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quietstormxo-blog · 8 months

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When Death follows you.

My name is Maya Johnson, and I was born behind bars. They say that the circumstances of one's birth don't define them, but for me, it felt like my destiny was sealed the moment I entered this world inside the cold, gray walls of a prison cell.

She only lived until I was twelve years old.

My mother, Grace Johnson, was incarcerated for a crime she committed when she was young and desperate.She did what she knew. She stole from all of her jobs which is why we moved around alot because she would only last at least six months at every job. She was a repeated offender and was let out gracefully--not because she was having a baby but because she returned all stolen property back to the victims. She had to survive. She was told she would never be fit to be a mother, but destiny had different plans for me. Growing up, I moved in between group homes, no one wanted to adopt me or keep me for long because well-- I have a big mouth and I do not like injustice. I was putting the comfort of others above myself. It affected how deeply I can connect with people, because how real is any connection that is based on inauthentic communication?

Regardless, my mother made sure I received an education and taught me the value of resilience, even in the face of adversity. She kept savings for me that helped me chase my dreams onto becoming the woman I am now.

My father passed away from gang related activities when I was sixteen. He always supported me from a distance. Picking me up from school, and scared off the girls that were bullying me. He wanted me to go to college and be whoever I wanted to be. However, he did not like the idea of me working with the police. That was his only rule, for obvious reasons. From unwarranted searches and frequent racial profiling to disproportionate arrests and excessive use of force, he had seen it all. The police, he firmly believed, had lost sight of their duty to protect and serve the community.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to inform you that your father has been involved in a gang-related incident and he didn't make it. He passed away from his injuries at the scene."

Recalling the scene over and over again in my head.Time seemed to stand still. The news echoed in my ears, my mind struggling to process the reality of the situation. My father, a proud black man who had served in the military, was gone, taken away by the senseless violence of the streets. I couldn't help but feel a mix of anger, grief, and an overwhelming sense of loss.

My father had always been my guiding light, my rock. He had served in the military with honor, defending his country with every fiber of his being. But after sustaining a broken arm during an operation, he was discharged. After losing my mother, out of frustration and disappointment followed him as he struggled to transition back into society. It was during this time that he found himself in the dangerous activities of a local gang.

Being a young black woman in America, I soon realized that the world outside those prison walls had its own set of challenges awaiting me. But I was determined to rise above them. I refused to let my past define my future. I knew deep inside that there was a purpose for my life, and I was meant to make a difference.

I immersed myself in books, soaking up knowledge like a sponge. I devoured crime novels, fascinated by the detectives who solved the most complex mysteries. It was then that I realized my true calling – I wanted to be a detective, to unearth the truth and seek justice in a world that often seemed unjust..

But society had different plans for me. Opportunities were scarce, and doors were repeatedly shut in my face. No matter how hard I fucking worked, the walls built by prejudice and stereotypes felt impenetrable. Nevertheless, I refused to be defeated. I knew I had something important to offer, and I wasn't going to let anyone define my worth based on the circumstances of my birth. I applied for countless jobs in law enforcement agencies, but the rejections kept piling up. Each denial was like a punch to my spirit, but it only fueled my determination further. I wore my kinky 4C hair loud and proud throughout childhood,and I wouldn’t let anyone tell me differently.I enrolled in night classes, studying criminal justice and dedicating every spare moment to honing my skills. If nobody was going to give me a chance, then I would create my own opportunities.

One day, fate finally smiled upon me. I stumbled upon a small private detective agency looking for an intern. It was far from glamorous, and the pay was barely enough to cover my expenses, but it was a foot in the door. I threw myself into my work, absorbing everything my mentor, Mr. Collins, taught me. He stood small but was mighty. He was just like me.

“Maya, your story is your why, so keep going!”

He gave me a pat on my shoulders. I vividly remember Mr.Collins used to tell me that every time I was doubtful.

From the very beginning, he recognized my potential. He saw beyond my past and believed in my abilities when nobody else did. With his guidance, I learned the art of investigation. Together, we tackled cases, piecing together evidence, and uncovering the truth that often hid in the shadows.

As the years passed, I became more confident in my abilities. I fought tirelessly to prove myself in a world that still questioned my worth. But with every case I closed, every criminal I brought to justice, I shattered the stereotypes that had defined me for far too long.

As a seasoned detective, I had faced my fair share of dangerous cases. Yet, nothing could have prepared me for the chilling mystery that would unfold before me. Little did I know, this investigation would lead me down a treacherous path, one that would put my life in grave danger.

It all began when a distraught family came to our precinct, seeking justice. A valuable family heirloom, a priceless portrait, had been stolen from their mansion. The painting's significance was not only tied to its monetary value but also to the memories and history it held. This portrait had been passed down through generations, a symbol of their lineage and prosperity.

As I listened to the family's heartrending tale, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of empathy. Memories of my own mother, who had passed away years ago, flooded my thoughts. Despite her criminal background she had been an art enthusiast, always fascinated by the stories hidden within each stroke of a painter's brush. Perhaps it was this connection to my mother that propelled me to take the case personally.

An old photo album caught my attention. Despite its worn appearance, it contained cherished memories captured alongside the stolen portrait. Amongst the faded pages, I discovered a fragile connection to my own past - a photograph of my mother, young and radiant, posing beside the family's heirloom.

“What the fuck?” I tugged at my detective partner Chris.

“Woah Maya, isnt that your ---”

“Yes! It’s my mother,how could this be possible?”

The revelation startled me. How could my mother be linked to this portrait, and why? As a detective, I had long ago learned to suppress personal emotions, but this case took an unexpected turn. It was personal now. An insatiable hunger to unearth the truth consumed me, driving me forward with unwavering determination. Shortly after, Chris and I spoke with the Captain about the case. I had to resign from the case and was forced to sit this one out.

“But Cap, I was the one who found the photos--give me a chance to uncrack this case. I can be your only lead in this. You've always told me that danger comes with the job. Besides, I can handle myself. I have experience with cases like this."

But he was not convinced. He said it was too dangerous and risky for me. He was not willing to risk losing me.

“These people are dangerous, Maya.They can and will do anything to silence you,and hurt you.”

The captain sighed, his gaze fixed on a framed picture of his family on his desk. "I know you're capable, but in this particular case, it's different. It involves some dangerous individuals, and I don't want you getting hurt."

“That was the first time I saw Cap become worried about me. I had to trust his judgment. He was never wrong.

Later that night, the investigation quickly took a dangerous turn when I received an anonymous message, ominously warning me that my life was in peril. The thief, it seemed, had become aware of my involvement and intended to silence me, forever. I knew this was a risk I had signed up for when I donned the job, but knowing it was personal made it all the more perilous. I find myself in a completely unexpected situation - the criminal I've been chasing wants to frame me for the very crime I've been investigating.

It all began when I received an anonymous tip about a valuable artifact, rumored to be hidden in an old mansion on the outskirts of town. Determined to find it before it fell into the wrong hands, I had been tirelessly working on this case for weeks.

As I entered the dimly lit house. My senses were heightened with anticipation. I knew something big was about to go down. Little did I know that it would be me who would become the target. My eyes scanned the space, taking in the peeling wallpaper and worn-out furniture, all hinting at the generations that had passed through this dwelling. But none of that mattered in the moment. I was focused on one thing—the stolen family heirloom portrait.

Unveiling faded wallpaper and creaking wooden floors, my gaze fell upon a golden-framed painting, hanging. My heart skipped a beat, for there she was—my great-great grandmother, captured in oil and canvas. The features were unmistakable, the resemblance striking.

My heart raced as I absorbed the image-realizing that the journey had only just begun. Determination overpowered the awe that had momentarily engulfed me. I had come this far, and I was resolved to uncover the truth that lay hidden within these walls.I cautiously made my way through the mansion, rooms filled with ancient furniture and forgotten treasures. Suddenly, a voice echoed through the corridor, chilling me to the bone.

"Well, well, detective. You've walked right into my trap," a sinister voice taunted from the shadows.

I instinctively reached for my gun, ready to defend myself, but before I could react, a figure materialized before me. It was the criminal I've been relentlessly pursuing, Harris. His eyes gleamed with malice as he took a step forward.

"Hello anyone here?” I asked calmly, trying to maintain a professional demeanor. Then I spotted him ,"HEY, Give up now, and we can still work out a deal."

The man laughed, his voice filled with contempt. "Oh, how naive you are, detective. You may have been hot on my heels, but now the tables have turned. I am the one in control."

He appeared to be in his mid-50s, with a weathered face and a head full of graying hair. Dressed entirely in black, he moved with an air of purpose, clutching a small bag against his chest. The distinct outline of a gun protruded from his waistband, sending a chill down my spine. This was no ordinary thief; this was a criminal willing to unleash violence if necessary.

Anger simmered within me, but I knew I had to stay composed. I couldn't let him see weakness. "What's your game? Why frame me for this theft? His grin widened, revealing a hint of sadistic pleasure.

"Because, detective, what better way to cover my tracks than to make it seem like the esteemed detective-the daughter of a thief herself has gone rogue? No one will believe your innocence when faced with a mountain of evidence against you. Plus mommy isn't here to save you or take the fall, so why not you?!

I fought the urge to reach for my gun. I knew that if I wanted to slip out of this nightmare alive, I had to remain level-headed. “Put your hands up now!” I challenged myself, my voice filled with conviction. But before I could react, he lunged at me, knocking me to the ground. I tumbled backward, my body crashing into an antique table. Pain coursed through me as shards of glass bit into my flesh.

As I struggled to regain my composure, I noticed him making a strike for my gun. Panic surged through my veins as I refused to let him take control. With all the force I could muster, I hurled myself at him, knocking him off balance.

We grappled on the floor, both fighting for control. In the midst of our struggle, a gunshot echoed through the room. The bullet pierced the air, missing its intended target. Though disoriented, I managed to catch a glimpse of a mysterious masked figure standing by the door.

Using the diversion to my advantage, I wrestled the gun from Harris' grip. With my gun now in hand, I pointed it directly at him.

"You're finished," I snarled, my voice laced with a mix of exhaustion.

But as I finally regained control of the situation, his' face contorted with a wicked smile. "Oh, detective," he sneered, "this is far from over. See you soon."

With those sinister words, he slipped away into the night. I knew that solving this case would require all of my skills and determination, but one thing was certain - I would never let him escape justice.

I couldn't help but wonder about the twisted fate that had brought me to this point. My mother, entwined in a stolen portrait's tale, had fought for truth and justice just as fiercely as I had. And now, with the portrait safely returned to its rightful place - a family's history mended, and a mother's legacy honored.

As the rain continued to fall, washing away the marks of the struggle, I knew that my purpose as a detective was far from over. There were countless more battles to be fought, dark secrets to be exposed. And in every case, I would carry a piece of my mother's legacy, reminding me to stay strong and relentless in my pursuit of the truth.

#writer #authors #aspiring writer #crime

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ascalonianpicnic · 3 years

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Hey! Y’all want a salty essay about the bullshit treatment Caithe gets from the fandom at large that compares Rytlock and Caithe’s characters? Cause I wrote one!

Warning: this essay is incredibly bitter and salty, and that bitterness and salt is directed at people who hate Caithe. I swear in it. I’m mean to Rytlock in it. I heavily imply people who hate Caithe are sexist in it. This was written in the middle of the champions releases, but doesn’t focus on s5 or past pof in general.

A morally grey assassin, jaded from a traumatic past who thinks they have to do everything themself to ensure it's done right. They had to kill someone close to them for the greater good, were deeply hurt by a former partner, no longer work with their old crew due to a tragedy they could not prevent and blame themself for. The two people they care about are their brother whom they love and understand despite his quirks and oddities, and their new young mentee who they have mixed feelings about and who they don't want to admit they care for for fear of losing them. They have a blood soaked past and make mistakes, but they're learning and growing thanks to their young mentee and the hard work they're putting in at reflecting on their past actions and accepting they don't have to bear the weight of the world alone.

Y'all would like Caithe if she was a man. She's built on several tropes so commonly seen in male protagonists and mentor figures. Mistakes she's made that people claim are unforgivable are made by other, less apologetic, male characters who are forgiven and still held in high regard. And I know these archetypes are popular among the guild wars 2 fandom, considering the high crossover with dragon age fans, and how many dragon age fans love Zevran the assassin who regularly hides his true feelings and bears so much guilt, and Duncan the former thief who sees little crime in what he views as rightful murders and views death as an acceptable cost to protect some secrets for the safety of the world. The guild wars 2 fandom in general would love Caithe so much more if she wasn't a woman.

But because she's a woman, killing Wynne, killing a few courtiers during personal story, keeping the secret of the sylvari to protect her people from a massacre at the hands of the other races, and taking the egg to ensure it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands are all seen as unforgivable sins. She's learning and growing every step of the way. She's taken the time to look back on what she's done. She's apologized for not trusting and betraying the commander (who she has a complicated relationship with regardless of race, that person stole her wyld hunt because she was somehow not good enough to kill a dragon alone), she's learned she can rely on others to have her back and doesn't have to do everything alone, she's realized bloodshed isn't always the answer. She's come a long way, learned to let herself trust again, and is working so hard to grow. Yet loads of y'all still hate her for her past mistakes, and some of y'all think it's okay to wish death on her fucking openly with no warning.

And yet, so many people who hate Caithe and wish death on her, citing her actions during Living World Season 2 and Heart of Thorns as the reason why, will in the same breath mention that Rytlock is one of their favorite characters in the game. As I said, y'all would like Caithe if she was a man.

Rytlock has made the exact same mistakes as Caithe during the story. Alright maybe not exactly the same, but his mistakes parallel hers very cleanly. He isn't an assassin, but he is a born and raised soldier who has killed countless people in his rise to the rank of Tribune. He didn't steal an egg, but he did jump into the mists and free a clearly powerful and dangerous figure for the sake of getting his sword back. He didn't keep the secret of the sylvari, but he did, in fact, keep the secret of Balthazar. And he had his own mentee who he had a fraught relationship with. Let's take this one by one.

If you play through the blood legion story on a charr, you probably remember overthrowing the legionnaire of your warband and taking over. In this segment, Rytlock not only encourages you to challenge your Legionnaire, he forces Urvan Steelbane to fight you. Then, at the end of the fight, he gives you the option to kill your superior. Rising through the ranks in charr society is a mixture of proving yourself a reliable soldier and proving yourself superior to your superiors through combat so you can take their place. As a tribune, Rytlock has risen high through the legion, spilling lots of blood and putting those around him at risk. It is noted that prior to his promotion to tribune, Rytlock got in serious trouble more than once for risking missions and endangering his own warband for the sake of his own fame and glory. While not an assassin, much like Caithe he has a very bloody history and a habit of trying to do everything himself

One of the biggest events held against Caithe is when she steals Aurene's egg from the dying Master of Peace as he tries to give it to the commander. While especially true for the sylvari commander, Caithe has a lot of her own reasons for not trusting this incredibly important egg in the hands of the commander. At the same time, her calling as one of Aurene's guardians, her wyld hunt to protect this egg, and the poundings at her mind of mordremoth are all overwhelming her and leaving her confused. Feeling she has to do everything herself, as she often struggles with, Caithe takes the egg to protect it from falling in the wrong hands. She later admits this was the wrong move that put people around her in grave danger and risked the world and apologizes for it. The way Caithe acts about Aurene's egg is pretty similar to how Rytlock acts towards the sword Sohothin. The first time he sees it, he jeopardizes the mission he and Crecia are on to steal it, putting her in extreme danger and blaming her when she has to act to protect herself. Later on, when he loses the sword through a mists portal during a ritual to try and cleanse the foefire ghosts from Ascalon, he abandons the ritual, ensuring it fails, so he can pursue his sword, leaving the commander and the iron legion imperator to face the danger of Barridin's ghost army alone, much like how Caithe left the commander to face the Shadow of the Dragon while she fled with Aurene's egg. While in the mists, seeking his lost sword, Rytlock frees a very clearly powerful and dangerous figure (who we'll come back to) in order to reclaim Sohothin. Like how Caithe put the world at risk by trying to protect the egg alone, Rytlock puts the world at risk trying to reclaim his sword.

Let's take a brief moment to talk about Caithe and Rytlock's mentees, before we get on to the biggest similarity the two share. Caithe's mentee, if she has one as it depends on the player, is the sylvari commander. The sylvari commander is a decently young sylvari, who only a few years earlier emerged with a parallel wyld hunt to Caithe herself. Caithe is a loner in general following the pains of Wynne's death, Faolain's abuse, and the breaking of Destiny's Edge. Now she's handed a youth who was created to help her with her Hunt that she was always told she had to do alone, basically saying she is no longer trusted to perform her hunt alone and now she has to train her replacement. She does seem to care for the commander, but the relationship there is always going to start off complicated, and it leads to her betraying the commander, leaving them to fight the Shadow of the Dragon, and taking the egg she doesn't trust them to handle. Later on, once she realizes her mistakes, she reaches out to the commander to apologize, and repeatedly puts her trust very clearly in them, acknowledging that she does need them and she did in the past. How that relationship ends is of course up to the player, but she makes an attempt at reconciliation after the fallout. Rytlock's mentee of note here is Rox. He takes her own as a promising young woman who he thinks would fit well in his warband and takes a hand in helping her train and find her place again in the legions. In order to join the Stone warband, Rox is given the incredibly difficult and definitely not soloable task of killing Scarlet Briar. Rox, when it comes down to it, chooses to put Braham's life and safety over dealing the killing blow to Scarlet herself, trusting the commander, whoever they are, and Kasmeer to get the job done while she stays back with Braham and Marjory. Following the victory over Scarlet, Rox is too afraid to face Rytlock. She didn't kill Scarlet herself, meaning she failed, and she's afraid Rytlock will kill her for it. This is itself a sign of a deeply unhealthy relationship between Rytlock and Rox. On top of that, Rytlock has as of yet never tried to reach out to Rox, to check up on her or apologize or do anything to repair the relationship between the two of them. (A note from replaying s2, Rox does join for the barradin keep mission with Rytlock there, but Rytlock doesn't really check up on her, and he sure as hell doesn't offer her the more than earned position on his warband despite everything.)

The last point is the one I believe I've seen held against Caithe the most. During Living World Season 2, Caithe keeps secret from the commander and from her own brother Trahearne that the Sylvari are purified minions of Mordremoth, leading to Trahearne's attack against the dragon ending in a massacre. Caithe, when she was incredibly young and impressionable, learned the truth from Wynne before having to kill her to keep Faolain from learning the truth as well. She has, for years now, been the only one to know this secret, and she believes that if it were to get out, the world would turn against the still young and fairly defenseless sylvari and slaughter them. As she sees it, she has to bear the burden of this secret alone, as she has to do everything alone. While dealing with her duties tied to Aurene's egg and struggling with the growing voice of Mordremoth as well, she may not even know of Trahearne's plans to fly an army into the jungle. She has every reason to keep this secret still, it's for the good of her own people. Yes it is a mistake, but she didn't know this at the time. She believes, as she keeps this secret, that it is the only way to prevent the sylvari from dying off as they're just coming into the world. She regrets the loss of life, but she can't go back and change it now.

Now Rytlock also keeps a very important secret, from the commander and everyone else. He refuses to share details of what he saw and did in the mists during his hunt for Sohothin. While in the mists, Rytlock meets an old man in chains. The man, recognizing Sohothin in Rytlock's hands, unlit, says he can reignite the sword if Rytlock frees him. Rytlock accepts the deal and frees the man, returning Sohothin to its original glory and gaining access to a portal out of the mists that the old man makes. Now, Rytlock grew up while the war between humanity and the charr was still growing strong. He spent a lot of his early years in Ascalon, exploring the ruins, likely fighting humans trying to reclaim their land, and definitely fighting the ghosts of humans. That alone should have been enough for him to recognize the human god his enemies worshipped while waging war against him and his people. Beyond that, after Rytlock came into possession of Sohothin, he researched the sword's history. The sword, originally crafted and wielded by Balthazar, is one Rytlock is familiar with. It stands to reason Balthazar himself is at the very least a familiar figure to Rytlock. So when Rytlock encounters a large, powerful figure in the mists who recognizes Sohothin in a state very few have ever seen it in, and has the power to relight the flames that the god Balthazar had originally created, Rytlock has to know who he is talking to. He knows who he freed in exchange for Sohothin's flames. He may say otherwise, but there is no way he doesn't know who he freed in the mists. Even if we give him the benefit of the doubt and say he didn't know who exactly he freed, he still should have told the commander about the man with very powerful fire magic and the ability to make portals who he followed out of the mists. Rytlock caused the tragedy that is Path of Fire and almost caused the end of the world, because he decided to keep the fact that he freed Balthazar a secret from everyone until it was far too late and Elona was already burning. Caithe's secret may have resulted in the failure of the Maguuma campaign and the loss of lives of many soldiers, but Rytlock's secret resulted in the near destruction of an entire civilization and the deaths of countless innocents.

Yet Caithe is still hated deeply for keeping a secret that she thought was for the good of the world, while Rytlock is quickly forgiven for keeping a secret to protect his pride. Rytlock has made all the same mistakes Caithe has and has arguably handled all of them worse, yet he is still a fandom favorite while she is hated by the community. It's pretty clear that Caithe isn't hated for her actions and mistakes. That's just an excuse.

You would like her if she was a man.

#gw2 #my essays #caithe #not tagging cat man #building my mean lesbian niche of essay content 😊🔪#last one was for the eir lovers this ones for the caithe fans #also sorry for referencing da origins 😔

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aecs-multy · 3 years

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Even in the darkest hour, we will find the light

Summary:

When Arthur discovers that Merlin has magic, things go downhill fast, but sometimes you need to reach rock bottom to get up stronger than ever.

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He was tired. As the last bandit fell to the floor barely five meters in front of him, all the energy left his body. Around him were the unconscious bodies of men and women alike, the bodies of those who had tried to hurt them. They had been too many. He knew there had been no way that they had gotten out of the ambush alive if he hadn’t used his magic.

He also knew that there was no way that Arthur hadn’t seen him using it. Slowly, he lowered his hand, that had been pointing at the last bandit he had knocked out. He was so, so tired. He didn’t want to turn around, he didn’t want to see the hurt, the anger, the hatred, the betrayal that would be in those blue eyes he had learned to love.

Merlin’s vision got blurry, but it wasn’t until a lonely tear run down his cheek that he understood why. He was crying. Right in that moment, he had lost everything. He lost his life, his home, his family, his friends, his soulmate. All his life hiding, doing things from the shadows, completely alone, without people that understood him because he couldn’t let them in, for it to end like this.

I should have let that last one kill me, Merlin thought, Arthur wouldn’t have any problem defeating him and I wouldn’t have to turn around and see him now. He almost wanted to laugh. To think that he didn’t want to even look at Arthur right now because it would hurt too much to see what his king was thinking.

The point of a sword was placed between his shoulder plates and he stuttered a breath. This was it. He was going to die by the sword of the man he had sworn to protect, by the sword of the man he loved. His destiny was going to be his end. At least I won’t have to face him, he thought with a trembling smile while another tear fell.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, and his tone was cold, sharper than the sword that threatened to pierce him. “Turn around.”

He gulped and closed his eyes. It took him what seemed like hours to do as he was told, his body trembling with the chill that had suddenly filled his bones, feeling so cold that not even his hysteric beating heart could warm him.

“Open your eyes.”

He shook his head and pressed his eyelids harder together, willing himself to not break down. When he felt the sword reach his throat, he let a pained gasp fall from his lips.

“I said open your eyes.” Each word was said slowly and punctuated with added pressure of the metal against his skin, until a small drop of blood run down his neck.

He did as he was told, but the moment his eyes landed on Arthur’s, he wish he hadn’t, that he had kept them closed and died without the image that would now haunt him during what little he had left of live and during his death.

Those beautiful eyes were shining with unshed tears, full of those emotions he had put there, and he would give his life to make them go away. Arthur was gripping the hilt of the sword with both hands, in a position he had seen him do many times during his training and their adventures. The difference was that his hands were trembling now. It was barely noticeable, but Merlin knew him better than anyone.

“You have magic,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, but Merlin answered with a weak voice anyways, “Yes.”

“All… all this time, you... you’ve been lying to me,” Arthur said, his voice quivering. “I trusted you, I… I let you in, you were my servant, but also my advisor and friend, I… how could you do this to me?”

“I-” he tried to reply, but nothing came out of his mouth. He wanted to say a lot of things, but Arthur wouldn’t believe him, not now, not ever again, and proof of that was how he pressed the sword harder against him, making him hiss in pain.

He kept staring at Arthur’s eyes for seconds, minutes, hours, days? He didn’t know, but none of them moved or looked away. Finally, Arthur put Excalibur down. “I banish you from Camelot, you have until midnight to cross the frontier, if you ever return, you’ll burn in the pyre.”

His whole expression changed as he covered his emotions with a mask, not letting them show, and that was worse than seeing how much pain he had caused him.

“No,” Merlin said, his voice surprisingly strong, but being banished and separated from Arthur would be a fate worse than death. Determination filled him and he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let Arthur send him away. If he had to die, then so be it, but he wouldn’t that which made him whole.

A flicker of anger went through Arthur’s eyes before he could control himself. “What did you say?” Arthur asked between gritted teeth.

“I won’t go away.”

Arthur took a step closer, making them stand with their noses almost touching, but they had never been further apart, and said, “Then you’ll die, is that what you want?”

“No, but the only thing that will separate me from you will be my death,” he said. Merlin turned around and put his hands behind his back, wrists together, presenting them to Arthur to tie them. “I will be by your side until my last breath, until my heart stops beating, so don’t tell me to go, because your face will be the last thing my eyes will see when my world fades to darkness and your name will be the last word my lips will utter.”

“Then you leave me no choice.”

He felt something hit the back of his head, and then he fell, unconscious.

oOoOo

They were all seated in their respective places in the round table, but Gwaine couldn’t help but feel itchy, ready to fight at any moment. Something wasn’t right, he knew it because no one else was in the room but them, and neither were guards outside of the door like there would be any other day. What made him feel worse, though, was the lack of Merlin.

Their friend was always there, even if he wasn’t a knight, and not because he was Arthur's servant. He was always there because he was their friend and even if Arthur would never admit it, they often came to him for advice.

That’s why he knew something was wrong, because Arthur wouldn’t have called them all without Merlin being there, not unless something had happened to their friend. As he looked around, he saw the confused and worried expression of the rest of the knights, mirroring his own.

As soon as Arthur sat, he spoke, “Merlin is a sorcerer.”

With those four words, all the blood left Gwaine’s face. He knew what those words meant, but he refused to believe them. Merlin wasn’t a sorcerer, he was his best friend, he would know. No, Merlin wasn’t a sorcerer.

The silence in the room was deafening, everyone looking around, as if expecting someone to burst out laughing and tell them it was a lie.

“He isn’t a sorcerer, Arthur, how could he? He is Merlin,” Lancelot said, some kind of urgency laced to his words. Gwaine saw that, of all of them, he seemed the most affected by the statement. Lancelot looked as if he had seen a ghost, panic clear in his face, his hands trembling where they rested in fists over the table.

“I saw him myself doing magic, I saw how he defeated 20 bandits with just movements of his hands right in front of me. Merlin is a sorcerer,” Arthur said without looking at them, staring at the door.

“He isn’t,” Gwaine said. “He can’t be.”

“He is.”

“No, he isn’t, because that would mean that he will have to die, and that won’t happen,” Gwaine said fiercely. He wouldn’t let his best friend die.

“He betrayed Camelot, he used magic. I offered him banishment, but he said that he would rather die than go away,” Arthur said, his tone was low, but full of ice and betrayal and it echoed in the room. “He will burn in the pyre first thing in the morning.”

Gwaine didn’t waste a second, he got up and drew his sword. He said, “You won’t touch a hair of his head.”

Arthur didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. “He is accused of treason to his king, of using magic and letting it corrupt him. Both of those crimes are sentenced with death.”

“Treason of what?!” Gwaine shouted angrily, hitting the table with his free hand, leaning on it. “He is the most loyal person you will ever meet, more loyal than all of us together, and not because of a lack of loyalty in our part. He has gone to countless dangerous places for you, done a hundred million things to keep you safe and to protect you. He is the bravest man Camelot has ever seen, and all you give him in exchange is burn him to death?!” He was breathing shakily and his jaw hurt. “If you want to hurt him, you will have to kill me first.”

“Then I accuse you of treason and will die alongside Merlin,” Arthur said, his gaze now in Gwaine.

“Then I shall burn with them.” It was Lancelot who spoke now, and Gwaine noticed that he had stood up and drawn his sword at some point too. “I knew of Merlin’s magic since the first day I came to Camelot.”

Arthur looked at him now, his eyes full of hatred and his words dripping poison when he said, “You knew?”

“I did,” Lancelot said. “You want to know what he used the magic for when I discovered it? To save Camelot from the Griffin. To save you. All those times branches feel on our enemies’ heads, all those times we lost the enemy, all those times he guided us in the right direction, he use magic to help us.”

“Am I surrounded by traitors now?!” Arthur shouted standing up, looking at the rest of the knights, that cowered under the anger that radiated from their king.

“No, you’re surrounded by friends.” Surprisingly, it was Leon who talked. “I didn’t know about Merlin’s magic, but I do know him. I don’t believe that he is evil, nor a monster, nor corrupted. He was your friend, and so are we, and that’s the reason why we stand by your side, but sometimes we must stand against you to make you see reason. That’s why you trust us, because we aren’t afraid of telling you what we think. If you wanted someone to lick your boots and kiss the floor you step on then you would have sacked Merlin a long time ago in the first place.”

Arthur looked more and more enraged by the moment. “Merlin is a sorcerer,” he said through gritted teeth, as if that was the answer to all their problems.

“So what?!” Gwaine asked. “He is our friend and he would never hurt us or Camelot. He is so devoted to you that he would go to the mouth of hell just to make you smile!”

“He lied to all of us!”

“And can’t you imagine why he did that?! In Camelot, if you use or have magic, you die. What did you want him to do, come and tell you?!” Gwaine argued.

Arthur shouted, “Yes!”

“He couldn’t because if he did, you would have killed him, like you are going to do now!”

“I don’t want to kill him!” Arthur said, his voice breaking at the end, and now Gwaine saw what was happening. Arthur had been told all his life that magic corrupted whoever used it, but now that Merlin was the one he had to sentence to death, he was conflicted in his beliefs.

“Then don’t,” Gwaine said softer. “Magic is just a tool, not better or worse than a sword. It’s the one that yields it who choses how to use it. Do you believe that Merlin, and forget for a second that he has magic, would ever betray Camelot, betray you?”

The silence that followed then was answer enough. “We all know Merlin, he wouldn’t hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it.” Percival said.

“And what should I do?”

“Go to the dungeons, tell Merlin that he’s free and he won’t die, tell him that you are going to lift the ban against magic, tell him he’s no longer your servant, and when he has a fit about it, and we all know he will have one because only someone like him would want to be your servant, then you tell him that he’s now the court sorcerer.” Gwaine said.

“I can’t just lift the ban against magic, a lot of people wouldn’t be happy with that and they will demand a reason.”

Gwaine was happy to hear that the only thing he complained about was what people would think. Arthur appreciated Merlin more than he would let himself believe. “Then tell them it’s for Merlin, half of Camelot likes him, the other half loves him and would kill you if you put him anywhere near a pyre.” Gwaine shrugged.

“This isn’t a time for jokes.” Arthur sat down with a heavy sigh.

“It doesn’t need to be made in the span of a day, it will take months, maybe years, but erasing the ban against magic will be what we will aim for, starting with the erasure of the death penalty,” Leon said, always the pacifist and the voice of reason.

“Merlin betrayed me,” Arthur said, probably more to himself than to the knights, and before Gwaine could argue, Lancelot talked.

“He didn’t. Is it betrayal to do something with the objective of protecting their king and kingdom? Is it betrayal to hide something to avoid their death? Is it betrayal to risk their life for the people they love?” Lancelot said.

“We can’t kill Merlin,” Elyan, that had been silent until then, said. “It would be wrong.”

Arthur stared at his hands, thinking, until he said, “I want to be left alone, no one is to disturb me unless it’s an emergency.”

Everyone looked at the rest of the knights, unsure of what to do, not wanting to disobey their king but worried about their friend in the dungeons too. Gwaine wouldn’t move unless Arthur promised that he wouldn’t kill Merlin.

“I’ll go and free Merlin myself, now go,” Arthur said, addressing what everyone was thinking, and one by one, the knights left. All but Gwaine.

“I know your father always told you that magic was evil, but, Arthur, Merlin needs you right now. I can’t begin to imagine how lonely his life might have been, hiding something so important about himself. If you ever tell anyone, I will deny it, but I’m begging you, don’t be a prat, because if anyone can break him, it’s you.”

He didn’t let Arthur answer, he was out of the door before his words could take effect, praying that his friends would find a solution to their differences.

oOoOo

With each step he took down the stairs he willed his beating heart to calm down. He had went to countless battles, fought against thousands of enemies, lead armies to victory, killed mythical beasts, but nothing had terrified him as much as this.

“I want to talk to the prisoner alone,” Arthur said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. The guards nodded and walked away.

He hesitated one, two, three times before he got the courage to walk in front of the cell where Merlin was. The sorcerer was sitting on the corner, his legs pulled to his chest, his arms around them and his chin resting on his knees, his gaze unfocused. His eyes were red from crying, his face was so pale that Arthur thought he was going to faint at any giving moment.

He had never seen Merlin like this, as if the life had been drawn out of him and nothing was left, just the shell of the bubbly man he had learn to love. Arthur still had problems believing it, that Merlin could use magic, that he could conjure such power.

The knights were right, Merlin didn’t deserve to die, he deserved every good thing the world had. He was the kindest, selfless, most loyal, bravest and strongest person in the whole kingdom. And yet, he had imprisoned him because Merlin had saved his life.

All the things Uther had said about magic, how it corrupted people, how it made them evil and dangerous, how they had to get rid of them, it had to be wrong. Everything he thought he knew about magic from his father was wrong. He didn’t know what to believe anymore, he was starting to doubt all the things he had learnt in his life.

His world was turning upside down, and the only person he wanted to be with was in a cell, where he had put him.

“Merlin,” he said, and talking now seemed like the hardest task of all, but he managed to choke his best friend’s name out of his lips.

The sorcerer looked up, a sad smile on his lips. “Is it time?”

Arthur felt sick. How could Merlin look at him, smiling, and accept his death without a fight? After what he saw at the forest, he knew that Merlin could have escaped, could have threatened him, or done something. But no, Merlin was there, sitting, looking miserable and staring at Arthur with trust and love in his eyes.

“It is,” he said with a shaky voice. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he blinked them away. He wanted to know what to do, he wanted a solution, he wanted to go back in time and not know anything about Merlin’s magic because that way he wouldn’t have so many problems.

“It’s okay, I’ll look after you and Camelot even when I’m gone,” Merlin said, his smile so genuine that Arthur had to grab the bars from the cell to keep himself from falling down when his knees became weak.

“It’s- it’s not okay,” he said softly, voice choked with emotion. He didn’t like showing emotion, he didn’t like being vulnerable, but this was Merlin. Merlin, who had stood by his side even at the worst of times. Merlin, who had broken down his walls and disarmed him with smiles. Merlin, who had been loyal to him all this time. Merlin, who had seen him broken down and, instead of taking advantage of that, he had built him back together. Merlin, who treated him like a person, like a friend, and not like a king. Merlin, who had magic and had used it to save Arthur even when that meant he would be accused of sorcery and condemned to death.

Merlin, who he trusted with his life and who he loved more than he loved himself.

He could be vulnerable around Merlin, because even now, Merlin still believed in him, he could see it in his eyes.

“I- I don’t know what to do, Merlin,” he said, his eyes glued to Merlin’s, pleading him and asking for some kind of solution to this mess.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, standing up and almost falling when his legs gave out. He managed to recover and walked to stand before him. “You might be the king, but you don’t need to have all the answers.”

“That doesn’t help, so just tell me what to do,” Arthur pleaded.

“Well, it’s nice to see that you’re still a prat, barking orders. One might think that after all this years you would have learnt that I never do as asked,” Merlin said, and somehow, Arthur chuckled despite himself. He bowed his head and looked at his feet, a tear falling to the floor, between his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Why? I like being here, at least I don’t have an annoying dollophead bossing me around,” Merlin joked, his tone light, but it did nothing to lighten Arthur’s heart.

“I’ve been horrible to you, haven’t I?” Arthur asked, although he didn’t need Merlin to answer, he already knew it would be a ‘yes’. He had treated Merlin horrible at times just because he felt pressured to keep his servant at arm’s length, because he was the king, and a king couldn’t be friends with his servant. Never mind that to him Merlin was much more than a friend.

“No,” Merlin said, and Arthur felt hands over his a second later. When he looked up, Merlin was watching him with so much emotion that Arthur felt dizzy. “You might be a royal prat, and bossy, but you’re also my friend. I know you, Arthur, and I know you care about me, you don’t need to say it for me to know it. You would have sacked me a long time ago if it weren’t because of our friendship, because let’s be honest, I’m the worst servant ever.”

“You are,” Arthur chuckled wetly, a few more tears running down his cheeks.

“You may not have the answer to this, but I’m certain that whatever you do will be the right thing. I believe in you.”

“How can you say that when you’re locked in a cell because of me?” Arthur asked. He wondered how it was possible that Merlin was the one consoling him and not the other way.

“Because I love you,” Merlin said, his cheeks slowly reddening with a blush. “I have loved you for a long time now and I never told you because I was afraid of losing you. You’re destined to great things, too, and I trust that you’ll unite Albion and lead everyone to a time of prosperity and peace like never before.”

He knew he should say something back, like how he felt the same and that they could rule together one day, that if he was destined to great things would only be because he had Merlin by his side, but he couldn’t make a sound. When Merlin gave him another sad smile and took a step back, Arthur didn’t think, he just reacted.

He grabbed Merlin’s face and joined their lips, doing what he had wanted to do for a really long time. At first, he could feel the surprise in the sorcerer in the way he tensed, but when Arthur didn’t let go or pushed him away, he relaxed, and finally, the kiss was reciprocated. It was uncomfortable with the metal bars pressing in his cheeks, but all that mattered was how much he loved Merlin and the soft lips that moved at the same time that his.

Shivers ran down his spine and a tingling sensation spread through his body with each caress of their lips. His heart wanted nothing more than escaping the confines of his body and go to Merlin, because the sorcerer was its real owner. The feeling of the metal bars disappeared suddenly and hands moved to cup his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. Arthur’s arms circled around Merlin’s waist and pushed them flushed together until they were chest to chest, an urgency to touch him filling his bones. He could have lost Merlin because of his own stupidity, and he needed to know that Merlin was there, with him

“I’m sorry,” Arthur gasped when they broke the kiss to get some air, their foreheads pressed together. “I love you, too.”

“I got as much from the kiss,” Merlin said cheekily, his breath coming in puffs that tickled Arthur’s lips.

“Shut up,” Arthur laughed.

“We both know you don’t actually want me to shut up,” Merlin said, moving his head to look at him, an eyebrow raised in a way that made him look like Gaius.

“I don’t want you to change. I want you to always be you. Magic or not,” Arthur admitted, staring back at Merlin’s blue eyes and begging him to understand how much he meant those words. “You’ll have to teach me so that I can understand, but I can’t kill you, I could never do that to you.”

“I’ll tell you everything, I promise, even what I don’t want to say,” Merlin said seriously, but his eyes were full of happiness.

In that moment, Arthur noticed that with Merlin by his side, they could fix this, because they had always done things together. The reason why he couldn’t find a solution was because he needed his other half to guide him.

“Where are the bars of the cell?” Arthur asked when he looked around.

“I… made them disappear?” Merlin said, his eyes wide and innocent. It was such a Merlin thing to do that Arthur wondered how he could ever think that the sorcerer was evil. The knights were right and he would have never forgiven himself if he had sent Merlin to the pyre.

“Of course you did,” Arthur said, shaking his head in amusement. “Everything will be alright, won’t it?”

“It will, Arthur,” Merlin said, kissing him softly once again. “It will.”

#merthur #merlin #merlin bcc #arthur pendragon #one shot #merthur fic #gwaine #lancelot #leon #percival #elyan #knights of the round table #merlin x arthur #i miss my merthur #merlin fandom

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padme-amitabha · 3 years

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Anidala Week 2021

Day 4: Modern AU OR Favorite Trope

I have always been fascinated by the concept of twin flames so here’s my AU with twin flames Anidala. A twin flame is a kind of soulmate so this counts as a soulmate AU.

Half of My Soul

“I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything.

Maybe we’re from the same star.”

― Emery Allen

I loved you before I met you. I think I have been in love with you for a very long time – since the beginning of time, really. I didn’t know what you looked like and I often wondered about you as a child. I would look around the other girls my age and you just weren’t there. My other half – the missing piece to my soul.

It hurt – just a bit – that you weren’t around when I needed you as a lonely child but I was determined that you would show up some day so kept on looking. And then I finally saw you. Not in school, not in the junkyard I often played in, and not in my neighborhood. I saw you much more closely – in a dream.

In my dream, I worked at a repairs shop but I was a slave. And you were an angel in the form of a girl. You were older than me and it made sense to me then why I had never found you before.

“Padmé Naberrie,” you say and the name resonates within me. Of course, that was your name. What else could it be?

Your name is etched into my very bones and imprinted on my very soul. Everything about you – from your big, brown eyes to the little beauty spot on your cheeks still burned in my memory.

In my dream, you were a queen from an elysian world and it seemed like you descended from the heavens when I met you. I was a mere slave, smitten by your ethereal beauty.

You have haunted my dreams since I was a child. I wondered if I did the same in yours.

Amidst the crowd of people, my eyes sought out yours. I knew you were the one I've been looking for my entire life. The moment our eyes locked, I felt complete. Whole. Something I have never felt my entire life.

My life couldn't be any better - I am a Harvard graduate in mechanical engineering, I have a loving mother, a friendly stepfather, a supportive best friend and yet life has always been far from satisfying. Was it because I was only half of a soul waiting to be reunited with its missing half?

Your beautiful brown eyes sparkled with a hint of recognition. Your face was as familiar as my own.

I longed to tell you that you looked mesmerizing in that white dress. The rest of the world - this noisy bar - faded away once I had laid my eyes on you. It finally like coming home.

"You're the angel, aren't you?" I whisper.

You laugh and the sound is just as melodic as I remembered it.

"I have never heard that from a stranger," you say with a hint of amusement.

“But we aren’t strangers,” I say.

"No. We've met before," you say with a mischievous smirk. You knew exactly what

“Once upon a dream,” we say in unison.

Looking on you was a strange feeling – I saw a part of myself in you. It was as if the Universe had shifted around me and I had finally discovered my place in it.

"I remember you. Though your hair was much longer when I saw you," you remark.

The last time I saw you (alive), you were miserable. Tears had stained your cheeks and you were been desperately clawing at your throat. And after that, I only had the opportunity to see you in holograms. When you looked like you were drowning in a sea of flowers as six guaalars took you back home. The others were faint images of the times you were happy.

"Last I remember, I was a sad, sad man. You know why?" I asked as I played with a loose strand of your hair.

I know why, Anakin. But I let you finish anyway.

My heart beats just a little faster as I gaze into your solemn blue eyes. There’s a hint of sadness in them. I have seen that look before.

"Because I had lost you."

I gazed at the man I had loved in countless lifetimes. He looked like a lost child. There was a vulnerability in him that I had not seen in most men. He was beautiful as tragedies often were.

How could one feel so complete and lost at the same time?

I remember the last time I had closed my eyes because I was exhausted and it was hurting to stay alive. My time was over, I knew it but yours wasn’t. You were going through so much more pain but you had to live on and fulfil your destiny.

I always had faith in you, Anakin. And I told that to your Master and I whispered it in to our son. He had your eyes.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth for he knew what I was thinking. We had shared a mental connection in our other lives as well.

I laced my hand in yours and tiptoed to reach your ears.

"But not this time,” I say.

Your smile is as radiant as the sun itself. When you smile, you remind me of that little boy I dreamt of.

“Not this time,” you echo.

"What do you say we leave this place and go somewhere more private?"

"I would like that,” I say with a smile.

You tremble slightly and I can tell you’re tipsy. I look at the girls who had accompanied me. I gesture them to enjoy the rest of the night by themselves.

“I am not letting you drive home,” I say. "Tell me the story of the Queen and the slave boy again."

"You already know."

"I do. But I would like to hear from you all the same."

We found each other again for a reason. I’ve always known we would find ourselves in each other’s arms in the end. Perhaps, the Universe wants to make up for all the suffering it had put us through in the past. Perhaps, this was the happy ending we have always wanted. It was a faint hope but I saw it burning in his eyes as well and we held onto that hope. For without hope, we had nothing.

II.

“Anakin.”

Odd how a simple word – just some wind, really – was enough to rattle him. Hearing it from surviving Jedi would fuel his rage and brought forth denial if it came from his Master but, when she said it, it haunted him. Her voice could calm him from even the deepest rage. She still had that effect on him, even when she was dead and cold in the grave.

He stared straight ahead, determined not to turn around and meet her eyes. This ghost from Vader’s past from appear at different times in his life – briefly, unexpectedly. Even in death, she had never left him.

Vader had many ghosts and he never hesitated to crush them down for ghosts had no power of their own. They were petty annoyances and reminders of a life he had long left behind. But he happened to love this particular ghost and so he let come and go as she pleased, not quite certain if she was a figment of his imagination.

"Anakin."

She would whisper so softly he would wonder if she was there at it. Perhaps it was just the wind hissing.

He didn't respond. During her visits, she spoke very little. On the rare occasions he had dared to look on her face, it was the same pained expression on Mustafar. Her last moments…

He kept his silence, letting his loud rhythmics breaths drown out her weeping. He decided to take a look. After all, her grief meant his grief, and that would make him a better Sith, as his Master wanted.

He expected to see Padmé with braids, her belly swollen – the way she was on Mustafar or a shriveled, decayed corpse as she was in the nightmares that plagued him every night.

But she was just a child – the way he had first met her. She wasn’t looking at him kindly and Vader knew he deserved that look. He was her murderer, after all.

"You weren't like this," she said in her cold, regal voice. It had always fascinated him how a child could appear so authoritative.

He looked away but there was no escape from her. The Padmé that stood before him was in her yellow gown – the way she had been on the meadow in Naboo.

“I knew our love would destroy us,” she said in a kinder voice than the younger Padmé with a hint of sadness. Vader now addressed them both.

"This is what I have become without you,” he rumbled.

"You aren't the same," said child Padmé petulantly.

"Why? Why did you change?" asked the elder. She had the same look she had when she would be frustrated with her work. His Padmé...the one who was his wife would have been gentler. But he remembered she had a temper in her younger years.

"How can I be the same without you? We were two halves of the same soul and without you, I'll never be whole again...I won't ever be Anakin again."

"Without Padme, there is no Anakin. You were me, Padmé. You and I we were the same person. You were trapped by the Republic just as much as I was trapped by the Jedi. We led the same lives. With you died one half of my soul. And now I'm just what's left of me."

The Padmés faded away. Only this time his wife was in their place and she had flowers in her hair.

"Have faith my love," she said as she drew closer. The words sounded hauntingly familiar but he couldn’t remember why. It had been so long…

She put a ghostly hand on his face though he couldn't feel it. He tried to clutch her hand with his gloved ones only to let it pass through the phantom. "We'll be whole, once again. Just you wait," she said as she disappeared into nothingness.

Vader sighed. His other half had proved to be the best thing in his life and also his greatest misery.

Vader never hallucinated his dead wife again but when she did return, she did in the form of a fierce young princess and a young farm boy from a distant planet.

III.

In a different timeline, Anakin Skywalker lay entangled with his wife. She was fast asleep in his arms but sleep didn’t come as easily to him. Anakin always had a hard time falling asleep. The war had made it very difficult to be vulnerable. He knew he was safe at Coruscant and yet he just couldn't let all his worries fade away.

He gently disentangled himself from his wife and watched her sleep peacefully, her curls spread all over the pillow, her expression as soft as an angel's. He paced back and forth their apartment and settled in front of the large windows in Padmé’s apartment. The city never slept but the traffic was less in Coruscant's skylanes at this hour so it was easy to see the stars clearly.

He remembered watching them from his own small hut back on Tatooine. The worlds that had seemed so foreign back then seemed so familiar now. It was the place he grew up in he had trouble remembering.

"Anakin, what are you doing?" asked Padme softly, her eyes still sleepy.

"I’m sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, of course not," she said as she rubbed her eyes. "You should get some sleep."

"I just can't. It's hard to relax," he explained.

She nodded with understanding as she took a seat beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulders and rubbed it gently. "Alright, then. I'll sit with you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. It's not that I get to be with my husband every day."

They sat together and intertwined their hands. "Do you...you ever wonder if...we had never met?" Padme asked.

"No. I don't. Because we were always meant to meet. Don't you believe that, angel?"

"I-I do but that's wishful thinking on my part."

"No. it isn't. My connection to the force is so strong I just know we were meant to be together. It has always been our destiny."

"Mhmm," she hummed, "Wonder what destiny has in store for us."

“Whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together,” assured Anakin as he kissed her cheek. The couple spent the rest of the night sitting in comfortable silence and basking in each other’s presence.

#anidalaweek2021 #anidalaweek #anidala #anakin x padme #vaderdala #vader x padme #fic #soulmate au #twin flames

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trahottie · 3 years

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Trahearne x F!Commander

(Ao3) Ch 2 / ? - It is the eve of the Pact’s final assault against Zhaitan. A morning unlike any other awaited them all and unspoken truths must be shared before it is too late. Marshal Trahearne and Commander Rhea struggle to reconcile with the meaning of their friendship as they realize they might never see each other ever again.

---

Commander Rhea couldn’t tell how long she had been staring at the starlit sky. Once again, her thoughts drifted towards the person she considered her closest friend.

Upon leaving the briefing room, General Soulkeeper had mentioned she had further meetings to attend to with the Marshal and the rest of the Pact’s administrative leadership, despite the already late hour.

He must be so tired, she thought.

Growing weary of her own fatigue, Rhea shook herself out of her reverie and refocused on the task at hand. She leaned forward and scribbled away:

Dear Marshal,

Rhea paused, her quill tip lingering over the parchment.

So formal. This won’t do, She thought. Not for something like this. She crumpled the sheet and threw it aside, before pulling another from the corner of her work desk.

The room was nearly pitch black, if not for the lit candle that stood by her writing materials, and the moonlight peering through her window. She leaned back in her chair and let her gaze drift over the ocean’s horizon for the umpteenth time as if it would offer a final boon of inspiration.

As what may be expected in an old, dilapidated fort quickly made over into a fully functional military stronghold in a matter of mere months, the furnishings of her room were simple and modest. Nonetheless, as a reflection of her rank, she was afforded a room with a generous amount of space and windows that overlooked the rest of Fort Trinity and the shorelines of Terzetto Bay.

Now and then, she can hear a pack of soldiers shuffling past her doors with equipment, and the echoes of hammering steel ring outside her windows. The hour was late, but there was always more to do. Especially when a morning unlike any other awaited them all.

An hour prior, she and the rest of Destiny’s Edge had broken from their exhaustive day-long intelligence briefings and strategic overviews. Everyone involved in the frontal assault was ordered to return to their quarters and get as much shut-eye as possible. There wasn’t much time left and so much was at stake.

However, Rhea could not sleep just yet. As was the case for many soldiers this solemn night, there was unfinished business to tend to. There were farewells to be made. Lifetimes of meanings needed to be truncated to brief letters for loved ones that many may not ever see again.

Rhea leaned back further and rubbed her temples. She was used to risking her life every day, but there was no question that tomorrow will be unlike anything she has ever faced before. How do you kill an Elder Dragon? No less one who has managed to upheave an entire lost civilization?

This time, she and her comrades may truly die a horrible, permanent death. The idea of never seeing her friends and family again never quite struck her the way it did now. Everything she worked towards and bled for would come to a bitter end. All of her hopes for the future would be snuffed out like a candle. She felt as though she dangled over an endless precipe, held by nothing but a thin thread, and the anxiety made her heart ache and stomach churn nonstop. It was debilitating.

Rhea shook it off and returned her attention to the blank parchment. All that remained to do now was say goodbye to him. Thinking about what to say was numbing. After all, how do you say farewell to someone who might not be able to understand what he means to you?

Not only was he her superior officer and the leader of a massive armada that the survival of the entire world depended on, but he is not even human! Even better, he was the first of his other-worldly kind. Everything about his identity was the substance of pure legend. How do you confess something so horribly vulnerable to someone of such incredible, almost supernatural importance? Why risk such painful embarrassment?

Because he’s my best friend, Rhea thought.

And I might never see him again.

This was the one fact that brought Rhea peace of mind in the storm of her emotions. It took her a painfully long time to accept the truth.

In these past few weeks, it nearly drove her mad to not come to terms with what she was feeling. She thought of him day and night. What was he up to? Is he holding up well? Or is he overburdened, from being buried neck-deep in paperwork, logistics, and the emotional trauma of being responsible for the deaths of countless brave souls, young and old? Even worse, was there someone or something making another attempt on his life, whilst she is unable to shield him from danger?

Her juvenile instincts often fantasized of an alternate universe where there were no Elder Dragons to kill, no Pact to lead, no other-worldly dangers to run from or into. It would be just the two of them, perhaps strolling along the roaming green hills of Kessex as they muse about history, literature, or the humble and charming livelihoods of the farmers they pass by.

Or perhaps they would walk beneath the lush canopies of Caledon, where she could learn more about the wondrous idiosyncrasies of his people and admire the boundless potential of the Sylvaris’ future.

Rhea realized that she ached for such fantasies because no matter the danger that surrounded them, every moment spent in his company made her feel... warm. Safe. Happy. When was the last time she had such a reliable source of pure contentment? If ever? She thought life would forever be an uphill battle for acceptance, belonging, and survival. But it all became so small when she was at his side. With him, she was enough. If not more.

Of course, however, they would never have crossed paths had there been no Zhaitan, or armies of Risen or the impending doom of the world. Thus, here they are, a sunrise away from facing their ultimatum, and she, Commander Rhea Hanaku, must confess she is hopelessly in love with Marshal Trahearne.

She continued.

Trahearne, my dear friend,

It should be without surprise that I consider you my closest companion. My firmest ally. After everything we have endured together over the past year, you would probably agree when I say there are no words that can complement the significance of our friendship.

As usual, your confidence in me is overwhelming, and you assure me that we will certainly see each other again on the other side of this upcoming battle. And as usual, my pessimism has compelled me to overcompensate in light of the worst.

Rhea's lips curled to a small smile. The sentiment took her back to what felt like an ancient memory.

“You seemed to have known each other well,” Rhea said quietly, her eyes glumly fixed on the dark waters and misty horizon that surrounded their ship.

“We did,” Trahearne replied with a gentle smile. “I’ve counseled the Vigil on many of their campaigns against the Risen. As you might expect, Forgal was often the point-person for those initiatives. We had spent countless missions with our backs against each other. And, well,” he cleared his throat, “countless celebratory drinks at many-a-tavern. As many times Forgal has saved my life, there were just as many times he threatened it with one too many pints.”

Rhea’s eyes lit up towards Trahearne, and she surprised herself with the light laughter that escaped her lips. “You and me both,” she said with a small smile. Her eyes studied the sylvari before her. Despite the poise in Trahearne’s composure and the graciousness of his smile, she could sense a deep sadness in the golden glow of his eyes.

Forgal had always complained that ever since his “old age”, he only bothered fraternizing with those he held in high regard. After all she had witnessed from Firstborn Trahearne in the few hours they’ve known each other, it wasn't hard to tell why this sylvari fell in that category. The thought of her mentor made her eyes water once more. Rhea turned away quickly.

“I’m so sorry, Rhea,” Trahearne said softly. “I can tell you two were close, as well.”

Rhea stared back at him. The sadness he shared with her and the concern he expressed made Rhea feel closer to the sylvari. For the first time since they embarked on this forlorn voyage, she felt warmth creep back into her chest.

“You know what hurts the most?” Rhea whispered, as she couldn’t help but give in to the sincerity in his eyes. “He always said that I was the kid he should have had.” It took everything she had to gulp back her emotions. Countless memories of laughter and heart-to-hearts with her mentor rushed through her. Countless memories that gave her hope for a future that she could be proud of. They were the kind of memories she never had with her own parents despite the many years she spent under their cold gilded rooftops. “I thought he was just joking. But I wish I could've told him... I wanted to tell him, he was the family I wish I had, too.”

She was undone. The truth of what she had lost today dropped on her like a torrential downpour. Her tears followed suit. For some reason, she wasn’t surprised when she felt the sylvari gently wrap her arms around her in a comforting embrace.

“Forgal never needed formalities to know the truth,” Trahearne said quietly. “In all the years I've known Forgal, I've never seen him look upon someone with as much pride as I did today. He understood what he meant to you, Rhea. That is why he made the choice he made today." The low timbre of his voice sent a soothing pulse to her senses.

Rhea’s breathing slowed, finding comfort in his words. Trahearne slowly withdrew so he could look her in the eye, “He knew what you were capable of. And I saw that with my own eyes today. His sacrifice will never be in vain because of you. I believe that wholeheartedly.”

At that moment, she was dumbstruck. Rhea could not understand the intimidation the Lionguard soldiers at Claw Island felt in Trahearne's presence. All she could see before her was a sylvari with a world of kindness and mature understanding in his eyes. It was the kind of deep, soothing warmth one found in a finely aged wine - a sweetness tempered by the mellowed nature only earned by years and years grounded in earth. His sharp, strangely handsome features suddenly appeared all the more gentle and noble. He was stunning.

Rhea continued to write. The memory reminded her of how much Trahearne inspired her to confide in him. At the end of the day, he was her friend first and foremost. What was the worst that could happen...?

Please allow me once more to overcompensate for my pessimism. Please allow me to prepare for the possibility that this is my last chance to speak to you truthfully.

There is a confession in this letter that I’m afraid you won’t be prepared for, Trahearne. My heart is hurting from simply writing this. My heart hurts every time I think of you.

Forgive me, my friend, but I'm afraid I love you.

---

#trahearne #trammander #gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 oc #back on muh bullshit #if anyone has seen ch1 i invite you to check it out again bc i updated it quite a bit for more juice ☺️#my writing

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makeyourdeanabi · 3 years

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Finale Reaction- 2 months later

In the wee hours after the Supernatural Finale, after tossing and turning in my bed, I got up and wrote this... this was before I was actually active on Tumblr and I never thought I would share this because I was too self conscious. I deleted it shortly after I wrote it because it brought me so much pain to relive it. I have since watched the Finale again and have come to terms with it and I felt it was a good time to share my thoughts. I hope that my words may bring other people comfort who feel the same way. Thanks for reading :)

Alisha

P.S. Sorry so long, I was feeling things and the words just kept coming and coming ___________________________________________

I don’t blog. Never in my life have I sat down to tell the world about my feelings in such a manner. I may contribute on message boards and social media comments, but I never thought anything was worth my time to spill my guts into the ether when I am near certain that not a soul will read them. But here I am. I have to write because if I don’t get these thoughts out of my head, I am going to go full on insane.

That ending was bad. It was a disservice to the 15 years of an incredible show that was not only genre bending it was cultural norms bending.

I could mention the various tropes that this ending (and the previous episodes) invoked, but I am not well versed in them and would never want to do anyone a disservice with a comparison that wasn’t apt.

The buildup up of each character arc and then the glaring lack of conclusion for said character arc was laughable.

To say I am disappointed is an understatement.

To say I am heartbroken is an understatement.

I am destroyed.

I am destroyed that the two men who have been with this franchise since day 1 wrote and directed an episode that they thought was the perfect ending. They thought this is what their devoted fandom wanted.

I am destroyed that the lead actors signed off on this script and went so far as to call it their favorite. I realize Jared was the only one calling it his favorite episode. Jensen admitted he had reservations about the episode and needed the wise words of creator Erik Kripke to accept it. I do have to say that taking the word of a man who left the show 10 seasons ago and hasn’t been involved in all the plot lines and inner workings since season 5 is probably not the best idea. I could be mistaken about the extent of Kripke’s involvement, but I am fairly certain that I am right in my assumptions.

Dean spent 15 years (probably more) of his life feeling unloved, unworthy, self-conscious and convinced that his life had but one purpose and that purpose would ultimately be the death of him, and he had made peace with that.

He is given a best friend, potential love interest, who helps him to see that he is more than that, so much more than that. He is selfless, he is caring, he is a lover, not a killer. His friend’s soulmate’s sacrifice is the catalyst for him believing that all these things are true. He even takes the step of admitting out loud that he knows he has changed. He knows that his life is worth living to the fullest and appreciating what he has every day and honoring those they have “lost along the way.”

To then kill him during a routine hunting trip in which the boys are up against a vampire nest they could take down in their sleep. What could possibly have been the purpose for that? To show that once they were no longer God’s little play toys their lives were expendable? WHY?

Dean, arguably the greatest hunter in the SPN universe, was taken out by a fucking rusty piece of rebar, and instead of trying to call for help and get the man to a hospital (not sure it would have helped) he has his final monologue, the one he has been due for the latter half all of Season 15. He died scared, in pain, and sad.

Dean goes to heaven, and its not the heaven we have been told of in the past where you are living in your memories. Its truly life after death and its wonderful. He meets Bobby again and told that various people in Dean’s and Bobby’s life are close by. His parents live down the road. His father, who was never confirmed to be but was most likely an abusive bastard, lives just down the road with his mother. Wonderful. (WTF?) He gets confirmation that Cas is out of the empty and he smiles, nothing more. He sees baby and goes for a drive, not to find Cas and thank him for his ultimate sacrifice, but to just drive. I like this part because we see a happy, content Dean, and we finally get to hear Kansas’s “Carry on Wayward Son” (DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE LACK OF THE ROAD SO FAR AT THE BEGINNING OF THE EPISODE). I just wish Dean’s path to heaven had been a little easier on him.

Dean deserved better.

Castiel, the selfless angel who just wanted to find purpose in his life and ultimately found it in death. He dies never being told that he is loved, after countless times of professing his love to his found family. The angel who sacrificed himself to the Empty, a horrible place of unspeakable torture, to protect the man he loves. A man who, mere days later (in my mind anyway), arrives in heaven after being killed in a gruesome accident, rather than fulfilling his destiny that Cas fought so hard to protect. Some sacrifice. It turns out that Cas is saved by the Empty from Jack, but we don’t get to see his joyful reunion with Dean, the man he loves.

Cas deserved better.

Sam is left to live this life without his brother, and potentially the love of his life because the writers couldn’t be bothered to confirm Eileen’s re-existence after Chuck’s rapture. He has a family, and he grows old (mind you with REALLY bad makeup in a show that is known for their incredible makeup/special effects departments).

He seems to be happy, but you can tell something is missing. We come to see that he raised his son to be a hunter. He raised his son in a life that, at the outset of this show, he was desperate to get out of and live a normal life. Perhaps he no longer believes that anyone can live a normal life knowing what is out there. *EDIT* Looking back I don’t believe he raised his son to be a hunter, just gave him the tattoo in case.

He names his son Dean, because of course he does. He has a wife who we see from a distance and is never given the clarity if it is Eileen or not. He finally dies after what looks like a slow and painful illness and is sent to heaven.

In heaven he meets up with Dean. This was lovely. The two of them meeting again after so long, for Sam, that is. Dean only had to seemingly wait for a few hours.

Sam deserved better.

For a show that had the potential to go out on a historically significant high, this is disappointing, to say the least. The story had the potential to end with 2 brothers who have sacrificed so much and saved so many people, find a happy ending. Not only that but find a happy ending with a deaf partner and a gay angel. If that isn’t breaking barriers and bending norms, I don’t know what is. I really would like to know what prevented this from happening. Be it the CW from restricting them or maybe the absolute lack of originality from the writers, I am curious as to their reasoning. Maybe it was COVID. Maybe because they couldn’t have those two actors physically on set due to protocols, they didn’t want to shortchange them by having them appear otherwise: disembodied voice, phone call (DONT TOUCH ME) or even a flashback… hell STOCK FOOTAGE! I don’t know and I clearly can’t imagine the reason.

I realize that there is nothing that can be done about this episode now and that accepting it and moving on is really the only way forward. But the legacy this show has left, and its lasting impact on me and my life, cannot be ignored. I was looking forward to indulging in past episodes of this show for the rest of my life. It is going to be a long time before I can watch an episode without anger and resentment towards what I know to be their eventual end. That, to me, is unforgiveable.

I don’t expect anyone to actually read this because I do not have any followers. I have never blogged in my entire life and was only recently introduced to the online fandom, but I needed to write this. I needed to share the impact that this episode had on me. I do hope that it does reach those in the fandom that may have similar feelings and are able to use my words to help express how they are feeling. We can move on, and we will move on, but we need to do it together.

I know that there are people who, if they read this, would shake their head in disbelief that I became so emotionally invested in this show that watching a bad ending would take such a toll on my mental health.

To them I say, imagine this… The Pittsburgh Steelers (my favorite team, they can imagine their own) have an incredible season. A season where they saw a myriad of highs and lows. Veteran players making incredible comebacks, rookie players coming in to their own. Season ending injuries that lead to the next man stepping up and contributing in ways they weren’t sure possible. Now imagine they make it to the Superbowl and after 3 tough quarters, in which they played their best, getting better with each quarter, they lose it in the final minutes. All that blood, sweat, and tears for nothing. Now imagine that was their last season and the Pittsburgh Steelers are no longer an NFL team. They are done. No “we’ll get ‘em next season.” No “it’s just a game and there is always another one”. Just done. Their entire franchise, for a brief moment in time, reduced to those final minutes where they failed to win. Devastating. Of course, in the long run that is not what they will be remembered for. I mean, after all, they have won 6 Lombardi trophies, and no one is taking that away from them. But the sting will remain for a while. *EDIT* This was as close to prophecy as I will ever get, the Steelers did all of the above until the playoffs, but THANK GOD, there will be another season.

If I can’t make you understand with a sports metaphor than I will never make you understand.

I love this show and this loss is devastating. I do hope that it is remembered for more than their last-minute loss. I hope it is remembered for the joy and acceptance that their fandom felt with each episode, for the laugher on set and the gag reels. I hope it is remembered for the individual players who gave it their all. I know it will be, but for me personally, this sting is going to last for a while.

#Supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #eileen leahy #series finale #season 15 episode 20 #damn you dabb #damn you singer #destiel #supernatural

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minthysugamon · 3 years

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Everybody wants to Rule the World. (Part 2)

Noble Assistant,Sergeant! Namjoon x Assassin! Reader.

1789! AU

Word Count: 2,111 (angel number go brrr again)

Warnings: Slight misogyny,beheading,blood,death...i think that's all.

(Credit for the Original Photo: @/athenaa. I only edited it a little bit. But all credit goes to the original artist who posted the photo first in it's original version)

(Painting: La liberté guidant le peuple by Eugène Delacroix)

12 Août,1787. (Flashback)

After reading every word of Voltaire,Maximilien became more and more riled up by the thrill of the revolution. The adrenaline of change was getting the best of him,he had no time to care about his little sister,(Y/n) Robespierre,who would simply block him from getting in the city. The Robespierre family was more than just concerned about their eldest child,the Gem of their family. (Y/n) hated the injustice their father casted upon them. She wanted to learn,he wouldn't let her. Henriette tried to reason her but stubborn,like her brother,she went up in Paris,alone,in the quest of knowledge.

After arriving at Le Marais,her first goal was to find her brother. Nothing more,nothing less. And finding him,she did. But not in his expected state. "Maximilien,laissez moi entrer.¹" A groan was heard from the man but he got up to let his sistet in. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay at home,in Arras. Is it so hard to follow my or father's wishes?" He sighed and pulled a chair out for her. 'How chivalrous.' (Y/n) thought to herself. "Mon frère,i came here to ask you a favor." Her eyes,full of hope,heart racing,the negative answer from him already anticipated. "And what would that favor be? If it's to join some political club,it's a no. And i won't listen to any begging. No is-" "I know. No is no. I don't even want to join those. All i wanted to ask from you is to teach me the art of law."

Maximilien sighed. He knew she will never be accepted as a lawyer,as much as she wanted. In the end,(Y/n) was a woman. Not a male apprentice. But a simple woman. "So...? Will you please teach me...?" Her voice resonated through the small living room,a hint of hope and a dust of desperation sticking to it. "No. I can't. I already taught you everything you had to know. I can't teach you more." Maximilien simply sat down on a chair,looking at her. How could have his sister,a woman from such a delicate mother,turned out like a man? "Is it because i'm a woman?" "It's because you won't be accepted. I'm only doing you a favor here,if you haven't noticed. Ta demande est ridicule. Et tu le sais très bien.² I won't let a Robespierre be turned into laughing stock. Not only your honor depends on it,but our whole family's."

Objecting her brother was the worst thing she could ever do. The man was stubborn and always stuck to his own ideologies for the better or the worst. "But you know-" "STOP IT. NOW. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THAT ANYMORE. I SAID NO. AND NOTHING WILL CHANGE THAT. YOU ARE A WOMAN. KNOW YOUR PLACE FOR GOD'S SAKE." The heavy breathing coming from the eldest was enough to make the atmosphere heavy between them. (Y/n) stood up and put the chair back as if she was never on it. "Alright. Thank you for your time,Maître Robespierre. Je me tâcherai à ne plus vous contre-dire.³" Stepping out of the residence,(Y/n) let the door slam against it's frame. The silence was too heavy around Maximilien. He wanted to tell her he's sorry,but he knew it won't change anything. Her pride was too high for her own good. So he put his aside for once,as unwilling as he was. "Alright. Come back. If you want to learn. You will learn. From me. But don't tell anyone about this. Est-ce clair?⁴"

The young woman's eyes lit up. For the first time,she achieved to coerce something useful out of her brother,something that will be helpful for her future. "Crystal clear,Maximilien." She did a 180 and started walking towards the door of the small and stuffed place the elder was living in,passing right beside him. "So? When do we start? I wanna know everything." An innocent but playful smile spreading on her face as she spoke took Maximilien by surprise. "Quoi?⁵ Not even a simple thank you?" The tone in his voice was laced with fake-hurt. He was annoyed but somewhat proud of her sister's persuasion skills. If she was a man,she would've been a very good lawyer. Putting ultimatums where they belong,it requires skill.

14 Juillet,1789.

After getting some powder,Namjoon was finally recharging his gun,the fact he owed his life to a revolutionist still had him shocked. 'Why?' wasn't his only question though,he wanted to know more about that woman. "COUPEZ-LUI LA TÊTE!⁶" the chant of the crowd grew louder and louder as his foster father was escorted by some peasants. While the sergeant of the troop was laying dead jn the hallway,the squad's organisation itself was frantic,none of them had endured such debauchery before.

"Sir,what should we do? We can't let the colonel down." One of the soldiers finally spoke up after a long moment of silence. His ears were ringing. The loud gun noises made him lose all auditory senses,but he still spoke up despite not being able to think clearly and having no military experience. "Wait here. If i signal the path is cleared,you follow. Divide in two divisions. We can't sacrifice anyone. If anything,i prefer sacrificing myself if there's a chance to lead you into safety. May God be with all of you."

Namjoon had no idea what came over him and moreover had no idea how to command,but he strong leadership De Launay has showed during his younger years may have stuck with him. One thing is sure,he won't commit the error of turning his troops against himself. Maybe getting killed was his destiny after all,but he would do everything in his power to not have the one who raised him killed. After hiding behind a pillar,the man signaled to the first troop to come and hide behind the chariot. The chariot the battle was going on for,the precious gun powder those uncultured men couldn't use. Hell,even him,he was new to the battle but the situation couldn't degrade more.

"Here's what we're going to do. We have to use up all the powder while the second troop can finally get to safety. Negociating with these savages already failed,we have to act." The youngest soldier, Nathanaël du Rhône, looked him in awe, their leader, Kim Namjoon, the man who was once a Stranger, was more worried about their safety than his. The newly appointed Staff Sergeant pointed to Nathanaël. "You. Signal to the others that they can come,then hide and leave. You have more than just a fight to live. The others,you come with me. Hide,aim and charge. I'll signal you when to shoot." De Launay has noticed his son due to his inattention,his hat was in the wrong direction. He simply smiled at the determination of the young chief then mouthed a simple 'You'll be alright son." in his direction while the three man were still escorting him out to the court of the prison.

"Wait....Now. Shoot." And the men acted as Namjoon said,including himself. They fired the shots,simultaneously touching the three who were holding the Colonel. Recharge,aim shoot again all the people who were flocking in the court. Once they had no other choice and were blocked,the hiding spot was discovered too. But he won't let his men down easily,he wasn't raised to do so. "Gather the explosives. We must light them and decimate the crowd or else this hell will never end."

After throwing one of the smoke torches in the crowd,he started running towards his elder, successfully stabbing one of the new detainers in the throat with the bayonette of his shotgun. "Père.⁷You must come. I beg you." De Launay simply nodded a no and smiled "My destiny was to die protecting the king and the prison. Now go before they get you too. You're too young to die." Namjoon wanted to do another round before he saw the head of the Colonel falling,in addition thhe man's blood splattered over his face as he wasn't more than 3 meters away. "Chef. Ils nous ont encerclé⁸. We must go." A new smoke torch was thrown by the youngest soldier on the ground,blinding the revolutionists as he held back his chief from going rampage over the ones who killed the one he called father. "NO I CAN'T. I CAN'T LET HIM DIE." Namjoon screamed frantically as Nathanaël was pulling him by the arm, at the same time asking for help from his troop mates. Two other men came to hold the new and young Sergeant down,escorting him to a hiding place,not wanting to lose their only commandant in this butchery.

15 Juillet,1789.

After staying up all night,the sun was rising. 'Finally', (Y/N) thought to herself. The night was long enough already when she simply had woken up from night terrors and waited for the light of the day to reassure her,but now that she had to wait for her brother, it seemed like an eternity. Sitting on the roof of the house Maître Robespierre lived in,she had the privilege to eat something that many couldn't, an apple. The thought of saving that guy in the early afternoon was prancing around her mind, not fully understanding why she did what she did. 'I should've killed him. Now he's one of my countless problems.' Her inner monologue was eating her up,much like she was munching on the green fruit. Due to the bad harvests of the previous years,it was as sour as her mood.

After finishing the apple,eating the core,even if it was more than just acidic and putting the seeds into a small pocket of her leather pants,she knew she should get down the roof and change back into her normal attire to hide her activity. As long as Maximilien didn't know about anything,she was safe. He wouldn't condone her actions even if she was killing the noblemen he oh so strongly opposed. As murderous as his desires were, the thought of a woman being better than him made his skin crawl. The crowd had finally died down too,people went back to their residences or the small shelter they were at to sleep,it was around two in the morning that the chants started to become more and more quiet and at three,not a single soul was seen wandering the streets. It was although now five in the morning and she knew,her brother would soon come back from the whorehouse he went to. After finally getting into her dress,she went out the door to finally get some bread. 'Oh to be a man and not give a piece of mind about the opinions of others.' she thought as she entered the local bakery.

"Bien le bonjour, mademoiselle⁹ ,early today,i see! Let me guess,the usual or are we changing it up today?" The baker, Jean-Hugues Lefèvre, was known for his kindness towards his costumers although since bread was a missing article nowadays,he always managed to sneak some to the poorest families,giving up his rations to save others. The baker had already started packing the two loaves,as usual until his actions were interrupted by (Y/n)'s voice. "Just one loaf will be enough,thank you. I'm only buying for my brother,i am going back home today." As he was choosing the best loaf,he raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So soon? It hasn't been two months thought,as you said ten days ago." She smiled awkwardly,not knowing how to engage in the small talk,making herself feel smaller. "Well...i guess the Parisian air made me feel a little bit exthau-" her phrase couldn't be finished as somebody barged into the shop.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Lefèvre." The intruder was a tall man,smelling like gunpowder and cologne "Bonjour, Sergent Kim. Congratulations on your rank. You fought well. I am sorry about what happened with the Colonel. What can i serve you with?" Jean-Hugues gave (Y/N) the loaf as he told her the price and the another man looked at her. "Three loaves please..." Thoughtful was the only way to describe him once he caught a look of the eyes of the woman,and (Y/N) had a suspicion why,so she ushered herself out of the bakery. "Wait a minute." The man called out. So she turned around "Yes?" Trying to seem confident out of the cape and mask that hid her face yesterday was harder to do than to say. "Haven't we met somewhere?" A genuine curiosity was displayed on his face. As much as she knew the right answer,the lie was necessary. "I don't think so. Have a nice day,Monsieur Lefèvre." And the girl started heading to the Robespierre residence.

Left dumbfounded and with three loaves for his 10 men, Namjoon was thinking about where he had seen those eyes before. "The girl from yesterday."

Translations

¹ Let me enter

² Your request is ridiculous. And you know that well.

³ I'll make sure to never argue with you again.

⁴ Is it clear?

⁵ What?

⁶ Chop his head off!

⁷ Father.

⁸Chief,they have surrounded us.

⁹Well good morning there,Miss.

A/N: Hello there. There will be probably a part 3,but i don't know when. I don't promise it will be before april but i'll try to write it before. Please note that i try to stay as close to history as possible but as this is an AU,there are some modifications here and there. This is pure fiction please do not take this for something real. Thank you. (Only saying because i've gotten some hateful DMs bc of the first part).

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a-queer-seminarian · 4 years

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we are taught to interpret Esau’s trading of his birthright for a bowl of stew as impulsiveness, even (in Christian language) as a ‘weakness of the flesh.’ He chooses instant gratification over the farther off but far more valuable thing, and thus proves himself unworthy of his firstborn status and all it entails -- Abraham’s wealth and social power, but also Abraham’s relationship with God.

i don’t believe that.

Esau gave in to Jacob’s demand because he knew that Jacob would never have the means to compel Esau to make good on his word.

Jacob was physically weaker. Jacob was set to inherit the tiniest fragment of the wealth and resources that Esau would inherit. how on earth would Jacob ever wrest the birthright and the blessing he was owed from Esau?

Esau’s ‘crime’ here is less impulsiveness, and more a trust in the status quo. his world of patriarchy and primogeniture promised him his inheritance, whether he was a good man or bad, an honest man or a liar. he could tell his younger brother whatever Jacob wanted to hear, but down the road he could trust that their father would bestow the blessing on Esau anyway.

his reliance on the status quo is what allows Esau to hand over his birthright so easily -- because he knows that merely saying it’s Jacob’s now does not make it so.

Esau’s great failing is that he assumes that his culture’s will is God’s will.

the problem for Esau is that God does not play by human rules.

____________

in the Book of Genesis and throughout the rest of scripture, we see God working within the bounds of cultural assumptions and norms, rolling with the binary systems that human societies construct -- right up to the point where Xe doesn’t.

In The Soul of the Stranger: Reading God and Torah from a Transgender Perspective, Jewish scholar Joy Ladin focuses on the elements of gender inherent to the system of primogeniture that places the firstborn Esau over the secondborn Jacob in every way. To her, biblical maleness comes in different “flavors” -- the roles expected of a firstborn son are different from those assigned to non-firstborn sons. She says,

“Jacob and Esau are both male and are born almost simultaneously, but they are assigned at birth to very different gender roles. Because Esau emerges from the womb first, he is considered the firstborn, heir not only to Isaac’s worldly possessions but also to the relationship with God that Isaac inherited from his father, Abraham. Though Jacob is born holding onto his brother’s heel, he is considered the second-born, expected to accept the authority of his older brother, who, after their father’s death, will be the head of the family. Like the gender binary, this law of inheritance, called ‘primogeniture,’ creates a lifelong, life-determining binary division between males who are and those who aren’t firstborn sons. And like the gender binary, primogeniture turns biology, in this case birth order, into destiny. The way male children are raised, the roles they are assigned, and the futures toward which they are steered are determined by whether they are or aren’t firstborn sons.” (p. 36)

Esau has grown up understanding that his inheritance is his destiny. It’s what he’s been born for, what he’s been raised for, what he is entitled to. Why would he believe that he would ever have to make good on his silly promise to Jacob to hand over that destiny? It’s set in stone, inviolable.

at least it is in the eyes of men. but not to God.

“If God were committed to the gender binary idea that people are unchangeably defined by the gender roles we are assigned at birth, then either Esau would have been destined to inherit Isaac’s relationship with God, or Jacob would have been born first. But as God reveals to Rebekah before the twins are born, God intends for the younger brother to usurp the elder, prenatally linking God’s blessing to trans experience. (Ladin, pp. 37-38)

in the ancient past and in the present day, countless roles get assigned to us as soon as -- or even before -- we exist the womb. biology is presumed destiny in so many ways: our gender, our race, the class and geopolitical location and family into which we are born, supposedly map out what our personalities will be, how our lives will go. and certainly these things do shape us, both by nature and nurture -- generational traumas come packed into our very cells, while our environment and how others treat us based on our assigned roles impact how we perceive ourselves and the world around us.

but even so, even so, biology is not destiny. especially not if God has any say in the matter.

for God is the great binary breaker, no respecter of persons or prejudices, unbeholden to the status quo. indeed, God almost seems to delight in upending our assumptions about who is blessed. secondborn sons and eunuchs, women and disabled persons, impoverished persons and disenfranchised peoples -- these are the ones whom God selects, again and again, to be recipients and agents of divine blessing. “blessed are the poor;” “the last shall be first.”

Esau assumes that biology, his status assigned based on birth order, is destiny. he does not fear his younger brother, who is rendered powerless by their culture to claim what he is promised in a moment of hunger. and probably this is safer for Jacob -- because when Esau does finally realize, too late, that Jacob is a real threat, Esau becomes murderously angry.

when Isaac is duped into giving Jacob his blessing after all, Jacob cannot stick around to claim the wealth and status that comes with it -- he must flee, or die under Esau’s hand.

i wonder if some of the violence we see in our time, and across every time and place, stems from the same kind of rage and fear that Esau experiences:

the rage of the ones who are raised to believe the world belongs to them, that they are entitled to certain blessings and privileges, only for the truth to pounce on them unexpectedly -- the shocking truth that biology is not destiny, that they are not inherently superior, that what they thought would be theirs without question might could be snatched from them after all.

the divine right to rule. manifest destiny. the ‘white man’s burden.’

white men who assume they are entitled to white women, so that the mere thought of a Black man winning a woman’s heart is enough to incite them to brutality.

white women who understand that the police are their personal body guards, to call down upon the bodies of Black adults and even Black children on a whim -- and are indignant in the rare circumstance that they are told otherwise.

men and white people who expect the best jobs and properties to go to them, so that anyone else advancing over them seems an appalling injustice.

cis women who perceive trans women as “invading their spaces;” cishet couples who think LGBTQ/queer couples ruin “the sanctity of marriage;” persons who are accustomed to being accommodated without even realizing it sneering at “safe spaces” and trigger warnings....

and on and on.

Esau had every reason to assume that his biology determined his destiny -- that he could make an impulsive promise, make a big mistake, and everything would still turn out in his favor. he was born into a world that told him so every day -- even that God sanctioned these human assumptions and systems. But God does not.

“God’s disruptions of gender in these stories make it clear that even the gender roles that matter most to human beings are not sacred to God. ...God in the Torah uses gender, but is not bound by it. On the one hand, God depends on gender to transmit the covenant across time and space, so that even after hundreds of generations, Jews will still see themselves as children of Abraham. On the other hand, God disrupts gender as a way of making God’s power and presence known. ...In these stories, faithfulness to gender has little to do with faithfulness to God. In fact, God counts on the fact that people are not bound by gender roles. The covenant with Abraham is founded on Abraham, Sarah, and Jacob’s embrace of trans experience: their willingness to live outside the gender roles they were born to and become the kinds of people they are not supposed to be.” (Ladin, pp. 57-58)

Faithfulness to human constructs has little to do with faithfulness to God. God blesses us when we can imagine beyond the narrative we are assigned -- as Jacob does in this story where he demands a birthright the world does not intend for him....and as Esau eventually does.

In Genesis 33, Esau catches up to Jacob after decades apart -- and Jacob expects violence. He sends gifts of livestock to Esau and conceals his most cherished family at the back of his huge household. But to his bewilderment, Esau is no longer murderously angry at having “lost” what he grew up assuming he was entitled to -- he rushes to his brother, throws his arms around Jacob’s neck, and weeps.

Esau was raised believing that he would own everything, and his brother nothing -- that Jacob would be one of many members of Esau’s household, subservient to him. But now, he does not even feel entitled to the livestock that Jacob offers him: “I already have plenty, my brother. Keep what’s yours.”

Jacob is relieved by this unexpected reconciliation, exclaiming to Esau that “Seeing your face is like seeing God’s face, since you’ve accepted me so warmly!” He never expected Esau to accept what Jacob has known all along -- that biology is not destiny; that neither of them are bound to human constructs like birthright; that they can live a different way than the way prescribed to them, one in which both of them thrive.

___________

now, this story is by no means perfect. Jacob was able to imagine bigger for himself, to escape the destiny assigned to him -- but he does not imagine big enough. he does not use his new station to liberate others.

he becomes a patriarch -- assimilates into patriarchy and the power to own other human beings, to rule over every member of his household, rather than challenging the whole system that once oppressed him. i am reminded of trans persons, persons of color, women, who once they manage to acquire power for themselves never use it to help their fellow marginalized persons up. they land positions of power and use that power to oppress others as they were once oppressed, rather than using it to try to forge a new, better system for all.

Jacob the second-born becomes Jacob the patriarch. his household will be fraught with all the woes that come with this system that stifles all within it. his wives will hate each other and battle each other for what little power they can grasp. his sons will do the same, subjecting the younger Joseph to violence when, like Jacob, this little sibling dares to dream of being something greater than what his society assigns him.

what if Jacob could have imagined bigger? what if he had used his one fragment of shining clarity about how patriarchy and primogeniture stifled his true self to empower others, not only himself?

what if we could imagine bigger? what new and beautiful world could we build?

#bible study #joy ladin #jacob and esau #genesis 25 #what do you think?#sermon notes #just some half baked musings so far so i'd love feedback #summer 2020 #log #grace internship #primogeniture #essays

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tetsuwan-atom · 3 years

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Holy Grail War - Unraveling

(So, this is basically something I’ve been meaning to write for weeks. It’s in a specific verse about a specific event that had unfolded, that was plotted out between a few people. I have decided to give this event a bit of a ‘conclusion’ from the perspective of my muse and canon, to show how the story could have gone, how it could have ended.)

~~~~~~~~~~~

It really was like hell.

It looked like it, felt like it, like this was the most evil place, in all of existence.

Another dimension, another world but not at the same time. An experience that would burn into the retinas forever. A world in a world, like you had stepped into the end of it all.

And it really did seem like it was the end, of it all.

You never expected the Holy Grail to look like this. A beacon of such evil, of apocalyptic catastrophe. The very symbol that brought such chaos, time and time again, feeding upon the greed, the selfishness, of those who sought to use it to it’s truest potential.

But this individual wasn’t here for that.

This person had fought through the war. He had faced countless forces, foes, enemies. How many had to die? How many brought no other option to him, despite his attempts to make it out of the war without bloodshed?

A wishful outcome, that was doomed to perish.

The many he did save, those who joined him on the cause. Those he had to leave behind at the very end. Despite the pleas of those who tried to remain, he knew, he had to take care of this himself.

Because, there can only be one.

And here he stood. He stared evil right in the face, like it was his destiny to face this. There could have been others that would have taken his place, the sibling princesses, the spiky haired schoolboy, the Sorceress Supreme, but in the end he took his objective right to this moment.

He knew he had to take care of this himself.

Bowen Chuuno, The Mighty Atom.

He stared at the embodiment of the Holy Grail. He knew of it’s power, it’s energy, it’s deceit. How it calls out to him even now to turn back on all of his goals and make a wish he so deemed to come right from the heart.

But he knew better than to give in.

Hands gripped his IDND, a step forward in stance. He’s ready. He’s about to take the matters into his own.

To put an end to this.

For goo-

“Oh! There you are!”

Eyes widen in surprise. The male hesitates, stops, lowers his device. He’s not alone after all.

There is someone else here.

A voice, he recognises. A man he knows.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Adachi Shiro.

A supposed detective of the National Police Agency, sent to Academy City to investigate the concerns that were happening literally during the time of the Holy Grail War. A very strange coincidence. One that the male took with quite a bit of suspicion at that, despite his cheerful character.

He only turned his head, to the man in question.

“What are you doing here, Adachi? How did you get in?”

“What do you mean? I just walked through. I was asking your friends where you were and they pointed me here. I gotta admit they were all acting strange. They didn’t want to let me pass, but I needed to see you. They can’t just interfere with police business like that.”

Adachi had been Bowen’s ‘sidekick’ throughout the war. Of course Bowen couldn’t hide it from him when the fighting started getting bad. Even he knew better than to lie to a cop.

“I’m busy. What you require of me can wa-.”

“Hey.” The man interjected. “Is this the ‘grail’ you’ve been looking for? Kinda looks odd for a piece of metal, doesn’t it?”

In case your wondering, yes, this man does get on Bowen’s nerves... especially right now, though he knew to remain calm.

“...........Yes. This... is the Holy Grail.”

“Aahhhhhhhh! Well done! I knew you would be the one to make it! Them bad guys got nothing on you, huh?”

His smile is just... why does it irritate him so much?

“...I guess...”

“So, what you going to do, huh? You said it grants a wish, right? I bet you planned this right from the very beginning, what you wanted out of it. I can’t believe I’m here to witness a man’s dream finally being granted!”

“I’m not going to give it a wish, Adachi.”

“You’re... not?” He looks surprised, for sure. “But you came all this way. I was there as you kicked those guys butts for the good of the world. Why would you come all this way if you weren’t going to make a wish? Weren’t you going to do something for mankind? Weren’t you going to save it?”

Bowen hadn’t told Adachi of his intentions, because he didn’t feel the man needed to know. But now, right at the last moment, when he couldn’t hide it anymore, there was no reason to lie.

“I am going to do something for mankind, I am going to save it.....”

The blonde grips his IDND, as if readying himself a second time.

“....By destroying the grail for good..”

“....”

There was this... pause. A silence, an awkward silence. How long did it last for? Probably a good ten, fifteen seconds, before some form of response was found from the arrival.

“Hmmmmmhmhmhmhmhm...”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!”

...That was an unexpected reaction, one which actually brought the blonde to turn around and face the other, still serious, but with confusion now mixed into his features.

Why the hell was Adachi... laughing?

“You, you really think I’d actually let you destroy this artifact of grand power?!?”

“What... are you on about?”

“Come now. You’ve got a good brain, you can figure this all out. Am I really a cop? Why did I actually hang around you of all people while this shit was going down, huh?”

“......”

”You know. I found it really weird that you showed up out of nowhere right at the start of the war. Then when things started heating up you reeeeallly didn’t act like I’d expect out of a cop. It was like you weren’t too caring when people were driven to death. You were also acting very strange when certain things were going on. I had a feeling you were in this war all along.”

There was this pause, but in that moment, the expression on Adachi’s face began to change... no his FACE began to change. It turned.. paler... in colour.. and his eyes.. they were turning yellow. A sort of... sickly... unsettling yellow.

“....”

“Well it doesn’t matter in the end, does it? I got exactly what I wanted. I played you to ensure you were the one at the very end. Nobody else could match up to you anyway.”

“...What do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me! You know exactly why. Your reputation precedes you far more than what you understand about it! While everybody else was distracted I kept my eye on the real threat. They were so worried about that dumb boy and that girl.. and then the others. They were all so useless. ”

The man then begins to circle the blonde, in conversation.

“Right at the beginning my eyes were on you. But it was quite a ride, wasn’t it? You were so good at minimising the work we had to do, putting people on side, finding some way to drop them from the war without killing them. But man everybody was making it hard, wasn’t it? I almost took advantage of that situation when the lucky kid got sent away. Can you believe it, a fake marriage just for the war! I knew it meant shit at the end of the day. More people, more mess, a whole Kingdom trying to get in on the war, those two princesses asserting their dominance. Remember how you reacted at first? You didn’t like them intruding, didn’t you?”

“...I don’t like getting others involved. But they were here for the same goal. As long as the initial plan was followed there wouldn’t be any problems.”

“But the younger one was such a real bitch about it! Making it out that it wasn’t all about you. You didn’t want to be playing second fiddle as others meddled in your objective... I can relate, for they were meddling, in MY affairs!”

“I had to take a breather after all that. I left Academy City for a bit while you cleaned up the trash. Some ‘fighter’ chick caught me talking to myself one day. I tried to downplay it cause I didn’t want more people coming into it but.. the stupid bitch nearly got sucked into it! It would have been soooo funny, seeing a tourney fighter getting wrecked by some loaded-ass Servant! More junk for the janitors to mop up!”

“But then too... I was laughing at the beginning. You got paired with Stacia Sequenzia! An ‘Atomite’ helping another Atomite! The irony there is laughable! You even tried to put her on the sidelines too, but you know, Servants are there to help their masters! I wonder if you ever had to perform a Mana Transfer on her!”

A laugh escaped the man. He wasn’t looking for an actual answer.

“Then there was that guy who just muscled in just to fight everyone, he wasn’t even IN the war. What a waste of fuckin’ time. And the Makiris, the Einsworths. Those fools were all bickering and bitching and making a mess of things. I nearly lost my cover when the war was to move to England.. but I got to pull some... strings and keep it here where I wanted. They were all so concerned about the lucky kid. I was ‘lucky’ I didn’t get to see Violent Violet or that Crowley moron come around to the war. I got to focus my efforts on you while the families shat on about their supposed ‘vessel’.”

“...Vessel... you mean... Index?”

“You dumb piece of shit. Index. Please. Everyone looks at her like she’s a fucking meal. No. She is not their ‘vessel’. Come on, think. Think reeealll hard. Do you remember a girl that the idiot took under his wing?”

“Her... you mean.. Akatsuki Miyuki?!”

“Mmm! Strange isn’t it? They were going to use her as a vessel. Too bad it wouldn’t have worked. I wasn’t interested. I don’t give a shit about humans and homunculi anymore. None of them lived up to my expectations. I wouldn’t have even used your girl either. No, I only had one person on my mind. I got what I wanted in the end, didn’t I?”

“....That’s... me... isn’t it?”

“Oh. No duh, what do you think? Of course I mean you. The Mighty Atom! The one with the power to change it all! It had to be you. The boy would have just been a candy bar. Those two princesses? I would have just killed them the moment they tried to walk through into my space! It was ME that made you an initial participant, it was ME that got you through right until the end. I knew you weren’t going to risk the suffering of those around you because maybe deep down you knew it had to be you, that anyone else would have died one way or another. They all underestimate my power... even those influenced by gods.. but not you. You knew what I can do... you knew it had to be you.”

“....But then... what are you... if you wanted so much.. out of me?”

“...Do I need to spell it out for you, boy? I AM the Holy Grail!”

That.. that was a bombshell.. he didn’t see that coming at all.

“...Y..you...”

“Yes. Me. But I’m rather an extension of the beast, allowed to roam in a body that people could lower their guard around. Nobody ever expected the beast would grow intelligent, to form a mind of it’s own. I’ve seen it, I’ve seen how greedy and malicious humans can get, for peace and for power. I was never surprised by how much they wanted to take over everything for themselves... I always enjoyed it when they were the ones losing right at the end. And then there’s those that want a ‘utopia’, but still kill, still maim, like any life is a sacrifice for the good of others. And then I kill and maim them, an eye for an eye, along with many many others. I loved playing on their wishes, lulling them in, bringing out their true nature, leaving them vulnerable right at the moment I strike! In the end they all get absorbed... ready for the next war. But.... no matter how powerful they are, it’s never... ever enough..”

“I’m bored of this game, this charade. I’m sick and tired of prancing around in a shit body. It’s still fun to prey on the gullible but, I have always yearned for something far... far greater. What I am... what I really, really am, they never suspect what I can really, really do, what they were playing with from the start. The power they were using. They thought they could play god... for their sick, twisted gains! Through their sick, twisted means!”

“But now I’m actually going to become one... thanks to you.. I’m going to be born, properly born! I’m going to burst forth as the being I should have become in the very beginning. Humanity will crumble as I consume anything and everything. Mark my words this will be the last Grail War because of you. You soul will be used to complete the process... it will make me... me! There was truly no vessel greater than you! Even now I’ve been slowly draining your energy away to grow, to develop... oh isn’t this exciting! You’re going to be a part of multi-universal history, the end of everything! Nobody will get in my way! Your power will make everything happen at once! You, responsible for the end of it all. The beginning and the end, death for life, the rise and the fall! Everybody shall die, your friend, your girl, your family, everything and everyone... and you will be the sacrifice that starts it all! It’s inevitable, boy. You cannot fight what has already happened, what was lead to happen. The game of cat and mouse is over. This is your fate. This is my fate. The less you struggle.. the easier it will be, for both of us!”

...Boy... this was a lot to take in. A LOT to take in.. and he didn’t even have the time to process it all, not when he was actually being affected right now. Inhale, exhale, carefully, gently. Remain composed.. then face the man head on.

“Adachi.”

"You know, as well as I do, I'm not going to willingly give in to you and just let this happen. You know what I am, what I do.. and what I'm going to be doing right here, right now. Your words have further influenced me in the belief that the Grail must be destroyed. And it will be destroyed. I made that promise to everyone, to Camellia, to Academy City, to my world, to Touma... to my beloved. I had an inkling I might have been targeted, that if I wasn't the one doing it, I'd be made to do it. I always had this feeling in the back of my mind that if I let others try ahead of me that they were only going to die in the end... turns out I was right."

His eyes began to glow. The usual process, close the eyes, then open them with sparks flying.

"So rather than causing more death, rather than beating around the bush, I'm going to take the matters as I was always planning to do. This was always my fight, because I was always the target. You wanted me. You have me... but man I'm not going to give up until I have no breath left. I have done so much for the multiverse, for Academy City. I never thought I'd be in a position where it all hinged in the balance like this. I know the stakes... I know what I must do. Whatever it takes, you will be destroyed for good, so that nobody can use you... so that you... can no longer use anybody. I won't let you live. I will not bring your birth. If I have to erase your very soul and existence to end this, then so be it."

“.... Well, so much for making this easy. I had a feeling your resolve was too great to kneel before me. No matter..”

“....But then there is no harm in having one last bit of fun before the next stage of life! And it would be better to wear down your.. rambunctiousness to make it easier for me to devour. Do not underestimate me... either way.. this.. will be your end!”

...And as the darkness swelled, the blonde readied his IDND again, at the man, at the embodiment of the Holy Grail. If this was to be his final fight, so be it.

This... would be the very fight that decides the fate of everything.

Of Academy City, of the multiverse, of everything.

So it shall be.

Game on.......

#DRABBLE #rebirthtxstamentproject #whitecrownsblackthrones #Kinoverse!Bowen #This is the leadup drabble #I don't think I'll write the actual fight scene but #I know I have the ending scene all planned out.#I've had this in my head for AGES #and it would have been better if the original chunk didn't get EATEN #but anyway here we are!#Adachi Shiro : Metropolitan Wolf

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vrykoolart · 3 years

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Saint Seiya Question Game

Tagged by: @siberianxbreaks

-- Thank you for the tag, my friend! --

Remove my answers and put yours under the questions!

How did you find out about Saint Seiya?

My sister is actually a huge fan of Saint Seiya, so I found out about from her. We actually watched it when we were kids. I don’t have that vivid of a memory about it, but I do know the one I recall watching is the ADV dub. I remember how deep they made Hyoga’s voice and that’s it.

But my sister really loved it and I’d watch with her. One day, it kinda disappeared and because we live in the United States—y’all probably know what I mean— It was really hard to find it at all. So for years, my sister was trying to track it down and she dabbled into the other series related to it a little bit. It wasn’t until last year that we finally found it thanks to Netflix and we watched it all with our entire family. I saw the first season with the new dub and was immediately obsessed with it. I enjoyed every second of watching the whole thing. It kills me that we don’t have the Hades arc dubbed yet and I hope we get it soon.

I watched Lost Canvas, too, and loved it as well. Albafica made me love it and the El Cid’s episodes were really top notch for me. I love his voice. I love his character. I think he’s literally the coolest thing ever. I delved into the manga and I just love Lost Canvas. It has some weird stuff here and there, but I adore it. I hope one day we get a season three because it’s truly that good.

I just really love Saint Seiya & I’m so glad that it exists. Truly. I don’t remember having that much fun watching an anime since like watching Death Note, Soul Eater, Sgt. Frog, and like—Azumanga Daioh... all for different reasons, of course.

Who’s your favorite character and why?

When I started watching the show again, it was Shun. He’s so adorable and his heart is so big. I love how sweet and strong he is. I have a soft spot for Shun honestly. The more I watched it, I really started to just adore all the Bronze Saints, too.

But another character I really adore is Cancer Deathmask. He’s so charismatic and fun. I really adore the voice they gave him in the Netflix English dub, too. He killed it. I just absolutely am in love with him. Yes, he committed several crimes. Yes, he has killed numerous people. Yes, his temple looks like a Mortal Kombat stage... but it truly builds character. He’s my husband and I think we’re all allowed to make as choices ever now and then.

Who’s your absolute hate-character and why?

Tatsumi. I hate how he never faced the consequences for anything he did. He literally abused those children—Ikki, more-so, and he sent him to Death Queen to DIE. He’s never shown signs to change really. They just treat him like a crack/comedy character and it irks me because he deserved to get beat for what he did at least. Wish he would have literally got tortured or fired. Anything at all, but they just prepare like nothing happen and he continues being an ass-wipe.

I don’t care for Kido either because even if he took Saori and raised her, he never did much to stop the countless abuse the children went under and knowing sent the children away to die. No, even in the manga, I don’t see it as a noble sacrifice to literally sacrifice most of your children to fulfill a destiny. Even if they were just sent away, he literally could have prevented Tatsumi from abusing them and raised Saori better. No matter how you look at it, he’s a shit person, too. Yes, he helped them become saints but the way he did it will never feel right to me. He separated Seiya from his sister and told him he’d only see her again if he became a saint, knowing full well he couldn’t even guarantee that. That emotional manipulation is toxic and cruel to do to a child—an in the manga—your own son. Like ew,,,,, I don’t like the children aspect in the manga, but with that considered still, he’s still a horrible person and I wish Saori would stop hailing him as a good guy.

Shippings you like and why you ship them?

Shaina/Seiya — In my heart, they are the canonical pairing. They really do protect each other and care deeply for one another. Seiya reacts strongly every time she gets hurt and Shaina is always doing her best to protect/defend him. They’re both strong in their own right and they both have a deeper connection to each other. Even when Shaina tried to hide her feelings because she felt there is no way they could be together and tried to kill him, you could tell she really couldn’t do it because she really cared about him. He really cares about her, too, which makes them so perfect for each other. They are each other’s strength and they push each other to become better & stronger

Marin/Aiolia — They’re really cute when they interact with each other and I’m pretty sure they’re an actual canon pair. They really care and confine in one another. I just honestly adore seeing them interact. They never really got to tell each other how they feel, but I’m sure they both know. I wish she would have gotten some more time with him because it’s kinda sad that she’s all alone now. ;;

Freya/Hägan —Hägan clearly loved her, but due to the strictness of loyalty in their culture, he couldn’t bring himself to betray Hilda. It upsets me what happened to them because they deserved to be happy. Poor Freya & Hägan. A lovely couple but terribly tragic. Hägan clearly misunderstood Hyoga & Freya’s relationship and must have thought that Freya loved him even in reality the only person she really loved was him and that is what breaks my heart. I was on the Freya and Hyoga train until Hägan showed up. Now, I can’t bring myself to ship them without feeling bad.

Hilda/Siegfried — Siegfried did everything for her and, in the end, he died because he believed in Hilda’s true vision. He wanted to doing nothing more than protect her and he died to help do so. It’s beautiful yet so tragic.

Hyoga/Eri — They’re just extremely cute together. I really loved their interactions. They deserve happiness and the entire world.

Ikki/Esmeralda — If you ignore that weird ass Shun thing, they’re cute. That should have never been a thing. I ignore it to hell and back but I do think they’re adorable and I feel for Ikki.

Shun/June — She only shows up once like why??? But they’re so adorable together. I wish we could see them both more, but unfortunately, she disappeared into the ether. I do believe she is perfect for Shun, tho.

Me/Deathmask — OTP. He’s my husband.

Shippings you don’t like/hate and why you dislike them?

Adult/Minor pairings.

Incest pairings.

Saori/Seiya — I don’t feel like Seiya likes her that way. I think Saori may like him. She’s always shown some special interest in him, but I’m sure Seiya cares about her more so as a goddess and friend than a love interest. Every time I see this ship, Seiya is acting weirdly out of character which really throws me off from the whole ship. Saori has shown to sometimes literally prioritize Seiya over everyone else when dropping Saga’s dead ass body to cradle him... It just rubs me the wrong way??? Seiya cares about her but he doesn’t react nearly as strongly about her as he does with Shaina. I don’t mind it being one-sided. She’s a girl and is allowed to have feelings, but I don’t really see her with anyone. I think she’ll probably grow out of it, but who knows. This ship is just really not my cup of tea.

Your favorite scene.

It’s hard to think of one, but the funniest scene is when they’re in Yomotsu Hirasaka. Deathmask is about to throw Shiryū into the pit, but then Shunrei’s prayers reach him and he gets so annoyed that he telepathically throws her off fucking a cliff. I don’t care. It’s comedy gold. I laughed so hard at that. Deathmask is truly a marvel.

Honorable mention: ❝ Maybe no else has a cloth made of ice that hasn't melted since before the time of... dinosaurs. Or... maybe no one else has powers like me, like the power over snow, ice, and even glaciers. In fact, you know what, Snake Eyes, maybe you should just think of me as your own personal Ice Age Dude! ❞

Your favorite Attack:

Hard question, so I’ll just name attacks I really like: Heaven Dancing Ring, Diamond Dust, Thunder Wave, Specter Punch, Phoenix Wing Ascent, Praesepe Hell Waves, Scarlet Needle Antares, Bloody Rose, Another Dimension, Wolf Cruelty Claw, Great Ardent Pressure, Greatest Caution, Dead End Symphony, and Imperial Phantasm Punch.

If you could decide for which god/goddess you fight, which one you prefer and why?

Athena. Despite liking Poseidon, Odin, Abel, & Poseidon, I like the army she commands the most.

If you could choose a Cloth. Which you would prefer?

Hard question again. I really like the Scorpio Cloth. The head piece is nice. I’m a sucker for the quack on the Cygnus Cloth and the Nemo on the Pisces Cloth, too. It’s honestly hard to choose one, specially if you count God Cloths, too. I did draw myself in the Ophiuchus cloth, so got the sake of this question, Ophiuchus Gold Cloth.

From which country you’re from?

America.

Your favorite season / sequel:

Sanctuary arc and the Asgard arc. Let’s get the money. Both do a fantastic job at world-building and I love them both equally. My favorite spin-off is The Lost Canvas.

#can't think of anyone to tag but here you go #saint seiya #vry's ramblings #forgive typos if there are any #i couldn't get the formatting writing on the phone #so some stuff might have been deleted

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the-yellowturtle · 3 years

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ZKDD Day 30: Forever Family

Title: If One of Your Soulmates Told You to Go Jump in the River, Would You?

Rating: T (cussing, mentioned past character death, brief mention of infanticide)

Summary: Zuko always believed his destiny was tied to the Avatar, he just never thought it would be in this way. (Fruits Basket!AU)

Note: A/N can be found on AO3 (including a chart to figure out your atla zodiac lol) Also! I would appreciate feedback because I’m thinking of expanding on this idea more for the Zutara Big Bang :)

@zkdrabbledecember

A long time ago, the Avatar lived together in harmony with their twelve friends: the shirshu, the flying bison, the tiger seal, the jackalope, the dragon, the koi fish, the ostrich horse, the koala sheep, the winged lemur, the turtleduck, the polar bear dog, and the badgermole.

Unfortunately, those idyllic days did not last forever. Strife was brewing between the Spirit and Human Worlds, and only the Avatar was capable of restoring balance. There was no choice, but to leave the Spirit World and to live among the humans. The Avatar was heartbroken to be separated from their closest friends, but they knew they must do so, or great calamity would befall the world.

The Twelve understood why the Avatar must go, however, they could not bear to be parted from the one that had brought them all together.

“We will follow you. We will join you in bringing balance to the Spirit and Human Worlds,” the Twelve told the Avatar.

“Let us be together forever,” the Avatar responded with joy. “May we always find each other in every life.

From that day onward, the Avatar has always been accompanied by members of the Twelve. For there is nothing on this planet that is more powerful than the bond between the Twelve and the Avatar. They are destined to be together. Forever.

___

Everyone had always thought he was a fool for choosing to pursue the Avatar.

Zuko had been given two avenues to regain his honor, and he had opted to search for the mythical figure that had been missing for over a century. His crew detested his decision, and Uncle… Uncle was apathetic towards his efforts at best; most likely disappointed he could not relive his glory days through his nephew.

He knew others thought that he had given up, that he had never planned on returning to his place in the Fire Nation, that he was too weak and too much of a coward to hunt members of the Twelve. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He would gladly struggle and fight for as long as possible because he knew his destiny. His destiny was to capture the Avatar, and the airbender’s reemergence had proven him correct. It was only a matter of time now.

The first few attempts had gone astray, but Zuko had a good feeling about collaborating with the pirates to capture the waterbender to use as bait. It didn’t matter that Uncle did not agree with his methods, and that Zuko had to set off by himself with only a small squadron. He would prove Uncle and everyone else wrong; he had to.

___

When you were one of the Twelve, touch was the most intimate of things. Any form of embrace would trigger the transformation, so most Zodiac members learnt to dance around it; learnt how to get out of the societal norms that would so often lead to falling into other’s arms.

But Katara thrived on it. She patted heads, held hands, bumped shoulders, and kissed foreheads. She loved to touch others; to get as close as possible. She knew it was dangerous, but she loved it. She wanted others to know that she cared for them.

Before Aang, she had only ever been hugged by her family. Some of her favorite memories were of when her mom would let her transform and spend the whole day cuddling together in the furs. (Only under duress would she admit that Sokka carrying her around like a polar dog pup were also some of her favorites).

For her whole life, an embrace had only ever been a signifier of the utmost trust and affection. Hugs and cuddles were sacred, not a thing to be feared.

However, that was before Aang and before leaving the Southern Water Tribe and before seeing the wanted posters of rumored members of the Twelve.

That was before Zuko had snuck up on her, said that spirits awful line, and sent her careening back into the arms of one of the pirates. That was before time stopped for a moment and her stomach dropped and she thought to herself: fuck .

___

Katara expected to see a few things when she opened her eyes:

The puff of smoke from her transformation? Check.

Her pile of clothes on the ground? Check.

Pirates and Fire Nation soldiers charging at her? Check.

What Katara was never expecting to see —not even after a thousand years — was a poof of smoke similar to her own clearing up, and a turtleduck emerging from a pile of red and gold armor.

Before her mind could even form the question of what in the Four Nations just happened, one of the soldiers shouted, “Prince Zuko is a traitor! Seize him and the tiger seal!”

“Oh no you don’t,” the Pirate Captain sneered, “We’ll be the ones gettin’ the reward for the turtleduck and tiger seal.”

And then all hell broke loose.

With all of her might, Katara bounced her way between the fighting pirates and soldiers, biting and tail whipping as she went. She needed to get to the river; outswimming them was the only plausible method of escape.

She was almost there, the water practically touching her flippers, when she heard a familiar raspy voice command, “Get back! I’m your Prince!” followed by hisses of pain.

Zuko.

Her enemy. The boy who relentlessly chased them around the world, trying to kidnap Aang and destroy any chance at peace. And the boy, who apparently was one of her soulmates. One of the people she had shared countless lifetimes with maintaining balance. The boy who was near the water, but was too busy breathing fire at the advancing troops to notice his surroundings.

She didn’t know why he spent so long pursuing them when he could have joined them, but she did know that he needed some help. And Katara never turned her back on people who needed her.

So she screamed, “Zuko! Go jump in the river!”

___

Zuko did not know what was happening.

He did not know why one of his men stumbling into him caused a tiny explosion. He did not know why he’s suddenly the size of a cat. He did not know why he appeared to have a beak and a shell now. He did not know why his men were calling him a traitor.

Zuko only knew one thing: the spirits hated him.

So he ran because the men chased him. He screamed because they further besmirched his honor with lies. He breathed fire because they attacked him.

He was disconnected from reality; the only thing that felt real was the pounding in his ears and the churning of his stomach.

“Zuko! Go jump in the river!”

It was the waterbender. The tiger seal. She called to him from the river bank, slapping her fins against the water for emphasis. “Jump in the river!”

So he jumped.

___

There was a saying in the Fire Nation navy: A decent sailor knows the changes of the tides; a great sailor knows the cycles of the Twelve .

As important as the knowledge contained in the official seafaring manual was, it did not bring glory to their homeland. Any average Lee could spew off the fuel consumption rate of a Fire Nation cruiser; only the greatest of men could present the Fire Lord with a member of the Twelve in chains. And even then, only the best of them would be permitted to carry out the execution themselves.

Captain Zhao had been granted this honor thirteen times. In fact, he was the most successful hunter of the Twelve in the history of the Fire Nation. Not even the Dragon of the West, with a measly count of three kills, could compare to him. There was a reason the old man was wasting away on a dilapidated rust bucket, and Zhao was being heralded as the Zodiac Killer.

Yes, Zhao was quite proud of his accomplishments, but he wanted more. He had brought thirteen members of the Twelve to their knees before the people of Caldera City, but four of those had been repeats. And where was the glory in that?

No one had ever managed a complete set, but Zhao would most definitely be the first. The jackalope, koi fish, and turtleduck were the only ones left.

The jackalope was still at large in the Earth Kingdom, but was most likely under the protection of Omashu’s Mad King. After dealing with the Northern Water Tribe, Omashu would be the next stronghold to fall to the Fire Nation.

The koi fish had always been the trickiest of the Twelve to catch. This was not due to the koi fish being particularly intelligent or skillful, but simply because it was a creature cursed with terrible luck. Most parents were terrified when their newborn transformed into a fish, and by the time they realized what was happening; their fish child had already suffocated. As a result, it was impossible to know for sure how many incarnations of the koi fish had been reborn since the start of the Hundred Year War.

The koi fish of the Zodiac would be an excellent addition to his collection, but Zhao had it on good authority that there’s an even better prize in the Northern Water Tribe. Besides, it’s been at least two decades since the North had presented the Fire Nation with one of the Twelve, perhaps Zhao would come across a pleasant surprise during his expedition.

And then there was the turtleduck. After confirmation that the previous turtleduck had been an Earth Kingdom warrior, Zhao had been scouring the Poles for rumors. He had assumed the next would be of Water descent, but oh how shortsighted he had been.

How could he have forgotten how often Earth liked to mix themselves with others? The warrior had not been an Earth incarnation, but one of Air.

The current cycle was Fire. And after reading the memo on his desk about reports of pirates seeing a scarred boy transform into a turtleduck, he knew exactly who to look for.

Zhao had always enjoyed the hunt, but this was shaping up to be his favorite. It’s not everyday you get to kill a prince, after all.

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #mine #had to repost this cuz it was being weird

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robin-notquiteasbraveaslancelot · 3 years

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I have decided that Killgarah's motives were, in fact, very justifiable, not only because he is a dragon, but also because of his age. Now, I do not remember if his age is ever directly stated in the series, and I refuse to either rewatch it or do research, so I am going to assume that he is quite old. Like, 1000 or so.

Now, this is quite a large difference from any of either the characters he encounters during either the series or his lifetime, as the average person he would meet would be between 18-70/80. This would mean that, assuming he is not an outlier to dragon species as a whole, dragons live for anywhere between 800-1500 years on average. I am not an expert, but this seems reasonable? He is old, but he seems to be, for the majority of the series at least, in fairly good health, which would imply that he is not exactly in the last days of his life.

As this has been established, we shall now move on to the main parts:

1) Dragons in relation to humans in general, with focus on Kilgharrah in particular.

Now, some of this will be speculation, but I think it probably would check out, taking into account that this is a fictional children's television series. The first part where this is a little bit speculation comes from the question: When is this show set?

Now, there are many, many discrepancies in this show, such as the often mentioned tomato in the pilot to the fact that knights didn't really exist prior to about 800 or so, and the lack of Christianity means it couldn't have taken place after that. As this point is not key, we shall assume that this takes place in the year 500. Because I need a year.

So, that would mean that Killgarah was born in about 1000 BCE. Quite a lot was going on in this time, such as historical Israel was at its peak, the Assyerians were starting to do their thing, and the world population was about 50,000,000.

From there to 500 CE, he would have witnessed the rise and fall of Greece, Rome, Persia (fall rather than rise, I think it had already risen), and countless people. He would have witnessed a massive chunk of human history, even if he was born slightly later than 1000BCE, such as if he was closer to 1000 than 1500.

Now, this would have probably given him a much different view on human civilization than a human, because it's hard to feel that individual civilizations matter when you've seen them all fall. Not only civilizations, but individual people would have probably started to be insignificant to him, as anyone he met would have died soon after, in comparison to his lifespan. Now, if this age thing is true for all dragons, then that would imply that dragons probably prefer each other much more than humans. Like, most people form closer bonds with other people than they do with say, a goldfish. You might really like watching the goldfish, but it would need 10 lifetimes to be equal to you in age.

To conclude the Dragon's age section: People as individuals and as vast empires are basically meaningless to dragons, because they all die so fast it's not really worth forming a very strong attachment.

2) Killgarah in relation to the prophecy

Now, this section relies on two main points.

a) Kilgarrah post the purge. This is really quite tragic, as after this he has no other dragons left. He is the last of his kind, and if we take the previous ideas about the ages of dragons into account, then he is basically bereft of any meaningful companionship, and will spend the rest of his days alone, watching any human he might befriend die, leaving him alone again. Even if we assume that dragons probably don't form the same attachments to people that other people do, this alone would have not done wonders for his mental health and outlook on the world.

To top it off, he spends the next 20ish years in a literal pit, so he was probably not fond of people at this point of time. He does seem to get enjoyment out of Merlin's company, especially in the later seasons, so we can assume he probably liked humans a bit, but I don't think he would have liked them in an equal sort of way, as they were always going to be his inferior.

Conclusion of this Section: Kilgharrah would have been unimaginably lonely, as his whole world (dragons) had just been killed.

b) Kilgharrah and Merlin, and too many metaphors concerning hamsters. So, one of the main things I see about Kilgharrah was that his advice was bad and that the goal of the prophecy was never actually achieved. Now, there is some truth to this, especially from a storytelling standpoint, but from the perspective of Kilgharrah, life did improve, and the prophecy was meaningless to him. Now, what Kilgarrah wanted was other dragons, and to get other dragons he needed a dragonlord. So, what he needed to do was to find a dragonlord who he could manipulate (Merlin) and who was not in danger of dying like everyone else in Kilgarrah's life (Merlin).

This is where we speculate a little bit. Now, seeing as Kilgarrah knew about the prophecies and seemed to be able to predict destinies, he had the ability to act with quite a bit of foresight. We can therefore assume that he wanted the prophecy to go as planned, which meant that he never had any interest in doing what was good for people, only what was good for the prophecy. Why? Because if the prophecy gets completed, then he gets Aithusia, so he will not be alone, Merlin, so he will not be alone, and in a way, revenge on Uther, as bringing about he death of his son would probably be the perfect revenge as it was Arthur's birth that caused the purge that brought about basically the end of the world for Kilgharrah.

The speculative bit comes from the question of: was Arthur living to build Albion part of the prophecy, or did the prophecy only want Arthur to make it to Camlamn so he could be killed by Mordred?

If the latter option is true, then technically what Kilgarrah says at the end is true. Destiny was unavoidable, and so it was achieved, and Kilgarrah has benefited immensely. Now, onto the moral part of Killgarah's character, and why his actions were justifed.

1) He is very, very lonely.

2)To not be lonely, he needs the prophecy to be completed, as he needs Merlin to hatch Aithusia, and also be immortal. He even says that the white dragon bodes well for Albion, and while it pretty much doesn't, it does bode well for both Arthur dying and Kilgharrah, which would imply that the prophecy wanted AArthur to die there, and Killgarrah knew it.

3)While all this manipulation might seem bad, it makes perfect sense from Kilgarrah's perspective.

To use a metaphor: Say you have a group of pet hamsters. You might really like some hamsters, but others you are neutral on. Regardless, all of your pet hamsters are only going to live for a few years, so you can't get too attached.

Now, a person told you that you had to lie to your hamsters, who are slightly more intelligent than real hamsters, in order to save the lives of people.

Now, you might really really love your hamsters, but you'd still lie to them to save people, right? You might not even know the person, but the life of a person is worth more than being truthful to a hamster. You're not even going to hurt the hamster, it's going to live forever, so what's the problem, really?

Now, say you weren't saving the life of a person. Say, all people you ever knew had just been killed. There's no more people, and you're just sitting in your house alone, knowing that you're going to live over the next forty years by yourself, sitting in one room, with nothing to do but think about the people you have lost.

Now, imagine you are told that there is a way to see another person again, that you won't be alone for the rest of your life, that you can have a friend. All you have to do is lie to your hamster, and get him to let another hamster die.

Now, maybe you really love these hamsters. Maybe you don't want any of them to die. But you're all alone, and you just have to let one hamster die. The first hamster has a purpose now, and he's not going to die.

Maybe a couple more hamsters have to die too, but you get to have another person again! Isn't it worth it? The hamster would die soon anyway, they don't live long compared to you.

It’s not really bad, to let one hamster die, if it means you can have some of your world back, is it?

#Merlin Meta #Mine #Kilgarrah #I think this makes sense?#I was thinking about it and wanted to write something down #To clarify. In the metaphor you are Kilgarrah and the hamsters are Merlin and co.#Christ this is 1500 words long #I have a 2200 word essay due tonight #I make good life choices

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hotheadhero · 4 years

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Burn It Down || Caspar & Dimitri

Starter for @princeblaiddyd . Bad end Azure Moon AU. May be spoilered for violence later on.

------ You told me ‘yes’; you held me high; and I believed when you told that lie ------

“You know, Caspar, you’ve always impressed me. Dealt such a poor hand by modern society, yet still you never falter and even smile. Always treating others equally, no matter their station. I admire that. Why don’t you join me in the Blue Lions? Together we could make this world a better place—one where one’s Crest or station of birth, one’s lineage or faith, race or ideology, matter not. Where haves and have-nots learn to acknowledge the other’s strengths and respect each other based on personal merits. If we could just accept each other and make mutual concessions, one step at a time… Perhaps—!”

It’d brought a smile to his face to think that someone like him—crown prince, heir of a country!—admired him in turn. That someone so privileged could share his same dream of a world in which all were equal, no matter the cards they were dealt. Even though such a world would only diminish his standing, Dimitri put his all, his privilege and his power, into making that world a reality. He had the strength to enact real change in the world—and Caspar admired him for that. It hadn’t been an easy decision to come to, transferring houses, not with poor distraught Linhardt still standing by the Eagles nor with skeptical Hubert dogging his every move for a week from Edelgard’s side. But Caspar had done what he thought was right, as he was wont to do. He’d never thought he would find cause to regret his choice. But regret he did, that day in the Holy Tomb when he first saw the Faerghus prince’s mask crack, that chilling laugh, the savage way he'd dispensed of all who opposed him, be they aligned with the Flame Emperor or not. There for the first time, he who knew not the meaning of fear felt truly afraid. That was not the Dimitri he knew—but then, which was the real him, and which was the mask? Caspar didn’t know, and none of the other Lions seemed willing to tell him, not even as he worked closely with them in the years following Adrestia’s declaration of war on the continent of Fódlan, when they’d all thought Dimitri and Byleth were dead. Everyone had been so overjoyed when they discovered their king and professor were alive and alright… or at least one of them had been.

Alright. Hah. How naïve they’d been to hope that a murderous vagrant who'd finally shown his true colors could ever go back to the way he’d been before the Holy Tomb.

Where now have your dreams of equality gone? he wonders when he looks at him, raging and frothing at everything and nothing. The only such thing you offer now is death for all who stand in your way.

------ I played soldier; you played king; struck me down when I kissed that ring ------

He’d rejoined the Lions anyway in honor of what Dimitri once was; and besides, this was where his friends were now, not the Empire. He had little doubt in his mind that there was no longer a place for him there after the crimes his new house leader had committed against them in the interim, that he by mere absent unknowing had unwittingly condoned. Perhaps in another time and place, another world, he could have reconnected; but it was just as true that Caspar didn't want to. Not after what Edelgard had done to Lady Rhea, to Dimitri her stepbrother. Yet looking at what the prince had become after that revelation, how his own childhood friends stood by in damnable silence… Could he truly say that he belonged here, either?

He’d been hoping it was all some kind of phase, some kind of twisted joke that would the sands of time be washed away. Then came the assault on Garreg Mach—led by Uncle Randolph, who was now no more.

He’d had it in his power to save him when they met alone on the ruined monastery grounds, opposing sides and mirrored stance. Seeing his own axe style turned against him hurt—he could scarce believe his uncle had chosen to side with an enemy who’d taken countless innocent lives for the sake of Edelgard's wicked future. But even so, Caspar couldn’t bring himself to take the head of his uncle, his own blood, he who’d first taught him how to smile…

(A fat lot of good that had done him, in the end.)

Powerless. Weak. Incapable of more than looking on as the last living relative he knew was cut down right before his eyes. Some kind of hero he is—but then again, he knew that already. He has always been weak—too weak even to save his last living relatives from the eternal flames.

He remembers meeting them for the first time in Enbarr, both strong and kind in different ways. Uncle Randolph had traveled to Enbarr from Merceus to formally take his place as a colonel of the Imperial army, Aunt Fleche ever by his side. Though he hadn’t any time to chat, he remembers his uncle finding him after yet another ill-fated tutoring session, slinging an arm over his shoulder and tousling his hair. “A hero never falters!” he’d told him with a smile. “You’ll help no one moping around like that. Now up and at ‘em! That’s it!” He’d had every reason to hate Caspar and Julian, who through their father had stolen from him inheritance of their family’s coveted title. And yet, neither he nor Fleche had harbored Caspar any resentment at all. They’d offered him a glimpse into the kind of life he wanted to lead—treating others equally and always helping those in need.

Two very kind people, both ruined by war. Randolph had lost his life, and so too had Fleche, who’d journeyed alone into the lion’s den, pledging allegiance to her brother’s murderer whilst plotting revenge. He’d known the moment he saw her just what she was here for; yet still he’d held his tongue. For all his talk of justice, Dimitri had not spared any for Randolph the day he died—even delighted in it and dragged it out for nothing but sick joy! To him, Aunt Fleche had been fully justified in doing what she did in the aftermath of Gronder… Yet in the end, she too was slain, while the one at fault still lived.

What hurt most was not the names of they who’d done them in, nor of the ones who’d stood by. Nay, that honor fell to the one they did it for. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, oh-so-holy king of Faerghus. Laughable. That man was little more than an empty husk, a walking coffin filled with promises long dead, and Caspar knows not whether they’d died before the war or in between.

All he knows is that the man he’d once called friend is gone. He’d said as much himself, the day Randolph fell. “If you do not approve of what I have become, then kill me,” he’d proclaimed, with all the defiance of a man who knew that none who heard his demand would comply. “Lest I continue to use you and your friends until the very flesh falls from your bones.”

And what of justice? he thinks to himself. To where have your dreams of equality fled? I chose to follow you because your vision seemed best for people like me. But your vision is twisted, mangled, as surely as your true sight is beneath that patch. And now the only equality you offer is death for all who stand in your way… no matter what they are trying to protect. And now you’ve taken the only family I have left.

If even Byleth won’t rein you in, then I will. I won’t stand to be used for your twisted sense of justice anymore.

Armored boots snap upon the ground, swiftly, furiously—but even enraged as he is, he knows well to muffle his footfalls. Hubert had taught him as much, before… everything had happened. He doubts anyone is paying attention in these forlorn halls, but regardless—it is just as well that it is raining tonight, as it had been in the monastery every day since they’d come together as promised, and rediscovered Byleth, their old professor.

(It was supposed to be a happy occasion, a cause for triumph and reminisce. Why then did the goddess upon them still shed her tears?)

Before long, snaps give way to shuffles as he departs the monastery; tile transitions to grass as he makes for the fields of Gronder. His childhood home. There is little reason for he who abandoned his homeland to be here, but somehow Caspar knows this is exactly where he needs to be. Call it the fresh night air, untainted by the smog of Enbarr or the chill of the north. Call it… destiny. For there ahead of him, striding down the same dark path, is his target, tall and dark, almost blending with the night if not for the azure cape billowing behind him like a tempest lost.

Pale lips pull back to a wild grin upon sighting the target. Eyes shine with near-manic light.

He closes the distance, softly, silently. The rain hides his movements until it is almost too late.

------ You lost that right to hold that crown; I built you up, but you let me down ------

“YOU!!!” The word tears from his lips in a brutal roar; Caspar gives his foe no time to react as his axe whips about, razor edge screaming for his neck. Nothing more needs to be said. The boar prince should know full well why he is here.

------ So when you fall, I'll take my turn and fan the flames as your blazes burn ------

#thread: burn it down #princeblaiddyd #azure moon #au: bad end #3h spoilers #// congratulations you win the longest non-drabble work ever from me #// hope this is okay!#// reminder: muse's feelings are not the mun's XD #// also reminder: no obligation to match #war phase

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gwiiyeoweo · 5 years

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Noctis, when he had been old enough to understand, was told of his fate — to trade his one life for the sake of all humanity. That didn't stop him from living his life, and he's determined to use what time he has until destiny calls his name.

Rating: G Pairing: Noctis & (almost) Everyone

When he is thirteen, Noctis truly learns the meaning behind his mysterious title — the Chosen King — and what his destiny entails. He's come back from a training session with Gladio, cut short by an hour as his "belated" birthday present but Noctis is convinced it's only because the older teen never figured out what to gift him, after a quick shower afforded by the locker rooms.

He’s walking half-blind as he rubs a towel into his wet hair and almost collides into his own father, but Regis reaches out with steady hands before Noctis can fall backwards onto his already sore rump.

“Noctis, finished training early today?” he asks, righting his son back up.

His father sounds… strained, despite the casual question. Noctis slides the towel off his head and looks up to see Regis look as torn as his tone did. In response, Noctis’ own distress probably shows — he hasn’t had his governess or Ignis to teach him how to keep a poker face in the face of politics just yet — as Regis raises a hand to placate him when his son opened his mouth to ask frantic questions.

“I’ve spent long nights and countless days on when to tell you. You deserve to know the truth, Noctis, no matter how much it pains me to say it; so forgive your father for holding this secret from you for so long.”

Regis takes them to his office, locks the door and draws the curtains closed, and sits them both on the couch. He tries, as best as he can, to keep his voice steady and face dry as he explains the truth of Noctis’ destiny, that the boy must die according to a god’s prophecy and by the hands of his ancestors. Noctis nurses a mug of hot chocolate as he listens, often made by his father to coax out the nightmares that still plague him, quietly and without taking a sip.

It’s only after a moment of silence that he takes his first drink and he licks his lips before finally looking up at his father. “Do you know when I’m supposed to… to die?”

“No. I wish I could tell —”

“So I could be fifty? Or sixty?” he says, daring a bit of hope into his voice. But then, “Or maybe twenty.”

Regis looks as well as a father delivering his beloved son’s death sentence. That is to say, he looks absolutely terrible. But he nods his assent, his throat gone dry.

Noctis stares into his drink, seeing none of his reflection in the dark cream and foam. He tries again though, tries to be brave like his father when he appeared before Noctis and told him the truth. “Y’know, in school, we’re learning about statistics and probability and stuff. Who knows, maybe the odds will be on my side and this Accursed guy won’t show up until way later.”

He looks up, does his best attempt at a smile, but he doesn’t see his father’s face. Not when his eyes go blurry with tears, and Regis cradles the boy to his chest. The mug is forgotten between them, knocked over onto the floor, and the sweetness of the hot chocolate is turned to salt from their tears.

(But Noctis won’t let that stop him. It lights a certain fire in his heart, breathes life into a determination to live and not just survive. If all it takes is one life to save an entire world, then the choice is easy: he’ll do it. He’ll be a good king, like his father, and make his ancestors proud. But that doesn’t mean he has to wallow in self pity and curse the little time he has left.)

When he is fourteen, Noctis seeks out the Kingsglaive. He waltzes through headquarters and barges into Drautos’ office, pointedly ignoring the small meeting in session, and crosses his arms to demand their finest Glaive. After waiting in the hallway — after Drautos grabbed him by the back of his collar, lifting his feet from the ground, and silently carried him out the door — he’s introduced to Nyx Ulric. Upon meeting him, Noctis has serious doubts he’s the best.

But he learns.

“Don’t like training with your Shield, little prince?” Nyx asks through a grunt, pushing off Noctis’ sword with his kukris. “You’ll make him jealous.”

Without answering, Noctis goes in for an upward slash, using his smaller size to keep low to the ground and using the momentum to aim for Nyx’s neck. It doesn’t land, he didn’t expect it to, but it has the man skipping backwards and giving him a stretch of space for Noctis to gather back his bearings. He wipes the sweat off his cheek, and it only annoys him a little to see a single bead of sweat rolling down Nyx’s neck while knowing his own shirt is soaked through.

“No, I like Gladio. He’s a jerk sometimes, but I still like him. Still train with him.”

“Then why hang around me for the past few months?”

Noctis mutters something and phases out his practice sword for a set of daggers to shuck at Nyx.

“Say that again?” The man parries both blades like he’s swatting a pair of flies.

“Because,” Noctis says, flashing behind him where a dagger was deflected to. “I don’t want to miss out on anything. Get to know you, the Kingsglaive, the Crownsguard.” He aims for a kick at the back of the knees, but Nyx warps away to safety before the attack even lands.

Nyx hangs from a boulder, where he’s dug his kukri into, and cups his other hand around his mouth to yell across the distance. “You say it like we’ll disappear when you trade crowns with the King. Don’t worry, we’ll all still be around when it’s your turn to take the throne. Unless you decide to fire us!”

The stone around his kukri crumbles, and he ends up eating dirt when the hold gives way.

Noctis rolls his eyes and waits for the dust to settle, for Nyx to pop back up and pretend no one saw that. But if Crowe’s background snickering is anything to go by, he knows that’ll be a joke to save over kebabs and beer — root beer for Noctis. But while Nyx busies himself and shakes the dust off his uniform, whistling as if nothing’s amiss, Noctis watches on fondly and amused, muttering to the wind and no one else, “You’re not the ones disappearing, promise.”

(There was only so much he could learn through texts and lessons, cheap and watered down explanations of the nations and cultures beyond Insomnia’s walls. Nyx Ulric shared his traditions like he shared his smiles and jabs, easy and overflowing, teaching Noctis the meaning behind every braid, scar, and tattoo and going so far as to thread a carved bead into the prince’s hair. At the very least, Noctis could leave Nyx and his friends a proper memory of him, sitting around a shoddy restaurant and laughing over Noctis' intolerance for their tongue-burning cuisine. And he, a memory of loyal soldiers and even more loyal friends who look upon him as a brother rather than a prince.)

When he is fifteen, Noctis shows up at Ignis’ doorstep with an armful of groceries and his clothes soaked through with rain. Ignis nearly breaks the hinges off his door, and he quickly shuffles the drowned prince in and to the bathroom.

It’s only when Noctis sits himself at the table, wearing old spares of Ignis’ clothes from his younger years, and he drinks from a cup of sweetened coffee that he spares an explanation. “Teach me how to cook.”

Ignis stares at Noctis’ easy grin and dripping hair, still wet from the quick shower, and it takes all his willpower to not throw his liege across the room. His Majesty approved of the apartment his son had picked to move into once high school started, and Ignis had made his own move to accommodate. He’s only lived in his new complex for a week, but he doesn’t remember telling Noctis the address.

“I asked your uncle.”

He also didn’t realize he was talking out loud.

“So,” Ignis sighs, emphasizing the disapproval in his huff, “you trekked through the rain, without Gladio or a guard, to arrive at my doorstep all to ask for a cooking lesson?”

“I brought groceries?” Noctis supplements, as if it changes anything. He nods his head over to the bags, the ones Ignis took from him before shoving him into the bathroom.

Ignis leans his hip into the counter and slides his glasses off to pinch at his nose. He’s trying to think of the occasion, of the why and the what. Did he miss an anniversary, or some special day? Was this some wayward way of an apology? Noctis had been surly as of late, understandably. Teenage hormones — Ignis is still going through that himself — mixed with the looming shadow of his father’s mantle and the burden of a kingdom to inherit would do that. He recalls Noctis snapping at him the other day, when the prince had wanted to go into the city rather than spend a day studying over old history books.

“What’s the point of reading dumb books when I can be out there, right now, seeing what and how my people are doing? How am I supposed to be a King if I don’t get actual experience in?”

Ignis had chalked it up to a cooped up teen itching for some freedom, so he had been surprised to hear there was a more practical reason. But before he could counter his argument, Noctis had swiped a stapler and followed it out the window, safely warping to the ground below. It had been night, with the first stars lighting the dark skies, when Nyx Ulric ended up dragging the prince back home, smelling of greasy kebabs and the barest hint of alcohol. “It was only a taste,” the man had defended.

Ignis ends up going through the groceries and figuring what he could easily teach Noctis, but not without suspicion. His prince recognizes that look, the one Ignis puts on when he smells trouble, like he has some sixth sense dedicated to sniffing out what shenanigans Noctis has in mind.

“I mean, can’t a guy hang out with his friend and bond over… ” Noctis checks the label on the can “… sweetened condensed milk?”

“Perhaps. But coming from you? Pardon me when I say I have my doubts.” Ignis hands him a bowl and whisk anyway, as well as four eggs to crack and beat. “Separate the whites from the yolk please.”

“It’s just,” he starts, cracking an egg in half. He tries to shift the yolk in between the halved shells, like all the cooking videos do, but whispers a curse when he pierces the yolk. “Well, am I seriously going to spend the rest of my life only knowing how to microwave noodles and mac ‘n’ cheese? Might as well learn while I have the time, and learn from the best while I’m at it.”

“While I’m pleased to know you’ve been taking your etiquette skills seriously, know that flattery will get you nowhere.” Ignis takes an egg and shows him how to properly separate them, letting the whites slip through while retaining the yolk. “Except for today. It will get you through the night, until I tell His Majesty you slipped out of the Citadel, first thing in the morning.”

“ Speeeeecs. ”

(For all their time together, Noctis never sat down to properly watch and appreciate Ignis’ skills with a skillet and knife, despite how he absolutely devoured anything and everything his friend cooked up — and only with a little grumbling when it came to vegetables. The realization hit him in the middle of the night, when he had seen the little tart sitting in his mini fridge, covered in saran wrap and with a sticky note of Ignis’ penmanship scribbled on it. He didn’t know how long this would last, the quiet comforts of oil popping and the aroma of spices, but as he had scrambled to pull his raincoat on and climb through his window, he was determined to savor every last second like he savored every bite.)

When he is sixteen, Noctis locks eyes with the blonde kid who’s been hiding in his shadows for all these years. He remembers the first time they exchanged words, their poor excuse of an interaction, but he remembers it still. He was still a child himself, a little thing with baby fat still clinging to his face but has now mostly receded; but the blonde had enough weight on him to make Noctis nearly tip over when he had helped him up. He only recognizes him because he’s kept half an eye on him, quietly watching the boy grow out of his extra pounds and into more self-confidence.

Noctis didn’t reach out sooner only because the boy himself didn’t seem ready. Which was fine, he supposed, as long as the guy didn’t wait until Noctis’ calling came to take him away.

So it comes as a relief when he finally trots up and drags out the courage to say hello to Noctis, introducing himself as Prompto Argentum and bouncing like the sunshine caught in his hair. Noctis pretends to barely recognize him, only mentioning he’s seen Prompto a few times here and there, and makes a joking comment that he should have said hi sooner, that the rumor about the Caelums being vampires is only half true and he doesn’t bite without permission. That earns a laugh from both sides, though Prompto pauses for a brief moment to lean in and whisper, “Are you like, serious, though?”

To which Noctis rolls his eyes and drags him along before they arrive to class late.

It’s late on a weekend, having gone past their promised hours at the arcade, when Noctis looks at his phone to see they were both supposed to head home long ago. He pulls Prompto outside, after cashing in their tickets and trading them in for cheaply-made toys and sugar-loaded candy, and apologizes for letting the time slip by. “Sorry, your parents aren’t going to be too pissed, are they?”

“Oh! Don’t worry, dude. They’re not home,” Prompto says, waving off his concerns with a hand and a smile. “They never are.”

It’s then, that Noctis realizes, Prompto is lonelier than he lets on.

There was a time in his life, the dark years of his childhood when he almost let his fate consume him. He was still a child, a little boy whose life would be cut short, a child who could do nothing but accept it and obey. Though he made a goal to not let it ruin the happiness he could still grasp, it was like struggling with a terminal disease and not knowing when his countdown would begin. Where to begin? What to do first? Would he even get to?

It did not help he felt estranged from his own father for a time, though it was by no fault of Regis. He was king first and foremost, a king before Noctis was born, who was and is responsible for a kingdom and his people. Noctis understood, and tried to keep his struggles and life crisis to himself, to not needlessly burden his father with even more worries. It was the loneliest and hardest year of his life.

So it takes one to know one, and Noctis knows what Prompto keeps secret. He doesn’t mention it, sees no point in digging up both old and fresh wounds; he makes an offer. “Wanna spend the night over?”

He sees the way Prompto’s brain short circuits, but the boy catches himself and bounces on his heels with an enthusiastic, “Hell yeah!”

They order enough delivery to make Ignis cry, but that’s a mess for tomorrow’s Noctis to worry about. For now they boot up the console and mash their buttons with greasy fingers, huddled up together on the couch as they beat the living shit out of each other’s characters. Noctis lets him win a few rounds, and he just laughs along when Prompto jumps up to do his victory dance.

(Outside of the Citadel, Noctis had no friends. Though they became his brothers in every sense except for blood, both Ignis and Gladio were sworn to him out of duty. Everyone else either wanted to rub elbows with royalty or were too intimidated to speak to a living and breathing prince. All except for Prompto, a welcome warmth compared to the cold stone of the Citadel. Prompto may think himself a simple plebeian, but Noctis knows him as so much more. He only hopes he has enough time to express that.)

When he is seventeen, Noctis hunts down Gladiolus and orders a weekend of camping, adjusting the duffel bag stuffed with instant noodles on his shoulder as if it’s the only thing he needs in the wilderness, ready and raring to go at a moment’s notice. “Your dad cleared out your schedule and gave the OK,” he says with a thumbs up.

“Okay. First of all, you didn’t bother to ask me first? And second, you hate camping.” Gladio, in his defense, has every reason to be skeptical. Normally Noctis would run at the mere mention of a tent, the only way to placate him being the promise of a fishing trip. Sometimes, it’s like pulling teeth to get him out of bed for morning training, when both their schedules only allowed them an hour after dawn before either of them had to be whisked away to other responsibilities. “Third, who are you and when did Noct get a body double so where is the brat hiding —”

“One, you love camping anyway. Two, we’re gonna go fishing too. And three, you’re an ass.” Noctis counts off his fingers as he answers to the accusations, then shrugs off the bag to shove it into Gladio’s arms. He watches as Gladio sighs and unzips it, and smiles when he sees those eyebrows lift up in surprise.

“Are you trying to bribe me?”

They both know Gladio could buy all the cup noodles his heart and stomach could ever want, the perks of being in service to royalty and all that, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Huh. I guess you are Noct, doubt a body double would know my favorite flavor," he says, picking out a styrofoam cup and reading the label. Shrimp, surprisingly.

“Oh shut up and help me pack.”

They take a trip to the northern mountains of Lucis, one of the few lands outside of Insomnia that Niflheim hasn’t reached. They pitch the tent at a haven, its glowing runes and blessed magic strong enough to ward off any daemons and beasts looking for a snack. Gladio makes a show of starting up the fire, as he is apt to do, with a piece of flint and some kindling, coaxing the little flame into a strong blaze and feeding it wood.

Noctis had once suggested to take advantage of the elemental deposits, to toss a weak fire spell at the fire pit rather than going through the hassle of rubbing twigs or scraping at firestarters, but they had both found out that even the weakest and tiniest little flask made for… explosive results. So Noctis lets Gladio do his thing, proudly displaying his fire-making skills and saying his little tidbit on self-reliance and whatever.

It’s night when all is said and done, and despite his love for fishing, Noctis knows not to wander over to the river unless he wants to get munched on by something. So he drags both camping chairs over to the edge of the haven, the legs scraping against the stone and glowing engravings, and faces them out toward the dark wilderness. He sits and waits for Gladio to finish up their dinner, two hot steaming cups of instant noodles thanks to the kettle set over the campfire. Gladio comes over, hands a cup and fork over to Noctis, and takes the seat beside him.

"So, what's up?" Gladio asks, after slurping down the crimped noodles. "Needed a breather from palace life?"

Noctis shakes his head in favor of speaking with a mouth full of noodles and soup. "Just," he says, after swallowing his food down, "wanted to see the stars. Properly."

Insomnia, despite everything she had to offer, made for a poor city to view the night skies. Not because of her skylights and neon billboards or her thrumming streets always alive with gleaming cars and blinding headlamps. But because of the very magic that protected her walls, the King's barrier that blanketed the kingdom and shielded her from monsters and machines. It was beautiful in a way, how it shimmered with light and magic, but it drowned out the night's own brilliance.

"Stargazing huh." Gladio placed his empty cup by the foot of his chair and leaned back to lift his eyes toward the same sky. "Remember any constellations?"

"Yeah, a few." Noctis points his fork up, at a cluster of stars north of the waning moon. "Phoenix. There's a red star at the tip of its beak."

"I know that one. What about Kirin, ya see it?"

"Next to Cait Sith."

They trade constellation trivia for the better part of the night, Gladio pointing out the ones often used for navigation and Noctis the patterns he learned from his studies.

(It's not entirely untrue, that he wished to go stargazing in the quiet night away from the city. But he'd be damned if he didn't get at least one simple night where they could both just sit back and enjoy a weekend for the sole purpose of sitting back and enjoying a weekend, even if it meant suffering through bug bites and lack of proper plumbing. Or Gladio’s snoring. But he’d trade a hundred nights — thousands, millions — spent in a plush bed and silk sheets if it granted him one night more throwing their arms and legs over each other in a cramped tent and tiny bedrolls.)

When he is eighteen, Noctis opens his door to let Umbra trot in, carrying the mystical notebook in his little pack. The dog patiently sits on his haunches while Noctis unzips the bag but follows him to the desk where Noctis trades the notebook for a few biscuits he keeps in the bottom drawer. Umbra gingerly takes the treats, minding his teeth and barely scraping Noctis’ fingers, and finds a corner of the room to nibble on his reward and to take his consequent nap.

Noctis sits and leafs through the pages filled with stickers and glued photos until he finds the most recent entry, several paragraphs of Luna’s handwriting filling the page. There’s a few pressed petals of a sylleblossom as a footnote, marking the end of her writing.

Dearest Noctis, as it always starts off. I'm afraid I can find little else of the Accursed, aside from what we've both gleaned. I pray to the gods and have asked Gentiana many times, but there is little they know. Or perhaps, little they're willing to share.

Noctis expected as much. Both he and Luna have tried their research, Luna going to the gods and Noctis scouring the old texts and archives for this destined nemesis. All Noctis could learn was the name Adagium, and that he had to rip out of his father's lips. A man cursed of darkness, apparently, keen on seeking destruction and vengeance. But for why or for what, exactly?

It would be nice to at least know what he looks like, for obvious practical reasons. His father couldn't even tell him that much, confessing that Adagium had used a sort of glamour to hide his true face during his rampage in the city.

Figured , he writes on the next page. Don't sweat it though. You holding up over there? They're not working you too hard, are they?

Not long after Regis told him the truth of his calling, Noctis had turned to Luna. She had known. And just like Regis, she had wanted to give him a mercy, hiding the guillotine of martyrdom from his eyes. He had been upset, having trusted her for so long, but he had also recognized her goodwill, for all intents and purposes; it hadn't taken long for him to forgive her, with his soft heart and her even softer words.

And when both their lives would be cut short. Noctis isn't the only one whose time will be taken after all. They bond over that, over their sacrifices to be made. He finds a comfort knowing there is another experiencing his same pain, though there had been the slight ping of guilt from finding relief in another’s shared suffering. But Luna had comforted him — bless her heart of gold — and confessed she held the same sentiments.

He slaps a sticker at the end of his entry, a tiny white moogle flaunting his favorite soda. He packs that same soda in Umbra’s pack, along with the notebook, and feeds the dog one more treat before sending him on his way. Noctis watches him saunter down the hall and disappear around the corner, using whatever Messenger trick to return to Luna’s side.

(He may never get to see her again, not until the gods call for them, or save her from her fate — especially not when he can't even save himself — but they could at least find comfort in each other. Spend what time they had left to salvage what was lost in the fires wreaked by Glauca. They’ll play their roles in the end, King and Oracle, their legacy to be written as a romantic sacrifice in the books to come. Or maybe the world will never realize the price that will be paid, letting their lives fall to obscurity in favor of flashier feats. And if the world does indeed forget them, they’ll remember each other.)

When he is nineteen, Noctis reaches his tipping point. He’s been a brat, an imp, a gremlin; but not a liar. He can only keep a secret for so long, perhaps a trait earned from his father, considering he’s nearly breaking at the seams when he decides the charade will kill him before the prophecy does.

So he picks a holiday weekend, when there’s no school and no threat of homework, and when even the government runs on the bare minimum to keep anarchy off the streets. Noctis and Prompto have no projects to worry about, and Gladio and Ignis are relieved of their duties for a short while.

They’re all sitting in the living room, Gladio and Prompto digging their hands into a bowl of fresh popcorn, Ignis ignoring the action movie they have playing in favor of scrolling through the local news. Noctis excuses himself to use the bathroom.

He stands in front of the sink, splashes cold water on his face, looks into the mirror and dips his head down to splash even more water. He wonders how his father managed to scrape up the guts to tell him all those years back, because his own guts threaten to upheave the linguini Ignis cooked for dinner. But he knows he has to tell them, that it’s almost criminal he’s kept it from them for so long, even if the idea has his heart in a knot and his brain in a storm of anxiety. Noctis would pray to the gods for courage, if they weren’t the very ones taking him from his friends and family.

“We have to talk,” he says, after spending what seemed like hours in the bathroom trying to gather his nerves.

“But it’s the good part!” Prompto whines through a stuffing of popcorn. “Can you — oh.”

Prompto sees it first, but Gladio and Ignis swivel their heads around to see what has the blonde’s tongue tied. One look from Noctis and they all understand. Gladio goes for the remote, clicking the TV off, Prompto puts away their popcorn, and Ignis even makes sure to put his phone on silent.

They make room for him, but Noctis takes a cushion and goes to the floor instead, squeezing the pillow in between his hands as he tries for words. He wants to shut down, stop halfway and just plaster on a smile and laugh out a “Haha, kidding!” but that would only break their hearts even more.

They all sit in silence, trying to digest the news and gravity of their prince’s demise. Noctis tries to chisel away at it and give them an out. “If… If any of you don’t want to hang around with a dead man walking, that’s okay, I get it.”

But before he can say anymore, Gladio and Prompto dogpile him, the soft carpeting the only thing staving off a concussion. Prompto’s weight he could handle, Gladio’s too if it was only him, but their combined loads make breathing like sucking through a straw. It makes crying hard too, he guesses.

Prompto’s bumbling through his snotty nose and sobs, saying something like “Dude, don’t say that” or “Rude, dawn say fat.” Probably the prior. Gladio’s no waterfall, but his cheeks have slick trail marks running down them; his throat’s probably too tight to say anything, so he’s making up for it with how tight he wraps his arms around Noctis.

Ignis sits by Noctis’ head, having put away his glasses sometime ago to wipe his eyes, and simply brushes his fingers through the boy’s hair. “Fool,” is all he says. An insult in the nature of the word, but Noctis thinks it’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever heard from that smart-ass mouth of his. In that, he means to say Noctis is a fool for ever daring the idea of his greatest friends leaving him to save themselves the heartbreak.

“We’re never leaving you, man. Got it? Never ever ever, ” Prompto manages to say through the congestion.

(Noctis holds them to it, like the way they hold each other for the rest of their years.)

When he is twenty, Noctis prepares for the road trip of a lifetime — Gladio, Prompto, and Ignis promised to his side.

#final fantasy xv #ff15 #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #nyx ulric #regis lucis caelum #lunafreya nox fleuret #i can type #happy bday mah boi

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linelpisffxiv · 5 years

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5.0 Spoilers

After he watches everything, the Exarch makes haste for Kholusia. The city is free of Vauthry’s influence, at least, the most direct. The fact he is the lightwarden, keeping the island under the eternal, everlasting light, is another story.

He grabs a few bits, refurbished pieces of old Allagan machina, and makes way, hoping that the repairs to the ladder are just long enough he can join Lin on her way up.

In the end, however, he arrives when the Ladder’s elevator has reached the top for the first time in years.

“So you hath made your way here, Exarch,” Urianger says. “Despite the fact you know your limitations.”

He nods his head. “I refuse to simply stand by when I can offer my own hand in this last fight. I need to be here in the end.”

He needs to be there to die, take the powers from Lin. After everything, he knows he needs to play a part in the end. Someone who takes it from her. If she can hold herself together long enough, then he will just be a cutpurse, playing to get close enough to steal from her.

If not, well, it still would be better for her if he breaks her heart. She said she’s letting herself heal, and at most it’s been a few months since she let her husband return to the seas. She shouldn’t be ready to love again. He needs to remind her of that.

Urianger nods his head. “On that, I must agree. This fight can use all the help it can get. Vauthry hath made the peak of the Mount climb into the air. I cannot say we have a plan to avert the oncoming Calamity should we not find a way.”

“Well, tis good I planned to test one such way when I saw what happened through my mirror.” He takes one of the bits out of his bag and shows it to Urianger.

When they reach the top, he sees Alphinaud pacing. He talks to himself about everything.

“What worries you, Alphinaud?” he asks.

Alphinaud stops and stands up straight. “Ah, Exarch. Lin and Alisaie have set off to surveil the area. See if there are any remnants of the connections to the mountain we can use. I feel such a thing is fruitless, however.”

“I shall meet up with them and bring them back, then. You seem nervous about it.”

He shakes his head. “I-- I’m not-- Not a maid fretting for her sweetheart!”

“Quite specific in the imagery,” Y’shtola says.

“Tis a most accurate description as well,” Urianger adds.

He can’t help but laugh as well. “I must know where you came up with such a lovely turn of phrase, but this isn’t the time for such an action. Urianger, if you would not mind escorting me.”

So he does. he helps the Exarch with preparing the bits as they travel together. In the end, it is not the path to take. The Sin Eaters show they are more than organized enough to take on airships.

And sadly, Lin and Alisaie share the same news of luck on the ground.

However, from some idle chatter, a plan comes to be. One that sounds quite ridiculous. From what he heard of Operation Archon in his youth, along with everything that led to him getting his birthright, fanciful plans are Lin’s specialty. Some became even stranger from the tales he read.

And once again, he plays a role in it by her side.Helping her escort a young lala-- dwarf to gather much needed ore. Every word from his mouth compliments them. He tries to pass it off as her doing most of the work

One of the many SIn Eaters they must face on their job stuns her and charges for an attack that would surely--

He uses his magic to channel any force directed unto her to him. The blow is fierce, but he manages it well enough. The next words out of the young dwarf’s mouth surprises him

“You two make a good team!”

He feels his cheeks heat up, but he tries to focus on what’s to come instead. “Ah--! A’lin is a team unto herself, I simply follow her lead.”

She smiles and gives him a wink and a quick press of her hands to her lips before she turns around and returns to the fight.

He’s suspected that her own heart has moved past her husband. That her trip to Norvrandt has altered her fate. She may have had only one year left after the Battle of Ghimlyt Dark, but there were no lovers mentioned. One account from a member of the Ironworks described her as someone who buried herself as a field commander. She never spoke to anyone she hadn’t need to. Never said a word more that a situation called for. And one from the Garlean side claimed she called herself the Weapon of Light in those final days.

And so the fact she’s smiled and laughed, that she flirts with him now. Well, it will be hard for the betrayal he need make for her sake, but pleases him that she can. He only hopes she finds someone different to point such affections towards after this is done.

When everything is done, he starts to relax in the shade of the small bar in the town called Amity. It works for a while, but the powers he used before, so far from the tower, take their toll. Reprieve from the sun isn’t what he needs. He needs to return, but there is only so much he can do. Timing is important to his plan. If things go wrong, he needs to take the powers before she turns. If things are fine, he still should take them quick and not rely on luck.

It’s the very day of his death, and he still feels like it is far away.

He steps out, and for the first time in years, he sleeps. There’s no rest to it, a mix of hopes for more, reminders of what he must do. The past.

When he wakes up, he finds he speaks in his sleep, as he says the same thing he promised once before.

“The future is where my destiny awaits.”

His eyes clear, and Lin is in front of him. Her mouth is open. He wonders if she remembers.

“Forgive me, I was lost in a dream,” he says. Perhaps it will deter her from the truth. Perhaps not. Either way, it is not the time for her to know.

“The others were looking for you,” she says. “I decided I wanted to be the one to find you.”

He nods his head. “I see. Well then, it may be the last moment we have together. Sit with me.”

Lin smiles as she does so. “Whatever you say Exarch. I suppose I have some time to breathe. We have a some time before the talos is ready.”

He looks over to her. His hand is uncomfortably close to his.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

A finger slips closer to his. He pulls his hand away. Quick, a thought to distract her. “When this is over, what do you plan to do, Lin? Return to the battlefield on the first?”

She shakes her head. “Norvrandt has been enlightening for me. I feel I am in no hurry to return, especially should time slow down again. If I return, my fears of becoming the Weapon of Light again are sure to find root. I’m not ready to feel that again.”

He remembers the time he saw her soul break. How it used those words. How others called her that against the Garleans. He not only would hopefully unwrite her death, but that last year of grief.

“It would be well-deserved, should you wish to gather your breath.” He smiles as he imagines what she wishes. “You might consider roaming Norvrandt not as her savior, but as a simple sightseer. Viewed through such eyes, I am certain she would seem quite different.“

Lin moves her hand again, but he doesn’t catch it soon enough. She places hers on his, lacing her fingers with his.

“But whatever it is you decide to do, I have every confidence that you will do well. For you have the strength to forge your own path.“

“I should hope so, Exarch. While I know I can say no, sometimes things become too great, like I’ve entwined myself too deep that I would destroy others should I not live up to their expectations. It is why I love the First. I may not always want to save the world, but the people here seem different on the Source.”

She leans in. The past day has brought the scent of earth and sweat to her, but when he was young, he assumes he must have smelled much the same.

He tries to pull away some. Keep his distance. If he let himself return her feelings, then he could never betray her. He clears his throat. “You will leave countless lives better than you found them, and the souls you touch will never forget your kindness.Then, in trying times, when you question your worth and your choices, they will raise their voices to remind you of the difference you have made And thus will your deeds come to affirm your path. Remember this.”

“And you, Exarch?”

“What of me?”

“You give me such flattery, remind me any titles I have are earned, not given. Yet you have shared nothing of yourself. I want to know more about you, what you plan to do once this is over.”

He will kill himself. The Exarch will be no more. The Scions will no longer be stuck on the First. Lin will return, and push the technology forward so that the two hundred years he slept would be much shorter. Then she can love him as she needs him. Not this half crystal immortal caught up in his own grief.

Still, it is good to get lost in a dream. “Of me? You mean what I intend to do afterwards?”

A’lin nods and motions for him to continue.

“I once told you that there are things we can ill afford to lose. ‘Things,’ I said, though in truth I spoke of a person. One who is unaware of the full extent of my plans. Though she deserves to know, I have good reason to keep my counsel. I have come to terms with this in my mind, yet my heart yearns to lay everything bare. ”

She laughs. “That does not answer my question, but I think I’ve figured some of that out myse--”

He cuts her off, though not fully aware of the words she said. “For she is my inspiration, and I would give much and more for the chance to speak with her as friends, with no thought of concealment. Should she indulge me with her tales, I would regale her with my own─about my efforts in Norvrandt, perhaps.”

It’s a dream to plan things beyond the death of Vauthry, but a pleasant one.

He realizes Lin’s gotten closer. As she speaks, he can feel his hood flutter where her breath presses against it. “My tales are always yours to hear, and so I would love to hear yours.”

Her voice is like a Coeurl, primed to pounce. He feels nervous about her plans, but the hopes he has for his younger self are easy enough to share in hypotheticals. “Then, I would ask her about her next adventure. And if she should wish me to be a part of it, oh...how happy it would make me. Together, we would travel the lands and cross the seas and take to the skies upon the eternal wind. My heart swells simply to imagine--”

This time she cuts him off, but not with words, but her lips against his. Her hands don’t pull his hood off, nor do they slip inside. For such a kiss, she respects his secrets. The way her hand cups the back of his head. Her lips part for a nibble of his own.

He indulges her, but in truth he indulges himself. Lets her guide him into the way she wants him to kiss her. Mouth half open, hands on her back, getting lost in the dream.Have one unquestionably good memory to look upon in his final moments.

He pulls away once he starts to have doubts. Hopes.

“But all of this is contingent upon our victory in the coming battle. The people of this world have entrusted their hopes to us. We cannot fail them.” He smiles at her as he stands up.”Nor those who roused me from my slumber. Thank you for your company, Lin. Let us return to Amity.”

She stands up as well. “I suppose. I will just have to ask you about eternal winds later.”

Eternal winds. He has always been fond of those words together. So when she mentions it, he knows she knows. At least he hopes he won’t have to explain himself when he frees her of the burden her soul has taken.

If only he was the one who could travel with her, and not his younger self.

#G'raha Tia #G'raha Tia/WoL #Crystal Exarch #5.0 Spoilers #ShB Spoilers #Crystal Exarch/WoL #Tomorrow and Tomorrow #78 quests #CW: Suicidal Ideation

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