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h3l10tr0p3 · 4 years

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MANGA CH. 284 SPOILERS

OF REDEMPTIONS AND ATONEMENTS:

We all been knew, man. We all knew this was coming.

And godDAMN does it fucking HURT. (oh the sweet sweet angstfest this whole chapter is, just *chef's kiss*)

But i legit cannot put into words how deep the choice to 'Atone' cuts on my bleeding bkdk heart. Let's first take a step back and see how Katsuki went from DvK2 to here- that one keystone moment that has given us this beautiful chapter: And I meant ALLLL the way back to Chap. 252

I have already written a whole-ass post based on this panel, which you can check Here.

TL;DR Katsuki was actually paying real close attention to Endeavour in this part. He came to Endeavour to learn exactly what he was missing as a Hero, but he learnt so much more.

This scene in particular left a momentous impact on Kacchan. Here, Natsuo is resistant to the idea of forgiving his father for all his sins just because he is more involved in their lives now. And Endeavour had been dreaming for a while about a Home where he is not present with the rest of the Todoroki's which ultimately gave him the idea of buying a house for the others to live in apart from him. This is HUGE. This is what actually drove Endeavour's Redemption home- the perfect understanding and the perfect compensation, the two elements of a brilliant Redemption Arc. NOT THE FORGIVENESS, just as Enji says it. It is NEVER ABOUT THE FORGIVENESS.

Endeavour understood that it was his presence that caused his family distress, and although he dearly wanted to be a part of his family again, was even making efforts towards it by being cordial and accepting of Shouto's friends, inviting them to a family dinner, etc. etc. Endeavour realized the only way he can compensate/atone was to give up something that would cause him suffering, and them happiness. The idea that your family doesnt want you, when you just started to show some effort and HOPE that they might see you in different light, maybe forgive you and then to just terminate those ties entirely, punting yourself into a void where NO ONE CAN COME IN AND SAVE YOU FROM YOUR SUFFERING, is exactly what Endeavour did. He is actively shutting down the ONE window through which his family could see that he was suffering, and miserable, and wanted to be a part of the family again. Endeavour CHOSE to not be forgiven. To writhe with the knowledge of his sins day in and day out with only the shrine of Dabi Touya to haunt him every waking minute.

I cannot explain just how much determination it takes to do that, man. It's just- WOW.

Excuse me for ranting on Endeavour in a bkdk post, but I swear this has a point. And All Might says this the best:

This is the fanlation, the official release (which I couldnt get my hands on) also mentions that "When I meant you were like Endeavour, I meant the Change"

This here is an important bit that AM has caught onto.

In the 252 panel, where Endeavour says 'It's not like I want forgiveness' (Because Endeavour understands he cannot be, should not be, forgiven) "I just want to make up for everything I have done" (and to back this up, Endeavour shuts down the one communication link that could have offered him forgiveness, and thus salvation from the weight of his sins and his guilt)

Katsuki understood Endeavour's idea of redemption very well here, although he might not be shown with that light-bulb moment. He may have already known this wayyy before Endeavour said anything, but those words lent a solidity and to the path he must persue to acheive redemption: And it's Not forgiveness.

Let me tell you why I think Atonement is the greater factor here, even greater than Redemption itself. Redemption has an end-point: Forgiveness. But Atonement doesn't. Atonement has no expiry date. Atonement is purely propelled by the understanding of self, and the weight of guilt the self bears, whereas a Redemption is All About The Forgiveness.

Forgiveness is an external force, it may or may not be given to you and that is completely up to the person who has been wronged. Atonement is self-imposed, it is a meditation of the soul to forgive itself against the guilt it carries.

If Redemption is a marathon with a banner at the finish line, Atonement is trying to drag a twenty pounds of rocks through the Sahara desert without water, food or a compass- it's endless, hopeless.

And this is why Atonement is greater than Redemption.

And do you think someone as stubborn as Kastuki will ever find himself atoned of his deeds? No. And That, my friends, is The Point. In 252, when Endeavour says, "I dont want forgiveness" it's not just him saying it- it's also Katsuki. "I just want to make it upto you", is also Katsuki.

And to prove it, Katsuki will never ask for forgiveness. A verbal apology will be nice, sure. Especially since dumb-ass, gay-ass, 'Kacchan-sugoi' ass Izuku Doesn't even See it as Atonement. He is just #Blessed that Kacchan and he can talk almost-naturally again. And that is also Katsuki's intention- because the moment Izuku knows, he won't be able to atone this way anymore.

So, as much as I HATE to say this, the chances of a voluntary verbal apology are slim. If allowed to go on like this, Kacchan with continue to shadow Izuku through his life, worrying about him, LOSING SLEEP OVER HIM :

LOOK AT THOSE BAGS UNDER HIS EYES. /*shoves panels in yo face*/LOOK

Can you believe this bitch-ass gremlin who goes to sleep at 8:30 got bags just from stressing over his Deku??????

LOOK AT HIM DOING A HECCIN' MAJOR KOKORO-STOPPING CONCERN.

(He is flipping his shit because he worries, and he worries so much, and has worried for him for a long LONG time.)

- Katsuki will continue on this path of being Izuku's support.

Forever if it takes.

Forever, he hopes, it takes-

Because the only way he will stop is in death, either his own or Deku's.

This is his Atonement: To undo everything he once did, to support Izuku's dream instead of squashing it; To help him get stronger instead of perpetuating the narrative on his weakness; To protect him from all harm, when he once hurt; To be on his side when the whole world is against him, because once he was all, but, for him; To save Izuku as he wins, to win as he saves.

And, To deny each oppurtunity of forgiveness even as he desperately longs to be unburdened of his guilt.

Because Katsuki knows:

He knows Izuku is that one of a million, he is kind and humble and considerate and loving to a fault.

Katsuki knows that Izuku will forgive him in a heartbeat. That is just the kind of selfless, beautiful person he is.

Unlike Endeavour, who had no guarantee to forgiveness, Katsuki does. And that is what makes Katsuki's Atonement more powerful than Endeavour's. He recognizes it is in his grasp, just an arm's length away...

....Just an arm's length.

And Katsuki will deny himself that. Because he does not believe he deserves it. He hasn't atoned enough for it.

"Keep At Arm's Length"

He says. Because this is the critical distance between them. Not "Stay an arm's length away", because Katsuki doesn't wanna run away from Deku, and he doesn't want to be too far away to protect him, nor does he want to get too close to finally recieve the forgiveness that will give him salvation.

This is the fine balancing act Katsuki must maintain indefintely till he believes he has acheived his idea of atonement. (And when has he ever been happy just the bare minimum?)

I know I said Katsuki will never ask for forgiveness, and a voluntary verbal apology is very unlikely, because in it's very nature, it is inviting a forgiveness from Izuku, which we have established, Katsuki wants to avoid. And if this were any other manga, we would have been doomed to this conclusion. But, there is a scenario when Katsuki might issue a verbal apology and that is when Katsuki knows there isn't enough time to be forgiven in turn, or, hasn't atoned enough and can no longer continue to.

Like when Katsuki launches off, to deliver a final kamikaze blow to a villain, and he has only enough time to tell Deku a short "I am sorry", but not enough time to wait for a reply. Or when Deku is dying and at his final moments, when Katsuki knows however much he has atoned isn't enough and isn't how Deku should leave, without closure.

Whatever the future may hold, my dear readers, Katsuki still has a long, long way to go. And I hope to see him live through everything, to be there -

To survive these wars with Deku, To fight alongside him, To protect him. To win. To save.

To Live.

To hear Deku say "I had forgiven you a long time ago";

and ofcourse,

To forgive himself.

#bakudeku #katsudeku #katsuki x izuku #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou #midoriya izuku #deku midoriya #bnha midoriya #deku #kacchan #endeavour #allmight #bnha spoilers #bnha manga #mha spoilers #bnha 284

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hauntedbythefanficsofmypast · 4 years

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Marinette Cheng-Stark

Marinette is Tony and Pepper's adopted daughter. Marinette and Sabine are actually second cousins, through Sabine's aunt, Liena, who is 3 years younger than her. Marinette was born in China, she is named Marinette because Liena fell in love with the name when visiting Sabine in France. However her mother and her moved to America when she was 5. Where her mother worked under Tony Stark as the head of Robotics. Marinette is a genius and her mother encourages her to learn as much as she wants and whatever she wants. At age five Marinette is helping her mom and her team build robots and even begins making plans for her own robots. She catches the attention of Pepper Potts when she is 7, and both girl and woman fall in love with each other. Pepper purposely stops by to see Marinette whenever she is there and even takes her around the building with her. Pepper loves how intelligent she is and Marinette adores how well dressed and confident Pepper is. Tony eventually notices his PA is constantly visiting the Robotics floor when she has the time, and decides to find out why. He is a little miffed that a little girl is on the Robotics floor but before he says anything. He watches her tell one of the scientists that his math is wrong, he is surprised when the man actually rechecks and discovers it is wrong. He calls attention to himself before asking who's child Marinette was. Liena steps forward a little worried. Tony just smiles and asks if Marinette had taken an IQ test yet, then offers to pay to have it done. He then has Pepper talk to Liena about plans for it while he talks to Marinette. He enjoys talking to the intelligent girl and even talks about how he created Jarvis. Marinette, Pepper, Tony, and Liena all grow closer and soon Marinette is having sleepovers with both Tony and Pepper. Tony also starts taking her to galas and events, he doesn't drink when she is there, and soon everyone calls her his princess. Tony begins to view her as a daughter and spoils her all the time. Both he and Pepper help her discover her love for Fashion one day at a Gala when she meets Audrey and Chloe. Chloe is a bit of a brat but the two girls get along well and become friends. Marinette becomes obsessed with fashion and starts designing clothes. Tony encourages her by setting her up with sewing and drawing classes, and even starts wearing her clothes. Proudly telling the press he was wearing MC clothing.

Marinette is 9 when Afghanistan happens, and she watches Tony become Ironman and shut down his weapons. Liena can't get her daughter away from Tony once he has landed, and he ends up doing the press conference with her in his lap. She teases him relentlessly over the colors of his suit. Tony brings her along to the Maria Stark Foundation gala and charms the cameras while Tony and Obie argue. When Obie takes his arc reactor Jarvis is quick to wake up Marinette who gets his first reactor as fast as she can.

She is 10 when her mother is killed by Vanko and Tony decides to adopt her. At the beginning Marinette is hurt as Tony slowly starts distancing himself while also becoming more reckless. Marinette meets Natalie Rushman after Pepper is appointed CEO. When Tony is attacked at the Monaco Historic Grand Prix Liena starts pulling Marinette away from Tony, hurting both in the process. Tony's blackout at his party resulting in Rhodes taking his suit is the final straw for Liena. She cuts off all their contact refusing to let Marinette around him. After Tony is confronted by Natasha and Fury he is pretty despondent. He spends his time alternating between videos of his Father and videos of him and Marinette together. During this time he finds the new element and quickly synthesizes it. Tony is ecstatic until he hears a voicemail from Marinette talking about the Stark Expo and how Hammer has Rhode is his exhibition. Tony leaves quickly to alert Rhode, however Vanko takes control of the drone and Rhode's armor. During the attack Liena and Marinette get targeted. Liena gets hurt badly while protecting Marinette causing Mari to barely get injured. Vanko escapes, taking Marinette with him, Tony leaves Natasha and Happy behind, determined to get her back. While Pepper rushes to the hospital with Liena. Tony successfully gets control of Rhode's suit back. Both of them fight Vanko and Tony gets Marinette back leaving his suit completely in the control of Jarvis. Jarvis and Rhodes have a standoff with Vanko while Tony comforts Marinette. After Vanko kills himself Tony and Rhode rush Marinette to the hospital to be taken care of. Once she is patched up Tony rushes her to Liena's room. Liena sobs softly cupping Marinette's cheek and stroking it gently. She tells Marinette how much she loves her and that she isn't leaving her by choice. She tells her no matter what Liena will always be with her, she just won't be able to see her.

Marinette is crying as she sits in Tony's lap holding her mom's hand to her cheek. She tells her mom she loves her and smiles at her until Liena's hand hoes liml and the heart monitor goes flat. Marinette breaks out into sobs curling into Tony's chest as she holds Liena's hand. Tony hugs her tightly, Pepper and Rhode both joining the hug as well.

After Tony pulls a few strings Tony manages to adopt Marinette two months after Liena's funeral. Marinette moves in with him and Pepper and barely leaves Tony's side except for when she has school. Tony enrolls her in a private school wanting her to be in the safest school possible, while not at a boarding school. Marinette is far above her age level, however Tony remembers how terrible it was to be bullied in high school. Simply because you were smarter then kids older than you. Instead he has her spend half the day with kids her age, and the other half with a tutor doing high school level work.

When she turns 11 she convinces Pepper and Tony to let her go to Paris with Chloe to attend school. Wanting to be with people that don't know her as Tony Stark's genius daughter Marinette Stark, but as just Marinette Cheng-Stark. The two let her go with Happy, and she promises to go back home for Summer and holidays. She and Happy stay with Chloe at Le Grand Paris. Marinette skips one grade to be in the same class as Chloe. She pendis half the day with Chloe and the other half in the library working with her tutor. The girls both giggle over the fact that Max doesn't realize Marinette is THE Marinette Stark. They spend lunch together at Sabine and Tom's bakery, and unknown to them the class begins to believe that Tom and Sabine are Marinette's parents. The class, not knowing that they aren't even Marinette's Guardians in Paris.

Madame Bustier gets herself into a lot of trouble regarding Marinette. She doesn't listen to the Principal when he tells her that Marinette's school work is just for show. She also gets upset when Marinette goes off with her tutor claiming that it is best for Marinette to remain with her actual teacher. This causes the tutor to laugh and tell her that Marinette should be with them the entire day then.

Madame Bustier tries to make Marinette into an example for the class. However Marinette refuses, causing problems between her and Bustier. She continuously never takes Marinette's side and always places responsibility on Marinette. Bustier at one point tries to punish Marinette for not doing a task that Bustier was supposed to do herself. The next day she and Damocles are pulled into a meeting between her two very pissed off parents. Tony threatens to pull all funding from the school and tells him the Mayor will pull his as well. Pepper tells Bustier that if she ever tries to do that to her daughter again she'll have her job. Bustier finally takes the hint and stops only giving Marinette disappointed looks whenever she doesn't drop what she is doing to help another.

When holiday comes Marinette is quick to say goodbye to Chloe and her father, excited to see her parents after so long. She couldn't wait to spend Christmas with them, however she wasn't overly excited for the galas they'd attend. Marinette designs all their outfits each one with a subtle theme. Tony's Ironman, Pepper's Christmas, and Marinette Paris. Marinette wears her hair in a long braid with extensions. When the press asks where she is attending school she tells them she is in Paris in middle school while being tutored in high school classes.

Its nearing the start of summer when Marinette receives a call from her dad telling her how much he loves her before the phone disconnects Chloe finds her in front of the tv crying as her father falls from a closing vortex in the sky. She leaves school two days early her and Happy immediately on a plane ride back home. When they touch down both are in the car zooming to Tony's location in New York. They arrive right before Loki and Thor are set to leave. Marinette is out of the car before it even stops sprinting past the press, Shield, and the other heros as she launches herself into Tony's arms. She sobs into his neck as he gently rubs her back telling her that he's there and that he's okay and they're both okay. Steve is stunned to see him comforting a little girl and even more shocked when Natasha smiles and mentions that she'd missed Stark's daughter.

After Loki is gone Marinette is still attached to her dad's side even as he introduces her to Bruce Banner. She simply smiles and shakes his hand telling him she's a big fan of his works. Bruce gives her an uncomfortable smile, making a small comment saying that everyone likes him turning green. Marinette wrinkles her nose telling him while she is a fan of that, she meant his other work. She told him that she'd read all his papers and thought they were fascinating. Bruce looks at a smirking Tony in shock; he simply tells him that her IQ was 187 when she was just 7 and the last test showed she was now 245.

She talks about Bruce's work with him as they get in Tony's car. As their driving Tony asks if she got any sleep and she simply snorts giving him a look in the rearview mirror.

The next day the team comes over for breakfast and finds Tony and Marinette passed out on the couch asleep.

Bruce- We got back here, they had a small staring contest until Tony stood up shouting fine. He made them both plates of food they ate then turned on a Star Wars movie before falling asleep together. I went to bed and woke up and they're still there, I didn't want to wake them.

Pepper scares everyone but Natasha and Clint when she speaks up. No one else had noticed her walk in.

Pepper-Good choice I love them both but unfortunately Tony has terrible habits and Marinette took up his coffee addiction. It's hard to get them to sleep. Anyway, pleasure to meet you all. I'm Pepper Potts-Stark and even though you busted up my tower I'm going to ignore my anger and be civil.

Mari-Glaring isnt civil Mama Pep

Pepper-Go back to sleep Bluebell

Mari-ok…

Ten minutes later Marinette sits up yawning and gently pats Tony's cheek till he wakes up and stares at her in question. Marinette scoffs rolling her eyes at him before pointing at the group of heros. Tony grunts and welcomes them to one of his homes before standing up, picking Marinette up in the process, before walking over to Pepper kissing her cheek.

Marinette wiggles out of her dad's arms and sits next to Pepper smiling softly saying hello to everyone.

Introductions go about and Steve asks why Marinette wasn't mentioned in Tony's files. Tony smirks telling them Marinette hacked the files and removed her information. Marinette blushes slightly punching her dad's shoulder.

The team plus Pepper and Marinette sit talking for a while before Tony makes a decision. He offers them all I place at the tower once it's rebuilt. Telling them he had a feeling they might want to stick close to each other for a while.

Marinette giggles and teases her dad telling him that she's glad he is making more friends than just Rhode and Happy. Tony bites back saying that he hasn't heard of any new friends on her side of the pond, causing Marinette to pout.

The group takes up Tony's offer of housing all agreeing that none of them really wanted to be separated from each other for a while.

Pepper signs while Marinette is bouncing in her seat.

Pepper-Great now I have to rearrange the tower.

Marinette- Rearrange the tower? Mama Pep! Don't you realize what this means?!?!

Tony- Here we go again…

Marinette- I have five new floors to design!! Bruce's floor is going to be the epitome of peaceful and calm. Steve's will be difficult but I can definitely tie in the style of his time period with modern day technology. Natalie's will definitely need top of the line training room, amd with Clint's! And Thor I'm going to have to look up Asgardian culture, maybe I should ask Dr. Foster, hmmm.

Natasha- Actually Marinette it is Natasha-

Marinette- Did I stutter? No I didn't N.a.t.a.l.i.e.

This causes Tony to snort covering his eyes with a hand as Pepper smirks. Everyone watching Marinette and Natasha have a mini glare off when Clint laughs.

Tony- Im going to regret this.

@blackmagicforever

@chocolateherringtacofan

#ml salt fic #marvel #iron man #avengers #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous fandom #miraculous marinette #miraculous ladybug #miraculous au #marienette cheng #marinette dupen chang #tony stark #pepper potts

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that-one-weeb-but-starwars · 3 years

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My love| Echo (part 7)

Note: This ones got a lot of small details that add up to one and Its comin along

Warnings: sad echo and shocking information

Reader: Male

Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 3.5 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

"Dad! Dad come on!" Rosyln cheered jumping on the bed.

"Come on dad! It's snowing!"

Echo groaned, "Come on dad!"

Rolling over to his back his little girl jumped into his chest.

"Man you're gettin big." Echo spoke as she smiled.

"Come on! Get up!" She cheered getting off the bed, "Dad's outside already!"

He smiled, sitting up he rubbed his back.

"Okay. Okay." Echo spoke pulling himself out a bed and grabbing a poncho hanging on the end of the bed.

"Yes!" She cheered rushing off, her boots making heavy thuds against the wooden floor as she ran to go meet her father outside.

Pulling on a turtle neck he pulled on the poncho afterwards, still in his sleeping joggers he walked through the house and to the front door.

"Okay Rosyln," he chuckled, walking out of the house and onto the porch, looking around he chuckled, seeing boot prints in the snow.

Following them he snuck around the side of the house, at the corner he heard giggling.

"I got you!" He shouted happily turning the corner but no one was there.

Looking around in confusion his eyebrows knitted togegher.

"Rosyln?" He called out looking around, "Rosyln? Darling? Where are you!?"

"Dad!" She shouted for, fear lacing her voice, "Dad!"

He rushed toward her voice rushing towards the sound of her voice, running around the side of the house he looked for her.

"Rosyln! Rosyln! Where are you!" He shouted, "where are you!"

"Echo! Echo!"

He jolted, Hunter holding his shoulder's, his breath heavy, a face filled with fear and pain.

"Echo! Hey. Hey. Calm down. Calm. Down." Hunter spoke, "it's me. It's Hunter."

"I." Echo started, but couldn't get out any words, "Hunter I."

"Hey. Don't explain it, just. Breathe." Hunter deamanded.

Echo's ragged breath started to slow, Hunter's hands on Echo's shoulders.

"W-when did I fall asleep?" He questioned looking around, the ship still in hyperspace.

"Echo I came in to check on you before I put Omega to bed. You we're staring off into space." Hunter told him, "Echo you need rest."

"No," Echo spoke, "I- Im fine."

Hunter sighed, taking a seat in the co-piolts chair, "You know. I'll never understand what you're go through."

Echo was silent as he rubbed his eyes, "but I do understand wanting to get someone back, when Omega got taken by that bounty hunter... I. I didn't know what I'd do if I didn't get her back."

Echo leaned back in the chair, "I know you lost alot, and you shouldn't have to loose one more."

Echo pulled the small disk out his belt pouches.

"You looked at it?" Echo questioned looking down at the disk, "this?"

Hunter nodded softly, "Y/n's mentioned on it? Yeah?" Echo questioned.

Hunter responded with a second nod, "and...the kids? His brothers and sisters? They must be mentioned on it."

"Yeah,Echo they are." Hunter told.

Echo nodded, sitting back up and leaning over as he looked at the disk he ran between his fingers. Soon handing it to Hunter.

"Echo." He told, "You need to see whats on there."

"No. I just need Y/n." He told Hunted who took the disk softly, "and just a bit more time to think is all."

Hunter nodded, getting up, "Tech, will, uh, switch shifts with you."

Echo nodded as Hunter left him to his own devices.

Hoth was a desolate planet, despite the white which gave it's bright apperance.

The wind rushed passed the cloaked figure as he held onto the hood, the wind dying down as he let go of it.

In the distance as the snow settled stood two figures.

"Norman. Stay here."

The white haired boyed covered by a black thick poncho nodded as the cloaked figured moved forward, the figures meeting him half way.

"Thank you! For coming!" He shouted as the wind roared.

"It is an honor to be fighting with you! My wife, and my second hand! Eleni!" The twilek male spoke.

"It is an honor!" She chattered out, cold as the wind picked up once more.

"Apologizes for the meeting point!" Rosyln apologized, "as You may know! I am Project Rosyln! Follow me!"

They followed the male back to the ship, Norman the young boy had already taken shelter inside.

"Norman, these are the Syundullas, Eleni and Cham." He introduced, the boy in white nodded.

"I am Norman, it's nice to meet you."

The two nodded in response, everyone removing there extra article of chlothing.

"This must be important if one of you're parents sent there children." Eleni spoke, "and such with such a meeting point."

"This...is a different matter. Please. We have much to discuss."

"You may take rest." Tech spoke walking into the cockpit, bur got no response, walking towards the chair Echo was slumped over, sleeping in crossed arms at the edge of the control panel.

Tech let him rest, taking co-piolts chair as he leaned back, datapad in hand as he started looking through what he had copied from the disk. He had figured he would see more resources, more death tolls and ways to die by the new and improved empires hand, and he was right. More imperal codes, new weapons arrays and ways to pass on, most vulgar, violating, dishonorable and disrespectful.

They had already taken people prison, why disrespect them in death as well. The longer he looked- the more confused he became, most files corrupted and named weridly, letters of the basic alphabet. He kept himself up, going through file after file, werid code being written that he couldn't understand or translate, but there was one thing that stood out to him: one time mentioned one time saw: CT in bold the only thing in galatic basic and an attached file of a hand print.

Then it clicked.

Getting up quickly he walked out of the cockpit, rushing to Omega's bunk.

"Omega. Omega!" He tried waking her up.

"What?" She asked waking up, eyes still half closed, "Tech?"

"What is Echo's Friends CT number?"

"What?"

"You know all the CT- numbers by heart don't you?" He questioned.

"Uh. Yeah?" She questioned, "why?"

"Echo's Friends CT number! What is it?" He questioned, "You know the one friend he won't talk about?"

"You mean Fives? Nala Se talked about him once-"

"Fives? Fives what's his name? Why?"

"Well his CT number was CT-5555-" Omega told, "but he died, why?"

"Because it's not by number is by letter! The letters from the files! They spell out a name! Fives must be a key name if Rosyln is Y/n!"

"What?" Omega asked confused.

"But Fives isnt a possible solution- so what does Fives repersent..." Tech thought out loud.

"He made it to Arc Trooper I heard." Omega spoke yawned.

"Arc Trooper?" Tech questioned as Omega nodded, "Has anyone been created to be a higher ranking trooper?"

"Well you know the basic trainning?" Omega questioned sitting up fully.

Tech nodded, "The Kaminonins would add onto that but not genetically, besides clone force 99, not that I know of."

"Not that you know of?"

Omega nodded, "I had top clearance too due to Nala Se. So I seen everything on Kamino."

"Had they ever transported machinery off world? Anything?"

"Yeah a few broken tubes, a long time ago. I found it odd."

"How many?"

"Mhmm...20? Maybe 25?" Omega spoke, "they were odd looking, I assumed they were protoyoes that failed."

"But that doesn't make sense." Tech argued.

"What are you yelling about here in Tech?" Hunter spoke walking back to the two.

"Yeah Im tryin to sleep." Wrecker argued joining them.

"Hunter, these files that have been sent to us have a message incrypted the only possible thing being able to read is CT in basic."

"And?" Hunter argued, "what does that have to with you shouting my ears off?"

"Fives would be someone only Echo knew-"

"Rex would of known him too." Hunter told.

"Yes but Y/n's met us not rex." Tech spoke, "Y/n's met Echo's newest squad mates but not his old ones. As they are separated. They'd be no actual time to interact with them."

"Okay so that's why we went to Zut not Rex." Hunter spoke, "It still doesnt explain why you're shouting over something so simple."

"But listen!" Tech spoke, "Fives has to stand for something, right?"

"Okay but where does fives come in?" Hunter questioned.

"This hand print." Tech spoke, "the hand print is obvioisly gloved and is the size of a regs hand. Something Echo had gotten standing next to Fives, further explaining why Fives is an important person in finding Y/n. Not to mention Echo's the only one who knew Roslyn and Fives well."

"Okay so mentioning Fives does what now exactly. Echo can't understand this! Wrecker couldn't even scribble this!" Hunter argued, "its basically pictures and scribbles."

"Hey!" Wrecker argued as Hunter snatched the data pad showing it to Wrecker to prove his point.

"Hey I've seen this before!" Wrecker spoke.

"Excuse me?"

Wrecker nodded handing off the datapad to Omega, "Echo has markings like that on his blasters."

"Wait, so Echo know's what this is?" Hunter asked.

Wrecker shrugged, "I guess? Hey! Maybe it's like me and Omega's secret code!"

"Oh yeah!" Omega cheered.

"Secret code?" Tech questioned, "that's it! It makes sense! The reason Fives and Rosyln is important! The way it's written like this! Echo's been right this whole time!"

"But that still doesnt explain the Kaminonin tubes." Omega spoke, "Unless there are Kaminonin files."

"Just a few medical documents, nothing we don't know." Tech informed

"Wait. Why would Y/n have a hold of Kaminonin medical document's, he's never seen battle he doesnt need strong medical trainning." Hunter questioned.

"So what? Y/n was like an enchanted clone?" Wrecker laughed, "Good one Tech."

The group looked back at Wrecker.

"What?" He asked, "Oh come on. Y/n looks nothing like us! We don't even have the same eye color!"

"What happens if Y/n's not a clone of Jango Fett. Yet of someone else?" Tech questioned.

"Hey." Omega questioned looking down at the data pad, "I found one combination to those letters Tech. What's Project Star Killer?"

#star wars #the bad batch #star wars: the bad batch #sw: tbb #sw x male reader #tbb x male reader #echo x male reader #x male reader #bad batch echo #the bad batch echo #tcw echo #star wars echo #echo tbb #echo the bad batch #echo #x male read #male reader insert #male readers need more fanfic tbh

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Survival.”

I had a lot of fun writing this one. Honestly being inside his head is so much fun, and I hope you all like it :). Hope it makes you laugh today.

So, I survived….

Surprise!

Not sure how that is going to turn out for me, and as I wake up lying back down in the sand and my right hand chilled from the cool inland ocean, I begin to realize that the awful ordeal I had gone through wasn’t just a dream. At first it felt like it, warm sand below my back and cool water on my fingertips. Somewhere birds are chirping, and I lay there for a while simply soaking in heaven, that is until I hear the secondary explosion as one the aux engines which jolts me upright sitting there covered in sand, my clothes singed, my arms aching from minor burns…. Completely alone.

Looking around I realize that this is not in fact earth, those are not, in fact birds, and I am not, in fact dead and being shown to heaven, but in fact much of the opposite. This is not earth, those look like tiny dinosaurs, and this is honestly, probably hell.

I take a minute to get my bearings before slowly crawling my way to my feet stumbling upright. The prosthetic takes most of the weight as I limp up the beach and back towards the wreckage of the command deck. I don’t expect to get much out of it considering that the entire thing is on fucking fire, but give me a bit of a break, less than a day ago I had been plunging towards a blakhole (or what I thought was a black hole that clearly turned out to not be) sure that I was going to die. In a way I was just a little pissed off. Don’t get me wrong, its not because I WANTED to die, I am actually one of the few humans on the face of the galaxy who enjoys living, but simply because I had accepted the fact that I was going to die. I had made peace with it, I had expected it, but instead I had been thrown into one of the worst warp experiences of my life, rattled around inside the command deck and then crash landed spectacularly onto an unknown planet.

I mean, it didn’t look like any place I Had ever seen before. Sure the sand and the ocean were almost natural, but tall, skinny, thousand foot trees certainly weren't, and neither were the large shelled crustaceans shambling up the beach .

I sighed and sat down in the sand with a soft plop watching as fire continued to smolder at the wreckage of my ship. It was only now that I realized my shoes were gone, and I could feel the sand between my toes.

Then the slight hissing hits me, and I turn to look down at my arm where a glint of bright silver catches my attention.

The iron eye suit.

I hadn’t had time to take it off.

I flexed my fingers watching the mid morning light run up and down the metal.

Ok, that was interesting.

Of course my dumbass had managed to take off the jetpack at some point….. shit.

I flopped back in the sand staring up at the sky. It was all coming back to me now, the entire ordeal from start to finish. The fight with the Kree, the space battle --that was arguably pretty fucking awesome…. Eat your heart out kirk-- and finally my destruction of the ship and my journey to the sort of blackish but not really, hole.

It occured to me: Everyone thought I was dead.

That stopped my musings for a second. What would happen? They wouldn’t look for me…. Would they? Then again UNSC policy held that no man was considered KIA until there was a body. I would be pronounced missing in action though assumed dead.

Someone else would be given command, my ship would have to be repaired, and meanwhile the crew would be disbanded or sent on leave.

Katie, maverick, Ramirez, Krill, Conn, Narobi, Cannon…. They all thought I was dead.

Waffles?

Fuck… thinking about her made me want to cry. Like I am going to be honest here guys, when a dog dies in a movie or when a dog is sad in a movie because their human dies, I don’t give a shit about the human, but I will cry. I will cry like a weenie because the dog is sad.

Like when all three of your brothers are sitting on your right hand side, and you have this magic ability to be water falling out of one eye while the other is dry to save face with your manhood kind of cry, no? Is that just me

Then my family, my father, my mother, my brothers. What would this do to them? They'd be devastated sure… Imagining my mother hearing about my untimely death was heartbreaking, and I was worried more than ever about Thoams. His quiet struggle with heroin addiction, and his recent one year sobriety was a big step for him…. Would my death mean setting him back? Was I that important to him that something might happen? He never dealt with stress well, so what was going to happen.

And… Sunny?

I had saved her life, yes but what had I done to her in the process? I had made her watch me die, unable to do anything. I had made her helpless, a victim of circumstance: something I knew she would never forgive herself for. I may have saved her life but…. I possibly ruined her in the process.

…

It's a good thing my brothers weren’t here because I wasn’t going to be able to do the one eye waterfall trick. This time it was going to be both eyes…. Still mad that that screwdriver hadn’t ruined my tear ducts too, I could have benefited from that.

I’d say I took about five six minutes to myself to be a pathetic bitch lying there in the sand feeling sorry for myself, and then I wiped my eyes manned up and got to my feet.

Alright.

I looked around at the open planet and the smouldering wreckage of my once beautiful ship. There was only one option here. I had to find a way out, or at least a way to survive, so maybe one day someone might find me somehow…. Yeah yeah yeah I get it is unfounded optimism and it is totally not going to happen, but let a man dream a little.

I was going to have to channel the spirit of one of my childhood idols.

Mark Watney

You know from that book about the guy who gets stuck on mars by himself for a year, the one that was made into a pretty good movie with Matt Damon.

I liked both the book and the movie though they diverge a little towards the end:you know, because hollywood.

There are a couple of problems with this plan of course…. Number one being that I am not a super smart engineer botanist. I am in fact, a fighter pilot, and a raging idiot.

I mean granted I did go to that pilot training school where they drop you out into the forest for a month and tell you good luck, that sucked shit, so it's not like I am completely helpless but still.

However, luckily for me, unlike Mark, I don’t have to worry about air, or water. Granted I have to worry about food, but in a different way. I don’t know what here would be edible to humans, so I am going to have to read carefully. THere is also the issue of clean water which Mark never had to worry about, I do.

YEah, I get it, our circumstances are very different, but I think what I want to channel most about him is his attitude, nihilistically optimistic.

I am going to survive this.

I look up at the sky watching as the planet’s rings glow dimly overhead through the blue atmospheric haze.

First thing was first, water, food and a weapon.

Fun fact about my model of ship:It is already ready for a scenario like this and has emergency packs stored under every seat of the bridge. Of course the problem there being the bridge is now on fire.

I walk over to the ocean and cut strips of my uniform to tie around my hands. I know it won’t give me much, ut it is better than nothing. Then I dunk myself in the water. It’s cold and causes me to shiver, but the air around me is warm, so I am not so worried.

I turn and head back towards the ship keeping a distance from the larger fires and heading towards the more smouldering ones. I don’t strike much luck to begin with, but eventually I manage to haul out one emergency pack from under one of the crew chairs. MY hands get a bit singed in the process, and the hot metal causes me to yowl like an angry cat and drop the case to the ground, but at least I have something.

I wait or it to cool off for a few minutes before dragging it back up the beach and sitting down to open.

Jackpot!

I have a canteen (with purifier) one of those filtration straws, to make the inland ocean my cup, and a handy little device that analyses organic material and tells you if it's edible or not.

I love living in the future

I also had emergency blankets, fire starting material, a knife, a flair gun, a radio. This was also along with a couple of other odds and ends like a compass, paracord, first aid kit, inflatable life raft, a multi-tool , monocular, and a box of nails.

The first aid kit included, bandages, antibiotic ointment, antibiotics of the general: for whatever stabs or infects you variety, painkillers, a turnakit, sewing needle and thread, staple gun: sort of, gauze anti-inflammatories, and fuck yes, a razon a toothbrush and some toothpaste.

If i ever got off this planet and back home I was to kiss whoever made this case, man woman does not mater, they are getting a kiss, cheek if they happen to be married of course, but if they really insist I um up for full mouth contact on the person who saved my life.

All jesting aside, this was good, and I first went to go get a drink of water.

HYdrations is important kiddos.

Next I had to tend to my injuries, minor burns and scrapes, bruises that I could do nothing about. Then it was time for a little shelter, which i erected with great ease between a couple of the strange tall trees, using torn up ferns to provide bedding on the inside and a canopy overhead.

I was feeling pretty badass right now, survivor style, though lets be honest, I was kind of lame since I had so much help from the magic box of wonderful mysticalities.

You know between this gox of medicine and the arc of the covenant, I would definitely pick this box first, for sure.

Took me a good day or two to get settled, and I’ll admit it wasn’t easy.

Gathering food was fine, I found some berries and fruits off of nearby plants, a couple of roots that were ok to eat, and even some of the crustaceans were palatable once I cooked them, using my fire pit and laying them out over a slab of discarded ship metal.

But there were a couple things I failed to think about.

A couple of things being

1# there is no fucking TP on this planet, also I had to dig a hole for fear of accidentally giving myself cholera or some nasty thing on accident by contaminating a water supply.

2# bed uncomfortable

3# no sunscreen

4# After a couple days your really start to smell like ass, now hold on for a minute there, I am completely in the habit of washing my ass,I promise, but I am telling you unwashed human just smells like ass, no way around it, greasy nasty sweaty stank.

The clothes don’t help obviously, and I found a way to wash the clothes by rubbing them in the sand and using some sweet smelling leaves.

OF course you know the problem with all that, right?

Naked.

While on laundry day I am completely nude out in the sun on a tropical planet. If someone were to go flying overhead, they would see more than they bargained for, and way more than they wanted as my pasty white ass flapped around in the breeze as they drove by.

A change of clothes was in order, so I spent the day, while my clothes were being washed, sitting on the sidelines using plant material, scraps and thread to pull together a rudimentary grass skirt/ loincloth of sorts

Now don’t think it didn’t cross my mind everyone.

I half expected god to descend from the sky and ask me what I was doing.

This whole covering your junk with leaves thing seems to be a theme for people named Adam

And yes that was a biblical reference, I am in fact named after the first man, so this is a fitting bonding moment for me and my namesake.

The biggest issue of course is when everything slows down, late at night as I am trying to fall asleep, and I realize that…. I may be stuck here forever.

I will grow old and die alone on this island.

And no one will ever know.

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tarajenkins · 4 years

Text

Please no more Square, I am at my (character) limit lmao

"The Light will not be denied!"

I really do still wonder how anyone who played through ShB could reach the conclusion that a child with no Blessing Of Light ever stood a chance against the will of a Lightwarden. And not just any child--a child the Ascians intended to use as a doorstop to prevent the First from being destroyed before the Rejoining could happen, a child whose own trusted parental figure was willing to gaslight and manipulate them for the sake of their own power. A child whose behavior would absolutely need to fit a certain mold to achieve their ends.

The Light corruption of a Sin Eater is confirmed by Halric's arc to be a lot like Tempering. Repeatedly Tempering someone, like Loonh Gah's mother in the Amalj'aa questchain, destroys their sanity. Emet-Selch's own dialogue up there confirms that the Warden essences in the WoL would not only drive them to madness, but violence. Vauthry had the essence of a Lightwarden forced into him before he was even born, and he had no higher power to protect him.

Selch puts it plainly: the corruption of a Lightwarden is absolute in time, even for the WoL. I have yet to hear a good reason why Vauthry’s corruption would have been the sole exception to this rule. The “half Sin Eater” bit is brought up sometimes, but that is just buying into the lies his father told. Vauthry was already an entirely Hume infant. He was never “half” anything. He was already complete. He was corrupted. Tempered, according to Halric’s arc--blaming him for not fighting it is like blaming Thancred for the Waking Sands. It’s not a thing anyone can fight.

There’s also Yoshi-P asking players to ask themselves if Vauthry was really a friend of the Sin Eaters, or was he being controlled by someone.

(On a side note, I could have sworn it was stated the Ascians can't handle Light well, or at all? How did Emet-Selch even do that in the first place? Bad Writing(tm) \o/)

Silence Is Golden:

In a world where everyone rightfully fears Sin Eaters, a world where Eulmorans had fought them and died to them for decades, where those corrupted by fallen Sin Eaters have to be put to death before turning themselves--how would the mayor of Eulmore even explain his son's "gift"? Explain his son having a second, Sin Eater face in his chest? Explain that he allowed his child to be corrupted by a rando in a cloak, with no input from his wife? How did he keep her silent? Besides Square not bothering to give her dialogue, of course.

(Also, there was at least one other Minifilia in Vauthry's lifetime. The Minis all fought for Eulmore, as per Moren's book. How did they miss the Lightwarden now residing in Mr. Mayor's child? Did Hydaelyn know?)

It's such poor writing on Square's part to have left the disturbing Echo of how Emet-Selch “made” Vauthry as a footnote, and even moreso to have Wrenden claim in the hilariously contradictory patch 5.1 that Vauthry's father was the "good old days" of Eulmore. A man that would agree to let that be done to his own wife and child, a man who vocalized such disregard for his own peoples' lives, that was the good old days, really? The mayor who had "unrest" and detractors "stirring up the citizenry"? THAT mayor?

This is how far the writers were willing to go to dehumanize a fat man who had absolutely no consent or control in his “destiny”. And, speaking of dehumanizing--

--Square couldn't be arsed to treat Vauthry's mother like a character and not a convenient and silent womb, so we have no idea what happened to her. (My money is still on the Obscenity theory.) But since Vauthry only mentioned "Father", it sounds like the mayor raised him alone.

What did Former Mayor do when his son had challenging questions about his father’s plans for him, or when the child balked at the answers given? How did he explain whatever happened to his wife? Just how much did "Father" have to manipulate that child's world to maintain the lies?

It’s strongly implied Former Mayor kept his son in a state of isolation where neither his word nor the Ascians' will could be questioned until the child was thoroughly brainwashed to believe, and there would be no questions then. Whether intended by Square or not, Vauthry does display many signs of an adult who suffered extreme isolation as a child.

An entire childhood, with his likely only trusted source of knowledge and solace being someone who was grooming him for a power grab--and all the while, he can’t escape the presence of a creature inside him that drives mortals mad.

One of “Father’s” directives stands out in particular between the lines during ShB, though we don’t know how it came about originally:

Don’t tell anyone what you really are.

Even though Vauthry was given a good reason “why he was born as man and sin eater both", it still leaves the impression he was born because Sin Eaters are bad, and Vauthry needed to stop them from doing bad things--plus hush, don’t tell, people would find his existence bad if they knew the truth of it. Kids ask questions. Kids wonder. Feeling like an outsider hurts, let alone an outsider made of the same stuff that everyone fears. If Sin Eaters are monsters, then what was he?

The fact Vauthry asked his father why was he born that way in the first place indicates the child instinctively felt there was something wrong.

The in-game dialogues appear to back this up. Although Vauthry's "heritage" was supposed to be this amazing thing, the true nature of it was instead lied about and kept hidden his entire life. Seems unusual for a guy supposedly convinced that he is “perfection”, doesn’t it? The fact that Eulmorans never once referred to Vauthry as "half Sin Eater" or a "God" during twenty years of his rule, the fact he only mentioned it himself before the Warden was about to claim him entirely; all well and good his father obviously invented some lie to placate the masses (“born with miraculous and convenient power” was all it took), but how did maintaining that lie, hiding who he really was, read to Vauthry all those years?

During ShB, he still seemed to keep to the isolation he likely always knew. He never left that room. The citizens came to him when they wanted something, but it was never implied or shown he sought social contact on his own. Nothing was scaled to him, utensils, glasses, plates, etc.--as though he refused to single himself out as different from everyone else.

He called the Lightwarden’s awakening a “trial” to be embraced during Crown Of The Immaculate. Odd that someone supposedly convinced of his godhood would ever think he needed testing--but it makes perfect sense in the context of someone who always felt they needed to prove that they were worthwhile.

He was proud of his power to protect his people, and proud of the paradise he built for them, but he didn’t want Alphinaud to paint a picture of him, he wanted a painting of the city. There were zero paintings or other monuments to himself in Eulmore. Lot of people in the fanbase speak of him being vain, yet he seemed to not want to be seen unless he had to be--almost as though, even toward the end, even through all the bluster, he still read being “half Sin Eater” as wrong.

With that in mind, there didn’t seem to be much evidence to even tell Vauthry he was born because he was wanted. He was born because his ability was needed. If not for his father’s ambition, however sweetly that may have been disguised, then to defend Eulmore against the monsters he was a part of. His ability was needed, not even him specifically--and the Eulmorans, with all their wishes and dreams to be fulfilled, could easily enforce the belief on the child that who he was didn’t matter, what he may want did not matter, only what he could do for others mattered. And what he did for them wouldn’t matter if they knew the truth of him. What a terrible, conditional ”love”. It could explain why he was so cynical about human nature. (Even though his predictions about human nature in the face of a dying world 110% came to pass in the Black Rose timeline. 6_9 gg G’raha)

Yet despite all this, Vauthry needed to be convinced he was doing good for the shattered world. He needed to be convinced what he was doing was right, despite having power enough to not care. If Amaurot was Utopia, then Eulmore reminded me very much of Ursula K. LeGuin’s Omelas--a paradise, at the cost of one child’s eternal suffering.

Food For Thought (and Bad Writing(tm)):

A lot of people have a boner for the cannibalism implications of meol despite the bad math behind it, but fucking meol, how does it work?

Sin eating historically was to cleanse one who has passed on of their earthly sins that they may find peace in the afterlife--this was done in different ways by different people, but one of the best known methods was ritualistically baking the sins of the dead into bread or cakes and consuming it. Yoshi-P has even said he thought of meol as a sweet bread. Quest text from the Unfulfilled Forager in Gate Town further backs up that meol is not meat-based:

(By the way, nothing was keeping this man from hunting a shit-ton of meat that was literally within walking distance.)

It suggests Vauthry could have been taught that by eating the sins of the world, a.k.a. Sin Eaters, a.k.a. meol (which in the Japanese version, was something he was apparently afraid of doing?) --he was saving someone’s soul.

“And for thy peace I pawn my own soul. Amen.”

In reality, there would be a point Mr. Mayor would not know how to feed the Warden forced on his child. Humes don't have a natural method of feeding on "living aether", yet the Warden would not reach its full potency without it. Making meol could either involve an instinctive act on the Warden’s part, or it was taught--and that seems very much beyond his father’s area of expertise, OR Vauthry himself, so I’d almost wonder if the Ascians had a part in it. But like mixing medicine in a favorite food, theoretically, the aether provided by meol would slowly build up. And as the Warden grew in power, it would need more, and more. It would explain that final “powerup” before Mt. Gulg.

Provided Sin Eaters have any living aether left. They never explained that bit. Sin Eaters have no bones, no blood, no meat, nothing but Light. We saw enough of them dissipate into the air, including in cutscenes. Even Tesleen, very recently turned, faded. There is nothing else to them but Light...and there should be nothing left but that “blank perfection”, the Eater would have ate the rest? So where is the “living aether” they require to survive?

Fresh-sliced sneater wing, empty as the plotholes of this arc.

I could buy him turning people into Eaters directly, but then what was the point of the bread?

That’s right folks, meol still doesn't make sense, surprise! Also: so many people in one city allegedly being "disappeared" over twenty years, from a stagnant population, to “feed” everyone every day--yet no panic, not so much as a hushed whisper about it? Eulmore is supposed to be the safest place anywhere -- no idea how it could gain that reputation with that theory. Square wrote Eulmore like it existed in a vacuum, no one knowing no one. The lack of depth is still jarring, three playthroughs later. Only one unreliable narrator of an NPC (Thoarich) even hinted this theory, to boot.

Side note I thought was strange: you never see any of the normal food in Vauthry’s chamber actually eaten, it’s all untouched. I wonder if the Warden somehow eventually affected his ability to tolerate the food a Hume would normally eat.

That said, his “mind control” of the populace was laughably ineffective, so I wonder what even was the point of feeding them meol. Perhaps it was again the Lightwarden instinct to create more of its own kind. Nothing else seems to fit. “Oh no, this Eulmoran is staggering randomly around, muttering about Vauthry! How can we survive this onslaught?” Yyyyeah no, lol. Alphinaud confirmed the Eulmorans were acting of their own free will until that final showdown, so the mind control seemed to be a panic move--I wonder if it was even took conscious effort at that point, or just another instinctive SOS from the Warden. Given his father’s trouble with the smallfolk, I have to wonder if it was Former Mayor’s idea, if there was a real reason behind it. Not a reason that would make good sense, but nothing in this arc does make good sense, so.

The thing is, meol was an optional dish. No one was forced to eat it. So Vauthry must not have been relying on controlling or turning anyone.

But despite the fact meol defies their own game logic, Square really did seem to relish hinting at the dehumanizing, Austin Powers “haha fat guy eats people” trope anyway, and seriously. They could do better than that--I hoped they’d BE better than that. But here we are, the company that is supposed to go so hard against harassment takes an easy target and encourages a very specific negative response to it. This is the reason I believe Eulmore was such an inconsistent arc--they almost entirely depended on Vauthry’s appearance to carry the weak narrative, explaining very lttle of his actual motivations because that would ruin their weak-ass “gotcha” that he was the Lightwarden of Kholusia. Of course he’d be evil, just look at him! Right guys? Look! He’s fat!

Just as they used nothing but thicc’qotes in the trailer to try establishing the evils in Eulmore. Thicc’qotes eating fresh fruit whilst having pleasant conversation is the root of it all in Square’s eye; not a noblewoman who tried to have her maidservant murdered, not the nobleman who pushed his bodyguard over the rails, or even that asshole on the balcony laughing about splitting someone’s head like a melon. No, fatness is the real wickedness. Square was full of shit for this one and it shows when looked at with even a little critical thought. I don’t know what I expected of someone who requested a human “Jabba The Hutt” to be the last-minute midboss, someone who looked at a heavier Lakshmi and said “that’s not cute”, or a jackass who told a cosplayer they needed to lose weight onstage at FanFest 2014.

Even more disappointing? All these questions here, all these inconsistencies? For the majority of the playerbase, “he’s fat” was good enough. The Ascians get a million thoughtful theories. One of their victims? The playerbase thinks he manifested from the womb as you see him in game. They don’t stop to think of what it implied, to be born corrupted and groomed as a tool not only for Ascians, but his own father. They avoid the fact the fandom darling directly violated a woman and child’s bodily autonomy even as they insist on Vauthry taking absolute 100% responsibility for everything he was made specifically to do. And there’s just one difference between him and literally every other villain in this game, aside from the fact he had no choice. Yeah. As much as some players hate to hear it, if Vauthry had swapped models with the fandom darling, we wouldn’t be hearing justifications for mass murder/dictatorships/skeevy noncon. We would definitely be hearing how Vauthry was used, though--and how tragic his story is.

Some players bring up Dulia-Chai as though she somehow counters all the bodyshaming bullshit elsewhere. It doesn’t. She was still in place along with all the other thicc’qotes as Square’s fucked-up shorthand for excess and indolence. I had to learn she kept books for the Stoneworks in optional dialogue. Maybe if she didn’t talk about cakes and such so much, but I mean, that’s what fat people do, right?

So if you’re laughing at fat men, we fat women know you’re actually laughing at us, too. Git gud or stop embarrassing yourselves.

“Tyranny”, aka you keep using that word, I don’t think it means what you think it means:

Whatever the Ascians did to make sure Vauthry’s "Ascension" was a time-release event, the "madness and fury" clearly had taken him when we met him in Shadowbringers. Punishments for those having broken the laws of the city changed from exile into vicious death sentences. Suddenly the God talk, where not even Alphinaud had heard that. It really makes a case that Vauthry was slowly declining into madness the longer he was exposed to the Warden--in fact, Thancred sort of confirms it, during the trailer: “This town certainly has changed, but not at all for the better.” He was only on The First for five years.

Vauthry likely had no introspective dialogues because much of who he actually had been was already gone, and the player is left with his remaining drive to do “good” and “justify your existence” wrapped around the instincts of a Lightwarden.

Yet a lot of things remain that really contradict the "bones of the poor" narrative the writers were trying to push about the city, and many times I felt a real disconnect between what our party was saying and what Eulmore was actually doing. A lot of it implies that, despite the Warden utterly subverting Vauthry as per the hard rules of Tempering, there was benevolence at work, once. The Minstreling Wanderer said that he could not say whether Vauthry was wicked in his youth, and I take this as a sign he was not.

First off, let’s just get this out of the way: The Crystarium also expected you to work for the city in some form if you were expecting to stay there.

”Layabouts”: a people who were the main line of defense against the Sin Eaters for all The First for eighty years, until the futility of it, and all the loss, broke their spirits entirely. Just another sample of how Square intended Eulmore be shown as fat=lazy, despite their own lore--until Square was lazy themselves and didn’t finish the thicc’qote models so Eulmore would be exclusively fat bodies as shown in the trailer.

The narrative often fudged with writer omnipotence regarding the protagonists, pressing to cast Eulmore in a negative light because they’d given up hope, even though loss is so important in excusing the Ascians’ actions. Our party had the WoL, whom they knew not only had a good chance of defeating Lightwardens, but G’raha seemed to know the WoL could contain them. Your average native inhabitant of the First would not be far off the mark feeling hopeless about the world, though, because they didn’t know about these extraordinary circumstances. Most of their oceans were lost in the Flood, and that in itself, realistically, is a death sentence. It’s all well and good G’raha was so perky and hopeful, and all well and good the game contrived a convenient deus ex machina to fix the issue (they never really addressed the issue anyway), but none of the locals could know any of this. I can see why Eulmore would think the Scions were full of shit, because for 80 years after the Flood, Eulmore tried to stop the Sin Eaters and could not. Honestly, I expected more sympathy for the Eulmorans, because they had been the front line for so long and lost so much. But lol fatties amirite?

Now, Square tried to dabble in many other Enlightened Social Commentaries with Eulmore, but immediately contradicted themselves so many times I was constantly asking myself why Alphinaud was being so goddamn extra dramatic. Gate Town/The Derelicts:

Not at Eulmore’s hand, Alphinaud honey, you can’t solo farms or communities. The people who remained behind were borked over by the ones who left. What are you even trying to say here, Square, help me out. Generosity--”largesse”-- is bad? Abandoning what you have, all others be damned, for something you were never given a promise of receiving....good? Sympathetic? Seriously, what is your point here, Square? How does this equal Eulmore being malicious? How does this not make the bulk of Gate Town hopefuls a bunch of dipshits? Wright is in sight from Gate Town, but no one ever thought going there might be better?

If Square meant for Eulmore to seem a prison for the “poor”, they did a shitty job of that, considering: 1) A big point about Gate Town was that the people staying there left viable homes, farms, and communities for a chance at getting in, a chance that was never guaranteed by anyone, and they refused any alternatives Alphinaud offered them, plus

2) No one was keeping anyone from leaving if they wanted to. No guards, no masked vigilantes, no rando singing Hotel California in your ear.

So ruthless a prison, there were not only invisible guards holding you against your will, there was an Amarokeep waiting in the Derelicts to whisk you away for 70 gil so you can pretend to make a daring escape, straight to the freebie Amaro that will take you to The Crystarium. Tell your friends! Tell Alphinaud! He will literally buy anything this expac.

- “Young Kai-Shirr” getting into Eulmore was never a “matter of life or death”, and I can’t tell if that was Alphinaud being pretentious again or the writing was just that bad. Kai-Shirr was offered work at the Crystarium and he refused it, “it has to be Eulmore”. How is that on anyone but him? (Plus why does no one ever question Kai-Shirr’s complete lack of caring for why Alphinaud wanted in, if that was true? Was Kai-Shirr then not dooming Alph to “death” instead when he robbed him? That’s not very cash money of him.)

This isn’t “life or death” either.

Neither is this.

Nnnno.

Considering Stilltide reported they have fish for all, and Wright’s trouble was not enough people, this is not only not “life or death”, but fucking creepy. Hopefully this better illustrates my confusion of what we were being told vs. what we were being shown in Gate Town/The Derelicts. d( ᐖ )

- The citizens In Gate Town/The Derelicts were not at the mercy of a "contest" to be let in. It was shown to be literally a help wanted board with jesters, and the “contest” was “do you have this certain skill someone is looking to hire”. I guess the Crystarium will hire a fishmonger to do the work of a chirurgeon or something?

The jongleurs were otherwise just "rule of cool", I guess--although the significant look the Red gave us, followed soon after by Emet-Selch’s lurking outside the Offer, made me wonder if they were not acting as monitors on Vauthry for the Ascians.

- There was at least one person in the Derelicts from the Crystarium, looking to make a quick gil on the extravagant “refuse” of the city, and several locals were doing the same. I guess those “layabouts” inside the city had their uses after all, Katliss.

- Meol was not the only food given to those outside the city. Produce and such that was not “pretty” enough for the fussy free citizenry was distributed to those camping the outskirts.

I’d have expected a “tyrant” to let that produce rot. Catty in Stilltide confirmed there was enough fish for everyone living there, and Zia-Bostt above seems to back that up. Game in the field was also aplenty even in terms of map mechanics--this was not some form of forced famine to hold the smallfolk in a state of dependence. Eulmore was still paying the villages for produce.

So much for the exploitation of big, bad Eulmore!

Again, Alphinaud himself bemoaned how the people were there of their own choice, and how they refused any and all alternatives he presented them with. The people in Gate Town wanted to wait for Eulmore, they left their own homes and farms freely for Eulmore, screwing over their neighbors in the process--and that is not Vauthry’s fault, that is on them?

Hurricane Florence left my husband and I homeless a while. You do not fucking pass up sure shelter and work and food to wait instead for a nebulous chance at Hollywood or Las Vegas--and if you do, that’s all your own tomfoolery, that’s not “injustice”, no BONES OF THE POOR required. It’s common sense, Square, goddamn lol

The Free Citizenry:

- The rich would not be permitted into the city if they did not give up their wealth for the benefit of all living there. This was a condition for the rich only. There is zero indication those funds were being put into Vauthry's pocket; it ran the city, and both free and bonded enjoyed the results (there seemed far more bonded residents in Eulmore than free, to boot.). There's a policy that would never fly in at least two allied citystates, lol.

It raises the question, if Wrenden and Former Mayor were so damn equitable, how were there even rich to begin with? There’s an old noble in Vauthry’s Eulmore who apparently does not know how to tie his shoes without a servant--a.k.a., the idle rich existed before Vauthry even came into power. The dialogue of Vauthry’s father also made it seem that these were systems in place long before he his son was even born -- except Vauthry’s system did not allow their hoarding of wealth, and distributed it instead to the benefit of everyone in the city. It was also a system that was so satisfactory, both free and bonded citizens became loudly dissatisfied after he was gone.

- The rich were the only ones guaranteed “Ascension”, and if you want to call that a perk I’m going to assume it’s because the entire system relied on their dosh--technically, they already did their “work” for the city. (”Buying a stairway to Heaven”, as it were.) So much for those "bones of the poor", Alph. Statistically, if bones built Eulmore, it was the bones of the rich.

Until Gaia, Ascension was only mentioned twice, but again, no real context was given. (jfc Square, we shouldn't have to buy an overpriced lorebook for this.) First time was the Weeping Warbler chain. Going by the quest dialogue, it sounded very much like something offered as mercy to terminal illness or otherwise impending death, as the Warbler's creepy patron lamented how he almost wished he could hasten his own to join her (btw, the right answer to that poor girl's fear that she'd be a burden more than a treasure was "YOU ARE MORE THAN YOUR VOICE”, asshole. >:| ). Players at the time were legit “oh that poor old man, she’s like his daughter :CCCCC” Ahahaha oh my sweet summer children

Either way, "Ascension” was definitely implied to be entirely voluntary. It was implied there were even rules and conditions to be granted it. And Vauthry did not seem to push anyone towards the idea, it was just there. (If it was for terminal illness, though, consider the following: Thoarich seemed confident the Warbler would live, but may lose her voice. If you have to be terminal to be Ascended, ironically Vauthry may have refused her patron's request.) The second mention was from Vauthry himself, for his “trial” when the Lightwarden awakened--so he certainly, tragically, believed what he claimed it was. The Bonded Residents:

- Even at his worst, there is no indication that the free citizens were encouraged by Vauthry to abuse their workers; in fact, the Amiable Maiden and her Ardent Attendant implied heavily that appreciation and respect for one's bonded was the ideal that was pushed by Eulmore, that "love for one's fellow man".

At no time were the bonded residents “slaves” (a new accusation from Twitter). They were “bonded” to the patrons who hired them by a work contract, and they sought those jobs willingly. No one kept them from leaving Gate Town, only kept them from getting in without a work arrangement--again, a prerequisite the Crystarium also had according to Katliss. The bonded residents were paid, and apparently paid well.

As the WoL, we were also bonded to the Chais, and were able to come and go later. It was like the writers knew they needed to sit the fence so the free citizens would be redeemable enough to help with the immersion-breaking giant Talos plot later, and so never pushed Eulmore to the evils they talked about but never showed--leaving behind the most disconnected, self-sabotaging arc I’ve ever seen from this MMO.

An evil slaveowner at work.

Alphinaud rewarded for being an agreeable yet melodramatic young boy.

- The bonded we met who fled Eulmore had fled their patrons, not Vauthry himself--even the Warbler thought Vauthry a “great man”. No one in Eulmore feared him.

- Tristol’s “grave sin” to be patronless and penniless was contradicted by Fathana, whose patron had died some time ago, and yet she remained in the city without one to help new workers--because her patron had been so kind to her. The clerk whom you first speak to upon entering Eulmore even says that if you are “fired” or otherwise lose your patronage, you can try to find another patron to remain in the city or work as a general laborer like Fathana until, presumably, you do find another patron. Or maybe you don’t even need a patron, and you are allowed to stay as your own boss at that point, she certainly was.

Since the Chais helped us leave the city, I’m not at all sure why they didn’t do the same for Tristol, especially if Vauthry’s violence was a well-known thing. It’s almost like violence from Vauthry wasn’t expected, and they’d never think that would happen. I mean, some recent time ago, Vauthry only exiled thieves from Eulmore.

(Hell, Square may have even fudged Tristol’s punishment, implying Vauthry had ordered him tossed off the balustrade of The Offer. Vauthry’s balcony appears to be the one directly above The Path To Glory, right above the gates into Eulmore. There doesn’t seem to be ocean nearby at any realistic distance or angle from that balcony. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

- Laws that we saw in effect were for the benefit of patrons and bonded citizens alike. There was nothing to suggest those laws were unreasonable, either. The punishment became fuck no unreasonable (though as I pointed out earlier, the punishments seemed to ramp up in violence the longer the warden was part of him, from exile to a literal pound of flesh, much like Titania went from a benevolent ruler to Jumpscare Prime). But fraud being a crime is sort of expected anywhere, and creeps at the Beehive should not touch dancers unless dancers consent, lest they get the bouncer. ( another strangely thoughtful law for a “tyrant”. )

- The bonded residents inside seemed much happier with their lot than Alphinaud’s dramatic assessment, which was also confusing as hell.

- Entire families were allowed to enter if one member was hired. Alphinaud was able to drag us along with a minimum of fuss as his “assistant”. Vauthry’s definition of how one “gives” to Eulmore was not based solely on traditional work.

- Bonded residents were not afraid at all to speak of bending rules for perfect strangers when offering drinks to us, so Vauthry wasn't out prowling for blood 24/7 like an Inquisitor trying to fill their heretic quota. Not only was Dulia-Chai not afraid to go calm him down at the height of his rage, Chai-Nuzz didn't freak out at the idea she'd do it. Nuzz. Wasn’t nervous. Yeah, let that one sink in 9_6

The only time Vauthry acted seemed to be when an issue was brought forward directly to him. Otherwise, it seemed like standard Lightwarden behavior: stasis, until presented with a real and immediate threat to itself, which in Vauthry’s case was a threat to the order of his city, or the ones killing Lightwardens.

For allegedly being aggressive against Kholusia's neighbors, Vauthry seemed to have taken the Crystarium's refusal of his offer to lead them back in the day really well, as in, he did jack shit in retaliation and accepted it. In fact, he was so warlike, Emet-Selch was surprised Vauthry would move that army, even for a very clear threat against fulfilling the false destiny Emet-Selch forced on him.

While on the subject of aggression, the people in Amity have dialogue indicating they feared Vauthry would send the army after them--which he obviously never did, in all 20 years of his reign.

- “No one leaves” except hey whoa there hi, Lue-Reeq, who comes and goes as he pleases. Plus that bonded resident who came to Wright looking for ale. Plus us, also bonded residents, because Dulia-Chai once again had nothing to fear from Vauthry.

Also anyone who was exiled previously. For supposedly wanting to keep people inside Eulmore, Vauthry sure was terrible at doing it lmao

GCBTW: I'd really love to see Square and Alphinaud be similarly vocal and insistent with the actual horrors our own Allied city-states commit without the corruption of a Lightwarden in play. The selective outrage/pearl-clutching is really immersion-breaking.

Ishgard: “Highborn” genuinely exploiting the “lowborn” every other sidequest to this day. Genocide of the Au Ra. At least two FATEs, one job quest, one lorebook entry, and one dungeon indicate Ishgard has fucking disgusting levels of rape carried out by figures of authority. Rent is being charged for people from the Brume--the homeless, destitute people in the Brume--to live in the Firmament, but they can arrange payment plans! And this was all talked about while one of them was shivering in the cold nearby. What, can't the highborn be arsed to share what they have? Eulmore is the height of wickedness because they couldn't cram an island full of people into one tower, but Ishgard's our pal even though they can't manage to make space in their mansions for one small area of one city. My God, Vauthry had FOOD in his chamber, shame!--but that's okay, Aymeric, you rock that extravagant dinner spread in the dating sim cutscene. Maybe the Brume can fight over the Ishgardian Muffin crumbs.

(Yes, I know, Vauthry had more food than that in his chamber. He’s also approaching fifteen-plus feet tall. Proportionally, the food in his chamber would be the equivalent of you or me living on cocktail peanuts and thimbles of water. Once more, Square was so fixated on fatphobia they didn’t do the fucking math.)

Doma: “Hey yeah look guys I know child trafficking is bad but let’s just smile and nod at this guy who did it to Yotsuyu and give him a different post, okay? Okay. Remember to be polite. We will never speak of this again.”

“Let me laugh about your beliefs and call them bullshit while I angle you into a war that isn’t even yours, Xaela tribes.” Gridania: Lets people straight up die if the “elements” tell them it’s okay. Exiling a child for stealing a bag of flower seeds is normal and totally not at all fucked up. Open and accepted racism against the Duskwights with no sign of Kan-E-Senna saying fucking stop that shit.

Ul’dah: Human trafficking. Child trafficking. Human lab rats. Using prisoners for blood sports. The Syndicate living it up in finery, giving exactly nothing to people living in the streets. Notoriously corrupt Brass Blades. More implications of fucking disgusting levels of rape. Turning away the Doman refugees when they literally had nowhere else to go and nothing left. We smiled and nodded when Godbert said people mustn’t be given charity, they must work for their own good.

Limsa Lominsa: Fucks over the “beast tribes” at every opportunity, then complains they summon Primals.

But remember, folks, it was Vauthry’s Eulmore that was the real evil we had to desperately move against. Not the newer, capitalist Eulmore that didn’t feed two guys from Wright because they couldn’t afford it, shoosh those “bones of the poor” don’t count. The writers tried to retcon a lot in 5.1, it seemed--suddenly, it was implied people were forced to leave villages, conscripted, etc. Except the people were still there to tell us otherwise in 5.0, and there was still no sign of any Eulmoran forces keeping them in Gate Town. We went from Alphinaud demanding the free citizens take responsibility for what they’d done in Eulmore to posthumously blaming Vauthry’s “bad influence” for everything up to and including a noblewoman’s attempted murder of her maidservant, because the noblewoman’s husband was creeping on the girl.

Which leads us to another of my biggest peeves--all the while, despite “the truth” being so important when it came to Emet-Selch, the sins of Vauthry’s father and the suffering his wife and child endured because of Emet-Selch’s direct hand are left unspoken. We smile and nod silently to Eulmorans and then offer them up Vauthry and his “bad influence” as an excuse for their own misdeeds. I’ve never felt less a “hero” in this game as I did then. Yet Emet-Selch, who committed this atrocity on a child, was called a HERO because fandom darling, while the child is vilified and thoroughly dehumanized.

It’s really telling how much blind condemnation the fanbase dealt to Vauthry for reasons that were completely inaccurate, while the fandom darling of this expansion was 100% the founder of not one, but two civilizations based on domination, the most recent being a nation whose canon creed is "No lands must remain beyond our grasp. Go forth. Conquer. Rule.", a nation whose people have a habit of calling all the “lesser races” they conscript “savages”. Fandom Darling was also hype af for Black Rose and called it worthy of his bloodline! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

It’s really telling that the fanbase will randomly accuse Vauthry of being a sexual predator with Sin Eaters based on exactly zero evidence (but a lot of projection on their part), while the fandom darling 100% canonly used the actual Solus zos Galvus’ enthralled body to sire a child with Galvus’ unwitting wife, and going by the dialogue--

--he’s done that before. No wonder consent was no big deal when he made that offer to Former Mayor. But this was played for sympathy because fandom darling and what do you know, the fandom bought it.

Square “both sided” actual authoritarian characters--actual colonizers, actual mass murderers of entire worlds, actual skeevy-ass characters who don’t care about consent because “not really alive”--called it “heroic”, even (the latter was called “moral relativism”, and it’s genuinely unnerving how many players pushed that as absolution or relatable)--but throughout the course of the main expansion and two subsequent patches,Square went all-in that the fat guy who had his agency and sanity stolen from him in utero to be used as a tool of destruction was the real tyrant. We the player were encouraged to buddy up with E-S while we were never once given the option to wonder if something was terribly amiss with Vauthry, if he may need help. They didn’t even spare us a “jfc that poor man, the Eaters got to him” when he blindly twisted his neck 180 to neither see nor hear us. He was still “evil” because reasons, a.k.a., he was fat.

TL;DR, the playerbase:

I remain unconvinced the Ancients were not clever enough to suspect summoning the “Will Of The Star” may have an effect on their own wills, as their wishes for Zodiark carried an unspoken need for the Elder Primal to be granted control to achieve its end. Emet-Selch stated that Tempering was to be “expected”, even “natural”, though his appearance towards the end of 5.3 seems to contradict Tempering: has there ever been another instance that a Tempered being was able to act directly against the best interests of the primal that holds them in thrall? Elidibus sure couldn’t.

Disclaimer: I actually have no issue with liking the Ascians, be it shipping, writing, art, porn mods, whatever. But if you come into my yard with nothing but shit talk for Vauthry on reblogs of my art, yet have all the praise for the one who made him, you’re going to hear in my personal space about why you’re a hypocrite. Often. With receipts.

The End.

First off, it’s popular in the fandom to say the Lightwarden was Vauthry’s real body because it’s just so damn inconvenient to the dating sim mentality that the fat guy was the default. Thing is:

That is Innocence’s head and its wings inside Vauthry’s split-open back during the pre-phase two “transformation”. Between that and the second face that appeared to cave in most of Vauthry’s chest (on the heart side, interestingly enough), the face whose eyes opened and glowed upon the Warden’s “awakening”:

It doesn’t look at all like it was a “transformation”. It looks like the Lightwarden emerged and absorbed what was left of its host’s physical form while still retaining Vauthry’s broken mind. (Notice the nose, much longer than Vauthry’s actual nose, eye spacing, the bit of smile. That second face was the Warden.)

Before his death, Vauthry did not say "well dang, the Ascians promised I would be all-powerful so I could be evil! Curse them for cheating me!"

He said "Father told me...that I am hope. That I am righteousness. That I am...a god... That is why I was born...as man and sin eater both...I kept the people safe!"

Those lines make no sense if Vauthry interpreted Father’s manipulations as "haha I'm a spoiled evil brat I can do what I want". A spoiled evil brat wouldn't need to be convinced what they were doing was GOOD, would they? Why would that even have been a thing, wouldn't they just not care? He had the power to not give a shit. Instead, he would see his peoples’ “dreams fulfilled, their wishes granted.” EDIT - Canon as of 5.3 appears to support this analysis! \o/

Spoken at the end by G’raha Tia on the subject of enduring hope, and additionally supported by the Minstreling Wander, who told us in the Immaculate EX unlock he could not say if Vauthry was wicked in his youth. ”Vindicate his existence”. Vauthry was never in this for the evil selfish lulz. He believed he needed to prove the “half Sin Eater” heritage forced on him did not make him a monster, that it was good, that he was good, and he did it by doing everything he was gaslighted to believe was good by his father--until the Warden finally broke him entirely. To the people who debated so strongly he was just evil because reasons, or refused to hold other characters to the same standards of damnation they set for him because reasons, hope your shoe tastes good. Your reasons were always really clear, btw.

This remains the story of a child who needed a hero that never came, and players choose to discard it, like the free citizens snub produce, because Vauthry isn’t pretty enough for them. A fat character’s stolen life simply isn’t worth the effort of contemplation because the one who made him makes players horny on main.

What happened to this character, with just the little information the game gave us, was straight-up abuse. Yet too many in the fanbase thought no further than juvenile fat jokes (so cool) or unquestioning contempt for a character who was clearly in a state of mental breakdown (unless it was the fandom darling, he’s allowed, even if it destroys worlds) --while Square readily had their characters ace detective enough to detect his weight, but not his unnatural height, his pointed ears, his fogged over eyes, his bendy-straw neck, his second freaking face. Oh, and he can control Sin Eaters. Wait, you mean the Lightwarden was in him the whole time!? Seems legit gais, what an unexpected turn of events!

ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

#FFXIV #long post #Vauthry #character analysis #Lord Vauthry #Eulmore #Shadowbringers

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soren-bleu-kun · 4 years

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BnHA Fics I’ve Read This Week 1

I read and review a lot of fics, every week. Here is the list from last Friday, to today. Let me know if I should I do this next week.

Bloom in Winter - God linking all the art for this was a bitch in my google document, but worth it. In this uncompleted and seemingly abandoned twelve chapter fic where Midoriya is forced to work with villains with his analytical abilities. The story picks up when he finds out that he’s going to have to infiltrate UA as a General Studies student in order to find a way to help kill his idol, All Might.

The Sun in My Eyes - This is a MomoJirou fic where the two girls meet at a young age and slowly fall in love as they grow up together. A fast read, and really cute.

Trust Fall - This is a cute little fic that I think is supposed to end on a note of a possible relationship between Shinsou and Midoriya. Basically, the 2A addition to the UA Cultural Festival is a cat café, and while chasing one down both Midoriya and the cat he was chasing end up stuck in a tree, and it’s Shinsou to the rescue.

What’s She Got That I Don’t? - This is a one-shot where we see Kirishima tell Bakugou that he has a crush on him. Getting rejected, he expected that. What he didn’t expect was for Bakugou to turn around and ask out Uraraka the very next day. This one-shot was good, but painful at times.

I. Shaky Hands - This is the beginning of rexcorvidae’s incomplete Whumptober Series. I did not review every single piece of this series, but it does kick off with a very good start. Dadzawa to the rescue when he realizes that - with all the damage that Midoriya’s done to them - his problem child can’t use a pen well, or a pair of chopsticks.

[Because this was a series of unconnected stories, I will be putting each one that I reviewed after this]

III. Delirium - Midoriya gets sick out of the blue in the UA dorms, attacks some students in his delirious state, and collapses. The whump is just spectacular and I love any story that features a character that thinks their friends are their enemies

IV. Human Shield - While taking Midoriya out for ice cream, he and Yagi get attacked. His brilliant solution to save his mentor? Jump in front of the bullet and almost die. There is some good Dad Might in this fic.

VII. Isolation - Warning, this fic deals with Suicidal Ideation. Basically, what would happen if Midoriya took Bakugou’s middle school taunting as far as it could have gone. It ends with him standing on a roof, read at your own risk.

XV. Scars - Midoriya has scars from the years of violent bullying that he went through and they don’t go unnoticed by his mentor. On the other side of the coin, Midoriya doesn’t want to tell Yagi who did it because he knows that if the people who tormented him don’t get to slide into being the heroes that they don’t deserve to be, they could be terrible villains. I honestly love this fic, it deserves everything.

XVI. Stitches - This is an AU where Nighteye finds Midoriya at a pretty young age, sees the sort of analytical work that he can do, and has him intern at his office [and holds onto his notebooks for him, since there’s a lot of dangerous information in there, even if Midoriya doesn’t understand that when they first meet]. This story takes place a few years into that internship, when Midoriya collapses at work after the stitches he put in himself after another round of violent assault from his classes gets infected.

XVIII. Muffled Screams - The last fic in this series that I reviewed, and it is a painful one, quite literally for Midoriya. In this story, he has been kidnapped, and he has one job. Don’t scream. Of course, this is difficult as he gets tortured, but he has to, because the villain promises that if he makes a noise, someone he cares about will die. We see this from the live feed that is being broadcast of the torture, with Yamada, Aizawa, and Yagi.

Is it the Thunder in the Distance - This is a good little one-shot featuring Yagi spending the night at the Midoriya household and finding his successor sleeping on the floor right outside of his room. All in all, this is a very good fic and I like it a lot. Note, the actual name of the fic is much longer, but I am not writing the entire thing out again.

If I’m Losing Again, Quiet Me Down - This takes place during the Stain Arc, when Midoriya is sitting in the hospital with Todoroki and Iida. While calling around to make sure that people know that he’s okay, he ends up having a panic attack. There is a soft ending to this one.

I’ll Carry You Home - This was a debut fic for the author on Ao3, and it features Yagi carrying an exhausted Midoriya home after a long day of training. Most adorably, he accidentally calls his mentor “dad,” and when Midoriya wakes up enough to realize what he said there is a lot of apologizing. All in all a cute story.

Growing Like You - This is a short one-shot featuring Midoriya finding out that one of the side affects of his new Quirk is that he’s growing, fast and a lot. Trying to find him something to wear, Yagi ends up stumbling across a box of his old UA clothes, and he gives it to Midoriya.

Feelings of a Fanboy - This is one of those “What if Midoriya had a Quirk” stories, and they are some of my favorite kinds of fanfics out there. In this one, his power is called Emotional Rush. Basically, the more he feels, the stronger and faster he gets. This goes up to right around/before the Stain Arc.

Father’s Day - This is a fic that features Hisashi Midoriya not really being around and Yagi stepping into the paternal role in Midoriya’s life, something that they both seem to need.

Define “Villainy” - This is more or less a crack fic where Tsuyu realizes that literally no one in her class has tried to stop her from straight up attempting to murder Mineta, and they will probably continue to let her because no one in the class actually likes him.

Anything, Anything - This is a fic that I already recommended to someone, and it is so good. This is a fic that features eventual TodoDoriya, where the two of them keep running into each other in the UA Dorms common room whenever they wake up from nightmares.

Those Hardest to Love Need it the Most - This is a Dadzawa fic where Aizawa finds out that Midoriya was extremely mistreated at his middle school and opens up an investigation in hopes of taking the place down for Quirk discrimination.

All the Signs - This is a crack fic for what I consider a bit of a crack ship, Huyumi. Basically, Fuyumi gets pregnant with Hawks’ kid and starts acting a little... bird like. The author, ohmytheon, is fantastic and I have read so much of their stuff.

Come Home - This fic breaks my entire heart. This is a story where Touya and Fuyumi Todoroki are twins, two halves of the same whole. This goes through their childhood together, right up to the end where Fuyumi watches Touya being Dabi on TV and refuses to rat him out. She just wishes that he would come back.

Who Will Protect Them - USJ 2.0, taking place when 1A has become 3A. After getting slammed into a wall and not being able to get back up, Aizawa wonders who’ll protect his class, before realizing that they’re more than keeping their own. He’s proud... and he’ll be even more proud if he survives this.

Darken Your Door - This is a fic that deals with neglect, emotional abuse, and manipulation. While on a run to a corner store with Midoriya, Aizawa gets to meet his students estranged father. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that his student is extremely uncomfortable around his parent. From then on he wraps Hisashi Midoriya in more red tape than he’ll be able to get out from under. No one talks to his students unless his students want to hear from that person.

Mouth Shut (Eyes Down) - A story in which Midoriya does not trust adults because they were the ones that let Bakugou and the rest of his bullies get away with assaulting him. He accidentally admits this to Aizawa after being stabbed when he thought he could “handle” getting stalked.

A Touch of Hope - This is technically a soulmates fic, where you find your soulmate after physical contact. Shinsou was not expecting to find his at UA, nor was he expecting that it would give him an opportunity to join the Hero Course if he can prove himself.

Voiceless - This is a shorter fic, only 1K, and it features Midoriya losing his voice when he gets sick and Shinsou taking care of him. It’s pretty cute.

Creating Music - This is a three chapter fic taking place over two days, the day before and the day of Valentine’s Day. This is a MomoJirou fic that is really cute and sentimental. I love it so much.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year - In this fic, Midoriya is a dumbass and Shinsou finds his crush stuck to a pole by his tongue. He is not wearing a coat, and he has been stuck like this for a long time.

Hook, Line, and Sinker - This is a great EraserMic fic in a Quirkless AU, where Aizawa thinks that his tinder date it a catfish because there is no way internationally famous singer Hizashi Yamada just matched with him. Note, there is smut in either the second or third chapter.

Ask Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lies - This is a silly little fic where Shinsou and Midoriya share a hotel room. Before you ask, there are two beds. There is a kiss, but that’s about it. A little OOC for Midoriya, but still pretty good.

Shinsou the Local Cryptic - This is a fic where Shinsou becomes an internet meme of his own creating. It’s honestly pretty fun, and I had a good time with this one-shot.

You Anchor Me Back Down - This is a one-shot with some fun art in it. When Todoroki is hit with a random Quirk that causes him to float whenever he’s happy, it’s difficult for him to keep his crush on Midoriya a secret. This takes place during their third year.

Cosmic Confluence - Wonderful Shinsou-Centric fic where he’s a reaper and it’s his job to watch over Izuku Midoriya until he dies. I wish that there was more of this fic that I could read because the idea of this is so interesting.

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anthropwashere · 4 years

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our indestructible days ch 3

ch 1 | ch 2

Stubborn child! Tenacious little brat!

Pride seethes as he carries his new container up through another ruined, empty floor of Father's home, teeth gnashing at stone and metal. How could one inconsequential human soul cling so stubbornly to its body? Especially after being absorbed into his Philosopher's Stone?

It's lucky the little alchemist is such a mad acrobat, otherwise Pride wouldn't have been able to climb to the surface as quickly as he has, even with his shadows to assist. There's only a floor left between him and the parade field. The light from Father's attack has faded now, but he's still wary of jumping out without having a better idea of the situation out there. The light alone hadn't been enough to damage his Stone, but it had been an altogether painful experience for his true form.

A part of him hates to let those survivors scurry off—all those long years guarding Sloth's tunnel, no doubt—but now isn't the time to hunt down vermin. His Stone has only barely stabilized thanks to those few soldiers he'd consumed. He was able to grow this container a new leg without much strain, but he doubts he'd be much good in a proper fight. He's made the mistake of underestimating humans before. It's not a mistake he's keen on repeating.

He slims his shadows to a few cautious coils, tasting the air. Even up here he can smell the living humans below, soaked in blood and snaking away from the epicenter of things. They could reappear virtually anywhere in Central but he doubts they'll go that far, not with how injured they are. Aside from them there's nothing but corpses down there, which won't do him any good. Thanks to absorbing Gluttony he finds the meat delicious, yes, but it's souls he needs.

Aboveground is a far different story. He sniffs again and can't help but smirk. There's dozens—no, hundreds of humans gathering up there, rushing around with their hearts racing and sweat salting their warm skin. He smells too, all the silly little guns they're hauling around in some vain hope of stopping Father.

Pride licks his lips, eager now. They want a fight, do they? He may be weak, but he thinks he can at least provide Father a distraction.

He's careful to keep his container out of sight as he peers over the last crumbling edge, curling tendrils into the air and squinting in the brightening daylight. Behind him Central Command is in ruins, as if some enormous hand had come along and taken a scoop out of it. He can smell only a handful of living humans there, most of them bloody and bruised and terrified. Before him a triangular stretch of the parade field is charred black, heat to sting the razor edges of him still rising from it. Greasy smoke smothers the air, reducing visibility to a frustrating few feet. From here he can only make out the woman sacrifice, sprawled nearby and barely conscious. He can smell her pain, the new bruises and welling blood, but it's nothing serious. There's no urgent spike of adrenaline in her blood, no sour snap of broken bone nor the damp heat of exposed organs. She'll live, for now.

The wind shifts. He narrows his eyes, sniffing, and finds the shredded remains of Alphonse Elric's armor a little further off. Beside it is the troublesome Xingese girl, weeping loudly. Has the younger Elric's blood seal broken? Either way, he won't be taking part in this fight any longer, not in the shape he's in.

The woman sacrifice—Izumi, wasn't it?—wakes, coughing roughly. "H-Hohenheim," she forces out, and as if summoned by her voice Father appears before her, so quickly that neither Pride’s eyes nor nose sensed him move. A strong hand grabs Van Hohenheim out of the dust that had obscured him as well, knocking him aside like so much refuse. He lands in a heap some distance off. Pride pays his piteous groaning no mind, relieved to see that Father still has God's power within him.

"Father!" He cries, springing out into the open to present himself. Izumi twitches nearby, straining to see him over her bloodied shoulder.

"You're first," Father says, raising his hand. Red light arcs between his fingertips. Too late, Pride realizes what he means to do—

Pain riots through his container. All his thoughts collapse to panicked static. His newly acquired lungs and heart seize, his every muscle spasms and his every joint locks. He would scream if he could because to have true flesh is to be set on fire. He'd thought the leg bad before, but he'd retreated into his Stone at the first white-hot shock of hurt and here he's pinned in place, nerves flayed, choking on ash—he can't, he isn't, how is it possible to—hurt—so completely? Defense—he—he must defend against—shadows—his self—all gone, he can't think, he can't—

Father is going to kill him—

A gunshot cracks in the distance, and a wound appears in a fizzle of come-and-go alchemical light at Father's temple. Father's concentration breaks. Pride nearly falls on all fours, sucking in dirty air with a relief that unmoors him. He doesn't hesitate, falling back on the instincts of this taken flesh. His hammering heart says run, so he runs. He sprints through the thinning smoke, wanting distance, needing time to get his bearings, needing to understand why Father just tried to kill him—

He ducks behind some heap of rubble near Central Command's wall, pressing his spine against it and shutting his eyes against the acrid sting. He's—he's panicking. He is, isn't he? He's never one to panic. He is first of the homunculi, oldest and strongest and cleverest. He won't—can't—be cowed so easily as this. Even if—even if it was Father that came so close to—

He is one part of a greater whole. This is something he's always known. But it's never occurred to him that Father might one day want that part back.

No. Never mind that. Father had his reasons. He always does. Surely Father only intended to siphon Fullmetal's soul away, to tear the stubborn child out so Pride could have unfettered control over this container—

[Coward.]

Pride freezes—still panting for breath, damn this flesh—and glares with several pairs of eyes. That voice. It shouldn't be possible, and yet— "Just how many of you damned insects are clinging to sentience within my stone?!"

[Oh, it's just Fullmetal and myself in here, and he's not doing too well at the moment.] Kimblee's laughter grates for all that it's not, technically, real. [He doesn't enjoy the company as much as I do.]

In the distance Pride can hear-smell humans shouting, soldiers making a perimeter in some feeble-minded attempt at hemming Father in, barking out nonsensical orders to one another over the bustle and clatter of all their useless weaponry. A man shouts over a megaphone that Fullmetal is not to be confused with Father, which is a relief and in some small way, terribly funny. He watches the clamor with his container's eyes, peering carefully around the crumbling edge of what might have been a bit of the east wing. If he focuses he thinks he can very nearly feel the pinpoints of solidity within his Stone, Kimblee as fine and bright as a needle, Fullmetal a stolid lump fumbling his way back to consciousness at a snail's pace. "I suppose you'll be wanting to fight me for control over this body next?"

[Oh no, not at all. It'd be a poor fit, I think. And besides, I already have a front row seat to the glorious battle going on right now. Just listen to it!]

The attacks are certainly concussive, if nothing else. From his position on the field it only looks like the soldiers are wasting a great deal of ammunition for nothing; Father's glimmering shield is protecting him even from the heat and dust of the blasts. Some soldier down there belts out a command to take cover and scarcely a moment later a gout of flame rushes down the same charred path as Father's earlier attack to engulf the majority of the parade ground in an inferno. It seems that despite his newfound blindness the Flame Alchemist remains unwilling to sit idly by while there's murder and mayhem to sow. Still, it'll take more than that to slow Father down now.

"They stand no chance against him," he mutters aloud. The plan has fallen apart, perhaps disastrously so, but Father will win. It's only a matter of time.

[No chance?] Kimblee asks, pausing when another gout of flame explodes across the parade field. This one Father catches as easily as a child's toy and sends it right back. Even after that display, amusement curls Kimblee's voice. Infuriating creature. [You say there's no chance, that you homunculi are so much better than humans, but what's Greed without his human vessel? What are you?]

"I am Pride the Arro—"

[Just the two of you left now, and that only thanks to the humans you've attached yourselves to. You claim to be higher life forms, yet you're really nothing more than parasites. How disappointing.]

"I won't die here! Whatever the cost, I refuse to die today!"

[And if your Father willed it otherwise?]

He flinches, and loathes this treacherous body all the more.

[He seemed eager enough to kill you a moment ago,] Kimblee goes on cheerfully, [Yet you turned tail and ran away the second you could. You were named for your dignity as much as your arrogance, yet all you've proven today is that you're a hypocrite and a coward.]

"BE SILENT, KIMBLEE!"

[Mmph.] The Fullmetal lump shifts within his Stone, waking up properly. Pride very nearly throws his hands up in exasperation. [Ah, hell. That hurt. What happened?]

[Welcome back, Edward. I wasn't sure you'd be joining us again.]

Pride curls his mouth irritably, digs dirty nails into the stone's crumbling edge. The automail arm only twitches at his side, still stubbornly resistant to his will. "How many times must I put you in your place until you stay there?"

[Ha. At least one more. Where are we?]

Pride has no chance to reply before his control is tugged away from him. Edward Elric wavers, bracing himself with both hands against the same stretch of scorched stone. Pride's connection to the container and all its startling sensations remains; a sour tang of nausea burns their shared throat, dizziness makes their pulse pound in their ears, a line of sweat down their spine makes them shiver. Edward directs their eyes about the parade field and back to Central Command, taking in the splendor of Father's power. Their ears ache with the ceaseless crack and boom of gunfire.

"Holy shit,” Edward breathes.

With a growl of displeasure Pride pushes back and retakes control. The boy's too stunned to put up more than a token resistance, one that's easily brushed aside. Pride smiles, licking the new configuration of his teeth. "Do you understand now? Do you see what Father is capable of, despite all your little tricks? Are you still so certain you'll win?"

Kimblee whispers, so quietly that Edward seems not to hear, [Are you?]

[Of course I am,] Edward retorts, and while he's unable to wrestle control of his body back he does manage a few of the eyes circling at their feet. Their shared vision wobbles and blurs, and Edward grumbles. [Jeez, how can you stand this? I think I'm gonna puke.]

"Then stop it."

[Nah.] Their shadow twitches, an inelegant lurch that nevertheless forces one of their eyes to loll, and in just such a way that it glimpses Edward's bare left foot. Through their mutable connection of his Stone Pride feels the stuttering evolution of Edward's reaction—dumbfounded, denying, horrified, furious. Their mouth opens against his will and Edward's snarl froths out. "My—my leg. It's—the automail—it's gone. You—you son of a bitch! You really cut it off?!"

[It was slowing me down,] Pride replies calmly, content for the moment to take refuge in his Stone. It almost feels as he did in his Selim container this way; placid, unflappable, controlled. [You're welcome, by the way. I saved you the trouble of trying to get back the original one.]

"Wh—That's not the point! Al and I made a promise! After we found out the cost of making a Philosopher's Stone we promised not to use one for ourselves! We never wanted to be so selfish as to use another life to fix our mistake! Al and I—we—I didn't...."

Edward's inhale is a shaky mess. He sways again, gritting his teeth. It seems he has a new tendency to speak through more than one mouth if he lets his anger get the better of him. How interesting. Pride certainly hadn't manifested one of the three thin mouths in their shadow. Edward bends at their waist to brush their left hand across their new knee cap, draws a line down their shin, splays their toes on the sun-warmed concrete. Pride feels each sensation like a static shock, which isn't half so bizarre as the curdled snatches of Edward's thoughts he absorbs secondhand. Nerve damage—phantom pain in the night—gone, it's gone, he shouldn't feel anything because it's gone—Granny said the cold would be harder on him—cold night spent lying awake, teeth gritted, muscles aching—no amount of massaging around the ports ever helped—Al's metallic voice, "Did you dream about Mom again—"

Pride retreats deeper into his Stone, startled by how real that felt. The ever-groaning souls inside him keep their distance from his toothsome shape—all but Kimblee, who sidles up to him with an overly familiar grin.

Outside, Edward reins in his anger enough to ask, "Where's Alphonse?"

[In pieces,] he replies sullenly, and finds base satisfaction in the diminished jolt of panic he feels from the boy. [The Xingese girl has been using what's left of his armor as a shield—]

Red light crackles in their shared vision and a feeling not unlike a brand burns his Philosopher's Stone. He writhes within and without, as much from shock as from pain. When he can see clearly again Edward's braced against the rubble, breathing raggedly. "Shut up," he growls.

[You're so willing to be free of me you'll hurt yourself to do it?] Pride marvels.

"Shut up," Edward repeats, a mouth splitting in their shadow to hiss the same. "You too, Kimblee."

[I didn't say anything.]

"I can feel how much you're enjoying this." He spits, wiping their mouth with the back of his automail hand, then begins a clumsy half-jog back into the thick of things. There's no telling if it's the new leg or their shadow nipping at their heels giving him more trouble.

[Where are you going?] Pride demands. [What do you intend to do?]

"I'm gonna find Al, then I'm gonna make that bastard pay."

[If you confront him, Father will take my Stone for sure!]

"Good. Let him take care of you for me!"

[He'll kill you too!]

"I don't care!" Edward picks up speed, keeping low and favoring their new leg. When Pride opens a train of eyes in their shadow Edward trips, slapping a hand over their container's eyes with a curse. Nausea tongues his Stone, altogether unpleasant. "I gotta make sure Al's okay!"

[Damn you!] For all that he tries to wrest back control Edward just hangs on to himself harder. Pride rages, scattering souls like gravel beneath the wild sweep of his awareness. Edward snarls back and picks up speed.

[Such dedication!] Kimblee exults, a white sore in his Stone. [Such drive! He really is an admirable creature, isn't? Put a fire under him and he'll burn himself gladly for the chance to keep those he cares for out of it!]

[Be quiet!]

Kimblee calms, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. [Why should I listen to you? A pitiful homunculus who couldn't keep a single human under heel?]

Pride seethes.

#fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #my writing

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kyndaris · 3 years

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A Hero Lies in You

On April Fool’s Day 2019, a video was released showing the latest game in the Yakuza franchise. Many thought it was a prank. The reason why? The sudden change in combat. Gone was the brawler beat-em-up that was associated with the series. In its stead was a turn-based system reminiscent of role-playing games. Characters waiting for their turns before utilising special skills? In a franchise known for its hard gritty storylines about gangs duking it out in the streets of Japan? ‘Haha Ryu Ga Gotoku. You thought you could fool us, but we see right through you. This isn’t our first rodeo and you’re not Square Enix,’ was many a thought when the footage had been viewed by thousands online.

What gamers did not know was that this was no gag. Fast forward several months to August 2019 and it was confirmed that Yakuza 7: Like a Dragon, starring new protagonist Kasuga Ichiban, would actually incorporate turn-based battles. There would even be JOBS!

As I had just finished playing through Kiryu’s story, as well as Judgment, in 2020 I was eager to see what new protagonist Kasuga Ichiban would bring to the table. From trailers, I could already see how much livelier Ichiban would be in comparison to the more stoic Kiryu. And, in contrast to Yagami, he was definitely more of an idiot. A lovable idiot, to be sure, but an idiot nonetheless.

Yakuza 7: Like a Dragon released in a huge week for video games. While I would have preferred to play it earlier, I had other huge titans to wrestle into submission first. Once I had managed to satiate my Ubisoft open-world needs with Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla, I dived head first onto the streets of Yokohama, ready to bust some heads.

The game opens on a play. For a moment, I thought I had somehow purchased the wrong game. But as the lengthy prologue progressed, it was very clear that this was most definitely a Yakuza game. It just needed to set up a little bit of the tale, starting with Arakawa Masumi - father figure and role-model for our erstwhile hero. It isn’t long before players are introduced to Kasuga Ichiban with his trademark ‘punch perm.’ Born in a soapland and raised by those that lived on the fringes of society, Ichiban, rather than being hardened by his experience, is empathetic and not afraid to show emotion. Tasked with collection, he interprets his orders in a way to benefit those that are struggling. His goofball attitude immediately makes him a character one can connect to. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s a bit of a nerd, having played Dragon Quest during his childhood and likening many of the people around him to things in the game.

It’s not long before the plot escalates and Ichiban volunteers to give himself up to the police. Sentenced to fifteen years in prison, he inadvertently extends his sentence when his Patriarch is insulted by one of the fellow inmates. After nearly two decades spent in prison for a crime that he did not commit, Ichiban is released with little fanfare and no waiting convoy. Disappointed, he takes it in stride. The first thing on his order of business: to get his signature punch perm and reconnect with his second father-figure and Patriarch of the Arakawa family.

Along the way, he is dogged by a former policeman: Adachi. At first, it isn’t made clear why Adachi seeks Ichiban for help. After all, Ichiban had supposedly killed another yakuza in Kamurocho, Tokyo. Adachi, on the other hand, was a detective in Yokohama. Why would he have any interest in uncovering the truth behind what had put Ichiban behind bars?

After a few shenanigans are had in and around Kamurocho, our protagonist is shot and left for dead - waking up in a homeless shelter in the heart of Isezaki Ijincho. Climbing his way from rock bottom, Ichiban embarks on a journey to uncover the truth, stumbling upon a series of events and unearthing a vast conspiracy in which he was to serve as a pawn.

Many of the earlier chapters felt a little contrived. In particular was the death of Nonomiya. While it served to move the narrative forward, it was most assuredly a means to an end that didn’t highlight any significant character growth. Poor Nonomiya was fridged just to bring Ichiban into conflict with the Liumang branch of the Ijin Three.

It was only in the later chapters that the story picked up steam - with the confrontations with Bleach Japan and the encroachment by the Omi Alliance. Joined by a menagerie of characters like Zhao, Saeko, Han Joon-Gi, Nanba and Eri, there was a lot to keep track on as the plot barrelled forward at a breakneck pace, connecting Ichiban’s past with his current present and all the while setting up a juicy conflict between two men that could have been brothers. And honestly, the ending with Arakawa Masato and Ichiban got to me. I loved how that Ichiban was finally able to reach his old charge by being vulnerable and finally letting out a little of his resentment at the life Masato led, despite the fact that he could not use his legs.

The characters were superbly written and their motivations were a good reflection of the human condition. The themes of family and finding a home were evident, right from the start, even though a lot of it was glossed over by Ichiban’s desire to be a hero in a video game.

(I also really liked Seong-hui and would love to see her be an actual playable character in possible future instalments. On a side note, Arakawa...you cannot simply say: ‘See you tomorrow, Ichi,’ and expect to walk away. You basically wrote your own name into the Death Note with that line!)

As far as aping Japanese role-playing games go, however, Yakuza: Like a Dragon falls woefully short. While the Tendo twist was a good one - it was pulled a little too early. Worse, there was no world-ending threat. Everyone knows that a Japanese role-playing game MUST HAVE A VILLAIN/ EVIL GOD FIGURE THAT INTENDS TO DESTROY THE WORLD. Yakuza: Like a Dragon was too focused on old childhood rivalries to extend it further afield. I mean, yes, Aoki Ryo hoped to pull the strings of the Japanese government as chair of the CLP, but WHERE WAS THE METEOR HURTLING TOWARDS EARTH?

Honestly, 1/10 for holding true to Japanese role-playing games.

Other than that, the summons with Pound Mates was amusing. As were the side stories. Honestly, there can never be enough side stories to flesh out the wacky world of the Yakuza franchise. So many old favourites made their return. From Pocket Fighter (now dubbed Dragon Fighter) and Gondawara Susumu with his baby fetish.

Also, I didn’t think I’d be so obsessed with it, but I think they cracked property management this time round. Ichiban Confections, later known as Ichiban Holdings, was a blast to manage and accrue juicy money for.

The bartender of Survive also looked very familiar. I mean...what with the huge scar across his face. My suspicions were confirmed when I searched up Kashiwagi up on the Yakuza wiki page and was awarded with the fact that HE MANAGED TO SURVIVE THE ASSAULT HELICOPTER FROM YAKUZA 3!!

Other than that, my few other gripes involved the implementation of the levelling system and the way area of effect skills were handled. In particular, the pathing for how characters moved around the battlefield proved, at least to me, a bit of a frustration. Often, characters would be blocked by a knee-high fence or a corner. Sometimes they would be able to go around, but other times the game (after several seconds of watching them fail to walk through a solid building) warp to the enemy that I had targeted to launch their attack.

And even though the combat is turn-based, most of the enemies tend to walk around the battlefield - either clumping together or distancing themselves from each other. What truly annoyed me was when there were moves that could be used as an area of effect, with the MP cost to go along with it, but were limited by their effectiveness when the enemy combatants were too far away. Yes, it makes sense, but golly gosh, how much of a pixel measurement does it have to be for it to not hit?

Besides that, the levelling was also a bit of a tedious chore. Were it not for the invested vagrants, I feel like I might have put the game down with how much grinding there was - particularly when it came to the various jobs. The biggest hill to climb was from 20-30. Without the exp (experience point) boosting items, it would have been a torturous slog. I know that in the original Japanese release of the game, the cap for jobs was level 30, but if you change it to 99, please, for the sanity of all the gamers out there, tweak the requirements to make it easier. And maybe give normal trash mobs a bit more experience points for the playable characters to munch on.

Goodness, imagine having to grind on level 55 Ornery Yakuza and receiving a paltry 1000xp for each battle (when, in order to level up a job, you needed almost a million).

Yakuza: Like a Dragon is a break from the traditional formula that’s been a staple of the franchise for many years. Much like Ichiban, it’s a bit of fresh air to liven up the experience that might have gone a bit stale after I slogged through the whole Kiryu arc last year. With a few tweaks, and a few more Persona 5 CD soundtracks, I’m eager to see how the story evolves and whatever contrivances Ichiban will somehow force him into.

Although, to be fair, is it still appropriate to call this franchise Yakuza when the game literally saw the dismantling of the two biggest clans? Then again, Civilian: Like a Dragon 2 just doesn’t have the same ring to it. In any case, I hope the next one comes soon and we’ll be able to have Seong-hui in our party. I feel like she’d be wielding a gunblade.

(Did I just use a lyric from Mariah Carey? You bet I did! I had been tossing up the idea between this line and ‘I need a hero.’ Why? Well, I think that would be self-explanatory after knowing Ichiban’s proclivities. And it fits so, so, so well!)

#yakuza 7: like a dragon #yakuza #video games #i need a hero

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kingangelrose · 3 years

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RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 4 Recap

“Fault”

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Back at the cell, Robyn tells stories to Qrow and Jacques about Joanna and the Happy Huntresses, but there was no reaction from either of them, she then jokingly says that Ironwood should’ve pay for better cell block entertainment, which made Qrow smile a bit.

Robyn apologizes to Qrow about what happened to Clover, saying that it wasn’t his fault, but Qrow says that it was, he goes on to say he made a deal with the darkness, and Clover payed the price for it, that it was happening so fast, but Clover wouldn’t let up, saying that he and him could’ve worked together against Tyrian. Qrow says that what stings the most is that for the first time in a while, he thought maybe he could be around anybody without Qrow’s semblance making it complicated for him to, now it just feels like a childish dream. “Gone....like everybody else....” - Qrow Branwen

Robyn says that she knows what that feels like. “When people are worried you’re gonna sniff out there secrets, they tend to push you away, it makes a real connection....difficult...” - Robyn Hill Qrow says he never thought of it that way.

Just then, the guards, with the other Ace Ops, throw Watts back into his cell, Harriett goes over to Qrow’s cell, saying that he can’t be Clover’s pendent, Qrow says that he didn’t kill him, but Harriett says that it was his weapon that had Clover’s blood on it, Robyn, who called Harriett “Mohawk”. suggests to her that if she really wants to know what happened, she could open her cell and take her hand, Harriett says that if she does, it won’t be for a hand shake, Robyn says to her that she doesn’t care about the truth, only wanting someone to be mad at, saying that its easier than taking an honest look of what side she’s on, Harriett was about to open it, but Marrow stopped her, asking what she was doing, saying to him nothing, Marrow walked away, Robyn lay back down on her cell bed, saying that that was almost exciting.

Meanwhile, Team Yang, on the hoverbikes, chased down the flying Hound that had Oscar in his clutches, Jaune says that the Hound is going to lose them in the mountains and that they can’t keep up, Ren says that he’s not sure how long that the hover bikes can handle the cold, Yang then says she wishes one of them could fly, that gave Jaune an idea, he backs up his hoverbike to Ren and says to him that he’s going to get him up there to the Hound, knowing what he meant, Ren hopped off his bike, onto Jaune’s shield and Jaune used his shield’s gravity power to launch Ren in the air, giving Ren a chance to hook his weapon onto the Hound’s leg, hanging on by his weapon’s steel string while it’s flying.

Jaune told Ren to hold on, Ren replied by saying he doesn’t have much of a choice, Ren uses his weapon on the other hand to hook onto a rock, that was pulled and flew along with him, but The Hound flew up higher, unhooking it, Yang then rode her hoverbike on an upper level mountain platform, getting to an even shooting distance with the Hound, shooting at it, but then The Hound let out a huge roar, calling for backup him that was underground and in the air.

Jaune struck some of the underground Grimm, but one of them spewed acid at his hoverbike thruster, shutting it down, seeing Yang on higher ground, Jaune hopped off his bike and a Grimm using his shield’s power and go on higher ground, getting on and riding with Yang, attacking the ground Grimm and trying to catch up, a flying Grimm blocked their path, but Jaune activated and threw his hard light shield device to a nearby rock, using the shield as a ramp for him and Yang to jump over the Grimm, they continued to dodged the Grimm, but after dodging the last one, they were headed for a cliff, Yang stopped the hoverbike, but it tilted, causing them both to tumble fast and fall off the cliff, while it seemed like they were falling to their doom, Ren uses his weapons to Jaune’s sword tip on the cliff and onto Jaune’s leg, catching both Jaune and Yang before they fell, a flying Grimm was headed towards them, but then Ren used his semblance to masked his, Jaune and Yang’s auras as the flying Grimm flew passed them, but they could only look on as the Hound flew away with Oscar to Salem.

Ruby’s Team arrived at the Schnee Manor where Whitley opened the door after Weiss’ hard knocking, Whitley was trying to say that she picked a fine time to arrive, but Weiss pointed her sword at him and walked into the manor with Ruby’s Team and a still unconscious Nora, Whitley says to Weiss that things are already bad enough after what she did to their father, Jacques, but now she wants to harbor “fugitives” too, saying that their family has a reputation, Blake asks Whitley if that’s all he cares about, Whitley says that at the manor, they’ve already lost most of the house staff, and their mother, Willow Schnee, locked herself in her room, Weiss says that they are trying to save Atlas, then Ruby says to Whitley that Nora is hurt, and they just need a place to lay low while she rests and then they’ll be out of his way, Whitley then agreed, letting them stay and asked what do they want him to do, and Weiss tells him to go to his room, which he did, Weiss led May, carrying Nora, to a room where Nora could rest, Ruby says that she hopes Team Yang is okay, Blake says to Ruby that if she’s worried, she could call Yang, Ruby then said she did as she shows Blake her outgoing call to Yang. Jaune tries to get a signal, asking for a transport to Mantle, but there wasn’t any.

The three walked across a snowy tundra, with their aura slowly depleting from the cold, Yang asked Ren how close is the nearest outpost, but he didn’t answer, and when she asked again, he said he didn’t know, Yang walked up to him and said she thought he saw on earlier, Ren said that he did before he had to cut himself loose to help Yang and Jaune, Yang says that he brought that up a few times and asked if there’s something he wanted to say, he says he doesn’t and he wouldn’t want to waste anymore time, ahead of her, Yang, got a bit angry and asked Ren what was his deal, Ren said to not worry about it, Yang says that she’s sorry thing haven’t gone smoothly for him, Ren says that things haven’t gotten smoothly at all, turning into an argument, Yang tells him that’s part of being a huntsman, Ren says that they don’t know the first thing about being a huntsman and that they weren’t ready, Jaune tries to tell them to stop, but they don’t listen.

Yang asked Ren were they not ready when they saved Haven or took down the Leviathan, and that they brought the lamp relic to Atlas, Ren cuts her off, saying that then they lost it, then afterwards when they had to make real decisions, they have gotten every single one wrong, Yang tells Ren that even though they haven’t done everything perfectly, but if they had done nothing, things would be a lot worse, Ren asks how could they be worse, saying that they are stuck in the snowy tundra while Salem has the lamp and Oscar, saying they have no plan or an army, Yang says that they have Penny as the Maiden, Ren yells at Yang, saying that by keeping Penny from opening the vault for Ironwood, they’re trapping the whole city of Atlas and Mantle for Salem, saying people are going to die because of them, Yang asks him if they should just give Ironwood what he wants and abandon Mantle, asking if he thinks Atlas is gonna float to safety, he snaps back and says he doesn’t know, then saying that these aren’t the kinds of decisions that they should make if they have no idea what they’re doing, he says that he’s saying what no one else wants to, saying that they are way over their heads, Ruby is barely more than a kid, he is just a orphan from the middle of nowhere, and when Jaune tried to calm him down, Ren snapped at Jaune saying that he cheated his way into Beacon Academy, leaving them all silent for a moment.

“....You don’t think we should be huntsmen, fine.....but I’m getting out of the cold...we still gotta job to do....” - Jaune Arc As Jaune walks ahead with the hoverbike, Yang looks at Ren angrily as asks him is his goal just to push everyone away, as she walks ahead of him, leaving Ren speechless.

Meanwhile, in Salem’s base, Ozpin wakes up Oscar who didn’t know where he was, saying that they’re going to be okay, Oscar then looks up and from the shadows was Salem herself. “My long lost Ozma...found at last~” - Salem Oscar was hanging by the jaws of the Hound, trying to escape, but it was no use, Salem says that this new host of Ozma is small, saying that it was a wonder that her Hound didn’t break him, walking up to him, asking how long as it been since they seen each other face to face and with nothing to say, pretending to be Ozpin, Oscar says that he is sorry the reunion isn’t living up to her expectations, Salem then suddenly grabs Oscar’s face and says that he can pretend, but he is not yet fully Ozpin, she lets go and says that they can have a working relationship if she tells her where the Beacon Relic is, saying that Ozpin has used some means of deception to hide it’s location differently from the other relics, Oscar says that’s not something he himself knows about, Salem walk away from Oscar saying that Ozpin would keep that well guarded as long as possible, Salem then asks Oscar the password to the lamp relic, and Oscar replied by saying that the lamp was out of questions, knowing this to be a lie, she struck Oscar with a powerful blast of energy to the chest, causing Oscar to scream in pain, she stops then walks towards a wounded Oscar saying that lies come from out of Oscar so easily, saying that he was a like minded soul while feeling on his wounded face, she walks away from him again, saying that she doesn’t care if it’s Oscar or Ozpin to tell her the answer, either way she will have the relic, Oscar says that he won’t tell her anything, but then, Hazel arrives and then strikes down Oscar, then kicking him while he was down, saying that the two strikes he delivered was for Haven Academy and everything that follows, will be for his sister.

Salem walks into Cinder and Neo in the hallway, Cinder bows to the Salem, but then sees the Hound for the first time and asked what it was, Salem says that it is an experiment she has been working on, so far being pleased with the results, then asking Cinder what she wanted, Cinder pleads with Salem saying that she wants to search for the Winter Maiden, Salem says to the Hound that Cinder thinks and wants, saying as if she has done something that warrants her caring for either, Cinder says that they’re just sitting and waiting, saying without the Maiden’s power, the gate means nothing, asking to let her claim the power for her, Salem tells Cinder that she will tell her when and where she is needed, before Cinder could plead with Salem again, the Hound roared at Cinder, silencing her, Salem then says that she has gained many patience walking Remnant, but she hates repeating herself, and that she will remain at there, Cinder then bows to her again and then agrees, once again saying without her she is nothing, as Salem walks off, Cinder has an eager expression on her face.

Walking to where the airship is, Cinder says to Neo that she just wants to check something and that they’ll be back before anyone notices they’re gone, Cinder says that she just wants to see if anything is still going on in Amity Colosseum, saying that Salem doesn’t know the heroes like she does, saying that they wouldn’t just abandon their misguided attempt to save the world. Emerald walks towards Cinder and says if Neo doesn’t want to go with her, she will, saying that she’s been working on her semblance and that she can help, also saying she won’t tell anybody, Cinder sighs and asked Emerald how much did she overhear.

Meanwhile, Team Yang arrived to the outpost where they had shelter, while Jaune used a fire dust crystal for the furnace, he admits to Ren that he was right about him cheating his way into Beacon, saying that he’s glad he has people around him to help him see that he was bigger than that mistake, he says to Ren that he too has people around him, he doesn’t have to force himself to be strong, saying that the more he hides what he feels, the more along he’ll feel, Ren doesn’t responded and walks away, outside, Yang then comes inside and says that she found a part to fix the hoverbike, she then goes on to say to Jaune for what its worth, she’s sorry that Ren said that to him, saying that she knows he worked hard to get where he is now, Jaune says that everyone is just under a lot of stress right now, saying he used to push people away too, while fixing the part for the hover bike, Yang asks Jaune if Ruby thinks less of her for not helping out with Amity, Jaune says that Ruby is her sister and that she’ll always love Yang, even if they disagree, walking over and laying on the bottom bunk of the bed, Jaune says he wants to get some sleep, but he can’t stop thinking about Oscar, Yang says to Jaune that he can go ahead and sleep, and she’ll make her Ren doesn’t brewed herself to death in the cold, Jaune thanks Yang and then says that he has a bad feeling that things always seem to get worse before they get better.

Unknown to any of them, from afar there was something coming from the icy underground, leaving huge cracks, what could this be? Will anyone survive? Will Cinder be able to leave Salem’s grasp? Will the heroes save Oscar before it’s too late?

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fistsoflightning · 4 years

Text

1: the devoted and the dead

prompt: crux || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 3138 (ha ha HA WHY AM I LIKE THIS)

Taban travels to Eorzea in the wake of the Eighth Umbral Calamity expecting nothing but land and finds the organization devoted to saving their heroes instead.

Contains Shadowbringers spoilers concerning a major plot point that explains a major plot point from LVL 79 MSQ onwards!

Mor Dhona is a sight to behold, crafted in crystal spires that pierce the cloud cover and brilliant violet skies, the ruins of a centuries-old town and war scattered beneath the aether fog. The winds are quiet, but if she listens closely she can hear the remembered laughter and chatter of a lively place, filled with adventure and trade and hope . It is a sweet taste of something she has not had in a very long time.

It is also a reminder.

“We’re nearly to the Tower,” the man named Biggs says, voice muffled slightly by the mask pulled taught around his face, and she is reminded of the mask over her own nose, leather digging into the skin around her scales. “There isn’t much else to see here, otherwise, but it’s something compared to, well...” He waves his arms around to the crystals jutting out around them, and then to the dying plant life by her feet.

She nods, following close with her shepherd’s cane in hand when he turns back around. The bell jingles lightly every now and then as she stumbles over unfamiliar landscape.

After a few bells, the Tower is finally in sight, piercing the skies even further than the spires that had covered the walls on their trek to here, and her companion races forwards to call to four figures standing at the ledge, looking off into the distance.

“Cid,” Biggs calls, and the white-haired man turns to face the two of them. “I brought the missus from camp to see it; she kept waving her cane at me when I said it’d be too dangerous, so…”

Biggs sheepishly rubs the back of his head, and she has to physically remind herself not to whack him in the back with her cane like she used to with her husband—he wouldn’t understand the unspoken really now that came with it, anyhow.

Before Cid can speak, she thrusts her hand forward, a pendant with a glimmering indigo crystal in the palm of her hand. She knows he has seen it before; perhaps he has held it before. It matters not.

“I see,” Cid mumbles, and he looks like he thinks twice before continuing. “Are you certain? We’re not even sure if it’ll work, nor if they’ll be saved. Not the most well-thought out of plans, but if there’s even a sliver of hope…”

He turns, looking back towards the tower for a moment, and she wonders what could be so important about the Tower in the distance. What could have been so important that they left it alone until now?

“Of course I am,” she responds hoarsely, grasping the pendant tighter in her fist. The little lightning that arcs from it barely tickles her scales. “I have nothing else to lose.”

…

While Cid, Nero, and the remnants of what used to be Ironworks toil over the mechanics of opening the Tower’s doors, and then of what might be used to reverse the tides of Garlemald’s Black Rose, she finds herself falling unto old habits.

Namely, that of storytelling.

At first, it is solely for her own comfort; she lets swirls of smoke and ember come from her hands to make the Dawn Throne and Reunion, and sand for the people of her home. She doesn’t dare to use water—not when Silvertear Lake is polluted enough to make her sick and the little water they do have to drink cannot be tainted at all costs—but as the stifling feeling of snuffed aether fades from Mor Dhona she finds she doesn’t need to be in her element anyways.

But then, when she hears a quiet wish from the bedside of Cid Garlond, she finds herself reaching for her cane anyways.

It takes little effort to weave together a quiet night in Rhalgr’s Reach with the Warriors of Light as pieced together by Cid, Nero, and Biggs; a gentle retreat, after a long week spent fighting some alien and a few mishaps with their engineered tea kettle.

The joy she brings to their faces, no matter how disguised, is enough for her to bring her spellweaving to the rest of their little resistance camp.

She starts working more and more on her less whimsical spells when Nero, too, falls ill, hands shaking as he finishes up the last mathematical proofs required to successfully prove Cid’s theory possible, with the right materials. One for healing—she saves a lost moogle once, and they continuously wander back and forth from places to bring her more tales—and one for more selfish reasons.

Time. She needs time, if she is going to memorialize anyone, any thing , and so she works until her left eye is milky white and the tips of her fingers are numb and she outlives her family even longer.

“There is a saying, among one of the tribes of my homeland,” she says, once, when asked why she would choose to live longer in a place like this. By then, she has already learned the languages she would have once spurned—not all books and scriptures come in easy to read script, after all. “That the soul burns brightest when it has a goal—formerly battle, but I know of a few Dotharl that have dedicated themselves to honoring their names with other pursuits. Mine is merely storytelling, and if it takes devoting more time than I have to give to keep telling, then I will.”

She can tell they still have questions for her, perhaps about the gentle sadness that carries in her words, but they do not ask, and for that she is grateful.

After she pulls together a sight of the famed Operation Archon one night—with gratuitous help from the few scholars still residing in the camp, including a small Lalafellian lady with a buttery yellow coat—

Eventually—maybe it is after she weaves the ending of the Dragonsong War from Count Edmont de Fortemps and Lord Commander Aymeric de Borel’s final memoirs, or perhaps upon recreating the charge on Ala Mhigo as recorded by the descendants of Resistance Fighters, desperate to see what their mothers and fathers fought for when all they know is bleak futures—people come calling her things like Hopekeeper and Dreamweaver in lieu of the name she has yet to give. In time, people come from farther away to bring her stories; ones of hope and adventure, mostly, but once she receives a tattered journal from another Xaela, of a dark knight, and she tells only him the tales held inside as a reminder of what he still fights for.

A little Xaela child—she does not know whose child, but she knows that he is Oronir, by the golden highlights and the little sun pendant around his neck—comes to her after her fiftieth year and thanks her.

“What for?” She kneels down to his height.

“Everything,” he says, so earnest it feels like true sunshine. “My parents came here ‘cause of you, and then we found this place! And now I can listen to tales of heroes instead of, well, y’know. You’re hope’s storyteller!”

He bounces excitedly on his heels, and she can’t help but laugh so bright her lungs are aching afterwards.She is little more than a sister dreaming of her siblings, a century dead and lost to the winds, but she smiles every time someone calls her hope’s storyteller afterwards anyways.

…

It is on the turn of the second century after the clouds of Black Rose fell upon Eorzea that Cid Garlond’s wildest theories are finally brought to fruition. The doors of the Tower fall open while she is asleep, and it is back to night when Biggs and his small crew return from the Tower announcing their plan is now in its final stages; that of creating the behemoth of an automaton that their founder theorized would make this all possible.

She seems to be the last one to meet the man of the hour, standing on the meager stage of haphazardly put together wood and nails so that she might create her stories around her, like a troupe making words come to life. His ears and tail are hidden under his robes, and he wrings his hands a bit nervously, but she can tell this man is much more important than he presents himself as, something bone-deep and aching as the memory of Cid’s bedside.

“Pray tell,” he starts, and everyone in the crowd turns to him. “Is there aught in your repertoire about the Warriors’ journey through that tower over yonder?”

His smile is bright as she considers—perhaps for a bit too long, as it falters slightly when he pipes back up to say, “Forgive me for interrupting your, er, plans with my selfish request, but—”

“Nonsense,” she murmurs. “There is nothing too selfish here, and it happens that is a tale I’ve never told before.” She holds out her hand to the miqo’te, watching his ruby eyes flick up in surprise with his ears, even under the heavy woolen hood Biggs must have shoved him into before they’d left on their little pilgrimage. “Care to help me tell it, G’raha Tia?”

She holds out her hand to him, and the small yet eager crowd in front of her parts like the clouds to let him walk forward and take it.

…

G’raha’s hunger for knowledge spanning that two century long rest in that tower of his borders on voracious ; even when Biggs says he can stop, that he knows enough to fill in the gaps, he manages to wheedle his way into more and more danger looking for it. There is an incident, when making their way back from Ishgard with what books and memoirs they can carry, and while numerous people fall Biggs and G’raha make it back barely alive.

She cannot rightfully say she is any less hungry than he, but she can tell his hunger is all-consuming, possessed. He gets out of his sick bed earlier than even she could recommend, and there is not a day that goes by that G’raha spends outside—not that anyone could blame him, seeing as all he knew is dead and the land continues to die around them, but she finds books piling high in his tent.

When even Biggs turns aside one night, evidently tired of trying to convince him that what he needs will not be found in books, she steps forward to grasp his arm before he can relight his candle.

“Are you going to try and stop me, too?” He looks up to her, and the desperation in his eyes flickers with the dying candlelight.

“No,” she answers, but instead of letting his hand reach for the matchbox again she sticks a scepter into his palm. It glimmers pale gold, the foci a bit dulled but still usable. “I am going to help you.”

G’raha looks indignant at that. “I do not need—”

“If you want to die and never see a brighter future yourself, so be it. You may be devoted to this cause,” she says, quietly tightening her grip as he keeps resisting; he doesn’t seem to expect her strength. “But you will end up dead faster than them if you do not train.”

“I—” He starts, but he looks to the bandages covering his hands and then down to his lap.

It does not take much convincing after that.

…

There is precious few bells left before the Tycoon is set to make or break the future, and so she finds herself sprinting through camp with her journal held tight to her chest—the last one, because all the other tales and fables she had kept in her time have already been packed up and stored in the various rooms of the Crystal Tower, destined to bring hope to thousands of others.

(That is, if G’raha does not fail.)

Her feet carry her quickly across the uneven crystal leading to the Tower, and by the time the door is in sight she is panting madly, nearly tripping over her robes as she barrels into the main stairwell of the Tower.

Luckily, the man she was looking for is still here.

“My friend,” he says, ears flicked up in surprise. “What are you doing here!? The Tower is not a safe place for you to stay—”

“I have one last story to tell,” she admits, hand patting the heavy leather tome she holds to her chest. She’s still heaving, legs complaining, but it is nothing compared to the need to tell this one last tale. “A special one, at that. Would you care to listen?”

“Of course.” He sits haphazardly on one of the crates that are scattered about, and she walks—slower than usual, this time—to stand next to him. She sets the book by his side, the worn leather cover embossed and covered with vibrant paints, and it seems to catch his attention momentarily.

“My favorite memory,” she starts, aether coalescing slowly around her—she has grown weaker, in her two centuries of extended life, as the spell she’d uncovered could not save her from even the hallows of time, but it was enough for one more tale. Weaving the walls of her yurt are as simple as calling a burst of wind. “Has always been this, and I might think you’d find a bit of joy in it, too.”

It is a simple thing, to fill in the faces of these shades, frayed as her memory might be; the fuzzy pink lion had sat with his fairy next to the quiet elezen, sharing their plates as her own brother and sibling had sat opposite of them, quibbling over who would get their share of khuushur first. Then, the miqo’te red mage that she personally had seen time and time again when she had barely been knee-height and shyer than a mouse, sat next to the solemn knight who had stared as she’d kicked the little lord from their yurt—a measure of privacy, and peace, for someone so intent on twisting the Naadam for his own purposes even at the request of the Mol was not one even she had wanted to share buuz with. The roegadyn warrior with chef’s hands was with little Och and Qara in the back, excitedly telling them stories with the two miqo’te men who had both declined a place at the fire, more than content to watch the stars in mostly-quiet company. And then…

G’raha gasps next to her, watching as she weaves strands of starlight and motes of Mor Dhona’s violet skies together at the final place set by the cooking pit. She is quiet, but the moonlight that filters through the open flaps of the yurt swathes her in a luminous glow, and her face is near picture perfect to when she had actually sat in her sort-of extended family’s yurt.

“She was my sibling’s fifth ‘almost-sister’, as they put it.” She stifles a giggle in her sleeve, dusty as it is. The shades move around the two of them, false fire creating a sense of warmth. “Back home, in the Steppe, it is uncommon that outsiders are accepted into another’s yurt for supper, especially should buuz be on the table. But my sibling…”

A flick of her hand has them a bit further in time, when she has offered her spellweaving talents to the menagerie of friends her sibling has gathered.

“They did not trust easily, as I am sure you know,” she says, looking to G’raha and then to the images of the very tower they’d been preparing to send into the past for the last fortnight, formed in the embers of the cooking pit. “But the strength of this bond was worthy enough to share our mama’s specialty buuz with.” She points to them, now laid back on the mats and rugs of the yurt, quietly failing to fight off sleep. “I did not recognize them when they returned, at first, but by supper’s end I was certain this was still the same Zaya that had flew west on the back of their yol.”

She smiles when the memory skips to later, when the moon is high and every adventurer has fallen asleep haphazardly on the floor of the tent. “Happy as they may be on grand adventures,” she whispers, letting the strands of hope fray and unravel as her magic fades. “I have not seen them any more at peace than this moment.”

The memory ends quietly, in a burst of sunlight and moonglow, and as the motes of aether fizzle back into transparency G’raha slides off of the crate. He stays silent, for a few moments, still transfixed onto that one spot where his dearest ‘friend’, as Zaya had once put it, sat.

Only when she softly clears her throat does he turn to look her in the eyes, ruby eyes wild and hair just the slightest bit disheveled. He looks both terrible and determined at the same time, and she cannot decide whether she sees Zaya’s spirit or Oktai’s determination in his soul first.

“I…” he starts, eyes looking back down to his feet, wringing his hands like he did when she first met him. “I would ask your name, but I feel it would be improper to only do introductions when I am about to leave.”

Her quiet huff of laughter has his head snapping back up fast enough for her to hear the light crack of his neck. “Taban Qestir,” she says, bowing slightly. “Famed storyteller and well past her years.”

G’raha almost seems to puff up. “I—Is there anything—”

“No.” She has taught him all she could, all her stories told and her promises filled. After two centuries of outliving one’s family, she thinks there is nothing more she needs than to rest. “I’ve taken enough of your time, I would think.”

It’s harder than she thought it would be to press the leather-bound journal from her first few years into his hands, knowing that all she remembers of her home is written into its pages, but she does it anyways. “Go on now, G’raha Tia. Your destiny awaits.”

She smiles, then, just as mirthful as their sibling’s own smile, back when they were sitting around that cooking pit sharing their home and food with friends rather than a grave with them.

And as he turns to retreat further into the Tower that both robbed him of his future and can give him one anew, Taban thinks of Zaya, brilliant and bright and effervescent, and of their friends, their figures not as filled out in Taban’s memory than of them but just as lovely and bright all the same.

She remembers as she walks out of the Crystal Tower, and hopes that G’raha will remember his friends first before the vaunted heroes of the world he woke to.

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #ironworks #g'raha tia #taban qestir #shadowbringers spoilers #okay so i meant to stop at 1k max. look at the word count and please kick my tiny ass #ANYWAYS. STARTING THIS FFXIVWRITE SWINGING YAHOO #my writing #tales from the blue #a large amount of this is Vague and that's because it's Taban and i don't know what im doing with her yet! vague hours!#elie's ffxivwrite2020

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ahatintimestorybook · 4 years

Text

AHIT Twin AU- Sickness and Bullying

Here is the 2nd part of the bullying arc and minor TW: someone gets hurt

Enjoy!!

@winterpower98

MJ woke up to his alarm clock ringing. He picked up the clock and turned it off before getting out of bed to clean up and get ready for school. “Wake up Luka. We have school today.” MJ groaned. Luka moaned snuggling deeper into his pillow.

Once MJ got cleaned up, got his hair tied up into a ponytail and dressed he saw Luka was still in bed. MJ groaned and shook his little brother again. “Come on Luka, we’re going to be late.” MJ shook his little brother a bit harder until he heard something come from his brother’s mouth.

Cough

MJ stepped back when he heard Luka cough. Luka got up and coughed again harder, almost gagging. MJ went over to his little brother’s head and felt how hot he was. This scared MJ, he’d been fine with Luka getting sick before, but since the Lazy Paw trio started to bully MJ it scared him to go to school without Luka. Now that the bullies were in the same class as them it was ten times worse than it was in the past.

No. MJ was not going to school alone. He quickly went to Luka’s side of the closet and picked random clothes for Luka and threw it on his bed. “Come on Luka get dressed!” MJ yelled.

Luka slowly got up and held his head as it felt heavy. MJ saw Luka’s tired bloodshot eyes, sweat rushing down his face, and pale as a ghost. As much as MJ would want Luka to stay home he is not going to school alone. MJ went over to Luka’s bed and tried to drag him out of bed to get ready, but the moment Luka stood up he collapsed on the floor before coughing and groaning.

“I know your sick Luka, but I am not going to school alone!” MJ whined.

Soon MJ heard a knock. “Michael! Luka! Are you boys up yet?” Angela asked.

“W-we are!” MJ lied. “Just getting Luka out of bed.” MJ picked up Luka and set him down on his bed as he went and tried to change his little brother.

Soon Angela came in horrified seeing MJ trying to get his sick little brother ready for school. “MJ are you crazy!” Angela shouted. “Don’t you see your little brother is sick!” MJ gulped and rubbed his arm he knew, he just couldn’t tell them why. Angela sighed and looked at Luka. “Luka, baby are you okay?”

Luka groaned and shook his head slowly. “No.” Angela sighed and hugged her son before letting him lay back down.

“Rest well Luka. I’ll take your temperature after breakfast.” Angela promised. Luka nodded and slowly fell asleep. Angela then turned to her older son and took his hand. “You young man come down for breakfast we have a long talk before school.” Angela then dragged MJ out of the room leading him to the kitchen to eat breakfast.

“Ok mom.” MJ sighed.

At the kitchen table Angela told her husband, Richard about MJ trying to drag his sick little brother to school. Richard was upset, but MJ was already guilty about it. He knew Luka was sick, but he didn’t want to tell his parents why he tried to drag Luka along.

“MJ how stupid can you be!” Angela snapped. “Luka is sick, why would you bring him to school sick?”

MJ stuttered. He wanted to tell his parents what was going on, but he couldn’t. “I-I didn’t know he was sick.” He lied.

Angela and Richard looked at each other. Angela sensed something was wrong with MJ, when she arrived in the room she saw him try to drag his sick brother out of bed. She knew that MJ knew Luka was sick, but he tried to wake him up to get to school with him somehow.

“MJ I know you're not telling me the truth.” Angela said. MJ looked up at his mother. “Please could you tell me what’s wrong?” MJ sat there quietly not wanting to tell his parents about what’s been going on with him in school.

Luckily he was saved by the school bus. MJ sighed and threw away his breakfast. “I’ll tell you after school. Bye mom and dad.” Quickly before Angela could stop him MJ was already out the door. Angela sighed putting her hand over her face.

Richard frowned and put his arm around Angela. “It's alright Angie. We’ll ask him what’s wrong after school.” Richard reassured his wife. Angela gave a small smile and gave her husband a kiss. “Come on let’s go check up on Luka.”

“Right.” Angela agreed.

At school, MJ distanced himself from everyone. He did his class work in silence despite having to hear the snickers from the Lazy Paw Trio. Since they knew MJ was alone it was the perfect time to take down the twin.

When recess started MJ was about to walk towards the tree he and Luka would stay under, but was pulled away by Blake and slammed into the wall. The trio snickered as MJ glared at his bullies. “Look gang, Mikey doesn’t have his wimpy little brother around.” Blake mocked.

MJ growled and shoved Blake away. “Leave me alone!” He snapped.

The bullies glared and Scott grabbed MJ’s arm pulling him close before pushing him on the ground. MJ slowly tried to get back up but Robin and Blake held MJ down with their feet as Scott came close, chuckling at how defenseless MJ had become.

MJ struggled to get loose, but that made the bullies hold him tighter, chuckling evilly as MJ winced in pain. Scott formed his hand into a fist and it soon collided with MJ making the young boy scream.

Back at home Luka was having some soup for lunch. Turned out he was sick with a 101 degree fever, but with some rest, liquids and something warm he should be back to his old spirited self in no time. “Thanks mom.” Luka whispered.

“Anything for you, Lulu.” Angela replied.

Luka gave a small smile, but felt like now was a good time to tell his parents what’s going on “Mom, dad could I tell you something?” He asked.

“Sure what is it?” Richard asked in reply.

Luka opened his mouth, but quickly closed it. He promised MJ he wouldn’t tell, but after what his parents told him he needed to. “If I tell you this, would you promise not to tell MJ?” He asked.

Angela and Richard wondered if Luka was going to tell them the reason about MJ’s behavior early this morning. “Honey, MJ was acting weird this morning.” Luka’s eyes widened hearing this. Guess their parents were closing in on MJ’s behavior.

“We were going to wait till you were better for you to tell us, but if you want to tell us now. Fine by me.” Richard continued.

Luka sighed. “Alright.” He took a deep breath and got himself comfortable before explaining everything to his parents. “Well since 3rd grade, MJ and sometimes myself get bullied by these three kids called the Lazy Paw Gang.” He started. “They always make MJ so miserable. They call him names, throw things at him, corner him to the wall, and I stand up for him, but sometimes I end up getting hurt too.”

Angela and Richard were shocked. They didn’t know their sons, mainly MJ was being bullied, and this was going on for two years! “Honey!” Angela gasped. “Why didn’t you tell us?” She asked.

“Because MJ told me not to tell.” Luka replied. “If we told, it will make things worse for us because you're a lawyer mom. He didn’t want to use law as his protection.” Angela was taken aback hearing from Luka why MJ didn’t want to tell her. “Despite all the times we told the teacher and principal they got worse and worse.” Luka coughed hard and as he died tears started to come out of his eyes. “And MJ is scared of going to school alone.” He revealed.

Now Angela and Richard got their answer to MJ’s behavior this morning.

“If MJ goes alone he gets hurt badly. It happened before, remember when I was sick last year?” Luka asked. Angela and Richard nodded. “When MJ came home I found out the Lazy Paw Trio pushed him to the wall and he fell and no one stood to help him, everyone laughed at him.” Luka sobbed.

Richard went over to Luka and hugged him close. Angela herself was on the brink of tears. She didn’t know what MJ was going through for the past two years and was suprised he didn’t crack between the start of the bullying till now.

As Luka cried he started to cough harder, which made Richard rub his back hoping it would calm him down. “I wanted to tell you guys, but MJ told me not too because he didn’t want to make it worse. So I kept it a promise.”

“Oh Luka.” Richard sighed. “You should have told us this was going on.” He explained.

“Yeah Luka.” Angela agreed. “If you knew this was going on we could have helped you two.”

Luka sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I just don’t want to see MJ getting hurt.” He whimpered.

“MJ would have gotten more hurt if you didn’t tell us.” Richard explained. Luka looked up at his father and saw a mix of sadness and anger in his eyes. Luka looked down; he knew bright as day MJ was going to keep getting hurt even just to protect him, but he also didn’t want to make the situation worse.

From all the crying Luka felt tired again and slowly fell asleep. Richard gave a small smile and he ushered his wife to leave the room so their son could get some rest. As they left the room, the phone rang and Angela ran to grab it.

“Hello?” Angela answered. “Yes?” Angela’s expression dropped, almost dropping the phone in the process. “I-is he okay?” She asked. Richard quickly went over to his wife hoping to calm her down. Angela sighed at what the person on the phone told her. “I-I’ll head on over there myself. Thank you. Bye.” Angela hung up the phone ready to cry.

“A-Angela? What happened?” Richard asked.

“MJ got beaten up.” Angela cried. Richard covered his mouth in shock. Their worst fears coming true as a result of MJ and Luka not telling them about what’s going on. Angela tried to calm down, wiping the tears from her eyes but they kept falling.

“Is he?” Richard asked.

“H-he’s fine. He is in the nurse’s office and someone needs to pick him up.”

Richard nodded. “I’ll do it.” Angela nodded back as Richard went to grab his coat and hat before leaving the house to pick up his son. Once he left Angela cried that her little boy was hurt.

Richard made it to the school and quickly went into the nurse’s office. “I-Is he okay?” Richard asked.

The nurse looked up at Richard. “A-are you the father of Michael Prince?” The nurse asked.

“Y-yes.” Richard replied, but the nurse didn’t answer his question. “Is MJ alright?” He asked.

The nurse nodded and moved away, and what Richard saw left him in tears. MJ had a black eye, and had a towel over his nose getting a nose bleed from the bullies, he also had bruises on his arms thanks to Robin and Blake pushing their feet onto MJ’s arms.

“He doesn’t have a concussion, but he does need to go home for the day.” The nurse told him.

“Okay.” Richard replied. He found MJ’s stuff on a chair and picked it up. The nurse held MJ up and the older twin followed his father to the car. The car ride home was quiet, Richard wanted to start a conversation with MJ, but MJ turned away from him just facing the car window.

Once they made it home Richard didn’t get out of the car. “MJ. Luka told us what was going on.” Richard revealed.

MJ turned to his father and glared. “I told Luka not too.” He growled. “Why did he-” Richard cut off his son.

“Michael! I know you wanted to keep your secret, but look at you!” Richard yelled. MJ jumped back from his father’s outburst. He didn’t want to hear much of it and got out of the car, grabbed his stuff and went inside the house.

When MJ came in he heard more yelling coming from his mother. “Just three days suspension!” Angela shouted. “My baby got hurt! And only three days! Not a month or expulsion?” Angela saw MJ walk in the kitchen not looking up at her mother. Angela covered her mouth seeing her son’s injuries in person. Angela sighed. “Alright. Fine. Fine!” She snapped before hanging up the phone. She took a breather and sat down on the chair hoping to relax.

Richard finally came in and saw his wife distraught. “See.” MJ started causing his parents to look at him. “This is why I told Luka not to tell.” MJ turned from his parents and wanted to be alone in his room, but Richard stopped him.

“Now MJ.” Richard spoke up. “I know you wanted to keep this a secret, but you're hurt and we were worried about you this morning.”

Now it was Angela’s turn to comfort MJ. “Michael. We care and love you and Luka told us because he cares a lot about you.” She reassured her son. “If Luka was hurt or worse would you keep it a secret because Luka told you too, or tell someone?”

This question opened MJ’s eyes. MJ turned to his family and glared. “That will never happen! Because I’ll be able to know what’s going on with Luka and protect him before anything happens to him!” He shouted.

“And that’s what Luka is doing for you!” Richard shouted. “He told us because he was looking out for you!”

“One day, Luka will need you and it's your choice to tell us or handle it on your own keeping it a secret.” Angela added. MJ frowned and looked down tears coming down his face. Angela and Richard went over to MJ and hugged him.

MJ couldn’t hold it in and sobbed into his parents arms. “I hate school! I hated them! I hate how they hurt me! I wish I could use my magic and everything will be better!” MJ sobbed letting out all the anger and sadness he held in all these years.

Angela hushed her son and rubbed his back to comfort him. “It's alright. Let it out. Let it out.” She soothed. MJ’s loud cries turned into sobs as his family gave him the comfort and love he needed.

#ahit twin au #ahit au #MJ Prince #MoonJumper #ahit the prince #ahit moonjumper #Luka Prince #Angela Prince #Richard Prince #Tw bullying #Tw minor blood

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catbowserauthor · 4 years

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Fear, Love and Oblivion: a DBZ/DBS Fanfiction

So, I don’t like the anime ending of the Goku Black arc. Not because it feels tacked on (though it does) but because of the other implications of it.

When Lord Zeno destroys Future Trunks’ timeline to destroy Zamasu and Goku Black, they are not all he destroyed.

OOO

It came with a wave of warm light.

Just a pinprick in the distance to be honest. Easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it but Gohan had never taken his eyes off of the struggles of the earth he left behind. In a way, he never forgave himself for leaving Trunks behind even though there wasn’t much to be done about it. He’d not been strong enough and he knew it. But there hadn’t been much choice left.

Seeing how Trunks has prevailed since then...well, Gohan didn’t know if it was possible to be more proud than he was. While you couldn’t see everything from the Afterlife, you could see quite a bit and when he got the chance, he would look down on him.

King Yemma had said something was amiss on the Earth and not just the Earth but all over the universe. Something that had divine energy and yet not. He mentioned a set of Dragonballs that Gohan had never heard of and that had left an ominous feeling in Gohan’s heart.

Then Bulma had come through the Check In Station.

Oh, it felt like forever since anyone had seen her! Gohan knew it felt like that for him! As sad as the prospect of her death was, he was glad to see her again.

Then she’d recoiled from his dad like he was some kind of monster. The look that took on Goku’s eyes was heartbreaking; Bulma was his oldest friend. Not his only friend, not by far, but their relationship had always been a unique one.

Seeing her try to scramble away until Gohan had managed to talk her down, Goku had all but collapsed to the ground. When she finally managed to look at him again without utter terror in her eyes...it was unnerving.

Then Bulma had started talking.

About this Goku Black. What a horrific concept, Gohan thought. His father, despite his Saiyan blood, had always been a protector, someone that would risk himself for someone else. That someone was using his father’s image to commit atrocities made Gohan see red.

“Trunks will take care of him.”

He meant that. He meant that with every fiber of his being. He knew the depths of Trunks’ passion. If there was a means to destroy this Goku Black then Trunks would find it.

Yet as Gohan stood on the edge of Grand Kai’s planet, trying to sense what he could sense, he felt...fear.

So many dead. So much anxiety. So much hopelessness and the darkness of one ki—or was it two? Hard to tell—they felt identical but were separate and one had the ki of his father’s body—or a version of his father’s body—worn like a sick mask. The sickness underneath it bled through.

And he really wasn’t sure he was feeling ki. It was more like...well, like something was there and was vibrating with such a dark feeling that he was catching waves off of it rather than the source. Like a black hole was found by the reactions around it and not the hole itself.

“It’s Lord Zeno! He has deemed us no longer worthy!”

That statement, uttered by one of the Kaio, Gohan wasn’t sure which, was enough to produce mass hysteria. People shouting, running, pleading, asking for mercy.

A hand fell on his shoulder.

Looking up, he felt a sense of warmth at seeing his father there.

“Do you know who Zeno is, Dad?” He finally asked.

“Nope. Big shot, by the looks of it.” Goku faced that speck of white light that Gohan had been monitoring and closed his eyes. “I think I know why the panic though.”

Frowning, Gohan followed his father’s look. It was a rare thing to see his father’s face so serious and melancholy. But as Gohan focused his senses, he began to see why.

Ki. Vanishing. Just gone. Not dead. That was a different feeling. That was a transfer of energy. This was just...utter erasure. Completely and fully and in the blink of an eye. Human, animal, tree, rock, water.

Just...gone. Ceased. Emptiness in its place. Void.

And it all centered on that white light that was spreading like an all encompassing ocean, dissolving whatever it touched and spreading.

Inching over land, sky and everything in between. Down beyond what the mind could sense, into the bowels of the ocean. Leaving just empty whiteness in its wake.

Zeno...Gohan pondered the word. He knew there were a lot of possibilities but given everything, he didn’t think his assessment was wrong.

‘King of All.’

The warm light was getting closer and it carried a terrible wind with it, almost as if announcing utter oblivion. Despite its warmth, there was no joy to be had in it and fear took Gohan down to the depth of his soul.

Dying, he could handle. He’d done it without a second thought to protect this world and the people within it. He would gladly do it again. Because it left behind people to carry on in his place. People that would succeed where he failed.

But this?

This looming permanence of nothingness. Of being...of not being. Not just him but everyone, everything, everything that had ever been!

“Trunks got away.”

Goku’s words were spoken calmly without much gumption. “I felt his ki disappear but not like this. It kinda...popped. So, he went somewhere else. Not here.”

Oh course. The Time Machine he’d used to jump timelines. Made sense it could jump...well, wherever it jumped to. “Trunks is alive.”

Goku nodded, wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulders. “He’s got a good memory. He’ll make sure we ain’t gonna just...be gone.”

It was so close now. Hot, almost burning. Gohan trembled before it. “But...all we did. All we fought for. All for nothing.”

“Not nothing, Son. Everything you learned you gave to Trunks. He ain’t here. Not for nothing.”

Gohan could almost taste it. The emptiness that closed in on them like a wave that could not be stopped. He saw the pathway leading up to the planet vanish as if it had never been. He saw small figures, fighters he’d grown fond of, disappear and just...cease.

Fear took his heart. Fear unlike any he’d felt before and he wanted to run and scream and cry. He wanted to...well, he was dead so not live but exist. To be. To just...

His voice was quaking though he wasn’t talking. Not really. More like letting sounds come from his throat that he had not made in years.

Tears.

Yes, he was crying.

A hand fell on his empty sleeve and another cupped his cheek and turned him away from that white wave that looked ever closer.

Goku...his father...looked on him with eyes full of warmth and love. “Look at me. Not at that. Look at me.”

He did. He lost himself in those eyes he’d seen close forever that fateful day so long ago. Before that war against the Androids. Before losing everyone he cared about. Before losing the world he loved...

“...Daddy.”

He’d not called him that since the day Goku died. It felt so alien now. But right.

Goku pulled his son tight into his chest, one arm over his head and effectively blocking his sight. If this was how it was to end, his son would not go looking eternal death in the face.

“I’m here, son. I’m here.”

Gohan squeezed his eyes tight even as he held his father so close he swore they should have merged into one another.

“I’ll always be here.”

And to that, Goku kept his word, holding his only child as tight as he could until oblivion took them both—together.

#dbz #dbs #goku black arc #lord zeno #omni king #I can’t stand the anime ending to the Goku Black arc #because Zeno destroyed the whole timeline #that means afterlife too #Poor Future Gohan #Future Trunks’ timeline #Future Goku #Future Gohan #Mirai Goku #Mirai Gohan #tragedy #good dad Goku #Goku loves his kids

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sweetmemories2606 · 4 years

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Be My Forever (MesCana Day)

Hey everyone! Here I bring you my second MesCana fic because today is officially their day! :))

I am dedicating it to the lovely Daphne (@tobethefairybest), who created this amazing ship.

While I know it is a rather unthought of pairing which most people are unfamiliar with, I hope that by reading this story and its sequel, Forget, you might fall in love with Mest and Cana's relationship just as I did.

Here's the info:

Title: Be My Forever

Summary: Mest was falling in love, but there was too much holding him back from telling her. It had only been a year since he had completed his mission and they were still adjusting to being in each other's life again. The timing wasn't right, but would it ever be?

Timeline: Avatar/Alvarez Arcs

Warnings: This is pretty angsty and there is a funeral scene which might be too much.

Happy reading!

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

October X792

"Are you sure you're ready?" Cana asked, surprised and honestly a little worried. "I am," Mest replied, glancing at the letter in his hands. "It's time I tell everyone the truth." "I wonder how they will take it." She wondered, frowning. He lowered his head, a wistful look upon his face. "I hope they'll forgive me." "They'll understand," Cana reassured, putting a hand on his shoulder. He tensed, but tried not to let it show, putting on a smile instead. "Thank you. Having you by my side gives me the courage to finally come clean." She watched him for a moment, searching, also settling for a smile. "I'm glad. You know I'm always here for you."

--------------------- Nearly a year ago "I'm so sorry," Cana said, taking his hand. They were at the cemetery in ERA, where the Magic Council used to reside before they had all been murdered. After such a tragic event, the townspeople had organised a funeral which was taking place. Mest had returned to bury Lahar, who had been his closest friend and the person who had helped him get through the 7 years when Fairy Tail was gone. Mest hadn't yet fully comprehended that his friend was gone, but the memory of holding Lahar's body and begging him to wake was etched on his mind. Feeling Cana squeeze his hand, he tightened his grip. "Thank you," Glancing at her, he tried to convey how much he appreciated her coming with him. "For being here." She offered a sorrowful smile. "Of course." They had to silence once the ceremony began. It was long, exhausting and heartbreaking. Many people gave speeches about the deceased council members. Some expressed despair and sorrow, others anger and a few hope for a better future. Mest tried to encompass all these emotions. Being the only survivor, he spoke about the sacrifices that had been made, his anger at being unable to stop Jackal and how he hoped these deaths wouldn't be in vain. Once the funeral was over and most people had left, he decided to take a moment to say goodbye to Lahar. Cana gave him some space, but he could feel her presence nearby. It comforted him, knowing that even though he had lost so much, she was still there. Mest returned to her side after burying Lahar's broken glasses close to the grave. Somehow, once his eyes met hers, he burst into tears, falling to his knees. She held him against her chest and rubbed circles against his back, letting him cry all he needed. Between sobs, he thanked her and she gave one simple response. "You don't have to thank me. I'm always here for you."

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

The memory nearly brought tears to his eyes, but Mest composed himself. "Thank you." There was silence; awkward and uncomfortable. Cana quickly removed her hand, returning it to her side. He wasn't sure what this meant, but tried not to think about it. About to tell her they should start packing, but then she asked. "Are you going to tell them everything?" "I have to," Mest replied, determined. "They need to know how serious the situation is." Cana nodded before letting out a sigh, concerned again. "And have you really not heard anything from Master?" He shook his head. "No. I'm honestly scared he's..." He couldn't finish the thought. "No," Cana denied it immediately. "I know he's still alive." He sighed deeply. "Let's hope so." Glancing at the letter again, he told her. "We should start packing if we want to make it to Magnolia in time." "Okay," She offered another small smile. "Should we leave for the station in 2 hours?" Mest nodded in agreement. "That's fine with me." Watching her turn around and walk back towards her bedroom, he sighed again. It was hard being so close to her without telling her how he felt, but he knew it was best. It had only been a year since he had completed his mission and they were still adjusting to being in each other's life again.

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

One year ago “Mest Gryder, your mission is complete.” He stared at Makarov in utter shock. Then his eyes caught the Fairy Tail mark which suddenly appeared on his shoulder. "What the hell is this?" He started freaking out. "Start talking!" Makarov explained things calmly. How Mest had always had this emblem because he had been a member of Fairy Tail. How his devotion to the guild had been so great that he'd been willing to erase his own memories and identity. Mest didn't want to believe it at first, but suddenly the pieces started to come in. Flashback by flashback, he began to remember his life and the mission he had risked so much for. Makarov watched him quietly, a sympathetic look upon his face, letting the young man figure things out himself. Then his eyes wandered to someone behind Mest, making the latter turn around. She was standing closeby, eyes widened, clearly shocked. There was no doubt she had heard what they had said and for a moment Mest worried about what she would do. Then he remembered. His own eyes widened once memories of all the moments they had shared returned full force. They had been childhood friends just like Gray, Erza and Natsu. Always so close and always there for each other. Until Mest had left for his mission, breaking her heart. Recalling the moment he had left her, his own heart ached. "Cana...." She sniffled, seemingly fighting against tears. "Mest?" Makarov glanced between them with sadness. "I can only imagine how much you two must've missed each other. I'm sorry it had to be like this." "I..." Cana struggled with words. "You...We were..." "You remember?" Mest asked and she nodded, tears streaming down her face. He couldn't stop himself from crying too. It was finally over. At last he was home again with her.

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

Unfortunately, home had ceased to exist that same night. Fairy Tail was disbanded and Mest knew why, but still hated that he couldn't be reunited with his friends after so long. Each took a different path, some never to be seen again until a year later. Mest was completely lost at what to do, but Cana helped him. She let him stay at her apartment for a while and invited him to come along on her search for her father. They spent months travelling together, taking on jobs like they used to and getting to know each other. He told her everything about his life in the Council and during the seven years they were apart. She told him about reconnecting with her father before he had disappeared again. During that time, feelings developed. Mest wasn't sure exactly why, but he started seeing her in a different light. When they would joke about never being able to get rid of the other, he'd note that the mere thought of being apart from her again was heartbreaking. When she'd flirt with other men or reminisce about her brief fling with Bacchus from the Quatro Cerberus Guild, Mest would feel jealous. It had never happened before, but now it was too frequent to ignore. He reflected about their relationship and wondered if perhaps it could become something else. It was strange, having romantic thoughts about Cana. Even though he was aware that sometimes close friendships like theirs could be the foundation of a long-lasting romance, Mest had never considered it before. In fact, he had barely even considered romance before. During his time at Fairy Tail their friendship had been more than enough and while he was working for the Council, his job had taken sole focus. Only during those seven years had he considered a relationship after much persuasion from Lahar, but Mest had been so broken then. He still was. There were too many wounds that needed to be healed and traumas which held him back. He still needed to fully move on from the horrible events of the war against Tartaros and Lahar's death. Furthermore, there was also the fact he had no idea whether Cana felt the same. She never gave clear signals that her feelings had changed which could be frustrating at times. For the sake of their friendship, Mest decided not to tell her that he was falling in love. A decision which at times could be very hard to keep.

--------------------- 3 months ago "What do you think?" Cana glanced at him, curious. "It's a nice apartment." Mest took another look around the living room, which was decently sized. There was a red couch with a rectangular table in front, two orange chairs and a fireplace. "Quite cozy." "I agree." She nodded, smiling brightly. "I think it's the perfect place for us to settle for now." "And are you sure that you want to settle?" He questioned. Cana frowned for a moment and he guessed she was wondering if this was the right choice. It had been a few weeks since she had suggested that they search for a place to stay in Oak Town, which was closest from their latest camping site. "I don't know…" She bit her lip. "I want to keep searching for my father, but it's clear he doesn't want to be found." "Maybe it's best to wait until he contacts you," Mest suggested. She looked down sadly. "You mean 'if' he contacts me." Sensing her distress, he closed the distance between them, bringing her in for a tight hug. "He will. You just have give him more time." She sighed, letting her head rest against his chest. It felt so right to hold her like this. He couldn't stop his mind from wandering or his feelings from surfacing. "You always know what to say, don't you?" Cana looked up, eyes shiny with unshed tears. "That's not true," Mest disagreed, feeling his heartbeat speeding up once her hand gently touched his cheek. "It is." She smiled, but the tears started falling. "I'm so glad you're here with me." He was tempted to wipe them away, but restrained himself. "I'm happy to be here." Her arms tightened around his torso before her head returned to his chest. He felt his shirt becoming damp as she continued to cry. Mest held her close, letting her be, while attempting to calm his racing hard and suppress his emotions. A few minutes later, she pulled away, removing herself from his embrace and taking a step back. While wiping the remaining tears, she gave him a grateful look. "Thank you. For everything." He offered a genuine smile. "Of course." At that moment, he wanted to tell her the truth so badly. Then he remembered why he shouldn't. Instead, Mest decided to say something which was also true, but did not reveal his growing feelings. "I'm always here for you."

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

"Mest? Why are you still standing there?" Cana's voice broke him out of his thoughts. She stood by her bedroom door, staring at him in concern. Mest realised that he remained by the red couch. Putting Lucy's letter into his pocket, he apologised. "Sorry. I was just lost in thought." Cana watched him for a moment. "Are you okay?" He put on another tense, fake smile. "Yeah. I'm fine." Her expression conveyed disbelief. "Are you sure? Because if you want to talk..." "No." Mest disagreed a little too strongly. "I have to start packing." He left before she could press him any further and walked back to his room, knowing that if he had stayed the truth might slip out. It wasn't the right time. Or at least, that's what he told himself. It was his mantra and he held onto it every time he came close to telling her. Would it ever be, he wondered? Would he ever be ready to cross this line? Mest wasn't sure, but there was so much going on at the moment. The meeting with Fairy Tail, the situation with Makarov, the shaky alliance between Fiore and Alvarez which might soon break and lead to an devastating war. He shouldn't focus on his feelings when there was so much at stake and neither could he risk ruining their friendship when he needed her most. That was why, contrary to what he wanted, Mest decided to keep pretending for just a little longer.

#fanfic #mescana #fairy tail #crack ship #mest x cana #mescana day #angst #longing #avatar arc #alvarez arc #flashbacks #falling in love #be my forever

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bi-outta-cordonia · 4 years

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Sky and Moon, Part II

This thing has been kicking my butt for weeks now but it’s done and I’m done with it! Part 2, where the thing happens and maybe these idiots will actually start trying to make something of this. Maybe!! This is part of a running thing at this point and Tyril is officially the character I’ve written the most for at this point.

Blades of Light and Shadow. Tyril Starfury x f!elf MC (Ashala Venralei). sfw, mostly T rating for some mentions of mature situations. Tags include: Tyril is kind of a coward but listen he’s trying, some big make outs I’ve been a lil too eager to finally get to, uh also some fights, mostly practice, but Tyril has been just a bit irritating for my poor girl to deal with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gallius, the Unmoving. She swallowed her sisters and became the immovable, bare-naked creature that looms over all Morella. Her cracked surface and scattered pieces were the final result of her violent consumption, so the legend says. While her sisters accepted their fate, their bodies writhed and screamed when it came time to fulfill that destiny.

Confronting the inevitable remains difficult even for the gods it seems.

The moon hangs high in the sky, bathing the earth in pale light that faintly illuminates all the move about the realm. The first thing he notices is that Imtura remains missing from camp. Her words to him may change things depending if his stubbornness continues to hold him hostage. Nia sits absently scratching a sleeping Threep, an occasional smile tugging at her lips when he purrs and rubs at his face with a paw. Tyril remains in the shadows for now and watches carefully as Mal slowly trudges through the camp.

“She was trying to kill me,” he sighs, exasperated. He drops onto the log he was sitting on hours ago and ignores Nia’s stifled laughter.

“I’m sure you would’ve been dead by now if she desired such a thing!” she explains.

“You think you know her sooo well until she’s got you pinned between a rock and a hard place while she’s,” he frantically waves a hand, “throwing fireballs about! I want to be happy that she’s getting better at battle magic but then she singes my arse and I have to remind myself she’s trying to kill people when she does that.”

Tyril’s head bows—Ashala came to him on a night he was keeping watch asking about elven battle magic. She’s still searching for answers to questions she isn’t ready to know.

Even with the markings on her and the extensive teachings her parents bestow upon her, she is not fully knowledgable of elven practices. He gave in then, the culmination of their late nights together leading him down a path of curiosity he’s apparently decided to indulge.

Mal sighs and props himself up on his arms. “That Ashala is something else.”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Nia says, gently setting Threep on the ground. She rises and reaches out to warm her hands over the fire. “Would it be too forward to ask if anything…er…if you two might…?”

A heavy silence hangs between the two of them for a long while and Nia looks up. Mal’s entire game is deception and sleight of hands—if there ever was a moment he let his true feelings slip through, he’s done well to conceal them. Tyril waits, his gaze briefly flicking towards the direction beyond the trees where Ashala still remains.

“It’s been tense around here,” Mal says instead. A part of Tyril seizes up but he remembers himself quickly. Mal’s eyes focus straight ahead and his brow furrows. “Tyril and Imtura still out there?”

Nia shrugs. “I saw Imtura a little earlier but Tyril hasn’t come back yet.”

“Figures…” Mal mutters, lying back down.

He tries to ignore the venom dripping off the tip of his tongue. The resentment Tyril harbors isn’t for Mal—it should be for his own indecisiveness and for the coward that still crumples at the first sign of something gone wrong rather than facing his shortcomings.

“Hey, Nia—” She lifts her head and looks at Mal again. “You ever feel like you know something’s about to go wrong but you keep on wishing something else would happen? Like there’s a storm brewing—and it’s definitely coming—but some tiny part of you still hopes it’ll change course?”

Nia doesn’t answer for quite some time, choosing instead to stoke the dimming fire with carefully constructed orbs of light. Her magic bursts over the flames, reigniting the embers licking at the empty air all around.

“Sometimes,” she finally responds. “The way I’ve come to think of this world—all the bad things that happen in it—there are just some things out of our control and some things that just happen no matter how hard we try to change that course.”

Mal lets out a bark of laughter. “Of all the people! I thought you were going to rave about putting faith in the Light!”

Nia sighs. “I do believe in the strength and kindness that can come from trusting in the Light. I choose to believe that there is good that can come from what I’ve learned and that I can use that knowledge to help others. But all too often, people forget that the Light does not grant us omniscience and it cannot change fate on request.”

Tyril recedes further into the shadows, eyes briefly shutting and boy shuddering as he takes a breath. He knows the game of give and take, push and pull—Undermount shows him that the Light is a boon where faith is waning but it is not a being that grants wishes so easily. It gives knowledge and takes parts of the soul in exchange. Nature must maintain its balance.

“Is it wrong that I want something bad to happen?” Mal asks. “Not necessarily to a person, but just—say for a situation instead? As in I hope something doesn’t turn out a certain way so I don’t have to wonder if I’ve been wasting my time…”

Tyril shakes his head and beats down the bitterness that rises up in him. His ears twitch when Nia responds.

“I think its natural to wish for things to turn out in your favor. No one wants to lose anything—we all want what we truly desire in life. But even still, we can fail. Despite that, I choose to move forward and do what I can. I would rather try and then fail than rest on my laurels waiting for an outcome I can’t predict.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Each white mark is strategically placed, forming a trove of patterns that look all too familiar. His father once told him of a story about a house that submerged itself in the power that came from knowledge as opposed to the power that came from playing the grand political game. It was a house that dealt only in rediscovery. They often searched for old philosophies, literature, techniques, and magics—the only thing that mattered to them was reclaiming all the lost remnants of the Old Kingdom that were left in the wake of the Shadow Court’s destruction.

Ashala’s brands are similar to the ones his father described back then.

Lumeniese and Sabien: the tragedy of the twin trees,

Myyori, the Wandering Maiden,

Thyrithet and the White Bull—

She conceals the rest behind long black robes and the best leatherwork she can afford. His face heats and his eyes dart away thinking of all the times he laid up on nights wondering what the full work looks like.

Ashala’s hands extend out and away from her body, palms turned upward and brilliant balls of light pulsating in each hand. Energy pours from the marks, stirs deep inside him as her subconscious draws from the power all around her. It gives and she takes. Dew droplets from the tiniest blade of grass, a hidden insect stirring heat as its tiny legs frantically move—circling and funneling through that conduit that is her body into the flat of her palms. Nature provides and demands in the same breath, it cycles but she is smart enough to ask for the minimal. There is no need to be greedy with the Light.

He steps through the clearing and she ignores him.

Tyril’s fingers part and stretch slowly—the bitter taste of electricity from the skies tingles on his tongue and the crackle of static ripples up the length of his arm, raising locks of his hair on end. Sparks tingle through heated skin and his lips tremble. Small bolts of lightning pop and crack the air, some shooting out of his palm into the very ground around Ashala’s feet.

Her head perks up but she keeps her back to him. Ashala’s fingers twitch and her magic swallows the bolts of power he scatters at her feet. Piece by piece, she consumes everything. They’ve done this song and dance a million times—a process of giving and giving until the reserve deep inside him quivers just a bit. When she consumes enough, he drops his hand and shakes his head so his hair falls back into place.

Stray wind rustles the trees surrounding the clearing. He grips the hilt of one of his blades.

Fire blazes towards him and he leaps, crossing the distance in three strides before his blade collides with a transparent barrier. He grits his teeth and she barely tilts her head. Planting his foot, he pushes off the invisible construct and throws a hand up as bolts of ice fly past him. Fire arcs through the black night and cracks at his feet like a whip. The orange trail breaks from her palm and speeds towards him, its form shifting as blackened eyes and fangs descend from a burning maw.

Tyril cuts through the creature and pivots easily, blocking Ashala’s knife stabbing straight at his heart. Her golden eyes finally meet his, controlled rage swirling within the depths, and he throws his weight behind his blade. His mouth opens and she cracks him across the face with a wave of raw telepathic magic. He wipes the blood from his lip and slams her in the stomach with a blast of his own.

She flies back but tumbles onto her feet, skidding across the wet ground, and slaps the ground with her hand, raising a wall of dirt and grass from the bowels of the earth. Tyril braces, harnessing the subtle wind blowing through the clearing and halting it in place. He takes up a defensive stance with his blade and spins, cutting the first pillar of rock she throws at him right down the middle. Blow by blow, her hands mold and shape the earth, shooting piece by piece of stone at him. One by one, he switches, turns, and spins as the wind shapes his blade and in turn cuts down every block of earth coming towards him.

There’s a small shout that comes from her end and the wall comes careening towards him. A flick of his wrist and he quickly sucks the dew from the grass and traps the wall of dirt behind a cage of pure water. Tyril yanks the wall to the side where it collapses uselessly in a heap of mud.

He barely manages to catch her wrist still bearing the knife and arcing straight for his heart. The blade grazes his armor but her free hand lifts and he’s forced to drop his sword to grab the wrist holding a ball of fire in her palm. They stare deep into each other’s eyes—the controlled anger is no longer controlled.

Hurt flits through her gaze and he wants to shrivel up. Yearning follows, but the tears well up in the corners of her eyes and he knows what this is about. He squeezes her wrist painfully tight, pressing his thumb and middle finger on her pressure points, forcing the blade out of her hand. His body pivots and they both go tumbling to the ground. One knee pins her body and he slams her wrists to the ground, funneling enough of his magic to drown out the power that courses through her.

Her head snaps back and a bitter laugh bubbles in her throat.

“Submit!” he snarls. “Ger avet tina’lashen!”

“Speak plainly, fool!” she spits back, body thrashing under his weight. “I won’t give in to something I don’t understand!”

It cuts.

She can’t know the way her words slip through the chasm of his ears and buries deep in his head—he hasn’t exactly made this easy for either of them. Tyril squeezes her wrists and she finally looks at him, anger and confusion mixing in an uncomfortable union within her eyes. A tremble rises in him and he stares at her, dark hair falling all around her in a dark curtain.

Ashala holds his gaze for only another brief moment before she turns away. “Get off me.”

Tyril rises slowly and does nothing when she climbs back to her feet. He watches her back for a time as she tears through the belongings wrapped on the ground. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Fixing things—he’s supposed to be fixing things. But every action rips open a new wound. He takes and she does nothing but give. How is he meant to fix this? How does he even start?

“What else would I expect?” His head snaps up in her direction. “I don’t know what you want. I try to see you and you won’t show me anything. I’m trying, Tyril, I am trying!” When she snaps towards him, his heart further shatters. Tears streak down her face but her furious expression doesn’t change. His fingers twitch and she angrily rubs her cheeks. “I just want you to talk to me!”

“Ashala—”

“I’m so tired, Tyril.”

He rises to his feet, both hands raised in the air. Silence hangs over the clearing, not a sound between them even as her tears fall and his heart slams violently against his ribcage. On her own, she seems so small.

Sex for the sake of it, romance built on political mobility, and a genuine love he ran away from because he couldn’t stomach the idea of being responsible for someone else’s feelings for him—everything about this couldn’t be further from the types of love he’s come to know.

Tyril takes a step forward and swallows a shaky breath—she doesn’t move.

“Throw it,” he says.

Her brow furrows. “Throw…it?”

He gestures at the item in her hand—a bottle of salve wrapped in a cloth. Tyril takes another step forward and points to his head. “Throw it.”

She looks at him as if he’s grown three heads. For all the awkwardness he’s generating, he might as well have. Her gaze flits to the bottle and back to him.

“I will do no such thing,” she says.

“Humor me—”

“No.”

His lips press together. “I just—”

“Throwing a bottle at you is not going to temper the frustration inside me.” She stuffs the bottle back into her pack and rounds on him, crossing her arms. “I do not exercise violence against the ones I love when I am angry at them.”

His hands flail.

“You just—” He looks around at the damage they’ve done—scorch marks streaking across the ground, a giant pile of mud and grass, and magic still teeming in the air. “You just tried to stab me!”

“Because I hate you.” He tries to ignore the way his heart shatters at the words finally tumbling from her lips. Ashala averts her gaze for a moment. Her hands gently rub at her arms. “I hate the way you look at me. I hate that your mouth opens but nothing real comes out anymore. I hate…a lot about you right now.” His head bows. “And you’ve done nothing to reverse these feelings,” she continues. “I never thought I’d yearn for the version of you I met in the beginning, always bemoaning humes and the simplistic education of elven culture they provided me. At least you—”

“I don’t!” He snaps, flinching as soon as the words leave his mouth. “I’m sorry…I didn’t…That wasn’t right of me to criticize—not then and certainly not now. What you’ve managed to learn—what your parents taught you—was impressive on its own. I never should have said those things.” She stares at him for a moment, eyes boring deep into him as he slowly approaches. He stands directly in front of her now but ensures there is an appropriate chasm of space between them. A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “I like to think I’ve changed. Or rather, that I’m trying to.”

“I…suppose you have. Somewhat.”

“Not in the ways that matter, unfortunately,” he says, laughing just a bit. His hands go limp at his sides because he knows he can’t trust himself. He can remember the last time she let him touch her unprompted. His hands flex recalling the memory of soft wrists and overworked hands. “The truth is stranger than you think. Or maybe it isn’t—I’m not entirely sure. I’m not usually this unprepared.”

“I can see that,” she says. Her silence is profound and he wonders for a moment if pressing any further is even worth the damage he’s already done.

“I would’ve been married by now.” He waits for her expression to change but it doesn’t. She knows enough about matters of nobility to know the idea isn’t unusual, but he hasn’t exactly been forthright either. “My wife would’ve been a good marriage match but I never would’ve slept with her. Ours was a bond built on friendship and our union would’ve been purely political.”

Her eyes search his. “And she was good to you? She cared for you as you did for her?”

“This is…” His voice wavers at first. “I want to say ‘yes,’ because she did in the beginning. She changed—her demeanor shed and her words became more cruel as time went on. It’s…” Tyril shakes his head and pushes on. “This…This isn’t what I…I was trying to...”

She gives him the room to let the silence fester for a moment, neither one of them quite sure how to proceed from here. It’s a story for another time but there is a fundamental purpose. He swallows and stares at her.

“I’m afraid of you,” he starts. “People tried to kill me in Undermount—outside of it too, but I was never afraid of what came next. I was damn near a child when my parents decided my place as heir and I shouldered that burden without question.” He thinks of the bright eyed boy he once was—the arrogant prince and the studious pupil. A life a luxury and all he ever wanted was always at his fingertips, yet none of that could prepare him for this moment. “The first person who told me he loved me—I ran away from him. His family discovered our relationship and encouraged him to use me for their gain—he told them he would be disowned first and confessed to me later that week.”

Her eyes widen and her mouth opens. “Why?”

“Because I was a fool,” he answers and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Love is so perfectly defined in our culture yet it isn’t until now that I’ve realized just how terrifying the notion truly is.” Tyril pauses for a long moment. “I’ve run from so much—from Lusehene, from my shame… I’m tired too, Ashala. I’m so incredibly tired.”

She touches his shoulder and the act almost steals the breath from him in an instant, the very thing he’s wanted since he saw her hours ago—a gentle and warm hand, heat pulsing through her palm. She pulls away too quickly but her mark already lingers. He can’t bear it anymore.

“You are running from me?” she asks. She pities him and he hates it. He hates that she can understand his meanings so quickly when he’s not trying and he hates that he has to show her all the mangled emotions inside of him when he finally wants to let her understand. “Was that all it was? Was I so blinded by my anger that I refused to see it? Perhaps we are both cowards, Tyril. Maybe we both aren’t so good at anything.”

“No, don’t. It was me that ran away,” he whispers.

“Yet it’s always you that comes back,” she counters. Ashala shakes her head. “You claim you are afraid but you want to try anyway? I’ve never known a more indecisive man.”

“Indecisive…” He repeats, lips quirking a bit.

His choices used to be so easy when everything was for house and glory. Casting another house into ruin was a feat he could pull off without a second thought. Playing on old feuds and manipulating others was an art he mastered as a child. Love was no less a political tool. Love built on powerful friendships, love built on romantic and sexual bonds, love of family, love of all kinds has always been ingrained within Undermount’s society, holding up its foundations and crumbling just as easily when the moment calls for it.

But it isn’t as simple as knowing how to use and shape it when necessary. He knew what his former lovers meant when they told him they loved him—safety, security, and escapism. Undermount is a society that demands much and relies on total obedience to the systems that keep it running. Playing the game is how one survives.

He could love them—he did love them. But he loved the system that provided him comfort much more.

He loved knowing his feelings were his own and his motivations didn’t need further interrogation. He loved knowing he was protected because he knew how to play the game correctly. He loved so many and they loved him too, but he loved knowing that he never had to worry about getting hurt because the game was the best lover he ever had—it would only betray him if he didn’t play it right.

“I’m afraid of you,” he says softly, eyes locking with Ashala’s. His body angles closer and she doesn’t move. He wishes she would move. Do something—run away from him. “I am afraid of what this is doing to me—what this will inevitably do to me.”

She blinks. “Speak plainly.”

Tyril stares deep into her eyes and he lifts his hands, gently and slowly. Fingertips graze the dark fabric clinging to her shoulders and her warmth weakly filters through the barrier. The first time he laid a hand upon her was her shoulders, strong and sure, the weight of the entire world resting on each as her journey pulls her along. She flinches very slightly but doesn’t break their gaze.

“These feelings in me are entirely new,” he starts. He shuffles closer, fills the entire space between them. “Trepidation, hesitation—I open my mouth to say something and my thoughts are overwhelmed by what my heart feels. I know the parts of me that have felt something like this before and my instinct is telling me that the cost outweighs the…the pain that vulnerability brings…” Ashala watches him quietly. His jaw works and his fingers curl, scraping the fabric clinging to her body. “I care about you. It’s strange even to say it out loud because it’s everything I swore I wouldn’t do out here. My mission is supposed to come before everything.”

“Why?” Her hands clasp his on her shoulders. “Why treat yourself this way? To what end?”

“It’s how I survived Undermount. Love is not foreign but it isn’t as freely given either.” Arrindale, Pythia, Lusehene—all he gave but each coming with insurmountable cost. What would he give in exchange for these bonds? What would they give in return? “Lovers, marriages, friendships—everything I ever felt and felt with someone outside of family was built on costs and benefits. What did a friendship earn me? What would I lose in exchange for a night of unattached sex? Thoughts, feelings—everything was a weight on my back. You called me indecisive but back then? Every choice I made was clear.”

Her quiet conceals a building storm, the surge of which will either break his heart for the last time or terrify him even further.

“Tyril…” She grips his wrists. “I don’t—”

“The first man I ever laid with seduced me for the sake of advancing his family’s station,” he interrupts. “Our relationship was built on a love that was fleeting at best but our intentions were clear. When I laid with a woman, our love was built on physical desire only. She needed an outlet and I used her as she used me—we understood the intent clearly.” His fingers spread and he squeezes her shoulders. “I have always been sure, always. I have taken risks and weighed the outcomes so many times in my head it even happens in my sleep. But now? Now I’m risking it all knowing that this fight—this war against the Shadow Court—could very well snatch it from me again!”

She grips him by the shoulders and pulls him close. Their foreheads touch and the breath rushes out of his lungs. Warmth abound everywhere and he missed this. He missed her touch, her skin, her smell, her power—and he’s so afraid of how quickly everything comes down all around him at her gentle urging.

“Tyril…” Ashala whispers, arms winding around his middle now. “Oh, you foolish, foolish man. Who told you to do this alone? Why would you think the burden is only yours to bear?”

“Because I am a prideful idiot,” he answers in a shaky breath. His hands cup her face and they part so he can look into her eyes—her haunting golden eyes that have kept him up at night and stolen every minute he’s spent in his dreams. “I care for you. I want you. I told myself I wouldn’t do this until my mission was completed but I care for you so much it hurts. I care for you so much it frightens me.”

“Of course you wait until now to say these things.” Tears prick the corners of her eyes and he catches them with his thumbs. “You are such a confusing man, you know? Irritated one minute and then thoughtful the next—you say things that make me wish you’d let me grow close and now you say I scare you?” She leans into him and smiles. “I see this man—beautiful and regal—an elf like I dreamed of once. A prince, even. Then you ran into me in the street and almost drew a blade on me. I hated you but then I saw you. You showed me and I showed you too. I stopped trying to show anyone anything about me for so long and then you…”

“I don’t know what happens from here,” he says, gently resting his forehead upon hers. “I don’t know if it’s...if I’ve squandered what we have but I wanted you to know. I needed you to know that my feelings—complicated as they are—remain genuine.”

They are trembling in each other’s grasps, shaking and breathing in shuddering gasps as the weight of everything lays itself bare beneath the moonlit night. Ashala tucks her head to his chest and he lets her listen to his heart beating hard in his chest. Tyril wipes stray tears from her tattooed cheeks and carefully tucks her locs away so he can see her—really see her.

He feels her shift and pulls back. Their distance leaves him yearning but she does not go far.

“Then show me,” she says. “No more guessing. You show me this truth from now on and you claim it if this is your desire.”

“It is,” he answers quickly. He slides a hand down her neck and soothingly rubs his thumb along her jaw. “I want this—I want you. But I cannot promise it will be easy now that the truth is known.”

“Show me anyway.” She offers the softest smile he has ever seen, the trepidation in her eyes still prevalent but the relief in her is just as apparent. He shares a smile of his own and he can feel it in his heart too—the fear and the anxiousness. “If we knew all the answers, things would be so simple but the world does not work this way. We take risks. We try things anyway because it’s within our nature.”

The old him would’ve disagreed. The old him was a man ruled by logic and the art of tipping the scales in his favor. That man was a fool.

And in many ways, he still is.

“My hands are still shaking,” he says, looking down where one of her hands now intertwine with his. She squeezes.

“Mine are too.”

When their eyes meet, he is lost along a golden path that winds around junctures and roads that seem never-ending. There is confusion but some parts certainty, calm but flutters of nervousness, and he wonders what she can see in the depths of his eyes. He gently lifts a hand and caresses her cheeks with his thumb—

And then her jaw—

Until he reaches her lips.

Tyril swallows.

“Can I…I want to…” he whispers, leaning closer. He glances up and golden pools swirl with heat, curiosity, and desire. Her hands lie flat upon his armored chest.

“Say it…” Tyril pulls her in, lips just barely hovering over hers, and her eyes flutter as she inhales sharply. Her fingers curl and scrape along the metal plate. “Say it, please.”

Time slows and the world around them dissolves into darkness save for the pale moonlight shining down on them. A tempest builds within him. Something ancient rumbles in his heart and branches throughout his body. Static ripples from fingers, down to his body, legs, and ends in his toes. Energy gathers all around, bits and pieces adding to the power already stirring within.

“I want to kiss you…”

Her lips—beautiful, wondrous lips—part and he shivers.

“Come.”

Slowly at first. He wants to savor it—hold it close to him when he dreams at night and find himself yearning miserably when the morning takes him away. There is no telling which presses forward first but they meet in a clash of heat and crackling energy. A sweet taste rolls across the tip of his tongue and when he draws a short breath, a stream of flame trickles down his throat. He gasps again, parting and looking into her eyes.

Molten and golden depths...

Again and their lips connect while their hands scrabble for purchase, bodies molding into each other, and pure fire burning them from the inside out. His grip hardens as he lures her in with a hand on her neck. The other slips down and settles at the small of her back, trapping her to him, and a gentle sigh slips from him as her fingers rake through his hair and grip back.

Oh, so many sensations he will commit to memory. Billowing smoke floods his lungs as fire steadily funnels through every muscle in his body and brands her desire onto his very bones. Nails drag through his tresses and burrow into his scalp, pulling and soothing him in one as their lips part and their breathing grows more uneven. That ancient and terrifying power buried deep bubbles and cracks through the surface, sparks snapping beneath his fingertips and he swallows the moan she releases.

The raging storm swells within him and raises bumps along his flesh, draws small gasps from her throat, and further stokes the flame roaring within her. It happens to all with the affliction—magic draws from nature and the body is perfectly natural in all its splendor. Where his power sparks, hers consumes. They feed each other—feed from each other—hands searching, lips tasting, tongues tracing, and hearts swelling as they devour every bit of desire the other provides.

It ends as soon as it begins with both struggling to catch their breath. Tyril rests his forehead upon hers, eyes still closed and hands still squeezing her tight where they rest. She is sweeter than the sweetest wine he has ever tasted and he swears he will never get used to this heady feeling.

His eyes crack open and he watches her carefully. A trembling hand hovers close to her lips but she dare not touch them. Their magic lingers where their bodies touched, burning a sensual path along skin and hair. Her golden eyes meet his and his heart thrums anew.

A long time passes before either of them speak.

“This is dangerous,” she whispers hoarsely. Tyril slightly bows his head but his face remains passive. Ashala rests her hand on her chest and trails her fingers up her neck, grasping at his hand still gently clutching her. “Moon and stars—you might kill me well before this grows into something much deeper.”

He blinks at first, ears twitching as he repeats her words in his head, and then a mischievous smile spreads across his face.

“Then I apologize in advance,” he shifts his hand and gently brushes a thumb across her cheek, “because I truly don’t want to return to how things were before.”

“Gods forbid, I refuse to tolerate that again.” A guilty look flashes in her eyes and she presses when he says nothing in return. “But we understand each other now, yes? Is it safe to claim that there is something here that we both want?”

His heart flutters—we.

“Yes…Yes, I want you,” he affirms. He opens his mouth but then closes it. It is far too easy to move too quickly after this but he knows better. At least, he hopes he does. “I cannot promise that this is going to be easy moving forward. This is still very new to me but I won’t drag my feet as I did before. What we have,” he drops a hand and laces their fingers together, “I don’t want to lose this feeling any time soon. I want to continue nurturing it for as long as you’ll allow me the privilege.”

She rolls her eyes though a smile still spreads across her face.

“These words you string together…they’re lofty. But I do trust that you are earnest in this desire of yours,” she says. Ashala squeezes his hand and raises her head. “I’ve known others that had the gift speech, much like you do. Many of them had no qualms about using that gift to attain things I should not have given. Words are lovely but…there’s always more. More to show, more to give…”

His lips quirk though his heart still pounds in his chest. Undermount taught him many lessons critical to his survival outside the walls, but there are some things he is all too glad to shed. Concealing the truth for personal gain works only for so long, but even still there are thing he knows they both aren’t ready to reveal just yet.

And it’s alright.

Not knowing what happens next won’t terrify him as much now that things are more certain. He can proceed—they can proceed—and he will teach his hardened heart that there are other ways to feel aside from cautious.

They walk back in silence, nothing stirring save for the rustle of the leaves and their boots crunching twigs beneath their feet. Tyril looks down at Ashala and she looks back up at him, their shoulders brushing against one another as they quietly make their way back to camp.

#bolas #blades of light and shadow #tyril #tyril x mc #tyril starfury

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

Dragon Dancer IV: The Creche

Mr. Gattuso carried me down the hall, whistling and far to bouncy in his step. I was supposed to by lying limp in his arms, completely overwhelmed to fainting by his prowess as a lover apparently. He had to cut me free of my restraints to take me to the monastery infirmary, so the story was supposed to go.

I tried not to think about it. It was simultaneously gross and hilarious.

What irritated me at the moment was that he was bouncing too much. My limp arm slid from my supine body and was bouncing in a way that pulled at my muscles and ligaments and made things more uncomfortable than they had to be. The gravity pool my blood down into my fingers and they were starting to tingle.

By the time I heard him address the nurse, it had gone numb. I stared at an invisible point behind my eyelids and tried to think silent unconscious thoughts.

“Ah... I see you’ve worked the nightshift,” came Pompeii Gattuso’s silky deep voice. “I’m in luck...”

I heard a breathy giggle and had to concentrate to keep from rolling my eyes. He laid me on the exam table.

“I’m not certain what happened. By the time we’d finished, she was out cold.”

“Well... “ A moment of silence. “She will probably wake up soon, perhaps she has an underlying medical condition that got triggered by things being a bit...”

“Well, I can explain further...”

“That’s not really...”

“Or demonstrate...”

There was a long pause. “...now?”

God, I could see why Caesar hated him. Caesar was always this stalwart night ready to defend a lady in all manner of distress, but his father...

Before all of this he explained that the best disguise is to act the way you act all the time. Because if you’re behaving in a predictable way, even when you do something unusual, people will explain it away in their head as normal.

I concentrated on staying as still as I could while the sounds of lips locking filled the exam room.

“Wait... she might wake up...”

“There’s another room down the hall...”

The door shut. I sighed, puffing out my cheeks. Part of me wondered if I was going to actually was going to wait while he made another conquest.

But fortunately, he wasn’t gone long. Within a few minutes, he’d returned with the woman’s scrubs and labcoat.

“Hurry up and change. The clock is ticking.” He tossed the clothes to me and I caught them. Then he drew the curtain. “You’re a good actor.”

I couldn’t tell him I had studied ballet because the curtain was drawn and I still couldn’t speak.

He gave an appreciative whistle. “Have you been scouted?”

I laughed scornfully. It came out like a hissy snicker.

“No? But you’re obviously talented. I’ll have to change this.”

I stepped around the curtain, feeling oddly emotional at being reminded of my lost passion. I hadn’t thought about dancing in ages. I was too busy running for my life, fighting for my friends lives. Protecting my daughter. How could I think about dancing?

“Don’t bother.” I whispered.

“Don’t give up on your dreams, Miss Lu.”

“I said forget it!” I snapped.

After a moments silence, he said. “It’s a pretty good fit.” He looked me up and down. “Okay... After this, I’ll see about getting you back to your career. You can’t just be a dragonslayer...”

I saw a box of medical masks on the shelf and grabbed it, covering my face. I glared at him.

“Alright.” He led me out, shaking his head sadly.

I was stunned that he was still in a robe and hadn’t considered changing. He walked non-chalantly to an elevator and pressed the down button. The elevator dinged and we entered it.

“Where are we going?” I asked, removing the mask.

“There’s a special area for new high-purity Gattuso offspring. If they’re taking her as a bride of Caesar’s then she’ll have to be sanctified.”

“Sanctified?”

He didn’t look at me, gazing at his reflection. “You know how certain rituals and customs have their roots in the secrets of the dragon clan?”

“Yes.”

“There are a variety of holy rituals regarding newborns. Some of these are rooted in the early days of Hybrids. Here we strip away the human fables associated with these rituals to get to their true nature.”

He had armed himself with two pistols before we left, filling them both with anesthetic Frigg bullets and keeping a magazine of more lethal ammunition just in case. These pistols he drew, as the elevator doors opened. He stepped out and pointed them, one on his left and one on his right. He pulled their triggers once, instantly felling two guards who stood at the elevator entrance.

He jerked his head, indicating I should follow. I carefully stepped over the men and hurried after him.

we were in a dark basement area. The walls were stacked round rock and the floor was uneven stone. The electric lights were clearly a new addition. Carved dragons stuck out from the walls where they once held torches to light the way. The space ahead of us was oddly dark and the darkness shifted

Two glowing eyes blinked open. The dark shape took on a draconic form baring its teeth and letting out a frightening hiss of threat. Energy pulsed down its body in bright blue bioluminesence. It’s body filled the entire room. It had what appeared to be the stumps of broken wings on his back.

It’s tail lashed, banging against the wall.

They kept these monsters down here! I should not have been surprised, but I was.

Pompeii’s expression darkened and he handed me a pair of dark glasses he was keeping in his robe. “Put these on... to protect your eyes.”

I backed away, unable to use my speaking spirit to defend myself. I slipped on the dark glasses.

Pompeii Gattuso strode forward. I could only see his back, the length of his blonde hair, tied in a loose messy braid. Everythiing else as shrouded in dense gloom.

But I heard his voice, the draconic ringing loud and reverberating like a loud bell. The echoes of his voice in the underground took a life of their own in my ears. They took on an insane, fervent chant, like monks praying for a miracle.

As the hall filled with this unnatural sound, bright tendrils of light whipped from Pompeii’s body and began crawling up the walls. My hair stood on end and my ears filled with the crackle and buzz of electricity.

The monster charged him but only made it half the distance before it was stopped by a burst of electric light, like a explosion of a power grid. The monster let out a squeal and collapsed into convulsions.

I covered my nose against the smell of burning flesh. The arcing electricity was still cycling around Pompeii. Behind that beast, others were awakened and I could hear their claws scraping the stone floor. Their eyes bounced as they ran towards him.

The battle happened in flashes and silhouette. The strobe effect stunned and disoriented the beasts in the dark of the underground. They were helpless to defend themselves. Pompeii was bare handed and every time he threw a punch, the space between his fist and his target burst like a supernova sending a grotesque monster to the ground, stiff as a board. He grabbed another around the neck. It wheezed, breathless and twitching. When he let it go, it didn’t get up again. He was a living taser, killing his enemies in a single devastating electrocution.

He didn’t wait for me, running down the corridor. I scrambled to catch up, careful not to step on or trip over the corpses of the beasts.

We came to a large ceremonial chamber. Ru’Yi’s blanket was there, clean and white on an altar, but she was not. The altar was surrounded by dead bodies. Each one had their throats cleanly cut, their bodies lay in crimson pools.

“What?!” Pompeii looked around, stunned. “Search the bodies! See if you can find a phone!”

He started rolling them over, patting them down.

My throat closed in terror. I remembered this scene. It was similar to what happened in the basement of Genji Heavy Industries! The murderer who killed countless Hydra elites in a matter of seconds now had a name, a face.

Shinnosuke!

Pompeii found a phone and immediately dialed a number. He grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the chamber.

“What’s happening? Where’s Ru’Yi!”

He looked at me but he didn’t say anything.

“Please tell me!”

He hissed. “Damn it Caesar! Pick up your phone!”

We hurried back to the elevator and stopped. The men that Pompeii had put the sleep were laying on the ground. Bleeding out.

“Shit!” Pompeii pressed the elevator but it was on the top floor. It would take minutes to come down. He looked at me in a panic. “He killed the priests... why would he kill them?! What happened?”

He started to search the phone for information while it rang endlessly on Caesar’s end of the line.

He stared at it. “They’re sending agents to Japan... and Tibet?”

“What?” I squeaked. “Tibet? No! Nonono! This isn’t possible! How did they find out Mingfei was there?”

“Mingfei’s alive?!”

“Yes! I just came here to find out their plans and get in touch with Caesar!”

“What else haven’t you told me?!”

The elevator opened and a beast, one of the servitors, leaped from the cab. Pompeii pushed me out of the way and the claws dug into him. The cellphone slammed to the ground, the screen shattering.

A voice like a bell, and then a loud crack! I had barely enough time to look away and saw stars, blinded.

I rubbed my eyes. The phone was still ringing on Caesar’s end, but he couldn’t hang up or dial again.

Bleeding from his chest, Pompeii shoved me inside. “I should have known you were hiding something from me.”

“I’m sorry... but I was afraid someone was going to listen! I did-” I shut my mouth at his glare.

But then he sighed, the phone still ringing at his ear. “It doesn’t matter.”

The elevator was moving entirely too slow. Every second that passed, Ru’Yi could be in danger or dead. The possibility made my knees collapse under me.

Pompeii steadied me with one arm. “Easy. I’m not going to turn around now. If Caesar has taught me anything, children need their mothers.”

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing #Caesar

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