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new-endings · 4 years

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The Nice and Accurate Guide to Courting

Was I supposed to go to church and find out myself that it’s World Marriage Day? yes again i know it’s a catholic thing but these two are V MARRIED and deserve to celebrate.

Anyways here’s a thing I posted on ao3

Summary: As Hell’s bastard prince, Crowley is expected to wed an Archangel of Heaven’s kingdom to bring peace between the two warring nations.

It really is too bad he only has eyes for his sweet, bastard of a Guide, the Principality Aziraphale, who is dead-set on making sure the engagement happens.

For the sake of their kingdoms, Aziraphale leads him through the long, arduous road of winning an Archangel’s favor and affections. However, Crowley would much rather use that romantic guidance to win him over instead.

-as Dictated By Anathema Device, Written in Full Detail By Newton Pulsifer

Step 1: Select the Target (of your Affections)

And thus sayeth the Lord of Heaven:

The wars are pointless. Might as well make a ceasefire. Hey, here’s an idea: bring your most expendable pawn to join in unholy matrimony with one of my elitist wankers to bolster this war-ruined economy.

Or rather, that’s how Crowley perceived the whole ordeal to have gone.

Perhaps a tad cruder than the grand scrolls with its elegant scripts, wriggly signatures and glorious crests and coat-of-arms adorning the designated treaty between their two kingdoms would lead others to believe. But in the end, that hardly mattered to Crowley.

Because spectacle and ceremony aside, Hell really did send their more expendable (but still Royal-Enough-to-Count) pawn to join in unholy matrimony with one of Heaven’s damned Divines. With the Archangels—anointed by the Queen herself as miniature de facto rulers of Heaven’s domains. Sneering, snobbish, stuffy and insufferable and this scheme—

Suicidal. This entire trip, the entire ordeal, and the very notion that the precariously perched balance of peace laid within Crowley, Bastard Prince of Hell’s, begrudging hands— is utterly stupid.

Crowley scowled as he eyed the Garden’s flora. The wisteria withered under his gaze, petal quivering in the face of the sour aura exuded from the sulking Prince. But could they really blame him? Flowers know nothing of having one’s whole life centered around the illegitimacy of one’s birth—constantly reminded of their position as the withered, rotting branch the imperial tree, and then all of a sudden being Granted this fine opportunity to bring honor and peace to his damned Kingdom with the underlying threat of You better not fuck this up looming over their heads—

He heard commotion from beyond the castle gates and the ominous barking of hellhounds beneath. He let a grin snake across his lips. Ah. So the search begins.

He knew galivanting off to make some trouble would earn him a proper reprimand now that they were actually trying to make nice with the Birds, but who did they have to blame it on but themselves? After all, Crowley spent many-a-year crafting his extensive history as a terrorizing nuisance, an intolerable annoyance, an antagonizing—

“Oh, dear…”

Angel?

Crowley peeked behind the archways, catching sight of cloud-puff hair and nervous, wringing hands.

Attached to, unsurprisingly, an Angel, looking down at the ensuing mad scatter below.

There was a curious pull; something that Crowley didn’t bother to question as he inched forward and leaned against the cool stone of the curtain wall. “That one went down like a lead balloon, eh?”

Rather than flinch, the Angel let out an absentminded laugh. “Yes, rather.” He paused, the realization that there was another presence dawning on him. He turned. “Err. Sorry, what was it that you were saying?”

Looking back at it, Crowley would have sworn up and down his breath caught at the sight of cherubic cheeks, sea-storm eyes, and worried-bitten lips. But in reality, the single word Pretty passed through his brain at such an alarming speed that Crowley barely had the attention-span to catch it as the Pretty Angel looked to him expectantly to answer.

Crowley stepped forth from the cool shade of the trees and joined the curious Angel at his perch. “I said that one went down like a lead balloon.”

“Oh. I suppose you’re right.” His eyes flickered down and he brought his hands together. There that nervous habit was again.

Crowley cleared his throat, eyes overlooking the bailey to the dots of villages over the horizon. “I think it was a bit of an overreaction, to be honest.”

The Angel beside him shrugged, an uneasiness in his voice. “He’s a Prince.”

Ah. So that’s what this Angel was concerned about. He tried to keep the mirth from his voice. “And shouldn’t his footmen have been keeping a better eye on him because of that?” Hats off to Hastur and Ligur for being the best of the worst—Crowley knew he did well in selecting them. “It’s of no consequence to you, Angel.”

“What—of course it does!” Crowley raised a brow as the angel began to fluster all over again. “Oh, dear…He’s supposed to be my charge! I was to be his Guide in our Kingdom!” Panic started to creep into his voice all over again. “I haven’t even met him yet and now—he’s gone!”

It took perhaps a second or two to register what exactly this Angel was saying. Charge? This lovely fool of an Angel—was to be his Guide?

Huh. Maybe Crowley’s luck was taking a turn for the better after all.

“Where could he be? This is terrible—he must feel so lost right now! And alone!” Crowley gave a fascinated smile and was just his luck that the Angel missed it as he cast his eyes to the skies above for guidance, and then earthward for commiseration as the hellhounds sniffed fruitlessly for a trail that Crowley was more than adept at throwing off.

A plan drowsily wormed its way to Crowley’s thoughts. Perhaps he could have a bit of fun here as well. “Hang on there, Angel. I’m sure your charge isn’t too far off.”

The Angel did a double-take at the mysterious figure shrouded in dark robes—perchance comprehending for the first time that he was not conversing with another Bird. “Did you know the Prince? I ah, assumed you arrived with him,” he asked imploringly. “Perhaps he was merely hungry and wanted a nibble. Or—or he spoke of wanting to visit someplace in the Kingdom?”

That startled a laugh out of Crowley. He lowered his hood, fiery red hair and amber eyes unveiled to the Angel. “You could say that. But no, he didn’t seem to be very interested in…sightseeing, as it were.” He gave a knowing grin. “Perhaps he slithered off just to be a pest.”

“If he were trying to get lost on purpose, that just makes the situation even more difficult and dangerous!” The Angel was frowning again and—did he really not realize that Crowley was the person he was looking for?

This’ll be even more fun. “There, there.” He gave a friendly pat to the Angel’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be all right. Say, I’ll even help find him for you.” He bit back a chuckle.

But ah… “Oh! You would?” How the Angel lit up like the morning sky at that.

I’d gift you an entire continent if you keep looking at me with those eyes. Crowley shook that thought from his head. “Of course.” He hummed, giving a sly smile. “For a price.”

The Angel blinked once. Then twice. “Oh.” Then, with certainty: “Name it. If it’s mine to give, it’s yours.”

Crowley leaned in closer, tilting his head to catch more of this Angel’s guarded face. Ah, not so soft and vulnerable now… “Oh, Angel. You ought to be careful making deals with Demons.”

The Angel sent him a dry look. “I’m in no mood for your theatrics, err...” He gave a questioning glance.

Without even thinking: “J.” After one second of thinking: J?![

“Jay?” The Angel echoed.

Crowley shook his head; no going back on that one. “No, just J.”

“What does…”

“It’s just a J. Really,” he muttered tersely.

“Okay…J.” The Angel looked more unsure of pronouncing the Demon’s name than the terms of their agreement. “And yes. I’m sure. No price is too great for peace.”

Ah. One of those then. Crowley could understand the noble efforts and the valiant naivete that peace could be kept between their people all through the binding of blood-ties, but he fancied himself more of a realist. Still… “Very well.” He’ll lend a hand regardless for the sweet and foolish Angel before him. “Your name, then.” It’s not like he has a choice in the matter.

The Angel sputtered. “My—my what?”

Crowley eyed him with confusion and impatience. “Give me your name.”

“What—just because you were saddled with just a J doesn’t quite mean—”

“No, you twat.” He rolled his eyes at the offended gasp from his companion. “I meant I’d like to know your name. That’s all. Unless you’d prefer me to call you Angel all the time. Or Bird.”

The Angel at least had the manners to look embarrassed. “Aziraphale,” he stated, holding out his hand in introduction. “That’s my name.”

Lovely. “Eh. Too long. I’ll stick with Angel instead.” It’s still miles better than Just a J but even Crowley’s subconscious refuses to acknowledge that. Taking the Angel’s hand and leading him away to the grounds below, he said over his shoulder: “Well, let’s be off. He’s obviously not here, right?”

“R-right!”

It was surprisingly hard work, finding yourself.

Or rather, pretending to find the person that you already are while at the same time avoiding the hellhounds and whatever green Hellions of his Legion still haven’t learned their lesson about not-even-bothering-to-try-and-find-Prince-Crowley-when-he’s-escaped.

That, on top of navigating through a caste town with an Angel (also guilelessly looking for him) at his side.

There were one-too many close calls with a hellhound or two picking up his scent where he had to (regrettably) drag Aziraphale away from bakeries and patisseries towards the iron-sharp stench of the butcher’s just to throw them off. Some distance away, he could hear a soldier wrestling the dogs away from the meats, cursing colorfully with strained effort. It was a good thing his companion did little but eye him suspiciously whenever Crowley did so, but he shrugged it off whenever the Demon began (unwisely) interrogating the man possessing a meat-cleaver on the whereabouts of the Prince of Hell.

By the third hour of his escape, his disappearance was abuzz in all manner of conversation. So much so that it suddenly became quite easy to hide in plain sight. After all, they were expecting the Prince to hide amongst the shadows, fearful of daylight and capture, not be meandering off with a strange Angel he met by the Gardens and cross-examining people of his own location.

“Are you quite certain that the Prince wouldn’t be err… peckish at this hour?”

It’s barely noon Crowley thought, and no, he wouldn’t be. He wasn’t too fond of mealtime; not when a hot plate of food also meant the whole ordeal of sitting through Beelzebub’s barking orders or the rousing topics of current politics hovering like flies. “I don’t believe so—”

A shadow of disappointment flashed through Aziraphale’s face before a new spark of inspiration brightened it. “Ah, but!” He took Crowley by the arm, leading him to another direction. “You’re a newcomer after all— please, let me interest you in this quaint eatery and show you what delicacies our kingdom has to offer—”

Right…and it had nothing at all to do with the Angel’s whimpering stomach. Crowley chortled. “I thought you wanted to find your charge.” The moment he said that, Crowley regretted it as Aziraphale dropped his hand and the enthusiasm in his step dropped dead.

“Err…right.” He glanced up at his companion sheepishly. Fuck, Crowley mourned. “I mean you’re right, of course.” I made him sad.

“No, no, I, ah.” He glanced down, finding the Angel’s hand and pulling him along. “Let’s go in, shall we?” He dragged the other to a bustling building, a savory aroma wafting through the air. “Maybe we’ll find some clues as to where he’s been from the gossip.”

Aziraphale blossomed radiantly at that. “Quite right, dear!”

Crowley’s heart sputtered in his chest at the unexpected endearment. “L-lead on, Angel.”

He didn’t mean to spend the next two hours there. And in Aziraphale’s defense, they did a thorough sweep of the area and listened in on conversation for any hints to the whereabouts of the missing Prince, but that all dissolved into a fine pile of goo to be thrown in a bucket and kicked out to gutters as Crowley got them a table, Aziraphale placed an order for the both of them, and a plate of oysters were set before them. Crowley couldn’t help it if Aziraphale lit up like a sky-full of evening stars.

He looked positively besotted. “Oh, you must try them, J. I insist!”

And so Crowley did. He liked them well enough.

But not nearly as much as he liked watching the look of sheer completion on Aziraphale’s face. Silvery lashes fluttering close, the shape of his lips as he closed his mouth around the tasty morsels, the breathless sighs—

Crowley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was ever-fortunate that years of casting a mask of indifference on his face during mealtimes prepared him for this.

Then: a plate of something sweet, decadent, and sugary was placed between them. “We mustn’t forget about dessert!” Aziraphale happily intoned.

Satan preserve us. Crowley watched on, pupils dilating ever-so-slightly as Aziraphale lapped up the cream.

It was sundown and Aziraphale was doomed.

NO—not just Aziraphale.

His country, their entire nation, the KINGDOMS OF HEAVEN AND HELL—

The two footmen in charge of the Prince in the first place actually had the gall to look bored. In just a few minutes, the Prince would need to be announced before his intended suitors and if the Prince doesn’t appear through those ridiculously ornate doors to the grand ballroom—

Political tensions would skyrocket to an all-time high. There would be distrust between the efforts of peace between the two nations. Uncertainty and suspicion would overrun the entire efforts to stop conflict and they’ll be back at each other’s throats all over again, ravaging war after fruitless war, sacrificing resources, land, citizens for the sake of the elite’s gain—

“Calm down, Angel,” J’s voice rattled off in his head. “It’ll work out in the end. Just. Breathe.”

Just breathe. Just. Breathe.

Breathing did bollocks. Where was that wine…

A sizeable crowd had gathered now, consisting of high-ranking commanders and officials: the Seraphs, Cherubs, even some Dominions. Their gazes briefly flitted past the Demons, snorting in amusement as their eyes flickered over to where Aziraphale stood by the threshold. The Principality tried not to squirm under their calculating stares.

He ought to have faith—that’s right. He ought to have faith that all will go according to the plan—well. Whatever plan She had in store.

Her Majesty the Queen may not have been completely clear in her instructions as she bequeathed him the responsibility of guiding Crowley, Prince of Hell, through their culture and kingdom in order to dutifully bind his life to that of the Divines—nevermind that it doesn’t make a tick of sense that Crowley needs to woo one of them in the first place if the goal is to simply establish peace by the sharing of bloodlines and all that — but he’s an Angel.

And Angels were made to obey even if the ineffable plan was quite…in-affable.

The doors opened and a Demon’s lazy drawl commenced. Aziraphale’s pulse quickened.

“May I present to you—”

Oh—

“His Royal Highness, son of King Lucifer of the Kingdom of Hell—”

—Fuck.

“Prince Anthony J Crowley.”

A beat of silence. Aziraphale felt the blood drain from his face.

But then: “Just Crowley is fine.”

If it was possible to choke on absolutely nothing, Aziraphale would have been granted a very strange and rather rude epitaph if he happened to croak at this very moment. Well, one could suppose he did choke on the incredulity of the scene before him:

Of J sauntering through the doors with regal indifference, too-cool-to-be-bothered demeanor in his dark royal garb, nonchalant and nonplussed as if he didn’t just give Aziraphale a heart attack at the lightning-strike realization that he had just spent the entire afternoon looking for the damned Prince—only for said Prince to lead him around town square on a wild goose chase.

Aziraphale couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe. He was humiliated—for sure—but he hadn’t planned on doing anything about it within the vicinity of the eyes of Heaven’s elites—

That was, until J—Prince Crowley—caught his gaze and sent him a smarmy grin.

Aziraphale was rightfully pissed. And Crowley found it adorable.

He had planned to apologize, he really did! He not only thoroughly enjoyed the company of his Guide, but it seemed that Aziraphale—unlike most of the dead-eyed stares within the room—actually gave a shit. About peace—about him! And that wasn’t something Crowley was about to let go. He decided it would be best to let the Angel simmer down a little and then confront him when most of the heat had dissipated with some fine wine and dancing—

But alas. That flustered face was too sweet a temptation to ignore. So after making his proper appearance to the Archangels (bow, proclaim your title, Pleased to make your acquaintance, I look forward to working together in the name of peace between our two kingdoms, yaddayaddayadda) and there he goes back again to the red-faced, scowling little Bird.

And had Aziraphale not been blustering with ill-contained frustration at him, he might have even noticed the eyes on them as Crowley approached. The Prince gave a sweeping bow—“To a Principality?” someone murmured among the masses— and took Aziraphale’s hand with all the blithe charm he could muster. “Pleased to formally make your acquaintance.”

All fallen on deaf ears and eyes blinded by rage. “YOU!” Aziraphale hissed out.

If it wouldn’t make tensions between them even worse, Crowley would have thrown his head back in a laugh. Instead, he settled for pleased-as-punch smile that the Angel, had he inhaled more liquid courage into his system, might have put description to reality. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we?”

And so, the gallant prince goes, sweeping his Guide off his feet into a dance as the celebration began and a swell of music drifted through the air.

But alas, Aziraphale doesn’t even seem to realize that he’s dancing with the Prince right now—he was merely content to hissing in his ear. “J!”

“Or dance, as it stands, err, sways,” Crowley corrected as he took the lead. “And like I said, you can call me Crowley, Angel.” Forward. “And see? I told you everything would be all right!” Side.

Closed. “I SPENT HOURS LOOKING FOR YOU! And—you were the Prince all along?!”

A pull, back and forth. “Guilty,” Crowley replied, though his tone implied he was anything but. The Angel was pouting again. “Oh don’t look so cross at me. We had a good time, right?”

Back. Aziraphale sputtered. “I SAW MY LIFE FLASH BEFORE MY EYES WHEN THEY ANNOUNCED YOU!” Side.

Closed. Crowley huffed, clearly and infuriatingly amused. “Did that include the time you met a mysterious, handsome fellow who, out of the goodness of his heart, decided to aid you in looking for your charge today?”

Back. “No,” He seethed tartly. “It included the time I met an irritation of a Royal who decided to play me for a sucker.”

Forward. “Tsk, don’t think of it like that. Think of it as—getting to know each other,” Crowley offered. Aziraphale eyed him darkly. Side. “Without the pomp and regality of it all,” he continued. “After all, I certainly enjoyed my time with you.” Closed.

Back. “Hmph.” But Crowley could already see the steam running out. The tense and terse replies relaxed to a tranquil banter. “Well—It appears that I’ll need to keep closer eye on you. In case you decide to cause anyone else grief.” There was still a glower in those stormy eyes, but there was also a hint of a resenting smile on those wine-pinked lips.

Forward. Crowley gave him a wicked grin. “Oh, Angel. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll be sure to save all my mischief just for you—”

Side. “You—!”

Closed. “—if it means we get to have more days like today.”

And he’ll be sure to make it up to him later. It wouldn’t do not to be in good graces with his Guide after all—it certainly would make his stay far less fun. And from their outing that day, it became very apparent that his Guide has a penchant for good food and wine…

The first song ended with a bustle of cheer from the crowd and Aziraphale froze, the realization hitting him square in the face that he just spent the first dance with the Prince. It sent Aziraphale reeling, thoughts coming to a halt between the immovable object of two choices keeping him frozen in place: to crawl away from the crowd and into his bed for a solid week or to walk away with some semblance of dignity far, far away from the Prince.

But alas; it appeared that Crowley just so happened to be an unstoppable force to pull him away from his (safer) two options. “You’re not bad!” Crowley laughed, taking his hand again as the music started up and before any of the Birds could swoop down and interrupt their fun.

He gave a fanciful twirl to the startled Angel, holding him tight to make sure the other didn’t stumble in his steps. The song possessed a faster tempo this time; he hoped the Angel could keep up.

Given enough time and patience to allow the Angel to concede that This is my life now, he, in fact, could.

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

Meet-cute? Check.

A prince in disguise? Check.

Aziraphale dancing something other than the gavotte—wait, what? Also check.

More to come, I think.

Thank you for reading!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #repost from ao3 #top crowley #bottom aziraphale #fantasy AU

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prince-noctisluciscaelum · 4 years

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Whumptober 25: Humiliation

With Your Head Held High

Ardyn decides he wants to defy the Astrals one last time and see how far he can push them before they intervene to put Noctis back in a position to fulfill the prophecy.

Instead of Ardyn arranging Noctis and Luna’s wedding as a part of the peace treaty, he demands Noctis as a prisoner of war.

This is the first part of what will be a multi-chaptered thing. It got a little away from me, so I split it.

It was pure chance that Noctis learned the chancellor of Niflheim was in the Citadel, while he was still in the Citadel. Ignis had been keeping his ear to the ground for any rumors that might circulate in the wake of the ceasefire, and the Glaives who had been pulled back from the frontlines were more chatty than the Crownsguard usually were. And despite Noctis’s usual lack of interest in most things politics, something as big as a potential end to the war had piqued his curiosity. Especially considering the effect it could have on the Wall and his dad’s, and later his own, health.

So Noctis kept his own ears open, and when he heard a whisper that the chancellor had barged his way into Regis’s council meeting and was still there, he didn’t wait long enough to contact Ignis before making his way as quickly as he could without drawing extra attention to himself to the hallway outside the throne room.

The guards stationed on either side of the double doors frowned at him as he sidled up to the doors but didn’t otherwise protest or try to stop him. He was sure they would if he tried to actually enter the throne room, but that wasn’t what he wanted.

Noctis pressed his ear up against the crack between the doors and tried to listen.

An unfamiliar voice was speaking, with enough of a pompous ring of command that Noctis knew it could only be the Imperial chancellor.

“ - wish nothing more than to bring a swift end to this senseless war.” Was the chancellor seriously offering a peace treaty?

“Is that so?” His dad’s voice was as dry as Noctis had ever heard it without taking the last step over into impoliteness, and he knew his own disbelief was mirrored in Regis’s mind. It seemed… a poor tactical decision for Niflheim, considering how badly Lucis was doing in the war. There had to be an ulterior motive, and whatever it was would certainly not be good for Lucis.

“It is indeed. And we require but a singular compliance.” And here it was. The moment of hesitation before speaking said compliance, though really no longer than a breath, seemed an eternity, and it was long enough for Noctis to think up half a dozen awful things. “Save your grand Insomnia here, Lucis must forfeit all territories to Niflheim rule.”

Noctis bit down hard on his lip to keep from gasping. The murmurs of his dad’s Council were audible through the door as they didn’t bother to restrain their reactions as Noctis had done. Unsurprisingly. That was definitely not good for Lucis, and really, as far as an offer of peace went, it was a pretty bad one. It wasn’t a peace treaty at all, but rather a sugar-coated demand for surrender.

The Council’s muttering cut off, and Noctis knew Regis had called for silence, just in time for the chancellor to mockingly wax eloquent about the glory of the Crown City. Noctis gritted his teeth at the man’s nerve and thanked the Six that he wasn’t inside the throne room so he couldn’t be tempted to throw a punch at the chancellor and cause an international incident.

Before Noctis’s anger could solidify back into worry for what this ultimatum meant for Lucis, the chancellor spoke again.

“Ah, how foolish of me to forget. There is just one more trivial thing. It concerns your son.”

Noctis froze, his breath stuttering in his lungs. Nothing Niflheim could want with him would ever be “trivial” as far as he was concerned. He didn’t even want to speculate what this could be.

“Crown Prince Noctis will be handed over to the Empire as a prisoner of war.”

He barely heard the Council’s cries of outrage over his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. This could not be happening.

His dad’s voice rose above the cacophony, and Noctis latched onto it to try and ground himself.

“Under no circumstances will you be taking my son. He is the sole heir to this kingdom. I am willing to negotiate peace with Niflheim, but Noctis will not be a part of it.” Intense gratitude swelled up in Noctis, though it was not enough to completely wipe away the shock of the demand. He didn’t realize until after his dad had denied it so vehemently that some part of him had been worried he would agree to it, as ridiculous as that thought was. He knew Regis would just about fight Bahamut himself if he thought it would protect Noctis.

“Do not dismiss my offer so quickly, Your Majesty. You do not know if another will ever be extended. Your own position in this war is a tenuous one, and there are more things at stake here than your son. Or would you put him above the needs of your entire kingdom? Think on it before you make a rash decision.”

Noctis was going to be sick. He didn’t need to be able to see the expression on the chancellor’s face to hear the note of gloating in his voice. The chancellor knew Niflheim had them cornered, and somehow he had realized that Noctis was his dad’s weakness. Then again, most of the kingdom knew that. It wouldn’t take more than a quick glance at how Regis had handled Noctis over the years to realize that Regis would do just about anything for his son. Despite the Council’s repeated warnings, Noctis had never guessed how dangerous that would end up being, never imagined it would lead to Niflheim demanding him as part of a treaty.

But if the chancellor knew that asking for Noctis would work against the terms of surrender, since Noctis refused to consider them terms of peace, why would he do it? Why offer terms that were so one-sided they were guaranteed to be denied? What could he hope to gain?

Footsteps from the throne room pulled Noctis away from his musings, and he scrambled back from the door when he realized the chancellor was leaving, his mind still reeling in shock. Despite his unsteadiness, he managed to round the nearest corner in the hallway before the chancellor exited the throne room, not paying attention to where he was going, just wanting to get away before the man caught sight of him. A private conversation with the chancellor of Niflheim was not high on his list of desires, especially after what he’d just overheard.

He stopped as soon as he was out of sight, closing his eyes as he worked to regain control of himself. He couldn’t afford to be this panicky, otherwise someone, namely Ignis, was bound to ask him what was wrong, and he really didn’t want to have to explain. Not yet. Not ever, if he could help it. Regis had shut the chancellor down in no uncertain terms, and hopefully that would be the end of it, despite the chancellor’s parting barb. Maybe, in a few years, he could forget that this had ever happened.

Noctis was too preoccupied with calming his breathing to notice the soft approaching tap of shoes against the marble flooring until it was too late. He whirled around as his magic prickled in warning just in time to see the chancellor sashay around the corner.

Or at least, Noctis could only assume that was the chancellor. He was certainly no one Noctis recognized, and he would remember if he had ever met someone who dressed like that. Too many layers of outdated clothes in clashing prints under an over-dramatic coat, with a ratty hat perched on top of wild magenta hair. Even Prompto’s eccentric wardrobe couldn’t hold a candle to this. Noctis curled his lip in disgust.

The chancellor paused as he caught sight of Noctis, one corner of his lips twitching up in a smirk. He altered his trajectory and sauntered over to Noctis.

“If it isn’t the crown prince in question!” he said, his voice far too cheery for Noctis’s taste, considering the circumstances. Noctis scowled. He had to force himself not to retreat as the chancellor invaded his personal space.

“Oh my, from your expression I’d guess you overheard at least part of my proposition. Tell me, Noct, just how much did you overhear?” His grin was sharp as Noctis growled at the use of the nickname.

“You don’t get to call me that,” he said. And oh, how Ignis would be appalled at his lack of manners, but the chancellor had done nothing to earn his respect, and even less to earn the right to use his nickname.

“Now, now, Your Highness. You and I are going to have the chance to get to know each other much better.” The expression in the chancellor’s amber eyes was unsettling as he raked his gaze over Noctis. He barely fought back a shiver.

“I overheard enough to know His Majesty told you exactly where you could put your proposition,” Noctis snarled.

The chancellor stepped closer suddenly, and Noctis jerked away from him, continuing to retreat as the man crowded him until his back hit the wall.

“Dear old Dad refused to hand you over, it’s true. But this is the one thing I will not compromise on.” He gripped Noctis’s chin, thumb brushing against his cheek for a moment, so briefly Noctis wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it, and forced him to make eye contact. His eyes burned with a crazed fervor, and his voice dropped lower, losing most of its playful edge. “Whether you surrender as part of these negotiations or are captured when we raze Insomnia, the Empire will have you. All of our Magitek Troops have been programmed to take you alive.”

Noctis’s breath caught in his throat. That was unheard of, and he was almost tempted to think that the man was lying, or bluffing, or just trying to get under Noctis’s skin, but he knew he wasn’t.

The chancellor laughed suddenly, the manic look fading from his eyes, and released Noctis’s chin. He took a step back out of his space, spreading his arms wide.

“So I suggest you give my offer some thought, Your Highness. You have two days to make a decision before any offer of peace is rescinded and the ceasefire comes to an end.” He gave Noctis a shallow, mocking bow before turning and leaving.

Noctis waited until he was out of sight before letting his legs collapse under him. He slid down the wall, trembling as he hid his face in his hands, and worked his jaw to rid himself of the feeling of the chancellor’s grip on his chin. He had already been unsettled enough, learning that Niflheim wanted him as part of the negotiations, but now it was worse. Much worse.

That’s what you get for eavesdropping, he thought. If he had left well enough alone, he wouldn’t have been in the hallway to give the chancellor the opportunity to accost him. But maybe it was better that he knew exactly how much Niflheim, or maybe it was just the chancellor himself, wanted him.

Noctis frowned. The chancellor had said that Noctis was the part he was unwilling to compromise on. Which would imply that the rest of the offer was compromisable. And suddenly the one-sidedness of the offer made a little bit more sense. He felt sick even contemplating it, especially not knowing what exactly Niflheim wanted him for, but it wasn’t like he was doing a good job as crown prince anyways. He was a worthless prince and would be a worthless king, so if this was the one way he could help his people…

Noctis raised his head, glad to see that the hallway was still blessedly empty, and pushed himself up. He needed to talk to his dad.

~*~

“Absolutely not.”

Noctis had gone straight to his dad’s office and holed up there while he waited for him to finish his meeting with the Council. He had been tense the entire time, startling whenever he heard footsteps in the hallway, half expecting the chancellor to barge in and just drag him off. But no one had opened the door until Regis, the distinctive tapping of his cane enough to keep Noctis from actually pulling a sword from the Armiger the moment the doorknob turned.

Any surprise his dad might have felt at finding Noctis in his office had been eclipsed by concern, and maybe a touch of anger, when Noctis had brought up the chancellor’s offer and his own reasons for seeking Regis out.

“Dad, I -”

“No, Noctis. I am not giving you to Niflheim, and especially not to that chancellor.” Regis spat the title, gripping the arms of his chair tightly. Noctis could see the tension in his hands, the clench of his jaw, and knew exactly how stubborn he was going to be about this.

It felt wrong, to be arguing for his own captivity. He wanted so badly to simply hide behind Regis’s refusal, to let his dad protect him, pretend he had never heard the chancellor’s threats and let the war continue as it had for centuries already. But they were losing, everyone knew it, and the Empire would never stop until Lucis was under their heel like the rest of the world already was.

He was not fit to rule, but maybe he was fit to sacrifice himself for his people. Maybe with this he could prove that he wasn’t worthless, or lazy, or self-absorbed, or whatever it was the tabloids were calling him these days. If it was his life held against the lives of the Kingsglaive and all the other Lucian citizens affected by the war…

“You’re sacrificing your life for this kingdom,” he muttered, gesturing bitterly at his dad’s hand, at the Ring of the Lucii where it sat heavy and dark on Regis’s finger. Regis curled his hand into a fist.

“This is not the same thing, Noctis,” he said gently. He smiled, the anger in his eyes softening to sorrow. “You do not need to prove anything to me, or to anyone. I know the burden of the crown is not easy. I know you have struggled to meet your own expectations, perhaps even to live up to whatever standard you think I have set, and I must apologize for any part I may have played in that, but you are doing well. You can ignore the tabloids, they will grasp at any strand they can find or fabricate to sow doubt among the people. But the people will realize, in time. You do not have to throw your life away needlessly.”

“That’s not what this is about!” Noctis protested, even though his dad’s words were an echo of his earlier thoughts. Regis knew him, and his doubts, so well.

“Then what is it? Why are you so determined to sacrifice yourself?”

Noctis looked away, unable to meet his dad’s concerned eyes. “The chancellor met me in the hallway,” he said, “on his way out of the throne room. He threatened me.” He glanced up to catch Regis’s reaction.

“He did what?” Regis growled. His eyes flashed, and Noctis flinched, even knowing the surge of anger was in no way directed at him.

“He told me the Empire would get their hands on me regardless, even if we refuse the terms. He said all the MTs have been programmed to take me alive, and that my surrender was non-negotiable for the treaty.” Noctis could barely hear his own voice. “He said we have two days to decide.”

And that was the driving factor behind Noctis’s decision. He could run, of course, leave Insomnia, try to escape the Empire’s clutches before they attacked the Crown City, and maybe he would even succeed, but what kind of prince, what kind of king would that make him? It was likely Niflheim would capture him eventually. They controlled most of Eos and there were enough people who would be desperate enough to turn him in for whatever bounty they set on his head. He would be a fugitive, unable to trust anyone, and what kind of life would that be? It might be better to head it off entirely, get it over with, and maybe save as many of his people as he could in the process.

Regis stood, walking around the edge of his desk to stand in front of Noctis. Noctis tried not to notice the faint tremble in his dad’s hand as it clutched his cane. Ending the war sooner also meant that his dad could bring down the Wall, could stop letting the Crystal drain his magic and his very life. Noctis considered his own freedom, or even his own life, a small price to pay for that.

“What else are you not telling me, son?” Regis asked quietly. Noctis looked down at his feet. This would be the hardest part.

“It seemed...” Noctis trailed off. He groaned, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to find the words to say without sounding conceited. “Oh, this is so stupid, but it seemed like I wasn’t just something to sweeten the pot. Like I was the reason for all this. I know it doesn’t make sense, it’s stupid, Niflheim has wanted our lands for centuries, but the way he looked at me… And why else would he demand too much from us and then make a point to say that I was the non-negotiable part?” He was babbling and he knew it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of the chancellor’s fingers on his chin, his eyes raking over his face, and he was so scared.

If he had said this to anyone other than his dad or Ignis or Prompto, he knew it would be brushed off as him thinking too highly of himself. Even Gladio would probably tell him to stop reading that much into it. It wasn’t that out of the ordinary to demand a royal heir as a prisoner of war. Luna had been held under Imperial control since Niflheim had taken Tenebrae twelve years prior, and Ravus was now a member of their military. It was probably nothing, but there had been something so personal in the chancellor’s voice.

But Regis knew him, knew his insecurities, had guessed at part of the reason Noctis was even contemplating going along with Niflheim’s demands, knew Noctis wouldn’t even be suggesting something like this if he didn’t truly believe it. He wouldn’t brush it off as a plea for attention, but still Noctis felt ashamed for even bringing it up.

He opened his mouth to tell his dad to forget it, but Regis grasped his hand, cutting him off.

“Noctis, you are the Chosen King.” There was a flash of some pained emotion in his eyes as he said it, too quick for Noctis to catch or identify. “We have tried to keep this quiet, but if the Empire has learned, then they must know just how much of a threat you really are to them. Taking you, removing you from the equation, puts them that much closer to victory. Even if you were not the Chosen, taking Lucis’s only heir would be enough of a blow. This kingdom will end with me. Even if I appoint a political successor, they cannot wield the Ring, cannot access the Crystal’s magic. Without the Wall, Lucis will fall.”

Regis brought his hand up, gently cupping the side of Noctis’s face. Noctis closed his eyes and tilted his head into the touch.

“I should have stayed away. I should not have been there, should not have given him the chance to threaten us further.”

“Noctis,” Regis murmured. “If Niflheim, if Chancellor Izunia, wants you this badly, they would have found a way to threaten this regardless.”

Noctis pulled away from his dad’s hand.

“I just don’t understand. Wanting me as a bargaining chip, as some sort of insurance as part of peace negotiations, that I understand. But to go so far as to have every single MT programmed to take me alive, to threaten to come after me even if Insomnia falls, why? What could he possibly hope to gain?”

Regis’s brow creased. “That I cannot answer. There is too much we do not know about this situation, and none of the uncertainties bode well for you, or for our kingdom.”

Noctis took a breath, steeling himself against what he was about to suggest. Once he voiced this, there was no going back, and he was tempted to just keep his mouth shut, but he would never be able to forgive himself if he had the chance to do something now and didn’t take it and his kingdom suffered because of it.

“It might… give us an opportunity,” he said, the words ashes in his mouth.

“Noctis…”

“No, listen to me. He said I’m the part he refuses to compromise on. So that means the rest we can negotiate. We can counter with them taking me,” Noctis swallowed, trying hard not to think about what that meant, “and they can keep whatever lands they’ve already fully conquered, but we retain control of Insomnia, Leide, Cleigne, and Duscae, maybe even push for the return of Galahd and the rest of the Cavaugh region, and they withdraw their troops from those territories.” He doubted Niflheim would agree to all of that, but it gave them a place to start and negotiate down from.

It was also likely his dad had already thought of this, or something similar. Unlike Regis, Noctis had never had much of a head for politics or negotiations or strategy, that was what he had Ignis for, so if he had realized the significance of the chancellor’s words, surely his dad had as well. But he knew his dad would never suggest it himself. Noctis knew that in some ways, many ways, Regis put Noctis ahead of Lucis, as the chancellor had taunted, and it did nothing but add to Noctis’s feelings of guilt.

Regis sighed. “It… has merit,” he admitted, and it sounded like it pained him to do so. “However, it will just lead to Niflheim playing a long game with us, even if they honor the terms of the treaty. Once I die, Lucis will be left without a king, and they will be free to conquer our kingdom without much opposition.”

Noctis grimaced. He hated being reminded of his dad’s mortality, but it was necessary to consider in these circumstances.

“So appoint Ignis as your successor. We all know he was going to be the real power behind my throne anyways. He’d make a good king, even without the use of the Ring, and that will at least allow Lucis political stability.”

Regis regarded him carefully. “Just how much thought have you put into this?”

“Enough,” Noctis said. “I had little else to do while waiting for you, and I knew you wouldn’t consider it unless you thought I’d given it the proper amount of consideration.” And that was true, though really it had just been his way of occupying himself so he didn’t dwell on the predatory look in the chancellor’s eyes.

His dad bowed his head. “I would never force this on you, indeed everything in me falters at the thought of even considering this, and perhaps that makes me a bad king. But if this is how you truly wish for us to proceed, I will honor that. This is far more your sacrifice, and therefore your decision, than mine.”

Noctis snorted. “Of course it’s not what I want, but it’s what’s right for our people, and so far I’ve done nothing for them with my life.”

“Noctis,” Regis chided, a note of exasperated fondness in his voice. “You have simply not yet been given the opportunity.”

“Then I’ll take this as my first opportunity,” Noctis said. He pushed down the panic that was clawing in his chest. As much as he had fought for it, he had half hoped his dad would put his foot down on his plan, take the burden of the choice off of him, as he had in the throne room. Noctis suspected the chancellor’s dig had done its job.

Regis rested his hand against Noctis’s cheek again and leaned down to press his forehead against Noctis’s. “You do not have to go through with this. We will carry on as we always have if the ceasefire ends. You will have another chance to do something for your people. The first opportunity is not always the right one.”

This time it was Regis who pulled away, just enough to catch Noctis’s eyes and hold them. “You are destined for great things. You have been Chosen by the Crystal to rid the world of Darkness, and the Astrals will not let you fall until you have fulfilled their prophecy.”

“So, what, you think Bahamut himself will intervene when Niflheim tries to execute me the moment they get me back to Gralea?” Noctis scoffed. “Since when have they cared enough about us, or even their ‘Chosen,’ to interfere? They certainly didn’t stop the Marilith from nearly killing me.”

Regis frowned. “Noctis…” he sighed. He slid the hand on Noctis’s cheek higher so his fingers carded through Noctis’s hair, and despite his frustration, the touch was soothing. It was rare that his dad allowed his affection to spill over into physical contact, so Noctis treasured the moments when he did. And even though he knew it was exactly why Regis was doing it now, Noctis still allowed it to placate him.

He didn’t know how many more times he would have this. If he turned himself over to Niflheim, he would likely never see his dad again. Even if he wasn’t executed immediately, he would certainly never be permitted any sort of freedom, and it wasn’t as though Regis could or should just drop by for a State visit.

Noctis felt his resolve start to crumble as his dad continued to run his fingers gently through his hair. And maybe that was part of his intent with the gesture as well, but then why allow Noctis to make the decision at all if he wanted to dissuade him so badly? It wasn’t as though Regis didn’t outrank Noctis, their familial hierarchy notwithstanding, and he’d never had a problem telling Noctis “no” before.

“Forgive me, my son,” Regis murmured. “Would that protecting you was my only charge. You are the most important thing to my heart.”

Noctis could no longer meet his dad’s overly bright gaze, afraid that the sight of his sorrow would be the final thing to shatter what was left of his determination. He turned his head away, hating that the motion disrupted his dad’s gentle stroking of his hair. Regis’s hand fell away.

They stood in silence for a long moment, Noctis keeping his face downturned, until Regis sighed. There was a rustle of cloth, and then his hand rested on the back of Noctis’s neck, fingers curling in the short strands of hair, and he coaxed Noctis closer until Noctis’s face was pressed into his dad’s shoulder.

Noctis wrapped his arms around his dad, clinging to him tighter than he had since he’d been eight, and finally let his tears fall. He could be strong later, when he wasn’t in his dad’s embrace, and if he didn’t cry now, he would later, when he probably shouldn’t.

Regis stroked his hair tenderly for a moment longer before moving his arm to reciprocate the hug, his other hand still clutching at his cane. Noctis sobbed at the brush of Regis’s lips against the top of his head, and it was suddenly too much.

“I can’t do this,” he gasped into the thick fabric of Regis’s cape before he could stop himself. “I can’t, Dad, not on my own. Please.”

Regis’s breath hitched, and his arm tightened around Noctis.

“I will not order you to do this. I cannot.” His voice broke on the last word. “I’m so sorry.”

“Then order me not to,” Noctis begged, half hoping his dad wouldn’t hear it, muffled by his shoulder as it was, but of course he did.

“Noctis, I -” Regis stopped, his arm tightening around him again, and Noctis felt a tear drip onto his hair. “My love, I want nothing more -”

Noctis shook his head furiously, hating himself for selfishly putting his dad in this situation. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“Stop,” he choked. “Stop, I know.” He broke away from the embrace and kept his head down to avoid looking at Regis, wiping at his eyes to get rid of the tears.

He couldn’t imagine this would be an easy decision to make. As difficult as it was for him, it was only his own life he was bartering. For Regis, it would be the life of his only son, and the horror of having to choose between his kingdom and the last of his family. The choice between being a good king or a good father, and wasn’t that what Regis struggled with daily?

Noctis knew that Regis wouldn’t hesitate to offer his own life up in Noctis’s place, but if their roles were reversed, would Noctis be able to hand his dad over to Niflheim? He didn’t think he could, even if he knew it would be the best option for the kingdom.

Suddenly Regis’s earlier reluctance to either agree or forbid made a lot more sense. With Noctis himself willing, he had given his dad an avenue to save the kingdom, and Regis could not, as a good king, decline, as much as his heart might ache to. And as much as Noctis had been hoping Regis would command him one way or the other, take the choice out of his hands, he realized Regis was also hoping Noctis would decide so he didn’t have to.

Noctis couldn’t make it harder on him. The guilt of this would weigh on Regis heavy enough as it was; Noctis didn’t need to add to it. He would never forgive himself if he did, no matter how long or short the rest of his life was.

Noctis took a deep, steadying breath and finally looked up to meet his dad’s gaze, ignoring the pain in his eyes and the tear tracks down his cheeks. He straightened his shoulders, pushing down the terror that threatened to rise back up in him.

“I’ll do it.”

#whumptober2019 #no.25 #noctis lucis caelum #regis lucis caelum #ardyn izunia #final fantasy xv #ffxv #my fanfiction #my writing

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shadowphoenixrider · 4 years

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Why N’Zoth should have been behind BFA’s War

Okay so I’ve been thinking this for a day or so now, and I’m gonna just dump my thoughts here.

In this essay, I’m gonna make the argument that I think N’Zoth should have been behind the war in BFA. It’s gonna be long as shit, FYI. Here we go.

It’s no secret that opinions on BFA’s story have been...mixed. Some think it’s a garbage fire, others think it’s okay but not stellar. Some bits of BFA’s story, such as Jaina’s arc I find very well done, whilst others are very...below average, must try harder.

I think the main problem is the overarching storyline running through the entire expansion. It feels very disjointed, like many self-contained narratives sort of strapped onto one another into what looks like a storyline, if you squint.

Contrast this with Legion’s story. What was the primary conceit of the expansion? The Legion’s back and we have to stop them. Great! A nice solid story maypole we can pivot events around. Everything the patches introduced tied back to this core story ideal:

Return to Karazhan: some freaky shit is going down in Medivh’s digs and we think the Legion is behind it. Stop them!

Tomb of Sargeras: Time to get to Tomb and stop the Legion from pouring in!

Argus: You know what, we need to stop the Legion Once And For All (maybe)! Time for a cataclysmic showdown on the Legion’s homeworld!

Even the Insurrection storyline held closely to the Legion storyline, since the demons had control of the city and a Titan MacGuffin we needed, so we had to help the Nightfallen boot them out.

Now, BFA has at first glance, a good premise. All-out war between the Alliance and Horde, whilst Azeroth bleeds underneath us. That seems pretty good, right? Yes, it is, but there is a problem; the status quo.

The trouble with wars, especially really big ones (like world wars), is that by their nature, they upset the status quo. The WoW status quo is both the Alliance and Horde is, in the lore’s eyes, on equal footing. Problem with this all out war is that someone’s gotta lose - but no faction can lose because that upsets the status quo.

Thus, the story has already lost its running shoes because it can’t change anything drastically at the end. There’s still got to be a Horde and an Alliance - now, Mists of Pandaria managed to end an Alliance/Horde war in a fairly convincing stalemate because of Garrosh. Since he was deposed and he was the instigator of a large portion of Bad Stuff, people could sort of understand Varian letting the Horde survive under the threat that they’d get their asses thoroughly beaten if they did anything bad again.

This did not work a second time. Why did it not work a second time?

That’ll be because Sylvanas burned down Teldrassil, which pretty much accounts to genocide. Now, Garrosh pretty much dropped Azeroth’s equivalent of a nuclear bomb on Theramore, and that was made a very big deal of, but Sylvanas decided to take a leaf from the Bombing of Dresden and add some fire to her war crime. And thus, a very large petard is hoisted around BFA’s neck.

The image of a burning Teldrassil is almost certainly a very shocking, very dramatic one, and I’m pretty sure that’s why Blizzard chose to do it. It’s certainly a very big, risky move in the terms of story that could have elevated it. The quest to try and save the citizens of Teldrassil as it burns is truly harrowing and excellent in how it underscores the hopelessness of the task.

The thing with the burning of Teldrassil is it has colossal consequences, and the story did not handle it with the gravitas it deserved. After that moment, you cannot bring the Alliance and Horde to a happy peace - the Horde has done an undeniably awful, inexcusable thing, and yet the Alliance will apparently look the other way and sign a peace treaty with them now Saurfang is dead and Sylvanas has run off to make Shadowlands happen.

So already we’re in trouble from War of the Thorns, which was not helped at all by Blizzard devs playing a ‘who burned the tree’ game only to reveal that it was always Sylvanas, she did it because she meant to do it. This did nothing but upset and annoy people (me included), which started everything off with a sour taste in our mouths.

Next stop is the attack on Undercity, which is good if not for the inexplicable stupidity of the Alliance not perhaps thinking that Sylvanas would use the Blight against them, after they just witnessed her burn Tedrassil down. And knowing she dumped Blight on Gilneas.

Despite these slip-ups, we’re keeping up this feeling of all-out war. The Horde gets word that Talanji and Zul are stuck in jail, let’s rescue them and get the Zandalari on our side to beat the shit out of the Alliance! The Alliance, not to be out done, decide to go get the Kul Tirans.

And that’s when the story fractures. The stories on Zandalar and Kul Tiras are kinda understandably divorced from the main war, but they’re so divorced as to be almost completely outside of it. The only signs of it outside the War Campaign are the Alliance sailors scrapping in Talanji’s Rebuke that you find in a non-essential side-quest, and the shoehorning of the Horde into the Stormsong questline, which then proceeds to break the latter questlines when the bloody quilboar seem to appear out of nowhere and become the main baddy (what?!).

It took the advent of 8.1 for Faction Assaults to start occurring and making us feel like all-out war, but it seemed a little too late. There was the attack on Dazar’alor that pushed the war narrative, but it was starting to get tangled up with the ‘Sylvanas is Bad Warchief, we must remove her. Or not...?’ storyline with Saurfang, which fell back onto ‘the Horde isn’t bad, it’s the Warchief who is!’ which 1, we’d already had in MoP, and it wasn’t a fun feeling that time either, and 2, it’s not really a good excuse after a genocide.

So Horde politics start, which are sort of interesting to Horde players, but not Alliance players, who only have Tyrande being understandably pissed at losing her home and people and going to wreak havoc to be content with. Well, if by ‘wreak havoc’ you mean ‘kill a val’kyr and somehow get beaten by Nathanos and then get shelved for orc drama later’. Salt was rubbed into this wound when a dev said that Tyrande had ‘got revenge for Teldrassil’ with this, which went down badly.

Now, there has been Old God stuff rumbling throughout the expansion up to this point, granted, but you can count on one hand the amount of times it was given a shit about. Only when Crucible of Storms comes out does N’Zoth do a proper ‘hey guys I’m a bad guy!’ thing, and he actually starts to slither into centre stage.

8.2 begins, when Azshara comes to kick our ass and free N’Zoth, and that’s when the tried and true ‘factions unite vs. the Big Bad’ trope comes out (as everyone and their mother predicted it would), and both factions decide that maybe they should focus against Azshara and her Old God master. But before N’Zoth beating, we need to boot out Sylvanas because she’s mean and burned a lot of innocent people.

8.2.5 arrives, everyone goes and makes angry faces at Sylvanas, Saurfang dies dramatically, Anduin and Jaina look pretty, and Sylvanas flies away angrily. Congrats guys, we did it! Now for some peace. Ignoring the fact Teldrassil is still ash, and Rastakhan is still dead (and the Zandalari are pissed about that), so it should be less ‘peace’ and more ‘polite ceasefire’.

And now it’s 8.3 and suddenly N’Zoth’s everywhere! And we’re going to kill him at the end of this patch and...that’s it. Next stop, Shadowlands. That big bad we’ve been hinting for a long, long time got a single patch to wave his tentacles and then he was very dead. Even worse, his big arrival was completely overshadowed by Shadowlands’ announcement. Ooof.

With all these things, BFA’s story feels like it set off without knowing where it was going to end up, except that maybe N’Zoth was involved and Sylvanas would ditch the Horde. So it bumbled around, making weird choices, and then wrapped up plotlines far too quickly. The war felt after Dazar’alor that it was about to escalate, what with Rastakhan’s death and Talanji’s ascent to Queen. Instead, it suddenly paused before deciding it was going to end so quickly I think it gave us whiplash, just so we could fight N’Zoth as an united front. So of.

As a result, we have plotholes still yawning open, very unsatisfying endings, as well a perpetual conflict between Alliance and Horde on every public forum imaginable - Alliance aggrieved that Blizzard has ignored them yet again in the story department, except when they wanted a shocking stunt, whilst the Horde is upset that they’ve been hit the ‘villain’ stick again, except this time it was a fucking bludgeon, and we’re getting very tired of this now please stop. This isn’t helped by all the foreshadowing of the faction lines either dissolving or loosening up during the coup against Sylvanas, and then Blizzard just going ‘yeah nah can’t do that, gotta preserve the status quo’.

So, how can we improve this by adding N’Zoth? Well, remember the core premise of Legion and stopping them? Repeat that with N’Zoth. It is simple, but we can give it its sweet twist - we’ve got to stop N’Zoth, because he’s not only trying to corrupt Azeroth. He’s also playing the Alliance and Horde against each other so they can’t stop him.

Immediately that makes N’Zoth the Big Bad, and also underscores the point of We Do Not Want Him To Get Out of His Cage, which makes the fact he does get out a big OH F*CK moment. Not that it isn’t already in current BFA, but can you imagine the gutclenching despair you’d feel as you’d done everything in your power to stop this from happening, and yet it’s happening anyway? Now you’d know what Khadgar felt like when the Tomb of Sargeras opened - and you’d know that you’ve got to do everything you can to put this right.

Let’s go back to the beginning, only this time we dial the Void stuff up. We begin the War of Thorns with the factions already tensed up re: Azerite, with preliminary scraps over it and what looked like the Alliance attempting a coup over some of the Forsaken (HEY BLIZZARD STOP PUTTING LORE LIKE THAT IN BOOKS AND NOT REFERRING TO IT INGAME KTHANKS). A tenuous peace, to be certain, which could only be made worse by Old God agitators, stirring up unrest in the factions.

As much as I would prefer the Horde not being the instigator in all the bad stuff, N’Zoth is the only variable I changed in this equation, so with unrest and some intel that makes it look like the night elves are making a move either to cut off Azerite production, or funnel it through Teldrassil, the Horde strikes at Ashenvale and Darkshore, instigating the War of Thorns.

Things look to be going normally, but you as the Champion notice Old God stuff lurking about and ‘hey this looks like what was happening before the Cataclysm- Oh. Oh no!’. You try to bring evidence that this is a set-up to the people in charge, but it’s escalating out of control. Night elves are dug in so deeply that the Horde has to set fires in the forests to get them to move, which causes retaliation, which gets Saurfang involved who critically injures Malfurion, but before the final blow Tyrande punts him into next week and maybe at this point someone goes: ‘wait hold up what do you mean there’s not Azerite over here’.

We stumble over to Sylvanas to try and tell her ‘no wait we’re being played’, but she takes this as misinformation and or a bluff, and fires a couple of catapaults to show she ain’t fucking kidding at Teldrassil. A couple. Enough to cause a ‘I mean business fire’, but since Teldrassil is in the fucking sea and I would assume almost always damp around its lower regions (you’re allowed a snigger at that), it’s not going to set the entire thing ablaze.

Except it does, because of N’Zoth’s minions in the Horde (and Alliance, probably), who fan the sparks with wind and feed them with power. Alternatively, we could have naga rise from the depths to set some Azerite-infused fires too, just to foreshadow Azshara coming onto the scene later.

With Teldrassil engulfed, everyone is shocked, including Sylvanas, who really didn’t intend this to happen at all (and is pissed because there goes her bargaining chip). The Alliance of course declare all-out war on the Horde because how dare they, whilst the Horde is briefly paralyzed with shock.

Saurfang and the others yell ‘how could you?!’ at Sylvanas, who yells back ‘that wasn’t part of the plan!’ and also something along the lines of ‘why the fuck didn’t you tell me the intel was shifty before this happened?!’ before going: ‘well it’s happened now, so we best gear up and stomp the Alliance into the dirt or we’re all going to die’.

Meanwhile people are going: ‘yeah but what about the influences of darker things going on? maybe we should do something about this’ with the answers being: ‘shut the fuck up, they set fire to Teldrassil’/’shut the fuck up, do you really think the Alliance is going to stop after what just happened’?

So it’s a race against time to try and get the factions to turn against N’Zoth instead of ripping each other apart before horrible shit starts happening and we’re all royally in the shit.

Everything happens pretty much as is from there, except we get some explanation for the lack of gas masks being ‘oh no our totally legit sources told us the Blight hasn’t been stockpiled in large quantities, we’ll send infiltration teams to neutralise it’. Only to find out that this is not the case of course and N’Zoth cackles some more. Sylvanas and Saurfang have an argument leading to Sylvanas booting him out and Saurfang getting captured by the Alliance despite the orc wanting death.

Everything goes as is from there, with Zul kinda trying to get Talanji killed because N’Zoth, in a mirror of Ashvane/Jaina. Just this time, we’re pushing the Void angle hard. They’ve both got their hands (or tentacles, rather) deep into Kul Tiras (Azshara) and Zandalar (G’huun), so it only makes sense to amplify their nonsense.

Over time people higher up the chain pick up the fact that N’Zoth’s doing this on purpose, but bad shit keeps happening so the Alliance and Horde can’t put aside their differences because both sides are doing genuinely bad things to each other! Yes, including the Alliance! Sylvanas is doubling down because she wants to survive this, and the only way she knows how is to utterly destroy her opposition. When she sees parts of the Horde begin to lose faith, she gets pissed because this is not the fucking time and this is the only way to stop the Alliance damnit.

Similar stuff happens in the Alliance, with Tyrande understandably going on a rampage against the Horde with Genn in tow, whilst Anduin and the others try to pump the brakes as they see N’Zoth’s tentacles looming everywhere.

Everything reaches a hecking climax when Azshara shows up and one thing leads to another, and N’Zoth comes bursting out, prompting an ‘OH SHIT’ moment. I’m thinking during Nazjatar, the small Alliance/Horde forces there ally, and when they’re just about to do something useful, the bigger kids show up going: ‘what the fuck are you traitors doing?!’ and during the argument, Azshara steals the Heart of Azeroth and unlocks N’Zoth’s prison, which leads everyone to realize ‘bollocks, we were played’.

Anduin can bring most of his Alliance forces to a standstill, and begs Tyrande and Genn to help him vs. N’Zoth. Tyrande tells him where he can stick it, but Genn is persuaded, though he says he’s going after the Horde as soon as N’Zoth is downed.

The Horde does the same to Sylvanas, but she knows as soon as N’Zoth is down, the Alliance will have her head, and especially when she realizes Tyrande’s still out there, she stands her ground. When a good portion of her powerbase decide on the temporary ceasefire to go after N’Zoth, however, Sylvanas tells them to piss off, and ditches the Horde. Talanji does a Genn, knowing how bad the Old Gods are, but she’s still getting blood payment from Kul Tiras after this is done.

Thus, everyone finally turns their attention to the big bad, fully entrenched, and ready for this grand climax. after he’s been causing all this pain and suffering. The Alliance and Horde are splintered, each nursing legit grievances against the other, but standing together for a moment, as always.

Yes, it’s Cata and MoP dressed up in a different coat, but sometimes a simpler plot is easier. That and Cata was more the factions poking each other in the eyes a couple of times rather than all out war.

With N’Zoth as the instigator of the conflict in BFA, we get a big bad we must fight, and we understand more than he’s a legit threat - and that he knows how to weaken us, so he throws us in a battle against one another so he can win. Yet everything isn’t forgiven at the end - the status quo is sort of there, but the factions are more fractured than before. Crimes still need to be answered for, but doing so may cause more conflict and death.

Sylvanas is out there and pissed, and feels the only way she can survive is to subjugate everyone that could ever harm her and perhaps transcend death itself. This entirely speculation on my part, but a part of me thinks Sylvanas’ main driving force is ‘I’ve been through enough, not even death is a respite, I’m going to become so powerful no-one will control me - I will control fate myself if I must’, which is actually fairly tragic and does grant me sympathy for her (watch this not be her main motivator in canon tho).

Does this solve all of BFA’s problems? No, of course not. But I do think it would have improved the story, at least by managing to keep the story flowing in a more linear direction. You’ll notice that Saurfang has all but disappeared from the N’Zoth narrative, that’ll be because I wasn’t too sure what to do with him. I do like him as a character, but he was pushing the ‘only the Horde has story’ narrative, and I’m not too keen on that. He’d still be a main character pushing for fighting N’Zoth and dying in the end, but less of all the focus.

To those of you who got down here - congratulations and thank you! I went on a very, very long time. Hopefully I have written if not a persuasive argument, then at least an understandable one. This isn’t meant as a ‘Blizzard’s writing is terrible!’, because sometimes it isn’t, but as a ‘I think it would have been better if done this way’.

Thank you for reading, and I hope 2020 smiles upon us.

#world of warcraft #wow discourse #is it discourse? kinda I guess #spr rambles #long post #i just think they did n'zoth dirty is all #he deserved better #honestly a lot of characters in bfa deserved better #but what are we gonna do

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ohnoregard · 4 years

Text

Love is not a Fairytale (Except it Kind of is)

In which each member of the Mighty Nein realise/learn about Beau’s feelings for Jester before Jester does, and reflect on their own experience of love along the way.

Read on AO3 or below the cut. 7,790 words.

Nott

Nott lay in the darkness and watched a love story unfold. She hoped.

Across the room in a well of candlelight, Jester and Beau sat huddled together, silent and content. There was enough floor space for them to sleep separately, more than enough, but this is what they did. It was what they had always done. They were the roommates. They shared beds and bedrolls and no one thought anything of it. Except now, Nott thought, that maybe there had been signs.

Like just a few minutes earlier, when Jester had slipped back into their shared room in the Gentleman’s establishment and her near soundless approach had caused a soundly sleeping Beau to stir and wake before even Nott’s keen ears had heard her coming.

It made Nott think of nights in Felderwin, long ago. She had always woken to the sound of Yeza’s soft footsteps, her husband sneaking up to bed after a late night of experiments. The mere presence of the person she loved most in the world had been enough to pull her from sleep. Even when she had been heavily pregnant and so tired that she thought that she would never feel fully awake again. Yeza had always been her person. The one she had an almost symbiotic existence with. At least… she had.

But she wouldn’t dwell on her and Yeza. Or her and… no. Right now she needed to distract herself. And what better way than to focus on Beau and what exactly her intentions towards Jester were? Because Nott felt protective towards Jester but also, strangely, towards Beau as well.

So she watched as Beau – her eyes heavy with sleep – had pulled herself somewhat ungracefully from her tangle of blankets and lifted a corner to invite Jester inside.

Something in Jester had been off. Her momentary pause in the lit doorway had given Nott a view of her face as they briefly locked eyes. Jester was caught in the middle of some kind of quandary. Happy but confused. Disappointed but accepting. All emotions that Beau seemed to pick up on immediately.

“Oh Jessie, come here,” Beau had whispered, opening her arms wide and smiling sadly at the woman – Nott realised with shock– that she loved.

Not just like. Not just ‘had a crush on’. But LOVED. The kind the got written in all capitals on your heart the moment it beat in time with another’s.

And in response… Well, Jester all but dove across the room, narrowly missing a gently snoring Caduceus in her dash to reach Beau’s embrace. She hadn’t spared another look at Nott. She had just burrowed under the blanket and into Beau’s arms, sighing contentedly as Beau whispered something that only she could hear.

Whatever it was, Nott knew that she had said it with love.

Caleb

There’s a battlefield before them, somewhere in their future. They could all feel it. War was in the air, bubbling over into every corner of every town, no matter how far from the front.

The attack on Rexxentrum had taken them by surprise. Both the Nein and the everyday people of the Empire. Rexxentrum was so far inside the border that they had all thought it safe. Protected by distance, and perhaps, the Nein’s naïveté. Naïveté that would have them believe that as long as they were after the beacon – at least in a larger, less immediate sense – then there would be some kind of… well if not a ceasefire from Xhorhas then at least a lack of escalation.

They had been distracted, yes, but by the kind of world-ending things that could not wait. Yasha and the Chained Oblivion and cults so out of their depth that they were playing with the very existence of sane, free life on Exandria. Those were not the kind of forces that you could put on hold whilst you searched for a lost relic. Not even the kind that a whole civilisation’s religion revolved around.

And now… now they were peacekeepers. Supposedly working for a force that none of them trusted, yet were wholly beholden to. Pissing off the Xhorhassians would have been one thing… They could have retreated back into the Empire or the Menagerie Coast. The Bright Queen could have sent assassins after them but they were so unimportant back then that she probably wouldn’t have bothered. But the Empire… the Empire and its institutions were insidious. Their shadow assassins would hunt them to the ends of the Earth. As far even as Allura’s Tal’dorei.

Trent played at indifference, but Caleb knew that it was an act. If he had his way, he would rip away any remnant of home and family that any of them had. Beauregard, as little as she cared for her family, would have to find a way to get them out. Jester would move the world to save her mother, and the Nein would move it right along with her. Then of course there was Nott and her husband and child. Whatever they did in this time and place, however the peace treaty and their dealings with Trent went… it could endanger it all.

“I said her name.”

Caleb looked up from the book he had been reading, pouring over his Dunamantic spells for any small hope of a way out of this mess. Beau was sat beside him by the fire, picking at the ribbon Jester had tied to her staff. It was frayed now and battle-worn, but still as bright a blue as ever.

“Ja,” he confirmed. “I am sorry.”

“S’not you’re fault,” she muttered. “S’mine.”

She was exhausted, they all were, but, like himself, he doubted she would sleep tonight.

Caleb was sure that they were being watched in the Cottage’s common room. Which is why tonight they were all crammed into one room, whiling the evening away. One room with alarms on the doors and windows, and a thorough sweep by Fjord’s new all-seeing sword. Still, they had to assume that they were being watched. They had to be careful about what they did and did not say.

“I am sure that they would have gotten our names by some magical means,” Caleb said, aiming to comfort her at least a little.

He understood her anguish. She alone of the Nein knew and appreciated everything that Trent had done. Nott knew the facts, but Caleb didn’t think that she quite grasped the true extent of the manipulation, the utter overwhelming overwriting of everything Bren had been. But Beauregard understood. Nott feared Goblins and Ghouls. The monsters of the world. Beauregard knew that the races more commonly regarded as ‘people’ could be far crueller. She had even experienced a little of it herself.

“If they hurt her…” Beau gritted out, her teeth clenched so hard that she must be in pain from it.

Her understood that too. Inflicting a little pain to punish yourself.

“I will burn them to the ground before I allow them to do that,” he promised her.

For them to hurt Jester would be worst of all. She was so full of light and kindness. So ready to see the good in the world, even when no one else could. Trent would ruin her. Break her in a way that Caleb wasn’t sure that they could pull her back from. After all, Caleb had once been wide eyed and idealistic too.

Then Trent had cut it out of him with every slice of his dagger. Every white-hot pain as another shard of crystal had been slipped inside his body. Every defilement of the boy he had been, leaving scars to show that he could never go back to Bren the boy. Bren who had loved his parents and his Empire in that order. Scars that he imagined marring the soft blue of Jester’s forearms. Cutting through the delicate, glittering lines of her tattoo.

“Fuck!”

Beau had sworn so loud that the whole room had stopped what they were doing to look at her.

“Sorry, fuck. Just an ember from the fire,” she lied.

Caleb watched as her face contorted, the pain she was feeling of the mind, not the body.

“Do you need me to heal you?” Jester asked worriedly, jumping up from whatever she and Caduceus had been doing to run to Beau’s side.

“No, no it’s fine. Didn’t even leave a mark. Just scared me a little.”

More lies, but Caleb didn’t begrudge them.

Jester, it seemed, didn’t believe her either, but in an entirely different direction. She poured over Beau’s body, lifting her arms and unfurling her legs, looking for any sign of injury.

“Jessie,” Beau said, her voice as soft as her expression as she smiled gently at Jester. Softer and more gently and with her eyes filled with more tenderness and affection than she ever showed to anyone else and… oh.

No wonder her worry for Jester was consuming her. Beauregard, against all expectations, was in love.

Yasha

Yasha knew what it was to be in love. She knew love in all its shades and stages. In its brilliant sunny yellows and blood-stained reds, it’s sorrowful blues and the empty greyness that the sorrow left behind. She knew it. She had felt the shame that came from falling for someone that she knew could never ben her mate but loved non the less. She knew the brilliant excitement of love when it was new. And most of all, she lived now in the soul crushing, life ending rawness of loss, of walking around with a hole in her chest where Zuala once lived. Where now was only death and emptiness and whole other kind of shame.

So that’s why – when she saw the true depth of the fear in Beau’s eyes when their foe turned its attention from Beau herself to the approaching Jester – that Yasha knew that Beau was in love.

At first, she was jealous. Only for a moment. Not because she wanted to be in either woman’s position. She’d had Zuala and lost her. That was it for Yasha. She neither expected nor wanted to love again. She did not think she was capable. And to do so would feel like desecrating a grave that she did not have it in herself to even visit.

No, Yasha was jealous for a wholly different reason. She was jealous that Beau got to be afraid that Jester might die. Because that meant that Jester was alive. It meant that Beau had the world to fight for. To live for. And that, Yasha knew, was a precious thing. One that could all too suddenly be taken away.

Once she noticed it – Beau’s love, that is – Yasha didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed it the moment she rejoined the group. The dynamic in their shared room had been… off. She had put it down to the strangeness of sharing her space with friends again and, perhaps, some lingering mistrust or unease that they may have around her. But now she understood. She might not have been a famous rock harp player in her blackout years, but she knew a little about rhythm. Enough to spot it in the way that Beau and Jester moved around one another. Enough to see the way that her presence in their space threw it off. Not because either of them wished she wasn’t there, but because the two of them alone was a complete melody. She was chord that was obsolete.

She wasn’t sure if the other members of the Nein had noticed it yet, and she would not rat Beau out. But she would try to talk to her. Remind her that time and life were fickle things. Things that in their line of work, they could not risk taking for granted.

“Beauregard, may I speak to you.”

“Yeah. Uh. Sure.”

“Please would you walk with me a little?”

Where Yasha walked, Beau tentatively followed. As the warm light of their campfire faded and they passed out into the darkness beyond, Beau flipped her goggles onto her eyes and blinked slowly into the night. The lack of direct eye contact was a relief for Yasha. She did not think she was up to that yet. Not with any of them. It hurt too much to see that they didn’t hate her.

They walked until they found an outcropping of rock where they could dangle their legs and look out over the moon-lit landscape. In this light, the land around them reminded Yasha of home. Of Zuala tracking through the sparse woodland. Of stolen moments than time and fate had stolen back.

“What’s this about?” Beau asked eventually, clearly trying her hardest not to sound pissed off. She was shivering, though. Yasha had forgotten how much Beau and Caleb felt the cold. They seemed to feel everything so intensely, those two. Maybe it was the human thing, but Yasha doubted it.

“I would like to talk to you about Zuala and… Jester.”

Beau frowned, then softened. Then looked almost ready for a fight.

“Does Jess remind you of her or something? Your wife, I mean.”

“Oh, no. Not at all,” Yasha said quickly, before Beau could get the wrong idea. “Jester is a very different person from Zuala. Though I suppose in different circumstances they could have been more alike.”

Beau relaxed beside her, her dangling feet beginning to sway in the night air.

“I know that we’re not, like, the closest or anything. But you can talk to me about her if you want.”

“No that is… err… No, thank you. But I would like to talk to you about Jester.”

Beau froze.

“How’d you know?”

“I saw your concern for her. And then, once I had an idea, it was pretty obvious.”

“Great,” Beau huffed. “Even when I try to be super subtle I’m clearly failing.”

“Perhaps it is just that I know what to look out for. I think… I think that we are perhaps similar, you and I, Beauregard.”

“How so?” Beau asked, half standoffish, half eager.

“Our families did not understand us. Often the world judges us before they get to know us. Perhaps that is why we look for the light itself instead of what the fight can bring us. Why I looked for Zuala and you for Jester.”

“Hmm.”

Clearly she was not convinced.

“I am not asking you to talk about your feelings, Beauregard. I think that you know me better than to think that I would be any more comfortable in that situation than you. But I wanted to talk to you anyway. To remind you that love is easily lost. Especially in the kind of life that we live.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“But you are in love.”

It wasn’t a question. They both knew the answer.

“So?”

Yasha looked out over the plains. She could see a copse of trees to their left. Thin, hardy trees like the kind that occasionally grew in small groups in her part of Xhorhas. They reminded her of times spent hunting with Zuala. Helping her skin a still warm rabbit and sharing the meat over a midday fire. That one memory was enough to fill her with enough warmth – no matter how fleeting – that she did not think that she would have felt even the fiercest of icy winds.

“No matter how it ended, I do not regret what Zuala and I had. We had love. She knew that I loved her and I knew that she loved me. Now that she is gone, that is a comfort to me. That and the memories of the times we shared as mates.”

“You’re saying that I should tell Jester that I love her in case I die?”

“Regret is the most terrible thing, Beauregard. I would not wish the depth of regret that I feel on anyone. Let alone you.”

“I’m not good enough for her,” Beau muttered, smothering with her foot a lone flower growing courageously out of the rockside.

“Do you not think that that is for her to decide?”

They sat in silence for a while. Both lost in their own thoughts until Beau’s shivering become too pronounced to ignore.

“Come on. We had better get back. The others will be worried.”

When they arrived back at camp, Nott was eyeing them suspiciously. She was crouching by the fire, tracking their movements like they were prey.

“What were you two doing?” She asked accusingly, jabbing the dagger she had been sharpening in their direction. “You weren’t fucking, were you?”

Yasha watched as Jester snapped to attention at that, her deep blue eyes going big and wide as she looked worriedly between Yasha and Beau.

“What? No! Don’t be stupid.” Beau replied, as brash as ever. “We were just having girl talk, that’s all. Just because we fuck other women doesn’t mean we can’t have girl talk, alright!”

Everyone but Yasha and Caduceus flinched.

“Nott!” Jester admonished. “Of course not, Beau. Nott is just being silly, aren’t you Nott?”

Beau and Nott stared each other down for an uncomfortably long period of time before Nott finally nodded and relaxed back onto her log.

“Fine, yeah, sure, whatever.”

After that, Jester ushered Beau closer to the fire and draped a blanket around her shoulders. She was smiling up at Beau brightly and for just a moment, Yasha was sure that she could hear Zuala laughing.

Fjord

He noticed it in the middle of one of their scariest battles yet.

It was a stressful day, even for them. Near death situations had been had by all, but what they all were struggling to deal with was the horrifying realisation that the person nearest to death had been Jester.

Beau had been down numerous times. Caleb perhaps even more. And whilst Fjord could remember Jester being knocked unconscious in the heat of combat before, it had never been for that long. It had only ever been moments before Caduceus or a health potion had gotten her back on her feet.

This time it had been… longer. Considerably longer. Caduceus had been incapacitated and try as they might, none of the rest of them could get to Jester with a health potion. Not for a really, really long time.

It had been Nott who had eventually saved her. Just when Jester’s breaths had started to slow and turn shallow. Just as Beau, held tight beside a stunned Caduceus in the creature’s grasp, screamed out for their downed cleric. The kind of scream that you can never unhear. The kind that Fjord was certain he would hear in his nightmares night after night.

And then… Jester had been alive. Irrefutably alive as she had rushed at the beast and inflicted such wounds that it had died in an instant of tremendous pain. Pain which it – in Fjord’s opinion – more than deserved for hurting his friends.

“Yo, that was awesome Jessie!” Beau had said with more shake than bravado from the spot on the ground where the now deceased monster had dropped her. “I’m just gonna, you know. Sleep here a little.”

They had all noticed then how badly Beau was hurt. Fjord had no idea how she had managed to remain conscious with the deep slashes in her belly and neck. But if the scream had anything to do with it, he was pretty sure that the only thing holding her together had been the desperate need to get to Jester.

“Damn it, Beau,” Fjord said with a wince as he wrapped his palm around her rapidly bleeding throat and cast Lay on Hands. “What the hell were you thinking, taunting the damn thing like that?”

“Had no health potions,” she croaked, her throat raw and, most likely, still torn after his meagre healing. “Had to get Caduceaus free. For Jester.”

Despite the fact that Beau’s wounds were inarguably far worse than Jester’s, once they were all healed up and hobbling towards the nearest inn for a good strong drink and a warm bed, it wasn’t Beau that they were all fussing over, but Jester.

“You guys, I’m fine!” Jester insisted. “The Traveller wouldn’t just let me die! I’m his favourite, you know? He told me.”

“Yeah – urgh – even so. I think we need to set out some kind of system for health potions. It’s kind of pointless for one person to have three of them if that person can’t get to someone who is down,” Beau said, taking charge as she often did these days. She was looking Fjord dead in the eye as she said it, but he wasn’t offended. He agreed.

“That’s my fault. I should have handed these out. Here, everyone without a health potion please take one.”

Fjord pulled three basic and one greater healing potion out of his bag and lined them up on the table.

Beau grabbed a basic and slid the greater towards Caleb.

“Here. I’m going to get a drink.”

“But you already have a drink!” Jester called after her as Beau slid out of the booth and stumbled her way over to the bar.

“I think she just needs something a little stronger,” Fjord reassured her. “I’ll go make sure she’s okay.”

He hadn’t even gotten within ten feet of her when Beau’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Wanna go fuck each other up?”

For the briefest moments, Fjord was confused. Then he realised what she was asking.

“Is this just your way of beating me into a bloody pulp?”

“Or the other way around. Either way works. Just need to punch something.”

“Does this mean we can skip training in the morning?”

“No.”

He sighed. He was pretty sure that Beau wouldn’t skip training even if a volcano was erupting around them. Which, given their upcoming destination, wasn’t entirely out of the question.

“Lead the way.”

Beau led him out into a back alley that she had clearly scoped out earlier. It was pretty narrow, but it was deserted and dark, so he supposed it would do. At least when she won, no one would see him pass out.

“So, you wanna talk or are we just going to punch?”

Her fist connected hard with his chin, snapping back his head and making him see stars.

“I guess just fists then.”

Mid way through his sentence, Fjord rocked forward on the balls his feet, and struck out at Beau’s core. He had aimed as close to centre as he could, yet still managed to strike nothing but fresh air.

“Gonna need to try harder than that,” Beau said as she brought her fists up in front of her chest and waited, poised for his next attack.

Fjord feinted to the left, then struck out hard with his foot, swiping for Beau’s legs. Again, nothing. She seemed not even to move in place as she deftly jumped above his sweep, taking the opportunity to rain down four consecutive hits to the side of his head.

This time, Fjord retreated, dodging just out of the way of her next attack.

“Fists aren’t fair,” he panted.

“So use your sword,” Beau bit, anger flashing in her eyes. “Or this isn’t even worth it. I might as well be punching Frumpkin.”

Saying a quick prayer for guidance to the Wildmother, Fjord summoned his new blade and dove for his friend.

This time, he felt an impact. The cold steel of his sword sliced through flesh once, then again, tearing through the place where Beau’s robes met at her naval and leaving them stained in a bloom of red. Far more than he had expected.

It was then that Beau really came alive. She ducked his next blow, then used her crouched position to send a flurry of punches to his stomach that left him locked in place, tensed from head to toe in a mixture of pain and itch-like tension.

Blow after blow hit him from one side, then the other as she spun around him, pulling out her staff and swiping for his legs, knocking him onto the floor before retreating and going back into her defensive stance.

Power crackled reflexively in Fjord’s palms and before he knew it, two shots of bright green energy rocketed from his palm, lighting up the alley in all it’s dank, moss-covered glory before hitting Beau square in the chest.

The blows knocked her back, but not for long. She pulled a throwing star from the pouch and her hip and launched it at his outstretched palm.

The warm metal bit into his flesh, one pointed prong sticking into his palm and making the magic there fizz.

“Come on!” She screamed. “Fucking hit me!”

“Why, so you can manipulate Jester into kissing it all better?”

He regretted it the moment it left his mouth. The pain and adrenaline of battle had made him forget who it was he was talking to. That she was his friend. Perhaps his best friend. And that this… this thing they were doing was for her catharsis, not an opportunity to say something he didn’t mean. To hurt her.

“Beau.”

“Fuck you, Fjord. Fuck you.”

With that, she turned and ambled, limping slightly, back into the inn.

Fjord dropped to the ground, panting. He sat there for a long moment, feeling the regret build in his chest, forcing his lungs into an ever-smaller space until it felt like he was drowning.

It wasn’t long until the door to the inn slammed back open and Jester, purple with rage, stormed out into the ally.

“Jester, I-”

Her palm connecting with his cheek knocked the rest of his sentence right out of his head.

“How dare you hurt her!”

“She asked for it! It was her idea!”

Jester towered above him, looking more demon than person.

“What did you say to her?!” Jester screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She wouldn’t even look at us… at… at me!”

“Where is she now?” Fjord asked, getting shakily to his feet and backing away a little from the terrifying Tiefling.

“She… she talked to Yasha for a moment and then they went and bought a room just for the two of them and…”

“Oh, Jester.”

Ignoring the potential harm to life and limb (or, more accurately, to his conscience), Fjord pulled Jester into him and held her tight.

“What are they even doing that they need their own room?” Jester sobbed.

Given the fact that Fjord was pretty sure that Beau was in love with Jester, he was pretty certain that she hadn’t dragged Yasha off to let off some steam of the non-punching variety.

“I don’t know, Jess.”

She pulled away, glaring at him again before making for the inn door.

“I’m going to bed. Tell the others not to bother me, okay?”

Caduceus

The people at this inn were really nice people. It was a good morning. A really good morning.

The rest of the Mighty Nein were asleep in their rooms and Caduceus was slowly brewing them all tea and cooking up some eggs and spinach. Or at least, kind-of-spinach. It definitely looked and tasted like spinach. Apart from it being purple. And tasting a little… zingy. But zingy was good in the morning. He’d put a little of it into their tea. It was really nice of the inn staff to let him use their kitchen.

The second person from their merry band to wander downstairs was, predictably, Beauregard.

“Hey Caduceus.”

“Hey. I made eggs and purple stuff. Want some?”

“Sure, why not.”

Beau sat down in a booth and pulled out a book whilst she waited. Caduceus pottered around the kitchen, smiling at the way the steam curled up from the tea in waves. It was going to be a good day, he could feel it.

“Here you go,” he said as he set down a plate and wooden mug of tea in front of Beauregard. “Breakfast of heroes. Well, one hero at least.”

She was frowning at him when he slid into the booth with his own plate and mug.

“What do you mean, hero?”

“You saved my life yesterday, so there’s that. Petty sure that thing would have crushed me in one of it’s arms if you hadn’t distracted it.”

A smile appeared on Beau’s face for a flicker of a second before it was gone. Replaced again with stoicism.

“Yeah, well. That’s what friends are for. Doesn’t make me a hero. I hate that hero bullshit. So full of expectation and responsibility.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Caduceus, can I tell you something?”

“Sure,” he said, smiling big.

“I’m in love with Jester.”

The moment she said it, she exhaled deep and dropped back against the back of the booth.

“What, you’re not going to say anything?” She said after a moment.

“Huh.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, huh.”

“Why ‘huh’?”

“I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you say it out loud.”

That got her to roll her eyes and fold her arms in front of her chest.

“Well fuck. How come everyone seems to know?”

“You – err – You love real deep. It’s kind of hard to miss.”

“Fjord and I punched the shit out of each other last night. Well, he also slashed and blasted the shit out of me, but whatever. You think he’s mad at me for liking Jester?”

Caduceus shrugged.

“A shrug? That’s all you’re giving me?”

“It’s all I have to give.”

Another loud exhale and Beau picked up her tea.

“I’m kind of worried this whole thing is going to fuck up the group.”

“First Fjord is mad at me, then Jester is going to go comfort him and they’ll get together and I’ll just be sat wallowing in a corner. I’m not sure I can do that, man. I don’t think I could stay and watch that shit.”

“What makes you so sure that Jester would choose Fjord?”

“Are you kidding me? I’m such a fucking mess, Caduceus. Not even my own dad wants me. Fjord’s got the whole Tusk Love thing going on. And what am I? Who’s going to write a romance novel about someone like me? No one, that’s who. Not even when the fucking Kryn get romance.”

She signed and slammed down her tea on the table.

“You can only be what you see, you know? And all these stupid books are feeding her some bullshit idea of what love is and I’m scared it’s going to fuck her up. She’s going to end up with someone she doesn’t really love just because she thinks that’s how the story is meant to end.”

“And how is it meant to end, Beau?”

They both froze at the sound of Jester’s voice.

“Fuck, Jessie I…”

“Don’t.”

Jester

Everything would be okay, Jester was sure. Except right now everything felt not okay in the biggest, more terrifying way.

She had spent all night lying awake and wondering what Beau and Yasha were doing in the room across the hall. She had even tried sneaking up to their door and listening, but all she had heard was whispering and then silence. A really long, terrifying silence. What could they be doing that was so quiet? Were they keeping quiet intentionally so that she couldn’t hear them? Did they know that she was there??

That thought had sent her skittering back to her room where she had tried to talk to the traveller. She tried all night. Whispering all these confusing feelings and fears to him. And after a while, he had sat on the end of the bed beside her and told her to follow her heart. That she already knew what she wanted. But all that did was make Jester more confused. Because she didn’t understand at all.

Which was why, when morning finally crawled around, she had leapt from bed – Sprinkle tucked into her cloak – and had snuck into the town’s bathhouse to make herself feel more like Jester again and less like some twitchy ball of confusion.

It was pretty easy to break into the bathhouse. No one was there and the locks broke pretty easy when she hit them with her axe.

It had been difficult figuring out how to heat the water and fill the bath by herself, but she had done it in the end and had even found a bottle of rose oil to empty into it. Though maybe emptying the whole bottle into the bath had been a bad idea. It had kind of stung her eyes a little, but that was okay because then it was for sure the rose oil making her eyes water and definitely not because she was crying.

She was even feeling sort of cheery – all clean and sweet smelling – by the time she walked back into the inn. Right until she had heard Beau – the one person who had never treated her like a child – complaining to Caduceus about how stupid she was and how she knew nothing about love apart from what she read in books. Which was totally not true. Not at all!

Except… maybe it was… just a little bit.

She knew her Mom’s love and the Traveller’s love. And they were both really, really great. Like, the best. But when it came to love love, it was true that the only thing Jester knew was what she had read books. Books about fated romance and torrid affairs. Books that had been Jester’s only real window into the outside world. Books that turned out to be kind of, maybe, sort of… wrong.

“Jessie!”

She heard Beau calling for her a long time before she saw her. After she’d run out the inn, she had hidden herself down by the lake’s edge, her knees drawn up to her chest as her mind tried and failed to magnify the sound of the soft lapping of the water into the familiar call of the Nicodranas sea.

“Jess…”

She didn’t look up.

“Go away, Beau.”

“Look, Jess, I’m sorry. I just… I came to tell you that I’m leaving. I’m going back to the Archive in Zadash. I won’t bother you again.”

Jester was… confused. Sure, she was upset at what Beau had said but it didn’t mean that Beau had to leave.

She looked – her face full of a frown – up at woman who had begun to mean so much to her. More than she had let herself believe before she had seen her dragging Yasha up to bed. More than Oscar or Fjord. More than any of the other Nein.

Now here she was with her pack on her back, telling Jester that she was leaving. And Jester had never been more afraid in her life.

“It’s okay, you know, if you don’t want to room with me anymore,” she hurried out, desperate for Beau to stay. No matter what. No matter what that meant or who she was staying for. She just had to stay. She had to. “You could just tell me that you want to stay with Yasha now. I – I won’t be offended. And – and I promise that I won’t get in your way.”

Except she was sobbing and clearly, definitely, way beyond offended. She was breaking inside because Beau – Beau! – was going to leave just because she couldn’t stand to be around her any longer.

“Wait… wait, what? You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?” Beau asked as she sank into the sandy bank beside her.

“No!” Jester exclaimed, leaping forward to wrap her arms around Beau’s neck. Because whatever Beau had said, whatever she wanted now with Yasha, Jester couldn’t stand it if she left.

“Jessie… Jess… I…” Beau pushed her back, holding her shoulders to keep her at arm’s length. “What exactly did you hear?”

Jester sniffled and looked away.

“You know, that stuff about me knowing nothing about love apart from what I read in books and stuff.”

Beau breathed long and soft, then pulled her back into a hug, this one softer than the one before, full of tenderness that Jester hadn’t felt anywhere but in her mother’s arms.

“And that’s why you’re upset?” Beau asked, her voice as tender as her hug.

“Well yeah, obviously.”

This time, when Beau pulled back to look into her eyes, she looked scared and relieved at the same time. Which was… weird. And kind of confusing. And also a little scary.

“I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I just meant … Look, people don’t write – or I guess publish – books about real life. I was angry that the only books that people get to read are about stupid fairy-tale romances that bear no resemblance to what love is really like. And all the young girls that read them get fooled into thinking that’s what love is because that’s all they see, you know? And then when they find someone who fits that fairytale, they just settle for it because that’s what they think love is. Except it’s not.”

“I know that.”

Beau sighed.

“I know you do, Jess. And some of those other girls do to. But it’s hard to recognise something you’ve never seen. If I hadn’t found Tori, I might have been that girl who didn’t know what to look for or who she is.”

Jester shrugged and sagged back onto her heels, pulling out of Beau’s hold. She didn’t like it when Beau talked about Tori.

“Maybe if my Momma and Dad had stayed together…”

“Yeah, Maybe,” Beau said with a sigh. “But then your whole life would have been different and you might not be the you that you are right now.”

“Maybe that would be better?” Jester wondered. Maybe then she’d be more like Yasha. Stronger and more stoic. The kind of person that Beau really wanted to be around. Not some silly girl who liked to play tricks and eat sweets. Even if there was so much more to her that people just didn’t seem to see.

“I happen to think that you’re pretty great just the way you are. So don’t you dare think about changing that for someone else, okay?”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t think I’m stupid? Or a child?”

Beau smiled soft and warm.

“No, Jessie. I don’t. Not at all.”

Now Jester really was confused.

“Then what do you think I am?”

Beau smiled again, kind of sadly this time.

“The most incredible kind, funny, smart, beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

“Beau…”

“Listen Jessie, I know that you and Fjord maybe have this thing going on, but I love you and I can’t keep it in longer. And I don’t mean like a friend kind of love. I mean like the kind of love that people in your books have. Only real and really fucking painful.”

Jester was… Shocked. Beau was so… Beau. She was so incredible and amazing and okay maybe what Jester had been feeling wasn’t the normal kind of friend feelings. Friends don’t spend all night crying because they think their friend might be sleeping with someone else. At least, she didn’t think that they did. And what about…

“What about Yasha?”

Beau frowned, like she was confused beyond measure that this was the question that Jester was asking.

“What about Yasha? She’s a friend.”

“You shared a room with her last night.”

Beau sighed, understanding.

“Yeah. Fjord and I got into it a little bit and I needed some space to talk it out.”

“Space from me?”

“Yeah,” Beau admitted reluctantly.

“Why?”

“Because… Because Fjord said something out of order about my feelings for you and it… it pissed me off. And… scared me.”

“Why would it scare you?”

“Because I’m terrified that you’re going to fall in love with him and I’ll have to watch,” Beau admitted, her head hung and her voice so full of pain that it hurt Jester just to hear it.

“Beau, I’m not in love with Fjord,” Jester said seriously, insistently, leaning forwards so that her hands rested on Beau’s knees and she was so close that Beau couldn’t even try to look away.

“No?”

“No.”

“Good. That’s good. Because… well, that would kind of suck. Like really fucking suck.”

“Yeah,” Jester agreed, falling back into her own space. It would suck. Because Fjord was nice and all but he wasn’t Beau.

“Yeah,” Beau repeated, her face a little dazed. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“You didn’t mean to call me stupid. I just didn’t hear the whole conversation.”

“No, I mean, you’re not mad at me for having these feelings for you?”

“What? No!” Jester cried. “Of course not, Beau! Why would I be mad?”

Beau shrugged, avoiding her eyes again.

“I’m not mad,” Jester promised. “I’m just a little confused.”

“How come?”

There were those eyes again. Soft and understanding. Calm and raging all at once. A little like the ocean.

“Well, when Fjord had to give me air in the ocean it was kind of like a kiss, you know? And I’d never been kissed before so after I asked Nott how it was supposed to feel.”

“And what did she say?”

“I don’t remember exactly. But it was something about how it felt like this whole big thing that made you feel properly alive or something. I don’t really understand what she meant because I already feel alive…”

Beau laughed, nodding.

“You’re the most alive person I know.”

“I know right? So, anyway. She said all of that and I realised that when Fjord and I kind of kissed it didn’t really feel like anything. Just a little bit scary and weird.”

“Okay.”

“Which I was not expecting at all because of Tusk Love, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What does it feel like to kiss a girl?”

Beau’s breath caught and for a minute Jester thought she was going to pass out.

“I can’t really say how it’s different,” Beau began tentatively. “I’ve never kissed a guy before. But kissing someone new sort of always feels different. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like very much and sometimes it does. It depends on the person. But I’ve never had fireworks or anything like they say in books. But I guess it could be because I’ve not really been in love with any of the women I’ve kissed. Not in love, in love anyway.”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

She’d said it before she even realised that she was going to say it. But as soon as it was out of her mouth she knew that it was right. This is what she wanted. This is why she had lain awake all night fearing what Yasha could give to Beau. This was the fiarytale she wanted, not some perfect romance. She wanted real. She wanted her best friend. She wanted the girl who made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Who always went along with her crazy ideas and never once judged her for it. The girl who was always there. The one who made Jester’s heart beat faster than it ever had before. Even when she had been facing down that dragon all alone.

“Jester…”

Jester shook her head and realised she had been monologuing in her head but not out loud and now Beau looked worried.

“All I could think about last night was that Yasha might be kissing you and I was super jealous because I don’t want anyone kissing you but me.”

That wasn’t quite the extent of it, but Jester’s mind was messy right now and she wasn’t sure how to articulate that epiphany she had just had in words that didn’t sound like nonsense.

But, as it turned out, it didn’t matter. Because Beau froze on hearing those words. Froze like a rabbit caught in a fox’s glare. Then she smiled. Really smiled. And kissed her.

The moment that Beau’s lips touched hers, Jester didn’t see fireworks, she saw whole constellations exploding behind her eyes. Hot, nervous tension flooded her, rushing into her chest from every corner of her body until she felt sure that she was glowing. Her hands grabbed for Beau’s robes, desperate to pull her closer. To make sure that the kiss would never end because this… this was what Nott has been talking about. This was the kind of world-changing kiss that made everything fall into place. The kind of kiss that punctuated a life. The kind that divided it into the time before she knew what it was like to kiss Beau – Beau who was her best friend, her roommate, her real life fairytale – and the time after it when nothing made sense but wanting Beau and needing Beau and loving Beau.

Because that was what she had been feeling. She knew it now. Knew it for sure. This was what her Momma had told her about. This was love.

“Jessie? Jess, are you okay? I didn’t fuck up did I?”

She realised that she had stopped kissing Beau and had gotten caught up in her own head again. And Beau was looking at her because of it so soft and broken. So wonderfully beautiful and afraid.

“No,” she whispered, kissing her again. “You didn’t fuck up Beau. You did everything just right, okay?” She kissed her again. “I promise.”

This time, Beau looked dazed when she pulled away.

“You smell like roses.”

Jester grinned. “I broke into the bathhouse.”

“What? No way?”

“I drew the biggest dick on their wall. It was awesome! But I also left some money because I felt kind of bad for using a whole bottle of scented oil.”

“Yeah, we can pay for that stuff now, so it’s not as much fun to take it,” Beau reasoned.

“I know right! What’s up with that?”

“I guess they’re not the establishment now or whatever. We’re richer than them so it’s not like taking from the rich and giving to, well, us. Because we’re the rich ones now.”

“That’s pretty smart, Beau.”

“Thanks, Jess,” Beau said, kissing her with a smile. “You can still draw the dicks though. And mess with their stuff.”

“You want to come with me next time?”

“Always.”

Jester smiled, her happiness so big that she felt like she was floating.

“I love you, Beau. The proper kind. Not just the friend kind.”

Beau’s smile was like a warm ocean breeze.

“I love you too, Jessie.”

And then Beau kissed her long and deep. She pressed her down into the sand and covered her face with soft kisses that made her giggle, before pressing back into her mouth, opening her up and bringing back those fireworks.

Jester hadn’t know what romantic love was. Not until she had met Beau. But this, this was the stuff that real fairytales were made of.

#Critical Role #Beauregard Lionett #Jester Lavorre #Beaujester #lavorregard #Nott the Brave #Fjord #fjord stone #Caleb Widowgast #Yasha #Caduceus Clay #mentions of Yasha/Zuala #Jestergard #Critical Role fic #CR fanfiction

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eachainn · 6 years

Text

Pretense

Julius paced up and down the room, glancing back at his desk every time he passed. He never expected the treaty on it to change, but somehow he was always surprised by it. And it infuriated him.

Julius reached out to snap up the treaty on the next pass, staring at the note attached to it as he started his pacing again.

These are the terms as determined at the meeting of allied and enemy forces at Wiesswolfe Castle. The treaty signing will take place there within two weeks. As a favor to Lady Marianne, you will not be present as I cannot guarantee the same safety standards that allowed you to come to the EU a second time.

Schneizel

Julius hissed out a breath between his teeth, crumpling the note and throwing it to the side. Damn Schneizel for his softness and damn his mother for interfering. This was supposed to be his moment to shine, his moment to present the terms of surrender, not a treaty.

Britannia had the advantage. In a few months they could have the forces of the EU cowed and ready to accept any terms they were given. It could have been sooner if Schneizel had let him execute the Euro-Britannian nobles who had been dragging their feet about the war. While what they were doing wasn’t technically treason, it was suspicious enough that they didn’t want to get involved. As far as Julius was concerned, they didn’t need to investigate further. They were still Britannian no matter where they lived, which meant that they had to listen to the emperor’s orders. Coming from the princes, the orders had the same power.

But Schneizel had reversed all of his orders and then dared to tell him that he needed to learn diplomacy.

Julius laughed, throwing the treaty away from him. He watched as the papers scattered on the floor, not bothering to slow down as he walked over them. There was something satisfying about hearing them crumple under his boots as he walked. This was Schneizel’s peace he was stepping on, a peace made of weakness that could be easily broken if the EU decided to push. As far as he could see, it relied on the EU being afraid of Charles, but his father was not young. If things went the way Julius suspected, no one would push for the throne, leaving Odysseus to claim it. Then everything that his father had worked for, everything that he had worked for would fall apart.

He cursed under his breath, turning on his heel and starting down the other side of the room.

He could see the way things would go with Odysseus as the king. Those that had the knack for it, like Schneizel, would try to control him. Those that didn’t would try to steal the throne from him. There would be no stopping the war if Odysseus got on the throne, and Britannia would lose everything. The only way to ensure that the empire stayed strong, that they all stayed safe, was to make sure a powerful prince got on the throne. One who wasn’t afraid to use the might of Britannia.

But to do that, he would have to gain recognition, to gain supporters. And he wasn’t to gain anything doing things Schneizel’s way.

He paused, resting a hand on his hip, drumming his fingers there as he thought it through.

Schneizel had told him enough to go on. Wiesswolfe castle would be easy enough to find and he could get the exact date of the treaty. That, of course, would be if he failed in his original plan. If he was trying to make trouble at the signing itself then it was already too late.

It was just a matter of choosing what to do, there were many ways he could cause the treaty to collapse.

Julius made his way back over to his desk, feeling himself settle. He knew how to get out of the situation despite Schneizel and his mother’s meddling. Julius shivered at the thought.

His mother was becoming weak, which was a shame. She was been one of the strongest knights of the empire once, the Knight of Six. Julius didn’t know what had changed, but he wasn’t going to let it stand. He wouldn’t be stopped by her worry, not when it was misplaced. Schneizel would never let anything happen to him, nor would Sir Kururugi.

He paused with his hand raised, turning the thought over in his head. He didn’t have a guard or a staff to serve him, a horrible oversight on his part. Then again, he hadn’t needed it, not when Schneizel had provided both and made it clear that he was just an observer in all of this. But what he did have was the one knight that accompanied him. Better yet, a Knight of the Round. The laws of Britannia were the only things that could touch them, and even then it was just a mark on their record. Sir Bradley must have had thousands of them and no action had been taken. Besides, it was war and such things could be forgiven in the service of Britannia. It was easy enough to make sure that the records disappeared.

Julius hunched over his laptop, searching through the latest troop positions and lines. If he was going to make this strike then it had to be good. He would only get one shot at it, even if he made sure to send Sir Kururugi out without his personal Knightmare. That would make it all the better, because it would take a while for it to come back to him directly. And, by then, he would have found a way for the situation to be patched up to his liking and the records would have disappeared. Maybe he could even wrap some of the same Euro-Britannian nobles into it as a warning to the others. The empire was not in the habit of being denied.

Julius chuckled to himself, looking at all the military positions. If he was going to do that, then it had to be somewhere close to Euro-Britannian forces, which would give him the added bonus of having reinforcements without having to do more than have a set of orders. There were plenty of orders of knights who would jump at the chance for real battle. He had heard good things about the Ashra squad. If he planned things right, he would get the Knights of St. Michael tangled up in the breaking of the cease fire, and they were deeply connected to the nobility of Euro-Britannia.

He leaned his head on his hand, looking through discarded battle plans. Any of them would do, even if it took some small adjustments. He drummed his fingers against the desk, letting the ideas run through his head.

Breaking the ceasefire would be more than enough to get the EU questioning Britannia. That would certainly delay the treaty, but he wouldn’t get another chance to disrupt completely because Schneizel and the others would be suspicious. It would be better to overdo it than to be cautious. With that being the case, it would be best to attack civilians as well and along a front already in place. Then it would look like Britannia was preparing to start up the war again while the EU relaxed. That was the best strategy.

Julius hummed to himself, smiling as he worked through the formerly most active fronts. He would start there, along with a simple requisition notice for a standard Knightmare. Sir Kururugi would be able to pilot it, Julius was sure of that.

He pushed away from his desk, staring at the map of the front as his plan settled neatly into place. All he would need to do was set the wheels in motion. Sir Kururugi would listen to his orders and then he would need a wild card, someone that would enjoy the destruction. All of that was just too easy.

Julius looked up as the door to his office slid open, smiling as Sir Kururugi stepped inside. His smile flickered a bit when he saw that the knight was still wearing the black and silver cape of mourning. Sir Kururugi had rarely appeared the full formal dress that required the cape, but his suit and been enough and the presence of the Lancelot on the field had worked just as well. Everyone knew which Knightmare belonged to a Knight of the Round.

Sir Kururugi bowed his head, hesitating there before dropping into the full bow that was required. Julius smiled at that. His brother had taught Sir Kururugi bad habits, so it was beyond time that he remembered his place.

Julius let him kneel for a moment before making a small motion. “Rise, Sir Kururugi.”

“Thank you, your highness.” The knight got to his feet, keeping his gaze on the ground. “I came to ask your permission for leave.”

Julius tensed. “Leave?”

“Only a day and I wouldn’t be going far. There’s going to be a ceremony, in remembrance of your brother.”

Julius swallowed, his excitement about his plan sinking away. “Oh, it’s that time already.”

“It’s been a year, your highness.”

That was more than enough time to forget someone. He’d put Clara behind him in that time, and Lelouch was barely a memory until someone else brought him up. It was better to move forward and not leave weaknesses like regret or sorrow. Better to channel those emotions into something else because he couldn’t bring the dead back. In Lelouch’s case, he didn’t want to. He’d won in the way that Britannian princes had always won the things that they wanted.

Julius leaned back, staring at the careful battle plans. One day wouldn’t ruin anything, he needed at least that much to get things set up. The problem was if he really wanted to allow Sir Kururugi that.

Sir Kururugi was his now. His mother and father had given him the Knight of Seven to command. Beyond that, there was his game to consider. The winner was the one who secured Sir Kururugi’s affections. Without Lelouch around, it should have been easy. No one could love a dead person, but Sir Kururugi was persisting in it.

Didn’t he understand that this wasn’t how the game was played? He might have lost the royal favor of one prince but another was offering it openly and eagerly.

Julius frowned at Sir Kururugi, watching as the knight took a step forward, Sir Kururugi looking at him directly now. “Please, your highness, it’s for Lelouch.”

Julius stood up, not bothering to stop the chair from toppling behind him. Even the sound was distant as it clattered to the ground. It was unimportant in the end, especially when compared to the problem at hand.

“You mean, Prince Lelouch.”

Sir Kururugi’s mouth opened and then shut, his head falling forward. It wasn’t a disagreement, but it wasn’t an apology either, and that galled him. And, from the way that Sir Kururugi wasn’t offering anything else, he didn’t intend to. That made everything worse, because it was another one of Lelouch’s allowances. His brother had allowed Sir Kururugi much, too much. Julius didn’t intend to continue the pattern. Sir Kururugi was his, and so it was up to him to bring him to heel.

“No.” The word came out louder than he meant it to, but Julius didn’t want to take it back. He couldn’t with the way that rage bubbled up. “You don’t have permission.”

“But your highness-”

“Nor do you have permission to question me! You are under my command and my orders are final!” Julius slammed his hand down on the desk. “You do not have permission to take leave. You will not go to that ceremony. That’s an order!”

Sir Kururugi swayed in place, Julius expecting to see the same blank expression that the knight always wore. It was the careful deference that should always come with a knight. Instead Sir Kururugi looked furious at him. That expression slid away, but it didn’t go back to normal. Instead it turned into something like cold fury.

Julius straightened his shoulders, ready to give more orders to bring Sir Kururugi back into line when the knight bowed. It wasn’t the full, formal bow that was his due, but a quick one from the waist. Then, Sir Kururugi was turning around and walking out of the door before he was dismissed. Julius could only gape after him as Sir Kururugi disappeared out the door.

He was tempted to order him back, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth. It was too much like begging, and he would not beg. Sir Kururugi was his, he had won.

Julius curled his hands into fists, trying to ignore the way that he shook. He would just have to make sure that the lesson was learned, and soon. He couldn’t have Sir Kururugi ruining his plans, especially when they were for Britannia. If that was the case, then he was like the Euro-Britannian nobles and should die for his refusal. But Julius wouldn’t jump there just yet. As a Knight of the Round Sir Kururugi could be forgiven. He just needed time and the right reminders to come back around, and Julius would make sure that he got that.

He sighed and turned around to right his chair. He made sure to keep the motion deliberate, bringing himself back under control. He could worry about Sir Kururugi later, once he was back under control and had a plan, both for disrupting the treaty and for the wayward knight.

---

Suzaku pulled off his jacket as he walked through the hallway by the living quarters. He sighed and pulled the jacket close to him, hugging it tight. He hadn’t known how much he had needed that, the quiet of the church, the words shared quietly between them. Schneizel’s presence had been expected but his participation hadn’t been. It was just another reminder that he hadn’t been the only one to have lost something precious when Lelouch had died. All that was missing was Lady Marianne, Nunnally and Rolo’s voices, but he was sure that they had their own kind of remembrance. It just made him wish that he was back there with them.

He patted the pockets of his jacket, needing something to do with his hands. It didn’t feel like a year since Lelouch had died, it still felt too fresh. At least he had stopped looking for Lelouch around every corner, but there were times when he was half awake that he would expect to roll over and find the prince. The worst were when he’d dream of how it had been and wake up still hearing Lelouch’s voice, but have nothing else.

He shuddered, clutching the jacket closer. That too would pass, maybe in a year and maybe more. He would just have to keep pushing through it. Just like he would have to push through standing guard over Julius.

According to what Schneizel said, it was only a few more weeks. By the time the treaty was signed, he and Julius would be on their way back. It would mean that Julius would have to wait for another assignment. Suzaku might have to ask Schneizel to see that it happened quickly, or else he was sure that Julius would become unbearable. That was one thing that he’d learned about the prince, it was better to keep Julius occupied or he would start to snap at everyone. That might have been the reason for his overreaction earlier. Or maybe it was something else. Julius hadn’t been too happy about the treaty, and Suzaku couldn’t figure out why. It was a victory, an end to the war.

Suzaku frowned as he thought it over before pushing the idea aside. He was tired, worn out from the ceremony and sure to get some kind of lecture from going against Julius’ orders. It wasn’t like he’d skipped his other duties to go, Schneizel had purposefully canceled everything so anyone could come. And a good number did, everyone except…

Suzaku stopped dead, staring down the hallway. He’d been so busy with the ceremony that he hadn’t really thought about who had been there. He’d scanned the room as a matter of habit, but he hadn’t thought about it, not until now. Schneizel and Kanon had been expected, as had the rest of Schneizel’s staff. There had been a few older officers who had known Marianne, and then himself. But the one person who should have been there hadn’t shown up.

It was strange considering how close the twins had been, at least before Julius had gone to the EU. He hadn’t gotten more time to observe the two of them after that, because he’d been focused with Lelouch going to Area 11. And, afterward, he’d been mourning, the whole family had. Except for maybe Julius.

Suzaku shook his head, trying to nudge the suspicion away. People mourned differently, he knew that. Julius might mourn by throwing himself into his work and getting snappish. After all, he had always seemed to resist shows of emotion. Marianne had waved it off, but Lelouch had called it their father’s influence. Suzaku could believe either, which made a likely enough explanation for him.

Even so, he couldn’t shake off the feeling. Maybe it had meant that he had finally adjusted to the thinking in Britannia, or maybe it was his own dislike of the prince coming through.

Suzaku sighed, letting the thoughts drift away. He didn’t want to spend the night mired in politics, he just wanted to curl up and sleep until he was needed in the morning. If he was lucky, then it would be a while.

As he walked, he glanced from side to side, automatically scanning the hall. As expected, the light in Schneizel office was on, but Suzaku was not about to duck in. There was every chance that Schneizel was looking for the same solitude he was, or continuing to work on the treaty. Even for a day like today, it was normal.

What wasn’t was the light still on in Julius’ office. Suzaku slowed down, tempted to just walk past. He didn’t want to deal with Julius just yet, nor until the prince was safely back on the plane and headed back to Britannia. But it was unusual behavior, and Suzaku couldn’t imagine what Julius was up doing.

Suzaku slowed down, about to bypass the office and take the long way back to his rooms when he heard someone shift inside.

“Sir Kururugi?”

Suzaku sighed, but stepped into the doorway. “Yes, your highness?”

Julius didn’t answer immediately, and it wasn’t hard to see why. The papers that had been on the desk were now on the floor, the surface cleared for the bottle of wine and glass. The glass had remains of wine in it, but it looked like it had been discarded for the moment. Julius was clutching the neck of the bottle, his grip surprisingly unsteady for the amount that was still in the bottle.

Suzaku stared at Julius for a moment before dropping into the full bow, closing his eyes when he heard Julius sigh. It was the smallest things that kept the prince happy, which were all the things that he felt like Lady Marianne and Lelouch had trained him out of.

Suzaku risked a glance up, watching as Julius settled back in his seat. The prince played with the bottle of wine for a moment before setting it aside. Julius motioned for him to get up, Suzaku watching him for a moment before getting to his feet. Julius was quick to motion for him to step forward, Suzaku glancing at the door that had been left open. That too wasn’t like Julius.

He approached the desk cautiously, stopping a good distance from it. It seemed to be enough for Julius because the prince smiled and nodded at him. “You went.”

It was obvious what Julius was talking about. Suzaku didn’t bother to try and lie, he just nodded. “I did. Prince Schneizel invited me.”

“Of course.” Julius made a vague motion with his hand. “He is our superior in this, and you can’t ignore an order from him.”

There was a bit of bitterness to Julius’ voice, Suzaku tensing at it. If Julius noticed, the prince didn’t show it. He just stood up and stared walking around his desk. “I guess he thought he was doing you a favor, and maybe he was. Schneizel has a way of reading people. It must be why he didn’t invite me.”

“But you were welcome.”

“I would have refused.” Julius leaned heavily on the desk, his gaze jerking away. “I’m not one to air my sorrows in a group. I prefer to do it alone.” He nodded over at the wine. “And I would have continued.”

“Apologizes, but I saw the door open.”

Julius looked at the door, blinking at it like he was surprised to see it like that before he shook his head. “I must have…left it like that.”

It seemed to take him effort to talk, something that made Suzaku hesitate. He’d never seen Julius like this, the tight strings that held the prince together starting to come loose. It reminded him more of Lelouch, of when the two of them had gotten to know each other. Lelouch had always been willing to let the careful mask of prince drop, but Julius held his close, like it was the only thing keeping him safe or together.

Julius stumbled a few more steps forward before leaning back against his desk with a groan. He stared at the desk before shaking his head. “As you can see, I’m fine. You probably saw all the guards on your way in so…” Julius waved to the hall, the motion surprisingly steady. “You can consider yourself dismissed for the day.”

“But-”

“I will overlook this conduct, just this once.” Julius smiled at him, almost managing to look like he was in on some joke. “Call it a favor between the two of us.”

Suzaku just stopped himself from raising an eyebrow. It felt too casual, something that Julius had never stooped to in the entire time that Suzaku had known him. It all felt wrong.

He swayed in place, not sure if he was tempted to leave and put the conversation behind them or search the room. There wasn’t anywhere to hide in the office, Suzaku had checked it plenty of times himself. Besides, he couldn’t think of an enemy that would convince Julius to act friendly to him. If anything, it was the wine, except the bottle looked like maybe one glass had been poured out of it.

His gaze flicked back to Julius as the prince stumbled forward. Julius caught himself on one of the chairs before shoving himself away. Suzaku leaned back as Julius got closer, the prince reaching out for him. For a moment, it looked like he was about to fall, and it was instinct for Suzaku to reach out to catch him.

Julius grunted slightly, leaning against him. Suzaku expected the prince to push away, but Julius remained leaning against him, apparently content to remain there. Suzaku tensed, his gaze jumping back to the barely touched bottle of wine. There was every chance that he was wrong, but he had learned to trust his instincts.

Julius didn’t smell like alcohol.

“You high-” Suzaku went still as he felt Julius’ hand against his neck.

The prince’s hand moved up, Julius’ fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck as Julius pulled away slightly. Julius stared at him for a moment, his eyes very focused for one who seemed to be playing at being drunk.

It took a moment for Julius to smile, and it sent a shiver down his spine. Julius seemed to take it as encouragement, his other hand sliding up Suzaku’s chest. “Although, now that you’re here, I can see why some people don’t hide themselves away.”

“Y-your highness, I-” He was stopped by Julius’ finger on his lips. Suzaku recoiled, but Julius followed him, his finger tracing over Suzaku’s lips.

“I think we can do something that will help the both of us. Comfort me.”

Suzaku shoved Julius away, his stomach twisting violently. He barely noticed the prince stumbling back into his desk, he was just filled with revulsion.

He reached up to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, like that would chase away Julius’ touch. It didn’t work, Suzaku shivering at the memory of the touch.

“That was an order, Sir Kururugi.” Suzaku jerked his gaze up, watching as Julius pushed himself away from the desk. The prince seemed to have given up all pretenses of being drunk. “What’s the matter? You liked it when Lelouch did it to you?”

A cruel smile crossed his face. “Did you think we didn’t know? The two of you made it very obvious from the start. There was not a soul in Aries Villa that couldn’t see what you and my brother were doing…except maybe you. Did you really think that a prince would waste his time with an Eleven without a reason?”

“That’s not-”

“What he told you. I see.” Julius leaned back on the desk, the picture of ease. “You see, we were playing a game. Lelouch and I…we get bored so easily. Or we did. Whichever.”

It felt like a cold hand was squeezing his heart, Suzaku unable to do anything but stare at Julius.

That seemed to be what Julius wanted because his grin widened. “So he never told you? Maybe I should have let you have that. But did you really think that any one of our family would pick out an Eleven like you to favor.”

“Honorary Britannian.” The words came out softly, almost an afterthought of a defense.

Julius huffed and shook his head. “It’s like calling a fruit overripe. It does nothing but give something a pretty title. It means the same thing in the end. The fruit is rotting and you’re just a Number. A quick tumble and nothing more.”

Suzaku shook his head, trying to speak through the horror that held him still. “No, that’s not the truth.”

That finally knocked the grin off of Julius’ face, the prince slumping a bit. He frowned at Suzaku. “How would you know that? You knew my brother for a year, I knew him all of his life.”

Suzaku shook his head, not willing to give Julius that answer. Any conversation that he’d had with Lelouch was going to remain between the two of them, as it should be. Julius had no part in it.

His silence seemed to enrage the prince even more.

Julius slammed a fist onto the desk with a low growl. “He lied to you!”

“No.”

“Yes did! It’s the only way he could have won!” Julius flailed an arm out, not caring that he knocked the bottle of wine and glass over. The bottle tipped to the side, the wine spilling out, but the glass rolled off the table and cracked. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet, but Julius didn’t bother to look back at it.

Julius shoved himself away from the desk, storming towards him.

Suzaku took a step back when Julius grabbed for the front of his shirt. Suzaku reached down to unhook Julius’ fingers, but he stopped himself. Julius was still a prince of the empire.

Julius glared up at him, making the motions like he was going to jerk him around, but the prince didn’t manage it. It didn’t matter, because the rage on Julius’ face was enough to keep him pinned in place.

“He only won because he cheated!” Suzaku jerked his head back as spit flew from Julius’ mouth, the prince too far gone to notice. “Like everything else Lelouch did, he cheated at it! The game was to get your attention, not to fuck you.”

Suzaku tipped his chin up. “Would that come later?”

Julius’ upper lip curled, the prince staring at him before shoving him away. “I don’t have to answer you. You’re mine to command.”

“I answer to the emperor.”

“He’s given command of you to me. Besides, I won our game.”

“But Lelouch died…” Suzaku trailed off when he saw the same pleased grin cross Julius’ face. It was not the grin of a grieving brother, it was the grin of someone who had gotten their way. It looked like the triumphant grin that Lelouch would sometimes get when he got his way, a trait that Julius shared. Except that meant that…

Suzaku took a step back, staring at Julius with wide eyes. “You.”

Julius shrugged. “Lelouch cheated, which meant that I could as well. Anything to win.”

Suzaku shook his head at Julius, watching for some kind of sign of regret, or that Julius was joking. He would take either, but Julius didn’t seem to care. He just leaned back on the desk and smirked.

Suzaku was filled with the urge to rush forward and punch Julius’ smug face in, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. No one would take his word, not even as Knight of Seven. Julius would always win that argument and Suzaku couldn’t stand it. Lady Marianne had told him to watch over Julius, but he just couldn’t not knowing that Julius had been the one to kill Lelouch, and all because of him.

He clenched his hands into fists, staring at the prince. He allowed himself a moment then he turned on his heel and walked out of the office. Suzaku heard Julius call for him, but he ignored it. Julius could shout for him all he wanted, but Suzaku had no intention of coming back. He was not about to stand by a murderer, not when he was going to be treated like a prize and certainly not when it was Lelouch’s killer.

He took a deep breath, looking around the hall before his gaze settled on Schneizel’s office. He was moving before he could really think about what he was doing, all he could remember was that Lelouch had always spoken fondly about Schneizel.

He would never be able to accuse Julius of the crime. For all of his skills and patronage, he was just another Eleven. The best he could do was to be taken away from Julius. Far enough away that he could forget that he had ever heard about the vi Britannia family. As much as it pained him, it seemed to be the best thing he could do.

Suzaku swallowed hard, steeling himself as he knocked on the door. The voices on the other side stopped, Suzaku taking a step back as Kanon peered through the door. Suzaku looked past him towards where Schneizel sat at his desk, the prince looking less putt together than Suzaku had ever seen. His gaze flicked to where a pair of jackets were casually tossed over the only other chair in the room, the seat filled far too much for anyone to have been sitting in it.

Suzaku shrugged it off, focusing on the prince. It was only a matter of time before Julius recovered and came bellowing after him.

He bowed slightly, bracing himself with one hand on the doorway. “There’s something I want to ask you, Prince Schneizel.”

#Month of Code Geass #code geass #suzalulu #my fic

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mrevaunit42 · 7 years

Text

Wasteland Adventures (post apocalypse au)

hello everyone, Mr.E here with another story because I like writing. haha it’s late so i will make this very quick.

I wanted to write an xcom style story but I wasn’t really feeling it at the moment though I am excited for Xcom 2′s new dlc coming out soon. So excited. So I thought I’d write a sort of post apocalyptic story fusing some xcom with another source of inspiration i found on this site. I saw this awesome series of artwork from somebody (and I am so mad I can’t remember who) about Star and Marco in a post apocalypse setting. Star was riding a bike, Marco had a mechanical arm, the main threat was robots. all that jazz and i drew inspiration from those two sources so if anyone could let me know who the artist was, i would greatly appreciate it.

So the story: Advent, alien invaders from another planet, have made a begrudging peace with Earth. In exchange for signing the truce, they demanded certain areas of the planet belong exclusively to them and some human be given the choice of living in their cities. Star lives in the wastelands that formed after the Advent cities were created. However, supplies are low and Star finds herself searching inside the one place her mother told her never to venture: The forgotten ruins of an old human city.

Honestly that’s all background i needed to set up and i do explain in the story. The main threat of the story and Advent are from Xcom 2 but dont serve too much of a purpose aside for the reason the land is basically a wasteland.

A little word of warning, this story is a little more serious at first and a little darker but given the setting, that’s a given. Everyone is about 16 years old.

Well i hope you have an amazing week. thank you for everything and i Hope you enjoy this little experiment!

notification squad: @hipster-rapunzel @artgirllullaby @minthia-ren @thefandombytes @nerdymetalhead @isolated-frequencies

Star wiped the sweat off her brow as she took a deep, calming breath.

She lived in the wasteland her entire life, scavenging a meager existence that was fraught with danger and lawlessness but free of the paralyzingly, restrictive control of the Advent.

No one in living memory knew when exactly the invaders came to planet Earth but the shadow of the past had clouded Star's present for as long as she could remember.

Humanity to date has never lost an intergalactic war with another planet. They, however, didn't win either. In lieu of a true and lasting peace between the warring factions, there was a tense ceasefire that could dissolve at any moment with the slightest misstep from either side.

The Aliens, or Advent as they referred to themselves as, had only 2 demands before signing the peace treaty: a list of 7 or so oddly specific locations around the world and that humanity be given the option to live among them in what they mockingly called Community Centers.

Star frowned as she gazed upon Sector Double Zero, the largest Community Center Advent had ever created. It encompassed the horizon like an endless ocean and was constructed with cold, sleek colored metals that possessed a slight human familiarity that was buried under elegant and strange alien designs.

Community Centers were the pinnacle of technology and far suppressed anything made by human hands. Supposedly the people who decided to willingly live within these 'cities' were well taken care of and had their every whim carter to.

Star didn't trust Advent and she sure has hell didn't trust their CC's. A shiver ran down her spine every time she thought about it and her deeply honed instincts told screamed at her to avoid them at all cost. That deep within those enclosed walls and towering shimmering buildings was a terrifying secret. One Advent was willing to kill to keep unknown to the world.

Star shook her head, snapping out of her stupor and turning away from the CC.

Star wasn't desperate enough to break into Sector Double Zero.

Yet...

Star's mother once told her that the wasteland that surrounded Double Zero was once a lush, beautiful forest. Green bushes, trees, foliage once littered the hills for as far as the eye could see and even further beyond. But that was before Advent claimed the area of their own. Before they decided to redecorate.

Star crouched low, allowing the rocky reddish-brown sand slip through her gloved fingers.

That was all that remained of the forest her mother once remembered: an endless sea of sand, dunes and hills that rose and fell across every corner of her gaze. pockets of settlements scattered about remnants of a forgotten time half buried within the sandy clutches of the land. A wasteland nearly devoid of life.

Star picked herself up, throwing her coat over her frame as she wiped the sand from her hands.

Despite the harsh illumination of the sun, the heat had never been an issue in the desert during the day. Ironically, freezing to death had been the bigger problem. Even now, with the ball of gas burning in the sky, a chilling wind passed by, catching her hair in its grasp and causing her to shiver.

More of Advent's twisted influence on the planet.

Star picked up her cricket bat, carefully inspecting the coiled metal bands wrapped around the flat end of the weapon.

She took another breath, steeling her nerves as she gently placed her faded pink devil headband back on top of her head as she made her way across the cracked pavement of the empty ruins.

Star glanced about, taking in the concrete buildings that basked her in their shadows. Discarded remains of the life that once lived here were scattered about: Cars, briefcases, articles of clothing, papers. Star had never seen so many things in one place. It was rather humbling to be honest.

Star carefully parked her dirt bike against the nearest wall she could find, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest while she carefully watched for any sign of trouble.

The howling wind that raced through the empty city was the only thing she heard.

Her mother told her humans lived in these cities, giant man made settlements similar to CC's but with a slightly less malice intent. She had said that places away from any Advent Sectors were still like this. Still filled with people going about their day, still lived in.

Not like this tomb.

Star held the bat tightly in one hand, the other clasped tightly around the strap of her backpack as she moved further into the city limits.

Moon warned her the city ruins were dangerous, that only the desperate would be stupid enough to venture within but with supplies dwindling and her only mode of transportation on the verge of collapse, Star would have to be an idiot.

It was unnerving in a place so large with towering structures, with paved roads that were slowly being retaken by nature and where countless of people once lived side by side, the only noise that cut through the silence now was the steady thud of Star's boots.

Star nervously pushed herself further towards the heart of the city, barely resisting the urge to glance back at her ride as a sense of dread began to settle inside the pit of her stomach.

“It's okay Star” she muttered softly to herself “You are a fierce warrior. You've kick butt before and you'll do it again. Just aim for heads and swing” Star gave herself a reassuring nod “That's always worked before and it'll work now.”

Star's heart crawled to a stop when, without warning, a voice let loose a string of rather creative curses nearby.

Star dropped behind the nearest cover she could, deeply breathing as she inched closer to the source of the noise, gripping the handle of her bat tightly.

“Son of...” One voice cried out with barely held in anger “This is why I hate cities.”

“Umm Ferguson, you hate everything” The nasally second person answered.

“Well not the ladies Al. The Ferg is a lover after all.”

“I'm not in the mood to deal with your disillusions. I just want to load the stuff and get out. Is the truck fixed?”

“Of course!”

An awkward pause followed.

“I mean....probably...”

“Ferguson” Star could just imagine the eye roll that person just did “We're in the middle of a city filled with Lost and you haven't even fixed our ride.”

“I'm sorry I must be tired from all the HEAVY LIFTING I'VE BEEMPPH”

The outburst was quickly muffled but it was too late: Ferguson's words echoed dully into the distant, reverberating off the buildings and pushing deeper into the ruins.

There was a scraping of shoes against the road with an awkward silence that hung in the air.

“Sorry” Ferguson murmured sheepishly

“Please just fix the truck, I'll finish loading the supplies.”

“Ugh” Ferguson scoffed as his steps began moving away from Star and this Al person “Why isn't Marco helping us?”

“He's..” Al replied, his voice straining with effort “He's keeping a look out. Any loud noises will attract the Lost. I'm just happy your big mouth wasn't loud enough”

Star pursed her lips, slowly sneaking a peek at the two.

Ferguson was an orange haired teen about her age and wearing the strangest armor she had ever seen: Bright orange vest, barely armored clothing with the words “Love Machine” stitched on the front of his black shirt.

Al was a curly haired teen with glasses and much more practically dressed for a dangerous area: A bulletproof vest, elbow and knee pads and unlike Ferguson, openly displayed a blade tucked into his belt.

For a moment Star wondered it was best to attack them now when they were separated but the moment passed and she noticed the rather large pile of stuff that the curly haired one was sorting through: Canned and package food, a random assortment of gears, screws and various other mechanical items and piles of different clothing.

Was it really okay for her to forcibly take these things from fellow survivors? She was no stranger to violence, you couldn't be this day and age, but they had always been raiders, bandits, crazy mindless sociopaths and the occasional Advent grunt that wandered to far from the Community Center but never other survivors.

Star twitched uneasily as Alfonzo just stared at the pile of stuff before him, uncertainty filling in his eyes.

Star slowly moved out of her hiding spot, bat hung casually at her side as not frighten a response from Al but still close enough to get a swing in if they turned out to be hostile.

She took a step forward when a series of low yet well coordinated clicks chimed from some unseen speaker.

There was a flurry of footsteps and Ferguson had reappeared, dropping into a fighting stance though his breathing was heavy.

“you!” He called out, pointing directly to Star “S-stop right there! Oh man I hate when he does that.”

Star rose her hands in the air, silently impressed by the orange haired teen's situational awareness.

“Ah, who are you?” Al asked, his hands anxiously fidgeting over the hilt of his weapon.

“Hi!” Star beamed cheerfully “I'm Star, fellow survivor in this hellish landscape we call home. I came in looking for some supplies when I noticed you two.”

“How long have you been watching us?” Alfonzo questioned timidly

“Not long, about 5 minutes or so. You must be really sharp to see me coming while working on the ...umm truck was it?”

Al opened his mouth but Ferguson quickly shoved his way between his friend and the girl.

“Hey, I'm Ferg.” he said with the smoothest voice he could muster “Hero of the wasteland, engineer and mechanic extro...”

The trio jumped as, without warning, the series of complex clicks came out of the tiny black box that hung on Ferguson's belt.

“...umm....” Ferguson glanced downwards sheepishly.

“What's that?” Star gestured to the strange device.

“That's Marco.....” Alfonzo muttered guiltily.

“Oooo” Star cooed while she leaned closer to the device “Hi Marco!”

A moment of silence followed by a wave of frantic clicking noises.

“Talkative little guy?” Star gave a goofy grin.

“Umm....this is a walkie-talkie....it's used to talk over long distances?”

Star stared at the little black box “That's talking?”

“That's a code so he doesn't give away his position. You know, Marco's somewhere nearby...”

Star nodded “Ah huh....”

“...Watching us...”

“Ah Huh.”

“...With a rifle.”

“....”

Ferguson and Alfonzo looked at each other curiously

“....Umm...Star?”

“Mhm?”

“You know what it...”

“Oh yeah” Star waved off the boy's question “It means he's probably got the scope right here” She patted the center of her forehead playfully “Ready to take me out if I try anything. Duh”

“Right...” Al murmured softly “Umm....”

Another clicking sequence

“What's he say?” Star asked quizzically.

“He says you're trouble....” Ferguson answered slowly “he said we probably shouldn't deal with you.”

Star pouted “Come on, it's perfect! You get an extra pair of hands and I get work for some much needed supplies. Everyone wins.”

Ferguson rose the walkie-talkie to his mouth, whispering as low as he could “Whatcha think buddy?”

A moment passed followed by another and another. Seconds stretched a dozen times over as the invisible sharpshooter mulled over Star's business offer.

Then, finally, a long single defeated click. Even Star knew what that meant.

Begrudging agreement.

Star decided to stifle the cheer she wanted to let out.

The work was slow but Star hardly noticed. She loved meeting new people but most folks didn't care much for a bubbly yet dangerous blonde girl trying to make conversations with them while they were doing the whole 'trying to survive' thing.

Ferguson and Alfonzo were a refreshing change of pace.

Star brought her dirt bike closer and began helping Alfonzo load the various things they found into the back of van. It was much sleek and elegantly designed than the war horses and battle charioteers she was used to seeing on the wastes but it's most unique feature didn't catch her eye until the third or fourth trip when she noticed that instead of wheels, the van had strange circular plates that hummed softly.

“Yeah” Ferguson wiped the sweat off his brow “This is an Advent transport. Probably left it when they lostifed this town.

“Lostiwha?” Star raised an eyebrow.

“You know why no one comes here, right Star?” Al asked

“Psst” Star scoffed, an unconvincing chuckle escaping her lips “Of course I....don't know what that means. What does that mean?”

“Check it out” Ferguson motioned to a nearby store “Just don't scream.”

Star glanced at the two but given they made no moves to stop her, she figured it was alright.

Still, as she drew closer, trusty cricket bat in hand, she felt off. Her instincts there was danger here, slumbering until someone foolishly awoke it.

Star held in a gasp upon seeing what Ferguson wanted to show her: Inside there was thin, sickly pale humanoid figure with empty green eyes standing there, unmoving, unflinching, lifeless. It resembled a human but its structure was more skeletal. Long razor sharp fingers twitched uncontrollably as its arms hung limp midair.

Star backed away slowly, trying to process what she just saw.

“What was that?' Star asked breathlessly once she was sure she was far enough away.

“The Lost” Ferguson replied grimly “Advent's present for us humans when they moved in next door.”

“What are they?”

“Some say” Al dropped to low, dramatic spooky voice “They are the remnants of humanity, their wandering spirits left behind and seeking rest for their torture soul.”

Star let out a sharp gasp “Really?”

“Pfft, nah” Ferguson laughed “They were some sort of experimental weapon Advent worked on. They were supposed to be this weird guerrilla fighting force that would hide deep inside the forgotten corners of city, creating new copies of itself and just keep harassing the population until they were overwhelmed or forced to retreat. They were supposed to be smart, tactical, independent beings but in reality they're just mindless, artificial empty shells. More zombie than anything.”

“Then why are they called the Lost?” Star wondered

“Because Advent 'lost' loads of effort and money on them. They were literally a waste of time.”

“Oh” Star pursed her lips “That makes them lose a lot of their grandeur and spookiness.”

“yeah” Ferguson took a long sip of water “But they are still dangerous. Those claws can rip through metal and they might not be the smartest bunch but there's a lot of them and they will swarm you. Luckily they rely on their hearing above all else. As long as we don't loud noises, we'll be fine”

Empty silence followed that statement.

“Yep” Ferguson posed triumphantly “No loud noises. Back to work”

Star and Alfonzo nodded in agreement.

The sky was a purplish twilight as the sun slowly sunk beyond the horizon. The cargo had long since been loaded into the van but it turns out Ferguson was having trouble reactivating the hover plates that were absolutely necessary to actually move the vehicle

Alfonzo was napping against the wall he and Star sat against, a small trail of drool escaping the corner of his mouth.

Not that Star noticed. Star was far too busy keeping a look out for the Lost that littered the city and this mysterious Marco character.

He hadn't shown up the entire day. He remained hidden in his little sniper's spot and aside from the occasional burst of clicks that occurred randomly chattered out of Ferguson's walkie-talkie, there was no indication of him or his existence.

Star voiced her worry to Ferguson, wondering if this Marco character could really remain so vigilant for so long.

“Dude” Ferguson answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world “It's Marco. If anything, he takes his job too seriously” Ferguson dropped to a low whisper “We call him safe kid.”

A single angry click

Star covered her mouth, holding in her laughter as Ferguson sheepishly apologized into the tiny black box.

Star rose to her feet, stretching her tired body while giving out a sleepy yawn.

“I GOT IT!” Ferguson shouted excitedly, his fist raised in triumph, the hum growing in volume as the van quietly floated a few inches off the ground.

“Awesome” Star beamed tiredly “Looks like we're ready to head out?”

Ferguson nodded in agreement “Yeah, we just have to wait for Marco. In the meantime, get your dirt bike ready. We came here through the tunnel network a few blocks from away, we'll slowly make our way there and you can follow us back to our camp. We'll split the goods when we're nice and safe.”

Despite how many words that just came out of Ferguson would normally trigger 'It's a trap!' instincts, she felt calm and relaxed. She trusted these people. She knew she could and it felt nice to actually be a part of something again.....

Star teared up at the memory of her mother but she quickly wiped them away, rubbing her eyes in mock tiredness.

“Awesome, it's getting late I was starting to worry” Star admitted.

“Me too” Alfonzo added.

“Thanks for the faith guys.” Ferguson rolled his eyes “Okay don't tell Marco but I was getting nervous myself.”

“Nervous about what Ferg?” A muffled voice called from above.

The trio glanced upwards and Star got her first glimpsed of Marco looking at them from the roof of the building.

He was rather imposing in his long black coat with a hood covering his head. He wore a mask with two blue lens and a breathing apparatus attached with gloved hands and a rifle strapped to his back.

“Marco, hey buddy! We're all ready to go” Ferguson quickly spoke “Just come down from there and...”

The whirling hum of power stopped and the van floated there for a moment before crashing against ground with mighty thud.

“Ferguson!” Marco's voice cried out but the orange haired teen was already on it, rushing over and checking the interior of the van.

“Damn it, it's got an energy saver mode!”

“Seriously?!” Star yelled

Star felt a cold chill drip down her spine. After an entire day of peaceful quiet, a solitary inhuman shriek felt like thunder in her ears.

And another joined in. And another. More and more, a morbid crescendo of an animalistic harmony grew until it felt like the city itself was growling at them.

“Shit” Marco cursed, gesturing to Alfonzo to move “Get the truck moving now! We'll cover you”

“We?” Star asked but Alfonzo was already bolting for the passenger door, nearly tripping himself as Ferguson pulled him in.

“Sound attracts the Lost” Marco explained as he climbed onto the ledge of the roof “But they're single minded. First they hear then they spot and until we get out of dodge, that van's gonna be their target.”

“Get out of....” Star repeated but was stunned into silence as Marco leapt, grabbing onto a nearby drain pipe and sliding towards the ground at break neck speeds until he landed on the pavement with a solid thud.

Star couldn't hear the van turn on but she could see the panicked motions of Ferguson starting up the vehicle as fast as he could.

The van began to float once more but their visitors had already arrived.

Star felt sick as the Lost seemed to pour from every inch of the city: crawling out of drains, shuffling out of doorways, rolling from under nearby debris and fixtures.

Within seconds the empty city streets were filled with dozens upon dozens of these creatures and more seemed to be pouring in. An endless wave that threatened to consume them all.

“Ferguson!” Marco shouted, drawing his rifle and taking aim “GO!”

Crack, pop.

The lost reaching for Ferguson stumbled and fell as its head exploded out of existence but it was more like a balloon, leaving nothing but empty air and a rapidly decaying body that turned into a puddle behind.

“Star” Marco called to her as he pulled back on his rifle's lever “We need to go.”

Star walked backwards, blindly reaching for her bike as she saw the Lost swarm with frightening speed. Several of them managed to climb onto the van before it took off and while it was comical to see them tossed about back and forth while holding on for dear life, Ferguson and Al's childish screams shook Star out of her stupor.

Star climbed onto her bike and waited for Marco's pat on her shoulder before revving the engine to life.

Some of the Lost turned her way, their empty eyes looking at the pair but before any could lurch at them, the bike squealed, rising up on the back tire before surging forward at top speed.

Star managed to level out the bike as she weaved in and out of the Lost's path.

“A little warning next time” Marco groaned in her ear, barely heard over the rushing wind.

“Sorry” Star apologized “I didn't have time. It was peel out or be lunch meat.

“Fair enough. We need to catch up to them though. Those Lost will tear the van apart if they regain their footing.”

“Gotcha!” Star revved the engine.

The van swerved wildly back and forth but the Lost held fast. Despite how chaotic Ferguson was driving and the added weight from the several zombies hitching a ride, Star was having trouble catching up since her bike was unable to defy gravity and had to deal with traction and such.

“Ugh, I can't get closer!” Star snarled furiously as she avoided colliding with the increasing horde of Lost that filled the streets “Stupid hover tech. Stupid crowd.”

“I can't take a shot, Ferguson isn't keeping it steady and we're losing light.” Marco muttered, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.

“Hold on!” Star shouted “I got an idea.”

Marco felt his instincts scream at him “How bad are your ideas usually?”

“Pretty bad”

“Oh great.” Marco muttered as he held onto Star's waist tightly “Well you're driving, I can't really stop you.”

“Nope!”

Star made a hard turn without warning, her bike skidding sideways for a feet in a slide and knocking several Lost to the floor.

“Where are you going?” Marco asked, trying not to let worry overtake him as the van vanished from sight.

“We need a clearer path” Star explained, the wind blowing her long blonde hair about “I heard cities had this thing called a subway? Like the sandwich shops but I'm looking for...”

“There!” Marco pointed the entrance off to the side, wrapping his arms around Star's stomach as they raced towards the opening.

The Lost stumbled blindly in the darken subway station, searching and failing to find the exit to the surface. Their brethren stirred and they must follow suit.

One lucky lost looked upwards, the fading light drawing it up the staircase.

It let out a low, almost satisfied howl as it took it first steps towards fresh food when something heavy landed on it and squashed it flat.

“What was that?” Marco asked as the pair darted further into the darkness

“Doesn't matter” Star waved off the question, hopping the bike onto the train tracks below.

Marco held on firmly as the duo bounced off the uneven terrain.

Star's light was the only source of illumination as the bike rushed down the seemingly endless tunnel and for better or worse, the Lost's numbers were considerably thinner down below.

“Sharp turn ahead” Marco pointed out the obvious turn coming up.

“Thanks” Star mumbled halfheartedly, gently moving into the curve when a sudden train car appeared without warning. Star gasped in surprise as she leaned the bike away from the incoming object. The bike rumbled unhappily as it began to climb the circular walls of the tunnel.

Star struggled to keep her balance as the train car after train car whizzed by them, the bike leaning dangerously to either side the longer they went on.

Star let out a sigh of relief as she straightened herself on the now clear train tracks, the last rays of the sun slowly disappearing in the tunnel mouth ahead.

The cold, damp air of the underground became fresh as Marco and Star found themselves outside.

There was a slow building of some folksy guitar playing that crackled and suddenly became some man speaking really fast while an automatic drumbeat played mindlessly in the background.

“There!”

Star looked where Marco gestured and let out the tense breath she had been holding: o The van crossed their path a few feet ahead with fewer Lost but noticeable tears and dents in the vehicle.

Star gave chase, the steady roar of the motor bike filling the air as she trailed behind.

Ferguson and Alfonzo seemed to be arguing as the guitar and the man singing quickly popped then faded out of existence in an endless loop.

“Idiots” Marco muttered “They're actually arguing about music? Right now?”

“Yeah, when else are they going to do it?” Star chimed in.

Marco shook his head “hold it steady”

“Trying”

Marco raised his rifle, taking a deep calming breath as he slowly squeezed the trigger.

The sound of shot after shot filled the silence of the night in a rather relaxing rhythmic beat.

Shot, click, shot, click, shot, click. It brought peace to frayed nerves as the last Lost tumbled into the growing dark.

Ferguson pulled the van over, just short of the entrance to the tunnel and Star followed his lead.

“Thanks buddy” Ferguson said with the widest grin.

“No problem” Marco replied, his voice still muffled through the mask “You ready to keep going?

Ferguson and Al nodded in agreement.

Star was about congratulate everyone on a job well done when she caught something out of the corner of her eye.

She turned only to see a strange object sailing through the sky.

A whoa escaped her lips as she sat there, awestruck and inspired.

Her mother told her there used to be vehicles that used to fly through in the skies above but she never believed it. She never thought it was possible but there it was.

She felt the spark of hope ignite in her heart.

The object was small, almost as big as her bike, circular in design with two little fins that shifted angles and positions. A clear dome was fitted in the front almost like it was some sort of eye.

Marco caught Star's stare and followed her gaze to whatever was currently catching her attention.

Marco felt cold as he saw the circular flying object inch closer and closer to the city.

“Advent!” he shouted, patting Star on the shoulder “They must've seen a disturbance. We need to go”

“Wha?” Star could only stare at Marco's mask, completely dumbfounded. How could something so beautiful belong to something so evil?

There was a small hiss of air of escaping as Marco pulled the mask from his face.

Star's dumbfounded expression only grew at the sight of Marco: His brown eyes looking at her softly, his mouth set in grim determination, a tiny cute mole that graced his...

“Star we need to go.”

Star nodded dumbly, turning forward and quickly following Ferguson into the tunnels below.

Marco sat away from the campfire, staring up to the countless stars above as the sounds of joyful laughter and contentment filled the normally quiet campsite.

It hadn't taken them long to navigate through the tunnels and exit the boundaries of the city.

Star was more than welcomed at their camp and that was before Ferguson proudly announced her exploits.

Star's cheerful nature was infectious and before anyone knew it, she was practically begged to stay with his fellow survivors. Any deals regarding the great service she had provided Ferguson, Marco and Al could be discussed in the morning but tonight there was cause for celebration.

Marco felt his body tense up instinctively at the crunching sound of footsteps approaching. He willed himself to calm down. He was at camp. He was finally safe.

Marco turned to face his visitor and was surprised to find Star, the life of the party, standing there, giving him a shy wave of her hand.

Marco waved back.

“Hey Marco. You doing okay?”

“Umm yeah” Marco nodded slowly “I'm fine....why?”

“Well you're over here” Star explained “By yourself and...I dunno, I guess I was worried about you?”

“Worried about me?” Marco was caught off guard “You just met me today.”

“Well yeah” Star shrugged “but you seem like a nice person and we made a pretty great team.”

Marco smiled at the memory of earlier

“We did, didn't we?”

“So, I mean, you should totally join us. Janna's showing me this magic trick and Jackie's teaching me how to braid my hair.”

Marco wasn't expecting Jackie's name. He could feel his face blush at the sound of it and his heart skipped a beat for a moment.

A moment was all Star needed to catch Marco's shift in behavior.

“Ooooo” Star smiled mischievously “You liked Jackie, don't you?”

Marco's silence was all she needed.

Marco felt his blush worsen as Star gave a low chuckle.

“That's cute. Don't worry, I won't tell her.”

Marco stared blankly at Star, unsure what her angle was. Janna would've already demanded some sort of bribe by now.

“It's cute you have a crush on someone” Star explained “I mean when I first met you, you were all super serious. You need to relax safe kid. Life isn't life if you don't have some fun even in the middle of the wasteland.

Marco blinked, confused at the wisdom that Star spoke.

“I hope you join us” Star told him with Cheshire grin “I bet Jackie would looooove your company.”

“Star!” Marco cried but she had already retreated, making her way back to the others sitting around the campfire.

Star could feel her cheeks threaten to turn pink, her heart racing despite herself. Marco was too cute for her to handle but she knew she needed to suppress herself. He liked Jackie. That was it, nothing more to the story.

Marco stared at Jackie, his heart racing at the sight of her laughing and smiling brightly in the glow of the campfire. Then Star took a seat next to her, impatiently pawing at Jackie to start teaching her how to braid her hair.

Marco felt his heart stop, his cheeks blaze as Star turned to him, the bright flames of the campfire fire dancing in her ocean blue eyes, giving him the softest smile she could muster.

Marco slowly made his way over, muttering quietly under his breath “Pretty girls are always trouble...”

#my story #star vs au

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