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five-rivers · 3 years

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Danny slowly loses his memories from before the Accident.

“I don’t remember that,” said Danny. “Are you sure I was there?”

Maddie raised her eyebrows. “I talked to you about it just last week,” she said. “When I was asking you about what you’d like to do during summer vacation.”

“I remember that,” said Danny, uncurling slightly from his position on the couch. “I just don’t remember the other thing. I... maybe we talked about something like it. When was it?”

“You were twelve,” said Maddie. “It was just before your birthday.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I remember, um... What other vacations did we have? Before the one where you thought I was crazy, it was, um...” He held his hands as if preparing to count on them. “We went to New York that one time. And then the Great Lakes before that... Oh! And that haunted house road trip.”

He frowned down at his hands, and Maddie felt something unpleasant curl in her gut.

“Is that... All you remember?” she asked.

“Y-Yeah? I guess the others were from when I was too young to remember?”

“The haunted house trip was when you were five,” said Maddie. “Danny... have you been,” she didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to piece together other little oddities into a big picture, “have you been forgetting things?”

“No!” said Danny, defensively, sitting up straighter. “I’m just...” He chewed his lip. “It isn’t as if I’ve forgotten anything recent.”

His abysmal grades and missed curfews begged to differ.

“One second,” said Maddie. “Stay here.”

She went to her room and fetched one of her largest photo albums. Danny was still on the couch when she came back, picking at the hem of his pant leg, and staring blankly at the floor. Maddie sat next to him, making him jump. She opened the album to a random page.

“What were we doing here?” she asked.

“Um,” said Danny, brows pinching together in confusion. “Shopping?”

“For?” prompted Maddie.

Danny shook his head. “It’s just shopping. It isn’t important.”

“Danny, this is from when we got you that model spaceship. The one you have hanging up in your room.”

Danny blinked, and slowly shook his head.

The doctor’s office looked clean. It even smelled clean. Danny was still doing his level best not to touch anything. Maddie would have sighed at his behavior, but she was too tense. She met Jack’s eye. He looked terrible too.

“There are no signs of Alzheimer’s disease,” said the doctor. All three of them sighed with relief. “However... You said the other symptoms, the difficulty in school, began after the electrical accident?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.

The doctor nodded. “Electricity can do strange things to the brain, sometimes. We haven’t been able to find any structural damage, but the activity levels...” He brought a colored image up on his computer screen. “This is where long-term memory is stored,” he said.

“Doesn’t red usually indicate high levels of activity?” asked Jack.

“It does,” said the doctor. “This is actually higher than usual activity... Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on here. I would like to request that you make a record of things that you currently remember as happening in your life, and then come back a month from now.”

“That’s it?” demanded Maddie.

“Right now, since we don’t know what’s causing this,” said the doctor, “the best we can do is monitor the situation. We don’t even know if this is an ongoing deterioration, or something more gradual. On the upside, other than long-term memory, there doesn’t appear to be any damage. Your timeline after your accident is clear and detailed. The cognitive tests we put you through actually put you significantly above average... This is what we can do.”

Maddie didn’t like it. Danny didn’t look surprised. Or even particularly upset.

She caught Jack’s eye again. They would have to be ready to support him, when the extent of what he had lost fully hit him.

Danny floated down the icy hallway next to Frostbite. “This isn’t going to be one of those examinations where I have to get undressed, is it?” he asked.

Frostbite chuckled, but there was an undercurrent to it that usually wasn’t present. “Only halfway.” He paused to tap Danny on the chest. “Your mind is no longer entirely contained in your head, after all.”

Danny rubbed at where Frostbite had tapped him. “You don’t think that has anything to do with it, do you?”

“I’m unsure,” said Frostbite as they reached the examination room. “It isn’t unusual for ghosts to lose their memories of their lives, but that is both more immediate and more complete. Sit down here, and take your shirt off, Great One, and we can begin.”

Danny made a face at the item that looked like an overly complicated dentist’s chair with a large metal disk embedded in the back, but obeyed.

“Here we are,” said Frostbite, pulling a complicated ring-shaped thing from the chair. “This part goes around your head,” he said adjusting it to fit.

Despite his cold core, Danny shivered at the frigidity of the metal.

“These are to monitor your core, along with the matching one built into the chair,” said Frostbite as he attached several flat disks to Danny’s chest.

“Are they, like, ultrasound?” asked Danny, running his finger along the edge of one of them. He didn’t like how they stuck to his skin.

“They work on a similar principle,” said Frostbite. He turned on several nearby monitors. “With this, we will be able to see how your brain and core react in tandem. Can you transform for me a few times? I want to compare with the baseline readings we took from you when you first stayed with us.”

“Sure,” said Danny.

“Alright,” said Frostbite. “Now, I am going to try sending a few low-intensity ectoplasmic pulses and currents through you. Is that alright?”

“Sure,” said Danny.

The first few left Danny feeling lethargic and tingly. Other gave him so much energy he had to leave the room for a few minutes to burn some of it off. Another, interestingly, turned off his ghost half, not unlike the Plasmius Maximus.

There was a rest period in-between each test, to make sure that they weren’t mixing results. During those times, Danny and Frostbite would laugh and tell jokes and...

... Danny trailed off in the middle of a sentence. “Frostbite?” he asked after a minute. “What was I just saying?”

“I want to stress that this is currently just a theory, Great One,” said Frostbite.

“It’s okay,” said Danny. “Just... What is it?”

“Your memories are recorded in both your brain and your core. You know this, correct?”

“Yeah. You told me that a while back.”

Frostbite nodded. “Normally, if one is turned off, the other one is still recording memories, and the memories will be transcribed.”

Danny nodded.

“Or, if they are disconnected, in the case of the Plasmius Maximus, or your parents’ ‘Ghost Catcher,’ they will swap memories. However...”

“Yes?”

“It is my theory that certain kinds of discrepancies between memories can lead to your core deciding that the discrepancy is an error and attempting to remedy it. Great One, your core did not exist prior to your accident.”

“So, it thinks my memories from before that are wrong, and it’s getting rid of them.”

“I’m afraid it may be so.”

“Can you stop it? I mean, you were able to artificially induce it, earlier...”

Frostbite made a face. “The only things I can think of that could stop this would be unhealthy in the long run. I do not believe you want to try to split yourself in two again.”

“No,” agreed Danny. “Any-Anything else?”

Frostbite sighed. “This is not something I can confirm,” he said, “but I suspect that the reason for your odd pattern of your memory loss is that the memories you dwelled on most often vanished first.”

“Oh,” said Danny. “Because that would bring them to my core’s attention...”

Frostbite nodded.

“Well. That’s... not ideal.”

“I’m sorry, Great One. Would that I could do more.”

“It’s all gone,” he said, without preamble, as he stood at Jazz’s door first thing in the morning.

She looked crushed. “Are you sure?”

Danny nodded. “I remember remembering, but I don’t actually remember. It’s weird and... actually kind of a relief,” he said, tilting his head to one side.

Jazz blinked rapidly. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”

He shook his head. As his memories had disappeared, so had most of his remaining trust in his parents. Between the memories of them caring for him, and the memories of them attacking or threatening him, the latter were more vivid.

He still loved them, and his ghostly desires, that he literally could not remember living without, still focused on them, but that and trust were two different things. It had been months since he’d started to fake retaining memories that he only knew about from reading his journals.

“Sam and Tucker?”

This time, Danny nodded, the gesture much more enthusiastic. “We were going to meet up later today, anyway. Do you want to come with us?”

“Sure,” said Jazz. She rubbed at her eyes. “Give me a second.”

Danny nodded. He wasn’t in a hurry. “I’ll be downstairs.”

He could understand the grief. He had felt it. But it was over, now. The only thing left was to make new memories.

#danny phantom #ask #answer #prompt fill #prompt

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urupotter · 3 years

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So while I've said before that I don't like the HP subreddit, I still frequent it because occasionally I read something insightful. This is one such case, where I read a reading of Lupin that I'd never seen before in response to a comment of mine analyzing the shrieking shack confrontation between Snape, Remus, Sirius and the golden trio, where I mentioned that Lupin was a gaslighter so I wanted to share. It was created by reddit user u/UsuallySiSometimesNo and is posted here with his permission. We had a little conversation in the comments. Read it under the cut

UsuallySiSometimesNo: That struck a cord with me, too. I didn't think about that on a conscious level before, but when I read it, it felt instantly true.

Honestly, I think the strongest examples of Lupin gaslighting are actually done to himself. The biggest, character-defining example, I think, is that after finding friendship with James, Sirius, and Peter, he becomes so desperate not to be ostracized from them (due to his issues of self-worth and his personal brand of impostor syndrome) that he deliberately and routinely feeds himself false narratives about their behavior until he can no longer tell fact from fiction, even as he's experiencing it.

Their relentless bullying of Snape? A childhood rivalry.

Their casual bullying of other students? Kids being young and stupid.

Their clear disinterest verging on contempt for Peter, someone less fortunate and vulnerable with whom they're supposed to be good friends? Just mates being mates.

Even actions taken against Lupin, himself, are revised in his memory to be 'no big deal', because he desperately needs that to be true. Let's pretend for a moment that Snape indisputably deserved to be slaughtered by a werewolf the night Sirius told him how to get past the Whomping Willow. Sirius did not send Snape to be killed by any old werewolf. What happened that night was that Sirius - one of Remus' best friends, if not his actual best friend - attempted to use Remus' curse/illness against someone (which is a big enough betrayal on it's own) without ever telling Remus that when he woke up in the morning (covered in blood and in the presence of a shredded corpse) it would be to find that he had committed the act he was most petrified he might one day commit. In setting Snape up to be killed by Lupin, Sirius, at the very least, risked Lupin's sanity, and, at the very most, risked Lupin being sentenced to death.

Now, I understand that Sirius wasn't thinking about all of that when he did what he did, and I, as a someone removed from the situation (and armed with the additional character/situational knowledge granted to a reader) can even understand why Sirius' own trauma led him to grant such a blind death sentence to Snape (which I think is related to a point you made elsewhere, u/Adventure_Time_Snail, about Sirius' "violence towards those who trigger his fundamental fear of wizard fascists" because of his abusive upbringing). But Lupin's perspective is not one of an unbiased observer. And once James found out what was happening and pulled Snape back before it was too late (which, I would think, was more to save Lupin than to save Snape) and once Remus awoke the next to day to discover everything that transpired the night before, I find it hard to believe there wasn't at least some conversation about the true gravity of the situation. And yet, even all these years later, Lupin doesn't bat an eye when Sirius not only doesn't display shame when the event is mentioned in POA, but offers something akin to regret, NOT at the fact that his actions could have gotten Lupin killed, but that that they DIDN'T get Snape killed: "It served him right...", he sneered. etc. etc.

I think the obvious question here, is 'Even disregarding what Sirius did to Snape - how can Lupin be okay with the knowledge that Sirius has no regret, at all, for what he did to him, even now that they're adults?' Well, we're not in Lupin's point of view in the books, which means we can't hear his internal monologue, but I think a satisfactory answer to the question is that he's done a substantial amount of internal gymnastics in order to get to a point where he doesn't see this as a big deal, or even as something that he has a right to be upset about.... just like a gaslighter does to their victim.

Again, because we're not in Lupin's POV, we can't point to the exact instances that such internal gaslighting took place, but, based on what we do observe from Harry's POV (and based on external knowledge of gaslighting as a true-to-life concept) I wouldn't be surprised if Lupin so desperately needs everything to be okay that he derides himself for feeling bad or betrayed, that he calls himself stupid for thinking terrible things that have happened to him are a big deal, that he wars with himself about how people who are his friends and who are so good to him and who are better friends than he thinks he deserves could possibly do something to harm him/others, and that he beats down whatever emotions and senses and gut feelings he has that tells him something his friends have done might be very wrong. What we see in the books is a man who makes excuses for his friends and harbors a warped perception of reality in much the same way victims of gaslighting do, and he seems to exploit his own insecurities in order to instill doubt in his own experiences in much the same way perpetrators of gaslighting do.

I can't help but think that, by the time Lupin tells Harry that Snape harbors a particularly strong hatred for James because James was a better Quidditch player, Lupin has become so adept at gaslighting himself that he actually believes it.

tl;dr: One of Lupin's defining characteristics is that he gaslights himself out of a desperate need to be liked by others, since he has a difficult time liking himself and seems to believe all of his relationships are incredibly fragile.

Urupotter:

This is a fascinating reading on Lupin that I've never seen. I don't read him the same way, in that I think Lupin actually does know that what he's doing is wrong, he just doesn't have the moral courage to act on his conscience. (I view him as the anti Snape, great conscience, but abysmal moral courage, while Snape had unbelievable moral courage but a shitty conscience. Their arcs are about growing their moral courage and their conscience respectively) Realizing that his negligence almost got Harry killed is what triggers his arc, concluding when he goes back to Tonks and Teddy after running away, taking responsibility for his actions for the first time.

But this reading is so interesting that I'll have to reflect on it. Do you mind if I post it on my Harry Potter tumblr blog? I'll credit you of course, I would just like to discuss it with my followers. Of course if you don't want to I won't.

UsuallySiSometimesNo:

Honestly, I think the lack of in-depth conversation about Remus Lupin (at least compared to fan favorites Sirius Black and Severus Snape) is a missed opportunity and a shame. Don't get me wrong, I can discuss Sirius and Snape until blue in the face, but Lupin's arc is just as powerful in an understated (and often underestimated) way. The muddy, oversimplified truth is, without the fatal-flaw decision making of all four Marauders throughout their lives, the series of events proceeding the first chapter of the first book don't happen, and the story we all know and love never comes to be.

And speaking of sparking a discussion about Lupin...

I think Lupin actually does know that what he's doing is wrong, he just doesn't have the moral courage to act on his conscience.

You know what? I agree. And that's what makes him so interesting, I think. He is constantly and dependably full to bursting with internal conflict. When his friends are wrong/do something wrong/say something wrong, he can and does immediately identify the situation as wrong. When he does something wrong, or when he does nothing in the face of something wrong, in that moment I believe he knows the full weight of the situation. Like you said, he has a strong conscience, as well as a deeper, perhaps more nuanced understanding of right and wrong than do, for example, James and Sirius. Now, Lupin needs his friends. They're not just people to hang out with, they're a lifeline for him. He's not going to engage in conflict with them if there is even the slightest chance that he might lose them (for a variety of reasons, he lacks, as you said, the moral courage to do so). But he's also a generally decent human being, and with a strong conscience comes the capacity for sincere guilt and remorse. So, not only will he not confront his friends, he needs it to be okay that he doesn't confront them. And it's at that point that I think the self gaslighting is triggered.

But Lupin is intelligent and nobody's fool, so the gaslighting creates only a thin layer of ice over the problem. Just enough of a cover that he can live with the things he would otherwise deeply regret. I do think he believes the alternative reality he makes for himself to be accurate as long as it isn't really challenged. Crack the ice, though, and we see him express remorse and reveal an underlying awareness of past and present truths. But then the moment is over, and the war between the uncomfortably and full weight of the truth and his need for the companionship of his friends returns, and then the gaslighting begins again, allowing him an easier return to his closest friends (and eventually his closest friend, singular, after the others have been taken from him as was his fear all along) without conflict and with minimal strain on his conscience.

Once Sirius, the last of his original chosen family is gone - truly gone, as opposed to 'located elsewhere' as he was when in prison - following OOtP, suddenly Lupin's arc takes off at a greater speed than at any point prior. He's now literally lost all of the people he'd been terrified of figuratively losing. Although there are still people and things he cares about, he isn't as dependent on any of them as he was on those foundational friendships, and the finality of their absence allows him to finally grow beyond his stifling cycle of reality shifting, confront the truths of his reality and his circumstances, and, as you said, finally take responsibility by returning to Tonks and Teddy - a decision that, ultimately, triggers his death (I don't mean to imply that it was a bad decision or that it's the sole cause of his death, but Rowling has said that being 'out of practice' contributed to his loss at the Battle of Hogwarts, which makes for a fantastic tragedy).

I don't mean to overstate the importance of this theory or imply that it's always present when he's on-stage, and, as with anyone, many other elements, of course, factor into his actions/words/motives. But I think it's a fascinating potential component of his character all the same. If you have more thoughts on this, I love to hear them - and I look forward to reading the discussion on your blog!

So what do you think? Is this a valid reading of Lupin? I'd say it is, but I'm interested in reading my followers thoughts!

#remus lupin #lupin #severus snape #sirius black #moony #padfoot #the marauders #marauders #harry potter #hp #mwpp

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definegodliness · 3 years

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All you’ll never fathom

It still washes over me. Unexpectedly and without reason The cold of dark engulfs my body Lingering in weighted oxygen; weighted Blood, tardily traveling; battling Pangs of surging heat.

Overwhelming, This clash I can only describe as Asphyxiating shame Versus Fathomless grief.

Heat and cold, cold and heat.

Debilitating emotion, best kept unexplained; That which has no signifiable cause Needs no intellectualization In thought spirals that sink down to places That solely through death Seem escapable.

I have been there, Hopelessly lost in despair With no light to counterweight the darkness; No angel to ward off the demons; There was only grief, Shame, Guilt, Fear, Panic, Loneliness.

Death.

And I let it all wash over me Like poisoned vines, reaching; virulently Overgrowing the trunk of the tree, Constricting every flow, Till the canopy withered, swindled of sun.

It all still wells inside me, suddenly, Unexpectedly and without reason, Yet that horrid weight of Cold and heat, Rising up to reach my brain, Now dissolves in my throat; A lump I am able to swallow And send back down to depths abysmal.

I have obtained the Counterweight, A light; Your light, angelic; I have now known love, and happiness.

Your memory has saved me more times Than you could ever fathom, For as my inborn darkness Wells and rises, You will shine the brightest counter spell, Like a beacon of the light insurmountable:

Your face felt warm on my chest As we lazed on the bed, Our bodies perfectly fitting in an embrace That needed no further interaction; Tristan and Isolde Was playing in the background, Halfly watched by hopeless romantics Who breathed in each other's presence; There wasn't a particular scene, But I looked down to the top of your head And almost simultaneously You looked up.

Then it happened, Your eyes met mine in a Half sleepy, completely at ease'd gaze, And for that moment all time stood still As if the universe itself tried to hard save The world As though it would Never again be a better place.

We did not kiss.

The moment was sacred And we both wholly experienced it; You have given me love, You have given me happiness, Tenderness, Passion, Joy, Belief, Euphoria, Confidence, Pride, and hopefulness; All positive stimuli that I until then Had missed, but this...

I never thought all good of life Could be in one feeling Incorporated:

Bliss.

By you, I have experienced bliss.

You shine your beacon, Warding off all demons; Reminding me of the purest emotion Within the human experience, Telling me if such a Feeling exists,

Life

Will always be worth it.

In gratitude for you, for this, I choose life; I will Stay alive; I -- Will live.

--- 22-5-2021, M.A. Tempels ©

#poetry

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novantinuum · 3 years

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Fandom: Steven Universe

Pairing: Steven/Connie

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 2.6K~

Summary: In which Connie’s subconscious, innocent touch helps Steven realize just how nice the sensation of gentle fingertips gliding across the surface of one’s gem can be. (Just a bunch of teen romance fluff, + first kiss)

This is set like... a few weeks before Steven leaves Beach City. I imagine he’s been recovering from what happened in I Am My Monster for at least 6 months by this point.

His days aren’t always great- there’s a lot of ups and downs- but thankfully, today is a markedly pleasant one.

_____

His house is still for once. Impossibly so. No Diamond business, no new arrivals to Earth, no disgruntled Gems kicking down his front door. No more battles, beyond his own internal ones. Admittedly, a part of him is happy for the peace and quiet. He’s appreciative of the way all his family and friends rallied around him in support months back after... erm- after his breakdown, but every guy needs some space eventually.

‘Some space’ never has to mean alone, of course.

Steven sneaks a doe-eyed glance at the girl flopped next to him on the living room couch, her mind lost in the pages of her own fantasy world. It’s a new series, something about a human accidentally falling into the world of the fae. (It’s only been like, half an hour, and she’s almost a hundred pages in already!) A pliable smile teases his lips as he watches her eyes flicker back and forth, digesting each passage with a voracious hunger. Sighing in content, he turns his attention back to his own book, externally making as if he’s busy exploring the world of fiction to hide the sappy fact that instead he’s been thinking about her all along. Honestly? He adores quiet days like these. Even if they’re not doing anything special, it’s just nice to get to spend time alone together. It’s a comfortable together.

Connie shifts, instinctively curling closer, her free arm slung against his side. With a soft hum of content he leans into her welcomed embrace, trying his best (and— caught in her innocently bewitching presence— failing abysmally) to focus on the wandering lines of text.

Everything is peaceful.

No hard knocks, no frenzied phone calls, no family disruptions. The domestic warp hasn’t even activated once this whole lazy afternoon. In recent days, he’s pretty sure that’s a record.

At long last, his house is still... and yet in a flash, his hormone riddled teenage mind— ever foolish— is everything but.

Because Connie’s touch is tickling him.

It’s subconscious, almost imperceptible at first. At some point her free hand has roved so that it’s no longer pressed against his side, but against his midriff— which is currently exposed, his shirt bunched up at the waist from all his slouching. Teasingly, her fingertips dance upon the facets of his gem with the pinpoint expertise of a prima ballerina, encoding an endless rhythm directly into the sum of his being, the feather-light contact sending vibrations almost too faint to notice coursing through his hard light veins. But not too faint for him. Not now, not while host to this kind of silence. Not when the girl draped on the couch next to him unknowingly commands every shard of his attention with the slightest twitch of her index finger.

It’s taking all his willpower not to squirm at this ticklish contact right now. It’s so... weird when other people touch his gem. It’s certainly not something he’s used to.

(Steven promptly buries the memory of the last time someone touched it, refusing to let old terrors tarnish an otherwise pleasurable encounter. He can feel the pink threatening to rise in his cheeks, that instinctual rush of panic he’s grown so numb to over the past months rearing its ugly head. It’s so, so hard to wrestle away from its thrall sometimes, but thankfully his therapist has been teaching him ways to mitigate these sorta reactions. His eyes clamp shut as he breathes deep through his nose and focuses on the tangible, on what he knows: the plump, lumpy cushions of the couch under him, the slight scent of garlic and cumin in the air from the lunch he cooked a few hours ago, the rhythmic crashing of waves outside the house. The warmth of his best friend by his side—)

Tap, taptaptap, tap, taptaptap...

His cheeks bloom a human red as her lulling rhythm continues.

Like he said, it’s obviously subconscious. It has to be, right? It would certainly make sense. From his observations, Connie’s always been a tactile thinker. It’s part of what made her such a quick study in sword fighting. Whenever her mind is alight, those beautiful neurons firing back and forth like a firework display, her body is in motion. Sometimes it’s her foot, tapping impatiently into the dirt as she parses through memory to find the precise words to say. Or it’s like how she memorizes facts for tests easier if she’s jogging, listening to audio recordings of the test materials she made herself. And then there’s times like now, when Connie is reading. When her fingers tap and glide with an almost impish touch across the diamond gemstone in his belly’s center as her eyes— by all appearances entirely disconnected from both her hand’s motion and his reaction— skim effortlessly across the unfolding tale on her page. Her hands... oh, those hands... calloused, warm, digits lithe and curious in their movement. They’re always shifting, always tapping, always twitching to some identifiable rhythm. Is this just another example of her sway towards more kinetic-based thinking? Or... is it something else? A silent yearning that extends its roots from the heart into object reality, innocently unaware of the power of its call?

Stars, Steven thinks, mustering with all his strength to ignore his burning face, so maybe I’ve been thinking a little too much about her lately...

Eventually, it all becomes a bit too overwhelming to handle. If this continues in silence any longer, well... well, heck. He doesn’t even want to imagine what embarrassing things could happen. Mustering up all his courage, he flips his book shut and drops it on the cushion beside him.

“Um, Connie? By the way? That’s kinda ticklish,” he squeaks out, voice high and reedy.

Upon his words, she notices where her fingers are subconsciously tapping and immediately pulls her hand away, her cheeks flushing dark. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says, quickly tossing her book aside and shifting upright on the couch. “I didn’t mean to goose ya’! I wasn’t even thinking abo—“

“No, it’s okay!” he interjects with an open hand. “I’m fine, really, I am. I- it’s not like, uh- It isn’t like a bother, and- well, it just—“

Burning up with such a ferocity that he’s about one impulsive decision away from high tailing it out of this fraught social situation and dunking his glowing pink head right into the Atlantic, he forces himself to hush before he says something super stupid and humiliating in front of his best friend in the whole world that he’ll regret and replay in his dreams forever and ever for the rest of his days.

Okay, Steven, stop running your mouth like a lovesick fool for one second and think. How can you say this in a way that doesn’t sound entirely stupid and/or weird?

Watching him closely, curiosity written across every vibrant feature, Connie inclines her head ever so slight, a subtle, wordless gesture— one only a Jam Bud could understand— for him to keep going.

The phantom sensation of her fingers tapping against crystal rushes through his nerves like the physical analogue to a bad ear worm. He reaches up to itch at the side of his neck, unable to fully stifle his nervous laughter.

“Honestly, it uh- it actually felt pretty nice?”

“What, me touching your gem?”

“Yeah,” he manages to croak out, voice cracking like it hadn’t since he was freshly fifteen.

She isn’t able to fully stifle her giggle at this, pressing her hand tight to her mouth far too late.

His heart nearly plummets at the sound of her teasing laughter, the constant thrumming of his hard light veins steadily quickening as a flood of energy pulses just below the surface. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, he knew it was far too much after every other recent misstep he’s made in their relationship! Why couldn’t he have just kept his trap shut?

“Aw, geeze,” he says, voice thick and his every muscle ready to bolt, “this is so embarrassing—“

“No, no! I shouldn’t have laughed, it’s okay!” she jumps in, pressing her hand to his shoulder to help ground him “It’s just bodies, Steven. It’s not weird. It’s just how skin-to-skin contact works. It’s supposed to feel good, because we’re meant to be social creatures, y’know?”

He hums softly in agreement, taking the offered moment to ease himself down from brink of panic. He focuses intently on the weight of her hand, resting feather-light against him. It’s a small gesture, but a powerful one. More than anything, more than words alone could say, it’s a promise. A reaffirmation, moment by moment. I’m here. We’re here. It’s a truth even the sobering reality of shared trauma can’t hope to erase: that even when the going’s tough, they have each other.

Connie brushes a stray stand of hair behind her ear then, shifting on the couch. Perhaps out of a sum of bashfulness, her eyes drift, not quite able to meet his.

“I- it’s silly, but I guess I never considered that you could even feel sensation through your gem,” she admits.

“Really? But you’ve had a gem before. Well, shared a gem,” he corrects himself, though in the end it’s all semantics.

“Well, sure, but when we’re Stevonnie, they don’t tend to think about stuff like that, because you’re used to it, and I’ve never thought about it. It’s simply... normal for them, I guess.”

“Hahah, yeah. It’s always been that way for me,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I never crawled like a normal kid, d’ya know? Dad says I always used to move around by scooting on my butt. When I tried crawling my gem would scrape against the floor, and apparently? I hated it.”

She laughs for real this time, (with him, not at him), her voice ringing true and beautiful and clear like a bell. His heart swells with joy.

And then...

Connie’s lithe fingers reach towards his midsection, hesitantly at first, before— in careful consideration of boundaries— pausing in their voyage entirely.

Her eyes lock with his, her shy expression wholly giving up the chase on what her request will be before she ever shifts her tongue to ask in words. “Is it okay if-?”

“Always,” he says, gently leading her hand under the hem of his shirt and towards the gemstone at his core.

He can’t help his sharp inhale when he feels her fingertips dance across his facets once more. Even when he knows what’s coming, knows to expect this contact, it’s funny. Not funny in a ‘haha’ way, funny in an ‘I’m not used to this’ way. After all, he’s never exactly made a habit of touching his own gem beyond periodic cleaning, and (almost) no one else has ever had a purpose to. It’s for this reason that a small traumatized segment of his mind still can’t help but spiral in panic about the mere concept of any external being brushing against this treasure, this tangible half of his very essence. Given the nightmares he’s been through, he’d have every right to deny her touch. But with Connie... beyond everything else, allowing her in this way is the greatest show of vulnerability he knows how to give.

It’s his proof to her that in this moment, he trusts her implicitly, without question.

Gracefully, she traces her finger around the edge of his gem, lines each individual facet in turn. It’s ticklish at first, much like before, but as she grows more confident in her gentle exploration he finds himself relaxing under her touch. He feels warm, a faint buzz of content flooding his system through his hard light veins. With her, he feels safe.

“It really is beautiful, you know that?” she says, a peaceful expression settling across her features. “Your gem.”

“Nah, you’re beautiful...” he murmurs bashfully, cheeks flushing.

“So are you,” she replies in swift measure, eyes soft with endless adoration.

His fluttering heart extends its gossamer wings and soars. If it weren’t for her nestled at his side, lithe fingers running across each facet in even measure, her tactile presence tethering him like an anchor to this present reality, he’s pretty sure he’d have floated halfway to the ceiling by now.

Daringly, his gaze locks with hers. He swears his heart’s beating its own drum solo within his chest, but this time it’s not because of fear, not at all.

It’s the feeling of freedom.

His fingers loop around a stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of her eyes. That seems to happen a lot, he’s noticed. As delicate as he can manage, he hooks it back over her ear.

“Can I...?” he whispers, his warm breath brushing against her lips.

She replies in wordless affirmation, leaning forward to close the narrow gap between them. Hooded eyes drift shut. Her hand still rests on his gem as they finally move to cross that final barrier, that fuzzy, oft indistinguishable line drawn between childhood sweethearts and could-be couple, and kiss.

Well, attempt to, anyways.

To be fair, despite his schmaltzy roots, Steven only has movies and books to pull from as an example.

Their noses bump against each other’s at first. Both giggling, they tilt their heads to compensate and then mash their lips together, reveling in every ridiculous moment of their joint inexperience. It’s definitely sloppy, and he doesn’t have a clue where he’s supposed to put his hands or how long is too long, or how he’s supposed to move his mouth against hers, or— stars, did he even remember to brush his teeth this morning?? He sure hopes so— but because it’s with Connie all of that doesn’t matter. It’s perfect in every way.

“OoooOOOoo, looks like loverboy’s finally gettin’ some!”

He and Connie startle at the interruption, pulling apart from each other with equally flushed faces to match eyes with their surprise visitor.

It’s Amethyst, leaning against the kitchen table with a downright roguish smirk, probably thinking she’s the funniest Gem that’s ever emerged. Of course, who else would it be? (Though, which entrance did she come in from? When did she sneak past them? Were they really so involved with each other that they just... failed to notice??)

“Crude,” he says, brows creased with faint annoyance.

In return, she cups her cheeks and serves him the most ridiculous, schmaltzy expression she can muster. “Sap!”

Connie stifles a laugh at her exaggerated antics, but on his side he can’t help but be salty that her interruption yanked the two of them away from the blissful throes of blossoming teenage romance.

“Oh, get outta here, you,” he chimes back, and playfully tosses one of the couch’s pillow straight towards her face. “Shoo!”

The quartz Gem catches it out of midair and grins, no stranger to tests of reflex these days. Adopting a fake posh voice, she fires back her retort. “Your wish is my command, Sir Sappington...”

Tucking the pillow under her arm, she turns on her heels and skips up and over the warp pad’s platform, stalking towards her room with a victorious air. She doesn’t even try to mask her lovingly teasing snickers as the door splits in two at her command and she crosses the barrier into the temple’s dimension warping interior. The last they hear from her before the passageway shuts is an overly triumphant ‘whoop.’ Steven can’t help but raise a scandalized brow at this. What, were the Gems hosting a betting pool about him and Connie, or something?

But thankfully, in time, the beach house grows peaceful again. They’re alone together, and together they’re content.

“Geeze, sorry about that,” he says bashfully, scratching at the nape of his neck. “You know how Amethyst is, heh heh.”

Connie smirks with loving, mischievous intent, comfortably cuddling up against his shoulder. “She’s kinda right, though...”

“About?”

“You can be pretty sappy sometimes,” she says fondly, and tilts her head so she can smooch his cheek. “Just one of the many reasons I love you.”

____

Notes:

So, given that I’ve also written a fic wherein Steven wakes up feeling a hand against his gem and has a panic attack, a word of explanation with my headcanons-

Ultimately, I imagine there’s a very stark difference between a trusted individual like Connie touching his gem when he’s fully alert and it’s just them, alone, safe... and him waking up and being groggy enough to not immediately realize who it is next to him.

In the end though, I just hope Steven would be able to reclaim a once-terrifying experience (someone else touching his gem) as something that is also able to be loving and comforting when it’s done with consent.

#su #su future #steven universe #connie maheswaran #connverse #su fanfiction #steven/connie #amethyst #my writing stuff

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yashimolala · 3 years

Text

⎡ where are you now? ⎦fushiguro t. & m.

★ part two of ⎡ can you hear me now? ⎦ ☆

❀ pairing: fushiguro megumi & fushiguro toji (familial)

❀ word count: 1,494 words

❀ genre: fluff/angst

❀ author’s notes: this is not incestuous in any manner.

❀ tags: character study, fushiguro toji-centric, introspection, purple prose, somewhat canon-compliant (?)

❀ description: the moments that were left at the back of the father and son’s minds, and the places where they could’ve been.

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　　。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Sunflowers.

Megumi’s eyes flutter to the sight of a delightful scar.

He knows this is a dream, but it was a real memory flashing in his eyes, one that he’s never been able to recall before.

The scar was graceful, stretching to its’ full beauty on a smile. It was straight, adorning the left side of the person’s mouth.

Slightly-chapped lips, rosy hues on glowing cheeks, and large, rough hands reaching out for him. And his safety in a delicate body is entrusted to their palms as he’s wrapped in strong, built arms.

He could not see the upper half of their face. It was a rather blurry vision he had.

But he could tell… they were joyous. Delighted. Glad. Genuinely happy. They smiled like it was the most beautiful moment of their life. Like his very existence was a miracle.

Tenderly cradling his small, fragile body; gently rocking him to a soft tune. He doesn’t know the song itself, but he loves the comfort it brings. The small humming is imprinted in his memory, a precious memento to cross at his heart.

Megumi then closes his eyes, drifting to a deep slumber, all the while listening to the serene sound.

He lets the darkness wash him over to a new dream.

Interlude.

Your smile rivals the vibrance of a sunflower, Ever brilliant and happy, Blooming with a vivid yellow power, That I can never exude.

Shining brighter than the glaring star in a summer night. Fiery blooms of beauty captivating me in its splendor, Always facing the direction of its Creator Like a lost sailor in search for a ray of light.

- Yashi

Aloë.

Megumi remembers getting ice cream in the mall when he was a child.

He was observing the strange tubs of bizarre flavors illustrated in posters; he seemed like he wanted to try them out.

His father was watching him from afar, hands shoved into his pants’ pockets. The man then sighs, “Stay in the bench over there.”

Megumi nods, sitting himself on the vacant furniture, unknowing of what he was planning.

The older male disappears from Megumi’s sight into the flood of crowds, not even uttering another word before leaving.

Minutes of swinging his legs back and forth were spent as he waited. Person after person passed by him, never sparing a glance but he felt like the eyes lurking from the shadows are on him, but at the same time, he feels like he’s within a void of empty crowds.

Just as he was to hop off and set out to search for his father, the man was right before him, handing down a triangular-looking biscuit with a building swirl of soft white.

The child looked astonished, wrapping his small hands around the cone, green eyes sparkling with the smooth, glistening frozen treat.

Toji just sits beside him, seemingly uninterested with legs spread wide, in comparison to the kid’s knees that were almost closed in a timid manner.

Megumi blinks once, before glancing down the ice cream, bringing the pointed tip of coldness to his lips, taking a small bite.

Chilled velvety mush melted into sweetness as he savors the flavor.

It’s a classic vanilla that his father could only afford.

The father glances to his side at once, watching a small smile stretch on the kid’s usually stoic expression.

“Is it good?”

“Anything that father gets me is the best.”

Toji then closes his eyes with a contented smile, clearing out the chatter of the crowds in the mall and etched Megumi’s smiling face into the back of his head.

Aster.

Toji sees the color of the skies on Megumi.

He could never forget the beady gaze of his child, often glimmering with curiosity that he could never unravel.

They glow with a glint of excitement and interest, with every thing it explores, may it be the old bookstore down the street, the trashed alleyways in their neighborhood, or the stray puppy that he saw in the park.

Toji sees the only blessing in his life.

Toji sees Megumi making his own blessings out of the world.

A small smile pulls on his lips as the child’s hand holds onto his larger one for reassurance, relishing in the sound of his laughter.

Megumi has his mother’s eyes, but he also has his own soul in those pair of sapphires. It was somewhat funny because everyday when Toji looked into the mirror, all he can see are soulless orbs of dread.

But now that he can see the life in his blessing’s eyes, he’s more than satisfied.

Azalea.

The first time Toji went out with Megumi’s mother, they eloped to the beach, where the color of their eyes can be found, symbolic of their persona as well.

When he takes the boy to the ocean, his eyes gleamed with excitement as he starts talking about the sea creatures he’s read about, like the starfish, the crabs, the seahorse and more.

His blue gaze was a living memory of his mother, reminding him of the calm ocean waves that came crashing on the grains of gold and the clear skies that rolled across the earth.

He notices his mussed hair that was disheveled by the salt water that soaked into their skin and takes a photo of the footsteps they’ve left on the shore before it’s washed away by the sweep of shallow water.

When he feels delicate fingers graze on his knuckles, his chest surges with euphoria upon seeing Megumi who held onto his hand with his small digits, lips stretching with a smile and wet lashes framing his face.

He wants to wake up every day to this shade of blue, the voice of his son filling his ears, to live in a moment that will last until the end of his time.

Interlude.

‘You look just like your mother.’

The man remarks as he glances at the shape of his hair — same black, same spike, same curl that framed over his features that was a tad softer than Toji’s.

‘I guess I do carry her tenderness well.’ Megumi brings up a hand to the expanse of his neck, averting his focus away, refusing to make eye contact with his father.

This does not go unnoticed by Toji, as his emerald gaze catches on Megumi’s ocean ones. They were a deep shade of blue, drowning in the abysmal depths of the sea, accompanied by the shadows.

He speaks again. You both have the same eyes.

‘Cause we are both exhausted.’ The younger male responds almost immediately, but it never came out in an exasperated manner. It escaped his lips as a gentle sigh.

Toji’s eyes travel down to explore more what he shared with his mother, halting by the slim phalanges that he wore.

‘And the hands.’ He adds.

‘We share the same wilting fingers.’ Megumi wearily says, demonstrating by shifting his digits into a hand gesture that he does not recognize, only familiar with the lines and curves that shaped his wrist.

‘But that rage, your mother doesn’t wear that anger.’

‘You’re right.’ His expression that was once serene contorts into one of madness, bathed in blood and the laughter that cascades from his lips is almost maniacal. ‘This rage is the one thing I get from my father.’

Sweet Pea.

Fushiguro Toji was not expecting to have the latter half of his plans ruined by the Gojo kid who went berserk after rising from death.

All he felt was unease, unease, utter unease.

Just when he thought he had thrown his feelings away, it all comes back to him with an excruciating ache to his chest, tugging painfully on his heartstrings.

All he remembers is clinging onto his wife’s back like a helpless beast, the joy he had when Megumi was born, raising him up until he was five and fuck, he wishes he could have seen him grow up more — deal with his teenage phase, watch him graduate, have a peaceful story of his own.

He longs for a life where he could hear about Megumi’s dreams, where they talk about what happens in his everyday life over dinner, where they could live as a small and happy family with Tsumiki.

But he can’t go back to that life, can’t return to where he left off, can’t have what he want anymore so what’s the point?

He looks into the long path that was stretched out on the other way, disappearing into forever. He’s afraid to say this is the end he’s reached, but deep inside, he knows that he’s already lost, deep in the restraint of his own pride, in the choice of path that he chose and in this battle.

So when he chooses his last words, he tells them to the white-haired teen in hopes that his child will at least be able to live a better life than he did.

He just hopes that his only blessing is okay.

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　　。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

The language of flowers:

❀ Sunflower = “The sunshine in your smile”/Radiance ❀ Aloe = Affection and grief ❀ Aster = Love and daintiness/Remembrance ❀ Azalea = Family ❀ Sweet Pea = Goodbye

Oh and please do keep in mind that, in the second interlude, the dialogues that are in italics belong to Rupi Kaur’s ‘Milk and Honey’.

additional notes: i said i’d write more of this so i did.

#fushiguro toji #fushiguro megumi #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #character study #introspection #angst #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jjk angst #jjk toji #fsgr

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ladyfawkes · 3 years

Text

Desiderium by Trekkiehood and LadyFawkes Current word count: 15102 Current Chapter 8 & 9: The Useful Idiots; Eugene's Lament Rated: T for graphic descriptions of violence, wartime, torture, things of a POW nature. ATTENTION/ACHTUNG/ATTENCION: THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! [Nor a repost.] DESI HAS BEEN GIVEN ITS FOOOOURTH UPDATE IN LESS THAN A WEEK. WHOOPWHOOPWHOOP! Chapter 8 (but not 9) also the first chapter in which I've flown entirely solo thus far. Doth my eyes deceive me, or does our hero make a reappearance??? Hold onto your butts, buttercups. You finally get to learn what Regis is all about. Eeeeep!!! This one's intense!! You also get to learn exactly what Eugene wrote to his dearest Rapunzel in the hour or so prior to his capture.

Overall Story Summary: Desiderium: an ardent desire or longing; especially: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost. Eugene and Rapunzel's lives are turned upside down when a war breaks out between Corona and Equis. As Captain of the Guard, Eugene is forced to leave his wife and daughter to fight on the front lines, where a tragic berserker attack leaves Rapunzel a widow.....or so she's been led to believe. Now prisoner to a sadistic megalomaniac, our severely injured Eugene must fight harder than he's ever fought before in order to escape dire circumstances and drag his way back to his family. With battles raging, the enemy advancing, too many fallen troops, dwindling supplies under siege, and especially absent their most trusted strategic leader, the only chance Rapunzel, Corona, and Eugene have is if the kingdom can still somehow pull off the seemingly insurmountable task of winning this forsaken war. Has dusk finally arrived for the kingdom of the sun, or will she rise victorious once more? Chapter 8 Summary: Eugene finds "help" in the most unexpected of places. (Chapter 9 summary & chapter posted beneath Chapter 8.)

Javeen’s men had concussed the enemy captain in outrage and tightly bound his wrists and ankles with ropes for transport. Naturally, nobody amongst them had consciously thought to put pressure on the enemy’s` wounds. On the contrary, most of them had gone out of their way to avoid such a thing…. Their reputation had always been annihilation of all opposition and a literal scorched earth policy. It didn’t leave much room, if any, for compassion or medical training; most of the time, it left even less room for common sense. Before dawn that day, Commander Javeen’s underling had initially volunteered to perform the honor of actually transporting the soon-to-be-captured prisoner, the captain in red. However, by this point, Avila was less than thrilled; Uhlan Avila didn’t want the loathsome enemy captain to leak his blood and other bodily fluids all over his opulent saddle. He’d spent good money on it, after all. This was an unforeseen complication for which the uhlan had definitely not volunteered. However, now….he was stuck with it. Avila sprinted over to a fallen enemy horse nearby, loosened the saddle, and reclaimed the saddle blanket, padding, and two leather straps. Taking the woolen pad and folding it over a few times, he rolled the enemy captain up inside of it with the blanket around the outside, and cinched up everything with the reclaimed leather straps. Uhlan Avila was pleased with himself for being so clever. It was that one action of vanity alone which preserved Eugene’s life to this point; as otherwise short-sighted as these bloodthirsty barbarians were, transporting the wounded -- even their own -- was not something for which they spared much thought or effort. And so Uhlan Avila threw the prepared prisoner over the withers of his horse and ultimately brought the prisoner, retching and puking, all the way back to Javeen’s encampment outside Equisian city walls. Thus the Equisian army had done the enemy commander a secondary favor by attacking before breakfast; one cannot puke out what one has not eaten. And thus we've reached our third unintended positive consequence that the uhlan mistakenly provided the enemy: Avila had rendered him virtually unconscious. It was a profoundly merciful thing, remaining staunchly unable to recall waking memory of being hauled away so inhumanely, bound and profusely bleeding, with no way to brace or prepare oneself for the relentless jarring and jouncing motions on the arduously long journey ahead. The same afternoon Queen Rapunzel of Corona received her husband’s final impassioned missive, the currently defenseless abductee Captain Eugene S. Fitzherbert, Prince Consort of Her Majesty Queen Rapunzel, was presented to His Imperial Majesty King Regis the First and Terrible of Equis. Regis preferred just the one name, as ambitious as he was, wanting to further distinguish himself from anyone else yet in the history books. Fully expectant that his captive should be brought to him on a silver platter, King Regis was royally put-out when he was instead Summoned to Javeen’s encampment due to a quote unquote “slight problem”. However, he was determined nothing would spoil his mood for that day. That day had all gone off without a hitch, apparently, every carefully laid plan thus far. As well it should, Regis congratulated himself internally. Nothing would be better than his moment of being able to gloat in the face of this unworthy thieving interloper who had taken up such a plumb station within the neighboring kingdom. Regis had heard all about Fitzherbert from his cousin before his death. What idiots Corona’s former royal couple must have been, getting duped by the likes of such a wonton common thief. King Regis vowed he would die before he let such an accursed scourge back into his palace. King Trevor had regaled Regis endlessly about his woes with Corona, King Frederic, and ultimately, the insufferable thief Fitzherbert. And Regis….well, Regis was like Trevor multiplied one-thousand-fold. While they were close to the same age, Regis had had a lifetime filled with

having the throne denied him.

His gargantuan height of 6’11” made Regis tower over most everyone around him. Though he was tall, he was also toned and muscular rather than massive; though he could yell louder than most, he also had a silver tongue. His cruelty, selfishness, and vanity knew no bounds -- nor did his taste for ostentation. Unlike Trevor, who had a very pointy pinched look, Regis was exceptionally attractive, broad-chested, and “strong as a bear”, with his close-cropped full beard and once-dark-hair turned a respectable salt-&-pepper. Yet beautiful as he was, every horrible family trait that Trevor had ever possessed -- and then some -- were magnified to abysmal new depths within Regis….which is why lately, he’d been experimenting around with giving himself titles of repute. “King Regis the Great”....no, too generic. “King Regis the Horrible,”...no. Again, too….pedestrian. “King Regis the Terrible”...? Slight improvement but still not good enough. King Regis brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shimmering blue ermine cape, readjusted his most opulent jeweled crown and sauntered through the massive tent flap that had been pulled aside in anticipation of his arrival. He strutted toward the back of the tent, where he saw his 2nd and 3rd in command, Commander Javeen and Commander Thaddeus. Thaddeus backed away at a steady pace upon seeing him, after the commander bowed, saluted, and announced his king’s arrival. Regis picked up on an undercurrent of agitation between his leading men. As he approached Javeen and a heap of old rags on the ground, he learned precisely why. It was not a pile of rags before him. Now abruptly seeing his Big Moment evaporate in front of his eyes, Regis rushed up to see who was this mystery prisoner. Surely this could not be Fitzherbert….?? He’d expected him to be a bit sick and groggy from a pre-planned hellride over horse’s withers but not….. And Regis roughly clutched at the hair of the prone individual and yanked backward on the head so he could see the hidden features. And though this prisoner’s face was filthy, it was just as Regis feared: he was indeed looking at the face that launched a thousand Wanted posters, his avowed newest enemy, thieving “Prince” Fitzherbert. The enemy prisoner showed no outward reaction to him nor anything else whatsoever. He lay still, eye closed and expressionless, his body completely inert. With fury clouding his vision, Regis tore at the saddle blanket wrapped around his prey. The blanket had all but adhered to those once-leaking wounds through Eugene’s torso. By this time, Cmdr. Thaddeus had backed away to a safe distance outside the tent. “What is the MEANING OF THIS!?!?” roared Regis, unclutching his once-intended target’s hair and crossing the tent to Javeen in less than half a second. “GRIEVOUSLY DAMAGING MY CHOSEN PREY BEFORE I CAN EVEN SEE HIM?!?! “My-My Liege,” stuttered Javeen, “I thought you’d be pleased to see him in such dire straits!” At this, even Regis was taken aback. Briefly. “To reiterate….you ‘thought I’d be PLEASED’,” Regis made mocking air-quotes, “to see the very victim I’d been planning personally to accost now for months, suddenly in a position where nothing I can do can possibly torture or make him hurt enough, the way he should be!?!” At this, Regis twitched his wrist and an impossibly sharp filigreed 12-inch-length steel stylus slipped silently out of a concealed pouch in his sleeve. Now, the king was deceptively, eerily calm, ever-so-slowly advancing on Javeen, who was inching away. “Did it ever occur to you,” Regis rapidly whip-sliced in an upward diagonal with the stylus, his impossibly-lengthy arm snaking out from him, “that I might need to play with him first?” And then he whipped the whisper-quiet blade rapidly on an opposing downward diagonal, completing an X pattern across the chest of Javeen’s tunic. His second’s eyes bugged out and he continued to back away from Regis, stumbling, clutching at and trying to press his tunic against the new fresh wounds underneath to staunch the flow. Gritting his teeth and trying desperately

not to cry out, Javeen well knew how screaming and crying to Regis would only encourage him further. “This dirty thief has information I require, you fool,” Regis whispered, with deadly calm, as he threw the stylus at the dirt and it pierced Javeen through his foot. His hapless second screamed in spite of himself and fell backward, his foot still pinned to the earth through his boot. “I pay you to kill, maim, and follow my orders to the letter,” Regis stood over him prior to leaving, “not to do my thinking for me.” After giving his original intended victim Fitzherbert one last longing glance, Mad King Regis knelt down and plucked his stylus out of the shocked man’s pinned foot as slowly and agonizingly as possible, making Javeen yell mightily again as crimson gushed out the new holes in either side of his boot.

Regis then wiped his stylus clean on Javeen’s trouser leg, and said loudly, “Cmdr. Thaddeus, Summon the surgeon or apothecary, whatever he calls himself. Tell him he has a new charge. JUST THE ONE,” he growled menacingly at Javeen, his implications crystal clear although he still addressed Cmdr Thaddeus. And to think, less than five minutes ago, Regis had been having such a fine day. ---------------------TTS------------------------- Chapter 9 Summary: Varian has a visceral reaction after eavesdropping on Timothy's devastating report with Rapunzel. After several key delays, the queen goes down to the stables to speak with Maximus....and receives a letter. ============ Varian gradually pulled away from the door where he’d just been eavesdropping on Timothy and the Queen. His head was shaking side to side involuntarily and his eyes had frozen wide open. Clawed hands raked through his hair until Varian was frantically grasping his fringe in shock and disbelief. Everything had gone numb as he continued backing away. His throat constricted for a time and he struggled to breathe.

“Varian?” Ash approached carefully and lightly touched his arm; he flinched violently at her touch. “Varian, are you okay?”

No. No, he wasn’t. This was impossible. Eugene couldn’t be dead. He just could not!

“I-I have to go!” Varian choked out. And he simply ran. He wasn’t even sure exactly where he was going. He couldn’t go to his dad, as Quirin was one of the few Coronian citizens to have actually seen bonafide combat. Thus his services would be required with Corona’s dwindling army now more than ever….. He couldn't go to Rapunzel, she had enough problems to worry about, and he couldn’t go to Eugene because he was- no. He wasn't. He could not be! Maybe he was only missing, not dead.

Xavier. Xavier would know what to do. Varian needed to find Xavier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TTS~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Max,” Rapunzel smiled a weak watery smile as she gently stroked the horse’s face. “Heard you had quite the run.”

She offered him an apple that he accepted from her hand….but he carefully set it aside and refused to eat it.

“Yeah, I know the feeling, my friend.” Pascal chirruped in agreement and nuzzled a little against Max’s face from the vantage point of Rapunzel’s shoulder.

It still hadn’t completely sunk in…..Eugene’s possibly being gone forever. By the time she had gone down to speak with Max about an hour after first speaking to poor Timothy, about a half dozen of their other soldiers had also beaten a hasty retreat back to Corona proper, as Old Corona was even less safe than ever, due to the out-of-control fire. Sometimes not all of these men arrived in one piece, either. Rapunzel subsequently learned the enemy had started an oversized funeral pyre…..but why?? They also independently corroborated Timothy’s claims of Eugene’s being run-through. And even worse, some said that Eugene’s stricken body had been thrown…..on the top of that funeral pyre. She’d heard the chilling reports corroborated more than once, from soldiers who had little to no idea what their fellow troops had also seen. She had had those tunnel nightmares for ages. And yet...hardly anything felt real. She felt detached from everything. Once the tiny and woefully wounded and bedraggled troop contingent had arrived, however, news had spread throughout the palace grounds faster than the fire that spawned it: Eugene is dead. The Prince is dead. Captain Fitzherbert died in battle.

Maximus let out a soft nickering. Rapunzel allowed a few tears to finally fall for real. It was a stark reality, seeing Max without Eugene. Seeing the blood on the saddle. Seeing the thick bandages on Maximus as he was carefully laid on his side, being cared for in the stable. Seeing everything, everything that she had once thought of as strong and capable and larger-than-life, and practically invincible….all in such precarious states. She just…..couldn’t…..

“I don’t know what I would’ve done had we lost you too, Max,” whispered Rapunzel. This was the only way, she decided, she could hold things together. With Max and Pascal, she could fall apart if needed, without anyone questioning her state of mind or suggesting she should step down from her duties. She just….couldn’t bring herself to give up on him just yet. Rapunzel instinctively knew that she was still the best chance Eugene had for being found. And that chance would diminish severely if she replaced herself with someone else in the highest command position.

Max nuzzled her hand before biting at his saddlebag and pulling out a folded letter with "Wifey" scrawled in hurried font on the back.

She accepted it with shaking hands. It still bore his scent and the official Captain’s watermark. Eugene’s. She could barely contain her trembling as she unfolded the pages.

My Dearest Sunshine and Darling Wifey,

The writing on the parchment here appeared peppered with large drops of clear liquid. Most of the ink was smeared, including the date in the top right corner, as if it were all written in a furious hurry. It’s doubtless the reason why Eugene never had time to seal the letter either.

If you’ve been given this letter, then I can assume I’ve entered a battle from which I will likely not return. Know that I did everything in my power to win for us. I’ve done everything in my power to return to you. I never wanted to leave you or Kleisonne. It was never my choice to stay away….but I’m sorry nonetheless. Not only do I have sworn duty to protect the kingdom and her heirs…..it’s most of all because I want you and our daughter to be as safe as humanly possible. You’ve been the best companion, wife, mother to our child, lover, and life-rescuer this flawed man could have ever hoped for. I’ve been more happy these past 5 years with you than the prior 23 years of my life combined. I’ve never wished more than now that an afterlife truly exists. Because whether in living life or afterlife, I would give absolutely everything I have just to spend even a tiny bit more of my time with you and Kleisonne, even if all I got to give you was a proper goodbye. I love you more than mere words could ever convey.

Also know how much I cherish you and how fortunate I am to have been given a second chance to get things right in my life. That never could’ve happened without you.

I’ll never stop loving you, Sunshine. Death couldn’t stop that before. Perhaps….the odds might smile on me yet again.

In my absence, I need you to be certain and watch that nanny. Please. My paternal instincts are just extra strong right now, I suppose but certainly you of all people can understand why I'm....careful. And in case I can’t return, please make sure Kleisonne knows I love her and that I never wanted to leave her. I didn’t abandon her by choice. Someone stole our time out from under us. Every moment we three are apart, I’m certain desiderium shall overwhelm me. Please….tell my dad how much I appreciate, love, and care for him. I completely understand his delay. I can’t imagine how difficult it would’ve been to pull together a virtual army and make his way back here in about 7 weeks. Two or three days shouldn’t have made much of a difference but in this case….? I fear Edmund will never forgive himself--but I will. Corona will still need him and the Brotherhood though, even if I’m gone. Tell Fred and Arianna thank you for everything…..they were my family at a time when I still had nobody else.

You were my new dream yesterday, you’re my new dream today, and you’ll always be the best dream I could ever seek, Rapunzel. I’ll remain forever your devoted husband.

All my love and more, Eugene

Rapunzel was openly sobbing now. Rivers of pent-up tears flowed as the Queen’s small body was wracked with uncontrolled weeping. She surrendered to the worst pain and emotional loss of her entire life. It just wasn’t right. It’s not fair for me to have saved him once, only for the enemy soldiers to get him just a few short years later.

Maximus whinnied low in his throat and nuzzled in, letting Rapunzel know it was safe for her to come closer, despite his bandages. It was clear the despondent horse didn’t care how much he hurt physically, which….comparably, still wasn’t all that much. The adrenaline still hadn’t worn off from his mad dash earlier, apparently. And it was the least he could do to give his queen a safe space to cry. She clung tightly to his neck, letting her tears soak into his mane. Maximus well knew how difficult it was for her to express herself when she felt vulnerable.

Events and every single independent corroboration thus far all pointed towards Commodore Fitzherbert having been killed. Virtually nobody had seen him alive since before the inferno effectively ended the battle. Several people had even witnessed his being run-through, and a couple of his men had even seen his body on a lighted funeral pyre. Rapunzel was wracked again with more sobs at these thoughts.

How could Eugene have possibly survived? Common sense told her he hadn’t. Yet everything else told her he was still out there, somewhere, needing urgently to be found. Everyone lucky enough to have retreated from the battle said they were certain he had not survived. Though it had been around 4-5 hours since the end of the battle, Rapunzel couldn’t give up just yet.

Most chillingly of all, the idea had finally begun sinking in….mostly due to morale being plunged to abysmal levels.

The whole kingdom had felt noticeably dimmer once everyone began to believe Eugene Fitzherbert was dead.

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sasorikigai · 3 years

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Bi-Han, hugging Hanzo from behind.

Hug my Muse and I’ll write their reaction! || @bastardsunlight || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || This is where the book comes to a close, the chapter to an end. For soon, the next volume will start being drafted, drafted into their lives. Hanzo Hasashi’s disrupted mind stills and fades for a verdant respite, a time enchanted by the quiet. There is a music singing; a field of blossoms out of sight, once lies promises now by a hum. An effervescent jubilation nestled in the instability of his mind as a golden-amber home abuzz in the cranial hollow of his memory.

How should he ever dare to crave that taste where no one is the keeper? Scorpion endures incessant stings of guilt and despair, as his heart continues to shudder in grief and remorse for a time he seemingly never knew. No longer, the earth emits its pungent, rich, and wholesome fragrance, but of putrescent decay, frosted glacier prison as the perennial cold will cause his spine to shudder.

Beneath the detritus, crawling maggots, and rigor mortis of dead cadaver no longer emitting nauseous odor of decay and rot, there only remains the weathered spring of his mind, struggling to coexist amidst the effulgent splendor of the rebirth, concealing the glacier winter storming through his heart. How his broken soul focuses on attachments, his still young heart yearning to acquire external affection. But Hanzo Hasashi ignores the internal emotions that tells him. He is worth so much more than what he thinks he is. And despite his mind still struggles beneath the accumulated damage, as the echoic screaming lips and ravaged body, trodden upon and violated by the hands of not a man, but of a wicked sorcerer’s...

The usual phlegmatic and solemn Grandmaster nearly jumps, sharply withdraws from the enclosing coldness, then almost instinctively expels a long exhalation, knowing the culprit of the embrace. His core may be fire made flesh, yet the marred, blemished beauty of him will continue to be plunged beneath the everlasting steadfastness, as his attentiveness had long slipped beneath the corporeal existence, as he remained drowned in the abysmal limbo. “You...,” his heart endures, and the wicked, manipulated vision of the stygian depth of his eyes no longer spills bitterness and hatred towards Bi-Han. The catastrophe of everything he had lost may still reside in the blueprint of him, but Hanzo Hasashi knows, in the rarity of settled volatility of his mind, to welcome the cryomancer in his arms.

It will be the exhibition of his wanton passion, as his hips will pivot, as the curling arm will draw forth Bi-Han’s shoulder, drawing him in as the heated impression of his lips will settle by the trunk of his beloved’s neck. Lest Hanzo still questions the verity of such term of endearment, all he knows is this; once dead eyes see no sin, just desperation. And the glimmer of sweat on bodies pressing will only tell that he will always relinquish beneath the sweltering need to devour and claim. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ hellfire fibrillating beneath his skin (iv)#✗ fifty shades of kombat (nsfw)#(mortal kombat legends: scorpion's revenge)#(bihanzo)#(I..... ship them)#(if ya asked me a year ago I'd be like NOOOOOO NOTP)#(but in certain circumstances I deffo see them together)#bastardsunlight

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schnoogles · 4 years

Photo

Temporary Escapes written for the @jonsa-halloween event! Day 1: Wargs/In The Dark Read on Ao3

Sansa and Jon are ruling the North together after the defeat of the others. Sansa, already prone to making up stories and bury her trauma, finds an escape in warging into birds, soaring high into the skies to escape her fears and nightmares. Jon worries though. Varamyr once said birds often cause wargs to be disassociated with reality.

The knock on the door shook Jon out of his stupor. Going through ledgers was his least favourite part of ruling, he found it boring. And going through them late at night was just abysmal. He shook his head and called out to the door. “Enter.”

“Your Grace?” a timid looking woman peeked through, “Pardon the interruption. It’s just- well you told me- uhm- always come fetch you-”

“Gwin? Remember what we talked about? Speak freely, please.” The poor woman had been around during Ramsay’s reign of terror. And sometimes, she still felt like she had to tiptoe around Jon. He’s been working with her to try to get her to feel safer in the walls of Winterfell. It’s a work in progress.

Gwin, very much still distressed, started over, “Your Grace, she’s doing it again. And I can’t get her to stop.”

Jon shot up to his feet, “How long has she been at it?” Already marking his place and closing the books, Jon was ready to leave immediately. They both walked out and headed towards the sleeping chambers as Gwin answered.

“I’m not sure. She was like that when I found her, and I tried making her stop, but she wouldn’t! I’m sorry.” Gwin was wringing her hands as she tried to keep up with Jon. He noticed.

“You did all you could Gwin,” he reassured her, “If you don’t mind fetching some warm washcloths and hot water?” Gwin nodded and turned to leave. Before she could get any further though, Jon called out. “And Gwin? Thank you.”

Jon carefully opened the door to their chambers and saw her sitting there, in the dark. She was by the window, a cup of ale sat next to her untouched. With her back to him, she looked as if she was just gazing out at the night sky, admiring the stars. Jon knew better. It’s been a while since she’s done this, but every time it happened, it lasted longer and longer.

He walked over to the window and knelt in front of his wife. Even though he knew what to expect, every time he saw her eyes a pure white instead of her usual Tully blue, his heart broke, just a little. “Sansa? Darling, please wake up.” No answer. He knew waking a warg up from skinchanging was near impossible, but damn it he’ll try. Cradling her face, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. All he could do now was wait.

It was probably less than five minutes later when her eyes flashed blue again. “Jon?” she whispered, still in a daze. “What are you doing?”

“Sansa? I lost you again, love. You went away.” He kissed her sweetly, gently. “You promised you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

Tears filled Sansa’s eyes. Afraid that even speaking too loud would somehow cause her memories to resurface, she whispered, “I didn't want to, I swear. But when it got dark, it was like the monsters came back. The echoes of knives scraping, of fabric ripping, their voices. I couldn't take it. All I felt was alone and I felt trapped. I didn’t like it. I just wanted to go away for a little; escape reality for just a bit. I forgot myself.” She was softly crying now.

“Shh shh, it’s alright love. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have left you alone like this.” Before he could say anything else, Gwin returned.

“I’ve got the washcloths and hot water Your Grace,” setting down the items, Gwin curtsied and retreated, but she hesitated by the door before turning around and spoke to Sansa. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, Your Grace. I’m glad to see you’re back.”

Sansa smiled at the kind woman. “It’s not your fault, Gwin. You’re my lady’s maid, not my slave. You aren’t expected to be at my beck and call at all hours of the day and night. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, turn in for the night and rest. Have tomorrow off even, I don’t mind.”

Touched by her queen’s kind words, Gwin returned the smile and left.

Jon picked up the washcloth and dabbed Sansa’s face, clearing off any sweat he’s sure has dried off since. Sometimes he wishes Bran had never taught Sansa to hone her warg skills. Skinchanging into one of Winterfell’s hunting dogs -into Ghost even- was one thing. But skinchanging into birds? And so frequently? He worried for her. Varamyr once said that birds cause skinchangers to be disassociated with reality. He knew that’s why Sansa did it though. The horrors she’s seen and the trauma she’s been through would cause any man to wish it all away and escape.

“My love you can’t do this anymore, please,” Jon quietly begged. “One day you might not come back to me.”

“I’ll always come back to you Jon.”

He sighed. After the light cloth bath he gave her, they quietly dressed for the night. Though their marriage started off with many awkward silences, they now lived with moments of comforting quietness. When he had finished brushing her hair, they went to bed. He wanted to know what today’s trigger was, but he would never ask her. Sansa would tell him when she was ready. He was on the precipice of sleep when she was.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I’ll be a terrible mother?” Her voice was soft, filled with an anxiousness he couldn’t quite name. But it was what she said that had him wide awake, turning to face her.

“Absolutely not. Where is this coming from love?”

He could feel the hesitation radiating from her body. “I saw Maester Wolkan today.” She whispered to him, as though afraid of his reaction. But Jon didn’t notice, his heart was beating wildly. He was told not to hold much hope, Sansa had been through too much.

“Sansa?”

“Jon, I’m with child.”

The euphoric feeling in Jon was indescribable. He pulled his wife over to his arms and peppered her in kisses. “That’s wonderful news Sansa.”

“Is it?”

Jon immediately stopped his affections. Had he read the room wrong? Did she no longer want children? Did she not want his children? His mind was spiraling and Sansa would have none of that.

“Jon, I’m happy. Incredibly so. But after everything that’s happened to me, what if I can’t be the mother that our child deserves?”

“Impossible. Darling, I think we both have fears when it comes to raising a child. But we can’t hide from our fears. Or warg ourselves away.”

“I know.”

“We can’t rely on magic to escape. Gods know how I wish I could just warg into Ghost whenever Glover talks.” Sansa laughed at that. Jon has done that once before, and the Lord of Deepwood Motte didn’t take his King’s absence too kindly.

“Jon, what if our child becomes a warg?” There was worry in her voice. If she could so easily get addicted to skinchanging, who’s to say their children wouldn’t?

“Then we’ll teach them.” He said simply. “We’ll teach them right and proper. Stark blood runs through their veins. Blood of the First Men runs through their veins. If they'll have magical abilities like I think they will, then we show them how to handle it."

Sansa still wasn’t reassured. “And we’ll make sure it’s not a clutch?”

Jon smiled at his wife in his arms and nodded. “We’ll make sure it’s not a clutch.”

10 years later

A dog was trailing behind Sansa, trying to get her attention. When it did, she turned around and looked at it. It tilted its head back. Sansa sighed and put her hands on her hips, ready to lecture.

“You get your skinny little arse out of there and back to your lessons Sarra!”

The dog whined and then suddenly looked at Sansa curiously, as if wondering How did I get here? Sansa huffed and continued on her way.

When she arrived at her destination, she went in and closed the door behind her. She didn’t say a word until she had his undivided attention.

Jon took his time to carefully sign the last bit he needed, put down his quill, and looked up at his wife. “Yes, dear?”

“Your daughter-”

“Now hold on.” Jon was affronted with her implications. “Why is she only my daughter when she’s in trouble? When she does something wonderful, suddenly she’s yours too?” Sansa pouted. “C’mere love. What did she do now?”

Sansa planted herself on her husband’s lap and placed her hands on his shoulders. “She skipped her lessons again by warging into one of the hunting hounds.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Don’t be impressed!”

He laughed. “I’m sorry darling, but for a nine year old, even you have to admit that’s pretty impressive.”

Sansa sighed. “I just don’t want her warging so much and so soon.”

Jon suddenly understood. It’s been a few years since Sansa last skinchanged into anything, but her fears were not unfounded. “We’ll talk to her tonight. We’ll explain why it’s dangerous to warg so much, alright? I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever broken one?”

Sansa blinked.

“Right.” Jon cleared his throat and picked Sansa up, bridal style. “Up we go, Your Grace.”

Sansa yelped and clung onto Jon for fear of falling. “Jon! Where are you going?”

“Where are we going, my love.” Jon kissed his wife and she laughed.

“Alright, where are we going then?”

“To the bedroom of course.” He had a few broken promises to make up for. Sansa giggled all the way to their bed, sure she wouldn’t want to warg anytime soon.

#actuallyjonsa #jonsa fic #jonsaff #jonsa #jonsa halloween #jonsaaaaaa #my writing

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talatomaz · 4 years

Text

the silent brothers | izzy lightwood x fray!reader

a/n: I may have projected a little but oh well 🤷🏽‍♀️ I’m actually really enjoying this so far and hopefully, I’ll continue with this

warnings: brief mentions of death

word count: 2.6k

masterlist | navigation | request rules

pt.i | pt.ii | pt.iii

reader is clary’s younger half-sister who learns about the shadow world at the same time clary does

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Ugh.”

Simon groaned as he lay down on the bed beside you.

After Izzy had marked a healing rune on you, Clary had expressed her interest in questioning Hodge, an ex-Circle member, but you had declined to join her and Jace.

The both of them were getting increasingly close whilst you and Clary seemed to be growing further and further apart. She supported your decision, not wanting to push you after your father’s murder, but you could tell she was still annoyed.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help find your mother - of course you did - but you had this feeling that whomever this Valentine person was, and why he wanted the Mortal Cup, was much more linked to Clary than it was you. And you learned the hard way to always trust your gut instincts.

So instead, you both agreed that you would let Clary and Jace question Hodge whilst Izzy would watch over you and Simon, or rather, ‘the mundane’ as Alec kept referring him to.

Currently, you and Simon were in one of the spare rooms in the Institute, which was glamoured to look like an abandoned Church but was actually the Shadowhunters New York HQ, and Izzy was making some breakfast which Jace had ominously warned you to stay away from.

“It’s been a hell of a day, Lewis.”

“You’re telling me.”

You sat up, resting on your elbows, “Oh, really? What have you been doing?“

Simon playfully pushed you when you failed to hide a snicker, “Shut up, Fray. This whole Shadowhunter thing has taken a toll on me.”

“You’re a mundane, Simon.”

“Shut up.” He repeated, but there was no harshness behind his tone.

“Hey, I’m just saying. I always knew you were a muggle.”

“Rude.” He said, swiping at your elbow so you fell back down on the pillow, making you both burst out laughing.

You and Simon always got along well.

Though he was Clary’s best friend, he was more like your big brother, even though he was less than a year older than you. The three of you had known each other for almost all of your lives. And despite you moving away, you and Simon still remained close. So, of course, he was there for you and Clary during this particularly bad time.

You lay beside each other as the silence encompassed the room. Though it was quiet, your mind was loud as you played through the day’s events in your head.

When you had woken up, you were in college, relatively care-free. Only bound by the ropes of education and nothing more.

But now, you were fatherless and practically motherless. You had lost your home, all your belongings too because your father had burned them to protect you from being traced, and on top of that, you found out that you were an angel.

It really had been one hell of a day.

“How are you, y/n?”

“I’m exhausted.” You answered. “My mind is spinning and I just want everything to stop.”

“I’m so sorry. About this. About your dad. About everything.”

“It’s okay. I’ll deal with it.“

Simon sat up and looked down at you.

“You need to learn to process it, not just deal with it. You’re allowed to cry and be upset, y/n.”

“Simon-“ You sighed.

“Yeah, I know, you don’t like to cry in front of anyone but you have to let yourself feel everything. You can cry in front of me and Clary. You know that.”

“Simon, just let it go. Please.” You said quietly, you didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Okay, but promise me you’ll talk to someone if you need to.”

When Simon raised his pinkie finger in the air, you laughed. You hadn’t done this for a while and it was a silly thing you did when you were kids but it was important. You raised your pinkie and locked it with his.

“Yes, I promise.”

Izzy smiled when she peeked through the door and saw you laughing with Simon. She had finished making breakfast a few minutes ago but had been standing outside the door, listening to you and Simon. She hadn’t meant to do it but this was the best way she could learn important information about you. After all, you, Clary and Simon were complete strangers and she needed to protect her family from any danger.

She was about to interrupt when she heard Simon mention her name.

“How do we know we can trust Izzy and the others? We should be going to Luke.”

“I know. And whilst I agree with you about that, I also trust Clary and if she says we can’t trust him, I need to believe in that judgement. At least for now. She’s all I have left.”

“Okay but just because we can’t trust Luke doesn’t mean we can trust these-these supposed angels-these Shadowhunters.”

Simon said exasperated.

“I get what you’re trying to say but they seem like good people and you know I have a sixth sense about these things and I’m never wrong. Besides, Clary and I are Shadowhunters. My dad is-was. I need to learn more about him. This is the only link I have left to him, Simon.” Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Okay fine, but should we even let Clary be alone with Jace? We might need to protect her from him.”

“And why would Clary need protection from Jace?”

Your’s and Simon’s head turned to face the door where Izzy walked through holding a tray of food. She gently placed it on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and approached Simon.

“He’s the ultimate protector. I mean, hello, have you seen the guy?” She smirked as she got closer to Simon.

He leaned back, flustered in his usual Simon way. He adjusted his glasses and stumbled over his words as he tried to stand up but failed.

“Now, let’s eat.”

She said, grabbing a piece of toast. Simon politely declined whilst you grinned at his awkward composure.

“Y/N, you need to eat. When was the last time you had anything?”

You thought back to the cup of coffee you had had earlier and remembered that was the only thing you had consumed. And honestly, you were hungry. You picked up a piece of the, well, burnt toast and began eating. You managed to finish one slice before losing your appetite again so you washed it down with some water and sat back as Izzy started to ask you both questions about your life.

She wanted to know what life as a mundane was like and a bit about your family history. You revealed more than you usually would have but you weren’t sure why.

Simon looked like he was ready to hand over his life for her which you thought was unnecessary as Izzy looked like she could take care of herself.

But you could understand why.

She was stunning.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

“Valentine has her.”

Clary said, a mixture of anger and horror on her face.

During her conversation with Hodge, she’d learned that your mother was an ex-Circle member and that both of your early memories had more than likely been taken by a warlock, at your mother’s request.

Clary then had a vision of Dot at a club called “Pandemonium”. But, by the time you had geared up and arrived, she was gone. More than likely having been kidnapped by Valentine’s men.

When you all arrived back at the Institute deciding on what to do next, Jace had interrupted to suggest a dangerous option.

“I’m sorry, who are the Silent Brothers?” You asked, confused at Izzy and Alec’s outrage and downright refusal.

“They’re like superior Shadowhunters.” Jace explained.

“They possess the ability to recover memories.” Izzy continued.

“Yes and that process can kill you, so there’s that.” Alec finished, making you look wildly at Clary.

“Your bedside manner is abysmal.” Simon’s attempt at humour failed to make you laugh as your mind started to spiral with the possibility of losing Clary.

Alec, Izzy and Jace argued amongst themselves about the danger that it posed and that they should report to the Clave instead.

The Clave was essentially like the Shadowhunters’ Government and Justice System. And all Government agencies were sure to be working in their own interests and not the people’s. And you had a feeling that the Clave were no different.

“Unless someone can give me a better option, we’re doing it.” Clary said, making everyone look at you and her.

“Speak for yourself, I’m not doing it.”

“Y/N-“

“No, Clary. If you want to, fine, but I’m not.”

“Don’t you want our Mom back? Your memories?” Clary asked, raising her voice whilst everyone else remained silent.

“Of course, I want Mum back! But I don’t want to know what I’ve forgotten. I don’t need to-“

“Yes, you do. They’re important or else Mom wouldn’t have had a warlock take them from us.” Clary started to scold you before you shouted.

“Clary, for God’s sake, just shut up!”

Everyone stared at you and you started to blush at your outburst but still remained angry at Clary‘s carelessness.

“You’re so goddamn impulsive that you can’t see the danger in this situation. You could die! And then where would I be? My dad was just murdered, Mum’s been kidnapped by some maniac and now you want me to lose my sister too?”

When she remained silent, you saw tears forming in her eyes and, to your horror, you could feel yours doing the same.

“You think with your heart. Which I love about you. But you need to think with your head too. If you want to do it, whatever. But don’t force me to do it too.”

Then you walked away from the group and made your way to one of the only rooms you were familiar with.

“I’ll go after her.” Simon said, holding Clary’s arm in support.

“No, I’ll go. Might be better if it’s not any of you two right now. And I think I know where she’s gone anyways.” Izzy countered.

She didn’t wait for an answer and immediately followed after you.

She found you sitting on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands.

You looked up as you heard the door open, surprised to see Izzy standing there. Well, it was her room after all.

After you had eaten breakfast earlier, you had learned that the supposed ‘guest’ room you were in was actually Izzy’s room. And, to be honest, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t made that assumption yourself as the room was elegant but also simple at the same time which suited her.

“Nice room choice.” She teased lightly, smirking when you blushed again.

“Sorry. This was the only room that I knew. I should have asked first.”

“Well, that would have ruined the roll you were on. You couldn’t exactly say ‘do what you want, Clary. Oh, can I just storm into your room, Izzy?’”

She said it in such a way that you couldn’t help but smile.

“Awh, see? There’s your beautiful smile.” Izzy commented and you felt yourself blush even harder.

You stood up, feeling uneasy that you were sitting down on her bed, and made your way to a pillar that stood in her room and leaned against it.

“I know Clary’s angry with me and I get it, I would be too. But she’s just jumping into things without thinking of the consequences.” You sighed.

“I know why she’s doing it. The moment she stops and has a moment to think, she’ll probably spiral so this is her way of managing that but she can’t just expect me to follow her. There’s just so much happening and I just need a moment to breathe.”

You explained, your head resting against the pillar with your eyes closed, trying to calm yourself.

“Are you expecting me to give you a pep talk or something?” Izzy joked.

“No, not really. Pep talks are overrated.” You shrugged.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself momentarily stunned because Izzy was no longer by the door, but was instead standing a few inches from you, staring at you intently.

“What?” You asked, your voice but a whisper.

“Nothing, you’re just very...intriguing.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Most definitely.” She smiled.

Then she moved closer and lifted her hand to push a few strands of hair behind your ear.

You held your breath as she did this.

It was such a gentle thing for her to do, and you weren’t sure how to feel.

“You were born to do this, y/n. You both were. This is your destiny. You got this.”

You nodded, biting your lip gently and you caught Izzy’s eyes flickering down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. It was only for a brief moment, but you had seen her and she knew you did too.

“Now, if you don’t want to get your memories back, that’s your choice and something you deserve to have because it’s one of the few things you have left. But we should still be there for Clary, in case she needs it.”

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

“Are you sure?”

Jace asked as everyone looked at you.

After your conversation with Izzy, you had agreed that you would support Clary in her decision to meet the Silent Brothers but you wouldn’t relent on your own. You would be there for her but you weren’t going to recover your own memories.

So you were all currently outside the City of Bones, where Izzy and Alec had agreed to keep watch and look after Simon whilst Jace and Clary would go inside.

“Yes. I’ll stay here.”

Though you hesitated for a moment, you quickly brought your sister in for a hug. Scared of what could happen if things didn’t go well.

“Be safe.”

“I will.” Clary whispered fiercely, holding you tight in her arms. When she pulled away, she smiled gently, “I’m sorry for trying to force you do this.”

“It’s okay, I get it. Go get Mum back.” You reciprocated her smile, gesturing for her to enter.

✧── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

“Woah, what happened?” Alec asked when Clary and Jace came running out of the dungeon, tears running down Clary’s face.

You quickly approached her and held onto her arms.

“What happened, Ry?”

“V-Valentine. H-He”

You looked at Jace in alarm, Clary wasn’t making any sense and you were beginning to worry.

“Valentine’s her father.”

Though you gasped, you weren’t entirely shocked. You had had a feeling that this was more connected to Clary than you.

Alec then began to scold Jace about Clary’s true intentions, making you lash out at him for the first time.

Since you had both arrived, Alec had been the most unwelcoming, and whilst you did understand his wariness, you didn’t appreciate him acting as if the two of you were as malicious as Clary’s father.

“Wait, where’s Simon? Where’s Izzy?” Clary interrupted, just now realising that they weren’t here.

You were about to explain how Simon had forgotten his phone in the van and how Izzy had decided to accompany him when the latter came running towards you all.

“He’s gone. I just left him for a minute because I heard something but when I came back, he was gone.”

You and Clary began to freak out and started to run in the direction she came from, calling for Simon.

“Is that the mundane’s name?”

You all turned around, looking up at the bridge and what you saw had your heart dropping to your stomach. Simon was being held upside down over a bridge, threateningly close to being dropped and falling to the ground.

“The mundane, unharmed, in exchange for the Mortal Cup. Tick-Tock, people.”

The pale man shouted before disappearing with Simon and another woman. Simon’s scream for help lingered as you looked at Clary and saw the same horror on her face that you were sure was on yours.

“Who the fuck was that?” You asked, looking at Izzy.

“Those were vampires.”

Dead Man’s Party ->

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

Text

“Left to Heritage”

Summary: A fight between her fairies and Griffin’s witches leaves Faragonda looking at the past in a desperate attempt to prevent losing someone else she cares about like the friends the war took from her. All she finds is pain, yet she can’t let go of the relationships burning her fingers with the impossible choices everyone bound by them has to make. Set after 1x05. Canon divergence.

I have been incredibly salty about the way the whole theft of the Ring of Solaria was handled on the show so you get this canon divergence in which Winx actually do the smart thing and tell Faragonda what the hell happened. How things play out from there is not necessarily better but definitely more emotional for Faragonda. Aka here is also something about the fallout between her and Griffin that was never explained on the show.

“If the ring isn’t returned, the Solarian court will issue an official demand to Cloud Tower for its retrieval.”

Bloom’s eyes had caught fire despite their aquatic shade. They’d burned like an ocean turned from water into flames and her tone had carried the assertiveness of a queen that Faragonda had only heard once before despite the numerous royal heirs Alfea had provided education to ever since she herself had been a student. So many born rulers and none had had the bearings of such natural authority, almost innate, as the Earth girl that had stumbled upon her powers by accident.

Faragonda had almost slipped into the past through the hole Bloom’s fiery stare had burned into her soul. She had to do it regardless of the searing pain of touching the edges she’d cut into herself to stop the spreading rot. She had to do it to look for more similarities, some tangible proof that she wasn’t grasping at straws to hang her hope by. It could be the universe answering her prayers with abysmal delay. Or it could be an illusion she’d trapped herself into when nothing could compare to the cruelty of the real world.

The surface of the oval mirror in her office rippled like she’d cast a stone in the stream of time and found the memory her five students shared now along with the trauma and crushing responsibility chasing royalty out there in the real world where Alfea’s walls were but a blissful fantasy of deceptive safety. The school had hardly protected its students back when she’d been one of them and things would only get more dire if she were right about the witches Cloud Tower was raising in the heart of its spiky structure that welcomed intruders to leave while they still could. It was not an empty threat.

The gloom hanging over her girls like an aura in the image in the mirror was yet more frighteningly precise proof of the truth she already knew. Stella was lying in her bed as if she’d been taken down by a plague she couldn't fight with Flora fretting over her, Musa tapping on her knees as she sat cross-legged on the floor like she was trying to hold a rhythm slipping away from her and Tecna sifting through a boatload of digital information less daunting than the emotional waves reality was rocked by.

Bloom was leaning over Stella like a guard, her fists clenched so hard that her knuckles had turned white as if the fire in her veins was trying to burn its way out of her body and eliminate the threat she’d had to succumb to. Faragonda had seen that instinctive determination right before another threat had been eliminated to take away with itself any remaining sparks of hope for the company left behind.

Flora straightened up like a flower reaching for the mercy of the light finally gracing it. “What if we tell Miss Faragonda?” she asked and just like that the grave silence was dispelled. And so was the self-absorbed focus that had swallowed Bloom to separate her from her friends. “She could help us get it back.”

“No!” Stella bolted up in bed as if to drop the reason that could save them from smashing their heads. “No one can know that I’ve lost the ring of Solaria,” her frantic voice was spilling out the worries of her heart in the trust in their friendship they’d forged with their lives and signed with their blood. “That I failed as a princess.” New tears welled in her eyes as if the soreness hadn’t bruised them with enough red already without the light of her magic to relieve the strain in them.

Faragonda would’ve wondered how the mirror did not crack from all the pain flowing from her to hit directly where her reflection would have been if the memory was not still playing like the room had witnessed it.

“You didn’t fail, Stel.” Bloom sat down on the bed, her hand on Stella’s shoulder as if to ground her concerns. Or to ground Bloom’s impulses in the warmth of her friend instead of that of the flames no doubt licking at her opened fists. “You were ready to defend it with your life.”

Faragonda had deduced that much even if they’d tried to steer her attention away from the specifics. Bloom had only relayed that Stella had been kidnapped to demonstrate the gravity of the situation but they’d tried to beat around the bush about any other details except for the fact that the witches had walked out of that confrontation with the ring of Solaria. And her girls had walked away with a Stella who was alive and intact, and eaten through by guilt she’d had ingrained in her along with her royal bearings and the responsibility for the ring on her finger to have its absence crush her more than its weight on her shoulders had.

“Bloom’s right,” the sound wave of Musa’s vehemence could have shattered the windows. Perhaps it had even carried the subconscious intention to rid her of the sounds stuck inside her – cries that were years old and other fresh ones from a few minutes ago. “You did everything you could. It was those witches that are guilty for everything,” she slammed her fists down on her knees to no other result than hitting herself as she kept her tantrum away from her magic.

“It was their third attempt at the ring that we know of,” Bloom’s words had everyone else nodding in support of her reassurance but it only had Faragonda pressing her palm against her mouth to keep it all in. Even if she couldn't stop herself from asking herself why she didn’t know what dangers were lurking for her girls out there. “They’ve been targeting you since Gardenia.” That much would have been a safe guess even for her despite the limited amount of information she’d had but she hadn’t wanted to make it before Bloom had confirmed it for her. It said too much about the determined claim both her fairies and Griffin’s witches had over the royal heirloom.

“It’s a powerful magical object,” Stella made the fact sound like the most biased opinion Faragonda had ever heard. Or maybe it was just the purpose of her words that made it so. “They’re not the first ones to want it. But they are the first ones to get it.” It wasn’t just her who was biased anymore, Faragonda’s own convictions rising from the ashes in her lungs almost like a phoenix with the only exception that they’d never died. “And it happened on my watch,” Stella cried out. “I’m the only Solarian royal that failed to protect it.” She buried her face in her hands, the lack of the ring on her finger startling not with her incompetence but with the competence of those who currently had it.

The low spirits of her girls were left in place of how much they’d put into the confrontation to be that drained from both energy and faith and they’d still lost regardless. She may have been one to be blinded by endless optimism when younger but after being sucked into a war and spat out with its teeth marks all over you, you learned to take pure power into consideration. And her girls had had a lot of determination to draw from which left their defeat sending familiar chills down her spine at the thought of the enemy.

Tecna put away the gadget she’d been tinkering with and the discomfort of the emotionality they were all drowning in to lend the others the logic they desperately needed, making Faragonda give the image in the mirror a proud smile despite her mixed feelings on its existence forced by necessity. “Getting the ring back is a priority over anything else, even covertness. And Miss Faragonda is our best bet on that,” she rationalized, the words reverberating through the rest like they shared a mind on top of the heartfelt bond they’d formed so quickly. “We can insist on it being done discreetly,” Tecna continued, finding her sensitivity as well to fit into the collective flawlessly, the way they gravitated towards each other pulling even Faragonda closer by the strings in her own heart it had touched. “After all, I doubt Miss Griffin will be thrilled with the imprint this crime will leave on Cloud Tower if it becomes public knowledge. It’s in everyone’s interest to keep this quiet.”

Faragonda could only hope every mentioned party would be as reasonable as Tecna had accounted for. She’d had the same belief in her friendship once that Tecna was putting into logic but she couldn’t bet on it anymore with all the walls in the way. It had come to that for her when certainty had been pulled out of her reach along with the warm hand that had held it and all she could do was hang on to the prospect that if she was right, Bloom would be able to count on her friends more than she could on her heritage, that there would be no walls Bloom would be left outside of again.

“Tecna’s right,” Musa pushed herself off the floor as if with a sonic blast but resolve was the only magic that lent her the speed and coordination to rise to her feet in one swift, graceful motion worthy of the dancer that the fairy of music was. “We can’t just sit around now that we’re all back together,” her hands were balled into fists as if to hold on to the presence of her friends once she didn’t need them to support herself. “We have to act. Unless we want to find out what they want with the ring the hard way.”

Stella nodded, a small smile barely tugging the corners of her lips upwards to meet the tears still rolling down her face. The inevitable sniffle that followed was enough to shake her whole body and disintegrate both the smile and the confidence.

Flora was quick to grab a tissue from the nearby box and offer it to Stella as she sat down on the bed next to her. “It will be okay, sweetie. You’ll see,” she put her hands on Stella’s shoulders to have Bloom let go of her so that Flora could draw her into her soothing softness while Stella bunched up the tissue in her fist instead of using it.

“I hope you’re right, Flora,” Stella whispered, turning to her in an attempt to nestle her tear-stained face into the crook of Flora’s neck and hide her weakness into the warmth of the nature fairy even if it weren’t the light of her own magic. “I can’t disappoint my father after he entrusted me the ring.” A sob shook them both alike as Flora held her, only gripping tighter at her despite the crease carved into her forehead and the glassiness of her eyes as they tried to mirror Stella’s and shed their water that only Flora’s will to put her friend’s comfort before her own held back.

Bloom caught Stella’s hand that was hanging limply at her side instead of having wrapped itself around Flora in search of more support. There was no need for her fingers to prob for it, however, as Bloom laced hers through them gently but firmly – in perfect contrast with the flames burning in her gaze with no cautiousness to rein them in, only fierce protectiveness to feed them.

The heat was tangible both through space and time to explain why Stella had flinched at Bloom’s warning about making the issue official and taking it to the appropriate authorities. Not only that, it was also familiar.

Faragonda had been defended with the same vehement warmth to the point of almost becoming collateral of it but despite the burning coldness of the hole left behind once it’d been gone, she had no definitive proof of Bloom’s origins. The ferocious protectiveness she’d known had come from two people, one of which undoubtedly had nothing to do with the fire in Bloom’s veins or the flaming color of her hair. It was the determined commitment of true friendship she’d seen in the girl and nothing more. Not without solid proof that the ring could give. She had to get it before someone got the confirmation of her suspicions first. If she was right, she had more duty towards Bloom than just that of a headmistress and Bloom had more burden to shoulder than the weak grip of Stella’s hand on hers in the absence of the ring.

She cut off the magical flow turning the mirror into a pool of memories instead of the solid reflective surface that it was and focused her magic into overcoming space this time. It wasn’t the spell or the physical distance she had to conquer–she had regular practice with that as she was still a constant presence on the Red Fountain invitation list for any and all events–but the emotional chasm that had opened between her and Griffin. It was just a few years old and it was already as deep as their friendship had ran in their souls.

A gasp almost tore from her at the weightlessness overwhelming her senses when she knew it would be gone faster than it had appeared. And indeed, the negative energy of Cloud Tower clung to her aura long before her atoms assembled themselves together again to leave her standing in Griffin’s office.

It hadn’t changed one bit in the days she hadn’t seen it–that had to be over one thousand at this point and more–and carried the spirit of the same frighteningly elegant professionalism and academic pursuit as well as overwhelming flair for the dramatic and inclination towards honoring history’s scariest and most threatening moments. The pointy edges and horned skulls were only the props for the powerful dark spells stored in the tomes lining the shelves that almost drew her eye to them in search of something that didn’t belong there. That would have swallowed her attention if not for the witch whose presence commanded every bit of the space – from the interior to the magic flowing in the walls through the veins of Cloud Tower.

Griffin hadn’t changed either, familiarity streaming from her almost deceptively. “Someone had better be dying,” she emphasized each word to compensate for the cold her gaze wasn’t piling on Faragonda as it remained on the book opened in front of her. Faragonda couldn't even tell if it was work or passion that she’d interrupted from the unnatural stillness clinging to the witch as she refused to move a muscle for her. “If not,” dramatic pause right on cue, “it will be your life on the line.” A ball of violet power formed in Griffin’s hand, the seriousness of the threat in no way undermined by the lack of attention to back it up.

“It’s really urgent,” Faragonda pushed the sounds through her teeth, almost choking on the shredded mass that came out as justification for her presence instead of the animated greeting that had once been the norm. She barely dared breathe in the room looming over her and threatening to bury her alive, her arms sticking to her sides to avoid alerting Griffin further. The witch had no desire to take her presence, much less the inconvenient news she’d deduced Faragonda was bearing.

“You should hope so.” The magic in her palm slowly faded, each change in the paling shade like a drop of water slipping from Faragonda to never come back and only assault her ears with the passing seconds. As if Griffin was giving her the time to adjust and begin on her squirming to fit the witch’s agenda. “Otherwise, you’ve wasted so much energy coming here for nothing,” Griffin looked up at last, slamming her book closed just as she locked eyes with Faragonda in a cheap intimidating technique that may have made her flinch back at their student days but those were long buried and it couldn't get even as far as the sound wave of it did.

There was an invisible force squeezing her heart like her ribs were made of foam and couldn't protect a diamond, not to mention something so fragile. It wouldn't be past Griffin to use one of the relatively harmless hexes–though, anything would be harmless compared to the forbidden magic Faragonda was on the lookout for–on which she’d just been refreshing her memory but she’d made it known after their fallout she wouldn't throw away her magic on revenge. The hexes could have been for an advanced class or for the personal vendettas on her list that Faragonda hadn’t been added to after Griffin had crossed off their friendship. She’d ended all contact between them, running school-related business through Saladin as if she’d erased from her mind any trace of the private language only the two of them spoke.

No curse could top that. A curse would require her to put some feelings in the casting, at the very least, to take an interest in the fact that Faragonda still existed so that she could make her life hell. Instead, she was letting her poison all her days on her own like she’d never seen her wings in the mirror and every attempt to be the witch she’d never believed she could be was blowing up in her face. If only she could blame everything that stood between them on the inherent divide between fairies and witches.

Faragonda squared her shoulders looking at Griffin through the emptiness between them. Their personal drama had waited so long it could take a backseat to the responsibility she had towards her girls. “My students have reported to me that your witches–Icy, Darcy and Stormy–threatened the life of Stella, the princess of Solaria, to steal her ring from her.” She didn’t pause before forcing the names off her tongue when she knew the last time they’d cracked against Griffin’s ears it had cracked their friendship but she had to borrow some air from the witch’s domain to continue. Not too much, though, lest Griffin snatched the word away and never found the benevolence to give it back. “They want the ring to be returned or they’ll take it up to the Solarian court and you’ll be hearing from king Radius.”

Griffin rose from her chair, her aura casting a shadow over the whole room as a mantle of darkness fell over the golden of her eyes to suffocate it much the same way it gripped at Faragonda’s throat to throw her in a memory that should have died long before all the other death had plowed into them. “Are you threatening me?” her voice was quick to mirror the intent she’d read into the words to draw a clear line between them and leave them on opposing sides once more as if they hadn’t found home in each other after they’d lost it all.

“Griffin, please,” Faragonda raised her hands – an old habit that had gotten her beaten down multiple times during the war when it still left her words to use on the witch. It had been words that had gotten between them, and not the numerous spells they’d thrown each other’s way voluntarily and not at all. “This is not a threat.” A pulse of Griffin’s magic stung her eyes nearly to tears with the reminder of the witch’s distrustful heart. “I’m just trying to save us all the trouble that this whole situation will cause if it blows up.” Coming clean had to be easy when you didn’t have a hidden agenda–at least not a malicious one–but one wrong word would paint her a bigger villain than anyone Griffin had had to deal with in the past. The notion was preposterous after it had been her winx that’d kept Griffin huddled in the depths of Cloud Tower and turning herself into a vessel for dark spells.

“Of course, you are,” the tension rolled off Griffin’s frame like the taunt rolled off her tongue but she’d take it if it meant Griffin trusted her “insufferable goodness” as she’d once put it, all in good faith. There was no joke now, only open distaste that was still preferable to unrestrained hostility. “Always so considerate. Getting worked up over a trinket,” Griffin flaunted the mockery in her face in a challenge Faragonda wouldn't normally take but Griffin’s own reputation as headmistress could be on the line.

“This is a royal artifact, Griffin,” she forced her voice to stay level–an ounce of asperity would leave the space between them even more slippery than the frozen surface of a dead planet–despite Griffin’s attempts to get a raise out of her as she rolled her eyes in purposeful ignorance, pushing all the buttons she could still find without having to look. It was in her heart she’d stored the knowledge and Faragonda had the chance to reach in it if she’d just keep it open long enough. “You know this is serious.” A split second’s hesitation. Just enough to take a page out of Griffin’s book. “You know how much efforts Oritel threw into hiding the Book-”

“Fine,” Griffin’s tone cut her off like a knife she was aiming at her throat next.

She could hate her for digging up the ghosts haunting the shared home of their past only to spill into the present and link them together with the tears trembling on the surface of Griffin’s voice to mirror her own. As long as she didn’t let the effortless connection they’d had–still had between them if only Griffin would let it out of the dark basement she’d locked it in to rot away without light and oxygen–join them. Faragonda was already right there with her, the echo of her own words burning her tongue and down her throat even in the airless emptiness filling her after the memory of their lost friends had sucked everything else out of her.

“You’ll have the ring on your desk in the next few minutes,” Griffin crossed her arms, almost hugging herself as if to make sure Faragonda wouldn't give into the impulse to wrap her in her own embrace. As if she didn’t know it would only pull her closer with a might she could hardly resist while the cold was still in her veins spreading with every beat of her heart that she couldn't share with the royal pair of Domino. “If there isn’t anything else,” there was only everything else, lingering in the air around them and making it heavy to draw in as it fell towards the floor to escape the struggle of their lungs, “let yourself out. It’s too late for noisy visits.” Too late for her.

There went her chance to see the friend she hadn’t lost in the war only to push away. Common sense dictated she had to hope there wouldn't be another one like this, for the sake of the universe and not just the girl for whom affection was already flaming in her heart upon recognition. She couldn't let this moment slip through her fingers like the life she’d shared with the half of the Company now residing in unknown locations had. At least have some good come out of everything the three young witches had done.

"Griffin-”

The sigh Griffin released in an abrupt bout of frustration carried the rest of the thought away to leave the accompanying feelings clawing at her ribcage to get out. “Business related, Faragonda,” the witch stressed either word before gliding over her name with indifference. “This was not a slumber party invitation,” her irritation spiked again to pierce through Faragonda’s stomach and spill her guts out in a violent display that would have made the ancient evil Griffin had initially picked over her cackle with abandon at her misfortune.

"Business related...” They had too much business together for Griffin to just brush her off like she was the dust on a tome of spells the witch had stolen when she’d still been with them . “Your students have kidnapped one of mine and threatened to kill her to steal a royal artifact. That is grounds for expulsion.” It was enough to get them convicted if she could convince Stella to testify and let her friends do so as well but she’d promised she hadn’t come to threaten Griffin so she had to steer clear of her students as well. Griffin never did do well when cornered so the most she could afford was to implore her to listen to reason.

"No,” Griffin’s instant stubbornness echoed off the walls to crash down on her and beat her into the floor. A little more force and it would bury her right there under the roof of the powerful organism Cloud Tower was that Griffin had employed to protect the three witches when she’d let them into the school.

"Come on, Griffin!” she urged, her pleading almost pathetic to her own ears with how little it moved the witch, almost enough to convince her it was their affiliations exactly that were getting between them instead of their own hearts. “You should be able to see by now that they are following into the footsteps of their predecessors.” A shudder ran through her just at the thought of how far that road went. Right to the frozen surface of Domino. “You know what the ring can do.”

"It doesn’t matter,” Griffin’s eyes bore into hers, the seriousness of her dismissal drilling a hole into Faragonda’s mind to let out over her muscles the overflowing impulse to grab Griffin and shake her. They’d lost everything while putting all their efforts into preventing just that. They couldn't sit idly by and watch it happen again, only this time letting it unfold without interfering. “It’s not going to lead them to anything but ghosts.” Griffin’s look changed, accusation almost covering the agony underneath just like she was barely breathing through the losses Faragonda had forced on her once again after all attempts at burying them had been in vain.

Faragonda drew in a shaky breath before jumping off the ledge without the certainty of Griffin catching her. “I’m not sure about that.” She hesitated for a moment, her fingers curling at her sides for her short nails to dig into her palms when Griffin’s heart visibly jumped into her throat.

There was no going back as Griffin forced herself to swallow it along with all the questions bubbling from inside her to make her burst and Faragonda forced her magic to flow between her palms and form an orb of light that started shifting until it accommodated the image of Bloom with every little shape and vivid color. Griffin had to see it as it was so that she could tell her whether it was reality or illusion.

Griffin’s gaze was fixed on the image as the colors bled in until they reached their full vibrancy to have her eyes lighting up with another million questions exploding in them upon recognition. “Who’s that?” her voice came out as if in slow motion while she was trying to catch her mind from speeding away from her with conclusions.

"That’s Bloom,” Faragonda said only. For someone who wanted an objective opinion, she sure was twisting her words to steer them into the desired direction. Not that it mattered what she’d say when she could count on Griffin’s brutal honesty.

"Who is she? Where does she come from?” Griffin fired out at her as she rounded her desk to get a closer look, already having jumped on track with Faragonda’s suspicions.

"She’s from Earth.” Chasing down the words was much easier once Griffin was taking them from her eagerly. Faragonda could practically hear the logical deductions weaving themselves together in her mind and the emotions boiling in her heart like Griffin had allowed it instead of fiercely protecting her privacy after the last time Faragonda hadn’t liked what she’d read in her. It wasn’t about the fight between them now but about a promise they’d made together and had been forced to give up on if they’d wanted to keep hearing each other’s breaths. Maybe it could bring them back together if it was brought to life like the little baby in the center of it that they hadn’t gotten to hold in their arms.

"There have been no fairies on Earth for centuries,” Griffin’s eyes were on hers again, checking for a lie only to scorch her with their insistent shine once she didn’t find one. Almost like she was looking to see the explanation inside Faragonda’s mind as if they hadn’t reached the same theory despite the deafening cries of the past echoing around them without their permission.

"She’s sixteen, has fire powers and the spirit to match the physical resemblance,” Faragonda dared lay a little more of her soul out there along with the hope threading itself in it again. If Griffin was seeing it as well, then she wasn’t-

"And she dropped right on your doorstep?” The arch of Griffin’s brow was like a slap in the face as it was followed by a scornful smile. “It should have tipped you off instantly how easy this is. Your wishful thinking is blinding you. That relentless optimism never did lend you a clear grasp on things.” The mocking tone might have been scraping against the walls of her heart from inside to leave abrasions behind but the cold in Griffin’s eyes was so unbearable with the reflection of her own loss it was that she had to look away.

Her hands dropped at her sides, the image of Bloom long lost along with her focus that was now carried away by the merciless winds lashing over the once welcoming surface of the most beautiful planet in the magical dimension. “It made me stick with you,” she barely found the strength to whisper through the ice pushing at the inside of her eyes to smother every memory of fire and warmth she’d ever had. She’d known better back then and it’d brought Griffin back to her. Why couldn't the same happen with Bloom? Why couldn't the universe finally answer her passionate prayers and give them back at least a part of what they’d lost on the battlefield?

Griffin’s derisive chuckle shattered the hair-thin glass she’d been hiding behind in her run from reality. “Thick as thieves we are,” despite the spiteful resolve it was wrapped in, her voice was raw like it’d been flayed alive and left to bleed out by a careless cut of a knife and Griffin had always been one for perfection and precision. She couldn’t have been the one to cause this to herself no matter how careful Faragonda lied to herself she always was. “I’ll get you the ring but do me a favor and don’t drag me into your blind pursuit of will-o-wisps.” Griffin turned her back on her and walked back to her chair, every click of her heels against the floor crushing yet another part of Faragonda’s broken heart like it was snow.

"What if it’s her?” she pushed even though it was low to attack Griffin in back. She couldn’t lose her completely when she’d come in pursuit of finding – Bloom and the ring, and Griffin and their friendship.

"What if she’s an impostor?” Griffin countered, in no hurry to face her as she was confident she could lead that battle even blindly but Faragonda could do that. They’d always been counterparts, reflections of each other. Until she’d broken away with the storm in her eyes. “What if she’s working with the Trix?” Griffin’s logic had her blood run cold. It could never happen. The blood in their veins would never allow such alliance of hell. “They never would have gotten the ring if they’d had to face the intuitive protectiveness of the Dragon Fire,” Griffin forced the cursed words out of her mouth with less effort than Faragonda would need to get out of the trap that she’d walked right into when her eyes had seen whatever she’d wanted them to and her heart had operated according to the same logic. “She’s probably a fake they’ve infiltrated among your girls. How did she even get to Alfea?”

Griffin’s gaze was boring into her again in her impatience to dig out the answer herself if she could and bury Faragonda in its place, get it over with. It was starting to lick a little bit too much like flames at her tender skin, just like Griffin’s magic had been protecting her on par with the Dragon Fire, and had her mind tossing between the tangible past out of reach and the threatening future she was speeding towards.

Her students. She couldn't let them pay for a lapse in her judgment. She was no longer a reject transmagic graduate of Alfea who wasn’t even sure she had a best friend to lose. She was the headmistress and had some of the responsibilities her friends had died fulfilling. She had young girls to take care of and she couldn't shake the image of Bloom holding Stella’s hand to let her have at least a little of the safety Faragonda hadn’t secured for her. For either one of them. She had to celebrate if she was wrong about the fate resting on Bloom’s shoulders but that was exactly why she couldn't afford to ignore the possibility of being right, as insignificant as it was.

"Stella brought her,” she made herself return to the present stopping on the way to pick up the question Griffin had asked her. “She accidentally discovered her powers when she tried to help her against an ogre and some goblins.” A coincidence for those who believed in them. But after they’d all been pawns in a vicious game that had been going on for centuries, it would be foolish to think there was anything not driven by a reason... or a person.

"Oh, yes. The coincidence of the century,” Griffin deadpanned, reading her thoughts in a backwards fashion. They’d never been so out of sync before. “This is a blatant set up and you’re naively falling for it.” No wonder when Griffin didn’t want to give in even an inch still firmly grounded behind her desk and seeing to it that she didn’t move either. In fact, her look would be enough to glue Faragonda to the floor, no spell, no magic. “This kind of gullibility flew when we were students but after everything you’ve been through, you should know better. You’re awfully trusting for a war veteran and a headmistress with the responsibility for hundreds of lives.” Her teeth left marks in Faragonda’s heart even though it was her own lip Griffin almost bit into in her vehemence.

She could have it all, swallow it one piece at a time, if it meant they could be together in their signature complementary existence. Griffin was the spice to Faragonda’s sugar making it hard to eat too much to keep your teeth from rotting. She’d been the mindfulness to her optimism, the logic to her faith even back when they’d both been witches and their dynamic hadn’t failed them throughout the rest of the way, Griffin keeping them grounded while Faragonda had carried them, hopeful, into the future. “I’ll keep an eye on her-”

"And please, don’t inform me,” Griffin was fighting her on every step now, her words piercing Faragonda’s wings like they hadn’t even done back when both of them had still been getting used to the sight and feel of them. She’d accepted the change in her once with the whole history of the magical dimension standing between them and she’d done it again after the war had ripped out not just the warmth of their friends, but also the pieces of themselves touched by it. She’d held her cold body to get shaken by the same shivers only to back away from the possible return of the small flame they’d mourned like Faragonda was coming to burn her and everything she’d built out of the remains of her life for the crimes she’d committed before.

"You have to keep an eye on the Trix as well.” It wasn’t her that was threatening everything they’d suffered for, everything they’d built out of the ashes of their hope. And it wasn’t Bloom either. She couldn't take away the desperation choking them every time they tried to speak the names seared into their hearts but they could speak hers with the faith she’d need to survive the monstrous responsibility of her heritage. “You’re also responsible for hundreds of lives as headmistress.” It wasn’t just the two of them anymore and they had people to take care of besides themselves... or each other.

"At least I’ve taken the time to look at them before jumping to conclusions,” Griffin muttered through the unwillingness to bring to life the past she wouldn't have had without Faragonda’s interference as she’d stood up for her even with the pile of bodies under Griffin’s feet, even with the hole in Griffin’s heart that wasn’t hers to fill. “Expelling them will only push them further into any ambitions of greatness they have,” Griffin continued, giving voice to logic instead to hide behind like they didn’t tell each other everything. Like they wouldn't see the truth regardless of the words spoken. Like their souls were not one whole.

"That’s hardly possible,” Faragonda’s own voice rose in turn as it looked to reach her friend. “You’ve read their admission letters.” Rule them all.An agenda they’d heard before coupled with powers they’ve seen in action to barely survive them. What more did Griffin need to recognize the impending threat?

"Unfortunately, I also had the bad judgment not to keep them confidential,” Griffin squeezed at her heart as if to crush it even if her hands were gripping at her desk like she was trying to hold herself upright.

"You had concerns just like I did,” Faragonda would drag Griffin, kicking and screaming, back to the memory of standing together if she had to but she wouldn’t let them fall apart over three little witches that weren’t even the real deal, only offspring left behind like weeds. “You’re the one who’s set off on some misguided mission to save their souls.” She bit her tongue as her fists unclenched–the marks her short nails had left in her palms oozed blood–and her hands flew up to clamp over her mouth but it was too late.

"Your facade is crumbling, Miss Sunshine Positivity and Acceptance,” Griffin growled at her like a guard dog that had caught a trespasser red-handed.

"Griffin,” her tongue probed around with each letter curling in anticipation of the witch pouncing only to stiffen once the familiar name hung in the air waiting to drop like a bomb on them if she didn’t secure it to the words that would follow. Faragonda swallowed and licked her lips as she lowered her hands back at her sides lest she accidentally brushed the trigger. “It’s not your personal failure you couldn’t save them from the three monsters’ ways.” A chance. They’d agreed to give them a chance that the three witches had thrown away long before the attempted murder they’d almost covered and were still getting away with. Griffin had shrugged off their total lack of morality and humanity as witch-typical bullying even when they’d caused permanent damage to fairies and witches alike in her attempts to protect them but she had to open her eyes to the fact that there was no one to protect them from and everyone to protect from them. “It has never been.” They were the ones that hadn’t given Griffin the chance she’d wanted to help them by following their ancestors’ plan too closely to be unfamiliar with it.

Griffin’s shoulders slackened, leaving her tall frame sagging like she would fall back into her chair when Faragonda’s next breath breezed over her. “I was beyond saving as well when you stepped in but that didn’t stop you.” The insistent burn of Griffin’s eyes frantically touching every corner of her soul ran through her in higher voltage than Griffin’s refusal to look at her had been back when Faragonda had saved her life with the portal that had brought them on the same side. Griffin may have had a hard time finding a place in the home Faragonda had had waiting for her inside herself but now her fingers were frozen at her desk after their failure to even find the doorknob. “What’s different now?”

Everything.

Faragonda shook her head to throw the word away before it could fall from her mouth. They were still the same friends, the same parts of one whole... even when they were broken apart. That at least Griffin had already experienced for herself to believe it was possible. “You saved yourself, Griffin.” Had she failed to mirror Griffin’s own light back at her the same way she’d given her hers, too caught up in their duality of counterparts, their forbidden friendship of a witch and a fairy? “You’d made the right choice. It was what brought you to me.” She’d left a part of herself behind to find her way to Faragonda while her students were looking to take everything that didn’t belong to them and the ring slipping from one finger to another so easily was only the start. “And what brings me here now is a matter of interrealm security they’ve dragged us into.”

Griffin rolled her eyes as if to counter the words rolling off Faragonda’s tongue and keep them from reaching her. “I’ll fix that,” she strengthened her shoulders again to take the burden that wasn’t hers to bear along with the guilt for leaving anything of her soul with the Coven to corrupt but it hadn’t been her fault. Icy, Darcy and Stormy had never been touched by their predecessors–thanks to the sacrifice that had left Bloom and Stella their unsuspecting targets–yet they were still following the same agenda of their own volition, cut from the very same cloth as the witches they were descended from like everything else those monsters had left behind in their inability to create anything but destruction.

"What if you can’t?” Helplessness had strapped her hands to her sides, yet the question slapped Griffin in the face moving her backwards and further away from Faragonda to the opposite of her intentions. She’d just wanted to dig her out of the past now that they could witness a future that had been stolen from them.

Griffin raised her chin like she did in defiance and not to stare her down, though Faragonda was still way down below her to have Griffin’s words dropping on her head like bricks to crack her skull open rather than wall her up outside Griffin’s heart. “You should worry about yourself. Save whatever’s left of you if there’s anything at all from the old Faragonda.” It was the sharpness of Griffin’s words that cut her loose from the strings moving her around for her lungs to draw in a gasp of air. It’d been her Griffin had been looking for in the past rather than the piece of herself forever encased in ice. “She would never advocate for me to turn my back on three young girls.” The contempt was unlike anything Griffin had ever regarded her with. Not even when she’d accused her of betraying her by turning into a fairy.

"I still trust you, Griffin,” she stepped forward only to bite her tongue and stop dead in her tracks at the sight of Griffin’s demonstrative retreat. She was still herself... even if she’d failed to give the reassurance her best friend needed that she hadn’t turned against her in her pursuit to rid them of every trace of the witches Griffin had left in a show of heart she’d made her question.

"I don’t trust you,” Griffin put them on opposite sides again drawing a clear line between them that she couldn’t cross as easily as the distance between Alfea and Cloud Tower. No fairy dust could fix what she’d broken with the cold inside her. “I don’t know you,” Griffin’s voice spilled out in frozen waves that would make Faragonda’s lungs burst if she opened her mouth to risk swallowing them. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to run this midnight errand you’ve sent me on.”

She dematerialized without sparing another glance at Faragonda to leave her alone in the emptiness of the office like they’d never been there together. The room only seemed to broaden around her to leave her hopeless in the middle like a star that was flickering out in the vast void swallowing its dying light. Cloud Tower remained asleep to her light magic instead of closing in its dark energy on her to suffocate her or chase her away – whichever came first. Griffin had left her unsupervised in her office like she wasn’t enough of a traitor to be kicked out, let alone hunted for vengeance like Griffin herself had been when they’d been brought back together.

She wasn’t coming back and Faragonda had to return to her own office, to her own school and to her own life. A task she almost failed amidst the panic engulfing her consciousness as if to consume it once her body dissolved in her magic and left just her soul behind to wander aimlessly without the anchor of a home. It was just the sight of flames burning in green and blue eyes alike that grounded her back in her rightful position of leadership – a legacy she’d taken over for her friends to rest in peace after they’d done their duty at the price of an inhuman sacrifice.

The ring was waiting on her desk even though it had to have been just a few minutes. She’d lost track of time in the tomb of cold loneliness she’d found herself in when she’d been left on her own.

She picked it up, the weight of it almost non-existent in her palm to contrast with the ton of emotion it had brought out in just a few short hours only for the trouble to be resolved so quickly through cooperation. Maybe Griffin was right. Maybe the terror that had been nestled inside her ever since that day on Domino when her soul had only remained grounded in her body by the warmth of Griffin’s hand in hers had resided in her too long to hollow her out and fill her with paranoia. Maybe she was judging unjustly after the unfair hand the universe had dealt them all on that battlefield.

Or maybe they were being made pawns again to be shoved on the front of another war. She didn’t have Griffin’s warmth anymore–only the burning hurt in her gaze–but she had her students–maybe even the girl she’d sworn to protect with her life–to take care of. She’d have to let Griffin look after herself this time and do the same when the witch refused to be her support and let her be hers.

It was too ironic to be left to the heritage of fairies and witches fighting each other just like their students. Only, that was not what left Griffin unable to look at her. And she had to hope against all logic that there wasn’t another legacy their students were fated to uphold, that it was just the everlasting argument between fairies and witches that was the only thing connecting them all. But she couldn't. Her and Griffin’s friendship was too powerful to be cut in half by an ancient yet superficial divide. And the Dragon Fire was too strong to be extinguished by the evil of three witches.

The ring had found Bloom in an endless universe to bring her to her friends and her heritage. All that was left was to give it back to them and hope it’d acted like a lucky charm rather than a jinx. That and believe in their friendship after the one she’d had left after the unimaginable hatred the universe had been subjected to had given in to the fight they should have ended on Domino instead of inherited in place of the lost crowns Bloom would never get to see.

#winx club #winx faragonda #winx griffin #winx bloom #winx stella #winx flora #winx musa #winx tecna #trix #ancestral witches #griffin and faragonda #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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samaelserpentine · 3 years

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An Odyssey Through Music, Muses, Madness and Magic

(Buckle up Tumblr, this is a long poem) 1. The isle guardians of vinyl Unwittingly nervous to the necromancy I have planned An inner storm so terrible But I was Struck by his Occult missive So laden down was I By all the lyrics, the words With characters told through dark supergods As Aleister Crowley is to Led Zeppelin is to David Bowie And now me Lost among them Buried within them The pages of ancient texts And the liner notes of the albums Held far too close to the heart Though I tried, perhaps I merely formed mystery at my own doom The records of the sorcerers Performing an infernal scratching on my psyche Breaking down what was there and carving out what could be But whether it should be Is still uncertain to me. 2. I found the darkness in riffs The wall of sound I was into Inhabited by self-admitted aliens Aleister’s hellfire brought to light My heavy work held up The symbolizing of some god Archaic and forgotten Through a ring Art cracks All the people that stare loveless Into your eyes But I would be different I would be realized Something broken Mended Yet still wrong But I would Make myself into something else With your words The fascination told fables A way out, a way through I would find my way to you Through the cracks. 3. Once artwork I became their voice Lurking in the shadows of time On the periphery Of reason Madness could be a thrilling companion And with the records transcendent And the races lost The shout rang out Are You Experienced? I am and am not Like an abysmal and sunken ship Lost in the depths of the ocean Alone and devoid of meaning Abandoned everything to Grooves, characters, truths And once there inhabiting these my psyche Broke open spilling out visions, words Like arcane knowledge Dancing carelessly over the line Between the sacred and profane Whispering it’s so nice to see you here again And my mind became a bookshelf filled with ancient wisdom A record player Playing albums that told lies like they were the truth I uncovered the Necronomicon Had lives in Atlantis Sat with the sound and vision Of a populated landscape Woven through history Like a single thread Linking everything I became a fixture Fantastic Within the hidden music of a paperback I would not be forgotten there. 4. Of those who sought And those who chose A wriggle of religious fanaticism in claim And its origins an apparent expression of salvation I say You are nothing and have nothing for me With your hierarchy and worry over the threat Of music and sexuality And your constant waging of war against me When mine and yours is a history of burning I have nothing to give you You’ve already taken too much from me I want what was mine back With your wicked face as old as These chords I worship And your evil work to further ministers As meaningful to me as a rotten turnip Yet of my conjuring powers You disbelieve When honey, you should fear me And not the other way around I hope that when you are most afraid You say my name. 5. Mobs make parents worried They claim the rock audience chaos Is just hormonal fury A response to what is true Inside of both me and you There is more than this A kind of magic If you look for it Religious In the way we turn musicians Into gods and goddesses Idol worship But is that all it is? In the truest sense An ancient rite Long buried and forgotten Rising up inside us all Those who dare to dance And by prohibiting and demonizing The ones who shake their fists Lose their sense Always the sound of agitation But I saw these pagan spirits first Before I heard your protesting words Theirs speak louder to me Than your hatred ever could. 6. To the electric teenager Finding your way Rebellion is autonomy It is tradition To push boundaries Yet each new generation of adults Somehow forgets these Eternal truths It's not your fault They're afraid of your youth Don't listen Hold on Your fire will make the world a better place For you. 7. Could this ancient thread Of reality and magic infused with dangerous potential Normally inhabited by far greater Magicians than I could ever be Break me? I am traversing this rough terrain Of shared perception With aliens These common visions a violence What could I even be? Nothing more than a mystery To those around me Lost in this metaverse I have accessed Through song, collage, words Chaotic, such occult meanings They and often I End in something Beyond reason Scratching out messages of methods The angels referenced spoken vast by terrifying qualities These opposing sorcerers Like a guitar screeching endless feedback Which demons? Sex? Drugs? Words? Palpable as suggesting a penultimate hidden secret Impenetrable beyond nothingness and Nonetheless I must find it Even if I have to destroy myself trying Nothing is more important Than this truth. 8. Years go by and I come about left handed Shaped by a tarot card about the arts and earlier The room Space Death I know spirituality I see it in my brother’s eyes Only the inner outer world collides But of the Beatles or beetles They didn’t understand How To make the world bend at your command Of this phenomenon devotees are Reckless Breathtaking in their beauty And chaos It takes a certain kind of madness Or perhaps maybe genius To choose this path To withstand the pressure Of reality kneeling At your feet Bending to your will I will break it before it breaks me Oh brother, don’t you worry I always find my way out of the darkness And besides, hell has never bothered me I am the master of my own design The maker of my own making Nothing else can touch me. 9. Imagination turns listeners into participants Gives power to the powerless Those converted shaped by few ideas Dreams Had rock’s Hare Krishna LSD Asking questions Whose inner world could I be? And as it moves, a cultural generation Becomes magical More magical than entire rock bands Than holy men and women Fashioned by the young The carbon copy progressives Lying like Houses Already vast Led by the words of the Bhagavad Gita You should have listened to me When I had the cards already free I tried to warn you what was coming But no one ever hears me Invisible as I am Until so repulsive, so strange You can’t look away from me You really should have listened You can't say I didn't try to warn you. 10. This is bigger than I am Stretched too thin like skin Over bone was and into The board, into the planchette Could enchantment make me forget? The board is vibrating Shaking like hands The grazing of sleeves Culture, vinyl Seemed out from under our covers Like what was hidden There, even tucked away those records Though of nothing gatefold came No reason to be afraid Other than the fingers that have become potent The light that has now dimmed And what could I have been To all who pulled that woven magic Out of my childhood? Could it be the way was manifest Curled up snugly against your breast? As warm candlelight over the Ouija Plastic memories came From which I had imagined the feelings like air between Bewitched but hovered from Somewhere above our heads I wished that I was dead Or that something would end. 11. Experiences divorced from reality Covers rock personas Cut out images appear worse But Dionysus would love this His child Who has people staged Like personal shamanic relics Thinking writing something mystical That I would seek this That I sought this Is surely a form of madness But all the logical illogical reasoning shows A kind of rare dedication to the cause These rites are magical Why speak of demons And why speak of devils? I have conjured and created Something new out of the ancient Like nails Scratching deep grooves into a record album I have altered something Broken it As their gods create chaos simulating insanity As if they even have to in me I am the false image of a human performed By a front magician Playing at being god In these moments of desperation Carrying the weight of lives As though my power were absolute My belief almost religious Fanatical My concerns become concerts When I am on my own Wondering why happiness has abandoned me And where all the merrymakers have gone Why I am more Anubis than Pan Why myth seems written in lyrics As musicians play me like a fiddle Play me for a fool I am possessed Into thinking I am appearing as many legends Something older than time itself A life bringer A life destroyer With the power to stop or start it all I needed to believe I had the power To save all of you To destroy all of you To protect myself If I needed to And I don’t know if I can save myself From the things I want to do As the darkness envelops me And my mind becomes unglued So go ahead and do what you always do And blame it on the music When we all know the truth It’s always been you. 12. Rumination is realization I wandered alone Within the elements and to God Unintelligible Words became strange as Rogue faeries genuine Approach looking wing Impenetrable as I have become What I’d produced went away from me Flew out of my control Reborn in catastrophe When where into situations I went From film to film I sense in time a song Things start about a room and again Became revolt But maybe that’s just what happens when you’re Involving the occult Bring out the old rock n roll safeguard Make it out of symbols and sigils A complete thought catalogue so arcane It would leave you spellbound for days My mind prison And that in myself some Christ was born A thought so seductive to be sure I would take control of these pursuits But unlike you Hatred would never do I would never fight against passion Your fear I came to hear Against spaceships, rituals, the mystical, Sex, magic Your terror So absolutely Psychological I felt protection close at hand And I was real myself, as I really am In and out of my depth Battling against you and your demands I came out cleaner Stronger And what became of you? Shhh, no telling I won’t spoil the ending No good to warn the enemy Of what is coming But You really should have been listening You should have been watching What was happening. 13. He said, you should have started with Kether Been sure of the path you were following After all Magic, like blood, stains But these moments were wonders They could drive out the fear of fortune, destiny Hanging over my head I was taking control Creating my own instead As thin as the thread that links us all Tenuous, fragile Like a mind on the verge of breaking Under the weight of a cruel reality The walls would speak to me Whispering When will you come to me From here or there And find me in a room High above the clouds Where we could build our love? It’s not enough It’s a drug And I need it As lovers we were And I, such as the mountains Looming, shy Unable to look you in the eye But here is the stuff of legend Sound soars like a movement Lost to the ages I never thought myself better than this moment Lost as I once was Now flashing light and colour Connected to everything Raising you like the devils they spoke of Dancing my way to Malkuth A fearless necromancer Disregarding all the rules. 14. I am the sun I am the ocean I am the mountains and the streams I am the demon who would be with you In all your wildest dreams Where men circle around you Desperate to keep you You land like sand flowing through my hand I did not try to hold onto you So you let me keep the thread Through this glass I was searching Broken as the cracks But now I am returning Now I am mending And once you were evasive Elusive Like a high I was chasing Or the first drink, the tenth, or the last But now I find you woven into everything Believing we were thrown together like darts Bending like space and time I was searching for this Searching for you In desolate stations We would be protected Dredging the world to a ditch Just to find you Just to become more than this You are a wonder Among wondrous things And I am bird Who has found his wings Overlooking humanity From up on high I have found me in you This time And of all the things they can take from me That will never be one of them For I am the sun I am the ocean I am the mountains and the streams I am the demon who would be with you In all your wildest dreams But above all else What is more I have found peace Dancing in the flames of this madness They tried to call a disease I am me I am me I am me.

#poetry #poets on tumblr #my poem #dadaism #beat poetry #writers on tumblr #writersociety #poetry is magic #my writing #long poetry

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tragedybunny · 4 years

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The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 19

Hello Lovelies, We are in the endgame now. 💕

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

Darkness, screams, ravens crying, something feels as though it is scratching at my brain, a voice whispers in my ear. I awake gasping, I roll over, another nightmare. Only one thought comes next, Kat. I yearn to hold her and feel her warmth close to me. Instinctively I reach out for her, my hand grasping toward her side of the bed, and I find nothing. “Kat?” I whisper into the blackness. No response. My eyes fly open as I confusedly reach further across the bed. “Katarina?” I push myself up to sitting, scanning the room. Where is she? Was something sinister a play? My glance finds her pillow, neatly tucked in it’s usually spot, clearly unslept on. It all rushes back to me, hitting like a charging basilisk. “Oh.” Reality holds more misery than any nightmare. Kat is gone, she left me.

“If that’s really how you feel.” Her voice calm, she turned and walked away toward the stairs, leaving me to stalk off to the study and pour myself a rather generous portion of whiskey. The entirety of the amber liquid went down in one burning swallow. How dare she! I poured myself another. “How dare she what?” The glass stopped halfway to my lips as I tried my best to ignore that rather sensible inner voice. “Enjoy herself for a few moments? Speak to someone who was treating her with kindness? Call out your jealousy and abysmal behavior?” The second glass vanished the same as the first. Gods she was right, I was so terribly jealous. It seems I couldn’t let her go even while I was trying to push her away.

I’d very intentionally been putting distance between us. It had started with that first letter I’d received from her. Most of it had of course been well-coded intel but woven throughout was her side of a conversation that was painfully reminiscent of our more domestic moments. I felt a tugging at my heart and I wanted nothing more than to be home with her. Every quiet moment from then on was filled with that longing, and I spent my nights yearning for the feeling of her beside me, for our physical intimacy. I grew to despise it as weakness. I knew what that longing was, what I had succumbed to. It was unseemly, I wasn’t some foolish young romantic to be spending his time pining away for his bride. I was the Grand General of Noxus, and the Empire was all that I should be so concerned with. So I didn’t write her back as often as I could have, keeping my letters short and brusque. When I returned home I’d put every effort into remaining cold and aloof, determined to sever myself from these troublesome emotions. And yet there I was, drinking whiskey alone in a dim room feeling guilt begin to weigh me down after the pain I knew I’d inflicted on her. We needed to talk, tomorrow, when we’d both calmed down a bit.

I turned the lamps off and started toward the stairs, emerging in the hall just in time to find Kat, changed out of her dress, setting Skadi down on the floor beside her. I quickly noticed she was wearing that same small pack she’d had with her when she came to live with me. Ice traveled down my spine. “Kitten, what are you doing?” I made haste to her side.

She turned to look at me, eyes full of a coldness I’d never seen before. “Don’t call me that, I hate it!” I stopped short, taken aback by the venom in her words, and stricken as I had believed quite the opposite. “I’m leaving, as we agreed to earlier.”

She couldn’t possibly be serious. Is it not exactly what you wanted? “No, we didn’t...I didn’t mean...Kat, I’m sorry.” What had I done?

She shook her head. “We’re beyond apologies.”

All the air seemed to rush from my lungs. “Then I will find other ways to make amends.” It was a promise, anything she desired

“Because I’m a whore to be bought like they’ve always said.” She snapped at me, causing Skadi to take up a defensive posture at her side.

I furrowed my brow. “No, of course not. Do not be like this.” I reached out, trying to pull her to me, to put my arms around her. I had neither held nor kissed her once since my return and at that moment it was the only thing in the world I wanted.

“Don’t.” She jerked away from me, putting her arm up as though to protect herself. “Stop. It’s over.” She started for the door again, snapping her fingers for Skadi to follow.

My limbs felt like dead weight, the edges of my vision blurred, and I heard myself sucking shallow breaths. Only once before in my life had I felt panic that acutely; on the bloody fields at the Placidium, as my Warhost melted away from me and the Blade Dancer sought to strike me down. I forced myself to move, desperately grasping her hand, my mind reeling, searching something to say to her. I’ve always been so good with words, I should have had so many then, words to soften her heart, to soothe her hurts, to tell her the truth of my feelings. “Kat, don’t leave.” The pathetic attempt was barely more than a whisper. I squeezed her hand softly as I had so many times before. Why couldn’t I tell her? Was I a coward? I was losing my wife and still, I couldn’t say it.

She spun back toward me, face inches from mine, a snarl on her lips. “Unhand me Jericho, unless you wish to lose that one as well.” Her words felt as though they had burned me and I released her hand stepping back from her.

With no hesitation, she turned her back on me. “Please.” If she heard, she gave no sign. And with the terrible finality of the door slamming shut behind her, I was left standing there alone in the darkness staring at the floor, pain such as I’ve never felt blazing in my chest.

That was two weeks ago. Since then I’d swallowed down the bitter anguish, burying myself in running the Empire. Piltover had been dealt with, their farewell the first social function in so long I had to attend without Kat. There was a yawning emptiness at my side the whole night, no arm wrapped in mine, no head leaned affectionately against my shoulder. I’d contemplated going after her, trying to win her back. But to start I had no idea where she had gone, just as she had, no doubt, intended. And ultimately I knew, even if I could convince her to come home, I was likely to end up treating her in the same manner. I would never be the husband she deserved. No, Kat should have the freedom I promised her so long ago, the potential to build for herself the life she wanted.

I’d been resolved in that until last night. I’d arrived home to an envelope on my desk, my name in her distinctive script, letters somehow bearing sharp edges. Hope and elation welled up within me, I had not been completely abandoned. Breath held, the letter open did its work. My world went blurry and indistinct as the first thing that fell from it was her wedding ring, landing on my desk with a clatter louder than a black powder explosion. Knowing that whatever it held was not what I wanted so badly, I withdrew the parchment and unfolded it, collapsing into my chair at first glance. She’d sent me a writ of divorce. There was never a thought of reconciling with me, she was putting a permanent end to us. She was gone, she’d taken nothing with her, and now she asked for nothing but the dissolution of our union. It was as though she wished to erase every moment shared between us.

I retrieved her ring from where it fell, clutching it tightly, memories of our wedding day haunting me. It was time to take mine off as well, I told myself, time to let go. I barely grasped it when I felt something I had not felt since childhood, the stinging of tears in my eyes. There was a finality in this act. I pulled it from my finger and gave in, letting the tears come. I felt stupid and childish, choking back sobs so none of the servants would hear. My only comfort was Bea, coming to sit on my shoulder, patient as I tried half-heartedly to stroke her head. She’d missed Kat as well, often going to sit in her room as though waiting for her to return. “Oh Bea, she’s never coming home.” She gave a mournful sound caw in response.

I must have sat there for hours, lost in my misery, until the sun began to fade. I took our rings and reverently tucked them in one of my desk drawers, settling them next to her unanswered letters. There was work I could have done, but all I wanted was to sleep, to forget it all for a little while. So I crawled into bed, pulled the covers around me, and tried my best to ignore the empty spot next to me.

And now I lay here staring into the darkness. Reaching over, I pull her pillow to my chest, it still smells like her, like violets and blade oil. I breathe it in and try to imagine she’s here, curled up next to me, as happy as she was on our wedding night. That night, the look in her eyes, the passion that burned between us, I knew how true her affection was for me. Once I believed she stayed by my side merely to ensure her own prosperity, I had been so very wrong. I wrap my arms around the thing and bury my face in it

I had been so cruel and idiotic. Why? So I could feel as though I were in absolute control. So I could pretend I didn’t need her, because needing her was a weakness, and so the opposite must be strength. I take one deep breath, I’ve run out of time for grief this morning, and now I must see to my Empire. Gently I replace her pillow, soon it will lose that comforting scent and she will be completely gone from my life. I sit up, what will I do then? A worry for later, for now, duty calls.

It would seem I had not suffered enough though, as that duty included an Intelligence briefing to close out my day. Of course, Katarina is in attendance, the two contingents of war masons she oversaw being a topic of high importance. Throughout the meeting I note her gaze shifting about the room, purposefully avoiding me. The first time I hear her voice in weeks is when she gives a brief on Demacia. My attention waivers, I’m lost in simply letting the sound of it wash over me. I manage to glean the overall conclusion of it, Jarvan IV may well be a grave disaster for his country, civil unrest continues, and more mages flock to the rebel cause. Piltover is the next item on the agenda, our new alliance was a rather nice little political victory. “It was only upon the delegation’s return that the true meaninglessness of our concessions was revealed to the Council. They are furious, but cannot act for fear of triggering a real military conflict. Our spies report there has been much division over the failure.”

“Let it not be forgotten the Commander played a crucial role in our success. The information she extracted from their delegation member directed our negotiations.” General Talus allows herself a satisfied grin. She has realized what I knew a long time ago, Katarina’s capabilities extended beyond her blades. Now she uses it for her own advantage, a Trifarix loyalist with an excellent spymaster at her disposal.

It is not lost on me that this highly commendable work is the same that I was so needlessly jealous over. I imploded our marriage because she was doing her duty to the Empire. “Agreed, impressive as ever Commander.” I hear the sudden intake in breath around me, our separation is no secret, and so I suppose many would believe I would turn on her.

She inclines her head slightly. “Thank you, Grand General.” So this it is, we are now just Grand General and subordinate.

The briefing closes and I lag behind, if I tarry long enough perhaps she will be gone. I am not sure I can endure a walk down the Stairs of Triumph with her purposefully ignoring me. Pity Darius is out on field exercises, an impromptu meeting would give me an excuse to stay even longer. The Legionaries salute me and I begin the long descent, perhaps I will drink myself into oblivion tonight. A crowd clears from the first landing and there she is, arms crossed, expression impatient, waiting to pounce on me.

“Did you sign it?” She hisses, quiet enough to at least not draw attention our way. It’s a small mercy but a welcome one.

“No. I was preoccupied with other business.” The lie comes easily enough. I didn’t think she’d want it done so quick. It was agony to even look at it this morning, I couldn’t bring myself to sign it.

She throws her hands up, an exasperated sigh escaping her. “This is just like you. I made it as simple as possible, asked for nothing, and because you didn’t deem it important you ignored it.”

“I will sign it tonight and have it filed with the Magistrate tomorrow.” I force my voice to remain steady. That’s all that is needed, and she will have her freedom. One signature, no more marriage; no more late night conversations, or evenings at the theatre, or quiet dinners, or holding each other in our sleep. “I promise.”

“For all that’s wor…” She looks up, brows knotted, as though she hasn’t truly seen me this whole time. “Jericho, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. If that’s all you required of me.” I hastily turn and begin to walk away. I fear if she says another word to me I will fall apart.

A firm tug on the arm of my coat stops me. If it were anyone else I may well have ended them even without my present misery. Instead, I sigh and turn back to face her. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping, again.”

“It is nothing to concern yourself with.” I gently free my coat from her grasp, my voice beginning to betray me. Being near her has brought back that burning in my chest and stinging in my eyes. I need to get away from her, I can’t break like this in public.

Her eyes now soft, she gingerly reaches up and cups my cheek. “Jericho.” Am I delusional? I can almost hear a note of affection in her voice.

I put my hand over hers and, desiring to never let it go, hesitantly move it away. This is not what I deserve. “Do not worry over me. I will be fine.”

“You’re” She’s abruptly cut off as the deafening roar of explosion envelopes us, the very stairs beneath us trembling.

Instinctively I grasp her, and pull her to me, even as I summon the demon’s aura around us. I sink to my knees, shielding her as much as I can, large chunks of rubble pelting us from the crumbling side of the Immortal Bastion. I shrug it off, letting the demon take more control. Across the city, I hear more explosions, diversions no doubt.

A sizable hunk of stone strikes the side of my head, the pain diminished, but my vision still blurring for a moment. The rocks rain and I feel myself shaking as the aura around me begins to fade. We cannot sustain that immense expulsion of power through me. I let go of Kat and fall forward onto my hands just as the dust begins to settle.

I feel a hot trickle of blood down the side of my face, a throbbing ache where at least one of my ribs is certainly broken, and the demon’s retreat has left me with only my natural arm. I sit back on my knees, urgently reaching for Kat. Her eyes are closed but I mercifully detect the rise and fall of her chest, unconscious but still alive. My mind begins to race, I need to get us out of here.

“Spread out! He’s here somewhere, we were given the signal.” It would seem the plot has finally come to a head.

I try to stand, the world spins and my knees buckle, bringing me back down. I cannot get us both out of here. Even if I could stand, I cannot pick her up like this. “Move the rubble, quickly!”

“Kat!” I whisper and desperately shake her to no avail. I have a choice, there is no saving us both. I hear them coming, below us, they make their way up the stairs. I can flee, mayhaps I will move quick enough to save myself. If they find Kat in their search for me, they will no doubt kill her. There’s little chance I’ll make it in this current state. I’ve taxed the demon too much, I’m on my own. If I move towards them however, there is a greater chance that they’ll retreat once they have me, leaving Kat unharmed. In the end, there really is no choice to be made. I put my hand over hers, one last time, and give it a small squeeze. Finally, I give voice to what that little gesture has always meant, the words I had been too craven to say when they would have mattered the most. “I love you Kitten.”

I try again to stand and every muscle and joint burns in agony until I rise on shaky legs. With faltering steps, I descend, working my way around the largest debris. My lungs burn, my right knee is nothing but fiery agony, and the world begins to waver around me. Finally, I’ve gone far enough that I’m reasonably assured she will not be found. I let go, sinking down. Numbly I feel the impact as I hit the ground, my eyes close, and I slip into blackness.

#swain #Katarina #swain x katarina #League of Legends #league of legends fanfiction

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zenithlux · 4 years

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Alpha and Omega - 6

I finally did a thing. Four months later You can find it on AO3 Here!

Nero had been incredibly hopeful that this version of his father would be much less stubborn.

How naive that thought had been.

“We’re trying to help you,” Angelica said for what felt like the millionth time in the last fifteen minutes they’d been walking.

“You’re lucky I’m letting you walk with me at all,” Vergil hissed, still holding Yamato like an oddly shaped teddy bear. It might have been cute if their entire future, lives, and whatever else was going on didn’t depend on Nero using it himself.

“Oh for fuck’s…”

“Language.” Nero barked without thinking.

If looks could kill he’d be dead in the ground. “Look,” Angelica tried again. “We know something special about that sword that you don’t.”

“And I told you to feel free to tell me.” Vergil snapped.

“We have to show you.”

“And I told you no.”

“This is pointless,” Kaiden muttered. “Why don’t you just take it from him?”

Nero had considered that, but he still wasn’t certain what such a thing would do. Did Vergil have a little demon form? Would he attack them? Would he have to fight his own, pint-sized father? Would Vergil remember all of this? If he did, Nero was more than ready to give him a piece of his mind. “Look,” Nero said, stepping in front of them. “I know you’re confused and scared.”

“I am not…”

“But there’s someone that we need you to meet,” Nero interrupted. “A friend of your father’s.”

Vergil’s scowl quivered slightly. “What do you know about my father?”

“If you let me borrow that,” Nero said, pointing to Yamato, “then the guy we’re going to take you to can tell you everything you need to know.” At least, he hoped that was the case. Nero had a feeling that Pythagoras was just as likely to slam the door in their faces than speak to them, but he had to give him a shot.

“Where is this man?”

“He’s a demon name Pythagoras,” Nero said. “I don’t think he has a door in Redgrave, but he does have one in Fortuna.”

“And how do you expect us to get to Fortuna?”

Angelica looked ready to slap him. Though, to be fair to her, she hadn’t yet. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” She said. “We can use Yamato to get there.”

After a long, tense moment in which Vergil’s eyes darted between all three of them - and Nero thought he was about to have to chase him through the city - he finally, finally, held Yamato out. “If you don’t give it back…” His voice quivered, and Nero knew he didn’t have anything to back that sentence up with. He gave him points for trying though.

“I will,” Nero promised. As he unsheathed it. The blade looked a bit different than he remembered. An old wrap or handle? Maybe. Who knows what happened to it before Vergil put himself back together. But it was just as sharp as always, and Nero could feel the gentle thrum of power from its core. Slowly, he envisioned Fortuna, hoping that his memories of his childhood would be enough to get them there in Vergil’s. When he sliced through the air, a clumsy portal appeared. He heard Vergil gasp as Nero resheathed the blade, satisfied as he handed it back. “You first,” Nero said, praying he wasn’t about to get them all killed.

Vergil stepped through, followed by the kids. “Damn, Dad,” Angelica said from the other side. “You’ve gotten pretty good at this.”

Nero rolled his eyes and followed after them, appearing right in front of the blank wall that should have been Pythagoras’ doorway. He hesitated, uncertain whether the demons would even be here.

“Father,” Kaiden said. “Look.”

Nero glanced behind him, surprised to see that the people in the streets were frozen, just like the members of the castle. “What the hell is going on?” Nero muttered.

“Language,” Angelica snarked.

“Oh shut up.”

“About time you showed up.”

All four of them jumped, spinning around as Pythagoras glared at them. “You’ve caused enough problems as it is.”

“You know what’s going on?”

Pythagoras sighed, rubbing his temples. “I sure wish I didn’t.”

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

Vergil realized very quickly that he was abysmal at running away from things. It went against every fiber of his being, and his demon half was simultaneously furious that they were running and annoyed over what they were running from.

His human half… well… he tried not to think about that too much.

At least he was still aware of his surroundings, as he never could have torn that library apart as precisely as he was. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he hoped he’d know when he saw it. Unfortunately, it was hard to focus on the task at hand when the powered up remnant of a past (current?) life was hunting him. They were doing a great job of evading Nelo at least, and more than one time had been throw as a distraction. Vergil could just imagine Pythagoras’s death glare at the destruction of his library if they ever saw him again. But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

“Verge!” Dante yelled from across the way, throwing his arm up in triumph. “I found one!” But before Vergil could see what it was, a sword slashed through the closest bookshelf. Dante jumped to dodge it, then kicked the shelf over. It dropped on Nelo, but the brothers took off before he could recover.

“Where did you find it?”

“In a book.” Dante tossed a small, gray block to Vergil before the two split up again. It was pie-shaped and fit in Vergil’s palm. On the top was a black symbol to match the others on the picture. A book… That did explain why the library was trashed before they’d gotten to it. But what did Nelo or Mundus hope to gain by finding these pieces? What was hidden behind that symbol? “Two more,” Vergil said as they split up again, tearing through books. He found the second one hiding in a corner- black - and touched it away. One more , he thought, but they were running out of books. Had they missed it? Now that they actually knew what they were looking for, it shouldn’t be too hard to…

Suddenly, Dante leaped across the aisle and threw up the Devil Sword. Yamato collided with it as the bookshelf fell to pieces. Vergil summoned a barrage of summoned swords, but Nelo’s armor was strong enough to withstand it. Dante knocked Yamato away, only for Nelo to swing with Rebellion. As Dante blocked that one and ducked under Yamato, Vergil saw it; a white feather block embedded into Rebellion’s hilt. The last piece of the puzzle attached to an enemy they weren’t sure they could defeat.

Wonderful.

“Dante,” Vergil said.

“Yep,” Dante grunted. “I see it,” He triggered, tossing Nelo away before chasing after him. But when Vergil moved to do the same, pain shot through his skull. He flinched, stumbling backward as he grabbed for his head. What now?

Find the sword. A voice whispered.

The sword. A second, more feminine voice sang.

The sword. A third, deeper voice said.

His vision blurred. “Get out of my head.”

We can’t do that, The voices said. Were they the same voices from before? He hadn’t noticed the multiple layers, but the third was certainly familiar. “You are the convergence; our only hope.”

“Enough!” Vergil snapped. “Just tell me…”

“The sword,” They whispered again. “Find the sword.”

“Which one!”

The voices said nothing, but Vergil swore he could hear the command echoing in the back of his mind. Which sword? Yamato? Rebellion? He’d already figured out the last piece was in the latter, so what was the point of telling him this? All it was now was a distraction. How did he get Nelo to drop Rebellion? How did he destroy it to pull out the puzzle piece? Dante was fully triggered and barely making a dent in the armor, and Vergil could feel an oppressive air slowly choking him. Was Nelo strong enough to do something like that? Vergil didn’t have a clue what Mundus could have accomplished without Dante to get in his way. But they had to kill him. Whatever creature this Nelo had become, Vergil didn’t think they could escape with him alive.

Will Ashira see this one too?

“Vergil!” Dante roared, swiping numerous swords of fire in Nelo’s direction. “Got a plan?”

No, Vergil thought, but he wasn’t about to admit it. But he knew that body once. Knew its weaknesses, even though he would never have admitted it. Were they still the same? Maybe if this Nelo never lost, then Mundus would never have had a reason to change him. Not that he bothered with Vergil. The former (current?) demon king had been more than happy to abandon his little pet to endless torture for losing such a battle. But maybe… just maybe.

“The joints,” Vergil said. “The armor had to be weakened at certain points to actually move.”

“It’s all fused now,” Dante said. “I can hear the armor creaking every time this thing moves.”

Vergil didn’t know why the term ‘this thing’ made him flinch. “But that’s where it’ll be the weakest,” He said. “We might be able to break it.”

“It’ll take some time,” Dante said. “This thing’s the hardest shit I’ve ever tried to carve through.”

“I need Rebellion.”

“That I can probably manage,” Dante parried one attack and swiped at Nelo’s knee caps. The suit of armor dodged back and swung out with both swords. Dante dodged through them, kicked Nelo in the back, and plunged forward. Nelo vanished, appearing behind him, and the dance began again. Dante was strong. Vergil knew he had near limitless stamina, but Nelo didn’t seem any weaker than before. Maybe he’d get through him eventually, but they didn’t have all day to fight.

The chandelier.

His eyes flickered to the ceiling as an idiotic plan filled his mind. There’s no way this will work, He said, shaking his head as he leaped on top of it. The chandelier swayed, and Vergil silently thanked Pythagoras’ gaudy tastes for making something so impossibly large as the centerpiece of his library. He swiped a summoned sword through the first chain, but it took a few more hits than he would have liked. Demonically reinforced steel. Yamato would have cut through that in a heartbeat. He pulled on his demon form, but not enough to draw any attention. Summoned swords shattered. Chain after chain broke. The chandelier swayed back and forth, and the blue flames that flickered on each garish, multi-point candle seemed to grow brighter and brighter. Finally, once all the outside chains were done, Vergil shot for the middle. “Move, Dante!” He snapped as he tore it apart, blinking away. Dante shoved Nelo back, darting away as the chandelier crashed into the suit. One of the sharp edges plunged through his right elbow, tearing through the weakened piece of armor. His arm, and the sword in it, fell to the side. Dante shattered Rebellion tossing the puzzle piece to Vergil. Nelo rose from the ruins, unfazed by the injuries. But his armor was broken in numerous places, but his shattered arm reformed.

“Go!” Dante yelled. “I’ll deal with him.”

Vergil nodded, ducking back toward the puzzle. Only three pieces were missing, yet he didn’t have a clue which was meant to go where. At least the various combinations wouldn’t take that long to try, but he certainly wouldn’t put it past Pythagoras to have some kind of trap laid for whoever was wrong. He needed to get it first try, or risk far worse consequences.

Something… Blue, Purple, Pink, Orange… Something… Green, Yellow…

He’d seen this pattern before, but his mind struggled to remember when. The memory was there, hovering on the edge of his mind. But he couldn’t quite reach it, as if a thick fog were in teh way.

Blue… Purple…

Ashira… Kaiden?

The image of the Phoenix statue popped into his mind. Of course. He rushed to place the last three, his mind drifting to the flowers Ashira had mentioned before all of this. What does it all mean? He thought, placing the last, white feather piece into the slot. A light spread through all of them, shifting around in the star shape. As it finished, it flashed and cracked open from the center. Vergil flinched, looking away until the light faded and he could finally see what big, important thing Mundus and his other self were looking for.

His heart plummeted as his gaze met the dull, bi-chromatic ones on the other side.

“Vergil,” Ashia whispered, the chains around her body clinking together as she tried to raise her head. “No… its not you… is it. Not my Vergil…” Her eyes closed as her head sagged again. “They told me you’d never be the same again.”

“Who?”

“Moirai,” She whispered.

Vergil recognized that name. “The Goddesses of Fate?”

“The voices that keep speaking to you.”

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

Ashira didn’t know how long they had been walking for, but it was long enough that she had run out of stories to tell. Her mouth had gone dry four tales ago, and her voice had finally given out halfway through her riveting tale of the day Vergil left to wipe out the entire Angelo population.

But the more she told, the more she knew he believed her, though she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. There were still too many questions that she didn’t have any answers to. She’d answered the relatively few he had, but it didn’t get them any closer to understanding what was happening.

She hoped there would be more answers at her home, but the trip had already taken a ridiculous amount of time. Three days, tops. Though she wasn’t sure she could count the days when time itself seemed to be frozen. Nothing moved anymore, and the demons hadn’t sprung to life again. The demonic moon never fell, though Ashira knew that could take weeks or longer even when things were normal. The leaves only moved if they walked near them, and remained suspended whenever they did. There was no breeze, leaving the air stale that somehow didn’t smell like anything. Even Vergil had theorized that they were in some kind of temporal stasis. Why it didn’t affect them was a theory that baffled him as much as her existence did. “It could have been created before we entered.” He said.

“But wouldn’t we have noticed walking through it?

He didn’t have an answer to that. If this was her Vergil, they would have fake argued over it for a few minutes, with him denying his lack of knowledge and her teasing him until he gave in. He wouldn’t admit he was wrong, but he might kiss her to shut her up. But this wasn’t him, and it was becoming harder for her to remember that. She wanted her Vergil back. She wanted her world back, but she didn’t know how to get it.

Finally, they arrived at the familiar empty clearing. She stopped him just shy of smacking straight into the barrier. “I’ve got it,” She said as she slid off his back. She knew now the magic her father had used to make it. But her past self had only figured out how to leave years after Vergil did. But this world might be different. Had she already left? Would they find anything in her home? Was this entire trip pointless?

“Calm,” Vergil said, arms crossed. “You’re shaking.”

Ashira sighed but sucked in a deep breath as she placed her hand against the barrier. It rippled under her touch, and a small pulse of magic opened it. Before them sat a grassy expanse stretching out to her old home on the horizon. In the center, however, was a body sitting upright, with rich black hair and an outfit Ashira had once made herself. “It’s me,” She said as they stepped through. Fear mingled with exhilaration as she stepped forward. “Shira!” She yelled, caution gone to the wind. “I know this is crazy but…”

Vergil yanked her back, startling her. “What?”

“Blood,” He said simply, not looking at her. But when she paused to question him, she smelt it to; the undeniable stench of fresh blood. “Ashira?” She said quietly, approaching her still form with a new sense of trepidation. Her other self didn’t move, even as Ashira herself reached for her shoulder. “Hey… It’s…”

She stumbled away as the body tumbled backward, its throat slashed. A deep chuckle echoed around her. “Poor, lost soul,” A familiar, female voice whispered. “Another death… another you.”

Then, the world shattered.

#zenni-writes #a/o #alpha and omega #dmc #fan fic #vergilxoc #Blazing Tempest #I know it took four months but its done!

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ladyfawkes · 3 years

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Desiderium by Trekkiehood and LadyFawkes Current word count: 13423 Current Chapter 8: The Useful Idiots Rated: T for graphic descriptions of violence, wartime, torture, things of a POW nature. ATTENTION/ACHTUNG/ATTENCION: THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! [Nor a repost.] DESI HAS BEEN GIVEN ITS 3RD UPDATE IN LESS THAN A WEEK. WHOOPWHOOPWHOOP! It's also the first chapter in which I've flown entirely solo thus far. Doth my eyes deceive me, or does our hero make a reappearance??? Hold onto your butts, buttercups. You finally get to learn what Regis is all about. Eeeeep!!! This one's intense!!

Overall Story Summary: Desiderium: an ardent desire or longing; especially: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost.

Eugene and Rapunzel's lives are turned upside down when a war breaks out between Corona and Equis. As Captain of the Guard, Eugene is forced to leave his wife and daughter to fight on the front lines, where a tragic berserker attack leaves Rapunzel a widow.....or so she's been led to believe.

Now prisoner to a sadistic megalomaniac, our severely injured Eugene must fight harder than he's ever fought before in order to escape dire circumstances and drag his way back to his family.

With battles raging, the enemy advancing, too many fallen troops, dwindling supplies under siege, and especially absent their most trusted strategic leader, the only chance Rapunzel, Corona, and Eugene have is if the kingdom can still somehow pull off the seemingly insurmountable task of winning this forsaken war. Has dusk finally arrived for the kingdom of the sun, or will she rise victorious once more? Chapter Summary: Eugene finds "help" in the most unexpected of places. Javeen’s men had concussed the enemy captain in outrage and then tightly bound his wrists and ankles with ropes for transport. Naturally, nobody amongst them had consciously thought to put pressure on the enemy's wounds. On the contrary, most of them had gone out of their way to avoid such a thing…. Their reputation had always been annihilation of all opposition and a literal scorched earth policy. It didn’t leave much room, if any, for compassion or medical training; most of the time, it left even less room for common sense. Before dawn that day, Commander Javeen’s underling had initially volunteered to perform the honor of actually transporting the soon-to-be-captured prisoner, the captain in red. However, by this point, Avila was less than thrilled; Uhlan Avila didn’t want the loathsome enemy captain to leak his blood and other bodily fluids all over his opulent saddle. He’d spent good money on it, after all. This was an unforeseen complication for which the uhlan had definitely not volunteered. Now….he was stuck with it, however. Avila sprinted over to a fallen enemy horse nearby, loosened the saddle, and reclaimed the saddle blanket, padding, and two leather straps. Taking the woolen pad and folding it over a few times, he twisted up the enemy captain inside of it with the blanket around the outside, and then cinched up everything with the reclaimed leather straps. Uhlan Avila was pleased with himself for being so clever. It was that one action of vanity alone which preserved Eugene’s life past this point; as otherwise short-sighted as these bloodthirsty barbarians were, transporting the wounded -- even their own -- was not something for which they spared much thought or effort. And so Uhlan Avila threw the prepared prisoner over the withers of his horse and ultimately brought the prisoner, retching and puking, all the way back to Javeen’s encampment outside Equisian city walls. Thus the Equisian army had done the enemy commander a secondary favor by attacking before breakfast; one cannot puke out what one has not eaten. And thus we've reached our third unintended positive consequence that the uhlan mistakenly provided the enemy: Avila had rendered him virtually unconscious. It was a copiously merciful thing, remaining staunchly unable to recall waking memory of being hauled away so inhumanely, bound and profusely bleeding, with no way to brace or prepare oneself for the relentless jarring and jouncing motions on the arduously long journey ahead. The same afternoon Queen Rapunzel of Corona received her husband’s final impassioned missive, the currently defenseless abductee Captain Eugene S. Fitzherbert, Prince Consort of Her Majesty Queen Rapunzel, was presented to His Imperial Majesty King Regis the First and Terrible of Equis. Regis preferred just the one name of his, as ambitious as he was, wanting to further distinguish himself from anyone else yet in the history books. Fully expectant that his captive should be brought to him on a silver platter, King Regis was royally put-out when he was instead Summoned to Javeen’s encampment due to a quote unquote “slight problem”. However, he was determined nothing would spoil his mood for that day. That day had all gone off without a hitch, apparently, every carefully laid plan thus far. As well it should, Regis congratulated himself internally. Nothing would be better than his moment of being able to gloat in the face of this unworthy thieving interloper who had taken up such a plumb station within the neighboring kingdom. Regis

had heard all about Fitzherbert from his

cousin before his death. What idiots Corona’s former royal couple must have been, getting duped by the likes of such a wonton common thief. King Regis vowed he would die before he let such an accursed scourge back into his palace. King Trevor had regaled Regis endlessly about his woes with Corona, King Frederic, and ultimately, the insufferable thief Fitzherbert. And Regis….well, Regis was like Trevor multiplied one-thousand-fold. While they were close to the same age, Regis had had a lifetime filled with having the throne denied him. His gargantuan height of 6’11” made Regis tower over most everyone around him. Though he was tall, he was also toned and muscular rather than massive; though he could yell louder than most, he also had a silver tongue. His cruelty, selfishness, and vanity knew no bounds -- nor did his taste for ostentation. Unlike Trevor, who had a very pointy pinched look, he was exceptionally attractive, broad-chested, masculine, and “strong as a bear”, with his close-cropped beard and once-dark-hair turned a respectable salt-&-pepper. Yet beautiful as he was, every horrible family trait that Trevor had ever possessed -- and then some -- were magnified to abysmal new depths within Regis….which is why lately, he’d been experimenting around with giving himself titles of repute. “King Regis the Great”....no, too generic. “King Regis the Horrible,”...no. Again, too….pedestrian. “King Regis the Terrible”...? Slight improvement but still not good enough. King Regis brushed an invisible piece of lint off his shimmering blue ermine cape, readjusted his most opulent jeweled crown and sauntered through the massive tent flap that had been pulled aside in anticipation of his arrival. He strutted toward the back of the tent, where he saw his 2nd and 3rd in command, Commander Javeen and Commander Thaddeus. Thaddeus backed away at a steady pace upon seeing him, after bowing, saluting, and announcing his king's arrival. Regis picked up on an undercurrent of agitation between his leading men. As he approached Javeen and a heap of rags on the ground, he learned precisely why. It was not a mound of rags before him. Now abruptly seeing his Big Moment evaporate in front of his eyes, Regis rushed up to what was clearly a passed-out prisoner. Surely this could not be Fitzherbert….?? He’d expected him to be a bit sick and groggy via a pre-planned ride from Hades over horse’s withers but not….. And Regis roughly clutched at the hair of the prone individual and yanked backward on the head. And though this prisoner’s features were filthy, it was just as Regis feared: he was indeed looking at the face that had launched a thousand Wanted posters, his avowed newest enemy, Eugene Fitzherbert, Prince of Thieves. The enemy prisoner showed no outward reaction to him nor anything else whatsoever. He lay perfectly still, eyes closed and expressionless, his body completely inert. With fury clouding his vision, Regis tore at the saddle blanket wrapped around his prey. The blanket had all but adhered to those once-leaking wounds through Eugene’s torso. By this time, Cmdr. Thaddeus had backed away to a safe distance outside the tent. “What is the MEANING OF THIS!?!?” roared Regis, unclutching his once-intended target’s hair and crossing the tent to Javeen in less than half a second. “GRIEVOUSLY DAMAGING MY CHOSEN PREY BEFORE I CAN EVEN SEE HIM?!?! “My-My Liege,” stuttered Javeen, “I thought you’d be pleased to see him in such dire straits!” At this, even Regis was taken aback. Briefly. “To reiterate….you ‘thought I’d be PLEASED’," Regis made mocking air-quotes, “to see the very victim I’d been planning personally to accost now for months, suddenly in a position where nothing I can do can possibly torture or make him hurt enough, the way he should be!?!” At this, Regis twitched his wrist and an impossibly sharp filigreed 12-inch-length steel stylus slipped silently out of a concealed pouch in his sleeve. Now, the king was deceptively, eerily calm, ever-so-slowly advancing on Javeen, who was inching away. “Did it ever occur to you,”

Regis rapidly whip-sliced in an upward diagonal with the stylus, his impossibly-lengthy arm snaking out and away him, “that I might need to play with him first?” And then he whipped the whisper-quiet blade rapidly on an opposing downward diagonal, completing an X pattern across the chest of Javeen’s tunic. His second’s eyes bugged out and he continued to back away from Regis, stumbling and stuttering, "N-no-no, Si-sire." Javeen clutched at and tried pressing his tunic against the new fresh wounds underneath them to staunch the flow of blood. Gritting his teeth and trying desperately not to cry out, Javeen well knew how screaming and crying to Regis would only encourage him further. "This dirty thief has information I require, you fool,” Regis said low in his throat, with deadly calm, as he threw the stylus at the dirt and it pierced Javeen through his foot. His hapless second screamed in spite of himself and fell backward, his foot still pinned to the earth through his boot. “I pay you to kill, maim, and follow my orders to the letter,” Regis stood over him prior to leaving, “not to do my thinking for me.” "Un....underst-stood, Si-sire," whispered Javeen. As abject terror gripped him, Javeen still knew he'd gotten off easy. He was still alive and allowed to keep all limbs and sensory organs. After giving his original intended victim Fitzherbert one last longing glance, Mad King Regis knelt down and plucked his stylus out of the shocked man’s pinned foot as slowly and agonizingly as possible, making Javeen yell mightily again as crimson gushed out the new holes in either side of his boot. "You'd best hope he lives," Regis threatened pleasantly, nonchalantly inspecting the bloodied point of his stylus. Regis then wiped his stylus clean on Javeen’s trouser leg, and said loudly, “Cmdr. Thaddeus, Summon the surgeon or apothecary, whatever he calls himself. Tell him he has a new charge. JUST THE ONE,” he growled menacingly at Javeen, his implications crystal clear although he still addressed Cmdr Thaddeus. And to think, less than five minutes ago, Regis had been having such a fine day.

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