PAIRINGS: PsyBorg, Uki Violeta x Fulgur Ovid
TAGS & WARNINGS: Song Lyric Fic, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Suicdal Ideation, Emotional Baggage
A/Ns: Listen to "Never Let Me Go" by Florence + The Machine. This one-shot is part of FLOW: an anthology of PsyBorg fanfics inspired by Florence + the Machine songs.
“It’s breaking over me."
Uki finally confessed as he turned to his side to face Fulgur, who had felt him shift beneath the sheets.
It had been like this the past couple of months since they moved in together. The mundane and domestic atmosphere were cherished by both and they found warmth in each other's company. However, there were instances when they'd still feel a pang of emptiness - often more so at the dead of night.
Uki would wake up in those quiet hours. Nibbling a jammy egg. Sitting by his cushioned nook near the window. Lost in his own thoughts. Observing the cars that drove by. Each headlight zoomed like shooting stars.
Fulgur would wake up and enter his study. Turning on warm but dim lights. Skimming through his curation of books. Flipping through pages. Tracing fingers carefully on sentences. Absorbing nothing.
“Want a hug?” Fulgur asked as he moved the strands of his partner's hair away from his face.
Apparently Uki had stared into nothingness and didn't notice Fulgur had asked him this question a third time. He was not one to decline Fulgur’s touch or affection, however, he shook his head.
“How about some cuddles?”
“No.”
More tears soaked his pillow.
“What can I do to help?”
Uki’s chest tightened as salty beads trickled down the bridge of his nose.
“I want…to calm down but…I just can’t.” Uki sat and immediately retrieved the tissue from his bedside table but couldn't catch his sneeze in time.
“Damn it.” He pulled a few plies of tissue from the box and blew his nose hard then wiped the snot from his hand. He couldn’t tell if his mind was thumping because of the sneeze or if it was the dread.
“I need air.” Uki removed the sheets then hopped out of bed with urgent footsteps heading towards the foyer.
“Uki. Uki, wait.” Fulgur followed right after, grabbing a jacket and, unbeknownst to him, their blanket as he rushed to the car.
The sound of keys and keychains clanged as Uki unlocked the door and turned the ignition.
"I'll drive, Uki. Please. It's much safer this way." Fulgur pleaded.
Uki was silent as he knew Fulgur made a valid point. He licked his teeth at his own impulsiveness then stepped out of the driver's seat to transfer to the back.
Fulgur strapped in and thought for a moment. With a sense of where they ought to be, he drove off. Fulgur looked at the rear-view mirror to check on Uki from time to time. The drive was rather silent. Save for Uki’s sniffles and stuttered breathing. They had finally made one more turn and arrived at the beach.
As soon as the engine turned off, Uki stepped out of the vehicle and picked up his sandals. His heart ached as grains of sand sifted between his toes.
The winds whirred around as the ocean hissed. Uki felt like he was going deaf.
𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗸.
𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝘀𝗼 𝗯𝗮𝗱.
𝗗𝗼 𝗜 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲?
He dropped to the ground curling and hugging himself as he wailed. Each grain was reminiscent of the sting in his knees when punishments were inflicted to him and many others confined in the horrendous cult he had escaped.
“I-I COULDN’T DO ANYTHING. I COULD’VE SAVED THEM."
Fulgur placed the blanket down and knelt next to Uki, who was already crying his heart out.
“W-WE WERE ALL SO YOUNG.”
Fulgur gripped Uki’s hand, anchoring him as best he could without speaking as he didn’t want to wax poetic only for it to come out as a preach of toxic positivity. He needed to let Uki grieve. It had been a long time coming.
"I want to sink beneath this sea." Uki uttered as his gaze locked on the fractured moonlight glistening on the ocean.
The words Uki uttered hung in the air as Fulgur witnessed the unfathomable hurt his person was feeling. Fulgur took a deep breath as if to muster up all the strength in his mind and body for them both. He then removed the car keys from his pocket then placed it on the blanket.
Fulgur stood, dusted the sand off his legs then held his hand out.
“Where are we going?” Uki asked.
“Just trust me.”
Uki grabbed onto Fulgur’s arm and could feel the blood rushing through his brain as he was slowly brought up to his feet. Fulgur helped Uki regain his balance as they made their way to the water.
“Wait but your arm and leg,” Uki slightly tugged at Fulgur’s hand.
“Nah it’s fine. I can just drain it and fix it up when we get back. Come on.”
A shiver ran up Uki’s spine as the waves came in contact. They kept taking steps farther from land and when the water waded ‘til their torso, they stopped.
“Ok. Now I want you to lie back into the water.”
“Lie back?”
“Yes, then slowly do a T-pose,” Fulgur instructed.
“So you want me to float?”
"Yeah," Fulgur nodded.
Uki was a bit taken aback by Fulgur’s odd instructions but still did as told. He laid his head back, extended his arms to his sides, and lifted his feet. Fulgur stood next to Uki, supporting him by the nape and back.
“That’s it. There you go.” Fulgur’s voice sounded even more calm as the ocean water muffled Uki’s hearing.
Uki couldn't understand why they were in the water but the night sky illuminated by stars, veiled ever so lightly with clouds was a beautiful sight to behold. No other words between them needed.
Tears continued to stream down Uki’s temples while Fulgur quietly held Uki so as to not let him drift away. After what seemed to be almost an hour, Uki stopped crying and couldn't tell whether it was the saltiness of the sea or his tears he could taste. Uki slowly propped himself upright with Fulgur carefully supporting him.
Uki wrapped his arms around Fulgur and buried his face in the crook of his neck.
"Never let me go."
"As long as we live."
Fulgur held him tighter. He was washed over with immense relief.
“Good. Can I have that cuddle when we get back?”
“Of course, Ukiki.”
They held each other for a while before retreating back to shore, making the soft-spoken, conversation-filled drive back home.
And I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight, I'm gonna cut it out and then restart'
Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn
A/Ns: Once you've reached the end notes, listen to "Shake It Out" by Florence + The Machine. Thank you so much for reading "Never Let Me Go"! Part iii is a work in progress. I just need to find the 2 Florence songs that fit the theme!
FLOW: An Anthology of PsyBorg Fanfics inspired by Florence + The Machine Songs
As someone who religiously listens to Florence + The Machine, can you imagine how ecstatic I was when I watched, my kamioshi, Uki Violeta's debut stream 2.0? When Uki discussed how F+TM is an inspo for him, that became my inspo to create this series! All stories have an F+TM song as its title with bits and pieces of the lyrics incorporated into it.
This series is not linear thus it can be read as one-shots!
CHARACTERS: Estrilda, Thane, King of Ranhorn, AFK Arena OCs - Belta (OC), Lord Vrelle (OC), Lord Dafriard (OC), Adré La’xriene (OC),
TAGS: Betrothal, Marriage Proposal, Marriage Interviews
TRISHA NOTES: This story was prompted by a song of the same name. Listening to "Le Papillon Solitaire" by Franz Gordon while reading is optional but recommended! Here's Chapter 2!
PROLOGUE | WRITING MASTERLIST | HEARTSEASE MASTERLIST
It had been two years since that evening, the peculiar wisp-like entity Estrilda dreamt of and the simultaneous celebration of Dura’s Dawn Banquet and her eighteenth year.
Most women residing in Ranhorn come across well-to-do men and continue their lineage before reaching their twentieth year but Estrilda, who was already two years in on her marrying age, had not the slightest interest in searching for a lifetime mate. The House of Rayne and its mandate to train the next generation of soldiers, captains, and generals of integrity was her priority, reading proposal letters was the last thing on her mind and daily agenda.
Upon her guardian’s strict instruction, it was bumped to the first on her list for the day. Estrilda lounged in her late father’s sun-lit study skimming through piles upon piles of letters asking her hand yet again in marriage.
Every bachelor from the nobleman's son to the simple man selling cheese in the town square would send neat, and highly likely ghost-written, letters on parchment stating the finest they could provide as well as reasons they would best suit her.
The letters embossed with family insignias sealed with wax were of utmost significance as these particular letters hail from nobility. For such fortunate men, this would be a sure ticket to marriage interviews. Estrilda currently held three in her hand: one from Dafriard, one from La’xrien, and one from Vrelle.
The insignia of the Dafriad’s was that of a hairy, wild boar with its tusks larger than its head and sharp hooves in a sprint.
Dear Lady Rayne,
I’ve heard heroic tales from my father and head of the House of Dafriard. He told of the time you valiantly vanquished the Hypogeans.
Now that you’ve placed your mind to use in the art of war, it is time to settle. At times such as these, it would be in your best interest to make decisions based on power and strength. Someone with such prowess should choose a partner with humongous brawn. We will become an unformidable force not to be reckoned with, the Dafriard kin would become stronger through our union consequently resulting in offspring of unparalleled breed. …..
Breed?
“I am not livestock, Sir.” Estrilda affirmed as she discarded the parchment in her bin.
The insignia of the La’xrien’s was that of a golden goblet with grape vines encircling its rim with a veiny yet svelte, out-stretched hand adorned with jeweled rings holding the wine goblet high.
My fair Lady Estrilda Rayne,
As I saunter through my vineyard and envelope myself in its bountiful harvest, I ensure to set aside a single cluster of grapes solely for consumption - my consumption. Out of all the abundance the fruit provides, I chose the perfect and unblemished one. If you are what you eat then eating beautifully is quintessential.
That being said, out of all the women Ranhorn has to offer, I have set my eyes on you. The most perfect fruit from the harvest. It is my mission to aim for the best, to attain the most beautiful woman to be with the most beautiful man in the kingdom. ….
Attain?
“I am no reward, Sir.” Estrilda discarded the second parchment in her bin.
The insignia of the Vrelle’s was that of a bountiful bundle of wheat tied with string which is tucked in a cornucopia filled with fruit and nuts. The arrival of this letter intrigued Estrilda more than the Dafriard’s or the La’xrien’s letters since the Vrelle family hailed no sons.
Dear Lady Estrilda,
Hope this letter finds you well. We’ve been hearing stories of the conundrum you face through father and his conversations with Sir Thane.
My sisters and I deeply empathize with you. Selecting a worthy partner is quite the struggle, a suitable husband is difficult to find, and receiving sacks of letters can be quite tiresome.
Marriage amongst nobles is crucial to the kingdom of Ranhorn and its economical affairs. It is heavily established on mutual gain wherein both houses benefit from one another while ensuring it is in line and in service to the king and the kingdom.
I envy commoners to be quite frank. Their union is not founded on beneficial gain nor stature. It is seldom forced and seems hardly rushed. I consider myself fortunate enough to have met my husband-to-be, someone who will love me genuinely regardless of title. He is a sweet young man who owns a beautiful jewelry shop in Ranhorn’s bustling square. I delight in the thought of introducing you to him. Will have a messenger send the formal invitation to our wedding the soonest. Someday, I hope my case is the same not only for my sisters but for you as well, my dear friend.
Love Always,
Telvina Vrelle
P.S. Tarinne and Tilliene pressed and dried a few flowers from our garden and placed it in a small, separate parchment for you. Turn it to tea and serve with a decadent slice of dessert.
Pressed and dried flowers were tucked in a small compartment made out of paper. The scent of zesty flutterwisps, sweet bluebops, and earthy thistledspots made Estrilda miss her once blooming garden ever since its reconstruction as training grounds. She brushed the thought off with a sigh and placed the packet on her table as she picked another letter.
A strong scent whifts as she brings the paper near. The letter had musk that was too much to the point the perfume had oiled, leaving sticky residue on her fingertips. It stained the parchment making it look rotten to the eye.
My Dear Lady Estrilda Rayne,
O, Knight of Valor, how I long to rest thine weary and worried head on plump bosoms. ‘Tis sheer bliss to be given the once in a lifetime opportunity to caress smooth, beautiful thighs and have thine lips against sweet folds. Tasting the divine nectar from the northern tulips of thee -
RIP! RIP! RIP!
Apparently, the contents were just as unappealing. Estrilda tears the letter in half then into quarters. She signals one of the servants who happened to be passing by. He sees her from the corner of his eye, stops in his tracks, then heads to the room.
“Yes, master? How may I be of service?”
“Do me a favor, good lad, and dispose of this. Burn it in the hearth, turn it into compost, perhaps use it to remove the feces from the stables. I never want to lay eyes on it again.” The servant holds his hands out to get the torn pieces of parchment, bows then leaves.
Estrilda sighs as she wipes the poignant residue off her fingers. She sniffs the pressed flowers to drown the remnants of the over-oiled perfume. She opens another letter to which she does not bother reading in entirety, filing it in a box along with other proposal letters that had been previously received but left unanswered.
The books sprawled on her desk varied from warfare tactics to lyrical poetry to heavily annotated cooking journals - all of which were irrelevant to the task at hand. She stacks the book by type leaving a picture book in the middle.
Estrilda looks at the leather-bound book with the title Le Papillon Solitaire engraved and finished in gold ink. She opens the book to see the illustration of a lone butterfly perched on a flower. The book that previously belonged to Estrilda’s mother had a distinctive charm to it. The corners garnered lines with the amount of times the pages had been flipped. The leather along the book’s spine garnered weathering with the amount of times the book had been opened. The words had garnered specific pronunciations in Estrilda’s head with the amount of times her father put her to sleep while reading it.
“Alas, the lone butterfly sought throughout the land for beauty, never realizing the beauty it owns...”
Everything seemed to be as it were except for the butterfly illustration at the back of the page. It had been painted in vibrant orange and yellow.
Was it always like this?
“Good day, milady. Your afternoon tea.” Belta enters the room carrying an assortment of freshly baked tarts and a teapot filled with hot tea. She slides the stack of books to the side to make space for the tray.
The delicate blend of florals and the scent of caramelized fruits filled the room with bubbly energy, it made the atmosphere light and Estrilda’s shoulders less tense.
“I believe there’s nothing quite like a delicious cup of tea, this brew would do you good.” Belta pours some in a gold-rimmed cup and places a few tarts on a saucer.
“How does one even respond?”
“I’m sure you will get through this, milady.” Belta hands Estrilda the tea and tarts. Wiping her hand on her apron, Belta retrieves some of the books to shelve it in its proper place.
Estrilda cups the ceramic ware in both her hands. The warmth courses her body sending a sense of serenity then a small nib at the fruit tart and, indeed, all is bliss. As she slowly paced the room with a cup in one hand and a fruit tart in the other and her entire left arm holding the book close to her chest, a happy hum escaped her lips.
“Your tarts are a treat as always.”
“You’re too kind. Luckily, I finished the laundry earlier than expected. Did not want to waste any spare time thus I made a fresh batch just for you.”
“How I hope to hork down tarts throughout the day, that there weren't many letters to read. They just seem to pile up regardless of allotting time in my busy schedule for it.” Estrilda sits by the window overlooking the training grounds where the men moved in unison with every order.
“Seems to be quite the struggle, milady. Men can be quite...persistent.”
“There you are, my sweet!” Ulric squeaked as he sprinted towards Belta, hugging her from behind then planting a kiss on her cheek unaware of the extra pair of eyes in the room.
“Ulric!” Belta exclaims as she drops a book. Her cheeks have turned cherry red as she informs Ulric of Estrilda’s presence.
“Where?” Ulric searches the space and spots Estrilda sitting at the nook by the window sipping tea, eyes glued at the couple.
“Lady Rayne! I mean General. I was...We are...well,” Ulric sputters then clears his throat as he lets go of Belta. Belta bends to pick up the remaining books and slide them in the available space.
“My apologies, General.” Ulric says as he stiffens his stance.
Estrilda laughs.
“At ease, Ulric. Though I must say I do consider myself quite intrigued witnessing this interesting development between you and my lady-in-waiting. Never took you for the persistent type. Little word of advice, I suggest you keep any display of affection away from Thane. I once caught him rolling his eyes at my parents when I was a kid.” Estrilda smiles behind her cup as she reminisces the instance.
“Duly noted.” Ulric clears his throat and bows.
“Correction. I rolled my eyes in fondness not disgust.” Thane had entered ever so quietly that not even the keen Knight of Valor noticed.
“Welcome back, Sir Thane.” Belta curtsies then prepares tea and tarts for him.
“Thank you.” Thane scans the room, assessing its slightly messy state, as he approaches Estrilda.
“I see you're quite busy, I presume, reading proposals from your prospect husband.” Thane retrieves the book from Estrilda’s lap. Estrilda tries to get the book back but Thane had already tossed it to Ulric which was then handed to Belta.
“If you loathed any display of affection then why do I have to pick a partner? How sure are you that my future husband and I won’t be capable of affection? Nay. Promiscuity?” Estrilda grabs a few letters arranging it to mimic the shape of a fan.
“Your parents were vocal and rather expressive of their love and I tolerated, for the lack of a better term, of their interactions though it could be quite an eyesore sometimes especially in the midst of training. The latter, however, you keep behind shut doors, lock and key. But enough of that, it seems your marriage interviews would have to wait.” Thane announced as a messenger followed behind. He is carrying a silver platter with a letter laying flat in its center. The messenger clears his throat to draw the attention of everyone in the room.
“A letter from his majesty, the King of Ranhorn, requests Ranhorn’s Knight of Valor and esteemed General, and Lady of the House of Rayne, Estrilda Rayne’s presence at the palace to discuss concerns pertaining to the celebration of Dura’s Dawn Banquet. As part of the royal council, your attendance is a must.” The messenger raises the platter and Estrilda retrieves the letter and adds it to her makeshift fan. The messenger takes his leave.
“I see, apparently, it is today. Belta, has my armor been polished?” Estrilda inquired as she fanned herself.
“It has been polished, milady. However, it is not fit for counseling with the king. Allow me to find something more proper than your day dress.” Belta hurried before her lady could object.
”And I shall have the horses ready as soon as possible.” Ulric salutes.
“Ready the coach. We would not want to tire ourselves.” Thane instructs.
“Right away.” Ulric dismisses himself leaving a bothered Estrilda and her doting guardian in awkward silence. Estrilda stares blankly on the maroon carpet, slowly fanning herself as her eyes follow the patterns.
“Is something the matter? If facing the council troubles you, I’m quite sure you have enough resolve to speak your mind.”
“Resolve?”
“What of it?”
“Then...I disdain the idea of getting betrothed.”
“I meant at the palace.”
“Thane. I am not fashioned to be a wife, I am not fashioned to be...a mother.” The last few words hung in the air and left an unpleasant aftertaste on her tongue.
“As I’ve said before, the physician only stated a possibility. Their conclusions are not set on stone.” Thane disagrees as he sets the cup down.
“I was born to fight and fend.”
“Yes, you have proven that. I am not imposing on you to wed any time soon. I just want you to take your pick. Only then will the persistent pestering of suitors cease. Small talk with them is the bane of my existence.”
“Seems like a rather selfish and shallow reason to be honest.”
“Estrilda. Should I pass in an untimely fashion, I’d die with ease knowing I’d be leaving you in the care of someone. Someone who can continue fending for the House of Rayne when I’m gone.” Sir Thane implored as he brushed off the specks of puff pastry stuck on the corner of Estrilda’s mouth with his thumb.
“Capability is not an issue. Is my happiness not even worth considering?”
“We shall discuss this another time. Go get dressed.”
Estrilda pockets Telvina’s letter and tosses her makeshift fan made of proposal letters into the bin. She storms out of the study and into her quarters where a beautiful yet constricting gown is laid out on her bed while Belta arranges pearls and other accessories on her dainty nightstand. Estrilda touches the fabric and feels the toughness of its mid area.
“I agree to wearing this but time would not permit a corset.”
Dolling her mistress up was better than not. Belta discards the corset and substitutes it with a silk bustier. She then closes the blinds and shuts the doors to assist her lady in getting dressed.
A steadfast palace stood in the heart of Ranhorn. Its walls fortified and its king resolutely seated in a room dressed in intricacy: of gold details, marble statues, and an ethereal echo resounding from even the slightest footstep.
Courtiers in attendance for lunch - too in love with the sound of their own voices and the weight they deem their words bear - insists the annual Dura's Dawn Banquet be more grandiose than its previous celebration.
"Your Majesty, we only have ‘til the morrow to make the preparations. If I may, I nominate myself to continue making this exquisite occasion a reality." Lord Dafriard imposed while savoring the flavors of the last couple bites of his meal.
"Indeed. Postponing the banquet would be a bit of a disappointment, so do let me take this daunting task off your shoulders, your highness. I am an expert at hosting extravagant parties and you, my good friend Dafriard, would know." Lord La’xrien points out while indulging his poached pears and pomegranates in a sweet liquor reduction as another plate with half-devoured ribs is whisked away by one of the palace servants.
“Quite true, father. Our cellar has the best wine in all of Esperia. Libations can be catered by the barrel.” His son, Adré, suggests as he raises his drink.
Lord Vrelle takes a gulp of wine, a catalyst to courageously give an opposing response. "My King, if I may, I appeal for you to reconsider.”
Eyes filled with discontentment from the House of Dafriard, House of La’xrien, and some courtiers seated in the king’s council landed on Lord Vrelle. Their stares were filled with threat as if to say ‘Silence yourself’. Lord Vrelle, though slightly fazed, stood his ground and continued to appeal for the celebrations’ temporary postponement.
“It has only been two years since Dura's Dawn. I, along with everyone in Esperia, acknowledge the triumph it has brought our land but we cannot deny that there is still a lot to be done. Give all our resources the opportunity to regain ample quantity. Allow the neighboring lands to heal. Open the ports for trade not just amongst men but other factions."
"Our kingdom has everything we could possibly need. We have fat stock, fresh produce, fancy textiles, fine wine, and the next generation of warriors being trained at the House of Rayne by the kingdom’s greatest general. A tad leisure will not hurt." Lord Dafriard enumerates before downing yet another glass of wine.
"The rebuilding of Abandoned Port and the current construction of Ranhorn's docks are under my father's jurisdiction. Send a letter our way and…we'll take your suggestion into consideration." Adré draws circles on his wine glass' rim with a finger, its smoothness keeping his utter annoyance at bay.
"With all due respect, Lords, Your Majesty, but pillaging a large fraction of what we have, which could provide for the kingdom and its neighboring lands for months, to be horked down at a single feast would be careless."
"When is celebrating a glorious feat ever careless? Especially when there is a surfeit of sundries." Adré retorts. His indiscretion garners a glare from his father across the table, piercing eyes hinting for him to keep quiet. Adré sips wine to seal his mouth shut.
“It is not careless at all lest leisure surpass the needs of Ranhorn and its people.”
The courtiers turn their heads. A well-dressed woman with an odd addition of a piece of cloth covering her mouth stood a few feet away from the table and its guests. Estrilda gathers the side of her gown with a hand then bows.
“General.” Lord Vrelle stands, puts his hand to his heart and bows.
“Lord Vrelle.” Estrilda acknowledges by mirroring his gesture.
“How pleasant it is for you to join us. And here I was expecting you'd be clad in uniform but I must say femininity suits you.” Lord La’xrien’s bleak demeanor miraculously livened. The attendance of a woman apparently made the luncheon a tad more bearable for him.
“Indeed, it does.” Adré approaches Estrilda to take her hand but she immediately steps back, motioning her hand in front of her and keeping him from taking any step further.
“Forgive me. I have not been feeling too well. I’d regret you catching my cold.”
“Nothing but a tiny risk I’m willing to take.” With Adré towering a few inches taller, he takes Estrilda’s hand to plant a kiss.
“Come dine with us.” Lord Dafriard insisted while raising a huge chunk of meat impaled on his fork.
“That won’t be necessary. I sent for her here so you may all listen to her proposal to which I have agreed upon prior to today. General, if you will?” The king offers the floor therefore instructing the courtiers’ mandatory attention.
Estrilda adjusted her stance to exude a posture of confidence. She removes the cloth in better hopes of having the words, especially the weight it bears, be heard.
“Celebrating a glorious feast is not careless, however, we can not deny that our land is in need of healing still. I only hope the process was faster.” Estrilda retrieves a parchment.
“An elder and good friend of mine from Yggdrasil has sent us a warning. In a vision, he speaks of a coming famine. Though its arrival is unknown, it will be best to reserve most of the kingdom’s resources. I leave the day after tomorrow to see how Ranhorn can be of aid.” She pockets the letter and coughs to clear her throat. The king signals a servant to hand Estrilda a goblet filled with water to which she accepts, quenching her thirst before continuing.
“Tomorrow, I celebrate my twentieth year and you are all invited to a banquet to be held, by His Majesty’s generosity, in his own abode. I have opened my private reserve to feed my guests and the preparations are taking place as I speak. I know it may not be a grand feast fit for a glorious feat but I will see to it that everyone has had their fill. That I guarantee, my Lords. Postponing Dura’s Dawn would be of best interest in the meantime.” She adds.
Silence filled the entire space. Lord Dafriard wipes his mouth and clears his throat. Drowsiness had dawned and all he wanted to do was go home.
“If the king has already decided upon this, I will not oppose.”
“Any banquet is better than none at all. I assure you Lady Estrilda, my father and I will be sure to grace this event.”
“It is settled then. You may take your leave if you do so wish. Your formal invitations have already been sent to your homes.” The king informs and bids his guests adieu. Lord Dafriard bows and is escorted out of the room. Lord La’xrien walks over to his son, their conversation too far for her or Thane to eavesdrop.
“It is lovely to see you again, Lady Rayne. Sir Thane was right when he said you’d grown to be a wise woman indeed.” Lord Vrelle approaches keeping a comfortable distance as per Estrilda’s wish.
“Thane said that? A bit hard to grasp but it is, nonetheless, appreciated.”
“Glad you were able to convince the other courtiers.”
“Oh no. I only supported your suggestion further, Lord Vrelle. So the gratitude you’ve extended me belongs to you. I look forward to seeing your wife and daughters, Lord Vrelle. I’m sure they will have a wonderful time.” Estrilda hands four invitations to Lord Vrelle.
“They would be delighted, Lady Rayne.” Lord Vrelle bows and leaves the hall with a happy heart.
“We should return. You have pending proposals to read.” Thane called to Estrilda as he stood waiting for her at the doorway.
“Lady Estrilda.” Adré approaches before she could head out the door. She regrets not having played deaf to his call. Estrilda turns to face him.
“Allow me to sponsor a couple barrels of wine for your twentieth. How much would you want and I'll have my men deliver it.” Adré asks Estrilda in an attempt to impress her.
“I appreciate the offer but it is the host’s job to provide all of their guests’ needs.”
“And with the best, you shall. I insist."
Wanting nothing more than to evade her suitor’s persistent presence, Estrilda smiles then nods in agreement.
“I’ll have my men deliver the barrels directly to the palace’s stock room. I’ll see to it that only the best graces every cup, especially yours.” Adré approaches Estrilda hoping to plant a kiss on her cheek to which she covers her mouth with the cloth. He plants a kiss on her cheek regardless of her previous warning then briskly heads through the doors.
“Bold that one. Seems playing sick did not work. If he does not catch your fancy, then there’s plenty of suitors to choose from once you continue reading the letters.” Thane offers his arm for Estrilda. Though still irked by his doting to find a husband, she links her other arm as they slowly make their way down the steps.
“You witnessed what happened, I do not have the wits nor will to push through.”
“Estrilda.”
“Fine. After dinner?”
“All right. After dinner.”
“After dessert?”
“All right you may continue afte-“
“After evening tea?”
Thane rolls his eyes, surrendering to her protest.
“Let me finish...you did well back there. Your choice of words seemed to have garnered attentive ears. Thus I’m granting you a brief break. You may continue your search after the celebration of your twentieth year.”
“Really? Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Poor choice of words. I leave for Yggdrasil by then.” Estrilda banters as she boards the carriage with assistance from her trusty footman.
“Would you care to repeat that?” Thane asked as he sat across her.
“Onward, Philip!” Estrilda instructs and with a swift flourish of the reins, Philip sent the horses sprinting.
As the carriage made its way through, Estrilda peered through the window and observed able-bodied men carrying lumber on their backs while some with wooden wheelbarrows towing the remaining debris to the side to pave way for new, sturdier structures. She got a glimpse of the women tending to their green garden yet to be filled with homestead fair. The children ran bursting in playful screams and laughter as they reenacted Dura’s Dawn with branches to mimic weaponry, wide planks functioning as shields, and old shirts tied to sticks as banners. Despite the reclamation and the work it entails, Ranhorn was alive.
TRISHA NOTES: I don't know how many chapters it will take to tell this story but I will see it through. Just something to note:
My writing process is quite erratic. The goal is once I find my muse, I HAVE to jot everything down before I forget - dialogue, action, scents, feelings. This story comes to me in the form of a movie and I've got tons of scenes playing in my head like Dr. Strange searching out that 1 in 14M possibilities. So I appreciate your patience in advance.
SUMMARY: With a trail of unworn engagement rings behind her, Colleen strongly believes that popping the question is one thing while the commitment to matrimony is another. This is how Sam Holt succeeded.
TAGS: Pining, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposal, Pre-Kerberos Mission,
FANDOM: Voltron Legendary Defender
A/Ns: This story is inspired by true events and was prompted by a song of the same name. Listening to "Note Stellata" by Il Volo while reading is optional but recommended!
"Do you want us to get married?"
The question escaped like a gentle suggestion.
As if Sam were a kid inviting her to play 'house', get engaged and slip a plastic ring on one of her fingers; the glittery ones chanced upon when you buy multiple boxes of cereal. Then with a wave of a fairy godmother's wand, a magical wedding would ensue in front of a teddybear audience and a cabbage patch doll entourage.
"You may now kiss the bride." Colleen quipped as she stared into the moon-lit water.
The boats glided under the bridge while the river glistened and apparently so did Sam's eyes upon her reply. He quickly flicks a tear.
"'Freudian Slip' I presume?" Sam chuckled as he stood next to Colleen, mirroring her stance.
He knew it wasn't the response to his question but he knew she must have visualized something.
"The stars are beautiful... " Sam whispers in the whooshing breeze in hopes of breaking tension, if there be any, and get a reaction out of Colleen.
"And so are you." The woman adds with a smirk accompanied with its enunciation. One which just happens to be rather uncannily similar to how Sam did.
"It's very not quite like you to flirt so openly and that was supposed to be MY line and you know it." Sam inched closer seeking her warmth.
"But isn't it true? I remembered the first time you mentioned it," She scrunched her forehead and bit her lip as her head motions into a slow shake "god, that was embarrassing."
"It..it was?" Sam covers his eyes with his hand as he reminisced the time he waltzed with her at the Galaxy Gala.
"Well, of course Iverson eavesdropped and the rest of our batchmates joined the teasing bandwagon, nonetheless, I was flustered. It was sweet and it still is." She responds as she tries to pry Sam's hand away from his face.
It must have been how every luminary available specked the water with its reflection: everything familiar felt new...the bridge, the boats, the stars, the moon, the man.
Colleen was aware that marriage was no longer child's play. That this meant more than living in a house made of pillowforts for walls or blankets hung over two chairs for a roof. She pursed her chapped lips.
Sam noticed this gesture. He had been searching for even the tiniest sign from the woman's petite frame. The thought of spending their life together made his heart pound. He wanted to kiss her right then and there but with a deep breath and every ounce of courage to muster, he spoke.
"Colleen...my words weren't phrased correctly earlier so please let me restart." Sam clutches his left fist then loosens his grip to finally reveal a silver band encrusted with green rhinestones.
"Do you want us to grow old together?" He pauses then sets the ring on the bridge's flat, metal railing.
"Because I do." Sam then takes a few steps back and faces the car-crammed road.
It finally came to her. Why this was different from any other suitor who had asked her hand and failed.
This man, this patient man, had always given her the freedom to refuse.
"Do you want to sit and have lunch together?" NOT "Let's sit and eat together."
"Do you want to go to the Galaxy Gala and dance?" NOT "Dance with me."
"Do you want to grow old with me?" NOT "Grow old with me."
As Sam had his back turned away, he stood there quietly in deep thought. Seconds felt like an eternity as his eyes were fixated at the constellations, connecting dots to pass time.
He finally proposed and couldn't believe their relationship had come to this point.
His emotions were that of fireworks lit simultaneously -building up to burst into color then immediately dispurse only to be lit again and take to the sky.
He was finally brought back to earth as Colleen hugs him from behind. He hoped for her to utter 'yes' but she remained quiet. Sam turns to her and hugs back, his heart aching reciprocation. Colleen loosens her grip then raises her hand and like Orion's Belt, the ring graced her finger.
Overjoyed, Sam starts swaying Colleen in a semi-crushing embrace. They managed to cancel out the vehicle's honking and the stares of people who rushed past them.
"Hmmhmm..che notte..." Sam hummed.
"stellata.." They sang in unison.
It was just them, the moon, the stars and their love. Sam kisses Colleen's forehead and as she clung tighter to his warm embrace, they cried.
EPILOGUE
"MOMMY! MOMMY?"
A small boy with short, caramel-colored hair darted into the kitchen.
"May you please watch just one more episode of Little Einstein's with me? Please with an extra cherry on top?"
"All right then it's nap time, understood? Mommy still has work to finish."
"But...but Daddy said the baby will get tired! Don't get tired, Mommy!" The boy blurts as he rushes back to the living room where his father slept on the couch. Or so Colleen thought.
"Is she on her way?" Sam asks between whistling snores.
"Roger, Commander Holt. I know what to do!" Matt responds with a salute.
"Sshhh. All right. Mission is a go." Sam whispers while snoring at an even faster pace.
And upon hearing his mother's footsteps, the boy sings. "Mhmm che notte stellataaAAAAA"
The TV's voice recognition, upon indirect command, plays a song. A very familiar song.
Sam awakens from his pseudo slumber and jumps to his feet.
"Care to dance?" Sam holds out his hand.
"The baby kicked when you asked. Yes, I'd love to." Colleen curtsies.
"May I dance with the baby too??" Matt burrowed his face on his mother's belly. Sam hoists the young boy in his arms.
"You can bet your bottom dollar the baby would love too!" The Holts swayed and hummed to that sweet tune.
Hoping to the stars for the baby to be born soon.
A/Ns: Thanks for reading! Notte Stellata" is inspired by true events! My uncle proposed to my aunt (mom's sis) in a similar fashion. I thought his manner was really romantic and it's one of the inspirations for this one-shot, the music being the other. The title is a song sung by an amazing Italian trio, Il Volo and it may be familiar to fans of Japanese figure skater, Yuzuru Hanyu, who performed a skate program to it last year if (I'm not mistaken) and it was a few months ago I realized that it perfectly suits Sam and Colleen.
Hopefully, my future works exceed the standard word count.
Please feel free to leave comments on what I can do to improve.
Thank you for reading!
PAIRINGS: PsyBorg, Uki Violeta x Fulgur Ovid
TAGS & WARNINGS: Song Lyric Fic, Angst, Implied/Reference Character Death, Blood, Depictions of Stabbing, Blood, and Violence
CHARACTERS: Uki Violeta, Fulgur Ovid, Alban Knox, Sonny Brisko, and Yugo Asuma (Graduated 2023)
A/Ns: Listen to "Queen of Peace" by Florence + The Machine. This one-shot is part of FLOW: an anthology of PsyBorg fanfics inspired by Florence + the Machine songs.
“Is this what you want cuz you’re drIVING ME AWAY!!!!”
It was the first time Uki had ever raised his voice. Uki’s voice cracked like a crow choking on worms as he lay on the run-down warehouses’ floor writhing in pain.
Fulgur’s eyes glowed with red fury as a virus poisoned his system. The clang of metal and the buzz of sparking wires clashed in every punch he had blown toward his opponents. That’s how this anomaly viewed Uki, Yugo, Alban, and Sonny.
Each tried to reason with him by bringing up memories as if opening files on a computer folder but the cyborg couldn't recognize the voices of his comrades.
He couldn’t recognize Uki’s voice. The same voice that had greeted him ‘good morning’, ‘good night’, the voice that had told him ‘mwah’ and 'I love you’ fell on deaf ears.
He couldn’t recognize the voice of the person he had promised not to hurt. The virus’ only directive was to damage and destroy.
“We can’t restrain him without a plan,” Sonny spat out blood.
“Gotta make it quick,” Alban dodges a kick.
“Uki, what do we do?” Yugo ran to Uki's side, helping him back on his feet.
Uki had foreseen this and had done everything in his power to avoid it.
He 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 exactly what to do.
"I...need to…I need to get to his blind spot. I need to get close to him," Uki coughed trying to gasp even an ounce of air through his broken ribs.
"Ok! I’ll do that!" Yugo ran to the car that had been parked right outside where the ruckus was taking place. With a flip of his laptop and simultaneous tuning of buttons and knobs, Yugo screams.
"SONNY! ALBAN! COVER YOUR EARS! NOW!" A high pitched note blasts through the speakers and awakes the night from its slumber.
Fulgur got to his knees and screamed in agony as the frequency reverberated like a banshee's scream through his body. Uki runs to Fulgur with a syringe-like vial in hand but Fulgur remains vigilant. He fights the frequency and trips Uki in the process.
“LOUDER, YUGOOOO!” Alban exclaims to which Yugo plugs an amplifier and increases the volume.
Uki restrains Fulgur beneath his light weight and plunges the vial to his sternum. The redness in Fulgur’s eyes dissipates and the softness in his voice resurfaces from the disturbing one-worders he spoke.
“I…love…you,” Fulgur whispers to Uki.
The remaining members of Noctyx approached the two. “Finally, a cure! Nice going, Uki! He’ll be healed in no time!” Alban dusted the grime from his gloves and laughed in relief as he reached his hand out for a high five. He slowly put it down.
“Hey, why is everyone quiet? We did it right? We healed him?” Yugo knelt down to inspect Fulgur’s body.
“Uki..” Sonny now understood all those instances Uki had approached him for intel and information.
Everything made sense as tears streamed from Uki’s eyes to Fulgur’s cheeks.
Like a long stream
I'll bear all this echoing
Oh, what is it worth?
All that's left is hurt
A/Ns: Once you've reached the end notes, listen to "St. Jude" by Florence + The Machine. Thank you so much for reading "King of Peace"! Posting the next installation soon.
STORY ii | WRITING MASTERLIST | FLOW SERIES MASTERLIST
SUMMARY: Dura’s Dawn: A glorious battle that led all Hypogeans to their demise — a victory to be remembered for generations to come — but with Esperia and its people still dealing with the damage, seeking solace is an afterthought for the kingdom’s valiant, war heroes. Amidst the unrest, Estrilda searches for hers.
CHARACTERS: Estrilda, Thane, Golus, and then some
TAGS: Post Hypogean War, Introspection, Angst, Tags & Characters to Be Added as Story Progresses.
HEARTSEASE MASTERLIST ◇ NEXT CHAPTER
Estrilda, a noble daughter from the House of Rayne, sat in her studio — a quaint room filled with all conceivable tools of the arts and fresh morning air flowing through the gigantic, glass window overlooking the estate's garden. The sky was bright, light blue in hue and the flowers she had tended in her spare time was now in bloom. It would have been a perfect subject to frame and, hopefully, hang on some wealthy curator's wall.
Auctioning the portrait for its worth in gold would not be enough though since her father's abode was to be reclaimed by the kingdom until the men of her once rowdy yet joyous house had returned or she, a frail woman, proved herself worthy of her clan's name, and the legacy attached to it. Eviction dawned and it was, in fact, soon.
"Milady, it is time."
Perhaps too soon.
Belta, Estrilda's lady-in-waiting arrives with a set of clean undergarments, traveling tunic, and footwear. She sets a ceramic bowl and pitcher on the floor then, with a sigh, fills it with warm water.
"It's a shame. I won't get to see you nor your paintings anymore." She plucks the lavender from the stem with a swift pull, letting the buds wade in the water. She wrings the floral-infused washcloth until it was not as soaked. The dyes had stained Estrilda's lap, the brush's bristles now condensed and crusted with paint. A servant takes the once damp brush from her loose grasp while other abled assistants swiftly packed her dyes, easel, and her blank canvas. As soon as they finished packing, they gently closed the door behind them. Now bare and hair pinned up, Belta wipes her lady's body clean.
"My lady, your ride awaits." A male servant informs eyes averted, keeping the door ajar.
Both women make haste, Estrilda insists that she assisted in getting herself dressed much to Belta's dismay so she rushes to the other room. Estrilda quickly puts her undergarments and tighten her traveling tunic with a belt then buckles her footwear. Belta returns with a brush then gently yet thoroughly combs golden strands into sections for braiding. With fingers working like a loom weaving thread, Belta braids Estrilda's hair into plaits then tucks back any loose strands behind either ear.
"All done. Is there anything you need?"
"I would like to be left alone."
“Yes, milady.” Belta carries the discarded dirty clothing on one arm and the lavender-infused water in another carefully treading a path that would not lead to spillage.
"Wait."
"Yes, milady?" She stopped in her tracks, a few droplets escaping.
"You have served my father's household well. Do take care."
With a tinge of sadness in her eyes, Belta musters a smile, bows her head and takes her leave. The way the sound leaves a room sets the young woman in melancholy.
Estrilda walks towards the balcony, disbelief dancing on her face as she watches the flowers being harvested and dropped into round, wicker baskets. It was to be carried away perhaps some would make it to the marketplace to be sold for a reasonable price while the defects would be thrown away. What use is there of flowers when there will be no one left to care for their growth? Estrilda was no different.
She takes a few steps back to stand dead center taking it all in one last time. Her beloved home was soon to be desolate and dust-ridden. The room and the remaining furniture had now been covered in musky coverings, the scent of lavender overpowered by something more...ominous.
"Smoke?"
The black fumes quickly slip underneath the door and into the room. Estrilda coughs while making her way back to the balcony only to see the garden in flames. She returns to the door only to find it locked. The metal knobs glowed as if it were being forged. Unbeknownst to the heat, she grabs hold of it only to bend from shock and pain.
“SOMEONE? ANYONE? HELP!" She screams and gathers strength to barge the door open with the full force of her body but to no avail. She lies down, coughing profusely, lungs brimming with anything but oxygen.
A distorted figure emerges from the smoke, looming from above and ensnaring her body in darkness.
"Good Night." Its deep gurgled voice echoes as she struggles to stay conscious but she succumbs to suffocation.
Alas, a gasp escaped her lips.
Estrilda bolts up with an unsheathed dagger in hand. Eyes now opened and chest heaving for air, as if she had been submerged in an undertow. A familiar voice addresses her sudden wake.
"Must be quite a dream, I presume.”
Thane, an extensively skilled one-armed swordsman who had taken upon himself the task of training the Knight of Valor at the tender age of ten, and with little to no experience had raised Estrilda under his wing being her legal guardian as of late, was rekindling logs in the fireplace. The embers blanketed Estrilda's quarters in a warm glow as the evening sky brought a rather untimely thunderstorm.
Estrilda sheaths her weapon then rubs the thudding in her temples. The bandage wrapped around her head was damp, her sweat mixed with the scent of lavender.
"Thank goodness, you're awake!" Belta arrives with a wooden tray. Estrilda's mouth waters at the sight of cheese, sliced bread, and a bowl of piping-hot, hearty stew. She stands whisking it away from her then sets it on her lap. Manners out the way, she ate the meal with gusto.
"Seems I will have to fetch another batch for you, Sir Thane. Would you still like to have your meal in here?"
"The dining area will do."
Belta nods then steps out to prepare his meal with a slight skip in her step.
"Since when did you arrive?" She asks between bites, hastily dipping pieces of bread into the stew, staining her nightgown in the process.
“Three days ago. You've been out for five. Why aren't you in the infirmary?"
"You know I can't stand that place." Her words hang in the air as she nibbles cheese.
"I am aware but I require you to visit the court physician first before the banquet." Thane sets the iron rod near the hearth then flicks rust from fingers before retrieving a scroll from his belt, a fancy invitation by the kingdom's beloved king to celebrate her eighteen years of age.
"It says the banquet is tomorrow. Why is it tomorrow?" Estrilda skims through text and dreads the thought of celebrating amidst reclamation. This didn’t sit well with her and neither with Thane who worried more for her injured state than some soirée, however, this wasn’t just an ordinary occasion they could shelve and retrieve some other time. With a sigh, Thane peers out the window then draw the curtains to a close.
"The court physician will be the one to decide if you're to make an appearance."
"Sir Thane, I've prepared your meal. It's set in the dining hall." Belta returns to take the tray and, much to Estrilda’s surprise, a ceramic bowl and pitcher filled with water. Estrilda gets the cloth and wipes the crumbs and excess tomato puree from her mouth. The whiff of lavender sets her agitation at ease.
“I shall take my leave. Do get some more rest.” Thane turns his heels and leaves Estrilda’s quarters, quick yet quiet footsteps make its way down the hallway then disappearing a flight of stairs. With her guardian out of site, she straightened her nightgown. Unrest settled in and she could not bring herself to lie back down. A little evening walk would have done her good but it would be too risky to evade Thane. With no other option in sight, she visits her studio. It'd been so long since she set foot there.
The marble floor was cold beneath her feet and the creaking noise caused by the doors made her wince. Standing dead center, a pang of sadness pools in her heart as she reminisces its prime. She knew where everything was despite the darkness and dust-ridden coverings. She relives her recent dream, piecing everything that had happened, and what it could have meant but the musky scent was too overpowering. With a little push, she opens the window to hear an oratorio of crickets and birds, the quiet drizzle of an ending evening storm, and the whirring of fresh air. The scent of petrichor signals her to go back to sleep.
