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winterironspiderling · 4 years

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Sorry if you’ve answered something like this before but, do you have any tips of writing slow burn, and just writing in general? Lol thank you and love your work!

No worries! I’m always down to talk about writing. Thank you for your kind words. :)

To write a slow burn, you will want to start with the main pairing as strangers, acquaintances, or even enemies. You could also start them as friends, but if you begin with the two having a close relationship already, it would be hard to draw that out because friends to lovers basically only adds kissing and physical intimacy, but if you start from the very beginning/first meeting you have more time to develop the relationship, which will take more words, and make the burn slower.

No matter what level of relationship you start the pairing at, there has to be a reason why they can’t be together yet because if you start with no obstacle, it will be hard to justify why they aren’t together. Obstacles could be the characters are in other relationships, one or both might have just gotten out of a bad/abusive relationship, they’re in a bad place mentally/physically, and distance or other characters are keeping them apart. This also gives you something to overcome not just in the relationship, but for the individual characters and their journey, and it adds depth to the plot. And the richer the plot, the more you can draw it out and slow down the burn!

To make the slow burn enjoyable instead of annoying or frustrating, try not to make overcoming the relationship obstacles or individual challenges “too easy” for the characters. They should have near misses and setbacks, or it won’t feel satisfying or intriguing when they finally get together, or oppositely, if it’s too hard and drawn out, and there’s one shitty event after the other, it will feel like okay!!! enough already!!! So try to space out good and bad events and keep it balanced. :)

Know when to time skip and when to accept that you just need to write an entire scene. Time skipping can rush character development and make the ending feel unearned, but writing every detail of the characters’ lives can get boring to read. When you need some exposition or world building and not just fun plot or explicit scenes try to use the seemingly mundane interactions to your advantage to further the plot, introduce characters, build character(s), build relationships, foreshadow, or make fun references to canon.

For an example of all of the above points, in my story Disorder, Tony and Peter have their first meeting, and what’s holding them back from being together is Peter’s age and his poor mental health and self-image. He has a lot of good moments and bad moments, and doesn’t just lose weight and gain confidence over night. I take Tony and Peter throughout a working relationship, then a friendship, and then the buildup of an intimate relationship, and when I’m not outlining every personal training session between the two, I’m building their relationships and friendships with other people and giving both of them a chance to interact in other spaces besides the gym. So Peter will be at school with Ned and MJ showing his sense of humour, interacting with Flash, and maybe mentioning the upcoming Decathlon ten chapters later, so that when I bring it up later, it doesn’t come out of nowhere. Then I might skip a week to the next lesson with Tony because if you’re reading a Starker story, obviously you want most of the interactions to be Tony/Peter. :)

Adding in more people than the main pairing makes for a well-rounded story because other characters exist and help make the main pairing who they are. (For Peter, I like Ned, MJ, May, Flash, and Mr. Delmar, and for Tony, I like Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Jarvis, and Nebula. Bucky is just a necessity for every story, also. ;) ) Making the side characters funny or interesting, or inserting running jokes about them will make the parts with those people more enjoyable to read, even if the pairing isn’t featured.

Short chapter length or transitional chapters are necessary, but can be tedious because you don’t want to have an info dump, but you don’t want to go through the pain of writing an entire interaction and scene just for the sake of increasing word count, so accepting that not every chapter is going to be the Best Chapter is important. If you need to get information across about the backstory, or exposition, you can have it expressed through dialogue, or do a little bit of info dumping at a time and try to weave it into other things, so it’s not huge chunks of info that can be boring or confusing.

Add a little bit of your own personality to the writing too. I’m not really a poetic writer, and I prefer to write snappy dialogue and let character dynamics do the work, but some people can talk about the flowering trees and the winding roads of the countryside. I don’t know anything about that lol, so when I try to write it, I feel silly and then the scene suffers because I’m not saying anything I actually care about. So write the style that feels most natural to you and it won’t be boring because you’ll be able to feel your energy in the story, and writers are what bring a lot of the emotion to the fan fiction. Every reader likes something different, so write for your own tastes and the people who like your style will stick around.

There’s a time and place for surprises or complications, but the type that you put into the story should be consistent with the expectations you and the readers have—whether you’ve stated these by your tags or the plot summary. Example, a coffee shop AU doesn’t turn into a sex worker AU, or soft, domestic Tony doesn’t turn into a dark stalker. Those are valid occurrences, but they’re so different that it’s not a fun twist for readers…it’s legitimately not what they signed up for. A surprise in Disorder that works is when you find out Tony’s own personal struggles during his POV with Rhodey. It adds depth to his character and another layer to his dynamic with Peter, but it isn’t shocking or contrary to what I’ve already written.

For most of Disorder, Tony and Peter each don’t think the other would be interested, or if they were, “not right now” or “not because of the age difference” etc... and I kept having them almost connect/admit it, but then I’d hold back. Knowing when and how I wanted them to get together from the very beginning helped with the slow burn as well because I had to think of how to get them from point A to B. I knew I wanted Peter to be at good place mentally, but not perfect, and I wanted May to be more accepting of the relationship, so it became a game of filling in the blanks instead of just starting a story with no end in sight, and then it feels difficult to give it direction.

Creating outlines and templates for a story helps me. Like a table that outlines which characters are featured in a chapter, and any major plot points, and just general info.This way when you go to write future chapters or edit, you don’t have to reread everything, and when it’s all laid out in front of you, it can be easier to be like, “Oh, this just happened in Chapter 1, so I don’t want another crazy event to happen in Chapter 5 because I want the energy of the story to be evenly spaced.”

Edit not just for grammar but for subtle mistakes like repeating a lot of the same phrases and words. I tend to overuse “just” and start a lot of sentences with, “well”, so I have to be careful of that. Also for continuity like if Peter is sitting down in one paragraph, and then you say he sat down in the next paragraph even though he’s already sitting...

Decide how you want your story to be regarding realism, whether it’s in the context of an AU or a canon-compliant story. Maybe you don’t care about being realistic to our universe, and maybe you want to write something completely off the wall. There should be some sort of structure and consistency with the characters so that the reader feels stable and like they can trust where you’re going. Even if you want to write a master/slave AU where Tony keeps Peter on a leash, or something like a body swap, there’s still things that you can do to keep it realistic in the context of that story. Like if Tony was portrayed as a very loyal and possessive master, he’s not going to be sharing Peter with someone later in the story, unless you’ve decided that him getting over that is necessary to the plot, and sufficient character building shows him slowly becoming more open. Or in a body swap, if Peter and Tony switch, they’re not going to immediately go and put each other at risk or use their bodies to betray one another.

So I don’t know what you’re writing, but no matter what, try creating mystery by leaving things unsaid/undiscovered, or raising questions within the plot for readers to find out later. You don’t have to give up everything right away! (I know it’s hard not to spill the beans, but it lets people figure things out on their own or wonder if you’ll mention it again.) (Make sure you remember if you’re doing this so you don’t accidentally create a plot hole.) An example of this in Disorder is raising the topic of will Peter go to college, or not. Eventually he decides. Another is why Tony doesn’t like to give cards in his gifts, and then eventually he gives one to Peter, and it makes it really special. <3

I hope this helps!

#ask #writing advice #disorder

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higuchimon · 4 years

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[fanfic] Familiar Stranger

Ryou didn’t especially like rain, at least not being out in it. Watching it rain, snow, whatever the weather wanted to do from inside, in warm and dry conditions, would always be preferable than experiencing it first hand.

Rain had been predicted tonight, but he’d presumed it wouldn’t come until after he’d finished chatting with Asuka. Normally when it rained here at all, it wasn’t until late in the evening. This batch of rain hadn’t gotten the memo and now the two of them were both soaked to the skin.

He raised one hand in a quiet farewell as she hurried down to the women’s dorm before he turned to his own dorm, looking forward to a hot shower and hot tea.

He hadn’t gotten far before he caught a glimpse of something or someone moving in the woods near the dorm building. Ryou’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out who could be there. It was too tall to be his brother – not that Shou would come around here anyway – and didn’t quite fit the body type of any of the second or third years he knew.

It was a familiar shape all the same, even if he couldn’t recognize whoever it was.

He moved carefully towards them. They shouldn’t be out in this weather. He didn’t believe that rains made one sick, but that didn’t make it comfortable to be out now.

He easily ignored the fact that he’d been out in it or that they were on a tropical island where rain tended to be warm anyway.

“You should be inside,” he said as he came into speaking distance. The other either hadn’t noticed him or didn’t care, turning toward him as the Kaiser spoke.

This isn’t a student. There was some leeway in school uniforms – Manjoume was a major example – but one point that remained clear was that one’s face should be visible at all times. All of one’s face, not just the lower part that this person’s mask revealed.

It reminded him of a dragon: the Red Eyes Black Dragon in all truth, though the mask’s eyes were blue instead of red. And the stranger stared at him, eyes flicking up and down as if in search of something.

Ryou held his head up high and gave the other his very best withering glare. “Who are you and what are you doing here at Duel Academia?”

“And who are you to ask those questions?” The masked stranger asked in return, a sort of dark and enchanting purring in his voice. Ryou didn’t so much as blink.

“I am the Kaiser of Duel Academia.” He wasn’t a teacher, but he still considered it part of his duties to protect this place from any sort of intruders, be they mundane or otherwise.

This one would be otherwise, without a doubt.

“The Kaiser,” the other murmured before he tilted his head to the left a little. The movement sparked a thought in the deeper recesses of Ryou’s mind. It was a long-buried thought, connected to images that he’d not wanted to think of for over a year now.

Ignorant to whatever was going on in Ryou’s mind, the stranger spoke again. “I think I remember you.”

That got Ryou’s attention even more than the way the other moved. “We’ve never met, have we?” If they had, he couldn’t remember it very well, perhaps not at all.

The mask tugged at more of those thoughts. He’d known someone who played the Red-Eyes Black Dragon, didn’t he? Someone lively and sharp, with a laugh that echoed like a bell.

Fubuki.

“Maybe we have. Perhaps we haven’t.” The stranger shrugged. “You wouldn’t know either way.”

His words didn’t make any sense and Ryou had never had much patience with that which didn’t make sense. He stepped closer.

“Tell me who you are.” He would take this person to Samejima and get it sorted out like that if he had to.

Another flicker of thought stirred up: the strange sight he and Asuka had seen in the skies less than ten minutes earlier. He hadn’t seen a person up there, but the rain and the clouds and the dark made it difficult to tell what it was that he’d seen at all.

The rain itself kept pouring down, plastering his hair to his skin and soaking all through his clothes. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem to do much to the masked stranger.

In fact, when Ryou took a better look, the rain somewhat appeared to bend around him. He wasn’t exactly in a zone of absolute dryness; the ground underneath him remained soaked as ground properly should be. But his coat, his pants, everything about him, absolutely dry.

That couldn’t have been more unlike Fubuki. Fubuki loved the water, loved the rain, the ocean, swimming pools, and random glasses of water. This person gave off a sense of heat and flame that Ryou didn’t like a great deal himself.

“Now why would I do that?” The stranger wanted to know, giving Ryou another look down. “At least not without you answering a question of mine.”

Ryou raised an eyebrow. “What is it you want to know?” He made no promises about answering it. He would not betray the secrets of Academia.

“I want to know if you know anything about the Seven Stars, the Mythic Demons, or the Spirit Gate Keys.”

The mask’s eyes were blue, like chips of glass, but he could briefly see behind them, and those eyes were brown, piercing and as hot as a volcano. Ryou knew he’d seen eyes like that before, but not those eyes in particular.

Fubuki’s eyes were brown, but they shone with life and good humor, guiltless and pure no matter what he’d done – which was usually whatever someone wanted to accuse him of. These eyes threatened death to whoever crossed them.

Or something worse than death.

“No.” Ryou hadn’t ever heard of any of those. Not that he would’ve mentioned them to this stranger if he had, but he could answer truthfully in this case.

The masked stranger gave him one of the most penetrating looks that Ryou had ever experienced in his life. A small smile touched onto his lips, one that sent chills all through Ryou.

“Not yet, then. I’ll have to wait.” He gave Ryou another look, one searching and intense. “I am Darkness, of the Seven Stars.”

“Who are they?” Ryou didn’t think they were a visiting class from North School or any of the other branch campuses. From the looks of this one alone, they were trouble.

Darkness’s lips thinned. Ryou did not believe it was a smile. “You’ll find out soon enough. You’re very strong, Kaiser. You’ll be one of them, I’m certain.”

Ryou seldom liked it when people kept information back from him, especially if it would put Academia at risk. He took a firm step toward Darkness.

“What are you talking about?”

Darkness waved one hand. Ryou tried to move again, but none of his body wanted to react. He strained harder, but no matter how much effort he put into it, nothing at all happened. Darkness chuckled.

“I should be going. You and I will meet at another time. You might even be the one I duel.” Darkness’s smile was a thin thing that held no humor in it, only a painful hint of thoughts best left unknown. “One of them, anyway.”

He considered for a moment, head tilted in thought, before he reached out to set one finger on Ryou’s forehead. “But there’s no need to spread stories about me.”

Ryou tried to move back, but whatever bonds kept him in place didn’t let loose. A dark flash unlike anything he’d ever encountered swept over him and he found himself on his way to the Obelisk dorm, soaked as if he’d been standing in the rain for a quarter of an hour instead of sensibly heading inside.

He didn’t look back. Why would he? There wasn’t anything – or anyone – there to look at, and he wanted to get clean and dry and get that cup of tea he’d been thinking about.

Darkness remained in the shadows until Kaiser stepped into the building. He’d hoped that he could have settled the first match for the ownership of the Spirit Gate Keys quickly. Fighting against Kaiser would be interesting, when the time came.

In the deepest, darkest depths of his mind, where another soul slept in peace, that soul shifted a tiny bit, a soft murmur of an unheard question and the flicker of Kaiser’s face stirring into him.

Darkness sent Tenjoin Fubuki back to sleep. He wasn’t needed now. He wouldn’t ever be needed again.

But he himself did need to rest for a brief time, and the part of him that was Fubuki forever led his steps to the old abandoned dorm. He’d be back later, when it was time.

And he would face the Kaiser in battle, sooner or later.

The End

Notes: Words of choice were: weather, lively, mundane, bell, snow, guiltless, & purring.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo gx #marufuji ryou #darkness #tenjoin fubuki

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themadlostgirl · 7 years

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Not Dead Yet (Part 36)

*A bit of a jumble not gonna lie. Realized I made some plot holes and needed to fix them as best I can.*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warning: language

Ever since that day the new boy Rufio became my shadow. He was a interesting one to say the least. He was short for his age with naturally dark skin and a mane of red hair that made him easy to spot among the boys. Devin and the others thought it was funny that he was following me around like a lost pup. It seemed I now had two pets.

While my new follower amused the others it severely pissed off Peter. It was hard to find a moment alone with him tagging along everywhere I went. I liked Rufio just fine and a new face helped cut through some boredom but I would be lying if I wasn’t a little antsy for some alone time. Not just time for myself but ever since Rufio came to the island Peter and I hadn’t had any time together. When I usually got a moment alone Peter was gone or I was too tired to do anything.

I was walking through the jungle with Candace on my shoulder and Rufio at my side. I had just finished showing him Dead Man’s Peak and explaining the dreamshade poison. It was getting late though and I was very tired. Day by day more and more boys had been coming to the island. Some by Peter, most by his shadow. The camp grew so large we had to move it to a bigger clearing in the depths of the island that made coming to and from the coast a lengthy journey.

“There you two are,” Peter appeared on our path, “Rufio, beat it. I need to talk to Y/N alone for a minute.”

Rufio gave me a concerned look but I nodded for him to go on ahead. I handed Candace over to him and they disappeared into the jungle.

“Peter, I’m really tired and don’t feel like--”

“I’m not here about that.” he cut me off, “Well sort of. There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

“Can’t this wait till tomorrow when I’ve had some sleep?” I sat down and rested back against a tree.

“I know you’re tired but this is important.” He knelt across from me, “Recently with the new boys there’s been a rift.”

“I’d say. Half of them are crying their eyes out at night because they miss dear old mummy and daddy. They’re on an island where there are no rules, no responsibilities, no fear of growing older and you can create almost anything you want with a little belief. How could they not love it here?”

“That’s what I say! But again that’s not the problem, not exactly. The rift is something more internal. I’ve heard some rumors, whispers really, that they are planning an uprising against us.”

“An uprising? They do realize what you’re capable of? They’d never stand a chance.”

“I know that and you know that but they don’t know that. The fact that these ungrateful little shits are trying to turn against me has me mad but apparently they are looking to you as their leader.”

“Me?” the news perked me awake, “Peter I can assure you that I am not leading some rebellion.”

“Don’t be silly, pet, I know you wouldn’t betray me. They’ve only named you their leader because they think you’re the only one that can stand to fight against me.”

“Well…”

“Y/N,”

“Joking, only joking. Any idea why they think your second in command would turn against you?”

“Because you’re, ahem, queen.”

“Queen?”

“Oh yes.”

“Idiots.”

“You have to admit that you do command a lot of respect on the island second to only me.”

“But why would they look to me? Are they hoping I’ll be there misguided mother figure? If they’re hoping I’ll coddle them they are in for a surprise. But I suppose I understand them. They wanted time away from their mundane lives and they got it. But the adventure is over now. They’re not like us, Peter. They don’t need Neverland like we do. None of them are the boy we’re looking for. Why not just send the cry babies back?”

“You know why.”

“No one leaves Neverland without your permission. I’m just asking you grant them that. Most of them are weak, unmotivated whiners. Why would you even want to keep them?”

“Because the moment they set foot on the island they became Lost Boys and this is where they belong whether they like it or not. If they wanted to truly remain in their boring lives they wouldn’t have asked to be taken away.”

“If this leads to war between the boys--”

“It won’t!”

“Just know that it could have been avoided.” I adjusted myself more comfortably. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

“You sleep a lot lately.”

“Not much to do once you’ve done everything there is here.” I yawned. “I’ll see you back at camp, okay?”

“Sure you don’t want me to take us back to camp in a blink?”

“No. I need a night where I don’t have to listen to the new boys cry the night through.”

“Alright. Don’t get yourself into any trouble.”

“I’ll be asleep. How could I possibly cause trouble?”

“I’m sure you’d find a way.” he smirked at me. I stuck my tongue out at him and fell asleep.

~~~

Devin had to admit he thought Rufio was flipping hilarious. Any other time when a new kid came to the island and they challenged Y/N she would break them in so to say and go back to her normal friends. Rufio though, he adopted her as his mentor and they formed this weird friendship. Only problem was that Y/N was slowly starting to lose patience. The boys that know Y/N best can instantly tell when she’s annoyed and when she gets annoyed you get out of her way unless you want your arm broken (or in one case stabbed). Poor naive Rufio didn’t realize how close he was to making her snap. That’s why when Rufio showed up at camp late that night without Y/N it was a relief. Maybe he finally got some sense about him.

“Oy Devin?” Rufio walked up to him, “Is there something goin’ on between Pan and Y/N?”

“Are you serious?” Devin laughed.

“I know it’s nonsense but we were walkin’ and Pan showed up and told me to leave. He looked ticked for some reason. Do they not get along so well?”

“Oh…” This threw Devin, “Well um...Pan and Y/N get along great. Really great. When it goes south though it gets ugly fast, they have actually tried to kill each other in the past.”

“Holy mother of god,” Rufio looked horrified.

“Yeah, just be glad that you didn’t have to suffer through the endless downpour when Pan really pissed her off. He knows not to mess with her anymore.” He gestured for Rufio to come closer, “You didn’t hear this but Pan is wrapped around her little finger. Everyone knows it but if you mention it then that’s a sure fire way to get yourself maimed.”

“But why? I know she’s a good fighter and she gets along with most the others but how did she become so important?”

“Sheer force of will.” Ben muttered from his spot next to Devin. “I’m sure she could move mountains just by glaring at them hard enough.”

“Yeah,” Rufio toed the dirt with his boot, “She’s pretty amazin’ like that.”

Ben and Devin exchanged a nervous glance. “Ben, your turn.” Devin whispered as he scooted back from the daydreaming idiot before them.

“What?” Rufio looked at them.

“Rufio, are you asking all this about Y/N and Pan because you might be interested in her?” Rufio’s face flushed as brightly as his hair.

“N-No, of course not. I just think that she’s exceedingly skilled but I’m not interested in her...did she say something?”

“Rufio, do not go down this road.” Ben warned, “Y/N is not that kind of a girl. We are her brothers, she our sister. You do not get those kinds of thoughts for her. You especially do not try to act on them.”

“But--”

“No buts! Count yourself lucky that she welcomed you at all instead of dumping you after you had the insane idea to fight her your very first day.”

Rufio stared down at the ground disheartened. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Ben asked but Rufio left without answering.

“Should we be worried?” Devin watched as Rufio disappeared back into the jungle.

“Nah, he’s not the first new boy to fancy Y/N. Once he realizes she won’t have him he’ll back off.” Ben shrugged, “I think what we need to worry about is these new kids Pan’s been bringing in.”

“The whiners?” Devin sneered, “Yeah, they need some sense beat into them.”

“That’s what I say. You know they actually talk like they’re going to escape. How thick can you get?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to rectify that.” Devin smirked and whistled for Nick and Felix. They had some planning to do.

~~~

For the first time since Rufio came to the island he hasn’t been stuck to my side all day. It was relaxing but also mildly concerning. What had happened that he finally backed off? I decided not to dwell on it and enjoy the respite from his company. I think I knew the best way to use my time off as well.

The boys were off at training for the morning. I searched for Peter but he wasn’t in his tent. He must be at training with the others. How was I gonna get him away from the others without arousing suspicion? I’ll deal with that mess when I get to it.

When I arrived at the grounds though it was a horror show. All the new boys that I had so generously dubbed the crybabies were were tied to trees with apples resting on their heads. The other boys were shooting arrows at them to varying results. Next to one boy I noticed the shaft of a spear stuck in a bush where it must have just missed their target. All the boys, including Rufio, looked terrified while the others laughed and kept firing.

Peter was standing back from the crowd with a wicked smile. I noticed Nick notch another arrow and pounced on him. “Ah! Y/N, what the hell?”

“You’re saying that to me?” I took the bow and snapped it over my knee. “What are you idiots doing?”

“Just a bit of target practice.” Peter strutted up to me, “Care to join?”

“I cannot believe you! They are Lost Boys, not targets!”

“This was not my idea. They already had this setup when I got here.” Peter raised his hands in defense. “I am merely an observer. They needed a lesson anyways, bloody traitors.”

“So who's brilliant idea was this then?” I marched up to the boys wielding my club dangerously. “Someone had better answer me!”

Devin stepped forward nervously. “There’s no reason to make a big deal out of this. They’re the ones that were spouting treason.”

“I understand that but shooting out their eyes is not the right way to punish them. Untie them now.”

“You can’t just order us around. You’re not the leader here, Pan is!” Devin snapped back at me.

“I suppose he is.” I walked back up to Peter, “You condone this?”

“You were the one that was worried they would start a civil war. This is nipping it in the bud.”

“You didn’t do anything! You only ensured their revolt!”

“And if they try then they know what will happen.”

“Fine, they know. Let them go.”

“If you wish it.” he nodded and the boys cut the others free of their bonds.

“Y/N, thank you! Thank you!” the boys rushed to me.

“Get off!” I shoved them away, “Beat it before they change their minds.”

The boys nodded and scampered off. Rufio was left standing with a bleeding shoulder. “Y/N--”

“Not now.” I stressed through clenched teeth. He stayed staring at me, more at the possessive arm of Peter slung over my shoulder, “Not now, Rufio.”

He glanced back at Peter before leaving in the direction of the others. “I am done with you idiots. I cannot take another moment stuck on this island with all you stupid boys!” I shoved Peter’s arm off me. “You do not follow me. You do not try to stop me. I will return because this is my home but I cannot stay here for another moment.”

I snagged Peter’s pouch of beans off his belt and withdrew a handful. He didn’t fight me to stay and shushed the others when they did. When I was far enough away I dropped a bean on the ground and jumped through imagining a place with no boys in sight. Someplace completely unlike Neverland.

I was spat back out someplace surrounded by dense forest and snow up to my ankles. Well this is different at least. The cold wind tore through my thin shirt. I continued struggling through the snow hoping my breathing problems wouldn’t come back to haunt me. There was a small shack up ahead exuding warm light. Better than nothing.

When I got to the shack and knocked on the door. The door swung open to an old woman with a large drooping lip. “This is a day for lost children isn’t it?” she spoke unnaturally clear for someone with a disfigured mouth should. “Come in before your lungs give out.”

“Thank you.” I stepped inside. There were two more women that looked much like the old woman who let me in sitting at a spinning wheel. Speaking of the shack it was much larger than it looked from the outside. Every corner was filled with books, jars of pickled miscellaneous, pots of herbs, withered flowers, and piles and piles of thread.

“You should have chosen somewhere warmer child.” the spinner woman with a broad foot said. The spinner next to her had a thumb as swollen as a plum.

“Excuse me?” the spinner with the drooping lip sat me down and shuffled off to the whistling kettle.

“Oh to be someplace warm would be a dream.” the first spinner came back with the kettle and poured me a cup of tea. “But you’ve had your fill, haven’t you? Even now the scent of sun follows you.”

“What’s going on?” I looked at the three strange woman. “Who are you?”

“Bain, Cibil, and Dabria, we are. And you are the lost child, Y/N.”

“How do you know me?”

“Just as you know us my child.” Bain said, “Dabria, the window.”

The heavy footed spinner clomped to the window and locked the shutters in place just as a gust of wind rattled the shack. Where was I? These spinster ladies were making me uneasy with every word that creaked out of their wrinkle lined mouths.

“Do not be scared child.” Dabria smiled at me, “We only hope to help you with the hardships you will face soon.”

“What are you talking about? What hardships? How do you know any of this?” I demanded. My outburst didn’t faze them one bit and sat down across from me. All I had wanted was to get away from the island.

“Tut tut,” they silenced me, “There is not much time and so much you need to know for your upcoming struggles.”

They urged me to keep drinking my tea and started shuffling around the shack checking small things and skimming through the dozens of dusty books. “Ah here,” Cibil handed me a leather bound book with Neverland written on the cover in emerald green paint. “This should help.”

“But what is this? What’s going on?”

“Tut tut, you will know soon enough.” They took my cup and peered inside. “Oh dear, oh dear. Poor child, such a curse to bear trapped in a land of unwilling residents. What pain there will be for your hearts.”

“Hearts?” perhaps I had misheard.

“Oh yes,” the spinsters sighed, “Do not fret, there will be joys to compensate the sorrows. Lilies, wings and a darling bird.”

Flowers and a bird? Well I suppose Candace was darling as they put it.

“Anything else?” I asked the three strange women.

“Yes, for our services we do require payment.”

“Payment? I came by here by accident, you helped me without my asking. Why should I pay you? You’ve barely done anything.”

The three pairs of eyes glaring back at me silenced me into submission. “You knew what you were looking for when you left. You knocked on our door for assistance. Now, your payment.”

“I don’t have any money.” I showed them my empty pockets, “I do have a magic bean.” I withdrew one of the glittering beans I had taken from Peter.

“We have no need for your portals.” they waved off the bean, “That little baubles will do.”

My hand came up to clutch the pearl necklace resting on my sternum. “My necklace? It’s just a pearl.”

“A special pearl, no? It has been there every moment since you touched the island’s soil. It is sentiment. Priceless compared to that of a bean or gold.”

They held out their weathered hands and it was with a heavy heart I tore the necklace from it’s long resting home on my neck and dropped it into their palms. They smiled at the worn pearl. “It’s time to go my child.”

Bewildered and wanting to get out of that shack and away from the three elderly I nodded and clutched the book they gave me tightly to my chest. They dropped my necklace in a little chest and gave me soft smiles as I backed out the door. I braced myself for the cold but when I stepped outside the snow was gone replaced with tall lush grass and the sweet smell of flowers on the breeze. I turned back to the shack but that was gone as well with a massive oak tree in its place.

This is too weird for even me. I looked back at the book in my hands and sighed. I was hoping to be gone longer but I needed some questions answered. I dropped the bean on the ground and headed back home.

When I landed back on Neverland I could tell instantly that something was incredibly wrong. First I had only been gone for an hour at most. How was it night here? Also, the island was cold and the sky was muddled by rumbling clouds. I climbed up a tree and looked over the island. Darkness. Nothing but inky darkness. I should at least be able to see the camp bonfire or the lights of the Jolly Roger on the sea.

“What have you idiots done now?” I muttered to myself and dropped out of the tree.

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#peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #ouat #neverland #slowburn #peter pan imagine #peter pan x reader

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clockworkopera · 7 years

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FURTHER LORD OF SHADOWS THEORIES: (Part 4)

Disclaimer: My theories are built not just on the Dark Artifices, but from all the previous books as a whole, and will contain SPOILERS if you haven’t read them. These ideas are based solely on book canon.

(edit: This was written before LoS was released. Some ideas might be a little outdated, but still interesting! Especially on the Nature of Parabatai Magic--we still don’t have an explanation for that)

On the Nature of Parabatai Magic – Mirror Magic (This is in some ways a continuation of Part 1)

Will in TID: “You were the mirror of my soul. I saw the good in me in you. In your eyes alone I found grace.”

Theory: The reason their bond so powerful because they mirror back to each other’s angelic power through love. The stronger the love, the more power is reflected. This is good to an extent. Philia and agape are both good loves and that love allows for the magnification of rune power. That’s why runes on parabatai are ten times stronger, or the reason they can wear runes normal Shadowhunters can’t. But, drop the barriers of Eros and then it becomes exponentially greater. Ten to the tenth.

When Emma and Julian are on the beach: (LM pg422) “they were kissing as if they were trying to tear down the bars that held them inside a prison.” (LM pg424) “Fire raced up and down Emma’s veins as the barriers between the vanished;”

Passion, or a magical upgrade? Afterwards, they slept through Malcolm’s presence. Julian dressed her in sandy jeans and she still didn’t wake. Did a new power settling through them render them temporarily unconscious and they thought it was sleep? (LM pg425) “Emma slept, by the side of the ocean. And she had no nightmares.”

Fear drops the barriers too. When Emma saved Julian’s life with a rune, (LM pg272) “Something in her chest seemed to split and crack; she marveled that it wasn’t audible. Energy raced along her veins and the stele moved in her hand…” and “they’d been children in the dark together once but now they were something else, something intimate and powerful, something Emma felt she was touching only the very edge of as she finished the rune and the stele fell from her fingers.” This followed by Emma: (LM pg275) “I feel dizzy.” And: “Her skin felt supersensitized too, as if she would jump or scream the moment someone touched her. She nearly did scream when the waitress returned to get their orders. She just stared until Julian ordered…looking at her worriedly. A-R-E-Y-O-U-A-L-L-R-G-H-T?”

I’m still not sold that this will lead to madness, although the seeds of possibility are there.

(LM pg659) Jem: “It was not long after the ritual had been in use for some generations,” Jem said, lowering his voice, “that it was discovered that if the bond was too close, if it tipped into romantic love—then it would begin to warp.”

***But, doesn’t this mean that everything was also fine for a few generations? So, how could it go so wrong?

Cassandra Clare answering a Parabatai question on Tumblr: “Yes, Valentine came to hate Luke and even wanted him dead, while they were still Parabatai. Parabatai who are bitter enemies are an interesting phenomenon, since it inverts the purpose of the ritual and turns something angelic into something borderline demonic.”

But, what if they mirrored back mutual negative attributes?

For example, if Luke wasn’t the kind of person he was, and he and Valentine loved each other with a passion no barriers could hold? How powerful would Valentine have been then? Would even the Angel, Raziel, have been able to stop him in that case?

Every person and every couple has a range of good and bad in them. Love tempers hate, but even Emma and Julian aren’t wholly immune:

(COHF pg143) “I hope they catch him alive, (Sebastian)” said Emma, her eyes on Julian’s. “I hope they kill him in Angel Square so we can all watch him die, and I hope it’s slow.”

“Emma,” said Helen, sounding shocked, but Julian’s blue-green eyes echoed Emma’s own fierceness back to her without a hint of disapproval. Emma had never loved him so much as she did in that moment, for reflecting back to her even the darkest feelings in the depths of her own heart. ***

There are additional dangers as well: Fast forward to LM when they are going to the Lottery:

(LM pg327) Emma pushed the passenger-side door open and whistled. “Mark. You look amazing.”

Mark glanced down at himself, surprised. A surge of prickly heat ran up the insides of Julian’s wrists.

--And when it was time to rune up… (LM pg330): He started on the second rune, and Emma felt a slight biting sting as the stele moved. She frowned. Usually, though runes could sting or burn when applied, runes placed on you parabatai didn’t hurt. In fact, they were almost pleasant—it was like being wrapped in the protection of friendship, the sense that someone else had sealed their dedication to you onto your skin. Strange for it to hurt.

How easy is it to twist? Emma is telling Julian lies and that will invoke guilt. Julian is jealous, but also betrayed. They both need to hide their feeling from everyone they love in addition to the Clave. They aren’t going to have an easy time navigating this and the exponential mirror of those feelings could easily warp what could have been a purer love.

The seeds are absolutely there, both for love and for destruction. Julian and Emma will need to decide what to nurture and what to weed out.

Alt Theory: The reflected magic becomes too strong for either of them to control and if they are caught in a feedback loop of ever increasing power that will eventually destroy them. If not caught early enough and separated their only choice is to go to the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters, where their runes work as magical circuit breakers and the excess power is bled off to power the Shadowhunters weapons.

Alt Theory: It is just as Jem said and they have no choice but to go mad. But, the Blackthorns study the Greeks: “The greatest blessings granted to mankind come by way of madness, which is a divine gift” (Socrates).

Alt Theory: One could become a downworlder. No one considers this idea because to be a Shadowhunter means everything to Emma, while being able to stay with his family means everything to Julian. But, Julian could die to become a vampire and that could be one of CC’s deaths

POSSIBLE HISTORICAL SCENARIO:

DISCLAIMER: Cassandra Clare warns of becoming too attached to any one theory; that we can’t enjoy the reality when it comes. I’m guilty here because in my head I can’t let go of a link with the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters so I came up with a possible historical scenario. If you like that kind of stuff continue reading: but it reads more like an outline for fanfic. Further down the crackpot road we go…

Jonathan Shadowhunter and David were the first Parabatai. And the words of the oath reflect more of marriage vows. They were in love and able to do great things and create the first version of Shadowhunter society with that power. Much of the early Shadowhunter’s magical history is in the care of the Silent Brothers and the Codex is very vague as to where their magic came from. They did not keep this blessing to themselves though and offered it to others in the form of the Parabatai ceremony.

Things were fine for a few generations.

Then a pair went bad. It would have been devastating to their society. A lot of people probably died trying to stop them, much in the way a lot of people died trying to stop Valentine and Sebastian. At that point, were they even too powerful to be killed?

The remaining matched Parabatai sacrificed themselves in order to contain the rogue pair and the best solution they could think of was prisons beneath the City of Bones. (Codex pg214) “The prisons of the Silent City can hold the living, the undead, and the dead; they are designed to constrain all creatures, however magical.” The Clave couldn’t take the risk of another potential disaster and made the law banning Eros love between parabatai.

In a combination of 1) We need wardens strong enough to hold the prisons sealed and 2) what do we do with all these other matched pairs: The Clave created the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters.

David, a leading by example sort, became the first Silent Brother—maybe sending Jonathan Shadowhunter out to find an alternative solution. (Abigail also became the first Iron Sister, so it makes me wonder if they were in a triumvirate) Up till now, none has been found. And if Julian and Emma want to remain together and be Shadowhunters they will be the ones who must figure it out.

The magically upgraded Parabatai power of the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters are still essential to Shadowhunters. They make the steles for marks, the seraph blades, the wards, witchlights. What would happen if they weren’t there to make those things for the Shadowhunters?

(Codex pg194) For the Silent Brothers: “In exchange for their special abilities, they have given up some of their humanity…”

If a piece of their humanity is amputated from them; they’ve been permanently separated from their parabatai; they’ve lived long enough by centuries to watch all their family die; all the while searching for an alternative that never materialized. How long can hope survive?

All these factors twist something that may have started as noble into something else. Their physical appearance is mutilated and monstrous (especially to Downworlders and Mundanes who have not been indoctrinated to think any differently), but does the outside appearance reflect of what’s going on the inside?

(Codex pg216) For the Iron Sisters: “In the floor is a black circle in which is carved the sigil of the Iron Sisters: a heart pierced by a blade.”

***I’m grappling with Emma and Julian (and presumably the rest of the Blackthorns) forgetting Jem and Tessa’s wedding for Part 5. I have vague thoughts of my own, but would like to hear what other people think.

Thanks.

#Lord of Shadows Theories #The Dark Artifices #Lord of Shadows #Cassandra Clare #Parabatai #Emma Carstairs #Julian Blackthorn #Jonathan Shadowhunter #Silent Brothers #Iron Sisters #David #Lady Midnight #theories #original posts

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theimpossiblescheme · 7 years

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The Purest Capture

(This fanfic is a few years old--I can’t remember exactly how old. But it had to have been around the first time I ever saw the movie of The Last Unicorn. The book is one of my favorite pieces of literature of all time, and despite parts of the movie not having aged very well, it still has a very special place in my heart. One of my favorite aspects of the film was Christopher Lee’s performance as the villain, King Haggard, who was such a fascinating character to me that if Beagle wasn’t going to tell me more about him, I was just going to make things up. :D So with no further ado, here is my old story. Constructive criticism is always valued--I hope you enjoy!)

With the exception of “It does not make me happy,” the phrase most spoken by King Haggard was “I cannot remember.” Almost every time it was uttered, Lir would roll his eyes, and Mabruk would smile as patronizingly as he would to an absentminded child. But it was true. Try as he might, Haggard could not remember most things. Not the day of his coronation, not the day his kingdom first began to wither, the day he’d ceased to be Lir’s father. Not even the most mundane things, like how long he’d sat in his sepulchral throne room without eating or sleeping, or proclamations and insignificant observations he’d made the day prior. He could not remember having been young at all; it was as though he’d come into the world the same bitter old man he was now. His parents were simply blank, but stern faces in his mind’s eye, occasionally accompanied by a deep voice or a certain scent that would fade into mist the moment he became aware of them.

And he couldn’t remember ever having been happy. Such a small thing, insignificant and petty. And completely nonsensical—one can’t miss something one has never experienced. Yet if Haggard were capable of feeling—as he’d long ago suspected he was not—it would burn within him. But nothing within Haggard was capable of burning, not even the briefest cinder of emotion. Nothing in this world prompted any emotion from him anymore, not pleasure, not even hatred. It went beyond boredom, but it wasn’t quite sorrow. Sorrow was capable of being felt, like a sharp lance of shining silver tears through the soul. Haggard was simply numb. If anything, he supposed he could feel fear. Was that fear, that momentary niggling dread that would freeze his lungs if he sat too long alone, suddenly very aware of his own shortness of breath and faint, but insistent heartbeat? A sense that any moment he might dissolve and be carried away on the wind like so much ash? Yes, one might call that a kind of fear. But he learned to master that fear, to wrestle it into submission as one might a bloodthirsty beast.

And so Haggard endured for years unnumbered.

It had to have been many years indeed when he first faced the Red Bull. He knew because his grip on his sword was not as steady as it had once been; he nearly dropped it several times. Standing before that unearthly monster, its hellish eyes nearly blinding him, its heavy breath choked with the smell of brimstone, Haggard almost felt that fear again. But if he could master himself, he could certainly master this mere animal, unearthly or no. They battled for nearly a day, the Bull tossing him about with its massive horns and Haggard delivering answering blows with his sword, before, bloodied and bruised, the king emerged victorious. The Red Bull became his prize, chained in the deepest tunnel of his castle cellar, where it roared incessantly night after night afterward, begging to be released. Haggard passed those nights sleeplessly, waiting for the beast to stop its bellowing. A few times, he considered putting it out of its misery, a thought which the Bull might have sensed because thereafter it was quiet, only a vague rumble and tremor betraying its presence. There were days he would almost forget its presence, upon which thought, for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, he would descend to where it was chained and stand before it. That was all he would do—just stand, inches out of its reach, staring into those fathomless red eyes, not sure what he was looking for there. He always saw the same thing: pure, seething hatred…over time mitigated by a sullen sort of respect for its captor. That grudging respect grew in its eyes until a day came when man and monster could look on each other as equals.

It did not make him happy, but for a while he enjoyed the company. Quite ironic, all things considered—a witch had warned him when he’d first built his castle that he was inviting a curse upon his rule. Was this what she meant, he wondered—that the closest to a kindred spirit this coldhearted old king would find was some hellspawn behemoth he’d bound beneath the very floor he walked on? The notion was a ridiculous one (honestly, even the most moonstruck witches’ prophecies were more plausible than that), but curious all the same.

So remained his routine for another interminable stretch of time, until fate ordained that he would grow weary of it and be out on a “diplomatic outing” that fateful day. “Diplomatic”, he called it within earshot of the people of Hagsgate, but it was really nothing of the kind. These outings consisted mainly of the peasants complaining at him about the state of their fields, their livestock, their drafty houses. Their lot was really no worse than any poor village in his kingdom, but it was no secret that Hagsgate’s favorite pastime was blaming all of their problems on him. If the milk curdled, if the horses became lame, if the blacksmith’s daughter failed to fetch a satisfactory dowry, Haggard must have had a hand in it somehow. If you heard one complaint, you heard them all, but the duties of a king dictated that Haggard suffer them. He was about to quit the current stretch of lean-tos and lice-eaten stables when he noticed a peculiar sight on the doorstep of an abandoned house. A tiny bundle of threadbare blankets flanked by a dozen-odd cats. Shooing away the cats, he picked up the bundle to discover a baby lying peacefully therein. Its enormous blue eyes were open, staring inquisitively at him, but it didn’t cry—just stared. The rude little thing…and so small. It was lucky it hadn’t been trod underfoot. Moved by some strange instinct, Haggard brought the child to a wet nurse, who told him that it—a boy—was perfectly healthy for the moment, but wouldn’t last long thus exposed to the elements. He needed a parent’s care, something she was unable to provide. Haggard was about to tell her that he couldn’t very well provide for the child either when their eyes met again. Such strange eyes this baby had—remarkable really, almost fey. They were the exact color of the sea outside the king’s window.

The thought of having children never crossed Haggard’s mind. Yet he suddenly thought of how happy all the families he’d passed there in the village had looked. How wide the fathers’ smiles were, the way the mothers’ eyes shone. Perhaps…perhaps raising this boy would bring him some of that happiness. Besides, a king needed an heir. Haggard was very aware of the fact that he wouldn’t live forever, and it would be good to teach his son the ways of ruling a kingdom. Thanking the wet nurse for her help, he set back out for his castle, the child in his arms. His name would be Lir, and he would be raised a prince.

Raising a child was no easy task. Haggard’s parents being only distant figures in his memory, he had no barometer against which to judge his parenting skills. But Lir grew up well-adjusted enough, and by four years old he was a lively young lad, full of mischief and questions. Haggard had his hands full to be sure, keeping the boy out from under his feet and coming up with suitable answers to his incessant inquiries. It brought him…pleasure. Not quite happiness. Happiness, he suspected, would feel lighter than this. Nothing in his soul lightened, and what remained of his heart did not swell. Yet something in the very back of his mind flared a little brighter when Lir smiled at him or called him “Father”, so Haggard contented himself with that. Until Lir turned six. Then everything changed. Not outwardly—the young prince had reached a more adventurous age, consumed with dreams of errant knighting and slaying dragons. Yet none of these dreams shone on his face, the way they once had. He no longer called Haggard “Father”. And his remarkable, sea-blue eyes no longer glowed with even a fraction of their old fey light. They had become empty and dull. Something in the moldering depths of Haggard’s soul cried out at that, and that bright center of pleasure in the back of his mind was extinguished. He could no longer bear to look at his son.

Fate, however, wasn’t done with him. Having no courtiers to accompany him, Mabruk notwithstanding (a fine figure that doddering old conjurer would cut on a horse!) and Lir being too young, Haggard set out on a hunting by himself one day. Not specifically not to catch any game—although he wouldn’t exactly spurn it, what with his old bones’ insistence that they needed to eat—but more as an excuse to leave the castle for a while. For some reason, the air in that gloomy throne room seemed particularly stuffy and oppressive that day, and he decided he couldn’t bear another moment of it. So he rode until its skeletal parapets and the craggy cliffs that bore them were no longer visible, eventually coming upon a clearing in the woods.

And what a clearing! While the world around it was trapped in autumn’s slow decay, this place was still green and lush, white blossoms lacing the trees and dew sparkling in the grass as if it were still fresh as morning. All around him, there came the snuffling and chittering of various animals and over his head sang birds he didn’t know still existed. It was as though he’d crossed over into some faery vale, where nature itself conformed to completely different laws. Here it was so pure, so untouched by man’s destructive hand, that Haggard had half a mind to leave. Better to leave places like this to their own devices—humans had no business meddling in these things.

His horse had apparently made its mind long before because no sooner did this thought cross his mind than he was thrown from the saddle. He cried out for his horse to come back, but it had already bolted, leaving him sprawled on the ground pondering what to do now. Perhaps it would be best to stay where he was, wait for someone to find him. But who would possibly think to look for him here? Far more likely that he’d be eaten by one of the beasts that lived here—

It was there, beside a cool running stream he’d managed to drag himself to, that he first saw them. The unicorns. Ineffably beautiful in a way no bards could do justice, their snowy pelts glistening, hooves delicate as glass and light of step as a fawn, their crystalline horns casting every conceivable color into the air the way the purest prism might, their manes like spun silver, their very forms so light and seemingly fragile yet betraying such raw power, cooing and whinnying to each other like newborn babes, frolicking about as if they weighed nothing at all, running like the very wind made foam-white flesh…it was too much. They were too much. It was like seeing the face of God…

Staring at them, Haggard noticed that he was laughing. The sensation terrified him so much that he actually pressed two fingers to his wrist to check that his heart had not stopped. It had not. So he allowed himself to laugh more, until hot tears streamed down his cheeks. That feeling that any minute he might be whisked away to the breezes had returned, but this time it was not so terrible. He felt remarkably light, as if a cloud had taken form within him and was causing everything in him to float and his vision to blur. Was this what happiness was like—this exquisite madness, this sense that he had nothing to fear, that the entire world was as pure and bright as this clearing, as the heavenly creatures that stood before him, completely unaware of their effect on him? If so, he wished to never feel anything else ever again. This was enough. He could die now with no regrets, no thought of anything but this place and its glory.

But it was not to be. Through means he could not remember, he ended up leaving the clearing. And almost at once, within sight of the dull sky and cloudy sea that enveloped his castle, the world came crashing back down upon him. The lightness was gone, replaced with an ache that bit deep into every muscle, into the very marrow of his bones. His heart came clattering painfully back into his chest, settling into a senseless, unbearably heavy leaden lump at the bottom of his ribcage, and he wept. It would be the last time in his life he would allow himself to shed tears.

When his eyes were dry again, Haggard realized something even more horrible. His memory of the clearing, the unicorns, was already beginning to fade. No. No, was his first coherent thought—no, he would not let it. If he forgot everything else, if he forgot his own name, he would not forget the unicorns and the joy they had brought him. And he would feel that same joy again, if it was the last thing he did.

But try as he might, he could not capture that joy. He tried everything over the course of many tedious years—great banquets, balls, spectacular performances, outings to the country, the company of women. He came to know them all, and none of them made him happy. They didn’t even capture his interest, and he learned to deal swiftly and harshly with that which lost his interest. In a moment of desperation, he even called Lir and attempted to spend time with him. But that time soured quickly—all he could think of when he met his gaze was the day he stopped calling him “Father” and that flame of pleasure guttered out. So Lir was dismissed, and Haggard returned to his searching. Outside his window, the view began to mirror his own heart—dark, gloomy, and withering, the sea lapping pale and listless at the shore. The once-fertile hills and fields turned to ash, and the very air grew heavy and stale, weighing heavily upon Hagsgate, causing houses to sag miserably and farmers to stoop under loads that had once been light. None of the people came to complain however, which was just as well—he didn’t know what he could possibly do to alleviate it. Better to just let it be.

Another dull stretch of years crawled by, and Haggard could not find the happiness he’d felt so long ago. He could feel himself growing thinner and frailer, and that fear of dissolving into dust on the wind returned with a vengeance. He would die having felt happiness only once in his dreary life. Before he could stop it, an awful hint of despair began intruding upon his all-consuming numbness. One particularly bleak day, Haggard found himself contemplating an old hunting dagger, wondering at the sensation of the cool metal slipping between his ribs. It would be something to feel, he mused, other than this crippling unhappiness. But no. He was not so desperate to feel as to take the coward’s way out. And besides, what sort of world would it be where a king could simply drive a dagger into his own heart? So he endured. What choice did he have?

It was a looking glass, of all things, that granted him the clarity he needed. Lir had said he was looking especially ill that day, and although he’d long since stopped putting stock in the boy’s opinions, Haggard glanced into it anyway. There was nothing there that he wasn’t already aware of—his hair and beard had thinned and whitened, his skin had turned pale, almost grey, from his seclusion, and his cheeks had hollowed until the bones were not only visible, but sharp enough to cut glass. Yet…there was something in his eyes. A curious sheen, as if from tears, reflecting a shimmering glow from the inside. Had it always been there? It couldn’t have been, not as old and cynical as he’d become. Yet here he was—an old and cynical man with the eyes of a child. How long had they been like this…?

Wait. He knew. It was fresh, new—it must only have arrived recently. Could—Could it be that day at the clearing? That day that had transformed his life, had given him a new purpose for spending the rest of his worthless days? Had it changed him in ways he only now understood? Suddenly, he understood why he no longer bore any affection for Lir. Because his eyes that had once held this sheen had become empty. Empty as his own had once been.

As any eyes that never saw unicorns.

It was as though he’d been struck by lightning. The way ahead was clear now—he knew what he now must do. If those creatures were to be his only source of happiness, than he would never be apart from them. Beneath him, the Red Bull roared and tossed against its restraints, shaking the castle to its very foundations. It was time he put that infernal beast to good use. He descended to the cellar, unlocked the Red Bull’s cell, cut its chains with his sword, looked into its terrible eyes and merely said, “I want them.” The Bull snorted once, as if in answer, before tearing off down the tunnel and into the night.

At last his years of searching were coming to fruition. Haggard had spent his entire life in a haze of dim memories and thwarted joy, but no more. Now that dull curtain was parting, and his happiness would never be any farther than the sea. The sea…yes, the unicorns could live there. The Bull would drive them there, and Haggard could look upon them for as long as he lived. And they would be his. Yes…they would be his. He would reclaim his happiness at long, long last.

Yes. His.

#my fanfic #the last unicorn #king haggard

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