Hello
If you're a returning reader who needs a refresher or you're new to the series, here's the link to the Wattpad book (still WIP ofc):
https://www.wattpad.com/story/338220134-the-icarus-theory
If you have oneshot suggestions, ideas/requests for me, drop a comment on my user page or the post!
https://dreamteam.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000000096073
Thanks for reading :D
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Trigger Warnings: Caps
Chapter name from "Pompeii" by Bastille
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Chapter Eleven: And the Walls (Kept Tumbling Down)
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Slimecicle knew how to use words. He could understand them, and he could speak. But sometimes, he felt like words were... too small.
Too small to truly capture a moment, a feeling. After all, words were just words. Letters are combined to make sounds, the sounds used to describe things.
So many words, but not enough to truly shed light. A sunset, for example, could be described as majestic, colorful, or glowing, but those were just words. Sounds. What noise can you possibly make that captures the moment of release? The glory of the sun, setting the stage for the moon and her children?
Silver, peaceful, serene, mysterious was the moon. Dazzling, hypnotizing, argent, lovely. Charlie had taught Slimecicle many words. But what use were they?
Sure, they could help you visualize a scene, yet you'd never experience the truth. Slimecicle could say he felt happy, staring at the moon. Or blissful, calm, or content. But could you ever feel what he was feeling, just based on those words? No.
So many words, all meaning the same thing, yet none of them make a difference.
The way you spoke was part of your personality. Tommy was loud, brash, and open. His sharp tongue and quick wit made him enjoyable. Ranboo was shy and calm, someone who patiently listened to you. Purpled was quiet and only spoke when necessary. He always got the point across.
In all the words they use, in all their tones of speaking, they were only expressing their thoughts and nothing more. So, how does the way you speak give other people an understanding of you?
Slimecicle was confused by words. He didn't feel they were necessary. But what would life be like without them? Without a way to express yourself?
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A loud thud stabbed the calm in the library.
"TUBBO! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck— Oh my GODS." Tommy's cackle rang out, startling Ranboo.
Slimecicle nervously glanced towards Callahan and Purpled at the table. They were both staring at the scene.
"PURPLED'S GONNA MURDER US!" Tommy shrieked hysterically.
"He wouldn't have found out if you hadn't screamed like that," Tubbo grumbled.
Too late. Purpled was already approaching, with Callahan at his heels. He scowled at Tommy. "What happened here?" His violet gaze shifted from Tubbo's guilty face to Tommy cackling, to Ranboo trembling. A large bluish crystal lay on the carpeted floor.
"Tubbo of Snowchester knocked it over," Slimecicle smiles innocently.
Purpled sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He leaned down to pick up the stone, exasperation written across his face.
Callahan grinned and signed something with his hands.
Purpled sighed again. "I know, right?"
"We're sorry," Tommy smiled sweetly.
"For knocking over your stuff," Tubbo added angelically.
Callahan petted Tommy on the head and waved to him. "It's okay, we were done anyway. Come talk to me," Purpled translated.
"Uh, okay," Tommy shrugged and followed Callahan away. Purpled watched Callahan take out a piece of paper and a quill, and, sighing again, turned away and approached a bookshelf.
Slimecicle noticed how Tubbo and Ranboo sat down on the carpet together, They whispered to each other, foreheads nearly touching. He looked again at Purpled, selecting a thick volume from the shelf, and decided to socialize.
"Hello."
Purpled looked up from his book, blinked in acknowledgment, and resumed.
"What are you reading?" Slime slid into the seat next to him, trying to peek over his shoulder.
"Greek mythology," Purpled replies. Slimecicle stared, confused by the jumble of symbols. They looked like the ones on his List, back at the lab in L'Manberg.
"What do these symbols mean?" Slime asked, pointing to the scrawls of ink on the paper.
"Those symbols are letters. Letters, when put together, make words," Charlie explained patiently.
"What do my words say?"
"Eight fifty-nine, test one, subject's reactions to substances."
The only times Slimecicle had seen words before were on his schedule and on signs he passed in the laboratory. Charlie had told him what they all meant. Now, here he was, with a group of people he's only known for a week or two, staring at a volume of Greek mythology.
"Want me to read some to you?" Purpled offers calmly. Slimecicle pauses, startled. Did he actually just—
At Slimecicle's bewilderment, Purpled tilts his head. "You don't have to, you know. Go off and do what you do."
"Please read me some," Slimecicle said sincerely.
Purpled blinks. "Alright." He flips to a random page and reads the title as "The Boy Who Flew Too Close. The story of Icarus; he's one of Tommy's favorites."
Slimecicle points to an image on the page. It showed a beautiful brunet-blond boy soaring in the cloudless sky, massive black wings stretched behind him. The picture's sun was a glowing halo around his head. "Is he Tommy of L'Manberg?"
"Maybe at some point, he was," Purpled replied mysteriously.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Tommy's theory. He calls it 'the Icarus Theory,' ironically." Purpled shrugged. "It's just an idea."
"Tell me more." Slimecicle leaned forward, intrigued.
"Tommy believes our existences are too complicated to be a coincidence. I believe it too. His theory explains how people you look up to were extensions of yourself, living in a different life." Purpled frowned, searching for the right words. "Like, your lifetimes are all connected and always lead to the same ending, and there is no escaping it."
"Whoa. That's deep," Slimecicle commented.
"It's not proven yet. It's just a thought," Purpled shrugged. "Now, do you want to hear the story?"
Slimecicle nodded, and Purpled began.
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Next update Sunday
