pollock, the narrator]

Pollock: Love. It is the thing that motivates all those who are born unto the eye of delicacy. I do not relinquish this fact of life, but instead, I tell that I faced it. I once sought out one who was more than delicate. I was a fool, and I paid for it in my world… (pauses). But this is not my world. This is about the tragedy of Matron. From the empire Matilia stood he tall, the strongest general of them all, they say. A man who took upon himself the duty to endlessly serve, they say. While a noble cause, it ended nought else but in the bloodshed of six kingdoms. These six kings knew he as a man who killed everything for his prince. They were right, and so they died. This beast of a knight loved nothing else but his prince, for so he was told by the sky. The sky did not speak of his fall, however, until his sweet prince’s empire was taller than all… (Begins to walk backstage) So sets... the stage.

Act I, Scene I:

[The curtains open to the town pub: Harles. A band plays in the back as the knights of Matilia return from their fight upon Ragnarok. Enter Julius and Rogan, who take a seat at the table stage left while the dancers prepare for their performance]

Julius: Once I come upon this man he screams. He runs away, but my knife is far faster. [Stabs the table] If only I was as lucky to lay a hand upon the king. Ramses needs a knife in the back. Or twenty-five.

Rogan: His army is something to see to believe. Chekov lost an arm in five seconds, I heard, when he went against just one of their royal guard.

Jul: I am not going to say Chekov has no place in the military, but the fool could cut off his arm while slicing a pick of bread.

Rogan: (Laughs) I am not one to agree or disagree, as to spare my own arm from being lopped off, but you’d be a fool to question the power of the kingdom. Ragnarok has killed many of our farms, just to spite us, knowing our attacks are useless. If it was Rosa or Santion we could pull a better chunk out of their carcass, but this is no kingdom for the talentless.

Jul: (Rising in anger) Disagree with me and I lop off your arm and feed it to you! Pick your poison, a seat upon the guillotine in front of Ramses, or a fight against me.

Rogan: (Sighing) Julius, bear with me. While you hold a strong arm and a strong tongue, coins buy the power. No sword strike of yours can match his blade.

Jul: A test then! (Julius leaps from his seat and onto the table) A duel with pride. Me versus anyone in this room who hails from Ragnarok, or claims any sword swung by their hand swifter than mine.

[Enter Bilov, a training boy who would kill any day, General Kall, leader of the Matilia military, and Matron, a foolish thief and the scum of the streets]

Gen. Kall: (Angered) So this is the pride of my army?! We lose a battle and barely escape by the seam of our pants and this is what we do when we arrive home?

[Kall shoves Julius off of the table]

Kall: You do not serve yourself when you wear the badge of our royalty. On your feet and off your ass to the barracks, or my boot will do the work for you!

Jul: (Pauses, holding his side before he speaks) Yo. Heed not my pride, and instead look to your guidance and see how you could look towards improvement on the field. Do not treat your most valiant knight like a withering root. I am more than capable even after seven scoots of wine.

Kall: Valiant? As valiant as the rats who gawk at you here in this room! You want to say you are the best blade? Very well. Fight my son. Bilov?

[Bilov stands tall and holds his blade in front of him]

Kall: You will cut against Julius Monus. Prove to him the valiancy a bottle of brew can bring you. And, show him who are the kings and who are the servants.

Bilov: Of course, father. Choke at me Sir Julius.

Kall: Call not that fool a sir. He is no more knight than you are a man.

[The two carry on a small fencing match as they speak]

Bilov: I would say you have stature if you were an ape! Have you no posture?

Jul: (Mocking) Have you no posture? I may be an ape, but no child who swings as delicately as a butterfly may call me as such!

Bilov: Skin of Aphrodite, yet the bite of Ares, says I!

Jul: So you admit yourself a girl? HA!

[The two continue their bickering as Matron tries to escape from the claws of Kall, only to be pulled back]

Kall: Do not think you can run! A little troublemaker like you deserves to be beaten! I catch you stealing bread and now you try to escape?

Matron: Only a mouthful of bread sir.

Kall: The baker told me about seven mouthfuls.

Matron: Well I'll only admit to five! No, I mean four!

Kall: Quick-witted mouth and quicker steps, but a brain that can’t think half past the edge of the morning bed!

Matron: I am a dreamer, yes. I don’t need anything other than my morning bed, and three mouthfuls of bread.

Kall: Your dreams will die after you get a lashing for each mouthful. That’s three lashings then!

Matron: (Nodding exaggerated) Guess I earned all three. For those three mouthfuls.

[Matron smiles and leans against a wall. Kall turns his attention to the fight. Bilov is bouncing around dodging each strike but hesitant to attack]

Kall: For the sake of Eda! Bilov! Kill him!

[Bilov stabs the sword into Julius’s shoulder. Julius falls over the table knocking it to the floor with him. Rogan rushes over to comfort him]

Jul: (Howling in pain) Damn! I yield that I am not the greatest sword fighter in the room. However, second is best, so I hear. I was not the most valiant, though I put up a fight!

Kall: You are a fool, and if I wasn’t so kind, a dead one. Get a sleeve to put your shoulder in and then immediately to the barracks! We will need to plan much harder for a siege on Ragnarok.

Rogan: Julius, you idiot. Getting us into a toss up with the general? Get up! I'll help you on over.

[Exit Rogan and Julius]

Kall: Bilov! You will be training day and night for dragging the fight past the hour hand! You’re lucky you didn’t waste the last ounce of daylight today, either, or I'd give you a lashing just like Matron over here. What kind of knight aims for a shoulder?

Bilov: (Looks down) Yes, Papa.

Kall: General. I am not your father while you are my student.

Bilov: (Standing tall) I will lash myself for such a remark, General.

Kall: Off to the barracks with you, too, then!

[Exit Bilov quickly. Matron tries one last time for an escape attempt only for Kall to yank him back.]

Kall: Stop trying to run or I'll double the punishment! Thieves will always pay, don’t think your youth will allow you to escape.

Matron: Why does any thirteen year old have to be lashed with a whip? Fair not, says I. Make me king and I'd make it illegal.

Kall: Is that so? You want to be king?

Matron: I wouldn’t mind.

Kall: Well, if you want such royal treatment, I'll have ‘em feed you a few grapes and rub your feet while they lash you. How many lashes again?

Matron: Two, sir.

Kall: (Shouting defiantly) I knew that! Two lashings with royal treatment. I'll even use the whip with the golden handle! For you, your majesty.

Matron: Be I king? I wouldn’t lash anyone. Not even someone who is as much of a mean man as you! I wouldn’t if I was general, either!

Kall: Well, I will give you some advice for your journey to become king. You will never get to the top being a kind man. The only ones who get to power with kindness are blessed by the gods themselves, and no one man this land is a blessed one. Especially a thief like you. No god, nor man, nor faint star in the sky is looking out for you. Better not think the world deserves such niceties, kid. Only fear can give you the obedience of your land.

Matron: Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t a king.

Kall: Enough of your annoying attitude. Off to the lashing!

Matron: I guess I do deserve my... one, (He holds) singular painful lash.

Kall: One mighty lash! One mighty lash for your mouthfuls of bread!

[Matron smiles. He looks to the table that was ruined as Kall leaves. Matron exits. The stage goes black.]

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webcricket · 7 years

Text

Catch a Falling Star

Characters: CastielXReader

Word Count: 2264 (Part 2)

A/N: Part 2 of a Soulmate AU mini-series. I’m uncertain how many “parts” will make up this mini-series – the original outline is for 5, but my muse has a sordid history of adding more plot twists, turns, and verbs than I initially anticipate and/or know what to do with. Thank you ALL for the overwhelmingly KIND and POSITIVE feedback thus far! I hope/strive not to disappoint. Enjoy the ride. (P.S. Still on vacation mode and taking advantage of a quaint coffee shop with wifi on this rainy afternoon – will respond personally when I have normal internet access.)

Summary: What if angels didn’t end up just anywhere when they are banished by sigils…what if sometimes they end up exactly where they need to be? Turns out you are Castiel’s grounding stone, and it’s more complicated than either of you realizes. Cue the hurt/comfort and mandatory associate angst (be warned, it gets heavy). Angels are a damned stubborn lot, and in this regard Castiel is no different from his kin.

Completed series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/165166387163/catch-a-falling-star-masterlist

Man seemingly drops out of the sky. With an absolute disregard for common sense given your lakeside isolation, you invite the peculiar stranger into your home. You convince him to disrobe and shower. Obviously his common sense could also do with some fine tuning – what sensible person follows a random stranger home and immediately consents to getting naked? Alright, it wasn’t immediate, he put up a gallant protest and you routed his muddied multi-layer modesty at every turn until he acquiesced and passed his trench coat, suit, and shoes through the barely cracked door of the bathroom. Perhaps you’ve underestimated your powers of persuasive speech all these years. Perhaps you should consider a new career revolving around this superpower. Lawyer? Lobbyist? Nah.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

You serve him tea in a proper porcelain cup and saucer because it seems like the civilized thing to do, and also because it gives you something to do and him something to do because right now you’re wordlessly stealing furtive glances of one another and questioning every life choice you’ve ever made that led you to this awkwardly silent fête. He did look awfully good in those borrowed pants. And what was it about those vivid blue eyes of his that fascinated you so? Was it the way they reflected and refracted the star light? One look into them and you were certain you could chart the infinite depths of those luminescent blue cosmos forever and not stumble twice upon the same breathtaking hue. Man proceeds to vanish, stealing your car and taking it on a joy ride into town, ditching it there in such a manner as to ensure you won’t receive a parking ticket. How…polite? Must have been the tea.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

It’s the kind of unbelievable zany tale you share with friends over drinks so they can laugh at your expense and reproach you for being a total nincompoop with zero regard for personal safety – classic fodder for them to dredge up out of the blue at a party years later to embarrass you in front of your date. There it is again, the inescapable blue. Shake it off, move on. He’s long gone. Where were you? Right, being hypothetically painted a fool in front of your date. You laugh. If you’re being completely realistic, it’s to embarrass you in front of their date. “Let me tell you about this time Y/N invited some strange guy…” Not that you’re sharing.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

At this point, despite the clerk at the bus depot informing you a man fitting your exact description purchased a one-way ticket to Lebanon, Kansas this morning, you’ve persuaded yourself the whole experience was the result of a bit of indigestion and an over-active imagination. Kansas! It practically reeked of Oz. Blue gingham dress, blue post office logo, clear blue skies – everywhere your thoughts tread twisted into a titanic blue distraction. Throwing your head back, dallying outside the car door, you lost yourself in the uniform cozy blanket of blue atmosphere stretching overhead. Somewhere someone sat behind a curtain having a grand old belly-jiggling guffaw about your life while you sang your off-tune songs on cue and skipped down a yellow-brick road. Brakes squealed. A horn blared. A delicate ivory patina teacup embossed with a pattern of blue periwinkle shattered upon the floor.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

The sage green curtain hung around the bed meant to instill an ambiance of warmth in the otherwise icy cold hospital room swooshed aside. Castiel’s steely gaze roamed over the myriad of tubes and wires trailing into and out of your stone-still form, frowning regard settling on the white tape crudely clamping your eyelids shut. Like everything else he touched, he defaulted to the presumption this, too, was his fault. As it so happened in this particular set of circumstances, he wasn’t necessarily absolved of all blame.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

The ventilator bellowed another gush of life sustaining oxygen into your lungs. He shouldn’t have fled. The angel was no coward, but when your skin touched his you shocked him, literally and figuratively, to the very core of his existence. He felt the spark in the deepest part of his being, in the pure angelic heart created especially by his father to fiercely love humanity above all else and without limits that set him so starkly apart from his kin, the unique element of his creation that doubt and regret had not yet sullied no matter how unforgivable his past actions or how epically he failed in the skewed summation he maintained regarding himself. Nothing and no one had affected an influence there, until you – and he yearned for more.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

As a steadfast rule, Castiel wanted nothing for himself. Averting the apocalypse, the multiple falls, the grabs for power, the sacrifices, each and every enterprise set in motion in the name of helping others – humanity, his kin, and above all the Winchester brothers who redefined his notion of family. He viewed himself as useful, but ultimately expendable – the tinder wood to ignite larger fires. Auspiciously, someone sympathetic above his pay grade viewed him in a far more indispensable light, resurrecting him from the ashes time and again. Unsurprisingly, when threatened with the prospect of selfish desire kindling in his own heart – a great and terrible unknown burning want of something solely for himself, the need presenting as utterly foreign, abhorrent even, to his abstaining nature – he ran for the hills.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

At the bus station in Cleveland, he disembarked – the action not so much born of a cognizant plan to buy a return ticket to Seneca Lake to see you again, but more out of a precipitous and overwhelming need for breathing space to lessen the tightness seizing his chest. He found the acute need for oxygen bizarre since he didn’t need to breath in the first place – the involuntary rise and fall of his chest thus far a mere remnant of muscle memory tickling at the neurons of his vessel. Entertaining and committing to the act of boarding a bus back to New York seemed to ease the unrelenting vice grip on his ribcage.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

Now that he stood at your bedside and saw the machines keeping you alive, now that he had time to objectively examine and interpret his impressions – now, it all made sense. As an angel, with his abject history of imperfect and pitiable glory, he never ventured to hope in all of his father’s creation there existed a heart cast expressly for him, least of all a human heart. Even amongst humans a match such as this was so exceedingly rare as to be the stuff of legend. He daren’t think the word for fear his suspicions were wrong…or right.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

“Friend or family?”

Castiel angled his neck to acknowledge the young woman in the sterile white coat with a black stethoscope slung around her neck positioned at his elbow. “Neither,” he answered, focus gliding again to your frame. His frown deepened at observing your limp fingers jammed uncomfortably through the side rail of the bed, the result of a nurse’s haste in changing a dressing. He badly wanted to reach out, move them, wake you, apologize. A combination of apprehension and wonder incapacitated him.

“Oh…well, such a shame,” the doctor followed the target of his furrowed brow to your crumpled hand, taking it upon herself to gently reposition it to lay flat, “hit and run in front of the post office this morning. Witnesses said Y/N just stopped in the middle of the street to stare up at something in the sky. Massive head trauma. Terrible tragedy.”

Hissssssssss. Beep!

“Y/N,” your name spilled from his lips as a reverent whisper. It dawned on him he hadn’t learned your name until now. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask you – he knew you by the dazzling glow of your soul in a universe beyond names and that was enough.

“I was hoping you might know the next of kin. We’re having difficulty locating anyone. You’re the first visitor.”

“She has an uncle,” Cas murmured, disbelieving the insinuation you could possibly be alone in the world, “he has a place on the lake.”

“He passed years ago.”

Hissssssssss. Beep!

“Do you mind if I spend a few minutes?” Cas spoke hoarsely, collapsing into the chair beside the bed, knees feeling weak.

“Of course, take all the time you need,” the doctor strode over to the door, pausing to look back pensively. If Castiel had the inclination to read her mind just then, he would have heard her musing as to whether or not he was one of those angel of death characters she’d been hearing about in the news lately. Privately, she thought in your hopeless case it would be a mercy – if no next of kin emerged, it was only a matter of days before they pulled the plug anyway.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

Cas enviously watched the last rays of the setting sun reach through the window to warmly caress your cheek. You might be on life support, but your soul still outshone anything in his recollection including the sun itself.

Other souls in your quandary would have accepted the open summons to escape their physical pain and soar to the blissful embrace of Heaven. You obstinately clung to your shattered body, reliving the night and day on endless loop, floundering in a sea of blue. Your eternal happiness wasn’t in Heaven – he was no longer welcome there.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

Cas meditated on the large calloused fists resting uselessly upon his lap, determining his grace still too drained from the banishment by sigil to fully heal you at present. He reached out, palm hesitantly hovering over your pale hand. The strain of resisting the longing to twine his fingers through yours to comfort you trembled every muscle in his suspended arm. He desperately wanted to lose himself in your electric touch. He flinched, afraid that once he submitted to the desire, he’d never be able to let you go. He blockaded his objecting heart inescapably behind all the reasons why he must not be in your life. He wasn’t safe for you, beholding your languishing body that much was clear. He couldn’t protect you, not from himself. He was a storm from which you would find no shelter. He would destroy you. He resolved to touch your skin only once more when the time came to heal you.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

He stoically waited for his grace to rally, wincing through a thousand plus a thousand whirring actuations of the ventilator accosting his ears, avoiding the anxious stares and well-meaning inquiries of the nurses and doctors on rounds – wasn’t he thirsty? Hungry? Tired? Despite their best efforts, your condition was rapidly worsening. Was he certain he didn’t know a next of kin? Your kidneys were failing, fluid regurgitating into your lungs, he should think about saying goodbye. Would he like to speak to a grief counselor? There is a chapel on the second floor if he is a praying man. A priest offers last rites as the angel numbly waits.

Hissssssssss. Beep!

On the third morning, his silent vigil concluded. He rose purposefully to his feet. Without looking at you – for he’d ceased being able to look at you the night before without weakening his resolve, unable to bear the agony of observing the flickering ebb of your soul as you clawed to hang on against forces grown insistent upon tearing you asunder – he closed his wetly glinting blue eyes and pressed two fingers to your forehead. “I’m sorry Y/N,” the golden glow of his grace flashed bright, bouncing off the glossy white finish of the walls, surging throughout your body, repairing, soothing, rectifying the mortal injury indirectly resulting from his fateful plunge into your peaceful world, “forgive me.” His fingers lingered, heart thrashing wildly against the self-imposed barriers he’d erected, a shaky sigh rattling from his throat, “And please…forget me.”

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…

The hospital staff tittered amongst themselves, giddy with the miracle of your complete recovery. Congratulatory backslaps and fist bumps resounded here and there in the halls. Miracles have a way of generating a shockwave of infectious hope in their wake.

A lone nursing assistant remembered to ask you in passing during your discharge about the dark-haired man in the tan trench coat who stayed by your side for three days without leaving. Handsome. Hardly said a word. In possession of the saddest blue eyes she ever saw. With a show of such selfless devotion, surely you know him?

No name for this remarkable man stirred in your memory, your tongue poised immobile between your teeth.

“Must have been your guardian angel,” she smiled, ferrying your wheelchair down the hall toward freedom.

“Must have been,” you mimed, chasing a fleeting indigo shadow of memory just out of grasp of your awareness.

Safely home, leaning over the sink, your fingers attached to a favorite ivory colored teacup left to dry in the dish rack. You twirled the cup around and around, mesmerized by the repeating pattern of blue flowers adorning the rim. You thought tonight you would devote a few hours to stargazing – the idea sent a quiver of exhilaration coursing to your limbs.

Castiel failed to eradicate himself from your mind as he intended. After all, how could he erase the cosmic void in your heart which came into existence on the day of your birth – an emptiness prevailing long before you met him, and that he alone was equipped to fill? Even an angel can’t purge something that was never there.

Part 3:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/163231161990/catch-a-falling-star

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x y/n #castiel angst #castiel fluff #castiel series #castielxreader #castiel reader insert #spn reader insert #spn series #cas #castiel #cas x reader #cas x you #cas x y/n #castiel imagine #castiel fanfic #cricket writes cas

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agirlisnow · 7 years

Text

Star-crossed lovers

ANON REQUESTED: Hello! Could you write a one shot with jon snow please? Where the reader is the daughter of the winterfell maid and when she dies Nedd gets y/n to care, she grows along with the Starks and gets very close to them, y/n and jon end up falling in love but jon leaves for castle black and she stays “Depressive”, like, she don’t smile anymore. After the war between jon and ramsey they meet again and you can make a super fluffy final, please? i just found you blog and i love it ❤️

Jon Snow x fem!Reader Words: 1712 Notes: Y/N = your name; f/c = favorite color.

Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn had always been kind to your family, especially in the rough times they supported your parents in every possible way. Your house was not important like house Stark, but it was respected and your castle led over rich domains. Sadly, you seemed to be born under a bad sign as the first years of your life were scarred by tragedies: first, your land started to dry out and the crops had been poor; shortly afterwards you father fell ill and even maester Luwin couldn’t do anything to save him. As a widow who was no longer of marriageable age, with nothing but unfertile lands for dowry, your mother accepted lady Catelyn’s offer to stay in Winterfell and she became one of her maids; anyway, a few months later, she died too, leaving you alone. That was when Eddard and Catelyn Stark decided to take care of you, welcoming you in their castle as their own child.

You were tutored by septa Mordane with Sansa, but you also liked to play with Robb and Jon with wooden swords and mud in the courtyard. Those days of your childhood, spent with the Stark children who were roughly the same age as you, were quite happy indeed. The three of you got along fine, but when Theon arrived in Winterfell, Robb unattached himself a little from Jon and you, bonding with the Greyjoy as they were brothers. Theon, moreover, seemed to despise Jon: they were always quarreling, dragging you and Robb in, and that regularly resulted in fistfights and punishments for everyone.

So, in a way or another, you grew up with the Starks and became a pretty, young northerner lady. To return the kindness of their parents, you took care of Bran, Rickon and Arya, especially Arya, and because of it you often ended up with her and Jon in the backyard shooting arrows at a wooden target, just like that day.

Arya stood in front of the both of you, stretching the bowstring and taking aim; you seated on the low wall just ten feet further, humming and kicking the air, while Jon leant against the bricks right next to you.

– Are those new shoes? – he asked suddenly.

You looked at him at first and then you lowered your eyes to the f/c slippers and nodded.

– Such attention to detail – you kidded stealing one of his rare smiles.

– Just thought they were pretty.

– I agree, – you stated clicking the shoes’ tips, – that Greyjoy can be a prick, but when it comes to this kind of things he really knows his stuff.

– Theon? – Jon asked with wide eyes.

– A-Aye… – you stuttered timidly noticing his gaze souring.

At that moment, Arya yelled from across the yard, – It would be nice if my teachers looked at me hitting the bull’s eye! –, and she unstuck the arrow from the target.

– Well done! – Jon shouted back, then he left without saying more or even giving you the time of day.

You gave a quick and worried look to the little girl, waved her a short bye, and followed him inside.

– Why are you angry? What did I say? – you exclaimed walking briskly at his back. At those words, he stopped and turned to face you.

– Are you serious, Y/n? Are you really taking presents from Theon?

– Is that the problem? Theon buying me a pair of shoes?

You didn’t expect a reaction like that, but the look he had on his face was quite troubled. You sighed, searching for the right words to explain him the situation.

– He bought me a new pair of shoes because he ruined my old ones making me falling in the muck, two days ago.

Jon’s frown soothed a little, but not enough. You groaned and took one of your feet.

– Y/n…? – he said confused watching as you put off the slippers. You then pounded them on his chest.

– Here. Take them, Jon.

The two of you remained quiet and so close you could feel your breaths on the skin. Your lips were just few inches apart. That day, with your new shoes pressed on his chest, bare feet on the cold stone floor, you gave your first kiss to the Stark bastard Jon.

Because of Lady Catelyn opinion about him and because you felt so in debt to her, you and Jon agreed to keep your love affair a secret for just you and him two. Even if you found it hard not to sink your fingers in his hair when he was seating beside you at the dinner table, or not to rest your head on his shoulder when you were watching Arya and Bran practicing, you held on for the sake of your love. Jon was struggling too for the same identical reasons, not to mention the great effort he had to make to stay calm every time Robb, or worse Theon, got too close to you. Besides, you were the only good thing happened to him in a whole life and the only thought that helped him getting through Lady Catelyn bitterness day after day. He didn’t talk to you about it, he didn’t want to be a burden or made you sad, but he could not consider Winterfell his home anymore, and the night he heard by mistake Lord Stark and his wife discussing about a possible suitor for you from the riverlands, he made his decision, alone.

The night of the celebration in honor of the royal family’s arrival, when you joined him outside in the cold night air, you felt something was wrong. Then Jon stretched out a hand and took you by the wrist, keeping you close to him. Resting his forehead on yours he told he was leaving for the Wall and you knew deep down inside there was nothing you could do to make him stay: if you forced him to do that, he would eventually hate you too. So, the next day you let him go away with his uncle; when his figure disappeared over the distance, he took all your love, joy and laughs away with him. No one never heard your laugh once since that farewell.

There is not much to tell about the following years: you spent your days out of apathy, sharing fake smile cold as the north winds. During the Ironborns’ possession of Winterfell, you helped Bran and Rickon to escape, but were not able to run away with them; free or caged, you had nothing to lose anyway.

Speaking about Ramsey Bolton, the things were different. Under his captivity, you really were frightened. You saw what he did with Theon and what your poor childhood friend had become because of his twisted mind. Twice you implored the bastard to have mercy, and twice his men beat you senseless; by the time you restored consciousness, you found yourself in the courtyard, with rain and blood all over your dress, hands and face. Servants had orders to ignore you, on pain of death. After that, Ramsay ordered you to serve as a kitchen maid, and so you did. Once Sansa came back and became his wife, he humiliated you in front of her more than one occasion, dressing you with rags, keeping you locked up in the kennels for the night, or cutting your hair short with a knife in the middle of the hall threatening to skin you.

It was an endless nightmare.

Everything that happened after Theon and Sansa ran away was fast and terrifying. In a blink of an eye, Rickon was brought to Ramsey and a second later Winterfell was at war carrying the red flayed man banners. And when, in the silence of the castle walls, the sound of the distant battlefield was overcome by the main gate blown to pieces, your heart started to beat in your chest again: Jon was standing there, strong and alive, and he was defeating Ramsey who now laid exhausted on the ground. Every punch hit the Bolton’s face you took a step towards Jon, until his eyes finally met yours.

Jon closed the door behind his back as you stood still ahead and never once did he averted his gaze from yours. Neither of you had said a word yet, but your fingers were tenderly caressing the palm of his hand, sensing the earthy and bloody smell from all his body. Just like he did years before, he took you by the wrist and held you against his chest, embracing your bruised body in his sored arms.

– I never should have left – he said in a hoarse whisper.

The tightness in your throat cut off your breath and you started to sob softly.

– I never should’ve let you go! – you cried out holding Jon as hard as you could.

You both remained there in each other’s arms, without paying attention to the flow of time. Tears were falling quietly down the cheeks and hands were firmly gripping fabric and leather. Only when your heartbeats were back to their calm normal rate, Jon pushes a little away from you; even so, he did not let go of you.

– I’m afraid I’ve soiled your hair – he smiled looking at the hair that was falling on your forehead, now a little muddy. You giggled, sniffling and drying the trickles on his face with your thumbs.

– Don’t worry, Jon, it wasn’t my best hairdo anyway – you kidded gesturing to your short locks. Then he rested his head against yours and closed his eyes.

– You still look ravishing, Y/n – he said softly, – You can’t imagine how amazing it is to see your face again, after being all these years away.

You raised your chin and laid a gentle kiss on his lips being careful not to touch any bruise or cut the battle left on his skin.

– I was rather surprised to see your hair up… – but you were not able to go on because, in the heat of passion, Jon wrapped you up in his strong arms and deepened the kiss you both longed for so long. You’d never divide again, and now you knew that, after all, you were not star-crossed lovers, because that kiss was just the first of many to come.

#jon snow imagine #jon snow x reader #jon snow #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #got imagine #got x reader #theon greyjoy

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