#it's a rise-fall-rise-fall-rise-fall journey with every step up being a desperate fight and every tumble down being way too quick and easy
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Could someone tell me where the interpretation that, in book canon, the promotion Nie Mingjue gives Meng Yao made Meng Yao's life worse than it was before, came from?
I have seen that claim made multiple times now and I've looked at the text over and over trying to see where the basis for it is and I. Can't find it? Don't get me wrong, it absolutely spells out that it does not and cannot fix everything for Meng Yao, but the idea that it was actively bad for him?
Lacking other evidence, I kind of have to assume that it comes from cql canon being sort of projected backwards onto book canon. In cql canon, meng yao is suffering active and explicit bullying and abuse from the captain while under the nie, and does so because the capain believes he has risen above his station via nmj's promotion of him. (In book canon this... isn't happening. It happens with the captain in Langya instead) However, in cql canon he has also been with the nie for years and is openly close to both Nie Mingjue and Nie Huasiang, whereas in book canon he has only been working with nie mingjue for a few months (though has, in that time, apparently become close enough to him for Lan Xichen to explicitly state Meng Yao is able to calm nmj down in ways no one else can? Ofc he does this... Right after that stops being true. But. Food for thought. Not what this post is about tho.) So, if you project the much more explicit abuse from the nie sect captain in cql back on novel jgy who has a presumably much less stable position in the sect overall you get... a meng yao for whom the promotion only means a bigger target on his back and virtually no protection from nmj, who we must assume he can't trust to talk to his about because he never mentions it. (This also explicitly violates book canon when it comes to meng yao's general behaviour, we'll talk about that in a sec)
And look. We all do frankencanon in this house. I get it. And for fanfiction that is very fun. But for a serious reading of the character, his situation, and the actions that lead from that this... doesn't make much sense, in my opinion.
So. Why is that? Why did I say this was out of character for the novel? Because Meng yao spoke up about the jin captain mistreating him. Multiple times! It's just that none of it mattered because no one cared to listen to him. This is a pretty important line for his character because it flatly shows that meng yao is not and has never seen murder as something trivial. He's not trigger happy. He will only do it if he sees no other way out that doesn't end in himself being seriously harmed. (Whether he's right or justified in these cases is not the point of this post.)
If anything remotely similar was happening in the Nie sect, he would have said so. Cql Meng Yao doesn't do this because cql Meng Yao is a different character, and also the plot wouldn't work if he did. Cql Nie Mingjue, by extension, comes off as a fundamentally less trustworthy figure in cql Meng Yao's life because apparently for whatever reason, he cannot be trusted with the information that the deputy he has already publicly defended is still being harassed, and doesn't notice even when it is really blatant. The assumtpion the audience is given is that, like a middle schooler getting the principal involved when being bullied, it would only make the harassment more viscious.
This... actually has a somewhat solid basis in the book. Because after nmj yells at the bullies in question Wei Wuxian says this.
And it is important to keep in mind that this is Wei Wuxian saying this. Not Meng Yao, not an omniscient narrator. Wei wuxian is drawing on his own experiences, likely from the Jiang family, to conclude that if someone is angry at you and thwarted by someone defending you, this generally does not make them less angry at you.
This is leaving out two crucial things, though.
Firstly, this worry isn't about the promotion at all.
The promotion hasn't even been brought up. In the novel it doesn't ctually happen immediately, it takes another few battles where meng yao continues to do his job well and nie mingjue continues praising him for him to eventually go "yeah, you deserve a raise."
This is another aspect that is being projected from cql canon onto book canon I presume, because it does happen quite quickly there, and it's a throwaway line in the books so it's easy to miss. I can't be mad about anyone forgetting the difference, but it is important to mention for this particular analysis.
Which is the second point: change in status
Wei Wuxian couldn't exactly change status within the Jiang family. (And if he could, that would just fuel rumours that he was jfm's bastard even more and make madam yu even angrier at him, etc etc.)
This isn't comparable to Meng Yao. The worry Wei Wuxian is talking about is explitly about Nie Mingjue's initial very loud defense of him. Before he has any idea Nie Mingjue is going to promote him.
Promoting him would likely decrease his chances of cultivators coming after him because now he was in a higher standing in the sect than they were. If applied to that earlier metaphor of middle school bullying it's like if the bullied kid suddenly got hired as a teacher. Which. Doesn't work with the metaphor at all. Touché. But what I am trying to say is that any payback they would have planned for him relied on the fact that they could make sure that Nie Mingjue wasn't going to be within very convenient earshot a second time, and as a random disciple Meng Yao couldn't just go complain to him every time.
But as his right hand man? Who spends most of his time working directly alongside him? Lmao. Good luck. Oh, sure, it is very likely that they feel offended a son of a whore has been raised in status above them, and many will continue to do so as jgy rises through cultivation society (in fact, Wei Wuxian's observations are absolutely on point for how Madam Jin will be treating jgy later on). But as we can also see from the way jgy is treated and how he treats others throughout the story: you can be upset all you want, but if that person is higher than you in status there's jack shit you can do about it.
If I am correct and Wei Wuxian is basing this on his experiences with the Jiang family, it makes sense why he'd miss this. Madam Yu gets to be way angrier at Jiang Fengmian as his wife than some random disciples can be at Nie Mingjue. Insulting Meng Yao, suggesting that he didn't deserve his promotion or that he earned it through less than proper means (you know who is mother is) is also an insult to Nie Mingjue and the way he chooses to run his sect. They can't do that.
Another thing I see brought up in this regard would be the tea scene. There may be no explicit harassment like in the show, but cultivators still don't respect him! The disrespect is just quieter and more subtle.
Tiny detail: these are actually not Nie cultivators
They're cultivators Lan Xichen is escorting with him, making a pitstop in heijan.
The book confirms this by basically outright stating that this is the first time they see his face, and recognize him as Jin Guangshan's bastard son.
Now, just because there is no proof that it happened doesn't mean it definitely never happened. Mdzs is a novel that often leaves stuff out or up to interpretation. Similar stuff to the tea situtation could very well be happening in the background. But I do think it is pretty significant that there is no mention whatsoever of Meng Yao having any negative treatment from Nie cultivators betwen him and Nie Mingjue meeting and him executing them while spying for Wen Ruohan, and the most we get is Wei Wuxian's personal speculation, after which he immediately goes to wax poetic about how surprised he is that Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue are getting along super well.
And, again, novel Meng Yao would have said something. He doesn't say anything about the tea scene. - Or? Does he? Notably 3zun have some very long in depth conversations that Wei Wuxian zones out from because he's busy thinking about Lan Zhan again. But let's not rely on what-ifs. Let's say that neither he nor Lan Xichen find it worth bringing up. Major reasons for that would be that a) these are not nie cultivators, nie mingjue wouldn't really have the authority to scold them. Especially because b) it's such a subtle offense it could easily be handwaved as coincidence. "They just always brush their cups clean like that!! It's wartime you know, and they were traveling! They're used to drinking from vessels that aren't thoroughly washed everytime! It's just a habit!" And would therefore not be worth reporting.
But anything worse than that? A "price tens or hundreds of times greater" like wwx mentions? He'd report it! I do understand that "well if it was happening why didn't he say something?" would, in real life, be victim blaming. This is not real life, and I am not talking about this in a matter of blame. If Meng Yao was being mistreated in the Nie and stayed silent about it, it would still not be his fault. I am talking about this in a manner of character consistency.
His admission of seeking help in the Jin sect shows that at that time and prior to it (a very good argument can be made that he loses faith in this idea) he believes that if he is being mistreated and someone with the authority to say something about it takes his side, things can improve. If Nie Mingjue standing up for him in Qinghe only made things worse, he would not have tried to ask for help in an even more hostile environment. You can call Meng Yao many things, but naïve isn't one of them.
Meng yao's later habit of completely isolating himself and lying to everyone around him comes from the fact that revealing his suffering would mean explaining several horrible things he's become complicit in and he does not feel safe admitting to that. But he's done nothing wrong here!
The reading where he says nothing would imply an either correct or incorrect belief in Meng Yao's eyes that Nie Mingjue did not much care for his wellbeing or safety. Oh sure he defended him once but doing so again multiple times would be such a bother. This also contradicts his later behaviour, where he banks solely on Nie Mingjue's protective instincts to seal his qi and escape during the confrontation in Langya. After having been caught murdering a man, he is still convinced Nie Mingjue will immediately try to help him when he is in serious danger.
And even if you very badly want to characterize Nie Mingjue as a blundering idiot who is apparently less trustworthy in Meng Yao's eyes than the jin cultivators who had already resoundly rejected him by the time he tries to ask for help with the langya captain. He doesn't say anything to Xichen either! Lan Xichen, who has explicitly and exhaustively been portrayed as kind and understanding to Meng Yao's circumstances and very willing to talk to Mingjue if Meng Yao wants something from him he doesn't otherwise think he'd get. The conversation Mingjue overhears where Meng Yao's new position in the Nie is explictly brought up would be kind of the perfect time to go "yeah I've been promoted but I'm not treated well by other soldiers" aaaand. Nothing. So unless you come to the conclusion that Meng Yao trusted the Jin he told about the captain's abuse more than Lan Xichen you kind of have to conclude that Meng Yao's treatment after his promotion improved significantly. And that even if people still disliked him they could not openly do anything about it because he was high enough in status for that to be socially inappropiate. Which is, explicitly, one of his main motivators over the entire course of the story: Avoiding mistreatment by getting high enough on the social ladder it doesn't matter what people think of him, they can't hurt him.
And I'm not sure how to reconcile that character journey with the idea that he would, at any point, have preferred to keep his head down and stay where he was. When he was so desperate to crawl his way out.
#the main tragedy of his character- of course- being that he keeps achieving that status and it is never enough#he achieves standing with the nie and the favor of a major sect leader and it's not enough for his father to even give him the time of day#he kills wrh amd becomes a war hero and gets acknowledged by his father!!#and all it gets him is nmj's constant distrust abuse at the hands of his stepmother and complicity in mass murder by his father's orders#he gets to the HIGHEST POSITION SOCIETY HAS. LITERAL CHIEF CULTIVATOR. And the moment he stumbles everyone turns on him immediately#like they were all just waiting for him to get low enough again that they could kick him further down#it's a rise-fall-rise-fall-rise-fall journey with every step up being a desperate fight and every tumble down being way too quick and easy#but! that rise still needs to be there!! for the story to work!!#the tragedy of qinghe for meng yao is how easily he loses nmj's fsvor. NOT that having it was bad in the first place#I understand that this reading is mainly done to put nmj in a bad light but I do genuinely think it does jgy a disservice#people more often apply this to him becoming jin guangyao which does in a lot of ways doom and trap him#and yes fuck jgs fuck that guy all the way to hell#but the key is that meng yao can't just get a happy ending by refusing power#he's not power hungry. what he wants is in fact reasonable- he's just willing to do a lot more than most to get it#'things would've been better if nmj didn't promote him/didn't send him to langya'#feels as reductive to me as the 'why can't he just be xichen's house boyfriend and join the lan instead' takes.#mdzs#meng yao#jin guangyao#mdzs meta#? sorta#feels too ranty to call meta#this is what i was talking about in my past post about how frustrating it is to base metas around disagreeing with others#makes analysis feel like discourse when that is NOT what i am trying to do#long post with long tags
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Walking Through a Mimefield : Solo : Part 1
Occurs: Across the week following the explosion outside YMaO.
Summary: Shadows stalk like predators when the light goes out.
The route Arthur walked to get home each day was always the same. It took him through Downtown, The Bend and then on towards the Outskirts. He knew of a short-cut around Dark Score Lake but with recent reports he hadn’t particularly fancy chancing it. Plus, there was no harm in a bit more exercise.
Tuesday was the first time it happened. He’d been passing by the glass shopfront of the Quarter when an uncomfortable crawling sensation stood the hair on the back of his neck on end. The feeling of being watched. Yet, looking around warily nothing caught his eye along the length of the street. There was the typical crowd heading in and out of the Perfect Pint and regular flow of street traffic. Strange. The thing he failed to notice as he eventually moved on, was his too-long lingering reflection its hand pressing up to the glass as its neck cracked and twisted staring ravenously after him.
It happened again on Friday, a department meeting had kept him later in the day but the walk was framed with street-lamps. A safe enough journey. The walk was emptier but he was halfway home when he heard the music, radiating from the darkness of an alley Parisian in nature and daintily jolly in its tune. Memories of a long-distant time in a land across the ocean, sitting outside cafes on cobbled streets where the odd performer might stroll past. Yet music that had no place belonging here. Spooked and feeling more than a little paranoid Arthur had hurried home.
The lights of 22 Maple Avenue went out for the night, and the mime allowed its magnetic sense to carry it on the path towards its destination. It had managed to escape the window this time and trail in the shadows at a distance. During its journey, it passed near to a remote farmhouse. The family dog, alerted by the movements of the mime, began barking. A quaint creature, but it would suffice as a meal for the night... The mime drifted closer but was given pause as a nervous farmer opened the door, looked quickly all around, stepped onto the porch and grabbed the barking creature. He pulled it into the house and slammed the door. Every light in the house went out in rapid succession and the mime moved on. Too much effort.
A succession of small animals fell victim to the mime during this nightly trek. A raccoon, a possum, moles, mice and others. But not the quarry it hunted. With time it would have the life it truly deserved. And friends... so many friends.
In the netherworld of the dream, Arthur stood in a dark and windswept cavern. Seized by terror, he cupped his hands over his ears to shut out the howling of the wind. The wind. He knew it was coming for him, could hear the angry, thunderous roar, feel the trembling of the ground beneath him as the storm raced closer.
Faster now, furious and gathering speed as it came, raging and swooping down upon him like a terrible bird of prey, gathering momentum as it hurled towards him, closing in, seizing him. Snuffing any flame he tried to conjure in but an instant.
After all, what was he in the face of sheer elemental fury?
Black and fierce, it seemed alive as it dragged him closer, closer towards its eye as if trying to swallow him whole. He struggled and fought to break free, hearing in the farthest recesses of the darkness a strange, indefinable sound, a sound of sorrow, as if all the trees in the universe were sighing their grief.
He tried to run but was held captive by the force of the wind while the shadows and darkness gathered. Inky web-like tendrils curling and lurching through the air, closer and closer, until their touch against his cheek – eerily reverent left him frozen with fear. Struggling in vain. All he could do was watch as the tendrils reared back, a horrific wail cutting over the noise of the wind as the shadow jolted forwards – lightning fast, and smothered his face. He tried to scream as the streak of twisted darkness, clambered down his throat. The scream choked and his throat bulged, his body thrashing. It pounded him, squeezing the breath from him, dragging him into a darkness so dense it filled his eyes, his mouth, his lungs. Crushing him, crushing him into nothing---
His own mania filled laughter echoed in his mind as several sudden searing pains jolted him to consciousness.
Arthur woke with a start, as if propelled by some raw force of terror. He gasped and tried to scream but found himself fighting for breath that wouldn’t come as a hard pressure bore down on his chest.
A dark shape loomed over him pinning him. He could see quite plainly the features of his attacker, and shock momentarily froze him in place. Fathomless malice filled gunmetal grey eyes stared back at him, short trimmed hair and a beard with the first hints of grey starting to come in. Its face caked in cracking white paint and lips gilt ruby red. Familiar yet horrifically not, the manic glint in its eyes foreign and twisted beyond even his worst nightmare its – his? hand wrapped around nothing but air.
Yet where it hovered a few inches above Arthur’s white t-shirt was stained crimson in three places as though pierced by some invisible force. It retracted its hand an arc of blood splattering across the room, while a terrible tearing pain filled Arthur’s chest. Filled with a rush of panic and adrenaline that caused him to act, less he end up this creature’s own personal pin-cushion. Shoving the creature spilling off the side of the bed, the bedside table and lamp crashing with its weight. Arthur rolled in the opposite direction pain flaring in his chest, hand going to try and stem the flow of blood from one of the several wounds as his brain raced for some sort of solution while he stumbled for the door.
His fingers, slick with his own blood yanked it open and he rushed for the stairs. Tripping over his own feet in his panic riddled state, a streak of crimson smearing the pristine white walls of his house as his hand went out to steady him while something splintered loudly in his wake.
He couldn’t fight. He’d never won a fight. But if he didn’t, then he had a feeling his story would end tonight.
Arthur barrelled down the stairs, heart trip-hammering and breath burning with sharp dagger-like agony engulfing his chest with every lungful he took. It was pure luck he kept a few trinkets from across his lifetime on the walls. In an act of fearful desperation, he yanked a hand-axe down off its mounting glancing up at the landing eyes wide and fearful of the creature stalking him. It shouldn’t have been able to get in. He’d taken precautions. Paid for wards and protection... How had it gotten through?
The mime stood at the top of the stairs, its striped monochrome splattered red with Arthur’s own blood. A horrific stand off as he stared into his very own eyes seeing them filled with murderous intent. That was when he noticed it… The beginnings of a familiar ember, sparking and growing around the mime as it began to descend its movements eerily jarring yet strangely graceful. Ethereal flames licking up around its body, rising and silhouetting it in fire. “Oh bloody hell,” Arthur’s hands tightened around the axe as he backed up for the door fumbling his other hand to drag open the chain lock, the bolt, the keys he’d had installed recently, his hand occasionally slipping off the metal with each attempt to turn them as the steps creaked behind him the heat growing treacherously closer. Drawing nearer and nearer with each passing moment.
So a fucking home-security system would be the end of him. Typical. Of course this was how it was going to go. Right after Mercy’s revelation.
The final latch gave way just as the air shifted, Arthur dove to one side catching himself on the coatstand that toppled over as the mime lurched forwards slashing the air he just occupied. Hefting the axe, he brought it down in a wild arc the blade biting into the flesh of the mime’s leg ripping into sinew, muscle and bone as he wrenched it free and kicked the flaming duplicate staggering down the hallway. Yet where blood should have spilled forth Arthur watched in horror as black tar-like liquid splattered in a puddle on the floor. Fuck. That was going to be a bitch to clean out.
Grabbing the latch he fumbled the door open and hurried out into the cold night air, the sudden shift in temperature enough to make him almost lose footing as a wave of nausea and dizziness overcame him. He could taste salt and iron, his own blood which he spat out in a globule into the nearby grass as he stumbled into the darkness feeling increasingly sluggish with each passing moment. The bright illumination stalking in his wake a slight limp to its gait. A minor victory in an increasingly shitty situation. So it could be hurt… Good. Though such thoughts were cut short as a bright arcing inferno lanced through the air from the porch and Arthur barely staggered out of its path. Yet the mime had used the action to distract while it charged forwards. So this thing was like him… Which meant only one thing could get rid of it.
There was one thing that might save his life. Long forgotten and hardly used.
Before he could move to act the mime had closed the distance, dodging the hack of his axe and instead dropped to tackle him to the ground scorching the ground in the landing that followed. The burning inferno engulfing him in but a second and impact enough to send the whole world spinning on its end. The mime’s eyes were mocking; a serpentine smile slithering across his face as they tumbled and rolled grappling and trading blows while Arthur desperately tried to keep its hands away whenever it seemed to attempt to stab down though on occasion it got lucky and fresh blood along with black ichor stained his mangled t-shirt. But each time they shifted, Arthur tried to stumble and fall in a direction back towards the road. Nearer and nearer… Just a little further.
They were a match for strength, but the weight crushing down on him pushed the little remaining oxygen from his lungs that by now were screaming. Bloodied spittle leaked from the corner of his mouth but determination drove him through the pain. He threw a punch, the impact cracking across his assailant’s face but his weight remained. A familiar terror rose up in his chest, only to be replaced by a rising surge of anger as he lurched forwards, not aiming for the throat but the eyes. His thumbs jabbed, sinking in and making the mime recoil in pain, a moment of vulnerability that Arthur used to shove him over and drag himself nearer to his only hope at salvation.
Reaching up for the quarter faucet, his palm twisted and twisted the gratifying hiss of water spurting forth into the hose that lay connected. “You look like you need a drink,” he snarled weakly watching the mime righting itself in the middle of the lawn. Some of the water leaked leaving part of his palm to fall away to ash but the pain was worth it for the brief second of fear in the mime’s face as it realised what was happening.
Right at the moment that several revolving lawn sprinklers burst into life. Their jets shooting water high in the air and raining down retribution on the mime.
It dissolved in but an instant, the flesh sloughing off its bones that too collapsed like a house of cards. Until like the wicked witch of the west only a puddle of black slime remained.
Good riddance.
Fatigue and a wash of uncharacteristic drowsiness overcame him in a second as Arthur slumped to the ground the strength going from his muscles. He collapsed, forwards into the roadside path as voluminous amounts of blood frothed from his mouth onto the ground in a puddle. The world grew infinitely bright for a split second, and faded to black as the scream of sirens lit up the horizon.
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Self Promo Sunday: “Scaling the Walls”
Originally, I started this one before the season four finale actually aired, though the idea and set-up were based on the promos, and I didn’t finish it until that episode had shown. Still, this is more my own idea of how the “Emma being trapped in a tower and needing a rescue” plot could have played out. I revisited it the other day and thought that someone else might also enjoy it on Self-Promo Sunday!
"Scaling the Walls”
By: @snowbellewells
Wave upon wave of pain racks her body, radiating through unendingly, nearly rocking Emma Swan off her feet. The only thing keeping her from falling to the floor in an unconscious heap are the chains binding her hand and foot to the stone wall of her tower prison. Her eyes slam shut, and she tries fruitlessly to press her hands to her brow, only to have the motion arrested halfway through by the shortness of her bonds. It feels as if her head may split in two if she cannot exert some pressure to keep her senses together, but all her efforts are for naught. She is trapped and will remain so, no end to her agony in sight.
A strangled scream rises from her throat, pouring past her lips out the window into the trackless woods surrounding her cell and reverberating off its walls. She feels her heart wrenching and shattering as this psychotically unrecognizable version of Snow White plunges her hand once more into Emma's chest and grasps, squeezing and trying to pull out her own daughter's heart. The fact that this is her mother, made bloodthirsty and malicious by some wretched curse, only makes the torture worse, as the face whose kindness Emma has always treasured grins wickedly and Snow throws back her head with an evil laugh. "Oh darling! If you think you will ever defeat me, you're living in a dream world. You as the uprising’s pathetic hope?!? Their promised Savior?" The words are hissed right in Emma's face as the clawed fingers squeeze her pounding organ tighter and jerk at it again, "It’s almost laughable. I am the Queen, and you will rot in this tower, unless you relinquish your lovely heart, and your magic, and submit to my control."
Emma is practically trembling with pain and exertion, sweat running down her forehead and stinging in her eyes, fists clenched at the effort it takes merely to retain awareness through this newest onslaught, petrified by what might happen to her if she slips away. She bites almost through her lower lip, trying not to scream or cry anymore – knowing it only brings this twisted version of Snow pleasure. She has also long since ceased trying to remind her mother of the truth, as it also brought only pain at previous attempts. It hardly bears mentioning that her magic is either not working or no longer accessible to her. She is certain that this Snow won't take that for an answer. Still, can't the other woman see that if Emma had control of her powers she wouldn't stay here at their mercy? Tears fall from Emma's eyes silently at the cruel, unknowing stare focused on her, but she holds back any sound.
The new Evil Queen twists her hand within Emma's chest, and Emma is sure she must be dying. A howl of agony tears from her throat against her will and echoes in horrible crescendo. The sounds of abject despair and torment go winging out the lone window of the tower to be heard for miles around by those who ignore the cries of a rumored hero supposedly suffering at the Queen's hand.
The heartless slave version of Prince Charming steps forward from where he waits in the shadows, hand outstretched in supplication as he urges his Queen. "Your Majesty!" he pleads fervently. "Stop, please! You'll kill her at this rate and never harness her magic for yourself!"
His dark haired mistress darts a dangerous, crackling, narrow-eyed look over her shoulder at him against the far wall, pausing only an instant before her hand shoots out and throws him against the solid stone, where he falls incapacitated. "Silence!" Snow White orders needlessly as he seems completely stunned into submission.
Her shuttered, emotionless eyes, venomous and sharp as any serpent's, flick back to her prisoner and gleam with cold intent. "You're going nowhere, Princess," she purrs, the title cruel and mocking with the inflection she gives it. "You'll die a prisoner either way. But how much more you suffer before I can gain your heart and your power is entirely up to you. Tell me now how I can accomplish this, and put yourself out of your misery."
Emma trembles helplessly where she stands; her abused, aching muscles stretched beyond endurance but unable to gain relief. She wants to cry out to Snow that she is not this monster; they need to fight together to escape whatever alternate reality Gold and the Author have plunged them into - despite knowing her plea will do no good. Though she senses she will need her magic before all is said and done, though she knows she must hang onto what strength and sanity she has left, Emma thinks that in this awful moment, if she knew how to give up her powers, she would allow the Queen to have them. She doesn't know where Killian or Henry, or any of the other people she has come to know and care about, are – if they have been brought along in this nightmare as well, if they know themselves, or if they have been changed. All she has seen is the inside of these stone walls and these horrific mockeries that should never be called her parents.
However, Snow White seems to take her quiet helplessness as defiance and she shrieks in wild rage. "Have it your way!" she yells. An almost electric pulse of energy erupts from the other woman's palm, and Emma feels it crawling through her veins, burning and scorching unbearably.
Her howls of helpless agony as she quivers in her restraints overlap on each other in desperate, unending climax, until she finally slumps, boneless and insensate in her chains, lost to the world.
~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~~
Killian Jones does not know how he got himself roped into such a ridiculous venture. He shakes his head in disbelief once more as he looks behind him to the skinny, bedraggled youth with brown hair flopping in his eyes who follows him through the thick undergrowth at the forest's edge – 'more a fool's errand than a hero's journey' his mind insinuates as he recalls the words of the boy on his heels as he had looked up at Killian with a wide open expression of hope.
What had he been thinking, letting his sense of duty move him to follow this child off his ship, away from the harbor, and on this – what had the lad called it? Operation? Yes, that was it…Operation Swan's Rescue. He had thought himself long past dreams of being a dashing hero and undertaking courageous missions for the good of his people. That was all burned away in the ashes of a Pegasus sail and sunk to the depths with Liam's body long ago, when he was another man. Yet, he has never claimed to be wise or cautious, to do what makes reasonable sense, and he was not able to resist this ragamuffin's precocious grin or the somehow familiar twinkle in his big, trusting eyes, and so here they were, quite possibly chasing a mirage, a dream: a princess in a tower needing a champion to save her.
The lad certainly weaves a compelling tale, Killian thinks to himself as he pushes further into the trees and bracken, keeping well off the beaten path. Of course, he has heard the stories; everyone in this section of the kingdom – where the tower is supposed to reside – has heard of the Savior, the lovely being of hope and light magic, somehow born to the Evil Queen and her favorite plaything, then imprisoned by said mother in fear of her daughter's magical power someday overthrowing her reign of terror. Killian himself had always thought them mere fables – fireside tales to charm and entertain. However, this boy seems so sincere, and so desperate, that he finds himself believing the youth's words.
Beyond that hunch, the sense of trust, his mind cannot help but whisper, 'What if?" If there is truly a Savior, a being of Light and Good, who could restore this land to what it once was, to the beautiful, peaceful kingdom of his youth where he remembers running wild in the fields with Liam chasing him laughingly, where he wove daisy chains to take home to his mother and he could still bask in the love of her pleased, quiet smile. If the Evil Queen's rule can be brought to an end, doesn't he owe it to his people, his country, and Liam's memory, to explore every possibility? Isn't it only good form for one in his post to venture forth and make sure? Not only that, but if such a pure innocent is being held captive, if everyone knows and merely leaves her to such a fate…it twists knots of tension in his gut, not letting his mind rest. A fool he may be. He may be walking directly to his death, but his conscience will let him pursue no other course.
They have come to a stop at a running brook – refilling their canteens, slaking their thirst, catching their breaths – when a wretched wail of agony rings out in the air, silencing the birds and echoing off the trees in harsh, violent waves. Killian's eyes meet the lad Henry's, and they both freeze, horrified by the sound of such suffering. The anguish he hears in that cry lets Killian know for certain he was right to follow this quest. He must stop whatever is being done to this prisoner.
They take off at a run, unheeding of their safety or what they may find. Crashing through thorn bushes and grasping vines, panting with exertion, they both nearly go tumbling headlong to the ground when Killian skids to a sudden halt and Henry plows right into his back.
They have dashed into a deserted clearing, and there before them, rising dark and foreboding into the clouds, stands the tower. The grey stones are cracked and jutting, looking as dark and unwelcoming as must have been intended, and though his eyes search frantically along the base, Killian can see no way in.
Both pirate and youth stand frozen in uncertainty for a long stretch, until abruptly the cries of suffering halt, all goes silent, and Killian finds himself desperately jolted forward. He does not know if this will work, but he simply must take action. The imprisoned woman – according to Henry, their last chance – cannot be dead. They cannot be too late. Grasping at the rugged wall as best he can with his one working hand, he wedges his hook into a crack between stones. With one last glance to make sure his young compatriot is still with him, Killian begins to climb the tower.
~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~~
Awareness trickles back to Emma with the scrabbling, scratching sounds of metal scraping along stone. Blinking her eyes blearily and raising her head from where it had slumped awkwardly on her chest, she vaguely determines that the strange scuffling is coming from just outside her prison's single window.
Emma scrunches her brow in confusion, trying to determine what new threat could be coming for her now. She knows that the tower is high, high enough that no fully sane person would attempt to scale its walls. For the few fleeting instants she has been free of her chains in the years it seems she has been held captive here, she was able to see out over the entire forest, well over the tops of the tallest trees.
Just as she is looking fruitlessly around the barren room for something she can defend herself with against this intruder, a metal hook and strong forearm fling themselves in the window and clutch tightly, soon pulling a messily wind-ruffled head of black hair and a belovedly familiar face over with them. Her pirate, whom she had begun to fear herself lost from forever, practically hauls himself though the opening, flopping onto the stone floor, chest heaving with exertion.
"Killian!" she cries out plaintively, so glad to see him that she doesn't even care how girlish and helpless it might make her sound. "You found me!" She begins to run to him, momentarily forgetting her bonds, until the chains jerk her back.
His head shoots up at the sound of her voice, startled blue eyes meeting her gaze. He looks unsure, as if he doesn't know what to make of her awe-filled greeting. Turning quickly in the next moment to stand and return to the window again, he surprises her once more by reaching out his hand to pull someone else up and into the window after him.
Emma's heart swells at the sight of Henry. Both her son and the man she loves are here at last, safe and sound and come to rescue her. Henry doesn't seem to suffer the same confusion that Killian does. Once the man has stopped brushing him off, asking if he is okay, and lets him go, Henry rushes to her with a joyfully relieved shout of "Mom!" and wraps his arms around her – literally bringing warmth and hope back into her cold, lonely false existence.
"You found me," she repeats, a dazed whisper this time, overwhelmed by the belief and determination her son has shown to get here, and the bravery he has exhibited in climbing a tower guarded by the Evil Queen's men, at the risk of his own life – for her sake. She squeezes him tighter, wishing more than she has in all the rest of her time here to be free of the chains so that she can really take her little boy – well, young man now – fully in her arms.
She can only chuckle and shake her head when he grins at her and says exactly what she should have been expecting, "Did you really doubt we would?"
Emma's gaze flicks to Killian again, where he stands back awkwardly watching the reunion. He scratches the spot behind his ear uncertainly, but then he meets her curious, searching glance. She is frozen when their eyes make contact, breath catching with emotion. Not only is he here helping Henry, but he came to her aid even without remembering who she is or what they mean to each other. She wants so badly for him to hold her, for the sort of passionate kiss they have only recently begun to allow themselves to set everything back to rights.
Surprisingly, as the moment stretches on, Emma can see something come over Killian's face. She holds her breath, hoping against hope that somehow what they have, the connection between them, has survived this reboot of their history and who they are in this fictional reality. As she has suffered here alone, afraid she would never see his face, hear his beautiful, lilting voice, or feel his gentle but inflaming touch again, she had come to realize the truth. She loves him with a depth that scares her. She has for a long time, but could never find the words to say it aloud.
Killian tilts his head to the side, beautiful ocean eyes squinting in concentration as he studies her face, almost seeming to look beneath her skin, into her soul. Taking a tentative step forward, he reaches out, taking her hand in his one, gently rubbing soothing fingers over her skin reddened from the heavy shackle. Reaching out with his hook, he smoothes her wild, tangled hair back from her face and over her shoulder; a familiar, intimate gesture he has made several times, whether he realizes it or not. "I know you, Lass. Do I not?" he finally murmurs, eyes searching hers for an answer.
It is as though he has stolen the very breath from her lungs and the words right off her lips. All Emma can do is stare at him, amazed by his unbelievable, inexplicable faith, and nod in affirmation. She can still see wonder and adoration shining from his face, directed at her, even if he isn't sure why. Can he still somehow see what he means to her in her face? Still feel what they have – or echoes of it – despite everything that has been altered? Emma finds herself willing to hope as never before.
Unfortunately, at that moment they are interrupted by the sound of several pairs of booted feet pounding up the steps to her cell, harsh voices calling about intruders and securing the 'mad princess'. All three of them whirl to stare at the heavy door of Emma's cell in alarm, knowing the pirate and young prince can climb back out, but that they have no way to release her from her chains. She can't escape with them.
"Go!" she urges desperately, trying to spur both Henry and Killian on. She cannot bear to think what may happen to them if they are discovered here trying to free her. The guards are getting closer all the time and her heartbeat is pulsing in her throat at the danger to her two most precious loves. "You can't be found here! Please!"
Henry's eyes show understanding beyond his years as he nods his assent. Clasping her hand tightly for a split second, he vows, "We'll be back for you, Mom," before he moves toward the window, swinging one leg over the ledge and preparing to go.
Killian's face shows no such resignation. His look is desperate, frantic to save her. "What happens to you when we go, Love? I cannot leave you to them!"
"You have to, Killian…for now…I'll be alright." She gives him a brave, if tremulous, smile, needing him to be safe, even if she is not.
"No," he breathes, shaking his head and not moving an inch, even when Emma hears the running footsteps halt and instead the dreadful sound of a key turning in the ancient, rusty lock.
Whirling to face the door as it swings open, Emma prays that somehow Killian will slip out the window after Henry in the nick of time, or that some echo of the magic she possesses in their real world will shield him from their malevolent foes. Of course, as they have been ever since she opened her eyes in this parallel universe, her wishes are ignored, and with cries of attack four of the Queen's armed black guards charge forward.
Killian steps in front of Emma swiftly, easily shielding her in a single movement. He pulls the cutlass from his belt and strikes down the first assailant with deadly grace; the movement a slash as quick and sharp as a jagged finger of lightning. The second opponent meets his hook and falls motionless at their feet.
For several tense moments, Emma's breath is stolen watching the lethal accuracy Killian employs, protecting them both flawlessly and without hesitation. He ducks the third attacker's strike, and the guard overshoots, running past them, stumbling and falling just in time for the pirate to parry a fourth henchman's blow. They engage for only the briefest flurry of sword passes before Killian has bested this one as well and kicked the unconscious man away. He turns sharply, on guard with the knowledge that one last aggressor is still waiting.
Emma wants to call out to warn him, spare him the shocked pain she sees flare in his eyes when he finds his last foe, but she can't – not with the guard's hand gripping her throat, cutting off her air and her voice. She shakes her head at her sailor, knowing he won't protect his own safety but merely lunge forward to save her. She puts out a hand in an effort to wave him back, urging him to think for a moment, fight as smart as he has been, but somehow Killian misconstrues her motion and lets his eyes follow her gesture. Perhaps he thought she was reaching out for him in fear, but he is distracted one second too long.
The guard stabs forward, arm pushing stealthily from under Emma's outstretched one. He catches Killian in the side, under his ribs, and then drags the sword blade across and up, slicing a long path through leather and flesh with sickening depth.
Those fathomless blue eyes snap wide in shock and pain and a gasp flies from his lips as Killian's forward stride draws up short. Having achieved his goal, the final guard releases his grip on Emma and flings her away. Emma registers that she is screaming, crying out for Killian, but he doesn't answer, falling to his knees and bringing his hands up disbelievingly to the blood flowing from his side.
"Let that be a lesson to you before considering future attempts at escape," the guard growls roughly. "I'll leave him with you, to be sure you understand the price of crossing our Queen."
The heavy door slams shut again behind him, and Emma stumbles forward, clanking chains and all, to fall beside her pirate, sobbing out his name and pulling his head into her lap, cradling him protectively the best she can with her limited movement, tears falling from her eyes to his cheeks as she bends her head over him, fearing he is already gone, the wound is so bad. "Please…Killian…I'm so sorry…" she murmurs frantically, brushing his dark hair off his forehead, trying to ease his pain and keep him with her.
It isn't long before she feels smaller hands on her shoulders, pulling her into a hug from behind, trying to offer comfort before crouching next to her and attempting to staunch the blood still pouring from Killian's wound.
"Henry?" she questions blearily, confused.
He shrugs, "I just held onto the outside wall right below the window. Luckily they didn't check for anyone else. When the fighting stopped, I crawled back in."
She shakes her head at his daring, but her eyes quickly fly back to her pirate. To her shock, he is also chuckling at her son, though the sound is rough and choking. "There's a lad," he manages teasingly to Henry, before a horrible wracking cough interrupts and she sees blood at the corners of his mouth when he pulls his hand away afterwards.
Emma's tears still fall and she begins whispering apologies in his ear once more. He only shakes his head, "No, Lass…don't….be sorry. You are worth it. You and Henry….will find… a way out…I'm…glad I was…part of it…" His eyes flutter closed and his chest heaves mightily to keep moving up and down.
"Killian?...No!" she cries out when his eyes fail to reopen.
"Mom!" Henry breaks into her panic, his hand on her upper arm pulling her back to her senses. "Mom, you have to kiss him. True Love's Kiss! It'll save him. It has to!"
It seems so farfetched that she hardly dares to hope, but Emma is out of options and desperate not to have Killian slip away in front of her. Tracing a hand along his jaw, she lets her eyes slide shut and leans even closer to his mouth. Just before she presses her lips to his, she whispers as she did once before, "Killian, come back to me."
A disconcerting pull in her stomach and a spinning feeling makes it seem for a minute as if the world has turned upside down and the floor has dropped from under her. Blinking her eyes to look around once the whirling sensation eases, Emma is stunned to find them back in Storybrooke, sprawled inelegantly on the pavement in the middle of Main Street. Her fingers are somehow miraculously twined with Killian's as he sits up beside her, whole and unharmed from the sword wound still fresh in her memory, and her other arm is wrapped tightly around Henry. The chains and her tower prison are gone, and she gapes like a newborn baby at her surroundings. Killian turns to her, a rakish grin on his face, and she knows both realities are in his mind too. "It would appear you saved me, Swan," he teases lightly, but real affection brims in his eyes.
"What would I do without you, Pirate?" she whispers, holding on tighter and trying to keep the quaver from her voice as she burrows into his embrace. It is long past time he heard the words, and suddenly so simple for her to add in a whisper against his heart, "I love you."
Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @searchingwardrobes @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @jennjenn615 @bmbbcs4evr @resident-of-storybrooke @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @laschatzi @ilovemesomekillianjones @gingerchangeling @blackwidownat2814
#captain swan ff#self promo sunday#season four finale divergent fic#cs one shot#captain cobra#swan believer#canon divergent
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Book 0: The Fool
Full AO3 Fic // Previous | Next
Chapter 13: Ousted - if MC is trans femme (Go back to chapter 11)
The dusty straws of the broom scrape your face, causing you to fall over. Coughing from the dust and debris, you try to clear your system, preparing yourself.
“I can’t believe this. No won’er your parents lef’ you behind with me. Unbelievable…”
You feel tears sting the scratches on your cheeks. You want to fight back, to say something...but you’re at a loss. You can only hear yourself stutter meaningless sounds before your aunt raises the broom again, a threat.
“Ah ah, not another word out of yer mouth. I don’t want you under this roof - you find your own place to sleep.”
Biting your lip, you manage to squeak, “W-what about work?” Surely you wouldn’t just be thrown onto the street, without a home or pay.
Your aunt merely tsks disapprovingly. “I ain’t about’ta waist all that training I did on ya. You come in for work every morning, same time as usual. But if yer ever late, I’m gonna reconsider, ya hear?!”
Tears then overflow. “O-ok…” you manage to say, holding back hiccups.
With one final grunt, your aunt turns and slams the back door close.
Laying in the dust, you clench your fist as you finally let out the sobs you were holding in. What was so wrong with what you had said? Was it wrong? Were you a mistake?
Through your tears, you hear your name. Already knowing who’s voice it was, you feel relief briefly wash over you, before terror and embarrassment do.
Asra runs over, concern etched on his face. Dread just fills your stomach. Your aunt had all but went berserk after what you said - what would Asra say? Would he be disgusted? Would he laugh? You couldn’t bear it if he did.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.
Sniffling back the rest of your tears, you muster the energy to sit up right. You want to tell him how happy you are to see him, to ask him about his journey, his training with the Magician, but you can’t seem to find any words. Oberon crawls up to your shoulder and tries to groom away the blood and tears. Faust, meanwhile, peaks up through Asra’s scarf, worried.
When you couldn’t find the energy to speak, you hear Asra repeat gently, “What’s wrong?”
Feeling another wave of hot tears threatening to overflow, you bite the inside of your cheek. “My...my aunt just kicked me out…” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.
You hear Asra take in a sharp breath. “Why?” he asks. You hear anger mixed with his concern in his voice.
You pause for a moment to sniff back more tears. “I...I said something I shouldn’t have.”
In the pregnant pause between the two of you, you suddenly feel the rays of the setting sun and the dust of the street. You’re aware of passersby eyeing the two of you strangely, some almost tripping over the two of you.
As if sensing your thoughts, Asra wordlessly helps you get up and tenderly guides you over to his rug in the shade.
Grateful that he hadn’t pried too much, you take another shaky breath before speaking. “My...my aunt made some sort of comment on my clothes...and I told her that...that I don’t--I’m not a boy...”
You physically braced yourself, anticipating a similar horrified reaction from Asra as your aunt had. Fearful of his rejection, you hear yourself babbling half sentences of excuses and desperate explanations that you aren’t a girl or a boy. But to your surprise, there was no slap, no pain, no appalled yelling. Instead, you feel warm hands embrace you. Asra quiets you by gently saying your name.
“Hey, it’s ok...it’s ok...I’m the same.”
Your eyes widen. You had always felt alone in feeling like you were regarded as someone different than what you identified as. Never in your wildest dreams would you imagine that the boy on the street beside your shop would feel this way.
You gently break the hug to finally look at Asra properly. The amount of compassion and understanding in his face causes a faint pink blush to color your cheeks.
“People regard me as a boy...but that’s not really how I feel. I don’t know the word for it, but the words ‘girl’ or ‘boy’ doesn’t really fit it…”
You simply nod before giving Asra a gripping hug, more tears spilling onto his shoulder. So many emotions are flooding your being. You feel hurt, but comforted, elated and touches that Asra could share this with you, but the gnawing feeling of being an outsider still resides. But it subsides the smallest bit when your friend returns the hug. The two of you stay like this for some time; it could have been a few seconds or a few hours. But both of you savor the shared moment.
As time passes, your tears dwindle, and your breath evens. Releasing your clutch on Asra and look at him. You’re taken a bit off guard to see his eyes are also a bit misty eyed. Emotions tumble through you, and you wonder what you did to deserve such a person in your life.
Gradually coming back to reality, you realize that the street lights have turned on, and that the sun is leaving its last traces in the sky. Turning your head to the shop, fear takes hold of you. Would you have to sleep in the streets? You didn’t know much about Asra, but he’s told a couple of tales of his former life without a roof over his head. It wasn’t pleasant.
“Asra...what am I going to do? I...I don’t have anywhere to go,” you say, voice desolate.
He simply lifts a finger under your chin, as if silently saying to perk up. “You’re not sleeping out in the streets if that’s what you’re thinking. Come on,” he says, rising to pack his things. “You’re coming with me tonight. I’m sure Muriel won’t mind.”
Your mouth simply falls open, silently watching Asra pack his things. “A-are you sure?” you ask, stumbling to stand.
Turning to look at you, he chuckles. “I would never want my friend to experience what Muriel and I did in the streets of this city. Muriel isn’t fond of people, but I’m sure he can be empathetic to your situation. Now,” he says, securing his things onto his person. He offers his hand to hold on the journey to the forest. “Let’s get going before it gets too dark out.”
Still not believing your ears, you take his hand. As the two of you walk, Asra turns to you. “So, do you have preferred pronouns?”
~ ~ ~
You and Asra walk through the quieting streets of Vesuvia. Tears all dried up, you tell Asra your preferred pronouns, among other anecdotes of your confused feelings. Asra in turn tells you about his mental and spiritual journey to understanding his gender identity. You feel overwhelmed with gratitude and happiness that your closest friend not only accepts you, but also trusts you to tell all of this. You almost don’t notice that the entire time you’ve been walking, your hand has been gently wrapped in his.
Eventually, the streets dwindle into dirt roads that fade into the entrance of the forest. The sun is setting beyond the horizon, leaving a pink glow in its wake. There’s just enough light for you to make out the steps in front of you.
“We’re almost there. Don’t worry, I won’t let you get lost,” Asra reassures, giving your hand a soft squeeze.
You nod, certain that he wouldn’t do that to you.
As you begin the walk into the forest, Asra’s careful to warn you of sneaky roots and hidden holes that you could trip on. You feel like it should have been getting darker, but the forest canopy is thick enough to obscure any light that’s left in the sky. But Asra seems to know his way well enough.
Soon, you recognize a small protection charm that you had made for Asra some time ago.
“Is...that the charm I gave you?” you ask.
“Yep, we’re almost there now. I put these up around to help Muriel feel protected, and to keep our little abode hidden.”
Then you see another, and another, then a string of charms and herbs. They all lead to a lightly beaten path that ends with a small hut mashed into the base of a tree.
“Alright, we’re here. Let me go get Muriel. I wish you two could meet under better circumstances,” he sighs ruefully. He gives one light squeeze of your hand before letting it go to open the hut’s door.
“Muriel, could you come outside for a minute?” he calls.
Suddenly, you feel nervous and timid. What if Muriel doesn’t like you? What if he won’t let you stay? This is your first time meeting him, surely strangers don’t just let people stay in their houses? But you two aren’t total strangers either…
As you fidget, the door opens wider to reveal a rather large figure. You can’t help your eyes going wide as your gaze rises to meet his. You could have sworn Asra said he’s the same age as the two of you!
But upon closer look, you see weary, but young, eyes meet yours briefly, before looking away. Asra kindly smiles and stands beside his friend, patting his arm.
“Muriel, this is the friend who I’ve told you about, the one who let me stay in their shop,” Asra says, before officially introducing the two of you. The whole time, Muriel is silent, expression ambiguous.
“It’s getting dark, and the shop isn’t really too safe for them anymore...I was thinking we could offer our place here,” Asra gently explains.
Muriel dwells on it for a minute, before he seems to make up his mind.
“No. Leave.”
Shock and fear crashes onto you like an icy cold bucket of water. Your eyes go wide as your chest constricts with panic.
Asra mirrors your shock and looks up at his friend. “Muriel--wha--wait, no, they need somewhere to stay. We can’t just let them on the streets, think about what that was like for us,” he insists.
Your panic twists your fear into guilt and shame. Of course it would be too much for Asra and Muriel to house you. Looking at the hut, it seems barely big enough for Muriel, let alone him and Asra.
“A-Asra, it’s ok...I can-I can figure something out,” you stammer, breaking through him convincing his quiet friend.
“What? No, you can’t, it’s much too dark now,” Asra argues, hints of desperation in his eyes. He comes to your side and brings your hand into his, as if to keep you near him. “And I won’t let you go through what we did. Muriel, please, be reasonable.”
Hopelessness returning, you look up to meet Muriel’s gaze. “I-I won’t take up much room, I promise. I just...need somewhere to sleep…” you plead, while your thoughts anxiously wonder what you’re going to do if he says no again.
Muriel closes his eyes, brows furrowed. When he opens them, he answers. “Fine…” He then simply goes back to the door and opens it, silently letting us in.
Relief makes your legs weak; you’re glad Asra’s there to support you. You give a small smile before the two of you enter the hut.
There are minimal furnishings, just enough to get by. But the strong fire warms the entire place, and fills you with warmth. It feels like a home.
“Ah, the two of us usually share a bed, but I think there’s an extra blanket or cloak somewhere….” Asra mutters. He leaves your side, trying to get you accomodated.
You look up at Muriel, who seems only mildly annoyed now. “Thank you, Muriel. I know this is all pretty sudden...but thank you.”
He subtly pouts his lips, whether in annoyance or discomfort you don’t know. “What happened to your old place…?” he asks under his breath. You aren’t sure if you’re meant to hear the question, but you decide to answer anyway.
“Uh, my...aunt just kicked me out...I guess she finally had enough of me. She and I...didn’t really get along.”
Muriel’s irritation lessens, his tense shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “What happened?”
You’re about to answer when Asra comes back to you. “Does this look ok?” You turn your attention to the makeshift bed he made for you on the floor. Graciously smiling, you thank him. “It’s perfect.”
He seems relieved. “Thank you, Muriel.”
Cheeks turning red from the attention, the tall boy averts his gaze. “I-It’s fine. Now let’s just sleep.”
Weariness makes your eyelids feel heavy at the mention of sleep. After an overwhelming day, you’d love nothing but to surrender yourself to a night of rest.
“Yeah, I think everyone’s had an exciting day,” Asra agrees, watching you as you stifle a small yawn.
Muriel wordlessly goes to the hearth to dim the flames, filling the cottage with its scarlet light. You shuffle over to your spot on the floor, while Asra sheds his outerwear to get comfortable for the night.
“Do you need anything?” you hear him ask as you also get comfortable.
“No, I think I’ll be good for the night. Thank you so much, Asra. I...I don’t know how I can repay you.”
He reaches out and takes a hold of your hand. He opens his mouth to say something, but Muriel deliberately flops onto the bed, cutting off Asra’s words. Asra turns to look at him, but is only met with Muriel’s back.
“Alright, alright, we get it, Muriel. We’ll go to bed,” Asra giggles. He turns to you and smiles apologetically. “Looks like someone’s a bit jealous.”
You let out a brief chuckle, which makes Asra smile. “Good night,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze.
“Good night, Asra. Sleep well.”
Good night, friend! Faust pipes in. Asra smiles and gives her chin scritches. With one last glance, he goes over and slips into bed.
“Good night, Muriel,” Asra sighs, settling in.
“Good night, Muriel,” you echo.
“Go. To. Sleep.”
You and Asra stifle a laugh before slipping into slumber.
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One Shot: Stranger Danger
I thought I’d take a break from In Too Deep and try out this One shot with Shannon. I mean – what if Mr Leto came to your rescue, fighting off the advances of an unwanted admirer?
I’m open to One Shot requests and Imagines. If anyone wants to throw ideas my way, feel free to ask and I’ll do my best, as much as time allows xx
Warning: Total fluff!
Danni was aware of his eyes – they never left her, tracking her every move as she pushed and shoved her way outside. The buzz of the club was muted as the door swung closed behind her, the cold night air tickling the bare skin on her arms. He was nowhere to be seen and Danni moved quickly, eager to put distance between her and the guy inside.
She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. It answered on the first ring. “Hey Danni, where are you?” Danni had been friends with Shannon now for the past three years and he’d always been there for her through thick and thin. He was a shoulder to cry on after relationships went bad and almost always there to celebrate the good times.
Tonight, Danni needed reassurance, feeling unnerved by what had happened in the club. “Shan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called so late but this guy’s been staring at me and following me and I just don’t know but it scared the shit out of me, and now I’m calling you and I’m feeling .... just a little stupid ....”
The words tumbled out, drowned slightly by the shouts from clubbers hurrying along the sidewalk and horns blaring from passing cars.
“Danni where are you? Stop for a moment and listen to me!” Shannon said, his voice sounding slightly frantic.
“I’m downtown near the Oasis club. Shannon, don’t worry. I’ll be OK. I was just slightly freaked out.”
“I don’t care. Just stay where you are and don’t move. I’ll come and get you.”
No matter what Danni said, Shannon wasn’t taking no for an answer. It had been that way ever since they first met at a party organised by mutual friends. He’d insisted they keep in touch. Shannon’s job kept him away for long spells but when he was in town, they met for coffee or lunch to catch up. Danni loved his smile and bear hug greetings; Shannon loved her chatter and the chaos she brought to his life.
“Shannon ....” Danni paused, “Thanks. I’m not far from the club. I’ll look out for you. I’ve got my phone if you need me.” She ended the call and wrapped her arms around herself, aware of the dip in temperature after the heat and sweat of Oasis. She pulled her purse close to her body and turned around to head back so Shannon could find her.
As she turned, Danni felt the hairs rise on her skin, goosebumps from the midnight breeze. But there was something else mixed in with it. The sidewalk had emptied and neon from a nearby sign brought a red glow to the night. Suddenly she was aware of a movement behind her; a hand on her shoulder forcing her away from the club and into the shadows.
Danni tried shouting but it was like one of those dreams where your cries become silent screams for help.
She caught sight of his face - it was definitely him. Danni was pinned against the wall, his hand covering her mouth. She felt tears pricking her eyes and she hoped to God Shannon wasn’t too far away. Panic took hold as she struggled to breathe. “No,” Danni’s voice was muffled as his hands assaulted her body.
“Please no,” she begged, tears streaking her cheeks. She felt her phone vibrating, giving a glimmer of hope. It stopped and then started to vibrate again.
Shannon pulled up just short of the club and killed the engine. His fingers drummed on the dashboard, remembering how worried Danni had sounded.
There was no answer from her phone, which was so unlike her. They’d only spoken ten minutes ago, so she couldn’t have gone far.
Shannon opened the door and stepped out. It wasn’t busy, so where the hell had she gone. It was just one long boulevard filled with fast food joints, neon lights and clubs. ‘Why the hell had Danni come down here,’ he wondered.
Danni heard a car door slam nearby and hoped desperately that it was Shannon. Using all her strength, she thrust her knee upwards, connecting with her attacker. He let out a groan and dropped his hand for a moment. Danni’s scream echoed off the walls of the alleyway.
“Danni! ” Suddenly she was aware of being pulled away, dragged to safety. “What the fuck’s happened?” Shannon pushed her to safety before turning and launching himself at the stranger. Two punches dropped him to the ground. Shannon pulled away, feeling a rush of anger that if acted on, could easily land this guy in hospital for several months.
He shifted to his knees, bending over so he could be heard over the background noise. “You ever do this again, I will fucking kill you.” Shannon gave him one last push before standing up and grabbing Danni.
Her dress was torn and cheeks streaked with mascara. Shannon put his arms around her and guided her quickly to the car, head down, desperate not to attract attention.
The drive back to Shannon’s place was mostly in silence, punctuated by sobs from Danni, wrapped up in Shannon’s shirt in the passenger seat. It was an even quicker journey back, the LA traffic thinning, cars’ tail lights flaring red in the night sky.
Shannon unlocked the door and helped Danni inside. He took her hand and led her into the bathroom, turning on the shower until steam started to billow out, misting up the mirror.
He pulled her close, knowing that in that moment, she needed to feel protected. Danni rested her head on Shannon’s chest, comforted by the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, feeling his hand stroke her back.
“I’m sorry about everything,” she sobbed. “I was just walking back so you could find me and he grabbed me and he pushed me and ...” Danni felt Shannon’s finger rest on her lips.
“Sshhh. I know it’ll be hard,” he whispered, “but try not to think about what happened. I’m here now and I promise you, you’re safe.” He pulled her closer again, resting his chin on her head while massaging her neck, easing away some of the tension. “Why don’t you get in the shower and then we’ll talk?”
Danni knew he’d felt her body tense as he pulled away. His eyes met hers, questioning. “What’s up Dan?” He tucked a stray stand of hair that had fallen across her face. “You must get in the shower,” he said, pulling her into another hug. Shannon then gently started to unzip her dress, lifting it over her head until Danni stood naked in front of him. He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her into the shower. “Shall I stay here?” he asked, not feeling able to leave her in such a vulnerable state.
Danni nodded, not wanting to lose sight of him. The water jets drummed into her skin, washing away the smells if not the memory of the night. She soaped her body, rubbing every inch of skin before washing her hair. Then she turned off the water and smiled as Shannon held out a huge towel, wrapping her tightly and drying off her body.
“Thank you.” Danni didn’t know what else to say. His hands continued to slowly rub the towel across her skin, making sure not to hurt her. He looked away before scooping up her clothes. “These are going in the bin,” he said. He walked out of the bathroom, before returning with one of his T-shirts. “Here, take this.” He removed the towel and eased her arms into the air, slipping the shirt over her head and pulling it down to cover the curves of her body. His fingers grazed across Danni’s hips, coming to rest around her waist. He buried his face in her hair, his other hand at the back of her neck, pulling her into his chest.
“Danni, please don’t do that to me again.” She could feel him breathing hard, fighting to control his emotions. “I wouldn’t say this to anyone else but you scared the shit out of me back there.”
He looked totally frazzled, she had to admit. His eyes were rimmed with dark shadows and his shirt was torn from brawling in the alley earlier. “Shannon, I can’t say sorry again,” she said, pulling him down to sit next to her on the bed. “I called you because you’re the one person I trusted to help.” Danni looked away, aware this was unchartered territory.
Silence floated between them until his rough hand cupped her chin, and she felt his lips graze down her cheek, his scruff rubbing against her newly washed skin. Danni let her fingers drift over his face, watching as his hazel eyes darkened.
“Dan, come here,” he whispered, pulling her into his tattooed arms, his lips moving ever closer until they connected, desperate to find comfort in friendship. His tongue teased open Danni’s mouth, probing deeper, wanting more, until she allowed herself to melt into the warmth of his embrace, scared it would end all too soon.
The endless cups of coffee they’d shared and woodland walks were a far cry from sitting on a bed together. Danni turned back to face him and opened her mouth to speak. But before the words spilled out, Shannon placed a finger on her lips again.
“Stay with me.” That’s all he said. He pulled back the comforter and they crawled underneath, savouring the warmth of each other’s bodies; friends but maybe a bit more .....
@letojokerownsme @letsbeautifuldisaster @llfd1977 @nikkitasevoli @beautorigin
#shannon leto#shannon leto fanfic#shannon leto fanfiction#30stm#shannon leto 30stm#30stm fanfiction#black fuel#jared leto fan fic#jared leto
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fortress
more misawa thoughts. all aboard the sad bullshit train.
Miyuki is self conscious and nervous about himself and his actions. He’s scared of letting people down, of being abandoned and left behind. So he tries extra hard, puts up this really over-confident front and creates the person he thinks he needs to be for other people. He has a lot of slip-ups though. When he’s not playing baseball, not around his team, he’s pretty shy. He doesn’t know how to deal with people outside of this very specific bubble he’s made for himself. He has no idea how to start talking to people, so he comes off as stand-offish. People avoid him, and he takes it personally. He thinks he’s probably not very likable, in general. It hurts, but he’s used to it. It’s been his standard since he was a little kid. People like him when he plays baseball, or they’re intimidated by him, or they want to be him. He likes all of these better than not being liked at all. So he plays baseball like his life depends on it, and brushes it off as though the skills just come naturally to him.
He thinks kuramochi is probably lonely too, but not like himself. A different, self-imposed kind of loneliness. Kuramochi surrounds himself only with people he trusts, but it takes a lot for him to trust people to begin with. Miyuki just doesn’t bother with trust. Trust never gained him anything. If people were to start trusting him, he’d probably let them down, and vice versa. Kuramochi decides to trust Miyuki, though, despite it all. He doesn’t trust Kuramochi back, wouldn’t make himself vulnerable like that, but he thinks Kuramochi is a likable person, and he’s okay being lonely together for however long it takes before Kuramochi realizes he’s not worth anything close to another person’s trust. It’s fun to make him laugh, at least.
miyuki’s not afraid of many things. he’s scared of failure, when it comes to baseball. He knows it’s never his fault alone, but he bears the full weight of the failure as though it were. sometimes he’s afraid of going home, because it feels like walking into a memory he’d rather forget. mostly though, he’s just afraid of people finding out how much of a lie he is. once that happens, everyone will leave. once people see who he truly is, they’ll hate him. hate him and leave. he’s nothing special at all, he’s just a guy pretending to be interesting so people stay around. not very likable. it hurts to lie, but it hurts being left behind more. even if he has to say mean things, even if he has to push and push until he’s given the silent treatment. it’s worth it, to be accepted, in some form or another.
the alarm bells in his head ring louder and louder for every day he spends with Sawamura Eijun. from the day he met him, they were ringing. miyuki had spent years building a fortress around himself, the foundation digging deep into the ground, and the towers reaching up so high you couldn’t see the top. every inch of it covered in spikes, in traps, in signs that say “turn back now”. a chasm separates himself and his fortress from the outside world, and inside is fire. Yet, on the day he met Sawamura Eijun, the second he caught his first pitch, the first faint alarm started ringing.
on the day he ran into him behind the shed, that alarm got a little louder. when he realized how much sawamura wanted him to catch for him, another alarm joined the chorus. it was weird to be wanted, sought out. all the other pitchers he’d worked with would shake their head at his signs, felt resigned to work with him. sawamura was the total opposite. he wanted the signs. he recognized his weaknesses and looked to miyuki to help him.
more alarms sounded, blaring, when he slammed sawamura against the wall, full of anger at his attitude toward chris, the one person he truly respected. he was revealing too much, he knew, but for some reason this kid was hard to continuously lie to. he gathered his composure quickly, and left, shaking his head to get the alarms to quiet down.
it takes a long time. a long, agonizing, painful time. sawamura had been chipping away at this hellish fortress for months and months. miyuki doesn’t get it. how much more hurt does this kid want to inflict on himself before he realizes there’s no prize at the end of this journey. just emptiness. disappointment.
despite all that, he persists. on an average evening identical to many of the average evenings preceding it, he decides to go and wrangle his pitcher from the field where he knows he’s running until he drops. the gravel crunching under his feet as he makes his way over sounds eerily similar to a sound he’s been hearing for weeks, the chipping away at his fortress walls, bits crumbling and falling as the days go on. he sees sawamura running mindlessly, as always. as he turns a corner, he spots miyuki and shouts, raggedly, “miyuki *huff* kazuya!!” He gives miyuki this dumb grin, and the second he feels his lips twitch upwards to mirror that grin, he hears a loud, thundering knock.
sawamura is still pretty far off, running towards him. miyuki laughs under his breath, feeling lightheaded and nauseous. of course, he thinks, of course he would still ask permission to enter after months of fighting just to get to the door.
miyuki has no idea what to do as sawamura trots up to him, grinning. his worst fear taking physical form, beaming at him like some poetic nonsense that miyuki refuses to acknowledge. his head hurts, his chest hurts, his eyes are unfocused even though his glasses are on.
“hey!” sawamura says, finally close. miyuki can feel heat radiating off of him from his workout. “your glasses look weird in this light! they look blue,” he says, and reaches up, plucking them gently from his face. he turns the glasses up and down, trying to get them to reflect correctly. “see?” he says, once he gets the angle he’d been working at.
“No,” miyuki says plainly. “I don’t have my glasses on.”
sawamura does this big ugly cackle that miyuki has heard so many times. he says “oh yeah!” and slips the glasses back behind miyuki’s ears and up his nose. he feels engulfed, suffocated all of a sudden, and takes a half step back.
“well trust me, they’re definitely blue,” sawamura assures him. he feels, horrifyingly, the door to his fortress start to creak slowly open.
“i’ll never be sure, though, since I’m either wearing them, or blind, idiot,” he says, and starts walking back toward the cafeteria so he can look somewhere, anywhere besides sawamura’s face. he can’t talk about trust right now. his heart is beating out of his chest, he’s sweating, he thinks maybe he should run to the bathroom to vomit.
he’s stopped by a tugging from the back of his shirt. he doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t think he can.
“something’s up with you. are you...did you hurt yourself again?” sawamura stomps around until he’s standing in front of miyuki, hands on his hips. he points a finger right at miyuki’s nose, an inch, a centimeter away from touching. miyuki goes a little cross-eyes and flinches as he does it.
“I’m...no? I’m not injured, sawamura. You think i’d be able to get away with that again?” he steps back again, toward the field. he feels overwhelmingly trapped. he feels annoyingly close to crying, eyes stinging. he sniffs, hiding his emotions by rolling his eyes.
“Yes! You’re really good at that kind of thing! Hiding stuff from people, not showing your emotions to anyone,” he says, following Miyuki with his finger still pointed right at his face. “You lie to make everyone feel better, but you just hurt yourself more!”
Miyuki, at this point, is visibly shaking, which Sawamura sees. He huffs, reaches his hand out and grabs one of his shaking wrists, lifting it up between them. “See? Something’s wrong, and you’re not telling me what it is! Don’t lie to me, Miyuki Kazuya!” Sawamura wiggles his wrist a little, but not too much. Miyuki thinks maybe he’s being careful incase his wrist is the part of him that’s hurt. That thought makes him shake more, and he feels Sawamura let go quickly. “Sorry!” he yelps, “Did that hurt?”
Alarms, alarms, alarms. He can barely hear Sawamura. He looks up, down, to his sides, anywhere else. He steps back and back and back but Sawamura isn’t getting farther away. His back hits a fence, the chainlink rattling, and he thinks Sawamura probably jumped a lot of these fences to get to that fortress door, barbed wires at the top and electric currents running through them. But he’s right here, standing on the same side of the fence as him.
“You look really scared right now, Miyuki,” Sawamura says, confused. “You’re acting really weird. I mean, you’re always weird and mean and stuff, but you’re being really weird.”
Miyuki huffs, looking to the side and hoping desperately for some sarcasm to claw it’s way out of his mouth. “Your face is pretty scary, you know. And I’m not the only one acting weird,” he says, “Your--”
The foundation suddenly shifts under him, a fault in the ground rips open and the high towers quiver back and forth for a moment before suddenly snapping like toothpicks and tumbling heavily to the ground, dust and debris rising rapidly into the air, which quickly becomes unbreathable. His eyes meet Sawamura’s, and the genuine worry he’s greeted with is the final blow, the wrecking ball blowing through his emotional barrier. He can’t finish his sentence, can’t even breathe. He just stands there stupidly staring back at eyes that suddenly have a look of realization in them, and then shock. Miyuki wonders why, for a moment, before he feels hot streaks drip down both sides of his face, meeting each other at his chin and falling down between them into the dirt. For a moment, he wishes it were blood. Wishes he was physically injured so that Sawamura could focus on that, instead of the emotional chaos he’s wreaking inside Miyuki’s mind. But as much as he’d like to think Sawamura is simple-minded, he can tell just by looking that he sees right through Miyuki, to the very center of him. Past the captain, past the catcher, past the liar. He sees Miyuki, lonely, afraid, and drained. Defeated and embarrassed.
“Don’t cry,” he says in a voice that reminds him so much of his mother that more tears start spilling. He turns his eyes away finally, so flushed with embarrassment.
“Yeah,” he says, even though there wasn’t anything to agree with. They both stand there, Miyuki staring blankly at the back wall of the dorms, and Sawamura staring at him, for minute and minutes. He can’t hear any alarms anymore, and he finds himself feeling awkward for the first time in a long time. What is he supposed to do, after crying helplessly in front of Sawamura? How does he get himself out of this? What words does he have?
They stand there. It’s awkward.
“This is weird,” Miyuki says, finally. His voice sounds gross because his nose is all clogged up. He looks back at Sawamura, but his glasses are foggy and wet from his tears. He feels Sawamura grab at his glasses again, and sees him blurrily rub them against his dirty shirt before sliding them back onto Miyuki’s face. “Gross,” he says, and weirdly he feels like crying again, but not because he’s sad. He just kind of wants to cry.
“Hey, go to your dorm. I’m gonna go get a whole bunch of rice balls and we’re gonna see who can eat the most, okay?” Sawamura asks, but Miyuki can tell he’s asking something else. Still asking for permission, even after the fortress has waved it’s white flag.
“Yeah, alright,” he says. Sawamura gets behind him and pushes him like a snow plow up to his dorm room, before turning around and running full speed to the cafeteria. He stops at the bottom of the stairs to yell, “What kind do you like!”
Miyuki sits dumbly for a moment before getting up and popping his head out the door. “Whatever’s fine with me! You can choose!”
“Kay!” and he’s run off again.
Sawamura brings back a big plate full of rice balls, and they all have his favorite fillings. He thinks maybe Sawamura thinks he’s a likable person. Maybe he trusts Miyuki. MIyuki doesn’t know much about that kind of thing. He does know that he cries more as he eats the rice balls, and that Sawamura takes his glasses off this time so they don’t get foggy, and because maybe he knows Miyuki doesn’t want to see what Sawamura’s face looks like as he cries. He knows he falls asleep sitting up with rice all over his mouth, and when he wakes up a few hours later, Sawamura is still there, looking through Miyuki’s books and things like a little snoop. He knows he’s lost this long game he’s been playing when all he does is laugh as Sawamura looks at him like a deer caught in headlights. He feels light, like he could float right through the ceiling, but before he can even manage to lift a foot off the ground, Sawamura slams down in front of him and throws playbooks in his lap.
“Teach me!” He shouts.
“It’s 3 in the morning,” Miyuki replies. “And what do you even mean, ‘teach you’?”
“I dunno,” he mumbles. “You’re always looking at these playbooks all night and day. I figure I could help, sometimes, so you don’t have to do all the work yourself. Or something.” He flips one of the books open half-heartedly, looking down.
“Um,” Miyuki says. He pauses for a long time, a war going on in his head. Sawamura probably doesn’t even understand what he’s asking of him. He swims and swims through his thoughts. He thinks about Kuramochi, and how he decides who he wants to trust, even if it’s only a few people. He thinks about his dad, and growing up alone and hurt. He thinks about how Sawamura is sitting in front of him, and what that means. His mind wars on and on, but after the battle is over and relief spreads across the survivors, the victor announces their win with a battle cry. “Okay.”
#misawa#miyusawa#miyuki kazuya#sawamura eijun#daiya#daiya no ace#fic?#sorry in advance for my capitalization disorder
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Bed of Rails
Word Count: 1760 | By: Elawn McDonald
“Could she be dead? No, perish the thought,” I whispered to myself. The stairs creaked as I descended to the dining hall, looking in both directions on my way down, hoping to glimpse Sera at least once. In my distraction I almost tripped over the bottom of my dress; if you’d even call a used tablecloth like that a dress. The other orphans poured down the stairs and scattered once they reached the floor like sand falling out of one’s hand. I had to hold onto to the railing for dear life or I’d be roadkill. They hungrily assaulted their meals upon the wooden dining tables, the clinging and clanging of their spoons and plates sounded out their sword fight against hunger. I knew Sera desperately needed to fight that war as well. I needed to find her because a girl as stubborn as she was would lose the battle simply because she was too proud to pick up a weapon.
I gripped the remains of my stuffed mouse tightly, knowing he’d be the knight I needed to help me on my journey. His cute sword and missing eye told the story of what he had been through to protect me. I ran silently to the back door, not wanting to alert any of the caretakers to where I was going. My footsteps were easily masked in the sounds of the ongoing battle. I couldn’t blame the poor kids, I too would have wanted to get my last meal in, not knowing when the next bomb would strike our would-be safe village. I closed the door behind me and run along the worn dirt path to the hole in the fence, covered only by a wooden pallet. My tiny arms gave into the weight of the pallet, causing me to jump back as it slammed to the ground. I couldn’t imagine how someone only slightly taller than me moved it to sneak out every day. I jogged along the grass, looking back to make sure I didn’t attract any unwanted attention, and hoping I didn’t step on any glass bottle fragments drunk soldiers to left lying wherever their feet touched. Running barefoot might not have been the best idea, but shoes were expensive.
My knight fell to my side as I gripped my knees gasping for air. I looked up at the empty wooden swing, swaying in the gentle wind just as my brown dress did. “She’s… not here,” I panted, looking left and right. My diminishing energy made me want to ignore the obvious sight of a similar brown set of rags in the near distance. Sera was laying on the train tracks with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Her brown hair which blew in the wind made her almost look completely like a set of rags until the wind subsided and revealed her pale skin; a skin tone I felt familiar with. Confusion, as well as fear, started to set in. Needless to say, it gave me the energy I needed to continue galloping along the grass.
“Nice day… Right, Emily?” A voice traveled to my ears, coming from a mouth then covered in several strands of hair. She laid using her hands as a pillow, leaving her hair completely at the wind’s mercy. I walked up next to her, clearly confused as to what she was thinking.
“What are you doing here? This isn’t a bed,” I said, stating the obvious but feeling the need to sit down next to her. Something about how strong she was always seemed to calm me down. She was my big sister, she was all I had left.
“You’re so cute sometimes,” she teased, opening her eyes. Her head turned to me, revealing the deep brown eyes of our mother. “It’s easy to think when you lay down like this.”
“What on earth are you thinking about laying on train tracks? What happens if a train comes?” I asked, my voice peaking as it overflowed with worry. I reached my hand down to offer a lift to her feet. She shook her head slowly in response.
“Then let it come. It won’t just stop for a lonely girl,” said, smiling as she looked up to the sky. “Mom and Dad used to take us to the park. We’d see if we could come back another day and see the same cloud. It was silly, but it was nice.”
I was confused about why she’d bring up our parents then of all times. It was nearly half a year ago. I still cried myself to sleep at the memories, but I had my knight with me at all times. It was then I noticed I had left him up on the hill. He sat, looking at me before tipping over in the wind. I couldn’t just leave him after all the battles he fought for me, but my attention was drawn to Sera when I heard her voice once again.
“He couldn’t save them. Neither could you,” she said calmly. A sudden change in her tone filled me with the same fear and confusion as before. “But I could have. And they know that.”
“Don’t be silly!” I shouted, stomping my foot at the wooden beam next to her body.
“They knew, but they still chose to let me live. Our parents sure were something else,” she whispered, smiling as she closed her eyes, dragging her voice out into a hushed tone.
“Why are you saying this? Get up, Sera. Please!” I begged. I knelt and tugged on her arm, but my strength was as potent as a breeze.
“They told me to be quiet. But I was such a little scamp, wasn’t I? I just had to rebel. I made such a fuss…” she whispered with her eyes still closed.
“Get. Up. Get. Up!” I cried, pulling her arm as if she were falling off a cliff, but it was pointless. My malnourished body was in no condition to do more than take five steps without tumbling.
“You were such a good girl. You kept quiet through the whole thing…” she said, turning to me as she opened her eyes. She chuckled at my futile attempt to lift her from the ground. “And then there was me…”
I knew exactly what she was talking about, but I had no intention of hearing her finish. “Enough, please. Please. Please. Get up!” I pleaded desperately until tears found their way through my eyes.
My voice was silenced. No one could have heard a thing I said over the loud, blaring horn of an oncoming train. The rolling thunder of the wheels along the tracks grew louder. My eyes widened as I saw a tower of steam and smoke coming up from behind a thick set of trees, moving quickly. My cries grew more frantic and the small droplets of tears began to burst into heavy streams. I used every ounce of strength I had left to lift the slender body of what felt like a fifteen-ton sack. “Sera! Sera! Please, please, please, please, please! The train’s coming!”
“You think I’m stupid?” she yelled, her voice rising as her expression molded into one that had absolutely no fear or emotion. “They were truly something. Shielding my pathetic body from those bullets…” Her expression finally cracked, she began to imitate what I assumed was my face at that moment. “Bullets from the soldiers that I led to them! They heard me yelling like a pathetic child while mother and father begged me to hush! I had no idea why, but… I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve to eat while their bodies starve.”
“It’s not your fault!” I screamed in response. My arms, however, were silenced as my strength gave out and my head hit the dirt. I sat up quickly to see her looking at me.
“Remember how we hopped a train to get here? You were so scared, but you were a good girl,” she whispered, curling her fingers. She turned her head to the left, also drawing my attention to the huge steel plate, bending around the distant corner. Her gaze was followed by a loud series of horns that sounded nearly as frantic as my voice just was. “I think I’m going to take the train again.”
My lips trembled at the realization. My heart squeezed itself into a ball under the pressure of me fearing the loss of the last part of my life that held any value. “Let me come, too!” I begged, not being able to move at all. I felt weak and pathetic. I was the opposite of healthy, and it was revealed as she saw that I couldn’t get back up.
She turned her face to me. What was once a pale field of white, was then a flooded plain of tears. She pointed to my knight upon the hill. “He’ll take care of you. Just like he did while you were in the closet,” she said. I had to feel her words because I couldn’t hear them. The harsh screech of iron rushing together burned my ears, and it was only getting louder.
“Sera! What am I… What am I going to do?!” I asked. I know I had no way of controlling the situation, so in my desperation, I begged to know what a helpless little girl like me could have done in a world where you could be greeted by a bullet at any moment. The screeching was at the peak of its sound.
Screech…
“Close your eyes,” she shouted. Without any further direction on what to do or how to live, I followed her command and covered my drenched face with my dusty fingers.
Screech…
“N… Now?” I said with a shivering voice. My eyes were closed, but I could just imagine her face lighting up with satisfaction at the fact that I did what she asked. I could hear it in her voice.
Screech…
“No wonder you were their favorite…” she whispered, speaking with the sweetest tone of voice I had ever heard her use. We were young and she knew that. “Don’t cry, follow orders, stay away from soldiers…” Her pause made the following words hold only that much more impact. I bit my bottom lip with all the strength I had in my fragile teeth. I braced for the impact of her words the same way she braced for the impact she chose to experience. “You’re such a good girl…”
Screech…
“A girl and her sister both battle with their weaknesses, after losing everything that they had in a world which is engulfed in the flames of conflict.”
Created: October 13, 2018
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A Long Journey
This journey starts from a point called ZP it is where the natural pool exists for the weanlings to enjoy play swimming. But it occasionally becomes deadly as the tide rises and the orcas float in for a blubbery snack.
Following the coast from here would be impossible and deadly. I tried once, I am very lucky to be alive.
At the center of ZP is a Penguin path through the tussock nesting above the cliff. So weaving ones way through the tussock near the cliff making sure not to fall off or go to deep into the tussock occasionally glimpsing the ocean. After five
Minutes of the winding path you must pick your way down the slope slowly to where the red eye Comorans nest and climb down onto the beach covered in Rolling Stones your ears filled with the noise of the ocean pushing and pulling and tumbling and rolling the stones over and over again. Half walking half sinking in the stones you walk on until you start to smell a horrendous smell. If you follow the smell you wind up at a pit of noxious smelling mud. All around are scattered bones from the animals unlucky enough to not escape, this is a place of death and wallowing. Once again getting your head you walk back to the beach you turn the corner and come upon a massive amount of a tussock patch that is not so thick. You walk up and reach a lake full of life here the wild celery grows and the night herons fly overhead. While starring at the beauty of the lake your ears are accousted by the loud snorings of great beasts lying in the mud the elephant seals of all sizes with patches of skin hanging off of them suddenly you look down at the ground and see it is littered with animal fur pieces. After picking some wild celery you decide to get out of there but not before one of the beasts eyelids flutters open you freeze and wait for him to go back to sleep. You decide it’s time to head back to the shore. Continuing to pick your way further down the shore the ground on the edge is no longer flat but stretches into grand cliffs reaching for the sky the sky. You hop from the rolling boulders onto the slippery rocks covered in algae but flat with enough fractures to secure some footing. Walking until the flat rocks become giant boulders that seem to look like someone had just left them haphazard. Looking down at the swelling water around them you have no choice but to go back and find a suitable path to climb up to be on top of the coastline instead of along it.
You find a path climbing up right before the cliffs become too steep and once again fight your way through the overgrown tussock sometimes having to go through it with your eyes shut so as not to get stuck in the eye. Eventually walking out into the sun and being able to see the sparkling ocean again. You continue your journey. You walk through shorter grass and slightly barren ground until you reach a wooden stick poking out of the ground this is point 18. Your journey is a third over. You breathe for a minute and drink some of your dwindling supply of water and shift your pack weight on your shoulders and place your head up and determinedly continue your journey. Walking back into the tussock you scare a sea lion and slowly back away to give it some peace. Eventually the tussock breaks and you wind up on loose gravely and continue to walk your eyes constantly searching for another penguin path to follow down. You find it and almost fall down the last part it is so slick with mud. You jump down and your feet hit piles of shale. You shrug out of your pack and drop it back on the ground and head back to rewalk the coast behind you following the instructions to turn around after you see a sea lion. Staying close to the inner part of the cliff far away from the water you walk until you reach boulders you must jump over ( my friends in Australia would consider them perfect for bouldering). Eventually they stop you hit the slick covered rocks with algae covered in a couple inches of water. You squish through the water and once you reach the end there is a
Majestic sea lion Sunning his gorgeous mane. You slowly turn around as to not to startle this great beast for he is quite cowardly. And rewind your steps back to your pack desperate with thirst and dripping in sweat. You stick to the coast and wind up on another Rolling Stones beach. You have to go back into the tussock you have heard rumors of the evil caracara so you pickup a stick in the perfect shape of a club you are ready to defend against Aireal attacks. After rambling your way through the tussock tripping over everything as if the ground is trying to hold you prisoner. The tussock scratches and brushes every part of you cutting up every bit of flesh exposed. In your attempts of motion you scare several penguins who flea in terror. poor penguins. Eventually you burst through back onto the coast you can see the arch this is it the end of your journey.
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Book 0: The Fool
Full AO3 Fic // Previous | Next
Chapter 12: Ousted - if MC is trans masc (Go back to chapter 11)
The dusty straws of the broom scrape your face, causing you to fall over. Coughing from the dust and debris, you try to clear your system, preparing yourself.
“I can’t believe this. No won’er your parents lef’ you behind with me. Unbelievable…”
You feel tears sting the scratches on your cheeks. You want to fight back, to say something...but you’re at a loss. You can only hear yourself stutter meaningless sounds before your aunt raises the broom again, a threat.
“Ah ah, not another word out of yer mouth. I don’t want you under this roof - you find your own place to sleep.”
Biting your lip, you manage to squeak, “W-what about work?” Surely you wouldn’t just be thrown onto the street, without a home or pay.
Your aunt merely tsks disapprovingly. “I ain’t about’ta waist all that training I did on ya. You come in for work every morning, same time as usual. But if yer ever late, I’m gonna reconsider, ya hear?!”
Tears then overflow. “O-ok…” you manage to say, holding back hiccups.
With one final grunt, your aunt turns and slams the back door close.
Laying in the dust, you clench your fist as you finally let out the sobs you were holding in. What was so wrong with what you had said? Was it wrong? Were you a mistake?
Through your tears, you hear your name. Already knowing who’s voice it was, you feel relief briefly wash over you, before terror and embarrassment do.
Asra runs over, concern etched on his face. Dread just fills your stomach. Your aunt had all but went berserk after what you said - what would Asra say? Would he be disgusted? Would he laugh? You couldn’t bear it if he did.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.
Sniffling back the rest of your tears, you muster the energy to sit up right. You want to tell him how happy you are to see him, to ask him about his journey, his training with the Magician, but you can’t seem to find any words. Oberon crawls up to your shoulder and tries to groom away the blood and tears. Faust, meanwhile, peaks up through Asra’s scarf, worried.
When you couldn’t find the energy to speak, you hear Asra repeat gently, “What’s wrong?”
Feeling another wave of hot tears threatening to overflow, you bite the inside of your cheek. “My...my aunt just kicked me out…” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.
You hear Asra take in a sharp breath. “Why?” he asks. You hear anger mixed with his concern in his voice.
You pause for a moment to sniff back more tears. “I...I said something I shouldn’t have.”
In the pregnant pause between the two of you, you suddenly feel the rays of the setting sun and the dust of the street. You’re aware of passersby eyeing the two of you strangely, some almost tripping over the two of you.
As if sensing your thoughts, Asra wordlessly helps you get up and tenderly guides you over to his rug in the shade.
Grateful that he hadn’t pried too much, you take another shaky breath before speaking. “My...my aunt made some sort of comment on my clothes...and I told her that...that I don’t--I’m not a girl…”
You physically braced yourself, anticipating a similar horrified reaction from Asra as your aunt had. Fearful of his rejection, you hear yourself babbling half sentences of excuses and desperate explanations that you aren’t a girl or a boy. But to your surprise, there was no slap, no pain, no appalled yelling. Instead, you feel warm hands embrace you. Asra quiets you by gently saying your name.
“Hey, it’s ok...it’s ok...I’m the same.”
Your eyes widen. You had always felt alone in feeling like you were regarded as someone different than what you identified as. Never in your wildest dreams would you imagine that the boy on the street beside your shop would feel this way.
You gently break the hug to finally look at Asra properly. The amount of compassion and understanding in his face causes a faint pink blush to color your cheeks.
“People regard me as a boy...but that’s not really how I feel. I don’t know the word for it, but the words ‘girl’ or ‘boy’ doesn’t really fit it…”
You simply nod before giving Asra a gripping hug, more tears spilling onto his shoulder. So many emotions are flooding your being. You feel hurt, but comforted, elated and touches that Asra could share this with you, but the gnawing feeling of being an outsider still resides. But it subsides the smallest bit when your friend returns the hug. The two of you stay like this for some time; it could have been a few seconds or a few hours. But both of you savor the shared moment.
As time passes, your tears dwindle, and your breath evens. Releasing your clutch on Asra and look at him. You’re taken a bit off guard to see his eyes are also a bit misty eyed. Emotions tumble through you, and you wonder what you did to deserve such a person in your life.
Gradually coming back to reality, you realize that the street lights have turned on, and that the sun is leaving its last traces in the sky. Turning your head to the shop, fear takes hold of you. Would you have to sleep in the streets? You didn’t know much about Asra, but he’s told a couple of tales of his former life without a roof over his head. It wasn’t pleasant.
“Asra...what am I going to do? I...I don’t have anywhere to go,” you say, voice desolate.
He simply lifts a finger under your chin, as if silently saying to perk up. “You’re not sleeping out in the streets if that’s what you’re thinking. Come on,” he says, rising to pack his things. “You’re coming with me tonight. I’m sure Muriel won’t mind.”
Your mouth simply falls open, silently watching Asra pack his things. “A-are you sure?” you ask, stumbling to stand.
Turning to look at you, he chuckles. “I would never want my friend to experience what Muriel and I did in the streets of this city. Muriel isn’t fond of people, but I’m sure he can be empathetic to your situation. Now,” he says, securing his things onto his person. He offers his hand to hold on the journey to the forest. “Let’s get going before it gets too dark out.”
Still not believing your ears, you take his hand. As the two of you walk, Asra turns to you. “So, do you have preferred pronouns?”
~ ~ ~
You and Asra walk through the quieting streets of Vesuvia. Tears all dried up, you tell Asra your preferred pronouns, among other anecdotes of your confused feelings. Asra in turn tells you about his mental and spiritual journey to understanding his gender identity. You feel overwhelmed with gratitude and happiness that your closest friend not only accepts you, but also trusts you to tell all of this. You almost don’t notice that the entire time you’ve been walking, your hand has been gently wrapped in his.
Eventually, the streets dwindle into dirt roads that fade into the entrance of the forest. The sun is setting beyond the horizon, leaving a pink glow in its wake. There’s just enough light for you to make out the steps in front of you.
“We’re almost there. Don’t worry, I won’t let you get lost,” Asra reassures, giving your hand a soft squeeze.
You nod, certain that he wouldn’t do that to you.
As you begin the walk into the forest, Asra’s careful to warn you of sneaky roots and hidden holes that you could trip on. You feel like it should have been getting darker, but the forest canopy is thick enough to obscure any light that’s left in the sky. But Asra seems to know his way well enough.
Soon, you recognize a small protection charm that you had made for Asra some time ago.
“Is...that the charm I gave you?” you ask.
“Yep, we’re almost there now. I put these up around to help Muriel feel protected, and to keep our little abode hidden.”
Then you see another, and another, then a string of charms and herbs. They all lead to a lightly beaten path that ends with a small hut mashed into the base of a tree.
“Alright, we’re here. Let me go get Muriel. I wish you two could meet under better circumstances,” he sighs ruefully. He gives one light squeeze of your hand before letting it go to open the hut’s door.
“Muriel, could you come outside for a minute?” he calls.
Suddenly, you feel nervous and timid. What if Muriel doesn’t like you? What if he won’t let you stay? This is your first time meeting him, surely strangers don’t just let people stay in their houses? But you two aren’t total strangers either…
As you fidget, the door opens wider to reveal a rather large figure. You can’t help your eyes going wide as your gaze rises to meet his. You could have sworn Asra said he’s the same age as the two of you!
But upon closer look, you see weary, but young, eyes meet yours briefly, before looking away. Asra kindly smiles and stands beside his friend, patting his arm.
“Muriel, this is the friend who I’ve told you about, the one who let me stay in their shop,” Asra says, before officially introducing the two of you. The whole time, Muriel is silent, expression ambiguous.
“It’s getting dark, and the shop isn’t really too safe for them anymore...I was thinking we could offer our place here,” Asra gently explains.
Muriel dwells on it for a minute, before he seems to make up his mind.
“No. Leave.”
Shock and fear crashes onto you like an icy cold bucket of water. Your eyes go wide as your chest constricts with panic.
Asra mirrors your shock and looks up at his friend. “Muriel--wha--wait, no, they need somewhere to stay. We can’t just let them on the streets, think about what that was like for us,” he insists.
Your panic twists your fear into guilt and shame. Of course it would be too much for Asra and Muriel to house you. Looking at the hut, it seems barely big enough for Muriel, let alone him and Asra.
“A-Asra, it’s ok...I can-I can figure something out,” you stammer, breaking through him convincing his quiet friend.
“What? No, you can’t, it’s much too dark now,” Asra argues, hints of desperation in his eyes. He comes to your side and brings your hand into his, as if to keep you near him. “And I won’t let you go through what we did. Muriel, please, be reasonable.”
Hopelessness returning, you look up to meet Muriel’s gaze. “I-I won’t take up much room, I promise. I just...need somewhere to sleep…” you plead, while your thoughts anxiously wonder what you’re going to do if he says no again.
Muriel closes his eyes, brows furrowed. When he opens them, he answers. “Fine…” He then simply goes back to the door and opens it, silently letting us in.
Relief makes your legs weak; you’re glad Asra’s there to support you. You give a small smile before the two of you enter the hut.
There are minimal furnishings, just enough to get by. But the strong fire warms the entire place, and fills you with warmth. It feels like a home.
“Ah, the two of us usually share a bed, but I think there’s an extra blanket or cloak somewhere….” Asra mutters. He leaves your side, trying to get you accomodated.
You look up at Muriel, who seems only mildly annoyed now. “Thank you, Muriel. I know this is all pretty sudden...but thank you.”
He subtly pouts his lips, whether in annoyance or discomfort you don’t know. “What happened to your old place…?” he asks under his breath. You aren’t sure if you’re meant to hear the question, but you decide to answer anyway.
“Uh, my...aunt just kicked me out...I guess she finally had enough of me. She and I...didn’t really get along.”
Muriel’s irritation lessens, his tense shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “What happened?”
You’re about to answer when Asra comes back to you. “Does this look ok?” You turn your attention to the makeshift bed he made for you on the floor. Graciously smiling, you thank him. “It’s perfect.”
He seems relieved. “Thank you, Muriel.”
Cheeks turning red from the attention, the tall boy averts his gaze. “I-It’s fine. Now let’s just sleep.”
Weariness makes your eyelids feel heavy at the mention of sleep. After an overwhelming day, you’d love nothing but to surrender yourself to a night of rest.
“Yeah, I think everyone’s had an exciting day,” Asra agrees, watching you as you stifle a small yawn.
Muriel wordlessly goes to the hearth to dim the flames, filling the cottage with its scarlet light. You shuffle over to your spot on the floor, while Asra sheds his outerwear to get comfortable for the night.
“Do you need anything?” you hear him ask as you also get comfortable.
“No, I think I’ll be good for the night. Thank you so much, Asra. I...I don’t know how I can repay you.”
He reaches out and takes a hold of your hand. He opens his mouth to say something, but Muriel deliberately flops onto the bed, cutting off Asra’s words. Asra turns to look at him, but is only met with Muriel’s back.
“Alright, alright, we get it, Muriel. We’ll go to bed,” Asra giggles. He turns to you and smiles apologetically. “Looks like someone’s a bit jealous.”
You let out a brief chuckle, which makes Asra smile. “Good night,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze.
“Good night, Asra. Sleep well.”
Good night, friend! Faust pipes in. Asra smiles and gives her chin scritches. With one last glance, he goes over and slips into bed.
“Good night, Muriel,” Asra sighs, settling in.
“Good night, Muriel,” you echo.
“Go. To. Sleep.”
You and Asra stifle a laugh before slipping into slumber.
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