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characteroulette · 3 years

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well all rightie then, it’s time to analyse how DGS1 handles grief really well in my opinion

(once again, spoilers for all of DGS1)

(also some spoilers for the original trilogy games) (and a little of DGS2)

okay So my thesis statement here is that Asougi’s character in DGS1 is the vessel through which Ryuunosuke and Susato’s grief is explained. Everything about how they relate to Asougi is their dealing with their grief in a simple message: Loss hits hard, but you have to continue to live and love. Life Goes On, shaping that grief into yourself if you allow it.

We start off with Case 1 as our baseline. The set-up. It’s a routine to show what life is like for Ryuunosuke before tragedy. (Fitting for an AA protagonist to have their baseline of normal being accused of murder.) This case does a really, really good job of setting up Asougi as our friend, our partner, whom we might spend the rest of the game with.

(I mean, the death flag’s kinda obvious if you’re genre-savvy; the mentor must die so that the student may grow into their own. But Asougi’s so likeable! He’s confident, genuine with Ryuunosuke, comfortably teasing, and looks at you with the same eyes as Klavier. What’s not to love? Also that small hint of something deeper is so tantalising that for it to go unresolved is pretty unthinkable.)

It’s important for us to see how much Asougi means to Ryuunosuke, how much the two really are best friends. This set-up is pivotal to what happens next in Case 2: the drop.

The way Ryuunosuke reacts to learning about Asougi’s death is real. He tries to deny it at first, can’t bring himself to believe it. Especially since he’s been accused of the crime! But the moment he sees that photo of Asougi that Sherlock took, that’s where the truth of it hits and he can’t run from it anymore. All he can do is try to push past that biting grief to at least solve his friend’s murder and set things right.

Susato’s own grief is portrayed really well here, too. She’s so angered and clouded by it that she totally ignores the fact that Asougi and Ryuunosuke are best friends and believes Ryuunosuke to be the murderer. Really, she just blames Ryuunosuke because it’s easier that way, since the wound cuts just as deep for her.

What really strikes me, though, is how the whole case isn’t just a one-note misery. Like real life, the two slip into sadness when they remember their dear friend, but they’re still able to joke around. They still get upset or sarcastic or excited. Because, though their grief affects them immensely, the message is that life continues. It can’t just stop for them like it did for their friend; life goes on. Not out of malice, but out of necessity.

Also, the way Sherlock acknowledges their grief is pretty great. That felt hugely validating to me, how he tells them that their mourning is important and how his jovial, joking tone was never properly taking that into account. The way he continues breaking in at the end to lighten the mood, too, is his own genuine way of trying to help, exhausting though he may be. It’s appreciated, at the least, to keep us the players from breaking down into tears as the conclusion rolls with no real satisfaction at the mystery being solved.

That final conversation between Susato and Ryuunosuke, at least, is hugely cathartic to make up for that. It sounds like it should feel rushed, honestly, dealing with the majority of the grieving process in just Case 2, but it doesn’t at all. It seems properly healthy, like the two are doing their best by confiding and taking comfort in one another in order to celebrate Asougi’s goals, to keep going where he can’t. Ryuunosuke and Susato both form their resolve here to continue to live, not just for Asougi, but for themselves as well. For life’s sake.

Because, again, life goes on.

(A brief tangent: Seeing the contrast of this story versus the original trilogy is also a really neat sort of view into Shu Takumi’s growth as a writer. Or the AA series’ growth as a whole. How Edgeworth handled his grief by never really acknowledging it in AA1, how he basically ran away from it by refusing to live as a sort of punishment against himself, is really sad. Then Phoenix handling his grief in JFA by turning to anger and resentment is just as heartbreaking. Phoenix disavows himself from it, trying to spare himself the pain by denying it, which only hurt him more and he had to have everyone around him break him out of that awful mindset. Then in T&T it’s Godot’s grief which drives the plot, as he turns his anger on Phoenix unjustly. He blames Phoenix for Mia’s death and lashes out at everyone instead of allowing himself the time to properly grieve.

And then DGS1 comes along to say that maybe the answer is just that life goes on and we have healthier ways to reconcile with our grief and it’s just real neat to see!)

In Case 3 and 4, we can see through Ryuunosuke’s discussion with Lord Vortex (/Stronghart) the continuation of his handling this grief. It’s a burden, one Ryuunosuke doesn’t fully understand, but he fervently takes upon himself because we want to live for those we’ve lost. (It is the Wright way, the Naruhodou way, to take on the aspirations of the friends you’ve lost. To mimic their mannerisms, their ambitions, in order to keep them close to your heart.)

(That’s a whole other can of worms I could dive into, honestly, how their decision to give Ryuunosuke all of Phoenix’s poses for the whole ancestor vibe while ALSO making it clear that Ryuunosuke took them from Asougi to begin with, it’s just. It’s good, it’s perfect, it’s the same brand of gay the series is known for and I’m love it.)

You also see, as the trial of Case 3 progresses, how Ryuunosuke is basically just living off of ‘what would Asougi do?’ as Susato coaches him along and it’s fun and bittersweet all the way through. Case 4 is where he gains more confidence in himself, but he still defaults to thinking of Asougi’s unwavering trust in him to help him and every time it’s handled with tenderness and shows just how much Ryuunosuke loved his friend.

And, if you’re like me and take every opportunity to examine Asougi’s badge and present it to Susato (/others), you see how they continue to grow with their grief. It starts off with both of them being unable to say much, still weighed down heavily by Asougi’s loss. Though they are continuing and life goes on, it’s still a wound too fresh to approach and hard for them to properly explain.

By Case 5, though, the two of them are more conversational. They’ve found their words, they’ve mended that wound as much as possible so that life won’t leave without them. It still hurts, of course, but it’s easier to think about. It’s easier to reconcile when they’ve been working hard and making friends and continuing to live. It’s small, but the progression is there and I really appreciate it.

Speaking of Case 5, though, everything about this one, in regards to Asougi, is pure catharsis. It really is like they’re looking their grief right in the face and accepting it as a part of themselves. Ryuunosuke looks back on his friend not just with fondness, but with gratefulness that Asougi could make such a big impact on his life.

(This is similar to the whole Phoenix and Mia thing, I feel, since Phoenix often thought of his mentor with the same sort of tone. At least, I think so. Remarkable how Phoenix’s grief can mirror the finalised version of Ryuunosuke’s with the help of spirit channeling! /joke)

Ryuunosuke and Susato have etched Asougi into their hearts and their persons and it’s just really, very good I like it a lot.

(okay time for a few paragraphs on DGS2 and Asougi)

Case 1 one DGS2 is a neat look into Susato’s mind and thought process. You can definitely tell she’s still just a 16-year-old with the mistakes she makes and how she tries to handle her own arguments, which is very cute. We also get to see her actually talking to Asougi’s grave and then see how her own relationship with Asougi has influenced her style (/poses) and aspirations. (Ryuunosuke, too. It’s cute to see how she’s ended up a mixture of both of them.) And it’s a great rug pull moment for the player, since the way that the grief is handled in DGS1 is so good and (almost) final that hearing Asougi might not actually be dead is a bit like digging up old wounds. I mean, we went the entirety of the first game coming to terms with his death, what do you mean his body went missing??

(Case 2 serves as a reminder. Like haha remember how Susato and Ryuunosuke both love Asougi and are sad about his death? Here’s the baseline again, get ready to have it wrecked!)

And Case 3 is phenomenal, too. The way Van Zieks is so understanding in his response to showing him Asougi’s badge is just. It’s perfect, he’s so gentle and empathetic that it shocks Ryuunosuke (even though Ryuunosuke did the same understanding and concern for Van Ziek’s situation Ryuunosuke please). Then the way that Ryuunosuke sees Asougi, disguised in a cloak and mask, and immediately recognises him. To me, that really shows how much he loved his friend. He knew Asougi for about a year and it’s been about nine months since Asougi’s death, yet Ryuunosuke recognises him just by the way he carries himself.

But, to him, Asougi is dead. He’s made peace with that. So, even if it plays on his mind, he can’t allow himself to think that. He puts it out of his mind completely and doesn’t think on it again.

At least, until Susato (who reacted very realistically by shutting down the possibility that Asougi might still be alive because that means Sherlock lied and she couldn’t take having that hope break her worse than before) sees the exact same thing just as immediately and shouts after him. The fact that they both see this disguised man and know it can be no one besides Asougi is insane. It’s love. It makes me cry, I wish they could’ve hugged him during the big reveal (though I know Japanese culture’s just not like that).

Anyway, DGS2 diatribe over. Back to the conclusion.

The whole of DGS1 is just a masterful example of how grief doesn’t have to destroy you, of how life can go on and that doesn’t have to be a bad thing, and how channeling that grief into motivation to keep their memories alive can be powerful. That it’s okay to still feel grief even as you heal, that it’s okay to have fun and keep living even as you mourn. Life is a mixture of levity and tragedy and, to me, DGS1 nails that mixture with perfection.

Absolutely legendary. Join me next time when I dive into the main theme of DGS2, which is literally ‘the dead will come back to life to haunt you’ thanks for coming to my essay talk

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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A prompt for a continuation of your "NMJ goes mad with losing his brother" fic? It needs more. Preferably including A) NHS waking up as a fierce corpse and B) Lan Zhan, at least, not dying.

part 1, part 2, part 3

Lan Wangji wrapped his fingers around Wei Wuxian’s shaking hands, white-knuckled and fearful and unable to release his grip on the Stygian Tiger Seal. He didn’t say anything, only stood there, but that was fine, that was enough.

He was alive, and that was enough.

How Wei Wuxian had felt when he’d arrived to see him staggering backwards, Bichen falling from numb fingers, red staining his white robes –

He didn’t want to think about that.

It was fine: they’d arrived in time, it seemed.

Based on how everyone looked, and on the general state of the surrounding area, he’d guess that Lan Xichen had started fighting Nie Mingjue first, possibly after some conversation, and for a while they’d been evenly matched, but then Lan Wangji hadn’t been able to resist coming to his brother’s aid, the two Jades of Lan perfectly in tune with each other as they fought against a single opponent.

Working together and using their full efforts, they probably would have eventually been able to beat Nie Mingjue, even blackened and more fearsome than ever as he was now; but of course, once Lan Xichen accepted outside assistance, Nie Mingjue could as well.

It was a little terrifying to think that he retained his sense of fairness underneath it all, actually. That meant that whatever he’d done to the Jin sect, some part of him still felt it was just.

By the time Wei Wuxian had arrived with Nie Huaisang in tow, Nie Mingjue had already summoned the masterless sabers, which he’d brought with him in a qiankun pouch – just two of them, in addition to himself, and the balance of battle shifted entirely to his side.

The Nie sect was known for its offensive power, after all, and even the Twin Jades of Lan would have difficulty against their sabers.

Not would. Did.

Lan Wangji had fought against the two sabers himself, leaving Lan Xichen to fight Nie Mingjue unhindered, but the sabers had cut at him - he was fast, but they were faster, and his white robes were stained from a multitude of cuts to his arms, to his chest, to his hips and legs.

Little cuts, in large part, but it was only a matter of time before the little cuts slowed him down enough -

Before -

Wei Wuxian had seen Lan Wangji falling, had seen Bichen leaving his hand unwillingly, and his chest abruptly contracted in utter panic.

He’d reacted immediately, acted on instinct, whistling to summon any fierce corpses in the area.

Not that there were many, it being the Cloud Recesses, a place of purification – but in the end his instincts had only made things worse.

The masterless sabers were, it seemed, exactly as terrifying as Xue Yang had made them out to be: they were swollen with power, very nearly conscious, and enraged by the presence of evil. It was as if the mighty ancestors of the Nie clan had reawaken from their slumber to help their descendant wreak vengeance across the land.

Or at least it would be, if those ancestors were made of steel, knowing neither fatigue nor pain, neither mercy nor pity, and continuously drawing power from the earth and sky even as their opponents’ energy drained away.

They struck hard, chopping down again and again, an unstoppable force, inexorable, taking lives as a easily as a thresher reaped grain.

The low level fierce corpses Wei Wuxian had been able to summon didn’t stand a chance.

Desperate, he had reached for the Stygian Tiger Seal, unsure if he would be able to wield it before Nie Mingjue turned Baxia against him, not thinking of the consequences, thinking only that he had to stop this, he had to save Lan Zhan -

It would all have gone very bad if Nie Huaisang hadn’t intervened at that very moment, shouting, “Da-ge! Make them stop before they turn on me!”

Nie Mingjue had pulled back at once, a harsh gesture causing the masterless sabers to unwillingly retreat from battle and return to his side; Lan Wangji had in turn struggled off the ground to come to Wei Wuxian’s side, and now he was silently holding Wei Wuxian’s hands, letting Wei Wuxian feel his still-strong pulse, and Wei Wuxian could finally let go of the Stygian Tiger Seal.

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said, and meant it; he hadn’t been thinking straight.

Using the Stygian Tiger Seal so close to the Cloud Recesses, near the graves of all those purified Lan sect ancestors, all those common people in the villages not far away, everyone accustomed to peace – it would have been a disaster.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji echoed. “You came in time.”

The sincerity in his eyes made Wei Wuxian’s face feel oddly hot, so he coughed and looked over to where Lan Xichen was leaning against a tree, recovering. “Don’t worry about it. You were doing fine.”

“We were not,” Lan Xichen said simply. “Thank you for your timely assistance, Wei-gonzi. It would have gone badly, otherwise.”

Lots of dead people, in other words.

Lan Xichen looked over to where the Nies were standing: Nie Mingjue’s hands were on his brother’s shoulders, his unguarded back to them – it wasn’t an insult as to their abilities, merely indifference to his own fate. Nie Mingjue clearly cared very little about anything beyond having his brother back. Their heads were bowed together as they spoke, and Nie Huaisang’s expression was positively fierce as he hissed out something.

Lan Xichen’s expression wavered for a moment, and then firmed with determination; he stood and walked over to them.

“Nie-gongzi,” he said politely. “I was hoping you could confirm something for me.”

Nie Huaisang looked at him, his expression utterly unfathomable for a moment; he seemed to be thinking of something. He moved away from his brother, Nie Mingjue turning to stand by his side but never removing his eyes from him, as though he feared Nie Huaisang would die again the second he blinked.

“Go ahead and ask,” Nie Huaisang said slowly. “And then – I have something to ask of you, I think.”

Lan Xichen looked almost as though he regretted Nie Huaisang’s easy agreement. Despite this, he asked, “Your death. If you remember it, can you tell me - who was responsible for it?”

“The Jin sect killed me,” Nie Huaisang said, and now Wei Wuxian was really paying attention: he’d been so busy conducting tests to make sure Nie Huaisang wasn’t about to come apart at the seams that he’d never actually asked for the details of what had killed him. “It was at the orders of Sect Leader Jin, but the execution of the order was at the hands of san-ge – sorry. Jin Guangyao.”

Lan Xichen closed his eyes, pained; it was as if he had been struck a harsh blow, knocking the breath out of him.

Wei Wuxian sympathized: who hadn’t heard of how fond Lan Xichen was of his youngest sworn brother? Who didn’t know that Nie Mingjue had only agreed to swear brotherhood with Jin Guangyao at Lan Xichen’s instigation?

“In that case, I am sorry,” Lan Xichen said, his voice low. “You would not have gone to Lanling alone, if not for my invitation. It may have been at A-Yao’s – at Jin Guangyao’s suggestion, but I trusted him, and you believed in me, and he killed you. The price for my blind faith was too high.”

Wei Wuxian winced. He hadn’t realized that Lan Xichen was directly involved in Nie Huaisang’s death, though of course it made sense thinking about it – Nie Huaisang had gone to Lanling alone, without any retainers, and despite the ongoing, if unspoken, war for influence between the Nie sect and the Jin sect.

It really did seem as though he had been lured there specifically to die.

And it had been done using Lan Xichen’s word of honor –

Lan Xichen’s mind was clearly going along the same lines: he inhaled once more, the sound of it agony, and said quietly, “It seems your brother was right to seek vengeance against me.”

“That’s probably true,” Nie Huaisang said, and Lan Wangji’s fingers twitched – they’re still wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s, even though he’s already put away the Tiger Seal, and for some reason Wei Wuxian doesn’t feel inclined to let go. “I’m not going to let him kill you, though.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers relaxed.

“I’m feeling very sensitive about people getting killed recently,” Nie Huaisang said, and shrugged. “For obvious reasons.”

He patted his belt in an instinctive motion and frowned, clearly having looked for something and found it missing. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure what until Nie Mingjue mutely reached into his own belt and produced a fan, which he passed over; Nie Huaisang automatically opened it and held it in front of his face, only belatedly realizing where it came from and turning to look at his brother with concern.

“How did you die?” Wei Wuxian asked, both out of curiosity and because he remembered the stories Nie Huaisang had told in the Cloud Recesses of how his brother always rolled his eyes at his habit of carrying a fan, how silly and childish he thought he was being – that Nie Mingjue carried one with him now, even though he hadn’t known Nie Huaisang would be coming, even though he hadn’t known Wei Wuxian would be able to succeed –

Wei Wuxian thought of Jiang Cheng, searching fruitlessly for him for months, and tried not to think about it any more.

He didn’t want to think about what he would have done, if he were in Nie Mingjue’s shoes. Whether he would have made the same choices: to murder hundreds, if not thousands of cultivators, simply for the unfulfilling catharsis of revenge for a brother lost.

He thought there was a good chance that he might.

“Oh, you know, being led into a trap and left to die slowly and painfully while begging for help from someone who didn’t care to do anything – it was all very bad, and I’d prefer not to think about it, really,” Nie Huaisang said, and in retrospect Wei Wuxian would prefer that he didn’t as well – Lan Xichen looked as though he wanted to throw up. “A better question, though, is why did I die?”

That got everyone’s attention, even Nie Mingjue, who frowned. “You died because he killed you,” he said, his voice low and rumbling.

Nie Huaisang waved his fan in the air, clearly more comfortable now that he had it. “Yes, that’s the straightforward answer. But why kill me? Why risk your anger – admittedly, he may not have realized the extent of your anger, but why risk it at all? I’m no harm to anyone.”

“That is a good question,” Wei Wuxian said, and it was, now that he had a moment to think about it. “It’s not profitable in and of itself, and we all know how the Jin sect favors – ah, favored profit. If I had to bet on it, I’d say you probably found something out that they didn’t want you to know, so they felt they had no choice but to kill you.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “I think so, too. That’s why I need Sect Leader Lan’s help.”

“My help?” Lan Xichen asked. He sounded tired. “What do you need my help for?”

“They were planning on killing da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, and they all winced at that. Even Lan Xichen, who looked as though he had become almost resigned to the betrayal, nodded, accepting it: if he would kill Nie Huaisang, who was harmless, then plotting to kill Nie Mingjue, even if he was sworn brothers with the man…this Jin Guangyao fellow truly really knew no limits. “They were going to use you to do that, too. Something about a song you’d been teaching san-ge? I don’t know how you’d kill someone through a song, though.”

Nie Mingjue huffed, and the slightest trace of a sneer appeared on his lips – it was probably the closest thing to an expression that he’d had in the entire time Wei Wuxian had seen since his brother’s death. It was depressingly a relief to see the traces of the more familiar anger on the man’s face.

There was a sudden movement: Lan Xichen had abruptly knelt down, his knees going soft in horror if his expression was any judge.

“Clarity,” he said numbly. He had already been injured to the point of pain, and now he suffered another blow, more potent than any saber strike: it was horrible to watch. “The Song of Clarity – I taught A-Yao how to play one of the Lan sect’s ancestral songs. It was meant to help calm da-ge’s qi, to reduce the likelihood of a qi deviation.”

“So that’s probably how they were going to do it,” Nie Huaisang said, tapping his fan against his cheek. “Da-ge’s qi is already unstable naturally; if in the guise of playing music to stabilize it, you played something that would instead throw it into turmoil –”

“The Songs of Turmoil,” Lan Wangji suddenly said. “Brother – in the Forbidden Library…”

“He wouldn’t have had access to that!”

“He rescued you during the war,” Nie Mingjue said, his expression gone flat again. “You were carrying your clan’s books with you at that time, were you not?”

Lan Xichen’s head bowed. “Yes,” he whispered. “I was.”

Besides, Wei Wuxian thought to himself, Jin Guangyao had made his name by being a spy in the Nightless City - if he could fool Wen Ruohan, who was paranoid and trusted no one, then finding things out in the Cloud Recesses, where he was given free rein by the sect leader who trusted him...it would have been too easy.

“That leads me to my next question, I suppose,” Nie Huaisang said. His expression was hidden behind his fan, but his eyes were narrow. “And I would ask that Sect Leader Lan not take any insult at my suggestion. But I have to wonder: how many times is it plausible for a man to be inadvertently used as a weapon, before…?”

Before he himself should itself be investigated.

“That’s an unfair question,” Wei Wuxian said, even though it kind of wasn’t. If someone had been involved in multiple murder plots against him or his family, he would be suspicious of them no matter how virtuous they appeared to be. Still, this was Lan Xichen. “If he trusted him, he trusted him. The same initial fault led to everything else; it wasn’t anything new.”

Lan Xichen choked out a laugh, his voice raw and gasping. “I thank you for your defense, Wei-gongzi, but Nie-gongzi is correct. How many times must I be used as a knife in another’s hand before I take responsibility for my own behavior? How many other times did he use me as a shield of virtue to hide behind? I’ve always believed that he had reasons for everything he did…”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Nie Mingjue said.

“It matters to me,” Lan Xichen said, and he looked up, devastation and determination in every line of his face.

“Brother…” Lan Wangji began, looking concerned.

“No, Wangji. This is necessary. Da-ge – no. Sect Leader Nie. I have wronged you, you and your clan, in more ways than one. I submit myself to your jurisdiction, to be tried and judged, and welcome whatever punishment is appropriate under the rules of your Sect.”

Lan Wangji’s hand was so tight around Wei Wuxian’s own that it hurt, but Wei Wuxian didn’t say anything about it. His heart was in his mouth, watching the Nie brothers: with such a submission, Nie Mingjue could take Lan Xichen’s life with Baxia this instant, and Lan Wangji would have no recourse.

Assuming recourse was even possible. Those sabers...

Nie Huaisang coughed, interrupting the tense mood.

“Okay, okay, you can come back to Qinghe with us,” he said, waving his hand as if it were nothing. “We’ll figure it out from there. No more immediate executions; I think we’ve had enough of those – da-ge, I can’t believe you brought out the sabers! What were you thinking?”

“I don’t think he was,” Wei Wuxian said, his shoulders relaxing; he turned to smile at the relieved Lan Wangji. There was still hope for something vaguely resembling a good ending, maybe. “At all. You two really are brothers, Nie-xiong.”

“Rude!” Nie Huaisang huffed, but he was grinning. “You have to come to Qinghe too, Wei-xiong; da-ge won’t feel comfortable if you aren’t around, at least at first…Lan-er-gongzi, why don’t you come as well? Since you’re having such difficulty letting go of Wei-gongzi’s hand –”

#mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #nie mingjue #lan xichen #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #my fic #my fics #blackened NMJ #oneiriad #there will be two more segments after this

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arcticfox007 · 3 years

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The Wych Elm and the Cemetery

Happy Christmas @aibari! I’m you’re secret santa and I hope you enjoy your gift!

Thanks to @destielsecretsanta2020 for putting all of this together :)

Wishlist fulfilled: Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Weird Small Towns (well city in this case), Weird Angel Lore, Hand holding, and Americana (I tried to work in as much as I could) – if you want specific info on all of the Americana I tied in, check out my endnotes on AO3 😊 Also, @aibari I’m happy to list you as the giftee on AO3 if you have a name over there.

The is roughly set during early Season 12, but I’m not married to canon or anything.

***

Dean wasn’t easily impressed these days, but even he had to admit that the tree growing out of the grave was unlike anything he’d come across before. The historic cemetery in the middle of Missouri had its fair share of trees, but they had come here for this one. Cas stood next to him looking like he was attempting to interrogate the tree with his mind. For a moment Dean was distracted by the angel, smiling a bit at the memory of the time Cas had insisted on interrogating a cat. Luckily, Cas had gotten better at blending in, so at least he wasn’t actively asking the tree questions. There was the sound of someone clearing their throat to Dean’s other side and Dean directed his attention back to the cemetery’s caretaker, Mrs. Paige.

“I’m not sure why the FBI would be interested in something like this.” The older woman sniffed and looked at both Cas and Dean suspiciously. Dean turned on the charm and gave her a warm smile.

“Unfortunately, we aren’t at liberty to discuss the details of the case, but we’d appreciate anything you can tell us about this tree Mrs. Paige, or the woman who was killed, Louisa Abbot.”

We’d also like any information you might have on the person who was buried here,” Castiel interrupted. “Most of the marker seems to be missing, perhaps destroyed by the sudden growth of this tree.”

“Well, I can certainly get you the information on who was buried here, this was one of our more famous gravesites. The man buried here died in the early 1800s, he is one of two Revolutionary War veterans laid to rest in the cemetery, his name was William Abbot. I believe he held the rank of Captain. The Boone Historical Society may have more information about him, but he is one of the earliest burials in the cemetery and a lot of those records have been lost over the years.” Mrs. Paige chewed on her lower lip for a moment, staring along with Dean at the tree once again. “The tree will have to be removed to restore Captain Abbot’s grave.”

“Was Captain Abbot an ancestor of the victim?” Cas’ question caught Dean off guard. There was something strangely mesmerizing about the massive twisting trunk rising out of the ground exactly where the remains of Captain Abbot would have been. Dean registered that Cas and the caretaker were continuing to talk, but Dean stepped away to examine the tree more carefully. It’s roots, on the surface at least, didn’t seem to spread out much. Rather they seemed to go straight down into the Earth. Its trunk was thick enough to have been there for hundreds of years despite having only appeared a few days ago. The tree itself was knotted in appearance, with ugly, twisted branches shooting out in all directions. For some reason it occurred to Dean that the tree looked like it was screaming in pain. Dean jumped when he suddenly felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder.

“Dean. Are you listening?” Dean pulled his eyes away from the tree and turned towards Cas who continued to keep his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Ah, no, sorry. This,” Dean waved vaguely at the impressive scene before them, “is kind of distracting.” Cas nodded seriously. Dean noticed that the caretaker had left, but was distracted again by Cas pulling his hand back. They always touched a bit longer than was probably normal, but Dean still regretted the loss of the warmth on his shoulder.

“Mrs. Paige said that the victim may have been a descendant of Captain Abbot, but she wasn’t sure. She suggested the Historical Society again, if we needed further information. She did say that she knew Louisa Abbot when she was a teenager. She was one of several teenagers she used to call the police on for breaking into the cemetery after hours to party. Mrs. Paige said she hadn’t really seen her in more recent years.

“Is there any way to tell if the good Captain is still here?” Dean waved towards the roots of the tree. Cas shook his head. “Ah well, I’d be surprised if they were still here. I guess we better find out what exactly Louisa Abbot was into.” They started walking back towards the car.

“I agree. I’d also like more information on the tree. I know it’s a type of elm, but I’m not sure of the significance, if there is any.”

“Call Sam and get him to work on it.” Cas let out an exasperated huff in response to Dean’s delegation of research to his brother.

“Dean. The entire reason we are here without Sam is so he can rest. He needs to sleep to get over the flu, especially since he refused to let me heal him. I am more than capable of finding the information, perhaps while you visit the historical society.”

“Alright. You want me to drop you off at the library?”

“That would be acceptable.” Cas paused to look out over the cemetery again before opening the passenger side door of the Impala. Dean noticed the angel’s hesitation.

“Everything okay man?” Castiel turned towards Dean upon hearing his words and Dean notices the sadness that ghosts across the angel’s face. “Seriously, Cas, what’s going on with you? You seem more, I dunno, out of it than usual.”

“I – this place is a lot like the cemetery where Mary was originally buried. I don’t like the memory of you leaving to die.” Cas looks away abruptly and climbs into the passenger seat. Dean is at a loss for words, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He drops Cas off at the library with all the things left unsaid hanging between them.

***

It’s off season for the small college town, most of the students having gone home for winter break, so the hunters end up with better than normal accommodations. Dean is more than happy to discover a decent grill-themed restaurant practically in the parking lot of their hotel, and Cas is happy to wait until his companion is content with food before telling him what he’d found during his time in the library. Dean talks ideally about the pie store the server had told him about, wondering if they’ll have time to check it out before they leave. Cas lets Dean talk, he finds himself still grateful that he can have these moments, he truly thought he was going to lose him in the attempt to destroy Amara.

Ever since Castiel’s brief time as a human he’s found that the emotions he’d been slowly acquiring over the years have amplified at a rate that he has had difficulty adjusting to. He’d hoped at the beginning that regaining his grace would have given him back some of the control that had spiraled away from him, but he can’t help but dwell on almost losing Dean.

When they reach their room, Dean opts to take a shower before swapping case notes so Cas tries to take that time to compose himself. When given moments away from Dean, where there is a chance for quiet, the angel forces himself to let the feelings he has for the infuriating man wash over him. He lets himself feel the pain at having to let him go up against Amara alone. He lets himself feel the overwhelming joy at seeing him alive once again. He lets himself feel how much he’s fallen in love with the beautiful human being. He recalls talking to Anna at the beginning of what would become his fall, her telling him it only gets worse. He has no doubt now that she wasn’t just referring to his struggle with doubt. An angel that can feel things akin to a human can easily become overwhelmed. They were not built for these sensations, and so, every time Castiel lets go to indulge in the wash of his emotions he pulls on his grace and works to reign them in one at a time. By the time Dean emerges from the shower Castiel has regained some semblance of stoicism.

“So, this lady at the historical society was great. She apparently teaches genealogy classes for free to the public or something, so she was able to pull up the victim’s ancestry pretty fast. Captain Abbot was her ancestor all right, so at least we have that connection. Couldn’t find much out about the family besides that, so we should talk to Louisa’s next of kin tomorrow. I think the police report said she had a sister locally.” Castiel agrees to the plan and pulls out some information he had printed at the library.

“The tree is called a ‘Wych Elm’ and is a common wood used to build coffins, which may explain it’s presence. It’s possible, if Captain Abbot’s coffin was made from this wood, that whatever spell was cast had the side effect of growing a new tree from the wood.” Dean raises his eyebrows skeptically when Cas shares this information.

“It’s called a witch elm Cas; do you really think it’s there because of the coffin wood?” Castiel rolls his eyes at his companion.

“W-Y-C-H Dean, not witch. It means pliable, it’s named for the characteristic of the wood. But no, to answer your question. I doubt it has anything to do with the coffin wood. It’s not a tree common to this area.” Dean waves his hand to indicate Castiel should continue. “You are not the only one to mistake the name of the tree for something else. More recent lore does associate the tree with actual witches as many of them seem to like these trees as ritualistic sites. The rest of the lore associates them with melancholy and death, especially because the trees are known for unexpectedly dropping branches and injuring the unsuspecting people standing below them.”

“Yeah, okay. Does that mean that Louisa was some sort of witch, and grew the tree there on purpose?” Cas thinks about Dean’s suggestion for a few moments.

“Possibly. The other thing these trees are known for is guarding the entrance to Hades, so it may also be a result of an attempt to raise the dead. I cannot be certain as this seems unlike any other necromantic ritual I’ve heard of. I am also uncertain at to the motivation of raising someone who died over two centuries ago, as the more recent dead are usually preferrable to necromancers.”

“Alright, well there’s not much more we can do tonight.” Castiel nods and watches Dean dig through his bag. Dean hesitates for a moment and Castiel begins to wonder if he forgot something at the bunker. Dean shakes his head and pulls a bundle out of his bag, tossing it to Castiel.

“Here, I forgot I brought this for you.” Dean looks expectantly at the angel as Cas looks at the material in his hands.

“Clothing? Dean, I have no need to change clothes.” Castiel’s confusion is evident on his face. Dean sighs rubs the back of his neck.

“I know man. Just try though, you’re more human-like than before with Heaven losing power. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I noticed that you eat more often, and even sleep sometimes. I think you’ll actually appreciate relaxing in something that isn’t a suit and trench coat.” Cas looks at the clothing in his hands, dismayed that Dean has seen the weakening of his connection to Heaven. He hadn’t wanted Dean to think him less capable but at the same time he’s touched by the thought the man had put into the angel’s situation.

“Thank you, Dean. I will try.” Castiel goes into the bathroom to change and when he emerges, he finds Dean sitting on one of the beds flipping through TV channels. Dean slides over, indicating that Cas should sit down as the TV is only visible from the one bed. Dean complains that the only thing on is a Law & Order marathon because the hotel doesn’t have a streaming service on the TV. Cas doesn’t mind though, sharing the bed to watch television gives him an excuse to watch over Dean as he sleeps without Dean complaining about it. Even nicer is how Dean falls asleep gradually in the middle of an episode and doesn’t seem to notice how he curls into Cas’ side as he does it. Cas smiles and allows his feelings to wash over him again as he thinks about how the softer PJs must be more comfortable for Dean to lay on.

***

The following evening found the hunter and the angel at a place called Warm Springs Ranch. When they called Louisa’s sister, she told them she could talk during her break. The ranch ran some sort of Christmas event and Janice Abbot was one of the people in charge of it. Dean tried to play it cool, but he couldn’t help getting a bit excited over the chance to see the Budweiser Clydesdales. He did remind Cas that interrogating the horses was unnecessary to which he had received one of the angel’s full body eyerolls. Dean would never admit it out loud, but he really enjoyed Cas’ sarcasm. He thought the eyerolling was kind of adorable.

Dean hadn’t meant to spend last night half snuggling with his best friend, but Cas didn’t seem to mind so he wasn’t going to worry about it. Dean figured his secret crush on the guy was his problem, not the angel’s – as long as it didn’t mess up their friendship it wasn’t worth agonizing over.

They had unexpectedly spent the morning at the morgue. There was another strange death last night, something had eaten the victim’s spleen. They’d only received a call about it because the original victim, Louisa, had also been missing her spleen along with several other organs and most of her blood. If it was the same creature it certainly seemed to enjoy the bloodier organs of the body. The only other thing the victims had in common was proximity to the cemetery. The most recent victim had visited the cemetery the previous day according to her wife.

After that trip, they had gotten access to Louisa’s duplex and were now in agreement that she had been a practicing witch dabbling in necromancy. Cas had been on the phone with Rowena during the drive to the ranch giving her a rundown on the information they had in the hopes that she could help then understand more of what was going on. Eventually Cas had given in and called Sam, admitting that the younger Winchester had a much easier time getting Rowena’s cooperation.

When they finally arrived at the front of the line of cars entering the ranch, Dean began to understand why there was a crowd. The lights draped everywhere were impressive and Dean was happy to note that Cas seemed taken in by the display. It always cheered Dean up to see Castiel happy, it felt like those instances were all too rare in their line of work. Dean and Cas showed their badges at the entrance and asked where they could find Janice. They were directed to a side road for staff and Dean noticed the small frown of Cas’ face.

“Hey, want to ask if we can drive through the light display if we have time before we leave? It looks kinda awesome.” Castiel didn’t exactly smile but Dean could tell the suggestion pleased him. Dean wasn’t always sure why, but he was much better at reading Castiel than anyone else. Dean drove around to the back to park his car in what he assumed was the employee parking lot. They made their way through the staff entrance and asked around until they found Louisa’s sister.

“I honestly don’t know what I can tell you guys that I haven’t already told the other cops. I’m sorry she’s dead but Louisa and I were not close. She and I have barely spoken since we were kids. She was friends with some really weird people and did a lot of drugs when we were younger. I’m really not surprised she ended up dead in a cemetery.” Janice was clearly frustrated at her sister’s death and the notoriety it had brought with it. They did manage to find out the names of some of the ‘weird’ friends Louisa hung out with but beyond that she had been more than happy to offer them free access to the Christmas event just to be rid of them.

Dean was fairly certain the interview had been a dead end outside of assuring himself the sister wasn’t also a witch, but he didn’t feel their time had been wasted as he watched Cas roam through the stables. Cas attracted the few colts in residence leading to the kids in attendance following him around so they could see the young horses up close. Dean felt a soft warmth spread out from his chest as he watched his best friend talk with both the children and the colts. The children didn’t think anything of Cas having conversations with horses.

They eventually made their way back to the car and drove through the light display. Maybe they should have talked about the case, but Dean didn’t want to ruin the moment. Cas gazed out at the decorations with a look of quiet contentment on his face and Dean reached for the angel’s hand without thinking about it. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s without even turning away from the window.

Later that night, after grabbing burgers at a drive thru, they poured through the case notes together hoping to find something they had been missing. Dean didn’t even remember falling asleep until he woke up to Cas rolling him onto a pillow and laying a blanket on him. He mumbled a drowsy thank you and sunk into a dreamless slumber.

***

Cas thought that maybe it was a mistake, but after last night he didn’t want to be away from Dean. Once he had pulled a blanket over his exhausted friend, Cas changed into the pajamas Dean had given him again and laid down beside him. He stayed above the covers and just watched Dean sleep. He didn’t tell Dean anymore that he’d watch over him as he didn’t enjoy being called creepy. Dean didn’t seem to understand that watching was part of who Castiel was as an angel. While he had rebelled and fallen it didn’t change his need to watch over the man he pulled out of hell. It would be like going to long without air for a human. Cas needed to watch Dean, to protect him, to assure himself that he was safe.

He noticed Dean shivering despite the blanket draped over him and Castiel found himself giving into another impulse that he wasn’t sure Dean would appreciate. He pulled on the smallest amount of his grace to give some substance to his wings and dropped one of them on top of the man he loved. They were broken and battered, but over the years they had healed enough to fill out a bit. Dean quieted as he felt the weight of the wing, and Cas saw a small smile ripple across his face. The angel would just have to pull his wings back from the physical realm before Dean woke up, but it was worth the grace to keep Dean more comfortable as he slept.

***

Dean opened his eyes in the morning to find a sleeping angel next to him. He froze as soon as he saw Cas there, more worried that the angel had fallen asleep than about the fact that Dean was all to happy to wake up to his best friend lying beside him. He reached over to see if he could wake Cas up and ran into – feathers? Dean quickly rubbed his hands over his face and woke up more definitively. Yup, those were feathers. Large, gorgeous, black feathers that shimmered like obsidian in the sunlight. It was as if every color that had ever existed had come together to create the shimmering black of Castiel’s wings. While concerned about why Cas was sleeping and why his wings were manifested when Dean had only ever seen shadows, Dean couldn’t help but be enthralled with the things. His hand reached out to pet the one blanketing him before he actually thought about it. He had just enough time to appreciate how amazingly soft they felt before Castiel awoke with a gasp. The wing pulled back suddenly and Cas was sitting up staring at Dean in shock.

“Sorry, sorry! Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean anything by it, they were just so amazing… I’m so sorry Cas!” Dean held up his hands trying to placate the angel as he also sat up. Cas looked at his wings as if he had just realized they were physically present. Surprise travelled over his features and with a roll of Cas’ shoulders the wings disappeared. Dean tried not to look as disappointed as he felt. Cas turned back to Dean and briefly touched his jaw.

“It’s alright Dean. I was just surprised. They were manifested more than I intended and the sensation of you touching them was unexpected.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, like I said it was just unexpected, not harmful. I apologize, I didn’t mean for them to be out for so long.” Dean was surprised to note that Cas looked embarrassed.

“I – I’m glad I got to see them. They’re fucking awesome Cas, the shadows were badass enough, but wow. If I had known you could manifest them like that, I’d have been begging you to show me for years.” Cas laughed and the tension between them evaporated. Dean got ready in the bathroom and found Cas back in his regular clothing hanging up the phone when he’d finished brushing his teeth.

“Rowena thinks she knows what happened, or at least some of it. She’s not completely sure about the role of the Wych Elm, but she did say that it’s likely we will need to use wood from the tree to kill the creature that was raised.”

“Did she say what it is?” Cas nodded in response to Dean’s question.

“She thinks Louisa was trying to make her own vampire. Ties of blood are necessary for control and the age of the corpse increases the power of the risen dead in a ritual like this. Rowena said that no one tries this type of thing though, because the amount of power and control needed are astronomical. She said she wouldn’t try it herself, that there are easier ways to get a loyal servant. Then she said something about how maybe Louisa didn’t have the ‘assets’ Rowena had?” Dean broke into laughter and Cas tilted his head in puzzlement. Dean always enjoyed Cas’ air quotes.

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. Okay, so Louisa was trying to make her own breed of vampire.”

“It would seem so. Obviously, she wasn’t successful, and not just in regards to her lack of control. Whatever the creature technically is, it’s not just drinking blood.” Dean chewed over Cas’ words as the angel did something on the laptop. All Dean could think is that this thing seemed to be some sort of zombie vampire. It didn’t really make a difference though, as long as they had a way to kill it. Or re-kill it as it were.

“So, Rowena said we can use the Wych Elm wood to kill the thing?” Cas didn’t even look up from the screen to answer Dean’s question.

“Not exactly. She said it had to be the specific tree that grew out of the grave. She also said it wouldn’t be enough by itself. I’m looking at the spell now.” Dean decided to leave Cas to it and work on getting their gear together. It was still a vampire after all, even if it was some sort of mutant version.

“Dean. I think this will work. Dead man’s blood should still help to incapacitate it. We also need the ashes of it’s creator and the blessing of the divine.” Dean widened his eyes at that list, but he supposed it was doable. They could steal Louisa’s body from the morgue if necessary. “We use the spell to seal the ingredients into the wood of the elm. Then we have to stab the creature with the elm wood through its heart.”

“So, we have to stake the vampire? Seriously?” Dean was amused at the idea of staking a vampire actually working.

“Yes, Dean. Afterwards I’d still suggest decapitation and burning whatever is left, just to make sure it stays dead.” Cas closed the laptop and pushed it aside.

“Sure. You have a plan for blessing of the divine?” Cas smiled at Dean.

“That’s easy enough.” Cas didn’t even warn Dean, one moment he’s standing there looking at the angel expectantly, the next he has a faceful of feathers.

“Um, I thought you didn’t want me touching them.” Dean couldn’t see Castiel, but he could hear him snickering. Dean pushed the wing away from his eyes in time to see Cas laughing at him.

“I said it was unexpected, not that I minded you touching. Anyway, this will work.” Dean watches as Cas runs his finger through the feathers and finds one that comes loose. In between one blink and the next the wings are hidden once again. Cas hold a single feather in his hand, the echo of his earlier laughter still present in his smile.

“What about the ashes? Do we need to break into the morgue?”

“We don’t need a specified amount; we can get away with most anything. Maybe just hair or something small, we needn’t steal an entire corpse.” Dean sighs in relief, that’s one less complication.

“Well let’s head out then, I’d like this taken care of before sunset. Wait, how are we going to find the thing anyway? You think it’s prowling around the cemetery?” Cas nods.

“Yes, Dean. Rowena seems to think it’s probably tied to the elm and with the other victim also being close to the area I’m inclined to agree with her. Using the tree for the spell may even be enough to draw it to us. If you want to drop me off at the cemetery, I can start preparing everything while you get the ashes.” Dean agrees and grabs his keys.

***

Cas is somewhat relieved to be dropped off at the cemetery. While Dean hadn’t reacted poorly to being draped in an angel wing this morning, or the fact that Cas was asleep in the same bed, he couldn’t help feeling that he had been pushing things too far. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep while also solidifying his wings. He needed to conserve his grace for more important tasks. While Castiel was truly content to just be a part of Dean’s life it was difficult to remind himself that he could not have more, especially with his poor control over the very human-like emotions he now experienced. What was really tipping him over the edge though, was how Dean kept reacting. Dean did not react with anger or defensiveness when he found himself in situations that hinted of a more intimate relationship with Cas. He acted as if it were normal and even welcome. It surprised Cas, but it also gave him some of the hope that he had never really allowed himself to have. It was distracting, which made it all the better that he would be prepping the spell by himself.

Cas collected a branch from the Wych Elm growing out of Captain Abbot’s grave, mindful of the tree’s reputation for dropping branches on unsuspecting passersby. Then Cas took a few moments to make sure the caretaker knew that he and his partner may be around afterhours because of the attack yesterday and was happy to find out that she had already decided to stay with a friend until she felt safer. Cas made quick work of the elm branch, pleased with how easy it was to shape into a stake. The sun would set soon so Castiel got to work engraving the sigil they would need directly into the tree trunk. Once Dean brought the last ingredient it should only take them a few minutes to complete everything. With any luck the vampire would come to them.

He was so absorbed in creating the sigil that he almost didn’t hear the movement behind him in time.

***

As usual, things had not gone according to plan. Dean had arrived to see Cas holding the mutant-vamp at bay, but clearly struggling to gain an upper hand over the creature they didn’t yet have the means to kill. Dean knew better than to jump into the middle of that fight, it was more important to finish Rowena’s spell. He dumped the ashes in with the rest of the material. Luckily Cas had left a copy of the actual spell out by the bowl with all the ingredients. The incantation was pretty straightforward and Dean quickly scooped up the resulting concoction on two fingers and began filling in the sigil carved into the tree. Dean picked up the branch Cas had sharpened into a stake and touched it to the sigil, running through the incantation one more time. In a brief flash of light, the sigil was absorbed into the stake.

“Cas!” Dean threw the stake towards the angel who managed to catch it neatly without even looking. Ducking down as the creature threw itself towards him, Cas pushed the stake up and underneath the monster’s rib cage with more force than a normal human could have managed. Dean breathed a sigh of relief too early, the vamp surged back up and made another run at the rapidly tiring angel.

“Rowena may have overlooked something.” Cas sounded remarkably composed considering how ragged he looked. Dean looked around them desperately for something they had missed. Then he saw how the tree was shivering and pulsing as if trying to reach out to the vampire. Of course!

“Hey asshole, leave my goddamn angel alone!” Dean knew the shotgun wouldn’t work against the creature but it got his attention, and with the impact to its shoulder and the stake still protruding from its ribcage the monster snarled as it barreled towards Dean. Dean was backed up against the tree as Cas turned on him with a horrified look on his face.

“DEAN!” Cas sounded both angry and devastated as he chased after the vampire, but Dean just yelled out instructions, all too aware what this probably looked like from Cas’ point of view.

“Stake it to the tree!” Cas caught on quick and as Dean threw himself out of the way Cas leapt after the thing that had once been Captain Abbot. Cas reached down to where the stake was sticking out and wrenched until the creature’s back was on the trunk of the Wych Elm. Pushing off from the ground Cas slammed the stake further in, until the vampire was stuck to the tree. It screeched as light pulsed from the stake into the tree. The Wych Elm seemed to come to life as it collapsed in on itself, dragging the mutant-vamp back to wherever the tree had come from. Within moments all that was left was a broken gravestone.

“Huh. Guess we don’t have to worry about burning it,” Dean quipped. Castiel rounded on him, clearly not feeling amused.

“What were you thinking? What if I hadn’t been fast enough?” Dean let Castiel rant at him for a few moments, standing up and dusting off the dirt from the back of his jeans.

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t want to tip it off.”

“So instead, you made it look like you were drawing it away from me? Getting yourself killed for me!?” Castiel’s eyes flashed dangerously blue.

“Yeah, and it worked. For the record, I’d have done that even if it wasn’t to trick the thing though. Better me than you.” Dean was maybe angrier than he expected. He realized he’d been worried about how long Cas would last against that thing as he noted cuts that weren’t healing and the way the angel was swaying as he tried to hold himself upright. He also noticed that the blue in Cas’ eyes was in no way diminishing as he glowered at Dean.

“You. Are. Absurd. You are worth everything to me.” Then, rather abruptly, Cas fell over. Dean’s heart was pounding in his ears, both from what the angel had said and the sudden alarm he felt at a cosmic being fainting. He pulled Cas up into his arms, and damn, he was heavier than Dean had expected. Not just the muscle that Dean could feel, but he idlily wondered if the wings somehow added weight. Either way, Dean eventually made it back to their hotel room, although his back wouldn’t thank him for it later.

***

Cas woke up in the pajamas Dean had given him with an arm thrown over his chest. Confused, Cas turned slowly and realized that they were back in the hotel and Dean was asleep beside him, curled around the angel’s torso. As small rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains Cas could see his normal clothing folded nearby on a chair. He noticed that the wounds his grace hadn’t healed yet had been cleaned and bandaged, and that the blanket was pulled up around both him and Dean. As Dean let out a contented sigh in his sleep and burrowed closer, Castiel thought that perhaps he too was worth everything to someone. Smiling the angel allowed himself to drift back to sleep, happily thinking about how Dean had told the vampire to stay away from “his” angel.

***

@destielsecretsanta2020, @aibari

#destiel secret santa #destiel december #destiel #casefic #case fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #castiel #castiel with wings #dean winchester #sam winchester #rowena macleod #monster of the week #christmas #spn #arcticfox007writes

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sincerelystranger · 4 years

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Author: This is kind of a spoiler for my fic, Linger by the Door (I’ve Always Been Yours). It’s basically Lan Qiren acquiescing and giving his blessing of LZ and WWX’s relationship.

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“Before the Twin Jades of Gusu, there was the Jade Dragon,” Lan Qiren says slowly, looking at the boy – man – who has ruined his life.

Wei Wuxian.

What does Wangji see in him? He wonders. What about this boy could possibly be worth abandoning his sect? His path of cultivation?

Wei Wuxian does not move or speak – he just stares at Lan Qiren, something in his eyes unsettlingly understanding. Waiting for him to continue.

“My brother was hailed as the most prodigious cultivator in 100 years,” he continues, his chest aching. He’s never spoken this to anyone – would never have imagined telling it to Wei Wuxian of all people. “He was talented and handsome and kind… and I was proud to be his brother.”

Wei Wuxian nods then, just a slight tilt of his head, as if he understands. Could he understand? This evil boy with no respect for traditions or values. Could he understand the type of pride that came from family? What could this demon know of loving someone so much that their accomplishments felt like yours?

Lan Qiren remembers then, the soft way Jiang Fengmian had spoken about Wei Wuxian. The pride and fondness that thrummed beneath his words. He remembers how Wei Wuxian fought for his sister’s honor, how he suffered happily in her stead.

“It was difficult – is difficult – for me to understand how someone like my brother could he felled by a single woman, but he was.” He has to stop then, the ache in his chest creeping up into his throat. It’s strange how the pain never ebbs. How many times did he watch his brother die, he wonders.

Death in seclusion.

Lan Qiren thinks a part of him also died when his brother chose to hide himself away from the world. His brother, who had shone brighter than anyone, living in shame... because of a woman. Because of love. Qiren couldn’t understand it then -- can only barely understand it now.

And then, dying by slow degrees – heart broken by the death of that woman. Wasting away day by day, unable to take his own life, but also unable to face a world without her.

And finally, dying for his sect.

Strong and courageous till the very end.

(In secret, Lan Qiren wonders whether his brother meant to survive the Wens at all. Did he ever plan on making it out alive?)

“Wangji is very much like my brother,” he says, taking a sip of his tea to loosen the ache in his throat. “From the beginning, he was impossibly talented… and kind. Xichen, of course, was talented and kind as well… but from the beginning, Xichen was more like me. I could understand Xichen much better than Wangji.”

Lan Qiren remembers the quiet child all those years ago. So steadfast and resolved – so much like his brother. Xichen had always been flexible – understanding of Qiren’s strictness and accepting of his role within the sect.

Wangji had not understood… but he had listened because he loved his uncle. Qiren had always known that – had always known that Wangji’s obedience did not come from understanding but from love – and it had scared him.

Love.

Love ruined you. Qiren had seen it firsthand. Had experienced it himself. He had loved his brother and watching his brother destroy himself had been torture.

“I was strict with Wangji – much stricter than I needed to be. You have to understand…” he feels embarrassed suddenly, admitting all this to Wei Wuxian – the bane of his existence, “… I watched my brother suffer because of… emotion… and I wanted to do everything in my power so that Wangji would not suffer the same fate.”

Wei Wuxian still does not speak. He just keeps watching Lan Qiren, his eyes still unnervingly kind. He loves Wangji as well, Lan Qiren realizes. Wei Wuxian walked willingly into a place that he knows doesn’t want him because he loves Wangji.

Lan Qiren wishes he didn’t know that. He wishes Wei Wuxian was less brave. It would be easier to hate him. Because Lan Qiren wishes, more than anything, that he could hate Wei Wuxian.

(But he finds it’s difficult to hate someone who loves Wangji so selflessly)

“I realize now that Wangji was suffering,” he admits, shame creeping up his spine, “the 16 years you were gone… he was suffering, and I chose to ignore it. He was dying by slow degrees and I ignored it because – because I thought it was better that he suffer than him have any association with you.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t flinch at Lan Qiren’s words. Doesn’t look away, doesn’t make a sound. It’s infuriating. All those instances that Lan Qiren asked silence of him and he chooses now of all times to listen. Maybe he finds some sort of perverse pleasure in watching Lan Qiren rip himself open this way.

“What I mean to say,” and embarrassment is hot in his stomach at what he’s about to admit, “is that everything I’ve done up until now is so that I would not lose Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian nods then, as if he understands. As if he knew all along.

How infuriating.

“But the truth is that I lost him 16 years ago,” he sighs, looking away from Wei Wuxian, unable to endure the kindness of his gaze. “I was lying to myself -- that Wangji was recovering from your loss, that Wangji had been momentarily led astray by your wicked ways – but that wasn’t it at all, was it?”

Lan Qiren can be honest with himself now. He can remember the deadness of Wangji’s eyes, the listlessness of his actions. How he went day by day as if he was just passing time. Desiring death but brave enough to endure life.

It’s a stark difference to how Wangji is now. It’s as if Wei Wuxian brought Wangji along as he came back to life.

“Wangji has only come back to us recently,” he says slowly, “and I am loathe to lose him again.”

That’s the truth, at the end of the day. As much as Lan Qiren had tried to teach emotion out of his nephews, he had never known how to do it himself. He never learned how to stop hurting, how to stop loving. How foolish had he been to expect that from his nephews.

“If keeping Wangji means acknowledging you – acknowledging that you will be his cultivation partner… then I will do that.”

It’s his loss again, he thinks sardonically. Cangse Sanren had always bested him when they were students and even in death, here she was besting him again. How irritating.

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian says finally, “Thank you.”

It’s irritating – Lan Qiren doesn’t want to be thanked. This is the most painful decision of his life. It goes against all he’s ever taught – putting emotion in front of sense. Emotion in front of tradition, in front of rules, in front of right. His ancestors are probably rolling in their graves.

But it’s unbearable, the thought of losing Lan Wangji. The thought of him roaming the world, sect-less, with only this demonic cultivator next to him.

“You should know,” Wei Wuxian continues, “If I could make Lan Zhan love anyone else – I would.”

Lan Qiren wants to tell Wei Wuxian to be silent. He doesn’t want to hear goodness – kindness – come out of his mouth. Lan Qiren wants to hate him, doesn’t Wei Wuxian understand that?

“I know I’m not deserving,” Wei Wuxian says, a small, self-deprecating smile on his lips, “but Lan Zhan has loved me for 16 lonely years – he loves me now – and I will not leave him to love alone any longer.”

Silence, Lan Qiren thinks desperately, his chest heavy. He remembers now, the loneliness that Wangji wore like a shroud. How he had seemed miles away at all times. His nephew had been suffering – dying in front of his eyes – and Lan Qiren had ignored him.

He had been waiting for his obedient nephew to come back, he realized. He had done nothing but wait.

“I cannot promise that I will be able to follow all 3,000 rules – and I’m sure I’ll do many things that you find distasteful, because, at the end of the day, I cannot change who I am,” Wei Wuxian says, “but I love Lan Zhan – no matter what you think of me, please be assured of that. I love him more than my own life and I will love him for as long as he will have me and beyond that.”

The way Wei Wuxian says that does not sit well with Lan Qiren. “Does that mean that you expect that there will be a day that my nephew will no longer have you?” he asks, curious.

Wei Wuxian huffs a small laugh at that, scratching his nose in embarrassment. “I can only hope,” he says softly. He smiles at Lan Qiren, his eyes warm, and Lan Qiren finds that maybe he can understand, at least a little, what Wangji sees in this demon.

“I know you may not believe this, but I want the same things for Lan Zhan as you do,” Wei Wuxian says, “I want him to be happy – I wish that he would walk an easier path.”

“It seems you are not entirely without sense,” Lan Qiren says, “You recognize that him choosing you has opened him to the world’s derision.”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian nods.

“But you still intend to become his cultivation partner?”

“I’ve never been able to deny Lan Zhan anything,” Wei Wuxian replies easily, “The only thing I can do now is make sure that he does not face the world alone.”

Foolish boy, Lan Qiren thinks. Foolish, brave boy.

“Wangji has never been one to change his mind,” Lan Qiren admits quietly, “Now that he’s chosen to be by your side, I’m quite sure there will never come a day that he does not choose you.”

“I will not shame him,” Wei Wuxian says resolutely, his gaze firm and unyielding. “Whatever Lan Zhan chooses, now and for the rest of his life, I will honor it.”

In that moment, Lan Qiren is reminded that the man in front of him is the man who declared war on the world and might as well have won.

Perhaps… perhaps, Wangji can be entrusted to him.

“Treat Wangji with the utmost respect, you evil boy,” Lan Qiren says, “I will never forgive you if you treat Wangji with any less… love than he deserves.”

Wei Wuxian nods seriously, and moves to get up, sensing that their conversation is over.

He bows when he stands.

“Thank you,” he says, “Thank you for taking good care of Lan Zhan – I humbly ask that you continue that care. I will also be in your care from now on.”

What a evil boy, Lan Qiren thinks furiously, blinking the sudden wetness from his eyes. An evil boy, always full of surprises.

“Leave!” he scowls, his throat aching.

Thank you for taking good care of Lan Zhan.

He’s done his best, hasn’t he?

Later he will visit Xichen. Tell him the news.

And later… much later, he will visit his brother.

He will tell his brother that Wangji is still very much like him, except that he’s braver -- braver than his brother or himself could ever imagine being.

Also, Cloud Recesses will be a much louder place from now on.

But for now, he will finish his tea, repeat Wei Wuxian’s words over and over again in his head, and hope that he can swallow down the ache in his throat.

Thank you for taking good care of Lan Zhan.

#wangxian #my fic #the untamed #lan qiren #Wei Wuxian

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 10

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 10 - Back to the City

Black shadows rose from the middle of the road, eyes without pupils staring at Lin Yan's car. There were ragged children with skin stretched tight on their bones running around, and even women in palace costumes, stretched out their long white hands, scratching the body of the car with their nails. It was an apocalyptic escape. Lin Yan took a deep breath and accelerated to two hundred and ten kilometres per hour. The trees on either side of the road became looming shadows, and he couldn't clearly see anything on the road. He was firmly pressed back onto the seat by the impact of the acceleration. The uneven dirt road and the speed made Lin Yan worry that the car would flip over at any second. Even so, he didn't dare take his foot off the pedal for a second. The car was like a strong black wind, cutting its way out of the ghost formations in the mountains and forests.

Escaping towards the land of the living.

Just before the needle on the fuel gauge dropped to empty, Lin Yan finally saw the city. He got on the Fifth Ring Road and he rolled the window down a crack. The cool night breeze dissipated the heavy bloody air in the car.

Cities, traffic, human voices, normality.

Lin Yan let out a long sigh of relief and relaxed into the chair.

The events of the exorcism in the mountains seemed like a dream as he drove through the bright lights of the city, but the evidence of the event sitting in his passenger seat was very reak. Lin Yan slammed his hand against the steering wheel, thinking that his life must really be hell. The most damn thing is that, in an era in which people lived in peace and well-being, and the leaders lived in happiness, leading the future of the country with diplomacy and socialism, he had saved a ghost who came to kill him from the hands of a master who didn't know what was going on.

Lin Yan found a secluded place to stop and rest.

"Man, celebrate, we made it out."

There was no answer. The ghost next to him seemed to be asleep, his eyes closed as he leaned on the seat, his black hair hanging down to cover most of his face.

He didn't die, did he? Lin Yan's heart clenched, and then he realized that this thing was already dead, and there's no way that it could die again. No, he couldn't say anything. Lin Yan glanced at him. His quiet manner with his eyes closed was no different from that of a living person. He was even breathing, his chest slightly rising and falling regularly. Dressed like a Confucian disciple, with loose hair that was very inconsistent with traditional practices, his clothes were stained with old blood, but the fabric was still visible beneath it. Looking down, bare feet peeked out from beneath the straight hemline. They were covered with a series of mottled cracks and old wounds like he had been walking for a long time.

Lin Yan sighed, thinking that this time he definitely offended his ancestors. He hesitated for a while, debating between abandoning the car and fleeing or committing suicide, and finally decided to wait until the "person" woke up. "Don't believe the words of the dead, ghosts only remember what they want." The lines from the movie "Voice" flashed in his mind. Lin Yan shook his head, his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. The look in the ghost's unwilling and nostalgic eyes looked too real.

Suddenly, Lin Yan was not afraid of him. He hesitated and hadn't bothered to take a good look at him back in the temple. Ghosts. . . ghosts were invisible and intangible. What does it look like?

Through the ghostly tangles, Lin Yan stretched out his hand and slid away the long hair covering his face.

For a moment, he had prepared himself to see a rotten face, even a skeleton, completely lacking any facial features, but when the black hair fell behind his ears, Lin Yan was taken aback when the man’s sleeping face was revealed.

It's. . . a ghost. . . how could he look so good?

His face resembled those from ancient times, with long eyebrows stretching to his temples, a straightened nose. Between his eyebrows, there was a brilliance that did not belong to this era. His restless sleep was probably exhaustion from what the temple master put him through. He was frowning, curled up in his sleep, as if he was still protecting the little wooden block.

What? Such a good complexion. Maybe it wasn't all that bad having an early death to keep these looks. What the hell, this ghost looks good.

The skin was also very smooth, like a jade carving, with invisible pores.

Lin Yan glanced at him sympathetically, and his heart lurched. This guy didn't just think of me as his dead wife who he didn't had died years ago. He was desperately trying to achieve this virtue for some surrogate substitute. The things that happened in the temple made Lin Yan feel a little guilty. He couldn't help but brush away the broken hair from his neck and gently wipe the dried blood on his face with the back of his hand.

The ghost startled and his eyes snapped open, staring at Lin Yan with spite.

Lin Yan yelled out of fright, and he instinctively covered his neck with his hands.

The target of the attack this time changed to his shoulders. A pair of infinitely powerful ghost hands squeezed Lin Yan's shoulder blades harder and harder. He could almost hear the rattling of bones, and there was a burst of pain in his shoulders. This shit was endless. Lin Yan panicked and scrambled for the car door like a wild animal, but when the car was parked, it was automatically locked and could not be opened.

The car was so dark that he couldn't find the button that controlled the door lock. Lin Yan had to fumble around near the small green light on the control panel. The ghost's hand slid off his shoulder and touched the wound on his forearm. After hesitating for a while, he leaned over and lowered his head to gently sniff the newly scabbed-over knife wound.

Lin Yan remembered that he was still sprinkled with the Yin and Yang energy stone powder, there was only a human scent remaining at the place of the cut. He couldn't help but rub his shoulders and let out a laugh.

"It's me, don't smell it. It's not the real scent."

The ghost gave a long sigh and pulled Lin Yan's arm into his arms. Lin Yan looked at him blankly. All the energy he had disappeared with the obedient look and he had to let go of the door handle. Leaning towards the passenger seat, he rested his face on the ghost's chest.

"Brother, I'm sorry about today. You were almost hung up by the old monk without even knowing it. I owe you, let's not take this as an example, though."

The ghost's arm was wrapped around his waist, and Lin Yan's cheek was tickled by the long hair.

"Do you miss your wife?" Lin Yan grabbed the hand on his waist. He intertwined their fingers and whispered, "I have always missed my ex-girlfriend, but once you break up, it's done. You have to move on."

"It was wrong for me to dig up your grave, but this is what I'm learning in school. Whatever my professor tells me to do, I have to do it. Don't pester me, reincarnate instead. In due time, come back as a young lady or little loli in your next life and find Uncle for some sweets."

"When you grow up, Uncle will introduce you to someone."

". . . Forget it, you don't understand anyway."

Quietly in the car, the neon lights of the city reflected on the windows, and the Apple logo on the top of the tall building in the distance exudes cold white light. There were groups of people coming and going on the road. Groups of little girls changed into their summer clothes and carrying shopping bags, laughing and playing together. The boy was wearing headphones and concentrating on leaning against the window to play mobile games, probably because he was impatiently waiting for his girlfriend.

In the Audi parked by the roadside, Lin Yan and the ghost leaned against each other. The hustle and bustle outside the window seemed to fade away. All that was left was an unusual sensation. In an era that promoted independence and material desire, a bustling city, and impetuous life, full of voices, never really connected with him.

He was often driven to despair by such loneliness.

He never knew anyone else who felt this way. When people see other people, they start to act like dogs. Lin Yan raised a labrador who was always innocent and enthusiastic with his round eyes waiting for the owner to return home, more loyal than his own lover. He suddenly admired the ghost in front of him. No matter what reason he had for following him, destroying his life, or whether they really had a relationship, he had the courage to travel through hundreds of years and walk alone in this era that did not belong to him. Lin Yan wondered if he would be anxious when he walked through the tall buildings with billboards behind him. So. . . what was his motivation?

Lin Yan took out his cell phone to send a text message to Yin Zhou. Things had changed so fast. A few hours ago, he was shouting that he was going to kill the troublesome ghost, but now he was cradling him and watching the nightlife. The fluorescent light was dazzling in the dark. Just as he wrote out the fourth word, the screen was suddenly covered by someone's hand. Lin Yan pulled the hand away, but the ghost reluctantly covered the screen again, glowing light leaking through the gaps of his slender fingers. Lin Yan couldn't help but chuckle. He thought this ghost was very interesting. This child had a temper, so he locked the screen and coaxed him softly: "Stop, don't be angry." He pulled himself out of the ghost's arms and tugged on his sleeve cuff. The ghost obediently leaned over onto Lin Yan's chest, and Lin Yan slowly straightened out his hair with his fingers.

"There are still a few hours before dawn. I'll hold you until you fall asleep. Today, you were punished by the old monk." Lin Yan said. He could only breathe out a few times. Lin Yan shook his head at the misty figure in front of him, thinking about how he could pay for the sins he committed. He must find a way to break this ghost's obsession with the world and let him reincarnate in peace.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #chinese novel #chinese bl #english translation #yaoi novel

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nebula-starlight · 3 years

Text

Sepsis (Part 17: Never Alone)

His eyes widened in shock at seeing the ink spurting out from her neck, devotion clashing with duty in his head to a paralyzing degree. She… She had thrown herself at him. He’d had no choice but to defend himself. Why was it then that he felt as though he had just made a grave mistake?

Nethreis shook his head, stepping back to avoid the spreading pool of ink around her limp, crumpled form. Hot tears pricked at his eyes as he looked around the barren snowy landscape. He couldn’t understand why she had lashed out so viciously at him with eyes an acidic green instead of her usual yellow. Corruption never turned another’s eyes a different shade and she had all but pleaded with him moments before going in for the strike.

It was an accident. A horrible accident.

He crept closer, planting a kiss against her still warm snout. Something was wrong about the ink. It bubbled and moved as though conscious enough to come towards him. Taking a final look at Versila, he spread his wings and took to the air, almost immediately spinning around with a shriek as thin sticky tendrils ensnared his legs and began to pull him back to the ground.

Flames leapt from his tongue as he struggled to fight the strange tar off, hoping setting it ablaze would be enough. He just wanted to disappear and mourn. His chest already felt as if it was on fire and he cut off the flames, growling at the realization it had done nothing to deter this sentient ink. More of it was looping around his wings now, making it impossible for him to fly as he smacked the ground hard and tumbled across the snow. He only stopped when he collided with an imposing cliffside, jagged rocks burrowing into his back as he cried out in pain.

The ink stayed near Versila’s body, not choosing to follow him as he heard the dull drone of static. It swarmed against his skull, loud enough to make his ears bleed. He screeched, thrashing around as his jerky movements only made the rocks behind him dig in that much more painfully. Something descended over him, brief but enough of a viable presence that he was alarmed. It bore hints of Versila’s magic, dim yet as familiar to him as his own breath. How…? She was,,,, deceased by his own claws. So how did he feel traces of her magic so clearly in something so alien? Whatever it was passed quickly, taking with it the burning sensation in his chest. Warily he looked towards the body again, confused when he didn’t see it among the snow. There was evidence of their fight, yes, but no trace of his beloved’s fallen form. Had her body been taken? He didn’t see any traces of soul dust…

Shakily, Nethreis rose, limping over to inspect the grounds more closely. Sure enough there was no trace that her body had been present and all that remained was a faint circle of drying ink. He snorted, lighting it ablaze out of spite, and wondered where best to take his time to mourn. She was dead. He had killed her. If The Council or Magnus found out then he would be sent to be “eliminated as a failure of the pristine storm.” He didn’t want his life to end like that. Not when he still had to atone for his biggest regret. He shouldn’t have struck her down…

His eyes lifted to the cloudy sky above, searching for any sign of stars. Igna had taught him once that their ancestors looked down on them from the realm beyond through the night’s stars and, at the time, he had completely brushed off her remark because he had someone to comfort him after all the tests and torture. And now here he stood all alone. He was a murderer of so many…. some possibly even innocent but simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

By the rules set forth by The Council as they governed all, he would surely find his death waiting for him if he were to return to the Capital. He could live out in the wilderness but he had little idea of how to do such. Perhaps the best thing would be to observe his mourning first. Anything else could come afterwards…

“May Soleil and Lune guard unto everlasting peace, my dearest beloved. I feel shame for what was done.” He tested his wings with a small flap, satisfied they would hold up for the short flight he had to take. “I will see you soon.”

Throwing himself up into the cloudy night sky, he rose in silence. Perhaps he didn’t have to return to the Capital to receive his just punishment. Perhaps he could enact it himself as his atonement for his vile deeds. Food was scarce up on the mountain after all with any prey having moved down into the neighboring valleys to survive the frigid winter. Finding a place to shelter from such harsh conditions would be a slight challenge but he could survive out in the open if necessary. That might make the process go faster… and maybe he would be reunited with Igna as well.

Inky tears rolled down his cheeks as he took a deep breath and removed the many layers of illusions he had cast over himself. If he was doing this wholeheartedly, he needn't be afraid of his scars. They spoke a story all their own across his body. And now he was ready to tell that story in all its grandeur to the two most important spirits he had ever known.

Looking up one final time, he folded his wings against his chest and fell.

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

He was expecting to die, not to have immense pain burning across his whole body as he slammed down hard and groaned, pleading for his eyes to focus. Something hot and sticky was rolling down his snout and by the time he finally focused he realized sadly what one source of his current skull-splitting agony was. During his fall and subsequent crashing into the very well concealed cave, he had lost an eye or damaged it somehow.

At least one of his wings was shattered, strands of silver all around him as he slowly looked around with what he could see. But what hurt the most was his chest. Something had happened on the descent and he could feel his soul growing weaker. Apparently he was getting his wish that he would be joining his beloved soon in death.

Curling up, he whimpered and rolled so he could see the distant sky or what he perceived to be the sky. Just a bit longer now…. It was already getting harder to breathe and he could hear the cracks starting to form. The damage had shaken his already fragile core and now… now he was paying the price for doing what he had. But it was worth it. She was so close… so very, very close.

“Niemals allein…”

#sepsis #nether #final words: never alone

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mrsunderhill678 · 3 years

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Ya Gorl’s Been Tip Tappin’ against the keyboard and makin’ magic with her fingies

“I used to think I was a troubled man, stumbling mistake to mistake, wondering what people's lives would be like without me. But now I've come to realize I'm not troubled, just hurt, and there's such a fine difference in that. Love and trouble used to look like cocaine and sugar, and I could hardly tell the difference between pain and gentleness. So I let neither guide my way in fear of choosing the wrong thing and breaking myself in ways I could never fix.” - Dan Castlestone

“I met my love as she wept in her sorrow, wondering why she couldn't find freedom. But it feels like, as I dance my fingers against the etches of her spine and kiss her gently where it hurts the most, our love is the freedom she's been craving. She's got scars on her heart, but look at her, sitting gentle and peaceful like a dove prophesizing great peace and love. I'd never seen someone so gentle, so beautiful, so lovely, until I met her sorrow filled and kind eyes.” - Mel Ackers

“I've always wanted to be somebody to someone, but it feels as if, I have finally become somebody to me.” - Fern Ackers

“She stood next to me in the garden as I sprouted, everybody else stood tall, but there I stood, bent in ways I didn't think could heal. But she didn't care. She stood there every day, giving me water and watching me grow, building me up with gentle kisses in the dark and nights spent tangled in each other's arms. And now here I stand, tall and loved, knowing that without Mel, without my beautiful children, I never would've learned how to be somebody to me.” - Fern Ackers

“I'm a love riddled fool, sipping on sorrowful poetry and sad songs in the dark, knowing I shall never be me, for I was born somebody else.” - Anderson Mafasa

“Some people call me crazy, but I prefer the term lucid in reality, for I crave fantasy much more than I enjoy the real things I can touch and feel.” - Anderson Mafasa

“There's no one but me in my mind, so how could I blame anybody but myself for the thoughts in my head?” - Anderson Mafasa

“It feels as if I have sunken deep into the recesses of myself, and there's no one but me to run to.” - Anderson Mafasa

“I've learned God can never tame the monsters he's made. He sets us loose in a hunting ground and when prey fell short we'd come to love the violence and the way blood felt on our hands. So we turned on each other and brought our stones down on those weaker than us, just for that high we got from power. I won't smile, but God damn brother, I'll show you my teeth.” - Adir Butcher

“I met evil in the heart of my hometown, sinister grin brewing with trouble, heart bared black on a leather jacket sleeve. I lost myself deep in the twisted and black spine of the underground, firing off bullets for the wrong reasons and losing pieces of myself each time they flew from the chamber. But as I sit here, honor beating in my chest, who I am flowing through my veins, I know I ain't never losing myself to trouble's smile once more.” - Adellia Rustfey

“He built hell on the streets of our home, but I'll be damned if we can't find heaven in ourselves.” - Adellia Rustfey

“I've brushed my fingers against the ever expanding pages of history, eyes dragging across kills immortalized in verse, wars written as beauty in prose and poetry, humanity's darkness called natural and inescapable. And I must wonder, as I stare history eye to eye if it's a warning we didn't heed or a monster we've created up of crimson etched poetry and verses glorified in blood.” - Achilles Arrowheart

“Asking "Why," to love is like looking up to the midnight sky and trying to count all the stars.” - Achilles Arrowheart

“I cannot live dancing under the shadows of ghosts.” - Achilles Arrowheart

“I was on my deathbed, six foot underneath a man I never was.” - Abramio Gold

“The way I see it, hate is a small plate, and you fill it with the little things that upset you, gorging em down and feeling full because you trick yourself into thinking it's a complete meal. But a few minutes later your heart begins to growl so you fill your plate with more hate and keep on doing it, again, and a fucking gain until all you can do is sit there at your hateful table, wondering why you're alone in a room full of your demons. We trick ourselves into thinking not everyone wants to sit at the table, so we never even give em the fucking chance. And I think that's sad, that we've tricked ourselves into thinking a life of hate is fulfilling.” - Abramio Gold

“I can say sorry for wot I've done, but dat doesn't change dat it 'appened. For some people, it just won't mattah dat I've changed, because when dey look into me eyes dey'll see da memories'a da cruelty in me. But a man don't change because 'e expects ta be forgiven. A man changes because he just can't fuckin' live wif da person he's been, so 'e kicks 'imself outta 'is 'ead and learns ta be somebody new past all 'is fuckin' pain.” - Lincoln Essex Twis

“I've got blood on me 'ands and ghosts in me blood.” - Lincoln Essex Twis

“No man wants ta go through redemption, for it's one'a da most torturous scars a soul can bare.” - Lincoln Essex Twis

“I used ta say I was a ghost loomin' over a grave dat weren't me own, but it feels as if, I spent me three days in me tomb, and all these people I love came around ta roll back da stone for me. And so, gentle, quiet and joyful I fall inta da arms'a all I love.” - Rosie Essex Twis

“The way I see it, and the way I'll always, see it, is that the man that fears change in the right direction has been walking in the wrong direction for too long, and has come to believe walking the wrong path is the only way he can go without resistance. So he sits in his comfort level, trying to force others to bend to his own fears.” - Pete Lockman

“I've always been a little wild, dancing barefoot in the garden and digging my nails into dirt and streams, falling in love with the way nature gently hums and shows her beauty. People say the world is hateful, but if you listen to the birds hum and you sing along to the gentle roar of the river, you'll come to realize the world never hates, only people, do.” - Lassie Lockman

“My father once told me that the strongest person of all is the one that embraces her identity and lets no one else narrate who they are. We all have our own stories and memories, and everyone's always trying to tell you how it is. But only you, know your story, and you're the only one who can tell it.” - Lassie Lockman

“She who changes based on every word spoken against her will never remain the same in the seconds that pass.” - Lassie Lockman

“I look to the sky, rays of light drifting through the dreary and lazy clouds. And I begin to wonder how God looks down on us. And as the sunlight caresses my cheek and brings warmth to my skin, I come to realize she speaks so gently, like a soft and quiet wind bringing the scent of love and forgiveness in it's wake.” - Lassie Lockman

“I was born under the shadow of bad men's deeds, looking to the sky for answers, praying to a silent God. But as I stood there, silence choking the goodness in me, I came to learn there's nowhere a sinning man can run from the madness and cruelty that comes on by to claim all who are troubled. And so I put another bullet in my chamber, firing off rage from a crimson revolver and killing under the shadow of cruel men's deeds.” - Navy Remington

“For as long as the sun has risen and fallen, trouble and violence have known man's heart, and so falling deep into the disease of murder and lies, I become one with my ancestors and succumb to the hum of spilling blood.” - Navy Remington

“I was just a girl looking for her peace, but now I place my finger against a sinning woman's trigger, looking down the scope of my rifle and knowing, it's not a wolf in my crosshairs. I always close my eyes the moment before a kill, convincing myself that it's just another deer, it's just another wolf, but I'm always haunted by the dead lying face down and crimson in the snow.” - Suzanna Hargroves

“I look to the stormy skies, wondering if my mother's eyes dance in those dark clouds, wondering if her tears drip down my cheek as another drop of rain splashes against my skin. Or am I just trying to see her everywhere I go so I never have to let her go?” - Suzanna Hargroves

“I stepped into that old mansion like a flickering and killing light drawing in the wicked moth, but as I walked out, I learned I had never been the flame, nor had Ickabod been the moth. I was human, and fragile, and Ickabod knew that, huh?” - Shamallo Green

“I was a white dove grenade hurtling toward darkness, but I was caught in the arms of cruelty and thrown back to the light where pieces of my shrapnel trouble broke through the skin of peace.” - Shamallo Green

“I'll never come to understand what life has in store for this old, blood spilling sinner, but I suppose all I can do is keep my head up high and pretend I've got a heart that's whole.” - Shamallo Green

“I ain't much more than a name in a book, these days, waitin' ta be cut down with ink scrawled 'cross my damn spine.” - Andraak Flint

“My full moon faded ta black and shadow, and God damn, I ain't much but a haunted man fallin' through the echoes of his snarl.” - Andraak Flint

“There ain't enough words on my tongue ta describe the love I lost. But 'er name tastes bitter on this guilty tongue. Carmellia was everythin' I never knew I needed, and when she danced 'er fingers 'cross my bare and scarred chest and told me I was er's, I could'a sworn I was gon' die a better man than I was born.” - Andraak Flint

“I look ta a grave too young, and ta me, it still feels like that soil was freshly dug.” - Andraak Flint

“I look to a cloudy sky and in the drops'a rain that splash on my eye I see the tears'a the holy pourin' down on the man peace and mercy forgot.” - Andraak Flint

“My life fell apart before I ever had a chance to live it.” - Arco Dogson

“It's always strange, losing yourself. Because when you find yourself again, he almost feels unfamiliar. Like an old friend you haven't seen for years. But then you get to talking and you realize everything changed, all but the laughter and joy that came with talking about nothing with a friend.” - Arco Dogson

“The powerful always call your whispers too damn loud cause they're morality stands on fragile glass, cracked and hollow, ready ta break with whisper decibels.” - Lockman Pierce

“I was a cracked seed wonderin' if he'd ever bloom, but all I needed was someone ta come on by with water and love, tendin' ta my heart and my soul and touchin' the scars in me with the tips'a their words in places my hands couldn't go. And that, is what Lucille is ta me. She's strong and valiant, risin' 'bove all trouble and cruelty. And when the war cry comes, you best believe she's gon' fight.” - Lockman Pierce

“It is when we are at war with ourselves that darkness comes on by, beggin' ya to diverge from your path. But don't stray, brother. When you're at an all time low, you gotta keep on walkin' the path'a the right. Cause darkness stands as the only poison mankind dares ta swallow.” - Lockman Pierce

“On the edge of death and madness I met a man with sadness bleeding from the edges of his eyes. He was just another broken man under a cruel man's shadow, and ever since I met him, trouble's known my name. But I don't blame him, for that.” - Fisher Rupkal

“We all need to cry a little, we all need to die a little to live a little. The sky's heavy with the scent of trouble and sin, and as the storm comes down I know, we'll face the rain and cackling thunder clouds side by side with those we call brother and sister. It seems people pass by the sorrowed man, hands in their pockets and ill thoughts in their heads, wondering why we don't help ourselves. But truth is, we left our hearts out in the storm to rust and always felt like if we put them back in our chest, our bones too, would rust over with the musky scent of trouble.” - Fisher Rupkal

“Hey man, look, the powerful will tell you you're nothing, but doesn't that mean you're free to become anything?” - Derrick Furmusa

“I'm just a curious spirit walking home in the dead of night, passing old identities by like stumbling strangers, knowing all I wanna do is walk through the front door of who I am and embrace this person I've become. And sure, as I walk inside claw marks etch the wallpaper and there might be one or two shadows hiding in the corners of my sanctuary. But this person I am is home, he's me, and I'll never let that change. All these hallways and doorways of me tell a story dotted with trouble and love that builds who I am from scars and memories.” - Derrick Furmusa

“I was never strong, but I've always figured the most important kind of strength is the kind that walks in your heart and your mind, rather then the kind that resides in black eyes and broken knuckles. I've got a lot of fight left in me, so I think it's high time I face the cruelty of this world with a crooked little smile and a few quips and jokes.” - Derrick Furmusa

“Someone once asked me why in the face of death, I smile. And maybe it's because I never saw death as a foe, or something to fear, rather just another part of life coming and going as the wind blows on by.” - Derrick Furmusa

“I's got a cold shoulder, but it's all I got to lean on, holdin' on long enough for it ta haunt me. My daughter says that it's okay, ta be me, but bein' me has only ever made me regret who I am. And so I let this person I am drift away from the cigarette smoke, wishin' a princess would come and save me. Cause I sit here in my eyes like Rapunzel, lookin' out her stained window'a glass and regret, wonderin' why she can never leave her tower. And I only ever let down my hair to let those that hurt me inta my mind.” - Julianne Hufflesburg

“My lips taste like lies whispered on a cold afternoon, my love feels like a flickerin' spark driftin' from the cigarette, and my heart, in the hand'a someone who cares, feels like not the rose, but the thorns from it's stem.” - Julianne Hufflesburg

“I must remind myself that life is a slow and insidious killer, drainin' the soul and heart outta ya before ya ever get a chance ta fuckin' live.” - Casimir Heartfull

“When I first met Remana she asked me who I was prayin' ta, and I sparked up a cigarette and told her truthfully? I was prayin' ta the silence hopin' I'd hear sumthin' in the echoes 'a my prayers. But now I look back at all these memories'a her and I see a red eyed ghost, lost in addictions and some delusional 'ope that she could crawl 'er way outta hell. I tried ta help her, but who I am simply weren't enough, so I took our kids and I ran from 'er ghost, wonderin' if I did the right thing or the cowardly thing.” - Casimir Heartfull

“I'm just a waste'a fuckin' life, sippin' on whiskey and lies in hopes ta bury this man I am six foot deep beneath liquor, cigarettes and sex. But part time pleasures never saved a man. Only made 'im forget who he is. I've got midnight rain swimmin' in my heart, growin' a garden'a regret and weeds in my soul. And God damn, man, I forget the way her fingers feel on my skin or the way her lips tasted on mine. And I gotta wonder if she misses me when I ain't around, or if she wishes she'd never met me and saved herself the trouble'a rememberin' me.” - Casimir Heartfull

“I was stolen away in the night by wolves in the dark, and now I grasp at who I am, clutching only air, wondering how I'm to bloom in gravel and bark.” - Candie Scavell

“The thing bout life is, it ain't fair. And it ain't never going ta be, nor will it ever be. We're all born different, given different lives and opportunities, so ta say life treats all as equals would be a lie. But that don't mean we can't treat each other, as equals.” - Vernon Crazendale

“I've been a wild, country rockin' ramblin' soul for a long time now, dancin' under the sunlight with cheep beer on my breath and just another reason ta live in my heart. But when that beautiful woman caught me up in her arms and tangled her way inta my heart, I knew it had been trouble and nuthin' I'd been livin'. Bobbi's a kind, gentle and wild soul, singin' her heart out, never afraid ta share her melody. When she places a hand on my cheek and tells me we'll brave this storm together, I always git this feelin' we'll walk out the other side, all be it scarred, and damaged. But still intact and fightin'.” - Vernon Crazendale

“I've never been a blind man, but it feels like, when Bobbi presses her lips against mine, she taught me ta open my eyes. I wouldn't want anybody but her lyin' on my chest when I fall inta sleep, I wouldn't want anybody but her tangled in my sheets. She's this beautiful guardian angel and I'm always swearin' up and down she was sent from heaven on peace's wings. She always chuckles and says she's human just like me, but I always figured that's what angels were.” - Vernon Crazendale

“A place an orange capped revolver under my chin, breathing in, breathing out as with the click of a plastic trigger, I let my imagination kill me.” - Alvadia Crow

“I often wonder if trouble kisses her knuckles before they hit my cheek, or if she loves the man she torments. I've crossed my heart and vowed to die, trouble looking me up and down with hungry eyes, my faith pinning me against the wall and stealing the mercy from my lip. I have a menace in my bed, he tosses and turns, nightmares plaguing him, faith killing him, and he is me, he's always been me. And so long as I am me, I shall never truly be. How cruel it must be to live under the shadow of love and faith, falling in love with all the things that want to kill you.” - Alvadia Crow

“I am beginning to fear God watches over me not as a loving mother or father, but as a watcher and tormentor, learning the ins and outs of me before she learns the cruelest ways to kill me. Perhaps it was never God's voice I heard, but a steady and aching silence I mistook for guidance.” - Alvadia Crow

“With trembling hands and shaking fingers I place this orange capped revolver under my chin, closing my eyes with a mind so weary. And as I slide my finger gentle against the trigger, and place my hand cruel against the hammer, I whisper to the sorrowful sinner that is I, "I think I better go before I try something I might regret." - Alvadia Crow

“My head's cloudy and my mind's up in the empty sky, soaring like Icarus toward their death, knowing as they fall, clutching at the world with tears in their eyes and freedom in their smile, they died themselves.” - Juno

“My father was everything to me, you know? He was like this hero I could always look up to when my mind treated me cruelly, and when I let the truth spill from my words, he accepted me as I am and pulled me into this warm hug that smelled of leather and acceptance with the slight tinge of smoke. It honest to God feels like I'm crumbling without him, and as villains and bastards swarm around me, I cry out to a grave to save me.” - Juno

“I just wish I could have one last hug from my father, one more kiss goodnight from my mother. But as I close my eyes and fall back into my mind, it's not their smiles that greet me, it's their graves that come to haunt me.” - Juno

“I'll always stand as a whiskey burning question, wisping and fading away like cigarette smoke on a cold afternoon.” - Tristan Ripburn

“I sink ta the bottom’a my thoughts and begin ta wonder who all the bones at the bottom’a the sea belongs ta. Only ta learn they was me, they was always me.” - Alaric Alistair

“I look up at grey eyes, wonderin' who I am as my tears and sorrows disappear like silence in the rain.” - Alaric Alistair

“I was just a boy with nuthin', tryin' ta make a somebody outta himself until I met the man that'd kill all the things that made me Alaric Alistair. He always tells me it's my fault that I continue ta live in his shadows and lies, and God damn, he's right. I pass by guns in the nightstand but never pull the trigger, I walk past him as he sleeps and don't kill the monster in my head, and as he tells me ta kill another soul and enact another consequence, I do as told.” - Alaric Alistair

“I'm a skinny and starvin' dog that never learned how ta bark, and so I rile myself up and leave no warnin' for my bite, always leavin' teeth marks and claws in everythin' I ever let go.” - Alaric Alistair

“I wonder what my mother would say if she saw me today, old bat slung over my shoulder, wicked grin lyin' crooked on my lip. I ain't the boy she rose no more, just the boy that fell.” - Alaric Alistair

“All that's left of me is an old chalk outline laying at the bottom of the streetlight, knowing that it was a knife in the back that killed this man I am.” - Maxlion Saltkal

“Some men will claim themselves good, some men will claim themselves bad, but I don't think I've got a definition for me. Cause I've been good, bad and everything in-between, wondering who I'll be when that first bullet flies. It was in the flashing and colored lights of the nightclub that I met my demise. There he stood, dancing to dead melodies and sins, not knowing, as the two of us met, fate had decided both of us would die.” - Maxlion Saltkal

“Bits and pieces of me have died throughout the years, and as I realize I can't carry all of them in my arms, I regretfully shove them into my empty chamber, slinging six broken pieces of me at the man that shattered me.” - Maxlion Saltkal

“I can never tell if I'm the hammer or the nail, but when we stare each other down, pistol's eye to pistol's eye, the smoke that leaves the gun shall determine who we are.” - Maxlion Saltkal

“Carva was just another justice bound soul until we met, and in my eyes she saw something wild, something reckless, but more importantly, she saw the possibility of us. She didn't care that I was a fucking lowlife livin' the outlaw life, because all she saw when she looked at me were the beautiful things I built my scars of. I've got blood on my hands and regret in my mind, but when she takes me by my hand and tells me I'm good enough for her, I can't help but think I'm on the path to redemption.” - Mika Hammerclub

“All cruel men who ever walked always left some kind of death in their stride, gunshots and echoes always following wherever their bootprint lied. But to all the cruel men of this world? I'm a cold fucking reckoning. Because God damn, I stand for justice these days and my chamber's full of names.” - Mika Hammerclub

“I'm a finger trembling on a dead woman's trigger, knowing I've no bravery left, only the emptiness that comes with sorrow.” - Kecia Brightburn

“It feels as if, in someway, my heart has become vacant in my chest and my demons rent out rooms in my head. And here I lie under the shadows of the bed, waiting for my monsters to slide their ankle over the edge. And as they do, I drag them under, hoping I have the courage to do what I must. But I always stare back into the eyes of my son, wondering if it's right of me, to kill the monster that stares at me with eyes I used to love. And so I let him go and sit like a shadow under the bed, knowing above me lies a wicked angel sleeping gently in his chaos.” - Kecia Brightburn

“In the span of a few days I lost my life, and now I swing from the hook skinny, starved and silent, wonderin' who I'd be if I never met all the things God's come ta fear.” - Markus Caesar

“In my small town'a secrets and lies I found an angel watchin' over the remnants'a Eden with a flamin' sword and sorrow in 'is eyes. And there he stood, defendin' the serpent for he was just another victim ta the lies'a the wicked. I used ta damn the man who bit down on his tongue ta keep secrets in the dark, but I's learned we're all victims ta the cold, hearts beatin' empty in a heavy and burdened chest.” - Markus Caesar

“I look up ta the empty sky, wonderin' what my aunt would think if she saw me now. She were my light in the dark, really, but now that she's gone my restless head's been singin' the damn blues and I'm lost on the silent highway ta freedom and grace. When ya lose your guardian angel, what are ya 'sposed ta become? I sit here like a regretful dog, layin' at his owners' grave, wonderin' when she'll come back. But it's bones and soil I'm lovin' and hopin' on.” - Markus Caesar

“A thousand dreamless lives sit heavy on my heart, howlin' for justice, but the beat'a my heart's become just another sound, and my bravery's fadin' like sparks in July.” - Markus Caesar

“The way I see it death has always been mercy. The moment a man falls he's been spared of the misery life tends ta bring, and whosoever lives on shall die a man they're not. After all, it's what happened ta me, eh? I stared into the unblinking eyes of death, but she turned my gaze to cruelty and shut my damn eyes.” - Zachary De’Lillium

“I bite down on bullets etched with my own fucking name.” - Max Tripp

“I've been a bad, bad man, and as I look at the sky and see the sorrowed eyes of my love in the clouds, I know she died ashamed of this man I am. I was her last mistake, and now here I sit like a flickering remnant of who she was, wondering when I'll get the justice I deserve. But I never find karma at the bottom of the glass, I never find redemption in the burnt stump of the cigarette. It's impossible to find who you are when you've always been blind, huh?” - Max Tripp

“Me and my demons play this funny little game of two regrets and a lie. I let her down, I whisper, I loved another, I shout. I'm a good fucking man, I weep. And there the demons sit in my mind, laughing and clapping, for they always know the lie.” - Max Tripp

“In the shadows of the wood I met a wolf, and with childlike glee and curiosity I followed him as he tossed rose petals on the ground. I built a rose from his lies, not caring for the way the thorns bled my palm. And just as I began to realize all wolves lie, he ripped me away with hungry eyes and carved my innocence into darkness.” - Carrie Howl

“I've got a few scars beatin' in my chest, whisperin' in the melody of my heart that I don't deserve these things I've got. But family ain't about deserve I reckon, it's more about who sticks by your side even when you don't really deserve it. When my rifle becomes too much ta bear, and my sins sit too heavy on my shoulder, I've got my family ta lean on. Cause it's when you're at your worst, that family's love is at it's best.” - Despevada Solace

“I've got prayers sittin' on my cowboys' sleeve that never made it ta God, and I wonder if he sees these words I scrawl on the scarred leather and linen'a who I've become.” - Despavada Solace

“I've got demons in my fucking head, man. They stand there just in the edges of my sanity, always leaving scratches and bites on the inside of my skull until pieces of them bleed into me. I've never been someone worth while, just another sad boy whispering lies to himself that everything would be okay. But look at me now! I've got power and insanity on my side, and I can't help but think these wicked things are what I should build my name off of.” - Wulf Azari

“In the shadows of murder and the light of sin I met a devil like me. She sits quiet and still with a festering rage in her heart and when you dare think she's a sheep, she'll smile and show you her fangs.” - Wulf Azari

“I've said goodbye to myself too many times, it's time I met who I'm not.” - Wulf Azari

“The world will remember the boy it forgot.” - Wulf Azari

“I am a quiet strangulation hidden behind words like, "No need to worry bout lil' ol' me.” - Hildon Crowrappha

“I was just another man on the streets, consuming part time highs, filling myself full of substances that would kill me. But as the angels started carrying me back home on wings of glass and fragile prayer, I had this horrible realization that I had never lived, for it had always been through death I walked. And so, kicking and screaming I tore myself from heaven, condemning myself to a life on Earth.” - Hildon Crowrappha

“I'm standing under the shadow of another woman's damnation, wondering why, if God is watching over us, she is allowed to exist? But perhaps God never had a plan for us, and all he could do was observe us like a dream, wondering why it was never lucid.” - Hildon Crowrappha

“It feels as if I carry a cross in my heart, and slowly but surely, it is turning itself upside down.” - Hildon Crowrappha

"I'm drownin' under the trouble I created, and I can blame my problems all I like, but it's my mind workin' against me, so in a sense, I've got an enemy inside my head and he looks like a God damn mirror." - Stefanio Dogvalk

"You wanna kill a man? Well then God damn, brother, just give 'im a reason ta hate." - Milo Horvinshay

"Something sinister lurks deep within his kindness, for it is just another masks he wears like gossamer and silk." - Maddox Spelfellheim

"Even the farmer stares at the coyote through the scope of a rifle." - Alfred Godsel

"And so when fate finds itself at the crossroads of two promises, which do you think it'll choose? Because from where I'm standing it sure as fuck seems like fate don't vow for the conquerors." - Mac McVale

"Sometimes life bats around the good people because it doesn't trust them to keep good hearts in their chests, so it dares fate to make the good hearts black." - Coby Mackentime

"I'm pretty sure the soul is a concept we made up ta answer the uncertainty of our morality." - Lockman Pierce

"Fear is a very funny word, it runs through many a man's veins, bringing them so gently to death. But death was never a friend, nor was life, nor fate, nor mortality. It was always just another way God could keep us trapped, for the day we sinned, immortality flitted away into nothing." - Calzell Flickerfeid

"A threat is a threat, the words matter not, the intention breathes through the blood in the air." - Calzell Flickerfeid

"Life is lived right up until the moment it isn't." - Calzell Flickerfeid

“Crazy only exists in the eyes of the well man." - Comodus Kalchamber

"Staring into my eyes, you see every man who fell like an angel from the sky. I used to believe God stood by all who worshipped, but I now know he only stands by those who worship right. I knelt at the altar, heart empty in my bones, and I prayed to a God who could never hear the quiet whispers I spoke. For he was never there, it was just who I am shouting in the corner of my mind." - Alvadia Crow

Man dun'it make a sound as he falls apart." - Oswin Sealock

"You think me a crack in this castle of glass? Brother, I'm the fucking hammer." - Lorenzo Storm

"My monster looks at me through the edges of my eyes, he's corrosive like poison, seepin' into my thoughts, my actions and the way I speak. Because in the end he's apart'a me, and ain't nuthin I can do to change that other than hope he leaves with the driftin' smoke." - Rustin Threadpatch

"I don't fear. I analyze, I come to understand. Then I damn, I fight. I condemn not what I don't, understand. But what I do." - Rustin Threadpatch

”I’m falling apart like a 1965 photograph. I’m faded and torn at my edges, little pieces of me missing, like a puzzle that you know ain’t never gonna look right. They can put little pieces of me back together, stitch my edges back against one another, but in the end I’m the still the same old photograph, caught as a ghost in a single frame of time.” - Rustin Threadpatch

"Some people like to think that getting away with it is another form of mercy. This is untrue! You didn't get away with it, my friend. The world simply forgot you did it. How unfortunate for you that I didn't." - Lieutenant Stenbarge

"People are, monsters at best, human at worst." - Rustin Threadpatch

"He walks confident like a loaded gun with the hammer pulled back and ready." - Rustin Threadpatch

"A delusion is only beautiful if the mad gives it a reason to be." - Maureen Chiseldowe

"Thing bout second chances, Graham. Is that they give the spared man the wicked fuckin' idea, that he can get away with it." - Henry Sinix

"Mankind does not believe the broken man. In the whole we trust, in the broken we condemn." - The Crow

"Be it God or man, we are always looking for someone to blame. Unfortunately, I am the blade others fall onto." - Arasill

#writing #oneliners #characters #author #dialouge

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lurbukthebard · 4 years

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Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Arvel the Swift, Ralof (Elder Scrolls), Ulfric Stormcloak, Lokir (Elder Scrolls), Nord Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Original Nord Character(s) (Elder Scrolls), Alduin (Elder Scrolls), Original Dunmer Character(s) (Elder Scrolls), Kynareth (Elder Scrolls), Kyne (Elder Scrolls) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Thu'um (Elder Scrolls), Dovahzul (Elder Scrolls), Retcon Timeline Summary:

He was not chosen by the Gods, he is just who remains. The Last Dragonborn is dead and no one is left to stop Alduin and his consumption of the world. Landfall is here. The dreamer, the Godhead, is finally becoming awake. It is up to Arvel the Swift, the down on his luck Dunmer thief of Bleak Falls Barrow, to somehow find a way to save the world. He must defeat Alduin without destiny on his side. A normal person must do the work of demigods and the divines. His task is supposed to be impossible, but the truth is never easy to see.

Including original characters and cannon characters from Skyrim, Oblivion, and Morrowind, this story is a complete retcon of the story to defeat Alduin. This is my project while I sit in self isolation, so hopefully this will be updated a lot.

Chapter 3: The Hall of Stories

Summary: Arvel finds the treasure of Bleak Falls Barrow and steals something back from the Nords. Additional backstory about Arvel is added. He was born in Morrowind but was forced out when he was young due to the Red Year. He mostly grew up in the Grey Quarter. He has seen the worst the Nords have to offer and harbors a particular hatred for Ulfric Stormcloak.

Finally, Arvel the swift would have his prize. His light feet and quickly moving legs carried him through the tomb of Bleak Falls Barrow. The Draugr, nightmarish walking corpses that often plagued Nordic Ruins, were easy to sneak around and avoid. In the off chance one would notice him, ghostly blue eyes would flare and Arvel would run back into the shadows. No corpse walker could outrun Arvel the swift.

After sneaking through the dark gloom of the barrow and avoiding the shallow graves of the ancient Nords, Arvel reached a large hall with many runes and carvings on either side. Images of Nord heroes and Gods were littered across the walls. An image of a woman dressed as a hawk seemed to shift and twist in the faint light of Arvel’s torch. She was above all the others and had a mighty host of woodland animals and beasts at her command.

“Ah, so this is it. The Hall of Stories.” Arvel spoke to himself triumphantly in the dusty room. At the end of the hall stood the puzzle door, with 3 rings of iron around a keyhole in the shape of a dragon claw, just as he expected. He was swallowed up by excitement. The power and treasure of Bleak Falls Barrow, untouched for thousands of years, was on the other side of that door.

Arvel pulled out the golden claw. He held the puzzle’s key like it was an oasis in the desert. Just like he had heard in the old Nordic legends, the answer to the puzzle was in the palm of his hands. The combination of ancient symbols to open the door were carved into the palm of the claw. With a deafening crack the puzzle door twisted open and slowly retreated into the floor.

“Let’s see what power and riches these ice-veined Nords left in here.” He said out loud, drawing his sword and walking confidently into the final chamber of the barrow. He felt a mix of anticipation and contempt, a perilous brew.

After so many years of living in Skyrim, Arvel had gotten used to being a second class citizen below the Nords. He had lived for a time in the Grey Quarter of Windhelm, where the supposedly heroic and honorable Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak treated the Dunmer refugees like dirt. His parents had died of the flu in the cramped slums of Windhelm in their first year living there after they fled Morrowind. It was a sickness Ulfric could have rallied his Nordic healers to cure. Instead, the Jarl didn’t lift a finger to help. It felt damn good to finally be taking something back from the children of Skyrim.

The innermost chamber of Bleak Falls Barrow was astoundingly beautiful, as if Kynareth herself had blessed the place. The barrow had opened up into a massive cave. A peaceful creek of clear blue water ran around a raised platform, holding a final sarcophagus and a massive carved wall with a statue of a dragon's head at its peak. A quickly flowing waterfall from the top of the cave ran behind the wall. Arvel then spied what he desperately wished to see, a beautifully engraved chest, no doubt with many treasures inside.

As Arvel began to sneak his way to the chest, wary to not wake the draugr inside the coffin, the wall began to … chant. It made Arvel jump in surprise. It sounded like all of the sudden a full choir of people had begun to sing. The words were in an ancient tongue that Arvel had never heard before. Now with a closer look at the wall he could see many runes and words carved all along its length. The words almost seemed to be alive and singing with throats of their own. One of the words started to glow with a blue haze, but then subsided back into the ranks with the others, as if it had crept out to look at him and then retreated back.

Arvel then realized that this chanting was probably going to blow his cover. As if on cue when he had that thought, the heavy lid of the coffin behind him flew open, and a grim Draugr clad in rotting armor began to crawl out. Even with his quick feet, Arvel would not be able to reach the chest and dash out of the way before the corpse walker would catch him. He held his sword up and prepared to fight this monster.

Arvel the Swift, willy and cunning Dunmer thief, would not let any Nord come between him and his prize, living or dead. He rushed over and stabbed his sword into the Draugr before it could properly get out of the coffin. The corpse didn’t even register the blow as the blade went straight through its chest and out the other end. Arvel couldn’t draw his weapon back out of the rotting body before the zombie brought down its own sword, nearly cutting off Arvel’s hand.

The thief quickly slapped his hand back away from the blow. Still, he could not evade the Draugr’s heavy strike with its other arm. The corpse swatted Arvel away like he was a rodent, flinging him back to the base of the chanting wall with superhuman strength. Arvel rose from the cold stone weaponless, save the dagger in his boot.

Before Arvel could think of a counterattack, the corpse ran over and knocked him back to the ground. He looked up, breathless, as the Draugr lifted its ancient blade over its head and plunged it down. He had only a moment to respond.

Arvel remembered his ancestor’s words. He could not die in this forgotten tomb. At the last possible second he rolled on his side and grabbed hold of the corpse’s arm. He lunged up and in one fluid motion drew his dagger and planted it in the Draugr’s stark blue eye. The ancient Nord screamed and collapsed to the ground. Slowly, its guttural death cries smoothed. The Draugr’s voice joined the chanting of the wall while the body stayed motionless.

Arvel belted out a cry of triumph. He had defended himself against all the tomb had to offer and now would capture its wealth. But when he opened the chest, it did not radiate with a golden hue like he had hoped. The sole object inside was a large stone tablet, carved with a dragon’s head and an engraved map of Skyrim below it with many dots and markings.

“What in Oblivion is this supposed to be?” Arvel was sorely disappointed. He wanted riches, powerful magic, or anything else he could sell for a quick price in the black markets of Riften. Where was he going to sell this? Still, he shoved it in his bag.

The chanting wall began to grow louder and the defeated Draugr started to twitch on the ground. Arvel knew it was his cue to leave this disappointing tomb, but he needed more. Before the corpse walker could resume its vigilant watch over the wall, Arvel snatched up its sword. As he picked up the blade he noticed a deadly cold chill come from its sharp edge. He was glad he hadn’t been pierced by the weapon. It certainly was better than his old rusty sword, stolen from a bandit in the wilds of Eastmarch.

Arvel escaped through a side passage in the cave. After a quick walk in its dark depths, he saw a light up ahead. He escaped through the cave mouth to the surface world. He was on a ridge above the Falkreath forest. It was midday and the wind heralded clear blue skies. The trees were as green as morning and grew tall among the massive mountains.

Arvel rested for a while on the rocks, disappointed at his lack of treasure but glad to see the sun again. He hadn’t seen the sun for many weeks when his family desperately journeyed west to escape Morrowind during the Red Year. He would never forget it. The ash clouds from Red Mountain had blocked out all light and hope. He knew more than anyone how to appreciate the sun and clear day. The clear air softly kissed him and he closed his eyes for a reprieve.

His rest was interrupted by a familiar smell. Arvel caught the scent of ash and smoke, fire and death. He opened his eyes to see a dark cloud journeying over the mountains. A trail of black smoke rose from the ruin of Helgen.

#ao3 #my fic #update #fan lore #skyrim #elder scrolls #tesblr

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quicksilversquared · 5 years

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There’s No Camembert in Tibet: Chapter 13

links will be in the reblog.

The Valley of the Temples was stunning.

A clear blue stream meandered through the middle of the valley. The emerald green meadow sloped up gently towards the edges, turning into forest before they sloped upwards abruptly in a circle of rolling foothills, merging into several low mountain peaks. Taller mountains peeked over the slopes from further out, some snow-capped and reaching into the clouds. The meadow was interrupted in places by stands of trees...and the ruins of the temples, right in the center of the valley.

"It was more divided up when I was here," Master Fu told them as they all followed him down the valley, pace no longer frantic. "There were fields down there for us to grow our food, and on this far end we had out livestock. There in the middle- it's so overgrown you can't even tell where it was- that was our training area. One section was brickwork, another swept dirt. We learned many styles of combat there. And that grove over there was where we students like to sit and learn. It looks quite different now than it did back then, of course. A large part of it got flattened in the fight, and a good many new trees have come up."

They all stared as they peered around, trying to envision the large valley full of life. It was hard to visualize, especially since the whole place had a lonely, abandoned feel to it. The former fields were overgrown, no hints of the previous crops left in them. The bricks and swept dirt of the training area weren't even visible. The forest had clearly started to creep forward over time, smaller trees springing up on the edge. If they squinted, they could see where the remains of some structures had been near the stream.

And as they got closer to the center of the valley, the ruins of the temples came into clearer relief. In the corner of the largest one, a white light gleamed and swirled.

Chat Noir swallowed hard. Ladybug slid closer to him, wrapping her fingers around his. Lycaena wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into a side hug as they walked. The Rat gave them a puzzled look, and Chat Noir did his best to square his shoulders and look unaffected by the swirling mass of magic light that warned that his mom was trapped there, because it would not do for the Rat to figure out who he was now.

Not that he actually thought that the Rat would be a threat, but he just wasn't comfortable with it.

They were actually here. His mom was so close, and hopefully, hopefully, he would have her back within twenty-four hours. He wouldn't be able to run up and hug her like he so desperately wanted to- he had to keep his secret identity secret from her, just in case- but he would be able to see her, and know that she was safe.

The nerves were building in his stomach.

"We can set up camp by that orchard over there," Jade Turtle told them, pointing as he headed that way. "There's a mountain stream that runs nearby, and we can refill our water there. It's also gorgeous."

"And not too close to the ruins, which are creepy," Queen Bee piped up. "And- is that a graveyard?"

"I did mention that there was a battle here, right?" Jade Turtle reminded her. "It was not like the akuma battles in Paris. There were heavy casualties."

Queen Bee shuddered. "Gross."

Chat Noir blinked, then looked to the Rat. The other user couldn't understand the conversation at all, of course, but was also looking at the graveyard. Chat Noir looked again, and noticed something odd. Some of the graves were fresh.

Like, just-this-past-month fresh. Or just-a-few-months-ago fresh. Which in turn suggested that there had been burials in the not-so-distant past, even if there hadn't been people dying here recently.

Which also suggested that the Rat hadn't just been returning to the valley just to keep it safe from invaders. He had been returning to give his fallen ancestors and their companions and teachers the burial they deserved.

...that had to be really depressing.

Master Fu pointed out a few more things- some of the old dorms, the large garden where he often sat and studied herb lore, a crater in the ground that hadn't been there prior to the attack- but Chat Noir had more or less checked out. A slight breeze had picked up, and the magical light was bobbing and swaying with it, leaning towards them as though it could sense their presence.

Did his mom have any sense as to what was going on in the outside word while she was trapped? Or was everything just blank until she was rescued?

They reached the orchard and detransformed, pitching tents in a half-circle. Mrs. Cheng and Master Fu worked on preparing the kitchen area while the rest of them headed off with the water filter and every water vessel that had been brought along on the trip.

"Dibs on using this first," Chloe said as she filled up one of their Sun Showers. "I will die if I have to wait another week to get a hot shower, and I know that the sun's gonna go down soon."

"I'll go last," Nino volunteered. "It takes me less time to wash up, so I don't mind as much if my water isn't super warm. Or I can go if someone doesn't have enough water in their bag for someone with long hair to do a complete shower."

"We're going for two people per bag, then?" Marinette asked as she filled their second Sun Shower. "Making sure to turn the water off while soaping up?"

"That's the only way we'll even be able to hope to get through everyone this afternoon." Adrien capped off another water bottle before reaching for the next one. "And we might have to do the heat some water in a pot, mix it with a bit of cool water, and then dump it over our heads thing to get everyone through. The sun isn't going to be up forever."

"A couple people could go tomorrow after the valley tour and before we try the spell," Marinette pointed out. "If we need to. It's possible that the last four people might just have to deal with lukewarm water."

They finished filling up all of the bottles and bags with water and headed back. Master Fu already had veggies chopped up for a stew, and Mrs. Cheng was mixing up a flatbread to have with it. The Rat had prowled off somewhere, just leaving the seven of them.

"We'll have dinner cooking soon," Master Fu told them as they set up water bottles and put the sun shower bags out in the sun. "And then we can practice reciting the spell. I know I introduced it earlier in the trip, but, ah..."

"I've forgotten it," Chloe announced right away. She scoffed at Marinette's startled expression. "What? It's not in French, so obviously I wouldn't remember it."

"I've been working on memorizing it every night! Well, almost," Marinette corrected herself when Alya gave her a dubious look. "Every night when we weren't completely exhausted. I tried to get a section memorized, and Tikki coached me."

"And I generally know it because of her, I just need to polish it up a bit," Alya chimed in. Nino nodded.

"Same. I've been listening to Adrien practice."

"Well of course Adrien knows it," Chloe sniffed, apparently choosing to ignore the fact that the others had been working steadily on learning the spell as well. "He's good at remembering stuff in other languages. And I'll work hard on it. I'm good at memorizing things short-term when I work on it. It's how I pass all of my exams. It's easier than studying a bunch."

"That's a, ah, very useful skill," Mrs. Cheng managed, looking as though it wasn't very nice at all but she felt as though she had to say something. "But I suppose we should start working on that right away. We want to be ready for tomorrow, after all."

"And the spell won't work in French, are we sure?" Chloe asked, clearly still not enthused about the idea "Because that would be easier to memorize."

"The kwamis think that it wouldn't work," Master Fu told her. "And it's not as though there's a direct translation for all of the words. This is just how we know the spell works, so I don't want to mess with it."

"Fine," Chloe grumbled. "That's still stupid, if you ask me. But I can start now. So, what's the spell, again?"

The sun was high in the sky by the time they headed to the temple ruins the next day, all transformed and with the intention of trying out the spell for the first time. They had spent the previous evening taking their showers and polishing up their knowledge of the spells. Marinette, Adrien, and Mrs. Cheng (and, of course Master Fu) all had it memorized. Nino and Alya needed work on their pronunciation. Chloe...

...well, at least she had thrown herself into it and made a good bit of progress. And while they were taking a tour of the valley that morning after their lie-in, the Rat drilled her on the spell.

They were ready. Hopefully.

Chat Noir's grip around Ladybug's hand had grown tighter as they drew close to the dancing light. She gave him a gentle squeeze back, but it was hard to tell if it had helped at all.

"Okay, everyone form a circle," Jade Turtle called. "The main seven, I mean. Try for even spacing. Okay. Now, hands out, like so. We'll go in three, two, one-"

Ladybug raised her hands to mimic Jade Turtle and carefully started reciting the spell. They had worked on it so that they would all talk at the same rate. The column of light grew more solid, settling into a human height. It grew brighter, and brighter, and brighter-

-and then dimmed, thinning out and going back to normal when they were only partway into the spell. Ladybug frowned, hoping that maybe that was just something that was supposed to happen.

They got to the end of the spell. The light remained as it was.

"Once more?" Jade Turtle suggested. There was a slight from on his face. "All together?"

They started again. The same thing happened. The Rat spoke up, saying something in Mandarin. Ladybug looked to Chat Noir for translation.

"He said that the pronunciation might be wrong," Chat Noir explained quickly. The panicked look on his face had faded somewhat. "Which- I mean, I wouldn't be surprised."

"We probably should have had one last run-through before coming out here," Paon agreed. "I bet I was off again. And I also bet that I wasn't the only one."

"Let's break for lunch," Jade Turtle suggested. "We'll review pronunciation again there, then try again later this afternoon. We want to get this problem ironed out as soon as possible, but I'm sure you all would work better on a stomach that isn't empty."

They all made noises of agreement and moved away from the ruins, carefully picking their way over broken stone and brick. Ladybug was at Chat Noir's side immediately, and they lagged behind the group as they headed back.

"I thought it was going to work there," Chat Noir said quietly as their fingers laced together. "I really, really did. The light changed. And then it just...didn't."

"At least we're on the right track," Ladybug offered, unsure of what else she could say. "We got a reaction, even if it ended up dropping off. That's better than it, like, just not reacting at all and just being a blob of light, right?"

Chat Noir nodded and detransformed. Plagg swirled out of the ring to perch on Adrien's shoulder. The kwami looked startled, glancing around. His eyes settled on the light and he visibly drooped, snuggling up to Adrien's neck in his own form of comfort.

"We're going to try again after lunch," Ladybug, releasing her own transformation. "There were probably some pronunciation problems. We should have been spending more of our evenings practicing, apparently."

"But you've had it down perfectly these past few days!" Tikki objected. "I mean, you've got a moderately strong accent when you say things, but it's clear enough that it should work with the magic."

"We're guessing that the problem is probably Nino, Alya, and Chloe," Adrien chimed in. He was slowly recovering from the disappointment of not having their first attempt work. "They weren't quite as dedicated as Marinette about learning the spell. Alya and Nino just need to work on pronunciation. Chloe..."

"She remembered the spell pretty quickly," Marinette said. "Really quickly. The basics of it, at least. But her accent is worse than mine, and pronunciation..."

"It's harder for her to memorize exact pronunciations and words in a foreign language than it is to memorize just enough to skate by in classes at school, which she should have known." Adrien neither looked nor sounded pleased. "I would have thought that she would have put in at least a little effort beforehand."

Marinette reached out for him, her fingers curling around his arm. She didn't blame him for his frustration- none of them could believe it at first when Chloe mentioned that she hadn't even started trying to learn the spell that would release Mrs. Agreste- but it wouldn't help anything for him to get frustrated and take it out on Chloe now. They needed to stay calm, breathe, and try to help the others learn their pronunciation and remember it for at least as long as it took to get the spell to work.

"Hopefully we can get them all ready by the end of lunch," Marinette said, pulling Adrien closer. "Then we can try again. And we do have the Rat to help coach people."

Adrien nodded, and then the two of them sped up to re-join the group. Master Fu had leftovers from their dinner re-heating on the stove, and Mrs. Change was listening to Alya's recitation of the spell while Nino listened. To the side, the Rat was listening to Chloe. In the few seconds since they arrived, both had received a pronunciation correction.

"Hoo boy," Adrien muttered as they went to join Master Fu. "Okay, we definitely should have spent our rainy days getting drilled on that rather than playing games all day. And back when we were doing normal hiking, we could have been memorizing, too."

"They're all close," Master Fu told them as he handed them the water jugs to fill. "Very close. We should have just done a run-through a few times right before heading to the temple, and that probably would have eliminated the problem."

Adrien just nodded.

They practiced all through lunch, going over the same words over and over until everyone had the proper pronunciation absolutely memorized. Then the kwamis got re-charged and they headed back across the field, still muttering the spell under their breaths.

Ladybug hoped that it would work this time. It had to.

"Keep your focus, guys." Jade Turtle called. "Ready? Three, two, one-"

The pillar of light gleamed and grew stronger, getting less translucent. It condensed to the height of a human, and then started narrowing. It had just started to look human-shaped when it dimmed again, going back to the loose swirling mass.

"Let's try again," Jade Turtle suggested as soon as they had finished and nothing had changed. "Focus and make sure that you're saying everything right. I know we can do it. Again."

The same thing happened. Chat Noir's expression had turned worried again.

"Let's break again and do a bit more practice," Master Fu proposed. "Surely someone is tripping up somewhere."

Chat Noir frowned as they all stepped away again. "Again. This is going to take forever."

"It might just be one person at this point," Ladybug pointed out. "Which could be easy to fix."

"Or it could be the wrong spell and it won't work at all."

Ladybug hoisted herself up on top of a broken wall, detransforming and pulling Chat Noir against her so that his head was tucked under her chin. "Tikki, you can understand the spell, right? Does it sound like the wrong spell?"

Tikki shook her head. "No! No, it doesn't. It definitely mentions release from a trap. It sounds right, and obviously it's working to some point."

Chat Noir sighed, settling into her arms. "That's true. There must just be an error, then. You're right."

"We'll get it, kitty."

Jade Turtle came up to them then. "The others are all getting the spell right. If you two could run through it really quickly, just to check..."

Marinette went first, followed by Chat Noir. Jade Turtle's frown grew deeper.

"Well, we're all pronouncing things correctly," he said, frowning. "We got that fixed, at least. We'll try it one more time. If that doesn't work, I'll revisit the spell and see where I've gone wrong. I'll keep an eye on when we lose the spell and pay particular attention to the translation there."

Marinette transformed again and one more time, they formed their circle. Chat Noir was looking properly nervous now, but he let out a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin. His eyes went to Jade Turtle, awaiting the signal.

Ladybug couldn't be prouder of him. Shoe couldn't even begin to imagine how hard it must be for Adrien to stay composed and focused through their failures. She was having a hard enough time with staying focused and not letting her mind wander to worries of what if it doesn't work, and it wasn't even her mom that they were rescuing.

The group started again, frowns on all of their faces. The light grew, then died back again, just like it had before. Chat Noir pulled his eyes away from it as soon as their recitation was finished, a pained expression on his face. Ladybug was at his side immediately, wrapping him up in a hug.

"Master Fu still has to look at the spell again," she reminded him, feeling the way he leaned into her, limp and miserable. "There might be something translated wrong, or maybe there's some hand motions to go along with the spell that we don't know about. We'll figure it out, kitty cat. No matter what, we are not giving up."

Their group had headed back to the campsite in silence, occasionally glancing back at Chat Noir as they went. Once they were back, the kwamis were released in a multicolored flash of light, and then both kwamis and wielders settled down in their little cove. Master Fu headed into his tent to pull out the Miraculous book and settled down a short distance away to double-check his work.

After glancing at Adrien, Alya pulled her things out of her and Marinette's tent and brought them over to Nino's tent, waving Adrien over so he could join his girlfriend. Adrien managed a smile at her and carried his things over to Marinette's tent, crawling in immediately and setting up right next to Marinette's sleeping bag instead of on the other side of the tent like Alya had before returning to Marinette's side.

"I can't even imagine what he must be going through right now," Nino murmured in her ear as they watched Adrien. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his chin was perched on his folded arms as he stared a bit blankly at the fire that the Rat was setting up. "We've come so far, and now the spell isn't working right." He sat up straight all of a sudden. "You don't think we need all of the Miraculous active, do you? I don't know if we'd be able to find holders for them all."

Alya worried her lip. "I don't know. That seems like a really big thing to miss. But if that's the problem, then at least we would know where to go from here." She glanced over at Adrien. "But I don't know how we would be able to get away with another trip like this. It's not like it's a weekend camping trip. I had such a hard time getting my parents to agree to this, when we had no idea when the end date would be. They weren't expecting me to be gone this long, either, which is going to make it difficult if we have to go again."

Nino snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "But we know where to go, now. Maybe we could hire a 'copter- when I say we, I mean Chloe, or Nathalie once that money is cleared- and just fly out and back. Then we could say we're on a weeklong camping trip and get away with it."

"We'd have to find people with passports to be holders, though. Either that, or find people here." Alya glanced over at Master Fu again. He was immersed in his notes, brow furrowed as he checked his translation against the copy of the original text. Over on the side of the camp, Adrien was still in the same position as before, but Marinette had returned to her spot at his side. Her arms were around him and her head against his shoulder as she whispered to him. Tikki and Wayzz were there as well, clearly trying to cheer Adrien up a bit. Wayzz didn't stick along for long, though, before flitting off to re-join Master Fu and the Rat in bending over the notes in search for something that they might have missed.

"Hopefully Master Fu figures out what went wrong soon," Alya commented quietly. "So we can at least know that something wasn't right, and that was why it wasn't working, instead of just...this."

They kept sitting. Nino once opened his mouth to suggest they maybe play a game, but then caught sight of Adrien again and thought better of it. Then Sabine got up to start preparing dinner and he hopped on the opportunity to get up and help. Anything was better than sitting around and moping until they figured out what had gone wrong.

Mrs. Cheng was distracted as she directed Nino, glancing over to Adrien frequently. Nino winced as he watched, hoping that she wouldn't accidentally cut herself while working. When he saw an opportunity to take over, he took it.

"I can chop those, Mrs. Cheng," Nino said, snagging the cutting board from her. "Then you can get the, uh, rice started. Or whatever it is that we're having with this."

"Is this a ploy to get me away from the knife?" Mrs. Cheng asked with a small laugh, seeing right through him. She handed it over to him regardless. "That might be a good idea, I will admit."

Nino managed a small smile as he took the knife and started cutting. "Yeah, I can tell that you're a bit distracted."

"I so hoped that we could get the spell to work today," Mrs. Cheng told him by way of explanation. "Just to get that part of the trip over with. Hopefully we can figure out where we went wrong and try again tomorrow."

Nino nodded, slowly and carefully making his way through the vegetable cutting. "Yeah. Having to have an entire day of waiting would stink."

"It really would. And can you cut those a bit finer, please? It's so difficult to get everything to cook through in such a large pot when the pieces are big."

"On it, Mrs. Cheng!"

Even with Nino's super-careful fine chopping, dinner didn't take nearly long enough to make. He brought two bowls over to Master Fu and Tsomo, who hadn't made any move to leave their work at all, then got in the end of the line to serve himself up last.

"Do you know where our food is stored, Nino?" Duusu asked politely, appearing at his side. "We- the kwamis, I mean- are hungry, too."

"Of course, dude!" Nino leapt and the chance to stay busy. Setting his bowl aside, he dug in the big backpack with all of their food and supplies. "Okay! Uh, dried figs for Trixx, sugar cubes for Tikki, a chunk of cheese for Plagg-"

"Can I have two?"

"No, we don't want to run out. I can throw in a couple dried mushrooms, though."

Plagg made a face and snatched up his cheese. "Nah, I'll hunt for fresh ones. We have the time."

"Okay. Wayzz, some dried pea pods for you-"

"Thank you!"

"Honey for Pollen- how much do you get?"

Pollen whizzed up to him, a grin on her little face. "An entire bottle!"

Nino laughed. "You do not. Chloe, how much does Pollen get?"

Chloe glanced over. "Just use that little cup that's in the kwami food bag. That's what it's for."

Nino dug, and it didn't take long for him to find the measuring cup. "Got it! Thanks, Chloe."

Chloe just gave one sharp nod and turned back to her food.

It didn't take long for the last two kwamis to get fed, and then Nino could finally finish dishing up his own food. He sat down between Alya and Marinette, shoveling a generous forkful of food in his mouth. Across their little circle, Adrien was nervously picking at his food, but at least he did seem to be eating some.

Gah. Nino understood the tension in the group, but it was going to give him indigestion. And indigestion was not something that he wanted to deal with in the wilds, not when their options for a bathroom were behind a tree and in a destroyed ruin of an ancient bathroom.

Maybe he shouldn't complain. Normally they only had one option, aka behind a tree. Or a rock. Or a bush. But Nino couldn't deny that there was also something deeply unsettling about using the bathroom in an outhouse that had half a wall blown out and the roof completely gone, particularly when the view out of the blown-out wall overlooked the new graveyard and part of a destroyed temple.

Dinner finished, and Alya and Chloe dove in to volunteer to package up the leftovers and clean up the dishes. Nino raised a brow at Chloe's sudden enthusiasm for cleaning, but he guessed that she wanted to try to avoid the uneasy tension as much as he had earlier. He had just started trying to figure out what he could do as an excuse to get away from the campsite when there was a shout from the far side of the site. They all jumped and turned to see a triumphant-looking Master Fu sitting there, beaming.

"I have found it!" Master Fu announced, sitting straight up and grinning at them. Next to him, Tsomo was looking pleased. "With Tsomo's help, I have discovered why the spell didn't work! There was a simple mistake in my translation."

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #There's No Camembert in Tibet

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der-unverantwortliche · 5 years

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One evening, however, he felt in a better mood, more at ease. It was blowing fit to raise the roof, and the corridors of the château were booming like bass tubas and whistling sporadically like flutes. It was dark; Jacques loaded the fire with pine cones and twigs, and by the sparkling light of flames that blossomed into bunches of pink and blue tulips against the sparse black lilies on the old fireback in the hearth, he drank a glass of rum and rolled cigarettes, which he left to dry out.

Louise was in bed and was stroking the cat stretched out on her chest. Jacques, seated with his elbows on the table, was dozing, staring vacantly, thinking about nothing. He roused himself, pushed the two tall candles that, along with the tire, illuminated the room a bit closer, and began to flip through a few journals his friend Moran had sent him from Paris that very morning.

One article interested him and propelled him into a long daydream. What a fine thing is science! he thought, here's this Professor Selmi from Bologna who's discovered an alkaloid – ptomaine – in rotting corpses, which appears in the form of a colourless oil and gives off faint but lingering scents of hawthorn, musk, seringa, orange blossom or rose.

These are the only fragrances they've been able to discover up to now in a rotting organism, but others will no doubt turn up; in the meantime, in order to satisfy the demands of this eminently practical century – which perfunctorily buries destitute Parisians at Ivry and finds a use for everything: bodily liquids, waste matter, the guts of decaying carcasses and old bones – they could convert cemeteries into factories that would prepare to order, for the families of the rich, concentrated extracts of their ancestors, essential oils of their dead children, bouquets of their late fathers.

This would be what you'd call in the trade a deluxe item; but for the needs of the working class – which it would be out of the question to neglect – they could supplement these luxury dispensaries with industrial laboratories that would manufacture perfumes wholesale; it would be possible, in fact, to distil them from the remains of communal graves that no one had claimed; this would be the art of perfumery, but founded on new lines, within the reach of everyone, this would be a cut-price item, a perfume to be sold in cheap stores, since the raw materials would be abundant and the only cost, so to speak, would be the expense of a gravedigger and a chemist.

Ah, I know a lot of working women who'd be happy to buy for a few sous whole pots of pomade or cakes of soap, perfumed with the essence of prole!

And what a constant aid to one's remembrances, how eternally fresh one's memories would be with these concentrated emanations of the dead! At the present time when two people love each other and one happens to die, the other can only preserve a photograph of them and tend their grave on All Saints’ Day. But thanks to the invention of ptomaines, it'll be possible from now on to keep the wife you adored in your own home, in your very pocket, in a volatile, spirituous form, to transmute your loved one into a bottle of smelling-salts, to condense her into a quintessence, to put her, in powdered form, into a sachet embroidered with a mournful epitaph, to take a deep breath of her on sad days, or take a light sniff of her on your handkerchief on happier days.

Not to mention that as far as sexual mind-games are concerned we might perhaps finally be spared hearing the ineviable ‘appeal to mother’ when the crucial moment comes and she swoons calling for her help, because she knows full well she cannot come since that redoubtable lady would be already there, reposing unseen in the form of a beauty spot, or mixed in white skin cream on her daughter's breast.

And in the near future, with the aid of progress, ptomaines, which at the moment are tremendously poisonous, will no doubt be consumed without any danger at all; so why couldn't they flavour certain foods with their essences? Why not use this scented oil the same way one uses essences of almond and cinnamon, vanilla and cloves, in order to make cake fillings so delicious? The same as with perfumery, a new avenue would be opened up in the art of the pastry chef and the confectioner, one that would be both economical and emotionally beneficial.

In short, those august family ties which are being loosened and undone in this present wretched age of disrespect would assuredly be reinforced and retied through ptomaines. Thanks to them, there'd be an affectionate coming together of distant generations, shoulder to shoulder with an ever-renewing sense of tenderness. Ptomaines would constantly inspire a fitting atmosphere in which to recall the lives of the dead and to cite them as an example to their children, whose gluttony would help preserve their memory with perfect clarity.

So it is that on All Souls' Day, in the evening, in a little dining room furnished with a sideboard of pale wood veneer and black beading, by the light of a table lamp dimmed by a shade, a family is seated. The mother is a decent woman, the father is a cashier in a commercial firm or a bank, the child, still quite young, just recovered from a bout of whooping cough and impetigo, subdued by the threat of being deprived of dessert, has finally consented not to tap his soup bowl with his spoon and to eat his meat with a bit of bread.

Motionless, he watches his calm and collected parents. The maid enters, bringing in a ptomaine cream cake. That morning, the mother had respectfully taken from the Empire-style mahogany writing desk, adorned with a trefoil-shaped lock, a glass-stoppered vial containing the precious liquid extracted from grandfather’s decomposed viscera. With an eyedropper she had herself infused a few drops of this perfume which was now flavouring the cream.

The child’s eyes shine, but as he waits for them to serve him he must listen to eulogies of the old man who has bequeathed him, so it seems, besides certain facial features, this posthumous rose flavour, on which he is about to stuff himself.

‘Oh, he was a man of sober tastes, a prudent, hard-working man, was grandpapa Jules. He arrived in Paris in clogs but he always put a bit aside, even when he was only earning a hundred francs a month. He wasn’t the kind of man to lend money at no interest or without guarantees, he wasn’t such a fool! business before everything, cash up front; and how respectful he was to the rich! And so he died revered by all his children, to whom he left gilt-edged investments, real assets!’

‘You remember grandfather don't you my dear?’ ‘Yum, yum, grandfather!’ cries the brat, ancestral cream eared all over his cheeks and nose.

‘And your grandmother, you remember her too, don't you my sweetheart?’

The child thinks for a moment. on the anniversary of this fine old lady’s death, they prepare a rice pudding which they flavour with the bodily essence of the dead woman, who smelt of snuff while she was alive but, by a curious phenomenon, exudes orange blossom since her death.

‘Yum, yum, grandma too!’ cries the child.

‘And which one do you like best, tell me, your grandma or your grandpa?’

Like all kids, who prefer what they haven’t got to what’s in front of them, the child dreams of the far-off rice pudding and admits that he likes his grandmother best; nevertheless he holds his plate out again for more grandfather.

Fearing he'll get indigestion from so much filial love, the provident mother has the cream dessert taken away.

What a delightful and touching family scene, thought Jacques, rubbing his eyes. But he wondered if, in his present state of mind, dozing face down on his journal, he hadn’t dreamt what the scientific article had said about the discovery of ptomaines.

Joris-Karl Huysmans, En rade

#joris karl huysmans #en rade #q

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feynites · 6 years

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For the Anon who wanted Trans!Lavellan solavellan - I offer a short. I hope you like it!

“You are like me,” Deshanna had told her, once.

After her magic had manifested, but before she had any certainty in herself. Her Keeper trusted her with the history of their people. With what secrets she knew, and with what stories had survived. She taught her magic, but even more important than magic, she taught her how to be Dalish. How to be an elf who lived apart from the expectations of the human world. In Clan Lavellan, that was important. Even with their increased interactions with humans. Maybe because of them.

Clan Lavellan’s knowledge of the ancient world was pieced together by as many fragments and had as many unanswered questions as any other clan’s knowledge. But when she was eleven, and itching under the weight of a name which sat uneasily on her shoulders, Deshanna had showed her one of the clan’s oldest treasures. A necklace, which had been carried by the first Keeper Lavellan. Which was older than that, by reputation. Though how old, really, none of them knew for certain.

Its chain had broken and been repaired many times. But the pendant, the central charm hanging from it, remained bright and beautiful. Like a polished stone, that always felt warm to the touch.

On it was carved a single elven word.

Nanae. In common, it roughly translated to ‘parent’.

“Our ancestors lived immortal lives,” Deshanna had said, as she gave her the necklace to hold. “We might try and emulate them, but in many ways, it is impossible to think of what that must have meant for their sense of self. Their experiences, their skills, and the way they viewed their lives, and even the very nature of living. Yet, we know Tevinter. We know we were laid low by an empire built on cages. All aspects of identity, in the hands of those seeking to control people, become inescapable, and ordained. An elf is made by their ears. A man by his genitals. A mage by her power. Yet, what they write as law, our ancestors knew to be - at best - a suggestion.”

Deshanna had quieted for a moment. She had held the necklace, and felt something in her ache. With hope or fear, comprehension or confusion, it was hard to say.

“I think you know, too. Sometimes, suggestions are wholly off the mark. Because… you are like me.”

Like Deshanna. Raised to be a boy, but… not one. And not just ‘not a boy’, either, but a girl instead. She wasn’t like some, who held the transition as a banner of pride, or even a mark of defiance. She had tried to be a boy. To pretend. To convince herself that if she kept at it for long enough, eventually, it would just… it would feel right. She would get used to it, she would get over herself. She wanted to live up to her clan’s expectations for her. All of them. Even the ones they hadn’t meant to burden her with.

In the end, it had taken Deshanna’s help to change the expectations for her, for her to stop trying to live up to something that had been caging her in more ways than she realized.

I am not brave, she thinks, as she lies in a tent. Her every limb aching, her bones still chilled from the blizzard she somehow managed to push through. It hadn’t taken bravery for her to face Corypheus. Just the knowledge that it was expected of her. Just the burning desire to be enough for the people around her, to fit with what they need, even, it seems, when they’re not her people. But now whoever healed her injuries must know that…

That she doesn’t really live up to what she’s well aware most humans, and even most elves, expect of a woman.

She’s not brave. She might be able to stare down a darkspawn magister and his dragon, but she cannot muster up the will to get out and leave her tent. To see what kind of reaction waits for her. On that prospect, she’s flatly terrified. Cullen had flirted with her, she thinks, at least a little bit. She hadn’t encouraged him, but she knows how some men can get. Is he the type? Maybe. She had flirted with Solas more, and she knows Solas disdains the Dalish. Disdains their ways.

Is this one of their ways that earns ire and disregard from him?

They might accuse her of lying. Of deceiving them. She never has, but she doubts they’ll see it that way. They’re lost in these mountains, now, and even if she might have bought them to the time to escape, how long might it take for them to decide that this situation is her fault all over again anyway? It seems so easy for them to trade between hero-worship and vilification. One minute she’s in chains, and the next she’s leading their expeditions. They pulled her from the snow, but they might still roast her on a pyre, too.

She closes her eyes, and listens to the wind howl. To the Inquisition’s leaders arguing. Mother Giselle sits at the front of her tent.

“You are awake?” the chantry woman asks, in a soft voice.

“...Yes,” she replies, simply.

“It is good that you are resting,” Mother Giselle tells her. “You will need your strength.”

For what?

There are the obvious answers, of course. ‘For hiking through a blizzard’, or ‘for not succumbing to your injuries’, or ‘for dealing with the mad archdemon-commanding darkspawn magister who now has a personal grudge against you’. But she can’t help thinking that there might be something even more immediate and ominous to Mother Giselle’s concerns, for all that her tone is even and soothing. Mother Giselle is generally quite good at maintaining that tone, she has noticed.

But maybe…

“Were you the one who healed me?” she asks, tentatively. She doesn’t remember much after she fell in the snow, to the sounds of Cassandra and Cullen shouting. She thinks she regained consciousness a few times, but only for a questionable notion of ‘conscious’. Dimly, she can recall gentle hands, and a soft glow that might have been magic - or might have been spots dancing around her eyes, lingering from the concussion.

But she knows that her clothes have been changed. Her battle gear traded for a long, cream-coloured tunic, and some loose pants. And her smallclothes are folded neatly onto the pile of salvagable items, next to her bedroll.

The sight makes her stomach roll with anxiety and dread.

Mother Giselle shakes her head, and she’s honestly not sure if that’s better or worse.

“Your injuries were beyond most simple means of attending,” she says. “Solas saw to you. He packed you away and worked magic that gleamed like the stars. Elven magic… I wonder at it, sometimes. It seems so perilous, and yet, it has done the Maker’s work tonight.”

She swallows, ignoring the particulars of Mother Giselle’s bias, and focusing instead on the matter at hand. Solas. Perhaps… could he have been discreet? Would he have been? He may disapprove of her nature, but there is a chance he still would not disclose it. Solas more than anyone seems to understand the danger of their situation. And he is an elf. He has no reason to think that someone like Corypheus would spare him any cruelty. The elven people may be divided, in their cultures, but in the eyes of those who would harm them, they are all the same.

She sits up.

“I would like to speak with him,” she requests.

Outside, the advisors continue their argument. Uncertain of where to go, or what to do next. Haven is destroyed. They are stranded in the mountains. Corypheus’ armies may have been buried, but there may yet be more pursuing them - who knows what red lyrium will have made those templars capable of?

The Inquisition is likely at its end. She doubts that they will remember her successes - and she hopes that no one else had noticed the styling of the orb which Corypheus had used to command his terrible power. If the elves are to be blamed for this…

She has to try to get back to her people. To a clan. To warn them, to call for an Arlathvhen, to seek the guidance of their hahrens and decide what they will do. Their ancient enemy is here. Not the Dread Wolf; but a Tevinter Magister risen from the grave may as well be working at Fen’Harel’s behest, so far as the Dalish are concerned.

Certainly, she can see the hand of chaos in all of this.

“The man needs his own rest,” Mother Giselle tells her. “The camp is in disarray. They argue, because they have seen so many things happen tonight. A hero rise, and then fall - and then rise again.”

Her stomach twists.

“There is-”

“Mother Giselle,” she interrupts. “I hate to disappoint. I do. But if I have been chosen, it was by my clan, when they sent me to Haven to find out what was going on. And whatever happens now, if I survive, I must try and reach them again. I must find out what obstacles stand between myself and that goal.”

Mother Giselle looks thoughtfully towards her.

“Your purpose has become bigger than anything your clan foresaw,” she says. Not unkindly, nor unsympathetically. But still, the sentiment burns. She is in this place of people who operate on such treacherous presumptions. “You cannot simply fight for one people. I think you know that.”

She feels sick.

Sick at the implication that her concern for her own people equals a disregard for all others. Sick at the demand, that she put aside the interests of the Dalish - her home, her people - to defend those who have tried to destroy them in the past. Sick at the tacit assumption that humanity is more of ‘everyone’ than all the great clans that have survived in Thedas since their exile from the Dales, could somehow ever hope to be.

Sick at the thought that even with the Breach closed, there will be no escape for her from this strange place, and these strange people, and the constant fear that the wrong trait will turn them against her.

She goes quiet.

Mother Giselle talks. Even, at some point, sings. The camp joins in, and she does not know what to make of it. Is it a mourning song? Do they believe themselves doomed to die?

The notes are still ringing in the back of her head, when Mother Giselle at last goes to tend some of the other wounded. After a time, she hears footfalls. She looks, and can’t honestly say if she feels more relief or apprehension, when Solas ducks into her shelter. Carrying a bowl of hot broth, and looking thoughtful.

“I think these humans believe you will bring them the dawn, lethallan,” he says.

It probably says something about how overwhelming this all is, that the proper inflection on a Dalish word is nearly enough to break her down. She manages not to embarrass herself too much, though, only swallowing past a thick throat, as she carefully sits up, and accepts the bowl of broth.

“Mother Giselle says you healed me,” she notes.

Solas inclines his head.

“I was the least exhausted among the capable mages whom Cassandra was willing to trust,” he says.

She drinks more of the broth, to avoid looking directly at him, as she contemplates what to say next.

Much as she would prefer not to say anything about it, if she doesn’t say something, she doesn’t think she will be able to stop fearing the axe dangling over her throat.

“You were probably surprised, when… I mean. You changed my clothes…?”

Solas shifts, slightly, and looks confused for several moments. Before understanding seems to dawn upon him.

“You cannot think… humans ascribe to some odd notions of identity. Dwarves may, too - I fear I have not investigated it much. But if you are worried that I found anything off-putting in your form, then I shall allay your concerns at once. I had more than enough time to observe your figure the first time I healed your injuries, as you lay unconscious in Haven. You are a most fetching woman, in all respects.”

She feels her face heat, and she doesn’t think she can manage a response, as her tongue ties itself into knots over the low, intimate way his voice drops. He offers her a smile. And something in her finally unclenches, easing into a dull ache that’s more in-keeping with the sort caused by her injuries, than with the nameless fear that had haunted her ever since she saw her carefully folded underthings.

It may yet be that the humans would disapprove. But Solas does not. And he will not have seen fit to tell them, she thinks.

After a moment, Solas sighs.

“And it seems you are an inspiring woman, as well. The people here look to you now with a reverence that they have not shown one of our own for an age.”

She takes another drink of her broth, and looks away in discomfort.

“I don’t want that,” she says.

There’s a pause. A sort of pregnant silence, and when she finally looks back towards Solas, the contemplative look on his face has been replaced with something harder to describe. Not pity, not even quite sympathy… perhaps empathy, then. An unexpected sort of understanding.

“It could serve you well,” he says, though. “It could serve all of us. The orb Corypheus used was of elvhen origins. I recognized it - it’s like has not been seen for more than an age, but there are old records which still describe such things. Foci. Ancient elvhen magic. Once that becomes known, then…”

She looks back down at her broth.

“Then we will be blamed,” she concludes.

Solas shifts in place.

“Not necessarily,” he tells her. “You are the key to stopping that. Corypheus is no elf. If his chief foe, on the other hand, is… if you can build the opposition that defeats him, that reclaims the orb and restores it to rightful hands, then the story will become one of triumph and renewal. An ancient item, misused by a magister, but given back into elven hands - responsible hands. It may change things. It may change everything.”

Privately, she thinks he might be overestimating the possible impacts. But she can’t bring herself to say as much. If Solas is being optimistic… maybe her own mood is just too dour.

Still…

“What opposition could I build?” she counters. “We’re lost in the blizzarding mountains, far from my clan. Far from any clan. Keeper Lanaya’s people have moved even further south, and they are the only ones I know of who might be within range. Maybe if I could get back to them, we could work on finding a way to counteract Corypheus’ stolen magic… but I… I don’t even know where to begin.”

She wants to ask him to help. To help get her home. She wants, more than anything, to be among her own people again. People she trusts.

As if reading her thoughts, though, Solas settles a hand atop her own.

“You are not alone here,” he tells her. “That is what I mean. These people look to you as a hero. A leader. You need not return to the Dalish to find what you need. Make it here.”

The look she gives him must be somewhat skeptical, because his fervency increases. His hand feels warm over her own. Softer than she would expect from the hand of a mage and explorer.

She wishes she could turn her palm and twine their fingers together. But she fears it would be too bold.

“There is a place in the mountains,” he tells her. “A place of our people. A place that is waiting for you. Take what is freely offered from those you have inspired. Build an army of those who can, and will fight. You have stood before a would-be god and an archdemon. That is the stuff of legends. If you must become a legend to win this battle… then all that remains is to decide if it is a battle worthy of the cost.”

Her stomach is twisting again. Only know she can’t tell if it’s nerves or butterflies, or both. Or if the broth just isn’t settling right. No dignity for the injured, she supposes. She closes her eyes and sets the bowl down, and tries to think past the nervous hammering of her heart.

“You have a lot of faith in me,” she says, uncertainly.

Solas chuckles, just a bit wryly.

“You did just survive what should have been unsurvivable,” he tells her. “But I should confess, I still do not wish to lose this fight. And I still believe you are the best chance of winning it. Truly.”

Another moment, and she lets out a breath; and reluctantly sits up a bit straighter. Outside, the wind howls. It reminds her of the wolves she had followed to the camp grounds. The ice that she can still feel on her bones - even now, sitting next to a warm fire. This may well be the death of her. But…

He may have a point.

“There is a place?” she repeats.

“A place that will, I think, serve you well,” he promises.

#trans lavellan #solavellan

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ccjinxxandjake · 6 years

Text

Done for You

Chapter Title: Exordium

Author: Max

Word Count: 6,348

Warnings: Fluff, angst, smut, suicide, suicide notes, character death, minor character death, implied/referenced character death, original character death(s), temporary character death, past character death, near death experiences, child death, animal death, not really character death, possible character death, near death, slow burn, slow to update, slow romance, tags may change, rating may change

Rating: Teen audiences and up

Summary: A fanfiction based off of Wretched and Divine and Vale aka an overhaul of a fanfiction that I had been writing for a few years.

Main pairing: Undecided

Author’s Note: Don’t forget to comment because comments are what keep me going and make me want to continue writing. I do not get paid to write this and I could be using this time to study for my AP Government and Politics exam and all of my college courses (I’m a dual enrollment child). Comments are your way of giving me my “paycheck” and feedback on my writing so I can improve to actually earn a paycheck from this in the future. So please help me put by commenting, liking and reblogging this.

I wasn't meant to survive this. I wasn't meant to be the last one alive. I wasn't meant to be the only survivor of this attack. I had friends whose lives were more valuable than mine. My best friends who knew I wasn't meant to have this life. I wasn't meant to be the last one here. The last one to survive this attack. I was meant to take my last breath with them, or without them as they would have been the ones to survive. But now they were dead, in a circle around me. My best friend's head laid on my lap. His light brown eyes looked up at me. A smile was painted on his face. He seemed so peaceful and I wished I was with him but I wasn't. I couldn't handle the pain of having him in my lap. He was dead, there was a dead body in my lap. I lost my best friend and the pain was too much too bear. My heart was in pieces as I looked at my other friends. They were my favorite people on the entire planet. "Police! Come out with your hands on your head!" The door was locked but I could hear the knob jingling. I didn't want to move. He was still here, still in my lap. I looked up and put my hands on my head. I pulled my eyes off of my dead friend and looked up. My eyes drifted to the only door in the room. A shadow appeared in front of the frosted glass window. “Come in, please, don’t hurt me! My friends are dead and three of them are on me. I can’t move them. I’ve been in here for days.” I really couldn’t move them at all. I had been here for a few days with no food. My body was too weak to move three grown men off of my small body. The door came down after three large thuds, probably from a policeman banging against it. The door gave way and three policemen, full SWAT gear, came in. My friends were light up by flashlights. My hands were on my head still. The police looked me over and my weak body. I probably looked like I was going to die. I probably would have if the police hadn’t found me. “What are you doing here?” One man lifted his mask and looked at me. He had dark brown eyes and cropped blonde hair. My heart sped up as I looked up at him. “That’s a bit classified.” I replied as snakily as I could while in my position. I raised an eyebrow and looked up at him. His smile grew as I looked at him. A smirk grew on my face. He chuckled and bent down to look at me. “Now baby, I don’t think you want to say that around someone who could move these bodies.” I rolled my eyes and looked at me as I turned to look at the dark haired man next to me. “Then I guess I’ll just have to move them myself.” I shrugged as a glow began in my stomach. A deep, rich red that began to flow through my veins and towards my hands. A ball slowly began to form within my hands. I smiled and touched the body of the friend’s who herd was in my lap. His eyes glowed red and moved closer to me, pulling himself up. I smiled lightly, touching the two friends next to me. They did the same and looked at the police man. He looked on in terror as I touched my last friend. He also stood and began to work his way towards the policeman as I stood up weakly. A smile appeared onto my face as my ammoniated body began to move. “W-w-what the hell? What are you?” He asked, shuffling backwards. His friends turned from inspecting the rest of the room. Their eyes widened as they looked at me. I smirked and looked at his partners. My friends moaned, drooling lightly. I smiled and looked at the man’s friends. My friends screeched an ungodly noise and lunged towards the police. In a flash of blood, guts and flesh, the police were gone. I smiled and brought the friends back towards me. They collapsed into a pile of guts and onto the tarp I had brought with me. I wrapped them up and smiled lightly, throwing the wrapped up bodies over my shoulder. I turned and ripped the police badge off of the man’s chest. I also took his friend’s badges and shoved it into my back pocket. I turned and walked down out of the room. My body was hurt but I knew that I had to get out of here as fast as possible. I turned and looked at the empty room, well empty expect for the fact that there were dead bodies in there. We smiled and looked in front of me. The light from the sun came in from small skylights above my head and a small door, the one I had come through when I was sent on this mission. I smiled and headed towards it. I giggled and looked at the sun as soon as I got outside. The sun hit my face and giggled as I looked up. I smiled and looked at the dessert ahead of me. We won’t call it a fight when we know it’s a war. I always felt sorry for the people we lost. I’m sorry if you want to call this a fight. I’m sorry that you have such bigoted views that you want to say that this whole situation that you left us in is a fight. That a lot of people were too extreme when all we wanted was equal rights. That’s all we wanted were our rights and that’s all we wanted. We were slaughtering ourselves with our bad decisions. These bad decisions lead to a war. A civil war, to be more honest. A war of which was worse than any of the world had ever seen. The bloodshed came in the tons of gallons and the bodies came in the hundreds of thousands. The bodies were so high in number that no one knew where to put them. So, there were mass graves underneath the cities. These were the biggest cities, of course, as they had the highest populations. There were tons of dead. Tons of dead bodies. All of which decaying right now. There were also loads of lost spirits. All Hallow’s eve was the worst. We were overrun. When all the spirits came to play, we hid. We hid like madmen. Ghosts ran free. We had been trapped. There were humongous catacombs under the cities. People could go and visit them anytime they wanted. But only on special, designated holidays. The catacombs were closed the rest of the year. They were very eerie and creepy when you moved through them. They were filled with cobwebs and bones, no shit. Bones filled the floors and if you weren’t careful, you’d crush the bones. We weren’t supposed to crush the bones. You would be cursed if you crushed a bone. Then you weren’t allowed back into the catacombs. You would never be able to see your family or ancestors again. I guess that wasn’t okay for most, but okay for others. I never knew someone who was banished from the catacombs. Technically all Wild Ones were banned though, but we all snuck in anyways. Well, everyone but me since I had no family. Not many Wild Ones had families either. Not many of us did and we were able to sneak those who had families. We were happy to help them out to see their families. But it was highly illegal and just one of the many rights we had lost to the Free Ones, or normal people. Wild Ones were outcasts from society and most people were. Some outcasts even were able to assimilate into the culture. They hid in plain sight. We were just the outcasts from the outcasts. We were the worst of the worst. The most terrible of society, the unfixable. We were mostly anyone who wasn’t white, and even some white kids were here, and who weren’t fitting into the norm. People hunted us all down because some of us had this special blood. They needed us to make some special serum and we were going against that. We needed to run away from them. We were not going to leave our fates in the hands of some weirdo. The end of the world as we know it did not come quickly. The end came very slowly, in fact. Laws were slowly passed and people were taken away to government facilities. There were no bombs and there were no wars. That war was called The War on F.E.A.R by news outlets. People who rebelled were called Wild Ones. Wild Ones were the outcasts of society. They were the rockers and the metalheads. Wild Ones were what “normal” and “regular” people called emos, goths and scene kids. Of course, some of them are emo, goth and scene. But not all of them were. The people who didn’t rebel were normies. They were the one hundred and eighty degree total opposite of the Wild Ones. Then there was F.E.A.R, the religion and idea that controlled every little movement of everyone. The government religion that was created out of fear, obviously, of the religion of Islam. They wanted to be able to keep different people out of our great United States of America. The president even decided to build a wall separating America from Mexico. That’s when it all started in my mind. Others trace it back to that election. They said too many people were blind to the right choice. There were too many bigots in the world and that election showed it. The War on F.E.A.R has been raging for years, generations in fact. The war stretched back as far as anyone could remember. Children were left homeless orphans, cold and hungry as they were left in the streets. Parents were left in the dusty streets. All because they didn’t conform to the regulations that the new government had set in place. The rules were so strict that even people complained that we were no better than the robots we had long since destroyed. This happened way before any of us were born. We are children of war. We don’t know any different. We know nothing other than tears and bloodshed. We are one heartbeat, one life. We just did not know it yet. We were ignorant to that fact until half of our population was dead or dying. Normalcy was not a subject the world was used to. It had never been used to normalcy. It had been constantly changing and growing since Pangea, the supercontinent. They were still pulling out of conflicts caused by a president who will go down in infamy as one of the most hated presidents in the history of America. No one thought to make an attempt on his life. Many people talked a big game but all of them were too cowardly to actually do anything about it. That was until the president was killed by a man named William. He and his Shadows killed the president to take over for themselves. I sat inside an old cathedral. It was wood and stone, mostly crumbling and beautiful. The stained glass windows were broken for the most part but the desert sun spilled through the unbroken glass splattering colors on the golden dirt ground. I moved like I was on broken glass. My back never to the door for long. I was scared of being tracked down by my old boyfriend and his Shadows. I had betrayed him and the cause we had worked for. That and the cathedral was off limits for F.E.A.R was always watching. They were especially watching me, for I had been one of them once way back when I strayed from the light of the Wild Ones and had believed in the power of F.E.A.R. The cathedral was on the outside of a run down Los Angeles. I learned from war lessons that Los Angeles was a bustling city and was a major hub for F.E.A.R supporters. Los Angeles was one of the first major cities to be taken over. Los Angeles, then Seattle, Washington D.C and Cleveland were in the first wave. Slowly other cities feel to the power of F.E.A.R. When they, F.E.A.R, were found out to be a pretty bad group in their own right, a group of rebels formed. Their name was unestablished until F.E.A.R deemed the rebels “The Wild Ones” after their wild and unpredictable nature. I was apart of them as soon as I learned of their plans to kill off anyone with special powers. Let me pause for a second and talk to about F.E.A.R for those of you who somehow stumbled upon this story by accident and I hope you stay until the end. I hope I make it to the end, to be honest. I guess the both of us will see who makes it farther, me or you. Last one to the last sentence is a goner. They’re the one who avoided and probably read the most spoilers. They’ve probably even see some awesome fanart. I really hope that there’s fanart of me. I don’t want to become one of those stories. I want to have a cult following and everything. I don’t want to be forgotten. I normally came to this cathedral to pray and meditate. Though, I never really took in the beauty of the run down place I came to on a weekly basis. I had been coming here once a week for most of my life. This was the only place where I truly felt comfortable with myself. I wasn’t overly conscious about my weight or appearance when I came here. It’s not unlike the US government to make everyone’s life a little bit worse. Some of us were rightfully pissed. Others turned to the church set up by the government. Those who turned to the church ended up seriously messed up. The whole church was just a set up. They brainwashed people and spit them out into the world. Those who were brainwashed had a mission. A mission to brainwash and control other people. The church controlled the whole government. People were just too blind to see what was really going on in the world. The human race was clearly fucked up. The president of the United States of America was going batshit. He mocked disabled people. He was clearly a misogynistic asshole. He was homophobic and transphobic. He lead the entire country to hate instead of love when just a few years early gay marriage was legalized. The president was just so aggravating and terrible. The whole world was fucking crushed. The US president brought our world to its knees. I had been taught by one of the Wild Ones. A man who went by the name of Mystic. I called him Jinxx and he had allowed me to harness my elemental powers safely, even if he only knew how to control fire. Fire was the easiest one to learn as Mystic was a good teacher. Luckily, I had learned one of the more dangerous of my powers first. Then the Prophet, a pretty douchey guy by the name of Andy, taught me how to control my seeing powers. Now I was on a whole new watchlist for F.E.A.R. I was never put on any kind of wanted list or anything, but I knew that I was being watched. Being this far away from base with my warpaint on was dangerous. My warpaint wasn't subtle to say the least. It consisted of red and gold feathers that extended from the middle of my forehead all the way and into my hairline. A mask covered everything from my forehead and down to my top lip. It was an old bird masquerade mask that we had picked up on one of our raids. One of the people on the raids had said that the mask suited my fiery personality and said I should take it for my own. So, I did and it became apart of my persona ever since. My life as a Wild One definitely wasn’t very conventional. I’ll admit to that fact almost immediately. I started off basically on the other team in my first few years of life. Then I was taken to the other side of the war. Eventually, by my own will and someone else’s, I was pulled back to the other side. From there, I bounced back to the other side and that’s where I am right now. From there on, I was being watched for any time that I was alone. I was sure that I would be pulled back to the “evil” and “terrible” side sooner than later. I’m not essentially evil or immoral. My “magic” isn’t evil or immoral. It’s just shades of grey instead of black and white. I have done evil or immoral actions in my life. Every human has done those types of actions in their lives. Does allowing a singular evil or immoral act to consume your life evil or immoral? Welp, that depends on the human being asked. I do believe that does make a person evil or immoral. If you let those feelings of guilt consume you, you become evil and immoral. I sat down in a dusty and old oak pew who’s hinges groaned in disgust as I sat down. I looked at the man people called Jesus in the old times. I dropped my bag of people on the floor. I looked over at the room and sighed lightly. I smiled and looked at the stained glass windows. What if there was a huge city here once? One with more churches like this. One with more freedoms and more rights given out. A world where America was actually a good country. I wouldn’t know if it would have been the best for me, living in the past, but I knew it was good for some people. I just felt bad that I had to fight for these rights. I sighed and looked down and picked up a bible from the back of the pew in front of me. “‘The kingdom of God is inside you, and all around you. Not in a mansion of wood and stone. Split a piece of wood and God is there. Lift a stone and you will find God.’ It honestly sounds like a bunch of bullshit. Hmmm, I wonder if anyone actually believed in this stuff. Like really believed in it. So much so that they went to this place to worship their gods. I guess not considering that the world almost at its end. Maybe they did and they watched the world end as they prayed for the world not to end.” I got up and brushed off the dirt my ruined leather jeans and walk away, leaving the book. I hurried back and pick up the book, taking it with me. I had changed my mind, it might turn to be useful later. I don’t know how it would be useful to any of the Wild Ones, but it just might save our lives one day. It wasn’t like we needed to be saved from anyone other than F.E.A.R. But, F.E.A.R was just a concept made to confine the United States citizens and other select groups in the world. This book might allow for the Wild Ones to gain some knowledge for F.E.A.R. F.E.A.R was a construct created by the angry cheeto known to some as the forty fifth president. His name has been wiped clean of anyone who was there to see his term as president. We choose not to remember what he did because it was just that abominable. He was not our president, he was a way to get F.E.A.R into power. He let them take over and he let them start a war on us. He saw when we were at our most vulnerable. Then he launched his carefully thought out plan to exterminate us. He may have seemed very dumb at the time. He went on twitter rants and made obscene comments. Yet, he was much more cunning than the rest of us gave him credit for. He was the most cunning man to grace this earth, other than Hitler. You must give both men credit where credit was due. They were cunning man who knew how to manipulate people. If you could manipulate people, you could have anything you wanted. From a strategic standpoint, both men were utter geniuses. This doesn’t excuse their behavior at all. Yet, many people only look at what horrible actions they took. If only they looked at their actions like actual war. The games that they played with actual human beings. Instead, they thought of them were pawns. All humans were in their minds were pawns. They were just a bunch of chess pieces to them. As a matter of fact, humans are still pawns. They are the pawns of their religion, their beliefs, their values and their moral codes. They will never truly be free minded humans. Feebleness is not a weakness as some might lead others to believe. Every person has a weakness that they won’t show to others. Some mess up and their weakness gets them in trouble with the laws set up by society. Pedophiles and caregivers to non-age regressing littles are weak for little children and have an innate desire for sex with young children or those who act like little children. Rapists are weak for non consensual sex with other people. Serial killers have a weakness for their untreated mental illness which bring them to kill or just kill even though their mental health is in wonderful condition. Others have more physical constraints to them. Some people suffer from arthritis in certain joints. Others suffer from less serious mental illnesses. Either way, we will be tested, not only on our physical capabilities, but our mental ones as well. In high school, people always talk about grade point averages and test scores. The higher a person ranks, the more likely that person will have a better life. More opportunities are set before these people. They are allowed to live the high life if they so choose to take it. The lower scoring people are looked down upon. They are given the jobs no one else wants. But that does not mean that people can rise and fall in ranks. Scandals and miracles happen all of the time. This all depends on the person’s willingness to move forward in life and the laziness of the people who are accustomed to the luxurious lifestyle. I trudged back to the flattened city, my legs paining me with every step. My legs were so sore and they had been for nearly three weeks. I had taken the hike back to the compound like this almost every day. Sometimes I would have someone accompany me with a set of wheels. Then we would make our way back in record time. I had had enough energy to essentially fly myself here, but my powers in the element of air were pretty weak. They drained me if I used them for long. Too long essentially means like five seconds and that is quite depressing. I needed more training with my wings but Jinxx was never free. He always had some other trainee in the room with him. So now I had to walk ten miles back to the town square with a constant fear of being captured. It’s not like I would get captured on my way back home, it was just another fear of mine. Fear is what had always controlled me. I turned and looked over my shoulder as I looked at him. I just had to make sure that I was alone. It wasn’t like I was paranoid or anything. But I just needed to. I kept walking and sighed lightly. I wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. I didn’t need to be here anymore. I wasn’t meant to meant to be here and I knew it. I didn’t need to be here. I smiled and looked down lightly. I sat down on the hot sand and looked up. It reminded me of the day Andy picked me up. One day I was reminded of very often. Especially here in the desert so near to when I was found. ~ The hot afternoon sun beat down upon his back. Andy moved closer and closer to the funeral pyre. Ashley stood behind him, his chocolate brown eyes wide in fear and wonder. The pyre still smoked and it seemed like it had gone up in flames only a few hours before. Andy slowly moved closer to the skeleton of a Shadow. Its cloak and clothing had burned easily as cloth was always the first to go when lit on fire. The air stank of burning flesh. Andy pulled a bandana over his face and moved even closer. The skeleton moved slightly and Andy pulled back, holding out an arm to stop Jinxx from moving any closer to the skeleton. All of the kids were between ten and seventeen. “I have to investigate Andy. You know how important this discovery is to my research.” Jinxx held up his ripped up black leather journal and a stubby pencil. Andy shook his head and Jake pushed forward. Ashley stopped him and CC sat on the ground, pulling out a bag of M&Ms and munching on them. Andy looked back at CC with a fire in his eyes. CC rolled his eyes and stowed the M&Ms away. He slowly stood up and glanced over at Jinxx who gave CC a nod and a knowing glance. CC took this as permission to keep eating his candy, so he opened his bag back up and began munching on the candy once again. CC sat down again and a plume of soft dirt flowed up behind him. “I don’t give a crap about your freaking research Jinxx.” Jinxx gasped, astonished by Andy’s language. CC smiled and leaned back, taking in the sun on his, at the time, pale face. Jake moved up and behind Jinxx. Andy nodded and let Jinxx move forward. Andy watched on as Jinxx leaned over the Shadow. He checked over the skeletal figure and poked at it with his pencil. Flesh clung to the figure like wet clothes to a person after a long storm. The fire must have been put out before the skin had been completely burned off. Most of the skin was charred and it was next to impossible to see what age, race and gender the Shadow was originally. Jinxx was launched back in fear when a ten year old rose out of a pile of ashes underneath the Shadow’s stomach. “Who am I? Where am I?” A young girl said. She had raven black hair, one baby blue eye and another flame orange eye. She was tall and lanky. She was crying, the tears on her face sparkling in the desert sun like diamonds. CC stood up and slowly walked towards the girl. Jake pulled a First Aid kit out of Jinxx’s sack, which Jinxx had dropped when he went to go investigate the Shadow. Andy watched on as the rest of his team went into action, pulling the girl into a standing position. They looked over her, checking for any injuries. Andy moved closer and closer, eventually he was standing near her. The girl smiled at him as Ashley pulled her hair back. “She’s got a tag!” Ashley said, urgently. Everyone crowded around her neck. There were a few numbers tagged onto her neck, almost burned like a brand. Those letters and numbers called her to a place, location, owner and date. The date was too hard for anyone to read as it had been burned off. “HOT dash CLE dash SHA dash FIV. The rest is burned off. We don’t know a date.” Tags were always written in three letter code. HOT meant hotel, CLE meant Cleveland, SHA meant Shadow and FIV meant five or the fifth month of the year, May. Dates were everything in this kind of branding. That was when a slave or Shadow was born. That determined when they could be sold off to other pods. Pods were basically small forms of people put under the watch of a voice of F.E.A.R. Shadows and slaves were then sold off to other pods and constantly shifted around. ~ I kept moving and sighed to myself. Nothing else would work and I would be missed. If I dropped and never came back, someone would know. My body dropped and I sat on the hot sand. Someone would come for me. I was the most valuable asset to the Wild Ones. I was their last hope for any kind of salvation. Andy said I was some sort of angel fallen from heaven. That I had fallen when I was a baby because whoever was up there dropped me. That I was meant to save them. I didn’t know how true that was. Rumors swirled that he needed me to be an angel because he was losing support. That he needed me to make his support from other people grow stronger. I didn’t want to believe the rumors either. I didn’t want to think about him being a liar. Or at least, him deceiving me all of these years. I wanted to believe the memories he gave me. I wanted to believe in him, a prophet. I really did and he never seemed to want to be able to give into what actually happened. I sighed as I stood up and kept walking towards the city. Someone was bound to notice my absence. I had been gone half the day. Andy was sure to notice my absence. I turned and began working on my way back. The sand hit my eyes, making me tear up, and I pulled some goggles over my eyes. I smiled and looked down. I was heading home. I was heading back to the only home I ever knew. I only knew this home. I smiled and looked over at the city. It was gorgeous from way out here. I smiled and looking at him. I looked down a bit. I smiled and looked at him, the city. He smiled at me. I was amazing and I knew that much. I was this city’s savior. The only one who could save anyone. I walked and walked. I was miles away from the city. My absence would sure to be noticed. I was going to be noticed as soon as I got home. My feet pounded on the hard ground as I looked around, nothing to be see for miles. The sand hit my face as the wind picked up. A sandstorm was on its way. I needed to get home soon. I was going to be caught in the storm. I turned and looked at the city. It was getting closer to me. The city looked at me as I sighed I did the same. I was going home. The wind kicked up as I pulled my goggles closer to my eyes. Sand was already pushing into my eyes. I sighed and looked down lightly. Tears filled my eyes as I tried to get the sand that had entered my eyes out of them. My pace picked up as I began to jog back to the compound. I was still a few miles around and I would take awhile to get home. I sighed and kept jogging. I jogged all the way home, hoping that no one would miss me. I walked past the receptionist and smiled, knowing she wouldn’t complain about the dead body smell or look. I put the bodies back into their animated state and they began to move around freely. I never kept my friends dead for long. They were my favorite people and they willingly died for me every once in awhile when I had to do a mission. Luckily they were cool about maybe being dead for a few hours to a few weeks. “What’s up with us staying dead for like a few days? That rigor mortis shit really fucking hurts.” Chris came out of his room and smiled lightly as he stretched. “It’s not my fault that the police took three days to come find me. It’s not like my phone was fully charged that entire time. Not like we set up near an outlet or anything.” I smiled and giggled as I looked at Chris. Vinny walked out of his room and smiled at me, sitting across from me at the table. We had gutted the whole top floor of the apartment, much to our amazement as we thought that the landlord would shut down, and now I lived here with ten other men. “Chris, you should go shower. You smell like death.” Vinny pinched his nose and giggled lightly. I smiled and looked at him, nodding lightly. “Of course, but you need to shower after me.” Chris smiled and looked at Vinny as he nodded. I turned and looked at the maps spread out across the table. I smiled and played another pin in the map, right where the school was. “How was the mission, did you kill Justin?” Andy leaned on the door frame of one of the old apartment buildings. I smiled and looked at him, nodding lightly. I produced the badges from my back pocket. I smiled as Andy took the badges. His hands moved lightly as I giggled lightly, proud of my accomplishment. He nodded and looked at me, heading back into his room. "Hey, good job on the mission." Ashley looked at me and smiled lightly, patting my shoulder lightly. I smiled and blushed lightly. Getting praise from Ashley was possibly the best part of doing any mission. I thought he was super cute and I had developed a small crush on him. He smiled and looked down at me. "Thanks." I smiled and looked at him, he smiled and looked at me. I broke eye contact and looked over the maps. What would be the next mission? Who would I take down next? "I think you need to take a break from doing missions." He looked at me and smiled lightly, touching the small of my back, electricity shot up my spine. A blush creeped up to my cheeks. "No, no I don't. I want to take up another mission. A lone mission." I turned and looked at him, bouncing on the balls of my feet lightly. He shook his head and crossed his arms. Ashley tapped his foot and bit his lip as he looked over the map. He clicked his tongue a few times, eyes scanning the California map. "I know taking down F.E.A.R means a lot to you but, I don't think that you need to go on any more missions. I mean, look at you, you need to at least eat." He looked me over and sighed. I rolled my eyes and sighed lightly. He was right and I couldn't deny it. I definitely hadn't eaten in a few days. "I'll at least eat, do we have any food in the house or do I have to make a grocery run?" I raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "You need to make a grocery run." Ashley raised an eyebrow, smiling lightly as I nodded lightly and smirked a bit. I ran into my bedroom and grabbed a black down jacket. A grocery run basically meant that I was going to go to a Target or somewhere else that sold food and necessities. Someone else would accompany me and I would take as much as possible. Normally Ashley would accompany me. We would stuff my coat and pockets with food. Most time we would go during the morning, when there were less people there. We would only take what wouldn't get us dinged at the security scanners. But we had found other ways out, like the emergency exits. A few employees would help us a bit but those were the people who hated working at the stores. Ashley and I had a lot of fun doing these "raids". "Ready to go?" I asked, coming out of my room and smiled. Ashley nodded as he finished tying his hair back into a bun. CC came out of his room and smiled, looking us over. "Going on a raid?" He asked as turned towards the fridge, opening it up. I heard his stomach growl as I looked at him. I smiled and looked at him. He shrugged and looked at me. "Yeah, might have want to let me answer that before you opened up the fridge." I laughed and looked at him lightly. CC walked over to me and looked at me. "Can I come with you then? Pick up a bit of food for myself?" CC asked as I prepared to go out on the raid. I smiled and looked at him, finishing up my job. "Of course you can come with us, the more fingers the better." I smiled and looked at him. He smiled and nodded, throwing on some sandals and heading out with us.

#my superman #jake pitts #unicorn #ashley purdy #lion haired man #christian coma #koala bear #jinxx bvb #andy biersack #done for you

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axelsagewrites · 7 years

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Not Approving-Magnus’s Sister

The very blunt (Y/N) doesn't approve of her brothers latest relationship and will make it known to everyone. Especially Alec. So when she walks in on the pair making out on their couch they aren't happy. However as the night progresses so does their opinion.

Requested? Yes, by raveenasblog.

Masterlist HERE

I’m not rude I’m just blunt. What’s the point of pretending to like someone when you can tell the truth and save time? I know I can come across as rude but frankly I don't care. Right now I’m coming back to mine and my brother Magnus’s apartment from seeing my friend. I unlock the door and walk in to see Magnus and that shadowhunter, crap what's his name? Oh Alec! Making out on the couch. My couch. “Don't have sex on my couch please.” The two jumped away as I walked past. “(Y/N)!” Magnus exclaimed. “Your back early.” “I’m aware.” I rolled my eyes. “We've had this talk before, if your going to add to your list of conquest’s do it in your room. You’ve already broke our no shadowhunter rule.”

I walked into the kitchen to get something to eat and hopefully not throw up after seeing that. “Why do you hate Alexander so much?” Magnus asked with pleading eyes. Alec walked in the room and Magnus wrapped his arm round the shadowhunters waist so I grabbed my food and started to walk out. “I don't hate him. I would just rather he didn't come to our apartment ever again.” I threw myself onto the couch and started eating my (Y/F/F). “What did I do to you?” Alec moved towards me with a sharp tone in his voice. “Nothing, yet. Just don't give my brother an STD shadowhunter” I said with a sneer. Why should I talk to a shadowhunter who will only break my brothers heart? I cant let that happen. “(Y/N)!” I just ignored my brother and went to my room. I grabbed my phone and phoned Catirina. Maybe she can talk some sense into him.

“Hey (Y/N/N) what's up?” “Help me break that shadowhunter and Magnus up.” I didn't think she would say no but… “What? No! (Y/N) just because your jealous of the-” “I’m not jealous!” I stood up and started pacing. Everyone thought that was why. “He’s going to break his heart and not be around to pick up the pieces. He’s not good enough. Magnus may be happy for a few decades if he’s lucky but then what?” I was ranting at this point.

“He’ll nurse him into the grave if he by some chance doesn't die on a mission. Him and his friends always bring trouble and Mag’s has been through enough! Look what happened with Tessa, Camille, me! Everyone we know who loved a mortal ends in heartbreak. Will died, the werewolf was killed and I had to watch them from afar as it was forbidden!” I was going to pull my hair out. No one would listen to me! I was now looking out the window in my room. “Maybe so but if he loves him isn't it worth it? And even if its not worth it you cant be so rude all the time!” She responded. My skin felt hot.

“I’m not rude! I’m just honest, unlike all of you crackpots! No one will ever be good enough for Magnus, especially any mortal!” With that I slammed the end call button and threw my phone down. I ran my hands through my hair, tugging at it. Click. I turn to see nothing. My door was closed and nothing was out of the ordinary, apart from my broken phone screen. ‘Damn it’ I mutter. I’ll find out about the door later, right now I’m going to get my screen fixed. I knew I should of put a case on it.

I walked through the apartment to the front door while putting my coat back on. As I walked past the living room I past my brother and his ‘boy toy’ whispering intently. “I’m going out.” I say to Magnus. Then I add looking at Alec. “Be gone when I get back.”

I went to the shop and they said I could leave it for the day and get it back tomorrow. Ugh. When I got back Magnus and Alec were sitting huddled up on the couch. “Uh!” I groaned as I walked past. Alec ran to catch up with me and caught my door as I was about to close it. “Can I talk to you?” He looked at me pleadingly. “Please?” I muttered a ‘fine’, rolled my eyes and sat on my desk chair. I gestured to the bed and he sat down slowly.

“What do you want?” “Why do you think I’m not good enough?” He didn't sound angry, just sad. I groaned. Why did he have to look so innocent? “You’ll just leave him broken.” “Because I’m mortal.” He looked at the floor and played with a lose thread on his jumper. “I understand. It haunts me too.” “What? You expect me to believe that!” “You should!” His head snapped up. “I know I'll die and leave him alone and it hurts to think about it. All I can do is try my god damn hardest to make his life better while I can. Give him some great memories even though he’ll see me die and not be able to stop it.” He had a couple tears rolling down his face now. Uh feelings!

I grabbed the tissue box from my desk and walked over to him. His head was facing the ground and he was still fiddling with that damn thread. I grabbed a couple tissues out and handed them to him. He muttered a ‘thanks’. “Will anyone ever be good enough for Isabelle?” “What?” He lifted his head with a confused face. “Will they?” I prompted. “No! No one will ever be good enough.” “Exactly!” I sunk down onto the bed next to him. “No one will ever be good enough for someone like Magnus or Isabelle. That’s my point.” “You're just being protective?” “Duh. I just happen to be very blunt. I thought the oldest Lightworm would get it too but I suppose not.” “Really? Lightworm?” He raised an eyebrow looking bored. I burst out laughing. I laid back on the bed clutching my stomach. “Oh the joys of knowing your ancestors! Ever heard of demon pox?” “Oh angel.” He buried his head in his hands, clearly knowing the story. Once I calmed down a bit I knew what I had to say.

“Look,” He did. “just like with Isabelle, no one will be good enough for Magnus. Not because your mortal, or a shadowhunter or wont stop toying with that damned thread!” I grabbed it and cut it off while he jumped. “That was annoying by the way. I will try and accept this, I suppose.” I rolled my eyes at his excited face. “If you make me a promise.” “Anything.” I raised an eyebrow. “Within reason.” He added. “If you break his heart while you still breathe I will gut you like a fish, understand?” He nodded furiously. “Good. Now, want to order takeaway and watch a movie?” “Eventually!” We both turn quickly to see Magnus fling his arms up. “But no stealing my boyfriend!” “No sex on the couch.” He rolled his eyes. “You take the fun out of everything!” Alec's face was beetroot red. “I try,” I give a sarcastic smile. “but now its time to interrogate Alec over dinner. Your welcome to join, if you order the food.” Magnus rolled his eyes but smiled. He did as I said and so did I. After questioning the shadowhunter for around twenty minutes we watched (Y/F/M) and surprisingly got on like a house on fire. He makes Magnus smile over the smallest things when he didn't used to smile as much. Maybe he is good enough.

Masterlist HERE

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faiseuse-d-histoires · 5 years

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Chapter IV: Yara I

@denise1374 @snowneedle @its-katme

Well, well. I don’t have any other answers yet, but it seems the title will be “A Dance of Shadows”. Thanks to the ones who played the game!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18961603/chapters/45259753

I hope you will like that new chapter. It is shorter than the others, but I believe it is as important (if not more for some). Next will be Tyrion’s.

Do not hesitate to review! I’ll be happy to hear from you!

You can also use my ask box. I finally found the way to open it.

Well, I just have one thing to say before that...

Guess who’s coming to dinner?

.........

Yara I

The wind was cold today, but it brought a delicious smell of the sea and salt, and Yara found herself dreaming. She longed for the sensation of waves rocking her ship and seagulls crying at her ears. Of the delicious sting of the salt, burning on her eyes. And the sun, above them, caressing them vigorously, rubbing the grains of salt against her skin, drying the sensation of the sea from her.

Damn, she could touch herself right now at the thought. She missed the sea, as much as she would a very skilled lover.

Maybe Arik was available. Or maybe Kiara. She could be up for a little love once in a while, between two boring duties. And the night was still fresh…

But then, something stopped her. A feeling. Images. And the coin that she had received recently, from a surprising ally.

Her father killed by her uncle. Her uncle killed during the burning of his fleet. The other dying a nobody in foreign lands. And her brother….

She closed her eyes firmly, not wanting the tears to fall. They had never fallen once. Now was not the time to begin.

Her family was still defeated, her house nearly on the brink of extinction.

Once again, the Iron Islands were vanquished, this time without even one battle. They were at their eyes now just some lands among others, led this time by a crippled boy, not even able to run for his life. A boy who wouldn’t even have survived in the Islands, and who certainly knew nothing of its culture and of its people.

People who had now to pay the gold price for it.

The shame. Her ancestors must be rolling in their graves.

The Iron Islands had only her, now. But maybe it was enough. She could rebuild it, brick by brick. She already had begun. But her people were weak now, without a cause to defend.

At least, not for now.

She looked at the coin in her hand, with the face of her enemy on it. The boy she was supposed to call king. The boy who now had asked even more of her people recently.

Not a very lookalike picture, but still, it made her imagine what she would do to the real face, as her nail hit repeatedly the coin.

She threw it in the fire. It would not melt entirely. But it would be enough for her not to look at it for the night. She waited a little, consciously ignoring the fidgeting of the little man in front of her, then looked at him with a spark in her eyes that her feigned annoyance could not hide.

“Urion,” she said. “It looks like you’re about to piss yourself if you wait more. What’s going on?”

He smirked with that crooked mouth of his and green eyes glinting at her, and curtseyed comically.

“News from your inconsistent Majesty, “your Grace”” He bowed once more.

She froze a little, then laughed loudly.

“If I didn’t have you, I would be bored to death right now.” She said to her fool. “Well, let’s hope it’s actually worth that pile of papers I’ve been working on all day.”

“Well, at least one of the two, I gather, may bring a smile to your face. “

She raised one eyebrow.

“If it’s another of these letters from Tristifer, you better let it rot under the farthest rock, where they belong. Seagulls won’t even want it, I gather. I’m not in the mood for his whining.”

“Well, I doubt the prose will be as poetic as that young sire, m’lady, but I’m sure you will find it more useful.”

She smiled at him, but gestured him to go. Now was not the time for his jokes.

He smiled back and left the letters in the table near her. And then he left, with the same agile grace as would have a cat.

She watched him leave with a smile on her face.

She had hesitated in hiring a fool. Only fancy folks would do that, she thought. But then time went on and on, waiting for something that did not seem to happen, and without one foot on ship, she felt herself deflate. Her men were loyal, sympathetic, but no one was in the mood for jokes these last few months.

That one was discrete and with an insolence that really pleased her. He wasn’t beautiful to see, with his crooked teeth and pointed nose. But he was clever, and could give good advices. She had actually known him since she was a child, and had always lived in the Islands. He almost drown when they put him in the sea. Weak, her men had called him. But still, he managed to be useful, even if he could not fight. And he had been loyal to a fault until that, without even she named him her fool.

That title was just a joke by itself. He was certainly one of the cleverest people she knew.

Would he one day betray her? She wondered. That man was clearly in love with her. But love was not really something that could stop betrayal.

She thought about the former queen, who accepted to support her claim. She had loved, and burned for it. She payed the iron price, and Yara would have died to see that damn city collapse in flames, and these faces who had mocked her, humiliated her, be disfigured from fear.

Jon Snow should have died, that day. It was only justice. And if she had seen that bastard’s face at that moment, she would have cut his manhood and both his hands, before letting the others do the rest.

He had no honor nor loyalty.

He had betrayed his queen, plunged a dagger through her heart. He had watched as she bled to her death, disbelieving that the one she loved could defeat her so.

Had he cried for it? He better had.

What was his family’s way, again? That the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword?

Or maybe such rules did not apply for a bastard, she thought. Or maybe it only applied when it was Starks who applied that sentence. Damn hypocrites, all of them. Always blaming, but never acting if that action did not serve them at the end.

Her queen had been true to her goals, and she had fought. She had paid blood for blood, as a true Iron-born would have. She had helped them, the Starks, to the end, had led her armies to the North, lost half of it for them, for loyalty.

All for nothing. For a reluctant help, then to an even reluctant treason.

Yara had no such allies anymore. Only people with whom she had arrangements, but who would betray her if they could see their interest in it.

Well, not for now.

But soon, hopefully.

She took the first paper on the table and read it.

King Bran was ill, it seemed. The boy-king that her brother had had to protect until his last breath was one step from the grave. His spirit had been gone a long time, but now it seemed his body was not long to follow.

Good. That was a good surprise, actually.

She took the second and then smiled.

Just one of the news she was actually waiting for.

The day couldn’t be any better, she thought as she raised from her throne and left the place. She dressed herself in black and took her best man-in-arm with her.

Rain was beginning to fall, and storm will be coming shortly. Good. She felt it too, in her veins, in her mind. During her walk, she forced herself to think of all the things that had been forced on her, and one thing in particular.

Her brother had died for the Starks. But what had the Stark done for him?

They had stolen him, taken his true identity several times, turned him over. They had placed him in the way of danger and diminished him.

And then they did not even send her his bones. He had been burned, his ashes buried in a coffin as a Northerner, traitor to his own country till the last breath. What an insult to his Fatherland.

She had allowed him to go back. But it was for him to come back. To leave that past behind.

He had to let the Theon owned by the Starks, owned by Ramsay Bolton, die.

But he didn’t have to actually die himself.

Men could be disappointing when it came to loyalty.

Now, bitterness filled her heart, and she had enough of it. She would not stay isolated with her men, following another’s orders no longer. Not if she had a way out of it. She would not be tricked once again. She would not plead for independence, as it would not be given to her anyway. The Starks had played her, and they got everything and more than what would have been possible to imagine.

‘Why do you think I came all this way?” the boy had said.

These words sickened her.

Well, no more now.

They wanted crowns, and still thought they did it for honor and the sake of the people.

They would keep these crowns. But soon, they would melt with it.

She continued to feed these thoughts until a strange satisfaction came burning in her belly.

She may die at the end of it, she thought, but then, it would not be for nothing. Trouble was already brooding in Westeros, but with what was going to happen, there would be no going back, no issue for her enemies.

She looked at the sky, expectant. But nothing but seagulls flying in the night met her gaze. Her shoulders were lowered, but soon she relaxed.

She should have known. It wouldn’t have been very discrete.

But then, it would have been much more impressive.

Wind came caressing her face and she closed her eyes a little, a smile on her face. Then, with a resolute look, she headed towards the creek the message was referring to.

Here, a woman with black hair was waiting for her. She was beautiful, and the red of her dress came beautifully with the cream of her skin. Strange from someone coming from Essos, she thought.

Behind her, there was a little boat, with a dark hooded silhouette in it, four blind men with daggers in their hands surrounding it.

Yara’s breath caught in her throat. The woman smiled and bowed to her.

“My name is Kinvarra.” She said. “And there is someone, I believe, who would like to see you.”

Yara smirked and prepared herself.

She had been waiting months for it to happen. She had almost thought somebody would find one letter. One letter would have been her undoing. And so much more.

Until that moment, she had no allies, no true friend, aside her people. She had forced herself to stay on land, waiting and waiting for it to happen. Her men had been impatient, had asked her to act as if it was a true rebellion. They had called her a fool, not to seize the opportunity to reclaim independence for the Iron Islands, as the young queen in the north had.

As if it would have been accepted.

She had had to tell them to wait. To wait for chaos that would be brooding soon in Westeros.

Chaos was here now. And as surely as salt could melt snow, no winter would settle in this storm.

Well now, she thought, looking at a familiar face under the hood, with that determinate look on purple eyes, things were about to get interesting.

The Starks, both that little queen and her crippled brother, will never survive this wave.

Not this time.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #got fanfiction #got fanfic #yara greyjoy #asha greyjoy #sansa stark #bran stark #jon snow #kinvarra #fanfiction #fanfic #a dance of shadows

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antialiasis · 7 years

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Assassin’s Creed (the movie)

So we saw the Assassin’s Creed movie. (Disclaimer: I have not played any of the games; I’m discussing the movie simply as a movie, and rest assured I’m not judging the games based on it.)

I actually really enjoyed the first twenty minutes or so. That would be because after a brief prologue, the movie begins with the main character, Cal, on death row and about to be executed, and they show him starting off being coolly sarcastic at the priest, then being strapped to the table and starting to lose his nerve, and his terrified, trembling breathing as the lethal injection travels up the tube, and needless to say this entire scene pressed my buttons very hard, A++++ delicious pandering to me specifically, may rewatch later. This is then followed by him waking up confused in a strange medical facility, desperately stumbling to escape, considering suicide, and being dragged kicking and screaming into a machine to make him relive the memories of his assassin ancestor. Yes please, I will gladly watch a couple of hours of this movie.

Unfortunately, the actual movie is all kind of a slow slide downwards as the plot, character progression and thematic development become increasingly incoherent and arbitrary. It’s pretty and well made and everything, but that doesn’t save the script.

Basically, the facility is run by the Templar, who want to find a McGuffin called the Apple of Eden, which can supposedly revoke the free will of humans, whatever that’s supposed to mean. The main character in charge of Cal is a woman, Sophia, who sincerely wants to use it to eradicate the human impulse for violence, and she believes that the Apple of Eden somehow contains the genetic code for aggression, which I guess is supposed to let her destroy it... somehow. This is all apparently deeply scientific, because she is a scientist. The Apple of Eden has historically been protected by a secret order of assassins, and Cal is the one lone direct descendant of the assassin who last had the apple, Aguilar, therefore he has genetic memory of it, therefore they use this device to make him relive the memories so they can watch the memories as he relives them and find out where the apple is.

Meanwhile, they’re also holding several other descendants of assassins at the facility, for some reason, even though it is explicitly established that Cal is the only one with the actual relevant memories that they need. One of them is Cal’s father, who in Cal’s tragic backstory inexplicably killed his mother and then told him to run when he was a kid. Cal has always wanted to murder his dad because of this, and the Templar decide to give him the opportunity to murder his dad, because they think that will mean he will willingly relive the right memory.

Predictably, instead his dad uses this opportunity to explain to him that the only reason he killed his mom was that his mom was also an assassin descended from Aguilar and she wanted to die so that the Templar couldn’t use her to retrieve the memories and find the apple. For some reason, although Cal doesn’t kill his dad, this still motivates him to willingly relive the memory for the Templar, which reveals that Aguilar gave the apple to Christopher Columbus and made him swear to literally take it to his grave. This is before Christopher Columbus crosses the Atlantic, by the way. Drop it in the ocean where nobody will ever find it? Nahhh, let’s bring it back and keep it in a place that is in no way anonymous. Otherwise the assassins wouldn’t have anything to do!

Naturally, everyone knows where Christopher Columbus is buried, so the Templar head off to retrieve the apple, while the other assassin-descendants at the facility rebel and kill everyone. Cal sees a vision of his mother as an assassin, and she recites the assassin’s creed (roll credits) which goes something like, “To those who search obsessively for the truth, know that there is no truth. To those who worry about law or morality, know that everything is permitted.” This is 1) utter nonsense (of course there is such a thing as truth, nobody actually believes that, come the fuck on) and 2) a complete non-sequitur, yet this instantly convinces Cal that actually the Templar must be destroyed and he must become an assassin and retrieve the Apple of Eden. Because.

So the Templar go to present the apple at this big Templar conference in London, and Sophia’s father both takes all the credit and reveals that he never cared about eradicating violence and just wants to eliminate free will so that no one can oppose the Templar, which might be a plot twist if the movie hadn’t already explicitly told us several times that the apple's real function is to destroy free will. Sophia has a big moment of realizing that she’s been manipulated and that she’s complicit in this, then Cal appears in an assassin’s hood and Sophia chooses to stand by and let him go in to kill her father and take the apple. Except the moment he’s done so, she comes into the room, sees her father dead, and suddenly swears that she will retrieve the apple for the elders and personally murder Cal, setting herself up as the main villain of an eventual sequel. What? You just personally chose, after an entire film’s worth of buildup and a few minutes to think about it, to let him be killed! This sudden about-face is bizarre; I guess it’s a plot twist, technically, but it’s baffling and out of nowhere, and the film makes no real attempt to make it remotely convincing.

Anyway, then we see Cal standing on a rooftop with a couple of the other extraneous assassin characters, holding the apple. Film over.

Nobody in the movie tells people things when it makes sense for them to. The Templar take ages to explain to Cal what they’re doing; Cal’s father doesn’t even try to explain murdering his mother and instead just cryptically talks about how “they” are coming for them before telling him to run away and never seeing him again; the other assassins act completely bizarre towards Cal instead of actually making a sensible attempt to convince him why he should resist the Templar’s attempts to retrieve the memory. The semblance of actual coherent characterization present early on just kind of evaporates as the film goes on, and from that point there seems to be no real, proper reason the characters do anything. The actual relived memories are empty spectacle; they look nice, but there is no real attempt made to give characterization to the assassin Aguilar or make us care about him or what’s going on. The other assassins barely get names, Sophia’s character takes an inexplicable shocking swerve, her father is just generic evil. Everything I enjoyed about the beginning, how traumatic the whole experience was for Cal and why he’s hostile towards the Templar as a result, gives way to Cal the Cool Assassin Because Assassins Are Cool.

More than that, though, it’s morally incoherent. The assassins’ bizarre insistence that there is no truth and no morality is deeply alienating; they don’t come off as noble protectors of an artifact that would threaten humanity if it got into the wrong hands, but simply as a petty group of unrepentant murderers, who kill relentlessly not because it’s actually necessary but simply because they’re assassins and that’s what assassins do. (Again, if they really wanted to protect the apple, they’d have dropped it into the sea where it’d never be found instead of maintaining a secret order of assassins ready to continue to shed blood for it.) The idea of the Apple of Eden being used to eliminate the impulse for violence plays a huge part in the first half of the movie, but it just sort of gets dropped with a handwavy, “Oh, well, that wasn’t really what we were going to use it for,” which frustratingly skirts around all the potentially interesting questions you could raise around the concept to replace it with a generic “bad guys are evil, want to do obviously evil thing, good guys must stop them” plot.

And Cal’s character arc... what even is Cal’s character arc? It’s established that Cal is a violent man and a murderer, but he says the person he murdered was a pimp, perhaps suggesting he actually did it to defend women who were being abused by the pimp or something in that direction, and a significant portion of the movie involves Sophia saying she wants to cure his aggression, and we know it’s all based in him witnessing his father having murdered his mother and hating him as a result, which turns out to have been wrong. All in all, it felt like setup for him to get over his hatred and aggression and become a better, healthier, less violent person, without needing to be forcibly ‘cured’ by the apple’s vague powers. But ultimately, he just... becomes an assassin and kills a bunch more people and embraces a creed of how everything is permitted, and none of this is presented in any way critically. It’s baffling and uncomfortable and I don’t understand what they were even going for.

But hey, at least there’s that opening. That opening, man.

#assassin's creed #review #my buttons #negative #violence in fiction #ramble

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