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phoenotopia · 3 years

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The Last Phoenotopia Blog Update

(Date 2021 MAR 01)

I debated how to open this blog post, but perhaps the main crux of this blog post is the best place to start. The blog is being retired.

The purpose of this blog was to be a "development" blog for Phoenotopia, and well, Phoenotopia's development is done. I'll still be doing bug fixes and maintenance on the PC and Switch versions, and playstation and xbox ports are underway (by a publisher). But I'm not going to be making any more major changes to the game. At some point, you put the paintbrush down and say it's done. Blemishes and all.

Recent Events

The game launched on Steam last month, and like any launch, it was hectic. Bugs Galore. This is our first commercial PC launch, so it was a real baptism by fire. Unlike Switch's one configuration, the PC has multiple configurations and factors to account for. The game needed to be able to handle multiple control schemes, screen resolutions, refresh rates, and more! I had a 60Hz monitor going into launch and didn't know anything about Hz (I do now). There was a troublesome stutter that some players were sensitive to that my whole team didn't notice since our eyes compensated it away. There were a few times where in fixing something at one party's behest, it introduced problems for another party. A few times, due to disorganization, I unwittingly rolled back a fix that was meant to be applied. For some, the game couldn't play at all (really glad Steam allows refunds).

It was messy. It was tiring. I.AM.BEAT.

I think the worst of it is over... I'll still be around to do the last updates and bug fixes, but I'm ultimately ready for what's next.

SO what is next?

What isn't next... is Phoenotopia 2. As you may have heard down the grapevine, the game couldn't be what you call successful. No one's earned even minimum wage on it.

Maybe there's hope in the game's long tail. A year or two down the line... maybe. I won't hold my breath though. At some point in the past few months, I finished processing (or grieving) and it's time to move on.

The game has at least earned enough for us to continue our modest operations. As long as we don't expand the team, and we don't take another monster six-year dev cycle like what Phoenotopia took, we can continue. We'll have to be smarter and faster. Perhaps the most valuable thing we gained from all this is experience.

The Experience

It is a dev blog. Here are some of the lessons I've accumulated from this game's development.

- Have a good menu design. Menus aren't just that in-between fluff before you get to the good stuff. Menus are KEY. Your menus need to be robust, expandable, and *understandable* (to you, the developer). Because once the game's out, you will invariably be asked to add more options. And if your menu design is bad, every time you have to add a new menu option, it becomes a whole new pain all over again. Support mouse from the get-go, etc.

- Focus on features that people will actually care about. For instance, I've never seen anyone praise the camera's zoom feature. In practice, people try that feature a few times and then never use it again. But that feature was a constant consideration factor for every level. Run through it multiple times to make sure the level didn't break, think about which zoom levels made sense, resize rooms because they worked at one zoom level but not the other, and so on.

- Don't do boxes that you can move around. Other 2D platformers avoid movable boxes because they're a huge headache to program and they really complicate the game space. Enemies need to respond to boxes you throw in their path and either navigate around or attack it. When you're moving the box, you have to worry about constantly changing your collision size and reconciling when the box gets snagged on the environment. The boxes were also a constant source of bugs because people can manipulate them to soft-lock themselves and more.

- More focused script. Phoenotopia's 100,000+ word script was panned more for being bloated than it was praised for being lengthy. Long scripts take a long time to write and make the game more unwieldy, increasing the costs of translation and upkeep. Every update we're addressing some textual error or mistranslation. There are some highly renowned games (e.g. Hyper Light Drifter) that do without a script at all!

- Be flashy! A bat and a lightsaber take the same amount of work to program, but the lightsaber will draw a lot more attention and interest.

- Slopes, surprisingly! Six years ago when I started, Unity was ill-equipped for 2D games. If you used the physics that Unity provided you'd have a really floaty character that wouldn't adhere to the slope when going downhill. There were a hundred different tutorials saying different things (use forces, use move position, use translation, etc). You can get rectangular collisions done in a day, but to do slopes took weeks. Meanwhile, games can actually get by fine without slopes. Most people won't even notice. Did you know the Phoenotopia flash game didn't have slopes? Neither does Hollow Knight or Rogue Legacy. You can save yourself a lot of work by avoiding slopes.

(big entities look weird on slopes. Bad slope!)

I could write enough little knowledge nuggets like this to fill a book! But I'd rather just make the next game.

So… what IS next?

As mentioned previously, it's not Phoenotopia 2. Pirate and I are mostly just tossing some ideas back and forth right now. We'll go silent for a year (or two). Our next game's scope will be more modest in some ways, more ambitious in others. It will definitely be more smartly designed. (There will be a map!)

We'll announce it when it's ready for the public. It might be necessary for us to do a kickstarter. I've tried to avoid kickstarters having been burnt on quite a few myself and also because I worry that mismanaging a kickstarter would earn the ire of backers.

But I did keep this blog regularly updated for six years. So I've gained some confidence in my abilities to at least manage a kickstarter well.

Is it really the last Phoenotopia Blog update though?

Okay, not really. There is some news that I'll need to announce, and this blog is one of the game's main outreach channels. Here are the events that will cause me to update the blog:

Announcing the launch of the xbox/playstation ports when they're ready

If a physical edition of the game happens

If a new language is getting introduced into the game (Korean is a high possibility)

When we're ready to talk about our next game

If (BIG IF) we begin development on a Phoenotopia sequel. I do want to do a sequel one day if we have the means and the demand is there.

Those updates will be more on a "when they happen" basis, rather than me reporting in every couple months.

Fan Art

As always, I'm very happy to see fanart of Phoenotopia. Major thanks again to Pimez for collecting all the artwork from the corners of the internet! Since this is the "last" blogpost, Sir Pimez can finally take a rest from collecting the fanart :P

ÆV made a series of pictures that tell a story. A Pooki is humanely sheared of its wool to create a hat. The Pooki is unharmed. Nice! Gotta love Gail’s expressions.

Amagoo Mazeru makes a stunning landscape shot of a full moon and shooting stars. It’s a sharp and clear vector art. I like the faint glow of the moon and the fire and the subtle gradient in the night sky. Very skillfully done!

Hah hah. I got a chuckle out of this one. I imagine this is how Gail's enemies see her by the end of the game. CaESar made this image based on TerminalMontage's famous youtube videos. Nailed it!

CrownStar drew two pictures of Gail. I'm a big player of JRPGs, so the first shot instantly reminded me of Persona 4's art style. (Hmmm... Phoeonotopia as a JRPG... there’s potential there...) Next, Birdy is shown carried off after her defeat. I really like Birdy's expression here - she just seems mildly uncomfortable.

There's a bit of a story behind the first image. As Firanka shares it, she wasn't able to defeat the Big Eye monster at the end of the flash game, so she believed a tall tale that what awaited after was a 6 armed Kobold boss. Hilarious! The second is a rendition of the lonely Anuri elder. A rare subject. The loneliness is portrayed well here. I feel lonely just looking at it!

Koo_chop draws the clash between Gail and Katash at the top of the towers. I really like this interpretation of the game's art style. It’s faithful to the in-game graphics. And the lighting, from the glow of Gail's bat, to Katash's sword, and the lightning in the background... Amazing!

Lime Hazard shows Gail with a salute pose. Very appropriate for this occasion. I also like how there's a slight tilt in the angle that Gail is portrayed. Those dynamic angles are always hard to get right, and Lime Hazard pulled it off very skillfully. See you next mission!

Lyoung0J with a digital painting of Gail posed sitting on a rock. I like how it almost seems like she was caught in a candid moment - she’s smiling, but also feeling self-conscious. Cute! The art style really pops, and I like how Gail is sporting what I call the old anime style nose.

MyUesrNameIsSh*t with a sketch of Gail performing a skillful slingshot. I like how Gail is depicted with her tongue out in a mischievous manner, the way all mischievous people with slingshots do.

Niitsu Kentaro returns with a 2021 Happy New Year picture. That happened didn't it? A New Year... Gail's pose gave me a chuckle with how she seems to be waving the bat around as casually as one would wave hello. And "Phoenotopiyear"... Well said! One day we'll have our Phoenotopiyear...

Ochan Nu breaks all records with a stunning NINE pictures in one session :O

There's so many goodies here. My favorite would be the one with Gail staring intently at the screen - it's like she's looking directly at you. You almost feel uncomfortable.

Next, there's an Animal Crossing villager dressed as Gail and sporting her pink hair. It even looks like a house Gail would live in. Gail is a connoisseur of the arts and likes Mona Lisa. Yes :)

There are various comics of Gail pointing out Gail's weird food habits. A picture of Fran looking really cool, and even Gail rocking a bathing suit. (bathing suit image linked here in case NSFW). Wow!

Pimez didn't just collect the arts, he creates them as well! This one, which he aptly named 'The Year 175' is a depiction of when the dragons invaded the towers as told by an elderly Daean woman. Great pixeling skills! I got a good chuckle from the ice dragon leaving with its stuff slung over its shoulder.

Quo made a stunning picture of Gail playing the flute surrounded by the 5 musical notes and the Phoenix logo behind her. The theme seems to be "fire" and it works really well. Gail herself looks awesome depicted in her red suit - it's like she's leading a marching band!

Rai Asuha depicts Gail in the late game with her red suit, and night star bat, and holding a lamp. She looks ready for adventure! I really like the white outline here and Gail's poofy shoulders here - the art style feels reminiscent of Final Fantasy Tactics.

Seri also draws Gail bearing her late game equipment. Unique to Seri's drawing is how all of Gail's equipment is accessible from a pocket on her shirt. I also like how Gail is depicted with her lucky earrings - that accessory is often forgotten.

Treedude depicts Gail with a bat and wearing a funny smirk. She looks like she's ready to hurt someone!

Warotar returns with everyone's favorite Great Drake, Bubbles! It seems so happy to be featured!

I'm really grateful for all the fanart this game has received. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!

Closing Notes

Pirate drew a picture to mark the occasion. It shows Gail enjoying a hot chocolate with marshmallows and a pumpkin muffin. A rest well-earned...

Goodbye! Until next time!

#phoenotopia

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

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Where they take you on vacation - 7 Brothers + Diavolo

Found out the edits are made by @devilgram who has such a beautiful blog and posts so many Obey Me! things that are so cool! You did a great job with all the edits! <3

LUCIFER

Lucifer would like to take you to Romania, mostly because of all the stories of the great Wallachian ruler Vlad Tepes/The Impaler and wants to find out more about his ruthless yet effective methods of insuring no crime happens in his country ( and hopes they will work on his brothers too ).

Apart from the gorgeous landscapes from the mountainside, the possibility to go to the seaside, or see the different types of regional architecture ( like the unique Black Church ) from different cities, he’d also like to get a full experience of the language, the music, the traditions ( customs, clothes, foo ) and feel for a day like a native from the old ages.

Even more, he’d find it very nice if you were to try out one of the traditional outfits, and would take a picture of you at the mountains, on a nice field, and put the developed picture in his coat, looking at it whenever he is working and misses you.

He can get pretty salty about the fact that there are still people who believe the Bran castle is Dracula’s true castle, instead of the Poienari fortress and wouldn’t hesitate to express his displeasure, but would appreciate the castle and everything displayed there nonetheless.

Also, would be the first to go to the Horror house, holding your hand if you get scared, and would feel incredibly proud that you trust him and feel safe around him, but would get such a kick out of using his demon form while at it, to scare the actors there.

His whole aesthetic draws people near as if they would actually approach a vampire royalty, which allows him to puff his chest out in pride, so hey, you’re dating a vampire now!

Would take you out at the fanciest restaurant, just to feel how the life at this place is.

Would love to take long walks on the beach at the sea, your feet in the water, holding hands, and just admiring the moon and stars while waves are your music.

You’d mostly stay silent and enjoy the atmosphere, but sometimes you talk a few words, and that’s when Lucifer is the most relaxed, calm and tender.

He would saying that he loves you with such ease for the first time in so long, and the kiss on your forehead would be so soft that it brings you more butterflies than any kiss ever could.

Lucifer looks so ethereal in the light of the moon, it’s almost like he’s glowing, and when you tell him, he’d actually blush softly, before chuckling and stroking your hair, not denying, nor agreeing with your statement.

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Mammon

Mammon loves to spend money and grab it, so what better place than Las Vegas?

He’d love for the two of you to dress super fancy and flashy, in matching colours if possible, go gambling, scam people and experience the luxury night lifestyle, go to clubs, loud music and expensive alcohol and all that.

But Mammon isn’t all about the flashy and exciting night time, instead, he would mostly love to just see the world with you by his side, and his goals is to make you happy, to he does everything he can to go sightseeing with you and reads in advance about whatever places you could visit and tells you some fun trivia about the place, he’s treating you to the fanciest food and drink places, and would spoil you rotten when going shopping, loving to see you do a little catwalk for him every time you get out of the changing booth.

He’d definitely insist on buying super cute animal Pyjamas.

He’s a huuuuuge fan of the “His Queen/Her King” trope and loves showing you off as much as possible, so get matching Tshirts or jackets and he would be SOOO proud and would laugh confidently and proud all the time, his arm around you, saying how cool you two are together and all that.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he honestly doesn’t believe he’s good enough for you, but when he sees how your dazzling smile is always directed to him and you cling on his arm whenever you watch the Lights Show on the big buildings, see the beautiful fireworks or watch the impressive singing fountain...Well, he can’t help but blush and kiss your forehead, feeling butterflies in his stomach.

He’s the kind of guy who would spam his DevilGram with either couple pictures in different places you visit, or just cute pics of you or you two messing around, and his account is actually very popular for the #CoupleGoalz trend.

At night, he would like to either cuddle with you and watch a movie, or go drive through the city at night, watch the night lights, and go on a cliff, stargazing and chatting openly about everything, because honestly, this guy is always dismissed and insulted by his brothers, it’s always a relief and a fresh air when he can be himself and just...Talk with someone.

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Leviathan

Levi is the biggest weeb in the world, so the first place you’d visit together is Japan.

Anime conventions, wearing cute kimonos while going to festivals or roaming the streets of Kyoto or Akihabara, couple cosplay (Henry and the Lord of Shadows), buying merch of your favourite anime/manga/game, going to Vocaloid concerts, buying the newest Ruri-chan figurines, trying out new video games that just came out and so on.

Actually wants to go to a Pokemon cafe and fangirls SO much about all the cute pokemon themes there.

He would get you all the cutest Pokemon plushies, especially if you’re not all that into Pokemon but want to share that interest with him, so expect a Skitty, Vulpix, Shaymin, Eevee and all its Eeveelutions, Milotic plushie, while he would already be collecting plushies for the rarest Pokemons, but he’s incredibly happy that you want to do this with him.

He also gets an Ekans just for the Lolz and let’s out his tail, mostly for troll purposes, but it makes you laugh and he could swear his heart stopped beating and his cheeks were redder than ever.

He secretly got you a maid outfit and would love to see you wearing it, but he’s too embarrassed to actually say.

He would blush SO much seeing you in a kimono with a nice hair pin and a fan, while going to see the Sakura trees blossoming and you look like the Sengoku type of heroines from the dating sims he plays so much (to get experience and not fuck up with you), but somehow, you’re so much beautiful than any CG he’s every seen, no matter how gorgeous the art is.

He would get lots of packs of Pocky and despite not saying it out loud, would put a pocky in his mouth and you’d get the hint and munch on the other end of the pocky, in the end kissing him softly.

Levi.exe stopped working.

He would love taking pics of you alone, because you’re so beautiful, and would edit them to look as ethereal as possible, if you want, to even have fantastic backgrounds, and would take pride in how popular your DevilGram/InstaGram is.

He also changed his Lockscreen to have you with your hand in a half-heart gesture, while yours has him with the other half, so whenever he looks at the clock, or sees a new notif, he sees you smiling, with a cute kitten filter.

His Wallpaper is the two of you kissing, edited with a few hearts, sparkles and a little “I love you” written in cursive in a corner (you edited the pic and suggested you both use it, but he denied, so you changed it yourself for him too, while he was busy gaming, and he liked it so much that he couldn’t change it back to Ruri-chan.)

---

Satan

Satan would choose England first for so many reasons!

He’s such a perfect gentleman and seeing everyone so polite and chivalrous there makes his heart bloom and would up his gentleman shills even more, wanting to impress you and make your heart skip with everything he does.

Loves to take you to different castles, see in real life everything he read in books and saw in movies or TV series, and he’s so mesmerised by the beauty of everything that he forgets he promised to be your guide, but his bright smile and the way his eyes sparkle in curiosity and glee make up for everything.

Besides, he’d definitely go back to you and explain in very precise detail the reason for his fangirling.

He’s a little nerd so bookstore dates are a huge YES, and more - CAT CAFES where you can read at your heart’s content. HUGE YES.

You’d both get our of there with tons of books that you will read together, cuddled up under the blankets while enjoying an aromatic tea that Satan prepared for you, together with some nice scones.

He’d want to go with you to Shakespeare’s grave, Dicken’s house, would like to see anything involving the Romantics and so on, since he’s in love with British literature.

Satan wants to go see the Harry Potter theme park so much, and would buy tons of merch for the two of you, and wants to go in full Hogwarts robes and wand with you.

Would take a gazillion pics of you together, that only you can see since it may ruin his reputation with his brothers for geeking out, but he’d love it if the universe was actually real.

He’d also take you to King’s Cross to take pic near the wall where you get to the 9 3/4 Platform.

And no trip to England could exist without a visit to Sherlock’s house, pretending to be detectives, and at Madam Tussaud’s Wax Museum to admire all the figures and potentially take troll pics with them.

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Asmodeus

Asmo wastes no time in taking you to Paris, of course!

And the first thing you do is have a coffee at the restaurant located on top of the Eiffel Tower.

He would, throughout all the trip, take tons of selfies EVERYWHERE, and aeshtetic pics of either you alone, him alone, or together.

He’s a Devilgram and Devilr celebrity, after all!

Loves going to all the little cafes and drink a hot beverage with you while looking and judging all the passer-bys, how they would never compare to how beautiful and fashionable you two are.

He takes you to the Versailles Palace while wearing the most glamorous outfits, and despite all the pics taken, he will tell you stories of when he visited the place long ago, and more, will tell you of the paintings displayed, since he’s rather knowledgeable.

Asmodeus will take you everywhere, but first, the Lafayette Galleries, all while streaming every second there, to shop everyone how amazing the place is.

Would pics the both of you sooo many pretty brand clothes, new skin care routine and make up products, that you almost wonder where he has all the money from, especially to pay someone to carry them back to your place.

Would take you to a lingerie shop where he’d make you try on all the cutest outfits and would buy them all, especially because he thinks they will make you more confident and wants to make sure you never thing bad of yourself, because if you’re dating him, then you’re obviously the most beautiful being he’s ever seen, inside and out. (he doesn’t count here, of course)

His wallpaper is a selfie of you two smiling and making a peace sign, from the top of the Eiffel Tower, seeing all Paris in the background, at evening, with the beautiful sky and the night lights all over.

Would take you on a cruise on Seine, serenading and drinking a glass of bubbly champagne, admiring all the buildings and the happy people sitting on the banks of the River, enjoying the scenery.

And of course, there’s no perfect trip to the City of Love without some very tender and sensual love-making, with so many compliments, praises, soft touches and gentle kisses from Asmodeus, followed by a relaxing bath with milk, honey and rose petals, scented candles, bubbles and ambiental music, and of course, a lot of cuddling all night long.

---

Beelzebub

Beelzebub would want to go to Italy, since it’s the country with the best human food, and what better place to eat it them its home country?

Would actually love to go sightseeing with you and seeing all the pretty stuff there is.

He appreciates the architecture, statues and paintings of every historical place, loves to find out more about the country’s history and traditions and would like to take scenic pictures of all the places you visit...

And make a couple album where he puts pics with either you alone or together.

It’s his most treasured possession and nobody except Belphie knows about it, and while he is happy that his brother is happy, he would say it’s so cheesy.

Would have fun when doing the classic “Pushing the Pisa Tower” picture, would like to sing when you go on a Gondola ride in Venice, and pretend to be a gladiator at the Colosseum, while you’re his Caesar.

If you get him a necklace or a keychain, he’d never take it off and has it as his lucky charm, kissing it whenever he misses you or wants the day to go good.

After he understands how the food is made, he’d want to make it himself, so you cooking together would be so cute and fun, and the way you see the love and tenderness in his eyes as he looks at you laughing, while your face is covered in flour...

He’s such a precious and soft baby, and he loves you so much.

Also, he’d love to carry you around just for fun and because he loves holding you close to him, so either bridal style on on his shoulder, you say it, and he’s gonna do it.

Will also like to take lots of short videos with you two, just fooling around, giggling, laughing, making jokes, kissing, pretending to be kittens, having flour fights and all that, since they’re beautiful memories and whenever he’s sad, he watches them and he forgets the reason he was sad in the first place.

---

Belphegor

Belphegor would take you to New Zealand, because he saw how beautiful and green the landscape were, thanks to the Lord of the Rings movies, so he wanted to see what would be like stargazing on such a flowery field, or sleeping in a Hobbit hole.

He’s pretty sleepy all the time, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t take you to see the big cities as well, eat out, shop for souvenirs and so on, but his heart is taken by the simplicity and peace the countryside and forests hold.

Belphie would actually like to have his head on your lap as you stay at the bottom of a tree and read, much like Froddo Baggings would, waiting for Gandalf.

It’s a guilty pleasure of his, but he wants to see ‘Gandalf’s’ fireworks, and when a festival like that happens, he’d hold your hand tight, having a soft smile on his face and a tender look in his eyes.

Despite not saying it very often, he will confess his love for you.

It’s barely above a whispers, but it’s genuine.

It’s simple, small, but meaningful and beautiful nonetheless.

As you stargaze on the field, he’d tell you the names of all stars and constellations that you can see, and would tell you some trivia he knows about them.

Would take a few pics here and there, but his favourite one is one where you two are on the ground outside, both your heads on his favourite pillow, while looking at each other, both of you having such genuine and pure love in your expressions.

If he ever wakes up earlier than you, and likes to troll a bit, he’d get his tail out and tickle your noes, smirking at how cute your half-asleep reactions were, but would play innocent when you ask about it, only kissing your nose to make you forget and reassure you that it was only a dream (it wasn’t).

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Diavolo

Diavolo is so easily excitable, despite his age and title for the next Devil Lord, but honestly, he wants to take you to Iceland to see the Northern Lights that you spoke so fondly about.

There are so many pretty things to see in the Devildom alright, but none of them quite as fascinating to him as how the sky lights up with so many different and beautiful shades of green, blue and pink, it’s almost unreal!

Who would have thought that the Human world could hold such natural wonders?

He could have sword you were a witch or something, and just wanted to impress him with your magic, as if charming him wasn’t enough, but this beauty makes him behave even more like a child, leaving him speechless and breathless.

Diavolo would kiss and hug you, spinning your around so many times, if you allow him, you forgot to count, which is his way of thanking you for showing him this place and he’s honestly just so happy that he can share this precious moment together with you.

You tell him some old stories about how they say the ancestors’ souls watch over everyone from up there, and that even the animals who died have their souls there, living in peace and quiet.

Despite knowing it’s obviously not true, the tales humans come up with are so creative and make so much sense to their beliefs, he’s genuinely fascinated by all these old stories and would like for you to tell him more.

Iceland’s landscapes are also to be taken into account, and Diavolo will take thousands of pics of you literally everywhere, just because you’re so cute and he’s so damn happy and wants many memories together.

Would like for you to take a selfie with his phone, while at the Northern Lights, and would make Lucifer frame it so he can have it on his desk whenever he’s working, and whenever he gets bored, tired, or just misses you, he’d gaze fondly at the picture and would occasionally kiss it.

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dorizardthewizard · 3 years

Text

The Revival of Akillian: Chapter 10

Okay, there’s a few things that need to be addressed with this chapter so check out the reblogs for translator notes!

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Prologue / Chapter 9 / Chapter 11

10. CRUEL MEMORIES

“We remind everyone that the head of Sonny Backbones, the leader of the Pirates, is still priced at two million standard credits. For a more beautiful Galaxy, help Technoid!”

After this cheerful message, which shows Sonny Blackbones’s square head from the front and in profile, the advertisement break ends and the match resumes between the Wambas and the Pirates. This friendly match, “sponsored by Technoid” (despite the participation of the Pirates, long-time enemies of the company), is in its second half. The score is still a draw despite the obvious technical superiority of the Wambas. However, the Pirates seem to know in advance their strategy and their special moves, and come close to cheating thanks to their flux, the Seed of Shiloe, which allows them for a brief moment to produce decoys – projected doubles of themselves. This destabilizes the Wamba players… but they are not left out, compensating for the “treachery” of the Pirates by speed and agility which, on their own ground, the Jungle Stadium, they use profusely with their flux, the Roar, which expresses itself over their bodies in the form of golden sparks. In addition, they seem to be having a lot of fun, which is not the case with the Pirates who, despite their tricks, are falling behind.

“...an incredible leap, almost a somersault that Wouwambou just performed!” cries the excited announcer. “He kept the ball anyway, his clawed feet give him a definite advantage over his opponent - rather his opponents, it looks like there are two of them... no, he has only one defender against him. Wouwambou makes a very long pass to Lun-Zaera who was just waiting for this opportunity! She easily escapes the Pirate defender by leaping over, her control over the flux is remarkable, that of the ball too! Lun-Zaera rushes towards the goal, nothing can stop her, it seems, but here is the number 8 Pirate - a substitute? - who tackles the ball, too late, Lun-Zaera has flown off with the ball at her foot, she performs a sort of pirouette, she is back on the ground, it seems that she has lost the ball... but no, the ball is in the net, it’s a goooal! The Pirate goalkeeper didn't see it coming and I admit neither did I, that’s how fast it was! 1-0 for the Wambas! ...”

Aarch turns off the TV and turns to his team, sprawled out on benches in the lounge cabin of the Tanaga, his personal ship (still piloted by Clamp, the Scrap he intended for this role having proven to be totally incompetent).

- As you know, Lun-Zaera is the star striker of the Wambas team. Her speed is legendary, so beware of that in particular... what did I just say, Thran?

- Huh? Uh...

Sitting next to his dozing brother, Thran leans over a small device he had cobbled together from bits and pieces of various components, salvaged from the Arena Stadium construction site.

- 67 hundredths of a second, - he says, his eyes wide. - From what I recorded, Lun-Zaera scored that goal in 67 hundredths of a second! (He looks up at Aarch who is scrutinizing him, arms crossed, brow furrowed) You said she’s very fast, sir. My device proves it!

- Well, Thran, you’ll be against her in no time!

Aarch shows the team a small golden-brown satellite that orbits near the large and beautiful planet Wamba, whose emerald jungles appear beneath mottles of iridescent clouds.

- You can see the Ibo moon through the portholes. From its light, the Wambas derive their flux, the Roar. It gives them greater agility than usual...

- What about us, sir? – interrupted D’jok. - Why do we have no flux? It was the Breath of Akillian, right?

- Yeah, but it disappeared because of the great ice age, - Thran explains. - The Catastrophe caused a shift in the orbital axis of our planet, which upset the entire magnetic field, and the Breath vanished. It’s scientifically proven, isn’t it, sir?

- That is the circulating theory, yes. - confirms Aarch.

- But sir, - insists D’jok. - What Tia can do with the ball, is that thanks to the Breath?

- Yes, that’s right…

Tia looks down, intimidated, as if D’jok were talking about a flaw she might have. Sitting across from her, Rocket smiles at her.

- But why is she the only one with it? - asks Thran. - Especially since she is from Obia!

- You all have it in each of you, I’m sure you do, - says Aarch. - But it won’t be enough for you to wake it up like Tia; you will also have to learn to channel it, to tame it. That will undoubtedly be the most difficult part...

- In the meantime, - intervenes Micro-Ice. - We will have to manage without it, is that it? Scoring goals in... how many did you say, Thran? A fraction of a second in any case. Well! No need to worry either way, it’s just a friendly match, right?

Aarch comes to stand in front of him.

- You will learn that there are no insignificant matches, Micro-Ice. You and the others have only one desire and that is to play on this team. And I want this team to go far, very far. So, you absolutely have to play to win!

- But if you don’t want to win, Micro-loser, - laughs Sinedd. – We’ll be fine without you!

Aarch turns around to face him.

- We won’t win anything without everyone on board, Sinedd, and you especially would do well to remember it! I already told you, you play too selfishly, but football is a team sport! Understand?

Sinedd frowns and pouts, but refuses to respond. Aarch continues:

- I can’t wait to see you in action on the pitch. In the meantime, rest, because you will need all your strength!

With these words, he joins Clamp in the cockpit. Sinedd takes his set of GF-Cards out of his pocket and takes a seat at a table.

- Anyone up for a game? Who wants to get demolished?

Thran, D’jok and Rocket go looking for their own cards and join Sinedd around the table. Micro-Ice goes to sit next to Mei, who ostensibly ignores him. She gazes sullenly at the planet Wamba growing in the portholes. It seems like it’s hellishly hot down there, full of mosquitoes, spiders, biting insects… Tia prefers to isolate herself in a sleeping cabin. Ahito, well, he doesn’t need to isolate himself to fall sleep.

Sinedd deals the cards with a smirk: sure of his victory or already cheating? Thran contemplates his deck with dreamy eyes.

- What’s the matter, Thran? – remarks Sinedd. - Have you never seen GF-Cards before or what?

- Do you realize that if this works out, one day we too will have our faces on GF-Cards? I can just imagine it... Thran, 300 caps, top defender on the... uh... the... what is our team called, guys?

- Hey, but… wait a second… you’re right! - D’jok realizes. - We don’t even have a name! A great team must have a great name! What should we call ourselves?

- Your turn, D’jok. – prompts Sinedd.

- Uh… - wonders Thran. - Galactik Bats isn’t bad, right? Or… uh, I don’t know, The Fireballs?

- Yeah… - says Sinedd, scooping up the cards. - Me, I’d say something like the Zeroes, or the Broken Feet!

Clamp’s voice echoes in the living room:

- Kids, get back to your seats and buckle your seatbelts. We’ve arrived!

- Did you hear that, Sinedd? Buckle it! - snaps Micro-Ice.

***

True to their reputation for hospitality, the Wambas had invited Aarch’s team to feast in the Council of Elders building, the equivalent of the Akillian Confederation. “Equivalent” is a big word, because comparing this building to the luxurious Confederation building would be liked comparing a cave to a castle: it is a large hut all made of wood and bamboo, with a thatched roof and walls of plant fibers, surrounded by a path of planks held up by long poles. It is nestled in a lush jungle, formed by gigantic trees (beside which Akillian Cedryans look like shrubs), whose enormous roots become entangled with the vegetation that masks the ground. Under this majestic foliage grow many bushes, giant ferns and mushroom trees where vines and climbing plants intermingle. Mangroves and swamps with uninviting brackish water are all around, which bathe in the heat and humidity of an oven. An abundance of wildlife rustles there, a crescendo of birdsong, cries, chirps, cackles, and buzzes of swarms of insects... fortunately kept at a distance by fragrant smoke suspended from the poles. On the other hand, the heat overwhelms the Akillians who sweat profusely, feeling shortness of breath and thickened blood.

A large common table has been set up on the platform, where they share the meal with their future opponents; pleasant, courteous and considerate, like all Wambas. The table is chaired by Wakura, Patriarch of the Council of Elders, a post similar to that held by Adium in the Akillian Confederacy. But unlike Adium, a young bureaucrat, Wakura was once a great footballer, who repeatedly led the Wambas to victory. Servants dressed in lavender - a sign of their belonging to a lower caste - bring trays of steaming food. Smoky and fragrant… a bizarre, sour, and spicy smell. D’jok grimaces.

- Do you know what the Wambas eat? - he asks Micro-Ice at the table next to him, looking worried.

- Yeah, exactly. Mimouk, the Cyclops cook at the Cafeteria, told me about it one day... that’s why I’m freaking out!

A servant sets a dish in front of them that looks like a gray, hairy mash, decorated with a sort of large strawberry, vaguely reminiscent of a human head. The smell rises to the nose like mustard, only more pungent.

- Good… good luck and bon appétit, Micro-Ice.

- You too…

D’jok grabs his wooden spoon and goes to help himself. He holds back, his eyes wide.

- But what is this thing?! (The “mash” just shuddered, making a sort of hiss) Am I hallucinating, or does it move like it’s alive?

- Uh... well... from what Mimouk said... - begins Micro-Ice with a downright disgusted expression.

Someone bends over the dish and plucks the “strawberry” with his three fingers. This is Wouwambou, the captain of the Wambas - bright green eyes, pearly gray complexion - apparently well recovered from his flu on Akillian.

- It’s called Blatch: a puree of fresh spiders in Colmache oil. A real treat! (He stuffs the thing into his mouth - it cracks and squeals) You’ll see, it’s really delicious.

- We don’t doubt it for a second… - Thran grimaces, disgusted.

- Or a very small fraction of a second, - adds Micro-Ice. - Just a few hundredths, eh, Thran?

Wakura taps his goblet with a knife that was used to cut up a local fruit, demanding silence. He then gets up:

- My very dear friends! I am happy to welcome you on behalf of all the Wamba people. I am particularly touched to welcome the team that Aarch has just formed to our planet (he turns to Aarch, who is sitting next to him). Aarch, you should know that with us, you are at home!

- Thank you, Wakura. It is an honor for me to be invited to your table.

- And now, dear friends, I propose a toast to your health! - adds the Patriarch, raising his goblet.

The Wambas gulp down the contents of theirs. The Akillians feel obligated to imitate them. It is a whitish, mucus-like liquid with a pronounced muddy taste.

- Yuck... - belches D’jok. - What is this stuff again?

Lun-Zaera, seated in front of him, leans over, licking her lips.

- It’s Gatcho slime soaked in the mud of the backwater. Isn’t that divine?

- Uh… I think I’m going to throw up… - replies Thran, suddenly pale.

- You may not know, - Wakura continues. - But your coach has been with us for a long time. You could even say he rebuilt himself here, mentally and physically. We fed him, we took care of him! This is why the bond between Aarch and the Wambas is so strong...

Aarch lowers his head. This innocent and kind evocation of Wakura’s brings back to mind some very cruel memories...

It was ten years ago. A group match qualifying for the Galactik Football Cup. Aarch was attacking, although Artegor Nexus claimed otherwise. Overflowing with the Shadow’s Smog that spread a trail of black ink behind him, rage in his heart, hatred in his eyes, he rushed like a madman towards the Cyclops’ goal.

“Aarch attacks with a startling breakthrough, he decided to take his chances! The Cyclops defense have sensed the danger and decide to cut Aarch off in his tracks!”

Massive and determined, united by a telepathic bond, the three Cyclops defenders rushed to meet him. Without deviating an inch, without attempting any tricks, Aarch hit them head-on. The Smog he gave off prevented them from using their flux, the Psycho-Bug, which boosts their perception and cohesion. He chuckled, amused at how he had hurt them.

“Aarch fought off the Cyclops effortlessly! What determination in this player!”

It wasn’t determination, it was fury. The Smog was also confusing his mind, like an overdosed doping drug. He no longer thought, no longer saw, no longer respected anything. With Artegor Nexus dragging him down this dangerous slope, he had become a war machine destined to pulverize opposing goals. He passed to Artegor, immediately marked by two Cyclops, who returned the ball to Aarch, who resumed his inexorable charge, jostling and knocking down an opposing player.

“Foul!” He heard through his earphones - but he didn’t listen, he ran, blind and deaf. Another Cyclops tried to stop him, having seen the referees flashing. Screaming in fury, Aarch crushed him, suffocating him under an overflow of Smog. He went to shoot at the goal... the ball disappeared: there was a foul, so play had stopped. His dark energy no longer finding an outlet, it spilled out of him like a hemorrhage of ink. He rolled on the floor, drooling and growling. The Smog escaped, flowing from him in huge black streaks. Lying on the ground, his arms outstretched, he still writhed, wanting to get up, finish the match, finish the Cyclops, but he could not… the Smog flowed, he groaned, losing the Breath, his life… his teammates and even his adversaries ran up, worried, a flying stretcher descended from above… the Smog flowed… and everything went black.

***

The blackness lasted several months… the first memory that came back to his mind was this great yellow sun that warmed his eyelids, filtered by foliage which seemed to him to be several hundred meters high. Around Aarch, wooden buildings, thatched roofs… he was lying almost naked on a mat spread on a bed of rough planks, a brightly colored cushion under his head. Birds were singing, insects chirping. A beautiful young woman with short brown hair, big blue eyes and full lips stepped out of a house of wood and cloth, bringing with her a plate of steaming vegetables. For a moment, Aarch believed in heaven. He smiled at this divine apparition...

- So, how is our patient today? Are you feeling better?

Later, Aarch learned that this woman was called Simbai, Dame Simbai. She was a Human exiled to the planet Wamba, where she learned the secrets of native plants and medicines. It was she who, by her mark of care, patience and concern, had succeeded in restoring to Aarch his physical strength, his sanity and his memory… and it was Clamp, his old and faithful friend Clamp, who had torn from the Shadow hospital where he had been taken, where the local doctors proved powerless to contain this hemorrhage of Smog: they had never seen something like that before… later, when he felt better, Dame Simbai explained to him that she believed the Breath of Akillian and the Smog of Obscurantis were two incompatible fluxes, which had competed within Aarch to somehow “dominate” him. The Smog had won him over after his long stay on the Shadows’ planet, but it had made him furious, devoured by an inordinate ambition, a rage to win that only occurred among the greatest dictators or warlords... Artegor apparently fared better, no doubt because the Breath of Akillian was weaker in him. But hadn’t he, too, become arrogant and ambitious, driven by an obsession to win?

- Are you okay, Aarch? Aarch?

He tears himself away from contemplating the mangrove swamp, and the species of dragonflies the size of pigeons that frolic there in a colorful ballet dance.

- Simbai! You have no idea how happy I am to see you!

She has aged a bit; her brown hair has grown, her big blue eyes are protected by small glasses, but her lips are still so attractive, her smile so charming, and her waist, surrounded by a wide red belt, still so fine...

- Are you surprised to see me? I still live here, don’t you remember?

She leans over the edge of the wooden pontoon, dipping her hand in the warm yellow water of the backwater.

- Yes, of course. I haven’t lost my memory again, you know (Aarch joins her, kneels on the ground, then grabs her wet hand). Dear Dame Simbai… (He places a hand over her fingers) Dame Simbai… - he repeats in a tone of respect, deference… and love.

In Dame Simbai’s ear, a small shiny clasp beeps, audible only to her: her permanent link with the Flux Society. Master Zimbra thus lets them know about her encounter with Aarch... as expected.

***

In front of the entrance porch of the large hut of the Council of Elders, Tia, sitting on a rock, also contemplates the backwater. She would have been swimming there just to cool off, but she wonders with some anxiety what dreadful beasts could be splashing about in these silty waters. Besides the sweaty heat that puts her to sleep, she feels a bit heavy, has a rumbling belly and the unpleasant feeling that the Blatch is still wriggling in her stomach. What atrocious food! ...she ate it all the same, because her parents always told her that she should be able to eat anything: “If one day you become an ambassador like us, know that it is extremely rude to refuse the food offered to you by the peoples you visit. So, you will give us the pleasure of eating without complaining what your housekeeper is preparing for you!” Well, it’s not deadly, if Aarch has lived here for several years… for an old man like him, he looks pretty good.

Wouwambou takes a short stroll on the path, in order to take advantage of the relative coolness - only thirty-five degrees today - and to digest the succulent Blatch which he had eaten a little too much of. He suddenly stops, noticing Tia on the rock in front of the entrance. The green irises of his eyes widen, a sign of intense emotion. It’s her! …“She must not be able to play anymore. Never again. Am I clear enough?” Oh yes, Artegor Nexus was very clear. And Wouwambou, that fool, accepted the money. He was able to pay for the doctor, the medicine, and even bring credits to his family. Now he has to honor his end of the bargain... he does not think for a second to shy away, because the Wambas are not like that: they keep their promises, even if it would cost them their lives. But this young Human looks so kind and so fragile… why should Wouwambou prevent her from pursuing her passion? Why must he hurt her, her soul and body? Ah, cruel fate! How devious and wicked humans are! He slips away, feeling shame; he especially doesn’t want to have to talk to little Tia, to bond with her - only to destroy her afterwards. This is totally against the Wamba spirit.

Coming out of the house in search of a bit of coolness, Rocket descends the steps leading to the pontoon, and joins Tia at the foot of the rock. She stands up quickly, ready to flee, then relaxes: Rocket is not an enemy, he does not mean harm to her. As long as he doesn’t touch her, he’s fine.

- Tia… you haven’t told the others about what you know, I hope?

- What are you talking about?

- You didn’t tell them I was Aarch’s nephew, did you?

- No, of course not, come on!

She accompanies her words with a smile and sits down, losing her gaze in the depths of the jungle. Rocket in turn climbs onto the rock and sits next to her, dripping with sweat.

- Well, that’s good! That way, we will each have our little secret...

Sharing secrets is a good start to sharing other things afterwards, such as intimate moments, he thinks. Can he afford to take Tia’s hand, or is it still too soon? But his remark does not produce the desired effect at all:

- What are you talking about, Rocket? - Tia gets angry. - I have nothing to hide!

- What? But… uh… - he stammers, unsettled. - Your arrival on Akillian...

- Excuse me, miss… - a voice echoes behind them (it is one of the Wamba servants, he seems rather old). – Haven’t we bumped into each other somewhere?

- I don’t think so! - Tia answers sharply.

- I’ve worked on many planets, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you before. - insists the servant. – Aren’t you the daughter of... oh, what’s their name? This couple of diplomats?

- I’m telling you, no! - retorts Tia, who jumps down from the rock and walks away briskly.

Rocket gets up in turn, then glares at the Wamba: this idiot screwed everything up! Embarrassed by the hostile expression, the servant walks away muttering.

- It’s her, I’m sure. My memory never deceives me.

#galactik football #the revival of akillian

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malarkay · 3 years

Text

To Walk With Dreams and Darkness

Chapter two up! For the perusal of the two of you who are actually seeing this and, presumably, reading it. Thanks, gatorkid509 and yami268!

Chapter 2: Goodbyes and Greetings

Piper pushed her eggs around her plate as she tried to decide how to tell her family about her being magical. "Hey, eat up," Robert told her as he deposited a pancake onto her plate and dusted it with confectioner sugar. "Florence said the train leaves at 11:00 sharp, with or without you on it."

"I'm just not very hungry," she told him as he gave Finn and Aaron each a pancake before returning to the stove to get a new batch from Agatha. She had barely finished her sentence before Finn snatched the pancake from her plate. "Hey!"

"What? You said you aren't hungry. I am!"

"Finn, we do not steal food off other people's plates in this house," Agatha chided from where she was pouring the last bit of batter into the pan.

"But she didn't want it!"

"Yes, I did!"

"You're only saying that because I took it!"

"It's a pancake! Of course I wanted it!"

"Then don't say you're not hungry!"

"You don't have to be hungry to eat a pancake!"

"It helps!"

Beside Finn, Aaron just shook his head slowly as he quietly ate his own breakfast. Robert came back and gave her two pancakes, then added another one to Aaron's plate.

"What about me?"

Robert gave Finn 'The Look' and waited.

"May I please have another pancake?"

"Yes, you may, thank you for asking so politely," Robert told him, giving him one more. He added the rest to his own plate while Agatha came to join them with her own.

"Are you excited, Piper?" she asked.

"Nervous."

"That's understandable. I think everyone is feeling a bit out of sorts this morning," Agatha said, looking at Finn, whose brow was furrowed in a frown as he shovelled food into his mouth.

"You're going to be just fine," Robert said. "People are going to love you."

She smiled at him, and breakfast finished up without any further arguments.

Ms Davies arrived a little after 9:00 and pulled her aside as Robert loaded her things into the boot of their car. "Have you told them?"

"Not yet. I didn't want them to think I was crazy, so I thought I'd wait until we get to King's Cross Station. If what Professor Skeelur told me about how to get onto the platform is right, then there's no denying that magic is real when they see it for themselves."

"Well, you're not wrong about that," Ms Davies agreed.

All six of them couldn't fit into one car, so they split up for the ride to King's Cross. She and Aaron went with Ms Davies, while the Wrights took Finn with them.

"Promise me you'll write," Aaron told her as they drove.

"Of course I'll write," she assured him.

"Every week."

"I'll do my best, as long as you do the same."

"I will. And if you have any problems with any of the other kids and you can't handle it, not that you won't be able to handle it, but if you can't, let me know. I'll come up there, and I'll deal with them!"

She laughed.

"I mean it!"

"I know you do. That's very sweet, but I don't think you're going to have to."

Once at King's Cross, they reunited with the others. "Where'd you put your ticket, Piper?" Robert asked her. "We need the platform number."

"Um, about that," Piper said, pulling her ticket out of the messenger bag she had slung over her shoulder. "There's something you need to know first."

"You're having second thoughts?" Finn asked.

"No. It's just the school I'm going to; it's no ordinary school."

"Pfft, okay, we knew that already. It's for super-smart kids like you," Finn said dismissively.

"Not exactly. It's, well, it's easier if I show you. We need to get to Platform 9 ¾."

She watched for their reactions. Robert and Agatha exchanged concerned glances before looking to Ms Davies for confirmation. Aaron looked confused while Finn laughed. "Good one, Piper. Seriously, is it platform 9 or 10?"

"Platform 9 ¾," Ms Davies confirmed. "You have to run at the wall that separates platforms 9 and 10."

"I'm sorry? Florence, we've known each other a long time, but this sounds absurd," Robert said.

"You want us to run into a wall?" Agatha asked.

"No, I want us to run through a wall."

The Wrights still looked rightfully sceptical, so Piper spoke up. "Let's just go, and then Aaron, Finn and I will show you."

Robert shook his head but gestured for her to lead the way. "Alright, but I really don't want to spend the rest of the day in hospital while the three of you get patched up."

For their parts, Aaron and Finn looked excited at the prospect of either running through or into a brick wall. When they got to the column between the two platforms, they backed up to give themselves a good running start. "Okay, on the count of three," Aaron said. "One."

"You're really not even a little bit hesitant?" she asked them.

"No, we trust you. Two."

"This is the stupidest thing we've done all week!" Finn said, grinning.

She glanced over to her foster parents. Agatha was shielding her eyes from what she must assume would be imminent disaster. Robert stood with a hand covering his mouth, looking perplexed.

"Three!"

They raced each other to the column, and when they reached the brick, there was a moment of darkness as they passed through, and then they were on the other side. The platform was packed with families seeing their children off to school. On the tracks behind them was the Hogwarts Express, an impressive-looking steam locomotive, all shiny red and black and looking brand new even though she had read that it was 150 years old.

"Awesome!" Finn yelled, drawing several eyes toward them. "This…this is magic! You're magic?"

"I'm magic!"

"The school you're going to is a magical school?"

"Yes."

"That's so cool! And unfair! Why can't we be magic, too?"

"It's a rare gift," Ms Davies said from behind them. They turned to see that she and the Wrights had made the journey through the platform. The Wrights were looking around as if they thought they were having a shared nervous breakdown.

"Aww."

"By the way, the school isn't named Saint Cyprian's," Piper explained to the Wrights and Aaron while Finn was busy pouting. "It's called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. When you write, just put my name and the school's name on the envelope and drop it into the post. Professor Skeelur said it will get to me."

"I don't understand. That professor didn't look like a wizard," Agatha said faintly.

"To be fair, Ag, Piper doesn't look like a witch," Robert replied.

"None of them do," Aaron said, looking around. "Aren't witches supposed to be green? With warts?"

A girl a few years older than them shot him a dirty look as she passed, shaking her head. "Bloody stupid Muggles," she muttered under her breath.

Piper crossed her arms, "That's just in the movies."

"They do dress kinda funny, though," Finn said, getting over his disappointment.

It was true. While everyone was wearing Muggle clothes, not everyone was doing a very convincing job of it. Most of the kids had managed to pull together a look that wouldn't raise too many eyebrows. The same couldn't be said for the adults. One woman in the crowd was wearing an elaborate ball gown, which wouldn't automatically be a problem except that it was 10:50 in the morning on a Wednesday.

"Well, they do have their own world that's separate from ours," Piper reasoned. "It makes sense they dress a little differently."

"As much as I'd love to stand here and discuss wizard fashion, we better get you and your luggage boarded," Robert said. "The train leaves soon."

Piper nodded and turned to Aaron first, hugging him. "I'm going to miss you," she told him.

"I'm going to miss you, too. But you'll be back for Christmas. And we're going to write each other all the time," he reminded her. "It'll be like you never left!"

She let him go and turned to Finn.

"Well, I'm not gonna miss you even a little," Finn said.

"Good, because I'm not going to miss you either."

"I suppose you expect a hug."

"This is the last time we're going to see each other for the next three and a half months, but I'm not going to twist your arm."

He scoffed and hugged her, surprising her a little with the fierceness of it. She hugged him back just as tightly, and he buried his face in her shoulder. She felt a bit of dampness seep through her shirt. "Are you crying?" she whispered, even as she felt her own eyes start to sting.

"No," he lied.

They broke apart after a long moment, and Aaron threw an arm around Finn's shoulders as she went to hug Agatha goodbye. She even hugged Ms Davies. Once her goodbyes were said, she and Robert went and got her trunk settled into the luggage van. After that, there was nothing left to do but board the train herself.

Students crowded the corridor, congregating to greet old friends or looking for a compartment to settle down in.

She picked her way slowly down the corridor, searching for a seat. The compartments were filling up fast, but she managed to come across one that carried only three occupants, two boys and a girl who all looked to be fellow incoming first years.

"Do you mind if I sit in here?"

The three looked at her appraisingly before exchanging glances, coming to an unspoken consensus. One of the boys, a stocky kid with shaggy brown hair, spoke, "Compartment's full."

She put her hands on her hips, frowning at the blatant lie. If they didn't want her around, the least they could do was have the guts to be honest about it. "It doesn't look full to me."

The group's spokesperson scowled, but it quickly shifted into a grin as he looked over her shoulder and waved to someone behind her. "Lark! Saved you a seat!"

Piper glanced around and spotted the girl from the wand shop. Their eyes met, but if she recognized her, she did a good job of not showing it. "How very thoughtful of you, Alex," she said dryly as she slipped past Piper to join them.

"You know me, always thinking," the boy said. "Besides, I haven't seen you since you've been back. We've got a lot to catch up on." He looked back to the doorway, feigning surprise that Piper was still there. "I thought I already told you that there's no more room. Find somewhere else to be. Oh, and close the door for us on your way out, would you?"

"Close it yourself!" Piper turned on her heels and stormed off. Her departure was met with a chorus of snickers from the group. In her annoyance, she failed to watch where she was going and ended up nearly bowled over a lanky boy with ginger hair.

"Whoa!" He reached out to take hold of her shoulders, steadying them both after their collision. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she snapped and immediately felt terrible. "Sorry I ran into you," she told him more gently.

"It's okay. And are you sure you're fine? Because I might not be if I had to deal with that gang of tossers."

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "You saw that?"

"Yeah. You're better off, honestly. You don't want to be friends with them."

"You know them?"

"Well, no, not personally," he admitted with a slight frown. "More by reputation. Come on, let's find somewhere to sit, then we can talk more."

She trailed along behind him until he found a compartment that was empty save for a blonde girl.

"Mind if we join you?" he asked her.

"Not at all. I'm Dierdra Macmillan."

"Bill Weasley. And this is," he paused to let Piper introduce herself.

"Piper Cochran," she said, sitting next to Dierdra. Bill sat across from them.

"Is this your first year at Hogwarts?" Dierdra asked. They both nodded. "Mine, too. I can't wait! What House do you think you'll be sorted into?"

"My mum and dad were both in Gryffindor," Bill answered. "It wouldn't surprise me if I'm put there."

"My father was in Ravenclaw, my mother in Hufflepuff. But I'm not sure where I'll be placed, honestly."

Piper's face grew hot as they spoke. She curled up in her seat and tried to stay out of the conversation, but Bill had other plans.

"I'd wager Piper is going to be sorted into Gryffindor. You should have seen how she had a run-in with a group of bullies and didn't let them intimidate her," he grinned.

Dierdra's face twisted as if she'd been force-fed a lemon. "Bet I can guess who you're talking about. Alex Nott and his friends? I saw them earlier."

"Do you know him?"

"Unfortunately. We're distant cousins on our mothers' sides. Not distant enough for our paths to never cross, sadly. He's always been an insufferable prat."

"My condolences."

"Thank you. Anyway, I don't understand why the Ministry is even allowing the children of Death Eaters to attend Hogwarts."

Bill shrugged. "You can't really punish them for what their parents did, can you?"

Piper chewed her lip as curiosity warred with her embarrassment over not understanding what they were talking about. In the end, curiosity won. "What's a Death Eater?"

Dierdra looked at her in surprise before realization lit her face. "Oh, you're Muggle-born! Why didn't you say so? Death Eaters were followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Piper's lack of comprehension must have shown because Dierdra elaborated, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a dark wizard who believed Pure-bloods should rule the world. A lot of good people who disagreed with that died in the war against him."

Piper gaped at her, "There was a war? When?" How could there have been an entire war going on right under their noses, and they had never noticed?

"It went on for practically our whole lives. It just ended last October when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was finally stopped. As for his followers, a lot of them have been sent to Azkaban."

"And a lot of others managed to lie their way out of trouble," Bill added.

"Or buy their way out of it," Dierdra added with distaste. "And who knows how many others are out there who haven't been caught yet?"

"So those kids back there, you're saying their parents are Death Eaters?"

Dierdra shrugged, "The Ministry suspected Thaddeus Nott of being one. They even put him on trial, but in the end, they couldn't prove it. That's Alex's uncle, though. They never suspected his father, but as someone who has met the man, I can tell you that the odds are good that he was one, too. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"The Cyclonis' definitely were," Bill said. "It was a real shock when that came out after they died. Cyneric Cyclonis had a good reputation within the Ministry. My dad works there, too. He says a lot of people thought it was only a matter of time before he'd run for Minister for Magic and that he'd probably win."

"How'd they die?"

"No one knows. My dad says it was probably You-Know-Who," Bill answered. "He'd do that, sometimes, kill his own followers if they upset him badly enough."

"Was there never an investigation?"

"There was, but…"

"But what?"

"But they were Death Eaters. The Ministry wasn't going to put too much effort into solving the murder of a couple of Death Eaters, no matter how popular they may have been before their secret came out," Dierdra finished bluntly when Bill hesitated.

"That's awful."

"A lot of awful things happened in the war," Dierdra said, in a tone that suggested that the story they had just told her was amongst the least of them.

Piper knew what it felt like to lose both parents. Dierdra may not feel any sympathy toward Lark, but Piper couldn't help it. But the way that Bill and Dierdra spoke made the Death Eaters sound more like terrorists than soldiers in a war. She couldn't make herself feel too bad for Lark's parents in that case. Still, it'd drive her crazy if her parents were murdered, and no one cared enough to find out who did it or why.

"You still with us, Piper?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just thinking."

"That was a lot of information we hit you with all at once," Bill said apologetically. "I'm sure the school library will have old copies of The Daily Prophet if you want to read up on the war. Some of the stories are pretty bad, though."

Piper nodded, "I'll take a look. I want to be able to understand what people are talking about, after all."

"You'll get used to the wizarding world pretty quickly," Dierdra assured her. "It can't be all that different from the Muggle one, can it?"

Piper laughed. Just from what she'd seen so far, she knew they were very different. "You have no idea."

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Piper looked toward the door where a kindly looking old woman stood with a trolley laden with sweets.

"I brought something from home, thank you," she said.

"Me, too," Bill said.

"What?" Dierdra sounded absolutely scandalized. "Piper, you at least have to get your first chocolate frog." She hopped out of her seat and handed the trolley attendant some money. "Three chocolate frogs, please."

She was handed three fancy looking boxes. She passed one to Piper, one to Bill, and retook her seat with the third.

"Thanks, Dierdra, but you really didn't need to buy us anything," Piper said.

"But I wanted to. Open it up! Each chocolate frog comes with a collectable card."

Piper pulled off the seal that held the box closed and flipped open the lid. As she did, the chocolate frog within leapt right out of the box. She made a grab for it, snatching it out of midair before it could hit the ground.

"Whoa, nice reflexes!" Bill exclaimed.

She held the squirming frog out at arm's length. "Is it supposed to do that?" she yelped.

Dierdra covered her mouth. She was trying not to laugh and not doing a good job of it. "Sorry! I know I should have warned you, but I really wanted to see your reaction."

"The frogs are enchanted," Bill explained with a grin. "They're fine to eat once they stop moving."

Piper tentatively opened her hand. Luckily, the frog's enchantment really had worn off, and she was able to put the now still frog back in the box after retrieving the card.

She looked down at the pentagonal card. A blonde-haired woman wearing an old-fashioned aviator cap and goggles smiled up at her. At the bottom of the card read the name Jocunda Sykes. As she watched, the woman waved and snapped off a little salute.

"They're animated!"

"Well, sure, why wouldn't they be?"

She flipped the card over. There was a little blurb about Jocunda's accomplishments printed there. She was the first witch the fly across the Atlantic Ocean on a broom back in 1935. Piper thought that sounded like a lot of fun.

"Are we going to learn how to fly on a broom at Hogwarts?"

"Of course! Not only that, but if you're any good at it, you can try out for your House Quidditch team."

"Quidditch? Oh! There was a shop in Diagon Alley that had that in its name, but I didn't think to ask what it meant."

Dierdra and Bill grinned at each other.

"You might as well get your lunch out and make yourself comfortable; we've got a lot to talk about."

~*~*~

Talk they did, until some older students came along, walking down the corridor and knocking on doorframes. "One hour to Hogsmeade Station. Time to start thinking about changing into your robes."

Dierdra pointed a finger out into the corridor. "Out, Bill. We'll change first."

Bill went to stand out in the corridor, and Dierdra slid the door closed, pulling down the window shade.

They changed into their uniforms without much chin-wagging, so they didn't keep Bill waiting too long. Piper had to admit that she felt a little silly as she slipped her robes over her uniform.

Once ready, they swapped places with Bill. By the time they were all dressed, the older students were making their rounds again. "Half an hour to Hogsmeade Station! Make sure you have everything you brought with you! The train won't be coming back until the Christmas holiday!"

Before she knew it, the train was pulling into the station. They made their way to the exit and stepped out into the night. The station bustled with activity.

"All luggage and pets over there! They will be brought to your dormitories!"

"Second through seventh years, make your way to the carriages! Four students per carriage, please! We won't have a repeat of last year! Looking at you, fifth-year Gryffindors!"

"Firs' years? Firs' years this way, follow me!"

Piper and the others followed the sound of the last booming voice and discovered that it belonged to an immense man with long dark hair and a beard. He was broad, but more than that, he was tall. Taller by far than anyone she had ever seen before. Twice her height, easily, and then some!

Looking around, she saw many of the others openly gawking at him. So, some things took even wizarding children by surprise. Good to know.

He led them to the edge of a lake, where a small fleet of rowboats waited.

"Alrigh' then, in the boats yeh go!" he told them, overseeing them all. They sat four to a boat. Piper, Bill and Dierdra were joined by a boy who introduced himself as Liam Logue.

Once all the first years settled into their boats, the giant man stepped into one of his own. It creaked loudly under his weight but stayed afloat. His boat moved of its own accord, pulling out in front of all the others, and all the other boats followed.

She looked out over the lake to their destination and inhaled sharply. An expansive castle rose from the craggy shores at the far side of the lake. A gibbous moon rose into the clear, starry skies behind it, casting its glowing reflection into the lake in front of them. It was beautiful. A low murmur of appreciation rippled through the fleet of boats at the view.

As they drew nearer to the castle, the man called out, "Watch yer heads!"

She ducked slightly as the boat glided through an ivy-covered opening in the cliff. They sailed on through an underground tunnel before coming to a stop on a rocky shore. They climbed out and followed the man up a flight of stone steps to a heavy wooden door. The man knocked three times, loudly, and the door swung open.

They followed him into a large entry hall, coming to a stop in front of a strict looking woman with her black hair pulled into a tight bun.

"Professor McGonagall," the man greeted. "The new firs' years for yeh."

"Thank you, Hagrid," the woman replied. "Follow me," she said to them. She led them across the large entrance hall, stopping before another large door.

She turned to address them. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin. But first, there are a few things you should know. There are four houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each of you will be sorted into one of these houses, where you will remain throughout your years here. Over the course of the year, you will have many opportunities to win your house points. Any misbehaviour, however, may lead to the deduction of points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will win the house cup. Now then, are you all ready?"

They all nodded, and Professor McGonagall pushed open the doors, striding into the Great Hall beyond. They trailed after her, and Piper stared in wonder. Four long tables stretched along the length of the hall, two on each side of the walkway they followed the professor down. Dozens of kids already sat at each table, watching them. At the head of each table hung a banner depicting what she assumed was each house's crest. Green and silver emblazoned with a serpent, blue and bronze with an eagle, scarlet and gold with a lion, and yellow and black with a badger.

Hundreds of candles floated in midair above them, casting a soft flickering glow throughout the hall. The ceiling, well, she wasn't sure there was a ceiling. It looked exactly like the night sky had outside. Even the phase of the moon was the same.

Upon a raised dais, at the front of the hall, sat another long table where the teaching staff sat. She spotted Professor Skeelur amongst them and tried not to gawk. His hair was styled into a tousled quiff; the long top section dyed green while the shorter sides were purple. Even his goatee was purple. He was dressed in robes, black with silver trim on the outside, but with a violently fluorescent lime green lining that glared out from the inside of his hood and sleeves. She could just imagine the look on her foster mother's face if he had shown up to their house looking like that. Aaron and Finn would think it was the wickedest thing ever, though. She felt a twinge at the thought of them. She really wished they could be here, too.

In front of the table, right in the centre of the dais, sat a stool with a wide-brimmed, pointed hat sitting atop it. The hat looked ancient and worn, and she wondered what purpose it served in all of this.

Professor McGonagall led them right up to the steps leading up to the dais before climbing the steps herself to stand behind the stool.

An expectant silence fell over the hall, and after a moment, the hat began to sing. Because, of course it did.

Before I Sort you all tonight, there's one thing to make clear,

A note to both the tall and small that I find apt this year.

When Godric, Helga, Rowena and Salazar began,

They joined forces to achieve their illustrious grand plan.

For all four were well aware that they could not unaided,

See their great ambition reached; they were not yet so jaded.

So all together they succeeded in their common quest,

To build a school that the wizarding world would name the best.

And while it's true that each had certain values that they sought,

When it came time to fill these halls, it's everyone they taught.

So, while it is my job to place in Ravenclaw the wise,

And make sure that it is the true that Hufflepuff comprise,

And while in Gryffindor it is that boldness must reside,

And into Slytherin go those whose aspirations guide,

I bid you to remember that united we are strong,

And don't forget that each and every one of you belongs.

"When I call your name, come up and take a seat on the stool," Professor McGonagall said once the hat fell silent. She retrieved a scroll of parchment from a pocket in her robes, unrolled it, and called the first name.

"Agarwal, Arjun."

A nervous-looking boy wearing a black turban climbed the steps and took a seat, and Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head. They all waited in eager anticipation to see what would happen next. They weren't kept waiting long. About fifteen seconds later, the hat called out, "Hufflepuff!"

The kids at the yellow and black table broke into applause, and the boy smiled and hopped off the stool to join them.

She watched as the same scene played out for a couple more kids, and then the professor called out, "Avery, Josephine."

Piper frowned. She recognized the plump, bespectacled girl as part of the group that had rebuffed her on the train.

Less than ten seconds went by before the hat yelled, "Slytherin!"

The green and silver table burst into loud applause as she joined them.

"Boo!" someone called from the scarlet and gold table, and Professor McGonagall shot them a look that Piper was very happy to not be on the receiving end of.

"Decorum, ladies and gentlemen," the professor said sharply. "This is your one reminder! Brimble, Claudia."

"Gryffindor!"

That was met with riotous celebration by the scarlet and gold table.

Bryne, Elliott and a pair of twins by the name Cadwallader all went to Hufflepuff. And then...

"Cochran, Piper.'

She slowly mounted the steps and sat on the stool. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head, and the brim slipped down over her eyes, obstructing her view of the Great Hall.

She nearly jumped when a voice spoke to her. 'Let's see what's in this head of yours, shall we? Hmmm, interesting. You're quite intelligent, aren't you? I see a great deal of curiosity. You're studious and creative. You'd do very well in Ravenclaw. Very well, indeed.'

She waited for the hat to shout that out to the rest of the room. Instead, the hat spoke again.

'Not so fast. I'm not done with you yet. There's more here. I see bravery. I see a desire to do the right thing. You're someone who won't tolerate injustice when you see it, who won't back down from a fight. Fine traits in a Gryffindor.'

Again, she waited for the hat to make its announcement, and again it did not.

'I haven't decided yet. You're a difficult case. I believe you'd excel in either house. But what about you? What do you think?'

'I don't know,' she thought to the hat. 'I don't know enough about either house to decide.'

'You don't need to know anything about them. You just need to know yourself. What matters to you?'

'I don't know!' she thought, frustrated. 'I want...'

'Yes?'

'I want to feel like I'm part of something, like a team or a family. I already miss mine. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited about learning magic. Really, really excited! But I worry I'll end up too homesick to enjoy it.'

'I see. Each house is like a family to its members, but it is true that some form closer bonds than others. Of the four, Ravenclaw is the most individualistic. And so, I believe, the matter is settled.'

"Gryffindor!"

The hat was pulled off her head, and she made her way to the cheering Gryffindor table.

"I told you!" Bill said as she passed him, and they grinned at each other.

She found a place to sit at the table, getting handshakes and backslaps from everyone within arm's reach. She couldn't stop smiling as she turned her attention back to the sorting.

"Coventry, Maximus."

That did make her smile falter a bit. The scrawny kid with dark, curly hair who took his place on the sorting stool was the other silently judgmental boy from the train. It came as no surprise to her when the hat called out, "Slytherin!"

"Everyone is getting sorted so fast," she commented to an older girl who sat next to her. "When I was up there, it felt like it took forever!"

"You actually were up there for a while," the girl told her. "Close to two minutes. Some people aren't as easy for the hat to figure out as others. It's not a bad thing. The hat wants to make sure you end up in the house that's right for you. I don't think I'd trust it if it sorted everyone in five seconds."

"I suppose that's true," Piper conceded as she turned her attention back to the ceremony.

"Cyclonis, Larkspur."

Piper expected her to be sorted as quickly as the Coventry boy, but ten seconds passed, and the hat remained silent. Fifteen seconds. Thirty. A minute. It was a minute and a half before the hat made its decision.

"Slytherin!"

"See?" the older girl told her reassuringly. "It's not uncommon."

The sorting went on for some time. Their boat mate Liam went to Hufflepuff. Dierdra ended up in Ravenclaw. Alexander Nott landed in Slytherin. Eventually, the group was whittled down to three.

"Weasley, William."

The hat had scarcely settled on his head before it declared, "Gryffindor!"

He took a seat across from her and smiled. "Mum and Dad will be happy."

Winters, Gideon was sorted into Hufflepuff and Woodlock, Aisling into Ravenclaw. And with that, the sorting was complete.

The stool and hat were replaced with an elaborate owl lectern, and a man stepped up to address the room. He looked exactly how she expected a wizard to look. He was a tall, thin man draped in midnight blue robes, with long white hair and a long beard. He studied them through gold-framed, half-moon glasses.

"I'd like to start with a brief announcement. As many of you may have already noticed, Professor Skeelur has returned to us. He will not be resuming his role as Divination professor, however, as Professor Trelawney will be staying on in that position. Instead, he will be taking over the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Professor Skeelur stood and gave a jaunty bow as the students applauded.

"Now then, for those of you who may not know, I am Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of this school, and it is my pleasure to welcome you all to a new year at Hogwarts. You know, I've always found the beginning of a new school year to be a magical time, a time of new beginnings and new possibilities. And this year, I feel it even more keenly. We have been through tumultuous times in recent years. For some of you, that is all you've ever known. But we have weathered that storm. Those days are behind us now, and we are free to look to the future with a renewed sense of hope. And that is what I feel when I look at all of you now. Hope. The hope that we can help guide you into becoming the best possible versions of yourselves. You are the future of the wizarding world, and it is my fervent wish that your future is a bright one, one full of peace, and prosperity, and progress. That is the world you deserve to know."

He paused, letting his words sink in as his gaze slowly swept across the hall.

When he spoke again, his tone was more light-hearted, "But that's enough talk for one night. Enjoy the feast!"

With those words, a multitude of steaming serving bowls and platters laden with food appeared in the centre of the table.

She helped herself to a slice of roast beef and one of baked ham, roast potatoes with garlic and rosemary, Yorkshire pudding, peas and glazed carrots and tucked in for a night of good food and conversation.

She discovered that the older girl she had spoken to during the sorting was a fifth-year prefect named Cathy Wells. She assured Piper and the other first years within earshot that they could come to her with any questions or concerns.

She also learned that two other first years at the table were Muggle-born and just as excited as she was to be here learning real magic. Connor Monohan was from Wexford, Ireland, while Edgar Grant was from Leeds. When they found out that she was from Brixton, they wanted to know all about her experience with the riots from the previous summer. Her foster parents had kept her and her brothers well clear of the violence, but she told them what she could of those days and their aftermath. The conversation fascinated the wizarding kids, who didn't seem to grasp the concept of racial tension until one of the older Muggle-born students compared it to Pure-bloods versus Muggle-borns. That had everyone chiming in with their own stories from that same summer. Apparently, the Death Eaters had been particularly emboldened in the months leading up to You-Know-Who's downfall.

Cathy only let the conversation get so far before she steered it away from the grim turn it had taken. No one complained.

The dinner dishes vanished as Bill told them funny stories of his five little brothers and baby sister. In their place, an entire spread of pudding appeared. Being stuffed from dinner didn't stop her from taking a slice of Victoria sponge cake.

About half an hour later, all the plates disappeared. Professor McGonagall, who Piper had learned was both Deputy Headmistress and the Head of Gryffindor, announced that it was time for the prefects to lead their houses to the dormitories.

Piper followed Cathy out of the Great Hall and off to the staircases. "Pay attention," Cathy instructed them. "The staircases change, and you don't want to get lost on the way to Gryffindor Tower later when you're all on your own."

Sure enough, as Piper watched, some of the staircases overhead shifted from one landing to another. "We're this way," Cathy pointed out before mounting the steps. "Seventh floor."

She led them up several flights of stairs and down a hallway to another spiral staircase that led to a large landing where a portrait of a large woman hung on the wall.

"The Fat Lady guards our common room entrance," Cathy explained.

"Password?" the portrait requested.

"Frabjous day!"

"Callooh! Callay!" the Fat Lady replied with a delighted laugh, and the portrait swung open to reveal a round door that opened into a circular common room. The room was warm and cosy, with a fire roaring in a large fireplace. A lion portrait hung above the mantle, and the walls were lined with paintings and tapestries in varying shades of red and gold. Overstuffed scarlet chairs and sofas dotted the room. Several long tables could accommodate multiple students for studying, along with smaller side tables that held books or chessboards. Tall windows were spaced in even intervals along the walls. During the day, the common room was sure to be bathed in sunlight. A few nooks and alcoves were cut into the walls, which would lend a small amount of privacy to the few occupants they would allow. Near the door stood a message board. Cathy explained that they could find announcements such as Quidditch tryouts, club meeting schedules, and changes to the common room password posted there.

"First-year girls, follow me. I'll show you to your dorm," Cathy said. "First-year boys, follow Matthew. He'll show you to yours."

She pointed to a blond boy who looked about the same age as Cathy. The boy saluted, "Matt Higgins, at your service."

Bill and the other boys broke away from the group to follow Matt while Piper and the girls followed Cathy up a side staircase to a room that housed five four-poster beds in a circle around the room, each bed draped with heavy scarlet curtains. Their trunks were placed at the end of the beds for them, and they each had a plain wooden chair and nightstand of their own.

"Breakfast is served in the Great Hall from 6:30 to 8:30. You'll get your class timetable at breakfast tomorrow. Classes begin at 9:00. Whatever you do, don't be late! We don't want to start the year with negative house points. Curfew is between 9:00 PM and 6:00 AM, except when you have astronomy. Other than that, no wandering the castle in the middle of the night. It's against the rules, but besides that, it's dangerous. Lights out at 10:00. Bathrooms are one flight up the stairs we took to get here. Any questions?"

They all shook their heads no.

"Well then, sleep well!"

With that, Cathy left them to their own devices. They chatted as they prepared for bed. Her dormmates were Claudia Brimble, Maeve McCarver, Catriona Taggart, and Jocasta Erskine. None of them were Muggle-born, although Claudia and Catriona both had one non-magical parent, so the Muggle world wasn't a completely foreign concept to them. They all seemed friendly, and Piper thought they would probably get on well enough during their time here.

"We should probably get to sleep soon," she said as she laid out her uniform for the following day. "Like Cathy said, we don't want to be late."

The others agreed, and soon they were all tucked snugly into bed for the night.

#storm hawks #storm hawks fanfic #storm hawks aerrow #storm hawks finn #storm hawks piper #Cyclonis #arygyn the skeelur #crossover fanfic

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imissjoongsmullet · 4 years

Text

My Prince (1)

Pairing: Minghao x reader

Genre: fluff/(angst)

Summary: Life is not exactly easy being the royal gardeners’ daughter but at least it’s simple. When you’re suddenly called upon to serve as the prince’s personal servant, things get a little more than complicated, especially considering the secret history you and the prince share.

Part 2

Part 3

Warnings: general angstiness, a bit of a slow burn, very romantic, very soft, the fact that this will most likely become a long series cause I have no chill

Word Count: 3k

Author’s Note: this is a present for my sweet sweet baby @silverstonemanor you deserve the world, I hope you like it! She gave me the idea for this story a while ago. I would have posted stuff earlier but my extra self couldn’t stop and ran way too far with this whole idea. This was supposed to be a drabble and well, now it’ll probably become the longest thing I’ve ever written that isn’t a novel so yeah ^^” oopsie~

►

The sun was just peeking over the distant treetops when you entered the wide castle grounds with your parents, tool bag slung over your back. You didn’t mind waking up this early; you enjoyed watching the various shades of orange and pink roll over the sky like waves, until nothing was left but clear blue. Besides, in a few hours, the air would turn far too hot and humid for you to focus.

The royal gardens were massive. They’d seemed infinite as a child and even now, despite your position as gardener, you found yourself lost in them from time to time. You followed your parents to the place you’d left off the evening before: a long, narrow stretch of grass, flanked by vibrant tiger lilies on both sides. At the far end was a small, ornate pagoda, around which a thin body of water lay. It was a lily pond of your father’s own making.

“Start at the front,” your mother’s stern voice called from behind, “we need it perfect by noon.”

You did as you were told, getting on your knees in the damp grass, facing the flowers. They needed pruning, as well as weeding. There would be some sort of royal meeting held right here today and; naturally, the place should be spotless. You dug your fingers into the moist soil and pulled at the weeds haphazardly, eyes drifting to the sky more often than necessary. It was tedious work, being part of the royal gardeners but you’d never had much of a choice in the matter. Your parents had done it and the same was expected of you. It’s not like you minded it all that much; you just wondered sometimes whether there was something more exciting you could be doing with your life than fussing over the tiniest details of a garden so vast, the emperor would probably never even see half of it.

The distant neighing of a horse called your attention. Unthinking, you got up and jumped onto the raised platform of the pagoda, so you could see over the bushes of the garden. From the castle’s main entrance came about a dozen men on horses. They trod down the path that lead into an enormous forest. At the front of the procession was the emperor of Namin himself, his most trusted servant by his side. Your eyes went immediately to the horse behind them though; for that’s where the prince sat. The gold detailing on his robe glinted in the warm morning light as he silently followed his father.

“Hey!” your mother barked at you, “these weeds won’t disappear by themselves you know.”

You pulled your eyes away from the procession and hopped off the pagoda with a dull thump and a sigh. You wished you could join the people on their horses. You didn’t even care where they were headed; you just wanted to get out. You imagined adventures you’d have with the prince sometimes; it was a bit of a guilty pleasure and if anyone ever found out, you’d probably be banished from the grounds.

But the prince and you had been close once. You’d been only children but even then it had been scandalous. Servants weren’t allowed to interact with royals but, as the daughter of the palace gardeners you’d spent a fair amount of time on grounds, learning your parents’ craft. That’s how you’d first met him.

He’d been reading by himself under an orange tree when you’d found him, a young boy of seven. He’d seemed weary of you at first but in a matter of hours, the two of you would’ve seemed like best friends to strangers. You still remembered the way he’d smiled at you that first day when you said goodbye; as if he himself was shocked by how much fun he’d just had.

From then on, you’d been secret playmates. He’d find you in the rose garden, watching your parents treat the plants and steal you away for hours, playing hide and seek in the endless maze of greenery, until the sun went down and when you’d return, your parents were worried about where you’d been.

He hadn’t seemed much like a prince back then. You’d just known him as Minghao, your best friend. He’d been loud and wild and full of life, chasing you between trees and under bushes, not afraid to get completely covered in dirt. One time, you’d been teasing each other until finally, he’d pushed you into one of your father’s most prided fountains. You’d yanked him down with you, ruining the apparently-brand-new robes he was supposed to wear to a formal dinner with the ruler of a neighboring land called Yientan that evening. You hadn’t seen him in the following days and you’d felt extremely guilty but a week or so later, he’d jumped out from behind a tree and pulled you into another afternoon of carefree playing.

You were eight years old when you finally got caught. To make matters worse, it had been the empress herself who’d found you, hidden behind a banquet table at one of the royal summer festivals, laughing a bit too loud. You’d never forget the look in her eyes — hard as stone at her own son — as well as Minghao’s — positively terrified. She’d had the guards escort him back to his chambers assuring him there’d be punishment later. She would have banished you right then and there in front of everyone if it hadn’t been for your parents’ begging. They promised to have you start training twelve hours a day with them, to force all your focus on gardening so you wouldn’t have the energy to think about anything else.

You supposed you should be grateful. You would never have survived on your own outside the grounds should you have been banished.

After that, you barely ever saw Minghao and even when he was out in the gardens, you kept your distance. There were times when your eyes crossed and you’d share a look and a smile that reminded you of the way things once were. But even that didn’t last. Soon enough, Minghao grew up and you stopped seeing him as Minghao, the name replaced with ‘prince’, as others called him. It seemed to fit him more. By his fourteenth birthday, there wasn’t much left of the loud, wild, full-of-life boy you’d known. His back was straighter, his shoulders squared and his kind smile vanished. On the rare occasion your eyes did meet, his were cold like his mother’s and you just had to learn to live with that.

Because you knew your place now.

Yet, as you worked your way around the stretch of tiger lilies, your mind kept flitting to the prince. You couldn’t help it. You knew it was silly but, somehow, you still hoped you could return to how things were before.

You were a sweaty mess once the sun arrived high in the sky. Your hands hurt and your stomach was growling but your mother had told you not to take a break before the flowerbeds were in perfect condition. After that you’d still have to clean the pond, all before the clock struck three, when the meeting would take place. You were getting impatient and grouchy and when someone called your name you replied with a bit more attitude than you were allowed to.

“What now?” you groaned, turning around to see, not your parents, but a tall, thin woman in pristine, white and gold clothing. You nearly fell over into the flowers.

The woman didn’t seem fazed. “Come with me,” she ordered in a monotone voice.

You looked around for your parents and found them just as perplexed as you were. Hesitantly, you stood and followed the stranger through the garden. You knew by her clothes she must work at the castle but, as you had no idea of what went on on the inside, you couldn’t tell exactly who she was or what she wanted from you. You worried suddenly they’d somehow found out about your secret prince fantasies, which was a completely irrational thought but horrifying nonetheless.

You were taken through the main entrance, with its massive wooden doors and colorful flags — a gold dragon against a vivid blue backdrop. You'd been fantasizing about what lay behind them since before you could remember. More blue and gold flags? Statues of the royal family? Elaborate paintings or murals?

It was more than you could have dreamed of. The room was entirely bare, drawing the focus on the only the two things that mattered. The floor was a wood, so shiny you could see your face reflected in them, the gentle creak in them like a birdsong. The walls were painted a sky blue, decorated with gold, spindly tree branches. Their shine reflected onto the wood, lighting up the place beautifully.

You had no time to admire any of it. The tall woman’s stride was hasty and you could barely keep up. Tailing her through a small sliding door, you came upon a narrow hallway. You passed others in servant’s clothing: light colored, clean, silk robes. They billowed behind them gracefully as they shuffled past. It made you realize how much you stood out in your mud-stained tunic and trousers.

You ventured deeper into the castle, taking turns through sliding door after sliding door and you started wondering whether you’d ever find your way back outside, when suddenly, the stern woman turned around to face you. You were in a small room with a low table as its center piece. The woman motioned for you to sit and so you did, feeling your heartbeat quicken. What kind of punishment was in store for you here?

The woman took the seat opposite you at the little table, expression unwavering. “I’ve called you here because your services are required in the castle,” she said, sounding put off by the idea.

You could only stare at her in confusion. Why on earth would you be needed at the castle? Your parents did the odd job inside every now and again, mostly flower pieces for special events, but you’d never even been allowed in. Was this some kind of joke?

“Our royal prince’s personal servant has fallen ill,” she went on as if she couldn’t care less, “we need a temporary replacement.”

It took you a few moments to put two and two together.

“You mean me?” you let out a little louder than you’d meant to.

The woman raised her brows. “Believe me I would have chosen otherwise but as it is, you’re the only adequate servant on castle grounds available at the moment.”

Adequate, you thought perplexedly. That wasn’t really a term you’d ever use to describe yourself, let alone a term some crabby older woman would use to describe you.

“The position of any royal member’s personal servant has a set of very specific requirements. Age, gender, birth time,… I don’t expect you to know about it,” she sighed, quite literally looking down on you. “Skills can be taught,” she went on, rising and beckoning you to follow, “but unfortunately the alignment of the planets are beyond our control.”

She opened up a panel behind her, revealing a deep closet space filled to the brim with colorful fabrics. She pulled out a soft lilac robe, not unlike the ones you’d seen the other castle servants wear, and held it up to you, looking you up and down.

“This will do,” she said with a concerning lack of enthusiasm. She pulled out a bunch more similar robes and made a neat pile. “Come,” she ordered and left with the clothes.

All you could do was follow and try to process the ridiculous things you’d just been told. Perhaps you were just dreaming, you thought. Yeah, that had to be it.

You arrived in another bare room, this one large and rectangular. There were a couple of other servant girls, folding robes on the floor. They all rose upon seeing the older woman and bowed in silence. Then they noticed you and their eyes narrowed. You felt their stares stab at your already racing heart.

“Before we can begin your training you need to wash, child,” the woman said, laying down your new clothes, “I’ll be back in half an hour. Be ready," and with that, she left you standing there, completely in shock.

After awkwardly looking around the room for far too long to be socially acceptable, you plucked up the courage to ask for help. The young girls exchanged looks before reluctantly bringing you to the baths.

If you hadn't been so anxious it would've been the best bath you'd ever had but for all the luxurious oils and soaps to scrub yourself clean with, your brain was too preoccupied with everything that had just happened.

“I don’t understand,” you muttered when you were met with the older woman again, “I’m just a gardener.” You were shuffling after her in the narrow hallways, trying to wrap your head around things.

“Don’t be dramatic,” she answered simply, “it’s not befitting a royal servant. Besides, this is merely a temporary position. You’ll be back out with your tools in no time.”

Her name, you’d learned, was Tou Ma, or at least that what you were to call her. She was head keeper to the royal family, in charge of all female servants in the castle. Her face was long, with eyes like slits and cheekbones sharp as glass. You couldn’t tell how old she was from the heavy layers of powder she wore but supposed she must be older than your mother.

She spent the rest of the day attempting to cram an overload of information into your head. She taught you to bow ‘the proper way’, whatever that meant; apparently you’d been doing it wrong your entire life. She explained all the intricacies of etiquette, washing, folding, serving, dusting, pruning and a bunch of other things you’d probably forget by the next day. It was all so overwhelming that when it was finally over, the sun was setting and you were about ready to pass out.

“Now,” Tou Ma said, somehow still as fierce as she was at the beginning of the day, “the emperor and his son returned from their hunting trip approximately one hour ago. I suggest you don’t keep him waiting much longer.”

The words took the earth right out from under your feet.

“I have to see him?” you stammered, “now?”

Tou Ma looked unimpressed. “I’ve told you how he likes his tea,” she said, “don’t mess it up.”

You were one and all nerves as you approached the prince’s chambers. You nearly got lost on the way, the hundreds of hallways all blurring together after such a long day, but the entrance to his chamber was not easily missed. It was a heavy, wooden sliding door, it’s surface craved out, depicting a scene from a past war. It was imposing to say the least, with soldiers on horseback and a massive dragon in the sky, spewing fire. It did not manage to still your racing heart.

Taking a deep breath, you slid open the door.

There he was, the prince, sat in a blood red, upholstered chair at his desk, writing. He looked regal, you admitted, in his clean, silk robes and perfect hair; too beautiful to touch. He looked up at the sound of the door. His brown eyes fell on you and his lips parted in silence.

“Um,” you started awkwardly, which was already not the ‘proper’ way of serving tea, “I’ve brought you some tea.”

That’s when you noticed his brows furrow ever so slightly. Having forgotten everything Tou Ma had taught you just before, you walked over to the nearest surface — a narrow table against a wall — and set down the tray you’d been holding. You felt his eyes on you the entire time as you tried to remember how to prepare the beverage properly but when you were finally done after what seemed like forever, you found him hunched over his writing again.

“Okay,” you said softly, “it’s ready.”

He set down his pen and turned to you with a look that was impossible to read. The silence between you seemed to last forever and you felt your face go red hot. You noticed for the first time how tired he looked. He was seventeen, one year older than you, but the darkness under his eyes would suggest otherwise.

Part of you wanted to go nearer to him. You took a hesitant step forward but at once, you saw his eyes turn colder than you’d never seen them.

“You can leave,” he said suddenly, casting his eyes back down to his writing.

“Yes,” you stuttered, taking the emptied tray and hugging it to yourself, “of course.”

You stumbled backwards until you met the door, made an awkward bow and left the prince with a sinking feeling in your gut. You’d watched him change over the years from a distance, sure; but having him dismiss you so coolly when there was no one even around to see? Well, it hurt. Maybe part of you had hoped he’d act differently when it was just the two of you. Maybe you’d hoped he’d tell you all these years of iciness had been pretend for his parents. But clearly not.

In one day, your entire life had turned upside down and at its end, you were positive things hadn’t changed for the better.

Part 2

#minghao #xu minghao #the8 #seventeen #minghao fluff #the8 fluff #minghao scenarios #the8 scenarios #minghao imagines #the8 imagines #prince minghao #kpop fluff #fluff #series #minghao series

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alightwhendarknessfell · 4 years

Text

Dear Andy,

I have debated posting this for a while, mostly because I wanted to get it right. With the WSTW re-record release approaching and things coming to light about the actions of a former member I feel that now is as good a time as ever. I don’t know if you’ll read this, but it is something that over the past year I have wanted to do. I have been unfair and overcritical and at times, downright mean. I was judging you and your actions based on my own interpretations. The events of the past few weeks have shown me that those interpretations were wrong. So here it goes…

I have been a fan of not only Black Veil, but of you going back to 2008-2009, when everything was still on Myspace. I vividly remember eagerly awaiting the release of WSTW and making my mom drive me to the local Hot Topic to pick it up the day it came out. I remember going to my first show in a small little bar in Raleigh, NC that sadly is no more, and I remember being dressed in war paint along with my best friends. I know that it may not seem like it, but I to this day consider myself a fan. The band that you created was pivotal for my teenage years and to this day the community you helped build means the world to me.

I will admit that it was my passion and love for that community that was the root of my criticism. Despite what you or others reading this may think, I do not hate you, not at all. There have been times that I felt let down, cheated, and disappointed as a fan, but the events of the past few weeks have really opened my eyes. I will get that to that point, but I did not and do not hate you. As a person I speak up, at times when I probably shouldn’t, but I do when I feel strongly about something. I have certainly made the mistake too many times of speaking before I had all the information or trusting my own judgement on things, I knew nothing about. I am trying to get better at not doing that.

I can see how some of the things I have said, condoned, or even given a platform to were mean, uncalled for, hurtful, and regrettably untrue at times. I have had this blog and been in this fandom for over a decade. I was 13-14 years old when I first made this blog, and I am almost 25 now. I look back on some of the things I said, and I deeply regret them. In 2015 this blog was accidentally deleted, and honestly it was probably for the best that some of my earlier posts are gone. Regardless, I have let myself get carried away or swept up in drama perpetuated by others (and sometimes myself). I have said things, even in the past few years that I shouldn’t have, things that could be hurtful. While my intention was never to hurt you, I think it’s safe to say that myself and others lose sight of the impact of our words when they are said behind a screen, to people we think will never read them. As a teenager or even in my early 20’s I didn’t think that someone ‘famous’ would see what I wrote, surely it would all get lost in the sea of tweets, posts and comments.

That does not make saying those things right.

I would like to personally apologize to you for not considering the fact that you might see some of those words. That you are a person with emotions just like everyone else, that could be hurt by them. I am sorry for letting others get away with saying cruel things, even if I pushed back on them or didn’t directly comment. I would be lying if I said that the fame (or infamy), status and notoriety I got for my words didn’t affect my actions. It’s sad, but true that often times more attention comes out of negativity than kindness.

As someone who has been bullied and suffers from mental illnesses, I should have left some things unsaid. I do not know you personally, I only know what you have shared. Seeing you speak about your own struggles with mental illness over the recent years has really given me a much-needed reality check. I have related to some of the things you’ve talked about more than you know. Some of the things that others and I have been critical of were clearly not the result of malicious intent but of your own hardships that we were blind to.

I think people forget, and I know I did, that when this band took off you were just a teenager yourself. To think that at 18 or 19 someone in your situation would act ‘right’ all of the time and never make mistakes is ridiculous. Not only were you a kid trying to figure the world out, but I think it has become clear that you were dealing with people who used you for their own selfish gains. That would be hard for anyone, regardless of their age.

I have never dealt with addiction on a personal level, but I emphasize with whatever pain you had to endure in your own struggles with it. You are right when you said that no one sees themselves becoming an alcoholic at twenty years old, and I am sorry for not being more sympatric in the past. One of my biggest regrets in all of this was hearing that during the time that I was probably the harshest to you (around 2016) was when you were struggling the most with trying to be sober.

I am happy that you are sober, I am glad that you were able to make it out of that cycle that consumes so many people. I hope that others who are struggling are inspired by your dedication to living a healthier life. In an industry where it is too easy to fall back into toxic behaviors and coping mechanisms, I am glad you have found strength.

I would like to speak on why I have been so negative in the past (and at times hateful). As I said, what you created in Black Veil meant a lot to me and so many others. This band has been a part of my life for so long and I have met some of the most amazing people through it. I have met people that I can honestly say I love because of this community. This fan base gave me a home when I felt alone and gave me something to identify with as a kid. That’s why I started cosplaying as you, sure it’s a hobby of mine and aesthetically I am a fan of 80’s glam metal, but it was mostly to pay tribute. I am not a ‘traditional’ artist in the sense of paintings and drawings, my media is makeup and costume. The WSTW/STWOF era is what I consider my era as a fan, the one that I identified with the most.

I admit, I was upset when it ended. That’s a stupid reason to be upset, obviously all bands change and there’s nothing wrong with that, but that’s how I felt. The source of my jadedness was not the adoption of a new look, it was deeper than that. Around 2016 was when I had the most animosity because I saw what I thought at the time was you ‘giving up’ on Black Veil. I felt like the ‘old’ fans weren’t wanted anymore and like most people, I felt the need to protect and defend what I loved.

With the introduction of your solo act, it felt like the community I cared so much about was being destroyed and I couldn’t understand why you were doing that. I was blinded by my own judgements. What came off as hate was really just hurt. I know I am not the only ‘OG’ fan who felt that way, and I took that to mean I was justified. In hindsight it is clear, none of us had any idea what was really going on with the band and certain individuals who were bringing it down. At various times it seemed like you hated the old era and as a fan who stood there from the beginning that felt like a gut punch. I let my own feelings make me bitter, and that was wrong. I let others fuel that bitterness, including ones who were actively stabbing you in the back.

I remember around 2012 I made a very critical post of an article you did in Kerrang talking about your struggles with alcohol. I criticized you for not saying more and even said that what you shared was nothing in comparison to a former member’s struggles with addiction. When I received this DM from that individual saying that they approved of my words and that I was ‘spot on’ I felt embolden. I deeply, deeply regret letting such a toxic and horrible person influence me. That post I wrote was wrong, ignorant and immature. That post was one that got deleted in 2015, but I still regret having written something so heartless.

(screen shot is from 2012, this was a Twitter DM from said individual. I did not share that post with them, they found it on their own and contacted me. )

I see now that you were not turning your back on Black Veil, you were trying to save it. The interview you did with Ryan Downey brought me to tears. I cannot imagine what it feels like to have something you spent your whole life fighting for be taken over by an abusive, evil, and selfish person. I feel like I have gained a better perspective of where you and the band were at over the past three weeks and I am sorry you are not free to say more. I am sorry for defending this person because they did not deserve a single fan.

Some who takes advantage of another’s passion and youth because they lack the creativity and ability to do it on their own is stealing, plain and simple. I am sorry that you have been tethered to such a horrible person for so long. I deeply admire your perseverance, strength and determination in taking back what that person tried to take. To be willing to destroy something you love and care about to keep it from the hands of evil is an incredible act of dedication to it.

I would like to end this with a few more things. I know I have been critical of people that you love. I do admit I have taken those criticisms too far at times where they crossed into bullying. I am sorry to Juliet for being unfairly harsh, I am not a hateful person, but I have allowed myself to act that way. There are certainly things that I have said that I stand by, and there are things that I may not agree with or understand, but I think there are ways that I can voice my own opinions respectfully, without being mean.

In an ideal world I would love to sit down with you, or anyone else I may have hurt and have a discussion about it, but hopefully this gets my point across well enough. I do not intend to delete my blog or stop accepting posts (although I will try and make an effort to get rid of toxic posts. It will just take a while to sort through them all). While I can’t promise to never say anything critical again, I can promise to stop the hatefulness. I am promising to make a real effort to clean up some of the toxicity towards you that is unfair and unwarranted. To facilitate a more respectful, yet still honest and open dialogue. I do take pride in my blog being one of the last places of discussion and community for fans, but perhaps without the cruelty that been allowed to fester. If you are someone reading this who comes here to be mean and hateful, I’m sorry but it has to stop. This was never intended to be a ‘hate blog’, but I will openly admit I understand why people thought it was.

If you take anything away from this, or if you even read this, please let it be this. I consider myself a supporter of you and what you have created. I want nothing more than to see you succeed and be happy. I hope that you are able to overcome the struggles in your life and that you are able to find meaning and true happiness if you have not already. Although it may not appear so, I have always routed for you. It may seem like nothing you do is ever good enough for the fans (or at least some of them) but for me at least that is not true. You have been given an impossible task of trying to please thousands of people, of never being allowed to fuck up, and having past transgressions brought up again and again. For that I am sorry, and I am sorry for having played a part in that.

You deserve to be treated as a person, not as an object or persona. I whole heartedly believe you are a decent person, who maybe has flaws and room for improvement, but so do I and so does everyone else. I do believe there are fundamentally bad people out there, people who deserve the karma they have coming. Those are the people that purposefully hurt, lie, manipulate, cheat and deceive others for personal gain. I think especially in the past few weeks we have been shown who those people are. Yet, I don’t believe you are one of those people.

To everyone out there who is reading this, please give people the chance to change. Be okay with admitting when you are wrong. Allow people to grow and become better. Over the past year my mentality and perspective on the world has shifted dramatically. Two years ago I couldn’t have written this post, but as I enter my mid-twenties I am able to look back and say ‘this is not the person I want to be, this is not the person I want people to think I am’. So all I can do is admit my shortcomings, apologize, and be better.

Andy, if you read this and made it to the end, thank you. You are in no way obligated to respond to or accept any of what I said. I just wanted to put this out there with the hopes that it in some way, or that some part of this, lessened some of the hurt I regrettably have caused.

- Ren <3

P.S the banner of my blog is not calling you or the band trash. It’s a fan term for when someone is really into something. Saying “I am ______ trash” means you love that thing. I know it’s weird, but it’s supposed to be an inside joke for other fans, it’s a positive thing. So, when I say “I am 100% 2010 Black Veil trash” I am talking about myself being a massive fan of that era. I don’t think you or the band is trashy, if I did, I wouldn’t be spending money on tickets, merch and shoving blue contacts into my eyes for 10+ years.

#Andy Biersack #Andy Black #Black Veil Brides #BVB #alightwhendarknessfell

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dimpledkoala · 4 years

Text

Vanity (Pride and Prejudice AU) | KNJ

Masterlist

A/N: Hello new Readers! I’m a new Tumblr account and I thought about sharing my work on this platform, as I have fallen in love with many fanfic writers on this platform. I will post a masterlist soon to organize my story, but for now this account will strictly be BTS related. Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorite books of all time, and I’ve just gotten inspiration for this AU from none other than my own bias. All seven boys will be included in this story, so please enjoy!

Chapter 1

Word Count: 4,030

Genre: Kim Namjoon x OC (reader’s POV), slight angst

Quote: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

As you always did every morning, you took an early morning walk amongst the grounds of your family’s land. Your family was not one of a high status, but your father was able to support a living for his wife and five daughters. You were the fourth child of the five, and all were still single. However, in comparison to your sisters, there was no hope of you ever being able to woo a man of great fortune.

There was Sophia, the eldest, who was considered to not only be the most beautiful creature in the land, but of the most amiable nature as well. Her beauty and singing voice captured the hearts of many men, though none had the courage to make her an offer of marriage. However, there was one man, Jungkook Jeon, who has been engaging her for the past few months, and the family expected the two to be a wedded couple soon.

Ah, then there was Jessie, the second oldest by only a year younger. She too had similar charms as her older sister, though others, including her own mother, have said her beauty is not as striking as Sophia’s. It might be due to her glasses, but her and her sisters knew that it would be poor of someone to judge her solely on her beauty. Jessie’s charm was found in her talents, such as playing the piano, drawing, and knitting, all which she could do at a high level.

Out of all the girls, Iris had been noted to compete with Sophia’s beauty. She is the most graceful and nonetheless the best dancer at every ball they attended. She did not have the talent to play an instrument, though she was very skilled at cooking and was personable enough to strike a hearty conversation with anyone in her company.

Tina was the youngest, and her youth struck the hearts of many young men. She shared the same talents as Jessie and Iris, but was considered to be the most enjoyable company. She was considered to be the most humorous, and competed with Sophia for being the most amiable.

And you. What was so interesting about you, the second youngest, having been thrown in the mix? You were caught in the shadow of your sisters. Your talents and personality were a combination of the other four, but failed to stand out in a unique way. Unlike the rest, you were of a witty and independent nature. You were not considered graceful at all, as you had a tendency to break things due to your clumsy nature. You did not fall easily for the first guy to try to win your charms, especially if they were at an inferior level of mind to yours. You were the last choice of marriage amongst the Bennet sisters, and honestly? You were okay with that. You had more freedom, and who gave a damn about romance anyway? Leave the burden your mother was oh-so worried about to your elder sisters, who were pressured to find a suitable husband with a great fortune. Being who you were gave you the freedom to explore like this on your own.

Reading was among your favorite pastimes, and on your early morning walks, you read of your favorite stories, particularly plays and poems that were written over a century ago. Shakespeare was undeniably a genius of his time, and his tragedies were among your favorites, especially Romeo and Juliet. It did not make you weep for the star-crossed lovers, rather it made you chortle at the naivety of the two lovers. Two people of a different class status, especially those who had rivaled families, would never be able to successfully have a relationship. You were inspired by these works, and attempted to write a few plays and stories of your own, which you always found inadequate. You were in the middle of reading the balcony scene in Act 2, which read:

“If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:

Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,

I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,

So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.

In truth, fair-”

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by your collision with Tina, who immediately scolded you for not paying attention to your surroundings. By the way you two cursed at each other without proper manner, many would consider you two enemies. However, it was only for a hearty laugh, and as the youngest you both shared a playful nature. Your mother often scolded you for your immaturity, but it did not bother you one bit. Your playful bickering was put to an end by your eldest sister, who had suddenly hushed you.

“Quiet my dear sisters, Mama is telling our Papa of some news,” Sophia said in a low voice as she silently ushered her youngest sisters to come towards her and Iris.

“What’s going on?” Jessie inquired as she noticed her sisters crammed at the entrance to their father’s study. The four sisters silently ushered her to come to them. Immediately, Iris filled her in with what was going on.

“A Mr. Kim and his brother have established a living Netherfield Park,” she whispered excitably. “And both are single!”

“How many pounds? How many pounds?” you and Tina asked simultaneously, curious about the newest bachelors in town.

“5,000 pounds a year!”

This caused all five girls to cause a commotion outside the door, capturing their father’s attention, who opened it to acknowledge their presence. A stern look was etched on his features, but the girls still were lowly gigling as they bowed to acknowledge their parents’ presence. Their mother only sighed, but took no note of their daughters’ eavesdropping. She, like her daughters, were more interested in their father’s response to the situation, which must be dealt with urgently. It vexed her that Mr. Bennet had not even taken the slightest interest in the conversation she had struck with him.

“I do not understand why we must partake in this conversation, my dear,” Mr. Bennet grumbled as he made his way to the drawing room, with all six women in his life trailing behind him.

“Oh Mr. Bennet! You must call upon these gentlemen for the sake of our daughters! Surely you must know what I am referring to? At least one of them must be engaged with these gentlemen!”

“Indeed, Mrs. Bennet. But there is no need. I already called upon the two gentlemen,” replied her husband with a smug grin on his face as the girls cheered and thanked their father, immediately talking amongst themselves.

“Oh, Mr. Bennet, how could you? Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?” Mrs. Bennet regarded with a huff.

Mr. Bennet sighed at his wife’s usual, overdramatic remarks and replied simply with: “Indeed I do have compassion for your poor nerves, as they have been my constant companion for these past twenty years.”

The witty response caused the girls to giggle in amusement and all at once they began bombarding him with questions about the two gentlemen.

“Are they handsome?” Iris questioned. “Are they amiable?”

“Are they going to the ball?” Tina suddenly asked, stirring anticipation amongst the women.

“Papa, please tell,” you begged, knowing you can always get it your way with him. He had a soft spot for you, for you were the most similar to him in not only looks but in personality as well.

“They are amiable,” noted Mr. Bennet, “and quite the handsome gentlemen too. There is an elder Mr. Seokjin Kim, and a younger Mr. Taehyung Kim. They are currently living with their sister, Ms. Caroline Kim as well, and there have been speculations of a third gentlemen, their cousin supposedly. I have no problem with letting either of the two choosing whichever daughter they please.”

This caused the girls to heighten the volume and pitch of their conversations, and once again did Tina have to ask her question. “Papa, are they going to the ball at Mr. Jeon’s tonight?”

As if to drag on the suspense of the situation, Mr. Bennet kept a straight face before breaking into a soft smile. “I believe so.” He had somewhat regretted his decision to break the news to them, as all six women nearly bursted his eardrums at his announcement. The girls immediately made many changes to their outfits for the night, for it was not often for such an opportunity to come into their lives.

“You’ve been quiet all day, Kyra.”

You snapped from your gaze from the mirror and turned towards Sophia, who was doing your hair. Your lips shaped into an expression of uncertainty as you adjusted your slouched posture. “What good does it do to us competing for two men? You’re lucky you do not have to squabble for a man no longer. Jungkook is perfect for you.”

“There is a possibility of three men, might I remind you,” Sophia assured her younger sibling. “Do not lose hope, Kyra. You’ll find your man some day.”

“Only a fool would believe I would chase after him, and a fool would also believe they could win me over easily,” you murmured.

“Besides, you do not have to be burdened of finding a husband if one of us marries rich. And do not forget, if all goes well with the Mr. Kims, we will have connections with others with a high class status.”

At that thought you smiled and Sophia kissed the top of her sister’s head. “You’re so silly, you know that?” Sophia whispered. “Do not fret. I’ll experiment with a new hairstyle on you. You’ll be sure to charm all the men at the ball.”

Your gaze softened at your sister’s actions and thanked her as she continued to work magic with your hair. If none of the men wished to bother with you, you knew that tonight you at least had Yoonji Min to keep you company. She was your closest friend in a similar situation as yours. She was older by a few years. You were to be twenty-one this year, while she was to be twenty-five. You both shared similar personalities and tastes, and during the balls your favorite pastime was observing the crowds of people and soaking in whatever gossip you could find, thanks to Tina’s associations.

In a couple of hours, they had arrived at the Jeons’ estate. Mr. Bennet has claimed he was too exhausted to participate in any social activity, so he stayed home. Lucky him, you thought to yourself bitterly. But you could not let your sister’s efforts go to waste. It was not your best outfit, but it was enough to leave an impression. The inspiration behind the outfit was to have the appeal of a butterfly in the spring. Hopefully it would be effective for the night, or at least result in pleasurable company.

Like any other party they had ever been to, Meryton Hall was bustling with locals, who were already dancing. Iris and Sophia were quick to the dance floor as usual, as Sophia had quickly found the Jeon heir and due to Iris’ quickness on her feet. It usually took some time before the other three girls were asked out to dance, so they found Yoonji and began to converse about the special guests for the party tonight.

“I heard of the three Kims. Is that whom you are referring to?” Yoonji asked the three of them as they all nodded eagerly. “I am surprised. They are of such a high status... I wonder why they would bother being at this commoners’ ball.”

“We all know that these balls are much better than the pristine ones held in mansions. Much more goes on, and the people are friendlier,” Tina remarked as she took a swig of her champagne.

Jessie nodded as she took a sip of her drink. “This is a more preferable and comfortable setting. I am sure those boys would like to explore something new for a change, regardless of their status. After all, they are people too.”

“I have very little information about them, but I overheard some conversation between my family and Sir Jeon,” Yoonji proffered, sitting up in her chair.

“Oh yes, please tell us,” Tina said immediately.

“Do you find them interesting at all? Or are they just rich?” you asked Yoonji, whose typically stone-faced demeanor was replaced with a grin.

“Kyra, it is unwise to judge them based off their wealth,” Jessie advised her as she adjusted her glasses.

“But remember, my dear sister, we are only having this conversation because we need that wealth.”

“I have heard the eldest Mr. Kim is one of the most amiable men that people have ever come across. A classic gentleman, who will undoubtedly have all the ladies in the room fawning over him,” Yoonji told them as she thought of other details to relay. “They describe him as very princely. His younger brother is of the same reputation, though he is thought to be less sociably inclined. The younger Mr. Kim is not a hermit, however, and actually is said to have a better sense of humor than his brother, whose humor is noted to be old-fashioned. In terms of wealth, both are equally rich, as they inherit 5,000 pounds a year, which I am sure you have heard by now.”

“At least they have personality,” you said with a grin. “I trust Papa’s opinion of them being handsome. They cannot be worse than some of the men here. Look at these humorless poppycocks. If none of them fall in love with you Yoonji and the rest of my single sisters, then I have no more to say on others’ opinion of beauty.” You brought up a fair point. The other men in the ballroom were ghastly looking, but they were scarce in comparison to the amount of women, therefore regardless you would end up dancing with each common buffoon out there. They would try to hit on you and your sisters, but you knew better than to play around with people not worth your time.

“Kyra, one day you’ll find someone who will catch your eye and then you’ll have to watch your tongue,” Tina remarked, drawing a scoff from you.

Before you could protest, the room suddenly fell silent as the crowd parted for the four guests. So there was another after all, you pondered. The four individuals all had quite a presence, you had to admit. The individual who stood out amongst the rest was the only blond individual, who happened to be the tallest too. While the two handsome dark-haired gentlemen she assumed were the Kim brothers, this man was expressionless and looked absolutely miserable.

“Okay, now who is who?” you whispered to Yoonji as Jessie and Tina focused more on trying to get a proper look at the long awaited guests.

“Mr. Seokjin Kim, the eldest brother, is the one with the elegant eucalyptus leaves on his suit. The taller dark haired male. His younger brother Mr. Taehyung Kim is on the right, whose suit is decorated in the white flowers. Of course, the only female among them is their only sister, Ms. Caroline Kim, and the man who looks and acts like their own personal guard is Mr. Namjoon Kim, their cousin.”

“The one with the quizzical brow?” you asked as Yoonji nodded. “He looks as miserable as me, poor soul.”

“He may be miserable, but he is anything but poor. Those four come from the same family, but Mr. Namjoon Kim is worth 10,000 a year.”

“10,000?!” the three sisters exclaimed in hushed tones.

“And he owns half of Derbyshire, in a beautiful estate known as Pemberly,” Yoonji related as Sir Jeon began to walk them through the crowd.

“The miserable half?” Your comment caused your own self and Yoonji to snort in disbelief at the rich man. Everyone had their eyes on these four individuals, but closely payed attention to the blond Kim upon the spread knowledge of his wealth.

You had come to meet Mr. Seokjin Kim as an amiable and charming individual. He was a flirt and reminded you of a cliché protagonist in the stories you had read. He was also a great dancer you found out quickly. It was no wonder why he drew in so many women. He also was a personable and casual gentleman and fit perfectly within the setting. He made sure you used no formalities when around him, which made you see Seokjin more as a friend than a stranger. You especially gained his respect when you saw the way he admired Jessie from afar and scouted her out, rather than she chase after him. The two of them engaged for the rest of the night, and you shared her pleasure.

The younger Mr. Kim was equally amiable and handsome, and you noticed the accuracy of Yoonji’s information when you found yourself in his company. The younger Mr. Kim was a quieter individual, but when he struck up a conversation with Tina, the two were inseparable. You too shared Tina’s happiness when you realized that not only the elder Mr. Kim, but the younger too took an interest in one of your sisters.

You did not engage at all with Ms. Kim, but found yourself in an amusing situation regarding Mr. Namjoon Kim.

You had not been involved with him directly. You were tired from the endless dancing, and seeing as there were not enough partners, you sat down and observed the dance from afar. You watched in amusement Yoonji attempted to dance with an ill-mannered companion as you took a sip of your champagne. It was then when you noticed Seokjin step out of the dance and approach his cousin, who had only engaged in one dance with Ms. Kim. The two were only a table away within your vision, so you were able to clearly hear their conversation from where you were sitting.

“My dear cousin, I cannot have you standing around in this stupid manner! Namjoon, you must get up and dance. There are plenty of women to go around, and I have never been in the company of such beautiful women in my life.”

“You and Taehyung are in the company of the only pretty women in the room,” the blond noted, fixing his gaze on Jessie and then to Tina.

“Nonsense!” Seokjin exclaimed as he slapped his cousin’s back, causing him to wince. “Look, Namjoon, over there! She’s a rather beautiful creature as well, is she not?” It took you a moment to realize Seokjin was referring to you. “That’s one of Jessie’s sisters. I shall have my partner introduce you two.”

You had unintentionally made eye contact with Namjoon’s cool ones. The intimidating glare he gave off created tension in the air as you turned away. For the first time that night, you heard him speak with any ounce of emotion. “She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me. It is useless to waste your time on me, Seokjin. Go find your partner and enjoy her smiles.” He walked off with an air of pride, leaving Seokjin frustrated and flabbergasted. There was nothing Seokjin could do, so putting on a smile, he went back to be in Jessie’s company.

Unbelievable. It was utterly unbelievable the way he spoke about you. Well, it could not be bothered if he did not want anything to do with you. In fact, you were becoming amused by the whole situation. You were itching to tell him off right on the spot, but that would make you as proper as he was. You could just bite your thumb at him, but what would that do? Instead, it ended up being quite a humorous discussion amongst your family and friends. It was vexing, but there was nothing you could do about it. You were just going to keep your head up high and find another man or woman worth your time. Yet you could not keep your eyes off that handsome man...

You and Tina shared the same room, as the two of you were the youngest. You were not sure if Tina was drunk or not, but her face was stained bright red and completely enamoured.

“He was just what a young man ought to be,” Tina sighed contently under the sheets. “He’s sensible, good-humored, lively. He had such happy manners, Kyra, something I have never seen before in my life. Of such good breeding too!”

“On top of all of that Teeny, he’s handsome. His character is therefore complete,” you stated confidently, pinching her cheek. Tina slapped your hand away and groaned.

“Do not call me that, dear sister,” she whined. “I’m not a child anymore. Unless in return you wish me to call you Kiwi.”

You scoffed and pinched her cheek lightly, and she mimicked the action. “You will always be a baby to me. You are the family’s baby. You will be stuck being called by your baby name at intimate family gatherings as long as we are stuck in this household.”

Tina raised her eyebrow and smirked at you. “Not if I get married before you.”

“Ouch, a real shocker!” You put your fist to your heart for a dramatic effect as you both giggled.

“I do not understand though why Mr. Kim would make such a tiring effort to put up with me.”

“You do not understand, but I do,” you argued. “If I were half as beautiful or humorous as you, Tina, I would not be as oblivious to why Mr. Kim took interest in you that night. You were ten times prettier than all the women in that room. I would think him a fool if he had not taken interest in you.”

“Thank you Kyra, but I think all the men were fools to not ask you to dance.”

You only adjusted your position in the bed by slightly curling in a ball with a sigh. It had somewhat bothered you that after the whole Mr. Kim incident that not a single person had asked you to dance that night. It could not be bothered due to the lack of men in the room, but you still felt slightly offended and irritated by the matter. “It might help if they realized I was a tolerable partner.”

Tina knew you well enough that your sarcastic remark covered your frustrated state. You both sought to ignore and downplay your feelings, which both of you understood about each other. “I did not know the comment affected you that much. I should have been there for you. You should know you are always welcome in the company of me, regardless of whom my partner is. Do not set on solitude, my dear sister. It is not right when you have four other sisters.”

You only grinned in response to her remark. “False. I enjoyed the solitude, and I spent my time making out this Mr. Kim’s character. What a cousin! To think I will be related to such a creature in some shape or form is a horrid revelation, yet unfathomable. You and Jessie are already so deeply in love with those brothers, as they most definitely are for you. You must unfortunately have to put up with him. But do not let my feelings and vexations restrain you or Jessie from your romantic adventures.”

Tina took your hand into hers and brought it up to kiss it. This was something you both did whenever you quarreled or were bothered by something. It was an action that soothed both of you. You did not need the gesture, though you welcomed it, as it expressed your sister’s worries and love for you. “One man should not dampen your spirits. There will be the militia coming to town in only a fortnight. Did you not hear Iris announce it?”

“Of course I did, but you do not understand, Teeny. Only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony, which is why I will die an old maid. I will not settle, Teeny. Never.”

23 notes · View notes

diveronaevents · 4 years

Photo

DATE: March 26th

TIME: 10 PM

LOCATION: The Cathedral

Triggers: injury TW, violence TW, humiliation TW

In the weeks following the uproarious battle in Hotel Emelia, a peculiar quiet had begun to stain the unruly canvas of the city, shrouding crimson corners with mournful blues and clouding vermillion peaks with misty greys as both ends of Verona’s scale of war came to a standstill.

The Capulets had settled into their flock, leaning into one another to fill the fissures and nurse each other back to soaring flight. The Montagues raised their drawbridges and dammed up their gates, honing their focus on the conflict roiling within their mighty walls rather than on that which brewed beyond them. And the people, those who were left to gather the scraps and choke on prayers, they could do nothing but bide their time and wonder when Verona would grow hungry again.

Its first moan came in the form of light shining from within the Cathedral, gentle and pearl-pure.

It soothed those who laid their awed gazes upon it, drawing the eyes of cynics and wanderers alike as they walked past the building, blissfully oblivious, caught in Verona’s grasp only as far as its beauty could allow; blind to the grinning terrors that it so savagely concealed.

However, the same couldn’t be said of those who resided within the Cathedral, hovering in the divine heart of its beacon. Indeed, they were intimate with Verona’s horrors to the utmost degree -- and that was precisely why they had gathered tonight. To celebrate their hellish affair with the dark and pull it closer by the shadows on the holiest night to ever grace Verona’s timeless years.

The night of the Capulet anniversary.

No expense had been spared and no resource had been wasted in the refurbishment of the Cathedral’s third level for the long-awaited ceremony. The entire floor was now drenched in proud silvers and blues, its elegance accentuated with simplistic yet refined decoration, with ornaments and sculptures gracing every corner and breezy classical music drifting from a nearby piano. Tables brimming with an assortment of delicacies and vices lined the walls, leaving the center of the room open for Capulets to linger and revel however they pleased. Everyone, aside from those tasked with patrol and security, had been relieved of duties to take part in the celebration and rejoice alongside the rest of la famiglia.

Cosimo Capulet took his royal perch on the outskirts, taking it all in with unfettered pride and unconcealed self-congratulation.

This was his empire, after all. Whole once again. Thriving and marking down yet another eventful year in its glorious history, right before his eyes.

Cosimo rose from his seat, snagging a drink from the nearest table as he walked up to the center of the room. He came to a stop upon an ornate wooden platform that he had had installed precisely for this evening, settling before the microphone where performers had sung and Capulets had offered halfhearted words throughout the night. A broad, maroon veil loomed behind him, concealing the backdrop of the platform and what Cosimo had claimed was a special gift for his people.

If one looked closely enough, the set-up resembled a miniature stage.

If it roused a specific memory in the Capulets’ minds, no one seemed willing to voice it.

All the better, Cosimo thought as he cleared his throat, it would make for an awfully dull celebration if his surprise were to be spoiled.

There was no need for him to clink his glass or announce himself -- everyone’s eyes had already settled upon him from the moment he took the stage. A few gazes were dulled by inebriation, while others were sharpened by lucidity, yet the attentive focus was a commonality among all. He needed nothing more.

“You all know what you’re gathered here for. You all know what tonight means for us.” He began, leaning into the mic with a sober yet bright expression. He paused, waiting until the hum of conversation gave way to complete silence before continuing on. “To me, it feels like this celebration is what we work towards each and every year. We have our goals, of course; between building Verona into the monument that it deserves to be and tearing down whoever dares to stand in our way. But in the end, we march towards those goals with our eyes set on nothing but this exact moment, when we get to look back on the paths that we carved behind us and remember all that it took for us to come this far. As always, we exceed all expectations.” He nodded with a smile, the expression widening as he received a few in return.

Searching the familiar faces among the huddled crowd, he continued on to say, “Every year that the Capulet name continues to ring throughout Verona is a testament to that. To all that we’ve given and will continue to give. To all that we’ve taken and will continue to take. We can never let ourselves forget that. And if anything, that’s why we’re here… “

He looked at JULIET, eyes softening at the corners. “To remember all that we can do, for Verona and for each other.”

He looked at TYBALT, raising a clenched fist. “To remember what we have, and what’s at the stake.”

He looked at ROSALINE, mouth tightening. “To remember what is easy to forget, and hold it close.”

Finally, he looked at TITANIA. “To remember what we’ve lost, and make it mean something.”

Focus returning to the bulk of the crowd, Cosimo bid his smile to return, raising his glass and stretching his other arm outward. “And so, with all of that being said, I give this toast to us, my friends! To all of our past years and all the years to come! To the Capulets!”

“To the Capulets!” Came the resounding echo from the crowds, the room dissolving into momentary silence as everyone took a sip of their drinks.

The veil shivered at Cosimo’s back. He paused with the glass still held to his mouth.

He slowly lowered it, lips split into a dastardly smile as he swallowed with languor, savoring every drop and every second.

Across the ruins, Damiano Montague shared none of his adversary’s thrill.

That is, unless the emotion he was wrestling with could be counted as a rotten, ravenous variation of the sentiment. Whatever it was, he had no idea how to identify it or come to grips with it; instead, he could only simmer while it steamed through his nose and struck smoke beneath his heels.

He paced across his office, restless and overcome. Meanwhile, ANTONY took his vigilant post by his desk, arms crossed and lips sealed tight, as still and watchful as a stone-carved sentinel. Damiano wasn’t sure if he was grateful for his presence or resentful of it.

He paced faster.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it.” He seethed, each word an ember that further fed into his rage as he voiced the thoughts that had been eating away at his mind for months on end. “After all the years I’ve given to build this legacy, after all the sacrifices, all the spilled blood and wasted lives, it all ends up hanging in the balance so fucking easily. In the blink of an eye. And at the hands of my own son, no less.”

ANTONY said nothing, which he was grateful for. He wasn’t sure he could stand being faced with his faults any more glaringly than he had already been -- but that was ultimately what his consigliere was here for, wasn’t it? To throw him before the bitter truths that he didn’t dare to confront on his own.

It was for that reason that Damiano halted, turning towards ANTONY and readily demanding his input by asking, “Did I do this? Could it be that I was the one to bring upon my own ruin?” Exhaling a heavy rush of breath, Damiano resumed his stride, albeit at a slower, more introspective yet no less frustrated pace. “I did everything that I could to encourage Roman, after all. I pushed him, again and again and again.”

“You did push him, in ways that fostered more resentment than respect,” ANTONY responded, speech slow and careful, almost as though he was entirely aware of the landmine he was rigging with his words. “And I can’t say that you haven’t done the same with the mob as a whole.”

A pause. “But regardless, this was inevitable, and you have to accept that if you mean to respond to this, Damiano. If you hadn’t pushed him, he would have found other reasons to resent you -- even come up with them, if necessary. If you weren’t aware of this in one way or another, you wouldn’t have introduced him to this life.”

Damiano’s steps had come to a stop, rousing a stifled silence in their wake as he ground his teeth and chewed on the consigliere’s words.

“Part of you considered that this might happen, but you took the risk anyway,” ANTONY continued, approaching him with light, resounding steps. “Because you knew, and I think you still know, that your true legacy has always been Roman. Isn’t that right?”

The furious splay of Damiano’s features cracked, overtaken by a vulnerable, nameless emotion that had once been more familiar to him than his own being. It sent split-second images of his son flashing before his fogged-up eyes; as a small, ungraceful, overly bright child and as a proud, determined, dim-hued man.

ANTONY’s following words only served to entice a burst of color in the reminiscent vision. For a seemingly endless moment, Damiano could see nothing else.

“Just as you’ve built up the Montagues, you’ve built up your son.”

The vision splintered, now fractured and distorted as it trembled before his eyes.

“The power he has was yours to give… and it’s yours to take away.”

Damiano blinked. His sight returned slowly, drawing focus. He turned his head with a disoriented scowl; ANTONY was standing at his shoulder, lending support with speech and presence alike.

The sight only served to highlight just how much his allies have now dwindled, and a leader who stood alone was nothing but a follower of his own whims and desires.

Was this truly what his son’s determination had reduced him to, in the end? Was this truly all that he had left to his hallowed name?

“It’s only too late if you convince yourself that it is, Damiano,” Came his consigliere’s oddly insightful response, voice dropping to a murmur not unlike a serpent’s hypnotic hiss. “Look at all you’ve achieved over the years. All the experience, power and bodies that you’ve wracked up and harnessed to build what we all have now. Roman’s small victories could never amount to that. Your shortcomings could never overshadow it, either.”

He turned around to face Damiano, the renewed firmness of his words failing to take away from the careful lilt of persuasion that carried them forward.

“The throne is yours. You’ve earned it with blood, sweat, and carnage. Tears are all that Roman has, and he’s done plenty to prove it… “ A pause. A derisive tilt to his tongue as it wrapped around his following words. “Let’s not forget that he aided in Rosaline’s rescue.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” Damiano rumbled under his breath, rage rejuvenated by the mere reminder of his son’s ever-yearning brand of failure: his heart.

If such was to be his son’s downfall, Damiano couldn’t allow it to be his.

The thought cast a funeral veil over Damiano’s sentiments; the last remaining bulwark against the conquest of his madness. It hardened his heart against any hope of bringing his son back at his side.

Now he could do nothing but stand against him.

This conversation was one out of many that he and the consigliere had shared across the recent months, yet as it came to a close, it seemed to carry an undercurrent of finality that Damiano hadn’t realized the others had lacked.

Then came ANTONY’s response, almost in a direct affirmation of the thought. “Good. Remember, and use it to take back what’s yours.”

They only had a moment to let the words settle their dead weight between them before the door was bursting open to reveal ROMEO on the other end of it, eyes wide and knuckles blanched around the handle.

He looked between them, urgency evident in his gaze as he made his damning declaration. “Father, a messenger’s arrived.”

“A messenger? From who?” Damiano asked incredulously.

ROMEO paused, mouth grimly coiled. He took a deep breath.

“From the Capulets.”

Back at the Cathedral, Cosimo Capulet was still lingering on the sweet, ruddy taste buzzing along his tongue, glass hovering at the edge of his mouth.

He lowered it, looking over his people as they soaked up his speech.

He hoped they could spare some room for everything else that he still had in store.

“Now, I hope you’re all sated and enthused because we’re not done rejoicing just yet.” He announced, blood thrumming as the crowd’s attention slowly slid back into his grasp. “In honor of this evening, I have a gift to share with you all.”

Cosimo paused, all cheer melting away from his expression as it was slowly overtaken by scorn.

Yet it failed to take away from the scythe-like curve of his smile as he declared, “The slow, delicious agony… of a rotten Montague spy.”

As an array of responses began to bloom across the expanse of his audience, Cosimo began to walk back and forth across the platform. “For months and months, this rat walked among us like they were one of our own. Fighting at our side, sharing our victories, learning our stories -- all while reaping our secrets and selling them for cheap to the rabid dogs on the other side of the ruins.” He jabbed a finger at one of the windows, the harsh timbre of his voice bouncing off the elegant planes of the room and all but echoing the atrocity all across the city that peered in through stained glass. “It took us too much time, but we found them, and I thought that there was no better night than this for them to be brought to their knees before you, grovelling and begging for mercy while they fall prey to justice. Our justice.”

Cosimo!

Suddenly, the doors burst open across the room, the newcomers’ entrance marked by a sharp, guttural call of Cosimo’s name as ROMEO declared his presence through gritted teeth.

Cosimo looked up, face splitting into a joyful grin as he spread his arms and indicated the encroaching group. “Ah, I see our guests of honor have finally arrived! My beloved Montagues, welcome, welcome. I’m so glad to see that you’ve decided to share in our celebration.”

“I will not let you do this.” ROMEO gritted, flanked by MERCUTIO who sneered at every Capulet who dared to lay their eyes on them.

“Ha!” Cosimo hollered, turning to exchange a lazy look with VOLUMNIA who instantly began to place their soldiers in position with swift commands. “Go ahead and stop me then, infant king.”

ROMEO charged at the throng of Capulets with a hollered command to the rest of his team, launching himself at LADY MACBETH with fiery eyes and a poised gun. While lilting words and cutting brands of cunning were often reliable weapons for her, they failed to withstand ROMEO’s brutish assault in this instance, and so the tension between them was swiftly cut when she was forced to brandish a weapon of her own. The close range of the fight paired with restricted breadth of movement didn’t allow them to fully utilize their arms, however, and so they quickly devolved into physical combat.

MERCUTIO couldn’t do more than kick LADY MACBETH off of ROMEO at one point in their fight before OTHELLO tackled them away. Teeth bared and will alight, MERCUTIO bared their teeth and engaged him wholeheartedly, although their focus remained divided as they kept themselves in tune with ROMEO in case he ever needed their aid.

Hoping for another chance at revenge, albeit with a different foe, HAMLET set his sights on IAGO as soon as he entered, the memory of his defeat at the Capulet’s accursed hands too bitter for him to properly bury. Enclosed within the erupting chaos as they were, IAGO had no choice but to engage him, lacking the leeway that their last encounter had granted him.

As his partner for the mission, GONERIL was right on HAMLET’s tail as they made their entry into enemy territory, yet she was far from devoted to the Montague cause. She was merely set on whetting her appetite, depthless eyes scouring the crowds for interesting prey with no distinction between friend and foe. The ensuing fight between HAMLET and IAGO was interesting enough to detract her from her hunt, however. She lingered on the outskirts of it, taunting both men and toying with their conflicting expectations towards her -- until a gratingly familiar voice eventually lured her away. It belonged to none other than CORDELIA, and the mere echo of it was enough to draw GONERIL back towards her neglected whim, blades whispering along fabric as she slowly extracted them and faced off against her sister.

BENVOLIO and ROSALIND were the next Montague pair to pierce through the chaos, BENVOLIO instantly setting his sights on ROMEO and MERCUTIO’s entanglements a short distance away. Yet before he could make any move to lend them his support, he found himself intercepted by EDGAR. Driven by explicit orders, deafened by the brimming havoc, EDGAR went on to block BENVOLIO’s every attempt at communication. And so they were futile, both when it came to convincing the man to clear BENVOLIO’s path and when it came to preventing the dreadful prospect of violence. Neither one of them had any choice but to draw their weapons on one another.

In a similar fashion, ROSALIND was kept from offering any aid to her partner when MACBETH began to prowl around her. The two devolved into a ferocious clash, with ROSALIND piercing MACBETH’s arm with a blade aimed at his throat and MACBETH retaliating by branding her with a ruthless smattering of wounds and bruises. Though the conflict wavered, its end was marked the moment MACBETH’s bloodied arm lodged itself against ROSALIND’s tender throat.

MALCOLM and OPHELIA lingered a short distance away, combining their efforts to fend off the enemy, yet the moment MALCOLM’s eyes caught sight of ROSALIND as she thrashed in the grasp of his mark, his blood was lit aflame. He threw himself into MACBETH’s side like a raging bull, pounding into him until the proud angles of his face were lost to the murky overflow of his own blood. Under VOLUMNIA’s urgent orders, EDMUND came to MACBETH’s rescue, successfully drawing the Montague hellhound off of him only to end up taking his place between MALCOLM’s gnashing jaws. The two engaged one another, EDMUND drawing the enemy’s focus long enough for MACBETH to be dragged away by a stray Capulet.

OPHELIA, frozen in fear for her partner and shock at his lightning-quick assault of the enemy, was taken off guard by a prowling ORSINO. However, she gave him no chance to taunt her with the torment that she had once experienced at his hands, savagely launching herself at him and tackling him into a long-awaited confrontation.

While the league of Montagues clawed their way through the Capulet sanctum, another team was infiltrating it with hushed footsteps and the aid of shadows.

A horrendous threat upon loved ones and a hefty promise of wealth and safety had swayed a desperate priest towards helping the Montagues infiltrate the celebration through the first level of the Cathedral. They had known that they would be walking into a trap, overwhelmed with the full brunt of the Capulet ranks and the territorial advantage they possessed, and so they had employed the best strategy they could come up with to combat those shortcomings. The covert Montague team was meant to enter the hall through the exit on the other side of the room; to take advantage of the Capulets’ distraction as they were occupied with the other team and steal enough time for themselves to locate their seized soldier and set them free.

Such was the goal that drove GERTRUDE forward as she led the team into the hall, flanked by CELIA and supported by the Montagues that lingered at her back.

She had expected to locate their target immediately, yet she caught no sight of them as her eyes scoured the room.

Their spy was nowhere to be seen.

And thus a poisoned spear was quick to lodge itself into the cracks within the Montagues’ armored strategy, halting the progress of GERTRUDE’s team as she maintained her rigid position, scouting the room as much as their borrowed time could allow. But it quickly ran out once JULIET spotted them, declaring their presence to her comrades before breaking away from VOLUMNIA’s side and throwing herself into GERTRUDE’s path. The two confronted one another as PARIS launched himself at CELIA, rendering her unable to aid her superior as the two ferociously grappled with one another.

With the team exposed and vulnerable, it took no time for Capulets to surround it and damn its mission to certain failure.

And the Montagues were quickly realizing it, the first of which being BENEDICK who found himself cornered by CORIOLANUS. The two devolved into violence which in turn left CRESSIDA stranded without a partner. REGAN, attuned to the scent of blood-filled opportunity, threw herself into her path, slinking out of the shadows to draw her arm around CRESSIDA’s neck and settle a blade against her throat. Just before her fate could be sealed, CRESSIDA jabbed the butt of her gun into REGAN’s gut with a harsh strike that threw her out of the Capulet’s grasp. REGAN was relentless, however, only wavering from the attack for a moment before launching herself at CRESSIDA once again.

TROILUS’s heart soared into his throat from where he stood, shackled to RICHARD III’s side. He had been coerced into reluctant spectatorship by the Montagues who had forcibly brought him along to cement the Capulets’ crude decadence in his eyes and further draw him away from the devotion they believed he harbored for the heiress. There was no room for any such thoughts to fester in his mind, however, petrified as he was to witness his wife struggle in REGAN’s grasp, horrified and scorned that the Montagues were forcing him to bear witness to the sight and leaving him no room to do anything about it. An argument broke out between himself and RICHARD III, and TROILUS quickly took advantage of what little he knew about the man before him, wondering if perhaps the tides would turn were RICHARD III to focus more on the fight than on someone with such little stakes in the game.

TROILUS’ escape was narrow, as RICHARD III was quickly intercepted by VOLUMNIA. Confident that the reins of the battle were firmly within their grasp and keen to learn more of the neutral fellow who had run to their principessa’s side not too long ago, she approached RICHARD III with inquiries on TROILUS, having seen them together from across the room. These inquiries which quickly mutated into demands as RICHARD III continued to expertly dangle the answers she sought out of her reach. BEATRICE, his partner, couldn’t help but interfere in an attempt to prevent the confrontation from succumbing to simmering hostility. And thus the three of them remained caught within the tangle of tension, each balancing on a tightrope of their own making.

Having broken off from her partner to chase her appetite, TAMORA drifted around the knots of fights roiling within each corner of the hall -- until she caught sight of ROSALINE who lingered near the warded area where VOLUMNIA had been issuing her orders and Cosimo Capulet was currently spectating the chaos. Her approach only fueled a collision between her and DESDEMONA, however, as she had been ordered to support a weakened ROSALINE and guard her in case the conflict drifted too close for comfort. They engaged one another, TAMORA toying with DESDEMONA more so than quarreling with her, driven by the desire to swat her aside and sink her teeth into the once-infallible ROSALINE.

The tides of violence were quick to cast PORTIA and KATHERINE onto each other’s paths, an encounter which succumbed to hostility as PORTIA taunted KATHERINE with her recent defeat in Hotel Emelia. The two clashed with one another, which left PERDITA, PORTIA’s partner, to stumble upon a bored, ravenous BIANCA who was scornful of the fact that she had been tasked with watching over the wounded MACBETH while everyone else got their fill of the fun. Noting the wide-eyed tinge to her gaze and the fleet-footed signs of inexperience, BIANCA began to toy with PERDITA, making room for mischief even in the heart of a battlefield.

On the outskirts, ARIEL, who had been invited to perform during the celebration, was sinking to the floor in an anguished haze, caught in the shoulder by a stray bullet. Luckily, MIRANDA was around to catch them as they fell, far enough away from her superiors that she was able to help them up and lead them outside to safety.

By the time MIRANDA was able to order a taxi and have ARIEL taken to the hospital, another volatile encounter was brewing inside the Cathedral. LAVINIA was approaching IMOGEN with all the firmness she could muster, under Cosimo Capulet’s orders. He had recognized the famed journalist, who had snuck into the celebration with the stolen identity of a recent Capulet initiate, and so had ordered LAVINIA to escort her out. IMOGEN argued, and although LAVINIA was unwilling to indulge the journalist’s frustration, she refused to waver on her task. IMOGEN eventually complied, walking by LAVINIA’s side as they made their way through the hall -- only to suddenly pummel her fist into the Capulet’s delicate jaw. IMOGEN refused to leave themself pliant to the mobs’ hands for a second time, and so they launched their attack and swiftly made their way back into the fray. They didn’t get too far, however, as they were intercepted by TITANIA who had witnessed what happened and thus set out to finish what her comrade had started. With their sound arguments and peaceful demeanor, they were able to convince IMOGEN to seek their answers elsewhere, though their success came after much, much effort.

While IMOGEN was lured towards escape with reluctant steps, BERTRAM was actively searching for it, stumbling through the labyrinthine corridors and stairways of the Cathedral as he ran from the battlefield that had almost dragged him into its depths. He ended up coming across a lone figure in a dark hall, hunched into a corner and fiddling with shadows. It was NICK BOTTOM, who had been tinkering with a neat little gift for the mobs entangled only one floor away. He was inclined to ignore the intruder -- until the man began to ask for his help in escaping the Cathedral, incessantly and slyly enough that NICK BOTTOM became certain his work would never be finished until he gave the man what he wanted. He shoved BERTRAM ahead of him, leading him out of the Cathedral and the furious battle that it harbored.

Back inside the Cathedral, ROMEO was abandoning a defeated LADY MACBETH and making his way towards Cosimo Capulet, who was still sipping wine atop his ornamented pedestal, as entertained as ever while he watched the war rage on before him.

ROMEO looked around at his people.

MERCUTIO and OTHELLO were still clashing with one another, equally exhausted yet determined to steal the victory of their fight. HAMLET was looming over a prone IAGO, teeth bared and gun rigidly pressed to his temple. GONERIL and CORDELIA were caught in a stalemate, too many conflicts roiling between them to allow for a clear-cut outcome to their confrontation. BENVOLIO was on his knees before the barrel of EDGAR’s gun, gaze locked daringly with that of the enemy despite his apparent surrender. EDMUND was caught in MALCOLM’s vicious grasp, though the blade lodged into the man’s flesh made EDMUND’s defeat an uncertain one. OPHELIA had fallen prey to ORSINO’s advances, but she still refused to cower before him.

ROMEO turned his gaze to the other side of the hall, where their feeble attempt at balancing the scales lay in tatters across from him.

JULIET had her gun trained on GERTRUDE. CELIA was holding PARIS in a chokehold. CORIOLANUS was perched atop a prone BENEDICK with a blade to his throat. CRESSIDA was in the midst of crawling away from an advancing REGAN, quickly joined by TROILUS who had finally found the leeway to make his way to her. Never one to waste her time, VOLUMNIA was steadily making her way back to Cosimo’s side, leaving RICHARD III and BEATRICE to join their efforts in taking down the advancing Capulets.

ROMEO finally ground up the courage to look away, eyes closing momentarily before flaring open and settling their infuriated gaze on Cosimo.

“Where is she?” He hoarsely demanded, breath fractured and posture unsteady, hand held up to his side.

Cosimo uncrossed the arm on which his elbow had been perched, lowering his hand and glancing thoughtfully at the peaks of red along his glass as he twirled it.

“You mean your spy?” He finally responded, looking up at the heir with a scornfully hiked brow.

“I won’t ask again. You brought us here for a reason.”

Cosimo was silent.

He watched the heir for a long, heavy moment. Then he scoffed.

“It’s always the same with you Montagues,” He said, quietly, eyes on his glass as he continued to twirl it. “Your approach is always demanding. Forceful. As if you’re entitled to all that you desire even when you’ve done nothing to earn it.”

Ominously, he murmured, “That was your mistake with the Witches. I had no intention of repeating it.”

Just a slithering trail of blood began to trickle from beneath the veil and glide between his leathered feet.

Then, with his eyes locked on LAMPRIUS who keenly observed from the shadows, Cosimo dug his fingers in and tugged.

ROMEO’s breath froze in his lungs.

The spy was bound against the wall, on display for all to see. She hung with her arms spread wide, limp and barely breathing; though there was no cross present on Cosimo’s stage, she was clearly bound in the shape of one, calling back on the executions of old and sure to make a dramatic display. Her mouth was gagged and her wrists chafed heavily, blood flowing from both in slow rivulets, slinking down from two long vertical cuts along her forearms and soaking into the wood beneath her feet in a broad, harrowing stain.

It was VIOLA, strung up and left to bleed out as she locked tearful eyes on her liege.

Hers was to be a cruel judgement, yet a far more merciful one than what Judas had received.

OVERVIEW: And so the trial for our beloved Viola begins! Boy, there is a lot to unpack here, but one thing certainly shines above all else and it’s that the path ahead is only going to get more brutal and bloody from this point forward -- and we’re absolutely thrilled about it! As you’ve all just witnessed, the Capulets are finding unity in their punishment of the spy, while the Montagues are crumbling beneath the rift that’s steadily growing between their leaders. To further clarify, after aiding in the rescue of the Capulet consigliere, ANTONY has taken his own treacherous act and branded it onto ROMEO, not only to manipulate Damiano Montague and cement himself as the only ally he has left, but also to fuel the conflict between him and his son by invalidating ROMEO’s character and his potential in his father’s eyes. The heir certainly isn’t the only one who covets the Montague throne.

On one another note, you’re not restricted to the events of the plot drop in your threads. Capulets are free to plot interactions during the anniversary celebration earlier in the evening, and Montagues are free to plot whatever activities they were engaged in prior to receiving the Capulets’ invitation, and explore their sudden interruption once they were called out onto the battlefield. We know we’ve left you on a cliffhanger here, but we assure you, you won’t have to hold your breath for long. All threads for PART I should be dated for the March 26th only. PART II of the plot drop will be released next week on TUESDAY, APRIL 28TH, and extend the current timeline, so be on the lookout! Have fun!

#diveronaevent #injury tw #violence tw #humiliation tw

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kemifatoba · 4 years

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Document Journal | Dennis Rodman was Black boy joy before it was acceptable

In 2020, we're all unconsciously dressing like the intrepid, queer-friendly, cross-dressing NBA star...

Like many others, I watched the “The Last Dance”, a Netflix documentary about Michael Jordan and the legendary Chicago Bulls in the ‘90s. Back then, I wasn’t into sports—but I loved Dennis Rodman. A poster of his 1996 autobiography Bad As I Wanna Be hung in my bedroom, and simply looking at this Black superstar athlete—covered in tattoos, with stacked piercings and fluorescent hair, sitting naked on a motorbike—filled me with joy. He looked at the camera and seemed incredibly comfortable with himself, liberated even.

While Michael Jordan was the undeniable superstar of the NBA, it was Dennis Rodman who I always rooted for. I was a young biracial girl who desperately tried to blend into my white surroundings, hoping that conforming to respectability politics would make my life a little easier. Back then, I studied dance at the Vienna Conservatory, and was expected to follow a set of spoken and unspoken rules that dictated how I had to behave both on and off stage. I found these rules to be extremely restrictive and quickly came to the conclusion that professionalism and self-expression were two opposite things that could not be reconciled—and then there was Dennis Rodman, who seemingly didn’t care about any rules. He was an excellent player and did whatever he wanted to do off the court. This level of nonchalance fascinated me and I enjoyed following the news to find out what he was up to next. It certainly never got boring.

“He epitomized Black boy joy decades before it was celebrated as the antidote to toxic Black masculinity.”

During his time at the Chicago Bulls, Dennis Rodman turned himself into a walking performance piece. He epitomized Black boy joy decades before it was celebrated as the antidote to toxic Black masculinity. He made himself vulnerable by talking about his shortcomings, and often burst into tears during interviews—and people loved him for it. But the media also ridiculed and criticized him for his off-court antics, which were deemed unprofessional and disrespectful to the game. While there were many colorful personalities in the music industry back then, such as Michael Jackson, Marilyn Manson, and Courtney Love, it was still highly unusual to see anyone like Dennis Rodman in the world of men’s professional sports. He was unusual, full stop.

Sartorially, Dennis Rodman wasn’t just different, he was way ahead of his time. This fact was cemented in a viral tweet by @cowboybagel who posted a screenshot of Rodman on The Late Show With David Letterman in 1996. He appeared on stage in a sheer, semi-buttoned-up black blouse, black flared lace pants, and his trademark Oakley wraparound sunglasses. His hair was dyed green, and his nails were painted black. He wore a Cuban link chain and two pendants around his neck, two large silver earrings on the left and another one on the right, and his trademark nose rings. “Everyone in 2019 looks like dennis rodman in 1996,” the caption said, and an army of Rodman lookalikes shared selfies to confirm the statement. In a recent conversation with a friend who is a stylist, she declared that seeing Dennis Rodman in The Last Dance gave her fashion inspiration for days. What was considered weird, back then, seems to be perfectly on point today.

everyone in 2019 looks like dennis rodman in 1996 pic.twitter.com/4rMSvH1XDs

— ACAB (@cowboybagel) September 5, 2019

Dennis Rodman was extra. He played into stereotypes and subverted them at the same time. He challenged the confines of masculinity and turned heads in the NBA. He talked about wanting to have sex with men while dating Madonna, Carmen Electra, Vivica A. Fox, and many more women according to his account. In the late ‘90s, neither mental health nor queerness were discussed in sports. Rodman brought those topics to the forefront, though not always in a way that everyone appreciated. He frequented gay clubs and often expressed his solidarity with the LGBT community, most notably at the 1995 playoffs, where he sprayed a red ribbon in his hair to draw attention to AIDS. The move was criticized for using a symbol of disease—instead of a symbol of gay pride, like the triangle or the rainbow—for shock value. His penchant for cross-dressing, which culminated in a media frenzy when he wore a wedding dress at his book launch, also raised questions about the authenticity of his solidarity with the LGBT community. His delivery might have been off, but I always respected Dennis Rodman for speaking up for the gay community at a time when societal prejudice was rife. He didn’t have to use his platform to talk about his sexuality, but he chose to do it, and many LGBT organizations reached out to thank him for representing them in the sports world as a result.

In Bad As I Wanna Be, Rodman addressed a widely-publicized suicide attempt before his time at the Chicago Bulls. He wrote that instead of wanting to harm himself, he “Killed the Dennis Rodman that had tried to conform to what everybody wanted him to be.” The entire world knew about his excessive drinking and partying, and now it also knew about his depression. In the 2019 ESPN documentary Rodman: For better or Worse, he laid everything bare: his complicated relationship with a mother who never showed him love, his absent father, his shyness and naiveté, a period of homelessness, conflicts with the law, the sudden growth spurt that garnered the attention of NBA scouts, his rise to superstardom in the ‘90s, his battle with depression and alcoholism, and where he is now at 59 and a grandfather.

To me, Dennis Rodman was so many things at once: flawed, relatable, and lovable even as he seemed to struggle with loving himself. He was a legendary basketball player, an incredible entertainer, and an accidental hero who kicked the doors open and brought uncomfortable conversation topics to the table. Watching him break out in tears, when he admits that he struggles with being a good father to his children, is saddening and infuriating at the same time, because he risks repeating the same mistakes his parents made—and also because I’m still rooting for him. Dennis Rodman was and still is unique. He practiced self-expression, vulnerability, and nonconformity like nobody else did in the ‘90s, and like only a few men do today, let alone Black superstar athletes.

I was too young to understand a lot of things back when I had a poster of Dennis Rodman in my bedroom, but looking at professional sports today, and the perfectly curated image athletes present to the world, Dennis Rodman still stands out like a colorful butterfly. He was a viral sensation long before the term was coined, and he paved the way for those who unapologetically express their personality and identity today. To this day, watching Dennis Rodman doing his thing reminds me how beautiful self-expression is, and how much joy it can bring others—or, as he summed up his approach to life in a 1997 interview with USA Today, “I just took the chance to be my own man. I just said, ‘If you don’t like it, kiss my ass’ … I’m the guy who’s showing people, ‘Hey, it’s alright to be different.'”

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#editorial #document journal

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winterisakiller · 5 years

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Get Better - Chapter Three

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 3/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @theheartofpenelope @noplacelikehome77 @nonsensicalobsessions @blacksuitofdoom @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @just-the-hiddles @theoneanna @wolfsmom1

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER THREE

A sharp wind whipped down the florescent lit tunnel, sending a sudden shiver down his spine. Tom pulled the blanket he’d been handed tighter around him, stifling a yawn. It had been an early morning and despite several cups of coffee, with more espresso shots than he’d care to admit to, he still felt the pull of sleep dragging on him. The excitement, however, was winning by leaps and bounds. He had been intrigued when the idea was pitched to him, of making a teaser for Betrayal and posting it as-is before formally announcing the show the following day. It was a creative and fun way of drawing attention to the production and getting buzz going around it.

The teaser’s premise was simple, Tom would come into focus walking down the aforementioned tunnel, something out of the camera’s range would catch his eye, and the viewer would watch his reaction unfold. Watch the shock, pain, anger, and finally defeat play across his features. No dialogue, no real explanation; just him and music. Beautiful in its simplicity.

He stood to the side, watching as the days’ crew reset the shot and fiddled with the lighting. It was their third, and hopefully last, take; the lighting have gone a touch fuzzy during the last set up. It was a bustle of controlled chaos and something he’d always found fascinating. The way in which the crew flittered around each other was almost an elaborate dance.

“Alright, places everyone!” The director called once things had been set to rights. Tom nodded, took a deep breath and stepped onto his mark.

The rest of the shoot passed with little issue. The fourth take had been the one Tom was certain he’d nailed. He’d watched the final footage with the director and found himself pleased with the initial result. The days’ footage, Tom was told, would be edited that evening and should be ready to go up the day after. With a warm smile, Tom bid farewell and headed out into the bustle of the now busy streets.

He’d taken the tube that morning, enjoying being able to sit and people watch. It helped keep him grounded, just doing the everyday tasks that so many seemed to take for granted. He could usually take the tube with little fuss or fanfare. That was one of the wonderful things about London, very few people seemed to care who or what he was. True, there would be the occasional fan who would approach him or the rare ‘sneaky’ photograph (which he never really understood the point of) but for the most part he was left to his own devices.

He’d fired off a quick text to Luke before he’d entered the station, letting him know all had gone well and that he was off home. Luke responded quickly, reminding him that his phone meeting with Marvel regarding updates for the Loki limited series had been pushed back until following afternoon. Which meant for the time being, Tom had the rest of the day to himself and he was greatly looking forward to the lack of demand. He made his way through the ticket barrier and followed commuters down the escalators and onto the platform. The train rumbled into the station a few minutes later and he joined the mass of people making their way into various carriages.

Tom quickly settled into the first available seat, letting his mind wander as he watched the eclectic mix of people filling the carriage. It was something he’d always enjoyed about the city; the mix of cultures and people that had always made it uniquely London. The carriage was busy but not packed, it was still early enough in the day that most commuters were still at work. Tom enjoyed the relative peace as the carriage jostled along, silently counting the stops until his own.

He made his way from the train onto the platform once the train had pulled into his station. A flash of dark hair and a familiar laugh caught his attention as he made his way through the busy station to the ticketing barrier. Tom turned his head in reflex and a jolt of recognition shot through him. Cath. The name materialized in his head without conscious thought. But she was gone before he could make a move, disappeared into the crowd heading towards the platforms.

Tom shook himself back into the present and carried on through the gate and then out onto the street. It was just as well she’d gone, he reasoned, pulling his coat tighter around himself as a swift breeze raced down the pavements. He didn’t actually know her, had no reason to approach her other than his own, admittedly overabundant, curiosity. And that had often caused more trouble than it was worth.

Silently, he carried on down the pavements and back towards home. Bobby, none too pleased with being shut in the back room in his crate, barked repeatedly as Tom unlocked and pushed open the front door. “Alright, alright,” he called. “I’m coming.”

He shrugged out of his woolen coat, hanging it on the rack near the door, and jogged through the house towards the back room. Bobby, finally free of his confinement, let his displeasure be known with several more loud and growly barks. Tom rolled his eyes and let the spaniel out through the door into the back garden to do his business and terrorize the local wildlife.

The following day’s teaser release and subsequent play announcement were well received, which had been a major relief. The response on social media had been overwhelmingly positive and Tom was more than pleased. Zawe had begun talks to secure her involvement in the show and from what Tom had been able to gather, Charlie Cox was in talks to join as well. Nothing had been set in stone and probably wouldn’t until closer to the New Year, but Tom couldn’t have been happier. He’d known Charlie for years and was glad to at least have the chance of potentially working with him.

His phone had been ringing off and on throughout the day following the official announcement; friends and family sharing their well wishes and excitement. His mother had been particularly thrilled as she could talk more openly about the play now that had it been announced publically. His mother and her enthusiasm had become the stuff of legend in and around Suffolk.

“So someone actually took pity on you and hired your sorry face. I must send them flowers…and my condolences as well,” Benedict laughed. His call had come just after Tom had finished an impromptu afternoon run. He was in desperate need of a shower but hadn’t the heart to tell his friend to buzz off.

“Well,” Tom quipped back. “If they actually hire you on occasion, I figured I would be a shoe-in this time round. And,” he added as an afterthought, “there is a much better chance they can actually pronounce my name.” Ben snorted laughter at the comment which pulled Tom into a laughing fit of his own. “But in all seriousness,” Tom continued once he’d managed to calm himself, “I am ridiculously excited to be able to be doing this. It’s going to be a challenging role and I am looking forward to it.”

“So who are you playing? Robert or Jerry?”

“Robert.”

Ben laughed in delight. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. And they’ve cast Emma and Jerry?”

“Not officially no,” Tom answered, laughing as well.

“Unofficially?” Ben goaded.

“Zawe Ashton and Charlie Cox, pending availability.”

“Very nice indeed, Mr. Hiddleston. You’re moving up in the world.” He paused, taking a breath. “Hopefully Sophie and I will be able to make it during the run.”

“Don’t feel obligated,” Tom admonished. “I know things are going to be a bit mad with the little one coming.” He had been beyond thrilled, and quietly jealous, when Ben had told him that he and Sophie were expecting again. The baby was due in late January and Tom was well aware that their lives would be chaotic for a least the first few months while their family settled into its new routine. The play would be the absolute least of their priorities. “If you make it, that will be amazing but don’t feel like you must. Honestly.”

Ben laughed. “I have a feeling that by the time your show opens we’ll both be ready for a break and grown up company.”

Tom laughed as well. “I can only imagine.”

A loud scream echoed from Ben’s side of the line. “I’m terribly sorry to cut this short but I need to make sure my sons aren’t killing one another. Sophie will be awfully cross if any damage comes to them in my care.”

“Yes. Yes. Go on, take care of your offspring. Talk to you later.” Tom ended the call and stretched his back, it having started to get a bit stiff. He really needed to make sure he stretched pre and post run now. God, I’m getting old, he thought with a grimace. Tom toed out of his running shoes and took the stairs two at a time, more eager than ever for a hot shower.

—

The rest of November passed in a blur of various appointments and meetings cumulating in an appearance at Tokyo Comic Con. Tom always thoroughly enjoyed being able to attend Asian events, especially fan ones. The welcome he received was always warm and the fan base vocal and tremendously supportive. It made the long flight and horrendous jetlag worth it. And this time had been no exception. He’d thoroughly enjoyed talking with fans and participating in numerous panels. But he had to admit, he was grateful to be going home. He’d joked with Luke about the real possibility of him sleeping for at least a week on the way to the airport.

“Good,” Luke deadpanned back. “Please do. Less chance of you causing me headache.”

The flight home had been a long one, with just enough layover to make his usual jetlag feel a hundred times worse. He’d practically fallen into the car awaiting him at Heathrow and slept all the way home. It certainly wouldn’t do his re-acclimation to British Standard Time any good, but he’d been far too tired to care. How he’d made his way from the car and into the house, he still didn’t know. Nor how he’d fumbled his way from the entry way, up the stairs and into his bedroom. He’d woken late the following afternoon still in his clothes and momentarily unaware of just where he was.

Tom blinked around the room several times before the familiar shapes of his dresser and the door to the ensuite came into focus. Home. He pushed himself upright, a jaw cracking yawn escaping him. He was still tired, still a bit fuzzy-headed, but now that he was conscious he could sense the grime of several hours confined in a small space with far too many people all over him. With a fair amount of effort, he pulled himself to his feet and padded into the bathroom, stripping as he went.

Freshly showered and feeling much more like himself, Tom climbed downstairs nearly twenty minutes later and set about fixing both coffee and food. Plate of egg and toast in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee doctored to his liking in the other, Tom padded into the living room and settled himself on the couch. He let himself revel, selfishly, in the silence of the house.

Bobby was still at Emma’s; she and her husband had volunteered to watch the little devil while he’d been out of the country. Why they’d agreed, Tom still wasn’t entirely sure. And while he’d missed the little bugger, it was nice to be able to eat a meal without having to face those large, pleading eyes. He’d never been able to completely resist them, and he knew Bobby knew.

Tom took his time eating, he had nowhere in particular he needed to be and fully intended to laze about for as long as possible. He pondered actually taking on his ever-growing ‘to-be-read’ pile. It had been ages since he’d allowed himself the luxury of just sitting and reading a book. Yes, he still read as often as was possible, but it was usually during filming breaks when he wasn’t going over lines or blocking or a few moments before falling asleep. Actually sitting about and just reading, that was a true rarity. Possibilities.

Once he’d finished the last of his meal and drained the very last of his coffee, Tom pushed himself to his feet and padded to the kitchen. He contemplated simply leaving his used plate and mug in the sink for later, after all it wasn’t as if he won’t have the time later. But the impulse was quickly abated; his mother would box his ears, metaphorically speaking, for doing such a thing even now. He shook his head and laughed at himself, washing and drying them quickly before heading out of the kitchen and into the main hall.

As Tom made his way down the hall his suitcase and backpack, left carelessly by the door the night before, caught his eye and he groaned. He should take his clothing out and get a load of washing started, knowing if he put it off it wouldn’t get done. With a muffled curse, he lugged the case towards the laundry room, setting it on the floor and sorting through his clothing. He’d gotten a load in the wash and started the sorting of the next when the sharp ring of his mobile echoed from the front of the house.

Tom sighed and padded back into the hall, finding this mobile vibrating and ringing away on the table; Emma’s number flashing across the screen. He had to have pulled it from his pocket by reflex the night before as tended to keep in beside him the majority of the time unless he purposefully needed a break from the outside world.

“Yes, little sister?” he said as way of greeting after he’d grabbed the offending object and slid his finger across the screen to accept the call.

Emma snorted a laugh. “He lives! I was wondering if you’d be conscious and functional yet or not.”

“I do live, the conscious and functional part is debatable. Now what can I do for you?”

A loud, piercing cry echoed through the line and Emma sighed, wearily. “Take my child off my hands for the next…I don’t know…Eighteen or so years?”

“Somehow I think Jack might have a few objections to that idea.” Tom chuckled, padding back into the living room and dropping onto the couch.

“He’ll live,” Emma grumbled. “I’ve got to dash. Just give us a call when you’re ready to swing by for Bobby. And if you want to take Allie with you, feel free.”

“I think I’m good. One adorable yet demanding creature is more than enough for me at this juncture,” he reasoned adding, “And Bobby doesn’t scream” as an afterthought.

“Oh ha bloody ha. See if I agree to help you with anything in future….Allie no, put that down…Alice Marie…Sorry, Tom, I’ve got to go.” The line clicked and Tom let his phone drop beside him on the couch. He scrubbed his face with his hands before standing and heading back into the laundry room. He’d finish sorting his laundry and then call her back, letting her know he was on the way.

The drive across town wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared it would be; London traffic being what it was. He pulled his car to a stop in the drive leading to the house forty minutes later, almost reluctant to turn the engine off and lose the heating. Emma had the door open, his niece on her hip, before he’d climbed out of the car.

“She’s calmed I see,” he called, reaching out to take the little girl from her mother’s arms. She smiled in delight and clung to her uncle, babbling excitedly. “Hello there, angel.” He kissed the top of her head before returning his attention to his sister. “And how has my boy been?”

Emma laughed and shook her head, ushering Tom inside. “He’s been his usual self. Luckily he hasn’t dug up the back garden…again. Only because it’s been so bloody cold.”

Tom threw back his head and laughed. “Well thank goodness for small miracles.” The aforementioned spaniel, upon hearing his master’s voice, came sprinting out into the hallway, barking. Alice let out a squeal, clapping her hands together and reaching for the excited dog jumping at her uncle’s feet. Tom bent down and gave Bobby an affectionate scratch behind the ears. Alice reached out and grabbed at Bobby’s ears. “No, sweetie. We need to be gentle with the doggy.” He demonstrated by petting Bobby softly on the head. Alice mimicked his motions and Bobby tossed his head up, licking her face. She squealed in delight and wriggled out of Tom’s arms.

Behind him, Tom could hear Emma laughing. “You are a natural, you know?” He turned around, blinking at her in puzzlement. “With kids,” she continued, “have been for years.”

He shrugged, turning his attention back towards his niece and his dog to ensure neither was misbehaving. Alice was contentedly patting Bobby on the head and babbling at him. “So are lots of people.”

“I’m just saying…You are great as Uncle Tommy and I think you’d made quite a good father in your own right.”

“Em.”

“I know you want that, Tom. It’s plain as day to anyone who knows you,” she pressed, giving him a knowing look.

“Of course I want that, Em. I just…Sometimes we can’t get what we want.” He let out a resigned sigh. “Sometimes things just don’t work out the way we want and we’ve no one to blame but ourselves. I’ve come to terms with it.”

Emma folded her arms over chest, “You and I both know that’s a boldfaced lie.”

Tom pushed himself to his feet, turning to face his sister, frustration clear in his eyes. “Just let it go, Em. Seriously.” His tone brooked no argument. “Do you have the rest of his things gathered or do I need to go into the back and fetch them?”

“Tom…” It was clear though that Tom was no longer willing to entertain the conversation at hand. “All his stuff is gathered in the back room.” He gave her a nod and headed down the hallway towards the room in question. Alice who had until that point been contentedly patting Bobby on the head, raised her attention to her mother and inquired, in her own fashion, after her missing uncle. Her mother sighed, “Uncle Tommy’s gone to get Bobby’s things then they are going bye-byes. But we’ll see them again soon.”

Alice pouted at this, “No bye-byes!”

“It’s alright Allie,” Tom spoke, dropping the bundle of Bobby’s things carefully by the door and settling on his knees beside her. “Bobby and I will come back soon. But I think right now mummy and daddy want a little time with just you.” Alice sniffled and grabbed at Tom who pulled the toddler into his arms. “I know, I know.” He kissed her head, and standing, handed the girl to her mother. “You be good for your mummy and daddy okay?”

Emma looked at him over the head of her still sniffling daughter. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

Tom nodded and mouthed, “It’s alright.” Picking up the bundle once more, Tom leant down and hooked Bobby’s lead to his collar. “Come on, boy.” He pushed open the front door and led them out into the dark and cold December evening. Bobby had hopped into the backseat of the car willingly enough but throughout the drive home insisted on sticking his nose further and further between the two front seats, nudging at his master’s arm.

“You, my lad, are a menace,” Tom laughed as he pulled back onto the main road and into traffic. The drive home took twice as long as the initial trip. Tom hadn’t been surprised; London traffic was a nightmare, regardless of the time of day. As they sat, Tom’s mind wandered back to Emma’s earlier words. She’d meant well and he’d known it. And he’d hated being so short with her. But they’d had the conversation far too many times over the last few years and he was tired.

There were things he wanted; someone to come home to, a family of his own, the things he saw in the lives of his sisters and friends. And yet here he was inching ever closer to forty and still, more or less, alone. Most days it hadn’t bothered him. He had more than enough to fill his life. He had friends, nieces and honorary nephews aplenty. He had a rewarding and engaging career that he still loved, despite its pitfalls and stresses. But somedays…Somedays that nagging voice inside his head reminding him that he was alone grew loud and became difficult to ignore.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate on the road before him. Behind him, Tom could hear Bobby’s incessant whining. “Fine, come on up.” He patted the seat beside him and Bobby let out an excited bark and quickly leapt into the front seat where he sat, watching the traffic around him.

—

Christmas, as always, came far too quickly. Tom had spent the week before scrambling to make sure he found the bits and bobs he’d purchased throughout the year and hidden away ‘for safe keeping’. Why he never bothered to use the same spot twice, he’d never understand. Though, if pushed, he could admit it most likely came from a lifelong habit of trying to hide his things from nosey and inquisitive sisters and later from intrusive school mates.

But he’d found them all in the end, and the evening before he’d been set to drive to his mother’s, Tom sat in his living room surrounded by wrapping paper and sellotape, wondering just what he’d been thinking. Despite his ability to master almost anything thrown his way, Tom had always been rubbish at wrapping and practice, he’d found, made little difference.

Cursing and muttering under his breath, he fumbled his way through. The end results were far from perfect, but they were wrapped. Bobby had taken great pleasure in chasing the loose paper, gleefully tearing it to shreds. Watching this, Tom wisely made the decision to pack the gifts away where the spaniel could not reach. He didn’t think Bobby would actually go after them but experience had taught him that trusting the playful spaniel in that regard was not a risk worth taking.

With a jaw cracking yawn, Tom pushed himself up to his feet. A quick glance at the clock informed him that it had just gone one in the morning. Much later than he’d intended. “Bed,” he murmured to himself. Bobby fast on his heels, Tom climbed the stairs and, after a quick detour to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, fell into bed.

He set out for his mother’s at a little before noon the following day. Traffic wasn’t nearly as hectic as he’d thought it would be, especially for the day before Christmas. Bobby sat contentedly in the front seat, every so often barking at passing motorists. He had tried, and failed, to keep the spaniel in the backseat and as they left the city limits, he’d relented and allowed Bobby what the spaniel firmly believed was his spot. Christmas music rang out of the speakers, Tom had always had a soft spot for these songs, and found himself humming along quietly as he drove.

It hadn’t snowed yet, which was a blessing. But darkening skies loomed low and threateningly. Tom only hoped it would hold out until he was safely in Suffolk and inside with the hot beverage of his choosing before they broke. His luck, and the weather, held and he pulled into the drive only half an hour later than he’d planned. Bobby barked excitedly as Tom killed the engine, his tail a blur of motion. “Alright, alright. I know you’re dying for a walk.”

Once he was certain Bobby’s lead was tightly fastened, Tom climbed out of the car and darted to the passenger side. Bobby hopped out and took three laps around the front garden before Tom led him back to the car. Pulling his backpack and the bag of gifts from the trunk, Tom headed up the walk and to the front door, the spaniel following closely behind.

The door opened and a chorus of warm welcomes and a loud and enthusiastic “Uncle Tommy!” from his eldest niece, Cora, greeted him.

He was pulled into a tight hug by his mother as he crossed the threshold. “So glad you made it before the weather turned. The thought of you out in the snow in that car…” Diana had made her dislike of Tom’s Jaguar plain from the moment he’d received it as a perk for his appearance in one of their marketing campaigns years ago.

“Mum,” he groaned, unable to mask his annoyance, “It’s a perfectly safe car and you know fair well that I’m a good driver.”

Diana huffed and shut the door behind him. “I’m still not a fan.”

Settling in hadn’t taken long, he’d been placed in his old bedroom and had wasted no time in jogging up the stairs (Diana’s voice echoing after him with an admonishing “no running in the house!”) and dropping his bag on the recently made bed. The room hadn’t changed overmuch in the years since he’d lived in it; a new bedspread had been laid out but otherwise it was still very much the room of his teenaged years. Tom found an odd comfort in that. He returned downstairs and quickly found himself pulled into rolling around the floor with Alice and Cora while they laughed and screamed in delight. He could hear Emma and Sarah behind him, laughing hysterically at his antics.

Dinner was a causal affair that evening, eaten mostly in the living room while everyone chatted and the children played with Bobby, occasionally sneaking him bits of food much to the spaniel’s delight. At quarter of nine the children were tucked into bed with the promise of a visit from Santa if they settled to sleep. He’d been roped into reading several bedtime stories because, according to Cora, “you do all the best voices”. The girls’ parents were quick to agree and so Tom settled on the floor between the two beds and read from the collection of bedtime stories that had been in the house for as long as he could remember.

Once both girls were fast asleep, Tom rejoined the adults downstairs. He took the proffered glass of whiskey from his brother-in-law and settled on the couch. It was wonderful, getting to spend time with his family. He hadn’t seen Sarah nor her family since Emma’s wedding, something he promised himself to rectify in future. They sat up talking until well into the early hours of the morning, though Diana had turned in shorty before ten, and as they finally climbed the stairs to bed he heard Sarah grumble, “Cora will be up at first light and demand everyone join her.” And her husband grunt in response.

Cora was in fact up at just before six Christmas morning. After waking her parents, she’d darted into Tom’s room and woke him as well by jumping repeatedly on the bed yelling “it’s Christmas, Uncle Tommy! It’s Christmas!”

Startled into consciousness, Tom swallowed his heart and grumbled a “that’s lovely” while patting Cora on the back. He heard Sarah snort in amusement from the doorway and shot her an evil look, which only made her laugh harder. He sat up in time to watch Cora dash from the room, grabbing her mother by the hand and dragging her towards the stairs. Tom chuckled to himself, stretched, and slowly climbed out of bed. God, it was far too early. He pulled on a jumper, as his mother tended to keep the house on the cooler side even in winter, and padded downstairs in search of coffee.

Diana stood in the kitchen when he stumbled in, a steaming mug outstretched towards him which he took gratefully. It was a strong roast, rich and bitter. He drank it slowly, feeling the comforting rush of caffeine through his bloodstream. Gods above, he loved coffee. Excited cries soon echoed in from the living room, beckoning his attention. He made his way into the living room behind his mother and settled into one of the open arm chairs, watching as Alice and Cora were settled before their respective pile of gifts.

The actual present opening portion of the morning lasted all of twenty minutes in Cora’s case. Alice took longer due to the fact she became easily distracted by the shiny paper. But all in all, they had their presents opened in well less than an hour. They saved the adult gift giving for later, once both girls were sufficiently distracted enough by toys to allow them a moment’s peace.

Breakfast and lunch, much like dinner the night before, were eaten in the living room surrounded by bin bags full of wrapping paper. Tom had been drafted into throwing out said bags, very much without his consent he’d pointed out. No one, however, took his protests seriously. After he’d finished lunch and could put off the inevitable no longer, Tom threw on his coat with a grumble and grabbed the bags. Bobby was quick on his heels, sensing walkies afoot. The spaniel was hooked into his lead and headed out into the cold alongside Tom. Once the bin bags were tossed in the bins at the side of the house, they took a quick lap around the front garden then up and down the drive before heading back inside.

He unhooked Bobby from his lead once he’d had the front door firmly shut and the spaniel had shot off back in the direction of the living room where moments later he heard the delighted cries of his nieces. Tom padded towards the kitchen in search of another mug of coffee, or if he was truly lucky, hot chocolate. He found his mother pacing around the kitchen, phone balanced between her ear and shoulder as she puttered around making hot chocolate. Bless her, he thought.

“Oh, dear heart that is fine…Honestly, I know it’s a long drive and a short stop is perfectly fine. I just want to meet that little man of yours…Yes…Alright…Speak soon.” She turned to hang the phone back into its base and jumped when she caught sight of Tom in the doorway. “Goodness, Thomas! You gave me quite a fright.”

“Sorry, Mum.”

“No matter. Now that you’re here you can help me finish these up…And I mean get them ready not sample the lot, young man.” She wagged a reproachful finger at him and he laughed and ducked his head sheepishly. How was it his fault that her hot chocolate was so amazing that he couldn’t help himself? Chocolate was a weakness of his, surely she knew that by now.

Diana shook her head and began passing him the mugs she had started and the various toppings they required. Tom worked dutifully at his task though temptation to sample was strong. “Mum…”

“No, Tom, you may not test them out.” She answered automatically.

Tom laughed. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Diana chuckled. “Anytime, my boy. Anytime.” She nudged him gently with her shoulder. “So what was your question then?”

“Who was on the phone earlier?”

“Amy,” Diana answered simply, offering Tom a look of understanding. “They can’t stay for lunch tomorrow, but are going to stop by on their drive home.”

Tom smiled back. “I’m glad they can make it. I know you’ve been dying to meet Henry.” Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, and Tom let out a sigh. “Mum, honestly its fine. What happened between Amy and I is in the past. She’s moved on and so have I. Honestly.”

Diana’s eyes studied his face, an unreadable expression in her eyes. It felt like an age before she spoke, “Then why, my boy, do you look so sad?” Tom opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off with a quick wave of her hand. “Don’t, Thomas. You forget I’ve known you all of your life. I see you. You might have accepted what happened between you and Amy, that I do believe, but I don’t know if you have truly moved on.” She shot him a knowing look. “You haven’t had a steady nor serious relationship since…And what happened that summer doesn’t count.” Diana came to stand beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “You are my boy and I just want you to be happy.”

Tom blinked up at her, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. “I am…I mean, yes, there are times I wish for things that I don’t have. But doesn’t everyone?” He let out a sigh. “I made some spectacularly bad choices and I’ve learned from them. Things aren’t…Perfect. But they are good. I’m good. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Diana shook her head, “Oh my boy, that’s one thing you still don’t quite understand. I am your mother, I am always going to worry about you.” She leaned down and kissed his head. “No let’s get this drinks out there before the rest of the family starts to riot.”

Both laughing, they worked together to place the mugs onto a tray and carried them back into the living room.

Next Chapter

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x orignal character #get better fic #Tom and Cath

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winterisakillerwrites · 4 years

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Get Better - Chapter Three