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#who is a part of the same society under the same shackles

singingcicadas · 5 months

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The beginning of the Decepticons according to Megatron:

The beginning of the Decepticons What Actually Happened:

That it could ever be called a revolution of the oppressed is a joke. Megatron's philosophy is purely pugno ergo sum. I fight, therefore I am. His first recruitment speech was a promise for power, made to the most bloodthirsty audience he could dig up from the dregs of society. Those people were there because they thrived off the bloodsport. They wanted audition to join Megatron in the pits. Megatron offered them something even better: turn the entire planet into our gladiatorial arena, and we take.

Ever since the beginning Megatron viewed the Decepticons as nothing but a tool, to be used and thrown away. He wanted them to be as ruthless as possible in order to wipe out all opposition, but once his end goal's achieved, well, there's no place for ruthlessness in a perfect society under his absolute control. Therefore, remodelling and recreating. It doesn't sound like he wants to rule over actual people with individual personalities, he wants a bunch of mindless drones programmed for obeisance and peace and hardcoded to Do What Megatron Says.

Ravage and Tarn. It's interesting how they both use the word "emancipated" when lauding Megatron's accomplishments, when it's clear that Megatron did so for the practical purpose of bulking up his army. He overthrew those in power because he wanted to be the one in power. The only one. The people he "emancipated" were just exchanging one set of shackles for another, as they had no choice other than to join the Decepticon army. Not fighting was not an option. Cowardice was punishable by traitor's wheel. Going neutral was also not an option. Soundwave had specific anti-neutral pogroms for those.

I wonder if they knew what "the Megatron they loved" had in mind for the Decepticons after they won the war. The remodeling and recreating. Or maybe they thought that's just for the lowly genericons. That they would be exempt from such treatment because they were confident of their privileged places at Megatron's side. After all, if you're rooting for someone whose motto is peace through tyranny, you'd do so with the expectation that it's only Other People who are going to get tyrannized.

It's true that he did rise against an oppressive government, despite it being the goal to replace it with himself as the tyrant.

But he also thought the single admirable quality about Zeta was his ruthlessness. As in trying to kill an entire city of his own people to fuel his vamparc ribbon. And he said that in front of Hot Rod, who was forced to bomb his own city to stop Zeta from winning. Even disregarding the twisted values here, this is still fifteen levels up the insensitivity lane. No wonder Hot Rod didn't want to join up.

Torture's for fun and domination. It takes a special kind of sadistic streak. And this is before the war even officially started.

Thundercracker's view on the Decepticon cause, when he defected to save humans from the nuke:

"Everything we have done here" - Just here? He'd either been living under a rock for the entirety of the war or has some serious misunderstandings about what the Decepticon name is.

Or just been willfully blind for four million years and the deaths of a hundred billion lifeforms until the day he decided to grow a conscience. Same with Soundwave.

Tarn's a really good case study because he's the poster boy of Megatron's Decepticon propaganda. Megatron probably spoonfeeds him the stuff by the gigabytes and he regurgitates them with twice the zeal and tenfold the pretentiousness. He's also the embodiment of the vices and tragedy of the Decepticons as a whole, as created by Megatron. A sadistic hypocrite, a glorified thug, a delusional fanatic, a customized tool for use and dispose. Crippled by the blinkering desire to be superior, to be part of a greater cause.

Megatron cares nothing for Tarn, just like how he cares nothing for the Decepticons. During the war they were a means to an end. After Megatron's defection, their "toxic loyalty" became a personal burden, a blemish from his past that he would like to cast aside and move on from but annoyingly refuse to leave him alone.

The road-sweepers and the haulers. The miners. What were they to Megatron during the war? Disposable cannon fodder. A pretty banner to hide behind. For a movement that likes to justify itself as a revolution of the oppressed, the emancipation of the disenfranchised, there's certainly a distinct lack of those classes among the upper Decepticon ranks. Megatron said in his recruitment speech that he wanted strength and power. Then where did that leave the weak and sick, the empties on the streets?

Nowhere but the smelting pool, to be recycled into something useful for the great Decepticon cause. They should be honoured, really.

Freedom fighters? No, freedom won't be missed. Probably has something to do with the remodelling and recreating part.

Starscream's only partially right. It was absolutely Megatron's intent to tap into that well of rage and resentment, and he meant for the riot to happen. Of course it got away from him in the end - that's what happens when you cobble an army out of bloodthirsty power-hungry degenerates, half of which were on board for the violence, half for their own scheming agendas, and the rest stitched together by charisma and fear - but he'd shaped the events enough to come a hairsbreadth away from winning multiple times. People like Shockwave and Scorponok were treacherous, but they weren't the reason that Megatron lost the war.

It was his own blind arrogance that led to his downfall.

No he didn't lose his way. He's exactly where he set himself out to be, from the moment he gave that speech in the arena. Perhaps even earlier, to that gradual slide when killing his opponent in a match no longer felt like a guilty burden but instead brought him the sweet rush of satisfaction. There was no revolution. There was no righteous cause. There was no for the people and never has been, because he did not care about other people. Four million years and countless deaths, and it was only really about one insanely self-centered person and his deluded ambition of peace through tyranny.

Hence his breakdown, because he'd just been hit in the face with the realization that he was Wrong. And has been wrong for the past four million years. He wasted everyone's lives. He wasted his own life, wasted it on anger and destruction and hatred, with nothing but regrets to show for it.

I believe that Megatron believed he's telling the truth here. I believe that he meant every word he said, except for that one "we" on the second last line.

Because that "we" should really be "me".

The Megatron who wrote about pacifist rhetoric, who was compassionate enough to share his fuel with the injured, who cared about others and had genuine friendships, that Megatron died a long time ago in the pits. Ever since then, every murder, every atrocity he'd committed in the name of "the people" was just facist rationalization.

I'm sure that he likes the sound of "emancipation of the people" or "freedom of choice" as a concept. But when it comes down to individual people? With actual, real choices that conflicts with his desire for absolute rule? Nope. He's the only one who should get to make choices. The only one who should have choices. Because he knows best.

Form dictates your function ❌; Megatron dictates your function ✅

Function dictates your fate ❌; Megatron dictates your fate ✅

Great minds must think alike, because Megatron and the Functionalist council in the Functionalist universe did a lot of the same stuff. Massacring the Senate. Recycling people who are deemed useless burdens. Remodelling and recreating. Imperalism and genociding organics. Killing all dissenters. The Functionalists even got pretty close to Megatron's ideal of peace through tyranny with 99% of the planet fitted with brain bombs and kissing the ground at their feet. They even managed to do it while maintaining a habitable planet and full population. And Megatron took one look and was disgusted.

Megatron wasn't a misunderstood revolutionist who had his heart in the right place when he started his war. The Decepticons didn't start out well-meaning and turned bad somewhere along the way. At no point in their movement were they ever true freedom fighters. They were always Facists, through and through. They were worse than the Functionalists they hated and the Senate they overthrew. And it's important to acknowledge this because (other than it's weird to see such an obvious Facist analogy being associated with freedom fighters) otherwise you don't get the whole depth of Megatron's redemption arc, especially in the Functionalist universe.

Like the impact of this scene wouldn't be fully apparant unless you take into account that when Megatron first formed the Decepticons, all he cared about was their fighting strength. He did not care about his troops, he did not care about individual people. He considered himself above everyone and everything. He would have sneered at such a weak, ineffective form of protest. Now he's actually being supportive and seeing people as people, instead of pawns to be used.

Here he's genuinely happy to see the Decepticons, even those in the very bottom of the pecking order, taking enough care to greet them each by name. And also Fulcrum, who he sentenced to death twice.

For once in his life he's actually trying to do the Right Thing instead of focusing on himself, either on his ambitions or his remorse. The people in the Functionalist universe have nothing to do with him, yet he wants to help anyway. And he's finally appreciating the value of self-determination for what it is, instead of trying to twist it to serve his own purposes or turn it into Megatron-determination.

"No one can decide how you live your life except for you." Back before, he was going to remodel his entire army to achieve his peace through tyranny. Autonomy and free will were considered things that won't be missed.

Megatron learned to care about other people! Peace through empathy is such a groundbreaking step for his character because he used to have no empathy! He stayed true to his ideals for eight centuries despite the hardships, despite his personal losses, despite the AVL being driven to near extinction and not knowing if he would ever return to his own universe. During all those years he could have had ten million chances and excuses to break his vow of pacifism or leave on the Last Light, taking the easy way out, and there would have been no one to stop him.

But he didn’t.

#transformers #idw transformers #maccadam #megatron #also he tossed his Decepticons out the back door at first chance in exchange for his freedom and legacy #the trial on Luna 2 #his frowny face when reading the surrender speech wasn’t for letting the Decepticons down it was for his own humiliation

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bookofmirth · 1 year

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I was wondering if you would be willing to take on an analysis of Cassian and Nesta’s relationship. I’m a sucker for romance and when I first read acosf I was so excited and happy for all the nessian although there were parts I felt so angry with Cassian because I felt were extremely unnecessary, like making Nesta carry a heavy pack all while not noticing her dehydration, telling her he’s shackled and not getting a decent reconciliation, to name a few. I feel like the story has this imbalance between the two characters because everyone already sees Cassian as this funny, mistreated by society, handsome huge cuddle bear in Feyre’s pov and we see Nesta as this unnecessary asshole in her pov. That, paired with Nesta’s self loathing, is why I can see why some readers are led to believe Nesta is awful to Cassian and might even go as far as agree that she needs to be worthy of him (which is why I have feelings about Mor who is an NC leader and one of her job titles is to help abused women but that’s another topic) then to read it explicitly in Nesta’s pov at the ending of acosf is what made me abandon the ship almost completely. which is a problem because we’ve agreed in previous posts just as Nesta’s pov is subjective by that same logic so is Feyre’s.

I loved reading your thoughts about Nesta and her father since that also didn’t make sense to me. I always figured Nesta’s trauma stemmed from the matriarchal side of her family and it’s helping me come to a certain understanding. I was just hoping maybe your perspective might give nessian a fresh angle I’m missing.

Hello! I will do my best. I assume we probably won't agree 100% but I am very much in the mood to lend some nuance to Nesta's character since the fandom is either intensely anti her or pro her, and both stances distort her character (and tbh some of the takes I've seen COMPLETELY missed the point of her entire character and of acosf, not to mention they are super vitriolic and antagonistic towards other people in the fandom. Calm the fuck down, y'all. No you op, just... the fandom.)

I take nessian as being a very different type of ship than any of sjm's others. Her other ships have tension that usually stops short of cruelty, but nessian are very aggressive as a couple and that energy turns antagonistic sometimes. Their dynamic is what made sjm make them mates, because Nesta is a force to be reckoned with and Cassian is not only strong enough to be with her and give it back, but he doesn't turn away from her either, when so many people in her life have stopped trying (Amren, Elain, Feyre to an extent).

I put the rest of this under the cut because it got very long!

Honestly, it confuses me when people get mad at Cassian for being mean to Nesta because that street goes both ways. They both say horrible things to each other that they know will wound, though Nesta does it first and more often. She calls him a brute and a bastard, when we know that that's one of his major insecurities. And this starts in Wings and Embers!

Her brows flattened. “Leader of the High Lord’s armies, and yet the brute remains. You cannot cow me with words, so you seek to intimidate me through your hulking size.”

Rhys, Az, and Cassian all call each other bastards on occasion but with them it's Bastard (affectionate). When Nesta calls Cassian a bastard/brute, she does it à la Beron and Eris. I honestly can't include all the times that she insults him that way. He lets it go at first, but then we know that, in his POV, this is actually an insult that gets under his skin and something he thinks about himself - much in the same way that Nesta thinks negative things about herself:

They were all staring. Cassian rolled his tensed shoulders, stretching out his wings. He’d revealed too much. Like a stupid brute, he’d let them all see too much, learn too much.

And someone else who uses that against him is Eris:

Cassian clenched his jaw. “So you’re to be my ally whether I wish it or not?” “The brute understands at last.” Cassian ignored the barb.

“It’s the ugliness of his fucking soul that riles me. I don’t care if he calls me a mongrel bastard.” Eris had called him such things today, she realized. Rage rippled through her. “It’s just that, ally or not, I hate him. He’s so slick and unruffled and … I can’t stand him.” He set down his fork and stared toward the window behind her. “Eris and his twisted word games and politics are an enemy I don’t know how to handle. Every time I meet with him, I feel like he’s got the upper hand. Like I can only catch up to him, and he sees through my every fumbling attempt at being clever. Maybe that makes me a stupid brute after all.”

And it's ironic to me that Nesta gets angry at how Eris insulted Cassian in that way, because she has done the exact same thing. So she knows that her blows are landing. In fact, that's why she does it. Nesta has identified a weakness and exploits it in order to push Cassian away, so I'm not surprised that it worked and he snaps. That's the reaction she's going for and that's the kind of behavior she needs to change because she's constantly pushing people away and then getting angry/sad when they leave.

The reason that I am emphasizing the things that Nesta has done here is not to say any of this is her fault, but that they both dish it out, and if we read the whole scenes, it usually starts with Nesta because that's just where she's at in her life right now. I dislike the arguments that because Cassian is older, he should know better or whatever, because 1) Nesta is an adult, and 2) as an Elder Millennial lol I know that age doesn't mean anything when it comes to maturity. In fact, I've lost my fucks with increasing frequency over the past few years. I know 20 year olds who are more mature than 40 year olds. It's just not that simple!

To go back to my initial point about their relationship, I think that even once the intention to harm is gone, now that some reconciliation has happened and they accept the mating bond, they will continue to be that aggressive couple. Feysand are leaders, nessian are warriors, and in the future I see elucien as co-conspirators and gwynriel as competitors. Nesta and Cassian both fight for what they care about, in the literal fighting sense, so it seems natural that that bleeds into their relationship a bit when they are still butting heads and trying to figure out how they work.

There are a couple of things you pointed out that I've noticed other people mention, so I wanted to discuss them!

like making Nesta carry a heavy pack all while not noticing her dehydration

I personally don't have an issue with the hike as a whole (I have another ask where I'll touch on it), but I did read this thing where Nesta passed out from dehydration as being both of their faults. Cassian just isn't paying attention, he forgets that Nesta isn't a hundreds of years old Illyrian tough guy and she *had barely gotten to the bottom of the stairs at the HoW (edit because I forgot she did that just before these shenanigans). Nesta is a grown adult, he's not her babysitter, she could have said something but instead she just suffered. (I wonder if that was also in line with her self-destructive behavior in acofas?) They're basically both being dumb here.

telling her he’s shackled

While he is doing this to hurt Nesta in that scene, all of the acotar mates thus far have said that about their mate. Lucien said it about Elain and Rhys about Feyre, though theirs were in more self-deprecating ways. To me, it just goes back to the push and pull that Nesta and Cassian have. I think the conflict in that scene is that they are essentially talking about two different things - for Cassian, Nesta rejecting the mating bond is her rejecting him. But for Nesta, the mating bond has nothing to do with Cassian and everything to do with her lost humanity. Cassian is taking her reaction personally (and why wouldn't he, when she has spent so much time picking at his insecurities?) and she is thinking of how the Cauldron and being Made affected her (and why wouldn't she, when she is still grappling with her trauma?) They are basically both thinking of themselves! And not considering how the other one feels.

and not getting a decent reconciliation

I think *fingers crossed* that we will see them in a much better place in future books. SJM said that Nesta's story will continue, so I'm just going to be optimistic here. Since the narration won't follow either of their perspectives anymore (we assume) we probably won't get an in-depth exploration of it. In fact, I was surprised when I got towards the end of acosf that I only had 30 more pages because I knew that so much still needed to happen. The end was very rushed but that's a whole different issue 😂

I am curious what you think of them after this! They aren't my favorite acotar ship; that's reserved for feysand and elucien, at least in canon. But I really love Cassian's character for his combination of strength and vulnerability, and Nesta is probably the most complex and interesting thus far, so I enjoy them from that standpoint.

#nessian #ask #unlikelypersonalknight1 #long post tag #nesta #cassian #thoughts on characters

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f1ghtsoftly · 1 year

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It can be so frustrating imo to explain to people who haven’t seen it for themselves What Is Wrong With Q**r Politics until they see it themselves.

I think a large part of it is because the paradigm is still “accepting gnc people vs ostracizing them”. To most of them there was no “before” to go back to. They never had access to the lgbt friendly spaces that did really exist in the 1990s and 2000s which, were not perfect, but generally you could count on a critical mass of people to be cool with men dressing like women and women dressing like men. To not pressure anyone to medicalize and to use pronouns with fluidity and context to express the realities of LGBTQ experiences not the rigidity of trans identities.

I’m not a luddite, I don’t long to go back to the AIDs crisis or a time when same sex public affection could illicit a beating, but a nice thing about being marginalized is that we were not marketed to, there were no influencers with thousands of followers trying to sell us on medicalization. Nobody believed that acceptance came at the cost of our health and our finances and that living a radical, gender fucked life is entirely compatible with homosexuality (and encouraged). Marginalization forced us to see a radical reality, not a shackled one.

It is so fucking telling how much this movement serves the needs of capital. Not only does transitioning destroy LG visibility, but it’s wildly expensive. It’s so easy for niave/immoral actors to cash in on a demographic that is in general isolated/ low in confidence and our gender system ensures that gay people will always be marginalized. We can’t overthrow gender under capitalism because the unpaid labor of mothers is too valuable.

Until we destroy the social system of patriarchy, gays and lesbians will always pose a “problem”. We are unproductive, ill fitting cogs in a machine that says only boys are one way and only girls are another and this is the only natural way. Not only does patriarchy keep women poor, weak and working 24/7 it also directs men’s rage towards women but it needs to be shoved in everyone’s faces 24/7 to hold. Oppressing 50% of a population is hard work.

Patriarchal propaganda is intense and pervasive. It has to be in order to work. This propaganda says the state of affairs is natural. That women like their position. That men are naturally agressive. That this is just the way things are. And it’s *that* propaganda that fucks gay people the hardest. The kind that says women oriented sexuality is innately agressive, so lesbians must share the fantasies of straight men. The kind that says anything associated with women is fair game for violence and exploitation, leaving men who preform for male attention exposed to male violence. The kind that says men must prove their power over women always, leading men to see lesbian masculinity as a direct threat. Plus all the ways gays and lesbians are made to feel uncomfortable, ostracized and left out from gendered social forms and rituals.

And rather than fix the actual problem, it works best for our system to allow predatory doctors to cash in on that. And activist groups can promote the shit out of it with minimal social backlash and without having to actually change how our system works. It doesn’t threaten the beauty industry or the entertainment industry or the plastic surgery industry because unlike women’s rights, unlike a radical restructuring of our society, it conforms with ideas about gender already popular in American culture. That gender is natural and “women” are naturally self sacrificing and submissive.

And reflecting back, it really just proves how revolutionary the idea that one’s natural body, personality and sexuality is more than good enough really was. Self acceptance has been so totally destroyed by the the weird neoliberal/wellness/moralism paradigm that it now means to become an image that has been sold to you, rather than to allow yourself to just fucking *be*.

Gayness, homosexuality, lesbianism, has been colonized in mainstream culture. It’s been turned into a mockery of itself (and jesus christ honestly it looks like it, the queers have NO DRIP). To be not a call to return to our truest selves and to see love not through the eyes of production and resources but through real feeling but a cruel endorsement of capital’s need to force us to conform, consume and constrict ourselves.

And I just hate the idea of literal decades of activism, people’s ENTIRE lives work, of lives destroyed by the AIDS crisis, by psychiatric hospitals, by poverty and addiction. Of all of that suffering and that work and that courage to fight through all of that just being mangled before our eyes.

There is no reform that will last. We have to take this all the way home.

#radical feminism #radblr #radical feminist #char on char #radfems #radical feminist theory #radical feminists do touch #radfem safe #radfem

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talldarkandroguesome · 2 years

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You don't consider Leythen to be an Altmer. He's special.

False.

Do you think me delusional? Of course he is an Altmer.

That said, it is true that he is special. I think it has something to do with the joining of the Psijic Order, for Valsirenn is also special. There is a greater understanding of the importance of things outside of the lies of Altmeri society and their cruel treatment of the other races.

I saw the same attitude, to a lesser degree, in Galerion, though he has not lost his Altmeri pride and inflated ego so he is less special in that way. But there is something about those who remain with the Order that seem to have understood, perhaps from being removed from the shackles of their birthplace's point of view, that other races have value and worthwhile contributions outside of assimilating to Altmeri values.

But Leythen had something else truly special about him. You do not get chosen to be Mephala's personal Earl to Her court if you are not a special mer. And there was some... I do not know how to describe it really, but there was something I never could quite put my finger on about him. Something unique. Something that made you truly believe that under him great things would happen.

And it was not solely charisma. I know that sort of feeling. It was something else. Something I wanted to be a part of. Something I wish I could have seen come to fruition. A light that....

No, I will not think of him like that. I will keep my thoughts of him in those moments of true mastery of the craft of Mephalan arts. He is what I should hold myself up to as standard with my own Nest. Nests.

B'Azura, I really need to start embodying him and fast.

#Ask

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fatedevour · 1 year

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♢ — Anonymous said: is there a part of your remaining humanity who feels betrayed by being outcasted by the akademiya for the research you did?

my muse must answer the next 10 asks truthfully: ACCEPTING [4 LEFT]

" My REMAINING humanity? “ Dottore tilts his head back and laughs, a deep sound the rumbles from deep within his chest like an earthquake beneath the mountains. “ And do tell me, what happened to the rest? I am the same as I have ever been, centuries ago and now. I’m afraid to inform you that I am not a case of tragedy or grief turned corruption. “

The question however does make him ponder for a moment. He’d never thought about the situation in that perspective. It was an INTERESTING view that was proposed. Betrayed? It was too strong of a word for what he felt.

“ As for your INTRIGUING question, I can’t say I ever have. Granted, I am an OLDER segment compared to that of Beta or Theta, but I do distinctly recall my thoughts even then. I was not SURPRISED. I have been outcast all my life. It was merely further DISAPPOINTMENT in the loss of resources and the FAILURE of the Akademiya to live up to its potential. “

Dottore’s hands unfold from where they’d been crossed in front of his chest to instead rest by his side. “ I figured out rather QUICKLY that even within my Darshan, which boasted of the motto that knowledge was everything , they would be appalled by my research and grand schemes. Hypocritical, to claim that knowledge came before all else yet remain SHACKLED by the constructs of society. They were not willing to truly live up to their own motto. “

He lifts one hand slightly as further elaboration leaves his lips. “ I had HOPED that such a place might finally accept me, this much was true. I was young, and believed the attitude and restraints of my village to be due to their isolation and the barrenness of the desert, a lack of proper scholarly perspective if you will. Unfortunately, I found this to not be true. But having been REJECTED all my life at that point, to face more rejection was merely further disappointment rather than betrayal. I had optimistic hope, but I was under no delusion that would make it a betrayal. “

“ It is a shame. “ Dottore sighs, his hand resting on his waist. “ Even all this time later and they’ve only gotten MORE restrained in their views. My homeland has never appreciated my gifts or research. But that is fine. I have all I need, I do not need, nor have I ever needed, their acceptance. “

#Anonymous #thank you for the question!#he was just disappointed :/#I don't think dottore's ever felt betrayed per se by anything #didnt have enough trust/faith in anything to earn that level #♢ — ❛ he whom ushers in your darkest hour ❜ ( ic )

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curtklingermanposts · 2 years

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Truth Never Changes

Your View of Truth Affects Everything

How you view truth; whether or not you believe it; accept or reject it, impacts your life. For the most part, the way people live reveal how they measure it. Those who reject or even try to create their own truth, will never live their best possible life. Moreover, they will suffer eternal consequences if there is no repentance. Of course, those who embrace truth are able to come into their greatest possible life, along with eternal reward.

Let’s be clear at the onset, truth never changes regardless of time, opinion, or culture for that matter. The world is hostile towards truth, because it is run by the spirit of disobedience (see Ephesians 2:1-3). This is one reason there is so much chaos.

Rejecting the Truth Leads to Self-Deception

Everyone on the planet has known or will know the truth at some point in their life. God placed it in each of us, but not everyone held onto it. Many have outright rejected the truth, which includes trying to pervert it for their own purposes.

Romans 1:18-20 For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, because that which is known about God is evident within them; for God made it evident to them. For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse.

People know intuitively the difference between right and wrong. They don’t have to be told. However, they can sear their own conscious over time, and become desensitized. In the end, they reject truth. Jesus revealed they reject it because their deeds are evil (see John 3:19-20). It’s one reason some claim atheism.

When individuals depart from truth, they enter into self-deception.

Romans 1:21-22 Because that, when they knew God, they glorified Him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools.

It’s interesting to listen to those who profess to being enlightened. Many of whom call believers ignorant and unlearned. “They’re living in the dark ages.” They claim to be free from the shackles of religion; but in reality, they’re in bondage to sin. To many, their rhetoric sounds wise, but it falls apart when it comes under scrutiny of the truth. Because they prefer darkness, darkness is light to them. The call good, evil, and call evil, good.

When someone insists on darkness, at some point in time God will give him over to self-deception that he would believe what is false (see Romans 1:23-32; 2 Thessalonians 2:3-12). This is based on their decision; not His. His will is all come to repentance. This is the ultimate end for those who ultimately reject the truth.

Truth Leads to Freedom

John 8:31 Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on Him, If ye continue in My Word, then are ye My disciples indeed; And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

John 17:17 Sanctify them through Thy truth: Thy word is truth.

Unless a person’s personal truth is the Word of God, his truth will never set him free. The more you embrace the Word of God, the more freedom you will experience. Conversely, the more you adhere to the wisdom of the world the less of it you will experience.

Truth Never Changes

God does not change, neither does His Word. Be grateful for this fact. It’s important to stay the course during turbulent times. No matter what pressure society seeks to place on you to compromise, or bend the Word of God in the name of tolerance, speak the truth. It is more loving to tell it like it is, than to withhold the truth from someone destined for hell. Love warns. One way to get this wrong is to become self-righteous and use His Word to condemn people. That is not the truth, much less the Gospel.

Hebrews 13:8-9 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. Do not be carried away by varied and strange teachings; for it is good for the heart to be strengthened by grace . . .

www.perfectfaith.org

#PerfectFaith

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trickstarbrave · 3 years

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im still thinking abt this question a white man asked online which is “why do people worship gods of chaos like loki and eris. why do they INVITE chaos and discord into their lives? is ‘chaos’ the only way you know how to change anything in your life? because that doesnt sound healthy” and i feel like the question fundamentally misses the roles they fulfill in their mythologies and why they are “chaos”

most of the gods listed are not primordial concepts of uncreation or even creation. the gods are mirrors to human society and roles, though are not often paragons like we assume they are in modern day. they are mirrors that reflect strengths and flaws and different parts of a society. that is how people interpret them, how they figure out what a god will help them with, and so on. but these “chaos” gods sow discord and strife and create knots and problems through one common way: they reject common societal roles.

they reject concepts of marriage, gender roles, gender itself, the role of fathers having dominion over their daughters, what it even means to be a person. the discord they sow is because they are rejected from society--from parties, celebrations, marriages. even when society says they rightfully belonged, it breaks their oaths. and the type of discord and chaos is things that shake up the power structures that disenfranchises them. it weaponizes the insults hurled at them or their roles themselves (see lokis insults at the other gods being things also said to him, or eris weaponizing femininity with the apple vs the other goddesses). their very existence is a threat to the delicate authority and rule of the existing power structures in society.

the “chaos” oppressed people, who i find are most drawn to chaos gods for a reason, experience is not the same as what privileged people experience, but is constantly ever present and painful. their existence is a threat to power structures just like the chaos gods, which means they are crushed and minimized by society. they experience violence, abuse, and lack of opportunities. and then you are asking them “why would you invite a being that seeks to destroy what is doing this to you? who knows your experience as intimately as you do? can’t you just make your life better in a way that doesn’t challenge the status quo?” without actually meaning to.

working with chaos with these gods means you learn to change your conceptions of why society is good or bad. why people are on the fringes or in the spotlight. how to take up space in a place that minimizes you. how to weaponize the chains society shackles you with.

i already know chaos and i will gladly welcome another form. the rules of society that only serve to hurt me don’t matter to me, and i am willing to destroy things that even benefit me, because they crush someone else. discord, suffering, and strife are as natural to me as breathing air is. if you have to ask “why invite chaos” i kind of just gawk in response because suffering is already here, i just refuse to be the one constantly suffering under it for someone else’s benefit. i refuse to grown and change only in ways comfortable for you. i refuse to be complacent in reaffirming oppressive structures in our society because it is too difficult for you right now to reject them. my existence is a threat to your comfort in society, and i outright refuse to stop existing.

“chaos” in this sense is the justice for people who are unseen, pushed to the fringes, told they don’t matter. i have no choice BUT to welcome it at some point. you questioning this only tells me you dont understand those gods at all, what they want, their purpose, etc. and i dont know how to describe it any clearer.

#loki #lokean #eris #i suppose #this isnt comprehensive or well detailed #abt mythology in particular #nor an apt way to compare eris and loki #theyre both here bc theyre the names i remember being mentioned in particular #there was one more i think who i forgot

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lord-squiggletits · 2 years

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10 reasons to ship IDW MegOP

Full text dump and squeeing under the cut.

1. JRO wrote in a subtextual BDSM scene for them... like, this man deadass wrote a script that had multiple scenes of Megatron being shackled and restrained while playing games with Optimus to provoke him into hurting him. Optimus literally says something like ‘I know what he wanted now, and I think I just gave it to him’ after nearly electrocuting Megatron to death. But honestly, BDSM subtext aside, the entire Police Action/Chaos Theory pre-war story is so fucking good for both of them. It establishes both of their unique identities for this continuity as well as planting the seeds for how they first met and why their fates are entertwined, even if they weren’t friends before the war as in many other continuities. Then again, Orion Pax calls Megatron his friend after just reading his essays and talking to him for a few seconds, so it seems like the connection is there, isn’t it?

2. Personality-wise, Megatron and Optimus are surprisingly similar. While Megatron’s anger issues and propensity for violence are obvious given who he is, Optimus is also written as having a bit of a foul temper despite his best efforts to suppress it and stay optimistic. And even then, OP has never had any qualms about resorting to violence when the time comes. Then you have Megatron who began his life as an idealistic, pacifist miner (much as Optimus strove to be) but turned to violence due to constant state abuse, and even when he became a tyrant himself, he leans on ideals of freedom from oppression to justify himself. That leads into another point...

3. The two of them have mirror opposite arcs in this continuity. (For the sake of brevity, some things are simplified or glossed over.) Orion Pax began his life basically as one of the bad guys of the regime, but had his eyes opened thanks to Megatron, eventually became a figure of freedom stopping the oppression of organics, but then post-war started to fall to his own fatal flaw, and at the end of his life it was said of him that he may have caused more destruction than he prevented.

Meanwhile, Megatron began as an activist writer coming from an oppressed working class, grew hard under constant state abuse, then lost all attachments and embraced violence as a way of live, eventually becoming the very same type of tyrant he once swore to destroy. But at the end of his life, he did see the error of his ways and do his best to atone.

And JRO was the one who both 1. wrote Orion as a cop and 2. was basically the first writer who actually paid attention to Megatron Origin and put in effort to making it a part of the lore, so it’s plausible that this parallel was intended. Or at least, Barber’s additions as a writer made them parallels of each other.

A lot of people give Optimus shit in this continuity for being problematic, or fawn over Megatron for being “right all along,” but I think that both of them having highly tumultuous lives where they inspired great good and committed great evil is perfect for making them equal rivals as all good MegOP dynamics should be.

4. If you’re into stories with politics, reading (or writing) works that explore IDW1′s lore is rich for MegOP potential. Megatron and Optimus are both incredibly, incredibly political people. Their positions within Cybertronian society, the circumstances they met, and the reasons they became enemies are entirely based on the politics of the society they lived in. They are products of Cybertron. They are emblematic of Cybertron. Any romantic interpretation of them is super juicy because it means that they must resolve their political disputes and heal the wrongs that they (and their factions) have inflicted on each other, not just fall in love on personal terms. IDW MegOP romance is just extremely high stakes and complex. What’s not to love?

5. To go along with the previous points, Megatron and Optimus are both leaders with EXTREMELY big mistakes in their past. They’re both such charismatic figures that each of them basically built up an entire cult of personality around themselves. Of course, that means that all the atrocities of war ultimately fall onto their shoulders to be responsible for. Because of this, their sense of regret for their actions is equally strong-- AND I EMPHASIZE THIS POINT because if Megatron hadn’t started with pure activist intentions, and if Optimus hadn’t once been an enforcer of the regime, they wouldn’t have as high stakes to feel regret as they do! Megatron regrets how far from his original intentions he strayed. Optimus regrets the role (or lack thereof) he played, not doing enough to prevent the war from happening. They’re both full of so much fucking regret, but it gets lonely at the top. Who else can understand them but another person who is equally larger-than-life, equally flawed, and equally crushed by the fact that they spent their lives fighting a pointless war that they themselves could have stopped at any time?

6. Equality is a big part of the appeal of MegOP, and in IDW1, they’ve both wronged each other. In so many ways. Besides the fact that they were military enemies and have hurt/nearly killed each other in many ways, there’s also the personal level. Orion Pax seemingly listening to Megatron, only to become a state dog under Zeta. Megatron taking Damus and indoctrinating him into Tarn just to make a point to Optimus that “anyone can be turned.” Optimus making Megatron denounce the Decepticons. Megatron shooting Orion in the back after they defeated Zeta togther (also creating his own worst enemy in a very poetic irony kind of way).

These guys’ hands are so dirty, not just when it comes to war and politics, but to each other. Neither of them can truthfully claim to be a victim of the other. Both of them have to admit that they fucked up and did completely uncalled for stuff. I like the idea of an eventual romantic dynamic because love between them would mean reconciling and forgiving all of the things they’ve done to each other, politically and personally.

Anyways, that’s the big and heavy stuff, let’s go into more of the fluffy/romantic and possibly silly stuff.

7. Orion/Optimus SIMPS FOR MEGATRON SO FUCKING HARD IN IDW1 HOLY SHIT. This man stormed the Senate and quoted from Megatron’s essays after mere seconds of knowing him, he constantly praises Megatron’s name and words to basically everyone he’s friends with (Roller, Shockwave, etc). Hell, this dude literally threw out all sense of logic or propriety to put Megatron, a fucking convicted war criminal, on the fucking Lost Light just so that he could have his own redemption journey. I know Optimus attached contingencies, but still??? Under what circumstance is letting a genocidal dictator go free a good decision??? Because Optimus is fucking gay for him that’s why.

And let’s not forget about stuff like Megatron muttering Orion’s name/talking about him when he’s tired, the way he knew Optimus well enough to provoke him into hurting him with the VVH, the way that on the Lost Light he takes it as a high compliment to be compared to Orion Pax. IDW OP may be a simp, but let’s be honest, Megatron is just as interested in OP, he’s just better at controlling himself lmao.

8. In general, during the few times OP and Megatron get to talk to each other without trying to kill each other, they banter as if they’re old friends and just generally display comfortable familiarity. To the point that people like Prowl and Rodimus react with discomfort or disgust at how they’re enemies yet talk as if they’re friends, lmao. (Oh and of course there’s the phone call between past Orion and present Megatron in MTMTE.) Point is, they have really good personal chemistry. Also, tying back into the points made earlier, they’re both assholes so I think they would be comfortable criticizing/calling each other out. Which is what both of them need, because they’ve spent almost all their lives being worshipped and idolized. And who doesn’t like the “old married couple” bitchy-but-fond relationship dynamic?

9. Megatron used to be a poet and a writer, so he has the skills to send Optimus romantic poems and letters about how much he means to him. Or he could send scathing critiques of his life choices and call him an idiot. This is MegOP, so probably both. And then Optimus would argue with him right back, because Optimus is also well-spoken and snarky. Cranky old men expressing love via petty fighting and agreeable bickering/banter.

10. And honestly, they’re two big, bulky guys that look super tough and imposing. You have to admit that the visual aesthetic of two equally large, buff guys setting aside their violent ways to gently hold hands and kiss is just a nice mental image. And they’re both sexy as fuck whether you look at the Orion Pax frame and Gladiator Megatron, Bomber Megatron, phase 2 Optimus, MTMTE tank Megatron. Like, their designs are so good and they just look good together.

#squiggposting #megop #megaop #idw megop #anyways that's my fuckin rant ayyyyy #this is probably a mess but it made me happy in a depressing evening so #holy shit this is 1.5k words long #anyways it's serious and kinda shitposty so like i didn't cite all my sources and add screencaps or w/e #but this is my blog you know me by now

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bbq-hawks-wings · 3 years

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Chapter 316: BBQ is capable of critiquing BNHA and… Oh boy.

Let's start this off properly, Horikoshi's typical quality of writing has been diminishing in recent chapters, but this week it was so different that it didn't even feel like Horikoshi was the one who wrote it.

To be clear, I'm not blaming Horikoshi for the issues I'm about to bring up. The man is criminally overworked, usually doesn't even get the final say in what makes it in the final drafts, and even in his other rough patches he's still produced decent chapters that hold up amongst the grand scheme of things. This feels like something else is going on behind the scenes, and while I have my suspicions on who/what might be the culprit behind it, I choose not to share it at this time because if I name names some people might go off on a crusade, and that's not what I want.

I just want to be clear that I'm not blindly firing off shots in the dark, but despite my frustrations I want to wait to see if this gets resolved down the line, and while I do I can complain about the specific reasons this chapter left such a bitter taste in my mouth.

Buckle up, buttercups, because we got a lot of points to cover.

Where's the Gun?

Not a literal gun, but I mean Chekhov's Gun. It has always been a staple of Horikoshi's writing and the reason so many of his long-standing plot lines have paid off so well.

Chekhov's Gun is a writing principal that if you see a gun on the table in the first act of a play, it will be used in the murder that happens in act 2. Basically, the author should include details that are relevant to the story and not betray the audience by leading them in one direction and at the last minute pull the rug out from underneath them to go in another direction.

Horikoshi has done this to phenomenal success in the past. Just as one example, he dropped hints about Nomu being human experiments early in the series but held off explicitly stating it for a while. He hinted at the loss of Shirakumo in the main narrative and that he was important to Aizawa and Mic as well as approved it for Vigilantes so when it was revealed that Kurogiri was Shirakumo's body, not only did it narratively make sense but it also pulled in Eraserhead and Present Mic's emotional stakes into the battle with the Doctor, and then when Ujiko reveals he was after Aizawa's quirk the whole time it made the payoff for Mic punching him in the face all that much better and brings the weight of his crimes and the impact they have on the victims full circle.

That's 3 different guns paying off in the long run: the Nomu, Shirakumo, and both Mic and Eraserheads' personal arcs past the loss of their childhood friend and that they could finally finish processing their grief and avenge him in full righteous fury instead of chalking it all up to cruel chance.

He has left details, some particularly innocuously, in plot lines like the Touya Todoroki reveal, Hawks' backstory, Shigaraki's blood connection to Nana Shimura, even with Mr. Compress's backstory, and more. When re-read, these details become more obvious and usually leaves us with a greater sense of satisfaction in the plot knowing that twists and turns were not only planned, but built up to and hinted at for us to find so the payoff is that much better and it feels purposeful instead of just shock factor.

None of that happened this chapter.

Lady Nagant has zero business being in this plotline. She was never hinted about before this arc, and her existence does nothing to tell us about the plot moving forward or the world that they're trying to change. Nothing her existence provides actually has any bearing on the universe or tells us anything we don't already know. But that's not how she was presented.

In the beginning we're given a glimpse of her helping Overhaul escape from Tartarus. The focus on her was odd enough to begin with as a new character, and the fact that she didn't look like she fit the profile of someone who belonged in Tartarus was like a flashing neon sign saying, "Pay attention! This new character is important!!!" She then shows up later with Overhaul in hand to attack Deku out of the blue. We get her talking about how she thought Overhaul might be useful and her disillusions with Hero Society. We catch her mannerisms with eery similarity to Hawks only to find out immediately after she was a senior colleague in the HPSC. Never once to my knowledge has Hawks referred to any of his senior colleagues as a "senpai" - not even his fellow heroes - and when he catches her in midair, he uses the words, "Don't die on me, senpai!" as if she's near and dear to his heart.

The entire character arc is set up for her to have known about Hawks and grapple with her desire to help people and her fear of re-creating what she hated, and this also set up Hawks to be the successor who succeeded where she failed and helped bring her to a place where she could be a hero without guilt again. What actually happened?

They're strangers.

They have never actually met before, and while he seems to know a lot about her, she doesn't even seem to have any idea of who he was - at least as far as being another hero under the thumb of the HPSC. So ALLLL that setup, all that gesturing, and all of the potential themes that would be right at home in an arc like this goes completely out the window.

Her story doesn't tell us anything new. The HPSC bad. We knew that. They're not above throwing innocents under the bus to achieve that goal. We knew that. They preyed upon young hopefuls with powerful quirks with the intent to maintain the status quo. We knew that even if the fact that Hawks isn't the only one now makes more questions than answers. We know that these young heroes can never say no under threat of steep, life-shattering consequences. We knew that already.

So what does Lady Nagant even bring to the table?! The entire "you're just a puppet doing what you've been told" angle is a little tired and out of place in this point and time with actual anarchy in the streets (not to mention hypocritical considering she was a blind puppet following orders and offers zero actual solutions that supposedly fall in line with her heroic nature), and it could have been left to any number of other villain characters who could have executed on the theme better - you know, like Shigaraki who's justification this entire time has been, "hero society doesn't make people safe, it just makes them feel safe" from the moment of his inception.

So from that angle she's unnecessary.

Her presence messes with the continuity of the series as well. If Hawks is supposed to explicitly replace her, that would mean that he wasn't just a fluke find on the commission's part and grabbed to mold into their own special superweapon; and that also would mean that her killing of the former president was before he was discovered which should put her at least in her forties. If this isn't the case, and he was meant to simply replace her in a "special agent" case, that still begs the question of how many more gifted children the commission preyed upon and are still out there.

And maybe the worst kicker for me is that something stinks. The way the art in this chapter is presented, if you completely blanked out the speech bubbles, is the same setup I had before - Hawks reaches out to his former mentor and pulls her from the brink of despair with a moving message about why he never gave up hope in being a hero who could actually make a difference.

Again, this is not what we got. He claims he knows her, and it's implied to have been a deep, personal character witness; but at best he only knows about her from secondhand sources. Even his reasoning as to how he never lost hope doesn't vibe with his character.

We have gotten so many cool one-liners for Hawks, but there has always been a consistent tone and imagery with them.

"Those who can fly, should."

"I don't belong in a cage."

"I'm free of my shackles."

"Can I be a shining light, just like him?"

What we got was, "I'm an optimist to a fault" which was the wording the official release went with and was by far the best iteration I have seen, but even this falls short of being truly in character for him and answering her question properly.

@mikeana made an edit of the titular panels for us Hawks stans this week with dialogue we and a few other friends felt was more fitting not only with the imagery of the chapter itself but internally consistent with the specific expressions Hawks uses in his heartfelt, personal dialogue. I just tweaked it a little bit more to fit what I was going for in our original conversation.

Which brings me to another concern.

2. What's the point?

There was no use for Nagant in the series as she's been presented so far. But more than that, Hawks has no business in this fight to begin with. He literally did nothing to earn this emotional moment, and this should have been Deku's moment.

We were teased in an interview with Horikoshi that Hawks was going to get a special moment as an important end-game character as a "shining light" of hope for others to follow as well as promises for Ochako to have another moment in the spotlight to make a difference.

If this was Hawks' shining light moment, it wasn't necessary, and it does nothing to move the plot forward or develop characters in any true or believable way. It just happened because plot. This should have been Deku's victory through and through, and even he is the reason BOTH Hawks and Nagant made it out alive instead of painting the street below them.

Deku's victory was stolen from him, too. It sours the other promises made to us about other characters moving forward, as well, if this really was Hawks' "Shining Light" moment.

By the way, did you forget about Overhaul? Me too!!! What was the point of getting our hopes up about reintroducing this beloved character with the implications this was a major arc setup to have him scream about pops and then get detained with no clues about what's going to happen to him besides, "Say you're sorry to Eri, and you get to see pops"?!

All this posturing and clumsy narrative flailing only actually succeeded in getting Deku in front of AFO again for plot when we already know Mr. Potato Head could summon, show himself to, or find Deku at any time he wanted. But instead we get this time skip with a bunch of heroes completely mended walking into a big, spooky mansion for AFO to evil monologue at Deku for… *counts*

FOUR PAGES!!!

Only to then give him the "I want YOU!" point over a pre-recorded message and the final nail in the coffin to me that something is off.

3. Ex-pu-LOOOO-SHUN!

It's become almost a game among friends to count how many explosions have happened since the end of the war arc - and specifically fake-out explosions. In the end of 311 we get All Might's car attacked via explosion and Deku cornered by Nagant only for All Might to be fine in the next chapter. In 315 Lady Nagant herself explodes in a blaze of glory to once again not be dead.

Gee! I wOnDeR if aLl the heroes were AcTuAlLy cornered and KiLlEd in that explosion in the mansion!

None of us do. They're fine. We're going to see it first thing next week. The shock has worn off, and it's repetitive and annoying at this point. There is no cliffhanger despite how the framing might try to tell you otherwise.

It's BAD WRITING.

The writing has been moving far too quickly and clumsily with no explanation in sight, and even character interactions are being cut short to the point of them being meaningless and empty.

This doesn't even feel like Horikoshi's bad writing. It feels like someone else is trying to call the shots and rushing him through these final bits of the series, and he's run out of things he's previously set up for months and months to reappear so someone is trying to get Dabi-reveal levels of attention with arcs and storylines that don't have the build-up to result in a satisfactory payoff.

4. At least it can get better... I hope.

Maybe those who share my suspicions or know what particular suspicions I have are with me in believing that this is a temporary disappointment and we haven't seen the last of the writing that's captivated me for years. I don't blame Horikoshi for these glaring faults that all came to a head in this chapter.

It CAN get better later, and I think it WILL- we just probably are going to have to wait for it. Until then, I'm going to enjoy the Hawks panels we got, maybe edit the last few chapters to be more in line with something more like the BNHA I know in a "fix it fic" fashion so I don't groan in anticipation of how long it might take us to get there.

See you all next week, hopefully on a much brighter note.

#she speaks #chapter review #bnha 316 #bnha chapter 316 #bnha manga spoilers

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desdemonafictional · 3 years

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Jazz/Tarantulas “You are the reason why I can’t be happy.” :3c

(YOU,,)

Jazz had always been afraid of the day that he would be matched up against some lobbyist or foreign dignitary in a marriage sale. His reckless bohemian lifestyle so far existed--could exist--only in the cracks of society, because he had no progenitors to monitor him or family to restrain him. He was only answerable to the Primacy, which had taken responsibility for him by right on the day that his entire circle of kin was executed. He couldn't miss them. He'd never known them. He'd lived three vorns now in a kind of frantic fearful joy, knowing that in that moment he was freer than any living Cybertronian, and yet that all of it could and would be taken from him at the first whim of his surrogate, who had never shown any interest in being a parent to him.

He'd spent more meaningful time with Prowl, who worked grimly and without complaint under Sentinel's thumb, than he had with Sentinel Prime himself. There wouldn't be any warm familial sentiment when it came time to arrange his bonding.

He'd always expected his happiness to end with a hell of shackled marital drudgery. He had not expected it to end with literal imprisonment in a glass case.

"It's all entirely above board," Tarantulas said to him, "the paperwork is all there. And you are a ward of the state, after all, so the state has the right to give you over into my doting hands."

"Doting," repeated Jazz, from inside the glass tube.

"Oh yes," Tarantulas said. "I'm going to take wonderful care of you."

Jazz had already tried every trick he could think of within the first five minutes of finding himself trapped in a glass cylinder in a laboratory full of gruesome partially dissected specimens. The shape of his new conjunx, illuminated in the green glow of the projection screen, had not even turned back to look at him since ascending the stairs up to the control board.

Hands pressed to the glass, Jazz swallowed down panic. He knew of the mad scientist who made his nest in the ruins beyond the outer reaches of Iacon. A name on redacted files, a ghost story on the edge of town. A brittle thinness to Prowl's mouth.

"This is so exciting!" Several legs skittered over a host of buttons. "Here's what you're going to look like," Tarantulas said, and the projection resolved into a detailed schematic of someone who bore a faint resemblance to Jazz. The visor was there, and some of the same proportions. But the paws and haunches, the trailing tail... alien, all of it, full of textures and hair and teeth that didn't belong on a body.

"You're gonna make me something like you," Jazz concluded. There was dread swimming in the pit of his spark, but he did his best to ignore it. "A monster."

"A perfect mate," Tarantulas agreed, with a happy sigh. "I took my inspiration from the Sol-3 mongoose, it's a delightful little creature, deceptively fearsome. Poison resistant. Adorable. A perfect frame for my perfect conjunx."

Jazz swallowed thickly. "Sounds more like a pet."

"Hmm?" at last Tarantulas turned back to him, the array of his endless green eyes blinking at Jazz. "Oh no," he said, "I wouldn't make a perfect being just to lock him in a box! Anyway, Prowl told me what a free spirit you are. I'm trying to give shape to your nature, not change it!"

"Prowl?" Jazz repeated. His helm went under in white noise. "Prowl told you..."

"Naturally! The marriage was his arangement, after all."

A deep part of Jazz that he hadn't even known he had went crack along an invisible fault line, with a pain as bad as any physical pain he'd ever felt. "Prowl?" he said. "Prowl gave me--prowl put me here?"

"I told him I was in the market for a conjunx," Tarantulas replied, "I was hoping he'd take the bait--I've been wanting to swoop him up out of Sentinel's hands for eons, he's just terribly wasted up there. But he mentioned you, and, ah! I've always had such a weakness for scavenged diamonds among the rubble..."

Had Prowl thrown Jazz at Tarantulas like so much scrap metal at a tide of scraplets? Jazz, who had respected him--looked up to him--cared for him, even--

"He gave me up?" Jazz whispered. "Just to save himself...?"

Tarantulas tsked. "You act as if this is some terrible cage!" He turned from his screens and spread his many legs, as if to encompass the entire lair and all within it. "My darling bride, this is your liberty! Independence from Sentinel, from the Primacy, from the very laws of society!"

He came over to the edge of the railing, leaned out over the empty space between his platform and Jazz's tube. He glowed in the uncanny light of the projection screen, huge and strange and unlike anything Jazz had ever known.

"My darling," he coaxed, "my darling.... I am about to set you free!"

#I call this one Bride of Frankenstein #transformers #maccadam #BOTH of these characters are impossible to tag for lmao

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addictedtojmanga · 3 years

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Shoujo manga recommendations - otome game isekai

So, after 10+ years reading shoujo manga, I’ve read over 1k titles, admittedly, a reasonable amount is one-shot (or at least a collection of), but nonetheless, over time I had to expand my interests.

Lately, I’ve started reading the otome game isekai genre, and decided it’d be nice to share the ones I thought were best.

Most of them are pretty much the same, but the best ones usually have a twist, so...

! Warning: You’ll most likely want to beat up 1 or 2 characters from each one, but worry not, so do I and the other characters

1. Fiancée's Observation Log of the Self-proclaimed Villainess

Crown prince Cecil was so brilliant that everything in life was easy to the point of boring him, then one day, his fiancée Bertia suddenly said "Prince Cecil, I am a villainess!" Claiming that this world is the same as that of an "otome game" from her past life and that she is playing the role of the "villainess" in it, she aims to play her part well and have their engagement annulled. With that goal in mind, she sets about causing turmoil in Cecil's daily life.

This one definitely takes the gold for me. Super sweet and pretty funny.

2. My Next Life as a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom!

Most people would prefer being the protagonist of a world full of adventure, be it in a game or in another world. But, unfortunately, a certain girl is not so lucky. Regaining the memories of her past life, she realizes that she was reborn in the world of Fortune Lover—one of the games she used to play. Unfortunately, the character she was reincarnated into—Katarina Claes—is the game's main antagonist, who faces utter doom in every ending. Using her extensive knowledge of the game, she takes it upon herself to escape from the chains of this accursed destiny. However, this will not be an easy feat, especially since she needs to be cautious as to not set off death flags that may speed up the impending doom she is trying to avoid. Even so, to make a change that will affect the lives of everyone around her, she strives—not as the heroine—but as the villainess.

This one takes 2nd place! It has a different result than others, and the FL is great - everyone is, to be fair.

3. Of Course I’ll Claim Palimony

"I'll annul our engagement!" My fiancé suddenly declared?! Apparently he's in love with the recently transferred count's daughter and is planning on making me the villain in order to annul the engagement. Although I have no lingering attachments about the engagement, I do have to claim a hefty consolation fee don't I?

This is sooo good. The FL is spectacular and manages to stand out - even if just a bit - from the rest of the genre.

4. I’m a Villainous Daughter, so I’m going to keep the Last Boss

Avoid the BAD END! That's the goal of the villainess in this plot-twisting story!! She has been reborn into the world of an otome game as the villainess, Irene. Using her memories of her former life, she recognizes flags indicating she's en-route to the bad end, so she makes a plan to conquer the last boss (the evil king Claude), make him her lover, and see if she can open up a new route!

Pretty funny, and the FL is bold. Also, the ML is a bishounen.

It’s one of the few mangas from this genre that has been completely translated, and since it only has 13 chapters, it’s a good way to start out.

5. The Plain & Unnoticeable Me is No More

Elaine Lana Norris, who was born at the top of the aristocratic daughter, was declared abandoned by her second fiancé at the school's founding party. Lana, who has been made a villain daughter, is driven out of her home by a strict grandfather. But there is a secret in Lana that everyone doesn't know about?

I don’t want to give out any spoilers, however, it suffices to say that she accepts her role as the villainess.

Ok, I think these 5 are my favorite, but the ones below have been selected as well, so they’re still pretty good and worth reading.

6. The Villiainess Is Adored by the Crown Prince of the Neighboring Kingdom

Tiararose was supposed to be disengaged and exiled from the country. “This was the Otome game I had played!” She realized on the day before the story’s ending??……. Shall I wait for the judgment? But, I did not do anything too cruel……. Thinking so, the ending continues. But, during the judgement??something that was not possible in the game happened. The neighboring crown prince courted the villainous daughter Tiararose.

ML: 10/10 FL: 8/10 (too insecure for my taste)

7. Endo and Kobayashi’s Live Commentary on the Villainess

She’s always putting on that grumpy face even though she’s not actually that upset! Oh, why can’t she just be honest with herself…!??? She is a tsundere, after all? When her embarrassment levels exceed a certain limit, she will explode into anger. However, the point that she’s suppressing under the surface is that she wouldn’t mind that sort of thing if it were in a less public place.? As Endo-kun passionately reacts to the antics of Lady Liselotte, the villainess of an otome game, Kobayashi-san provides a painstaking breakdown of her tsundere behaviour. Suddenly, one person could hear their voices; Liselotte’s fiancée, Prince Siegward. That is where this story begins.

8. I’m the Villainess, but the Capture Targets are too Abnormal

The villainess, Mystia, remembered her past life on her 10th birthday and has unwittingly turned the characters in the otome game "Kyun Kyun Love School" into yanderes! In order to avoid becoming the love rival of the "heroine" who will lead her to her downfall, she starts making every effort to break off her engagement with her "prince-like classmate"! That’s was what supposed to happen...But, because of her kind personality, her favorability increased instead!

It’s still in its beginning stages, but seems pretty solid.

9. Though I May Be a Villainess, I'll Show You I Can Obtain Happiness!

A collection of one shots.

Great way to start out, it has quite a few options, so if you don’t like one, give another one a try!

10. The Villainess, Cecilia Silvie, Doesn't Want to Die, So She Decided to Cross-dress!

I was reincarnated into the body Cecilia Silvie, the villainess of an otome game. According to the plot, what awaits me in the normal route is either a slow, painful death or an instantaneous one... Essentially, every route leads to my demise. Then I'll change my fate! And that's why I decided to become a man. However, I made a mistake during a certain event, and the story began to head down an unexpected path...?

I haven’t seen any other like this, and if you like gender bender, this one’s for you!

11. I’ll Become a Villainess That Will Go Down in History ― The More of a Villainess I Become, the More the Prince will Dote on Me

Alicia is the eldest daughter of the noble Williams family—a bloodline that excels in dark magic. Her jet-black hair and golden eyes command a powerful presence, but her most unique features are, without a doubt, her sharp tongue and malevolent nature. By all means, she is a villainess, but also a fictional character from an otome game!

12. I’m Not a Villainess!! Just Because I Can Control Darkness Doesn’t Mean I’m a Bad Person!

The novel The Saint Beloved by the Prince is set in the land of Lacia, where spirits control the elements, each of which is overseen by a "Spirit King." On rare occasions, these Spirit Kings may bless a single human, granting them immense magical control over their respective element. The heroine, Amelia Logan, and the villainess, Claudia Leitzya, are two sides of the same coin, blessed by the Light and Dark Spirit Kings respectively. However, while Amelia is beloved, Claudia is hated and rejected due to her dark skin, ebony locks, and aptitude for dark magic. After dying in modern-day Japan, Sakura is reborn as an infant Claudia. While difficult at first, Claudia tries to adjust to this new life, all the while accompanied by the Dark Spirit King Gerald. But even this task is far from easy; people fear her at first glance, no matter how she acts toward them. Still, Claudia is set on changing her fate from the novel, proving she is a good person and breaking free from the shackles of a "villainess."

13. Rebirth of the Villainess: The Life of Letizia after the Engagement Annulment

For some reason, the duke's daughter, Letizia, was plotting to break her engagement with the prince. Her plan succeeded and the prince, none the wiser. But shortly after the engagement was terminated... The King collapsed! In that moment, she recalled her memories of her past life as a nurse and she fully utilised her knowledge & experience as a nurse, to save the King's life. Thinking she had achieved what she wanted, she thought she could finally relax, drinking her favourite beverage and leisurely spend her time, she instead somehow keeps getting involved in incident after incident. The slow and peaceful life is now nothing but a dream!? Lazy daughter, busy seeking freedom and laziness!

14. I Won't Become a Villainess. I'm Just a "Normal" Duke's Daughter!

A Japanese person reincarnated into an otome game chock full of death flags for the villainess, Rosalind. "I'm going to live an enjoyable life in this world!" Making full use of the game knowledge to avoid death flags, for some reason events keep happening one after another?! Contracting with spirits, helping her father (the prime minister) with his work using her modern day knowledge, taking a walk with the holy beast... and on top of all that, even starting up the heroine's event...? Will Rosalind be able to smash through every unknown death flag that comes her way...?! And will she be able to be fluffy lovey-dovey with the supporting beastkin character she liked from her previous life?!

Cute. Has beasts.

15. Milady Just Wants to Relax

She worked herself to death in her past life, but then she was reborn in another world as the villainess Ronia! As expected, her engagement is broken and she's expelled from society, but now she takes that chance to live peacefully, and even opens a cafe with the help of her fairy comrades, which is becoming unexpectedly popular with beast-kin...?

Also cute. Also has beasts.

16. I Swear I Won’t Bother You Again!

Violette, a proud and beautiful daughter of a duke, commits a crime out of jealousy towards her half-sister. Convicted, Violet faces her own heart with sincerity in a prison cell and regrets her sin. Then time rewinds to a turning point—to her first meeting with Maryjun one year ago. Violette makes a decision. She will not make mistakes this time. Without committing a crime and bothering anyone, she will live an ordinary, plain and inconspicuous life...! However, incidents contrary to Violette's expectations occur one after another...?!

17. I Became a Villain Daughter

On her 15th birthday, Hinase Kaede, a young girl who was working as a part-timer, perished in a traffic accident. Upon her death, a self-proclaimed “God” appeared, declaring that Kaede would be brought back to life. However, Kaede’s happiness was short-lived and her soul was thrown into Erika, the villainess of an otome game! In the original game, Erika became a saint candidate alongside the heroine, committed evil deeds over the course of the candidacy, and ultimately faced condemnation. Thus, Kaede decides that she will not get close to the main characters of the game so as to avoid the bad end, but yet——?

#manga #shoujo #shojo #shoujo manga #shojo manga #manga cap #romance #otome game #isekai #mangacap #shoujo recommendation #bakarina #bertia #endo and kobayashi’s live commentary on the villainess #fiancée's observation log of the self-proclaimed villainess #villainess

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umbry-fic · 2 years

Text

Echoing Melody

Summary: Long ago, a war was waged between dragons that ended in the banishment of those that chose to oppress humanity. Or so the story goes. In the current age, humanity has enjoyed a long period of peace and prosperity and celebrate the blessings accorded to them by holding a yearly festival. At the same time, they protect their happiness fiercely by condemning those who are part-dragon. Why? For that is how things have always been. And to question is to run afoul of those with power.

Oppressed, those who are part dragon can do nothing but live in constant fear, hiding in the shadows of society. If their identities were ever to be unearthed, they would be dragged off to an experimental facility, never to return. Even most Dragon-bloods, scattered and alone, do not know of the truth: the Dragon chained to the Earth and their fate to seal it with song.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel, Zelos Wilder, Raine Sage, Presea Combatir, Anna Irving, Kratos Aurion, Mithos Yggdrasill, Martel Yggdrasill, Yuan Ka-Fai Relationships: Yuan Ka-Fai/Martel Yggdrasill, Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Anna Irving/Kratos Aurion, Anna Irving & Kratos Aurion & Lloyd Irving, Kratos Aurion & Martel Yggdrasill, Martel Yggdrasill & Mithos Yggdrasill, Raine Sage & Zelos Wilder & Presea Combatir & Lloyd Irving Rating: T Word Count: 17903 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 27/12/2020

Notes+Warnings: I posted this more than a year ago for the Kagamine's 13th anniversary. This is a Synchronicity AU. (One of my favourite Vocaloid song series!) It's not the best thing I've ever written or anything, but I did have a lot of fun with it and I thought I'd finally bring it over. (I didn't at first because I was lazy to format so many words, and then I ended up forgetting about it T_T)

There's a lot of character death in this, some violence, imprisonment, and a lot of reworked dynamics to fit with the Synchronicity story (though it's not 1 to 1, I tweaked some stuff and came up with a lot of my own lore). This is also told in non-chronological order, with song magic and dragons!

~~~

“Dragons used to exist, you know,” Presea whispered dramatically, watching Alicia’s eyes peek at her from under the blanket. Her mischievous little sister refused to go to sleep, so the least Presea could do was entertain Alicia while Father met their guests in the drawing-room. It wouldn’t do for him to be interrupted.

“Dragons?” Her sister asked as she poked her head of pink hair out of the blanket, blue eyes peering up at Presea. “Do you mean Dragon-bloods? Everyone knows about them! We’re supposed to capture them because they use their magic to hurt others and are really scary and dangerous. That’s the first thing they teach us in school. That’s boring!”

“No, silly, actual dragons.” Presea ignored the way her stomach twisted at her younger sister’s words. “They’re completely different from Dragon-bloods. Like the ones they show in picture books?”

“Those huge, scaly beasts?”

“Yes, those.” Presea poked her sister’s forehead, making Alicia break out in giggles. “They were majestic and incredibly powerful. They could take on a form similar to ours and wielded magic as well, especially through song.”

“So, where are they now? I don’t know of any dragons. Do you, Presea?” Alicia asked eagerly, voice growing in volume as she fully crawled out of the blanket to sit in front Presea. Alicia was bouncing up and down in excitement, staring at Presea in rapt attention.

Presea shook her head and raised her finger to her lips, shushing her sister. “Not so loud, Alicia. Father has guests over.”

Alicia clapped her hands over her mouth, nodding. “Sorry… But do you? I want to know, Presea!”

“No I don’t, silly. Dragons haven’t been seen in this world in centuries.”

“But why?” Alicia pouted, hand reaching out to tug on Presea’s sleeve.

“Well, according to the legends, some dragons saw themselves as above humanity and were determined to keep humanity weak and shackled. The dragons who thought otherwise, or the good dragons, fought against the bad ones and eventually sealed them away in the sky. Word has it that they’re still up there, you know.” Presea pointed towards the ceiling, above which lay the beautiful night sky, overlaid with twinkling stars. A smile grew on Presea’s face as she watched her sister’s infectious excitement.

Alicia’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s so cool. But what about the good dragons? Where are they now?”

“Oh, them? Some say they still walk among us, continuing to bring about this prosperity that humankind has had for so long.”

“Oh, wow! Then we have to thank them somehow, right?”

“Mmm,” Presea affirmed, hugging her little sister. “That’s why we hold the yearly festival to celebrate their blessing, as well as... Capture the Dragon-bloods, who helped the bad dragons.”

Presea didn't quite like mentioning that part of the legend. It never made sense to her how dragons could be such a celebrated part of their culture while those who were part-dragon were shunned. How was it that dragons were pure while dragon-bloods were tainted? But Father had always responded to her questions with "That's just how it is", and seemed angry whenever she brought the issue up again. Presea had quickly learned that asking that question was... dangerous. It was a topic best left untouched.

“And there’s no way to tell who the good dragons are?” Alicia asked, burying herself further into the embrace.

“You know how the royal family wields magic for our good? They’re descended from the good dragons, so that must mean any that remained would have magic as well. Good magic, that is.”

“Good magic…” Alicia whispered in awe. “Like that time the King’s Guard made fireworks for us children to see?”

“Yes, like that.” Presea mussed her little sister’s hair, eliciting another fit of giggles from Alicia. “Now go to sleep, Alicia. There’s a banquet at the palace tomorrow, and Father’s bringing both of us along.”

“Ok,” Alicia answers, dutifully snuggling down into her bed. “Promise to tell me more about the dragons next time?”

“Of course, little flower. Have a good night’s sleep.” Presea bent down to kiss her sister’s forehead before leaving the room. Maybe she could assist Father in the drawing-room? Presea would like it if Father would look less stressed all the time…

Alicia watched the door to the room close, Presea’s footsteps fading down the hallway. Knowing that her sister had left, Alicia unfolded her hand and concentrated, causing a tiny flicker of flame to burst to life over it.

“Good magic, like this...?”

~~~

Martel sat at the foot of the stone steps, staring at the patch of sunlight and greenery she could see through the mouth of the cave. This was the same perch she had always taken throughout the thousands upon thousands of days that she had remained here. Hidden from the sight of whichever poor soul had chosen or been forced to come, and far enough away from the main cavern that she could avoid hearing the carnage that she was endorsing.

Today, Martel sat so still that she as might well be made of the same stone as her surroundings: slowly wasting away but unable to die. Her brother’s cries had gotten louder and more erratic; to the point that she could hear them even here. Martel knew what it meant: the life of the latest sacrifice would soon be coming to an end.

Martel stood on shaky legs, turning to face the darkness that led deeper into the cave. It was time to make the trek in preparation for the burial that she would have to perform. If those with dragon blood in their veins were cursed to sacrifice their lives here alone, the least she could do was send them off to the next world with the proper rites.

It was the only thing Martel could do.

With her staff, Martel mused, she must look like the grim reaper. That was something Yuan would have said, were he still alive.

The closer Martel got to the inner cavern, the stronger the smell of blood and rot became. Martel had never been squeamish: in truth, what she saw here was nothing compared to the war. Still, it made her feel far sicker than any scene she had seen in the war. These were innocents who only wished to live their lives; many of them children who had done nothing to deserve this.

Mithos’ sunny smile flashed in her mind, and she resisted the urge to throw up.

The sudden sharp, wrenching pain in her heart sent Martel to her knees at the lip of the inner cavern, gasping for air. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt since the beginning of this hell when almost all that she had loved had been taken from her.

The final intact bond over Martel’s heart had shattered. There had once been three, and now there were none. And the final remnants of her heart went with it.

Those days that had been fraught with worry and anxiety; where they had to fight for their voices to be heard and believed; where they had experienced setback after setback - they had been the happiest days of her life. She had been free - free from her Father’s influence and the desires of her people - free from the guilt of abandoning that which she once was.

Martel stared now, through the mask that hid her identity and bound her here, at her shaking hands, knowing that the final untouched remnant of those days was dead now.

Tears slid down her face, foreign to her after her thousands of years spent here, heart locked away as her hands which had once worked so desperately to save this world now drained the life out of those who had the strength to try to fight against the will of the world. She remembered the child she had taken in and raised almost like her own; the husband who had finally convinced her to walk a path of her own; and her brother -

Her sweet little brother, who had forfeited his birthright, unwilling to leave her to walk alone. And in return, he had suffered the worst fate of them all.

Martel raised her head just as the final notes of the song faded into silence. She sighed, swallowing her sorrow down and finally making her way into the cavern. She had a duty that she must perform, no matter how she felt.

A familiar sight greeted Martel. Her brother, wings folded close to his body, his maw open to show rows upon rows of fangs. The crumpled body of a child on the ground, bloodstains all around them. Cruel and desolate; yet this was what brought hope to the rest of the world; bright and free outside the world of this cave.

It’s habit for Martel to put up a Barrier as she approached the child, which holds strong even as Mithos brought down a claw. It brought back happier memories of the two of them sparring on the practice fields: no matter how powerful Mithos’ spells had been, they could never break through her Barriers. Just another thing she had teased Mithos on, and which Mithos had gotten her back on.

“Shush, Mithos. It’s time to let me work.” Martel knelt next to the child, placing a hand on his forehead to ease his pain. If he had to die, he would not die alone, and he would not die in pain. That was the least that Martel could do.

The child before her couldn’t be older than 12, surely. His clothes were torn and matted with blood, tired blue eyes struggling to stay open and blind to the world around him. Martel began to hum her Mother’s lullaby, knowing that it would both soothe the child before her and keep Mithos at bay.

Martel liked to believe that Mithos still recognised the lullaby that Mother had sung to him when he was nothing more than a shy fledgeling. Surely, there was still something left of her brother in the savage dragon who watched her warily now. Deep down, Martel knew better. The lullaby was naturally calming, an ancient form of sleep magic that could keep even a berserk dragon at bay for a little while.

Still, Martel couldn’t do the right thing. She couldn’t drive this staff in her hands through her brother’s neck and kill him.

“Go to sleep now, little one,” Martel whispered, running a hand through the child’s long, wild silver hair. “You have performed your duty wonderfully. You can rest now.” Martel noted the lack of horns. This little one was only a quarter-dragon, who didn’t have magic strong enough to sustain him further.

“Sis...?” The little one choked out, reaching for her hand.

Martel took it, eyes seeing another child from the past: one with auburn hair and russet eyes who had taken her hand and trusted her when she’d told him she would protect him.

All that followed her was a string of broken promises.

“Yes, little one. It’s alright now. I promise.”

Martel held his hand and watched him cough one final time before his body went still. Martel sighed, gently cradling his body and standing. There would soon be another unmarked grave, uncharacteristic and unable to be differentiated from the rest.

She never learned their names. It was simply easier that way. Easier for her to forget the hundreds of Dragon-bloods which had been sacrificed, just like the humans would forget that the little one in her arms had ever walked among them. Another faceless sacrifice to prolong the prosperity of humankind.

This little one had sung about a sister’s love. Martel hummed the tunes to herself as she vanished into the darkness, reminiscing about sunny valleys and the colour of wildflowers, blooming in spring under the beautiful blue sky.

~~~

“Father!”

“What is it, Martel?” The King answered, annoyed, barely sparing his daughter a glance. “I have an audience in ten minutes.”

Martel gritted her teeth, tempering down the magic arising in her veins. She could not show anything other than strength, or she would fail to accomplish her objective. That was how things worked in the Royal Court of Drakengard.

“Do you truly believe that the best path is to rain down our judgement upon humanity?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, my daughter?” The King sneered, gesturing at the majestic stone slab that had always sat above the throne. Martel knew every word on it. After all, she had read it through on countless occasions over her 2000 years of existence: sitting in the throne room with Mother when she had been a fledgeling; bringing Mithos here, his hand tightly in hers; being forced to stand in this very spot as Father had shown her who she was to marry. “The Gods decreed it this way, that we are to restore humanity to their primitive roots every 5000 years. And we are the descendants of the Gods, bound by our blood to carry out their will.”

“Father! Surely you can see this as what it is! There were no Gods!” Martel cried out desperately, hands curled into fists by her sides. “That was nothing but our ancestors, fueled by their egos to try and control humanity! We are not Gods, and we do not have the right to try and act like we are! We have no right to declare ourselves as greater than humans, to try and dictate their lives!”

Her father’s slitted eyes narrowed dangerously as he stood. “I know you’ve been spending time with that boy from the backwards Merius tribe, Martel. Wouldn’t it be… unfortunate if Xander found out right before your union that his beloved fiancée was in love with someone else? I’ve heard he has the most fearsome temper.”

Martel’s breath caught as she stumbled back, shaking. Surely even Father wouldn’t do this. He was terrible, that was for sure. He had never treated her as anything more than a pawn to marry away for power, had never shown her brother genuine love, and had never shown Mother kindness. But he had never before threatened her life.

“This is your final warning, Martel. Step out of line one more time, and I will not be responsible for the consequences,” he warned. “Now get out. I’m tired of looking at you.”

“Yes, Father.” She answered curtly.

Martel had to restrain herself from running at full speed away from the throne room. It’s a room that has starred within her nightmares numerous times; a representation of everything that she hated about their culture.

The moment Martel was free, she morphed, scales breaking out over her skin as she took to the sky. She flies without a destination in mind, letting the wind ripple through her wings and calm her down.

Martel reopened her eyes and found herself in the same meadow that Mother had loved to bring her and Mithos to. Back when she was still alive.

Martel was flat on her back, once again in humanoid form, staring up at the wide blue sky. She turned her head to see the wildflowers swaying in the wind beside her. Mother had said that they reminded her of the boy she had once loved, free and wild-spirited; before she had been forced into marriage.

Martel sat up, picking a single wildflower. She looked back up into the sky and watched other dragons fly by as she began to pick the petals off, one by one.

Outside of Drakengard, they couldn’t take on their dragon form for too long before their power overwhelmed them. A dragon’s magic in its purest form, without Drakengard’s unique properties to dampen them, would drive a dragon insane. Forever trapped in their bestial form, slowly losing themselves until there was nothing left. That must have been found out after the two races made contact.

Her father claimed that this showed how much power they wielded. Martel simply thought that it was a flaw. A flaw, for no one was perfect, least of all dragons.

Martel watched the petals fly away in the wind, frustration and shame bringing tears to her eyes. No one else seemed to understand that they were no different from humanity. There was no reason to mock humanity’s small steps and stunt their progress.

What could she even do now? Father had pushed her into a corner.

The little tug over Martel’s heart warned her who was coming up behind her, giving her just a split second to compose herself.

“Mithos,” she said, rubbing the tears from her eyes as she hid her face from him.

“What’s wrong, Martel?” Her little brother asked as he dropped to his knees in front of her, pulling her hands away from her face. “Was it Father again?”

Mithos’ pale blue eyes, slitted like all of the other dragon’s, stared at her in concern. The eyes he had gotten from Mother, a daily reminder of the promise she had made Mother. To protect her baby brother from the cruelty of their race. He had lived only a scant hundred years and already had so much weight pushed onto those thin shoulders.

He didn’t need to know of the terrible role he was to play in this world’s order.

“Nothing, Mithos. It’s nothing. Your big sister’s just being silly, that’s all,” she said, smiling weakly through her tears.

“Alright,” Mithos acquiesced, sitting down next to her. Martel was glad that, at least for now, he had chosen not to push. “I haven’t been here in nearly 70 years.”

“Neither have I,” Martel admitted. “Mother used to bring us here nearly every year.”

“She did, huh? I don’t remember her all that well. All I remember is the scent of wildflowers and a sense of safety. And the lullaby she sang to us, of course.”

“Mother…” Where could Martel even begin? “Mother was incredible. Hopeful, kind, resilient… She was perfect, really.” She could never measure up to Mother.

Mithos took her hand, gently bridging their fingers together. “You’re incredible, Martel. I’m sure Mother would be proud of you, wherever she is now. No matter what you do.”

“Mithos, what -”

“It's been about a year since our last spar, hasn’t it?” Mithos interrupted her, getting to his feet and offering her his hand. “How about one now?”

Martel contemplated pressing her brother further, but perhaps that had been a throwaway sentence with no real meaning behind it. Best not to get her hopes up.

“Sure,” she answered, grabbing his hand. “But I’m not going to go easy on you, so expect to lose!”

Mithos laughed, flashing a grin. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

~~~

“We can’t stay here, Kratos. I’ve heard from the informants that they’re nearly onto us. The increase in the number of knights in the area is worrying enough, but the King’s declaration - “

“I know, Anna. But you know how difficult it’s going to be, not to imagine the panic. These people have been hunted for so long, and they’ve finally found a place they can be safe. If we tell them the Kingdom’s onto us, it’s not going to go over well.”

“Yes, but we have to do something -”

Lloyd took a deep breath, gathering up the courage to interrupt his parent’s argument. It had been a long time since he’d heard one this heated. Hadn’t the last one taken place before they’d found a new place to settle? It couldn’t be good that they were this stressed again, but that was all the more reason to go through with his plan.

Colette had been through so much. All he wanted was for her to feel safe, happy and wanted. And what better way was there than to celebrate her actual birthday for the first time?

“Mom? Dad?” Lloyd asked, poking his head through the doorway, prepared to witness an absolute warzone. “Is now a good time?”

It wasn’t as bad as Lloyd had thought it would be. Mom had her hands on the table over an unrolled map, while Dad had his arms crossed. The candle on the table had nearly burned down to a stub, its flickering flame casting wavering shadows on the wall. His parents were engaged in a stand-off, but it was better than the time Dad had accidentally set the house on fire.

His parents stopped arguing, both turning to look over at him with concern. He didn't often ask for them in the middle of the night. It would be natural for them to assume something was wrong.

“Of course not, Lloyd. We just had something to talk about, that’s all. What’s wrong?” Mom asked, approaching Lloyd.

“Nothing’s wrong!” Lloyd replied cheerily. “Colette’s fourteenth birthday is next week, and I wanted to surprise her. She finally managed to tell us her actual birthday, and so I wanted to make our first celebration amazing!”

Mom laughed. “Oh, is that it? That’s so sweet, Lloyd. What would you like to do for her?”

“A party to cheer her up! We can get everyone in the orphanage involved. I’m sure everyone would be willing to help!”

Dad smiled. “That’s a nice idea, Lloyd. And what else are you going to do? Knowing you, you’d want to make her something of your own.”

“Oh. I, uh… Already made her present,” Lloyd muttered, lowering his head in embarrassment.

“So that’s what you were staying up for, then.”

“You knew?” Lloyd yelped, looking at his father in surprise.

“Of course I knew,” Dad teased, ruffling his hair. “You’re not being very discreet when you leave the candle burning, Lloyd. We could see it through the window.”

Lloyd puffed his cheeks out, indignant. “Dad! I’m too old for this!” He did not want to be ridiculed by the other children.

Mom hid a small smile behind her hand. “You’re only 14, Lloyd. Besides, you’ll never be too old. I can still remember when Kratos would carry you on your back and you’d tug on his horns…”

“Mom! That’s embarrassing!” Lloyd protested, flushing. “Ugh, I’m going to sleep!” He declared, fleeing from the room before his parents could embarrass him any further. They were the worst sometimes.

“Did you have to remind me of that?” Kratos sighed. “These horns are sensitive. I can feel them aching even now...”

~~~

“Martel?” Yuan asked, concern apparent in his voice when Martel arrived at their designated meeting place. A little hollow carved out of the world, that belonged only to the two of them. “Are you alright?”

Martel supposed she must look terrible. She felt guilty over what she had come here to do. She couldn’t look him in the eyes and tell him -

“You have blood on your scales,” Martel pointed out in surprise when she finally met Yuan’s eyes. She reached out, using her fingers to gently wipe the ugly red out of the dark blue scales clustered around his eyes.

“Oh, I… Didn’t notice. It was nothing. Just a scratch.” Now Yuan was the one who wouldn’t meet her eyes. It only made the dawning truth more obvious.

“The Army has started going after your tribe, then?”

“I -”

“Tell me the truth, Yuan. Please,” Martel whispered, utterly drained. “I can’t handle any more lies.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.” Yuan took her hands, almost like he was scared she was just going to up and fly away. Well, it’s not like he was that far from the truth. “We’ve always been outcasts. It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

Martel sighed. She had to stop making excuses herself. All that had happened was a result of her own choices and actions. If she wanted to stop hurting those she loved, then she had no choice but to give up her happiness.

It was good while it had lasted, but she’d been a fool to think it would never end. This was the right choice. The only choice. Right, Mother…?

“I won’t be seeing you again after this, Yuan. That’s all I came here to say,” Martel forced out, before immediately turning her back on him. She wasn’t willing to see the heartbreak or the betrayal she knew would be on his face. They had promised each other that they would never leave each other’s side.

His hand latched onto her wrist, holding her back. “Martel, wait!”

Martel yanked her arm out of his reach, whirling around. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be! He’s taken too much from me, I can’t let him take you too -”

Yuan’s fingers wiped away the tears Martel hadn’t even realised were rolling down her face, with a tenderness she should reject but instead leaned into. Love, that she had only ever received from three people in her life: Mother, Mithos, and Yuan.

“Talk to me, Martel.” And his eyes, so gentle and full of love, implored her to believe. Believe that there might still be hope, somehow. “What’s wrong?”

“Father knows,” she said miserably, hopelessness bleeding into her voice. “He knows, and if I continue, he’s going to kill you. He’s already trying to eliminate your tribe as a warning to me. And the time of judgement is nearly upon us. He won’t listen to me. I can’t stop him.”

Martel took a shaky breath, remembering the only time she’d been through the rift to the human world. Father had brought her there to show her the weaklings that were humans. They had grovelled at her Father’s feet, begging the Gods above for blessings.

Father had laughed at them. Martel had thought them beautiful: in their fleetingness, their burning passion and their immense strength.

“How many lives will we be responsible for this time? How many families will we tear apart? How long will we trap ourselves in this endless cycle, perpetuating a lie that we are greater than Gods and tormenting others? I don’t - I don’t understand,” she cried. “Are we not the same? We live, we love and we die. And yet we see ourselves as above them. Why?”

Yuan pulled her into his arms, and Martel took comfort in his warmth. “Martel. I came here to tell you that our plan… it’s ready. We have everything we need. It’s time for you to decide what it is you want to do.”

Martel couldn’t believe her ears. She’d been hearing of this elusive “plan” from Yuan for at least the past 500 years and had believed it would never come to fruition. To know that it could be put into action…

“I won’t decide for you,” Yuan continued, running his hands through her hair in a soothing manner. “If you choose to join us, you will lose your home, your place, possibly everything you have ever known.”

Your brother, the words echoed unsaid.

“It will not be easy, and I won’t blame you for deciding to leave me. It is not cowardly to try and protect what you love, Martel. But you have to decide for yourself. You have to make your own decision, for yourself and not for others.”

Martel stared at him in shock, knowing the gravity that her decision would hold. For the Crown Princess to join with the outcasts would be momentous. Yuan was right, however. She would lose her people’s favour, her home -

Mithos, Martel mourned. Where would her precious little brother stand on this? He had learned nothing but what Father had told him and has never had the opportunity to meet humankind. Would he understand their unique beauty, or would he side with Father?

Martel couldn’t blame Mithos if he chose to do that. Could she, however, afford to lose him? Her baby brother, who could always bring a smile to her face and held the only bond still beating over her heart?

The words Mithos had uttered had sown a seed of doubt within Martel and now echoed within her mind. Mother would be proud of you. No matter what.

Had he truly meant it?

But Martel wanted so desperately to save the humanity she loved, and -

And she could not stand idle anymore. She couldn’t stand aside and continue to do nothing, as her heart screamed in pain. As she continued to wither in the oppressing palace under the watchful eye of Father.

Martel had to believe that Mithos would understand.

Yuan offered a hand, and she took it, watching a hopeful smile light up his face.

~~~

Colette sang, letting the magic flow through her with each note. She sang with all her might such that she could finally bring joy to someone.

The dragon’s untethered magic roiled in the air, invisible to all but those with the same blood running through their veins. Powerful and potent, continuing to bring prosperity to the world while the dragon remained chained down through the sealing power of song.

Colette hoped the dragon could hear the message she weaved into the song she sang. Songs about the happiest times she had ever known: a secluded village, people just like her, and a boy who had taught her how to smile. At the very least, she wanted to bring it some relief. She wanted to ease the loneliness that permeated this cave: in the dragon’s blue eyes and its guardian, obscured by the darkness.

Pain shot through her body and Colette collapsed to the ground, coughing uncontrollably. The bloodstains on the ground only continued to grow with time and she raised a shaking hand, dripping blood.

The dragon’s growl cut through the haze of pain and Colette forced herself to her feet, swaying, once again pulling on her magic. There was no rest to be had here; no respite from her role.

Colette took comfort in the familiar scent of the shawl wrapped around her waist, fingers grasping the pendant around her neck. She knew each groove of the treble clef like the back of her hand, fingers tracing its shape as she forced yet more notes out of her bruised throat.

Colette wondered where the companion to her pendant was now. Had she gotten him far enough away from the flames that had raged that day? Was he safe? Happy? That was all that mattered. No matter how long she had to remain in agony, it was all worth it.

The men who had chained her in iron within those walls of white had sneered at her multiple times that no good came from being a Dragon-blood. It was a curse that would bring only pain to those around her. That they deserved to be in such pain, that their only use was as a sacrifice.

Colette would gladly spin the rest of her soul into magic if it brought prosperity to others. Somewhere, somehow, Lloyd could enjoy this prosperity. She would finally be worth something; singing her life away here alone in the darkness for those that she loved. Just like the men who had kept her alive for the first 10 years of her life had told her, time and time again.

You have a duty to perform, child, one that will finally erase the crime of your blood.

Still, some small part of her yearned to see the endless blue sky again. Yearned to run barefoot on the grass as the wind lifted her hair and the birds chirped around her. Yearned for a return of those carefree days that she had but a taste of.

She weaved those feelings into song as well. I’m sorry that we will never see the sky again.

~~~

Colette traced the shapes that Mother had carved onto the white walls with a fragment of her broken horn. This one was a circle, but she didn’t know what it was. And Mother didn’t have the voice to tell her.

“That’s the sun, Colette.” A pair of legs appeared in her field of view, and Colette looked up to see familiar pink hair and blue eyes. Instead of the usual scowl on Seles’ face, there was a smile. But it didn’t seem like a happy smile. Colette didn’t know what kind of smile it was.

Things were always so confusing.

“Hello, Seles. What’s the sun?” Colette asked, cocking her head.

Seles sighed. “You poor, poor girl. The sun… it’s a giant ball of light.”

Colette pointed at the lamp sitting on the floor, the fire burning within illuminating the room. “Like a very big lamp?”

Seles shrugged. “I guess you could put it that way. Back then, I never gave it a second glance. But now that I look back, the sun… it was amazing.”

Colette dragged her finger across the floor, thinking of what Seles had said. “I don’t see what’s so special about a giant lamp.” Wouldn’t it simply provide light? What was so special about that?

“I suppose you wouldn’t be able to understand. You’ve never been outside, after all.” Seles paused, before laying her hand on Colette’s shoulder. “I just came here to tell you that I’m leaving next week. I… I’m the next one.”

“Oh,” Colette squeaked, eyes filling with tears. Seles was the only one she could talk to here. Mother couldn’t talk, and everyone else was always so angry, even those that were like her. She didn’t want to lose her only friend. And the fear in Seles’ voice was a feeling Colette was familiar with. “I’m sorry, Seles. But at least you get to do what you were born to!”

That was something to be happy about! That meant they were useful. That was what the big scary men always said.

Seles sighed again. “Listening to you sometimes makes me want to cry, you know? Just - Thanks for cheering me up when I was down, I guess. And I hope that one day you’ll be able to know how beautiful the sun is as well.”

Seles pat Colette on the head once and then left, the sound of the door swinging shut echoing in Colette’s ears. Colette got up and padded over to Mother, who was curled up in the same corner she always was. The sound of the chains attached to the iron manacle on Colette’s wrist scraping against the floor still made her cringe. It was so loud.

Colette didn’t understand why Mother always had such sad eyes. Did Mother feel bad that she didn’t have enough magic to heal Colette’s wounds fully? Colette didn’t mind the lines that the big scary men left behind on her skin. Even if the punishments were painful and made her flinch, she deserved them for not doing well enough with her songs. They all had a duty to perform, after all. She couldn’t let everyone down.

“Did you know what the sun was like, Mother?” Colette asked, watching Mother nod. “Was it as amazing as Seles said it was?” Mother nodded again.

It really must be amazing, then. As Colette lay down on the hard and cold porcelain floor, preparing to sleep, she wished to see it. One day.

~~~

Presea slammed the flat of her sword against the boy in front of her, forcing him to the ground and trapping him with the tip to his throat.

He’s barely 18. The same age Alicia would have been if she’d lived.

Presea had watched occasionally from the sidelines as soldiers had pulled struggling Dragon-bloods away. People who had once been neighbours, friends or lovers, revealed to be partially dragon. Most of them never fought back, only cried out to those they had once been close to, who turned their backs and walked away. She had worn the expression as everyone else: discomfort that had quickly vanished as everyone went about their day again.

It was routine. It helped keep the peace and prosperity they knew, no matter how uncomfortable it made them. That was the knowledge that had been passed from parent to child for many generations. Dragon-bloods weren’t humans. Normal people like Presea weren’t supposed to feel pity for them.

Presea had never expected it to directly impact her. She was barely close to anyone outside of her family.

The boy in front of her now wielded the same magic that her little sister had. The magic that Presea had tried so desperately to hide, for no one outside of the palace could wield magic without being a Dragon-blood. Presea didn’t know how Alicia could do it, but her little sister only made miracle after miracle happen.

And then Alicia had been taken from them anyway, and Father had been given monetary recompense. The events of that fateful day still sickened Presea to the stomach even now. But she hadn’t been able to raise a hand against it.

How could she? It was the right thing to do. So all Presea could do was pray that Alicia was safe and that they might one day reunite.

Presea had finally learnt the truth when she joined the Royal Guard. Alicia would never be returning home. She was long dead.

Even as he bled, the boy’s eyes burned with a passion that Presea had long since lost. How was it possible to continue to fight with such a burning desire? Presea could no longer understand.

Kvar laughed, clapping his hands in delight. “Another dragon descendent, huh? Must be our lucky day. You were a fool, boy, to think you could ever challenge me. Your magic may be strong, but you’re still no match for Presea. She’s never lost once. Our little knight with the heart of ice.”

“You’re not even strong enough to be a replacement for the current one,” Kvar said, making an impatient gesture with his hands. “Now kill him, Presea. I think the researchers will get more use out of his dead body.”

Presea lifted her sword with trembling hands, ready to bring it down and end yet another threat against the world’s prosperity. Surely, it was the right thing to do. Just like letting go of Alicia’s hand all those years ago had been.

The boy refused to look away, defiantly staring his fate in the face. His hands clutched a pendant around his neck, in the shape of a bass clef. His lips formed a name, and Presea remembered.

That was how one continued to fight. For those they loved.

Alicia had been the brightest spark Presea had ever known, unfairly snuffed out by a world who had refused her the right to live just because she had dragon blood running through her veins.

Was the boy in front of her the same? Fighting for someone that the world would willingly trample on for their happiness?

The boy’s eyes widened as Presea turned the sword not on him, but on the King she had served for the past eight years. And her frozen heart thawed as she remembered her sister’s brilliant smile, the tears finally free to fall.

~~~

“Gah! They escaped?” Kvar snarled, slamming his hand on the arm of the throne.

“I am sorry, my Liege. They caught us off guard, and we are nearly out of magic elixirs - “

“To hell with the excuses!” Kvar screamed at Pronyma. “Gather the entire army and go after them! We will not forget this slight against us by filthy Dragon-bloods, and we cannot let them free the dragon!”

“Understood, my Liege,” Pronyma said coldly, bowing. “I will gather the full might of our country.”

“Let’s see them counter the full might of the Empire,” Kvar said, a cruel smile on his face. “You can’t run forever…”

~~~

“Martel.”

Martel froze. She had known this confrontation was coming, for their bond tied them together. Still, she felt unprepared as she turned to face her brother. All she could do was pray that her suspicions were right.

“Mithos.”

“I’m going with you,” Mithos said quietly, meeting Martel’s gaze resolutely. She noticed the minute trembles of his body and ached to move forward and embrace her brother. She held herself back. She didn’t want to influence his decision.

“You don’t have to, Mithos. I understand if you would rather stay. What I’m doing, it must seem -”

“I’m not stupid, Martel. I knew that both you and Father have been hiding things from me. I did some digging of my own. I know what we’re doing to humanity, what I am meant to lead.” Mithos took a tentative step towards Martel, hands outstretched. “I can’t condone that. Please, let me come with you.”

Don’t leave me.

“You would lose everything,” Martel warned. She wanted nothing more than to remain with her brother, but she would not let him lightly forsake his birthright.

Mithos ran forward and threw his arms around her, sobbing, and Martel hugged him back, feeling the mark over her heart sing as a weight she didn’t even know was there lifted. “You’re my sister. There’s nothing more important to me than you. I don’t care about anything else. And Mother made us promise to never leave each other’s side.”

Martel smiled, letting her tears of relief fall as she patted his head. “And Mother always knew best.”

~~~

Lloyd did a double-take as he came across the most peculiar sight at the entrance to the village. Was he imagining things, or was that a girl collapsed on the dirt?

Lloyd ran over quickly, getting to his knees next to her. “Hey! Hey, are you alright?”

The girl weakly lifted her head, hand scrabbling aimlessly at the dirt, arms littered with both wounds and scars. If she had managed to get through the barrier, then she must be part-dragon too. Who knew what suffering she had gone through? Lloyd was lucky enough to have been born to parents who both loved him and was able to protect him. He was even luckier to have found a place to stay where he wouldn't have to fear being hunted. Most Dragon-bloods suffered a fate much worse.

She was crying, tear tracks easily visible on her dirt-covered face. “Mother... I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” It was like she hadn't heard his question at all.

She got out nothing more as she fell unconscious, the chain of iron around her wrist reflecting the sunlight and momentarily blinding Lloyd. It was the same as the one that Dad had in his room, though that one is nothing more than scattered and broken links. Lloyd flinched as he laid a hand on her forehead. She was burning up. He needed to get help as quickly as possible.

“Mom! Dad!” Lloyd yelled as he ran in the direction of home, hoping his parents could hear him. “There’s a girl at the entrance! She’s unconscious, and burning up! I think she came from one of the facilities!”

Lloyd thought it fortunate that he attracted his parents' attention so quickly. He really had no idea what state the girl was in. Now at least she could get help.

After all the hubbub and fuss from the villagers, Dad eventually managed to carry the girl to a spare bed in the hospital. Lloyd stared curiously from behind his father’s back at the girl with golden hair, lying still.

“How is she?” Mom asked, setting down a basin of water next to the bed. Dad was the one in charge of healing with magic, while Mom assisted or used herbs. Right now, the room was filled with the sound of Dad's healing song, soothing as always. Even now, Lloyd could feel himself relaxing from his previously tense state. Any song with emotion weaved into it could do wonders.

Dad broke off in the middle of his healing song coughing and Lloyd started to get worried. That never happened unless Dad was using way too much magic than was good for him. Which meant that this situation was far more serious than Lloyd had initially thought.

Lloyd didn't want to see the girl in front of him die.

Mom was quick to offer a cup of water that Dad downed immediately. Dad was always good at hiding what he felt, but Lloyd could see the clear worry on his face. How bad were things? “She had a surprisingly small amount of injuries for someone who broke out of a facility. Someone must have been protecting her… I’ve healed all of her surface injuries, but I’m more worried about her magic," Dad answered. "She’s a quarter, but her magic is one of the strongest I’ve ever seen. I’m worried her body can’t sustain it, especially with how unstable it is now. It could kill her.”

Dad sighed. “There’s no other choice. I’m going to have to sing to her until her magic stabilises.”

Mom gasped, horror appearing on her face immediately. “Kratos, you can’t. You could kill yourself before you save her.”

“What else do you expect me to do? I am not letting another one die on my watch!” Dad snarled, a growl much more akin to his dragon heritage slipping out.

“You can’t do this for every person who comes in here! I understand the guilt you feel, but at this rate you really will kill yourself - “

Lloyd paid no heed to his parent’s argument, instead choosing to approach the bed and taking up the girl’s hand. It was cold in his palm. From her face, Lloyd could tell that she was around the same age as him, but yet she was so much gaunter. In pain, even, from the little whimpers she made occasionally and the furrowing of her brow in her sleep.

When he had nightmares when he was younger, Dad would always sing a gentle lullaby. Lloyd could remember the warmth and safety he felt, embraced by the feeling of family. He wanted so desperately to do something instead of standing here feeling incredibly helpless.

The first notes slipped out without any conscious effort as Lloyd’s eyes slid shut, remembering candle-lit nights. He doesn’t realise that his parents had fallen silent until he opened his eyes again, eyes widening as he witnessed the song become tendrils of magic around him. It was incredible to witness. He'd never done song magic before this. He hadn't known he could.

Lloyd came to the end of the lullaby, directing his attention back towards the bed. The girl’s open blue eyes stared at him, tears shining in them, a look of wonder on her face.

“Hi,” he whispered, glad to see her awake. Maybe she would be alright now. “I’m Lloyd.”

~~~

“Do you… hear that?” Mithos asked, pausing in his tracks and cocking his head, one pointed ear poking out from his golden hair.

Martel frowned. She had been unconsciously pushing it to the back of her mind, but the sound of broken branches behind them was becoming more apparent. What could possibly be making it, and why was it so persistent? Could it be a strong animal of some kind, hoping to challenge them for encroaching in its territory? “Now that you mention it, yes.”

“Something’s been trailing us, and for quite a long time,” Yuan muttered, glaring suspiciously at the woods around them. The dense leaves overhead meant that barely any light made it through to the forest floor. If they had to fight, it would be in terrible conditions. Better to confront their tail now than get ambushed.

Martel caught her brother's eye. Surely Mithos was thinking the same thing. Mithos nodded to show his understanding before darting into the trees -

Only to dart back out with something writhing in his hands.

“It tried to bite me,” Mithos said in surprise.

“It” was a young boy who looked barely older than 10, with auburn hair and russet eyes, tiny black horns barely sticking out over his hair. He was wearing a dirty torn one-piece, body littered with bruises, mouth split in a snarl as he struggled wildly in Mithos’ grip.

Martel gasped, hand covering her mouth. She could recognise the characteristics immediately. The horns by themselves were a dead give-away. “He’s a half-dragon. Mithos, put him down, now.”

Mithos nodded, putting the boy down gently. Immediately, he tried to run but screamed in pain instead when he put weight on one of his legs. That leg must be broken.

“You poor thing,” Martel whispered, kneeling next to the boy as she began to sing a simple healing song. The boy only stared back with wariness but made no move to run as she healed him.

“He doesn’t even know how to talk,” Mithos whispered. “I’ve heard that they didn’t treat half-dragons well, but to this extent…”

“This one looks like he escaped from one of the experimental facilities I’ve heard about, Yuan said, kneeling next to Martel and grabbing the boy’s arm gently to reveal the chain of iron around his wrist. “The iron, the number of injuries he has…”

Martel sighed as she finished the song, watching the boy test his weight. “Dragons look down upon humans and humans look down upon half-dragons. The cruelty just doesn’t end.” In her brief moments on this world, Martel had never seen a half-dragon before now. She had heard Father mention them: as worthless vermin that even humanity was justified in exterminating. Humanity themselves saw half-dragons as freaks, monsters, and most certainly not as people.

Martel found it heart-breaking. In the end, none of them were that different. Why did they all have to fear each other so? To continue hurting each other so? It made no sense and yet it showed no signs of stopping.

She placed a gentle hand on the boy’s head, happiness filling her heart when he doesn’t bolt immediately. She'd been expecting him to, given how skittish he'd acted before. He’s still wary, of course, but seemed to have decided to stay for now.

Everyone in this world was imperfect. But they all deserved to be treated equally. A better world, where everyone could be what they were without fear - people. That was what Martel would continue to fight for.

“What should I name you, little one?” Martel whispered, wondering if the feeling budding within her heart was love.

~~~

“Run, Lloyd!” Colette screamed, raw terror in her voice as she tugged at Lloyd’s hand. Lloyd turned his head and watched the flames rage through the village he had grown up in. All his best memories had been made here: Mom reading him a bed-time story; playing with the children outside the orphanage; lying on his stomach on the grass and watching the stars with Colette at his side.

“Wait, Colette! I can’t just leave! Mom and Dad are still in there!” Lloyd cried desperately, tucking his feet into the dirt until they both skid to a stop. They were both panting, the heat of the nearby flames licking at their skin, hearts beating fast. Colette turned to face him, tears streaming from her eyes and left hand clenched over her heart. This was a familiar terror to both of them; the terror of being hunted.

“Lloyd, we can’t. I want more than anything to go back and help, but your Father made me promise to get you to safety.”

“I don’t care!” He screamed, his throat already raw from the smoke. It didn’t matter, he would not leave his parents behind.

Colette drew herself upwards, mouth thinning into a determined line. “I won’t let you die too, Lloyd. I -”

Colette’s head whipped to the side, eyes widening in horror. A second too late, Lloyd registered the unnatural magic that had sneakily ensnared the two of them, threatening to split the very air in two.

What seemed almost like an explosion of light blinded Lloyd, forcing him to cover his eyes. The next thing he knew, he was on his knees, the tip of a sword pointed at his throat. The wielder at the other end, a woman with green hair and purple eyes, smirked cruelly down at him. Colette was in the same situation, but had her head bowed, hair forming a veil over her face. Almost as in defeat.

Don’t give up. Not again.

“You - Why did you do this? What have we ever done to you?” Lloyd yelled, anger and desperation rising within him. All of the people in the village that he had known: the innocent children, the adults who had been through so much trauma and had finally found a safe place to live. Were they all to be herded to facilities to be forced to help seal the Dragon someday, or be forced to death? Was there no other way for them to live?

“Nothing. You’ve done nothing and I couldn’t care less,” the woman replied, shrugging. “It is fun to hunt you lot down, especially with an actual worthy opponent like the half-dragon back there. But this is how things have always been and I must obey the royal family. Who cares if a small group of people have to suffer? It’s not like you’re one of us.”

They were inconsequential. All those with Dragon-blood meant nothing to the humans who knew of their existence. Their only worth was as sacrifices. Lloyd hated it, hated the way things had always been.

They were people too. They deserved the right to live, to be among others, to be happy.

“Lloyd!” Colette pleaded, hand reaching out to grasp his. “You need to calm down. You can’t use that much magic, it’ll kill you!”

It was then that Lloyd became aware of the magic swirling within him, all his rage being funnelled into pure power that he itched to unleash. Why shouldn’t someone else know the suffering they felt? Why -

A haunting melody cut through his rage. Lloyd stared with wide eyes at Colette, who had begun to sing. He had heard her sing before: there was always an underlying sadness to her voice, but this was something else. Loneliness and desperation permeated every note she formed. It was enchanting, causing even the woman to lower her sword slightly.

The melody was familiar…

“Are you shifting all of that alone, Lloyd?” Colette asked, squatting down to examine the large pile of logs he was slowly tugging forward.

“Yeah,” Lloyd panted. “Was. Going to. Make a. Hideout. For the other kids.” He was overdue. He had volunteered to make the hideout and was supposed to be finished a week ago, but the storms had delayed his trip to the forest to get materials. Now that the weather was finally clear, he had thought it would be a good idea to finally get the wood he needed. Except, well...

Lloyd groaned, dropping the string onto the dirt. “This is so heavy.” All he wanted to do was lie down on the floor and never get back up.

“I can help you!” Colette offered, straightening up. “You look tired. It’s hard doing this alone!”

“No, it’s fine,” Lloyd replied, bending over to relieve his aching back. It really wouldn’t do to make Colette carry something so heavy. “I can do this alone.”

“I insist!”

That was the moment Colette began to sing. Her voice was as beautiful as always, able to invoke emotion with just the slightest lilt or swell. This time, she sang of a bird, free to fly wherever it wanted. Still enraptured by her performance, Lloyd watched in astonishment as the logs disappeared from his sight.

“You want to know what I did, don’t you?” Colette asked, trying to hold back her laughter with a hand over her mouth at his clueless expression. “Well, it was teleportation -”

“- magic,” Lloyd whispered, realising what it was Colette was trying to do. He had to stop her. He couldn't let her do it, it would leave her here alone. “Colette, don’t -”

The last thing Lloyd saw before his vision went black was Colette’s gentle, hopeful smile and the words she mouthed at him.

Thank you.

~~~

“You little bitch, what did you do?”

Colette barely heard the words. The world had gone mostly white. All she could see was the grass right in front of her and the ash falling from the sky. Pain lit up every single nerve as she coughed, body prone on the dirt. Any form of magic for a quarter-dragon was dangerous, especially song magic. Teleporting an entire person had put a giant strain on her.

But Lloyd was safe. He was somewhere… away. Away from here. That was all that mattered.

“I said, what did you do?”

Colette cried out in pain as a hand tugged at her hair, bringing her face-to-face with the woman’s murderous expression. The woman’s lip curled as she slapped Colette across the face. Colette bit her lip, feeling her teeth break flesh, pushing down her urge to whimper. This feeling - of fear and pain - was intimately familiar to her.

“Well, if your magic is that strong, Kvar is going to want to see you personally,” the woman said in disgust, releasing her grip on Colette’s hair. Colette let her head drop again, relief flooding her. “Which means I can’t kill you.”

Colette knew her chance at escape was long gone. How ironic. In the end, she would return to the duty she had originally been assigned.

~~~

Martel slammed her staff to the ground, staring in silence at the roiling waves of energy before her. She had come full circle and returned to the rift that led to what had once been her home, the very same rift that she had gone through only decades ago.

Drakengard, beautiful in its majesty, and stifling in its might. Where Martel had taken her first steps, flown through the sky for the first time, where Mother had raised her and taught her what it was to love.

Kratos’s gaze darted nervously between Martel and Mithos as he stepped forward, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. If we pool our strength together, I’m sure we could -”

“No. I can’t let anyone else do this,” Martel replied resolutely, casting a grateful smile at the boy who she had come to see as a son. Martel knew that he was no longer a young boy. He had as much blood on his hands as any of them. But some part of her still saw him that way and always would: the young boy who had come to trust her more than anything and happily sought out her warmth.

“I decided to leave my home to fight for equality, and I will see it through.” Yuan had told her to act for herself. And if she didn’t have the courage to go through with this now, then what was the point of leaving in the first place?

Martel knew she would miss her home. That she would feel guilt for a long time after. But it had to be done.

Mithos placed his hand on her arm, his presence warm and reassuring by her side. “We’ll do this together, Martel. You won’t be alone.”

Martel knew that he would never leave her, no matter what.

Martel smiled at her brother, tightening her grip on her staff as she began to sing. He’s right, as the marks on her heart reminded her, pulsing with life as she pours her very soul into her song. All those she loved, and who loved her, were here by her side to remind her that she still had so much to live for. She was no longer tied to her home or Father. She had the power and the will, now, to make her path. To create a world where all could live freely, no matter their blood.

So she sang, her brother’s voice joining hers. Of hope and peace, of family and love. The energy began to move ever more erratically as the rift slowly closed, sealing away her home and her past.

~~~

“Shit,” Lloyd cursed, ducking into a dark alley to avoid detection by the contingent of knights marching past. The knights were dragging behind them yet another struggling victim, who would be brought to meet their “preordained” fate. “That’s another one gone.”

Lloyd hissed in pain when he bit down just a tad too hard with his sharper-than-normal teeth, tasting iron as blood dripped down his chin. The pain acted to ground him, at the very least, as he leaned against the wall and wondered what he could do now.

Once again, the crowd of onlookers had done nothing. No one had been willing to raise a voice of objection or a hand to help. They had simply looked away with their heads bowed in fear. How, then, was anything to change? Would Dragon-bloods be forever doomed to live like this, in fear and persecution?

Lloyd’s fingers drifted across the bumps of the iron chain he wore along his belt, a reminder of everything that has been taken from him and the constant pain that his people went through, day in and day out. An endless cycle of torment that would never end just to bring happiness to a select group.

He looked up at the sky. It was beautiful today, clear of clouds and a wonderful azure. The same sky they used to look at together, under the shade of a single tree. His fingers tightened around the Bass Clef hanging around his neck, wondering where its companion could be.

Some days, Lloyd didn't know if he could continue. There were days when despair was all he felt; knowing that his family was gone and his best friend was somewhere unknown, slowly dying all alone. But the next day, he would get up and continue on his journey again. He couldn't give up, his desire to see her again too strong. He had come this far listening to the faint echoes of her voice in his heart, and he wouldn't stop now.

Where are you now, Colette? Will I ever find you again?

~~~

“So why can’t I try singing?” Kratos asked, wide russet eyes staring innocently up at Martel as he snuggled deeper into her lap.

“Song magic is dangerous, that’s why,” Mithos replied, frowning as he lay back down on the grass. The corner of the sun barely peeked out of the clouds covering the sky, casting a wonderful warm glow on the world below. It was a nice day, all in all. “You never see us use it outside of healing either, do you? It could kill even us if we weren’t careful.”

“But I want to try!” Kratos cried, pouting as he flung a ball of water at Mithos.

“Ugh!” Mithos complained, flinging his arms up in resignation. “You remember how you used to fling fireballs at me when I was annoying, Martel? Why can’t you do the same with him?”

Martel smiled, running one hand through Kratos’ hair and paying special attention to his horns. It was always cute when Kratos closed his eyes and made a tiny sound of enjoyment. He acted so much like a cat sometimes. “He never got the chance to be a child, Mithos. Besides, he’s a lot more fragile than you.”

She heard Mithos mutter something that sounded suspiciously like favouritism, prompting Yuan’s muffled laughter. “You’re spoiling him, Martel.”

She flushed. “Well, I’m just glad he’s made so much progress in these three short years! Besides, it’ll be his birthday soon.”

Yuan sat himself down beside her, giving Kratos a little pat on the head. Kratos frowned and shied away, scrambling off and running away across the grass. Yuan sighed. “He’s still skittish around me? I thought he would have finally gotten used to me.”

“Just give it a little more time,” Martel replied, leaning against her husband and enjoying the warmth of the sun. Spending time with those she loved... It was important not to forget these simple pleasures. She was grateful to still be able to experience them, even in the midst of her mission. “I’m certain he’ll come around.”

Yuan hummed. “It is certainly nice. Being able to enjoy peaceful days like this, under the blue sky…”

Martel looked up at the wide blue sky, linking her hand with his. “It’s certainly been difficult, and I’m sure it’ll be even more difficult from here on out. But it’ll all be worth it if everyone can enjoy a sense of peace like this.”

Mithos, indignant squawking turning to laughter as Kratos pounced on him; her husband by her side; and the knowledge that they were working towards a better world. That was what made her struggle worth it and gave her the strength to continue fighting what seemed, sometimes, to be a hopeless mission.

She hoped these days could continue, forever.

~~~

“Lloyd. I’ve been meaning to ask this for some time, but… Do you know what element it was that Colette inherited?” Presea asked from across the campfire. “All Dragon-bloods have either dark or light magic.”

Lloyd paused from polishing his swords, looking at his companions gathered close around the campfire. “She had dark elemental magic.”

Zelos, who had been leaning against one of the trees with his arms crossed, one hand resting on the pommel of his shortsword, opened a single eye. “Dark…?”

“Is that… bad?” Lloyd noted the dark expression that all three of his travelling companions now wore. Zelos was staring at him now with what Lloyd recognised as pity. He did not like where this conversation was going.

“Well, Lloyd…” Raine replied, frowning. “The sealing magic used requires both dark and light elemental magic in equal measure. It’s why those who are captured to perform the sealing magic die so fast. Since they’re not pure dragons, they only wield one element and have to pull on their life force for the rest. But to substitute light…”

“Your little friend has to pull even more than the average Dragon-blood from her lifeforce,” Zelos finished. “You understand that there’s a high chance she might already be dead by the time we make it there, don’t you? If we ever find the place we’re looking for?”

“We’ll find it,” Lloyd replied, going back to polishing his swords. He had no doubt they would. He wouldn’t stop until they did. “And Colette’s not dead,” Lloyd insisted. “She won’t die that easily.”

“If you say so, bud,” Zelos said, leaning back against the tree with his arms crossed behind his head. “If you believe in that so strongly, there’s nothing I can do to convince you otherwise. Just… keep the possibility in mind, would you?”

His companions left Lloyd alone at the campfire with his thoughts. The belief that Colette was alive and still out there was strong in his heart, and Lloyd couldn’t afford to stop believing in that. It was one of the only things still keeping him going.

Lloyd looked up at the night sky, full of the twinkling stars that Dad had loved. Under this same sky, Colette was somewhere, singing her life away. He had hope that she would wait for him and that he would find her.

After all, we made a promise.

~~~

“Hey, Colette!” Lloyd spotted Colette sitting beneath the shade of the giant willow tree. She was wearing a white knee-length dress, the red shawl Mom had given her laying on her lap. The giant willow tree was a spot the two of them often occupied: after classes, before meals, or just anytime they were free. To Lloyd, it was their little private spot where they could always find each other’s company.

Colette waved at him, smiling, using her other hand to shield her eyes against the sun’s harsh rays. “Hi, Lloyd! You look really excited. What is it?”

Lloyd sat next to her in the sun-warm grass, retrieving her present from his pocket and presenting it to her with pride. He had a right to be proud, he’d made it himself! He’d even put in twice the amount of work this time. It hadn’t been easy to make two articles and also make it on time. It’s why he’d started so early this time around, so there was no chance he’d overrun. “Here! It’s your birthday present!”

Colette’s eyes widened as she took the pendant in the shape of a Treble Clef. “Oh, thank you! I only told you it was this day last year. I didn’t expect you to remember.”

“Of course I would remember, Colette, you’re my best friend!” Lloyd protested. “It’s such a special day. I would never miss it! Not for anything in the world.”

Colette shyly looked away, hand pushing a lock of stray hair behind her ear. “Thank you. It… means a lot to me.”

Lloyd knew that it did. The first two years that she’d been here, Colette had been so skittish. Afraid to go near anyone, flinching at the slightest loud noise, always hiding behind his back at the first signs of danger. She had resembled a scared animal, sometimes. Lloyd had known people who had taken months to live a normal life again after being freed from facilities, but Colette had been born in one. It was all she had ever known, her whole world before her mother had freed her.

It hurt to know that. That pain, suffering and constant fear were what Colette defined as normal, that she had never had the chance to experience childish joy or know what it was like to be safe. She would forever be littered with scars, both physical and emotional. But she had come so far in just four years. She had learned how to read and write, had opened herself up to the other children and learned to play with them, and had effortlessly slotted herself into the inner workings of the village. Everyone was thankful that she had become part of their lives.

Colette was the strongest person he knew. And even though she didn’t seem particularly close to anyone other than him, sometimes he was secretly glad of that. It meant he got to see her rare smile all the more. Lloyd knew little acts of appreciation made her day, and he was more than willing to keep showering her with them. She deserved it after being through so much.

Lloyd shook himself out of his thoughts, reaching forward. “Do you want me to help you put it on? It’s always a pain when the clasp is behind your neck.”

“Sure.” Colette leaned forward, allowing Lloyd to thread the pendant around her neck and snap the clasp closed.

“There you go!” Lloyd, grinning, leaned back and enjoyed his handiwork. It was a delicate shape to carve out and he’d spent hours bent over his table to finish it. He was glad it looked good.

Colette fingered the Treble Clef, cocking her head. “What’s it supposed to be, though? I’m sorry, I don’t recognise it…”

“It’s fine, Colette. It’s a Treble Clef, something Dad told me about. You know, like the Alto Clef he wears? It’s a musical symbol and I thought it would fit you because… Well…” It was Lloyd’s turn to blush and look away, suddenly becoming very interested in the grass at his feet. “Your singing. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Colette whispered. “I’ll treasure it.”

Remembering the second piece he’d made, Lloyd rummaged in his pocket and drew out the second pendant, revealing it to Colette.

Colette gasped in surprise. “There’s a second one? It matches the first.”

“Yep! It’s a Bass Clef. I purposely made one for myself that matched yours. If we have matching pendants, then we’ll always be together. I think,” Lloyd explained, smiling sheepishly. It was certainly far-fetched, but he liked to believe it could be true.

Colette giggled, the sound of her laughter brightening up his day. “That’s a little silly! But I could believe in that. Here, let me help you put it on.”

“Thank you, Lloyd. Really,” Colette said once the pendant was securely fastened around Lloyd’s neck. “In the past, the only one who celebrated my birthday was Mother. It’s… nice, to have someone else to spend it with.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Lloyd replied. “And there’s still more!” He had roped in almost all of the children. They all loved Colette and were more than willing to organise a celebration.

Colette was smiling, and yet the usual sadness still lingered in her eyes. Pain often clung to Dragon-bloods, like a ghost that couldn't be exorcised. It was no different for Colette. Lloyd knew she had nightmares, even if she wouldn't admit it. The dark circles under her eyes were irrefutable proof that she couldn't sleep most nights.

He hated the way things were. Lloyd longed to help Colette forget all the suffering she’d gone through. But things were never that simple. He supposed no Dragon-blood hadn’t suffered. It was hard not to when all of humanity was out to get you.

But he could at least cheer her up.

“So, since we have matching pendants now, shall we promise to always stay together?” Lloyd asked, grinning. “And if we ever get separated, we’ll just find each other again! Easy as that!”

“Easy as that?” Colette repeated in amazement. “You make it sound simple...”

“I’m just confident I can find you. No matter where you are!” Lloyd proclaimed proudly, offering his pinky. “Pinky promise?”

Colette linked her pinky with his, offering him another bright smile. “I promise.”

~~~

Lloyd sighed, sitting down on a tree stump to clean the blood off his swords. This wasn’t the first human he’d killed, but each unnecessary death still brought forth the same feeling of guilt. He always tried to avoid killing, but sometimes there was simply no other way.

He’d been in so much anger and despair for the first two years that he hadn’t truly considered the impact of anything he was doing. The people that he’d hurt had families too. Lloyd couldn’t exactly blame them for wanting to protect the prosperity they had always known. Who wouldn’t? And yet neither could he say that humanity was innocent. All of humanity was complicit in oppressing Dragon-bloods, but it was also all they had ever known. It was just as Presea had said. Everyone thought that this was normal. The right thing to do, even.

Could he fault them for all they had done, then? No single person held any blame. Those who had perpetuated this very system were dead, the events that had led up to it having been long forgotten.

All Lloyd felt anymore was tired. Tired of the endless cycle of suffering that had been entrenched so deeply in society that no one was willing to change it. Everyone deserves the chance to live. It was simple. But that truth was buried beneath so much fear. How could he ever convince an entire world -

“BUD!”

Lloyd snapped out of his thoughts, looking up to see Zelos waving his hand in his face. “What…?”

“Oh, I finally have your attention. The other two have gone out to forage for game, so it’s just the two of us,” Zelos replied, climbing up onto a low-hanging branch with little effort. Zelos did so love his tree-top perches. Maybe because Presea couldn't reach him with her sword when he was up there.

“And…?” Lloyd asked warily, placing his swords on the ground. He’d come to expect mostly pranks and trickery from Zelos. Missing weapons, traps, strange ingredients within their meals… Lloyd did appreciate Zelos coming along. He was another invaluable ally in their journey, but outside of battle, Zelos was highly annoying to deal with.

But there wasn’t a hint of the usual smirk on Zelos’ face. Instead, he seemed almost… contemplative? It was unusual, coming from Zelos. Lloyd knew that there was real pain buried somewhere within the man in front of him, but Zelos rarely let it show.

“Have you considered that even if we find your friend alive, she… She might be unwilling to leave?” Zelos asked, words coming out slowly like he was unwilling to ask.

“I would like to say I haven’t, but… I have,” Lloyd admitted. “Colette… She would be just the person to put others over herself, even at the cost of her own life.”

Colette had been alone for 4 years now. Lloyd didn’t know what was driving her to stay alive. Was it her desire to perhaps one day see the sky again? Or was it only her desire to help others and that entrenched belief that her only worth was as a sacrifice that society drove into all their heads?

Lloyd dreaded to think that it could be true. But if Colette thought she was helping others and protecting this world, then she would willingly stay.

“But still, I have to try,” Lloyd whispered. “She has a right to live as well.”

Zelos stabbed his shortsword into the trunk of the tree, frowning. Unhappiness seemed to hang over him like a dark cloud. “So you’re prepared to sacrifice everyone’s prosperity? Well, I guess it’s more of humanity’s prosperity. Society has never welcomed Dragon-bloods to share in it. Still, that’s a lot of innocent people.”

Lloyd shrugged. “I know the consequences of my actions, and I’ve made peace with that. Prosperity built on other’s suffering isn’t true happiness. And I’m sure a lot of people aren’t alright with what’s happening. They’re just too scared to speak up.”

Lloyd would just have to start with saving Colette. That was what he could do for now.

And he believed that everyone was strong enough to find their happiness. They didn’t need to rely on a twisted system.

“And why are you here?” Lloyd asked. It was a question he had asked before, but Zelos had always waved it away, reflecting with either a joke or a trick. Lloyd had a feeling he might finally answer it now. “Presea wants to avenge her sister, Raine is a half-dragon and I’m a quarter-dragon. But you, you’re fully human. What have you got to gain?”

“I’m nothing more than an old man with nothing to lose, Lloyd,” Zelos replied, waving the question away like he always did. “Maybe I was just bored. Or tired with this shitty world.”

“Old?” Lloyd snorted, resisting the urge to throw a rock at Zelos. Knocking him off the branch sounded nice right about now. Did he have to keep being so elusive? “If I was going to call anyone old, it would be Raine.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that, or she really will make good on her threat to incinerate you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

~~~

“Zelos.”

“What, Presea?” Zelos continued to skin the rabbit, not looking away from his task. Wildlife was hard to come by in these parts, and tonight’s dinner wasn’t going to make itself.

“Do you think I wouldn’t recognise you? You forget. I used to be nobility as well,” Presea settled herself down next to him, setting wood down and preparing to start a fire. “You didn’t even change your name.”

Zelos snorted, a crooked smile growing on his face. “Well, I’m certain no one would expect me to be in this position right now. Mother would be so delighted if she was alive to see this.”

Presea studied him, eyes full of empathy. At least it wasn’t a pitying glance. Zelos couldn’t stand pity. Back then, his family's "friends" had sent their condolences, expressing their pity over what had happened. All Zelos had been able to see was the looks of relief on their faces. They hadn't truly cared that Seles was gone. “I’m sorry about your sister,” she said at last.

Zelos wondered if the smile on his face now was genuine. It would be the first one since Seles, who had always infuriated him and been the little sister he loved, had been taken from his life. “I’m sorry about yours as well.”

~~~

Raine sighed, resting her head against the cold dungeon wall behind her. It was dark in her cell, the only light coming from the singular torch beside it. She couldn’t move more than an inch away from the wall, shackled to the wall by the iron around her throat, dampening her magic.

She’d failed, and there was nothing more she could do other than await her fate. What had she expected anyway? A quarter-dragon wasn’t going to be able to do anything against the might of the Empire.

She didn’t care that she was going to die. It was lonely, for sure, here in the damp and dark all alone. But Raine had grown up knowing that she was more than likely to die. The fact that she’d lived for so long with just herself and her brother in a world that didn’t want their kind was a miracle.

Raine’s only regret was that she had failed to avenge Genis. His memory would die with her.

Well, she wouldn’t let the King have the last laugh. She would die on her terms; not dissected on a table.

As Raine lifted the dagger she’d hidden in her shoe, she bitterly thought that her poor little brother hadn’t had the same choice. Genis' only choice had been death. And he was long dead.

Raine’s hands shook as the first inklings of pain registered, a single bead of blood appearing where the tip of the dagger pierced her throat.

The loud sound of the gate to her cell slamming open shocked Raine into dropping the dagger, looking up at the figure in the entrance to her cell. A man with red hair stood there, grinning with the dungeon keys dangling from one hand.

He extended a hand, still with that infuriating smile on his face. “It’s too early to give up, you know. Always let yourself have the last laugh against this terrible twisted world. What do you say?”

Raine remembered her brother’s fiery spirit. Genis had often been afraid of humans, yet he had never lost his pride over being a quarter-dragon. He had told her that they had every right to live. That they should be able to live, free from the persecution of others.

If she wanted to honour her brother's memory, then...

Raine took the hand offered to her, not yet willing to give up.

~~~

Martel awakened from her latest slumber at the sounds of life. Footsteps echoed through the caverns, interspersed with the sounds of water dripping from the ceiling.

It was another group entering the cave. Martel sighed, hands tightening over her staff. It had been at least a few decades since anyone had tried to oppose the world order. She had hoped that it meant no one would ever try again.

That hope had been in vain. Now there were more people she would have to kill, who likely held the same blood she did. She was so tired, but there would never be an end. Even if she were to be freed from her restraints, she would not turn against her brother.

The bond over your heart is broken, and so too is your brother.

Martel ignored the tiny voice in her mind, drowning it out in the fury of battle. It’s a ragtag group that has come this time. A man with fiery red-hair who fought with a shortsword and a woman with pink hair who fought with a sword who both, curiously, had not a single drop of Dragon-blood. What motivated them, then, to fight?

The other two are both quarter-dragons. The woman, with the silver hair and who fought with magic, looked… like the little one. The one that had perished just a few short years before. Martel shut off that train of thought quickly.

The final one… was a boy. There was no other way to describe him. He was so incredibly young and resembled another child she had shoved far into the recesses of her memory. The fire being flung around the cavern lit up the pendant around his neck. A musical symbol similar to the one she had put around Kratos’ neck.

Martel would not let herself admit that her suspicions were true.

And so she fought, with the magic swirling in her veins and the guilt locked within her heart, already grieving these little lives who will be lost here. No one was a match for a full-blooded dragon.

They would die here and be forgotten.

~~~

Lloyd panted as he held his swords in trembling hands, pointed at the guardian of this cave. Every part of his body ached, every single wound screaming in pain. But all that mattered was that he was one step closer to Colette. Even now, he could hear the faint echoes of her voice.

His companions slowly got to their feet, each nursing their wounds. It had been a difficult battle and one that they had barely won. If it wasn’t for the burst of strength Lloyd had gotten from finally hearing Colette’s voice again and the guardian hesitating, they would have been goners.

“Do it,” the guardian whispered, raising her head and exposing her neck. “I am nothing but an obstacle in your path.”

Lloyd does slash forward with his sword, but not through the guardian’s throat. Instead, he shattered the mask over her face, the sound of the pieces falling on the stone floor reverberating through the cave.

Lloyd knew who the woman before him was. He had thought the stories Dad had told him were nothing more than embellished versions of the legend, but it was hard to continue believing that when the truth was right before his eyes. She must know who he was as well. There was no other explanation for that split second of hesitation.

There was no need to kill her. She had lost enough. He would not continue this cycle of violence and death.

Martel Yggdrasil stared at him in disbelief, lips parted and tears falling from her green eyes. To Lloyd, she looked no older than twenty, but he knew that she had lived thousands of years. Much of them spent in isolation and misery here, protecting someone that no longer lived.

“You had someone you wanted to protect. That’s not something to be condemned.”

Lloyd turned away, and witnessing the nods of approval from his companions, began to move further into the cavern. This final part, he would have to do alone.

Slowly, stumbling over rocks, wounds stinging, he made his way. Towards the sound of Colette’s voice. Where she was waiting for him.

Finally, they had found each other again.

~~~

“Lloyd?”

Colette couldn’t believe her eyes. After days and days of thinking about where he was and how he was doing, having lost track of the years she had spent here, there he was. Standing in front of her, illuminated by the faint light of the luminescent mushrooms lining the walls of the cavern. She stared at him, hand clenched over her heart. Was he real?

Lloyd stepped forward, taking her hand. His hand was warm, the scars and calluses on his palm rough under her fingertips. He wasn’t just a figment of her imagination conjured up by her lonely mind. He was real.

She muttered his name again, overrun with joy as she threw herself fully into his arms. She was overjoyed to know that Lloyd was alive. He’d changed in their time apart, much as she had. He was much taller now than when he’d been fourteen. She’d nearly forgotten the shade of brown his hair was, the colour of his eyes, the sound of his voice.

Colette basked in Lloyd’s warmth. They say that absence makes the heart fonder, and at this moment she could think of nothing more true. She had yearned to see him for so long, to know that he was doing alright.

But why was he here? Therein lay the fear that warred with her joy. He was meant to be out under the sky, feeling the sun’s rays and being free to enjoy the prosperity she protected. Not here in the darkness.

Colette’s fingers tightened on Lloyd’s arms as she pulled away slightly, lips parting as she observed his worrying state. There were a frightening amount of wounds visible on his body and a stream of blood trickling lazily down his forehead that she gently brushed away. He must have suffered to get here, but she still had to ask the dreaded question. “Why are you here?”

Lloyd smiled, placing a single finger on her lips. “All I wanted was to see your smile again.”

Colette did smile for him then, a single tear falling. They had wished for the same thing. And now that their wish had been granted, she had to push him away.

The one thing Colette did not want was for Lloyd to see her die. She would not burden him with that memory.

Colette let go of the one she loved more than anything in the world and turned her back on him, preparing to rip her own heart out once again. “You’ve seen me again, Lloyd. Now you have to leave.”

“I’m not leaving here without you, Colette.”

Colette closed her eyes, holding back her sobs of despair as she grasped her pendant. She hoped it would give her the strength of will to push him away. “Please, Lloyd. Better it be me than anyone else. Please go. Go enjoy the sunlight, the grass, the stars, the sky, all the things I will never see again. For me.”

This was her way of protecting him and ensuring his future. Safeguarding the happiness of thousands, just as she had always been meant to. Even if some small part of her heart screamed to go with him, she would not abandon her duty.

She raised her head, letting her tears flow from under closed eyelids as she resisted the urge to turn around and take his hand. It would be so easy. “I had a small taste of what freedom was. You taught me what it was. For that, I am eternally grateful. I -”

The dragon’s roar cut off her final words, its rage once again making itself known. It was too late. She hadn't managed to tell him what she most wanted to, and now she never would.

Colette turned to face the dragon, singing what she knew would be her final song. Tired and weak, she knew any more magic would kill her. She prayed that :;pyd would find his way safely to the world outside, bright and beautiful. Her final selfish desire to see him again had been granted. She could die here, happy and with a smile on her face.

Colette weaved the last message she wished to convey into her song, singing with all her soul, hoping that he would understand. That one day, he could forgive her. But it was her fate to die here, alone.

I’m glad I got to see you again, one last time.

I love you.

Goodbye.

~~~

How had he still been too late? She had been in his arms just moments ago, warm and real and there in front of his eyes. Now - Now she was -

Lloyd cradled Colette's unmoving form, one hand grasping hers. He gently wiped away the blood on the corner of her mouth with a shaking finger, his whole body trembling. She had always been smaller than him, but now, unmoving and cold in his arms, she seemed so incredibly tiny. She still had a serene smile on her face and her hair, long and uncut, spread out across the floor.

Lloyd buried his face in her golden hair, sobbing. If he had been just a little faster, would he have been able to convince her? But he had failed, and there was no re-do. And if he had failed to save her, then what was the point of everything he had done? It had always, always been for her.

“You idiot. I was right here. We made a promise, didn’t we? So why? Why did you still sacrifice yourself?”

He knew why. Because she was too kind to even consider taking away other’s happiness. Because she would always consider others more important than her own life. But there was nothing more precious to Lloyd than her. Because he loved her, with all of his soul.

Lloyd kissed her forehead, smoothing away the bangs from her eyes. “You had a right to live too. All of us do, no matter what blood flows in our veins. Isn't that the world you'd like to see too? So please. Please don’t be gone.”

But Colette’s blue eyes do not open again, and he can only continue to choke on his grief and desperation.

There was nothing he could do but sing, still grasping her hand tightly. The first song he had ever sung to her: a lullaby. One meant to heal.

All he could do was pour his love into it.

~~~

Martel hobbled into the main cavern, supporting herself with her staff. She surveyed the scene of despair before her: Mithos, placated for now; and the boy, Lloyd, mourning over the girl.

The girl’s name… had been Colette, wasn’t it? She could recall that much.

Colette wasn’t fully gone. Not yet. Her heart still beat, though extremely faintly. The song Lloyd quietly sang was a familiar lullaby, but his power was not strong enough. He would never be strong enough, not on his own.

Martel shouldn’t help them. But the two of them, still so young, had reminded her. What it meant to live, even in a world that condemned your existence. What it meant to continue, no matter what. What it meant to love, against all the odds.

And she had no desire to bury any more children. She should have buried her brother long ago.

So Martel joined in, singing the same lullaby as she remembered better times.

~~~

All he knew was anger and rage. There was nothing else in this dark world.

He heard the lullaby echo softly, almost as if from a distance. A small part of him broke free, wandering and trying to reach it.

Faint memories. Of warmth, and someone’s smile.

~~~

Her fingers tightened over his, and Lloyd opened his eyes, heart leaping in joy. Could it be?

Colette smiled at him with teary blue eyes, her other hand reaching up for him. Lloyd grabbed it and pulled her ever closer, clinging to her in disbelief. He didn't understand how she could be alive, but he couldn’t care less. All Lloyd cared about was that he could see her smile, here and now.

“Don’t cry, dummy,” Colette whispered, wiping his tears away. "I'm here."

“Dummy?” Lloyd laughed hysterically, taking comfort in the sound of her voice and her solid form against his. “I’m the one who should be calling you that. You -”

Colette shook her head, her long hair tickling his arms. “I know. I was listening. Do you… really feel that way?”

“I know it’s hard.” He had to get her to understand. Colette wasn't beholden to any duty. There was worth to her life as well, and she mattered to others. To him. “When everyone around you seems determined to hunt you down. When you’re told from birth that your only worth is as a sacrifice. When you think you’d be hurting so many by choosing to live your own life. But tell me, do you truly want to give up on freedom?”

“No,” Colette cried, a deep-seated longing in her voice that tore at his heart. Even back then, she'd been so hesitant to let herself enjoy anything, even while looking on in envy. “I don’t. I want to see the sky again, I want to feel the grass under my feet again, I want - I want to be with you again! For however long I live! But I -”

“It’s alright to be selfish for once in your life! You’ve suffered enough.” Lloyd clenched his fists, desperate for his message to get through. He could not fail again. “I’ll be here for you. Every step of the way. You won’t be alone. And we won’t be abandoning humanity. We’ll still be here to help them. Building their prosperity on our suffering… That isn’t happiness.”

Lloyd cupped Colette's face and pressed his lips against hers; a kiss born of passion, hope and desperation, all at the same time. “Please,” he breathed against her lips. He pulled away, awaiting her answer with trepidation. He couldn't force her to leave. She had to choose, for the first time, to live for herself. Colette's lips parted, preparing to shape her answer when the air was rent with a dragon’s scream.

Lloyd’s gaze snapped to the hulking beast in the darkness that had awakened once again, snarling in anger. Desperation rose in him. He would not let Colette be taken again -

It was Colette’s turn to place a finger on his lips, drawing his attention to the voice that now filled the cavern. It wasn’t Colette’s voice like he’d feared, singing a funeral song. It was another, commanding magic fearsome enough to make the walls shake.

Martel strode fearlessly towards the dragon, head raised and singing proudly. Not a sealing song, no -

Colette’s voice, weak but still beautiful to Lloyd’s ears, rang out as well. And at that moment, Lloyd knew what he had to do.

The combined magic of a dragon and two Dragon-bloods, singing with all of their heart and connecting the elements of dark and light… Would that finally be enough? Enough to end this tragedy that had stretched on for millennia, harming an untold number of innocents?

And so Lloyd sang: for himself; for Colette; for all the innocent Dragon-bloods; for the Dragon before him now, tormented by insanity and begging to be free.

~~~

Martel sank to her knees by her little brother’s prone body, utterly drained. She gently laid Mithos’ head on her lap, smoothing his hair away from his eyes. If she closed her eyes now, she could even pretend that Mithos was just taking a nap. That they were home, in the meadow of wildflowers, listening to Mother sing.

“Martel?” Her little brother’s frightened blue eyes peered up at her as he reached blindly for her. “I - I don’t remember. We won, but -”

But humanity betrayed us. Trapped us in chains and took away everything I ever loved. Drove you to madness and left me here for 3000 years to protect you, even as I mourned you.

Martel doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she ruffled Mithos’ hair in the manner she knew he despised. “It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. We’re going home, Mithos.”

Martel was fading fast, returning to the essence of the world as all dragons did when they died. So was Mithos. Perhaps that was why she had deluded herself into doing nothing. Because she had known that her brother could no longer survive, and she hadn't been willing to condemn him.

It would have been better if Dragons had never come into contact with humanity; if the rift between their worlds had never opened. In their foolishness, how many had been hurt? But it didn’t matter anymore. She and Mithos, the final two dragons in this world, would soon be gone.

Humanity would be able to fend for itself, just as it should have been from the start. Only then could their true strength shine.

“Will we -” Mithos coughed, curling up on himself further. “Will we see Mother again?”

“Yes. We will, little brother.” Martel stroked his hair, hoping to soothe him. "I know... I know that she'll be happy to see the two of us again."

Martel closed her eyes, smiling as the darkness claimed her, wondering if she could hear the world’s song, echoing around them. Finally, she was free.

~~~

Later, the memory of leaving the cave was a blur. All Colette could remember was stumbling over stray stones with her bare feet and Lloyd's arm securely wrapped around her waist, preventing her from falling in her still weak state. Even while exhausted and still hurting, she had never felt safer.

Outside of the cave, Colette got to meet Lloyd’s ragtag group of companions for the first time. They were certainly a strange bunch, but she could tell they were all good people. They had been brought together by their shared pain, but perhaps hope could drive them now.

Afterwards, they left her and Lloyd alone. Colette found herself sitting alone on a rock, shawl wrapped around her shoulders, simply staring at the sky. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet. That she was still alive, and that she would keep on living.

It made everything all the more beautiful. The fresh air she breathed in, nothing like the damp, stale air in the cavern; the soft grass below her feet, nothing like the hard stone that she had known for years; the cries of the birds that flew overhead, in contrast to the silence that had been her companion for so long. All things she thought she would never experience again, and yet would now continue to experience. It was surreal.

“Hey,” Lloyd appeared at the periphery of her vision, holding two steaming cups. “You alright?”

Colette scooted over to give Lloyd some space to sit, accepting the warm cup with gratitude. She gingerly took a sip, letting the hot coffee chase away the lingering cold. Lloyd still remembered what her favorite drink was, and that made her stupidly happy. “I’m fine. It’s just... a lot to take in.”

Lloyd sat down next to her, threading their fingers together. “The world is beautiful, isn’t it? Even without a dragon’s magic.”

“It is,” Colette whispered. “What now, though? The Empire won’t stop coming after you. People… People can do terrible things when they’re scared. And they’ll know something’s wrong.”

“All we can do is help them to the best of our ability while protecting our kind,” Lloyd answered. “Change takes time. And you’re right, they’ll be scared. But that’s all we can do. After all, all anyone can do is live life to their very best.”

“And one day, there’ll be no more magic,” Colette mused. “Because there are no more dragons. But maybe that’ll be better for everyone, for the memory of our kind to completely fade away.”

Then no one would be feared for power they hadn’t asked to have. Colette had no illusions that things would be perfect. But perhaps, they could be better.

“Maybe,” Lloyd agreed. He pointed towards the horizon, where the sun had just begun to peek out. “The sun’s rising.”

The sight of the sun drove Colette to tears again. Both because it was painfully bright, and because she had not seen the sun in such a long time. It was reminiscent of the first time she had ever been out of the facility, cradled in her Mother’s arms. The sky, painted in shades of red and orange, was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She knew she would remember it for the rest of her life.

Colette leaned against Lloyd, closing her eyes. One day, she wished to live up to the hopes of those that were gone and those that would come after. But for now, she would simply enjoy his company.

~~~

“And then the heroes freed the dragon - oh, we’re here!”

“We are?” Emil forced his way through the mess of branches in front of him, following the sound of Marta’s voice. He emerged into a clearing, waiting with bated breath to see the famous cave of legend that Marta would point out -

Marta pointed to a tiny hole in a wall of rock that even a lizard would have trouble crawling through. “There it is!”

“That’s it?” Emil couldn’t help the disappointment he felt. The ancient legend of the dragon and the heroes who had freed it was one of his favourite stories. He had been looking forward to seeing the cave that the legend supposedly took place in from the moment he moved here. To see that it was a mere hole in the wall was a real let-down.

“Oh, it used to be an actual cave, but there was a cave-in when Father was a child,” Marta replied, poking the rock wall. “No one can get in now.”

“I feel so cheated,” Emil muttered, sitting down on the grass. What else could he do? “You promised me a tour of the site of legend.”

“Does this not count as a tour, sour-sport?” Marta retorted, putting her arms on her waist. “It’s not my fault there was a cave-in!”

“Can you at least tell me what was in the cave?” Emil grumbled. “You owe me that much.”

“Well…” Marta cocked her head, seeming to be deep in thought. “From what Father told me, there isn’t any giant carcass or anything, but there were structures that seemed to resemble graves. And carved on the wall…”

Marta grabbed a stick from the floor and knelt, beginning to sketch a symbol on the floor. Emil leaned forward eagerly, watching it take shape.

“Isn’t that the symbol of the Church?” Emil asked, frowning as he considered Marta’s shaky lines. “I think…”

“It is! My drawing isn't that terrible!” Marta protested, throwing the stick back down onto the ground.

“But what significance does that have?”

Marta held up a finger, grinning smugly as she leaned closer to Emil. “You’ll see. In some versions of the legend, it’s said that the heroes founded the church to foster peace and acceptance. It makes sense that the church’s symbol would be found on the wall if this is true!”

“Mother always said that it was all a load of bollocks,” Emil admitted. “That the symbol means nothing and is just something crazy people made up in the past.”

“Maybe! But wouldn’t it be cool if it was true?”

“Yeah. But if it's true, then why did we give up eternal prosperity?” With eternal prosperity, all the horrors of the past wouldn’t have occurred. The famine, the war… The fire that had claimed his parent’s lives. Couldn’t those all have been avoided?

Marta frowned, looking up into the blue sky as she shielded her eyes against the sun. “Honestly, I don’t know. But maybe one day, even the two of us will be able to understand.”

“One day, huh…” Emil muttered. When would that day come?

“Oh, crap! I need to go back now, Emil!” Marta cried, scrambling to her feet and brushing stray pieces of grass off her pants. “We had so much fun at the stream just now that I lost track of time. The position of the sun tells me that it’s nearly 3, and Mother will ground me if I’m not home by 4 again!”

“Hey Marta, wait up!” Emil called after Marta as she disappeared into the undergrowth with alarming speed. “Don’t leave me behind!”

“Just follow my tracks, then!” Her voice faded into the distance as Emil cursed and got to his feet. He was fairly confident that he could make it back to the stream, but it would be annoying to traverse the forest alone. Better get going after Marta.

Emil paused, looking back at what used to be the entrance to the cave. It was probably just his imagination, but he thought he’d just heard something…

It was probably just the wind. Every second he stayed here only increased the chances of getting lost. He needed to get going.

Emil ran back into the forest, not sparing a single glance back.

~~~

In the once again deserted clearing, a lone melody echoed, unheard.

~fin~

#yes i also fixed the tags on ao3 #i really don't know what was going on in past me's head but... no #fanfiction #tales of symphonia #synchronicity au #colette brunel #lloyd irving #martel yggdrasill #mithos yggdrasill #yuan ka-fai #anna irving #kratos aurion #raine sage #zelos wilder #presea combatir #one shot #colloyd #tags...#i got a really sweet comment on it and that made me realise I'D NEVER MOVED IT OVER

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dwellordream · 3 years

Text

“...As they created their special variant of childhood and parenting, Americans were creating a social revolution fully in line with the political changes that began with the famous revolt of 1776. Both rejected entrenched hierarchy, and embraced independence and more personal autonomy. Both revolutions were uneasy and often hazardous undertakings. Together they made the United States into a very strange place in the world. That strangeness is captured in many of the opinions voiced by articulate Americans in the first sixty years of the republic.

“Our children,” Nathaniel Willis declared in 1827 as he launched his new publication, The Youth’s Companion, “are born to higher destinies than their fathers.” This vision has become a cliché to us today. But it was alien to most Europeans and would have been unfamiliar to American colonists. For centuries in the Western world, elders reigned and were assumed to possess knowledge and wisdom as well as power. Their welfare and needs were primary and their dictates unquestioned. This perspective is still common in many parts of the world today. Lady Elphinstone of Scotland captured its essential meaning when she declared, “My children from the youngest to the eldest love me and fear me as sinners dread death. My look is law.”

Views like these dominated Old World values regarding the appropriate reverence and obedience of children toward their parents. American revolutionaries had rejected this tyrannical posture in the political arena. In the circumstances of the world they were creating, Americans also rejected such views as a guide to household affairs. Although Europeans, too, were changing their perspective on childhood as they absorbed the lessons of the Enlightenment, and as they responded to the political revolutions erupting throughout the continent, the social conditions of European life made it more difficult for them to change as rapidly or as fully as Americans in regard to how the generations treated each other.

Why and how had things become so different in the nascent United States? Historians of the American Revolution have long understood that the changes articulated in that event were deeper than politics, that they had roots in cultural and social life, and affected the domestic realm and private relations. American children, famed historian Bernard Bailyn speculated over fifty years ago, needed a different, more open- ended kind of schooling. Since they needed to adapt to the new circumstances of a changing landscape, following in their fathers’ footsteps was not good enough. That knowledge was often inadequate to the circumstances.

Individual resourcefulness and the willingness to adjust to the unexpected and to create the still unimagined became basic values as Americans defined a new type of individual adequate to the possibilities of the new world they were creating. Children, who were less constrained by ingrained habits, had an advantage over their elders in the American environment. At a time when European Enlightenment thinkers were seeking to throw off the shackles of custom and tradition, Americans reorganized their lives in ways that unselfconsciously adapted those perspectives, removing layers of tradition and encrusted custom.

Even before the Revolution, Enlightenment European thinkers, such as John Locke and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, were read with marked appreciation by Americans who believed that these philosophers’ views about children, and about childhood as a formative phase of life, were especially relevant to their environment. John Locke is best known today for political writings that helped to establish the basis for America’s commitments to liberty, for opposing tyrannical rule, and ideas that Jefferson and others used in formulating their views about freedom of religion and conscience. But Locke was also looked to as a pioneer in ideas about how children could be raised to become responsible citizens and trusted to exercise their independent judgment.

He believed that children were malleable and childhood was a time when habits were laid down that would shape later life. He urged parents to appeal to children’s reason, not to their fear of punishment. Fewer restraints and adult impositions during childhood and a willingness to accept a child’s natural inclinations as a basis for learning underwrote Rousseau’s more radical beliefs in the innate wisdom and natural sensibilities of children. Rousseau looked to rid society of traditional ideas and social patterns by giving children more leeway to grow and time to exhibit that wisdom.

In tracts written from the late seventeenth through the mid- eighteenth century, these two philosophers helped to shape modern ideas about children that were important throughout the West. For Americans eager to be informed, Locke and Rousseau captured the special importance of childhood to the ideals of a reformed society. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, questions regarding parents and children and what they owed each other were very much part of the American conversation. After the Revolution, Americans eagerly addressed parent- child relations, sometimes with considerable urgency, because they saw the Revolution and republican government as setting special requirements for childrearing.

Fathers’ injunctions, like kings’ dictates, were problematic in the new society they sought to create. The American revolutionaries spoke regularly of the rule of law and argued that they were trying to maintain liberties threatened by British imperial action. But even as they spoke about conserving older liberties, they turned toward more radical social notions. In attacking the legitimacy of the king— the most revered of earthly authorities— they undercut the unquestioned authority of fathers. That authority remained elsewhere the guiding basis for domestic and social relationships.

In France, whose own revolution similarly raised fundamental questions about the rule of kings and fathers, republican beliefs initially dismantled patriarchy after the Revolution of 1789, but it was reassembled within a decade as the French republic tumbled and fell. In the United States, preexisting conditions and the continuity of republican and democratic ideas created a context in which social and family changes were sustained and elaborated. Not only were old- fashioned fathers deeply suspect in the United States, but Americans were asking what kinds of children were needed to maintain the revolution that Americans continued to embrace.

This made matters regarding childrearing part of the national agenda from the very beginning of the republic. Most American historians have not fully appreciated how radically the American environment and the revolution that it spawned were revising the most fundamental of human bonds. European visitors to the United States in the half- century after the Revolution saw it clearly. As they witnessed the behaviors and demeanors of the old and the young, they witnessed a series of historically important changes. The great observer and French political theorist, Alexis de Tocqueville, devoted a chapter of Democracy in America to the unusual nature of American family relations.

Among chapters registering his observations about (and sometimes disdain for) Americans’ peculiar cultivation of the arts, their transformations of the English language, and their neglect of traditional philosophy, Tocqueville was much more admiring when describing “The Influence of Democracy on the Family.” That influence, he argued, was in line with other leveling effects of the greater equality experienced in the United States. “It has been universally remarked that in our time [1830s] the several members of the family stand upon an entirely new footing toward each other; that the distance which formerly separated a father from his sons has been lessened; and that paternal authority, if not destroyed, is at least impaired.”

Societies throughout Europe and the Americas were also starting to feel the crosswinds of change, as the Western world came under the influence of democratizing conditions, but Tocqueville found it to be “even more striking” in the United States. Speaking of young people beyond the earliest years, he observed: “The same habits, the same principles, which impel the one to assert his independence predispose the other to consider the use of that independence as an incontestable right.” In Tocqueville’s view, independence in children was more than a practice; it had become a conscious part of a child’s self- understanding. This all took place peacefully, since there was no struggle between the generations.

Fathers feel “none of that bitter and angry regret which is apt to survive a bygone power.” Instead the expectations had become an instinctive part of the culture as “the father foresees the limits of his authority long beforehand, and when the time arrives, he surrenders it without a struggle.” Tocqueville went on to contrast the quality of feelings in more traditional societies with those in the United States. In the one, the father “is listened to with deference, he is addressed with respect, and the love that is felt for him is always tempered by fear.”

But in democratic America, as fathers yielded authority, “the relations of father and son become more intimate and more affectionate; rule and authority are less talked of, confidence and tenderness are often increased, and it would seem that the natural bond is drawn closer in proportion as the social bond is loosened.” Tocqueville was probably too quick to identify these two— the social, with its weakened emphasis on hierarchy, and the emotional, whose qualities Tocqueville argued resulted in an increase of “tenderness” on both sides. We would do well, for the moment at least, to separate these two aspects of the changed relationship between parents and children.

Many memoirs from the period document the former; few tell us much about the latter. Tocqueville’s observations about greater warmth and affection may have been (and not for the first time) an instance of wishful thinking by a social observer eager to believe that natural “feelings” and natural “bonds” would grow when social ties were loosened. Somewhat later than Tocqueville, another observer of American domestic relations, Polish count Adam de Gurowski, concluded that in the United States, children matured early and were early “emancipated . . . from parental authority and domestic discipline.”

In this way, Gurowski accounted for the observations common at the time that “[c]hildren accustomed to the utmost familiarity and absence of constraint with their parents, behave in the same manner with other older persons, and this sometimes deprives the social intercourse of Americans of the tint of politeness, which is more habitual in Europe.” Many Europeans commented on the rude manners of American children, but few appreciated, as Tocqueville and Gurowski did, that this resulted not from parental laziness or indifference to child governance but from a different kind of disciplinary regime.

One who did and who made the contrast with European children explicit was the author of a volume called America as I Found It. “English children in the presence of strangers are reserved and shy. They feel that the nursery and school room are their proper sphere of action. . . . Most unlike to these is the sentiment of the American, both parent and child. The little citizen seems to feel at a surprisingly early age, that he has a part on the stage of the world, and is willing enough to act a little before his time.”

The notion that children believed they had a part to play on the stage of the world was an unusually effective way of seeing that American children had large expectations and they were early trained toward the appropriate habits of mind and demeanor. Probably nowhere else in the Western world could one visit the homes of respectable families and find children who so easily took part in the family circle and were so comfortably regarded as equals, not as subordinates or dependents.

In fact, throughout the West during the nineteenth century, middle- class opinion was endowing children with special appeal and setting childhood apart, and family practices were distinguishing children’s activities from those of their parents. While Americans, too, saw something precious and important about childhood as a stage of life, their cruder conditions and more demanding economy made it far less likely that children would inhabit an exclusive world in nurseries and at play away from the travails of the world.”

- Paula S. Fass, “Childhood and Parenting in the New Republic Sowing the Seeds of Independence, 1800–1860.” in The End of American Childhood: A History of Parenting from Life on the Frontier to the Managed Child

#the end of american childhood #paula s. fass #history #american

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megashadowdragon · 3 years

Video

youtube

The Truth Of Yachiru & Nozarashi Finally revealed by Kubo !!

comments on youtube @dopepoisonivyoncrack

So by Zaraki giving Yachiru a name, Yachiru didn't only Manifest but also evolved to gain/become more human like by being a soul reaper? Isn't that fascinating

Bleach still remains to be a thinking man’s anime/manga. From the start clues were dropped left and right or Kubo conveniently built off the concepts he already introduced. We know from the fact that zanpakutou’s can manifest and these stems from the fact that everything in soul society is made up of reishi which is also the source of reiatsu. Higher spirit particle grade (main concept used on the latest bleach one shot) means higher reiatsu and who’s to say reiatsu can’t be turned back to reishi right? That’s the phenomenon that’s happening. High level reiatsu can manifest even other beings such as yachiru and her being just a part of zaraki’s power means that zaraki is much more powerful than we thought.

a form of nozarashi's bankai....meaning kenpachi's bankai has more than one forms..and by the way, tensa zangetsu had two forms..the hollow form and the qincy form

Well this confirmed my suspicion. There is another character that never called their character by their true name and never got it’s full power, the guy with the eyebrow piece that is under Kenpachi. He hates his sword because it is a Kido weapon so he called it by a different name which altered its form. Kenpachi gave Yachiru her name in a similar manner, but because of the nature of their relationship she became something different as it was not a name out of spite. He gave her a unique identity. She had a true name but Kenpachi never knew it. I believe that is because Kenpachi never tried to depend on his weapon to work with it, speak to it and be United with it. It was just a tool that served. Giving Yachiru a name separated her from the “tool” as he actually cared for the spirit form of his Zanpaktuo without realizing it when they first met. Others who have done the same thing, making their sword a tool, never had real relationships with their weapon but knew exactly what they were doing, they were subjugating their servant. Kenpachi was just using a sword while caring for Yachiru. That is honestly why Kenpachi had to be lead away during the Zanpaktuo rebellion arc. That would have exposed the secret of what Yachiru was. Honestly I believe Yachiru purposely led Kenpachi away from Muramasa knowing the nature of their relationship would have been destroyed before Kenpachi was ready. Kenpachi and Yachiru’s story was beautifully done even though I was already certain Yachiru was Kenpachi’s Zanpaktuo in physical form. It wasn’t the first time that had occurred and Kenpachi was clearly not ready for that step in his life as a Soul Reaper.Show less Kubo has a Q and A website called Klub Outside The process of naming Yachiru so that she gains Soul Reaper powers is something we see before. This process is analogous to other Soul Reapers who don't have good relationships with their Zanpakuto. Firstly, Yachiru is a part of Kenpachi's Zanpakuto, correct? That means her relationship with Zaraki is a Zanpakuto and it's master. Problem is, Zaraki doesn't even want to listen to his Zanpakuto. To reach out to Zaraki, his Zanpakuto manifests physically in the form of Yachiru. Yachiru sort of does embody Zaraki. She is carefree and seemingly oblivious to the world of violence and massacre in the same way a child doesn't understand the true magnitudes of atrocities. This sort of encapsulates Zaraki as he loves to fight, he loves the feeling of going toe-to-toe with someone. Yachiru is probably a unique case because Zaraki's Reiatsu is so damn high it can facilitate such phenomena. Okay, so Yachiru is definitely a part of Zaraki, she is like a Zanpakuto, she can exist because Zaraki is a powerhouse but why does she gain Soul Reaper powers? The answer can be seen with Yumichika, Hihio Zabimaru and Zangetsu. Yumichika's Zanpakuto is unique because it has preferences in colours. It loves the colour azure but hates the colour wisteria. Yumichika knows this and leverages it. Yumichika doesn't like his Shikai because it's a Kido type, which is forbidden in the 11th Division because they hold only melee Zanpakutos as acceptable for their Division. Yumichika doesn't want people to know that his Zanpakuto is a Kido type because he wants to stay with his friend Ikkaku and doesn't want to be forced out for his Zanpakuto. Thus, he calls his Zanpakuto "Fuji Kujaku" or "Wisteria Peacock", which makes the Zanpakuto unhappy and only draw out part of it's power, creating a melee weapon that is acceptable in the 11th Division. Only by calling the Zanpakuto by it's true name of "Ruri'iro Kujaku" or "Azure Peacock" can the Soul Reaper draw it's full power, and by definition, it's true nature out. Similarly, when Yachiru forced herself into existence, Kenpachi giving her a name also gave her some powers. If Yachiru was thought of as a sword, he could now draw out some of it's power with a name, albeit, not it's true power, but some power nonetheless. That's why we see Yachiru with her own Shikai because it is part of Zaraki to a very small degree. I.e. Bloodthirsty to the point of lacking sanity -> Oblivious to the carnage like a child -> an actual child's behaviour and tastes manifesting in a Zanpakuto. The fact that Yachiru was Zaraki's Zanpakuto is even referenced chapters before Zaraki unveils Nozarashi. Yachiru seems to be inexplicably getting closer to hit Guenael Lee based off of pure instinct , just like how Zaraki fights. As for Hihio Zabimaru, it's a much closer comparison to the Yachiru-Nozarashi/Kenpachi dynamic than the Yumichika/Kujaku one. Renji thinks his Zanpakuto's true name is Hihio Zabimaru, which we learn is not true. How is it that Renji achieves Bankai while not using it's true name? Because "Hihio" is only partly it's true name, just like how "Yachiru" only describes Zaraki through Unohana, the bloodthirsty, diabolical criminal that knew every swordfighting style just 'cause she loved to fight. But that didn't describe who Nozarashi was, so only a part of Yachiru's power was drawn out. When Zaraki discovered Nozarashi's name, perhaps Yachiru was called back as Zaraki released all of his power (not on the Bankai level but in the sense that he realized who he was and who his Zanpakuto was - the shackles were broken). Even more on the nose, Old Man Zangetsu even said that any attack is more powerful when you know it's name. It's why Ichigo shouts "Getsuga Tenshou!" every time he wants to release that attack. He has to, otherwise it won't be as powerful - it'd just be the force of his sword. Similarly to both Zabimaru and Yachiru, only parts of their true name, and by extension, their true nature, has been revealed which is why only part of their power had been revealed.Show less

@dopepoisonivyoncrack

#bleach #kenpachi zaraki #zaraki kenpachi #yachiru kusajishi #bleach meta #nozarashi #kusajishi yachiru

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Gold (Spideypool)(One)

A commission for @paranormalmoonlight5 and @pumpkin-spidey who wanted a reverse-ish Little Mermaid AU ft. Mer!Peter and Prince!Wade. I prefer my mer’s to be man eating and vicious, but I settled for sappy sweet, over the top dramatic, and soulmate-y this time around!

Applicable warnings: Wade almost drowns, there is mentions of eating people (honestly what do you expect from my mermaids?) and an attempt at nekkidness.

PART TWO

******************

Three months the Prince had been gone from his home.

It was a sea journey of ten days to visit a neighboring territory with the intent of striking an alliance and quieting the murmurs of unrest and war between the people. The negotiations had stretched weeks, fruitless and ultimately pointless, going round and round with the same arguments and senseless disagreements, neither side willing to budge but both demanding the other yield.

War had crept closer with every disjointed summit, despair had tinged the last of the conditions and pleas and when all was said and done, the Prince was returning home having failed to secure a truce, and needing to ready his men for the coming conflict.

King Thomas would not be pleased, but Wade didn’t care much about his father’s wishes. The younger Prince Francis should have been sent to find a truce, it was well known that Wade was a warrior not a politician, a fighter not a peace seeker, a Prince better suited to life outside the castle walls than one spent inside with finery and fawning dignitaries and the search for a husband or wife to sit beside him on the throne.

But the King’s wishes couldn’t be ignored, so for three months Wade had given up his swords and armor to sit through negotiations and wagers for peace. Three months of endless banal pleasantries and asinine small talk, suffering the attentions of ladies-and-men in waiting who vied for his attention, for his bed, for his desire. Put upon manners to impress strangers and politely but firmly worded rejections of whispered offers.

Insufferable, all of it.

Wade wanted nothing to do with court affairs that were laughter and kisses at dusk, then anger and drama at dawn. The Prince had no one waiting at home for him, nor a lover at one of the oft visited ports, and Wade considered himself lucky to be missing the trouble.

Though handsome, the Prince had never been one to take casual lovers, and though his blue eyes and blond hair brought to mind Adonis, he had never attempted to pursue a more permanent relationship. There was no one who caught Wade’s eye or stirred his lust, and after the desire and experimentation of youth, those urges had mostly fallen away all together.

Not for lack of want, but for lack of interest. If Wade could find someone that woke his heart, perhaps then desire would spark but until then he slept alone, went through his days alone, and in the quietest moments before dawn, when the world was still and there was nothing but the sound of the ocean beyond his windows, the Prince’s soul ached for something he couldn’t quite understand.

The weeks and months away had only amplified Wade’s misery, and the misery had turned to abject loneliness. The days stuffed into ridiculous clothing and forced to attend society events under the guise of courting favor with an ally. The hours spent doing nothing while men who would never understand war talked of soldier’s lives and the cost of ruined countryside. The letters from King Thomas demanding updates and encouraging specific action. The quiet sneers from those gathered who knew Wade was sent to do a job out of his depth, the mocking disdain from others who saw a soldier and not a Royal, a pretty face and empty, disinterested eyes.

And Wade was both empty and disinterested, which is why with three months gone and no peace achieved, he now stood at the railing of the ship Sister Margaret and stared up into a blackening, stormy sky and wondered if the gods would grant him reprieve enough to cause them to be lost.

Perhaps he and the sailors could wander to a distant shore, wind up somewhere different than where his life was headed. Wade’s soul ached with the need to run, to escape, to throw himself from the ship and strike out on his own because every shift in the wind that steered him home felt like the snap of a manacle tightening round his wrist.

The Prince stood at the railing and silently begged the skies to change the course of his fate, and as the night darkened and the moon hid behind roiling clouds, the skies listened.

The first of many winter storms chose tonight to unleash it’s fury, bearing down on the Sister Margaret with all the force of a hurricane, tearing the ships sails to tatters and battering the hull to and fro in ever rising waves. A crewman was lost over the edge as the Sister Margaret heaved dangerously in the surf, another taken with a scream when a main beam cracked and split and after a terrifying moment fell and swept the deck with it’s length before crashing into the sea.

Lightning cut jagged through the sky and thunder pitched low and furious, shaking the men to their very bones and rattling the teeth in their heads. Those whose fright outweighed their common sense ran below for dubious shelter from the sideways rains, those who had sailed through storms before tied themselves to the remaining masts with quick release knots in case the ship started to go under.

Wade held onto the railing until his knuckles were white, eyes wide as he searched the lightning lit seas for rocks, for land, for anything that could be their savior or something else that would be their certain doom. He’d prayed for a different course and wished for a change in the winds but he’d only meant for a respite from his responsibilities and the shackles of a royal life. Not this, not a storm, not the durability of his ship and the fate of his men held at the mercy of a furious sea, not death as an escape, not the horrors of drowning and the agony of being crushed by the depths.

No, the Prince had only wanted some time to find the answer to what was clawing at his soul, he had never wanted--

-- “Rocks of the starboard side! To port! To port! Brace yourself!”--

--the Sister Margaret shredded herself on the jagged peaks of jutting rocks, her sides splitting and the water roaring as it rushed to fill her hull. The screams of men huddled below were lost beneath the pitch of thunder, the scramble of footsteps as sailors ran for the other side of the ship rang dully in Wade’s ears as he watched the sails rend from the mast rings and fall to the deck as a death shroud.

The entire ship heaved, twisted and thrown by an errant wave and Wade’s grasp at the railing slipped and failed, his body tossed into the air as if it were no consequence, the surface of the sea like glass where it burned and bruised as he hit the water and then slid under and in just those few seconds, Wade’s wish for his fates to be altered was effectively, brutally, granted.

I don’t want to die.

The water was shockingly cold and inky black. Lightning cut across the sky and illuminated the Sister Margaret as her holds splintered and the ocean took her apart. It flashed in the eyes of desperate sailors as they swam for the rocks, for the shore, for anything that wasn’t death. The wind howled and muted Wade’s hoarse shout as his heavy coat dragged him under the surf and boots filled with frigid water, dragging him down and down and down.

The rocks meant they were close enough to shore to almost be home, to almost be safe, so close yet so far, near enough to be tempting, far enough to be damning and Wade was sinking.

I don’t want to die.

It wasn’t easy for him to admit to being afraid, not easy for a Prince and a soldier to admit to being scared but as the dark clouds spilt rain like ice and the sea stormed, Wade sank and he was frightened to his very core.

I don’t want to die.

His brain was screaming for oxygen, his lungs fighting the urge to breathe and Wade clawed towards the surface-- towards what he thought was the surface-- as another wave crashed over his head and sent him spinning, another piece of debris from the ship cut into his midsection and made him wheeze, another wash of water pummeled him and Wade tasted salt water on his tongue, down his throat, burning into his stomach and seizing up his airways.

I don’t want to die.

The water was glacial and the Prince’s body was leaden, sluggish as he drifted down, eyes blurred as he stared through the dark to find the last lights from the Sister Margaret as she staggered to stay upright but couldn’t stop from sliding under.

I’m going to die.

It was a moment of near delirium as Wade clung to the last shreds of self control to keep from breathing the briny wash, it was a jolt of sheer panic as the Prince found one last dreg of strength to kick up up, it was a blink of his spirit hovering between death and life and in that one eternal second, Wade thought he saw eyes looking back at him.

Eyes bright golden in the fathomless depths. A flash of sharp teeth behind dark red lips. A dust of glitter on bare skin and webbed fingers reaching reaching, claws scraping scraping and dragging him down.

And in the swirling currents before darkness rushed in and ended his life, the Prince swore he heard a song, haunting and sweet and hypnotic and his own soul soul shifted and yearned, burned bright and tried to answer--

--above the surface the last piece of the Sister Margaret slipped below the waves into the empty beneath--

--and the Prince saw nothing more, heard nothing more, became nothing more as the sea took him as its own.

************

“Wake up, sailor.” The voice was coaxing and melodic, the brush of fingers at Wade’s cheek somehow both feather soft and razor sharp all at the same time. “The afternoon sun will bake you dry and it would be such a pity to ruin your lovely skin.”

Music. Wade still tasted ocean at the back of his throat and clogging fear low in his stomach but all he could think about was music, a haunting melody swirling round his ears and settling in his heart and lighting behind his eyes like sunshine. Music.

“P--pretty--” the Prince croaked, lips chapped and tongue thick from dehydration, limbs unresponsive and eyes crusted shut from the ocean spray. “G-gold--”

“Yes, I’m very pretty.” Came a teasing answer. “And my eyes turn very gold, but you couldn’t possibly know that unless you open your eyes, so why don’t you wake up all the way and see me?”

“Open….” Wade was still lost, his body adrift as if he was still spinning in the waves, his lungs burning like he was still drowning but he sucked in a painful breath all the same, forced his mouth to open and pull in oxygen sweet oxygen to bring his too raw senses back to coherence one by one.

First there was pain-- scrapes and cuts stinging from salt water, a pattern of bruises no doubt blooming purple and blue along his back and side. Dimly, only dimly Wade remembered being thrown from the Sister Margaret and dropping into the stormy sea and the abrupt hit explained the way it hurt to breathe. He'd most likely broken a rib hitting the water so hard, or it might have been a bruised rib that cracked when a piece of the Sister Margaret had slammed into him in the melee.

Either way he hurt, Wade hurt from the bottom of his bootless feet clear to the migraine pounding behind his eyes and after the initial pain came a wash of panic, of fear. What had happened to his men? To the rest of the ship? What of King Thomas who was expecting him home, what of the failed negotiations and the potentially impending war? How far from home was he, and had anyone survived the ship sinking?

...had Wade survived the ship sinking? He heard music through his mind and yet everything hurt. Was this an illusion? A hallucination? Was the Prince wavering in some moment between living and death and this was something of a purgatory?

“I can almost hear you thinking.” Another touch at Wade's temple that was both infinitely soft and wholly dangerous, the fine edge of what felt like a claw down Wade's jawline and calloused fingertips at his cheek. “What is on your mind, my love?”

“...my—my--”

“I pulled you from the waves.” The voice was closer now, sunshine and warmth and music on the Prince's scattered thought process. “Most of your men survived clinging to the debris from the ship. Some succumbed to my sisters, others were left to the sharks, but I saved you.”

Wade tried and tried and tried to open his eyes, forced the lagging lids to part and blinked into a too bright sun as he tried to see who or what was at his side.

“If you were anyone else I would think about eating you.” Wade's savior giggled, and it was almost terrifying in it's beauty. “But you're far too good looking for that. It would be a shame to rid the world of someone so lovely because I wanted to bite you, and once I got closer and saw you, I couldn't do it.”

“B--Bite me?” Wade licked his lips and struggled to focus, his vision clearing enough to make out a hazy form leaning over him. “You-- you were going to bite me?”

“I was going to devour you.” the creature corrected with a smile that glinted fanged and sharp and almost fond. “But then I heard you, truly heard you, and I had to know you instead.”

“That’s-- that’s good.” Wade inhaled shakily, dragged the air in through salt burned lungs and grimaced when every molecule of oxygen stung. “That’s um-- I don’t want to be devoured.”

“Are you what they call a Prince Charming?” The creature tilted his head and tapped a delicate claw along with the rhythm of Wade's heart beat. “I’ve heard them talk about ones like you. Handsome. Brave. Trying to conquer the world and sailing your ships through the sea as if you own it. A ridiculous idea, you don’t own the waves anymore than you own the wind but you like to think it, don’t you?”

“You’ve heard who talk about it?” Wade leaned up onto his elbows, shifted sideways with a painful wheeze so the creature’s head was blocking out most of the sun and he could actually see. “What do you mean they call me a Prince Charming? Who are they?”

“The humans, of course.” they answered, and then, “Let me help your eyes, my love. Hold still.”

My love?

Wade only had enough time to wonder why the creature kept calling him my love before a cold palm with oddly webbed fingers covered his eyes. It was suddenly warm and suddenly bright and the Prince gasped and flinched away partly in surprise, partly in fear, but the creature only laughed soft again and used the hand at Wade's chest to hold him still with near unbelievable strength.

“Just a moment, just a moment, just a moment, I know this burns.” they whispered. “I know this burns but I'll be gentle afterwards, I promise. My mate, I promise I'll be gentle, just a moment...”

My love, my mate, gentle. The words were blurry in Wade's mind, blurry like his vision and sluggish like the way his fingers still felt numb and his limbs felt so heavy and the Prince thought maybe he could sleep-- maybe he could drown-- if it weren't for the music wrapping low and soothing through his psyche and reverberating against the pressure of the creature's hands on his body.

My love, my mate, gentle--

--and then Wade could see.

“Oh.” he gasped and jerked up right to sitting when his vision suddenly cleared, the headache gone and the ache in his core easing. “Oh fu—fu--what did you did you? What did you do?”

“I healed you.” Came the simple answer. “Some of us can heal, others only harm but all of us can help our mates if needed. You needed me, so I helped you.”

“You-- you helped me.” the Prince wiped at his mouth and shook his head until the last of the cobwebs cleared and he could see.

Wade could see and all he could see was otherworldly beauty-- sun bronzed skin and bare shoulders dusted with ethereal glitter, gold flecked eyes and hair tumbling in loose curls, temptingly pink lips and hooked fangs that glinted sunlight in a knowing smile. Claws and webbed fingers, strong arms and a distractingly defined abdomen that led to a narrow waist and lean hips and a-- a tail.

Mother of the gods, the creature had a tail.

“You’re a mermaid.” Wade croaked. “You’re a mermaid-- mer-- merman. Mer--”

“I’m a mer, yes.” The water by Wade’s leg splashed beneath it’s tail and the creature wrinkled his nose teasingly when Wade's jaw dropped. “Some of your people call us mermen, others call us sirens or water nymphs.”

A smile that was dangerous in its intent. “Those we eat call us monsters, but those cries and accusations never last long once the water turns bloody.”

“No I--” Wade gripped at the rocky sand beneath his fingers anxiously. “No, I suppose they don’t. You-- you don’t want to eat me though. I’m all muscle, no fat. I’d be tough and stringy.”

“All muscle?” the mer cocked a curious eyebrow then pressed those webbed fingers to feel along the Prince’s chest, down his abdomen and across the shifting muscles and down lower to drag a clawed finger along the dip at Wade’s hip bone. “Ah. I see. Mmmmmm.”

The noise was almost hypnotic, sort of a moan and nearly a purr and despite his fatigue and near death experience, every line in Wade’s body tightened, surged, and he heard the echo of music in his soul all over again.

“God.” His nervousness was forgotten as his heart rate skyrocketed, a surge of arousal as much a relief as it was foreign. When was the last time he had wanted anyone, and why did this creature stir him so? “God, I think I’d let you bite me just to hear you make that noise again.”

“Don’t tempt me.” The mer’s delighted laugh was like bells, like wind chimes and like the songs from the temples that echoed across the hills and it shook Wade to his core, made his next breath hitch like he was drunk as the mer inched closer, then closer again until their noses nearly met and the gold in it’s eyes gleamed. “I want to know you. Tell me your name, Prince Charming.”

“My name is Wade.” They were close now, Wade sitting up on his elbows and the mer still leaning over him, close enough that Wade could see the swirls of color in the mer's eyes and count the fan of his lashes. “Prince Royal Wade Wilson of the Eastern Kingdom. I am King Thomas's first born and Lieutenant General of his troops, venturer onto the sea and apparently--”

Wade looked down at his body, at his missing boots and torn pants, shredded, sodden shirt and his feet and calves still dangling in the water. “--apparently someone who washes up nearly naked on the shore.”

The mer laughed again, eyes lighting brilliantly happy at Wade's sense of humour and the Prince cleared his throat a few times before asking, “What's your name?”

“You couldn't pronounce it.” he shrugged half heartedly, one slim shoulder rising and falling with the motion. “But the closest to your language would be Peter, so you can call me Peter.”

“Peter.” Wade repeated, and the mer actually shuddered over it, tail twitching and fingers flexing at Wade's abdomen. “...Pete?”

“Yes.” Pete sighed and settled a little tighter to Wade's frame. “Mmmm, hearing my name on your mouth is lovely. Say it again.”

Again. Wade cleared his throat. “P—Pete. Why did you save me?”

“Because I heard your soul.” Peter smoothed his palm down Wade's chest again, pink tongue slipping distractingly over his teeth. “We heard the screams of your men so my sisters and I came to see what could be salvaged from the wreck, but when you hit the water the very currents changed their direction and brought your song to me. I had to find you.”

And then softer, the beautiful features shuttering and falling sad. “I didn't expect to find a human floating beneath the waves, but I had to save you anyway.”

“You heard my soul? My song?” the Prince couldn't stop staring at the glint of the sharp fangs behind the mer's lips. “What-- what does that mean?”

“Your heart song.” Peter said again. “Your soul cried out for me when the ocean took you, so I came to save you.”

The mer added softer, almost nervously, “You didn't hear mine when you fell? When the water came up over your ears, you didn't hear my song calling back to you?”

Wade thought back to the moments where he thought he was dying, how his boots had filled with water and his coat had dragged him down and then there'd been golden eyes and reaching fingers and--

--and music.

“The music in the storm.” he whispered. “That was you?”

“You heard it.” Peter smiled again, pleased and so beautiful it took Wade's breath away. “When I saw you were mortal, I was afraid you wouldn't hear the melody, but whether you did or not, I had to save you. I took your jacket and your boots so you wouldn't drown and brought you here where the wind is buffered by the rocks until you woke up. Safe.”

“You took care of me?”

“I just wanted to see you.” Peter touched Wade just lightly, pushed apart what was left of Wade's shirt and bared his skin to the late morning sky. “You were asleep for so long and I kept watch so the others wouldn't come and drag you back into the sea to tear you apart. I wanted to make sure you were safe and I thought I'd leave when you woke, but I—I couldn't.”

The mer seemed almost sad as he spread webbed fingers over Wade's navel and lowered his head to rest his forehead over Wade's heart. “I should go now. It must have been a fluke, a moment where your soul wasn't quite human and your heart song reached for me. A mer and a human cannot be together, so now that I know you're safe, I'll leave you be.”

Peter pushed away from Wade's body, pushed himself back into the water until he was submerged up to his chin, only his fingers hooked around Wade's ankle and holding fast.

“Go well, Prince Charming.” the mer whispered, then took a deep breath and opened his mouth to sing a siren song of forgetfulness--

– “Wait.” Wade lunged after Peter, scrambled towards the water and fell into up to his chest when his legs didn't want to quite work right. “Wait, Pete wait.”

“My love, don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be.” The water barely rippled when Peter moved, the mer so graceful even as he swam backwards that the sea surface remained glassy smooth. “This song will make you forget, and when you wake again you won't know me at all. You're safe and I should leave you--”

“What does it mean that I heard your song?!” Wade burst out, grabbing fruitlessly at the water, at Peter's form as the mer slid further away. “What does that mean? I can feel it right here.” he pushed at his own chest, at his heart. “Feel it in my soul, where I’ve never felt anything at all so what does it mean?”

Peter swallowed, gills on his neck flicking open once, twice, but he didn't answer and Wade persisted, “For years I've been searching for something to fill this gap right here in my soul. It’s like I’m empty but nothing fills it. I've never found love and I've never wanted to try searching for it. I wage war but not even the battle lust soothes me. I can't stay home alone with nothing and no one and no idea of what I'm looking for, it will drive me mad. Tell me what it means that I heard your heart song.”

Softer, almost pleading. “Tell me.”

The mer paused, waited and Wade reached his hands out desperately, wanting or needing or-- or something. “Please.”

And finally, “Put your hands on the water like this.” Peter took a deep breath and flattened his palms to the surface of the water. “Hold yourself still and wait for the music to come to you on the currents. We are soulmates, you and I. Hold yourself still and let the seas tell you the truth.”

Wade copied the mer’s movements, spreading his fingers wide and setting them just gently on the barely there waves, holding his breath and waiting--

Melody filling Wade's ears and echoing in his mind, magical and mystical and spiraling home home home, wrapping around his body and washing over his soul, filtering through his heart and echoing through his mind and Wade was running, running for Peter before he could stop himself, stumbling through the waves and almost going under when his feet slipped on the rocks and scraped along the coral as he ran for his soulmate.

“Don't leave me.” They met in a crash of lips, Peter's strength keeping them easily afloat when Wade fell into him, mouths meeting and breath gasping and hands holding tight lest the other one slip away. “Don't leave me.” Wade choked out. “God, I have to know you.”

“They say it's like this sometimes.” Peter scraped his nails down Wade's back and hooked his fingers into the Prince's hips to drag him in tight, beat his tail in the water to keep them steady so he could feel everything about his soulmate up against his body. “When a human soul slips between life and death, in that moment they are ours, our soulmate, but only in that moment. Never more. It isn't meant to be. You and I aren't meant to be and that's why I should have left you before now.”

Peter made a halfhearted attempt to move away, to extricate himself from Wade's grip though the mer was holding just as fast. “I should have left you before now, my love and I’m sorry I’m making this more difficult for you.”

“Don't go.” Wade was starving, dehydrated, aching and the only thing that soothed him was the taste of soulmate on his mer's lips. “No no no, don't go. Pete, you're who I've been searching for my entire life. Soulmate. Kiss me. Kiss me.”

“Just once more.” Peter whispered. “Just once more then I must go.”

The kiss was drugging, heart crushing and soul stirring. On and on it went as Wade drifted further into the currents and Peter kept him buoyant, the sea lapping higher around their shoulders until it was till their necks, higher still until it brushed their chins and mixed salt water into their kisses. Peter shifted against his body and purred soft and sweet, the noise so close to heaven that Wade had to jerk away to take in a deep breath--

--and then he was drowning.

Wade went under, lungs full of water and body dragging down, mind rushing from the kiss, from the knowledge of his soulmate, skin tingling as fresh cuts were re-submerged and hands reaching always reaching for the one that had finally called him home.

I could drown. The Prince thought as black spots danced before his eyes. I could drown and find a place beside my soulmate forever.

I could drown.

He was drowning.

“Oh my love, I'm so sorry!” Peter cried out in alarm when Wade slipped below the surface and sank. The mer angled his body and dove down into the murky water until he could get his arms around his mate and bring the Prince back to air, cradling Wade carefully so his claws wouldn’t pierce the fragile skin and driving them both back towards the safety of sand and rock so Wade could breathe.

“So sorry, my love.” Peter bent over Wade’s still form and pulled the water from the humans lungs with one quick breath, put his hand to the Prince’s stomach and coaxed the water out with one solid push. “I got carried away and you nearly drowned, so sorry. Please wake up. Please wake up.”

Wade woke with a cough, jerked back from unconsciousness with a strangled sort of gasp, reached for Peter before he was even aware he was moving, grasping for his soulmate even though only a few minutes ago he hadn’t known soulmates existed.

“Pete.”

“I’m so sorry.” The mer’s eyes were shifting electric gold and the deepest, richest brown with sorrow and worry. “Wade, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to let you go. I wanted to swim with you but I forgot-- I’m sorry--”

“No no don’t be sorry, just come back. Come back.” Wade surged up and wrapped his arms around Peter again, dragged the mer down on top of his body and kissed the cool lips until Peter was purring against his mouth and trilling in his ear, fangs catching on his bottom lip and claws dragging red lines in his skin.

It was like the sweetest aphrodisia kissing Peter, like the honeyed mead Wade had drank along the islands pouring down his throat, like the smoke of the poppy plant when it burned heavy and thick in the air of the secret places in the city.

Drugging.

Soulmates, and it was the answer to every question the Prince had ever had, every moment when he had felt out of place in the palace, trapped by his father's words and penned in by his duties, by his expectations, by the rules.

Soulmates and it was hard to care about which men might have survived the storm, about the Sister Margaret in pieces on the ocean floor, about whether he was dying from dehydration, or hovering on the cusp of some near death experience and tipping wildly towards unalive.

They were soulmates, and Wade would have taken dehydration and death over having to stop running eager hands over Peter's back and down to where flawless skin transformed into silk smooth scales. Peter's tail was gorgeous, layers of dark red shot through with royal blue webbing that went from his hips clear down to the nearly translucent tail that flipped against the water in a steady, meaningful pattern, beating a drummed in rhythm into Wade's heart that felt like-- felt like--

“My love.” Peter whispered, and there was a cut of fangs at Wade's earlobe before nimble fingers skated over the front of his trousers, working at the clasp and pushing them aside to track gently gently over the hard ridge of his cock.

“Oh.” Wade's head snapped back against the rocks but the mer caught him with a quiet laugh, cradled his head in one large palm and held him steady so he didn't hurt himself. “Oh-h-h Pete--”

Yes, that was what it felt like, what the constant shift and hit of Peter's red and blue tail sounded like, what the ripple of water and push push push and the way the mer's hips ground into Wade's side reminded him of. It felt like strokes and heated touches and purposefully slick slides against a willing, welcoming body and it felt like--

“Settle, soulmate.” Peter purred into his ear when Wade cursed and thrust up into the mer's palm. “Oh you're gorgeous, I knew you would be gorgeous.” He mouthed hungry kisses and near bites down Wade's throat, massaged firmer at his cock until it jerked and throbbed in his fingers, spilled milky white over his knuckles and made the next stroke easier. “I knew you would be perfect, so responsive for me, my Prince Charming.”

“Don't stop.” Wade had never wanted anyone so badly in his life, the Prince had maybe never wanted anyone in his life, not like this, not when it felt like his very center was trying to claw it's way out of his chest to mingle with his mer.

Not meant to be, Peter had whispered mournfully. I had to know you but we are not meant to be.

But no, Wade couldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe it. It wasn't possible to need to know someone the way he needed to know Peter and they weren't meant to be?

It wasn't possible.

“I want you.” he rasped and Peter's tongue wound tempting and knowing along his collarbone, down Wade's chest until fangs pricked over his nipple in a dangerous, tempting spark. “God, Pete I want you.”

Peter shuddered again hearing his name on his soulmate's tongue. They weren't meant to be and he should have left before now but the mer was weak, he was weak for every inch of his Prince Charming, he was weak for the press of Wade's hands at his back and the way sparks lit bright behind his eyes when calloused fingers teased the junction of skin and scales, he was weak for the way Wade practically growled as he shifted and widened his knees so Peter could lay closer between his thighs.

His Prince was achingly hard, pre-come leaking from the tip of his cock as Peter stroked him slowly, almost idly, no real rush to the motion because just having his soulmate in his hand was enough. After years and years of wandering the ocean currents listening for the heart song that called to his entire being, it was enough to lick the sweetness from Wade's mouth, to lay chest to chest and feel his Prince's every breath hitch as they moved together, to tighten his fingers around the swollen cock and swallow the moans that spilled from his mate's lips.

“I want you too.” he whispered back. They weren't meant to be but perhaps he could just have this, just this moment before the sun set and Wade's soul found it's way all the way back to living and Peter had to sing a siren's song to wash the human's memory clean of their time together.

“I want you too.” he repeated and Wade curled up into a sharp kiss full of tongue and longing. “Touch me, Prince Charming, touch me here.”

Peter took Wade’s hand and guided it down his stomach to the top of his tail, sucked in a quick, aching breath when his Prince’s fingers dipped into his navel before skating lower and the mer had to shift off to the side so he wouldn’t crush his love as Wade felt carefully, pointedly further along Peter’s scales until he came to the slight mound of the mer’s pouch, and then a scant inch lower, the scales that would shift aside and allow him entrance.

“Peter.” Wade breathed shakily when he found the almost invisible part in the mer’s tail, when his fingers were along scales one second and then next dipping into silky soft warmth. “P--Pete--”

“Yesssss.” the mer’s eyes went bright gold then very dark and heavy lidded as pleasure ran in a shiver up his spine, and Peter turned further onto his side to give Wade more room to feel him, balanced himself with his elbow in the sand and gripped rocks in his other hand so he wouldn’t cut his claws into the Prince’s side. “Yes my love, touch me.”

Wade bit back a hungry moan when his fingers closed around the mer’s cock, heavy and thick as he stroked and coaxed it free of the pouch, ridged and textured in ways that made his mouth water and his core clench, and Peter purred softly, wantonly when Wade’s own cock jerked in response to the sight.

“Closer.” The mer wriggled closer until they were side by side, face to face in the coarse sand, one of Wade’s legs thrown over his tail. “Closer, my love.”

Carefully at the Prince’s side, making sure to keep his claws away because too tight a squeeze, too startled or enjoyable a moment and the mer could kill his mate and Peter didn’t even want to take the chance, didn’t want to try and risk it.

“Like this.” Wade’s hand on his length was heaven, the steady stroke and curious play along the ridges and veins that marked his cock enough to make Peter’s eyes flicker in barely handled pleasure, and the mer whined brokenly at the loss of touch even as he coaxed his Prince’s touch lower still. “Right there, yes. Yes.”

Wade groaned out loud when he found the entrance just below Peter’s cock, slick and nearly hot as it allowed his fingers in and Peter gasped high and needy, rocked forward into the tentative press and drove Wade deeper inside.

Something shocked, blurted and breathless from the mer’s mouth, a language Wade could never hope to understand but rapture was the same across any tongue and he tasted it in their next kiss as Peter panted and sighed and nipped at Wade’s tongue as they tangled together.

“You’d have me?” Wade whispered in hoarse disbelief as his mate pressed closer, twitched his tail and lifted his hips up eagerly. “Pete, you would allow me to have you like this?”

“I’d allow you anything.” Fangs, drawing blood at Wade’s throat and the pain tore a shout from him, but there was nothing but blinding pleasure immediately after as the mer sealed his lips to the cut and drank the blood like he was starving. “My love, I’d allow you anything for the moments we have together, but you will have to have me like this.”

Oooph. Wade’s back hit the sand harder than he’d been expecting, Peter was far stronger than the lean muscles and gorgeous curve of his body would suggest, but the Prince only marveled at his mate’s strength, one hand buried inside Peter’s body and the other stroking over the glitter on Peter’s shoulders, down to the dip of his waist, back up to skip over the rows of his abdomen.

“You’re beautiful.” he managed as Peter lay over him, twisted his fingers inside the mer’s entrance and pulled a thready cry from gorgeous pink lips. “My love--”

Peter’s eyes melted molten gold in happiness and Wade said it again, crooned it, “My love---” and their lips met in the slowest kiss yet, lingering over bite-tender marks and licking through the others mouth, sharing breath, sharing air, sharing their souls as the mer reached with one hand to lift Wade’s fingers free of his body, then closed his palm around Wade’s cock.

“I’d allow you like this, my mate.” the mer whispered, and it was sheer insanity what they were doing. Pure madness for them to be kissing, to be moving together, for Peter to stroke his Prince to full hardness with a single pull and then with a slow roll of his hips, a flex of his tail and with claws scoring lines on the rocks as he fought for control, to take Wade clear into his body.

“My mate.” he shuddered when the Prince slipped into him, cried something wordless and needy when Wade held him tight and thrust up helplessly and Peter quieted Wade’s answering shout with a messy kiss, swallowed down the Prince’s gasped curse with a low purr, held his mate still until they both could breathe again.

“Peter.”

“Let me.” Peter tried not to growl, but it might have been a growl anyway with the way Wade cursed into his ear, cock jerking inside him hard enough to make the mer’s eyes roll back. “No no my love, let me.”

“Mate.” Wade caught Peter’s hips and held them tight when the mer shifted over him, scooted higher up over his chest and then dug into the sand and pushed back, engulfing Wade’s cock in pure rippling heat.

“Mate.” Braced on his elbows now, Peter could bend down and tease Wade with soft kisses and the dangerous hint of fangs. He could use the leverage to ease himself down and then pull himself back up, down and up, down and up, clenching tight every time their hips met and his Prince ground up into him, moaning every time they parted and Wade’s cock slid nearly entirely from his body before driving deep again.

“If you could swim with me, I’d take you to the depths.” Peter hissed when Wade’s teeth closed blunt over his pulse and pulled at him. “I'd show you how we are beneath the sea, I’d fit my cock into your most secret places--”

“Shit--” Wade jolted and Peter laughed in knowing delight, lost himself in a mind numbing kiss for a long moment, took Wade’s fingers and wound them around his cock to stroke in time to each slow roll of their bodies.

“--oh my love, I’d spend hours loving you.” he rasped, and Wade groaned something unintelligible and needy. “Over and over I’d spill in you until you were full of me and still begging for more, then I’d catch you tight--”

He shivered and moaned when the Prince’s hand tightened reflexively along his tip. “--yesss, do you feel that? All the ways my cock would fill you up and lock you tight to me? Then we could float in the currents for hours together. You’d be safe in my arms and I’d be safe in yours and we--”

The mer stuttered, grit his teeth and let his slick channel ripple around Wade’s cock as he grew closer to finishing. “--and we-- we could let the seas hear our heart songs until--”

“Pete.” Wade thrust up once, twice, threw his head back onto the beach and rocked against him desperately. “Pete please--”

“I know.” Peter slid himself down along his Prince until he was almost punishingly full, stretched and deliciously aching and he ground down into every helpless twitch and jerk of his mate’s body. “Oh my love, I know.”

“...want you…”

“...you have me…”

It was madness what they were doing, sheer insanity for a man and a mer to tangle this way. The Prince’s soul was caught in the space between living and dead, the mer was risking a life of eternal loneliness giving into the need when he should have just left, should have just waited for Wade’s soul to fully rejoin the living and then gone on his way without his heart song answered.

But it was too late. It was too late and it was madness but Peter couldn’t find it in himself to stop.

“Half a century I waited for you.” he murmured, and Wade turned his head to catch him up in an achingly tender kiss. “I’ll wait a half a century more for another chance.”

Music, warping the air and stirring the calm harbor waters into waves as Wade tipped and teetered at the edge of bliss. Music, thrumming in time to their hearts as Peter’s cock spilled onto Wade’s stomach and the Prince lost himself inside the mer’s body, pulsing and pouring and skittering searing pleasure through his veins.

Music, as they left a bloody sharp kiss and stared into each other eyes, a heart song as the sun began to sink behind them, a melody as Wade reached to wipe a tear that fell like a diamond from Peter’s golden eyes.

“....Pete?”

But the mer only shook his head and smiled, then tucked his chin into Wade’s shoulder and held him close as the fire between their body’s settled, soothed, and their souls melded one to another.

Music.

They were not meant to be.

****************

“You’re beautiful.” Wade propped himself up on an elbow and traced the gorgeous red lines that cut through the darker blue on Peter’s tail, clicking his fingernails on the scales and smiling in awe when the setting sun caught the blue and turned it nearly purple before darkening to practically black. “Red and blue, red and black. Gorgeous.”

“You humans think the oddest things are beautiful.” Peter stretched back on the sand and purred in contentment as the Prince ran gentle hands over him. “I was caught in a net when I was younger, the wires cut into my tail and left me scarred. I should be wholly blue and flawless but instead it looks like--”

“Like your tail is set through with rubies.” Wade interrupted, thinking about the priceless treasures he’d seen overseas, the intricately sewn tapestries, silk so fine it sparkled in the sunshine, jewelry that wove like nets and webs along a royals porcelain skin.

Not one of them compared to how lovely the delicate red lines were as they wound through the blue of Peter’s scales, and though Wade’s heart hurt to think of his mer hurt badly enough to be scarred, selfishly he loved the way Peter shivered and shuddered as he traced each and every one.

“Beautiful.” he said again and Peter purred at him again, bared those deceptively dangerous fangs in a pleased smile. “Why do your eyes turn gold?”

“Because you’re my soulmate.” Peter answered simply. “Our eyes only change for our mates. Gold when I am happy or content or when I am--” his dark gaze flickered gold as he lingered over the stretch of muscle on Wade’s reclined form. “--when I am aroused.”

“You are angelic.” Wade swore, and the mer countered with a soft laugh, “More along the lines of a water demon, but you may call me whichever you’d like.”

Peter sat up into a kiss, wove his clawed fingers into Wade’s hair and tugged lightly at the blond strands. “You are beautiful too, my love. Your eyes are the color of the ocean in the islands, where the water is bright and clear and we can see down to the sand on the sea floor.”

“Ah, is that why you came to find me in the wreckage of the ship?” Wade leaned into the touch, sighed and pressed closer when fangs pricked just lightly at his neck. “Because my eyes remind you of the ocean?”

“I would have found you in the wreckage no matter what color your eyes were.” Peter swore. “Today you look like the sun god fallen to the sand, if tomorrow you were to look like the god of the underworld or a creature of the deep, you’d be my soulmate all the same.”

“Then why do you seem sad?” Wade wanted to know, and Peter whispered, “Because our time is limited, my love. And somehow I already miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

I already miss you.

Later, the sky turned purple and blue above them, the winds cooling and water turning frigid, the sun setting in a fiery ball at the horizon, and Peter finally eased back from an endless kiss to brush his lips along Wade’s forehead and then his cheek.

“I have to go.” he whispered sadly. “The sun is setting and so is our song, it’s time for us to part ways.”

“No.” Wade shook his head, made a fruitless grab for his mer. “No, Pete. Don’t leave me.”

“I have to go now before it’s too late.” Peter slipped away from Wade’s grasp entirely, checking the sky above him as he scooted backwards into the water. “When the stars come out your soul will be fully back among the living, and humans and mers are not meant to love one another. We had a few moments together, which is more than some soulmates ever have. Sleep, my love and forget me.”

“I will never forget you!” Wade jerked up to sitting, pulled his feet from water that was turning colder by the second as the sun went down, and lunged after Peter. “Come back! Pete, wait--”

-- weariness hit the Prince like he’d ran into a physical wall, and mid reach, his arm fell back to his side, his legs giving out and keeping him firmly on the sand as the sun dropped another notch in the sky.

“What--” Wade struggled to even sit up all the way, his breath suddenly coming gasped and choppy, his eyes heavy and leaden. “What’s happening-- what’s happening--”

“Sleep and wake to fully living, Prince Charming.” Peter slid back into the water another few inches, biting at his lip until it bled beneath his fangs as he watched his love struggle just to stay coherent. “I’ll sing you a song to help you forget, and when you open your eyes again, you’ll be safe. I promise.”

“Will you--” sand fell through Wade’s grasp as he tried to keep himself upright on the beach. “Will you forget me?”

“The ocean forgets nothing.” the mer’s face twisted in heartbreak when his Prince’s head dropped back, otherworldly sleep calling him in deep. “I’ll remember every moment with you.”

“...seems… unfair…”

“Fate is rarely fair.” The last of the sun’s light was on them now, shadows from every direction, covering Wade’s feet and creeping up his legs to his torso, to his chest and just before the darkness reached his lovely face and the call back to living took him entirely, Peter blew his soulmate a kiss and murmured, “Goodbye, my Prince.”

A siren’s song rose low and haunting over the waves at dusk, coming to Wade on the wind and swirling through his mind like fog.

He was weary to his very bones, senses clouded with pain that had been absent for hours but suddenly throbbed through every muscle. Every breath was labored and with every one, a little more memory slipped from Wade’s consciousness as the music grew in volume and somehow in sadness.

Good-bye my love.

The waves lapped at the Prince’s feet, not quite close enough to touch, but close to lull him to sleep, his eyes closing and heartbeat syncing with the come and go of water on the rocks, the ebb and flow of the tide, the quiet rhythm to the melody that echoed in his heart something painful and heartbroken and lonely…

… by the time the stars came out, Wade couldn’t remember how the hell he’d made it from the wreckage of the Sister Margaret to dry land. He didn’t know why his shirt was torn off, why his pants were loose around his hips or why his body thrummed with the remnants of pleasure.

The Prince didn’t know why, and in the distance of the harbor a pair of dark eyes watched from afar as Wade looked around in wonder and confusion before giving into the pull of the music and falling back into the sand to sleep.

“Perhaps another lifetime.” Peter whispered as the last of his siren song faded away on the night wind. “Maybe then your soul will be mine, as mine is forever yours.”

Wade slept on the beach, and the seas barely rippled as the mer disappeared under the surface to ease his grief below the waves.

Perhaps another lifetime.

******************

Chapter Notes:

In some comics Wade has blue eyes and blond hair, so for reasons important to The Plot, I used this description for him vs my usual.

Obviously the Sister Margaret is the name of Weasel’s bar, and it also made a perfect ship name.

Uhh help I’ve never written mermaid sex before??

How much do we love demisexual Wade who never really saw the appeal of sex until he found the one he was meant to be with?

Recognize the golden eyes from MTW? Yeah, I will never let that trope die, it’s my canon now.

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

******************

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @livewire28 @tulipsnbigcats @kimstark @alex-stark-rogers @bibbarnes @heeeyitskay @goindownshipping @quietgayguy @nanita90a @justaniche @pumpkin-spidey

#ncts fics #spideypool #mermaid #peter parker #wade wilson #commission

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