QUE SERA SERA ♡

as i've already stated, i'm moving zelos over to isola the moment it opens! but i’ve decided to archive this blog in favor of a fresh start. new year, new me, etc. the new blog will be under the same url of desipiam. and i will be following anyone going to isola when apps start being accepted.  a few more things to note:

zelos will be keeping all his memories of his time in citta alveare!

i will be approaching people throughout the week about whether or not they’d like to keep threads, but anything pertaining to citta and its environment in particular (such as events, location based things, etc) will be dropped!

zelos reaffirming him placates the pain. whether zelos truly will do as he says or not, lloyd does not focus on it. he can’t. there is nothing more he can do for zelos besides push him. prod him in the right direction.

he cannot do that on aselia. the him zelos is returning to doesn’t know any of this. likely does not know his own feelings, either. that’s how it had been in the hive, hadn’t it? two months is so short. it’s so damn short.

zelos’ words catch him off guard.

the coil in his chest snaps against itself. lloyd has no words to speak, not from lungs that push every cubic of air from his chest. everything shakes within him. his hands, his heart, his lungs, his resolve -

will i be? how can you be sure?

the memories being taken is a kindness as much as it is a cruelty.

the tingling in his fingers was not the overbearing grief. lloyd shoulders hike when the weight of zelos’ hand slips through his own. like a spirit. for only a moment, does he stare, eyes wide.

it’s time. he is leaving. it’s his turn to go home.

“i love you.” lloyd manages his arms around zelos’ shoulders. even they have give as he grasps the chosen. “i love you. i’ll miss you.”

please be happy.

it happens far too fast.

his hand is held by lloyd’s, and then it isn’t, and the other grows dimmer like he’s... like he’s fading away. he can feel just the barest pressure as lloyd coils his arms around his shoulders, like being touched by a ghost. he brings his arms up to hold him

but he’s gone.

he doesn’t even have a chance to get a damn word in.

i love you. i’ll miss you.

he can almost feel himself begin to tear up. he hadn’t cried in years. he was convinced he had lost that ability a long time ago, but they bead at the edges of his vision, threatening to fall. he doesn’t let them.

“i love you.” the words leave his lips before he can stop them. he says them to no one. to the open air. words he never said when he could. words he should have said, but didn’t. “you’ll be alright, bud.”

he stands there, alone.

“zelos.”

his voice cracks. the word is croaked. with its stumbling from his lips, the paper-thin smile falls with it. like a dying bulb, the light in lloyd’s expression flickers. it’s a struggle to put it back on, so with all that he can muster, the brunet settles with something firm.

the chosen’s hand is captured between lloyd’s own. delicately does he hold it, remembering how his callouses compliment the smoothness of zelos’ skin. he’ll miss it. his heart jumps against his ribs.

“tell him.” speaks hurts. his throat hurts. “tell me.”

his grip tightens. lloyd never wished to trap zelos - not ever. he would allow the chosen to pull away, to flutter away to some safe distance whether physically or verbally. but now, lloyd pleads with his grasp, holds zelos captive in that moment. stares at him with tear-heavy eyes.

“when you go back, tell me.”

you must be happy. please, be happy.

“the me in your world - he would want to hear it.”

tell him.

he can’t find it in himself to argue now, though a part deep inside of him insists to express his feelings again would be making himself unnecessarily vulnerable. he couldn’t do it again. he didn’t have it in him. but he bites it back. “yeah.” he squeezes lloyd’s hand in return. is this truly the last time he’ll hold the brunet’s hand?

“i’ll tell him. you.” it almost doesn’t sound like a lie, even to his own ears. he almost believes he will. and maybe...

god, he didn’t think he’d have such a hard time saying goodbye.

whatever it was - fate, kratos might say, or god, colette might say - was kind.

lloyd turns his head at the sound of a voice, one voice that mattered most over the cacophony of the hive falling apart, and smiles. his warm brown eyes shimmer, lashes clumping with fat tears. he cannot help it - even if he brushed off his cheeks, more would fall. so, he smiles.

his shoulders visibly raise with the effort to bring in a steadying breath. the ache in his chest is nigh unbearable. it feels as though his lungs are collapsing, fighting the heaves of sobs that he wants to swallow. for a moment, he says nothing, looks away and his throat bobs with the force of the act. finally, the breath comes and he deflates.

“yeah.”

lloyd’s heart is a burden in his chest. it thrums harder, with purposeful weight than ever before. he has been sad before, but this cruelty wrought unto him was one of the worst sorrows he’s had to face yet. they were going home. that was good.

but a world where zelos is no longer there is hard to miss when the mind is young and full of hope. the heart full of love.

he finally digs up the courage to approach the redhead. slowly, he swipes the heels of his palms over his cheeks, pushing the tears away as they fall with increasing fervor.

"i guess we don't have much time left."

who knew when the city would decide to spit them out for good? it could be minutes, hours. but he knew in his gut when he opened his eyes tomorrow he’d be back in his estate, light streaming in from the window. maybe sebastian or seles tapping at the door to see if he’s awake.

maybe...

“this is a good thing, right?” it’s meant to be soothing, but it carries the weight of a question all the same. asking for reassurance himself. this is good, right? this is good. “we knew we weren’t going to be staying here forever.”

it’s all falling apart.

lloyd does not realize that this is perhaps his worst fear. not until he witnesses the chaos. people are celebrating, mourning, and discussing the fall of hive city. the scientists are awol. it is all going to shit, yet people are laughing, crying, exercising powers they haven’t felt in years.

he feels numb. he wonders where zelos is. where his father is. martel, mithos - everyone. the city falls apart around him, as it has a few times now. sectors destroyed on a whim or by accident. every time, he had run to help.

but people are disappearing. they are going home.

‘i don’t want to go home.’

it sickens him to think such a thing when all he had ever wanted was the right the wrongs the mere existence of this city embodied.

people should be going home.

but what of their connections? their friendships? their jobs, their homes, their lives? all that they had built up here, from near-nothing. it is crumbling and they are going home.

lloyd wants to see aselia again. he has a job to do there, one which hive city had reinvigorated his determination to complete. but home … home …

he is not there.

the smoke, wherever it comes from, stings his eyes. that is what he wishes to believe, but ever-emotive, ever-honest lloyd irving cries. he stands and he cries, curses himself silently for not doing anything. for just watching. this was beyond even him, which he loathed to admit, but there was still time. time to find zelos.

time to say goodbye.

yet he stands. and he cries.

 nothing gold can stay, and all good things come to an end.

 he was stupid to think this would be any different.

 he should be happy. he should be ecstatic, to go back to a world he did truly love despite all its faults. there were things that needed to be done, a church to salvage, he had made a promise to the king... all this time, he’d been running from that. here in this city. it hadn’t been his choice, of course, but he had secretly relished the chance to live a life away from the chaos of aselia. away from the wreckage cruxis had made. he’d gotten too comfortable here. and now he had to pay the price of being foolish.

 the idea of going home, of seeing meltokio again...puts a pit in his stomach large enough to fall into.

 and matters are not helped any when he catches sight of lloyd.

 he’s crying. he feels something like a pang -- an honest to god sharp gripping on his heart, and his mind is saying that it’s not right to see lloyd irving cry when he should be smiling.

  "Well, well!"  He hadn’t seen nor even thought of the half elven woman much since a month or so ago, when he had had that awful, extremely vivid dream. Even now, seeing her, he could feel his shoulder begin to itch -- the uncomfortable feeling of crystal engulfing his body all too real. A stray hand, of its own volition, came to rub at it, and felt nothing but smooth skin.  He still felt awkward around her. And that was a feeling he did not enjoy. But he swallowed down whatever hesitance he had, and offered her a smile. 

  Zelos was thankful for the way the weather had begun to warm up. There was nothing quite like a nice summer day, lounging poolside. Except, perhaps, lounging poolside surrounded by dozens of attractive folks wearing nothing but swimsuits. Now this was the kind of community bonding he could get behind. Nothing traumatic, just sun and water and the raucous sound of people enjoying themselves.   He took a sip of his drink. ...And was immediately drenched, as a large wave of water hit him in the back. It was shockingly cold. He sputtered, nearly choking. 

[disappointed stare]

THE STEADFAST TIN SOLDIER: paper dolls. rain against a windowpane.  fish for supper.   silent communications through eye contact.  a tiny tin heart. cobbled streets.  deep rivers. open fireplaces. well-loved toys.

THUMBELINA: water lilies and lily pads.  red and yellow tulips. sun reflecting against water.  iridescent beetles. singing beautiful songs.  swallows. butterfly wings. dresses made from flowers. dark tunnels. stories about summer.

LITTLE MATCH GIRL: bitterly cold winds.  sound of a match striking.  falling stars. the most beautiful dream. tiny flickering flames.  fat snowflakes. the feeling on New Year’s Eve.  ignored by all but one.

THE SNOW QUEEN: shattered mirrors.  early morning sled rides.  rose bushes. crows. dancing shadows. robbers and thieves. sleeping with a knife. reindeer. ice skates. tears of joy. northern lights.

@desipiam​

There were few things that earned the Grand Cardinal’s wrath on sight like the stench of a filthy traitor. Of course, Pronyma was aware that picking up dogs off the street often more trouble than it was worth- their misbehavior was absolutely revolting. She’d foolishly seen potential in those desolate eyes and smug appearance. 

It turned out he was just the same as the other garbage blowing across the streets of Meltokio.

His very presence made her skin crawl, the pure anger bubbling up behind the surface. It was him and his human friends who’d robbed her of everything she had left. It was their fault she’d been cast aside by Yggdrasil. There was’t so much as a breath spared before pulling out her stick and pointing it the sad excuse for a man.

“I don’t know if you have no balls or entirely too many to fuck with Cruxis and then show your face around me.”

 Death held none of its usual permanence here. The learning curve of this city was undeniably steep, and this was one of its first lessons. You could watch the life leave a person’s eyes...and see them again, milling about in the crowds, just as real and well as the day they took their last breathe. They took you from wherever and whenever they pleased to plop you down in this place -- whether it be from your living room sofa or six feet under. It didn’t matter.

  So seeing her here? Didn’t shock him. But he certainly wasn’t thrilled. Not at all.

  “Still mad, huh?”

  Her devotion to Yggdrasil was in some way oddly admirable. He had watched himself as the former Great Hero had cast her quickly cooling body aside carelessly, even as she had plead for her own life. To be able to forgive her master for such cruelty... Perhaps not admirable. More like foolish.

QUESTIONS/COMMENTS TO BE SENT ON/OFF ANON.

  "I haven't done that much." He seems almost...embarrassed? Uncomfortable? By the woman’s words. 

QUESTIONS/COMMENTS TO BE SENT ON/OFF ANON.

"No." 

 There’s being alone and there’s being alone. Well and truly alone. To be abandoned. Only one of these things terrifies him, and from their tone he knows which one they mean. The fact they’ve managed to hit the nail on the head is extremely irksome.