#he knows whats capable of happening in the shadow realm so hes spent the year in the library poring over tomes for something anything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onceupona-chaos · 3 years

Text

Elain's trauma + (another) lightsinger theory

(This theory is about Elain)

This post was supposed to be just about Elain's trauma, but I decided to use it to share with you one of my theories. So, buckled up, because this will be long!

Warning: This post will be a little about Elriel, but my focus is Elain. If that's not your cup of tea, be warned! Also, as usual, English is not my first language, so forgive for any mistakes. Be kind always!!

So... since I was reading ACOSF for the very first time I noticed how many times Elain's trauma was brought up, especially that time when the Cauldron kidnapped her. I strongly believe that we have enough textual evidence that points to the next book being about her, so I want to talk a little about that trauma and then share my theorie.

Childhood

I'm not going to talk much about it because there is this incredible post right here where the author did an amazing job. But I’ll briefly talk about it just to make sense.

If Nesta was raised to use her "maneuverings", her talents, her dance, Elain was not raised in the same way (not that was good for Nesta, I'm not saying that).

Elain was raised to look pretty, to please others, to not speak up, to get marry using her pretty face, to be a proper lady: a perfect doll.

So she acted like one.

It simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.

Elain would put on a hat and gloves and kneel in the dirt, weeding. She acted like a purebred lady in every regard but that.

Her mother raised her like that until she was at least eleven years old. This is enough time for her to internalize how she should behave.

This is what SJM is trying to tell about Elain:

"I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she'd disappoint you all"

(Again, check this post for more details, this is just a scratch in comparison)

How this childhood reflects on Elain

Strength:

So, Elain was raised to be passive.

I'm not trying to justify her neglect towards Feyre. Elain has flaws just like any other character. But there's a reason why Feyre and Nesta was filled with rage when they lived in the cottage, and Elain look at it in a different way:

"A shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me. She had looked at it that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger."

Since Elain was raised to be passive, her strength is different from her sisters. Her strength comes from her heart, from her kindness. But mostly from her hope. The book tell us that:

"Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind."

My point is: her strength is different, not weaker. She is a different type of character, one that a lot of women relate to. Her strength isn't brutal. Her strength is hope. In her book, she will look at an indescribable horrible situation that seems to have no way out and will choose not to despair.

Beauty

She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers.

Elain's mother saw her for her beauty and only that. Now look at this:

Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it.

She was several years older, and I’d never done anything to provoke her hatred, but I think …”

“She was jealous of your beauty,” Amren said, an amused smile on her red lips.

Elain blushed. “Perhaps.”

In my opinion, Elain has been seen as beautiful and only beautiful her entire life. It's not that she doesn't realize it, but she doesn't want to be reduced to that.

“Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty"

"They say your sister Elain is the beauty."

"They." Elain's beauty is known across Prythian, Eris said that twice in the series. She is so beautiful, that it seems like this is the first thing everyone will say about her.

That's why she wishes to be seen:

"No one ever looked —not really.” A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. “He did. He saw me. He will not now."

She is described as the most beautiful among the sisters, and one of them is High Lady. So everyone looks at her. However, she wants more than that.

For her, it's vital to be seen.

She wants someone who loves her for who she is. That's why she hoped Graysen would still love her even after she turned Fae.

Trauma

Now that we understand what it means for Elain to be seen, to be loved, can we please stop reducing her trauma to a breakup?

She was: kidnapped from her bed, throw into the Cauldron (we saw what a nice experience that is), changed into something she feared, exposed to all the guards laugh at her and mated to a male who conspired to all of that happen.

Not only that: for months she was lost in her own visions. She didn't even know what was reality anymore:

“I think I was dreaming,” she murmured. “I think I’m always dreaming these days.”

"I hear her—her screaming. With rage. Utter rage…” She shuddered.

And when she was able to understand what she was, a Seer, and "wake up" from whatever "murky realm" she had been, the Wall came down. Which means she faced the Graysen.

Elain genuinely hoped he would love her for who she was despite being Fae. She looked at that situation with the same hope she used to look at the cottage. And how that turned out:

“You belong to him.”

“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”

Graysen’s face hardened. “I don’t want it.”

He would have been better off hitting her, that’s how deep the hurt in her eyes went.

And then she was kidnapped.

Elain is captured by the Cauldron

SJM used ACOSF to remind us of events that are going to be relevant for the next books and Elain's trauma was repeatedly brought up in ACOSF:

But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

“Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.”

(...) he understood that Elain had spoken true, claiming the trauma of that memory.

Now, look at how many times Elain being captured by the Cauldron came up.

Elain had been stolen. By Hybern. By the Cauldron, which had seen Nesta watching it and watched her in turn.

Do you not remember the Cauldron kidnapping you, bringing you into the heart of Hybern’s camp?

The Cauldron looked at her. And then took Elain.

“Bad things happened the last time. The Cauldron looked at me. And took Elain.

“I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.

He’d gone with Feyre into the heart of Hybern’s camp to save Elain—he knew the risk.

These are just a few examples to say: Sarah is setting up her next book by remind us again and again how deep her trauma is.

Now, how did the Cauldron kidnapped her in the first place?

Nesta was already moving, sprinting for where we’d heard that voice. Luring Elain out.

I knew how it had done it.

I’d dreamed of it.

Graysen standing on the edge of camp, calling to her, promising her love and healing.

Graysen promising love and healing: everything she had hope for.

Now, who rescued her?

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

And we have this reaction:

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

I don't believe it's coincidence that the Cauldron used Graysen's image to lure Elain out, and Azriel was the one who got her back. (I'm dying to get into her head and see her feelings about all of this)

And ACOSF reminded us of this as well:

Azriel stiffened. "I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.

Repeatedly. We don't know how this characters felt at that moment, we don't have their POV's, but after ACOSF I do think this was a crucial moment for both of them: Elain and Azriel.

Lightsingers

“There are lightsingers: lovely, ethereal beings who will lure you, appearing as friendly faces when you are lost. Only when you’re in their arms will you see their true faces, and they aren’t fair at all. The horror of it is the last thing you see before they drown you in the bog. But they kill for sport, not food.”

"Hunt the kelpies or lightsingers without provocation and you might find yourself trapped here.”

When Cassian explains what is a lightsinger, the book has already remind us again and again the Cauldron took Elain.

We know Nesta fought a kelpie. But what if the reason why we didn't see a lightsinger is because Elain will be the one who will face one?

Lightsingers lure people, appearing as a friendly face: this is exactly what happened when Elain was captured by the Cauldron, when she saw Graysen. We know that was very traumatic for her - she told us that herself.

Elain already experienced what is to be lured, so if anyone could face a lightsinger and survive is her. She wouldn't make the same "mistake" twice.

Graysen standing on the edge of camp, calling to her, promising her love and healing.

There are lightsingers: lovely, ethereal beings who will lure you, appearing as friendly faces when you are lost.

Elain was lost, the last thread that connected her to her humanity had been cut off. The Cauldron used her love for Graysen, her deepest wishes, her hope for a future and turned it all against her.

But when a character is developed, they learn with their mistakes, they get stronger. What it was once a weakness might become their greatest strength, which is something very present in SJM books (The Nephelle Philosophy?) .

Elain's strength comes from her hope, she looks at the darkness of the world and sees the light. If the Cauldron used it once against her, maybe that hope would be precisely how she could break through whatever luring spells lightsinger cast.

There's a reason why SJM remind us again and again about that specific moment, which was without a doubt one of the most important ones between Elain and Azriel, and possibly because we are going to see Elain dealing with her struggles.

But what if there's more? What if that trauma would be the reason why Elain can face a lightsinger and survive?

What if what was once a weakness may become... her strength, her survival?

#pro elain #acotar theory #pro elain archeron

62 notes · View notes

rosethornewrites · 3 years

Text

Fic: a grain of millet drifting, ch. 1

Relationship: Niè Huáisāng & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Original Characters, Nie Huaisang

Additional Tags: Assassination Attempt(s), Introspection, Regret, Travel, Post-Canon, POV Third Person, POV Wei WuXian

Summary: Wei Wuxian wanders after parting from Lan Wangji, looking to understand the changes in the world since his death, seeking to understand his place in it. He doesn't realize he's being watched. Frankencanon, so this has a liberal mixture of CQL and MDZS.

Notes: See end.

AO3 link

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

Wei Wuxian hadn’t lied to Lan Zhan after their brief confrontation with Nie Huaisang in Cloud Recesses, not exactly.

Knowing why he’d been brought back, whether somehow his old friend had chosen him specifically for his own reasons, or if that had been entirely Mo Xuanyu’s call, wouldn’t change anything.

And part of him didn’t want confirmation of how much Nie Huaisang had meddled with along the way.

So much had been broken, so many people lost, and a part of him wanted to believe the façade that the indolent Nie Huaisang he had known during their days in the Cloud Recesses still existed.

But once he’d left Lan Zhan and set off on his travels with Little Apple, once he started getting used to being alive again, to having even the tiny wisp of a jindan, barely beyond zhuji, that Mo Xuanyu had gifted him, something he could build on, something other than the gaping hole that had ultimately consumed him, he’d had to face some truths.

He had no family, no home. He didn’t know if Jiang Cheng would ever want anything to do with him, and he wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. As much as he would always love Lotus Pier, he didn’t know that it had ever really been his home.

In some ways, his leaving had been inevitable. Despite being head disciple, he’d never been welcome. And the fall of Lotus Pier would forever be his fault, the ghosts of his own doing. He’d never regret protecting Mianmian and Lan Zhan, but he would always regret the massacre that had followed.

Even if he’d technically been absolved of the death of Jin Zixuan and the bloodbath of Nightless City and shijie’s death, his actions had still led to them.

Wei Wuxian spent long, sleepless nights under the stars and listening to Little Apple snore outrageously coming to the understanding that he’d left the Burial Mounds with his sanity shredded. The war and continued use of resentful energy without a jindan had only worsened it. He’d raised the dead, the ancestors of their enemy, defiling their bodies to win the war, and he’d earned a dark and deviant reputation in doing so.

After the war, he’d taken to drinking to dull it all, and doing so had destabilized his mind further. He was sensitive about his inability to cultivate, but couldn’t explain why. Surrounded by people who wanted him to do what he could not, he had spiraled.

Really, by the time he’d saved the Dafan Wen temporarily from their fate and gone back to attempt to live in the Burial Mounds, he’d been hanging by a thread. Wen Qing had bullied him into taking care of himself, for the most part, but he’d spent more days than he could count in the Demon Slaughtering Cave capable of little more than opening his eyes, what little energy he had dedicated to keeping the Seal under control.

He remembered very little past Jiang Yanli’s death and waking up in the Burial Mounds with the remnants of the Wen who knew death was coming. The seal wanted more, another Nightless City. And he’d known he could absolutely destroy the Jianghu—but that the Seal wanted it gave him enough pause that he knew he needed to destroy it and end it all.

He’d managed to find a way, but the Siege happened just as he was ready. What little sanity he had left went toward an attempt to hide A-Yuan—maybe the one good thing he had managed. And then, as the aunties and uncles and popo were massacred around him, he could only focus on destroying the seal.

Dying in the way that he had, ripped to shreds by corpses, had been agonizing, though the benefit of Jiang Cheng stabbing him had meant he’d died faster. He didn’t know if his shidi had meant it to be a kindness, but ultimately it had lessened his suffering before he died. It was likely a better death than anyone else would have given him.

But Jin Guangyao had been right: even before he’d absconded with the Wen remnants, his actions during the war, his temper and frayed sanity, his rages, his desecration of the dead… All of it had painted a target on him.

No, he’d painted it on himself with blood.

Wei Wuxian had come back in a body not tainted by the resentful energy that had burrowed its way into his bones before his death, despite it being his old one free of scars and birth marks, his sanity somehow restored, and was able to see his own self-destruction and how he had made that the only path he could walk through his own trauma-fueled hubris.

Maybe those years dead had done something to heal whatever damage he had inflicted on his own soul, as well. He remembered nothing of that time, and waking up in a body had been like opening his eyes after a long sleep. He’d known he’d been dead, had known time had passed, though not how much at first. Everything that had occurred leading to his death felt so immediate, particularly shijie’s death and the knowledge he’d left A-Yuan hiding but didn’t know if he’d survived.

The relief he felt that he had at least saved one person couldn’t be quantified.

Part of the journey was trying to find where he fit into the world now, but most of it was reflection and coming to terms with the reality that now existed.

He’d steered away from larger cities, opting to travel smaller roads to villages off the beaten path. Many, it seemed, had problems with restless spirits and the like—the occasional yao, even. He took care of what he could, and drafted letters to Lan Zhan when it was something that required more than he was currently capable of.

Perhaps that was something he’d learned—to rely on others and not try to fix everything himself. He could probably handle it all, but there were costs of using resentful energy too much, and in this life he didn’t particularly want to pay them.

So he communicated with the odd hungry ghost, used talismans to take down roaming fierce corpses, and handled the smaller yao that he could handle with the jindan he had, using these night hunts to help develop it further, hoping one day he could retrieve Suibian from Jiang Cheng and be able to wield the blade again—assuming his once-brother would let him have the sword.

Everything beyond, that would require more spiritual energy than he had or more resentful energy than he was comfortable using, he sent to Lan Zhan so the local cultivation sect could be alerted. He dared not send them a letter himself; people still had strong feelings about the return of the Yiling Patriarch, and it was just as likely he’d be blamed for the problem as anything.

The rural route he took left him able to travel in anonymity as a rogue cultivator, offering essentially any name but his own. Thanks to the ugly Yiling Patriarch talismans, the common folk didn’t know what he looked like. Most often, he went by Wei Yuandao, reminded of Mianmian’s happiness at seeing him when he did, that there were people in the world who didn’t hate or fear him. The villagers didn’t know him, were grateful for his help, whether in setting a spirit to rest or helping with odd jobs in exchange for a meal and a place to sleep by a hearth.

Much of the time, though, he slept beneath a blanket of stars.

One night like that, he heard the sounds of a scuffle and rushed to see what was going on. He expected to need to fight off a bandit, but instead he found a man in Nie colors running through a man dressed head to toe in black, face masked.

As he stood gaping, the Nie disciple bowed to him.

“Wei-gongzi.”

That confirmed a suspicion, and the logic of the situation ran through his mind at the speed of light. The courtesy, the Nie colors, what was clearly a would-be assassin’s body at his feet. Finally, Wei Wuxian sighed.

“How many assassins?”

The young man smiled.

“Five in as many weeks. You are as smart as Nie-zongzhu said.”

Wei Wuxian snorted at that.

“Not if I didn’t realize assassins were being sent after me. I’m guessing Nie-xiong knew they’d be hired and sent you to protect me in secret?”

He’d honestly thought he was being left alone by the cultivation world, especially since he wasn’t causing any trouble. How very naïve.

The man nodded curtly, then bent to rifle through the corpse’s clothing, looking for clues and stripping it of valuables, every bit a Nie.

“He wanted you to be able to travel without worry.”

Ah, Nie-xiong…

Perhaps Nie Huaisang was used to working from the shadows and had an agenda, or perhaps he truly just wanted Wei Wuxian to be undisturbed. Whatever his reasons for the secrecy, with this that ship had sailed.

But Wei Wuxian had no idea why Nie Huaisang would bother, not after he threatened him at the Cloud Recesses. Implied threat, but still—he’d expected that would burn a bridge. Not… this.

“I suppose I’m overdue for a visit to the Unclean Realm,” he said after thinking it over. “You may as well travel with me openly, unless Nie-xiong would prefer you watch over me in secret?”

Despite the protection he’d sent, Wei Wuxian didn’t know if he wanted the Nie clan officially associated with the Yiling Patriarch.

“Sect Leader was not specific about this eventuality. Traveling together openly may deter assassins, though it is easier to catch them off guard if they believe you unprotected.”

Ah, so Nie Huaisang didn’t care. Wei Wuxian waved off the concern. Now that he knew the threat, it was easily dealt with.

“I can set talisman traps around the campsite. Probably should have done that to begin with.”

But he’d been trying to have faith in the cultivation world, he didn’t say. Once again, misplaced faith and he should’ve known better.

“At least that way you can get real sleep as we travel to meet with Nie-zongzhu.”

They were a week of travel from the Unclean Realm, and he supposed he’d get answers to questions he hadn’t known he had then.

He headed back to his campsite, happy to see his Nie protector was following, and set a gourd of water near the fire to heat and pulled out some tea.

“In the meantime, we can talk about these assassins, eh? We’ll bury the body in the morning.”

It’d been over a decade since he’d last dug a grave, and it wasn’t to bury a body, but he was sure he could manage with the Nie’s help.

----------

Zhuji is the foundation building stage of cultivation, the stage before forming the jindan/golden core. Basically, Wei Wuxian is saying Mo Xuanyu was barely into the stage of forming a golden core, so it’s barely a wisp, but is still something that has the foundations built for him.

This fic was… unexpected. I wanted to write something for Nie Huaisang’s birthday, kind of a reconciliation between him and Wei Wuxian, and this happened. It will likely be no more than three chapters.

The title is a reference to a translation of a Su Shi poem, “First Ode on the Red Cliffs,” which was written after his first exile (he was exiled twice, both times for his poetry), while he wandered. There are several translations floating around, but I liked the wording of this one.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #cql #mdzs #wei wuxian #wei ying #nie huaisang #untamed fanfiction #untamed fanfic #untamed fic #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #cql fic #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs fic #my fanfiction

23 notes · View notes

soyforramen · 4 years

Text

Fred’s Ladder

“A ladder? Seriously? That’s your plan?” Betty hissed. “Where did you even find a ladder?”

Jughead shushed her and listened hard. The sounds from the warehouse thankfully hadn’t changed, still a patter of voices that rose and fell like a song. In all likelihood, they could set off a firework out here and no one would notice, but he had always been a touch on the paranoid side.

“It’s Fred’s,” he whispered. “And it was the easiest solution. Unless you want to knock on the front door?”

Betty rolled her eyes but gestured for him to lead the way up the ladder. As he neared the roof, Jughead slowed to peer into a large window. Bald figures in red following linen darted between curtained areas that ringed the walls, while the rest, still clad in white linen, congregated around a table overflowing with snacks and drinks set in the middle of the floor.

“Well?” she asked from below him.

“They’re just… socializing.”

“What?”

He heard Betty clamber up the ladder for him - witches were definitely not made for reconnaissance, he decided - and pushed at the window in front of him. It opened with a creak but the chatter below hid the noise. Moving slowly, he stepped onto a support beam and slid across it.

“Tea and …” Betty squinted. “Are those macaroons?”

He watched as she stood on the ladder, waiting for her to follow him. Her eyes were sharp, flitting from person to person - no doubt looking for her sister -, but it would be better for both of them if she’d come inside. Jughead beckoned towards her and her face went white.

“You must be kidding,” she hissed.

For all the bravado she’d shown in the little time he’d known her, it came as a shock that something as simple as a crossbeam fifty feet up in the air could stall her.

“We’re never going to get anywhere if we can’t get closer,” Jughead hissed.

“Have you forgotten I’m breakable?”

No, he hadn’t. As hard as he might want to forget that simple fact, that particular worry refused to let him be. Since a vampire’s body was already dead, pain was a foreign concept to it. While Death hadn’t taken away the vampire’s ability to feel pain, it had dulled it into a minor irritation. Except in the unlikely event where fire, massive blood loss, and major bodily damage. Vampires weren’t invincible, but they were a damn sight harder to kill than a human.

And, apparently, a witch.

“I won’t let you fall,” he promised.

Betty narrowed her eyes at him and he felt a pang of irritation. Did she really think so little of him? They’d already spent a week tracking these fanatics down, and yet -

And yet why did it matter to him what she thought. He shook his out stretched hand, ready to drag her through if she kept waiting. Something was about to happen below if the rising noise was any indication.

With a huff, Betty pulled herself through the window. Her hands shook as she reached for the crossbeam and set her foot on it. Struck by fear for but a moment, she slowly crawled the three feet towards him. When she was close enough, Betty wrapped her legs and hands around the beam tight enough her knuckles went white.

Jughead raised an eyebrow and scooted further along the beam. Her stubborn pride, the one he’d grown to know far too well, forced her to scoot along behind him without complaint. When they neared the middle Betty’s hand slipped. Her eyes went wide, mouth open in a silent scream, as her body pitched to the right. It was easy enough for him to right Betty on the beam; the hard part was ignoring her pounding heart throbbing through his ears and warm hand clamped around his arm.

As she steadied herself, he cultists below dropped into a murmur, the crowd growing more and more restless. Jughead stared down at them, willing himself to focus on anything other than the witch next to him. As one the cultists turned towards the large bay doors of the warehouse, the air ripe with anticipation. Betty gripped his arm tighter and he tugged her closer towards him, her knees barely brushing his legs; it wouldn’t do, he reasoned, to have half of their investigative duo scared so witless she failed to pay attention.

The murmur of voices were drowned out when the shipping door opened. Light heralded the coming of something important enough to cause all sound but that of the door to cease. Finally, it opened enough to reveal the shadow of a man with a spotlight behind him. The overall effect was likely to awe and intimidate, but for Jughead it only made him feel as if he should have worn sunglasses.

One by one, the cultists dropped to their knees. Those in red stood in front of their assigned curtains and bowed deeply at the waist, their hands clasped in front of them. Even from this height, Jughead could see several with tears running down their faces at the sight of him.

Satisfied with their debasement, the man stepped inside the warehouse. With a loud click, the spotlight went out, leaving behind a middle-aged man dressed in white linen and Birkenstocks. His clothes were the only thing that connected him with the others; his hair was a brilliant gold, even in the sickly florescent lights above, and his face held a joyous self-consciousness that all the other cultists lacked.

“My brothers and sisters,” the man said, his voice amplifying and folding in on itself. “You are here. We are one!”

“We are one!” came their echoing call.

“I’m sure many of you have questions. Questions about why you were called here tonight. Why you were chosen while so many of your brethren were not.”

He clapped, once, and the devotees rose from the ground. Their eyes never left the concrete floors, though many lifted their arms in supplication.

“You have each been hand picked,” he continued, “each deemed worthy to receive my wisdom. After all, we have each begun to see the light. Enlightenment is within your grasp, my friends, you just have to reach out and take it. Being here tonight is your first step in doing so.

“And I am proud of you for having the courage, the fortitude to be here tonight.”

A pause to let his praise sink over his followers.

“We have begun our ascension!”

The crowed erupted into a roar. Jughead tried to flinch away from the noise. Supernatural hearing was great until a crowd lost its mind in a crowded arena. While it wasn’t as bad as the last sports game he’d been dragged to, it was still worse than the gigs Archie dragged Jughead to.

Jughead glanced over at Betty to find her lips pursed, eyes flitting across each cultist. No doubt trying to find her sister among them. With a pang of guilt, he realized he should look for Archie as well. Though this didn’t seem like Archie’s type of people, Jughead had seen enough weirdness this past week to know that nothing was out of the realm of possibility when it came to this cult.

Once the jubilation slowed, the man held up his hands. The crowd dropped into an unnatural silence that left Jughead’s ears ringing. He had to strain to hear even a single breath.

A woman slipped from behind a curtain to stand next to the man, her arms full of red scarves. Betty’s hand loosened from his arm, and Jughead glanced at her only to find her lips set in a narrow grimace and her eyes narrowed. That pinpoint focus of hers had returned with a vengeance and it was all due to the appearance of that woman. Jughead made a mental note to dig up anything he could about her, and returned his attention to the task below.

His hand, as if by its own volition, slipped around Betty’s waist. His thumb slipped through her belt loop and, with a light tug, he reminded her of his presence. Betty’s heartbeat quickened again.

“The next task we ask of you might seem strange, brutal. Savage, even. But I would not be asking this of you if I did not believe you were capable.

“There are reasons for what we do. You may not understand them, or even see them, yet. Rest assured, my brothers and sisters in arms, this is necessary for your ultimate enlightenment. This is the first step to our glorious end!”

A shout of joy came from those clothed in red and was picked up by those going through this strange initiation. With little prompting, those in white began to form a line, livestock lining up for the chute, each in turn stopping in front of the charismatic man. He would lay a scarf around the neck of the devotee, and in thanks the devotee would drop to the floor and kiss each of their leader’s feet in return. The devotee would then be lead to stand in front of one of the curtains to wait for some signal. It took almost thirty minutes for each to be draped in red and the anticipation in the room only grew the longer it took.

Once red slashed around each person’s neck, the man raised his hands for the last time that night.

“Children. Light of my heart. Remember that what you are about to see tonight is shocking. But it is also the truth that has been hidden from you behind a veil of secrecy. For the truth is, we are not alone in this world!”

Impossible.

“Creatures of darkness.”

No.

“Myths and legends who walk among us.”

This couldn’t be happening.

“Feed on us. Prey on us!”

Jughead’s stomach dropped. The only enforceable rule of the underground was complete ignorance of humans. Be they witch or fae, seer or were, each were taught from childhood that any human who discovered their existence, who threatened their existence, was to be destroyed. Stories persisted of towns disappearing for coming too close to the truth. When sightings and curious happenings couldn’t be explained by drugs, hallucinations, or cryptids, cities lost blocks of people. All across the world, the underground knew how precarious its existence was.

And he himself had been taught from death that humans were never to find out about any of them. And it had been a lesson he’d learned well. The smell of his sister’s hair still clogged his nostrils, the screams of his mother echoing in his ears. And all because he couldn’t bear to stay away.

Jughead shoved those memories out of his head - how many years now had he spent trying to atone? - and refocused on the scene below.

“What we were taught to be scary stories. Fiction. Lies! These creatures who lived under your beds stand among the rest of the world. They lurk on us. Murder us. Deceive us! But I will pull the veil from your eyes and show you what this world really is!”

He raised his hands, and each curtain was pulled back. Over a dozen metal tables came into view, a corpse on each. Just as in Curdle’s lab, each had been flayed open from chest to navel, the cavernous contents of their bodies on horrifying display. A gasp ran through the crowd and several stumbled away only to trip onto the floor. From this height, it was difficult to tell the identities of who lay on the tables, let alone what, but Jughead had a sinking feeling that he could guess.

Jughead forced himself to look at each table, his eyes looking for that shock of red hair. There were fae, two land, their bark like faces in twisted sneers; a water and an air fae, both deflated and melted in comparison; a were-cat caught mid-transformation, patches of skin still showing through the dark fur; several that looked far too human to be any of the underground except a witch, or perhaps humans to show the differences; and there, on the far end, a werewolf. It’s body was far too small, it’s hair far too dark, to be Archie.

A tragedy, of course, but not one personal to Jughead.

“She’s not here,” Betty muttered, her eyes glued to one of the human like corpses. “But all of these…”

It was hard to take in. Barring the ban on human knowledge of the underground, this was the first time Jughead had ever seen their kind dead at the hands of humans. As many divisions as their may be among the people of the underground, they were all of the same opinion when it came demons and humans.

With growing discomfort, they watched as the humans peered, prodded, and poked at their brethren, some giggling with anxiety, others taking copious notes. Each held a line of tension in their bodies, fear that they were not as alone as they were lead to believe. Whoever this man was, he held enormous power. Not only over his people, but also over the underground. He was now one of the most dangerous threats they’d seen since the time of the crusades.

“What do you think they’re doing with them?” Betty asked, her voice soft. The line above her brow was creased, her lips parted slightly. Puzzling, no doubt, over this sudden impossible wrench in reality.

“Examining them. Studying them.”

He remembered the fae laying on that table, modesty no longer afforded to it. Fae custom required the dead to be burned and scattered across their birth land. Earth returning to earth; air to air; water to water. Now their dignity had been stolen away, and it was doubtful they’d ever find peace again.

“Do you think they still have …”

“All their parts?”

He shrugged, the movement catching his thumb on Betty’s belt loop. He shifted her closer, unaware he was doing it until her legs ran up under his on the beam. She shifted to swing her knee around to look at the curtains behind them. Jughead’s hand tightened. He didn’t know if he feared her sudden fall, or the image of her on one of those medical tables below.

“No clue. The real question is how they found out about us?”

Betty let out her breath in a huff, the smell of chai latte with oat milk and extra cinnamon wafted across him, and glared over her shoulder.

“One of us must have told him.”

He glanced over his shoulder where the man stood watching over his flock. Next to him was that same woman, her curly hair hanging limp around her shoulders. She looked to be human, as did he, but looks were fleeting when it came to the underground. Jughead cursed. He knew he should have eaten a second time before they’d come. If he had more information it would be so much easier to puzzling this out, and the sound of Betty’s heartbeat wouldn’t be drawing so much of his attention away from the matters at hand.

They watched for over an hour as the initiates went from one table to the next, their instructors pointing out differences and similarities. After the initial shock, the study of the bodies became routine. Each devotee took a morbid interest in each creature, crowding around the corpse with little to no shame. It was hideous, and not for the first time Jughead wondered how widespread this cult was. Surely someone in the underground knew about this. Secrets never stayed secret for long.

Betty shifted on the beam next to him, restless as he was. The inability to do anything about this, to exact revenge, to extinguish the sacrosanct knowledge these humans had, made his teeth itch.

“How long do you think they’ll do this for?”

Jughead shook his head. “All night. Each group’s been by every table at least three times by now. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were drilling the information into their heads.”

“But unless they’re planning on cutting everyone they come across open seeing us like this doesn’t teach them anything. The fae and were’s especially. They never go anywhere looking like that.”

He shrugged. “Maybe that’s the point. Make them aware that we exist and then prove that most of us are just like them. On the inside, at least.”

She hummed, drumming the tips of her fingers against her leg. The motion shimmied its way up her thigh and into her hip, echoing through Jughead’s hand. His stomach growled, hunger pains chasing down the movement, and Betty raised an eyebrow.

“How can you be hungry seeing this?”

If he could have blushed, he would have. It was clear she didn’t have any familiarity with vampires - outside of their lust fueled tryst, at least - or she’d have pegged the source of his hunger immediately.

“I can always eat,” he muttered. Sullenly, he turned back to watch the cult and refused to say anything more until long after they’d left despite Betty’s protestations.

#bughead #bughead drabble challenge #not a drabble!#i phoned it in on the last bit and you know what?#so #i'm cool with that

31 notes · View notes

foretoldblood · 3 years

Note

five times kissed 💕

y'shtola is sharp as a tack, one of the most intelligent people he'd ever had the fortune to meet, and he's utterly captivated by her. they get along like fire and oil, catching from the very second they're left alone in the room together.

but urianger is quiet and speaks in riddles and y'shtola is loud and speaks with action. he composes unwritten symphonies of words and she manifests results with her own might. they spend hours upon hours together, arguing, debating, researching, and it all feels like mere moments.

the day after he receives the mark, near to the end of their time in sharlayan, he walks into louisoix's foyer, his head and eyes uncovered as his face is still far too tender to wear his usual attire. his heart soaring with accomplishment, a smile breaking through his stoic demeanor. she's the only one there, and so it seems little surprise that she takes his face in her hands and presses a kiss right to the sore skin.

"so you would be beautiful were it that you were not so secretive, urianger," she says, tapping the tip of his nose with the pad of her finger. there's mirth in her eyes, mingled with pride and affection. and she lingers a moment longer, the opportunity is there.

he wants to kiss her, but he doesn't. just as he wants to kiss moenbryda but doesn't. urianger freezes instead, stiff as a board, and she lets go with an understanding that somehow makes him feel worse.

they don't talk about it afterwards.

the next time is years later, days after prophecy comes to life. they've hunted through the battlefield for hours now, trying to find bodies but there's nothing. simply nothing. nothing but bahamut's rage, frozen flame twisting around the landscape and the memory of a man haunting them.

louisoix is gone.

they are lost.

but there is still a mission to accomplish. the world does not stop because the greatest among them are gone.

urianger allows himself this moment to mourn - but only that moment, remembering all that is still left to do. the empire is on the borders of a broken realm and the threat of primal summoning upon them.

y'shtola finds him sitting against one of the frozen spires, his head in his hands. he looks up as she kneels, and she bends and presses her forehead to his, their grief unspoken and shared.

butterfly kisses he thinks as damp eyelashes brush together.

they rebuild.

but perhaps the foundation is cracked.

their methodologies had always differed - that was why they had been brought together, but louisoix had been the cement that bridged their gaps.

urianger retreats further into himself. he keeps secrets and she knows. the rift is subtle at first. y'shtola goes from nearly always at his side, reading over his shoulder, to across the room.

they don't acknowledge it. they feign normalcy, trying oh so hard to pretend like everything is fine.

in the quiet moments after he's rescued, all goes back to normal. she sits at his bedside and calls him a fool, how worried she was. he smiles ever so faintly and lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm where her nails have worried the skin.

loss ruins their victory.

they're all gone in one fell swoop. urianger regrets being reclusive, regrets staying behind for if he'd gone perhaps he could have changed it. the warrior and alphinaud seek to solve ishgard's problems and he throws himself into finding them.

they pull her from the lifestream and he sits at her bedside, trading shifts with y'mitra until she wakes.

and oh, the price she's paid.

y'mitra tells him when she wakes, of her condition, and he feels ill with guilt.

she can't see the tearstains on his face. can't see the bags underneath his eyes. the toll that this has taken on him. the cowl and goggles are abandoned and he is simply exhausted.

but relieved beyond measure.

his fingers entwine tightly with her own.

"do not," he rasps softly, "frighten me like that again."

this time she presses lips to his knuckles, a laugh on her lips.

"i don't think i've ever heard you use so few words. have i lost the favor of your verbosity?"

"thine most recent reckless stunt hath left mine soul bereft of poem," he folds his free arm under his chin, letting his eyes shut. their hands stay entertwined. "when we see the dawn of peace once more, 'tis thine duty and thine alone to see it replenished."

she laughs. and he decides he would die a happy man should that be the last thing he ever heard.

it happens in the crystarium. after years of avoiding each other, months of travelling together and pretending all is well in front of others.

but it isn't.

she's furious at him for keeping secret after secret. for minfilia before this, for siding with the exarch after that, for the warrior of light now. they argue in private where they can't be overheard.

"do we mean nothing to you?" she spits. "have you so little trust in us?"

"this is not about trust or meaning," he says, his voice scarcely raising but the fire is burning. his lack of reaction always infuriates her more than were he to give a human reaction, to crack and yell.

she knows he's capable of it. she better than most.

"no, no i suppose not. it's about your godsdadmned need for control," she hisses.

"nor is it about control," his voices rises. a theory is confirmed.

"it is, urianger, and no one else is willing to take you to task. you've spent so much time in the shadows you shrink from the light even now," she snarls. "and yet you throw yourself upon the sword the moment it presents itself! you blame yourself for things beyond your control, and you think cartineau would have been different if you had kept a tighter grip on -"

"y'shtola."

she's wrong, but not wrong. her words strike home and lay him bare. the words hang between them, regret so thick in the air it has them both choking. he looks away from her, towards the gift of the night sky given back to this world.

slowly he turns back to her. to the silver glow of her eyes that he blames himself for. to the grief they've both wrapped themselves with. to the mark fewer and fewer of them still wear.

he crosses the room.

gathers her hands in his. his head lowers - his eyes burning. it's killing him that they fight like this, that he has this secret. all he can do is squeeze her hands gently in his.

"this is the last time," he says, his voice terribly raw. "i do not expect forgiveness for this, nor do i deserve it. but i believe i have earned enough goodwill for you to trust my judgement."

his leans down, pressing his lips to her forehead. lingering for a moment, feeling himself tremble ever so slightly. trying to convey all he can.

"regardless of what follows, i shall not keep anything more from you... should you still find yourself willing to have me."

they wake in mor duna, losing years in the span of seconds. their muscles are weak and their bodies tired from the act of simply opening their eyes, but they are delighted to be alive and that's all that matters.

she sits on his bed. a vision of loveliness even in the darkness of the rising stones.

he telegraphs his intent. she reads him like a book. he wants her to know his heart, his secrets lain bare. no more, no more, and she trusts him enough to allow that chance, leaning against him.

he touches a hand to her chin and tips it up, her eyes flutter shut.

their lips meet in the middle.

#ask answered.#oh no that was LONG

2 notes · View notes

spartanguard · 4 years

Text

(love will see us through these) Dark Days [CSRT; 7/7]

Summary: A century ago, the United Realms of Pomem had been a land of peace, prosperity, and magic. Until war tore the land apart, leaving behind cruel leaders and even crueler laws regarding the use of magic. And each year, the youth of each realm are subjected to a fight to the death, both for entertainment and to weed out anyone capable of wielding magic. In the 99th Magic Games, past victors Emma Nolan and Killian Jones find themselves serving as mentors, while Alice Gothel and Robyn West end up representing their realm. Everyone has secrets; everyone has something to lose. Who will win? Who will die? Just don’t forget: all magic comes with a price.

A/N: OMG IT’S THE LAST CHAPTER!! Thank you so much to everyone who has commented on it; I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed it! I don’t exactly have a timeline for the next story yet, but I’ll probably start working on it when I’m done with my CSSNS commitments. And thank you again to @captainswanbigbang for giving a great venue to revisit this, and to @optomisticgirl for being an amazing beta. Title is from “Safe and Sound” by Taylor Swift and the Civil Wars. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 7—Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

The trip home was...weird. That was the only way Robyn could describe it. It was the same train, and the same views of Pomem flying by outside, but in reverse—which felt poetically appropriate (or something like that; she wasn’t great at writing).

Because this trip was a complete 180 from the previous: last time, she knew there was a very decent chance she was being carried away to her death; to have escaped that—and lived through everything—definitely carried a sense of relief with it, but she also knew she wasn’t the same person she was a few weeks ago.

Granted, it was a much better 180 than the one most of the other tributes had taken: leaving home alive and well and heading back in a coffin.

(Could there actually be that many 180s from the same point? She wasn’t great at geometry either.)

(God, she was probably going to have to go back to school, wasn’t she? Ugh, being 16 sucked.)

She knew that a whole different life was waiting for her in Sherwood, but how she was supposed to build it on the foundation of her past was what she hadn’t figured out yet. There was probably a house waiting for her and her mom in Victor's Village—whichever one they wanted, most likely, given that Eloise and Alice were the only other living Victors. She wouldn’t have to go to work in the textile factories or cotton fields like everyone else was expected to, and she didn’t even have to follow her mom’s footsteps into midwifery if she didn’t want to. She’d probably have to become a mentor, once she finished high school, but that was far from a full-time job.

Hell, she was even nervous about seeing her mom again. As much as she’d felt a pang of jealousy at the fact that Alice had her mother—well, both parents—with her, as stilted as her relationship was with Eloise, and as much as Robyn desperately wanted to fall into her own mom’s hug and never leave, she wasn’t sure it would hold the same comfort it used to.

She was going to be vaguely poetic again: she was standing on a precipice, but couldn’t see past the edge.

That was semi-literal; the train was going through mountains, so there was stone on one side and a sheer cliff over forest on the other. The sun was making its slow ascent and Alice was snoring in the bed, feet away.

Technically, they had their own cars, but neither of them really wanted to be that far from each other; they’d done that enough after the games. They'd spent the last couple days of the ride talking, cuddling, kissing, and getting to know each other in a somewhat normal manner—like people usually do when they're not caught up in a death match. She knew now that Alice's favorite color was light blue, like the spot where the sea meets the sky; that her favorite place was her father's ship; and she had this adorably ticklish spot on her hip, right at the juncture of her thigh bone. (They hadn't just kissed...they were still teenagers, after all.)

And on her end, she’d been able to tell Alice about helping her mom with births when she was growing up and how that made her never want kids; about how her favorite color was orange, like a sunrise; and about the father she’d never met, but grew up in the shadow of.

“God, I can't imagine not having a papa,” Alice had said. “What happened?”

“He died in that big fire that knocked out Factory 21 when we were babies. He was trying to get other people out when a beam collapsed on him.”

“Oh my god; I'm so sorry. Your poor mum!”

Robyn had to shrug at that. “Well, he and my mom were never formally together, same as your parents. He was actually a widower and had another kid; you know Roland, the groundskeeper?”

“Yes! Oh my god, he has the curliest hair.”

“He's my half brother.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, he went to live with his mom's relatives after the accident; I was only a couple months old, so I was already with my mom. There was some drama with the settlement money being split between me and Roland, so he and I aren't close at all. All I've got are my mom’s stories, and what other people have said. And apparently my skill with a bow; I guess he was a great shot.”

“Hey, that's a pretty great way to honor him—using that to win the games.”

“I guess.”

The one thing they hadn't managed to talk about at all, though, was what came next—for them, as a couple. Robyn loved Alice, she knew—but she was also a teenager and so much could change. If she had all these other questions about her future, was Alice going to be a constant, or a variable?

(She did okay at science.)

Even though she’d only been around him for a tiny bit, she kind of wished she had Killian to talk to, like Alice would. He seemed like the kind to dispense good fatherly advice.

Or he’d pass judgment on the person who was dating his daughter. Hard to say.

At least she had access to the next best thing: Eloise. To be honest, Robyn was still intimidated by her, even if they were kind of on equal footing now, at least socially. There was just this...aura she gave off, or something, that set Robyn on edge. But if they were going to be part of each other's lives for the foreseeable future, one or both of them would have to get over that.

And this was the last leg of their journey home so she should probably do it sooner rather than later.

She grabbed a robe and slipped it on over her Olympus-provided pajamas that she had definitely stolen, gave Alice a kiss on the cheek that she didn't notice (and she probably wouldn't be awake for another few hours), and quietly slipped out of the train car to the next one—the club car.

Robyn had figured it’d be a good place to get a bite to eat and wait for Eloise to wake, but to her surprise, her mentor was already there.

“Uh, hi—good morning,” she stammered, afraid to move for some reason. “You’re up early.”

“Actually, you are,” Eloise answered. “I’m kind of surprised after what you two got up to last night.”

It was still pretty dark in the car, which was good because Robyn’s cheeks were probably the color of the hibiscus tea Eloise was drinking.

“I’m not judging; just...consider your volume in the future.” She was smirking; what did that mean? God, she should just turn around now. Or better yet, throw herself off the moving train. But it would be pretty silly to come this far only to die of mortification.

“Take a seat; grab a bite. You won’t get food like this at home.” Eloise gave her a pointed look with her invitation that told Robyn she didn't really have a choice here, so she complied, taking a seat on the other side of the table and reaching for a muffin.

She picked at it while working up the nerve to ask her questions—or even remember what they were—when Eloise spoke up.

“I get the impression this wasn't just a casual social call,” she said, eyeing Robyn and then taking a sip of tea. “Are you wondering what comes next?”

“Uh—yeah, actually; how did you know?”

“Because I’m a mother, even if I’m not particularly maternal. And because I had that same kind of nervous energy after I won my games.”

Robyn chewed her bite of muffin—was that blueberry green tea flavored? Dang—while deciding where to start. It probably made sense to start with the hardest one. “How...how did you go back to your mom?”

Eloise’s brow furrowed, and she took another long sip of tea. “To be honest, I’m still not sure. My mother was a firm believer in being one with nature, in pacifism; I sometimes wonder if she didn't want me to win at all—if she would have preferred I be killed instead of doing the killing. I could barely look her in the eyes when I got off the train.”

She paused to take another sip, but a lump was caught in Robyn’s throat—that was exactly how she felt right now.

“But she shocked me—she just lifted my chin, smiled at me, and pulled me into her arms. Mothers have a large capacity for forgiveness, you know.”

Robyn scoffed. “You haven’t met my mother, though.” To say Zelena West could hold a grudge was putting it lightly; they could only go to certain shops in town because of the petty fights her mom had picked.

“Oh no, I have. Who do you think delivered Alice?”

Robyn’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“Mhmm. I think you were a few months old at the time, and she was pretty desperate to get back to you—but Alice was taking her sweet time.”

“I can see that,” Robyn giggled.

“But she finally made her appearance, and your mum told me that becoming a mother was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Now, personally, I’m not sure I can say the same, but I have to assume your mother still believes that, and is just going to be happy you’re home.”

“But...I'm not the same person I was then. The things I’ve done…”

“She knows, Robyn. Everyone saw it. And she’s still going to love you and be there for you.”

That made Robyn feel a bit better, but an awful question came into her head. And she couldn’t hold it back. “Is that how you feel about Alice?”

Eloise finished her tea, then set the mug down. “I’m terrible at showing it, but yes. Motherhood was never something I wanted, but it got me out of a situation I wasn't happy with. We may not be close—and we’ll never be as close as she is with her father—but I’m still proud of her.”

“Good. You should be.”

Eloise smirked at Robyns matter-of-fact statement. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Because Alice is awesome!” Robyn blurted out. “She’s sweet and funny and kind and amazing and—”

She was cut off by Eloise’s laughter. “Alright, I believe you. I had my doubts there, but you’ve convinced me.”

“What?” Hold on—doubts? “Convinced you of what?”

“That you really love her.”

Robyn was dumbstruck. “You didn't think so before?”

Eloise leveled an unamused look at her. “Robyn. You and I are more similar than you think. You can see strategy beyond your emotions; Alice...can’t. Not as well.”

“You think...I was faking?”

“I wondered.”

That muffin was threatening to come back up.

“I’m glad it’s real though; that makes the future easier.”

“Easier?”

Just then, the door swung open, and a groggy Alice stumbled in. “Oh, there you are,” she said, smiling sleepily; Robyn’s heart skipped a beat, it was so cute.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly shy.

“Good,” was all Eloise could say. “You both probably need to hear this.”

Alice flopped down on the plush seat next to Robyn. “Hear what?”

“How the rest of your lives are going to go.”

Alice had been slathering marmalade on toast, but slowed her roll, her eyes growing wide. “What do you mean?”

“You know this can't end, right?” Eloise asked, pointing a condescending finger between them. “This is who you are now: the Star-Crossed Lovers of Sherwood, defeating all odds to get their happy ending.”

Under the table, Robyn reached for Alice's thigh and squeezed. “But we’re only teenagers. I don't...I don’t think my feelings will change, but...” She made a point to not look at Alice when she said that, scared of what might be on her face at a statement like that.

But, to her surprise, Alice was the one to reply. She sighed, saying “No, she’s right; the games are never over. Whatever happens between us, Olympus is only going to want to see one thing.”

“What, us?”

“Yeah,” Alice said, a bit sadly, breaking Robyns heart. “Why else do you think we’ve had to keep it a secret that I’m Killian Jones’ daughter? There’d be no more privacy ever for my family; and it’d break all sorts of laws.”

“They’d stop caring at some point, right?”

Eloise shook her head. “Look at the Misthaven dynasty.”

Everyone knew about the Nolan family—David and Snow, who won and fell in love; then their daughter Emma, who fell in love with another victor and had a son; god, that kid was doomed. But they were still the focus of a lot of attention during the games, and even more once Snow became the mayor there. They might as well be royalty.

Shit, was that Alice and Robyn now?

“Damn.”

“Yeah,” Alice agreed.

“But what if—what if it doesn't work out?”

Alice was quiet while Eloise answered. “It has to. Unless you want bad things to happen.” Abruptly, she stood then. “If you excuse me; I need to make sure I’m packed before we get home.” And she left an incredibly awkward silence behind her in the car.

Alice picked up her toast and finally ate it, and Robyn finished her muffin. Alice picked up another piece of bread, and the knife for the marmalade, but that probably wasn't even sharp enough to cut the tension between them.

She tried anyway though. “Do..do you really not think we’ll make it?” she asked quietly.

“I…” Robyn started, but she really had no idea what to say. “I...want to,” she settled on. “But I’m also only 16. I don't even know what I want to do next week.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” Alice said through a mouthful of toast. She chewed and swallowed, then continued, “I know we’re young, and I know our lives are going to be crazy from here on out. but one thing I'm certain of is you. And I don't want pity or anything, and I don't want to find out you only feel bad for me or something, or you just did it for the games, and that’s why you like me back. And—ugh!” she yelled, throwing her toast at the table and grabbing at her cuff.

This wasn't the first time this had happened: anytime Alice got overly emotional, something happened with her magic that caused a painful reaction with the cuff; in a calm moment, she’d explained that her magic was tied to emotion, so it seemed that whenever hers got out of control, its attempts to rein her in ended painfully.

“Hey, I've got you,” Robyn said quietly, moving closer and pulling Alice into her arms.

But Alice pushed back. “No; not now,” she barked, then winced. “I'm going—I need my mum. I’ll see you later.” She was up and out of the car faster than Robyn could protest.

Well, fuck. She’d made a mess of that, hadn’t she?

And out of all that, the worst part was watching Alice walk away.

Maybe they needed some space; maybe that would help. She’d try to talk to her when they got home—when things were less tense.

But her appetite was pretty well gone, so she got up and followed the other two out. She didn't go to Alice’s car, though; she kept going to hers, little used as it was. She probably needed to pack, too, and get dressed and all that. They’d be home in just a few hours.

It was funny; barely an hour ago, she’d been scared about that, and now, all she wanted was her mom.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Killian always hated this part of the games. Not like he really enjoyed any of it, but escorting the bodies of two children to their waiting parents was a burden he loathed carrying.

Ariel knew to avoid him while they were traveling home; that was the only time he really let the emotional toll of the games envelop him. It typically involved him spending some quality alone time with however much of Olympus’s good rum his sticky fingers had nabbed. As a consequence, he usually didn’t remember much of the trip.

He knew they were close to home when the trees flying by his window began to thin and he saw the reflective glimmer of the ocean on the horizon. (Also, he’d finished the last of the rum.) There was still a boozy fog clouding his perception, but the disastrous state of his sleeping car told him that he’d been exceptionally violent toward the sheets and furniture this year.

Which was to be expected, honestly. Other than his own games, and maybe Liam’s, he’d never been put through the wringer as roughly. He prayed to whoever was listening that the games would never be so terrible again. Maybe he could persuade Nemo to come out of retirement for next year so he could stay home; Gold might not like that, but fuck him.

Gods, even just the thought of the man sent a shiver down Killian’s spine that had nothing to do with the epic hangover he was nursing. When Archie mentioned that Belle had been in the company of the president, it immediately drew his memories back to Milah. She was never far from his thoughts during the games, but the thought of Gold’s attention being directed at another beautiful, unsuspecting young woman—and how it might end for the lass—brought back anger he hadn’t felt in some time. It was a blessing Emma was there and knew to remove him from the situation.

Finally being able to release all the fear he’d felt for Alice was equally cathartic. And not just during the games: from every reaping prior, from Olympus finding out about her parentage, and all the normal parents’ fears—though some remained, obviously. Watching and helping her navigate the next step of their insane lives was going to be interesting.

And then there was Emma. His fingers drifted to his lips; he was fairly certain he could still feel them tingling from her kiss, even days later. (It might have been the rum, but he liked to imagine otherwise.) It had completely taken him by surprise, yet somehow also hadn’t—like it had been the release they both needed after the days of tension. In his stupor, his mind had taken it even farther—envisioning scenes of passion between them that made his heart (and other parts) stutter. He knew it was all sorts of impolite and improper, but knowing she wasn't actually in love with Graham seemed to give his dreams free rein.

There was definitely something there between them. He couldn’t quite place what, but she stirred something in him that hadn’t reacted in a long time. He wouldn’t dare say his heart—not romantically, at least; as far as he was concerned, that part still belonged to Milah.

But maybe, just maybe, Emma was the one who would finally help him move on from her memory. And that terrified him just as much as losing Milah all over again.

The train slowed down, and he forced himself to pull it together. Making sure he was properly dressed and looking not-too-disheveled, he gathered his things and found Ariel in the windowed caboose.

“Feel better?” she asked, with a look on her face somewhere between concern and amusement.

“Aye, I might make it another year.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” She was definitely trying to get at something. Why was there a sparkle in her eye?

“I doubt there’s much to talk about, love. You likely heard the worst of it.” He had a tendency to do a lot of shouting in the condition he’d been in.

“Yeah, you could say that,” she said with a knowing smirk. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell Emma.”

Bloody hell.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

The sun was at its peak, but it struggled to break through the thick canopy of trees. Emma inhaled the strong pine scent; it brought her some temporary relief as she descended the steps from the train platform.

Home. She was home.

“Mom!” Henry’s voice called out to her, and she quickly scanned the small crowd gathered at the station until she found her son’s dark-haired head bobbing towards her. She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as she dropped her bags and scooped him into a tight hug.

“I missed you,” he said into her shoulder.

“I missed you, too, kid.” She could have stood in her son’s embrace for hours had Graham’s voice not broken through just then.

“What, I’m invisible?” he joked. Henry let go of Emma and raced toward Graham.

“I missed you, too, Dad.” Graham responded with a warm smile and a strong hug.

Emma wished the moment wouldn’t end, but she became intensely aware of eyes on her. She hesitantly looked up, and met the gaze of Marco, August’s father; Tamara’s family wasn’t far behind him. This was the part she was dreading.

It didn’t help that she’d just had her own reunion with her son right in front of them; how cruel. She nudged Graham with her elbow and said, “Henry, can you go wait with your grandparents? Your dad and I have something to take care of before we go home.” Her son ran off to her parents, who were waiting in the street.

Graham wordlessly grabbed her hand and squeezed; she didn’t have to look at him to know he wasn’t excited about this part, either, but they owed it to the families.

Marco, painfully, thanked them for doing all they could; he was sincere, but it was hard for Emma to hear that; she’d already spent half the trip home wondering what she could have done better. Not that anyone really stood a chance against the Sherwood girls, but she was her own harshest critic.

Tamara’s family was thankfully a bit more reserved. Knowing they were angry about it was probably better, since Emma was. She didn't want forgiveness; she wanted to do better. (Though, in reality, she wanted to never have to do this again.)

At least they were there, though. Every time she was here after the games, she flashed back to when Neal—well, his body—came home, and she was the only one to claim it.

Dark Knights were in charge of unloading the caskets, and Emma couldn't stick around for that; that was too much. So she and Graham excused themselves to where her parents were waiting.

“You did great,” her mom said as she hugged her. It didn't make Emma feel any better, but she supposed her mom knew better than anyone how she felt right now.

“And there's always next year,” her dad added, pulling her into his arms and cradling her head like he always had. It didn't matter if she was a full-grown adult with blood on her hands; that always made her feel better.

With the hellos done, they started the short walk back to Victor’s Village and their side-by-side houses. Just as Emma expected, her mom asked for a full run-down of everything that happened; they may be happily retired, but Snow would never be fully able to pull herself out of the gossip of the games.

“And the new victors! What are they like?”

“They're sweet,” Graham said; Emma had to hold back a scoff that anyone who won the games could be called that, but it did seem to be the case for Alice.

“Oh, good; they seemed to be. Eloise's daughter seems so different from her—which is probably a good thing. God, I just can't believe they weren't going to let them both win; that was heartbreaking.”

A very belated realization hit Emma: that must have been what Eloise and Jefferson were planning that night in the Game Center, when she and Killian brought the burn medicine. How was she just now seeing that?

(Probably because Killian was clouding her memory. For reasons. Fairly obvious ones.)

“Oh, and Killian! What was it like working with him?” God, her mom’s timing couldn't be more annoyingly perfect, could it?

“It was great,” Graham answered, looking at her with a sly grin. “He knows what he’s doing, and actually, he and Emma worked great together.”

She promptly elbowed Graham in the side. She’d told him about the kiss—she had to—and he was way too encouraging about the whole thing.

“Oh really? That’s so wonderful; those relationships are so great to have.” Her mom then rambled on about the people she would ally with over the years, but Emma’s mind stopped paying attention at the word ‘relationship’. Even if it was being used platonically, something in her read more into that.

Regardless of Graham’s reaction, what she’d told Killian was true: it had to be a one-time thing. Even if she’d see him again in a year at the next games. And the ones after that, and so on until she retired. But that wasn’t sustainable—a once-a-year fling? No. There were probably people who did that, but Emma couldn’t. Her heart wasn’t that flexible.

Unbidden, her mind imagined what it could be like, though: sneaking away for quick encounters, the feeling of that taunting chest hair against her skin...no. It wasn’t gonna happen. But, goddammit, why did he have to have a sweet side? Why did he have to understand her so well?

“Mom, you alright?” Henry asked; she jolted at his voice, and then realized they were home.

“Yeah, kid; just thinking about stuff.”

“I get it,” he said, in a tone that was far more mature than any 11-year-old had a right to be speaking in. “You had a long couple weeks.”

“Yeah, that's one way to put it,” she agreed. “But I'm glad to be home.”

“I'm glad, too,” he said, with a grin that looked more and more like his father’s every day.

She shook her head, either to shake away the ghosts of the past or the ones that had been following her since the train pulled out of Olympus.

The only person she needed was Henry.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Twelve years ago

Neal Cassidy was handsome, charming, sweet—everything a 16-year-old girl would fall for. And Emma had fallen—hard. He was her first kiss, her first love, and he was even polite to her parents, who had initially been a bit wary of the boy who had a reputation as something of a delinquent.

(But, honestly, that was another part of his charm; Emma had been forced to be the image of grace and class ever since she was born. With Neal, she found a bit of freedom from that imposed burden.)

They were already sweethearts when her name was pulled at 16. He left her with a deep kiss that was part of her motivation to keep going in the Games (that and, you know, not wanting to die). And the first thing she did when she arrived home after winning—at least, in private—was return that kiss with all the passion of someone who had been on death’s doorstep but survived.

For the next year, they were hardly out of each other’s company, save for her victory tour. The night before the next reaping—before she was expected back in Olympus—she gave herself to him, with no regrets.

“I just want to make sure you won’t forget me over the next few weeks,” she’d told him, winking.

“As if I could I ever,” he assured her.

But then his name was chosen the next day. And now it was her turn to give him a passionate kiss goodbye. (And again on the train...and in Olympus...and right before he left for the games.)

As his mentors, her parents did all they could to keep him alive. They were hoping for a repeat of their own story: both victors, able to go home and have a happily ever after. Emma desperately wanted to help, but there was nothing she could do but watch.

And there was nothing anyone could do when the knife held by the Oz tribute found Neal’s back, again and again. Emma had watched helplessly from the Tribute Castle as the love of her life was murdered.

She barely remembered what happened after that; it was a good thing she had been trained to put on an act for the cameras since before she could talk. Pomem was a blur outside the train window, realms flashing by as she recounted their last shared moments. And she cried—she cried a lot. Somehow, her parents kept her from dehydrating, but knowing that his lifeless body lay just a few cars away...well, that just got her going again.

When they got home, she retreated to the woods, where they’d spent so many days running, exploring, kissing—all that fun stuff. The one perk of being a victor was that she didn’t really have any other responsibilities, so as long as she came home before dark, people let her be.

At least, until she started to get sick.

And when she realized that certain monthly things hadn’t happened in a while.

The doctor confirmed her fears: she was pregnant. With Neal’s child. (And then spent the rest of the day sobbing into her mother’s shoulder.)

To save face, they said Graham was the father; it gave Olympus another one of the sappy love stories they ate up. But behind closed doors, he promised her he’d be there to help her every step of the way.

“You don’t have to do that,” she told him. “Think of what you’re giving up.” He’d never be able to be seen so much as giving a friend a kiss on the cheek; actual romance was off the table. (As for Emma...well, she was pretty sure her shot at that died a bloody death in Neverland.)

He looked away, eyes cast down. “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he started, “but after seeing what you’ve gone through, and so many others...I don’t think my heart is able to withstand that.”

She didn’t tell him that the only reason she was even still standing was because of the concrete wall that surrounded her broken heart, holding it together.

But he was amazing; he was already one of her best friends, and he ended up being the best partner—and best father—she could have had at her side. He abided all her weird pregnancy cravings, accompanied her to all her physician appointments, even withstood her crazy mood swings.

Mood swings that were often accompanied by sparks of electricity coming out from her hands, surges of power that blew out the light bulbs in their home, and her inadvertent burning of any book she tried to read.

What a way to discover she had magic, huh? It turned out being taught to be calm and collected her whole life had kept it from manifesting while she was in Neverland; but apparently it couldn’t withstand pregnancy hormones.

It took everything in her to keep that under wraps, too—placing it somewhere under that wall around her heart. Which mostly worked. (Not like she had an option; thankfully, knowing she was doing it to keep her child safe was pretty good motivation.)

When she finally went into labor, she had Graham on one side and her mother on the other. Somehow, the pain of birth still didn’t match the hurt of losing Neal, but it came damn close.

The lights overhead flickered on that last push (there was no holding it back), and then—then he was there: Henry. A squirming, screaming, pink thing, but when they put him in her arms, she wasn’t sure she’d seen anything more beautiful. God, she wished Neal could have been there to see him.

But she looked to one side and saw her parents (her dad having snuck in), and to the other and saw Graham. Even if Neal was missing, Henry was still surrounded by love—by people who were always going to look out for and protect him.

“I promise you, Henry,” she whispered a while later, when it was just the two of them. “I will do everything I can to give you your best chance in this crazy world.”

And that included anything in her power to keep him away from the Games.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Present day—Olympus

Jefferson was getting too old for this—and he wasn’t even that old. But these things had a way of weighing on a soul that not even the view from the window of his more-than-comfortable home could lift. (Neither could the glass of whiskey-laced tea he was nursing; at least the bottle was nearby.) His view of the border between Neverland and Olympus was soothing, with its varying types of trees serenely blending together, but also a constant reminder of what he did.

Another year passed, another games down. 18 more deaths on his hands. 18 more mothers having to bury their babies.

At least it’s not 19, a foreign positive voice somewhere deep inside told him as he took another sip of his drink, but that was hardly something to celebrate. It was only by the good graces of the President that both kids were able to win; part of him was worried about any repercussions, but the other part didn’t give a damn.

He was too good at his job. He was untouchable. And it drove him mad. (Which was probably why he was drinking alone and had a syringe of zolocybin at the ready; he knew better than to mix drugs and alcohol but again: he didn’t care.)

The next one is the last one, he reminded himself. It had almost become a mantra, having repeated it to himself countless times over the past few days since the end of the games. He thought of all the letters hidden here in his room, all the plans discussed, all the names on lists; as if on cue, his off-the-grid mobile phone rang, with the name Cora flashing on the screen. Their scheme would finally be put into motion over the next year. They finally had what they needed.

A symbol, something the people could rally behind: hope. Victory after impossible odds.

True love.

When Eloise came to him with her proposition to get both of her tributes out alive, he knew they finally had the last piece of the puzzle, the key to undoing everything.

His associates knew it, too, and the gears that had been slowly turning for years now kicked into high gear. The games may be over, but his job was just picking up.

There was still a long road ahead of them, though, and he needed to decompress. He tossed back the rest of his drink, put his phone on silent, and drew the blinds to his bedroom. Then he practically threw himself on his plush bed and grabbed the syringe; technically, zolocybin was a controlled substance, only to be used by medical professionals—but that didn’t mean it didn’t abound on the recreational drug market.

He popped the cap on it and methodically went over the process of injecting it into his arm, then settled back and waited for the effects to wash over him: first, sleep, then the kind of wild dreams that could only come from psychedelic hallucinogens. He could see why it was addictive, so he only allowed himself this one trip per year, to help him unwind.

Unconsciousness crept up in him quickly and he welcomed it. But even as he drifted off, one thing repeated in his mind:

The next one is the last one.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

thanks so much!! tagging some: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa @laschatzi @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @ohmightydevviepuu

#cs ff #curious archer ff #captain swan rewrite a thon #csrt 2020 #the magic games #(love will see us through these) dark days #my ff

41 notes · View notes

thetimelesscycle · 3 years

Text

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 7

Douxie ignores the rules of time travel. Archie is in over his head, but that's never stopped him from helping his familiar before, and it's not going to stop him now.

Chapter 7

There and Back Again (Again)

From the moment he had decided that the child offering him breadcrumbs in an alleyway was his, Archibald had known that he would be responsible for the life of his wizard. Douxie had been far too young to fend for himself, already half starved when Archie found him, unaware that the meagre magic he was using to keep himself warm was only further draining his body’s empty reserves. If chance hadn’t led him down that alleyway when it had... If Douxie hadn’t been enamoured enough with his feline form to come out of hiding... If they had missed each other that night... If Fate hadn’t conspired to put them both exactly where they needed to be when they needed to be there, then the bright young boy he had grown so deeply fond of over the years would have died; Alone and forgotten by a world that didn’t deserve him.

He hadn’t been ready for the responsibility. A green familiar and a child sorcerer were a disaster in the making, or so his father had told him. The great ‘Charlemagne the Devourer’ had then proceeded to bury him in a mountain of books ostensibly meant to teach him how to properly mind his wizard, because it was ‘too late to back out now, Archie my boy, you’re stuck with the thing’. Refusing to introduce his familiar to his father after the fact might have been a little petty, but he was a dragon; They were known for that sort of thing.

And he had managed just fine, thank you very much. Admittedly, there had been missteps — neither of them were the most proficient in their respective areas of expertise just yet, and Douxie had the worst timing when it came to magical accidents — but they had learned and grown through every narrowly averted disaster. He could still clearly remember nights spent together around a campfire lit by his dragon’s breath, pouring over the smudged and torn pages of some rescued spellbook or scroll, listening to Douxie uncertainly sound out the words as he patiently corrected his familiar’s pronunciation and filled in what blanks he could with knowledge gleaned from his father’s library.

It hadn’t been much, but they’d made do, and every peril faced had been worth it to see the beaming smile on his boy’s face as the cyan light danced about his fingers in another mastered spell.

And there had been perils. Many of them. His boy was gifted in a world where it was rapidly becoming dangerous to be so, hunted by those who wished to destroy his kind as well as those who wished to use them. Even the few other casters they met always seemed just a little too eager when they realised what the young wizard was capable of, particularly given his age, to the point where Archie had started steering them away from such individuals. There was conflict brewing between the mortal and the magical realms; He wasn’t going to let his familiar get mixed up in it if he could help it. Douxie would not be either side’s weapon, not so long as Archie had a say, and shadows take anyone who thought differently.

He hadn’t counted on Camelot, or Merlin, or on Douxie becoming the Master Wizard’s apprentice. It had been hard to decide whether they were safer here or out there, and he’d known it would be more difficult to leave the longer they stayed. Not because of Merlin’s instruction — whilst it was valuable, Douxie had learned just as many spells with Archie’s help as he had the Master Wizard’s, if a lot less smoothly — but because the young wizard had found something here that he was desperate to hold onto, heedless of the fact his proximity to Merlin placed him right in the very middle of the burgeoning war.

Archie, on the other hand, had been all too aware of the brand new dangers they were courting in the place of the old. There wasn’t anything Merlin could offer them that would convince him to stay if it came to a choice between the Master Wizard’s patronage and Douxie’s well-being; The problem lay in the fact he was no longer sure Douxie would leave with him if he asked. He’d told himself he could find a way to persuade his familiar if he had to. He’d convinced himself that they could still vanish if the need arose. It was only now that he realised how naïve that had been.

Listening to Douxie speak — soft and cracked and so very tired — he understood there had never been a choice. A destiny like Douxie’s would follow him wherever he went, and Archie was left feeling rather small and inadequate in its shadow.

How was he supposed to protect his familiar from this?

Nine centuries. Nine centuries he had not yet lived and already their weight pressed upon his feline shoulders. He sat utterly still and listened as Douxie abbreviated a life lived throughout the ages into a paltry few paragraphs, trying to offer comfort for tragedies he had not yet seen. He was sure there was a lot Hisirdoux was leaving out — how could there not be? — and the worst came at the very end.

Eyes fixed on a distant point well beyond any part of Merlin’s rooms, Douxie stumbled his way through a strange tale of twisted time and the swift collapse of all that they now called home. He didn’t take the time to sugarcoat things, and Archie watched Morgana’s knuckles turn white and Merlin’s brow dip deep in consternation as both Master Wizards heard the tale of Camelot’s decline, Morgana’s betrayal, and the pitched battle for Killahead Bridge.

If only it had ended there.

There was a tremor in the hand resting against his back as Douxie pressed on, and Archie braced himself for darker things to come. The loss of another friend, corrupted by foul magic. A desperate, mad, Douxie plan that had come so close to working, if only his own shapeshifting had held for a few minutes longer. A fight that could never be fair, and a loss his familiar struggled to put into words even now.

It was Morgana who reached out when Douxie trailed off into silence. Merlin was sitting, rigid and unseeing, whilst his former student took the hand not currently resting on Archie’s back and gave it an encouraging squeeze. She followed it up with a crooked smile when Douxie raised his head, and that seemed to be enough to grant the young wizard the strength to continue.

“After that, Arch and I went after the Genesis Seals.” That snapped Merlin’s attention back to the present. Douxie didn’t seem to notice, reciting his life’s story like he was reading it from a dusty tome. “Everyone else was supposed to stay out of sight, safe, until we got back. But the Order found them. They took Nari and the others prisoner. To barter for the Seals.”

“Which, of course, you did not give them.”

Douxie winced. “Well, actually...”

“Hisirdoux!”

“It’s fine. It was fine, I mean. They wasted a bunch of time chasing their own tails whilst I got Nari and the others out, then I kept them busy whilst Morgana and Claire took care of Arthur and Jim.”

“Just like that, hmm?” Merlin had gone from aghast to incredulous in the space of a single breath. “And where did dying come into it, I wonder?”

“Yes. Right.” It was less of a wince and more of a complete sidestep this time. “Clearly I’m not dead, so I don’t think we need to bother with all of that. The important thing is I promised I would keep Nari safe from the Order. And I did. I kept Nari safe. The Order just went after everyone else.”

Archie had heard enough to realise what a terrible amount of sense that made. If their plan was to wipe the entire world clean and start over again, why would the Order hesitate to destroy a few mortal lives along the way? All they were doing was getting a head start on the apocalypse. After Douxie had already risked so much to save his friends, they must have known he wouldn’t stay in hiding whilst innocents paid the price.

“I wasn’t ready.” He could hear the self-reproach in those words, the guilt, and pressed himself harder against the hand nestled in his fur. “They used me against you. They used Claire and the others against me. I should have known they wouldn’t stop there. Why bother searching the planet for two people when you can just start picking off everyone they’ve ever known, one by one, and wait for them to arrive to stop you?”

Merlin pressed his lips together in a grim line. “The Order set a trap.”

“And I walked into it with my eyes open. I knew what was waiting for me in there. I wasn’t going to leave anyone else in their hands. We got a lot of people out before it all went horribly wrong.”

“Because those people didn’t matter to Skrael and Bellroc.” Merlin sounded odd, though Archie couldn’t quite place his paw on the why. “They were after you.”

“They were after Nari,” Douxie corrected. “I just happened to be in the way.”

Merlin dismissed that with a sharp flick of his hand. “They didn’t lay a trap for Nari, Hisirdoux; Easy enough to hunt her down after the fact. The Order was eliminating a threat.”

Douxie smiled, not looking the slightest bit amused. “Finally made an impression, and it was on the worst possible people. Figures.”

“I don’t understand.” Morgana might have gleaned her answers from all the madness they had seen during their journey into the Shadow Realm; Archie had not. “How did you end up here, like this?”

Douxie shuddered slightly, offering a stilted explanation. “When I went back for her, that first time, Nari told me the Order would rip my soul to pieces. She wasn’t... it wasn’t an exaggeration. They tried, and she got in the way.” One of his hands moved unconsciously to rest at his chest as he continued, an edge of fond frustration to his words. “She wasn’t supposed to be there. We agreed she would stay away. But she tried to pull me out, and so did Claire, and something… something went wrong. I don’t know. I wasn’t really in the best position to pay attention. Maybe it’s that whole Guardian of the Eternal Forest thing, or Bellroc’s spell messing with Nari’s, or Claire’s shadow magic, or a combination of all of those things. Either way, I’m here, apparently. Again.”

“But not in body,” Merlin pointed out, shifting his weight back slightly as he lifted a hand to rub his chin. “She sent your soul back in time.”

“If it’s any consolation, Master, I don’t think she was trying to.”

Merlin harrumphed loudly, but didn’t press his apprentice for further answers, turning his steely gaze onto Morgana instead. “And your thoughts?”

To her credit, Morgana didn’t shy away from admitting what they had both done. “The Shadow Realm is in disarray. There are windows, glimpses through time scattered everywhere. I think Douxie is right; The combination of all that magic in one place reacted in a way nobody could have predicted, the result being, well, this.”

Archie huffed slightly, “It sounds to me like all of us are just guessing at this point.”

This time, the smile reached Douxie’s eyes. “Welcome to the world of wizardry, Arch.”

“Indeed,” Merlin interrupted dryly. “Unfortunately, we are going to need a little more than educated guessing if we are going to set this right. We need to get you back to where you belong, sooner rather than later.”

“You want to send him back?” Archie whirled on the Master Wizard. “You can’t! They’ll just finish what they started.”

“Obviously, this is going to take some thought.” Merlin waved away his outrage. “We can hardly go knocking on the Arcane Order’s door and hope the Nari of this time is willing to tell us what she thinks happened.”

“What about the Arcane Order of his time?” Morgana pressed. “Archie is right. If we just return Douxie to where — when — he came from, we are practically handing the world over to them.”

“Oh, and I suppose you think we should rewrite all of history to prevent this apocalyptic future? A future it seems you played a rather large part in, might I add.”

“Master.”

“Don’t ‘Master’ me, Hisirdoux. It is the truth, and she knows it.”

“Yes, it is the truth.” Douxie was angry, the words running out fast and clipped. “She turned against Arthur to protect someone who doesn’t have a bad bone in his body, because you wouldn’t take five seconds to listen to me when I told you there was another way. She died for that mistake, the Arcane Order brought her back, and the rest is just the sort of bloody mess you can expect when the Order is involved. Arthur wasn’t any better once they had their hands on him. He’s the reason you’re not around in the future right now to help stop the world from ending. So maybe, just maybe, we could skip the part where we go around deciding who is to blame for what, and just figure out how to make sure the arcane apocalypse doesn’t actually happen.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed, except for the fact that Douxie’s breathing had taken on a strained note again. Archie glanced up at his familiar in time to catch the grimace that flashed across his face, and instantly lifted himself up to place his paws gently against the boy’s chest.

“Douxie? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He raised his hands to press their heels against his eyes, exhaling shakily. “Sorry, yes, I’m fine. It’s just… been a day. Or nine centuries in reverse. Or whatever you call it when your spirit decides to skip backwards in time.”

“You’re babbling, Doux.”

“I have been known to do that from time to time. It’s a thing. Ask Zoe. Or… don’t, I guess, seeing as you can’t.”

“I believe the apocalypse in nine hundred years can wait a few more hours,” Morgana interjected gently before his familiar’s rambling could get any worse. “We all need time to mull this over, and you need to rest.”

“Yes.” Unexpectedly, Merlin agreed without missing a beat. “Morgana and Archibald’s quest into the Shadow Realm might have helped stabilise your aura for now, but I expect there is still some lingering damage.”

“I’m not dead.” The cheer might have been forced, but Archie could not deny his wizard was trying. “That’s got to count for something, right?”

“It counts for a great deal, Douxie,” he answered with all the sincerity he could put into words. “But you’re still going to bed.”

#hisirdoux casperan #toa archie #toa merlin #toa morgana #toa wizards #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #time travel #AU #Angst

5 notes · View notes

myforeverforlife · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1: Beginning = End

In a world of many universes, you are tasked with guarding the doors to two of them: your home, Exoplanet, and Exodeux. Your only goals are to prevent danger from reaching your home, and to keep the monsters from Exodeux locked inside where they belong. But when a familiar voice calls to you from Exodeux, you take your chances and sneak a peek past the forbidden door.

What happens next will change the lives of both worlds forever.

(A glossary has been added to the end of this chapter!)

Masterlist

Obsession Masterlist

The pair of keys hanging from your neck were ice-cold, imbued with a mixture of liquid moonlight from the blood moon and sacred grains from the sands of time. Your hand came up to run over the edges of one key, still unused to their weight — both physically and metaphorically.

You had been waiting for this your entire life, working towards upholding your family’s reputation as one of the strongest, and most reliable of protectors in this world. As a Gatekeeper, you were tasked with guarding a door in the Realm of Gateways.

But to guard two doors was extremely rare. The last person to guard two doors had been your father, and now he was proud to pass his duties on to you. There was no one else the Council would trust, they had reassured you. Time and time again, you had proven your strength and resilience in various forms of training. You had even been a candidate for EXO, the special forces unit assembled to protect Exoplanet from any possible threats. But it was always expected that you would follow the magic running through your veins and become a revered Gatekeeper. It didn’t matter — you were content as long as you were actively doing something to protect your home.

You were still close with certain members of EXO, especially those who had trained with you in your youth. In between lessons and practice sessions, you would catch up with your old friends. Some of them, like Junmyeon and Sehun, were also descended from legendary families that had long-lasting ties to Exoplanet’s history. Others like Jongdae and Chanyeol had grown up knowing only the basics about the war, just coming to realize how serious the threat of Exodeux was until they reached the Academy.

Water bubbled from the large fountain nearby as you waited in the central square of the Academy, waiting for Baekhyun to finish up his meeting with his superior. It had only been a day since you had received your keys: one for the door leading here, to Exoplanet, and the other leading to Exodeux. Even the thought of your enemy lingering behind the magical gateway was enough to harden your resolve, your promise to your father and the Council ringing in your ears.

You would guard the doors with your life.

A jingling of chains caught your attention, hand dropping from your makeshift necklace as you glanced over your shoulder. “Hi, Baek.”

“Hey.” Baekhyun settled down on the bench beside you, still wearing his tactical gear. He must have been out on a mission earlier today. “How’s the new job?” he asked, nodding towards your keys.

“I haven’t started yet. The doors are still locked, so nothing is coming in or out unless I unlock them. I still have,” you glanced down at your watch. “Three hours left.”

“Are you scared?”

You shrugged, a finger reaching out to play with a chain attached to a pocket on Baekhyun’s pants. “Yes and no. Nothing happened to Father when he was guarding the doors, or in the decades before. As long as the door to Exodeux is locked, we’ll be safe.” You looked up at Baekhyun, comforted by the face you had grown so used to. “And that means more time for you and the rest of EXO to come up with a plan for the attack.”

“The sooner that happens, the better,” Baekhyun added lowly.

EXO had been planning an attack on Exodeux for a while, but previous failed attempts had made them wary to rush recklessly into the mysterious universe. All who had entered the door leading to Exodeux had never returned, countless members of EXO never to be seen again. The Council had even reached out to other universes, looking for help in erasing the terror that was Exodeux. However, no one else would come to your universe’s aid, all of them much too aware of how many times your people had failed. The people of Exodeux were extremely feared, and rightfully so, for no one made it back alive to tell the tale.

“You need to stay safe,” Baekhyun warned you. “Even if the door is locked. I don’t like the idea of you having to guard two doors instead of one. Why couldn’t they have just assigned someone else to Exodeux’s door?”

“These keys have always been a pair.” You lifted the end of your necklace, the silver glinting in the sunlight. “They’ve been like this since we discovered the Realm of Gateways. Who knows what would happen if we separated them. Magic like this is meant to be preserved, not changed. We can’t take any chances, Baek.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to like it. We’re all worried for you, Y/N.” Despite Baekhyun’s intimidating clothing and steely-silver dyed hair, his eyes were warm with genuine concern.

“I’ll be safe, I promise.”

Your words did nothing to ease Baekhyun’s anxiety, your friend’s face still pinched as he struggled to accept your fate. You spotted Jongin, another EXO member approaching and waved him over, thankful for the interruption.

“I was hoping you hadn’t left yet,” he said as he leaned down for a tight hug.

You let yourself relax in his embrace, always thankful for his presence. Jongin was the little brother you never had, the person you had looked out for the most during your time at the Academy. It hurt the most to be separated from him, but both of you had different duties to fulfill. “I would never leave without saying goodbye.”

“You’ll let us know how you’re doing, right? Don’t push yourself too hard,” Jongin warned.

“I know.” This wasn’t the first time you had heard this, the words echoed by your family, the Council, other friends. You needed to be alert and ready to act at all times, even if the door was locked. There was always a possibility that someday, Exodeux might find a way to break past the lock and through their door into the Realm of Gateways. If that happened, it was almost guaranteed that it would be the end for you all.

But you were determined to never let that happen.

It hadn’t been your first time entering the Realm of Gateways. You had been here once, many years ago when your father first taught you about the importance of your family history, of those who had spent a bulk of their lives protecting the doors not only for the sake of their families, but for their universes as well. Only those with magic, no matter how small, were able to cross over to the Realm. You didn’t possess any supernatural powers, but a tiny bit of your family’s magic still managed to flow through your veins.

You stepped into the magic circle, eyes closing as the edges began to glow brightly. Once the light faded away, you opened your eyes to see the familiar surroundings of the Realm.

The Realm consisted of endless mazes, doors scattered here and there. The magic circle disappeared, and you took that as your sign to begin searching for your doors. It was easy for you to find them, the keys growing warmer the closer that you got to your destination. You passed by other Gatekeepers, some of them from your own home, while others came from universes that you had never even heard of.

The door to Exoplanet was close to a couple of other doorways, signifying how close they were in reality to other universes. Old runes for protection were carved into the frame, while the door was made entirely of glass. It appeared beautifully fragile, but was actually capable of withstanding the most intense of pressures.

On the other hand, the door to Exodeux was almost isolated, hidden down an empty pathway and shrouded by shadows. This door was covered with scorch marks, the wooden door burnt black at the bottom. Despite its beaten-up state, you knew that this door had lasted for centuries, and would continue to do so even after you were gone. Only the most powerful magicians were able to destroy the doors, and it was made punishable by death in all of the universes to do so.

Well, all except Exodeux, as far as you knew.

Carefully, you stepped closer, one finger pressing down on the door handle just to make sure that it was still locked. To your relief, it didn’t budge.

You let out a breath that you hadn’t even known you were holding back, scrambling away and back down the hallway.

The less time you spent next to that door, the better.

A month had passed since you were bestowed with the privilege of being a Gatekeeper, and so far, you hadn’t had to deal with anything too stressful. The most that you had to deal with were Gatekeepers from other universes, or other magical beings traveling from one door to another. But other than that, everything was quiet.

Your daily routine consisted of checking on the door to Exoplanet first, then venturing down the eerie hallways to briefly check on the door to Exodeux before returning to your post.

Today, you lingered a bit longer at Exodeux’s door, caught off guard by a soft whimpering. You pressed one ear against the door, sure that you had been imagining things before you heard it again.

“Help,” a voice croaked out.

Your heart jumped up in your throat at the voice, recognizing it as Jongin’s. Reason quickly stepped in — Jongin couldn’t be behind the door. The last time you had checked in with him, he had still been on Exoplanet and training for a diplomatic visit to another universe. But still...

“Please,” Jongin’s voice begged, a sob cutting off his words. “Please, it hurts so much.”

Fingers trembling, you laid a hand against the door. “Jongin?”

All was quiet for a few seconds, a chilling silence filling the air. And then, came the screams.

“Jongin?!” You shrieked, hands immediately reaching up for your necklace. The keys slipped from your fingers in your haste, falling back against your chest as you hurried to unlock the door. The screams continued as you slipped the key into the lock, finally managing to get the door open.

Rushing inside, you slammed the door behind you. Even in your lapse of judgement, you still knew that it was important that nothing was to leave this realm. Your breath came in quick gasps as you locked the door, focused only on finding Jongin and returning him home safely.

Only after you managed to lock the door did you realize that the screams had stopped.

On this side of the door, everything was pitch black. You could barely make out your own hands from where they rested at your sides, the darkness covering everything around you.

“Jongin?” you called out, straining your eyes in search of a light source, any signs of life.

It wouldn’t be wise to stray far from the door, although who were you kidding — this was already the dumbest decision of your life. But to hear Jongin, sweet Jongin who had always been like your little brother, crying out in pain like that...

There was no way that you would have been able to ignore his desperate cries for help.

You called out to him again, and just like before, you were met with silence. The eerie atmosphere sent shivers down your spine, only adding to the growing anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

Just as you were about to leave, to go inform the Council about what you had heard, you felt the warmth of soft breaths against the skin of your neck. However, when you turned around — no one was there.

Shit. You needed to get out, and fast.

But before you could even head towards the door, the sensation was back — this time with the added presence of a person behind you. The breaths tickled at your ear, and when you heard the voice again, it was as if you had been chilled to the bone.

“Welcome,” Jongin’s voice purred into your ear.

You had only taken one step before you blacked out, body falling to the floor. The being, this monster that you had been mistaken in calling Jongin, swept you up into his arms with a triumphant smirk on his face.

He glanced down at the keys on your necklace, iridescent even in these pitch-black surroundings, eyes full of greed.

And in a burst of smoke — both of you were gone.

Glossary

Gatekeeper: A person in charge of checking who goes in and out of the door that they are supposed to guard. A Gatekeeper only gets to leave their spot from the door for rest (and any important events), and will lock the door with the special key that belongs only to them. As long as the door is locked, no one can enter or exit. Gatekeepers do not have alternate versions of themselves in other universes. (E.g There is only one Y/N, but there is a Sehun in every universe that exists in the Realm of Gateways.)

Realm of Gateways: A series of mazes that only Gatekeepers and other magical beings are allowed to enter. The realm holds all the doors (alternate universes) that exist.

Door: A gateway leading to an alternate universe. Anyone in the Realm can enter any door as long as it is unlocked. If it is locked, only the Gatekeeper with the key to the door can unlock it. The door can also be locked from inside by the Gatekeeper.

The Council: A group of high-ranking officials in charge of politics on Exoplanet. Y/N’s father accepted a position on the Council after retiring as a Gatekeeper.

Exoplanet: Y/N’s and EXO’s universe.They have been at war with Exodeux for centuries.

EXO: A military unit created by the Council to protect Exoplanet from any threats, mainly X-EXO and any other threats from the Exodeux universe. Those selected are put through rigorous training for at least 10 years, usually beginning in adolescence. Members include: Junmyeon, Baekhyun, Jongdae, Chanyeol, Jongin, and Sehun.

The Academy: A school where all who work for the Council (e.g Gatekeepers, EXO) spend years training and being evaluated until they are deemed ready to go out into the field.

Exodeux: X-EXO’s universe. They have been Exoplanet’s rivals for centuries.

X-EXO: Exodeux’s alternate version of EXO. Members are unknown.

A/N: This is my first time doing any sort of writing in this genre (I don’t even know what category to put this under) But worldbuilding has been extremely fun, and I hope that everything makes sense! If you have any questions, send me an ask or a message!

Tag list: @thalasoophilia

#exo #exo scenario #exo fanfic #jongin scenario #baekhyun scenario #jongin fanfic #baekhyun fanfic #writings

138 notes · View notes

midzelink · 5 years

Text

The Fate of Zant

The Usurper King’s is a story with which we are all intimately familiar; angry at the injustice of his people’s banishment and estranged by those who refused his rule, he flees the Palace of Twilight in a fit of anger one day, where he looks to the sky and finds his salvation in the form of Ganondorf, whom he believes to be a god. With his newfound power, he banishes the true ruler of the Twili and usurps her throne, transforming his own people into dark and malformed Shadow Beasts - and with them at his side he invades the World of Light, storming Hyrule Castle and scattering the land’s Light Spirits in all but one fell swoop. He commits countless atrocities, reducing Kakariko Village to a mere village of three, murdering the Zora Queen as a sheer display of power, and possibly even killing the King of Hyrule himself - but when all is said and done, he meets his demise at the hands of Hyrule’s hero and the very princess he had cursed, exploding in an agonizing but powerful display of the Fused Shadow’s might.

However, there is one scene in particular that always struck me as out-of-place in this overall narrative. It comes when Ganondorf finally meets his own demise at the hands of Link, and he stands alone on a hill, Master Sword struck center in the scar he received over a century ago. He gives us his last words - “The history of light and shadow will be written in blood!” he spits menacingly - but before he perishes, we cut to another scene, and are greeted with this:

It’s Zant, another evil man who recently perished himself, and he ostensibly looks down upon Ganondorf, before cracking his neck in a very morose, very fatal way. We cut back to Ganondorf, and only then do his eyes go white, and the wind blows over the field, signalling that finally, it’s over.

For a long time, I had assumed that this scene was meant to be symbolic: that Ganondorf, having had such a strong connection with Zant, was only able to perish because Zant, too, was already dead. But now - an incredible thirteen years later - I have come to believe that this isn’t the case, or, at the very least, there’s a chance it might not be, and I’d like to take a moment to talk about that here.

(Credit for this one 100% goes out to @therealflurrin, who also gave me permission to make this write-up. Their conversations are always an excellent source of primo TP content.)

Something that is important to understand about the relationship between Zant and Ganondorf is that it is one of co-dependence; Zant, angry but utterly powerless to do what he thinks needs to be done, is found by the bearer of the Triforce of Power in a moment of outrage and weakness. Ganondorf, reduced to mere a giant mass of malice and darkness in the Twilight Realm, tells Zant: “I shall house my power in you… If there is anything you desire, then I shall desire it, too.” From Zant’s perspective, it’s not hard to believe why he believed this to a blessing from a god; in a great moment of need, a powerful entity appeared before him, offering him seemingly unlimited power. But we know that Ganondorf is no god; that he only approaches Zant for reasons that are entirely self-serving, as a twisted and misshapen light dweller trapped in the realm of shadows. He allows Zant to house him and his power with the ultimate goal of being “reborn” and returning to Hyrule, tricks the Twili into believing him to be a “god” so that he will carry out his will unquestioningly - but ultimately, Ganondorf needed Zant just as much (if not far more) than Zant ever needed him.

We know from the very scene where Ganondorf’s death unfolds just how deep this co-dependency runs. It is my belief that the two formed a sort of “soul bond” following their initial encounter, intertwining their fates so that neither could perish while the other still lived; although Zant is not entirely aware of Ganondorf’s true nature, he is at least somewhat aware of this bond:

“As long as my master, Ganon, survives, he will resurrect me without cease!”

These are his very last words before Midna strikes him down, in a move that ultimately seems to be very final, indeed. But now we must return to the death of his supposed “master,” and the implications Zant’s appearance has in that moment. Ganondorf is on death’s doorstep for the second time; the first, at the hands of the Great Sages, it was the Triforce of Power that saved him - and now, here, he sees Zant in his final breaths, a beacon of hope in a great moment of need. But the scene plays out how we expect: Zant is already dead, and with nothing yet tethering him to life, Ganondorf meets his end, this time, for good.

Except there’s one teensy, tiny problem here, and I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this: Zant and Ganondorf’s relationship is one of co-dependency, as you’ll remember, their souls bound to one another in a fashion not entirely dissimilar to Zelda and Midna’s after the former gave up her own light in order to save the latter. If this were untrue, then we would not see Zant in the moments leading up to Ganondorf’s death; furthermore, if Zant were somehow already dead despite this co-dependency, then Ganondorf would simply keel over sometime shortly thereafter following Link’s decisive blow with the Master Sword.

Instead, there is a pivotal moment where Ganondorf’s fate is evidently sealed, and it’s the moment where we see Zant snap his neck - a display, which, frankly, was probably far too gruesome for a 10-year-old me playing through the game for the first time. It is immediately following this scene where Ganondorf reels back, releasing one final, raspy grunt as his life leaves his eyes, and Hyrule again knows peace. If Zant had died X amount of time before this ultimate battle, it seems very peculiar that Ganondorf would have such a sudden and visceral reaction to it, as if it had happened elsewhere, simultaneously.

So, let’s scrutinize this scene under the lens of their co-dependency; let’s say that, despite the destruction of his body, Zant was able to survive his final blow in some way, as his master still lived on. Following this, and going back to the initial scene, we can arrive at two simple conclusions:

That Zant was alive up until the very moment that Ganondorf perished, and

in that final, critical moment, he chose to sever their bond.

The question, then, is…why? Why would the Usurper King, who had once thought the Gerudo King his god, choose to sever the only thing keeping him alive? It’s true that Zant was undoubtedly a deeply troubled and hateful man; he was angry at the world of light and its inhabitants, whom he saw as oppressors, perhaps even rightly so - and he was angry at the Twilight Realm’s own “useless, do-nothing royal family that had resigned itself to [a] miserable half-existence.” But Ganondorf’s spirit is one of pure malice, and it had invaded the world on the other side of the mirror long, long before the story of Twilight Princess begins. One cannot help but wonder exactly what kind of effect such evil might have had on the realm and its denizens, though it is not hard to imagine the harborer of Demise’s Curse slowly and carefully plotting from the shadows, decades spent as whispers in the ears of the unknowing Twili until, finally, one suitable enough to become his vessel appeared - one who was vulnerable and angry enough to listen to those whispers, and would submit to anyone and anything if it meant obtaining the power to do what they thought was right.

Perhaps, then, Zant’s story is not one of an evil, bloodthirsty tyrant who met his rightful end at the hands of Link and Midna; perhaps his is a tragedy, the story of a man who fell victim to the malice residing within Ganondorf, only worsened the moment he became the Gerudo King’s vessel. Perhaps - lost in fugue state in the Twilight Realm, formless and lost, but still otherwise alive - it took the apparent death of a particular someone at the hands of his “god” in order to finally snap him back to his senses.

(Zant could have simply killed Midna when he usurped her throne, yet he didn’t. I personally think the two are related, but I can talk more about that in a different at a different time, as it is far more headcanon than analysis.)

Ultimately, nothing Zant could do could ever wash his hands of the blood that stained them, no matter how much Ganondorf might have in part been responsible - but in this one, critical moment, Zant, who had done such wrong and hurt so many, chose to do the right thing, even though that meant saving Hyrule, a world which he had so despised. Maybe he, too, perished when he severed his bond with Ganondorf - one final, noble act - or maybe he didn’t. Maybe, just maybe, on the other side of the mirror, there is yet another story waiting to unfold, one of a man who had done such wrong and hurt so many, willing to do anything and everything necessary to prove that he, too, is capable of change…

#zant #ganondorf #twilight princess #loz #legend of zelda #this didn't seem like the right post to talk about this #but i actually think that zant's anger toward the world of light is justified #the man deserves redemption #i think midna and zant are like...cousins #but like i said i can talk more about that later #tp!ganondorf #text #headcanons #analysis #mywriteups*#myposts*

161 notes · View notes

skvaderarts · 4 years

Text

Chapter Fourteen: Consternation

You can check out the Masterlist Here for more links to places to read!

Chapter Fourteen: Consternation

Note: I wanted to thank you all again for your support. Seeing each and every one of you come back every week to read my writing makes me smile every time I think about it. It’s the best feeling in the world to know that you’ve created something that appeals to others as much as it appeals to you. Thank you all again.

-~-

The ground rumbled, sending a booming wave of vibration reverberating through the entirety of the first two floors of the castle like thunder shaking a monumental skyscraper. As the doors groaned loudly, protesting their separation, air hissed through from the other side of the door as if an airlock had been opened. It had been an exceedingly long time since anyone had come here, and the bitter cold had practically sealed the place shut. As the door pried itself open, it suddenly came to a stop, leaving just enough space for them to slide through. In a way, it was almost as if the castle had realized that it was being entered and had made an effort to stop its intruders.

Nero considered the risks of stepping through for a moment, still determined to find a way inside. He glanced up at the towering structure that stood before him. There were windows and balconies everywhere he looked, but they’d have to scale several sheer walls to reach them, and that was debatably just as bad of an idea as trying their luck with the front door. The castle had always seemed to possess a strange sort of sentience, doors locking and unlocking with a frightening level of autonomy. And that was to say nothing about the ridiculous amount of wards and spells safeguarding the damn place that were still active. There was no guarantee that it wouldn’t close the doors on them while they were in the process of going through them.

While Nero contemplated the risks associated with either decision, something occurred to him. Most of his life, he could’ve been charitably described as reckless. In high-risk situations that were more likely to end in death than victory, he was normally the first to waltz in, insults and swagger at the ready. But since losing Credo a few years back and more recently his arm (which had thankfully regrown) he had actually started to take the time to consider the risks involved before he enacted one of his plans. At least on occasion. There was no denying the fact that when he chose to do something, it had an effect on the people he was closest to, even if they were not present. If he didn’t come back, they would be worse for it, especially Kyrie and the kids. And in this case, he had agreed to bring V to one of the most fickle and dangerous places possible with only him for protection. Magnolia has said that his abilities would slowly return in the coming days and weeks, but the important thing to note was that they were still dormant as of now. What would V do if he was backed into a corner or they became separated? Nero didn’t really want to think about it. When had V’s fatalistic personality rubbed off on him?

The younger of the two stopped for a moment, trying to rid himself of the possibility of failure. If he went in with that sort of toxic mindset, he was doomed to fail. It was as simple as that. And he utterly refused to allow any harm to come to V. It didn't take a mental giant to come to the conclusion that V didn't’ trust very easily, so the fact that they were here at all spoke volumes to the kind of faith V had placed in his abilities. It was borne partially out of necessity and desperation, but that was still significant. Neither of them were weak or stupid, and they both shared a similar issue with putting their lives in the hands of others, even if they trusted that individual implicitly. Nero had taken on a sort of silent promise the moment he had agreed to this, being that he was the only one present who was capable of defending himself. So long as they were within the walls of this castle, V was his responsibility. The thought made him shudder slightly.

While he had defeated the very worst that this place had to offer (at least to his knowledge) he still didn’t care for the idea that V was essentially helpless. When they had been in Redgrave City together, V had been surprisingly self-sufficient for a person who walked with a cane. At first glance, the most dangerous thing about him was his wit; the second most intimidating thing being his height. V towered over an average person, even when slumped over on his cane. And despite the fact that he was perhaps the most physically vulnerable out of all of them, he had volunteered to stay behind for the month that Nero had spent away in an effort to find a way to become stronger, trying to hold back the tilde wave of demons that had sought to overtake the city and then the rest of the human world by extension. The fact that V had been capable of doing that with abilities he barely understood and summons that he had only recently acquired from what he could tell astonished him. They seemed to be relatively close in age, after all. Where had this stark contrast in their abilities come from? Were the older members of their bloodline simply born with a disposition towards higher amounts of power? Vergil had been a nightmare to take down, after all. Every fight with Urizen had been totally draining in every way conceivable. The possibility of an opponent stronger than Dante had been unfathomable, but his own twin had been happy to rise to the challenge. Nero couldn’t help but wonder just how strong V had the potential of being if he himself was anything to go by. Without his physical limitations, what was he capable of? Or was that a limitation at all? Just how evenly matched were they?

Nero spent a moment lost in his thoughts while V stood quietly next to him, The eldest of the two admiring the building before them. Yes… there was simply something to this place, wasn’t there? V inched forward, wishing now that he had Shadow at his disposal. He could make short, effortless work of this issue with her present. While he had gotten around just fine on his own two feet for years, the quick burst of speed that the demonic panther had provided never ceased being useful. A part of him wondered what his familiars were up to, despite the fact that he already knew they were no longer a part of this realm. Griffon and Shadow had been in a sorry state when he had decided to make a contract with them. The two of them couldn’t have survived very long without him to anchor them here. In a way, that was the beauty of the situation that they had found themselves in. Their entire union had been born of necessity and co-dependence. Any chance of treachery or falsehoods had evaporated the moment that they had attached their markings to his skin, for without his lifeforce, they would not be long for this world.

V shivered slightly, be it a result of the cold weather or his ever treacherous, thoughts he couldn’t say. He adjusted the coat Nero had allowed him to barrow slightly. It was comfortable and well insulated, especially in combination with the black shirt he was currently wearing underneath it. Somehow he always found himself in black clothing. How that happened, he didn’t know. Something about the color (or lack of color) just spoke to him. And that was to say nothing of the fact that it literally matched everything. After he fixed his clothing, he stepped towards the door, carefully assessing it. In theory, the structure shouldn’t shift as long as he didn’t touch it. There was more than enough room for them to pass through without that becoming an issue.

Nero watched V carefully slip through the gap between the doors, somewhat shocked to see him do so before him. He had figured that V would simply wait for him to come to a conclusion as to whether or not it was safe, but he hadn’t done so. But then again, Nero hadn’t been around to help him make all of his decisions his entire life. V was more than capable of coming to his own conclusions. Nero followed closely behind him, noting that he had made a point not to touch the doors. That made sense to him. Perhaps the door wouldn’t move if he just didn’t touch it?

After nearly snagging his coat on the door, Nero joined him inside of the great hall. While the younger man adjusted his coat, V made his way over to one of the displaced pews that sat up against the wall and sat down, clearly awestruck by the structure they stood within. It seemed that his former strength had yet to return to him. Exhaustion was a powerful force to try and fight against, but at least he wasn’t out of breath. Nero walked over and sat down next to him, casually assessing his situation. Just because he knew what was wrong with him didn’t mean that he didn’t care.

“You good or do you want to wait a while?” Nero asked, his voice betraying the slight bit of worry that he couldn’t quite suppress.

V exhaled, craning his neck to look over at him. He seemed calm and collected, his condition apparently not adversely affecting him too much. “I simply needed to catch my breath,” he said as he stood up,” It would be wise if we started with the library. Do you know where it is from here?”

Nero stood up to join him and nodded, gesturing towards the large staircase at the far end of the room. The magic barriers that had once cordoned off practically everything in this place were gone for the moment, making traversal much simpler than it had been the first time he had been here. From what he could tell, they activated in response to threats or other unknown sources of stimuli, and with the nearby Hellgate in ruins, there wasn’t much to speak of. Not to mention the fact that if Sparda had in fact lived here and had been the one to place the barriers in the first place, they might simply allow them to traverse the grounds unobstructed. Or, at the very least, not immediately try to kill them.

As the duo made their way over towards the staircase, V couldn’t help but notice the condition of the room. Most of the pews were out of place, there were varying sizes of stone debris littering the ground, as well as what looked to be a ridiculously sized chandelier laying destroyed at the top of the stairs next to a large gaping hole in what looked to be a piece of art or something that had once been attached to the wall. He smirked slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Am I to assume this is your handiwork, Nero?” He said sarcastically, obviously already sure as to who had done this.

He made no effort to suppress the snicker slipped past his lips as he recalled the time he had mounted that gaudy thing and launched it through the painting of the former vicar. That sanctimonious bastard Sanctus (lol, just noticed the meaning of his name!) would have been so thoroughly pissed to know that he had destroyed it. Part of him hoped that he had discovered it before he’d sent him on a one way express trip to hell, but another part of him couldn’t care less about how Sanctus felt. That self-righteous prick had got what was coming to him for what he did to Credo and the rest of Fortuna.

“Yea, I did this a couple of years back. Cre-,” Nero stopped, realizing that he wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet,”... Someone I used to look up to sent me to track down Dante right after we first met and that’s how I found Agnus’s lab. What a shitshow that whole thing was…”

V noticed that Nero had stopped in the middle of saying something, but chose not to dwell on it. The younger man struck him as very genuine. V could only assume that if he didn’t want to talk about something (which he clearly didn’t) that there was a good reason for it. He himself had no small number of secrets and deeply repressed issues that he didn’t want to address. There was no room for him to judge others on their personal decisions when it came to these sorts of things. And besides, walking up the stairs without tripping and falling was enough for him to worry about at the moment.

Nero waited at the top of the stairs for him as he carefully made his way up. He wasn’t going slowly, but then again, he wasn’t going very quickly either. Should he be walking on a flat surface at the moment, this would be more of a stroll. But the height that the balcony sat at made this a rather lengthy staircase to navigate. Thankfully the slope was gentle and the stairs were wide.

“We seem to have a gift for walking into disasters,” V said as he made his way up the stairs,” I’ve heard precious little about what transpired here a short while ago, but none of it sounded very pleasant. Quite the tragedy.”

Nero nodded in agreement, heading towards the door on the far right of the steps. That was an understatement. So many innocent lives had been lost that day. Although the people here had taken most of his life to warm up to him, most of them were very accommodating towards him, now that the Order had been exposed. And even if they hadn’t been, he couldn’t quite bring himself to despise them. No one deserved to die the way so many of them had during that attack. Well, at least no one he knew of currently. A few of the higher-ups in the Order of the Sword might be exceptions to that. Nico’s useless excuse for a father definitely landed on that list.

A thought occurred to him as he examined the door, remembering that it needed an external mechanism to unlock it that was located on a nearby wall. How would things have been different should they have both ended up in the same orphanage as children? Had V always been this frail? Nero knew so little about his life, and the more he thought about it, the more it surprised him just how out of the loop he was. He glanced back at V as he headed over to the lock. He could only imagine that V probably hated stairs. They seemed to give him no small amount of trouble, at least without his cane. As V reached the top of the stairs, Nero took Red Queen off of his back and swung it several times rapidly, lighting up the nodes built into the enchanted gear. It spun rapidly before the little arrows that stuck out of it slammed back into their proper places, locking into position as it glowed bright blue. The blue glyphs that sealed the door blinked in an unusual pattern before dissipating, a loud click signaling that they could now make their way inside.

V stepped forward, watching in silent curiosity as the seals dropped. This place became more and more interesting every passing moment that they spent inside of it. How fortunate It was that Nero was here with him. He didn’t currently possess a means of unlocking a ward of this nature. Should he have been alone, this would’ve been the end of his journey.

“Is every door in this castle guarded by arcane spells,” V asked, genuinely curious and slightly wary. He was starting to see the possible dangers that Nero had alluded to.

Nero shrugged absentmindedly. “Yea, kinda. And there are secret doors all over the place that go to the stupidest places. One of them is in the library, but it only works one way. You can’t go through it from both sides.”

Before either of them could say anything further, the sound of creaking metal could be heard from nearby. They both glanced in the direction of the gaping hole in the wall, noting that the chandelier was vibrating. A moment later, shards of metal flew every which way and a sound somewhat similar to a buzz saw rang out, disrupting the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. As soon as a path was cleared, several fin-like extremities made their way into the room, followed by a seemingly endless swarm of flying blade-like contraptions. Nero’s breath caught in his throat. In the span of less than a minute, a few dozen Gladius and Cutlass had entered the room. Agnus might have been dead, but apparently his legacy lived on. The laboratory wasn’t too far below them. Were these leftovers from his experiments that had been left to their own devices since their master was now deceased?

While these particular demons were not too much of a challenge to dispatch, Nero was not keen on dealing with them with V directly in the line of fire. The sheer number of them and the combination of surfaces they could cover in an instant made this a deadly match up. V seemed to clue into this, stepping back carefully to open the door. Seeming the instant that he moved, several of the Cutlass deviated from their current path and dived towards them. Nero cursed, drawing Blue Rose to dispatch them before they could make contact. A few well-placed rounds eliminated any plans that the demons may have had of causing any damage. The sound, however, attracted the attention of almost every other demon in the room. They grouped together, swirling into a cylinder as they sped up, the flying monstrosities clearly building momentum for something more dangerous. Nero spared a glance towards V, who didn’t look frightened so much as he looked perturbed and concerned. The summoner had never seen these artificial demons before and had no idea how to combat them. Not that he could anyhow.

As the door creaked open, the swarm of Cutlass made a sharp left and launched themselves at the duo, clearly intending to harpoon them. Nero took aim and fired off several rounds in rapid succession, not a single one missing due to the sheer number of possible points of impact. About a dozen of the winged menaces lodge themselves in the wall and floor around them, clearly demonstrating that they hadn’t become any duller during his infrequent visits. With one well-placed charge shot, Nero managed to cut a swath through his enemies, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath as they diverted and turned to circle back around for another attack. The Gladius seemed to understand their intentions, as they grouped together and joined them, seemingly preparing to pull off some sort of coordinated attack.

Nero and V had absolutely no intention of sticking around to see what they had planned.

The second they were given an opportunity, Nero shot one last charged shot into the group of demons in an effort to dissipate and slow them and they both bolted through the door. Closing it behind them immediately became problematic as the barrage of demons attempted to follow them through, forcing the door to stay open. Nero and V both braced themselves against the door to try and hold it shut while Nero used his free hand to shower the bladed terrors in hot led, realizing quickly that it was going to do very little against the Gladius if they managed to slip through.

“V, can you make it to the other door,” Nero asked as she quickly gestured towards the balcony exit on the far side of the art gallery,” We can’t hold them off that much longer!”

That depends,” V said almost too calmly as he tried not to slide down towards the floor, his meager frame straining under the effort required to help hold the demons at bay,” are you coming with me?”

Nero didn’t need to ask if V was willing to leave here without him. No. No, he wasn’t. His question implied that simply in the manner that it was asked. Without even needing to say it, he had just told him everything that he needed to know about the extent of their relationship, at least from V’s perspective. Despite their situation, Nero was genuinely touched, if not a bit surprised by how transparent V was being with him. Perhaps he didn’t want to potentially end their relationship on a bad note? Regardless, Nero nodded. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.”

V paused for a moment, giving him a hesitant but believing look. He didn’t think Nero would lie to him. A second later he bolted towards the door, leaving Nero alone to try to hold them off until he could unlock the second one. The younger of the two immediately felt the difference in the weight he was trying to hold back, somewhat surprised at how much V had actually contributed to keeping the door closed. He slid back for a moment before forcing himself forward, unwilling to let the door open. Just a moment later, V managed to get the door open and Nero rushed towards him, fully aware that they had to get the second door closed before the hoard pursuing them managed to reach them.

He slipped through after V, sliding to a stop at a few Cutlass managed to slip through the cracks before they could close the door. As the door slammed shut, they were both blasted off their feet and into the balcony railing by a barrage of attacks from the demons. V gasped as the air left his lungs when he made impact with the ground and railing while Nero regained his footing quickly and grabbed one of the Cutlass, launching them towards the rest of the group. He noted that V seemed to be struggling slightly to stand up, debating if he should simply snatch him off his feet and carry him to the library door. The sound of screeching metal cut through the air as the Gladius attempted to cut their way through the door holding them at bay. He didn’t doubt for a second that they were capable of doing that as he grabbed his sword and revved the throttle built into the handle, sending smoldering sparks flying through the air as the blade glowed crimson. With one well-placed lunge, the flying pests were eliminated and he turned his attention back to V, noting that he still hadn’t quite made it to his feet. What was going on with him?

Nero extended his hand, more than willing to help him up. “You okay, V?”

V exhaled shakily, betraying his distress as he raised a blood-covered hand to grip his brother’s extended hand. The eldest of the two had been allowing it to rest on his right side in what Nero assumed to be an attempt to stop any further bleeding. Nero did a quick double-take, concerned and unsure as to how harm had managed to come to V during their ordeal. One of the Cutlass must have managed to get between them during their getaway.

“I assure you, I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound,” V said as Nero gently helped him to his feet. He seemed to be out of breath, but otherwise stable,” We should leave this place. I do not think that door will hold them at bay for much longer.”

Nero nodded in agreement as they headed towards the other end of the walk. Once they were somewhere more secure, he would check on him. If they could make it to the library unseen, the demons would more than likely go back to their idle state and stop pursuing them until they passed by again at some point. As they headed towards the door, Nero took notice of the fact that V seemed to be leaning on him slightly, more than likely in need of additional support due to his injury. He wondered to himself for a moment if V healed like the rest of their family and came to the conclusion that he most likely didn’t since he seemed to still be bleeding. That admittedly concerned him.

A moment later they entered the library. Nero carefully led V over to one of the rails, watching as he slid down to a sitting position and exalted in clear discomfort. Much like they had the last time he had been here, the doors sealed shut, the blue emblem that had adorned them on his first trip still active. He could only assume that was a good thing but wasn’t entirely sure. He didn’t really understand how all of this magic bullshit worked. The mechanism that allowed him to break the seal before was still in the room and it was still in its active form, but he wasn’t if he could move it without possessing the device that he had found here previously. His old arm had absorbed the Anima Mercury. There was no way of guaranteeing that he still retained the ability after his run-in with Vergil.

For a moment they just stood there, attempting to catch their breath. The Gladius and Cutlass had seemingly halted their assault for the moment since there was no sound coming from their direction. For the moment, they were safe, if not a bit banged up. And the both needed a moment to collect themselves. Nero hadn’t seen the castle this active in a long time, even when he had come here to help Nico earlier this year. Everything had been dormant at that time.

He suddenly had a very bad feeling about this trip.

They needed to leave as soon as possible.

Thanks again for reading this chapter! I spell-checked everything, but if I missed anything, feel free to let me know. It’s funny how two grammar and spelling problems still can’t get the job done, am I right? Anyway, I’ll see you all on June 17th for chapter FIFTEEN! Gosh, it’s cool to be able to say that! I look forward to reading and answering your comments. Have a great rest of your week!

4 notes · View notes

camillesfm · 4 years

Text

。· . ˙ ⌈ alva bratt + cis female + she / her + the intangible concept ⌋ yo , have you meet that KOOK , camille 'cj' petersen , yet ? — no ? well , to give you a little heads up before you do , they’re a TWENTY year old , PRE-LAW STUDENT , and have been living in coston for TWENTY . since i’ve known them , they’ve reminded me of PALE PINK POINTE SHOES , CHAINS MADE OF WHITE CLOVERS , A PURPLE SKY JUST BEFORE SUNRISE , STEADY WAVES CRASHING AT LOW TIDE , AND SHATTERED & SCATTERED GLASS . usually they’re quite LEVELHEADED & THOUGHTFUL but just make sure you keep an eye out for them around town because i heard can be quite RETICENT & ALOOF as well so here’s hoping they aren’t the ones to undo this whole peace pact they have going on this summer . but just between you & me , i kinda hope it all falls apart . the rivalry keeps this whole boring town interesting . –– this is cj . . . let’s just . . . dive into this mess !

𝐁 𝐀 𝐂 𝐊 𝐆 𝐑 𝐎 𝐔 𝐍 𝐃 .

scarlett petersen is a name known statewide, as she’s the best corporate lawyer on the east coast, clever as the devil and twice as pretty with long blonde hair often pinned into a sleek ponytail. david petersen got his degree at vanderbilt university, moving on to get his phd at unc chapel hill where he could never quite shake that carolina blue. he’s been sitting chancellor for the past six years in tandem with a long term sports-medicine, neuroscience research project that studies the long term affects of brain damage in athletes in contact sports. they both hail from old money families, and long lines of success are continued in two people who hold appearance and accomplishment far above humility or even . . . . humanity lol. they’re good people, really . . . just not really the parenting type.

which is unfortunate! as. well into their marriage, they had twins, caleb, first, and camille, ten minutes later. bright eyed and blonde haired, the perfect petersen babies were angels in their infancy, and it was easy to parent them . . . especially when they were paying someone else to do it.

caleb and camille grew up under the watchful eye of a rosy-cheeked nanny. think julie andrews as nanny in eloise. they were happy, but lonely, though you’d never guess it by their wide smiles in cuddled family portrait christmas cards. for all anyone else knew, scarlett and david were perfect parents, raising two beautiful children who they loved more than anything . . . but behind that iron gated entryway to a house on the coast was another story.

they liked their kids, sure, but whether or not they loved them was another question entirely. camille, growing up to be the spitting image of scarlett, was liked in the way a rare porcelain artifact was. she was a beautiful thing to behold; seen, not spoken to. shown off, not interacted with in anyway. held with delicate hands and passed around as a humble brag: look at this precious thing i’ve brought into the world. i bet mine’s better than yours.

but as time passed, the novelty of having children seemed to wear off, and they were moving to the next big thing, the next big step in their careers. they weren’t around when camille began going by cj because it was easier for little voices to say. they weren’t around when blonde ringlets relaxed and grew darker. they weren’t around when she started to develop a personality of her own, interests of her own, talents of her own. christmas cards would go out, but rarely were they all together on christmas morning. thanksgivings were often spent with grandparents, as their parents worked through the holiday. they spent more and more time away from coston, leaving cj and caleb in nanny’s capable hands.

but life goes on, and sometimes it was easy to forget that it was abnormal not to have your parents around. as a youngin, cj was interested in everything. she took a liking to soccer and lacrosse, painting and drawing, piano and guitar . . . but somewhere in between a blue mat and pale pink pointe shoes, she found her thing.

it was obvious, from an early age, that cj was one hell of a dancer. disciplined and precise when she needed to be. creative and passionate when it called for it. gymnastics trained her strength, ballet trained her patience, contemporary pushed her limits with creativity, partner work taught her teamwork. dance was very clearly her best thing and her favorite thing.

her parents only ever attended recitals when it didn’t conflict with anything else on their schedules and when it was classical ballet. dance was a frivolous thing for them, but for cj it was everything. being a naturally shy kid, naturally timid in the shadow of her last name, she became a completely different person on stage who dominated a spotlight . . . without even needed a literal spotlight. ultimately, this is what she spent her life doing. monday through thursday evenings, dance. competitions and performances on the weekends. if neither were happening, you’d catch her teaching classes at coston’s local studio.

it’s what truly made her happy, but that wasn’t something her parents understood. caleb and nanny did, sure, but her parents? not one bit. someone would ask what she wanted to be when she grew up, and if dance was mentioned, she’d be cut off mid-sentence. they didn’t want to hear about it because it wasn’t logical. you can’t make a career out of it. it didn’t help much that her brother was the ideal child in that realm, charming and on a path to success in the medical field. they still had questionable motives, but they favored nonetheless.

sometimes it was a blessing; sometimes it was a curse. when she could slip under the radar, she was grateful, but it seemed that her parents had a keen eye for her screwups. any chance they had, they’d use to scold her or nudge her away from the pointe shoes.

so cj spent a lot of time being pristine in the way that was expected of her, never letting anyone know too much about her, only keeping a few friends close enough to really know her. she stayed out of trouble, kept up exceptional grades, smiled and nodded when necessary, and began catering to the idea that she’d go to law school, a fate pre-determined by her mother no doubt.

nowadays, she attends brown university, pre-law. she’s a picturesque ivy league gal with a dark academia aesthetic when at school, but there’s a restlessness lingering under the surface. even she’s doing what her parents require of her, she never seems to live up to their unrealistic expectations. we rly do be . . . . waiting for her to have a complete breakdown . . . . aklsdfjha

𝐏 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒 𝐎 𝐍 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 .

miss camille . . . better known around town as cj . . . is, above all else, the picture of serenity. she’s levelheaded and calm, and patient as all get out which is probably why she’s so damned accustomed to just going with what her parents thought of her. she’s really great to have in a crisis because very few things cause that steady nature of hers to crumble, and because she’s honestly. . . quietly very maternal. putting the needs of others before her own comes naturally.

she’s quiet and shy, yes, but just because she doesn’t speak doesn’t mean she doesn’t listen. she listens and sees and is . . . quite observant. there’s a way about her that notices the little things, which makes her quite thoughtful when it comes to the people she loves. if you’re lucky enough to be close to her, you can bet she quietly takes notes of little habits and favorites and carefully uses them to idk love ya better ya feel??

reticent comes from the fact that she doesn’t often let people get close to her. the way her parents treated her and caleb growing up has taken. .. . a toll for sure because honestly she’s terrified of disappointing people by shattering the mirror of perfection and revealing too much about herself that’s unexpected

aloof comes from the way she’s calm and quiet . . . and how that sometimes translates as apathy . . . on top of that she’s very daydreamy like she is That Bitch who is staring out of the window producing a whole move in her head which sometimes causes her to not hear when people are talking to her . . . cue the ‘hm? what?’ tuning back in

when i say cj is a different person when she’s dancing . . . . i mean it. like i REALLY mean it. she’s confident and expressive. her choreography tests the limits of tradition. she pushes boundaries when it comes to the physicality of performances. like u rly look at her being quiet and to herself in the corner at a country club event and then see her performing like she invented contemporary and ur like . .. . are u SURE that’s the same girl

people who know her most know her as warm. when she opens up, getting past the shy, she can be a little goofy, definitely has avery creative way about her, wants to know that you’re okay and if you’re not, how can she help ya know!!

has a black cat named lucky because ya know . . . black cats are bad luck . . . ha ha ha ha . . . get it

the ‘j’ in cj is for her middle name . . . but no one really knows what her middle name is . . . except family and close, close friends

absolutely hates the energy of the pogue/kook rivalry and thinks violence is most cERTAINLY not the way to go

often times found by the shoreline at night, just a little ways off from the petersen estate because she likes the way the waves sound as they roll in. it helps her think

is trying to make the best of law school by studying to become a defense attorney and she likes it! sort of! really, she just wants to dance for as long as she can and ultimately open up her own studio

definitely believes in wishing stars

bad case of insomnia

has a finsta dedicated to lucky

has a dance insta too . . . . but that’s lowkey bc her parents can’t know about it

please for the love of god watch this because charity and cj have the same energy

this also has cj energy

so does this . . . classical is fun when it’s telling a story and she loves a good pas de deaux but otherwise meh

my girl is physically . .. QUITE strong

says sorry WAY too often

incessant need to prove herself, prove her worth, since her parents never seem to find it

loves caleb sfm but will thump him in the forehead for mentioning he’s older

overachiever . . . . yikes

ABSOLUTELY burns the candle at both ends

idk if y’all watched high school musical the musical the series but gina . . . . . .. minus the ‘mean girl’ plot they tried . . .. is v cj and bitch i hate to say it but neville longbottom??? also a cj mood LMAO

OK THAT’S IT THAT’S ALL THERE WE GO IT’S DONE I’M DONE GBYYYYYE BABIIIIE

#coston.intro #what the f kinda NONSENSE did i just write lmao

5 notes · View notes

ichigo-daifuku · 5 years

Text

Beloved

SLBP Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Sanada Yukimura/MC; Sanada Nobuyuki/MC

In a place called Shinano, she was beloved.

Explicit | Warning: Mildly Dubious Consent. If you have decided to proceed reading, please do so with caution. Thank you!

Word Count: ~5k

The steam that surged from the warm water clouded my vision as I sank in its depths. One ripple came after another with each step I took until I settled down and leaned against a giant rock placed on the side. The temperature was perfect. At the sudden onslaught of warmth that seeped through my skin and soothed my tired body, I rubbed my palms together and hugged myself. The relief was instantaneous; I felt my tense muscles loosen up and my nerves finally calm down.

Save for the occasional sound of water dripping from my skin, it was quiet. Not another soul was present around the area, the moon above and the bamboo trees that surrounded the onsen served as my only company. I let out a sigh and relished in this rare moment of tranquility that life has offered. The anxiety I felt moments ago seemed like an illusion. I was at ease, left to wallow in my thoughts as the swirls of steam formed abstract figures above the waters.

It seemed like it was only yesterday when I bid my family and our restaurant in Kyoto goodbye to go on an adventure in a far away place. But in reality, it has almost been a year since I began working for the Sanada clan in Shinano ‒ a good year.

Even before I met them, I had heard of them. Snippets of conversations from our customers in the restaurant kept me informed of the happenings in places beyond Kyoto. There were discussions focused on Sanada Masayuki, the clan’s current head, whose strength and brilliance in military strategy made the clan a formidable opponent in the battlefield. The reputation of the Sanada clan made everyone aware of the two sons in its bloodline. People who allegedly encountered him said that they never met a more warm-hearted and gentle soul than the elder Sanada brother, Nobuyuki, whose wisdom would leave the clan in capable hands as its intended heir. The younger brother, Yukimura was known to all as a valiant warrior. His faithful devotion to the Tiger of Kai, Takeda Shingen, was noted to be nothing like any relationship between a liege lord and a retainer fellow samurai had witnessed before. They spoke, some with reverence and others dislike, of the warriors of Sanada, who were unafraid of death, ready to cross the river to the underworld with the six coins embedded on their crest. Despite my knowledge of the ruthlessness in the realm of the samurai, I shivered at the thought.

At first, it was only the honor of working for a prominent samurai family that spurred me to do well in my job as a cook. But as time passed, it became more than that. Never in my life did I expect that a family of such high social standing would treat their workers in a way that almost felt like family. From the very first day, everyone in Ueda Castle had been welcoming and friendly, even the members of the Sanada family themselves. I was so grateful that I would regularly visit the nearby shrine to offer my gratitude to the gods who brought me to this wonderful place. Now, it felt like every victory of the Sanada was my victory, too; as if every warrior's wound was a mark that bled against my own skin.

But perhaps, my feelings on the matter were so strong because I had fallen in love, deeply, to a man of the Sanada.

I remembered that day ‒ that particular sunny morning in Ueda. It was not the spirited battlecries of training men that attracted my attention when I arrived to sit on the veranda by the garden, but rather the faint murmurs of two boys hidden by the bushes.

“Come on… You need to take the first step to becoming a real man!” Although I could not see him, I knew that voice belonged to the younger Sasuke. He was a charming kid, that one. I was sure he would get along well with Yahiko if they ever got to meet one day.

The other one was far taller than Sasuke. The thickets did nothing to cover his muscular frame as well as the bright color of his kimono. Lord Yukimura scratched the back of his head and frowned. After a few moments of silence, he blurted out, “Hey! What do you mean ‘first step’?”

Sasuke paid no heed to Lord Yukimura’s question and hummed in deep thought. “A-ha! Lord Yukimura, if you do this right, you’ll make the Sanada clan proud!”

“Really?” Lord Yukimura tilted his head sideways as he considered Sasuke’s words. His expression changed into a more determined one, voice full of conviction, “You’re right, Sasuke! For the Sanada clan!”

Lord Yukimura emerged from the bushes and unexpectedly, marched straight to the veranda. He stopped a few steps in front of me and I looked up at him, confused. In a stiff motion, he reached out the hand that was hidden behind his back and held towards my direction a bright blue gentian. Despite his obvious nervousness, he held the flower carefully, a handsome blush painted on his cheeks as he suddenly averted his eyes when mine met them. “For you.”

Our fingertips brushed when I received the flower with an equally nervous hand. Lord Yukimura’s blush seemed to be contagious. Still, I cleared my throat and managed to answer, “I love it. Thank you, Lord Yukimura.”

“Can you…?” He pointed to my head.

“Oh, um… of course, Milord,” I replied, a bit shy. I placed the gentian on my hair through the ribbon that secured its plaits. “There.”

“Ah… well… it… erm… suits… you.”

“Aw, maaaaan. Just when I thought you were being cool, Lord Yukimura!” Sasuke said from beside us.

“You…! You’re still here?” Lord Yukimura jumped slightly, flustered. I don't blame him. I myself didn't notice when Sasuke arrived!

Sasuke’s brows knit in confusion. “Huh? Where else would I be?”

“Come on. Time for training!” Lord Yukimura picked up Sasuke and deposited him on his shoulder. He walked a few steps and came to an abrupt stop. It seemed like he forgot something. I wondered what it was.

Lord Yukimura turned around and raised his hand in a small wave. “Later!”

Oh. I smiled and waved back. “Yeah, later.”

Lord Yukimura and Sasuke went on their way while I sat there and fiddled with my fingers. The weight of the flower in my hair made me feel giddy. I swung my legs back and forth the ledge and touched my cheeks. I knew I was smiling like an idiot but I couldn't help it, I was just so happy. Footsteps against the wooden floor made me straighten up and turn to the direction where it came from.

“Good morning,” Lord Nobuyuki greeted as he emerged from the corner.

“Good morning, Lord Nobuyuki.”

He proceeded to sit down on the veranda with me. Immediately, his eyes zeroed in on the flower that adorned my hair. “Oh, it’s a gentian.”

“Ah, yes.” I shifted my gaze self-consciously as I remembered what happened minutes ago. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes, very.” He smiled. “Stay still.” Lord Nobuyuki reached out to adjust the flower given by his brother on my hair, the back of his hand touching my neck. “There you go. Perfect.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s been quite some time since you came to us. How are you liking your stay in Ueda so far?”

“It is a beautiful place, Milord. Although I miss Kyoto, I can’t say I haven’t fallen in love with Shinano.”

“I am glad to hear that.” Lord Nobuyuki’s smile broadened. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up falling in love and marrying a man of Shinano, too.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. A spark of hope lit inside my heart. After all, the man I had fallen in love with, Sanada Yukimura, was a man of Shinano.

The bamboo trees rattled against each other as the wind blew. With it, the crickets hummed, loud but unobtrusive in the background. Was it midnight already? I couldn't be sure. Barely a sound came from the inside of the inn where our small camp rested for the night. After tonight’s stopover, we would be back on the road on the way to Mikawa, to Hamamatsu Castle. It was for the diplomatic negotiations between the Sanada and the Tokugawa. Eyes closed, I folded my hands together and prayed for a successful outcome. In the time that I spent with the Sanada, I continuously witnessed Lord Yukimura back and forth the battlefield. Every sendoff was filled with worry, every homecoming filled with relief and joy. I would have loved to run into his arms each time he left and came back, but I could only fight the urge to do so. I wasn't his woman. I didn't have that right.

A few weeks before the trip to Mikawa, I finished my chores and sat down under a tree in the garden. After my materials were placed neatly on the ground, I began to sew a pattern on a small cloth. With each prick of the needle through the silk, I whispered a prayer of hope that no sword nor arrow would harm Lord Yukimura in the battlefield. With every inch of the thread, I expressed my silent affection and wished for him to live a long, happy life. It was all I did until a shadow stood against the sunlight and loomed over my hunched form.

“Hm? What are you up to?” It was Lord Nobuyuki.

“Good afternoon, Milord. I’m making a protection charm.”

“For?”

“For Lord Yukimura.”

“May I see it?”

“Of course.”

Lord Nobuyuki’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he sat down on the grass with me. I handed him the half-finished charm I had been working on for the past hour. I was suddenly aware of how numb my fingers had become, but I paid it no mind. This was the only thing I could do in hopes of protecting Lord Yukimura. A little pain on my hands was nothing if it meant I could do something for his safety, no matter how silly a protection charm was.

Lord Nobuyuki traced the stitches of the embroidery between his thumb and index finger. “You’re very kind.”

“You are far kinder, Lord Nobuyuki,” I said, my words sincere. I tried to respond to his smile with one of my own, but I only managed to make an awkward curve of my lips as it trembled. My shoulders followed suit. I couldn’t help it. I burst into tears, worried for Lord Yukimura.

During breakfast that day, the clan’s discussion centered around the huge possibility of a war with the Tokugawa. I nearly dropped the bowl I was holding as Lord Yukimura stood up and volunteered himself to lead the frontlines. Of course, Lord Yukimura would. He wasn’t known as the hero who appeared once in a hundred years for nothing. Even that bravery, I loved about him… But at times like these, I wished he wasn’t always so ready to die. I cleared the rest of the dishes with shaky hands as I caught the wind of Lord Nobuyuki suggesting negotiations with the Tokugawa with Lord Masayuki.

Embarrassed by my sudden outburst, I moved to wipe my tears with my sleeve when Lord Nobuyuki reached out to me with a green handkerchief.

“N-No, I couldn’t possibly ‒ ”

At my refusal, Lord Nobuyuki himself wiped my tears. The fresh scent of his handkerchief made me cry even more. It smelled the same as Lord Yukimura.

Lord Nobuyuki did not ask a single question as I let the pent-up emotions out of my system. He continued to wipe my tears and pat my back every now and then. Truly, he is far kinder than I could ever be. Lord Yukimura was lucky to have him as a brother, and the Sanada to have him as its future liege lord. I remembered everything I heard about him long ago and knew that Lord Nobuyuki deserved every word of praise given to him multiplied tenfold.

When I calmed down, I kept my gaze on my lap, embarrassed for breaking down in front of Lord Nobuyuki. He must have thought I was a strange woman, mad even. Unbeknownst to him, my tears were for his brother, whom I was lucky to be even be considered a friend of. Every day was a struggle to bury the romantic sentiments I had for Lord Yukimura. It grew stronger by the second. I didn’t know what to do anymore.

At the sound of my name, I hesitantly shifted my attention to Lord Nobuyuki. I opened my mouth to apologize for my behavior, only to be met by a poke on my cheek. “Milord, what…?” I started to say, only for Lord Nobuyuki to poke my cheek again. Again. And again. What was he doing? Despite my sullen mood earlier, I couldn’t help but giggle at the silliness of it all.

“It worked.” He smiled, pleased with himself.

“What did?”

“The magic trick my mother taught me ‒ to make a someone smile.”

In the time I stayed with this clan, that was the only time I heard of the late Lady Sanada. I was always curious, but I respected the people of Ueda far too much and never dared to pry. One look at Lord Masayuki and I gathered that Lord Nobuyuki and Lord Yukimura had gotten their beautiful baby blue eyes from their mother. After that encounter with Lord Nobuyuki in the garden, I found what he said lingering in my mind. The magic trick. I didn’t understand what was magical about it. But it wasn’t long before I did.

I finished the protection charm. The little trinket was tucked safely underneath my pillow, hidden away from everyone else. Only one other person knew that I made one for Lord Yukimura.

As I was coming back from a walk one afternoon, I found him, my beloved, pacing back and forth by the gates ‒ waiting for me. Lord Yukimura greeted me as he always did but an unusual silence fell between us. He had a somber expression from his face, so different from his usual happy expression that I loved so much. “I was hoping to ask you to make me some sweets…”

When Lord Masayuki announced the plan for peace talks, Lord Yukimura’s facial expression darkened at the mention of the name of the Tokugawa’s liege lord. I gathered he was not exactly thrilled to go to Mikawa. Seeing Lord Yukimura upset like this made me lonely. I asked myself what I should do when a thought came to my head.

“Please don’t fret, Lord Yukimura.” I poked his cheek with my index finger. His lips part in mild shock at my gesture until he gave me a smile ‒ that same smile he showed me when he gave me the gentian. It seemed, even for a moment, he was relieved of his worries. It worked. The magic trick worked.

“Okay.”

“How about some donuts?”

His face lit up in childlike joy and I fell in love all over again. “Really?”

“Yes, I made some a while ago. Wait in the veranda, please. I’ll get them from the kitchens.”

I walked inside the castle with a spring in my steps; I made Lord Yukimura smile. That thought made me happy. I hummed as I prepared the donuts for Lord Yukimura. I hoped he would liked them, or at least I hoped they were something that would ease his worries. Tray in hand, I walked out the kitchen. I turned to a corner and bumped into someone coming from the other direction. The tray shook from my grasp, but it was steadied by the person I bumped into. His other hand flew to my arm to stabilize me from the sudden impact. I blinked as my sight registered the familiar green finery of Lord Nobuyuki.

“I am so sorry, Milord!”

“Are you all right?” Lord Nobuyuki peered into my face, worried.

“Y-Yes, I’m really sorry.”

“There, now. There’s no need to apologize.” He stepped back to give me some space. I steadied the tray once more and the action caught his sight. “Hm?”

“Oh, um, would you like a donut, Lord Nobuyuki?” I offered the tray to him. “Please take one, as a token of apology from me.”

“Ah, well, I always love your cooking,” Lord Nobuyuki took a single donut from the tray, “And if you insist like that, it is impossible for me to say no.”

“Thank you. I hope the donut is to your liking, then.”

Lord Nobuyuki and I passed each other as we parted ways to go to where we were headed before my clumsiness. To my surprise, he called my name just after a second. I turned around in curiosity to see a hopeful expression on Lord Nobuyuki’s face.

“Do you think you can make anmitsu next time? For me?”

That was the first time Lord Nobuyuki has asked for anything from me. “Of course. Anything for you, Milord.”

Lord Nobuyuki gave me one of those dimpled smiles. This time, I could smile back at him before I turned around completely and continued on my way to the veranda.

“I’m back.”

Lord Yukimura turned his head at the sound of my voice. He was an enchanting figure against the orange and red hues of the sunset. He flushed the moment I sat down next to him. As I handed him the tray, I wished it were always crimson blushes that would stain his cheeks, never the same fiery shade of blood on his armor.

The thought jolted me back to the present and strengthened my resolve for what I was to do on this night, why I was here in the first place. I emerged from the comforts of the warm water and rinsed my body from a nearby well. Dressed in the thin fabric of my sleeping robes, the protection charm that was once in my pocket now in my palm, I gathered all the courage I could muster and left the comforts of the onsen.

Tonight, I was going to confess my love for Lord Yukimura. Even if it was supposed to be the main issue, it was not our difference in social status that bothered me, but rather the question whether our feelings were mutual or not. If he felt the same way, then I would be more than happy to be with him. Just the thought of it was enough to make my heart pick up its pace. But if he felt otherwise… it would hurt me. Still, I would nurse my broken heart in the shadows and continue to support him like I always did.

Lord Yukimura and I were always in the company of other retainers, so I decided that tonight would be the right time. Upon our arrival, I overheard Lord Nobuyuki setting our room assignments with the innkeeper and asked him about it.

“Since most of the rooms are taken, some of us will have to stay in the upper floor, others in the lower floor.”

“What about me?”

“You’ll be staying in the lower floor.”

“What about the warriors like… Lord Yukimura?”

“In the upper floor.”

“I see.”

In the pitch black darkness, I tiptoed through the corridor with the stealth that would rival a kunoichi. When my nervous breaths threatened to turn into hyperventilation, I covered my nose and mouth with my palm. I dared not to bring a lantern. I couldn’t be found by anyone. To another person, I had no reason to be here, and at midnight… but I did have a reason, one that only Lord Yukimura needed to know.

At last, I arrived and slid open the shoji door of Lord Yukimura's room as silently as I could. The area was smaller than our place in Ueda, but was nevertheless well-kept and comfortable. With the knowledge of the identical placement of essentials in his room and mine, I treaded across slowly. The further I went, the closer the sound of steady breathing came. I became hesitant to continue my plan. There were more than a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t continue. Maybe Lord Yukimura didn't feel the same way. Maybe he would get mad at my audacity to barge in his room in the middle of the night. Maybe I would get thrown out of Ueda afterwards.

In my moment of distraction, I tripped and fell on something… No, it was a person’s body ‒ Lord Yukimura!

He grunted at the sudden impact and I panicked. My hands fell on his shoulders. I felt him stiffen in shock. “Oh, no! It’s just me! I’m so sorry, Milord! Are you all right?” I quickly straightened myself and sat down beside his beddings. “I ‒ I’m so sorry for barging in.” This was it. This was now or never. “I know it’s so sudden but please hear me out.”

The rustle of cloth told me that he had set his blanket aside and sat up properly as I rambled. “I have something to tell you ‒ something I’ve wanted to say for a long time.” My mouth suddenly felt a bit dry, I cleared my throat before I continued, “I… I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel the way you do. Each moment I spend with you is just… so precious. I appreciate everything you do for me. When you’re happy, I am happy. When you’re sad, I feel sad, too.” Emotional, I paused and tried to find the right words to say. “If you’ll allow me, I want to experience every laughter and tear with you ‒ the two of us together. There is no one but you in my life. I love you… and if you will have me, then I am yours.”

I touched his arm, and then his shoulders, until my fingers found the sharpness of his jaw. I leaned closer to press a kiss on his cheek, but instead his plush lips were what mine connected with. Surprised, I tried to pull back abruptly. His firm hand flew to the nape of my neck and held me in place. A startled cry escaped my lips at the action. My mind fell blank. I couldn't believe it.

Our first kiss was chaste. It was a firm touch of Lord Yukimura's lips on mine. I felt our warm breaths mix as we explored the taste of each other for the very first time. It was gentle, everything I imagined it would be and more. Each kiss that followed turned more passionate. There was not a hint of hesitation even as the sound of our mouths meeting in the otherwise silent room made my cheeks heat up. My lips parted and met his tongue halfway, the kisses from then on deeper than ever. It dawned to me that I was kissing him ‒ really kissing Lord Yukimura, the love of my life, and he was kissing me back. In that moment, I dared hope that my feelings were not one-sided. With every brush of our lips, I felt as if it was the both of us who were succumbing to the yearning that had been left unexpressed for so long ‒ not just me.

The protection charm in my hand fell somewhere on the floor, lost in the darkness as Lord Yukimura hoisted me onto his lap, his hands on the back of my thighs. I clutched his robes, accidentally loosening them in the action. Pressed close to him like this, I was enveloped in the fresh scent of him that I loved so much. His fingers grazed the back of my collar slowly, while the other hovered around my belt. Somehow, I knew what he asked for.

I broke away for a moment. “I… I’ll do it.”

His body fell back into the bedding while I worked on the knot that held my robes together. Together with the blanket, all my clothes and second thoughts was discarded on the side. Skin bared, I was suddenly aware of his intense desire as I settled myself back on his lap. I couldn’t help but cover myself up even if it was dark, which I felt was ridiculous since I had been the one to come to him. He knew it. He pulled my arms away from my chest and replaced them with his palms. He sucked in a breath as he met my bare skin, flushed not because of the bath, but out of the need for him. The warmth of his touch made my pulse quicken as he caressed my sensitive body, giving undivided attention to my breasts, to my abdomen, down to my thighs.

“I…” I began to say, only to be cut off by a moan I failed to stifle. He traced the skin on my inner thighs, not far off my most delicate area. “Please…” I begged, not even sure what I was begging for.

But he knew what I needed. Lightheaded, my breaths turned uneven as he tenderly caressed my slit. It was slow, odd at first, until his ministrations sent waves of pleasure all over my body. Instinctively, I found myself moving against him. I felt the need to do something ‒ anything ‒ to chase the strange feeling that loomed within me. He moved back and forth, around and all over. At some point, I started to feel unsteady. He bent his strong legs against my back so I could lean on him. I bit into the back of my hand to quiet myself as my body twitched reflexively, meeting my release.

I panted, mind still in the midst of the haze of pleasure as my trembling hands fumbled with his robes, struggling to untie it to quicken his pace in undressing. In the dark, the both of us could not see, we could only feel. I indulged in the contact of his bare skin and leaned down to kiss his sculpted body, up to his chest, where I heard the quick pace of his pure heart, alive and beating. Somehow, I had imagined Lord Yukimura's fingers to be more calloused, his skin rougher, his body more scarred. But as I reached his waiting lips and drowned in his kisses again, I realized something.

My fantasy didn't do him justice.

I leaned back and shifted my shaky legs in position, eager to reciprocate to the gratification he had given me. His hands on my waist, he guided me as I eased myself down his hard length. Slowly, until my slick heat accomodated him to the hilt. In all sense of the word, I was one with him. For better or for worse, there was no way my relationship with Lord Yukimura could be the same after this night. He let out a strangled groan at the way I took him. I winced at the slight pain and feeling of fullness I'd never experienced before and paused to regain my breathing. I knew of the hushed conversations of women in the castle about life's sensual pleasures. To hear about it was one thing, but to experience it was another.

I rose and fell on his lap in fractions and moved in the same, steady pace until I started to feel the pleasure gradually overcome any initial discomfort I felt. The pace of our movements picked up and his hips began to meet mine with every thrust, each slap of our skin distinct in the quiet. The beddings turned askew while the floor creaked slightly in our desperation to be closer than we were before. Once again, I felt the sweet sensation of pleasure rising up in my abdomen. I arched my back and this time, I was unable to stifle my scream in ecstasy. Still in pure bliss, I felt him pulse within me. My body would remember him as I took all of him and everything he had to give. He was the one I loved, after all. Nothing could ever change that.

Still one and the same, he shifted to a sitting position and embraced me. His arms caged me in their protection and I dared hope I was his beloved, as he is mine. He buried his face on my shoulder and showered light kisses along the collarbone. His hair tickled my cheek and I brought my hand up to run my fingers through it.

His hair...

Two voices were audible from the corridor. They grew closer by the second, perfectly clear through the thin wooden walls of the room. Although the two attempted to be hushed, their familiarity made their conversation seem louder to my ears. One of was all calm, in contrast to the other who sounded anxious as he voiced out his worries to the former.

“I told you it’s nothing to concern yourself with, little lord.”

“But she’s not in her room…”

“Who knows? Maybe she’s still in the women’s baths. Would you like to check?”

“W-W-Women’s baths? N-No… Why would you even suggest that…?” The flustered, distraught voice paused before he spoke again, “But I – I heard something here… I thought I heard her voice…”

The other man sighed. “You must have been dreaming, dear.”

“Y-Yeah… Maybe I was…”

I shivered, on the verge of putting everything all together.

Footsteps grew nearer with every second. The shadows came first, until the light from the lantern brought by the two people who walked along the corridor passed through the shoji door and illuminated the room. The moment was short, but it was enough.

His hand darted out to tuck a stray lock of hair from my face behind my ear. I found myself caught in his affectionate gaze, entranced by his dimpled smile. The hand that rested on the small of my back reached up to cup my face and the pad of his thumb brushed along my cheek. He spoke the words I longed to hear that night, his voice that deep, beautiful, and gentle lilt that has brought me comfort many times before.

“I love you, too,” Lord Nobuyuki said, reverent and satisfied, “I love you so, so much.”

( ಠ ͜ʖಠ)

...

.....

.......

ANYWAY! During the Hearts Awakened & Enthralled Event Story, Nobuyuki joked that perhaps MC "should marry a man of Shinano". Although this fic was not set in that ES, it got me thinking of how the phrase could refer to either Sanada brother.

The story might have been a bit odd, or even far-fetched at some points, so thank you for humoring me. I hope you enjoyed it, no matter what interpretation you ended up with. Thanks for reading! xx

Tagging @pseudofaux because this was the WIP in the Plot Question Tag Game! 💓

Ichigo Daifuku's Masterlist

#samurai love ballad party #slbp #slbp yukimura #slbp nobuyuki #slbp fanfic #slbp fanfiction #slbp smut #sanada yukimura #sanada nobuyuki #beloved #ichigo bakufu

125 notes · View notes

themyskira · 5 years

Text

One of the things that’s so irritating to me about G. Willow Wilson’s run is that she’s actually taking the story in directions I really want it to go, picking up on plot threads ignored since the end of Rucka’s run, bringing back the mythology and resolving (finally!) Diana’s inability to return home with a development that enables the Amazons and Themyscira to be a recurring part of Wondy’s ongoing story again… and yet somehow she’s doing it in the blandest, most uninteresting way imaginable.

A lot of it isn’t technically bad. She’s not pulling any James Robinsons here. But there’s no emotional punch, no surprise, no heart to it. At the end of the day, she’s just moving pieces around a board.

As an example of this, let’s talk about her writing of Veronica Cale.

Veronica sees love as a weakness. When you open your heart to others, you give them power over you, hanging only to trust and blind hope that they won’t use that power to hurt you, to betray you, to destroy you. When you allow yourself to love, you make yourself vulnerable. You cultivate avenues by which your enemies can attack and manipulate you.

Veronica: Wonder Woman’s been here all of six months and she’s lecturing us about how we need to love one another. That through love we respect each other. That we will appreciate one another and this beautiful, precious world of ours. Adrianna: So it’s naive, maybe, but-- Veronica: It’s not naive, it’s a lie. Love has never solved a problem, Adrianna... all it does is create them.

And this was her mindset before the only two people in the world she’d let into her heart were stolen from her by a pair of sadistic gods seeking to use her to get to Wonder Woman.

Years of tucking an empty-faced, inanimate child into bed each night while her daughter’s soul screamed from the prison of the fear-gods’ gemstone. Years of being forced to scurry at Phobos and Deimos’ bidding as they held Izzy’s life in their hands. It sends her down a very dark road, one that leads ultimately to her ruin and that of everyone around her.

Veronica will not be controlled again, and so she works systematically to control everyone and everything around her. Every person and every resource is a potential tool in her cause, and she’s willing to hurt, kill, torture, manipulate, exploit, curse or destroy anybody if it gets her a single step closer to rescuing her daughter.

All of this comes to a head at the end of Rucka’s run. Due in part to Veronica’s own actions, her daughter is lost to her forever. Safe but unable to leave Themyscira, Izzy must remain with the Amazons -- to be raised by the people of the woman Veronica loathes most in the world.

Sick with grief and self-loathing, she lashes out at the only other person who cares - Adrianna, the AI patterned after her lost friend. She rejects that friendship, denies Adrianna’s personhood and dismisses her as a tool, seeding the beginnings of a rift.

She’s attacked by a murderous Cheetah, symbolic in that moment of everything she’s burned and broken and corrupted in her fruitless quest, only to be rescued at the last by none other than Diana.

Which leads to this heartbreaking exchange:

Veronica: We’re never going to be friends. You understand that. Diana: I understand we could have been. I understand that you see weakness in the places where I find strength. And I understand something more. Veronica: Do you? Diana: That you will always be alone, Doctor Cale.

And that’s where we leave her, alone amid the rubble of her life.

As significant as she is to Diana’s Rebirth story, it’s no surprise that the writers who followed Rucka (James Robinson, G. Willow Wilson) wanted to return to her. Unfortunately, neither of them seem to have known quite what to do with her beyond ‘Veronica is rich and powerful and hates Wondy’.

To be fair to them, this would be a challenge for any writer. Rucka created this version of Veronica with a very defined character arc, from the kidnapping of her daughter that begins her descent into villainy, to her tragic ruin which sees her daughter put forever beyond her reach. For ten years her sole motivation has been saving Izzy no matter what the cost, and now that’s gone. What is there left for her? Where does she go from here?

And the easiest answer is, well, she still hates Wonder Woman and blames her for what was done to Izzy, so I guess she’ll just make it her new mission to fuck with Diana by creating new metahuman villains to run rampant or launching a campaign to destroy Wondy’s reputation.

Robinson goes the former route, in the process reducing Veronica to a sadistic mad scientist, throwing monsters at Diana and conducting experiments on her foes simply because she likes hurting them.

“She tried to kill me, did you know that? Came close, too. I swore then that she’d be my property again, if I ever got the chance. So yes. Thank you, Adrianna... let the hunt begin.”

Wilson opts for the latter, and on its face this route has more promise. The celebratory news coverage of Wonder Woman and her (infantile, lecturing, false) mission rankled Veronica even before she became ensnared in Diana’s orbit. Being surrounded by it now, all this fawning over the woman Veronica believes ruined her life? That must burn her. It’s not hard to imagine her launching a covert campaign to show the public the ‘true’ face of Wonder Woman.

The problem here is that such a story has been done, and done very effectively, in Rucka’s first run on Wonder Woman, where he first introduced Veronica Cale. If you want to avoid simply retreading old ground, you’re going to need something more, a new angle.

Wilson has one, but it’s not good.

For context, Wilson’s run begins in Ares’ Themysciran prison, now also home to Grail. In amongst the other weapons littering their cell, Grail idly picks out a sword named Godkiller. Ares (who, apropos of nothing, has decided to stage prison break so that he can live a reformed life as a Noble and Just god of mass slaughter, wtf Willow) demands that Grail use it to kill him.

For reasons that, nearly twenty issues later, still have yet to be satisfactorily explained, Ares dies and is immediately resurrected, resulting in a “cosmic paradox” (?!) that tears Themyscira, Olympus and all their connected realms asunder (?!?!), spitting confused divinities and mythical beings out into the mundane world.

Veronica, observing the appearance of these gods, immediately begins investigating and comes to the bewildering conclusion that Themyscira is gone and therefore Izzy is dead.

This immediately makes no sense. Veronica spent ten years doing everything she could to get Izzy back, in the face of impossible odds. The scientific analysis may be pointing to Themyscira’s collapse, but that’s purely theoretical — and all around her, as gods and monsters materialise from nowhere, Veronica is being presented with evidence that she’s closer to Izzy than ever before. You can’t tell me that this woman, with her single-minded purpose, would give her daughter up for dead before she’d seen a body.

But okay. She thinks Izzy is dead. She’s hurting and she wants Diana to hurt, too. So she decides she’s going to tear apart Diana’s reputation.

By sending the goddess Nemesis to blow up a city street, waiting for Diana to show up and fight her, then storm in with cameras declaring loudly that “Wonder Woman attacked my employee in the course of her job protecting Cale Enterprises from superhuman threats” and then proceeding to file a massive lawsuit against her.

“Let the record show that Wonder Woman attacked my employee in the course of her job protecting Cale Enterprises from superhuman threats. If superheroes want to work, they must do business like everyone else. Register. Pay taxes. Otherwise, it stands to reason that they risk running afoul of the law.”

This is… so far from Veronica’s MO it’s not funny. She’s a meticulous planner, operating from the shadows, never showing her hand before she’s well and ready. Diana was clashing with Veronica’s people for years before she had the slightest idea who they were working for or what they were trying to get from her. She wouldn’t needlessly expose herself to media scrutiny with a stunt like this — not when she could far more effectively demolish Diana’s reputation from a distance with a team of PR operatives, some high-level media and political connections, and an AI ally capable of getting in almost anywhere.

But it turns out Veronica is kind of being controlled by Nemesis, who’s stoking her grudge against Diana (because, in an outrageous bit of mythology fail we don’t even have time to get into, Wilson thinks Nemesis is the goddess of… nemeses), so maybe we can explain away her brash incompetence as her not being in her right mind.

That doesn’t explain why, upon Diana’s breaking the spell, Veronica immediately bursts into tears and starts babbling, “I just want her to be safe— I can’t stop thinking about it— about her being alone and scared and not understanding what was happening—” And sobbing into Diana’s shoulder, she agrees to drop the lawsuit if Diana will search for Izzy.

“I--” [sobbing] “--I just want her to be safe-- I can’t stop thinking about it-- about her being alone and scared and not understanding what was happening--”

Remember, two of the very first things we learned about Veronica: she believes love is a weakness that her enemies will exploit, and she does not fucking trust Wonder Woman. She’s spent a long time cultivating a stony facade to hide her vulnerabilities. She’s not going to let that drop for Diana, not easily. She’s certainly not going to trust to Wonder Woman, the person she blames for Izzy’s loss, the task of recovering her daughter.

But that’s exactly what she does.

So then we get to WW #76. Diana has found Themyscira again, but before she can get caught up with her family, Diana wants to get Izzy back to her own family.

So naturally she LEAVES IZZY ON THE ISLAND and flies off on her own to pick up Veronica and bring her back.

“A reunion that is within my power to grant… yet it means bringing my enemy to the shores of my homeland.”

NO IT DOESN’T YOU ARE MAKING THIS NEEDLESSLY COMPLICATED FOR THE SAKE OF MELODRAMA

So Diana drops into Veronica’s house all, ‘hey, I found your daughter, she’s in the place you hate most in the world, so I thought I’d bring you to her rather than make this easy on you’.

And Veronica, rather than saying, ‘if you found her, why didn’t you bring her with you?’ or ‘why should I trust you?’ or ‘what’s the catch?’… drops her gun and dissolves into a weepy emotional puddle. VERONICA.

Veronica: [wiping away tears] You’re s-still my enemy when all this is over. Diana: You’re still my enemy now. Come. No more tears. There’s a young woman anxious to see you.

Where Robinson erased Veronica’s love and desperation to rescue her daughter in favour of a simplistic villainous portrayal, we see Wilson doing the exact reverse -- erasing Veronica’s viciousness in favour of a simplistic portrayal of a forlorn mother who thinks only of her baby.

And again, NONE OF THIS IS NECESSARY, YOU COULD HAVE JUST BROUGHT IZZY HERE.

Bad characterisation and hacky dramatic devices aside, what makes this story thread particularly bad is that it effects a significant change both in Veronica’s individual arc and in Diana’s relationship with Veronica without actually adding anything to either. There’s no conflict, no complication, no trade-off, no character growth. It’s a half-arsed quick fix, removing an obstacle without any effort or repercussions, which is flat-out bad writing.

And what sucks is it didn’t have to be this way.

Consider this: What if, instead of instantly giving up her daughter for dead, Veronica immediately gets to work hunting for a stable path through the cracks in the worlds? And what if this time, rather than her efforts being a threat to Themyscira and the mortal world, they’re the key to Diana finding her way home and saving Themyscira?

In this scenario, Themyscira is not under attack from within (i.e. the civil war resulting from Grail’s overthrow of Hippolyta), but from without. Evil spirits and mythical monsters have been spilling out of the Underworld through the cracks in reality and the Amazons are engaged in a desperate fight to subdue them and stabilise their world before it becomes subsumed into Hades’ realm. (You could do some cool stuff with the topography of the Underworld beginning to bleed into Themyscira - the flaming river Phlegethon slicing through the landscape, the city strangled by poppies and asphodel.)

The path that Veronica locates leads through the Underworld, so instead of a wacky journey through the ~wild world of Hippolyta’s imagination~ we get an awesome katabasis story! One way or another, Diana and Veronica’s paths converge in the Underworld and they end up unwilling allies, relying on one another to fight their way through.

This unlikely team-up also gives us the opportunity to examine the characters’ conflicting worldviews and unresolved issues with each other. Greek mythology is full of daimones, personified concepts (e.g. grief, rage, nightmares), which provides some great opportunities to bring personal insecurities to the surface and make literal characters’ battles with their fears.

So they make it out of the Underworld and into Themyscira. They find their way to the Amazons’ stronghold, where Veronica is finally able to embrace Izzy. It’s an emotional reunion, but one fraught with uncomfortable edges. Veronica’s spent ten years on a very dark road. She’s committed monstrous acts, ruined lives, doomed souls in her quest to get her daughter back. If Izzy knew the woman her mother had become, it would terrify her.

And as the Underworld encroaches, threatening to swallow whole these women who welcomed Izzy in as family, Veronica’s faced with a choice: save herself and her daughter, while breaking Izzy’s heart — or be the hero Izzy still believes her to be and stand with her enemies to save Themyscira.

With Veronica’s help, they triumph. But the new status quo brings new challenges - maybe Themyscira is pulled into the earthly realm. Maybe the walls between dimensions, while stabilised, remain porous, riddled with cracks through which gods and monsters can escape and wreak havoc. And of course, Ares is now loose in the world, unchained, along with Phobos and Deimos, whose actions brought so much misery on Veronica and her loved ones — and who, now that they’re free, have some scores to settle.

And so, while Veronica is able to bring closure to one awful chapter, returning home with her daughter, she emerges with a new resolve: to monitor, control and — if need be — destroy these gods that now lurk in the world. Because she’ll let the worlds burn before she lets them touch a single hair on Izzy’s head ever again.

Godwatch is back online.

But nah, what we get instead is a trite little reunion that ties everything up in a neat bow for Veronica, with no sacrifices required on her part and no consequences for her terrible actions, because it’s easier to portray her simplistically as a bereft mother than to remember that, HEY SHE’S ALSO MURDERED A LOT OF PEOPLE HERE.

#g. willow wilson's wondy is an exercise in disappointment #wonder woman #veronica cale #comics talk

29 notes · View notes

livvywrites · 5 years

Photo

GENERAL

Because Eldora’s gods have taken such an active role in shaping their world, most every country believes in them—even if they’re not the primary focus of worship. There are, of course, exceptions that I may talk about one day. Also may not.

The main divines are:

Death. Primarily presents in a male form. His element is spirit, and his domain is that of souls. His celestial beings are the Reapers, who are referred to as his children. Reapers deliver souls—both to the afterlives, and in the case of new souls, to Eldora. Death also oversees the Forgotten Realms, though how he cam into possession of it varies by the telling.

Most notable minor gods:

Elaena, Death’s eldest daughter and the first Reaper. Capable of shapeshifting into a crow. While she no longer escorts souls (at least not often) she is something of a champion in the celestial realms. Most of her days are spent in the Forgotten Realms, though, though what she does there no one knows.

Life. Primarily presents in a female form. Her element is earth, especially plants. Her domain is life—motherhood, agriculture, animal raising, and of course, the living of it. Her celestial beings are the souls of departed nymphs, or nymphs who were born in her domain.

Most notable minor gods:

Vitala, the spirit of the World Tree and the first nymph, is often celebrated as Life’s first creation. Some say she can access Life’s domain in the celestial realms.

Hope. Primarily presents in a female form. Her element is air, while her domain is that of wishes, the future, children, and dreams. Her celestials are the virtues, most notably Hope’s Vanguard.

Most notable minor gods:

Love, leader of Hope’s Vanguard. Unlike the other members of the Vanguard, Love carries no weapons, but she is their most celebrated and revered member. Often called the glue that holds them together.

Faith is Love’s beloved, and rather than a weapon, he carries a shield. Most of the time it stays on his arm, but it can grow to encompass all of the Vanguard if need be. He’s their protector, and their most stalwart believer.

Courage carries a spear, and is the patron of Eldora’s Knights. While most Knights pick a member of the Vanguard to act as a patron, Courage is the one who watches over all of them—according to the doctrine. His spear is their symbol, and they honor him after every battle—whether it be success or fail.

Wisdom is the final most famed member of the Vanguard. While there are plenty other members in the tale, they’re not nearly as famous. Wisdom is said to know many secrets of the world and the celestial realms, and to have a library which holds a copy of every work Eldora has ever produced, including some that have been lost to time.

Fear. Primarily presents in a female form. Her element is fire, while her domain is nightmares, battle/war, regrets, and survival. Her celestials are primarily the souls of departed monsters, but she has a sole being created by herself—known as Apathy.

Most notable minor gods:

Apathy is Fear’s Champion, and she is rarely ever without them at her side. Apathy is efficient and deadly, and presents as a shadow being encased in twisted armor. They hardly ever speak, if they do so at all. Instead they watch, at all times.

Chaos. Ever switching forms, though he is most often represented in a male form. His element is water, while his domains are weather, government, sexuality/gender, vengeance, and change. His celestials are the Infernalis, which you could say resemble demons.

Most notable minor gods:

The Seven Champions of the Infernalis are the closest thing to a ruling body they have, outside of Chaos. The champions names are Hedonia, Arrogni, Envidious, Ingrog, Seleedeous, Lazothia, and Asmodeous.

Then there is Chaos’s Mouth, who takes news to his servants and also communicates his desires and wishes to the other divines if Chaos can’t make it. Her name is Eris.

Order. Presents as male. His element is time, though he has also been represented by stone. His domains are justice, balance, government, and time. His celestials are the Ethereal, which could be said to resemble angels.

Most notable minor gods:

Syni is the leader of the Justicars, holy warriors who help keep the Celestial Realms safe. They also root out practitioners of time magic on Eldora—and the consequences of such are not ones anyone wants to face.

Fate. Presents as female. Everyone is born with a thread, and that thread is woven into Fate’s loom. Your decisions influence the tapestry, but there are some things that were always meant to happen. Fate records them all, and ensures that Eldora is ever marching onward.

[The rest of this is under a cut, as it got long!]

MYNERA

Mynera primarily worships Hope and Life.

Mynera also has a space for Death in their temples, and the priests and priestesses there are in charge of running funerals and tending to bodies. They also watch over and run the mausoleums and graveyards.

The Sage is believed to have a connection to Fate. Despite this, your average Myneran doesn’t typically worship Fate any more than your average Eldoran.

In general, while Mynerans are open about their faith, their version of devout isn’t often the same as others. To them, worship is a very personal thing, and done more in the act of little rituals then it does elaborate ones. As such, they don’t typically hold services outside of major holidays, and visit the temples as they need. Most rites are done within their own home.

Hope

People keep candles in their bedrooms in honor of Hope, which is blown out before bed each night, alongside a wish for good dreams.

Those in the guard typically choose one of the Vanguard as a patron, just as the Knights do outside of Eldora. Courage, Mercy, and Justice are chosen most often, but you’ll see Faith, Generosity, or Confidence chosen every now and again. No one ever chooses Love, but mostly because it’s considered taboo.

Birthdays are a time to honor Hope in Mynera—to celebrate the passing of one year and in hopes for the future.

Life

Children are given a plant to take care of when they turn 10. It’s an important responsibility. Some will cultivate more plants, while others (usually those who are quite busy) only have one.

At 12, children head to ranches to pick out their first da’lia. This can take years, as da’lia and rider form a bond that increases the da’lia’s lifespan. The bond cannot be forced.

Farmers make offerings to Life at the beginning and the end of each harvest season. The first as a wish for the season to go well, and the last as thanks for whatever was grown.

ILLUMINARA

Illuminara primarily worships the minor goddess, Wisdom. There is also a large presence of those who worship Order, as well. Though, where Order goes, Chaos follows—and vice versa. Chaos worshippers are mostly underground, however.

Order has a towering cathedral that looms above the city state. It is outshone only by the sprawling Magus College and the seat of the Viscount. Wisdom’s halls are in the College, while Chaos’s worshippers have secret temples out and about, mostly hidden inside people’s houses.

There is a place for Death in Illuminara, though it is outside the city proper. Death’s temple is small, barely recognizable as such. It sits outside an entrance into the caves, which is where Illuminaran dead are entombed. (Save for the Archmagus and Viscounts families, which are entombed beneath the Keep.)

Wisdom

Many of those studying at the college wear amulets in Wisdom’s honor. The Archmagus has an amulet, as well as a highly prized artifact called ‘Wisdom’s Crown.’ This has been passed down since the first Archmagus—Talinth Lumina, who founded the college.

Few services as such are held, but you’ll often find students sitting in the pews, clutching amulets and praying for help on upcoming tests or trials they might be facing.

Wisdom’s followers also often drink from ‘blessed water’ which flows out of a fountain in her service hall. The fountain is a pretty thing—a statue of Wisdom standing in a basin, the water lapping about her calves. She wears a mimicry of the crown the Archmagus wears, and large feathered wings.

Some people also kiss the statue of Wisdom, though this is frowned upon by the teachers and Archmagus.

Order

The guards wear Order’s symbol on their shields. Most of the citizens wear an amulet with the symbol of the Ethereal around their necks.

The city is very tough on crime, with ‘justice’ the strongest value among the guard. As such, Illuminara has a court system like no other, with long legal processes that give the average folk headaches.

Depending on the crime, the person most wronged will be given the chance to mete out the sentence themselves (wielding the headsman’s axe if murder is the verdict, for instance). This goes on for the top three people, and if all of them refuse, the headsman or other sentencer will carry it out themselves.

Services are held every Thursday and Sunday. For a brief period of years, not long after Kai’os made his bid for Mynera, services were actually required. After Illuminara’s Liberation (led by famous figure Talitha Jade, before she disappeared again), however, things went back to normal.

Chaos

While worship of Chaos isn’t strictly forbidden in Illuminara, it is highly frowned upon everywhere outside of the college. As such people who worship him tend to keep such a thing to themselves.

Chaos worshippers are most often picked out of a crowd by their bracelets—a set of five golden bangles, the middle of which is a snake. Chaos worshippers are also often found out in thunderstorms, usually in the gardens or outside of the city, dancing.

SLAEYR

Slaeyr don’t really worship any of the divines, to tell the truth, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own ways to honor them. These ways vary often from tribe to tribe and even Slaeyr to Slaeyr, but a few are as follows.

Most Slaeyrs consider the god their element comes from their ‘patron’ of sorts. This is generally confirmed when their patron will visit them in dreams, or send a messenger to speak with them. Usually to ask them to carry out a task, to protect the people of Eldora or just their specific faithful.

Some Slaeyrs will wear a holy symbol, but some don’t.

Some Slaeyr toss a bit of their meal into the fire at night, as an offering. Others might toss bits of twine, something interesting they found in their travels, or even something they made that day.

Some connect to their elements in some way. Someone connected to Life might bury an offering for her in the earth. Someone connected to Chaos will toss something in running water. So on and so forth.

Some Slaeyr pray, in the morning or at night. Usually within the privacy of their own tents or out in the wilderness.

Many Slaeyr meditate, and some make it more of a religious thing.

Some light a candle for their god, or even just create a small fire for them.

Others consider using their element in service of Eldora to be their patronage, and still yet others do not believe the gods need their patronage at all.

taglist: @quartzses; @idreamonpaper; @runningonrain; @witchywrite; @queenofsquirrelsstuff; @margaretcroftwrites; @purpleshadows1989; @klywrites; @she-writes-love; @sixstepsaway; @neptune-nereid; @firesidefantasy; @joshuaorrizonte; @waterfallwritings; @languageisbae; @lady-redshield-writes; @luciellesgarden; @dogwrites; @quilloftheclouds

#writeblr #writelr #writers of tumblr #fantasy #fantasy fiction #worldbuilding #world building june #wbj #tmq #the martyr queen #eldora

48 notes · View notes

nadziejastar · 5 years

Text

Theory on Subject X and Saïx’s Berserk State

“Rejoice, Naminé. Soon you’ll meet the hero you’ve been longing for.”

Naminé’s shoulders tensed when he said her name. She didn’t look up when she spoke, her voice tiny and faint. “I’m…glad.”

I think the real meaning of “358/2 Days” was supposed to refer to the fact that Axel was reliving his past for the entire year. I’ve written before about how I think Isa originally awakened his berserk state not because he was filled with darkness, but because he wanted to protect Lea. And I want to go into more detail about that. I found it interesting that in the manga, right after Axel disappeared, Saïx felt like tormenting Kairi in her cell. He used a line similar to Marluxia about Naminé waiting for her hero.

“A heart? I have a heart? No one wants your nonsense!” Saïx raised his sword over Naminé—but Riku was there with Soul Eater to intercept the blow.

“Hmph. I don’t have time for these games.” Darkness welled from a rift behind Saïx. “Run along and help your dear hero.”

During the battle for Destiny Islands, Saïx said that Riku couldn’t protect anything using darkness. Then he said to go help your “dear hero”, referring to Axel.

“Why would caring about something be a weakness?” Xion asked, baffled.

Roxas lowered his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t get it, either.”

I’m not the only one surrounded by things I can’t understand, Xion thought. Axel would explain it, though…

“I hope Axel comes back soon,” said Roxas.

She nodded. They would have so many things to ask him.

I think Isa was used as bait before. And that’s why it was mentioned that Axel would know what it meant to have something you care about be a weakness.

Roxas dallied anyway, peering through the doors again. The rose, the thing he treasures, is his weakness?

Nope, I don’t get it.

I wonder if Axel will know what it all means…?

It’s mentioned more than once, too. On Day 119, and Day 150.

“What are you going to do with us?” she demanded.

Saïx narrowed his eyes. “You are the fire that feeds Sora’s anger.”

That was all he said. And then he vanished again.

“I have to do something…,” Kairi murmured. “Sora’s in danger because of me…”

Saïx seemed to have very personal contempt for Kairi. And here’s a good example of why I just cannot accept that Saïx gets to play on the beach and eat ice cream with everyone in the epilogue, instead of Isa. He tortured Kairi, lol. They really weren’t trying to pull any punches with his characterization. Sora was not even there to witness it, so there really was no reason for him to do this other than to vent his feelings and take his anger out on her.

The Beast had a ferociously strong heart—its strength of will alone had taken him to Hollow Bastion to save one of the princesses, Belle.

“Looks strong,” Axel remarked from behind them.

“Yeah. He is,” Riku said, sinking into thought.

His heart is even stronger than his body. It’s exactly the kind of heart the organization wants…

“But someone that strong won’t just do whatever the organization says,” Naminé murmured.

“Well, this is their chance to show how persuasive they can be,” Axel said with a bitter smirk.

Even in KH2, they implied that Axel knew how “persuasive” the organization could be at getting people to do things they didn’t want to do.

Day 171: The No. i Project

Author: Saïx

Xion failed to complete its mission. If this continues, destroying it and using the next Replica as the Duplicate would undoubtedly yield a higher-grade copy. No. i was among the initial lot, which naturally raises questions about its capabilities. At present, it is nothing short of broken. I cannot fathom why Xemnas would want to keep it.

I think there was a similar situation where Isa was trying to protect Lea who wanted to rescue him. Lea was in danger because of Isa, so Isa was full of conviction, like Kairi. He went berserk, and used up every bit of his strength. I think that the Beast was meant to parallel Isa’s backstory as well as Lea’s. You can see even more clearly in the manga that the Beast went berserk trying to protect Belle. But he felt like he failed.

Saïx sounded vaguely disgusted. “What do you care for a broken, defective failure?”

Isa probably collapsed like Xion and the Beast did. I definitely think that the ordeal caused Isa to be in a state where he lost his sense of self, and he became zombie-like, similar to Roxas during his first week. And that’s when he was Norted. Saïx would have no memory of this happening. Xemnas and Xigbar do, which is why they are amused by his obliviousness.

Day 174: Just a Replica

Author: Saïx

Xion continues to sleep. All analysis on its function suggests no marked change. The copying appears to be working, but a Replica is a Replica. My latest report to Xemnas on this net me no clear answers. He simply stood, smiling. At times I find his thinking impenetrable.

A few days later, Xion was asleep but still functioning and copying. Saïx still thought she was broken and didn’t know why Xemnas wanted to keep her. And Xemnas gave Saïx a creepy smile. Day 174 is called “Action, Reaction”. That is another name for Newton’s third law. “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”. Whenever one object exerts a force on a second object, the second object exerts a force back on the first object. The force exerted by the second object is equal in strength and in the opposite direction to the first force.

Roxas: Look, I'm just saying. All I saw in the hole they dug was a wooden chest full of junk.

Axel: And the Heartless were in the chest?

Roxas: I dunno. I think maybe something else is causing them to show up.

Axel: Like?

Roxas: Didn't something seem kind of off to you about the guy in red?

Axel: Off? Off how?

The mission on Day 174 was in Neverland. Roxas learned how to fly because he believed, and Hook was drawing the Heartless to himself due to his greed. The same concept is brought up when Axel came here with Roxas later, too.

Saïx: So, you really do care for her. In that case...the answer is no.

Sora: You rotten...!

Saïx: Are you angry? Do you hate me? Then take that rage, and direct it at the Heartless.

It’s similar to the relationship between Roxas and Xion. And actually the experiments that Young Xehanort was conducting on Andy’s toys, too. He was “testing the strength of their bond”. I bet there was a similar situation between Lea and Isa’s hearts. In the manga, Axel knew that Hook was drawing the Heartless to him and convinced him to throw away the treasure (to save Peter Pan, surprisingly). And a comparison was made to Axel having something he was afraid to lose. I think the apprentices were using Isa to draw the darkness out of Lea or something. Instead of greed like Hook, it would be rage and hatred.

“Sora or Xion—it matters not. But we need one of them under our control. Bear that in mind.”

Saïx nodded, and a serene smile came to Xemnas’s face.

If that smile meant anything, it was beyond him.

Xemnas gave Saïx a creepy when he was asked about the memory devices. Saïx was wondering what Xemnas’s true agenda was for placing them.

“Sora has a pretty powerful effect on her,” said Xigbar, pensively stroking his chin.

“Both of them have connections to Sora, but we only need one of them under our thumb,” Xemnas replied. “Whether Xion takes from Roxas the rest of what he has to give…or whether he destroys her first and takes back what is his, there is no change to our plans. No matter how, Sora’s power will belong to us.”

“Understood.” Xemnas disappeared nearly before he heard his order acknowledged.

“Don’t let us down now, kiddo. Shouldn’t be too much trouble without a heart,” Xigbar told Saïx.

Same thing here. Xemnas asked if the devices were ready, he reminded Saïx that they only needed one of them, and Xigbar made a weird comment about Saïx being a kid without a heart. Xemnas and Xigbar seemed to take pleasure in reminding Saïx that they only needed one. Lea and Isa apparently had some kind of reciprocal effect on each other, like Roxas and Xion did.

A memory. My first memory. Saïx took me by the hand and brought me out of Castle Oblivion. “This is the last you’ll see of these walls… Xion.” Yes, I remember what he said to me. And I remember where I was. Castle Oblivion.

Day 224 is called “Anomaly”. Both Xion and Naminé are called anomalies.

Subject's memories have not returned, and our conversations remain less than lucid.

Subject X was also a unique subject who didn’t collapse like all the others. On this day, Xion remembered that she was taken from Castle Oblivion by Saïx.

Hayner: We can't be together forever... so we'd better make the time we do have something to remember.

Axel suggested going to the beach, which was a sign that he knew something bad was coming.

Secret Report 1: Recollections

Secret Report 1 is obtained after clearing Battlegate 1 at Olympus: Realm of the Gods / Courtyard.

Am I alive? I awoke in a cell, alone until the researchers came with their tests and their prodding to uncover my identity. I had no answer to offer them. Four friends, and a key…that is the sum total of my memory. I could not even recall my name. I was simply called “X” there. My only solace was the time I spent talking with the two boys who would visit from time to time. One day, a man came to take me from the prison. I could not see him for the darkness, save that he wore an eyepatch.

Subject X was taken somewhere by Braig/Xigbar, like Xion was by Saïx. This report is located at Olympus. Perhaps the Realm of the Gods was drawing an allusion to the Final World, which is where people exist between life and death. Isa was sent there after going berserk.

Ansem's Report 2

The experiments caused the test subject's heart to collapse, including those of the most stalwart. How fragile our hearts are! My treatment produced no signs of recovery. I confined those who had completely lost their hearts beneath the castle. Some time later, I went below and was greeted by the strangest sight. Creatures that seemed born of darkness...What are they? Are they truly sentient beings? Could they be the shadows of those who lost their hearts in my experiments?

Ordinarily the subject’s heart would collapse and they’d become a Heartless. But Lea believed in Isa so he was the only subject whose heart didn’t. It’s “action, reaction” at work. Lea’s heart had an effect on Isa’s heart, and vice versa. Isa was an anomaly and then became a highly valued specimen by Xehanort.

Demyx: Hey, even us Nobodies need our rest, right? Exhaustion kills!

Saïx: I’m sending you with Demyx today. Try to inspire in him a little of your work ethic.

Demyx: Heartless duty again today? I keep telling them I’m not cut out for this stuff…

The recurring theme at Olympus Coliseum was that Demyx wasn’t cut out for fighting, and that nobody expected much from him. Day 224 was no different. The mission took place at Olympus Coliseum and Saïx wanted Demyx to go with Roxas to make increase his work ethic. Phil said this was the “big day” where Roxas could finally compete in the Games and Demyx slacked off.

Demyx: Right!? And what a shocker to find out Xigbar was the other finalist! What’s up with that… I can’t imagine he was here on a mission. You never can tell what that guy is thinking…

Roxas: Maybe he just wanted an excuse to fight me… To test me.

Demyx: No way, man! I wouldn’t read into it too deep. Besides, the mission’s over, right? All’s well that ends well, man!

Roxas: I…guess so, but…

The most noteworthy part of the mission was that Xigbar was the finalist; he wanted to test Roxas. I think Xigbar was also tasked with testing Isa after he recovered from the initial incident.

Roxas: So people work you harder when they have expectations? The Organization expects me to do hard missions all the time. Aren't expectations the same thing as orders?

After he went berserk, they probably thought he had much more fighting potential than they originally thought, and pushed him harder. Isa was left in a bad state afterwards. Not long after, Ansem the Wise discovered what was going on. He took Isa, hid him away, and released the remaining subjects.

Secret Report 3: Experiments of the Heart – Notes on Subject X, Excerpt 1

Subject was found in the central square shortly after dawn. Female, approximately fifteen years old. After seven days’ observation, she spoke her first words, but could not provide a name. Subject exhibits signs of profound amnesia, and displays concern for which world this is. Her words suggest that she departed her home world with others, though she cannot recall the names of her erstwhile companions. All efforts to explore those memories have met with a rejection response.

After his initial experiments on me, Ansem the Wise ceased his research into the heart, his hand stayed by some fear I cannot fathom. Yet this new subject is like me: devoid of memories. She is the perfect sample upon which to continue my master's work. She, too, could benefit from it; by traversing the heart, we have a direct path into memory. I myself have begun to reclaim my lost past thanks to these very experiments.Who is she? Whence has she come? These are questions no scientist could ignore.

In the manga, Saïx was in a bad mood after learning that Xion and Demyx had been using his computer. He went into his berserk state and tested Demyx when he was slacking. Roxas was upset that he’d use force on a comrade, but Saïx said anyone who obstructed their goal was expendable, even organization members. Roxas didn’t quite understand what he meant, but it seemed like he was speaking from personal experience. This is the only time Saïx’s berserk state gets featured like this in the Days manga, so I tend to think that it was related to his backstory.

“Get up.”

“Just five more minutes…,” Axel mumbled.

“No. Get up—now.” The voice was distinctly annoyed.

Axel relented and opened his eyes. “What are you even doing in here?”

Saïx was standing next to his bed, as irritated as one might have guessed from his voice. Axel hadn’t been so rudely awakened since before turning into a Nobody.

“Xion ran away.”

In the manga, this whole scene with Saïx at Olympus Coliseum was on Day 255 while Axel was looking for Xion. It was immediately prior to Axel arriving on the clock tower and telling Roxas why the sunset was red. Then lying to him about Xion’s disappearance. The novel seemed to be drawing a connection to Axel’s past on Day 255. He mentioned that he hasn’t been rudely awakened like that since becoming a Nobody. And it just so happens that Subject X was discovered shortly after dawn.

Every time he tried to wake up, all Axel could think was how badly he wanted to go back to sleep—although he was getting enough rest.

He just wished he could have a day to himself and do nothing but sleep. It was probably some remnant of his human memories.

I’m sure that Lea had sleeping issues ever since he was kidnapped and experimented on, but they probably got even worse when Isa went missing. Axel was thinking this after he took Roxas to Castle Oblivion.

Day 276: Behind the Truth

Author: Axel

Xion is gone. Roxas still doesn’t know anything, but Xion found out. That’s why I need to find her. We don’t have hearts, so we accept the facts we’re given as the truth. But something far more important lies behind that truth. Saïx would laugh at people with no hearts calling one another friends, but that doesn’t make it not so. As the Nobody of the hero of the Keyblade and the Replica of that Nobody, these two are special. Unique in every sense of the word. But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re friends. Nothing will. Got it memorized, Xion?

Day 276 was a pretty important day. This is when Axel reluctantly suggests that they go looking for Xion.

Secret Report 4: Experiments of the Heart – Notes on Subject X, Excerpt 2

My pilot studies used a handful of subjects, but none possessed the fortitude to endure them. Ultimately, all suffered mental collapse. I knew it would be a heavy blow to lose a subject as unique as she. Upon discovering the tests I’ve been conducting, my master demanded that I cease my work immediately and destroy what research I have compiled. Worse still, he ordered the release of my remaining subjects. She is gone. Where is Subject X now? Has “wise” Master Ansem hidden her away?

There really are uncanny similarities between Subject X’s story and the story of 358/2 Days. Xion was gone, Subject X was gone. Roxas and Xion are unique, and Subject X was unique. I think Axel also went to look for Subject X. Because Subject X was Isa.

#kingdom hearts #kh meta #kh theories #kh isa #kh saix #kh axel #kh lea #kh xigbar

14 notes · View notes