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andy-wm · 5 months

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Please love me is Jimin's line today

The hardest few seconds for me to watch, were these...

Jimin was absolutely dreading appearing on screen without his trademark beautiful hair.

We know he left it as late as he could and didn't want to show anyone.

He looked like he was barely holding it together when he called attention to his hair being shaved. He must have genuinely been scared of the reaction he would get, even from Kook.

"It looks good on you"

Jungkook, you absolute fucking LEGEND 💜

He knew exactly what to say.

When Jungkook told Jimin he looked good (even with no hair) Jimin turned his face away <those feels choking him up> and when he turned back, the almost desperate look of gratitude mixed with relief was so clear.

Please love me is Jimin's line today.

This is not about vanity, ego or pride.

It brings home how fragile his confidence is. His need for approval and the assurance of being loved is strong. It’s so heartbreaking, but we know he hasn't had an easy road.**

Thankfully he did stand a little bit taller once JK reassured him...

But it wasn't an easy moment for Jungkook either.

Whether because he had to witness Jimin's fear and could do nothing more than pet his head, or because he was facing his own misgivings (probably both) he looked equally lost in that moment.

Remember that these boys have left their home once before and journeyed to a place that was less than welcoming. They've had to face the grim, disproving faces of unkind critics and a system that didn't support or value them.

I don't doubt there were echoes of that feeling on this day, that same sense of trepidation they've known before.

We know how the military treats men like them.

And then...

we got this:

You can take the boy out of Busan but you can't take Busan out of the boy.

(People say this about my home town too...)

The shadow of fear is still there in his eyes but.... he looks like a (very hot) backstreet thug who will absolutely fuck you up no questions asked.

It does occur to me that MS might be the reason Jimin has been learning to fight.

I mean really learning to fight.

Yes he's probably doing boxing too but i suspect something more than that ... you shouldn't get torn knuckles from boxing lessons unless you aren't wrapping your hands properly, just saying.

If all else fails (words before fists, right?) I hope he can handle himself.

If he must defend himself, and someone (not him) looks like they've had a close encounter with his fists, I saw nothing.

I hope for both of them, their background will serve them well. In any case they will support one another and their love will see them through this. It's exactly why they are enlisting as companions.

🐰🐥

This is no easy journey, for these young men (all seven of them) or for their families, their friends, and their loved ones. Yes, it's reality of life for every person in Korea, but that doesn't make it easier when it's YOU or YOUR person who is going away.

I am seeing them off with an in ache in my chest - I know we all are. But I'm toasting their successful military service, and their quick return.

짠 지민아, 정국이! We love you 💜💛

See you soon, Angels.

** 'Hurry up and be me soon' ...

Some of us know how much it costs to put our authentic self out into the world. The sacrifices you have to be willing to make are huge. You're not only exposing your own vulnerabilities, but the flow on effect for your family and friends is real.

It's a long journey to self love and acceptance...

We know Jimin has been through a number of iterations of himself. He's been through the tough guy phase, the closed book, the siren, aloof and sophisticated, and the gently feminine.

The image he presents to the world is as much a construct as any person's is - and whether you're aware of this or not, all our public selves are social constructs.

"One size does not fit all" for queer people

For cis gendered heterosexual people, society has a few different ready-made constructs you can adopt, and the rest of society automatically understands the message you're sending. Most of them maintain the status quo of heterosexual cultural norms.

For anyone who DOESNT fit those norms, it's honestly never going to feel good expressing an image that isnt really you. Its like trying and make your circle self fit in a square box.

But theres nothing else that's readily available...

You really have to construct your public image from scratch.

When you aren't part of that typical demographic, figuring out how you want to be seen by the world can be an arduous and complex process.

How much do you reveal? How much do you risk?

You'll experiment with styles, behaviours, and social groups until you find a safe space you can occupy.

Jimin's safe space is with ARMY or his members, but it requires looking perfect.

Think about Jimin's hesitance to appear on camera without makeup. How carefully he chooses his clothes - whether for airport appearances, stage performance or out on the street. He usually has a team of people making sure he looks perfect. His hair is a trademark feature. It's always beautiful.

Remember that he's used to EVERYONE LOOKING AT HIM, ALL THE TIME.

Imagine how it feels to go out in public - against your will - with a shaved head.

Without hair, he would have surely felt naked. Plus, he's no longer in the safe embrace of ARMY, and his buffer of security and managers keeping him out of danger is gone.

He's immensely famous, but not universally loved (don't even go there) and bald, and small, and an IDOL, and very gay ... lets go with unlikely to be heterosexual.

No wonder he was feeling vulnerable.

Ngl, it broke my heart to see him so afraid but I'm sure he'll have a substantial group of supporters around him. I can only hope.

💜💛

#jeon jungguk #park jimin #jikook #kookmin #국민 #true love #bts enlistment #jikook enlistment

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sushis-brainrot · 6 months

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What made you ship Eivor and Basim together? What was it that made you feel that they had chemistry? (I’m asking because I’m curious and it’s a bit of a different ship) so I’m wondering what was it that made you ship them in the first place if you get what I mean.

Hoooo. I hope you're ready for another novel. 😶

First a disclaimer: It's important to note that this is my opinion and how I feel about the ship; I don't speak for everyone. Second, I enjoy other ships as well. It simply happens that Eivor and Basim is my favourite. (This is not necessarily aimed at you, ask. Just in general if anyone happens to stumble upon this.) A lot of my feelings about this ship are based on my own observations and interpretation of events. 😌

That being said:

What makes me ship Eivor and Basim?

I adore these characters. They're layered and complicated; beautifully flawed.

And I love the potential their ship has.

Their dynamic - Even if there is an odd power dynamic, I love how they push and challenge each other. This creates an interesting tension, perhaps chemistry, as they navigate their differences.

Gods, the potential levels for angst? It's through the roof with this one. Endless amounts if one wants it. The shared pain, personal struggles, and the possibility of conflicting loyalties and goals........ SO MUCH potential for deep and emotional STUFF. The potential for love and betrayal adds such HIGH emotional stakes and intrigue, like 👀 The stakes! THE STAKES!

Their banter:

I love hearing them talk together in-game. Basim is silver-tongued, and Eivor is a poet. Their word battles are annoyingly interesting because they're both so incredibly smart. I love it when Basim challenges Eivor's world-view, and when Eivor seems able to disarm Basim with her honesty and the heart she carries around on her sleeve.

This fragile trust that eventually develops between them:

Basim tells Eivor of his son and the one who took him away. Something that he hasn't even outright told Hytham. I believe Basim truly comes to care for Eivor, making it that much more bitter when he realises exactly who "haunts" her. I mean, imagine the heartbreak or the potential for growth as Basim would have to choose between his vengeance and someone he loves? How would he feel if he actually knew that Eivor rejected Havi?

Eivor accepts Basim as part of her family by telling him he and Hytham will always have a place - a home - in Ravensthorpe. She knows, oh she knows that to Basim, home is family. And she offers up herself and her own family to him. 😭

Again, the dynamic: Makes my brain go brrrrrr.

They have some of that good good "Don't know if I want to kiss you or kill you"-energy. 🫣

I believe, and feel, that where there are strong emotions, there can be passion.

To me, while both Eivor and Basim attempt to act calm and collected in the face of any storm(Basim succeeding more than Eivor on most accounts, at least until he snaps), they're both very much driven by their emotions and come off as deeply passionate beings. Basim with a thick layer of intellect and calculation between his emotions and actions. While Eivor and her emotions are firmly guided by her goals and even desires, she's much more likely to act on impulse.

I think Carlo Rota, Basim's voice actor in Valhalla, also has a point:

"In watching renditions of Basim/Eivor told with the slant of a love story or rather a lost love story I was blown away. It never occurred to me prior to seeing this and yet it makes so much sense regardless of whether it's Female or Male Eivor. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin..."

Love and hate are deep and potent feelings. And sometimes, it's hard to tell when that line has been crossed.

The ambiguity and intensity of their (potential) feelings *chefs kiss*

EDIT:

In my own eagerness, I forgot to mention the very obvious Campfire Cutscene. 😶🥲 The campfire cutscene just showcases such a soft and vulnerable moment for both of them. Basim opens up about the loss of his son, and Eivor reciprocates by sharing her own experiences. The understanding between them. The acknowledgement of the other's loss. The fostering of this fragile trust.... HNNN. 😭

I like them so much they make me incoherent 🥲😭

#ac #ac valhalla #thought #my thoughts #eivor #basim #eivor x basim #ask #my ship #🥲😭

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hyperbolicreverie · 1 year

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Some musings below the cut on the central conceit of how the plot in One Piece Odyssey works and the one blatant (grumpy and dramatic) exception to how that conceit works:

So the central conceit of Odyssey is that at the beginning of the game the Straw Hats have their abilities and strength removed via an NPC's (Lim) mysterious ability, and they have to go back into their memories to regain those abilities, by more or less doing the same things they did before, i.e. defeating the arc big bad. However, the game notes two important things about how this works:

These worlds they are going to are entirely based on their memories. Lim can't just reach in and fix the problem because they aren't hers. And because they're memories, and time has passed, they're not going to remember things perfectly, so events will be slightly changed. (Luffy's bad memory gets blamed for a lot of shenanigans).

The people in the memories are not real, and will see you as you were when the real events occurred. Basically, they're simulacrum.

We go through almost the entire game encountering familiar friends and enemies--and god, if you want a good cry, go look up Luffy's extremely subtle, heartbreaking reaction to seeing Ace in Alabasta--and no one ever questions the irregularities of what's going on. The Straw Hats, as one might expect, are not subtle talking about the fact that they're reliving their own memories with a slightly different coat of paint. But here's the thing: no one really calls them on it.

Vivi is a little confused, especially about where Lim came from, but she doesn't say anything. Kuzan wonders a little about things when they run into him in Water 7. And Kizaru comments on how fast they seem to have gotten back together at Marineford, considering he was pretty sure they were all separated at Sabaody.

But then we get to Dressrosa. And for a bit, it seems like the same sort of thing. Rebecca and Sabo don't really comment on anything, and it seems like business as usual.

And then Law falls from the sky, immediately starts trauma dumping about his reasons for being there, and passes the fuck out, and has to be carted around while Chopper yells at Luffy to leave him alone.

But here's the thing: Law, as far as we know, never elaborates on his reasons beyond "hey, Doflamingo's brother saved my life, and then Doflamingo killed him" in canon. And that's enough for Luffy, so he doesn't have to. But he's way more explicit in the game, about something he never told anyone, which means they shouldn't be able to remember it.

He also is immediately suspicious of Lim. He pulls a "what's with this sassy lost child" on her as soon as he's conscious, and she gets very defensive.

This Law is a memory. He's not real. Which means the Straw Hats collectively remember him (rightly) as a paranoid bastard with all of the Trauma Warning Lights flashing neon. And they remember he's smart enough to put context clues together.

And then he effectively just breaks the rules.

The memory Law has of Rosinante is so damn strong that Lim's memory magic goes haywire and effectively summons him from nowhere to fight Doflamingo. Lim explicitly comments that she's not doing this, he is, and that's insane. This isn't the real Law. This is a memory. And the memory of this memory is so strong it's able to summon a completely new memory that none of the Straw Hats have. They don't know who Rosinante is. They've never seen him before.

What do the Straw Hats think of Law to give his echo this much power? How much of an impression has he made on them in such a relatively short period of time? (This would also be nebulously chronologically pre-Wano, so nothing that happens there applies. Robin hasn't talked to him yet, even).

I dunno, I realize that this moment was probably more or less included as fanservice, but it opens up a lot of questions. Trafalgar "fuck your rules" Law, everybody.

(Also don't think too hard about how memory!Law got to thank Rosinante and that real!Law will never get that same moment of closure. Think instead about the genuinely astonished look on Doflamingo's face when his dead brother showed up. Or Lim calling Law out on the fact that regardless, Law will help Luffy again and watching him get all defensive about it, the grump).

#one piece #one piece odyssey #straw hat pirates #trafalgar law

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puff-mmd · 9 months

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(this is about yakumo btw, this is what i get for pasting discord messages into a tumblr post on my lunch)

i have been thinking about how him and kaisei met, and how their relationship changed over time to what it eventually became before kaisei essentially kicked him to the curb for ciro, and i feel... a little bad for him...

his parents hated that he liked men and made sure he knew of their disapproval, but forced him to stay at home and finish high school (in their eyes the only thing worse than a gay son was a deadbeat gay son)

but it was pretty tortorous for him for at least 2 years before he finally moved out at 18 into his own apartment. it was a run down, crappy place but to him it was better than being berated at home.

i don't think he even told kaisei that was the reason he got a place of his own though, probably more of a veiled "just wanted to be on my own" kind of thing.

and then i thought about kaisei visiting yakumo soon after he moves out, and that's when they kinda...

ended up being intimate for the first time.

and kaisei experiences his first real heartbreak :')

he had a bit of a crush on yakumo already (they were at least friends in school) and after they did it, he asked yakumo to be his boyfriend. in his mind, that made sense - you like someone, they do something that means they like you back, you should date - right?

....except yakumo was already horrified that he actually acted on his feelings that he's been told for years now were wrong and horrible, and he reacted to kaisei's offer with revoltion. even though he liked it, the fact that he did disgusted him - all he could see were his parents disapproving eyes and hear their vulgar comments running through his head.

kaisei keeps himself together and that he hopes they can still be friends at least, but when he gets home (still thinking he lives at home at this point), he ends up spilling what happened to his mom who tries her best to comfort him.

as time goes on, yakumo starts to take on this "fuck my parents they were assholes" attitude and starts to accept his sexuality, but he's still hesitant about being in a relationship, and anytime kaisei would hint at it, he'd still shut him down.

whats killing me a little is after kaisei and ciro get together, i keep thinking how yakumo feels like he pushed away the one person that did make him feel some happiness. that no matter what, kaisei was there for him - even if he didn't understand why when he always rejected him.

(it's because kaisei craves love and affection so much that he does try to find it elsewhere, fails, and also sees yakumo as someone to fall back on)

.....also it just occured to me that yakumos parents probably found out he was gay because he and kaisei did do some things when they were younger, and i imagined for a moment they got caught kissing and well

one of his parents that caught them probably asked kaisei to leave so they could "talk" with yakumo, so he didnt even realize what was going to happen after (kaisei is still young and hasn't been the target of many if any negative perceptions for his own sexuality - he has a loving mom who makes sure he feels safe, and for the most part people at school still think he's cool - even if some of them in private dont like that he's gay)

and yakumo never telling kaisei about all of that verbal and emotional abuse, and if he ever does, its much much later...;;;

#kaisei #yakumo #oc #rambles #rambling

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philophobicss · 1 year

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I am told that this is the prescribed age of mine for building sand castles, seeking white tulips when extolled by for their own scents teetering in the wind, and colours with brushes when deeply invade through your eyes, not as a destiny to stall the overpseeding car in your mind with the presence of communal absent remorse that has been so lively in your mind and you might be its existential sculptor. To be fathomed, and still esctasy by all the backyards where caterpillars develop into butterflies, as a much deserving victory after crawling over me, and I have been crawling too, but the sludge looks at me with arrogance that I have pondered beneath about his beneath desperately and patiently, a million times. It knows me more consciously than any presence around me when I tend to breakdown, yet it is alleged for its one-time occurance according to some tongues that taste liquor of happiness in rain. I should ask for more friends, or maybe only one that stays for more than one scary night for him, and not to ask for directions of the highest elevation of bridges, from where breathing and suffocating puppets of grief fall and wallop the ground with something in their minds spiraling in similar ways as ours.

This is the age for me to fall in love, not to write about the brook with monsters and humanly creatures—but this is what love has been to me, and I wonder what I have been to love, something negotiable or nothing. (1/2)

I am called overmature by people I thought knew me as their own selves, because I might have opened up my brimming with tales and tears chest, and it hasn't stitched back yet, it will never be, but someone so hectic in kissing other bottom of hearts, not even knocking when passing by my door, won't even care to medicate me with touches over my absolute blister one. I fear I can be blamed for blaming them, either because it's the least last-moment words they mar in the name of admonishment or because it might actually be a truth with lies from prevaricated liars. I sincerely apologize, but I think I will forever be ahead of my meant-to-spend-time in my age, because my spent time has surpassed me to chase missing people that I see every day.

It won't take me 60 years to old crutches and birthdays felt as last, but abrupt calls of sorrow and dissparance from only my life. Tangled my left lovers and heartbreaks into one more neglection of mine, and I will drown in more extremity from writing as a divorced woman to an old man depicting its last manuscript. (2/2)

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charlottedabookworm · 6 years

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The Cruellest Cut - Part 1

I’m bored and my mum won’t be home for another half hour, so.

@hamelin-born @sparklecryptid @distressedherbalist @luxroyalty @snappysprinkledog @theotherguysride

You are all giant enablers and I am blaming all of you for this. The title comes from @hamelin-born , who suggested it and it fits far better than the previous title that I’d thought up (oh father, tell me, did we get what we deserved) so I rolled with it.

Under the cut, have the Cor & Nyx reunion in a verse where Cor is actually immortal and was Ardyn’s Shield. I want to write more for this - and I will, I have explanations and Regis’ POV planned, and Cor meeting Ardyn for the first time back in Solheim, and so much more because this is fun - but this is what I have so far. Scream about this AU with me.

Nyx had heard of Cor the Immortal. Of course, he had. He might never have met the man, might never have even seen him, but the Marshall of the Crownsguard was practically a celebrity in Insomnia. Everyone knew his name, everyone knew his deeds, everyone knew who he was. And he’d heard all of the stories – you couldn’t help but do so when the Guard was so proud of their Marshall. But Nyx hadn’t really cared. Why would he? Why would he care about someone who carried the title Immortal, simply because of his deeds? Nyx had scoffed, the first time that one of the Glaives had brought up Marshall Leonis and his title, had had to fight back the urge to laugh. Because immortal? Yeah, right. Nyx knew immortality – knew it down to his bones, knew it with every breathe he took and every beat of his heart, knew the truth of it in a way that so few did – and no one who truly understood what immortality meant would dare claim the title. People spoke of Cor Leonis with awe, due to his supposed immortality, and Nyx had to fight back his rage at their sheer ignorance. (Because immortality wasn’t great. It wasn’t awesome, it wasn’t venerable, it wasn’t something to aspire to. It wasn’t life. Immortality was everyone else dying. Immortality was watching everyone else fade away. It was war and disease and old age and losing everyone that you had ever cared for. It was funeral after funeral after funeral, battle after battle after battle. It was watching the world change until you no longer recognise it, it was longing to hear the language of your birth again – just the once. It was watching everything that you loved fall to pieces. It was a curse, and Nyx wanted to sneer at everyone who thought otherwise. Because immortality was a battlefield. And it was empty. Because everyone else had fallen) Still, humans – mortals – were idiots who couldn’t see the forest for the trees, who looked at immortality and thought life instead of wondering why. And he couldn’t kill them for that. Nyx pushed back his rage and did his best to ignore the topic every time that it came up – and the Galahdians were nice enough not to discuss it in front of him, especially since they knew that the name brought up far too many memories for their Chosen. Outside of the almost instinctive offence that his title caused him, Nyx didn’t particularly care about Cor Leonis. But he wasn’t expecting the man who swept into the King’s office without a care in the world. --- Nyx had been pulling a lot of guard duty recently – had been ever since he’d doubled back against orders to save Linus Bellum, one of the baby glaives, from a daemon. It was Drautos’ idea of a punishment – take him out of the field temporarily and give him something boring to do all day while surrounded by Lucians – and Nyx would probably complain more about it, but he’s mostly been shadowing the King recently, instead of guarding the wall. And, as much as he hates the Citadel – as much as he hates what it reminds him of, as much as he hates what it stands for (a monument to the being who had cursed his father, built by his uncles line) – Regis is a good man, a good King, and Nyx doesn’t mind guarding him so much. (No matter how much it pisses him off to have to listen to the Lucian nobles talk about his people as though there were lesser) So, he puts up with it – no matter how boring standing by the King’s office door watching him do paperwork all day was. Occasionally he’ll have to step outside for meetings, or the King will want to walk somewhere with Nyx shadowing him, but mostly Nyx spent his days acting as a well-paid door opener. (He’s had worse jobs) However, when Cor Leonis stalked into the Kings office and tossed a pile of paperwork onto his desk, Nyx stopped breathing. There was no way that this was happening. This was impossible. It couldn’t be him – it had been two thousand years. The man who had carried him on his shoulders and taught him to use a katana and who had looked at his father like he was his salvation was gone. Had fallen trying to buy them enough time to escape from the betrayal. Had been executed just as Nyx’s father had. He was dead. (“Go.” He stumbled as Cor shoved his father into his arms, the added weight forcing the two of them passed the boundary of the doorway. Swinging one of his father’s arms over his shoulders – and damn it, Uncle, how could you, the Scourge was already killing him anyway, what was the point in this? – he glanced back when he didn’t hear the tread of familiar boots behind him. Cor was standing with his back to them, sword out and held at the ready to defend them. Nyx swallowed, suddenly feeling like a young child again, being told his mother was dying. “Faeder?” “Go, Your Highness. Take His Majesty and be safe. I’ll hold them off.” The man who had been a second father to him his entire life said steadily, only a thread of heartbreak in his voice as he faced near-certain death at the hands of their own people to protect his King and Prince. He hesitated, knowing that he should go – that his father was depending on him – but unwilling to leave Cor behind. “Nyx!” He barked, and Nyx was turning away, reaching for the furthest warp-beacon that he could manage with his father’s dead weight – conditioned since childhood to respond to the command in that tone, even as he cursed fate and Bahamut and his uncle and the drugs that they had used on his father that kept him out of it. Just before the magic of the land carried them away, Nyx glanced back over his shoulder. “Faeder!” The scream tore itself from his throat, heartbreak and betrayal and grief and loss and rage mixing together, blood splashing across his face as one of his worst nightmares played itself out in real life. The last image he saw of Solheim’s crown city was of his Uncle standing over the body of his faeder, blade stained red with his blood) But the man in front of him was a familiar profile, unchanged from Nyx’s faded memories. His hair was a little shorter, his eyes darker and more shuttered, the way that he carried himself a little stiffer – but the voice was the same. The voice of the man who had talked him through his nightmares and helped him prank his father. “F-Faeder?” The word slipped off his numb tongue without permission, and from the corner of his eye he could see the way that the King had turned to look at him in confusion, but Nyx’s entire focus was on the man who froze at the almost-foreign word. His heart stutters in the silence of the room as the image of his faeder stares at him in shock and he can feel horrible, painful, hope growing in his chest. Please. Anyone, just, please. Let me be right. Let me have this, please. Just, give me this. Please. “Nyx?” And Cor was reaching out, exactly like he had always done when Nyx had come to him for comfort, and he couldn’t handle this. He looks his home in his eyes and shakes, falling apart at the seams even as he throws himself into the man’s arms. Nyx breaks. --- Cor swept into office, a scowl on his face and paperwork in hand. “We need to do something about the western border.” He’s started saying before the door has even swung fully shut, sending an absent nod to the glaive on duty as he stalked up to Regis’ desk and tossed the files he’s collected onto it. They spread out as they hit the desk, showing hints of the data that he had spent the past week compiling. Regis glanced down, keeping an absent eye on him even as the King began to peruse the files. “Daemon attacks are increasing and we’re still haemorrhaging resources. If we don’t do something soon then they’ll break through-” “F-Faeder?” A quiet, stuttering voice interrupted him. The moment that he recognised the word, he froze. The word, one almost foreign to his ears after all this time, made his heart stop. It had been so long since he had last heard that word spoken, last heard the title given to him by a young boy with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. And he had never heard it spoken like this. He’d heard it squealed during tickle attacks and yelled during battles and murmured late at night and yelped after embarrassing moments – he’d heard it screamed as an expression of raw grief and pain and anger and betrayal and loss, as the child that he had helped to raise, the boy who was his son in all but blood, had watched him be cut down by a man that they had all trusted absolutely – but he had never heard it like this. Never heard it tentative and disbelieving and pained and so full of heartbreak and with a thread of new-born desperate hope that it made him want to weep. Cor spun on his heel desperately – needing a proper look at the glaive who had spoken that word with a faint Solheim accent, ignoring the way that Regis tensed and half-rose from his chair at the look on his face – and then he stopped. And he was staring. He knows that he was staring. But standing there, in the black uniform of the Kingsglaive, is a ghost. (A ghost who looked exactly like his long dead son. Who had Ardyn’s facial structure and nose, who had flecks of gold in blue-grey eyes. Who wore the beads of a Chosen of Ramuh and the tattoos of a Galahdian hunter. A ghost who called him faeder and looked at him as though he couldn’t believe that Cor existed. A ghost who looked exactly like he had when Cor had last seen him) He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. “Nyx?” He asked, voice rife with emotions that he had rarely allowed himself to show over the years – rife with surprise and pain and old, unhealed grief and a growing desperate hope that hurt far more than the grief did. This isn’t possible. He wanted to say. You died. But he had never seen a body, had just trusted Somnus – trusted the man who had betrayed them – at his word. It’s been two thousand years. And it had been so long since he had heard that voice – Galahdian accent now far stronger than the Solheim one that he had used to sport – so long since he had seen his son, but he hadn’t changed. Cor couldn’t help but reach out – couldn’t stop himself from reaching for his son, for proof that he wasn’t some sort of illusion – and then he stumbled back a step when Nyx slammed into him. How did I not know? He thought, even as he brought his arms up to wrap them around his son – and this was his son, he was certain of that and even if he wasn’t then the way that the magic of the land was singing faintly in joy would be proof enough. Eyes shut against the burn of tears, he felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest as he clutched at his shaking son – holding him as he sobbed silently into his chest. Never in his life had he ever felt like more of a failure of a father than in this moment – not even when he had been told that his son had died, alone and on the run and in the middle of nowhere. Standing there with his son – his son, the son of his King, who he hadn’t known was alive, who he hadn’t even seen in two thousand years, who was shattering into pieces in his arms – Cor was reminded of just how much he had failed, and it made the breath catch in his chest. Because this was his fault. He had sworn to protect them – sworn the oaths of a Shield to his King, the oaths of a man to those that he loved – and he had failed. Had failed in his duty, had failed to protect them, and because of that his King (his lover) had lost his life – had been murdered by his own brother – and his Prince (their son) had spent so long alone and broken. And Cor hadn’t been able to do anything – he’d failed them and broken the oaths that he had sworn as a child. Almost as though he could hear his thoughts, Nyx looked up at him through teary eyes – loosening his hold just enough that Cor was able to slide to his knees in front of Solheim’s lost prince. Regis made a noise of shock in the background, knowing him well enough to be surprised by his actions, but he didn’t look over at his friend. “My Prince,” he said, head bowed as he glanced up at the man who held his life in his hands through lowered lashes. “I have failed in my duties, failed the oaths that I swore, and it cost you your father’s life. Any punishment that you decree worthy-” “No.” Cor started in surprise as Nyx cut him off with a snarl. “No.” He said, yanking him to his feet again. “You do not get to do this, Faeder. You, of all people, do not call me that. You do not get to ask for punishment. Not when I watched you cut down so that your King could escape, not when I heard tell of your execution at His hands – mere days after my father’s. You gave your life for your King – just as the oaths you swore demanded, just as any Shield should – and what came after that was not your fault. And I will not have you blame yourself for it. Is that understood?” The words were accompanied by a fierce glare and royal bearing and, despite the red eyes and drying tear tracks, Nyx looked so much like his father at that moment that it made something in Cor ache. Still, at the command from his son – from the man who had never looked and sounded more like the Crown Prince of Solheim that he had once been than now – Cor could do naught but bow his head in submission. “Yes, Your Highness.” He met his sons’ eyes and waited for the other man to nod before he pulled him back in for another hug. Over Nyx’s shoulder, he could see Regis looking at them in surprise and confusion and intrigue, and he knew that he – they – would have to explain all of this to the King at some point but. But that could wait. For the first time in two thousand years – for the first time since they had been betrayed, since he had told his family to go, since their betrayer had come with words of his son’s death on his lips, since his king had been murdered – Cor was home.

#my fic #snippet #ffxv #ardynson au #the cruellest cut #cor leonis #nyx ulric #regis lucis caelum #so - Nyx's reunion is a little worse than his one with Ardyn #because Nyx was like 90% sure that he watched Cor die at his uncles hand when they escaped Solheim #the news of his execution was a shock - and then Nyx hated himself for not knowing that his faeder was alive #Cor blames himself #Nyx blames himself #Ardyn will blame himself when he finds out #it runs in the family #I need to write Ardyn's reunion with Cor #This is so much more heartbreaking - because at the moment it hasn't occurred to them that Ardyn might be alive #Cor watched him die - Somnus forced him to watch the execution #And Nyx has spent the last two thousand years certain he was alone #Cor is totally alive due to some mystical bone between a King and his Shield - caused by the fact that Old Kings where tied to the land #angst #nyx is ardyn's son #nyx is cor's son #he and Ardyn might not be married but Cor is as much Nyx's dad as Ardyn is #This is Cor who feels like he's failed his son - who looks at this broken man and remembers the bright boy he was and hates himself for it #you are all giant enablers #and I would be more irritated if I wasn't looking for an excuse to write it

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wr1t3-my-wr0ngs · 4 years

Text

Good Soldiers- Chapter 2/4

Remembering Yesterday’s Tomorrow (In the Here and Now), Part 4 Cont.

After hours of thinking, he has a plan. Not a good one, but this is Umbara he reminds himself, no plan is a good one, only some that have fewer casualties.

If he's honest with himself, he's not sure if this will have fewer casualties or not.

It occurs to him that he could just kill Krell (he refuses to even think of him as a General), and save everyone pain. As an idea it's extremely tempting. But if this is real — and he still has his doubts, but if it is— he needs to be smart. Can't let his uncertainty in his reality keep him from action. Otherwise, he knows he will get nowhere, knows that not being smart will get him a court-martial, or worse.

So, no. Killing Krell isn't an option, not at this point.

Getting dressed is something of an experience. He's done it hundreds of times, knows the motions by heart — almost on autopilot, which is his saving grace as he deals with the competing signals that say this is normal and this is wrong. He'd forgotten what it was like to have knees that didn't hurt with every step, forgotten how much smaller he was. Not that he has any shame over how he changed with the years, not the hair loss, or the aches, or the extra weight. He got old, was one of the few clones who did, and there's a lingering sense of guilt attached to that, but not shame.

It's with reluctance that he slips off his ring and carefully adds it to his tags around his neck. But it's for the best, he's already planning to change things, and the last thing he needs is to raise suspicion. Nor does he want to lose it in the field, where the odds of finding it in the crushing darkness of the planet are close to impossible.

For all that it's a simple band of steal, after two years of wearing it, he feels naked without it on his finger.

It's both hard and easy falling back into the role of clone captain; he catches himself at times about to say something, only to realize that what he wants to reference hasn't happened. Not yet. But at the same time, details are right there for him to grasp. Rules and battle strategies and conversations he hadn't known he had forgotten sit at the surface of his mind.

But there is nothing that can prepare him for the torrent of emotions he feels when he sees them again.

His brothers: alive and loud, cracking rude jokes and swapping the latest gossip.

Hardcase, who died on this planet doing the right thing because the right thing needed to be done.

Jesse, who inspires such a mix of emotions that Rex has to studiously not acknowledge them because once he does, he knows he won't be able to hold it together.

Dogma, headstrong and loyal, who Rex never saw again after he was taken away. Heartfelt sorrow rises when he thinks of the fate of his little brother.

Fives and Tup, and the tangled knot of guilt, pride, shame, and remorse that they illicit. Emotions he can't even look at obliquely, or they undo him. Not even to compartmentalize and examine later.

He's glad he has his bucket and the fraction of privacy it gives him. Especially as he makes his way to see Krell. He doesn't need refreshing on the orders to prep the troops, remembers having relayed them before he had fallen asleep. The clock is ticking. But he needs to know that he can trust his memory, trust in the reactions, and there is no better person to start with then Krell.

Being in the same room as the Besalisk makes his skin crawl, and the idea of showing him any inch of respect chafes. He stands at attention anyway; he has a part to play and will be damned if he makes things worse by blowing his cover.

The conversation goes down almost exactly as he remembers, with some changes. For one, it happens earlier, which means since he hasn't actually learned that they have cracked the Umbaran codes, he has to phrases the suggestion of using the Umbaran craft as a hypothetical — that he thinks they may be close to a breakthrough. The idea is met with all the disdain of the first time, the same feeling that the men aren't worth the mud on the Generals boots, and that the Captain is little better.

He's on his way out of the command center when the Besalisk offers one last parting blow.

"CT-7567, next time, I expect you to remove your helmet when speaking to a superior officer."

His teeth clench, and he forces himself to spit out an "Understood, General" in the most neutral voice he can manage without moving his jaw.

His blood boils all the way to the hanger, the knowledge that his memories (if that's what they indeed are) are reliable makes for a poor consolation to the dehumanization of being reduced to his number.

He tries to distract himself by running the plan over in his mind, but it feels too much like counting a casualty report before the end of a battle, daunting and setting himself up for heartbreak. So he switches tracks and focuses instead on just the next part in his plan: Getting his brothers on board.

Jesse, Hardcase and Fives — he is reasonably certain — will agree once they know that his goal is removing Krell from his position and stopping this massacre. Tup, he's aware, will take a little convincing, but the rookie has a solid head on his shoulders. Painfully shy at times, with a habit of letting others speak for — and over– him, but willing stand for what he believes in when push comes to shove.

The wildcard is Dogma (and even through his anger and nerves, he takes a moment to laugh to himself at comparing Dogma to a wild-anything). Loyal and honorable Dogma, who may not be as much of a rookie as Tup, but is still painfully young and so profoundly dedicated to the cause, he refuses to see the dark truth of the war.

It's a risk involving Dogma at all, and Rex wouldn't be surprised if he's reported for insubordination before the battle even starts. But the same something that told him to lean in and kiss Ahsoka on Endor, that told him it was his time to die, the instinct that told him that waking up wasn't a dream, is telling him that Dogma is important.

With no one else to bounce his idea off of, no experience in this specific situation to draw from, all he has is this gut feeling and the knowledge that last time, Dogma did what Rex couldn't and that it's not impossible to get the trooper to recognize the truth before it's too late.

He rounds the corner into the hanger and spots them. Instantly his hands tremble, and his breath shudders and the emotions associated with his brothers (so well buried by his anger at Krell that he had momentarily forgotten them) lodge themselves in his throat. He takes a second to compose himself because there is no way for him to face his brothers with his bucket on without arousing their suspicion. Pulling off his helmet and tucking it under his arm, Rex briefly lets his hand linger over the spot where his wedding ring rests against his chest, eyes closed, and centers himself, before plunging into the busy room.

He arrives a little late in the conversation, but it seems to have progressed the same without him. It's a relief and makes waiting for an opportunity to present itself easier.

"— 100 megaton yield. We won't even make it to the delta."

It Jesse who notices his arrival.

"Any news, Captain?"

Rex shakes his head.

"Afraid not. We are to proceed as planned."

Hardcase groans.

"Great, another suicide mission. The Capital is too well armed."

"Why does it seem like he has it out for clones?"

Tup punctuates his words with a wave of his wrench, addressing the group at large.

"I think you're all over reacting. Obviously, General Krell knows what he's doing."

Rex seizes his chance.

"That's what worries me."

He considers that he may have over-seized his chance because it's not just Dogma looking at him with open shock; he has everyone's attention. Hardcase looks equal parts proud and stunned, Jesse looks like he can't believe what he just heard, Tup is suddenly engrossed in the mechanics of the ship he's working on (but Rex can tell he's listening, he's holding the wrench backward and not really doing anything), and Dogma...

Dogma looks scandalized, but also curious.

Which...is better then Rex had hoped for.

Its Fives that concerns him, with his squint-eyed calculating look, like the Captain is a puzzle that he only just realized he's missing the pieces too. Concerning, because Rex knows how far this particular brother will go to chase a suspicion or put a mystery together.

If nothing else, it serves as a reminder to watch his words.

Hardcase, unsurprisingly, is the first to recover his voice.

"Care to elaborate?"

Rex opens his mouth, then hesitates, glancing around. The hanger is many things, open chief among them, and hardly the place for this conversation. There are too many people, too many ears around for his comfort — wants to smack himself for letting it happen in the open last time.

"Not here."

He leads them to the barracks, where they all settle in, exchanging glances when they think he can't see them (Fives hasn't taken his eyes of him once, and it's unnerving to be under such close scrutiny by this particular brother). Rex chooses to rest himself against the wall, crossing and uncrossing his arms before sighing deeply. Not sure how to start despite things going, so far, as planned.

"Well?" Jesse prompts.

"This is just talk, understand? If I'm wrong, I'm wrong, and nothing will come of it." He's not, knows he isn't, but he's walking a fine line between plausible deniability and treason and is very aware which side his next words put him on.

Everyone nods, Dogma more to show his understanding then actual condoning of whatever is about to come out of his Captain's mouth, but Rex takes it as a good sign.

"I've had my suspicions for some time now that General Krell is no longer loyal to the Republic."

Chaos, absolute chaos, erupts as soon as the words leave his lips. He's not even sure who is saying what for a moment. Despite the pressing need for both time and discretion, he can't help the swell of fondness that rises as he takes in the scene: Hardcase's shouts that he knew it the whole time. Dogma and Fives who look to be gearing up for a fist fight, leaving Jesse and Tup torn between jumping in if need be to separate their brothers and staying out of it. Its familiar, and Rex never imagined that he would miss it.

It is also incredibly loud.

"OY!"

It would be laughable if the topic of conversation weren't so serious, with how quickly everyone settles down.

"Like I said, this is just talk."

Jesse snorts, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Big talk. What do you know?"

"I've been keeping an eye on his casualty counts, his strategies, his reports, and things don't add up."

Its a half-lie, he hadn't really heard or paid much about the General the first time, only the scuttlebutt that floated around the commanding officer's gossip network. But after Umbara, Rex had dug into the Generals history, read every report, counted every brother lost because of Krell, wondered how he could have been so blind.

"For someone who claims to be dedicated to ending the war in the name of the Republic, his strategies cost the GAR deeply in terms of both manpower and credits."

It goes without saying that the two, as far as the Republic is concerned, are essentially the same thing.

"That's what I've been saying!" Hardcase says from his bunk.

"But, " and Tup sounds horrified, looks it too. "The Generals a Jedi."

"They're still just people." Hardcase points out rather magnanimously.

From the corner of his eye, Rex can see Dogma shaking his head, eyes closed, a pained expression on his face.

He wants to go over, see how the trooper is doing because he knows what it's like to have your whole world view shaken to the core, but his attention is split as Jesse starts talking.

"So, what do we do?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Fives steps forward from where he had been leaning against the opposite wall, punctuating his words with his hands. "Krell has turned traitor and is killing brothers; we need to remove him."

Dogma shoots to his feet.

"What you're suggesting is treason."

"I'm being realistic."

The two advance on each other, voices rising with each passing second.

"You're planning a coup!"

"Against a General that knowingly sends his men out to die and undermine the entire cause of this army? Yes!"

Rex darts in, physically putting himself between the two, a hand on each man's chest.

"Fives, control yourself. Dogma, take a walk."

"Sir-"

"That's an order, Trooper!"

The air is tense as the two go eye to eye, and Rex sees the moment when Dogma realizes that the Captain isn't on his side, and for a second, Rex wonders if the trooper will listen.

"Yes, Sir."

It's spoken with more vitriol then Rex had known Dogma was capable of, hissed and quiet. Everyone watches in silence as he leaves the room, exchanging glances in shock, and looking to him for direction. Rex, suddenly drained, doesn't have the energy for a proper dismissal and vaguely waves everyone off, waits for everyone to shuffle out before burning his face in his hands.

That...could have gone better. Even so, he doesn't think Dogma will report him, but only time would tell what the fallout would bring.

He's on his way out of the barracks when he meets Fives at the door coming back in, who waits for the door to shut behind him before crossing his arms and putting on his "don't give me any karking shit" face.

The Captain's heart clenches. It was easy enough to ignore his emotions when there was more than one brother in the room. But like this, face to face with nowhere to retreat to, he can feel his mask cracking.

It must show too, because Fives goes from stern to worried, arms falling to his side.

"Are you alright, vod?"

He considers lying. Secrecy, especially in his position, is paramount. He dismisses the thought rather quickly, in part because he knows he's a horrible liar. Sure, he can pull off small parts on missions when required, but there is a very good reason he wasn't assigned to the Couricanti Guard. He can't bluff for the life of him, and not even nearly Forty years' life experience had changed that.

But it's not the only reason.

Messy, tangled emotions aside, this is Fives. One of the most loyal and trustworthy brothers he has ever had the honor to know. Who has always put his brothers first, even in the most insane and ridiculous of situations. If there is anyone, anyone, that Rex could trust with his secret and not worry about being handed over for reconditioning, it would be him.

And he is incredibly tired. Not even a full day, and the weight of his secret has eaten away at him. He hasn't felt this alone since his first days on the run from the Empire — before he had found Wolffe and Gregor — surrounded by unknowns, hunted by people he considered family (they didn't stop being his brothers just because the chips were activated, and that knowledge had only made it worse).

He exhales a shuddering breath, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks, and wills himself to meet Fives gaze.

"No, I'm not."

Like that, the dam breaks and he buries his face in his hands. Distantly, he's aware of being led over to the nearest bunk and sat down, of Fives gently rubbing his back through the plastoid (it doesn't do much, but the gesture is nice). He's not sure how long he cries for, but when he's done, Fives silently hands him a rag, and he able to muster a weak smile in return.

After a moment, Fives speaks.

"Want to share?"

Rex hesitates, brain still a little foggy from crying, and mentally checks over what he can and shouldn't say.

"It's...complicated."

He tries his best, details what he can in broad strokes. The end of the war, the fact they lost, him going into hiding, joining the rebellion, his death, and waking back up. He doesn't mention the chips; it's neither the time nor the place to worry about them, and he knows the moment that Fives finds out about them, he would take on that responsibility too.

When he's done, Fives is silent for a few moments, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled and pressed against his mouth. When he does speak, he looks at the Captain.

"There's more, isn't there?"

Rex nods, and sighs.

"Yeah, a lot."

"How old were you when...?"

Fives trails off, and Rex isn't sure if it's because he doesn't want to say it or doesn't know how to phrase it kindly. But he knows what his brother is asking.

"When I died? Thirty-Nine."

His brother laughs.

"Should I start calling you Gramps?"

Rex groans, because if there is one thing he doesn't miss about the rebellion, it's that particular call sign, and gives Fives a playful shove.

"Respect your elders."

They grin at each other for a moment, but the light mood doesn't last.

"So, Krell's fallen?"

Rex nods, and Fives goes quiet once again. In the vacuum that the silence leaves, a question pushes to the front of Rex's mind. He's afraid to ask, not sure he wants to know the answer, but certain that he needs to.

"You believe me?"

"I don't know yet."

It hurts to hear, but he can't fault his brother, because he knows how crazy it sounds, and if the positions were reversed, Rex is sure he would feel much the same.

"But, " Fives continues, "I can see for myself that something isn't right with the General, and if you say that it's because he's a traitor, I believe you."

The ARC trooper squares his shoulders and looks at Rex, certainty and determination radiating off him.

"I'll follow your lead, Captain. What's the plan?"

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