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southslates · 3 years

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you are lost without the waiting

for the @grishaversebigbang mini bang 2021!

lovely art was done for this piece by amethyst @amethystmoonart [here!] and door @doorhandle16 [here] ! these two were absolutely amazing to work with <3

Summary:

Inej made a deal with the devil. She had faith in him, for whatever reason. His eyes were black as dirt. They were cold. They were home.

In which Inej is Persephone, Kaz is Hades, and she chooses to stay.

ao3 link!

“Tell me you loved to destroy.

Tell me you need me. Please. You are the bones

of my spine. You are the ground beneath my feet.

You are made of deeper stuff than the earth

can give. Admit it: you are lost without the waiting.

― clementine von radics, letter from hades to persephone

Can you even imagine yourself in paradise?

Even the daughter of gods must know loneliness,

must sometimes want nothing more than to be

trapped in a hell of forevers. Thank me, you queen.

I’ve given you forever.”

Inej had been a wind spirit.

Technically, she still was. She didn’t feel like one anymore. She used to dance across rooftops and skies—her parents said she was a gravity-defier. That there was no place in the world—no land, nor ocean—that could bind her feet—or her—to anything.

They were wrong. She had been taken when flying through the skies, swept away into a deep sleep until she woke up in a bed at the Menagerie. There she met Tante Heleen, purveyor of lost spirits. Heleen had told Inej that she saved the girl from a fiery fate, and that now she owed her an indenture. An indenture Inej paid by tending the lands the goddess reigned over and touching the men who let Heleen carry out her whims.

Inej had been a wind spirit, but she did not think she was one anymore. She could not break free. If she left the grassy fields of Heleen’s island world she would be caught and subjugated to an even darker fate.

She stayed. She tended to the fields. She danced in front of gods with long teeth. She belonged to the Menagerie, the girls with lost spirits. She distanced the innocent who breezed through the flower fields from the one who balanced on rope. She felt like two people. She wanted to leave but had nowhere to go.

One day, airing out a field of daisies, she stopped. She could see a flash of color between the deathly white blooms, and held her breath as she reached out to thumb bright orange petals. It was a geranium. It had been her mother’s favorite flower.

In a moment of weakness and pain and longing, she reached for the stem and tugged it out of the earth. And then the ground opened, and Inej fell.

Inej felt as though she fell for days. She thought she would shatter into a thousand pieces when she finally hit the bottom of this well. She thought she would fall forever.

When she reached the bottom of the hole, it was an ocean. She found herself submerged in water and darkness, and pulled herself up until she felt dry air. The darkness stayed omnipresent. She couldn’t see anything. “Hello?” she called into a void.

For a minute, nothing happened. She could almost believe that she was nonexistent. And then something, a bullet, whizzed past her. She barely dodged it.

A light flicked on, and she saw a man in a bright orange waistcoat holding a . . . small cannon in her direction. She assumed it had dislodged the bullet that had almost torn her immortal life. The light disturbed Inej for a moment, but she found her balance quickly. She anticipated another attack, but the man just frowned in her direction. “Who are you?”

“Where am I?” Inej countered.

The man took in her silk dress and the painted spots on her face, and he seemed to come to his own conclusion. “Not anywhere you should be, goddess. Your kind are not welcome here.”

“Where is here?”

The man sighed. “My name is Jesper,” he said, then gestured to his side. “Welcome to the land of greed. I suppose I’ll have to take you to the boss.”

Jesper took Inej to a large black palace in the middle of . . . absolutely nothing. It wasn’t particularly enchanting, unlike the gilded arches of the Menagerie. The building seemed to speak to her, to warn her away from its obsidian glare. She wanted to turn back when Jesper gestured for her to enter, but she had nowhere else to go. Even if she could find her way to the surface, she would land in Hell that was simply more discreet.

And she was certain that she was in Hell. The land of greed, Jesper had said. The land of greed, of rocks and riches and death. What lay under the fanciful pretenses of the land Tante Heleen and men such as Pekka Rollins claimed to rule.

Inej didn’t know who ruled this land, but she was certain she was about to find out. She took one last look around the landscape, blank and dead and black, before stepping into the palace. The stone of the entrance cracked under her feet.

Jesper led her around dilapidated columns and stairs and walls, human architecture, until they reached a large room at the top of the palace. Even up here, Inej was distinctly aware of the stillness of the air. She felt as though a part of her was missing. She felt like a wind spirit again. When she looked down, she could almost see through herself. She required air to stay formed. This place was sucking out her lifeblood, and she could not find it in herself to care.

“Kaz!” he yelled. Inej startled at the sudden noise, but stayed deft on her feet as they approached a tall, lank, pale figure, sitting at a throne that almost seemed like a desk. There was a hat on the man’s head and a cane next to him. Inej frowned at it. She had met many gods and spirits, and none needed aids such as that. “We’ve got a four-hundred-sixty-three.”

The man looked up, and his searing brown eyes met hers. He didn’t break that contact as he stood up from his seat and gripped his cane. “I don’t know what your asinine numbers mean, Jesper. Speak proper. We have a guest.”

Jesper almost blushed at Inej’s side. She found herself entranced by this man she knew nothing about. “She fell from above.”

“Indeed,” Kaz said. He was unnaturally still. “So? Take her back up.”

“No!” Inej shouted. Jesper’s gaze fixed on her too, and he seemed a bit scared.

“No?” Kaz questioned. “Why would a wind spirit not want to go back to the lands above?”

“I’m indentured to Tante Heleen,” she murmured. “Please, I can help you.”

“Can you?” Kaz asked. She couldn’t let her eyes off him, either. His voice was a salty rasp, dead but safe. They stood in that silence for a moment, looking at each other, until Jesper cleared his throat.

“Kaz?”

“Put her in a guest bedroom,” he said easily. “Always fine to piss on darling Heleen.”

His name was Kaz Brekker, and he was greed’s guardian. Truly, he was the guardian of Hell, but few called him that. “Death does not bow to me,” he told her at breakfast the next day, a table length apart. He wore leather gloves and kept his cane close to him. It was topped by a crow’s head. Late at night, Inej had heard them flying around the palace. They were the only form of life she’d seen so far, though no wind followed. She was the faintest bit translucent. “Death bows to no man. But greed? It is my servant and my lever.”

Inej was a bit overwhelmed by it all. She was frightened of this new world, one of death and decay. She knew she did not belong. But she knew it was better than what awaited her above.

“How do you intend to help me, Inej Ghafa?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I make it my business to know all things,” Kaz said. “There is unrest in my fields, those of the deceased. You will learn why.”

“Why—”

“Yesterday,” he said, “you came with Jesper, bells on your ankles, bracelets on your wrists. I could hear my enforcer from a mile away, but not you.” He leaned close to her, several bodies apart. “Spy for me, won’t you?”

Inej made a deal with the devil. She had faith in him, for whatever reason. His eyes were black as dirt. They were cold. They were home.

Inej saw Jesper occasionally. He ensured that she had basic necessities, and he toured her around the land of greed. She saw rubies growing on trees, diamonds blooming from the ground. She met shades, those who had died centuries ago and entered the land crying for the saints she knew were above. The more days and weeks she spent here, the more see-through she became. She was almost afraid she would become one of them.

She made herself silent and danced through them. And when she knew what they spoke, she went back to the palace. She went to the river. She went to valleys and canyons, and she learned of the guardian of this Hell. She found peace in the darkness, in the stillness.

Kaz Brekker was a true demjin, she was told. She was told he started wars himself, when he grew tired. She heard he controlled all the riches and corruptness above her.

She believed it, too. She ate twice a day with him, and then he did whatever demons did as she wandered the terrain of his domain. They spoke only occasionally. He tended to stare into her soul, and those looks always said more than words. Inej was a wraith, a ghost, but Kaz made her feel solid and seen.

One day Kaz Brekker asked her if she would like him to take her to the shadow fold. “You’re curious,” he told her, as though he could see inside her and also right through her. She wondered if he could. “It’s intriguing.”

So they’d gone on a walk through something dark and damp, sapphire-studded weeds carpeting the ground under their feet. The air was moist and still. The fold was somehow darker than the rest of this world, and it frightened Inej. As they stood at its precipice, she grabbed Kaz Brekker’s gloved hand.

She had seen him shy away from Jesper’s touch, seen him stay feet away from her. But when she held his hand that day, he didn’t let go. The next day he was not at breakfast, but there was a bouquet of flowers in front of her, studded with orange opal. Inej had never mentioned to Kaz her favorite flower.

The walks became a daily occurrence, and she slowly started to wring fragments of humanity from this immortal. Kaz Brekker enjoyed drinking wine and his work, the guardian of the souls of the worst kind of men. He was sure of himself as a monster. He asked her twice as many questions as she asked him.

If she wrung humanity from a demon, he wrung personality from a shadow. He brought her up into what she once was—until she remembered the wind spirit again. Inej talked of flowers and her friend Nina and how she loved dancing across rooftops. She talked of her parents and her siblings and the freedom of the air. Kaz seemed to drink her in, with his menacing, freeing gaze. He knew her. He saw her.

Once, she asked him why he wore gloves, why he avoided the river at the entrance of his realm, and why he used a cane. He only explained the latter, only said there was strength in being broken.

They didn’t touch. Inej grew used to the feeling of leather around her palm. Kaz seemed aloof, but he grasped her translucent hand through his clothing as though he never wanted to let her go. And yet she never felt stuck, or alone, until—

Until one day she woke up to Jesper forcing her back into her rooms. He seemed frenzied, and Inej went back to bed only to crawl out through her window when she heard loud sounds in Kaz’s throne room. She sat at his window and heard a voice which seared her invisible soul. Pekka Rollins, indeed.

“You must return her. She is indentured—”

“And you would think that something I would consider? I am your safes and vaults personified. It’s meaningless.”

“The girl belongs to—”

“The girl belongs to no one,” Inej heard Kaz hiss. “Go tell your Tante Heleen that Inej Ghafa belongs to nobody.”

Inej slipped a little at that admission, right into Rollins’ eyesight. He looked at her slight, ghost-like body with his eyebrows afloat—as though he’d won something. “Come, little lynx,” he cooed at her. “You don’t have to stay in this land anymore, with this demon.”

“She doesn’t want to come with you,” said Kaz. Rollins laughed.

“Found a new master already, have you?”

“I belong to no one,” Inej repeated what Kaz had said.

“Little girl,” Rollins said. “You would stay here? In a land of no sky, of death and decay and greed? You are a free spirit. Come to the world above.” His eyes traced her figure. “You are nothing here.”

She knew he was referring to her barely corporeal form. His words still stung deeply.

“I am freer here than I could ever be,” Inej said. And yet she knew the hard skies of Kaz’s world were dulling her sensibilities. She didn’t want to leave; but she would have to soon, if she didn’t want to fade into the fold itself.

Pekka appeared as though he had more to say, but Kaz stood up in protest to his unsaid words, ghosts in the air, leaning on his cane, something truly—truly demonic in his eyes. “If you do not leave now, Pekka Rollins,” he said, “it is your mortal son who will suffer. Kaelish, isn’t he?”

The man left. His words stayed in the air. Inej was in a nightgown and Kaz was dressed like a monster, but she felt as though she had the power in the room. His gaze did not fall away from her. “He was right,” she said. She was fading.

“I know,” he said. He stared at her enough to know that she did not have much time left before she became invisible. “You would never be able to pay off your indenture.”

Inej knew this. She knew that he could give her all the riches of his realm, and she would never pay off her indenture. “I have no choice.”

He walked across the room and pressed a gloved hand to her cheek. “Greed is my servant,” he said. “And my lever.”

The walls started shaking, and Inej fell away from Kaz. She could feel leather on her face.

Then she saw darkness, and nothing more.

Inej woke up in a field of flowers. They were jeweled, and they were orange. They smelled like dirt and decay. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in that field. She lifted her hand and saw herself, all of herself.

When she stepped forward, she was back home. She heard the news soon afterward, that the entire Menagerie had fallen into Hell. That the guardian of greed had taken the woman who loved it above. That the girls forced to be animals were free.

Inej was home, and yet she was not home; how did she explain to her people of the air that she yearned for a place with croaking birds, cloaked in darkness? She did not—Kaz Brekker made it his business to know all things. It was six months later that she found a fresh geranium in a field of flowers outside of her cottage.

She fell again. This time she didn’t fall into water, but the open embrace of a demon without armor. She thought she would fall forever. She thought she could find peace.

#dee writes #gvbb21 #gvbbminibang21 #gang 2 #kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #shadow and bone #six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #kanej fic #amethystmoonart #doorhandle16

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watery-lane · 3 years

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Words into Smoke

The Night You Cared Sequel.

Pairing: Modern!Ivar Lothbrok x Reader

Summary: As a part of his therapy, Ivar writes letters to unwind and keep track of his mental health progress. He writes to his mom, he misses her. He writes to Sigurd, sometimes he regrets his departure. One night, he writes about her.

Warnings: Angst

Words: 3864

A/N: (3/5/20) I had this idea in my head that I simply could not let go.

(10/4/21) P.S: Can’t promise I’m back, but I’m definitely turning to writing as a way of winding down. I hope you guys are alright.

Part I / Part II / Epilogue

Some nights, while the city sleeps, Ivar stays awake. Like an owl looking for a prey, the Ragnarsson remains seated upright at the edge of his bed, his now heavily tattooed chest exposed to the world through the panoramic window, heaving. Beating.

Some nights were amazing. He got his drivers license, and Freydis got him an adapted Bentley as a gift. He would spend the nights driving by himself down the empty streets of Kattegat, not worrying about speeding tickets or angry neighbours.

Not so long ago, he learned his wife was finally carrying a child, her round belly reminding him that he had a legacy to keep, now that the Lothbrok dynasty seemed to be more fragmented than ever. After spending thousands of krone on in vitro fertilisation, the universe seemed to work in his favour. Their favour. If the gods were unwilling to bless them two, science would. These were the nights that were made for celebrations, champaign showers and water for the mother to be.

Some nights were alright. Ivar would come back after a long day of meetings and getting his ass kissed, to find Freydis immersed in her little personal projects. He would tell Erik to pick up some takeaway while he washed away the power and wrapped himself in mundane clothes. He would eat in silence, elbows propped on the counter and eyes on the horizon, watching the sun kiss the skyscrapers goodbye as he mindlessly put food in his mouth. Then he would take his new baby for a ride, to the bar he now owned with his brother Hvitserk.

Ivar would go there, check the inventory and the register, ask the employees how everything was going and what could he do for them. Sometimes he would also find Hvitserk at the bar, practicing the cocktail skills he had been mastering since he took over your share of the bar. Ivar would simply walk past, not entirely avoiding making contact with his sibling but prefering to keep a healthy distance from the person that substituted you. He started visiting the local more often after you left, feeling the responsibility to continue what you started. He found peace in the simplicity of managing a bar: at the office, he was a tyrannic boss, voice always booming through the walls, keeping both employees and investors in check. At the bar, he was just the young lovestruck Ivar he once was. He understood then, why you wished to escape from it all. You are just a memory now, but sometimes he still feels you around, checking on the girls, checking on him.

Some nights were... Painful. Therapy had a big presence in his life. He no longer needed a cane thanks to nurse Hansen, his physical therapist. But on some days, the stress and the weather would simply take a toll on his legs, forcing him to carry around that metal stick that reminded him that he was, in fact, human.

Before you left, Freydis figured out a question that would calm Ivar down and make him focus: “What would Dr. Nielsen tell you to do?”. That was how she got him to control himself and open up the last time he was onstage, the night she met you. They were just engaged back then. Oh, how quick did time pass. Ivar no longer organised events like that. He was too consumed by his two jobs. There were nights where Freydis would be on business trips, or out hanging out with friends until the next morning, nights where absences were felt more than presences. But he was coping now. Dr. Nielsen helped the youngest Lothbrok greatly since his great breakdown.

Ivar had thought he physically felt his heart break the night he got down the stage to find you, only to figure out you were gone after most of the guests had left the hotel ballroom. He felt compelled to call you dozens of times to ask for an explanation. After his calls went unanswered, he decided to drive around town in search of you, not knowing where to start, not knowing where to ask, anger poisoning his brain and taking over his actions. That night he stayed at Loki’s after barging in to see if you were hiding there like “the coward you were”. He hated the fact that you could make him feel that weak. It felt like he was putty and Freydis was fire, hardening him the more he was exposed to her. You were water, turning him into a pliable being, at mercy of your actions.

For five days in a row, he found himself staying at his office until late at night, observing his office telephone with attention and indecision, silently praying for you to pick up the phone, practicing the rage filled words he was about to rain down on you the moment you uttered a response. He prayed with ill intentions, but he prayed nonetheless. It was his last resort.

The earth seemed to crack open and swallow him whole the moment he gathered all his courage and dialed your number, only to hear an automated voice telling him that the number no longer existed. He sat there, phone on his hand as a white noise took over the voice message, thinking about the different possibilities that could have happened for you to cancel your line. Maybe, he thought. Maybe I really asked for too much this time.

“Fuck no,” Ivar reflected out loud as he tossed his phone away, “In no fucking way this is my fault.”

“Ivar?” A distant voice reverberated through the glass corridors. It sounded familiar. The youngest Ragnarsson frowned, weirded out by the fact that one of his brothers was still in the office this late.

It wasn’t just one of his brothers, but the three of them.

“Freydis called us asking where you were. You’ve been out late at night for many days in a row, she literally just confronted each one of us asking whether you were having an affair.” Hvitserk said, arms crossed as he leaned on the door frame. “That woman nearly dragged each one of us out to look for you.” Ivar pursed his lips, outraged by such accusations from his then fiancée.

“Well, tell her I’d never do such thing.” He answered, swatting his hand in annoyance. “I am surprised she came to that conclusion, knowing how busy I always am as the bloody CEO!” He exclaimed, letting the following silence fill the room as he flashed a disdainful look towards his brothers.

“Why are you here, brother?” Ubbe finally dared to ask, observing his youngest sibling sway in his chair from side to side.

Ivar looked up for a brief moment, like a puppy who lost his favourite toy, and decided to tell them the whole story. That the had the hunch you were back from a strange event where someone knocked on his penthouse door. To that, Ubbe awkwardly shifted in his place, still listening intently. Ivar explained that he sent you an invite to his inaguration gala and how he asked you to stay for his speech so you could have a dance afterwards, unaware of the utterly personal turn his speech would take just because an old man decided to drink a bit more than usual that night. How he waited for you, called you and looked for you tirelessly, frustration filling his voice as he talked about how you had been avoiding him for a week now, changing your phone number in the process.

“If she thinks she can avoid me by changing numbers she’s dead wrong. We’re business partners, for fucks sake!” He complained, registering the situation as a burden. “I’ll find her new phone sooner or later.”

Unbeknownst Ivar, tension had been gradually building up as he spoke, his three brothers standing still in their places, not knowing how to break the news. Sure they knew this day would come, but none of the three expected to be trapped with the ticking bomb. It was way too soon. Too recent.

Hell, it was about you. It was most likely no amount of time would soften the blow.

Ubbe took a step forward, leaning on the hardwood desk. With a resigned tone, he mumbled:

“She’s gone, Ivar.” He swallowed. “(Y/n) left Kattegat.”

Already motionless before, Ivar remained still. He darted his eyes to look at his brother, confusion and fear brewing within him, fueling a fire he thought it was extinguished the day he made Sigurd leave. With trembling lips but a determined voice, he asked how did he know. How did Ubbe Ragnarsson, the brother who would stab his youngest sibling in the back at the slightest opportunity, know the whereabouts of his woman, while he sat there completely lost, disoriented.

With an attempt of a soothing voice, Ubbe confessed that months ago he offered you a job position to work on a humanitarian project he had running in Haiti. Aslaug had stated in her will that she wished to expand the non-profit organisation she created to other countries and Ubbe decided to make his deceased mother’s wish come true. He told Ivar that while you rejected the offer at first, you ended up accepting it the night of his gala. That you made him promise to make the process fast and discreet, and that, while you insisted on paying for the plane tickets, Lothbrok Inc. paid for your travel expenses and necessities. You left three days ago, unnanounced, with only Ubbe at the airport to bid you farewell.

Hvitserk, who remained silent all this time, let him know that you were no longer the owner of the bar you opened together. At that, Ivar panicked, his eyes wide open as he snapped his head towards his older brother. You simply signed a transfer contract, with Ubbe as the witness and five krone as the contingency, stating that you were returning the property to Lothbrok Inc., thus paying your debt to the family and releasing yourself from any ties to Ivar. He tried to soften the blow, letting him know that he didn’t know you gave him your share because you were leaving. He thought it was a rash decision that stemmed from seeing Ivar with a fiancée, that you’d come back and take back the business when you were ready. He promised he’d take care of the bar as well as you took care of it, that nothing would change under his management.

Ivar listened intently, motionless. His breathing was deep, yet steady. He never moved a muscle voluntarily, but his nostrils flared with every breath and his hand, hidden under the desk, shook incontrollably as he processed their words. His piercing gaze was focused on the oldest Aslaugsson, who was now relaxing and straightening his back as he regained his composure.

It felt like every action happened in slow motion, yet the blow came fast. In mere seconds, Ivar had propped himself forward from the chair, one of his hands grabbing the jacket Ubbe was wearing while the other, contracted in a fist, made contact with his right cheek. That is when Bjorn, who had been silent during the whole exchange, stepped in, grabbing the torso of his youngest brother as he struggled to keep himself standing, making sure he didn’t hurt himself.

Sometimes, Ivar still hears his own screams.

“YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!” Ivar accused, eyes absent of tears but voice cracking at the end of the sentence. “SHEWAS GOING TO STAY,” He roared, fists swinging towards his brother’s face. “AND YOU FUCKING TOOK HER FROM ME!”

He lost it that night. The screams he released came from the depths of his sorrow, his eyes only registering red while all his nerves could only feel the desperation taking over his soul. Ivar kept trying to reach Ubbe, unaware of how he repeatedly banged his legs against the desk as Bjorn tried to pin him down.

But what started as a justified outburst gradually led to nonsensical, rage-filled accusations.

“You wanted to fuck her, didn’t you? You wanted her and you couldn’t stand the fact that she chose ME!” Ivar recriminated, grabbing a sharp glass ornament and throwing it to his brother. Ubbe pursed his lips, dodging the improvised weapon. “You did this to get back at me, hmm? YOU WANT ALL I HAVE, DON’T YOU?” He seethed, eyes and mouth wide open, exposing his teeth like a menacing predator as he let out a guttural laugh.

Bjorn was having a difficult time restraining him. Years relying on his upper body strength gave Ivar the advantage of resilience amongst his biggest sibling, while Bjorn struggled to keep him in place. Ivar managed to grab the second glass ornament, throwing it as he shrieked.

“DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” his voice boomed in the room, palm pounding his chest as his free hand signaled the whole place. “YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME, I AM IVAR LOTHBROK! YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!” Ivar kept shouting, cursing as he spat towards Ubbe.

Hvitserk stepped forward, having seen enough, ready to take on his little brother. To his surprise, Ubbe halted him, his arm creating a barrier between Hvitserk and Ivar as he observed with intent and horror etched on his face.

That night, Ivar lost the little progress he made. He broke his femur, dignity left behind as an ambulance carried him to the emergency room.

As if that wasn’t enough, he lost another family member to Lagertha that night.

With a reedy voice as he laid down in the hospital bed, he asked Ubbe one thing:

“Bring her back.” He whispered, his eyes stuck in the ceiling, pretty certain that if he laid his eyes on his brother, he would kill him. “She is working for Lothbrok Inc. now. Bring her back.” His request was met with silence. “That’s an order.” He swallowed, nostrils flaring with each ticking second.

“I’m sorry, Ivar.” Ubbe mumbled. “The Sigurðdóttir Trust is out of your reach.” He reminded him, reopening a wound that Ivar closed not so long ago. “That’s what mother wished.” Ivar snapped his head at the mention of his beloved mother. The brim of his eyes were red like his sclera, a menacing gaze stabbing his brother as Ivar grabbed his wrist.

“You have three days to gather your stuff and leave Lothbrok Inc.” Ivar seethed as he moved his face closer to his brother. “If you’re not gone after that, I will make sure you’ll leave the premises crawling like I crawled as a child.” Ivar swore, releasing his wrist as he let his head drop back to the sterile pillow.

Up to this day, Ivar still saw Ubbe’s action as a huge betrayal. He knew his older brother would return to his life as the new addition of Lagertha’s legal team, Bjorn granted his little brother this little backup plan.

Tonight, his thoughts weighted a little heavier. His eyes scanned the city before focusing on his bedroom, where he finds the clothes he wore today discarded on the leather chair. Behind him, his wife slept peacefully, her baby bumb protuding more and more each passing day. His legs were alright, but with the absence of physical pain he could sense his yearning looming over his head.

Ivar sighs and stands up silently, his bare feet and metallic support dragging on the tiles as he moved to his home office.

Dr. Nielsen taught him the importance of adapted emotional releases. She actively discouraged Ivar from indulging in his impulses and told him to write them down instead. For business meetings, Ivar was told to count until 10, 20 or even 30 if he was encountered with bad news. When it came to personal affairs, Dr. Nielsen told him to write letters addressed to the pertinent subject. Ivar could write them and discard them, write them and take them to therapy or he could write them and send them to the addressee.

It wasn’t the most effective exercise, but it kept his flame at bay. He needed to learn to do that, now that he knew he had a little one coming soon.

Sometimes he wrote to his mother, asking her questions about ruling an empire he wished he had the answer to. Those he kept, as a tool to reflect later on when his ambition peaked. The more emotional ones he’d take to Dr. Nielsen, a proof of his progress on his journey to... normalcy. The ones he wrote to Sigurd, those he threw away. In those pages filled with guilt and rage, he found himself cornered in a bleak past that seemed to refuse to let him go.

Tonight, he thought about you.

It wasn’t like you weren’t a constant presence in his mind, like an annoying tenant in his brain that refused to leave or pay rent. Ivar just chose to remember the best parts of you, those who could be found at the bar you owned, or on his bed when Freydis left him for the night. If he kept you alive that way, he would also keep alive that part of him he thought he lost. You were inevitable, like the pain after a blow or the kiss after a reencounter.

He wishes he could blame you. For leaving, for stepping outside the gala without waiting for your dance. For silently giving away your shares to Hvitserk, who the only thing he knew about bars was how to empty the alcohol pantry. But there is a part of him that cannot physically repulse you.

Ivar sits down and turns on the desk lamp in front of him. He finds his precious pen and puts a piece of paper on the desk. Before starting, he hesitates.

Dear (Y/n),

He groans, crossing the two words with disdain.

Hello.

“Hello?” Ivar shakes his head, crossing the word again.

Hi, princess.

Ivar cringes. No.

Frustrated, he discards the paper. He had done it before. Why was it so hard to do it all over again now?

Just... Jump right in. Start from the beginning, start from the middle, start from the end if you prefer. He recalls the advice of his therapist. Sometimes, formalities are overrated. It may help when you have nothing to say, but it becomes a burden when you got too much to say. Ivar reflected.

And so he did.

Every night I drive through the streets of Kattegat I find myself looking for you wandering around, looking for me to give you a lift, for the memory of our first reencounters were the ones that helped us find redemption.

It is weird, but I still have the need to find you even though I know you are no longer here. The idea of you lives in my head, that I am sure of. The feel of you, that is what I miss.

I guess part of me feels like I still need to apologise for something that I’ve done.

At the sight of his words written on paper, Ivar blinks. He never consciously thought much more ahead of his negations, his feelings dictating the perspectives he kept imposing to his reality.

He sacrificed so much for you. He tried to change for you. He went to therapy, he learned to walk. Ivar tried to become the right man for you, he really tried.

He wished you were there to see it.

Ivar doesn’t really know what he did wrong. All he knows is...

And now that you’re gone for good,

He shakes his head, crossing the last two words.

all I wish for is to be in the wrong this time.

Ivar huffs in frustration.

I wish I had been selfish, I wish I was the old Ivar. I wish I had begged you to stay, to manage this empire I never chos- by my side.

I know you would have never wanted this.

But I know you would have never said no to us.

Mindlessly, Ivar puts his pen in his mouth, a subconscious tick he developped not-so recently. Passing his hands through his hair, he sighed.

I started to smoke. He confessed. I know you never liked the smell, how it clings to my clothes, my mouth, how it lingered around the house when my brothers decided to have one one in their rooms. Ivar snorts at the memory. Not that you’re here to tell me off.

Freydis has been buying candles, they’re all around the house now. The smell of the cigarettes blends with the essences and I technically get to have fire dispensers in every single room.

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to magically show up and tell me to fuck off.” He whispers.

Suddenly, Ivar shakes his head, as if the physical gesture cleared his mind.

I guess I’ll have to stop soon, I have a baby on the way. He releases an airy laugh as he re-reads what he just wrote. Who would have thought, (Y/n)? A baby. Me. Your Ivar.

The young Ragnarsson lets out a tired sigh, strenghening his grip on the metalling pen as he mindlessly tapped on the crystal desk. With resigned resolution, he decides to write his last lines, telling himself that he is finally starting to accept reality.

I know you’re not going to come back. Not to the place we grew up at, at least.

If you ever do, I just want to let you know, as sappy as it may sound, that my heart will always be open for you, even when my arms are not.

I miss you.

I miss us.

Take care,

Ivar.

Dropping the pen, Ivar stares at his letter. His hands blindly search for an envelope, a frown etched on his face until his fingertips brush against the soft surface of the letter. You don’t know, but he found your new address. He searched around Ubbe’s old files.

With a careful manner, Ivar writes down your address on the envelope.

He stands up, walks to his living room and grabs a jacket as he makes his way to the exit.

All of the sudden he stops right on his tracks, his free hand almost reaching to the door handle. Freydis seemed to have forgotten to put out a lone candle, a tiny fragrance dispenser resting on the entrance drawer.

Ivar may not be aware of a lot of things in life, but one thing he was certain of: smoke traveled faster than mail.

His hand was trembling slightly, but it managed to follow his instructions. With a swift move, Ivar positioned the ephemeral piece of paper on the fire, watching intently how the flames consumed his words and took them to you. Discreetly, he threw the burning letter in the empty bin, the lid cutting short the trail of smoke escaping from the container.

He makes sure ashes are all what it remains from his indecent confession and makes his way back to the bedroom. Slowly but steadily, Ivar returns to bed, nesting himself between the sheets before holding his beloved wife in his embrace.

Tonight, he was human. Tomorrow, he’ll have to be a God.

The end.

Taglist:

Note: This is the old taglist I have noted from my past Ivar ficts. Please let me know if you want to be removed or added by sending an ask here.

@aesstheticallypleasing @captstefanbrandt @unicornbaby741 @fuckthatfeeling @huffelpuffers @yannii04 @collecting-stories @timber3 @darkwolfpeanutskeleton @vampsclassiffied @lenafarn @yourpurplequeen@youbloodymadgenius @lettersofwrittencollective

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar/reader #ivar the boneless/reader #ivar ragnarsson/reader #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar lothbrok imagine #ivar lothbrok/reader #Ivar One shot #ivar the boneless one shot #ivar lothbrok one shot #ivar ragnarsson one shot #ivar ragnarsson imagine

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marleys-ghost · 3 years

Text

Death of The Traveler - Mondstadt's Hero Pt 2 - Venti

Summary/Details: Genshin Impact fanfic. When the hero of Mondstadt dies it leaves everyone in a state of mourning. In this the Traveler died in Mondstadt before they made their way to Liyue so those characters will not be present. This is the second of a series which will eventually include all of the Mondstadt playable characters and what happens to them after the travelers death. Read part one first! This is Venti's reaction/after story of the Traveler's death.

This is on ao3 as well if you want to follow the progress

Content warnings: Character death

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

The anemo archon has lost many important people over the many years. It's not surprising considering how the gods are immortal, but for Barbatos it seems that everyone he befriends winds up dead. The anemo archon now takes the form of one of his deceased friends, an unnamed bard from old Mondstadt that died during the fall of Decarabian. Venti is the current name the anemo archon uses when among the mortals. After the events of the Stormterror incident Venti had found a new friend, a traveler from another world.

Venti has thought that this friend may be different from his friends of the past, maybe this one would break the curse of death that befalls all his friends. An outlander who could wield anemo without a vision; they surely must be one who was blessed by fate. But fate had a different plan, the Traveler had fought hard but it seemed their effort wasn't enough. They had fallen while battling against the Abyss Order.

Venti was able to feel when people had died within his domain, he felt a pain in his chest when the Traveler had taken their last breath. The cries the anemo archon let out could be felt across the land of Mondstadt, the winds picked up to an incredible speed and ferocity. The pain of losing yet another friend tore at Venti in a way that it had never before. The Traveler was not meant to die like that and that fact broke Venti down, it wasn't as dignified as his other friend's deaths. He also had no idea where the Traveler would end up in the afterlife or if it was going to be peaceful there. "It's not fair. It's just not fair! Their journey had just begun and yet they were torn down so easily! They weren't even able to find a trace of their sibling!" Venti hit the ground while he yelled out, his voice raw from crying.

Even though Venti had lost his gnosis he still was the anemo archon, and it was the anemo archon's job to carry the souls of the dead to the afterlife. He was able to catch Diluc and Eula carrying out the Travelers body from the abyssal stronghold.

"Eula, I think you should hurry ahead to let the Knights of Favonius know of what happened, I'll carry _____ back to the city" Diluc said to the captain of the reconnaissance company.

"Alright I'll make sure to be quick" Eula replies and she sprints off ahead. Diluc gives a quick nod to Venti.

"Thank you Diluc" Venti says quietly.

The wild starts to blow past all of them, it's a strong but a comforting feeling. The anemo archon then puts his hand on the Traveler's body and closes his eyes, the wind picking up and swirling around more and more. When Venti opens his eyes he can see the soul of the Traveler standing next to him and Diluc. The Traveler gives them both a small smile and then hugs Venti, a small thank you escapes their lips as they fade off into the afterlife. No one knows where the Traveler will go from there but they all hope they are able to rest in eternal peace.

Venti had attended the funeral but decided not to speak, choosing instead to stand at the back and look on from afar. He watched as others spoke instead. Venti was one of the last ones to leave the funeral along with Diluc, Jean, and Paimon.

"Have you found a place to bury them yet?" Venti asks quietly without looking at the group.

"Not yet, we can't decide what place would be suitable." Jean says, looking up at the night sky.

"Let's head to the tavern to discuss this matter instead of being out in the open." Diluc says as he starts to walk away. "Its closed now so we won't be bothered"

None of them look at each other while in there, it stays pretty much silent for a while with only the sound of Diluc cleaning the glasses. Jean finally gets the courage to start the difficult discussion. The conversation goes on until the sun starts to rise when Venti speaks up. "Why not bury them at the place where their journey began?"

"They gained the power of anemo at the statue of the seven in that island at Starfell Lake so let's lay them to rest there." Paimon explained.

And so the Traveler was buried at the small island in the middle of Starfell Lake. Many people came to visit the Travelers grave, including the anemo archon, however it seemed that he was no longer going by Venti, and no longer in that form. Instead they have taken the form of the deceased Traveler and is going by "just a traveler." The anemo archon could not replicate the Travelers eyes or clothes perfectly, and the tips of their hair glows a bright green-blue color as they were still the anemo archon.

They decided to head out on a journey of their own, set on finding the lost sibling. Their first stop was to head to Liyue to find an old friend and hopefully talk over some osmanthus wine and then hopefully get some info on the lost sibling.

Over the years the anemo archon told stories of the Traveler to the people of Mondstadt so that they would never truly die. They also would help out the people as they know the Traveler would do, that didn't necessarily help out with the exaggerated legends that people told. The anemo archon usually was not involved with Mondstadt but now they would always be there for their people no matter what happened.

#death of the traveler #genshin #genshin impact #venti #genshin venti #traveler #grief #fanfic #traveler genshin #character death #genshin fanfiction #genshin fanfic #my writing #angst fanfic #mondstadt

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ichitora · 3 years

Text

「 Birth 」

:: Because this day is not only about his birthday

» with Chifuyu Matsuno and Toman founding members

《Content Warning - Canon divergent - AU, third POV, Comfort, just characters interacting with each other, platonic relationship, tr dvd booklet 1 minor spoilers》

【 notes - Happy birthday to my one and only, Kazutora! 】

The traffic light turned red.

The road was heavily busy for an unknown reason to which Kazutora paid no heed. His eyes were on the vehicle before them. A classical music played, filling the silence of what seemed to be an empty shell of a car and somehow isolating them to the noisy businesses that surrounded them. It didn’t disturbed him. Not when it’s his friend, Chifuyu who’s maneuvering, eyes stuck on the road as well.

A smoke made its appearance not too far from them, probably just a few cars away. It looked raging mad by the way its darkness occupies the sky. Kazutora raised his eyebrows.

“Huh? What was that?” Chifuyu mumbled under his breath. He propped his arm on the door and leaned his head on his fist. Kazutora did the same on the opposite side, hoping to take a glimpse of what’s going on outside.

“Damn these kids!” They overheard an annoyed old man on the neighboring vehicle. It was so loud that not even the music could cover it. Kazutora tilted his head more.

It was a small car on fire. Barely recognizable as the firemen did their best to put it off. The only thing that’s left was its bones, scrap materials no one would use.

So, that’s why the traffic became heavier.

Kazutora tucked his yellow side bangs on his ear, smirking as he squinted his eyes for a bit.

“What a lame ass.” Another person said, neither Chifuyu nor Kazutora made an effort to respond. Kazutora glanced at Chifuyu, watching the raven haired man with a tiny smile on his lips. For that moment it was as if they shared one brain cell. One brain cell that provides a huge impact straight down to their hearts.

It was some kids’ doing they say?

Of course, it only reminds them of a certain person.

Both of them didn’t have the guts to bring it up though. Their heads are connected under one idea, yet they prefer to keep it to themselves, putting it as a way of telepathic communication. It didn’t have to be talked about.

It wasn’t as if it’s a sensitive subject for Kazutora and Chifuyu, in fact the memories of the past with 𝘩𝘪𝘮 stood to be the teas they share when they have nothing else to do in the pet shop.

And how funny it could be that 𝘩𝘦 is the reason why both of them are settled in the car at the moment.

It didn’t take too long before they arrived, taking the items they brought with them until they halted in a specific family grave.

Now, the air feels like chunks of solids that are heavy to breathe on. The wind passed by from time to time, the leaves reminding them to remain reverent within their stay. Chifuyu sat like what he usually does, not minding his slacks attracting some dirt. He took a few foods out of the plastic bag, not missing the iconic peyoung yakisoba he and Baji used to share. Alongside it was a small cake and a few cans of drinks.

Kazutora, with his hair resting on his nape and shoulders, followed, going down like a frog to take another yakisoba with him. His eyes scanned the engraved characters on the marbled tombstone that didn’t look like one to him. For him, the characters before his eyes just morphed into a person he also had been longing to see for a long time.

Oh lord, he wanted to hug him so bad.

If the deities would grant him permission to see and embrace him again, he will not hesitate to do so and not let go.

“Oi, Baji.” He greeted. Chifuyu said nothing, preparing to split the yakisoba to offer it to Baji. Kazutora was certain he had something to say. He has thought of it multiple times on their way here as if he’s memorizing a script, however the way his heart clenches made him lose all the words he knew. “I...”

“... I saw a car on fire a while back.” That caught Chifuyu’s attention. He gazed at Kazutora. The wind blows, allowing him to see how his sandy eyes shone upon his words.

Within Kazutora’s smile, it reminded him of the first best birthday he ever had in his entire childhood. The memory that stayed with him after his brain forced to control, alt, delete the existence of his traumatic past.

The vehicle was burning so bright in their eyes. Just the same way it ignited their friendship the same day. Before Kazutora could even gather himself, he already had a friend who would dedicate himself to stay by his side.

September 16. It wasn’t a bad day at all, he just got the best gift he would treasure to this very day.

It aches.

Time flies as some would say, but the memories don't. The memories that can contain different emotions every second just stays. It knows how to keep up.

The longer Kazutora envisions Baji sitting in front of them, the more he wanted to tear up.

But he can’t.

His tears are too shy to show their existence. He does not intend this day to go down like that.

“I’d always share my birthday with you, you know that.” Kazutora’s voice almost wavered. Chifuyu bit his lower lip, looking down. There weren’t many words, yet the feeling felt too overwhelming to take in, it naturally oozes out from them without them knowing.

Kazutora sighed. His heart feels like it's dropping every second. He’s breathing under the water and every inhale stings.

“We used to eat peyoung yakisoba together,” Kazutora whispered, just enough for Chifuyu to hear. “One for you, and one for me.” His hand was trembling a bit as he opened the food. “But I guess this time you have to split it with this dude beside me, huh.”

Chifuyu smirked. He raised his noodle like a glass of wine. “Happy birthday.”

The containers collide. “Cheers.”

Perhaps it wasn’t just his birthday the two of them are celebrating.

Kazutora would rather like to put it as the birth of his and Baji’s precious friendship.

“Baji and I exchanged punches the very first time we met,” Kazutora stated just a little while as he and Chifuyu alternatively told Baji some stories of how their lives went. The grave stood there like a diary, both hoping for their words to reach the deceased wherever he will be. There then the older lad tilted his head, emitting a jingling sound from his earring. “He pierced my ear the same day.”

—

Chifuyu chuckled. “Well, that’s Baji-san for you.” He smiled. “I remember Mikey-kun telling me a story one time where Baji-san used to name himself Edward while he was named Michael— Mikey for short, just when they were still kids.”

Kazutora stood in disbelief. He beamed, averting his eyes to the Baji family grave. “Really? What a lame-ass. I never have heard of that.”

“I couldn’t believe it as well. I tried imagining myself calling him Edward-san instead of Baji and I just couldn’t take it seriously from there.”

They snickered.

“Edward,” Kazutora mumbled, both of them laughing again. “Who the fuck would name themselves as Edward?”

“You know, if Baji-san hears us right now he’ll be annoyed.”

“Oh, what is he gonna do? Rise from his grave? Because if the answer is yes then I wouldn’t stop calling him Edward.”

It was a simple conversation, yet it lifted up some of the unspoken woes they do their best to keep within themselves. It became like this. It was as if Baji was just with them. This place had become their comfort zone that they are a few steps away from committing weird shit right in front of his innocent tombstone.

Kazutora sighed, their chuckles fading out. He placed his hands in his pockets. “... Mikey.”

He didn’t know why the name slipped out of his mouth, hence the name also brings him back some memories, rather reminding him of one of the reasons why things have ended up like this.

And as if he was a summoning expert, he felt a presence on his back.

Kazutora didn’t move.

Chifuyu’s eyes widened for a split second with the newly arrived person’s appearance, still in his casual black tees and checkered coat, paired with black pants. His hair that is as dark as night, danced to the chilly breeze of the wind.

The light atmosphere they built up had been adulterated. None of them said a word. Kazutora didn’t have to look back at who it was. Just the aura was enough to be aware of who’s with them without a doubt.

Mikey stood with hands in a praying position, shutting his eyes with his silent prayers for a few moments before straightening his posture. All of them were like statues, waiting for someone to try to break the silence. The yellow-eyed lad breathed slowly, feeling his heart slowing down in heartbeat.

Manjiro Sano.

Kazutora wouldn’t deny how awkward they are currently. Mikey forgave him and they ended on good terms. yet the graze in their friendship can no longer be mended. They’re now left as two individuals who pay respect to each other, without resentment and without regret as to how they want to put it.

“I—“

“It’s been a while, Baji,” Mikey said. His voice never ceased to strangle Kazutora in his words while Chifuyu was just there, paying witness to what can unfold next. “I hope you’re happy.”

Kazutora smiled. A genuine one. “... He is.”

Chifuyu, Kazutora, Mikey— seeing the three of them together all fine with each other would surely give relief to Baji wherever he may be, that’s what Kazutora would like to think. At least that thought comforts the weight he always carry with him since the beginning.

He didn’t die in vain.

They all looked at the grave with their sincere eyes, as if it was telling Baji that he could always be at peace. It was mixed with emotions of missing a loved one with a glint of happiness no word can describe. It felt like a story ending where one way or another they have to bid their farewell and go on.

“The others... they’re waiting.”

Chifuyu and Kazutora glanced at him, faces painted with confusion. There then they noticed a group of people not too far away from them. The latter’s doe eyes thought he was looking at something unreal, chest rose and fell— puzzled. The edges of his lips stretched involuntarily all the way towards his ears. He couldn’t believe he’d be seeing them all at once today. Not when he hadn't seen them together for years.

Pah chin, Draken, Mitsuya—

It’s the rest of the Toman founding members.

What he heard next was another surprise.

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘺…

“Kazutora, happy birthday.”

Thus, the rest of the day was Chifuyu tagging along with Tokyo Manji Gang’s founding members for Kazutora’s birthday that also served as a small, unexpected reunion.

“I already ordered some food on UberEats. Thank you very much, Kazutora!”

The gang cackled.

“O-oi! Mikey— I didn’t even bring my wallet! Chifuyu!”

“Doesn’t sound like a me-problem at all. That’s on you, you bastard.”

“Don’t worry too much, Kazutora. Pah Chin got us!” says Mitsuya in his gentle voice.

“Oi, why am I even dragged into this?!”

Perhaps, Kazutora's day could still get better without him knowing.

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whitherliliesbloom · 3 years

Text

towards a tomorrow

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #28 - bow ]

[ illya & kirishimi ] ★ [ 2,062 words ] ★ [ period drama au ]

for matchi’s period drama au. briefly mentions illyanaud, laurelis and kaye.

bow- to bend your head or body forward, especially as a way of showing someone respect or expressing thanks

kirishimi didn’t care for frilly dresses or etiquette unless it was to make a statement - so she gets lessons from the most ladylike friend she knows

“Gods, shite! How do people breath in this stupid thing?!”

Amongst the light breeze of the midafternoon wind, the melodic chirping of the songbirds and the sound of water splashing freely from the white marble fountain, Kirishimi’s less than ladylike words pierce through the air as she puffs her chest in with a low grumble and is followed by the soft and gentle bell-like chimes of a younger girl’s giggles a few feet next to her.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think the corset can be loosened any further, I made it as loose as I could for you already.”

“Can I just take it off then?” Kirishimi asks, hopeful even as the shorter lalafellin girl shakes her head calmly with am apologetic frown, her vibrant violent eyes swirling with sympathy.

“I wish you could but... Laurelis designed the dress with your corset in mind.. It just wouldn’t fit if you didn’t-”

“Shite.”

Yet another swear tumbles carelessly out of Kirishimi’s lips, and Illya lets out a soft, barely audible sigh before flashing her taller friend yet another gentle smile.

“How about a short break then? I think you’ll feel a little better if you take a breather.”

“Yes please!”

Without even a seconds’ hesitation, Kirishimi grabs the frame of the hoop skirt beneath her bright orange dress with her hands and marches to the gazebo before slumping down onto the white garden chair and kicking her matching pair of high heels off. She leans down to massage the soles of her feet with a grimace, feeling light indents where the rim of the heels had dug into her feet and wondering if there was going to be blisters forming under her hosiery by the end of the day.

In contrast to the almost unruly way she’d retreated under the shade of the white and purple gazebo, Illya in comparison was the very picture of elegance. With only the tips of her thumb and index finger, the young lady lifts the hem of her frilly lavender dress before climbing the steps up to the gazebo. Despite wearing lacey embroidered heels that seemed like they were even more of a pain to wear than her own, Illya’s balance was perfect, each footstep graceful and deliberate so much that Kirishimi could barely even hear the little tap of her heels against the floor.

Even the way she sat upon the chair, taking her time to tuck her dress beneath her thighs before sitting herself down and folding her hands neatly upon her lap - it wouldn’t have made Kirishimi felt self-conscious any other time before today. But it was exactly because she was here now, for the exact same reason she’d even agreed to commission an over the top ball gown from Laurelis that she swear to never wear outside of it’s intended use, that she quickly decided to correct her posture.

The taller woman feels out of place - as she typically does, but especially next to her considerably more demure, ladylike friend. Surrounded by the jewel toned walls of the Skawi mansion, the flawless marble tile paths that circled the garden and practically shined in the sunlight and the bed of delicate spring flowers that filled the air with a light floral fragrance, it would be hard for her not to feel even a tiny bit like a fish out of water.

“Thanks again, Illya. For agreeing to teach me.” Kirishimi opts to speak, breaking the long hanging silence as if in sheepish apology. She knows she isn’t the best student, and so the least she could do was be cooperative and nice to the girl who is graciously lending her her time and efforts.

“You’re very welcome, Kiri.” With a radiant smile, Illya nods her head, her innocent expression bright and at home with her subtle movements of grace. The birds that sat upon the mansard roofs sing in tandem with the sweetness of Illya’s voice. “I’m honored that you would come to me for lessons about etiquette. Even if it is to...um... break the social construct.”

Mismatched eyes widen in a panic, and the older woman leans forward over the table and raises her voice a tad.

“Hey, I hope you don’t misunderstand me! There’s nothin’ wrong with being prim and proper! I’m not tryin’ to do anythin’ to disrespect you! I just-”

“I know.” Illya speaks, her brilliantly pure white hair fluttering gently in the breeze like a wavy silken veil over her head. “You’re just trying to be you. You have the courage and strength to stand up to people who would try to tell you do otherwise. I like that about you.” With yet another euphonious, soft giggle, Illya raises a hand up to press against her chest. “Besides, you wouldn’t have come to me for a favor if you truly did have malicious intent, would you? The fact that you called Laurelis and I for help means that you trust us.”

A soft blush rises up to Kiri’s face where speckles of white snow glowed lightly from the heat from her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her gloved hand moves up to rub the side of her neck sheepishly, and she cannot help the toothy grin that adorns her face.

“I guess you’re right.” the woman murmurs. “I also... admire you a lot, you know? You’re so sweet, and nice... a bit too nice, honestly. You don’t even get angry when idiots spout lies about you...”

Kirishimi would be lying if she said she didn’t feel an immense amount of admiration for Illya’s ability to stay as calm and collected as she does - even above the seemingly effortless way she’d conduct herself like the society’s perfect definition of a ‘lady’.

But there wasn’t envy... it wouldn’t be warranted, especially since Kirishimi knew that behind the perfectly immaculate way Illya would hold herself as the young mistress and future heiress of her family name, came a set of troubles and insecurities that she too was struggling with.

It’s evident by the flicker of melancholy in Illya’s eyes, like a field of delphiniums and hydrangeas that were drooping in the midst of a drizzle of rain and grey storm clouds, even with a forced, stepford smile gracing her delicate and fair features. They were lovely, beautiful even in their imperfect sadness.. but Kiri could not bring herself to feel anything but sorry at the sight of them.

“And I wish I were even half as strong as you. You’re able to stand up for what you want, for who you are... If I had a fraction of the courage that you possessed then perhaps... I could have...” The girl looks down, the silver band that she’d refused to wear hidden deep in the depths of her dress pocket weighing far more heavily than it ever did before. “I could have stopped my uncle from calling for the engagement...”

The Skawi family had well deserved respect from the capital, and with it came a reputation and image they had to uphold. And with their fame, came the inevitable greed from the current head of the family - the man Illya could barely even bring herself to think of as family, the younger brother of the long deceased patriarch, Lachlan Skawi.

Selling himself and the name of the Skawis wouldn’t be enough for the man - and so he’d sold the dignity of his niece as well by calling for an arranged marriage.. something that Kirishimi knew would not be solved with a few simple social statements and protests. It involved the name of the Skawi family, and worse still, it involved the capital.

Internally, Kirishimi wonders what Young Master Alphinaud intends to do. Word about mistress Skawi’s engagement to one of the members of the royal bloodlines has spread far and wide by now, and he would undoubtedly be working tirelessly for a way to stop the marriage.

But if the combined efforts of Laurelis’ family, the Leveilleur household, Hien’s influence as a well respected foreign emissary wasn’t enough to convince Illya’s uncle to call off the engagement, what else could they hope to do?

“You’re stronger than you think you are, Illya.” Kiri reassures, her tone gentler than is usual for her, as is the light, reassuring smile upon her face. “You took the first steps to realize your own dreams, didn’t ya?”

Kiri gestures to the carnation earring she wore that dangled lightly with gleaming white pearls, and Illya raises a hand up to brush against her ear lightly. The earring was a gift from Master Alphinaud, the man she owes much to... Her mentor, her dearest friend and...

A dust of red rises up to Illya’s cheeks and spreads to the tips of her pointed ears as she nods.

“It’s... It’s thanks to everyone... and especially Master Alphinaud that.. that I finally started to learn medicine. If it weren’t for everyone’s support, I wouldn’t have-...”

Illya holds her tongue, pressing her lips into her fine line as Kiri allows the silence to fester, until she grins at the look of renewed determination upon the young maiden’s face.

No, Kirishimi is right. She certainly may owe much to her friends and loved ones, and she wouldn’t have taken that first steps towards realizing her dream to become a doctor had she not met Alphinaud... but it took great strides of her own too, a strength and new found courage to stand up to the ones who doubted her - one that she felt determined in full to carry on for as long as she needed until her dreams are fulfilled and she can be free from her own social constructs that are weighing her down.

“Once all this is over.. could you teach me how to fence, Kiri?” Illya asks, eliciting a surprised hum from her taller friend.

“You wanna learn how to fence?” The woman asks... not in dissuation, of course... but in mild disbelief that a girl as sweet and gentle as Illya would be interested in the sport. She’d say yes, of course, regardless of Illya’s reasons. She’d teach Illya whatever she wanted to learn especially since the girl had been kind enough to be teaching her etiquette. But she still cannot help but to be a bit curious.

“I admit I’m not the strongest or physically well built... I’ll probably be a really bad student but-”

With a wave of her hand, Kiri dismisses Illya’s words with a hearty, loud laugh that echoes throughout the garden, warm and bright in the midafternoon sun.

“You’ll be great, I guarantee it. You’re quick on your feet and I think you’re a lot more fit than you give yourself credit for.” If Illya’s ability to function without fault all way in tight corsets and high heels are anything to go by, at least.

With a bright smile of gratitude, Illya thanks her friend warmly with a bow of her head before standing herself up from the chair, circling around the table and gesturing to the haphazardly abandoned orange heels that laid on their sides next to Kirishimi.

“Let’s continue, Kiri. We still have much to practice for the day!” Illya shrugs her shoulders when Kiri groans, slipping her feet back into her heels before reluctantly standing herself back up. “You remember what I said about the proper way to curtsy is, right?”

To demonstrate, Illya holds the sides of her dress, barely pulling the hem up from the ground and crossing her legs before dipping herself down gracefully like a ballerina... and Kiri could only let out a lazy grumble in protest.

“Can’t we rest for a little while longer? I hate this curtsying shite.”

“The faster we get this part of the lesson done, the faster we can move on to table manners.” Illya’s innocent smile is bright and radiant, belying the little hint of mischief laced under the tone of her knowing voice. “I’ve already asked for the pastries and sweet tea to be prepared, you know? Kaye should be arriving with them any second now.”

“Curtsy? Got it. Left foot behind right???” Mismatched blue and red eyes fly open, and the woman does a full curtsy that elicits yet another light and airy giggle from Illya.

“It’s the right foot behind your left. Not too quickly, now. Let’s try that again.”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2021 #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #illya skawi #kirishimi #period drama au #fanfic #mine #YET ANOTHER AU I'VE NEVER WRITTEN FOR GOD #I quite like this even if I feel like it's missing a lot of context that i had to explain with just a few #expository sentences #but that's just the nature of writing for aus you've never established before hah

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arwenkenobi48 · 3 years

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OC Profile: Maurice The Bat

This is one of the first OCs I ever created, about this time ten years ago if I recall correctly. Maurice is, essentially, an anthropomorphic bat with teleportation powers. He used to be a sorcerer’s familiar and still owns his (presumably deceased) master’s hats. The hats look like standard ones you’d use in a magic show, but are in fact miniature teleportation devices. If someone was to wear one hat and someone else reached their hand into the other, they could pull the person wearing the first hat out through the second one.

Here are some reference images for what he should look like. (First two are adult Maurice, third one is baby Maurice)

Maurice has a very upbeat, energetic personality. He has an almost childlike fascination with the world, but he can also be a bit of a prankster and has a strong sense of humour. He’s also very knowledgeable in the field of teleportation and other such magics. Even though he’s about the same size as an average human hand, bigger than most bats, he still feels insecure about his size and doesn’t like having to ask for help with mundane tasks. His voice is cute and squeaky and carries a slight South Yorkshire accent: for example, he says “stook” instead of “stuck”.

Even though he naturally eats grasshoppers and other such insects, Maurice is able to eat human foods as well, his favourite being various kinds of cheese. He despises fireworks and fried eggs and his favourite film is the stop motion version of The Wind In The Willows by Cosgrove Hall. I also named him after a short guitar instrumental of the same name by Gandalf’s Fist (great band btw)

I am determined to reintroduce him into one of my projects, but I have absolutely no idea which one. I might just give him his own little project, such as an animated short film that shows him hanging out with his designated sorcerer, but idk for sure.

But yeah, here he is and I hope you all like him ❤️

#OC: Maurice #bat #bat oc #he is my smol fur baby and I love him #Maurice: *pops up out of a hat* ta-da!

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unearthly-space · 3 years

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RDR2 - Monsters AU - Van der Linde Monstrous Statuses; Pt.2/2

Pt.2/2 of the Van der Linde gang’s Monstrous statuses.

Abigail Roberts: A swan maiden. Yeah, not really “monstrous”, but not every cryptid is grotesquely horrifying. Swan maidens shapeshift from their human to swan forms (well, most cryptids do, but here me out). The key to her transformation is some sort of garment made of her own swan feathers. If one were to take away her garment, she would be trapped as she is, unable to transform or fly away/swim away without it. Many men hunt the swan maidens to force one to become his wife in such a way.

Jack Marston: A hellhound pup. Cutesy little Jack takes after his father in this regard. Typical hellhound features include mangled black fur, glowing red eyes, super strength and speed, and ghostly or phantom characteristics. Some say that if you stare into a hellhound’s eyes three times or more, you will surely die. Still, though, Jack is but a pup and most of these abilities and characteristics have yet to rear their head. Though he does have the terrifying red eyes and is quite a fast little one.

Susan Grimshaw: A Futakuchi-onna. There’s nothing I really tied this one to miss Grimshaw with, I just thought it would be an interesting and different creature. A Futakuchi-onna is a mostly humanoid monster with two mouths, their normal one located on their face, and their second one hidden away on the back of their head beneath their hair. The Futakuchi-onna’s skull splits apart and forms lips, teeth, a tongue, ect. It creates a completely functional second mouth one can eat with.

Simon Pearson: A shen. This one was more as a joke, but still funny and the idea is growing on me. A shen is a sort of clam monster from from chinese mythology. They’re a shapeshifting “dragon or sea monster” believed to create mirages.

Leopold Strauss: A Nachtkrapp. A south German and Austrian bugbear creature. They’re supposed to be a tale meant to scare children off and up to their bedrooms to sleep. Several variations exist, but we will be (mainly) focusing on this - “In most legends, the Nachtkrapp is described as a giant, nocturnal raven-like bird. In Norse mythology, the, Nachtkrapp (Swedish "Nattramnen", Norwegian "Nattravnen") is depicted with no eyes which if looked into cause death. It is also depicted with holes in its wings which cause illness and disease if looked at.” - quoted straight from Wikipedia until I can get a more valid source.

Josiah Trelawny: A Djinn (Genie). A thing to note about the Djinn cryptids is that they are neither innately evil nor innately good. They’re usually held responsible for misfortune, possession and diseases, ect. However, the djinn are sometimes supportive and benevolent. They are frequently mentioned to be summoned and bound to a sorcerer with some form of brass object. (i.e. a lamp.)

Orville Swanson: Ghillie Dhu. A solitary male fairy. Kindly and reticent, yet sometimes wild in character but had a gentle devotion to children. They typically have dark hair and are clothed in leaves and moss. A rather unusual nature spirit (most commonly of the mountains), that lived in a birch wood he lived in a birch wood within the Gairloch and Loch a Druing area of the north-west highlands of Scotland.

Kieran Duffy: A dullahan. I will accept all hate for this horrible, horrible thing I did. For those who don’t know, a dullahan is depicted as a headless horse rider, usually on a black steed, who carries their own head in their arms. The ancient Irish believed that wherever a dullahan stopped riding, a person was to die. They all but have to call out that person’s name which draws there mortal soul from their body, making them drop dead. It is also said that golden objects can force a dullahan to dissapear. I’ve always loved dullahans (thanks to lots of research after watching DRRR), and I couldn’t help but make Kieran one for this AU. Very befitting, due to his in-game fate.

Molly O’Shea: A banshee. “Woman of the fairy mound”, “fairy woman”. Banshees were female spirits of Irish folklore who heralds the death of a family member, usually by wailing, shrieking, or keening. I liked the idea of Molly being a banshee, especially because of her downward spiral further into the game.

Davey Callander: Cerberus. I really wanted to include these next few deceased members just for a storyline’s sake and as respect for the characters we never new. Cerberus, as most would probably know, is the three-headed hound of Hades that guards the gates to the Underworld. A common description includes - three heads, a serpent for a tail, and snakes protruding from multiple parts of his body.

Mac Callander: Orthrus. I contemplated Davey and Mac both being separate heads of Cerberus, but decided to use Orthrus as inspiration, the lesser known brother of Cerberus. Orthrus, though, is only two-headed and guarded Geryon’s cattle in myths, until he was killed by Heracles, that is.

Jenny Kirk: A harpy. I would have loved to see Jenny and Lenny in the game, but sadly we were robbed of it. Harpies were half-human, half-bird personifications of storm winds. Generally speaking, they were depicted as birds with the heads of maidens, faces pale with hunger and long claws on their hands. Pottery art depicting the harpies featured beautiful women with wings. Ovid described them as human-vultures.

Annabelle: A siren. Oh how I love sirens. They were dangerous sea dwellers that enjoyed luring sailors to a watery grave with their enchanting voices and songs. I liked that being the idea of how her and Dutch met, her intentionally trying to drown him in a lake or some sort, before falling in love with him.

Bessie Matthews: A kitsune. I thought it would be cute with Hosea as a majestic centaur with a beautiful nine-tailed fox as his bride. Kitsunes are usually seen as intelligent legendary beings that have up to as many as nine tails. According to some folktales, Kitsune are usually seen employing their shapeshifting ability to trick humans, but others (that I favor for Bessie) portray them as faithful guardians, friends, lovers, and wives.

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That’s it for the Van der Lindes. As for other characters, I’ve only figured out Mary Linton’s status if I decide to make her a Cryptid.

I also want to make Albert Mason (I’m weak for this cinnamon bun) a Cryptid, but I’m at a loss of what he should be. Any ideas?

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oathofoaksart · 3 years

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LEGION OF SUPERHEROES/DC OC: AMELIE “ZEPHYR” GWIN

bio under the cut!!

General Name: Amelie Gwin A.K.A: Zephyr; Zeph, Zephy, Amma Age: 16 [S1], 18 [S2] Gender: Cisgender Female Orientation: Biromantic Bisexual Occupation: Founder Legionnaire

Race: Metahuman Location: Legion of Superheroes Headquarters; Earth Hometown: New Metropolis, USA; Earth

Relations Parents: Sinclair (deceased) and Cornelia Gwin Siblings: Sable, Kahlo, and Drexel Gwin Friends: Chuck “Bouncing Boy” Taine, Imra “Saturn Girl” Ardeen, Luornu “Triplicate Girl” Durgo, Tinya “Phantom Girl” Wazzo, Clark “Superman” Kent, Brainiac 5, Brin “Timberwolf” Londo, Galatea @generalfandomsofthefreak, Reep “Chameleon Boy” Daggle, Rokk “Cosmic Boy” Krinn Partner/s: Garth “Lightning Lad” Ranzz (ev.); Mekt "Lightning Lord" Ranzz (AU) Misc.: Mekt Ranzz, Ayla Ranzz Affiliations: The Legion of Superheroes

Appearance Skin: Medium Fair, rosy undertones Hair: Jet black Eyes: Black; turn fully white when concentrating a heavy attack Height: 5’1” Build: Generally small, but limber; similar to a cheerleading flyer Distinctions: Considered averagely cute; often told she has big, pretty eyes. While she’s rarely out of uniform anymore, she has what’s considered a “tomboy-ish” style.

Personality

Energetic | Playful | Dedicated | Impulsive | Brash

Type: ESFP-A (The Entertainer) Temperament: Sanguine-Choleric Alignment: Chaotic Good

Lively, loud, fun-loving; Amelie takes the role of being the Legion’s resident jokester. Even during dangerous situations, Amma is given to flippant (and most of the time, cringe-worthy) wisecracks and one-liners, staying relaxed and seemingly carefree all the while. She’s shameless flirt, constantly spouting lame pick up lines to anyone she sees as the least bit attractive (although she does very poorly at actually getting a date). Despite her general goofiness, she’s incredibly dedicated to the Legion cause and her fellow Legionnaires, giving her 100% and beyond.

Amma’s happy-go-lucky attitude is for the most part, for the sake of relieving the stress that the life of a hero often brings. Not just for herself, but for her friends as well, however it’ll occasionally blow up in her face. While she might not mean to, she has a habit of coming across as immature and reckless, especially compared to the other founding Legionnaires. Over the years, this had started to shape into a suppressed inferiority complex that when exposed, leads to sporadic and intense clashes with others.

Powers/Advantages

Amelie uses air manipulation as an offset of telekinesis, maneuvering the air in and/or around objects she moves them to her will, including herself, enabling flight without the use of her Legion flight ring. She can also manifest her aerokinesis in strong gusts, whirlwinds, and gales. By controlling air waves, Amelie is capable of sound amplification and negation.

Like all Legionnaires, Amelie owns a Legion flight ring, which enables flight outside of her natural metagene, provides communication between other Legionnaires, can emit light like a flashlight, and protects the wearer from the vacuum of space. The Legionnaire belt works as a cloaking device.

Amelie is unable to create her own atmosphere, she can only use the air that's already available; her powers are rendered useless in a vacuum. They’re also tied a bit closely to her emotions, she has a hard time reeling them in if her emotions get the best of her.

Biography

Amelie was first born to Sinclair and Cornelia Gwin, followed three years later by all male triplets. The Gwins lived a happy existence, making their living off the small but successful restaurant under Sinclair’s name. Amma was an active, sporty girl throughout all of elementary and middle school and from a young age was smitten with the idea of running the restaurant when she was old enough. Her parents were loving and doting of her and her brothers, but she was particularly close to her father, who was known for his jolliness and all around silliness.

Tragedy struck the Gwins when Amma was twelve, her father was caught in the middle of an armed robbery while closing the restaurant. Sinclair was found dead at the scene. The Gwins stumbled at the sudden blow, Cornelia scrambled to not only trying to keep herself from falling apart, but console her children while keeping the business stable. Seeing her mother doing her best to keep everything cohesive, Amma did her best as the eldest of the children to comfort her brothers and help in any way she could in the restaurant.

The incident of her father’s murder molded much of her personality. She loved her father dearly and his death devastated her, but instead of allowing herself the time to grieve she took up Sinclair’s jovial disposition. She forced herself to stay strong for her family, shoving any of her own trauma down where no one could see it, and instead focused on trying to brighten everyone else’s day.

The stress of keeping up her mask of cheeriness eventually came too much not more than a few months after Sinclair’s death. A particularly nasty crying spell came to a crux, alone in her room, Amma felt as if everything was too much and too soon, her feelings erupted. She didn’t realize the roar in her ears wasn’t just her blood rushing, but that her room had been seized by a whirlwind, ripping through posters and hurling around furniture. The noise alerted her mother, who came rushing to her daughter’s side, which proved nearly disastrous. The storm correspond to Amma’s emotions, who was now in a panic, as the wind tore the roof off and sent both Amma and Cornelia sailing through the clouds.

Amma, in what should have been a futile effort, imagined that they’d somehow make it down safely. When the force of the impact never came, the mother and daughter opened their eyes to see they were hovering unharmed over the remains of their house, the triplets staring up at them in awe.

Amma, due to the stress of grief that went unchecked, activated her own metagene.

The Gwins made their home at the restaurant, loyal customers and helpful neighbors contributed in making the place comfortable for them with generous donations. Meanwhile, Amma experimented with her new found abilities, all under the careful eye of her mother. While abilities such as her own was no longer too outside the norm in the 31st century, Amma couldn’t fight the feeling that her powers could perhaps make a difference, instead of having them just thrown under the rug as a quirk.

She developed the habit of dropping by the remaining superhero museums, Superman and the Flash, as they were the first few who came to time with abilities that helped the world. The prospect of being a hero herself was something that called her greatly, but Amma couldn’t think up a way to start. Her chance would appear however, just a little after her thirteenth birthday.

Once again roaming through the Superman Museum, Amma encountered three kids right around her age, huddled far off to the corner of the building. Experience in having three younger brothers who were more often than not up to no good, Amma tried out a new trick she had been practicing. By keeping together the air waves from their voices a longer distance, she was able to carry their conversation to where she was staying, essentially eavesdropping. What she thought was three kids potentially plotting to trash the museum was actually plan on solving the conspiracy behind the threat over billionaire, R.J Brande’s, head.

Amma practically forced herself into the conversation, much to the surprise of the other three. A Braalian with magnetic manipulation, Rokk Krinn, a Titinian telepath, Imra Ardeen and Winathian electrokinetic, Garth Ranzz. Rokk, Imra and Garth were skeptical of Amma, who shoved herself into their plans with no sense of the danger to come. She won them over however, by showing them her own abilities, namely, her flight and the ease of transportation it would bring. And so the four became a rag-tag team of heroes, coming together to save R.J Brande.

Brande was grateful for their quick-thinking and selflessness and in return now helps fund their team of defenders, The Legion of Superheroes.

Amelie goes by Zephyr, a senior Legionnaire, and fights so that the galaxy can be safe from the likes of the Fatal Five and that no one should have to experience her loss.

Notes

Zephyr is a skilled cruiser pilot, since her abilities are void in space, she didn't want rendered useless. Her fighting style bleeds into her piloting, very quick on her reflexes.

Amma prefers to float everywhere rather than have her feet touch the ground, reason being she’s the second shortest member of the Legion and it’s hard to tell when she’s in the air.

One of the few things Amma takes with extreme caution is kitchen duty, she’s taken the title of the Legion’s Head Chef. Other Legionnaires take scheduled shifts helping her set up meals for the day. She’s surprisingly stern when it comes to the kitchen, from food preparation to cleanliness.

She’s notorious for developing inconvenient crushes, such as with a constant thorn in the Legion’s side, Mekt Ranzz, and far beyond her league, the President of United Planets, Winema Wazzo

Amma is well aware of her status as a founder, but dislikes drawing respect out through it. However, she does wish that her fellow founders took her a little more seriously, something that causes friction mostly between Cosmic Boy and herself.

She had originally named herself Gale Girl when the Legion first came to be, but with Imra, Luorno and Tinya’s hero names all ending in “Girl” as well, Amma wanted to stand out. Zephyr looks and sounds cool.

#dc oc #oc #losh oc #legion of superheroes oc #gar's oc #gar's art #losh zephyr #i've actually had zeph's bio for like more than a year now?#hell even the ref image is really old #that's why everything looks a little different than what i've usually be doing but #eh #i still really like her #oathofoaks #meet the ocs #Earth 16.21

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shadow-assassin-blix · 3 years

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A Christmas to Remember

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Reader/You

This is my Secret Santa gift as part of the #Pedros12DaysofChristmas to one @mickeymouse-moshpit who wanted some fluff. This is my first time writing for Whiskey and I had a lot of fun with it. (Also, I sent an anon a while ago but I dont know if you ever saw it, or if tumblr ate it, so if you specified anything else my apologies!) I hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: Talks of loss of childhood dog, Whiskey mentions his deceased wife. Some anxiety issues in the form of trying to be a people pleaser.

It was a few days before Christmas Eve, and most of the Statesmen were spending the day catching up on paperwork before heading out on vacation. That is where you were; stuck in your office finishing up reports.

It has been a rough couple of weeks for you. A mission you went on a week ago, went terribly. Your CI had gotten killed, and you had almost walked into a trapped that could’ve been the death of you and your team.

Thankfully, another agent who had been your backup got you out of there before anything could happen. Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels had been a literal lifesaver that day.

Then on top of that, your childhood dog had passed away over a month ago. He had been about 15, so his passing wasn’t too shocking, but it still broke your heart. He had been with you through so many changes: college, jobs, moves, break-ups. This was the first Christmas in years, that you would be spending it alone.

So, here you were typing up the last report before the holidays, with a smidge of dread.

It was as you were editing the report that you saw Whiskey making his way out of his office across from yours. You had always thought he was extremely handsome. He was a flirt, sure, but he was damn good at his job. You had been trying to figure out how to properly thank him for days since he saved your ass.

You bit your lip as an idea popped up in your head, and found yourself chasing after him, trying to catch up before he got on the elevator.

“Hey Whiskey!” You called out when you see him waiting for the elevator, just ahead of you.

He turned around, slight confusion on his face as he watched you run up to him.

“Where’s the fire darling?” He asked slight concern in his voice.

“Sorry. Um. Was wondering… do you have any plans for Christmas Eve?” You slowly asked, trying to not sound too winded.

“Uh. Not much. I’m on the graveyard shift both nights. Why you ask honey?” He questioned curiously.

“Well. I tend to have a small dinner at home and watch cheesy Christmas movies. I was wondering if you would like to join me? No one should spend the holidays alone or at work,” You offered with a small smile, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly.

Whiskey stared at her surprised. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Um. That’s mighty kind of you. I may take you up on that. I’ll let you know, yeah?” He finally answered not knowing what to say.

You nodded your head, somewhat excitedly.

“Great. No pressure though! I just… don’t want to be alone to be honest. But um. Just let me know, okay?” You said with a wave as you walked back to your office.

You go back inside, finish your edits and sent off the report for review. It was as you were gathering your things, that you realized that what you said… sounded a little guilt trip-y.

You winced as you thought more and more about it. When you got down to your car, and was simply sitting in it, you decided to text him.

‘Hey, umm. I’m sorry if what I said early made you feel awkward. I just wanted to do something nice for you after that mission last week. If I overstepped or made you feel weird, I am sorry.’

You hit sent before typing out one more thing.

‘If you want… we can just ignore that whole conversation.’

You sent it and then threw your phone over into to the seat next to you, not wanting to look at it ever again.

You made your way home and soon enough you were walking upstairs into your apartment. As you set your stuff down, you checked your phone expecting something horrific. There was nothing. You unlocked it to see the conversation, wanting to be sure nothing had been said. All that was there were your two messages. So, you continued on with your night, checking your phone occasionally.

Two days later, it was Christmas Eve, and you still had yet to hear from Whiskey. You simply sigh in resignation that he was either weirded out by you, or just wasn’t interested.

You began cooking your dinner at about 11am. You tended to make a lot of food, despite it usually only being for one person. You loved leftovers and it meant not having to cook a lot for a few days. It was about 3pm when you were fixing up the ham, getting ready to put it in the oven, when you heard a knock at the door.

You stared at it confused before walking over to it. When you opened it, there was a man you didn’t know standing there.

“Uh. Can I help you?” You asked awkwardly looking at him and the dishes he was carrying.

He looked at you then at the door number, and went, “Aw. Shit. Sorry. Got off on the wrong floor. My bad. Um. Merry Christmas?”

You laughed a little and said, “Merry Christmas to you. Enjoy whatever you’re about to eat, it smells delicious!”

He threw a ‘thanks’ over his shoulder as he walked away. You close the door and went back over to your ham. You finished preparing it and set it in the oven, creating a timer for it.

You were in the middle of cleaning up the slight mess that had been from that and was setting the table with everything that you had made earlier when another knock came to your door.

You walk over with a sigh, mentally preparing to direct another person who was at the wrong door. But upon opening it, you were surprised to see Whiskey standing there instead. He was wearing a simple black polo and jeans, a white cowboy hat in one hand and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm.

“Hi,” He greeted with a small smile.

“Hey,” You were shocked to say the least.

It took a moment for your brain to start functioning again before you realized you had yet to let him in. You stepped aside and he walked in setting his hat on a rung on the coat rack.

“I uhh… I brought some white wine. I remember you saying you’re not a fan of red,” He stated showing you the bottle.

You smiled at him meekly, and asked, “You remembered that?”

He nodded with a small smirk, “I only remember the important things.”

“My preference in wine is important?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Indeed. I find most things that you tell me about yourself important. How else would I be able to woo you?” He fired back his smirk growing.

You felt your face warm with embarrassment before clearing your throat, “Ahem. Um. Dinner will be ready in about 30 minutes. There’s plenty to snack on as well, so help yourself.”

You made your way into the kitchen to get a bottle opener and a pair of wine glasses. Whiskey followed you, taking the opener from you gently. He quietly opened the bottle and poured the both of you glasses.

He then picked up both glasses and took them over to the couch, holding them, waiting for you to join him. You sat down next to him and took one. You clinked your glasses together before taking a sip.

You turned slightly to look at him, leaning back on your couch.

“Are you uh… still doing the graveyard shift tonight?” You politely asked, fiddling with the stem of your drink.

“No. I’m not. Decided against it,” He answered softly.

“Why uhh… why did you agree to do them in the first place, if I may ask?” You inquired, propping your arm up on the back of the couch to rest your head on it.

“Nothin’ better to do. Haven’t really celebrated the holidays in years. Not uhh. Not since my wife died,” He admitted with a flinch.

You stared at him, horrified. You didn’t know what to say. What does one say after that?

“I’m sorry… if this.. if this bothers you, you don’t have to stay,” You whispered feeling awful.

“It doesn’t bother me. Not as much as I thought it would. To be honest, I had planned on saying no. But. I don’t know. Somethin’ kept naggin’ at me to go. Maybe it’s cause yer the first woman in years that I’ve truly been interested, if it’s not too forward of me to say?” He confessed looking you in the eyes.

As you met his gaze, could see the honesty in his eyes. You set your glass of wine down, and got up, to walk over to the fridge. You reached in and pulled out 2 beers.

“Drinking wine doesn’t quite feel right for the current mood,” You lamely joked handing him one of them.

He chuckled softly and murmured in agreement.

“I lost my dog a month ago… Old age. Passed away in his sleep. ‘Best way for a pet to go’ as I’ve been told by everyone. Never really knew just how quiet this place can get without him. Thought about getting another to fill the void but I don’t know… None quite measure up I guess,” You told him before taking a swig of beer wincing slightly at taste of it mixing with the wine.

“I was about to ask, I remember you talking about him a lot,” He said with a nod.

“I know it’s silly, to not want to spend a holiday alone when your usual company was a dog-” You began to explain before he cut you off.

“It’s not silly to me. Now, I’m not quite sure who put that in ya head, but he was yer family. Just because he was a pet, doesn’t invalidate that or your grief,” He began, his hand gently brushing against your cheek. “I’m just… happy that ya asked me to come be with you.”

You smiled in appreciation, your hand reaching up to touch his as you leaned your cheek into it.

He slowly moved forward, his eyes glancing between yours and your lips, silently asking for permission. His lips slowly met yours a moment after you nodded your once. You kissed back just as hesitantly. His hand at your cheek, slowly slid into your hair bring you closer.

The kiss was slow but with each second that passed, the both of you gained more confidence. The kiss became deeper and more passionate. Your hands slid around his neck, slowly burying themselves into his hair. His other hand was fiddling with the hem of your shirt, brushing against the skin he found there.

The only reason why either of you pulled away was to suck in some much-needed air as you felt your lungs burn a little. You wanted to go back for more, but the kitchen timer was going off, signaling the ham was done. The both of you chuckle as you took in the state of each other: lips swollen, hair a mess.

You quietly stood up to go take the ham out of the oven. The both of you fixed up a plate, and began to watch a few Christmas movies, curling up next to each on the couch. You were about halfway through the Nightmare Before Christmas when you paused it to put your plates into the sink.

“Before we continue… I.. I got you something,” You said to him walking over to your tree.

You picked up a small box that you had labelled as “Whiskey.”

The both of you returned to the couch, as you handed him the present.

He opened it stating, “I didn’t get you anything. Now I feel a bit bad ‘bout that”

As he opened the box to reveal a watch his breath caught. He looked at it and then slowly turned his wrist to look at the watch he had on. It was almost identical to the one he wore now, just silver instead of gold.

He pulled it out gently, examining it. What really got him was when he saw the engraving at the back. It had his name… and the name of his wife.

His gaze turned to you in confused amazement.

“I’ve seen you prepare for missions a lot, and when I first started, I was one of the people who had to lock up personal items when the mission called for extreme discretion. I noticed on your watch it had a name on it. I didn’t know who she was, but I figured she had to be pretty important to you. You mentioned a while back that it broke, and no one’s been able to repair it. So, I tried to find one that looked similarly,” You explained biting your lip.

He looked at you for a moment longer, before turning back to the watch. He gently set the watch back into its box.

You opened your mouth to apologize when he stopped you… by pulling you into a kiss. The kiss was brief but passionate.

“Thank you, darlin’. That’s… that’s the kindest thing anyone’s done for me in a long while,” He whispered against your lips, as he reached up to wipe away a tear that had escaped.

“You’re welcome. I was hoping you’d like it. I was worried you’d hate it,” You admitted.

“You worry too much. You need to stop worryin’ about upsettin’ everyone all the time. You are one of the best agents we have, and everyone adores you,” He assured you, kissing you again and pulling you into his arms.

You smiled sheepishly at that and nodded. You curled back into his side, and he held you as close as possible. You continued to watch movies until you fell asleep, feeling safe and warm next to him.

As morning came and you slowly woke up on the couch, a blanket covering you. As you sat up, looking around, you realized you were alone. You got up looking around trying to see if he left a note.

As you walked toward the kitchen to your phone, you realized that it had been cleaned up. He had put away and saved the food that had been left out.

She checked her phone and saw that there was one message waiting for her.

‘Needed to go do some things. Merry Christmas, beautiful. If it’s alright, I’d like to see you again tonight?’ -Whiskey

You sent a quick response back, ‘I would love to see you tonight! Merry Christmas!’

The rest of the day you went and hung out with some friends for Christmas and did gift exchanges. When you finally came back home, it was late in the day. You set the presents down and freshened up really quick before Whiskey arrived.

It didn’t take very long before you heard a knock on the door; perfectly timed since you had just finished cleaning up. You could feel yourself get excited at the thought of seeing Whiskey again. You walked over to the door to see Whiskey standing there with a large box in his arms, that was brightly colored.

You stared at him, slightly confused at the box. It was as you stared at it that you noticed a shimmer of silver. He had put on the watch.

“Hey darlin’. So. Funny story. I went out planning to ask a friend a question… when I saw something in an alleyway,” He began to explain hesitantly.

He slowly lifted the lid off to reveal a puppy. “He was alone. Took him to my friend who works with a shelter and had one of those fancy scanner things that checks for microchips. Found none. When I told him where I found this lil guy, they said it’s a common place for people to dump pets.”

You stared at the puppy wide-eyed, vaguely aware of what Whiskey was saying to you. The puppy gave a small bark, and his tail wagged excitedly. You could feel your heart melting as you stared at him. You could feel your eyes swelling up with tears.

You slowly reached forward, holding your hand out to his face to sniff. He sniffed it once and then began to lick your hand several times, causing you to choke out a laugh. You then picked up out of the box and held him close to you.

He gave you several kisses before snuggling into your arms.

“I uh… I think I’m gonna have to keep him,” You said tearily as you held him.

“Those are happy tears, right?” He asked nervously.

“Yes. Very happy,” You answered with a laugh, moving back to let him in.

“I had planned on just askin’ my friend about any available dogs for you, thinkin’ maybe we could go find you one tomorrow when the shelter was open. Then I just found him on my way over. I ain’t a big believer in fate but…” He trailed off smiling as he watched you.

“You wanted to take me on a date to find a puppy?” She asked setting the puppy down to let him explore.

“Yes ma’am. I did indeed,” He replied stepping toward her. “Now, however, I think it’s gonna be a get supplies for the little rascal kind of date.”

“I’m good with that, but uhh… I do believe that I need to kiss you right now,” You said with moving closer to him.

“Oh? Is that right? Well then... please don’t let me stop you,” He drawled as his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you in as close as he could.

You giggled in response as you kissed him slowly and thoroughly, your arms around his neck. He kissed back, his arms lifting you slightly off your feet.

You broke apart when you heard a little bark at your feet. The both of you looked down to see the puppy staring up at the two of you, tilting his head.

You reached down and picked him up and as you held him, you looked at Whiskey who was smiling brightly at you.

“Not gonna lie, honey. This has probably been one of the better Christmases I’ve had in a long time,” He said fondly.

“Same here. Maybe uhh… when the holidays are over, we could go on some proper dates?” You proposed.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot,” He remarked pressing a kiss to your lips, before giving a small kiss to the puppy’s forehead.

You smiled and as the two of you spent the rest of the evening together, the both of you realized something. This wasn’t what you were expecting for Christmas at all, but neither of them will ever complain. This was a Christmas to remember.

#fluff #jack whiskey daniels #jack whiskey daniels x reader #whiskey x reader #pedros12daysofchristmas

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collectsfallenstars · 4 years

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Azaleas for Lt. Jeong Taeeul: A close reading of Kim Sowol’s poetry in “The King: Eternal Monarch”

Korean Literature is divided into the Classical Period and the Modern Period. Literature under the Classical Period is heavily influenced by Confucianism, Buddhism, and to some extent, Taoism. The earliest form of literature came about in the 8th Century during the Shilla Kingdom.

The break-off point between Classical and Modern Literature is found in the Choson Dynasty which lasted from 1392 to 1910. Modern Korean Literature flourished when the Chinese writing script took a backseat to Hangul, the Korean alphabet. It was developed by King Sejong, or Sejong the Great, who ruled between 1418 – 1450. If you watched the first episode of The King: Eternal Monarch, that huge statue of a seated king in the middle of Gwanghwamun Square where Lee Minho hugged Kim Goeun without any warning? That’s King Sejong. Thanks to him, Korean language and Korean literature flourished.

Now, during the Choson Dynasty, two kinds of poetic forms came about— Shijo and Kasa and some of the most common subject matters from these poetic forms can be found in the Kim Sowol poems that were used in the kdrama, “The King: Eternal Monarch.” These are the themes of nature, grief, and the loneliness of traveling. However, when used against the backdrop of the drama, the poems, written during Kim Sowol’s lifetime between 1902-1934, take on a new life.

Let’s take a look at the poet’s life first and see how it informs our understanding of some of his poems. He was born in 1902 in an area that now belongs to North Korea. He suffered from a troubled childhood with a father who was mentally ill and beaten up by Japanese construction workers and therefore was unable to provide for his family. Kim Sowol was then raised and supported by his grandfather and his aunt. It has been said that it was his aunt who sang folk songs to him and told him traditional stories during his childhood and that it was this that stirred his love and talent for poetry.

But aside from poetry, he also loved a woman named O-sun. However, during their time, love rarely played a role in marriages and they were soon married off to different people. O-san then committed suicide at a very young age and losing her led to the first and last poetry collection that Kim Sowol ever published— “Azaleas.” His poetry carried the quality and rhythm that could be found in old Korean folk songs, possibly the ones his aunt had sung to him when he was a child. However, Kim Sowol found it hard to find his place in the world with just his poetry but without O-san. He committed suicide in 1934 at 32 years old. He remains, to this day, the most beloved Korean poet.

INVOCATION OF THE DEAD Kim Sowol

O shattered name!  O name parted from me in mid-air! O name without owner! O name I’ll call until I die!

The words left in my heart,  In the end, I wasn’t able to utter all. O you whom I loved! O you whom I loved!

The red sun is hanging from the western summit. The herd of deer also cry sadly.  Atop the mountain that has fallen off to the side, I call your name.

I call your name til I can’t bear the grief of it. I call your name til I can’t bear the grief of it. The sound of my call sweeps forward but sky and earth are too far apart.

Though I turn to stone standing here O name I’ll call until I die!  O you whom I loved!  O you whom I loved!

This poem is largely different from the rest of the collection because it is loud in its grief while the rest in the collection are like “Azaleas,” quiet, subdued and dignified in their sadness. In this one, the persona calls out to the beloved directly with lines that begin with an expulsion of breath and grief in “O,” and punctuated with exclamation points. But even in this intensity, the persona still can’t call out the beloved’s name.

There are several reasons for this. It pains the persona to even say the beloved’s name. Or it could be that the beloved’s name is as lost to the persona as the beloved is. Or it could be a staunch denial of the beloved’s departure. I’m going to go with the last one.

This poem is closely linked to the Korean pre-funeral custom called the Chohon, which involves calling out the name of the dead 3 times by the Sangju, the chief mourner who is usually the closest family member of the deceased. They go to the roof of their house, face north, and wave the deceased traditional shirt or blouse in the wind.

This stems from the Confucian belief that the human being is made up of the Hon (ethereal soul) and the Baek (corporeal soul) and the union of both is what keeps humans alive while their separation means death. The Chohon is then performed to keep the Hon from leaving the world because they hold on to the hope that they can bring back the soul to the dead. It is only when this ritual is finished that they can confirm the death of the person and then they can begin with the funeral rites.

Now, in the first stanza, “O name” appears 4 times in 4 different ways that can’t be called a repetition. The second stanza only contains 2 of the same lines with “O you” in it. The third stanza has one line with “your name” in it while the fourth stanza has only two lines with “your name.” The fourth stanza contains 3 lines but 1 has “o name” and the 2 have “o you.” The persona avoids the Chohon, even though the beloved is gone. By refusing to turn this into a Chohon, the persona evades thinking of the beloved as completely lost.

“O shattered name!” is a reference to the separation of the Hon from the Baek, resulting in the death of the beloved. “O name parted from me in mid-air” speaks of someone being gone too soon, someone who is only in the middle of his or her life. This could also mean that they are gone before the persona could even hold them, like a ball thrown in their direction and disappearing before it can be caught. “O name without an owner!” is especially painful because even though the name belongs to no one now, it’s still in the memory and on the lips of the persona.

The second stanza has many different translations but the gist of it means that even at this point when the beloved has been lost forever, without any hope of return, he still can’t bring himself to say the beloved’s name and complete the Chohon. He refuses to accept her death. Undoubtedly, this sentiment comes so close to Kim Sowol’s loss of his own beloved, O-sun.

The third stanza speaks of the setting sun and the lament of animals— it is grief found at the end of something. The top of the mountain replaces the roof of the house the persona should be on top of because they did not belong to a house, to anywhere, really. They probably belonged to other people too, like KSL and O-sun.

On the fourth stanza, the persona stands on top of that mountain, calling out the beloved’s name and hoping to bring back their soul, knowing it is impossible. The grief of this practice in futility comes to him in the realization that the sky and the earth are too far apart. No matter how long he stands there calling out her name, or how loud he can be, she will never hear him, nor return.

But even under the light of his sad epiphany, he remains steadfast in his love for her. He says he will call out her name until he dies, loving her and only her, for the rest of his remaining life and possibly even after death. It isn’t too far off to think that this may have been exactly what Kim Sowol felt at the death of his beloved.

Now, how does its use within the world of The King: Eternal Monarch add another layer to the poem. In the third episode, Lee Gon (Lee Minho) stood in the middle of a bamboo forest arguing with Jeong Taeeul (Kim Goeun) about his name. He’s trying to convince her that a parallel world exists alongside modern day Korea and in that parallel world, Korea is spelled with a letter C and operates as a Parliamentary Monarchy. He is also trying to convince her that he is the king there. Jeong Taeeul, being a police officer, insists on asking for his identification, his name, and he refuses to give it because there is a rule in Corea that no one is allowed to use the king’s name. At this, JTE makes fun of him and asks him if he is Kim Sowol, quoting the second stanza of “Invocation of the Dead” to him.

Spoiler alert, they eventually fall in love. But this moment leads LG to a bookstore in search for Kim Sowol’s one and only poetry collection, “Azaleas.” He finds it and opens it to the poem that JTE quoted to him. In the background, we hear Lady Noh, whom he eventually gifts the book to, reciting the poem. It switches to LG’s voice at the last line, indicating that he had read the poem as well. On screen, the frame is split between JTE and LG, directing the viewer to relate the poem to the pair of lovers.

The poem then acts as, of course, a foreshadowing of the events to come. Spoiler alert, no one died. So obviously, the poem does not act in its original capacity as some form of elegy for the dead. What it does do is drive home the point that LG and JTE are going to have a love that will be threatened by separation. Love between two people from parallel worlds with a ticking time bomb for a gate between them will not be easy. It will also be painful, should the separation be permanent.

Now, if one were to ask you, if you knew how painful this love was going to turn out to be, would you still have allowed yourself to fall in love?

LG’s answer will be a quick yes. He’s been in love with JTE for most of his life, and has literally held on to her name, by her ID, since he was 8 years old. JTE, on the other hand, took longer to gain access to, and use his name. He gives his name to her on the 5th episode, and she uses it to him on the 6th episode. She now has his name and will now know what to call out and hold on to, when she loses him in the future. Spoiler alert, she gets him back on the last episode.

So even though they don’t exactly lose each other like the persona and his beloved in “Invocation of the Dead,” or even Kim Sowol and O-sun, who lost their beloved to the sky while they remained on earth, the poem points us to a different kind of physical separation— that of two parallel worlds. While the persona in the poem vowed that he would defy time and space by loving her until his death, and even beyond, in the world within The King: Eternal Monarch, that vow was fulfilled. They found a love that could defy time and space.

(from Episode 10, The King: Eternal Monarch) *if anyone can help me find the title for this poem, I shall be eternally grateful to you ^_^ ---------------- by Kim Sowol

When the sun goes down over the white rapids, I shall wait by the gate. Between the shadows of the birds singing at dawn, I see the world brightening up In its still calmness. With my eyes fixated on the traveler passing by At the break of dawn, “Is that you?” “Is that you?"

By the tenth episode, LG and JTE have redefined and upped the game for long distance relationships. Much like the Kasa poems from the Choson Dynasty, the 2nd and 3rd poems used in “The King: Eternal Monarch” have grief and loneliness in travel as their subject matter. Long distance relationships have it easy now with plenty of choices for communication and travel (except now, with the ongoing pandemic). But one can only imagine what it was like for a lover to leave during the feudal Choson Dynasty. There is no assurance of a safe return, nor of an actual return. The waiting would seem endless without any word, just silence for months or even years. One can’t just text, “Where u?” every five minutes, or mark oneself safe during a village siege.

LG and JTE had to contend with this aspect in their relationship as both held important positions within their own worlds. Cellphones bought in one world would not work in the other. There’s no magic two-way mirror, faces in fireplaces for a Fire-call in the Floo Network or even owls, crows, or pigeons. Do despite being lovers in the 21st Century, LG and JTE’s temporary separations and the subsequent waiting in between visits feel like those from the Choson Dynasty.

This poem is a prime example of that with a persona who vows to wait for the return her beloved. She positions herself by the gate by sundown and stays there until dawn. She stays in the shadows of the birds who see the dawn before she does. This image is especially powerful in its quiet strength and fierce loyalty. The persona vows to wait for her beloved even through the darkness of the night. No matter how difficult or painful it is to wait, she will. And even if she doesn’t see the light of the dawn, or the end of this long night, she will still wait. She survives the nights of waiting by holding on to hope, despite the dire circumstance.

And life rewards her with the safe return of her beloved. It seems only fitting that this poem is read aloud during their brief reunion under a moonlit night in the bamboo forest. They are a long way from dawn, but hope and strength are there.

Note the way that Kim Goeun, who plays Jeong Taeeul, delivers her lines, “You’re finally here. Did you just get here?” as if they are the same line even though one is a statement and the other is a questions. Her inflections do not change. This echoes the last two lines of the poem, “Is that you?/ Is that you?” The repetition allows for a slight change in emotion— the first is a question, an expression of disbelief, while the second is filled with relief.

(from Episode 12, The King Eternal Monarch) *if anyone can help me find the title for this poem, I shall be eternally grateful to you ^_^ ---------------- by Kim Sowol

What is your reason for doing that? You were sitting alone by the stream The green grass was sprouting And the water was splashing From the spring breeze You promised that even if you go, You won’t be gone forever.

That is what you promised I sit by the stream each day And think about something endlessly

When you promised that even if you go, You won’t be gone forever Were you asking me not to forget you?

This poem plays on memory and remembrance. In the first stanza, the lovers are in the beginning stage of their relationship when everything is like spring— new, full of hope and potential for growth. While at this stage, it is easy to make promises like, “Even if I go, I won’t be gone forever.” It is meant to comfort the one who could be left behind. In the middle of bliss, that promise might sound comforting.

But as the poem progresses to the second and third stanzas, the persona is now alone on the same stream. No longer in spring nor the middle of bliss, the persona is left only with the vow that her beloved made to her. And it provides no sense of comfort. Instead, it makes her realize that the vow had been made as foresight. Her beloved must have known of his imminent departure and it was the only way he could ask her to wait for him— because every act of remembering him is an act of loving him. And when there is love, surely there must be hope for a return.

This poem is read by Lady Noh in background while LG and JTE are getting their picture taken— an act of remembrance, of keeping something frozen in time so that one can always remember the moment. Ironically, this is also the time when the world freezes. This is the side effect of one half of the Manpasikjeok crossing over into the parallel world. This is the moment that Lee Gon is made even more aware of their impending separation. The gate between the worlds is beginning to crack and the amount of frozen time keeps increasing with every crossing. Pretty soon, he will have to choose between righting the wrongs that Lee Lim created and staying with JTE. He is the King of the Kingdom of Corea— there is no question what his choice will be and he knows it.

He goes through all of these emotions in the hour that JTE and the rest of the world spends frozen in a smile. JTE is still in spring but LG is already far off into the future. But when the world unfreezes, LG slaps a smile on his face and has his picture taken with JTE. This is the perfect adaptation of the third and last Kim Sowol poem used in “The King: Eternal Monarch.”

AZALEAS Kim Sowol

When you leave, weary of me,  without a word I shall gently let you go.

From Mt. Yak  in Yongbyon  I shall gather armfuls of azaleas and scatter them on your way.

Step by step  on the flowers placed before you tread lightly, softly as you go.

When you leave  weary of me,  though I die, I'll not let one tear fall.

“Azaleas,” the titular poem of the Kim Sowol poetry collection, is not included in “The King: Eternal Monarch” but I think it is still important to discuss it as it relates greatly to the character of Lt. Jeong Taeeul.

Outside the context of the kdrama, the poem “Azaleas” has a persona who is the embodiment of dignity and strength in the face of utter devastation. The persona, by saying “When you leave,” shows her awareness of his inevitable departure. She knows in the future that he will leave her because he will get tired of her. And yet, she continues to love him.

And when that dreaded by unavoidable day comes when he leaves her, she vows to let him go as gently, and as lovingly as she can.

She promises to decorate his path away from her with flowers from her hometown. This is seen as an act of blessing. And although it’s tearing her apart in the inside, she refuses to let him know that him leaving is killing her. So it’s an even classier way of saying, “To the left, to the left, everything you own in a box to the left, don’t you ever for a second get to thinking you’re irreplaceable.”

Now, while Lee Gon doesn’t get tired of Jeong Taeeul in the drama, he does eventually leave her in order to save both worlds and right all the wrongs his uncle made. And in the 15th episode, when she finally realized that Lee Gon had made his choice and it did not include her in his world, she actually says the words, “I don’t think I can stay here and endure it alone…I think I’ll die.” Spoiler alert, she did not die. She does get stabbed though, but she did not die of waiting.

Instead, she found a way to get to him. Although it was unsuccessful, she did manage to kill Lee Lim of the present while Lee Gon killed Lee Lim in the past. She’s definitely not the type to spread flowers on the feet of the man who leaves her and then goes to cry quietly in the corner.

But the thing is, the azalea flower is the key to all of this. Azaleas are wildflowers that can be found in the deepest areas of forests that were previously destroyed due to deforestation or wildfires. According to “The Plant Book of Korea,” azaleas are known for their endurance and long lifespans.

So when the persona in the poem “Azaleas” spreads the flowers in the path of her beloved, she is reminding him that she will survive his departure. And when used within the world of “The King: Eternal Monarch,” Lt. Jeong Taeeul is the wild and resilient azalea flower. She will not stay in her place and simply wait for him to come back. She tried to find a way to get to him. And when that did not work, when being strong meant loving him even in his absence and waiting for him even if there was no hope in his return, she still mustered up enough courage and strength to love him and wait for him. And in the end, her strength and resilience were rewarded with the return of her beloved.

REFERENCES:

“(485) Poet Kim So-Wol.” Koreatimes, 10 Jan. 2008, koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/opinon/2008/01/137_17042.html.

Foundation, CK-12. “12 Foundation.” CK, flexbooks.ck12.org/cbook/ck-12-chemistry-flexbook-2.0/section/2.1/primary/lesson/matter-mass-and-volume-ms-ps.

“In the Midst of Death, Let's Have a Party.” Korea JoongAng Daily, koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/2007/10/28/features/In-the-midst-of-death-lets-have-a-party/2882042.html.

Klaudia Krystyna Writer. “Korean Funerals: Traditions, Customs and What to Expect.” Cake Blog, www.joincake.com/blog/korean-funeral/.

Korean Literature (Character of Korean Literature, Korean Classical Literature, Modern Literature of Korea), www.asianinfo.org/asianinfo/korea/literature.htm.

“The Most Beloved Poet of Korea, Kim So-Wol.” The Yonsei Annals, annals.yonsei.ac.kr/news/articleView.html?idxno=1896.

국립민속박물관 . “Temporary Spirit Tablet.” Encyclopedia of Korean Folk Culture, folkency.nfm.go.kr/en/topic/detail/537.

#thekingeternalmonarch #tkem #kim sowol #azaleas #theinvocationofthedead #leegon #jeongtaeeul #leeminho #kimgoeun #poetry

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babeyvenus · 3 years

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Revival (BNHA OC)

Chapter 2: Learning Something New

Keeping herself hidden from her villainous father, and studying to be a hero for the sake of her and her deceased mother, Sunako Homura pushes her way through countless challenges in her highschool years. Will she lose it all, or lose herself?

Story Genre: Fluff, Angst, Romance, Family/Comfort

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Gore/Blood, Suicidal attempts, Alcohol, Language, Panic Attacks

_______________________________________________

He glared at me on his way out. Douche.

"Homura, your costume is here.", Aizawa says, pulling out a suitcase labeled 21.

I grinned, taking the suitcase from him. "Thanks."

When everyone left, I made my way to a bathroom and changed. I huffed, staring at my reflection, smoothing out my suit. I walked out, finding my way to where everyone was waiting and they all turned to me.

"Wow, Homura! That's a pretty cool costume.", Uraraka says. "Thanks.", I said, looking down at hers. "Yours is cute."

She blushes. "C-cute...?"

"Don't you think it's a bit tight for a boy?", a smaller purple haired boy asks, looking me up and down.

"Can I kill him?", I hear Tatsuo ask in my head. No, behave.

I sweatdropped, backing away from him. “Mind your business.”

"Alright! It's time for your first task of the day!!", I hear All Might's voice booming. "Let's get on with it, you bunch of newbies!"

I can't believe I get to work as All Might's student....

"Your task of today will be Hero V. Villains. Team A will be Homura, Uraraka and Midoriya. Team B will be Todoroki, and Shoji. Team C will be Bakugou, and Iida. Team D, Ashido, and Aoyama. Team D, Sato and Koda. Team E, Kaminari, and Jirou. Team F, Tokoyami, and Asui. Team G, Hagakure and Sero, finally, Team H is Kirishima, and Ojiro.", All Might finishes.

We all look at our teammates with either smiles, looks of confusion or nods.

"Looks like we're working together, Homura!", Uraraka says. “Yeah.”, I mutter.

Midoriya walks up to me. "Are you ready, Homura?" I nod. "Yeah. By the way, that guy we're going up against... what's his problem?"

He grimaces. "It's kinda...it's a complicated thing. Kacchan's angry that I'm here."

"Kacchan...?", I asked, tilting my head a little in confusion. "Ohh, that's his nickname?", I asked, catching on. He nods. "Pretty much."

"Yeah, I still think Deku should be your hero name! I think it shows bravery!", Uraraka says, making Midoriya burst into a blushing mess. Deku…?

"In these lots, are the heros and the villains. The villains are supposed to have a weapon inside the building, endangering citizens and hostages in there. The heros are either supposed to evacuate the citizens or defeat the villains without having that weapon blow with the time ticking down. These two teams....." , he pulls out two balls. "Will go next!!"

A vs. C.....

I look over at Team C.

Bakugou glared past me toward Midoriya. What does he have against him....?

"Looks like we're going against him.", I whisper to Uraraka and I notice she's shaking. "Are you really scared of this guy...?"

"He does look intimidating with his costume...", she says.

I frown. There's nothing he can do against us if he wants to be a hero.

Team C walks past us and into the building. We found our way up a few steps of stairs and found a map to the rest of the building.

"We got the map, let's go.", I say.

We only got to the 2nd floor and Bakugou's already sent a surprise attack, sending us back. "Midoriya, Uraraka! You guys okay!?", I asked.

"He only grazed me.", Izuku responded.

I looked back at Bakugou, but his gaze was on Midoriya.

"Why're you dodging me, Deku....? Use that damn quirk.", he mutters.

"I knew I'd be his priority...", Midoriya mumbled.

"Damn straight!!", Bakugou threw a right punch toward him and Midoriya grabbed his arm.

"I won't let you hit me!!", Midoriya yelled and flipped Bakugou over.

Everyone stood in shock as Bakugou became winded.

"Kacchan... I'll never become your personal punching bag anymore.... I'm not the same weak Deku you know. I'm more than that! From now on, DEKU IS THE NAME OF A HERO!!"

Bakugou looked like he was about to blow. "You just pissed me off....", Bakugou mutters.

He stalks over to Midoriya. "Uraraka, Homura, get away from here!!", Midoriya yells.

Uraraka runs but I stay. "You're gonna need help. Uraraka can take care of that Iida guy."

He looks at me but dodges another attack from Bakugou.

"WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME!?", he yells.

"Dude, get a grip!", I yell and stomp the floor making the platform rise above him.

Midoriya drags me somewhere around the corner and continues running as Bakugou’s screaming sounds further away.

"Is this the plan now? We’re running!?", I ask.

"Not exactly. I need another plan now.", Midoriya says.

"QUIRK OR NO QUIRK, YOU'LL NEVER BEAT ME, DEKU!!!", I hear Bakugou roar behind us.

We kept running until we made it to the 4th floor and eventually took a break to breathe. I leaned on the wall, "Do you think we passed it up....? Uraraka's gotta be around here somewhere.", I say.

"I think she's already past us.", he says and starts muttering to himself.

I look around to hear faint footsteps. "Midoriya...."

He's still muttering.

"Mi-"

"Deku...."

I look up as Bakugou turns from around a corner.

"We're dead...", I say.

"Why don't you use your quirk, Deku...? You're looking down on me, aren't you...?", he sneers with an intense glare.

"W-what...?", Midoriya whispers and shakes his head. "I'm not afraid of you anymore, Kacchan!"

Bakugou frowns and holds his hand out to us.

"As your stalking ass may know, my sweat is what powers up my quirk. My sweat is made of nitroglycerin.", he explains.

Is that why I was smelling burnt caramel....?

"These grenade gauntlets are holding the very thing that makes my regular attacks seem small.", he says grinning. "If I were to...you know...pull the pin on one of these...", he reaches for the pin on the gauntlet.

"You'd be stupid. Were you not listening earlier? I’d only absorb it.", I exclaim.

He only grins. "If you can dodge it, you'll live!!", he says, pulling it.

I pull Midoriya behind me as I start absorbing the heat.

Bakugou's frown deepens.

I swallow the rest of the blast and grin. "I told you. That was useless, but thanks for the meal."

"Homura, that was amazing!", Midoriya boasts.

"Good thinking and defense, Young Homura!", I hear All Might .

The only bad thing about it, that blast was huge. I'm already full.

"I need to let the blast go. I'm full.", I whisper to Midoriya, rubbing my stomach.

"WHAT THE FUCK!!", Bakugou yells, and stomps.

We both look at him in shock.

"The fuck is going on!?", he yells and stomps again.

"Use your quirk, Deku!! Stop holding back!!", he yells.

"What's the status, Uraraka...?", Midoriya whispers into the earpiece.

"I got to the weapon and Iida's really getting into this role.", she replies.

"So is Bakugou.", I say.

"Uragh!! Fuck it!! Let's just fight!!", Bakugou yells running towards us.

I get into a defensive stance as he runs to Midoriya.

I'm not his priority...I gotta stop him from trying to kill Midoriya.

He thrashed against me as he managed to get me off his back. I pulled at his shirt as he dragged me.

"Damn you!! Get the fuck off me!!", he yells at me and drags me with him.

He's a weapon even without his quirk. Just how powerful is this guy!?

I dug my feet into the floor attempting and hoping to slow him down. "How's it going up there, Uraraka!?!", I call into the earpiece.

"I still need a little help!", she replies.

Bakugou grabs me by my collar and slams me down, taking the wind out of me.

I roll into my side, "This is bad,” I groan. “Midoriya, run!!", I yell and Bakugou kicks me off to the side.

"Run all you want, Deku!! I'll find you and I'll crush you!!", Bakugou yells with a creepy smile.

"Dude's got problems...", I mutter, getting up and running towards him, sending a drop kick, but he grabs my foot and slams me down again.

Midoriya, you had better come up with a plan!!

I used the explosion he practically fed me and shot it near his feet.

He looks at me and shouts at the roof. "All Might, that's unfair!! I can't use my explosions, but he can throw one right back!?"

"I had to let it out, idiot!!"

Bakugou growls and runs toward Midoriya, leaps over him, grabbing Midoriya by one arm. "Here's your favorite move, Deku!! Your favorite right swing!!", Bakugou yells swinging him around.

"Don't you ever forget what you are!!", he declares, slamming him down. "You're a weakling!!"

Midoriya gets up, shakily. "Why won't you use your damned quirk, Deku!? You like looking down on me, don't you!? You have been ever since we were kids!!"

They've known each other that long...?

"You're wrong....," Midoriya whispers. "You're an idiot!! I know that you're better than me, so that's why I wanna beat you!! Because you're amazing!!"

"COME AT ME, YOU DAMN NERD!!!"

I gotta do something....! They'll kill each other!!

"STOP IT!!"

The mixture of Bakugou's power and Midoriya's power combined was enough to get Uraraka to the weapon...

"....what...?"

I collapse, getting crushed under some of the debris. "This was all I could do....", the last thing I could hear before passing out.

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

"You're finally awake!", I heard a female's voice and looked up to see an old woman hovering over me, her lips puckered.

"You're.... Recovery Girl...", I mutter, looking at her attire, then looked up at the ceiling.

"What happened....?"

"You were crushed under the debris of the practice building. Luckily you had a sprained arm and it should be healed by now, due to your amazing recovery rate.", she explains.

"How'd I get here...?", I rasped, and widened my eyes looking down at my wrapped up arm.

"A student carried you here. Don't worry, I won’t tell anyone.”, she gave me a knowing smile, gesturing to my wrapped chest. “I won’t pry or tell. Also, Midoriya is doing just fine.", she says.

I let out a breath of relief that I never knew I was holding and got up to leave.

"Thank you.", I say and leave the room.

I was about to head home until I heard yelling outside.

"It was given to me!! No matter what, I couldn't tell anyone! I know it sounds like it came out of a comic book, but I'm serious.", I see Midoriya yelling at Bakugou, looking at the ground.

"I still can't fully control it...it's just a borrowed power!"

What....?

"I'm nowhere near strong....! But still.... I'll make it my power. Then, I'll surpass you.", he says.

"What....?", Bakugou whispers.

"What the hell is that....? 'Borrowed power'.....? I don't understand. Did you really come over here spouting some bullshit.....? To make a bigger fool of me...!? Huh!? Even if you're not....so what!?!", Bakugou yells.

"Today you beat me, you shit nerd!! That's all there is to it!! What more do you need!?", he grips his head.

"And, get a look at that fuckin' ice creep! There was no way I could've stood up to that!! That ponytailed bitch was right, I was fuckin' reckless!! Fuck!!", he drops his hand and I faintly see sparkles in his eyes.

"Damnit! Dammit!! Dammit!!! NEXT TIME, IT WON'T HAPPEN! I'LL BEAT YOU!! I'LL BECOME THE BEST! I'LL BE NUMBER ONE!! YOU GOT THAT!? I'M JUST GETTING STARTED!!", with that he walks away rubbing his face with his arm.

I sigh and frown. This is ridiculous, even for him.

"He's acting like a complete child. It was nothing more than a test, not some competition.", Tomohiro says, in my mind.

Midoriya sighs.

I hear fast footsteps behind me, making me move out the way.

"BA-KU-GOU! I FOUND YOU!", All Might exclaims with a smile, clasping his hands on Bakugou's shoulders.

I snickered and jumped over the wall outside the school gates, and leaned on it.

"Self confidence is a very powerful thing, my boy! There's no way you couldn't be fitting for a hero.", All Might says.

If he keeps going the way he's going, there's no way pros will accept him.

"Get off me, All Might. I can't walk. And let me make this clear for you too.", Bakugou says. "I'll be more powerful than you, too. I'll get past you."

.....what...?

"O-okay...", All Might says.

I heard Bakugou's footsteps as he turned to the left and walked far enough from the gates and turned over his shoulder a little, glaring at me. "You. Fight me."

The fuck, dude....?

I walked up to him. "Didn't you have enough from earlier....?"

His glare only intensified.

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Alright. Where, so I can get this over with."

"The beach. Meet me there no later than 7.", he said and started walking off. Rude, bossy and arrogant. A whole package.

I walked his way and I saw his shoulders getting tense by the second.

"Why the fuck are you following me!?", he turned to me and yelled.

I stopped. "I go down this way, moron."

He scoffs. "Whatever.".

"How was the first day, kid?" Shura asks as I walk in. She gasps seeing my bandaged face.

I just groaned. "There's a guy that wants to brawl again."

She sits up. "Really? Wait, again!?"

I nod and walk upstairs to my room.

I got dressed in my black windbreaker and red joggers, running a hand through my hair, letting out another exasperated sigh.

I understand that it was none of my business....but what the hell....?

Tatsuo appears and sits on my bed, the creaking mattress giving under his weight. "You sure you wanna go fight? You'd be exposing yourself."

I shrugged. "I mean it's whatever. I'm not the one with the problem."

He crossed his arms. "You also don't have to do this."

I give him a nod. "I know. But what's the harm in doing a little sparring?"

_______________________________________________

A/N: My first taglist, yay! Also I hate this chapter but I feel like the other chapters will be a little better so I'm meh.

@dakotacecily @xartisticmdx @savnofilter @mci-writing (just in case you guys are bored 🥺) @weird-dere @moonfairy-h @afuckingunicornn

#bnha oc #bakugou katsuki #bnha #poc oc #my art #sunako homura #my oc #bnha deku #deku midoriya #mha deku #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #blackbnha #bnha x oc #black!reader x bnha #oni #onibi

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angelwars11 · 4 years

Photo

Title: Remembrance

Prompt: Vespers

Pairing: Jesse/Kix

Rating: G

Word Count: 2k

‘During battle, his senses become hyper-aware and then so numb afterwards that he can barely even feel the blood on his fingertips. It paints his hands in scarlet that once was inside of his vode’s bodies, flowing freely and keeping them alive. Kix hates that part—when he’ll exit a tent and stare down at his hands, and finally address it.The sensation of silent distaste surrounds him in white and black ghostly shadows of what once was.’

—

‘To no man or being will I cause or permit harm to befall, nor will I refuse aid to any who seek it. These obligations I willingly and freely take upon myself in tradition of those that have come before me. These are things we do so that other may live.’ -The Medic’s creed.

This is day 2 of the ClonecestInJuly challenge! I finally finished this story, oh my lord; it took forever!! Thank you to all my beta readers/editors, @blazesurrender, @maplerosekisses, and @starimperial. You all did an amazing job and I really appreciate it. I hope you all enjoy this one! Lots of angst and tears and pain this time! *evil laughter*

*Warning: Very VERY brief mentioning about a suicide attempt

Fire explodes from left to right. Troopers scream in pain, in agony. Multiple howls of anguish and despair bounce across the damaged land as Kix runs to each and every injured trooper—checking on them to make sure they are still alive. If they are, they get a tag indicating whether they have minor or major injuries. Deceased soldiers receive black tags indicating death for those who will come to collect the bodies and bury them later.

Kix almost falls to his knees when an explosion sends him forward. He growls under his breath and continues blasting away as he goes. White and blue fall to the ground like fallen angels from the heavens. It’s anything but graceful; they crumple unceremoniously to the ground in bloody heaps of tangled limbs. Kix kneels down, checks for their pulses, and tags them. He administers a small dosage of painkillers out of empathy.

“You’ll be okay. The other medics will come for you soon,” Kix reassures each one of them who is alive before he moves on.

It’s a never-ending cycle of dread, sorrow, and frustration, but he keeps moving. He can’t stop for long periods of time or other men who need him will die from their wounds. Kix cannot let that happen; he will save as many brothers as he can, even if he has to leave a couple with some painkillers and move on. ‘They will be okay’ he always reassures himself even in these dire situations.

During the battle, his senses become hyper-aware and then so numb afterward that he can barely even feel the blood on his fingertips. It paints his hands in scarlet that once was inside of his vode's bodies, flowing freely and keeping them alive. Kix hates that part —when he’ll exit a tent and stare down at his hands, and finally address it. The sensation of silent distaste surrounds him in white and black ghostly shadows of what once was.

Kix is never verbal about how much he hates feeling the blood on his hands. Other times, especially after a hard battle like this one, he’ll make it known to everyone near him how broken he truly can be. Kix’s sight blurs with tears of absolute anger and hatred. He is angry that he's lost vode, and he despises this war for what it’s done to them, to him! More blaster rifles sound through the fog in the distance and droid poppers crackle nearby, too close for comfort.

The gun in his hands feels so heavy all of a sudden. He doesn’t want to hold it anymore; he hates it. He wants to drop it and run away, but he can’t because—I have to save them all! Kix can taste salt from the sweat dotting on his upper lip as it makes its way down and into his mouth. He doesn’t mind because it’s a distraction from all the blood, horror, and gore he sees beyond the black visor hiding his terrified features.

He may seem like an emotionless soldier, but underneath he’s kriffing scared, petrified even. Kix has to hide all that unadulterated terror in the back of his mind and raise his walls up to protect himself from getting exposed to the wrong people.

Kix slams his heavily fortified facade up so he can save lives.

Another brother falls to the ground in pain. He’s not dead, not yet, so Kix dashes across till he reaches the white armor decorated in contrasting red, and pulls him into a hiding spot to check him.

What lives am I saving? I keep losing so many! So karking many!

“It’s okay, udesii. Udesii, vod. You are going to be okay. Alright?” Kix kneels down beside the injured trooper and takes off his white med-pack.

This is going to be a long day.

...

Hours later, it's over. The sun has set and the temperature has dropped to comfortable and manageable levels. Gray clouds create a dark formation in the sky in the silence that is only broken by the occasional noise—moans of agony, the sounds of cleaning and quiet chattering, troopers walking the perimeters, or the officers debriefing with the Generals. Despite the silence the night carries, there is still so much going on.

The medical tents are a holy mess of different sounds, smells, and sights. The worst part is the distinguishable metallic scent of blood on surgery tools that have to be left out on silver platters. Not surprising at all; the Republic does not give aid to the 501st or provide appropriate sterilization, which means that microorganisms live on the blades of each tool. It disheartens Kix to be well aware of that disgusting and unsanitary fact.

Kix is used to the smells, however, thanks to years and years of being a medic. It's fortunately —and unfortunately— a side effect of olfactory fatigue, which is also known as nose blindness.

Kix stares at the glowing holo-pad with empty golden eyes as his finger skids across the glass. Numbers move about on the screen. There are many casualties and many designation numbers—names—covering his holo-pad. On and on until he reaches the very bottom and lets out a shaky breath. Exhausted and trembling, he places it on the nearest tray, like a pitiful coward who could barely hold in his lunch, and walks out into the lukewarm night.

He stumbles as far away from the tents as possible, near a little grove of trees, and becomes sick. Kix trembles for so long with his clammy glove-covered palms on his knees and saliva slowly dripping from between his pale lips and sickly green covering the bridge of his nose. He says the blood doesn’t bother him, and it doesn’t, not on its own, but the number of men that died today does.

The green treetops up above sway as Kix slowly kneels in the sand near the pond, nearly as silent as the world around him. Nothing will bother him as long as he stays right here away from the others. He can still feel their blood on his hands, and his skin itches like holes cover every inch of it. He can still hear their cries of pain and agony, fear, and devastation—sounds that carry in range for miles, especially when one has lost a loved one. Kix couldn’t even begin to imagine how it would feel if he lost Jesse to the clankers on the battlefield. What if Jesse had died alone without Kix to be there for him?

Kix closes his eyes against the negative thoughts. Jesse may not be with him right now because he's in a debriefing, but he'll come back and find Kix. He’ll search out his riduur like always, no matter where they are. Nonetheless, Kix feels so lonely that he digs his blunt nails into his skin until they create half-moon indents. Kix wants so badly for his cyare to come back and hold him, sing to him, and comfort him any way he can till the nightmare is over.

The numbers Kix saw on his holo-pad left him pale and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like sandpaper.

Death count: Thirty-five men.

Kix grunts and slams his hand into the ground.

“Kriff,” He hisses in frustration. He lowers his head towards the soft sand under his body and breathes. The silence is broken temporarily by the wind whipping around him, the feel of it on his skin comforting, almost a physical touch.

The wind is practically hugging him.

“Kix,” A voice calls. A familiar, caring voice that almost always has an undertone of warm amusement in it.

Jesse.

He feels the sand under him shift as Jesse kneels beside him.

“Hey, you okay?” Jesse asks. He eyes the puddle of stomach bile a couple of meters away with concern before he glances at the medic once again; Jesse offers a sympathetic smile and his facial expressions soften a great deal. Kix stares at the moving sand for a second, blank and wide-eyed, before he turns his attention onto Jesse with eyes full of exhaustion and hopelessness. Jesse immediately pulls him into a consoling hug.

“Okay, it's okay. I've got you.” Jesse brushes his hand back and forth along his back and makes small shushing sounds. “What do you need?”

Kix tucks his face into the side of his neck. Hot salty tears roll down his cheeks and cross paths with the sweat and grime covering his face to create visible tear tracks. Kix tries to focus on breathing for a moment but the smoldering negative feelings return like an avalanche.

“There were so many that died, Jess. Force, I lost so many good men. All of them were good men. So man shinies...it was their first battle and they didn't even make it. It…it hurts to have to run, check them over the best I can, mark their bodies, and then keep moving. But the ones who died… Why do I have to leave so soon? Why can't I say goodbye to them,” Kix whispers into the junction between his collarbone and neck.

Jesse's hand halts on his shoulder.

“You still can. Right now. A prayer for the dead, for our brothers who've marched on to join our aliit in tra.”

Kix blinks pensively before nodding without saying another word. Jesse is right. Kix can still have a Vesper and pray for their dead brothers. It’s safe to do so now that the battle is over and the surge of adrenaline has faded. Kix isn't needed right now; the patients are resting and the other medics are watching over them, which means that Kix is free to rest— or pray with his riduur.

The two of them place their hands on their knees and bow their heads.

Kix whispers solemnly, “Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.” His eyes flutter closed.

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” Jesse whispers after him.

Kix opens his eyes and gazes up at the stars. Each one looks the same but they are all unique and different. Just like us clones. Kix opens his mouth and lets out a sigh that’s weary but resigned.

"Bongo." The first name. The first known trooper he tried to save. When Kix found him stuck under a huge pile of rubble he immediately remembered his name. The poor trooper was so scared; he thought he would die alone but Kix was there with him at the very end.

He even held Bongo's hand as the life departed his gilded eyes.

"Anzanti." The second name. A shiny who came to his med-bay once asking for help because he found one of their brothers trying to hurt himself in the ‘fresher. Anzanti was afraid and tried his hardest to distract their brother, Duros, while Kix stopped him from successfully taking his own life. Anzanti begged Kix not to tell the higher-ups, the Generals. He promised the medic he’d watch over Duros and would never take his eyes off of him.

Now Anzanti is gone.

Who will watch over Duros?

Kix knows that Duros did not die in the battle which means that Kix can find him and make sure he’s safe and well. With Azanti gone there’s no telling whether Duros, with that knowledge, will try and hurt himself again.

Kix makes a little mental note to search for Duros later. For Anzanti.

Three more shinies. "LMC-211. Ennez. Sephi." Kix remembers their names only because he saw them on the list; like many names he’ll utter in remembrance tonight.

And maybe a little more.

On and on and on till he hit the last name.

Kix swallows his grief. "Heart." His throat feels so parched without a drink of water.

Jesse thinks he's finished so he opens his mouth to say something to console him but—"Echo," Kix pushes through clenched teeth. Jesse jerks up in surprise and then he sighs, soft and reminiscent.

"Hardcase," The medic groans out this one—a painful name to remember. A name that belonged to a spirited, uplifting, and crazy vod that now only two remember. Kix ends it with a choked off sob and his arms curl around his abdomen in grief; he leans forward and rocks back and forth to withhold the tears from breaking through his carefully constructed walls. Jesse raises his hand to steady him and console him but he aborts the movement when Kix makes a sound of abandon.

Jesse sighs internally. Oh, Kix.

"Dogma," Kix growls, irate. His fingers grab at the sand that falls away around his trembling knees and legs; Kix throws it in a frantic attempt to find another outlet for his rage. Jesse lowers his head, as he is angry too but holds it back and glares at the ground.

Kix bites his tongue till it almost bleeds. So many vode. Gone. Gone!

"Tup…" Tears trickle down his face in his grief; his shoulders shudder with barely restrained fury and quickly growing anxiety. Calm yourself Kix, come on! Come down. This isn’t you and you know it. Just breathe...in and out. Be at peace. His eyes flutter closed again and his chest lifts with each careful breath.

Jesse watches him with pride, his eyes burning with that aching urge to cry in frustration.

Kix tips his head back finally and stares up at the stars for who knows how long. Millions of them glow in the night, showing the way like a lantern. There are crimson, azure, white, gold, and orange ones. Each radiating star creates part of a constellation up there, and each one is massive, alive right down to the very core of their divine being.

Jesse settles one hand on Kix's shoulder, and finally, Kix looks over at him and shivers involuntarily. Jesse nods in silent understanding.

"Fives," Kix whispers the last name almost as if he’ll get struck down. "I couldn't save him, Jess. I stood there and let him walk out of that 'fresher, I should've,” —Kix bites the inside of his cheek to stop the tears. “I should've stopped him from going out there, from getting killed."

"You couldn’t have done anything, cyare. Fives… He did something that got him into trouble, and if we had helped him in any way then we could’ve been arrested. We could’ve been taken from the battlefront and decommissioned. And I…I believe you did the right thing, Kix. Okay?" Jesse hugs him gently.

Kix takes a sharp breath and tenses.

"Stop blaming yourself for their deaths. You had nothing to do with it, and you weren’t the one who killed them. You tried your best to save them and that’s all that matters." Jesse breaks their hug in an instant so then he can stare at Kix firmly.

"Did you kill them? Any of them?" Jesse asks. Kix looks down and Jesse grabs his chin softly and brings it back up.

"Did you kill them?" He repeats, but this time plain-spoken.

"No. No, I didn't."

"Good."

"But I miss them so damn much! I wish none of them died! I wish they were here right now, next to us."

"I do too darling. I miss them every day," Jesse whispers. He cocks his head to the side, and a small tear slides down the right side of his face. Kix reaches up immediately and wipes it away.

It's silent, giving Kix time to think for a moment.

"Where they are; they are marching ahead in Tra. With Gods, we cannot see. But we will join them when it's our time as well," Kix says. His eyes, hopeful.

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la," Jesse whispers. He looks up at the sky in silence.

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la," Kix echoes.

Like that, the prayer is over. They whispered the names of the fallen and their loved ones and then they said ‘they are not gone, only marching far away.’ Afterward, the two of them remain curled against one another in the relentless sand; Jesse and Kix stare up at the heavenly skies above filled with gas giants and stars of pure beauty. The two troopers' fingers interlock together in between their thighs and then Kix rests the side of his head against Jesse's armored shoulder.

"Thank you, Jess." Kix slowly closes his eyes.

Jesse leans over and kisses his forehead.

"Of course, cyare."

In the far distance, the planet’s second moon beamed down upon a vivid, tiny funnel-shaped flower called a Statice. It stands at least 28 inches in height. The flower features small, delicate petals that fluff together atop green stems in a beautiful soft shade of pink. The Statice looks spectacular under the soft glow of radiance. The petals of this flower are visibly ethereal in every way.

Its pink shade stands for something. A special meaning.

It symbolizes Remembrance.

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starberrywrites-ships · 3 years

Text

Sealing the Deal

Hubert x Constance

Constance wanted a little help with the uncertainty that is her future, and who better to ask than the one magic-user she believes might be better than herself.

Read on AO3: HERE

It was a beautiful day. Just enough wind to keep one cool while enjoying a hot beverage. Edelgard and Hubert spent this time having tea, as a little break from their intense planning. It was a very uneventful day, perfect for relaxing. Or so they thought.

“Your highness!! Hubert!!” Constance cheered from afar, skipping over to their table. Her large umbrella high in the sky, preventing the sun from shining on her. It wasn’t uncommon to see her around holding it. While under the overcast, she folded up her umbrella and set it by her side. “Hello!”

“Hello, Constance. Is there something you need?” Edelgard asked, wondering how she is so energetic all the time.

“Yes, there is! But not by you. I was wondering if I could speak with Hubert for a moment!”

This came as a surprise for both Hubert and Edelgard. Why would Constance need to speak with Hubert and him only? Hubert hoped Edelgard would say they’re busy and he needs to accompany her.

“Sure. I don’t see why not.”

Damn it.

“But Lady Edelgard-” Hubert began before being interrupted.

“I’ll be fine Hubert. We can meet up later. Constance, nice seeing you today. Enjoy your time.” Edelgard said, leaving her seat and the area completely.

Constance made herself comfortable, sitting down across from Hubert and noticing the teapot still had water in it. She smiled, grabbing the pot and began to heat it up from her hands using magic. This captured Hubert’s attention. Resulting in him making a judgemental face. Though, it’s hard to notice the difference from his regular expression.

“You use your magic for everyday life. Why bother? Is it not draining?” He asked, taking into consideration he himself only uses his magic for important things. Like training, protecting Lady Edelgard, missions, things like that.

“Why would I limit the window of opportunities to use my magic to simply only when I am in danger! You get no proper practice from that! I see it as a perfect way to make life more enjoyable while benefiting from it.” She said with a closed eye smile. “And besides! A great sorcerer such as I needs to live up to their title in order to restore House Nuvelle!”

There it is. Constance’s classic ‘Restore House Nuvelle’ line. It’s almost as annoying as Ferdinand repeating his name over and over again. At least to Hubert.

“Will you get to the point already? You asked to speak with me and yet here you are speaking at me.” Hubert said, wanting this to be over.

Constance poured herself a cup, took a sip, and placed it gently on the table. A large smile on her face as she opened her fan and began to laugh. “I want us to be work partners!”

“Absolutely not.” Hubert said immediately. He didn’t need to think about it. Working with anyone other than Edelgard is a big no, and Constance? Also a big no.

“Allow me to explain myself first will you?!” She said, beginning to fan herself. “You’re a big deal in the empire. Although I’m sure you already knew that! All I’m asking is that the two of us work together! I could use your help in restoring House Nuvelle! And I’ll repay you in any way!” She said in a more serious tone. “I need someone who can match my magical abilities! Or perhaps someone better even.”

“No. I serve Lady Edelgard and that is that. Go find someone else to beg.” Hubert said, taking this as an exit ticket. Lifting from his seat and walking away.

Constance watched as he disappeared, a frown on her face as she let out a defeated sigh. “What am I going to do now . . .”

- -

It’s been a few weeks since their last encounter. Constance had been locking herself up in Abyss, hoping some new invention spirals into her mind. There was no luck. She was frustrated by her lack of creativity and failures in spell casting. She came to the conclusion she simply needed a new environment for the time being. Grabbing her umbrella, she made her way towards the surface to see a very special someone.

“Luna!” Constance cheered, finally in view of her pegasus. Rushing over to the stable she began petting the animal, to which Luna purred and nudged into Constance’s palm. Constance proceeded to give Luna a hug, still holding her umbrella in a secure grip. “You’re lucky I care for you so much . . . Otherwise I wouldn’t bother coming to the surface,” Constance said, her tone growing soft.

Constance placed her forehead on Luna’s while letting out a sigh. “Oh, Luna. Why did it have to be this way. . .” her voice cracked, full of despair. The pegasus took note of her change in attitude, budding her head to lift Constance’s chin and make her laugh.

Constance smiled tiredly, going back to petting Luna. “While I hate to admit it, I feel if I am unable to accomplish this, I’m a disappointment.”

She was so caught up in her conversation with the animal, Constance didn’t notice the presence growing closer with each step.

Hubert let out a low chuckle, almost mockingly as he stood a good distance away from the Wolf, arms crossed over his body. “You’re never hard to find. Look for the large umbrella and you’ve found your very own Constance.”

Constance lifted her head to see who was speaking, locking eyes with Hubert. She quickly looked away, letting out a huff full of attitude. “Were you looking for me? Well, I have nothing to say to you.” She was clearly still upset over the last conversation they had.

“Perhaps you don’t. But I do.” He said, taking a few steps closer, stopping right at the brim of where her umbrella ended. Close enough to speak to her properly, but far enough to ensure he doesn’t accidentally hit what’s preventing her from going into a depressive episode. “I find your attitude to restoring your house rather endearing, I’m simply curious as to why you’re so caught up in being the best sorcerer and getting your noble title back.”

“Don’t you see it?” Constance said, turning her body to face Hubert completely. “I’m not working up my magic simply to be the best”, She drops her head to the ground. “It’s what I need to do for my family.”

“Your deceased family,” Hubert commented. “Both parents and a brother, correct? How is that of any importance to you? They’re gone after all.” He wasn’t asking to be rude. He’s just a little stupid sometimes.

“Simply cause!” Constance raised her voice, realizing just how tightly she was holding onto the handle, resulting in her hand going completely white. She lets out a sigh, collecting herself. “After the fall of House Nuvelle, I was furious at the world. If this so-called goddess truly cared about her people then why us? Why my family?! And why must I be the one left standing? Others may see it as a defeat, a sign not to carry on. I want to honour my family for all that they did. Being alive gave me a chance to show the world what the Nuvelle name means.”

Hubert tenses up. He wasn’t expecting a full confession, let alone from Constance. Her ‘high and mighty’ act had been completely dropped from this conversation. Leaving her openly vulnerable. Hubert noticed the little things while she was talking, the disappointment in her voice, her anxiously playing with her umbrella, the fact she couldn’t stand still while speaking.

Her drive and motivation for her family. It reminded Hubert of someone dear to him.

Constance shakes her head, letting out a painful laugh. “I’m aware it’s a ridiculous reason. Doing something for the dead. There’s no gain in doing such. But without this drive I have nothing.”

“‘It’s not ridiculous. I’ll lend my aid.”

She locks eyes with Hubert once more. Completely shocked and unsure if she even heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?!”

Hubert lets out a sigh himself. “Do not make me repeat myself . . . I’ll lend my aid.”

A smile rises to Constance’s face. It was clear that a simple sentence boosted her mood in a positive way. “Hubert!!” She cheered.

“ Only after we reach Lady Edelgards goal. I’m expecting your magic expertise for the empire, payment for my future services.” He said, keeping her under control. But he did slightly enjoy her being as cheerful as she is now, it brought a small smile to his face as well.

“Thank you . . . truly.” Humble Constance. What a sight to see. While it is weird to her that Hubert’s help would mean so much, she knows with him around her dream isn’t so out of reach.

“Don’t fret over it. I’m simply seeing the plus side in having you involved. And besides, you need the best competition to train with.” Hubert said, his smile turning into a smirk as he remembers her praising him.

“Don’t think so highly of yourself.” Her regular over the top dramatic way of speaking returns once more. Bringing the tension between the two to very comfortable. It was surprisingly quiet around them, a beautiful day to have some tea. Or . . .

“Would you care to accompany me in a cup of coffee?” Hubert asked, watching Constance’s eyes widen at the question. He figured it was simply because of how out of character he was acting at the moment.

“How are you aware I like coffee?” She asked, genuinely impressed. The only time she had some to drink was when she got her hands on it and shared it with Hapi. It was absolutely divine, but unfortunately way too expensive for the ex noble to have on a regular.

It was a hard question to answer. It’s not like he could openly say he has spies down in Abyss to keep an eye out. At least, not yet he can. So, he resorted to the next obvious response. “You talk loudly.”

“Excuse you!”

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