#i like that he is cracked in such deep ways i love the horrible tragedy of it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aspoonofsugar · 2 years

Text

Just Another Cinderella Story

Cinderella is the Queen of Fairy Tales and one of the most universally known stories, with at least 345 different versions. So, it is no surprise this allusion is so relevant in RWBY, which gives it to one of its key characters and a Queen in her own right ;)

Not only is Cinder’s allusion at the root of her tragic past, but it is also important for her current storyline thanks to a series of symbols and motifs elegantly interwoven into the narrative. This meta will explore said imagery by focusing on 4 key elements found in all Cinderellas stories:

Evil Stepmother

Fairy Godparent

Prince

Slippers

The Stepmother, the Godparent and the Prince are found in the series twice: in Cinder’s background and in the main story itself. This shows that Cinder is stuck in the cycle of abuse. No matter how powerful she becomes or that she is now an adult. Deep down she is still a broken child, who can’t find her freedom.

When it comes to the Slippers, they are instead present in at least 4 different shapes, which makes them incredibly important for Cinder’s arc. They foreshadow the outcome of her story and can be used to explore Cinder’s character in all her complexity. In short, just like in the fairy-tale, they tell us who the real Cinder is, what is her major conflict and the characters, who’ll help her deal with it.

Let’s now start dancing with our Cinderella and see the woman who appears once midnight strikes!

CINDERELLA’S FIRST DANCE

You're no good I hope you know That your life is of no use And the truth is that No one's ever loved you

At her root, Cinder is a child, who is unloved in 2 different ways.

On the one hand there is an Evil Stepmother, who hates her:

On the other hand there is a Fairy Godfather, who does not love her enough:

Madame’s violence and abuse and Rhodes’s indifference and weak love are why Cinder is who she is. In a sense:

Cinder: Without you I am nothing. But because of you, I am everything.

Madame and Rhodes were Cinder’s everything and even now everything Cinder is can be traced back to them. Symbolically, their failure as parents runs so deep that Cinder doesn’t even get a chance to go to the dance:

Rhodes: Then we’ve got about seven years.

Cinder: For what?

Rhodes: To train you for the Huntsman exam.

Cinder’s big festival is meant to be the Huntsman exam, where she can show the world who she really is. Not a worthless slave, but a skilled Huntress. However, the Evil Stepmother’s hate and the Fairy Godfather’s lack of love make so Cinder never gets this opportunity and she slips deeper into the cracks of the system.

At the same time, Rhodes does not play only the part of the Fairy Godmother, but also that of the Prince, which means he fails Cinder in an additional way.

Deep down, what Cinder wants is not to be a Huntress, but to be free and loved. This is why Rhodes becomes a beacon of hope in her horrible life. She imitates his hairstyle, looks forward to his visits and is sad whenever he leaves. This turns their sparring sessions under the moonlight into true dances:

Ozpin: If you think about it, fighting and dancing aren't so different. Two partners interlocked, although one wrong move on the ballroom merely leads to a swollen foot.

After their dance, the Prince is supposed to meet Cinderella covered in ashes and dirt. However, he still recognizes the beautiful girl thanks to the slipper and takes her to the palace. This is what Rhodes is supposed to do. He should see Cinder for who she is and accept everything about her. However, he doesn’t. The moment midnight comes and Cinder shows herself in all her complexity, Rhodes refuses her and brings tragedy to them both.

The Prince’s refusal forces Cinderella to fight for her freedom. In the process, she takes her 2 Slippers by force:

Rhodes’s Twin Swords are important plot devices in Cinder’s flashback, as they drive Cinder’s actions and kick in both Cinder and Rhodes’s first meeting and Cinder killing her adoptive family. At the same time, they clearly serve as Cinder’s first pair of Slippers. She uses them to “dance” with her Prince during their training sessions and she is given one as a memory of their last meeting:

Moreover, she is promised the other once she is ready to become a true Huntress (aka a Princess):

Rhodes: Just a few more years and you won’t need your guardian’s permission. You’ll be free.

Finally, as all weapons, the Twins Swords are metaphors for Cinder’s true self:

Just weapons? They're an extension of ourselves! They're a part of us! Oh, they're so cool.

To be more specific, they are intertwined with Cinder’s wish for freedom in 2 complementary ways:

They symbolize power, which Cinder wants to use to free herself (active)

They are gifts from a loved one, who can free Cinder (passive)

Cinder is both a violent victim, who wants to punish her tormentors and a victimized child, who wants to be given care and gifts. She wants not to be hurt and to matter for someone. She is angry and hungry. This is her duality, which is conveyed by the Swords. She manages to walk on a fine line between these 2 sides of herself until Rhodes betrays her. By this point, she has her dream of love and care broken and is left with only a longing for power.

However, she can’t free herself with that. Cinder needs both to affirm who she is through her own inner strength (active) and to be helped by someone in doing so (passive). How can she succeed, though? To discover it, let’s see how her Cinderella story is repeating itself in the present and if there is any hope for the cycle to be broken.

THE EVIL GODMOTHER’S SLIPPERS

Salem is the Evil Godmother, who combines the Evil Stepmother and the Fairy Godmother. She is basically a mix between Madame and Rhodes, in terms of both Cinder’s desires and of Cinder’s abuse.

It is clear Cinder envies both her “parents”. On the one hand she wants Madame’s power and status. On the other hand she wants Rhodes’s freedom. These ideas manifest in Cinder’s persona and demeanor. She dresses like the Madame, but fights like Rhodes. She wants to be at the very top of the system, like Madame in her eyes is. However, she also desires to be an outsider, like she believes Rhodes to be:

Cinder: Like you? You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want.

This is why she exhibits conflicting behaviors. She presents herself as a force of chaos, who refuses society’s hierarchies and rules:

Cinder: You Atlas elites are all the same! You think hoarding power means you'll have it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier. And I refuse to starve.

However, she deep down keeps applying classism to herself and others:

Watts: You think you're entitled to everything just because you've suffered, but suffering isn't enough! You can't just be strong, you have to be smart! You can't just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been, is a bloody migrane!

She wants to destroy society, but also for others to see she is at the very top of it. This is why Salem, who is somehow outside the system (she is literally above the cycle of life and death) and yet controls it becomes the mentor Cinder wants to emulate.

At the same time, Salem is Cinder’s bad parents in one and traps Cinder in abuse, just like Madame and Rhodes did.

In her childhood, Madame is Cinder’s abuser that forces her to obey through pain and fear. Rhodes brings instead dreams and wishes into Cinder’s life. He promises a better future in exchange of her being a good girl, who handles her abuse “correctly”:

Rhodes: But hurting them isn’t going to make your life any better. You can run, but you’re going to be running for the rest of your life. Or you could find another way to handle it.

Madame embodies fear and Rhodes embodies wishes. Together they are why Cinder is unable to leave the Glass Unicorn. Salem obtains the same result, but manages on her own.

She controls Cinder through fear and violence:

And manipulates her through promises and desires:

She uses both weapons according to how she needs Cinder to feel and to behave. In this way, she balances being Cinder’s abuser (Madame) and her mentor (Rhodes).

However, the desire Salem promises to fulfill is just a pale imitation of Rhodes’s one. Rhodes represents freedom and love, while Salem embodies power. This is because Cinder has given up on the formers and has shifted her focus towards the latter:

Cinder: I want to be strong. I want to be feared. I want to be powerful.

Salem promises to turn Cinder into a copy of herself and delivers through costumized slippers:

It is not by chance Cinder’s emblem appears on her back the moment she takes Amber’s powers. It symbolizes that the Maiden powers are the Slippers Salem is using to make Cinder dance for her. This is also why, the moment she gets the powers, Cinder burns Midnight and starts making her own weapons out of magic and glass:

It is as if she is trying to overcome Rhodes by making a statement. She does not need his teachings and weapons anymore because she can now make magical slippers out of thin air. She is a Cinderella that needs no Fairy Godmother nor Prince. Still, Cinder’s Maiden powers are not really hers, but rather Salem’s and they come with the side effect of slowly turning Cinder into a Grimm, just like those she used to clean:

Cinder’s hunger for power is only trapping her into abuse and servitude. She does not realize that her current slippers are rooted in Destruction and leading her towards monstrosity, rather than humanity. Still, if there is Darkness, there is also Light and Salem’s Grimm Slippers are juxtaposed to the Prince’s Silver Slippers:

Maria: The Creatures of Grimm were made by the God of Darkness, but your light comes from his brother.

THE PRINCE’S SLIPPERS

Ruby and Cinder’s connection is set up in volume 2, when Cinder goes to the dance under the condition she must be back before midnight:

Emerald: It appears all the dancers have partners.

Cinder: How long do I have?

Mercury: You should probably be home by midnight, to be safe.

Her magical evening has her dancing with a young charming Little Red Riding Hood:

And losing her glass slipper (her weapons and clothes), so that she can disappear into the crowd and leave her pursuers with questions and mystery.

Ruby meeting Cinder the night of the dance and after Ozpin draws a parallel between dancing and fighting leaves no doubt: Ruby is the Prince, who will see Cinder for who she is and save her. To fulfill this role, Ruby is equipped with her very own pair of slippers:

Ozpin: Ruby Rose... You... have silver eyes.

In The Wizard of Oz Dorothy’s slippers are silver, just like Ruby’s eyes, which RWBY’s Wizard himself conveniently points out for the viewers to notice.

However, the Prince’s first attempt to use her Slippers on Cinderella does not really work out. It becomes instead a traumatic moment for both girls. Ruby activates her eyes out of shock and grief, freezes a giant Wyvern and strips Cinder of her new-found powers kickstarting her quest for revenge. Cinder is defeated when she thinks to be invincible and this leaves a huge psychological scar, which she tries to hide with arrogance, anger and hate. At the root of this failure, there is this:

Ruby: You said the light only reacts to Grimm, but... I used it during our battle at Haven. It reacted to Cinder.

Maria: “Maybe there was something there you just weren’t seeing”

Right now, Ruby is unable to properly see Cinder because Cinder is doing her damn best to hide her victimhood and humanity. She presents herself as a monster to hide her vulnerability and Ruby’s challenge will be to see the person behind the grimm. The Child eaten by the Big Bad Wolf, as @misstrashchan explains in this great meta. Only in this way Cinder can escape midnight and the time that stopped with Rhodes’s death can start running once again.

This is also why the setting of their first dance will probably be the stage of their final one:

Beacon Tower is a giant clock and its fall symbolizes both the Beacon of Hope losing its Light and the Time being frozen, just like the Grimm at its top:

Taiyang: Things at Vale are under control, but the school... It's... it's not that simple. That thing, whatever it is, doesn't seem to be dead. Don't get me wrong, you did a number on it. But it's not disappearing. It's... kind of... frozen. I know that doesn't sound too bad, but it keeps attracting more Grimm to the school.

The Wyvern is symbolic of all the characters’ trauma. It is a monster which is now where once the light was, like an untreated festering wound. It is Ruby’s trauma, that she buries deep within herself, so that it is inoffensive, but also impossible to solve. It is Cinder’s who is pushed into the shadows of society, until she becomes strong and dangerous enough to resurface and bring destruction. Just like the giant Grimm. So, for the 2 characters to solve their respective issues, it makes sense that they would meet again where their relationship began. This time, though, they can do things properly: the Hunter saves the Child and Cinderella is freed.

Thematically, both characters will be asked to choose between Creation and Destruction. Will Ruby choose to save or to kill with her eyes? Will she see Cinder as the Grimm that she has become or as the child she once was? And will Cinder choose Salem (a mother figure, the past) or Ruby (a child, the future)? Will it be power or choice that grants her freedom? And what will Cinder do once unchained? Who will she be when Midnight comes?

To answer these questions, it is necessary to firstly understand who Cinder is right now. Luckily, the last pair of Slippers makes it clear.

CINDERELLA’S SLIPPERS

Emerald and Mercury are taken in by Cinder in scenes that mirror respectively her first and last meeting with Rhodes. This conveys 2 things:

Emerald and Mercury are weapons she picks up, just like she takes the Twin Swords from Rhodes (by stealing > Emerald) and Madame (by killing > Mercury) in the 2 above mentioned scenes

Emerald and Mercury are Cinder’s childhood selves she is unconsciously trying to rescue

This duality is specifically why her bond with Emerald and Mercury is so nuanced. It is familial on some level, but Cinder’s experience with family is abusive, so she weaponizes and objectifies the kids.

In short, she turns who could have been a real family into a pair of weapons to use against her enemies. Her fight with Amber makes it clear:

Cinder is able to win against the Maiden specifically because she uses Emerald and Mercury as tools and smoke screens. She sends them after Amber, so that they can distract her with their abilities (Emerald’s semblance that confuses Amber and Mercury’s legs that let him withstand her elemental attacks). She joins the fight later on to deal damage, but is quick to fake her defeat, so that Amber’s focus stays on the kids. Finally, she finishes Amber off when her guard is down. In short, Cinder is symbolically using Emerald and Mercury as the Twin Swords, all to get a better pair of Slippers:

This frame’s very telling. The focus on Cinder’s feet hints to the Slippers, just like the similar frame in Midnight. However, here there are all 3 pairs of Slippers:

1) Midnight - Cinder’s past, the Twin Swords and Rhodes, whom she is desperately trying to leave behind

2) Amber - Who Cinder superficially wants to be, someone powerful, who has ironically just lost a fight against Cinder’s childhood selves

3) Emerald - Who deep down Cinder is. A crying child hungry for love:

And a thief/assassin:

It is really no surprise that Amber is defeated specifically because she fails to realize that the crying child she offered an apple to and the girl attacking her are actually one and the same:

It is just like Rhodes fails to reconcile Cinder’s 2 sides and dies because of it. It is just like Cinder loses herself by repressing the hurting inner child behind the mask of a powerful Maiden.

In short, the Maiden powers are who Cinder wants to be, while Emerald and Mercury are who she needs to accept that she is. They are also the only Slippers that are not given to her, but that she chooses freely, which should be indicative of their importance for her arc.

Finally, Emerald and Mercury are the conclusion of a cycle of abuse that starts with Madame and Rhodes, goes on with Salem and Cinder and reaches the kids:

I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one

Overrun By the hate and the beatings defiled by a father

(I mean... if you read these lyrics together you literally get Cinder’s backstory)

Emerald was not loved, while Mercury was hated. Neglect and abuse. An indifferent society and a cruel family. Together they explore 2 sides of Cinder’s trauma and together they make the One (Cinder). Just like the Twin Swords turn into Midnight and the 2 Slippers of Cinder’s emblem draw an empy heart.

However, Cinder has failed to use her most important pairs of Slippers wisely, so far. Instead of healing through the kids, she is failing them, just like she was failed:

1) Her first meeting with Emerald parallels her first meeting with Rhodes and Madame. Superficially she acts as Rhodes by offering food and becoming Emerald’s idol. However, she is deep down acting like the Madame and trapping Emerald in a cycle of abuse:

Cinder: Don’t think... obey.

2) Her first meeting with Mercury parallels her last meeting with the Madame and Rhodes. Once again, she seems to be acting in the opposite way of her failure of a parent. Rhodes condemns Cinder, while Cinder praises Mercury. However, she does not aknowledge Mercury’s victimhood. She simply pushes Mercury on the path of violence for her own convenience, just like she was driven on that same path by Rhodes:

Cinder: Mercury... Tell me, are you anything like your father?

So, Cinder abuses the neglected child and neglects the abused one in what is just a tragic repetition of her life. Switching between neglect (at its best) and abuse (at its worse). What’s interesting on this dynamic on a writing level is that Cinder does not really treat Emerald and Mercury all that differently. However, the relationships she has with them appear as distinct. This is because Emerald and Mercury themselves are different people, with different experiences and reactions to abuse. The result is that they give Cinder back different fragments of her past self, just like 2 misshaped pieces of glass in a very fascinating mirror game.

The result of Cinder’s mistreatement of Emerald and Mercury is that they both leave her in the episode Midnight (so literally she loses them at midnight :P):

And once again their current situations mirror the Twin Swords in Cinder’s flashback:

Emerald is found by the Prince and her friends. She is saved and accepted because people are able to empathize with her, just like Rhodes empathizes with thief Cinder.

Mercury is instead stolen by the Evil Godmother and taken away from Cinder. It is a way to prey on Cinder’s frail sense of identity and to exercise power over her. He is the killer Cinder, whom Rhodes likes to ignore and who gets stuck in abuse.

So, Emerald is the Slipper she loses at midnight and is found by people who can save Cinder. Mercury instead is the Slipper taken away by the Stepmother as a punishment.

However, only together the Slippers make Cinder, as they are 2 different sides of her personality. Both kids need to be saved and empathized with, so that Cinder herself can be understood and helped. After all, the Slippers are meant to bring the Prince to Cinderella and this is probably what Emerald and Mercury will do. As for how this will happen, different outcomes are possible. As for now, I think the most interesting one is:

Emerald, as the Emerald Tablet, brings Knowledge to Cinder by confronting her. She should be the one to call Cinder out and show her who she truly is. This would also fit with her arc. Emerald is a survivor victim whose main flaw is her idealization of Cinder. So, for her to truly see the kind of person Cinder is and to challenge Cinder to see herself would fit.

Mercury, as the Messanger God, should connect the stone (RWBY) with the alchemist (Cinder). Because of this, it would be interesting if he were the one to empathize the most with Cinder’s most wounded part (he embodies it, after all) and to help others see it.

If this happens, it would also work as a chain. Emerald is helped and helps Mercury, who, in turns, makes Cinder more understandable to others. In general, though, Emerald and Mercury might share their roles of messangers of truth and mediators. What’s sure is that they will have a conflict with Cinder (like all abuse victims with their abusers in RWBY), but also inspire her to be better (like the other kids-mentor couples).

With their help, Ruby and the others will see Cinder and Cinder will see herself. Once this happens, the Prince will save Cinderella and Cinderella... what will she do?

MIDNIGHT - HEROES AND MONSTERS

A near unstoppable force, Cinder is now something more than human... And simultaneously... something less. Midnight struck one last time that night, Never to be seen again. The clock forever stopped in the waltz with Fire, Turned to ashes in Scorching Caress. "Who are you again?"

Cinderella ends with the protagonist being saved and becoming a princess. So, Cinder’s story will probably end with her becoming a princess too. This means she’ll finally become a true Maiden, which is exactly what she has been trying to do up until now. The problem is that so far Cinder has been going at it wrong. She is trying to be a Maiden (Salem’s Slippers) to run away from who she truly is (Emercury, her own Slippers). However, this does not work because you can never be your ideal self if you do not face who you really are.

This is precisely the point of Jaune and Pyrrha’s foiling when it comes to heroism:

On the one hand Jaune wants to become a hero to run away from who he is:

Jaune: Cause this is always what I’ve wanted to be! My father, my grandfather, and his father before him were all warriors! They were all heroes! I wanted to be one, too. I was just never good enough.

This is why he symbolically enters Beacon through cheating. He acts as someone he is not.

On the other hand Pyrrha is a hero simply because that is the person she wants and chooses to be:

Red-Haired Woman: I don’t think she would regret her choice, because a Huntress would understand that there really wasn’t a choice to make. And a Huntress is what she always wanted to be.

The choice between being a hero and being herself is never really a choice because being a Huntress is a part of who Pyrrha is. So, her final sacrifice is not really a negation of the self, but a result of who she deep down is.

Cinder is currently acting like Beacon Jaune, but instead of hiding her pain and insecurities by becoming a hero, she has chosen to be a monster. However, the truth is that she is just a human and humans have both Destruction and Creation within them:

Pyrrha: It’s not about why; it’s about knowing. Understanding dark and light helps us manifest our Aura. Everyone has some of both.

Once Cinder rediscovers her own humanity thanks to Ruby saving her and is reminded who she is by Emerald and Mercury, she will finally choose who she wants to be. This choice is clearly going to be key for the whole series. Basically, the Maiden of Choice will choose what the story theme is:

Salem: But even the most brilliant lights eventually flicker and die. And when they are gone... darkness will return. So you may prepare your guardians, build your monuments to a so-called "free world", but take heed... there will be no victory in strength.

Ozpin: But perhaps victory is in the simpler things that you've long forgotten. Things that require a smaller, more honest soul.

Is victory truly in a simple soul (aka humanity)? Or will humans choose darkness over light? Can a monster really turn into a hero? Do humans have this strength? The one to answer this question will probably be Cinder. And by doing so, she will also fulfill her destiny:

Pyrrha: When I think of destiny, I don't think of a predetermined fate you can't escape. But rather... some sort of final goal, something you work towards your entire life.

Salem: You’ve fought your whole life unwaveringly for what you want and here I am holding you back instead of lifting you up.

Cinder’s final goal is freedom, just like Pyrrha’s heroism and Penny’s friendship. Just like the other 2 maidens, she will get it, against all odds. However, it won’t be the freedom from everything that she has dreamt of, but rather the freedom of doing something only she can:

There's a moment that changes a life when We do something that no one else can And the path that we've taken will lead us One final stand

There's a moment we make a decision Not to cower and crash to the ground The moment we face our worst demons Our courage found

(..)

I may fall But not like this – it won't be by your hand I may fall Not this place, not today I may fall Bring it all – it's not enough to take me down I may fall

Choice will be Cinder’s Freedom.

#rwby #cinder fall #ruby rose #emerald sustrai #mercury black #salem #rwby rhodes #rwby salem #rwby meta #my meta #once upon an allusion

179 notes · View notes

bambirex · 6 months

Text

It's A Game We Play: Chapter 9

Pairings: Geraskier, Yennskier, Radskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Radovid, original female characters, Essi Daven, Priscilla, Ciri of Cintra, Valdo Marx, Vespula

Additional tags: inspired by Mamma Mia! (movies), crack, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omega jaskier, alpha geralt, alpha yennefer, beta radovid, awkwardness, jaskier is a good parent, protective jaskier, weddings, found family, post mpreg, fluff and humor, alternate universe- modern setting, jaskier is having the worst time of his life, valdo is here to make everything worse, confusion, banter, insecure jaskier, internalized slut shaming, light angst, family drama, there was only one bed, sharing a bed, valdo marx being an asshole, valdo marx and his ukulele from hell, drunk jaskier, mild language, sexual humor, jaskier in a dress, well it's a skirt but still, jaskier is essentially a milf in this

Rating: teen and up audiences

Full word count: 28,523 words

Chapter word count: 3,396 words

Chapters: 9/?

Summary: Jaskier's daughter is about to marry the love of her life, and she decides she wants both her parents at her wedding. Only problem is that Jaskier has slept with a little too many people in his youth, so the identity of the other parent is a mystery. That does not stop the bride-to-be from inviting three potential daddy candidates and unleashing absolute chaos in the process.

Otherwise known as Jaskier's terrible horrible no good past decisions leading to terrible horrible no good outcomes. Also known as the Mamma Mia! AU nobody asked for, but I wrote it anyway.

Chapter summary: It's the night of Amaryllis's bridal shower. Sparks fly all over the place in general, and then Jaskier also fights off his insecurities in the raunchiest way possible.

Author's notes: Actually, writing this fic is like therapy for me. Hence why it's updated so soon. They're all super drunk and horny, that's pretty much the premise of this chapter.

Read on Ao3

This was a stupid idea. Jaskier wasn't even sure why he entertained it, for even a second.

"It's because you still have it in you," Essi teased, almost like she read his mind. She gave Jaskier a little wink. "And you want their eyes on you. It makes sense."

"I don't...!" Jaskier huffed. He felt his treacherous cheeks flush a deep red. Essi gave him a knowing smirk.

They were going to perform at Amaryllis and Sara's bridal shower tonight. While Amaryllis specifically asked them not to do that on her wedding, she was more than fine with her papa's band bringing the fun to the party. If the tragedy of Valdo Marx performing at the wedding had to happen - because Sara's mother was relentless, resisting all bribes and pleadings- then, at least an actually good band needed to play at the bridal shower. It was the fun part, after all!

Priscilla and Essi convinced Jaskier to dress up a little bit, which Jaskier used to enjoy a lot in his youth. He wasn't exactly the most modest Omega back then, gladly putting the goods on display and enjoying the trail of drool that followed him. He wasn't twenty years old anymore, though, and the idea of trying to act all sexy, especially in front of his exes, was a terrifying one.

"Look, you girls still look amazing," Jaskier told them earnestly. "Essi, I have no idea how you maintained this body after two kids. Seriously, you're both smoking hot. Me, on the other hand... I think you should wear your pretty matching outfits and I put on something a bit more... modest."

"Since when are you modest," Priscilla scoffed. "Come on, it's going to be fun! Besides, Essi is right, we all know you're just dying to seduce your baby daddies."

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but his cheeks refused to let go of their blush. Unfortunately, he was just a human being, a human being who was still very much attracted to those three, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. The more time he's spent with them, the more his stupid heart and body started acting up. So, maybe his friends were right, maybe there was a part of him that wondered what they would think when they saw him in his outfit.

"Okay, but I'm not gonna wear it the whole night," Jaskier concluded with a sigh. His friends let out a triumphant squeal.

"Oh, the Omega urge to preen has set in!" Essi giggled. "Combined with your badly hidden lust for your exes, I say we're gonna have a lot of fun tonight!"

"I'll only be able to handle this with alcohol," Jaskier groaned. He still couldn't help a little smile when he imagined what this night could have in store.

They rented a whole club for the night. Amaryllis was worried Jaskier spent entirely too much money on her upcoming wedding, especially knowing how much he struggled with keeping the Dandelion afloat, but he always waved her concerns away with a "my sweet baby deserves the best". She could only hope he wouldn't wear himself too thin with the stress, to which the whole other parent situation only added to.

Amaryllis decided to focus on having fun instead. She grinned widely as she was led inside the club, where the decoration was a mix of classic wedding flowers and party balloons. Amaryllis and Sara both had veils on their heads which looked as mismatched with the rest of their club outfits as possible.

Amaryllis held onto Sara's hand tightly as their friends bounced ahead of them, already a little tipsy on their warm-up shots. Actually, a little bit more than tipsy.

"Richie Rich at 10 o'clock," Marion all but screamed into Vera's ear, who hollered in response. It caught Radovid's attention. He gave the girls a little confused, but still bright smile. Vera pretended to pass out, and she managed so well that she actually ended up on the floor, bringing the cackling Marion with her.

"I think we should keep them from drinking any more," Sara laughed. Amaryllis rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

She smiled when she noticed Geralt and Ciri approaching her. Geralt's smile widened the closer he got.

"You look very nice," he said. Ciri giggled.

"He means you look breathtakingly beautiful, but he doesn't know how to do compliments."

Amaryllis laughed. "Thank you, all the same."

"How's everyone enjoying the party?" Jaskier asked as he hopped next to them. His cheeks were rosy, and his smile was bright. He kissed Sara on the cheek before he pulled Amaryllis to his side.

"Do you like the place?"

"It's incredible!" Amaryllis grinned. She wound her arms around her father, sighing happily. "Thank you, Papa."

Jaskier gently pulled the veil aside so he could kiss her forehead.

"It's my pleasure."

Amaryllis gasped when she noticed Yennefer approaching them. She wore a leather two set, and she looked incredible. Jaskier and Geralt made a similar little noise, combined with wide eyes as they spotted her.

"Damn, I wanna look like you at your age," Sara sighed in awe. Yennefer sent her a grin.

"Hello, everyone. Jaskier, thank you so much for the invite."

"Of course," Jaskier replied softly. Yennefer smiled, and Jaskier returned it eagerly.

"Where's the archduke of mangoes?" Yennefer asked, scanning the partying guests. Geralt laughed softly.

"He's the king of mangoes, you know that."

Jaskier glanced at Amaryllis in confusion. Amaryllis giggled.

"I could've sworn on my life they were coconuts," Jaskier blinked. He then nodded towards the left. "He's there, trying to sober up Amaryllis's bridesmaids... oh, fuck. He's actually doing shots with them. Amaryllis, bring him here before he sends your friends to the detox."

Amaryllis did, laughing all the way. Radovid looked utterly proud of himself. Jaskier rolled his eyes at him fondly.

"I'm gonna go find my mom," Sara said. She pecked Amaryllis on the lips before she left. Amaryllis felt a warmth, that was definitely not just because of the alcohol, spread through her chest as she stood in the ring that Jaskier, Geralt, Radovid, Yennefer and Ciri made around her.

She watched as her papa spoke to the other three. The conversation seemed light, the awful tension that plagued their first few days together nowhere to be seen now.

Ciri stood next to her, gently elbowing her in the side.

"Wanna dance?"

"With pleasure," Amaryllis grinned. She bowed playfully. Ciri giggled and gave a quick curtsy before she grabbed Amaryllis's hand and dragged her to the dancefloor.

"Do you want to...?"

Jaskier blinked in surprise. Geralt shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. If it wasn't for his extended hand, Jaskier wouldn't have understood what he wanted.

"Oh," he breathed softly. He felt his cheeks warm up as he stared down at Geralt's big, calloused hand. Every braincell told him to say no. His heart whacked him over the head with a giant, neon YES sign.

"Yes," he eventually said. Geralt's wary smile brightened as he took Jaskier's hand into his own. Jaskier's skin buzzed at his touch.

His heart pounded as they swayed together with Geralt. His hands were so careful around his waist, like he was scared a stronger hold would break Jaskier.

Jaskier glanced to the side. Amaryllis was slow dancing with Sara, their eyes shining as they smiled at each other. Yennefer twirled Ciri around. Marion and Vera drunkenly swayed, tripping over each other's feet. Essi danced with her husband, while Radovid danced with Priscilla. As he looked over them, and then down their joined hands with Geralt, he felt his heart swell until it barely fit into his chest.

The pink fog quickly dissipated when he noticed Valdo sauntering in with a smug grin. He, as always, acted like he owned the place.

"Ugh," Jaskier gagged, "how did he get in?"

"He seems to have a knack for infiltrating your life," Geralt chuckled. He let go of Jaskier's hand. Jaskier immediately missed his touch.

Valdo noticed them, and his smirk widened. Jaskier rolled his eyes so hard, it was a wonder they didn't get stuck.

"Jaskier," Valdo greeted him cheerfully, "what a lovely party!"

"Which you weren't invited to," Jaskier scoffed. He crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you want?"

"Oh, actually, Sara's mom invited me," Valdo replied with a grin. "So, I'm sorry, dear, but I'm staying."

He looked a little wary when Geralt moved towards him. He took a step back, holding his hands up.

"Don't worry, I didn't bring an original song, this time."

"You're saying that as if you would sing here," Jaskier huffed. Valdo only raised an amused eyebrow at him. Jaskier's eyes widened in horror.

"No fucking way," he hissed, "I will perform with my band! Yours isn't even here!"

"I'm a one-man band. Besides, there might be place for more talented musicians on this stage. And one maybe even for you."

Jaskier's hands balled into fists as he stared after Valdo once he left. Geralt scoffed.

"If I ever commit a crime in this life, this man will be the victim of it."

Jaskier sucked in a harsh breath through his nose. There was no way he was going to let Valdo steal the spotlight, again.

This was the perfect time to get his friends and change into their performance outfits - let everyone see The Sandpipers still got it.

Amaryllis felt both amused and confused as she approached the table Geralt, Radovid and Yennefer sat together at. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking at. Yennefer had a lock of Radovid's hair in her hand, inspecting it like a surgeon before an important surgery.

"This is so damaged," she slurred, her usually snappy, almost cold exterior buried under several glasses of gin and tonic. "Your hair's so pretty, and you let it get so damaged."

"I don't have time for a hair care routine, I wish I did," Radovid lamented. The way he lifted his glass was a little uncertain.

"Geralt, touch his hair," Yennefer demanded, "feel the split ends."

Geralt took another piece of Radovid's hair between his fingers. He hummed.

"It's dry."

"Yeah, what about yours?" Radovid huffed. He twisted Geralt's hair around his fingers. His eyes widened. "Oh, this is soft. Why is it soft?"

"Feel mine," Yennefer giggled. Radovid did, holding onto both their hair with an awed expression.

"Uhm... hello?" Amaryllis greeted them with a chuckle. They flitted apart in such a panicky way, like Amaryllis just caught them making out with each other - which, judging by the way they lovingly caressed each other's hair for God knows how long, and how extremely drunk they were, wouldn't even have been outside of the realm of possibilities.

There was a strange tension between them- competitiveness, for sure, but also something else. Something that had nothing to do with butting heads over getting into Jaskier's good graces, or fighting for the parental rights over Amaryllis. It was something else, a weirdly vibrating chemistry that Amaryllis couldn't quite describe.

"Jaskier... I mean, Amaryllis," Geralt groaned. He shook his head, blinking rapidly. "Shit, it's dark in here."

"Your eyesight is just getting worse, old man," Yennefer teased. "You also can't hold your liquor."

"Are you in the right state to talk?" Amaryllis asked carefully, interrupting Geralt who was about to defend his own honor. Amaryllis snorted when Radovid grabbed her hands, nodding frantically.

"Anything you wanna say, we're ready to hear."

"Alright...so, I was wondering, if you guys maybe wanted to go out with my papa?"

Geralt stuttered something. Yennefer just stared at her. Radovid once again nodded, the alcohol dissolving his pretenses entirely.

"I want to!"

"As... a date?" Yennefer checked. Her cheeks flushed, not just from the alcohol. Amaryllis smiled at her.

"Yes. I think you could each take him out individually. Spend some time with him, because... there's a chance his own gut feelings can come in handy, so to speak, in our little scheme. And, you know, he hasn't been on a date in decades."

She wanted to speed up the process of figuring out the truth a little bit, and she realized maybe Jaskier also needed some time together with the candidates in order to do that- besides, Amaryllis was hoping to secure him the one and only. Her papa definitely deserved some spoiling, as well.

"Decades?" Geralt whispered in horror. "You're telling me he hasn't been... romanced, after we left?"

"Except for Vespula, of course," Radovid pointed out with a snort.

"That was just a couple of times, and nothing since then," Amaryllis clarified. "Look, I know you all still have feelings for him. And I'm sure that's mutual. Let's kick things into gear!"

They all shared a look, which was full of confusion, a sense of challenge and a third, unrecognizable emotion.

Amaryllis swore when she heard Valdo's unmistakable voice in the microphone.

"This is for the wonderful brides, one of them which is unlucky enough to call Jaskier her father. Don't worry, beautiful Amaryllis, this song will cheer you up!"

"The only thing this song will do is make me commit arson," Amaryllis huffed. She quickly scanned the crowd, trying to find either her father or his friends, but she didn't see them anywhere.

Jaskier didn't know if he should have screamed or cried in frustration. He once again had to realize he was making a stupid decision.

He really should have thought ahead and tried on his outfit before the performance, instead of just picking it out blindly. He gave in to his friends' nagging and matched with them, but the problem was that the glittery, tight skirt he wanted to put on was one he used to wear before Amaryllis's birth. He was twenty years old when he last wore it, and many things have changed in the meantime. His body, most of all - and realizing this, minutes before he was planning to go on stage, was an incredibly humiliating experience.

"This is so embarrassing," Jaskier whined, his face burning with shame. "God, what was I thinking? I'm not twenty anymore, and definitely not skinny, either. I'm going to embarrass my daughter at her own bridal shower! Ridiculous, a cow trying to parade around."

"Hey, don't say that! You agreed you would wear it!" Essi reminded him softly. "Besides, you wanna show Valdo Marx you're the better performer, right? Grab onto that energy!"

"The only thing I can grab onto are my love handles."

"Calm down, would you?" Priscilla snorted from behind him, where she was still struggling to work his zipper up all the way. "And suck in a little!"

"I'm already sucking in, Priscilla, that's what I'm saying!"

Jaskier buried his face in his hands with a whimper. There was no way his exes would find him attractive in this, with the skirt pulled so tight over his wide hips. What if it would rip open on his fat ass, in front everyone? He would not survive that humiliation. Valdo would never let him live it down, and Amaryllis would be scarred for life.

He looked up at his reflection in the mirror with a deep sigh. He always believed he looked pretty, and he looked younger than his age, mostly - but the passage of time did not fully spare him, neither did the changes pregnancy did to his body. Sure, he wasn't fat, that was a bit of a hysterical over-exaggeration, but he definitely had some cushion for the pushing. He was not a young Omega with long, slim legs and a tiny waist anymore. What was the point in pretending otherwise?

"You know what, I'm not even gonna perform," Jaskier pouted. "You girls go and do your lovely thing. I don't wanna ridicule you, too."

Priscilla finally managed to zip him up. She also managed to slap him on the ass so hard that Jaskier yelped.

"Ow! What the hell!?"

"Say one more self-loathing thing about yourself, and I will full on spank you!" Priscilla growled. She grabbed Jaskier by the shoulders and spun him around, glaring daggers up at him. "Did you forget who you are? You are Jaskier Pankratz, for fuck's sake! The sexiest, sluttiest Omega on this island. The charmer, the sex god, everyone's favorite goddamn lay! Even the freaking mayor wanted to fuck you! You have three people practically pissing themselves with the need to suffocate between your thighs, and you're whining!?"

Jaskier gaped. Essi hid her giggles behind her hand.

"You got a bit curvaceous, so what? You look freaking amazing!"

Jaskier looked down on the outline of his belly through the skirt. He frowned.

"But..."

"You. Are. Hot," Essi told him, accentuating each word. "And trust me, people will drown in their own drool when they'll see you!"

"You are smoking hot," Priscilla continued. "Pull yourself together, sweet cheeks, and show everyone what you're made of! And this, right here,” she grinned, lovingly pinching Jaskier’s tummy, “is a very sexy little accessory."

Jaskier opened his mouth to argue, but he wisely decided against it when Priscilla and Essi all but growled at him. He rolled his eyes with a sigh. He could only hope he would survive this evening without a catastrophic event.

The crowd erupted into cheers, drowning out Valdo's voice when The Sandpipers entered the stage.

Valdo's eyes bulged out of his head when he spotted Jaskier. Jaskier ignored the queasy feeling inside him and marched forward.

As soon as the music rang out, his confidence started to seep back in. He felt in his element on stage, living together with the rhythm. Essi and Priscilla looked beautiful and radiant next to him, sparkling in their matching outfits.

Jaskier opened his mouth to sing, and everyone cheered again. Valdo marched off the stage, looking like a kicked dog.

No one laughed at him, instead everyone stared in awe. Amaryllis, Sara and their friends hollered. Jaskier's eyes skimmed the crowd for some more familiar faces.

His heart leapt when he noticed them - they were staring, and they absolutely did not seem to mind the way he looked. In fact, Yennefer licked her lips in a hungry way that made a pleasant shiver run down Jaskier's spine. Geralt gripped onto the edge of the table so hard that it rattled. Radovid shamelessly raked his eyes over him.

Seeing them looking at him like this, with so much unabashed awe and lust, all of Jaskier's insecurities melted away. He suddenly felt so young again, so playful and seductive. He's missed the feeling so much. He batted his eyelashes at them, which were elongated by mascara. His eyeliner did not just frame his eyes like usually, he made it winged. There was glitter on his eyelids to match his top and skirt. He even put on high-heeled ankle boots.

Finally, he felt sexy again as his exes' eyes followed him all over the stage, glued to the way he moved. Jaskier swayed his hips, running his hand over the curve of them teasingly before he leant forward, letting them take a peek at his cleavage.

He danced and sang full of energy, full of youthful playfulness. Everyone clapped and cheered and whistled. Jaskier felt like he was soaring as he playfully shook his butt, earning some more hollering from the crowd. Okay, maybe he still got it.

Jaskier could only look at them as he finished their last song. Their jaws hung open, their pupils were blown wide. He could feel the intense Alpha, and the less aggressive but spicy Beta pheromones in the air. Essi and Priscilla gave him a proud gin.

Daring, Jaskier his exes a kiss. Geralt swore under his breath, Radovid's jaw dropped even lower, and Yennefer batted her eyelashes.

"Dick up, brain down," Ciri said simply, pointing at where the three candidates practically melted over the table. Amaryllis laughed in disbelief.

"Damn, your papa is sexy," Marion grinned. Sara turned to her fiancée, amused.

"So, are they taking your papa on a date?"

"After this performance?" Amaryllis chuckled. She looked at Jaskier, who exited the stage with a flourish, grinning brightly. Then, she glanced at the other three, who had hearts in their eyes instead of pupils.

"I think they're all ready to take him to heaven."

#geraskier #yennskier #radskier #a/b/o #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #radovid #omega jaskier #alpha geralt #alpha yennefer #beta radovid #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #my fic #mamma mia au

3 notes · View notes

brayscharitycase · 1 year

Text

Corinth was always one to jump into action when things got rough. Even now, with the Witness bearing down on them all, he had been one of the few to follow Osiris, to sneak aboard one of Calus’ ships, and hitch a ride to Neptune.

But so often it seems, that bravery is met with tragedy.

It had been going very well so far, the young hunter managing to sneak past the Cabal forces, and only having to kill a few psions who had noticed him. It was going too well, really.

Phoebe hovered by Corinth’s shoulder, humming as she looked at the lock on one of the doors leading to the hangar of the ship. It required a key code, but maybe, just maybe, she thought she might be able to bypass it.

Corinth felt on edge. Why, he couldn’t quite place. Was it the fact that he was hurtling towards an unknown destination among a fleet of enemies? No, not really. There was something else nagging at the back of his mind, like something watching him, stalking his every move.

Osiris’ voice crackled over the voice com, and the exo is pulled from his thoughts to listen.

“I’ve got a plan. We need to get off of these ships before they land on Neptune. You need to make your way to the ship I’m on, I’ll meet you at the escape pods.”

Phoebe tutted as Osiris’ voice fades, pulling away from the door. “I don’t like this plan of his. It’s very..touch and go, even for him.”

Corinth’s hand raises, gently stroking her shell, feeling the quicksilver spikes fade slightly at his touch.

“I know. But it’s our only chance. Osiris knows what he’s doing, I’m sure. And I trust him, for what it’s worth.”

The small Ghost chirps, pressing herself into the Hunter’s palm. “You’re so trusting.” It wasn’t an insult. “Come on, let’s go, we need to-“

A scythe cleaved through the air, cutting cleanly through the Hunter’s hand.

A roar, a laughing, horrible sound. Corinth could feel his Ghost twitching in what remained of his hand, and he gripped her close, controlling the urge to throw up. She’d be okay. She had to be.

The Tormentor’s scythe was dripping with Exo blood, and something else, something pale.

Corinth pulls himself to his feet, his shoulders shaking violently as Solar energy pierced through the darkness, leaving trails of molten gold in that horrible face.

It twitched, finally falling still as Corinth’s scream faded. His hands shake violently as the golden gun fades, and he gently scoops the ruined shell of his Ghost from his pocket, ignoring his own bleeding half of a hand.

“Oh, Phoebe..”

Tears were dripping from his face as that tiny Ghost looked up at him. Her lens was cracked deeply, and it glitched on occasion. Corinth wasn’t really sure if she could actually see him. He very gently runs his hand over the deep gash, turning her so he could look at it. “Okay. Okay. We can-“ he gulps. “We can fix this. You’ll be okay. I promise.” Phoebe’s shell was littered with gleaming splatters of tears, but she still looked up at him, as if longing to nuzzle his cheek.

“I..don’t think..there’s any fixing this, darling.”

“No, no, we can, I promise, I just gotta-“

“No! Listen, please..Corinth. Darling, you’re such a wonderful person. I love you. Please..please don’t give up now..”

“Please don’t leave me..” Corinth’s voice was hardly a whisper, cupping that Ghost to his chest, feeling her feeble twitching fading.

“Don’t forget me..okay?”

Corinth’s head bows down to her shell, kissing the top of it as gently as he could. “Never. I never will. I promise.”

#ic status #ic: Corinth

10 notes · View notes

musewritingsforyou · 1 year

Text

The Three Rules

Rule #1, Rule #2, Rule #3

Summary: Spencer and F!Reader get engaged shortly before tragedy strikes

Warnings: explosion, crying, alcohol, angst, hospitals

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F!reader

words: 3.7 K

A/N: last part in this mini series, but let me know if you want me to make more like this!

*i do not own any CM characters.

~~~~~~~

Rule #3: never leave the other completely alone.

Spencer~

It was paperwork day at the BAU and the bullpen was starting to empty out as the day came to a close. That is, except for our team. Hotch told us that if we stayed late to finish all of the paperwork he would not only join us for our weekly family dinner at Rossi’s, but he would also sing with the karaoke machine, and that offer was just too good for any of us to pass up. Morgan stood and walked over to my desk where I was hunched over the files that laid in front of me.

“Pretty boy, please tell me it's happening tonight”

I nervously looked over my shoulder to see Y/N over at the coffee station across the room staring intently at two boxes of tea.

“Morgan, could you keep your voice down! She's right there!”

“Oh, calm down pretty boy, she has no idea!” he sat on the corner of my desk and proceeded to talk, though thankfully a little quieter.

“If you do it tonight it will be perfect, trust me! The whole family will be there and it will be beautiful, and we can help you out, and set up the atmosphere and it will be perfect! You have to do it tonight.”

“Do what tonight?” I could hear Y/N’s voice from behind me and I swear my heart stopped. Luckily Morgan is much better at covering things up than I am, so he took the chance to get me out of the hole I was in.

“Karaoke, I’m trying to convince your lover boy that he has to sing with me at Rossi’s tonight!” Y/N chuckled and handed me a mug before taking a seat on my lap.

“Ohh, trust me on this one Morgan, Spence may be a genus, but singing is not his forte.” Morgan laughed and I looked up at her with a pout.

“Really? I thought you loved my voice!” She laughed and shook her head at me while Morgan got up from my desk and walked back to his. I heard Hotch’s door open from above us and he walked down the stairs briskly.

“Well, it looks like we’ve done all we can for the night” He gestured to where Y/N sat on my lap with a small smile. Garcia walked in the bullpen from the back dancing her way over to Morgan.

“You know what that means my sculpted dancing king” he laughed and took her hand to swirl her around.

“It's party time!” Rossi came out from his office at the last second and we all quickly gathered our things agreeing to meet up at his mansion after a quick stop at our own houses to get changed.

Y/N~

As soon as Spencer and I got into our car to head home I noticed something was wrong. Usually he is only quiet on the way to work, but never on the way home. I even attempted to get him in a party mood by playing some bops from my phone, but still nothing, not even a crack of a smile when I sang horribly on purpose. On top of all that he was biting his lip. He only does that when he's nervous about something or if he's thinking, and I could hear the high whine from his IQ from the driver's seat that told me he was deep in thought. We finally arrived at our apartment and without saying a word we moved around the small place quickly, attempting to change into our party clothes. I threw on a dress that JJ had got me for my birthday and called Spencer over to me for help.

“Hey Spence?”

“Zipper?” I laughed as he made his way into the bathroom and smiled as he saw me. He slowly put one hand on my waist and the other on my back tracing the zipper line. Eventually, and very slowly, he brought the zipper up my back, moving his hand from my waist to slide my hair over my shoulder. He smiled at me in the mirror and spun me around to kiss me.

“You look beautiful”

“Thank you my handsome prince” I laughed and he took a deep breath before grabbing my hand and leading me from the bathroom.

“You ready?”

“Yup, you?” He gave me a little panicked look that I'm not sure was on purpose but then nodded frantically, trying to cover up his nervousness that seemed to come from nowhere. This time in the car he drove and played Brahms the whole way to Rossi’s. I saw him continue to bite his lip as he put one hand in his pocket and fiddled with something in it over and over again. Finally I got fed up with the silence and grabbed his free hand.

“Hey, are you okay? You seem a little nervous today.” he put his hand on my thigh and nodded.

“Yeah, I'm fine , I promise, just paperwork days you know?” I raised my eyebrows at him wanting a further explanation but he either chose to ignore me, or didn’t see as he went back to his silence and pulled into the driveway of Rossi’s house.

Spencer~

I knew she would notice my nervousness, that was inevitable, but I didn't quite think through how I was going to play that off. I saw from her face that she did not believe me one bit in the car, but now the time was coming closer and I wouldn't have to hide it at all from her anymore. We walked hand in hand up to the door and stepped inside to loud music and the sound of laughter coming from his enormous living room.

“Yayyyy! The lovebirds are here!” Garcia ran up to us with open arms and hugged the two of us before Morgan dragged her back.

“Lets slow down a little there babygirl” Y/N and I both laughed at what had become the usual weekly occurrence at Rossi’s team/family dinners. Next, Emily came up to us with a glass of wine in each hand. Y/N reached her hand out for one but Emily pulled it back.

“Mmmmmmmm, nope. These are for me now.” She slurred slightly and Y/N raised her eyebrows.

“Em, how much have you had to drink?” she put her glasses down and pointed at Rossi who was preparing food in the kitchen. He looked back and chuckled.

“An impressive amount I'd say” he replied and Emily smiled back at the both of us.

“Beautiful dress by the way” she moved on to Y/N as she began to walk away and JJ shouted from the corner.

“I did that! I knew it would be pretty on you!”

“Thanks JJ, you were very right” Y/N responded and took my hand to guide me to the dinner table outside with the rest of them.

As the dinner came to an end Hotch stood up from the table and raised his empty glass to us all.

“I just want to say, thank you all for making me come tonight, I don't regret it one bit. And now for the second half of my promise to you all…” we all got excited as we knew what came next.

“Karaoke and dance time is now in session!” We all cheered and got up to set up the dance floor in Rossi’s yard. After all of us had equally embarrassed ourselves with the karaoke machine we moved onto the dance floor and the mood became peaceful as we all grabbed a partner and danced slowly to whatever Garcia thought was fitting. Derek and Garcia both looked over at me where I was swaying slowly with Y/N and nodded their heads before Garcia got up to change the song. She put on Y/N’s favorite slow song and moved back to Derek as we began dancing.

“I love this song” Y/N lifted her head off of my chest sleepily and I smiled at her before taking her hand to dance. The nervousness that I had felt before went away completely as I looked at her serene face. I extended my arm to twirl her around and as she spun in a slow circle I dropped to one knee and waited for her to turn back around.

Y/N~

Spencer spun me in a slow circle and as I faced away from him for just a split second I felt my arm lower. I turned around to find him kneeling on the ground in front of me.

“A-are you okay?” I took his hand worriedly and the rest of the BAU team chuckled at me as they watched. Spencer laughed and squeezed my hand.

“I am now.” there was a moment's pause before he continued.

“When I first met you, I knew instantly that everything I thought I knew about love was wrong. And you made sure to tell me that when we first started dating. You got me through the hardest time of my life, saw me at my lowest and my darkest and never failed to see the light in me. Every day that I wake up to see you laying next to me is a blessing and I could never imagine my life without you” we were both crying and all our teammates around us were teary eyed.

“I promise you that I will always be by your side. So, Y/N, will you marry me?” I dropped to my knees weakly and sobbed as I threw my hands around his neck and cried into his shoulder.

“So, is that a yes?” I nodded into his neck and lifted my head for a moment.

“Yes, that a yes you idiot!” the team around us laughed and he slipped the thin ring onto my finger and helped me stand up before pulling me into a warm kiss.

Spencer ~

The next morning I woke up again with her in my arms. I smiled as I fondly remembered the events of last night and how we danced after I slid the ring on her finger. She grumbled something in her sleep and turned onto her stomach, reaching her neck out so that she could put her head on my chest. I heard my phone ring on the table and quickly reached out to it so that she wouldn't wake up.

“Hey Hotch, whats up?”

“I'm sorry to do this today of all days but we need both of you at the tarmac ASAP.”

“Alright, we’ll be there in 20” I hung up and slid her off of my chest as I went around the apartment getting everything together. After everything was ready to go I slid her into my arms and carried her along with all of our things into the car. As I set her down she shifted in her seat but remained asleep. We arrived at the jet quickly and while she still slept I picked her and all of our things up and carried them onto the jet.

“Pretty boy what are you-”

“Hey, shh! She's still asleep, be quiet” I whisper screamed at Morgan and they all smiled and chuckled at me as I delicately placed her on the couch and took a seat by her feet so that she could still feel me near her. The jet ride was short and by the time Y/N woke up on the jet-very confused and slightly angry that I did all of that while she was asleep- we had arrived at the police station. We only spent a few minutes there however because Hotch sent us all out into the neighborhood to do group canvassing. I was paired up with Morgan but Y/N and Emily were on the same street, canvasing the other side so that every house was covered. Morgan walked a little behind me as I walked up onto the porch of a white house and knocked at the door. I heard Morgan say something behind me and I turned the handle of the door. Suddenly as if in slow motion I realized what he had said and pushed him backwards only a moment too late.

Y/N~

Emily and I were in the living room of the house across from Spencer and Morgan when we heard the explosion. The thing about explosions like this is that the sound becomes very distorted and is almost impossible to tell where it has come from unless you wait for the rubble to clear. When you enter the academy everyone has to go through bomb training. We all get a little bit of it even if the field we are going into doesn’t deal with them often. They always tell you in those workshops to pay attention more to what you see than what you hear, especially if you are close to, or within range of the bomb. The thing is, neither of my senses would help me. The only sound I could hear was my own scream as I ran toward Spencer, and the only thing I could see was Emily as she jumped in front of me, preventing me from leaving the house.

“Emily you need to let me go!” I screamed at her and fought against her arms.

“Look at me! Look at me! You know we can't go out there! We have to wait! We have to wait!” I knew she was right but Spencer was out there. If I didn't know where he was, if I didn't know where the bomb was, how was i supposed to stay put. I continued to fight against her as she held me back in the doorway.

“Spencer! No Emily let me go! Spencer!” my screams only got louder as she held me back with a horrified look in her eyes. Eventually we heard the sirens. When they stopped, signifying that they had arrived, Emily finally let go of me, allowing me to spring out of her hold and throw open the door in front of me. Only I wish I hadn't. I wish she had held on for a minute longer. What I saw when I opened that door was exactly the worst I could have imagined. I saw Derek, bleeding and stumbling around in the wreckage. But worst of all I saw the firemen and medics pulling Spencer’s limp body out from the rubble. Emily stood beside me as I realized I had stopped moving. She called out to Derek and ran to him as the medics took Spencer into an ambulance. I unfroze myself and ran towards where they were taking him only to be stopped again by Emily.

“Emily, I need to be with him!” I had tunnel vision and felt myself diving into panic. Derek walked beside me with a limp and looked me in the eyes with an expression I had never seen on his face.

“Y/N, you don't want to see him like that.” it was too late anyways. They had already started to drive away with him. I crumbled to the ground sobbing and ignored the blood on my hands and arms from the sharp glass digging into me. Emily sadly picked me up and walked me to a car. we drove towards Spencer in a haze and in that haze, I didn't even realize how I turned the new ring on my finger. Hoping. Praying that the man who gave it to me was still alive.

Spencer~

When I came to, all of my senses were altered. I don't really know if I could call it being conscious other than the fact that there was a ringing in my head so intense I could feel pain. But that's really the only sense that was intact. I almost wish it wasn't. The pain was so bad it clouded all of my other senses and made them useless. I didn't know where I was or what had happened. All I knew was that I hurt, and I needed it to stop. The only thing that comforted me was that my thoughts never stopped. It's weird to have to focus on the fact that my mind was still working. But it was, at least in that one way. I could still order my thoughts. I could still picture things in my brain like the image of Y/N in that dress. Or that time last week when Emily brought in donuts and her face was covered in white powder. Or the other week when she went over to JJ’s house for dinner and she held Micheal the entire time on her lap so that JJ could eat. Rule #3 of how we keep sane while working together is that we never leave the other alone. I remember why we made this rule as I lay wherever I lay picturing her face on the night we made these three rules. It was the same night that I had told her about Tobias Hankle. It was the same night she told me about a time when she was alone as well. We both had trauma. We both knew what it felt like to be alone. Completely and utterly alone. Like there was no one in the world who would even notice that you were drowning. But she noticed. She saw me drowning and reached a hand out to pull me up. It's because of her that I’m alive today. Or am I? The thing about the brain is that It’s so complex that we don't really know what happens when someone is dead, or unconscious. When humans are awake we only use 10% of our brains. But the funny thing is, when we are unconscious there is 80-90% of our brain that becomes suddenly available. And yet somehow, with all of that extra brainpower, I still can only think of one thing. One person.

Y/N~

When The doctors finally came to find me heaving and sobbing in the waiting room, they turned to Emily and Derek before me. JJ was beside me, a hand on my back trying to translate to me what they were saying.

“He's out of surgery now, and we’re hopeful, but there was a lot of bleeding”

“When will he wake up?” Emily and Derek continued the conversation as I stayed shell shocked in my chair.

“Well- i’m sorry, is that his fiancé?” she stopped before answering the question and gestured over to me. Derek nodded and the doctor came over to me and knelt at my feet.

“I'm very sorry about what happened to him. I know that this can be hard to understand but-”

“You still haven't answered the question” I looked up with red and puffy eyes.

“I know this is hard, but we need you to understand that it's not about when it's about if.” She proceeded to try and explain to me the extent of the damage that was done to his brain but saw that clearly I was not interested in hearing it, so she turned back to a nurse and told them to take me to his room.

Spencer~

For days all I could do was hear. My eyes stayed shut and the pain continued. The ringing had started to subside just enough that I could even hear the quieter sounds from around the room I was in. Sometimes if Y/N fell asleep in the chair beside my bed I could hear her breathing, which calmed me. But mostly I heard her cries. The team came everyday, but she was the only one allowed to stay overnight. When they came at first they would try to cheer her up, bring her treats and coffee and attempt to convince her to eat something. But after about a week I think they started to lose faith in me. She didn't. She never did. The doctors and the team would come in and try to talk to her. They all tried to tell her that she needed to prepare herself. That maybe it was time. She never did. She fought for me. Every day. Today, the team came one by one, stopping by and trying to get her to eat, and leaving when she refused. She cried more than usual today, and I could feel her faith in me start to slip. But I also knew she wouldn't have to wait much longer. I knew a fair share of what was happening to me and I knew that once the ringing went away, more than likely I would wake up. And today, the ringing was barely a whisper. Out of nowhere it seemed she spoke to me.

“Spencer I love you.” With a shaky breath she continued.

“I need you to hear these vows just in case. Because even if you don't make it, I want you to know what I'm going to say on our wedding day, no matter how long I have to wait for it. The day that I told you my story I remember how quiet your apartment felt to me. For what felt like the first time in my life, the silence was because you listened. You held my hand and listened to me like no one ever had before. More than just listening to me, you believed me. When I showed you my scars you kissed each one of them and told me that I was beautiful. No one had ever done that before. For every problem that I helped you solve, you helped me solve ten, and I will be forever grateful that I got to see your beautiful mind first hand. The only regret that I have is that you've left me alone” her voice stopped and she placed her head on my chest before continuing.

“You promised me you would never leave my side”

Y/N~

I cried on his chest and paused before saying it again

“You promised me i would never be alone!” there was a moment of silence before his hand came up on my back and I froze.

“And you never will be”

~~~~~~~

#spencer reid fluff #spencer x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds

15 notes · View notes

autumn-foxfire · 1 year

Note

I am still stewing in my Touya feelings. It was such a mistake to re-read this, literally no wonder I tried to reject Dabi so hard as a character at first. This is agony. And unfortunately the best use of a villain I've read, especially with a flame ability. Hori seriously did his research into this. BEING BORN WITH EVERYTHING, he could've had *everything* but he also had those cracks…so much it could mean to me do not start- the expressions on his face are ruining me, he's so surprised to hear his voice, hoo boy I could really turn that into a projected headcanon, the trauma of not recognizing yourself, the fact that when removed from a toxic environment he's capable of being such a nice kid and so surprised by the world *screams* the self-awareness to be pained and hateful but still think "okay, maybe that wasn't the nicest thing to say, I should probably apologize" did. Did your parents ever apologize to you. No, but you'd have conflicted feelings over wanting it or being able to stand hearing it too, won't you?

Hoping for something that just couldn't be there, but still just really wanting to see some kind of change, the realization that he never mattered as much as he hoped because his family moved on, accepting him as a tragedy of the past when he was so much more, but nobody could see him so he fights to be seen now. The endless feeling of your heart pounding away, being so desperate not to die at first because it was horrible on so many levels for a kid so young who didn't get to live, who had so much to do and say and prove to his dad because dying with all that inside was unbearable, not having really existed was unbearable, being known as nothing but the one who had potential but just couldn't match it and others' ideas of you was…stop speaking all my nightmares-!!! the way he uses *that thing* to refer to Endeavor now because the term "dad" disgusts him, he can only use it mockingly if he ever were to, the mindset of "if I have to die for certain, then you're coming with me" because it's unbearable to suffer and become forgotten, to end everything that was you and have the one who did it to you, who never got to really know you still walk free towards a redeemed and better life "he can feel proud of?" As if Touya was just a blight on his life and he's overcome that and is doing better now and all his friends are saying, "good job."

Yeah, I can see why he's so angry. It may not be healthy, but I literally cannot expect otherwise or blame him for feeling that way. He's really like the manifestation of all my darker thoughts, I have so many feelings for this kid. I need to stop wrestling with his character trying to find ways to make him a simple villain without a heart that I can clown on because that isn't really true and it was peaceful when I could believe it, but now that I can't, fighting him is causing me more conflict than just accepting that he's me. It's so annoying, and this is all without touching his love of stars, the night, witty words and snark, poetically heavy speech, hanging by the water, tappy feet behavior, hating fish. Rei may not be my mom to the same extreme, but I can really run with what we're given and it's certainly not helping. Being the oldest…being told the importance of being the first-born, but then…the loss of your old self, who you could've been health-wise and physically…good grief, Hori are you stalking me, no? Too many of us with the same backstory, huh.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Because your asks are very long I've decided to break them up into three parts, I hope this okay with you, nonnie. I am so sorry it took me this long to get to your asks.

When I say Dabi doesn't care about the LOVs, everything you just described about his raw emotions are why I think that is.

Dabi is focused on himself because he's trying to avenge the boy he used to be, he never got to live the life he was promised by his father, he sat by and watched someone else get that life instead (deep down he knows what Shouto is undergoing is abuse and he knows that he should care however all he can see is how his life was taken from him in so many ways that he's blinding himself to his brother's hurt and only seeing his own).

Dabi is an easy villain to project upon because he's the product of parents who have failed him, of our darkest thoughts brought to life, he's selfish and cruel because he's so human and he's hurting and he needs everyone who knew him to hurt too. His father, his family, his brother, everyone needs to see the life that was lost the day Touya burned on that peak. We all at one point want to lash out like that, to hurt everyone the way we've been hurt.

It's not cathartic though and we're shown that through Dabi, he's just burning and burning and nothing is helping fill that hole in his heart. It's a terrifying cycle and one that's hard to break.

#bnha #bnha dabi #thanks for the ask!!

5 notes · View notes

demonxlove · 3 years

Text

【character analysis ― douma】

✎ just wanna start this by saying this is sort of both an analysis but also my own personal portrayal on douma’s character based on what we see from canon, so it definitely has a lot of my own opinions on it. & and it also sort of shows how i plan to write him if/when i get requests for him. you don’t have to agree with any of my thoughts but ya know i wanted to share them since douma is my fave character!

✘ warnings before you read: cults, mental illnesses, mentions of death and trauma, especially childhood trauma (that partially stems from neglect) - also not so much a warning but this is very long and obviously contains manga spoilers.

⇢ let’s be completely honest here, douma is an extremely complex character. and while we know a lot about him, at the same time, it’s almost like we know barely anything. we don’t really know an extreme amount of what goes through his head, but it’s kind of just assumed he’s a completely emotionless character, usually stated to be a psychopath because of this.

⇢ i really, really urge anyone labeling a character with a mental illness to do research on it before even considering to use the term, i should mention. and it’s very important to mention mental illnesses are very different to how they effect each person. but from what i understand, both psychopaths and sociopaths (just in case that term gets thrown around too) feel emotions, just very differently to how someone not suffering from the mental illness does. now since i don’t have either illness i’m not gonna say douma is either one, as i personally don’t feel comfortable diagnosing characters with mental illnesses i don’t have or haven’t very clearly been stated they have in canon, but it’s very important to have a very clear understanding of those illnesses if you’re gonna say douma is one.

⇢ but regardless of how you see douma mental illness wise, i personally think he does have emotions, they’re just obviously not as clear as others due to his upbringing. and we do see he has emotions as a kid, shown very clearly by him crying due to everything these grown adults were piling on to him.

⇢ he’s very obviously upset. and why wouldn’t he be? to hear such things from adults day in and day out as a child, being expected to be the one to solve their problems? it’s stressful. it eventually leads up to what we see of his parents death. he’s not upset. he doesn’t really feel any sadness for the two. but that can be explained.

⇢ his parents never acted as parents to him. from the moment of his birth douma was just an object for them to create this cult. i don’t really know what they wanted from it: money? fame? who knows. but it doesn’t really matter. douma was just something for them to use in order to gain what they wanted. even if they did genuinely believe he was a special child, their actions sure didn’t show that. and while douma said that he felt sad they believed he was special, douma was a child. his parents had no reason to show their genuine intentions to him, so we’ll never really know what they thought. but as i said, they didn’t seem to care much how messed up he became as long their cult was in place. douma never had a chance to live a normal childhood, he was placed on a high pedestal from birth and never got to be child. never got to really understand things he should understand. he couldn’t understand actual genuine love from his parents or if he actually loved him. sure, he could feel things such as happiness and love and all of that, but if he did feel it, how could you ever expect him to know? he was in such a constant horrible state, how would he ever know how positive emotions even felt?

⇢ to go back to his parents deaths for a second, even if he didn’t feel anything, it didn’t mean it didn’t cause him any suffering. he was a child, that sort of thing you don’t come out from without trauma. especially since he saw it happened with own eyes. and that probably significantly worsened his already poor mental state. but that also means he was raised from that moment by the cult, and his chance of every coming out okay was straight up zero. let’s be real, the only reason douma has any sort of hold over the cult is because he is their object of worship. they didn’t treat him like a child or even a human being. he was nothing more than someone for them to worship and believe in that they would be blessed. of course, it’s a cult, so most of these people are victims much like douma himself, but the fact there had to be people at the top that were raising him and used him to accomplish their own goals. to use his influence as they saw fit.

⇢ and it was never ending cycle, he never got out of it. all he did was learn to keep the cycle going since he couldn’t simply just leave. and maybe there were moments where he thought himself to be happy due to having so many people worship him, but it wasn’t true happiness.

⇢ maybe the first bit of happiness he got was from being a demon and getting to interact with other demons? unclear since it’s not like we really saw it. but it was different. it was a small crack in the cycle. but those demons all ended up hating him due to his attitude, that despite no one liking he still kept up. why? why didn’t he just act in a way to make others like him?

⇢ maybe it’s a reach, but to me personally, it’s a mixture of how he desired to be - carefree without any troubles - mixed with how he imagined a child to act. like i said, he had basically no childhood, and it’s not uncommon for those who never get to experience a proper childhood to act more childlike later on to my understanding. he even uses terms like “bully” to describe people much like a child would.

⇢ however, this brings me to what i truly believe was one of the few happy times in douma’s life: kotoha.

⇢ i don’t think he realized it himself, because why would he? but he cared for a lot more than one would believe capable for him. i’m not sure if i would call it romantic or purely platonic, but kotoha was genuinely important to him. i mean, what purpose would he ever have to say he didn��t plan to hurt her? he wanted to keep that small bit of happiness in his life, maybe in somewhere deep in his heart he even believed they could be their own happy little family to break this never ending tragic cycle he went through.

⇢ but he lost that happiness. she grew scared of him and basically hated him in his eyes upon finding out the truth. and the cycle of tragedy continued once again.

⇢ and to really come to my last point: we’ve seen douma mad.

⇢ and i suppose some could write this scene off as him continuing to be emotionless, but it doesn’t explain the way it’s drawn. the shading on his face that is usually used to show anger. or why he would ever really care about what kanao said in the first place if it was actually true and it didn’t hurt him in some way. the reality is douma does many things that can’t be explained for someone who supposedly has no emotions. and a lot of these details about his character are more subtle, so maybe they mean nothing at all at the end of the day, but in my personal opinion this is how i interpret them.

✎ but that’s really how i see douma, another demon with an extremely tragic story, but one that doesn’t come to light just how tragic until you think more on it. and that is how i do plan to portray him when writing for him personally! maybe i’ll do this more for other characters at some point, but he was the one i wanted to talk about the most since i just have so many thoughts on douma.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #douma #kny #kny douma #doma #kny doma #demon slayer douma #demon slayer doma #character analysis #demon slayer spoilers #kny spoilers

224 notes · View notes

elfy-elf-imagines · 3 years

Text

Begin Again | Thranduil

Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

Genre: Fluffy new beginnings

Warnings: ---

Words: ~2k

Note: If you’d like to be added to a tag list for any of my works, there’s a link on my page 💕 Also, I’m big dummy and lost the original request, so I couldn’t remember what all you wanted in this one-shot. So requester, whoever you are, I’m so sorry! And if you’d like another part to expand on your full request, please let me know!

It’s strange.

You’re whole life, you’ve always heard about how horrible it is for an elf to lose the one they love. It’s been described as feeling as though you’ve been ripped into two pieces, forced to live on without your second half. You’ve heard it feels like tiny needles stabbing into your heart until you can’t feel anything but a stifling anguish that seeps into your bones, poisoning your body from within until you eventually fade away.

Yet you feel none of that. You feel nothing at all, like a soul wandering aimlessly for the rest of eternity, cursed with never finding a purpose or reason to stick around. But being forced to endure, none-the-less. You can sail, as an elf that’s your right, and perhaps you would find peace, wrapped in the warm embrace of Valinor as you forget all your fears and pain.

But you don’t want to be happy, because being happy means you forget, and you're not ready to forget your beloved yet.

The forest floor beneath you is damp from the rain that blessed Eryn Galen a few days ago. The mud sinks in between your toes as you nearly melt into the soft ground. The forest around you is lush and green, wrapping you in its warm embrace that allows for a moment of respite from your thoughts.

The forest is empty, only the gentle sway of the trees and emerald leaves falling to the ground your company. You stare up at the sky that peaks through the canopy of leaves, the stars are out tonight and they burn brighter than you’ve ever seen them. And you wished to climb to the tops of the trees if only to feel the soft glow of moonlight on your skin.

But that would be a foolish thing to do, a whimsy only a child would fulfill. So you simply stand in the clearing, selfishly hoarding the only spot you’ve discovered that the sky is visible.

You thought yourself alone, something you covet more often than not.

And yet.

“Forgive me, I did not realize this spot was currently occupied,” a baritone voice sounds behind you.

Your heart pounds against your chest, the owner of the voice easily recognizable through your deep daydreams. Whirling around quicker than you’ve ever moved, you see King Thranduil standing at the edge of the clearing. He’s lacking the usual extravagant attire he usually dons, instead opting for a slightly more casual outfit. But he still wears clothes that could’ve been woven from silver and gold, the cloth glittering in the dim light.

“My king,” you say, immediately bowing your head down in respect, thoroughly inspecting your dirtied feet. “I will take my leave.”

“There is no need, it was I who interrupted you,” he moves further into the clearing and closer to you. His movements are smooth like a cat, his icy blue eyes lazily focusing on you.

“Yet you are the king,” you reply, voice hardly above a whisper.

King Thranduil is an intimidating figure, anyone within five feet of him would agree. Not in the way that lady Galadriel of Lothlorien is - her power so great you can’t help but feel suffocated, yet it is her kind smile that soothes even the most skittish. Lord Elrond carries himself with a warm presence, like a father he is kind and caring, but stern as well.

No, King Thranduil carries a sense of tragedy with him that can’t be masked by his cold eyes or looming figure. He is the shining example of how horrible things could get for an elf when their other half passes. So far gone is he, they whisper, that not even his son can pull him from his melancholy.

“Then as king, I order you to stay. It would be nice to have some company,” he responds, leaving no room for argument. So you nod your head in agreeance, but keep your head lowered, tracing every speck of mud covering your toes.

“Would you not even look at your monarch?” he asks, but his voice isn’t laced with anger or malice and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think there’s a hint of humor in it.

“I apologize, My King,” you say, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes meet his and for a second, you jolt, a sensation filling your body, something you haven’t felt in years.

“I have never seen you before. How have I never seen you?” he questions, thick brows furrowing in frustration and confusion, but his eyes remain locked on you, as do yours.

“Y/N, My King. I just arrived here a few moons ago from the Lorien,” you respond. He says nothing for a few moments, keeping his intense gaze locked on you. And for a brief second, you swear that he could read each and every thought that passes your brain, that’s he seen every memory you have.

“Well then, allow me to formally welcome you to Eryn Galen, Lady Y/N. Tell me how have you found my kingdom, thus far?” he asks, sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture as he welcomes you.

“It is very beautiful, My King. The trees are so tall and the leaves so green,” you say, glancing up towards the sky, enraptured by the emerald canopy above you.

“Do they not have trees this tall in the Lorien? I was under the impression their forest was quite beautiful,” he replies, sharp eyes locked on you.

“They do but not quite like here. Do not misunderstand me, the Lorien possesses great beauty, the mallorn tree is magnificent to look upon, but Eryn Galen offers a different beauty. I find myself in great need of change these days, it would seem.”

“Perhaps one day you could humor me and tell me of what would need to warrant such a drastic change?” You turn to look at him, meeting his steely gaze, and he raises a single eyebrow at you. However before you can open your mouth to speak, he turns and leaves. Leaving you behind in the small clearing, and for a moment, your heart starts fluttering in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

And you turn back around, watching the leaves dance through the sky, free from the confining grasp of the branches. A small smile rests on your face, losing yourself in daydreams you never thought you’d see again.

“Lady Y/N, how lovely of you to join me,” King Thranduil's voice is crisp and clear, perfectly projecting across the large room. He sits languidly at a chair, carved from wood with delicate engraving dancing on the tops of them. A glass of wine in one hand and the other slung over the top of his chair, he is the picture of ease.

“It is my pleasure to join you, My King,” you reply, lowering your gaze to the floor once he meets yours. With slow and tentative steps, you move towards the open space to his right, where a glass of wine already poured. Your heart is racing, sweat building up in the palms of your hands as you open and close them. What feels like a lifetime later, you reach the chair, a guard so still he could’ve been a statue, pulling it out for you as you sit in it.

“Thank you,” you quietly say as the guard pushes your chair forward.

“Please, leave us” Thranduil’s voice is commanding and firm, not allowing any room for questions he does not wish to answer. Silently and quickly, every guard in the room filters out. And as their light footsteps disappear, you and Thranduil are left in the room...alone.

A small burst of courage surges through you, your gaze leaving the fine china it was tracing over and over again to meet his gaze. His eyes are just as icy blue as you remember, but somehow they seem softer than they had been in the forest. Or perhaps the light is playing tricks on you.

Everyone knows that elves only truly love once.

Your mouth is dry, nerves suddenly overtaking you. What are you supposed to say; to do? You’ve never spent much time in the presence of royalty, often preferring to stay in the shadows, content with a simple life. Yet fate seems to have other plans for you. Or is this just simply Thranduil, and the gods have nothing to do with his intentions - whatever they may be?

“Do not be so nervous. Please, drink. The food will be ready momentarily,” Thranduil says, motioning towards you with a wine goblet in hand. You nod, still silent as ever.

With a shaky, damp hand, you reach towards your wine goblet, grasping the cold metal in your warm hands. Taking a deep breath, you pick it up, bringing it towards your lips. The wine is smooth as it pours down your throat, cool and soothing to the dessert inside your mouth. It’s slightly sweet, not at all holding the bitter aftertaste the wine of Man possesses.

You set the glass down, turning your attention to Thranduil. He watches you with sharp eyes, an expectant look on his face.

“It is very good, Your Grace,” you mutter, and in exchange for speaking so quietly, you manage to keep your voice steady.

“Excellent.”

You smile, and it’s all nerves and anxiety, closely resembling a grimace rather than a beaming grin. Your heart is fierce against your chest, and you fear in that moment he will hear it. But if he does, he doesn’t comment on it.

“If I may be so bold, Your Grace, might I enquire as to why you’ve called me here?” Your voice is louder this time, but there’s a slight waver towards the end, betraying everything you feel.

He’s silent for a moment as if he’s gathering his thoughts, figuring out a way to deliver whatever is running in his mind. You nearly crack, the apology for overstepping your boundaries on the tip of your tongue when he finally speaks.

"Am I not allowed to simply get to know my subjects?" Thranduil asks, a sly smirk resting on his lips. He brings the goblet of wine to his lips, slowly sipping it. He lowers it slightly so that it rests just below his chin.

"Of course, but I suppose I'm just curious as to why you've invited me to a private meal with you. Am I correct to assume you don't do this with every one of your subjects?" you say, your eyes wide like a doe, with hands in your lap. Your fingers intertwine with each other, a way to distract you from the anxiety in you.

Thranduil continues to watch you, an unreadable expression in his ocean eyes. He inhales deeply, leaning farther back into his chair. After a few moments of silence, he opens his mouth.

“I find myself wanting to get to know you better. I find you intriguing.” Your mind turns blank, all sense and reason leaving it. For a moment you don’t believe you’ve heard him correctly, not grasping that a king would be so curious about you.

“I do not understand, what about me is so interesting? We’ve only met once, hardly having a full conversation,” you say. Your voice is firmer than before, drowning with disbelief.

“Then it would seem you’ve made an impression.”

You open your mouth, and then promptly close it, not sure how to proceed. Your heart is fluttering, though due to anxiety. Not this is something… different, a type of nervousness, but not due to fear. A light feeling that also leaves you light with giddiness and not weighed down by dread.

But it can’t be.

Elves only love once. Yet the mantra you’ve repeated over and over again seems to be losing its weight, the words no longer feeling as true as before.

“Would it be alright, if I were to get to know you better, My Lady?” he asks, his voice softer than before, his fair face still neutral, yet less austere than it had been the first time you met.

Elves only love once.

And yet.

“I would like that very much, Your Grace.” Your smile widens, less unsure than before, your eyes shining like starlight. The prospect of something new is exciting yet also terrifying at the same time. You should run and hide, fiercely guarding your already fragile heart like a dragon watches over its treasure hoard.

Elves only love once. And yet.

You push aside those fears, in favor of welcoming a chance at a new beginning.

And yet.

o0o0o

Tags:

#thranduil imagine #the hobbit imagine #thranduil #the hobbit #lord of the rings #thranduil x reader #the hobbit one shot #mirkwood elves #mirkwood imagine

403 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 3 years

Text

A Raw Heart - *Sensitive! READ THE WARNINGS!*

Summary: You tell Henry about the worst tragedy in your life.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 1,863

Rating: Mature - Serious Angst, Tragedy, Anguish, Grief, Loss, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Possible triggers

Inspiration: I’ve thought about this story for a long time, and it’s a bit personal.

Author’s Note: Read the Warnings!

You and Henry had been seeing each other for several months, having met at the auditions for Night Hunter. It was the first time Henry had been in your place, over for a nice night in, you left him in your living room long enough to get you both some wine. While you did that, Henry looked around, peeking at stuff, but not invading your privacy, checking out the books you had on your shelves and the photos you had on display around.

He noticed a small Russian doll-like thing on one of your shelves and picked it up, admiring it.

“Henry.” You called, standing on the other side of the room from him, stiff as a board. “Put it down.” You almost hissed at him. “Don't touch it.” You told him, trembling and your voice unsteady. “Please.” You added, your throat tight and tears threatening.

“I'm sorry.” Henry squeaked, putting it back where it was on the shelf. “I was just admiring it. It's really beautiful.” He babbled, nervously. “Where did you get it?” He asked, looking over at you and was caught off guard by the tears dripping down your face.

“It's my son.” You mumbled, struggling to gulp down your tears and emotions.

Henry blinked and his whole body jerked, shocked by your words. “What?” He pushed out, his own throat tight.

“Oh god.” You mewled, realizing what you had said. “Please, leave.” You whimpered, then rushed down the hall to your room, slamming the door behind you and barreling into your bathroom, to drop to your knees in front of the toilet bowl, wrenching violently into it.

Henry carefully opened your bedroom door, hearing your dry heaves, and followed the sound of it. “Hey.” He whispered, kneeling beside you and rubbing your back, his face showing his deep concern for you.

“I as-asked you t-to leave.” You wheezed, panting into the bowl, your heavy tears dripping into it.

“I know you did.” Henry sighed, still rubbing your back in a reassuring way. “But, I can't just leave you like this.” He said, getting up and finding a wash cloth hanging on the towel rack and ran it under the sink faucet. “I never meant to upset you.” He whispered, gently wiping the cool cloth over your temples, forehead and cheeks, even pressing it to the back of your neck for a moment.

“You didn't know.” You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Only a few people know what that is.”

Henry gulped, a pit in his stomach and bit his lip for a moment. “You said...” He took a deep breath. “You said, it was your son.” He said, chewing his bottom lip to bits.

“I did.” You whimpered, sitting down and pressing your back to the side of the cold tub. “When I was twenty, I was dating a guy, but we broke it off. Two months later, I found out I was pregnant with his baby. I told him and he wanted nothing to do with me, or the baby. Shocker of the century.” You chuckled, but whined at how sore your throat was.

“What happened?” Henry frowned, resting back against the vanity, and drawing his knees up.

“Well, I had the usual three options.” You sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Have the baby and give it up for adopting, keep him or the other option.” You said, glancing at him for a moment, to get the point across. “I wasn't going to the latter thing, wasn't something I could live with. So, over the next eight and a half months, I tossed back and forth between adoption or keeping him. I thought, just before labor happened, that I was going to put him up for adoption. I was twenty, still living at home and had a shit job. What life could I give him, a struggling mother and an absent father.”

You paused for a moment, lost in a memory.

“But, when I finally gave birth to him, and I saw him in all his bloody, messy and screaming glory, I was enamored by him. He was beautiful and perfect, but importantly, he was mine. My son. I made him.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “With a little help, I suppose. But, I made him, with my body, my blood and flesh, inside me for months. It was like, I already knew him and he already knew me.”

“Pals for the ages.”

You smiled and closed your eyes, tears dripping down your cheeks, as you recalled his little face, the warmth and weight of his teeny body in your arms, his smooth and downy skin against your chest. Hearing him coo at you, just before he latched onto your breast and fed, or how he squirmed as you bathed him. You would stay awake for hours, not caring how absolutely wrecked and exhausted you were from the day, to watch him sleep in the little cradle that attached you to the side of your bed. Remembering the first time he laughed, you blew a raspberry on his tummy as you changed his pamper and he became hysterical, filling your ears with that absolutely magical baby laugh, that no matter how horrible your day was going and how shitty you felt, you couldn't help but laugh along too; blowing more and more raspberries against his squirmy body and flailing arms and legs, his face bright with a face splitting grin.

“What happened?” Henry whispered, his voice weak and stomach clenching.

You choked suddenly as the horrible memory strangled you, like it had over the long years. “My boss made me work late one night, so I left him with my mother, she babysat him all the time, he was her first grand-baby and she was almost as wild about him as I was. I was a few hours into my shift, when my mom called, and I knew, instantly, something was wrong. She always called me before she put him to sleep, so I could talk to him and hear his little noises; and she had already done that.”

“Two hours before.”

“She had gone into check on him, and..” You froze, your breathing faltering and gripped the rug beneath you, tearing at it as your grief slammed into you. “He wasn't breathing and wouldn't respond. She called medical services, then called me, while they tried to save him.”

Henry's chin hit his chest, a tight bubble of grief in him. “I'm so sorry.” He whimpered, crushed for you, realizing what he had picked up was indeed your son, his urn. “I'm sorry.” He choked, moving over to you and hugging you against his body, letting you sob into his chest, soaking his shirt with your anguished tears, your heart splitting wails crushing him, like a factory of bricks.

“My boy.” You howled, clinging onto Henry, twisting your hands up in the back of his sweater. “My baby boy.”

“I know.” Henry choked and held you tight, tears dripping from his scruffy jaw and into your hair, rocking both of you. “I know, love. I know.”

“I miss him, Henry.” You sighed and sniffled, looking up at him. “I miss him, with every fiber of my soul and life.”

Henry smiled softly at you, brushing your hair out of your face. “I know you do, sweetheart. I know you do. But, he's still with you. He will always be with you, darling. In your heart and in your soul. Because you made him, with your body, your blood and your flesh, inside of you for months, and he's still in your body, blood and flesh, here and now, forever and always.” He told you, cupping your face in his shaking hands.

“Nothing and no one can ever take that, or him, from you. Even if he's not here with you, physically.”

You looked into Henry's baby blue, bloody shot and teary eyes, sucking your wobbling lip between your teeth, chin shaking as your body was wracked with a wave of new tears and emotions. No one had ever said something like that to you before. Everyone that knew about your son told you to move on, that the pain would pass and lessen, but it only grew worse over the years. Missing out on his first tooth coming in or losing one and sneaking money under his pillow for the tooth fairy, his first steps and word. His first day of school, his first crush on someone, watching him grow tall and do some many things you saw other kids doing. Your mother even suggested finding a guy and having another kid, but that thought horrified you, afraid that the same thing would happen all over again.

But, Henry's words had instilled something in your sore and cracked heart, like putting a plaster on it. He was right, your son might not be here physically anymore, but you had created him with your own body, nestled in your womb, his DNA was yours and it was still alive, so he was still alive, in that way.

“His name,” You said softly, letting go of your trembling lip. “was Julian.”

Henry smiled at you. “It's a beautiful name.” He replied, gently.

It was then, that it struck you, something you had only just realized as you shared a devastating, raw and such a personal moment that you have never shared with anyone else, or even talked about with the people that did, that you tried to avoid thinking about. You had freely given Henry the information about Julian, you had never told any of the guys you previously saw or dated, a few asked about the small, silver and blue urn, but you always changed the subject.

Why had you told Henry about him, so freely, letting down all the thick walls you had built around yourself over the years? You had known him for two months and been only four or five dates, but you felt safe with him; loved, understood and listened to.

Henry wrapped his arms around you and stood you both back up, guiding you back into the living room, sitting you down on the couch, then went into the kitchen, finding two glasses and two bottles of wine on the kitchen counter, obviously you had come into the living room as he picked up Julian's urn to ask which bottle he wanted. He just grabbed one, pulled the cork out of the neck and poured you both a glass, before bringing it out to you; sitting on the couch with you tucked into his warm and protective side. Neither of you said anything, sitting quietly on the couch, sipping your glasses of wine, in silence.

“Thank you.” You whispered, your voice still hoarse from all your crying. “I've been hanging onto that for so long.”

“Of course.” He whispered back, gently kissing your temple. “I'll always be here, if you need to talk it out, or cry it out.” He told you, giving you a tender expression, before hugging you snugly.

#Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #viking-raider fics #A Raw Heart #A Raw Heart *fic*#Hurt/Comfort #tragedy #Grief #Angst #Anguish #Loss #Henry Cavill/You #Henry Cavill/Reader #Henry Cavill x You #Henry cavill x reader #Walter Marshall #Marshall #Nomis #Night Hunter

216 notes · View notes

nevertheless-moving · 3 years

Text

Suicidal Misunderstanding Part VI - Star Wars Time Travel AU

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V

Anakin watched Obi-Wan through the stalks for several minutes. He could see him kneeling at the base of the waterfall, occasionally glancing around, as if searching for someone. Just when he was about to break and interrupt him, Obi-Wan stood and walked over. They sat together on the low bench, surrounded by the carefully cultivated colored fungi.

“Obi-Wan...maybe we should talk about what’s going on with you. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.” Anakin offered hesitantly.

Obi-Wan tensed, hands clenching in his lap.

“No.”

“Master Windu and Bant both seemed to think this isn’t a drug thing. Please, let-”

“That wasn’t what I was saying no to.”

Obi-Wan stood and began threading a path through the mushrooms, careful not to step on any of the smaller ones. Anakin was forced to follow directly in his footsteps, not wanting to risk damaging something Obi-Wan clearly seemed to care about, but wishing he could look at his Master’s face.

“Did I ever tell you about Bruck Chun?” Obi-Wan asked.

“No. Who’s Bruck?” Anakin responded with deliberate patience.

“He was an old crechemate of mine, quite gifted, though he had a temper. There have been times you remind me of him. We were rivals.” They were approaching the end of the alcove, a large stone overhang throwing them in to shadow.

“Were?”

“He died. When we were twelve.”

When they reached the rock face, Obi-Wan started climbing straight up. Anakin followed. Several clicks above the floor, Obi-Wan squeezed his way into a narrow crack, invisible from the floor below. Anakin followed. They awkwardly shuffled along the passage until Obi-Wan suddenly dropped out of sight. Anakin followed.

They landed in a hidden alcove. It was half lit by sunlight filtering in from cracks above, and half lit by the glow of mushrooms and crystals tenaciously embedded in the rock face around.

“Oh.” Anakin said softly. “Is this where you go when you visit the fountains to meditate?”

“No, I hadn’t been here in years.” Obi-Wan answered wistfully. “I started getting too big, didn’t want to damage the passageway too much. I figured some other younglings would stumble upon it someday like I did. I’m sorry. I avoided this room for the first year or two of your padawanship. By the time I even thought to share it, you had already grown so big...”

He sat down, legs stretched out in front. Anakin sat next to him, mirroring his position.

“I’m glad you’re sharing it with me now.” Anakin smiled reassuringly, but Obi-Wan was staring ahead blankly.

The young knight swallowed nervously. “Did you...come here with Bruck?”

Obi-Wan let out a snort. “Gods, no! I hid here from him. Before we were rivals, he bullied me relentlessly.”

“And...this is the guy you said I remind you of?” Was he being insulted?

“At times. Math lessons, saber practice, none of that ever came easy to me. But you and him...you never even needed to study. And you do have a vicious streak, Anakin.”

Rather than try to argue in vain against the slight hurt, Anakin just asked, “How did he die?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “He fell.”

Anakin jerked in surprise, “Wait, you mean-”

“We were fighting at the top of the waterfall- it- he had nearly killed Bant. He was angry that we both had been chosen by Masters, and Xanatos used that to manipulate him into helping with an attack on the temple. Bruck was lashing out. He was a better swordsmen, but his anger made him unbalanced. I knocked him back. And he fell. I’ve forgotten a lot of details about him as a person, but I still remember his body at the bottom of the falls.”

"That’s...awful. I’m sorry.” Anakin said helplessly. He had known the bare basics of Xanatos’s fall, but clearly not the full story.

Obi-Wan sighed, leaning slightly to press their shoulders together. Anakin scootched over to try and provide a little extra silent comfort.

“I thought I had learned to live with my guilt over my part in what happened to him, but I suppose recent events have torn open old scars, so to speak.”

Anakin held his breath, Obi-Wan didn’t add anything else.

“Obi-Wan” he tried to nudge gently.

“Hmm?”

Anakin lost his patience, jumping up. “Master, please!” He half yelled, looming over his Master. A flash of fear crossed Obi-Wan’s expression as he looked up, which immediately halted the fit of rage.

He knelt down penitently, “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, I shouldn’t have yelled, but please, let me help. I won’t get mad like that again, I swear. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“You’re not.” Obi-Wan whispered, expression blank. He shuddered all over, fists clenching tightly.

“You’re NOT here for me!” Obi-Wan shouted, suddenly offended. “How can you POSSIBLY claim to be there for anyone after what you-” Obi-Wan seemed to choke on the words. He let out a strangled cry and pulled his knees up to his chest. Tears welled, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Anakin stared wide-eyed, cold all over. “This...this is about something I did. I don’t understand. You... told me a few hours that I’m dear to you, what...what could I have done since then to make you...I don’t understand.”

“You know what you did.” Obi-Wan let out. “And the fact that learning about it didn’t stop me from caring about you doesn’t help, it just makes the heartbreak a thousand times more painful.”

Anakin racked his brain wildly. This couldn’t be about his marriage with Padme, right? He told him this morning that he didn’t mind the sneaking off. There was only one screw-up big enough that could possibly warrant this severe a reaction, and only two people alive knew about that, both sworn to secrecy.

“The younglings,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You - you didn’t even spare the younglings.” Obi-wan looked gutted, terrified.

Anakin felt like he had been dropped in ice water. This was- this was his worst fear- that Obi-Wan would learn about his darkest failing as a Jedi and be ashamed of him, angry at him, would abandon him. He had already made his judgement. How could he have even learned about about the Tuskens?

“Padme-” he breathed out. “Padme told-”

“No!” Obi-Wan denied desperately, lurching forward. “Padme would never betray you! I would never betray you! We both love you, Anakin. Please, some part of you must know that! You must!”

His master seemed frantic, fingernails digging painfully into Anakin’s arm.

“You love me?” Anakin asked brokenly, heart cracked open.

Obi-Wan let go of Anakin to curl in on himself again. He seemed very small. It hurt to look at.

“I think its safe to say at this point that there’s nothing you could, no betrayal or atrocity you could commit that would make me stop loving you. Despite what you’ve done, you’re my brother, my son- of course I love you. The fact that I led you to doubt my love for you might be my greatest failing, though there are so many its hard to really say.” Obi-Wan sounded utterly defeated.

Anakin’s heart was pounding. This was a nightmare and a childhood dream. Obi-Wan loved him unconditionally, but he knew about his slaughter of the Tusken's and was ashamed. This couldn’t be real. He can’t know.

“Palpatine-” Anakin tried to ask.

Obi-Wan growled. “I do not need to talk about how that power-hungry liar systematically worked to tear us apart. I want to know why you would-” he cut himself off again.

Palpatine told Obi-Wan- that was more than he could even begin to process.

"I’m sorry, Master. I’m so sorry for failing you.” The words came desperately tumbling out, “I was just- I was so angry about my mom’s death and-”

“Your mother’s death? You killed innocent children for the sake of your Mother?! I don’t- how could anyone possibly rationalize-” Obi-Wan hissed out, truly angry for the first time that day. He took a deep breath and pulled himself upright.

“Your mother’s death was a terrible tragedy and I will forever regret my role in it. I should have tried harder to free her, for her own sake. I was so afraid that if I pushed for permission with the council they would think I was failing you, and they would take you from me. I made- so many decisions out of attachment, out of fear of losing you, and in the end I hurt you so badly you couldn’t trust me. You didn’t trust me with the truth of your visions, so I gave you bad advice born of misunderstanding, and your mother died horribly. I- I can see how you would blame the Jedi for that, even if its not rational. I certainly understand why you would blame me for that, why you would hate me because of her death.”

Obi-Wan scrubbed at his face mercilessly, practically tearing skin in his haste to wipe away snot and tears.

“But why, if you were getting revenge, would you kill the children and not me?” “Why couldn’t you just kill me and be satisfied?” He finally looked straight at Anakin, asking like it was a real question.

Anakin was horrified. After a few false starts he finally choked out, “Master, I love you. I told you, you’re the closest thing I have to a father. You’re the last person I could ever kill.”

“The last person you could ever kill,” Obi-Wan echoed back, looking pained.

“Please, Master, tell me how to fix this. I want to make things right. How can I fix things?” Anakin begged.

“That’s not a fair question. You can’t unmurder people. You can’t put them back together like a- an engine or a droid- ”

“There has to be something I can do to make you forgive me!” Anakin said desperately. “You can’t just tell me you love me and then say I’m an irredeemable monster!”

“Well that’s an entirely different matter, though no less cruel to think about.”

He leaned into Anakin’s side once more, the press providing a hint of warmth even in the unshakable cold. “Anakin, it isn’t very rational or fair of me, but it wouldn’t really take that much to get me to forgive you. Kriff, if you just acted sorry for what you had done.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“If you told me that you regretted the lives you took and swore you were going to stop murdering, force help me, I’d probably take you back in an instant. All I ever wanted was to help you be the best version of yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” Anakin said immediately. “I’m so, so sorry for what I did. I lost control of myself because I was scared, and angry, and suffering and, and then I was so scared that you would hate me that I pretended it was ok, and I told myself that they deserved to die, but how could children ever deserve to die and please Master I’ll throw away my lightsaber just please, please don’t leave me, I need you, please-” and the rest of the words dissolved into large, ugly sobs.

Obi-Wan keened and pulled Anakin into his lap like he was a child again. Anakin scrabbled at his cloak, desperately trying to hold on. The terrible chill that had been haunting him slowly started to fade away as he was rocked back and forth.

After a minute, Anakin got enough of a hold on himself to consider trying to stop blubbering like a crecheling on his Master’s robes. But he quickly realized that Obi-Wan was also crying, so instead threw his arms around the older man and let himself go.

An uncertain amount of time passed before they both slowed from heaving sobs, to dry hiccups, to quiet whimpers. Eventually they ended up laying in a heap, boneless but for their hold on each other. And finally, the cavern was more or less silent.

Anakin felt physically lighter, mind clear like he had just completed an extremely successful meditation session.

Without a word, they slowly shifted so they were leaning on the wall instead of sprawled on the ground. Obi-Wan pulled his robe off, first using it to wipe his face, then tenderly cleaning his Padwan’s.

Anakin just chuckled.

Obi-Wan threw the robe so it covered the two of them, which was a little gross, but that only made Anakin snort giddily.

They sat there peacefully for sometime. The shadows from above started shifting, and Obi-Wan sighed, “I really should go eat something.”

Anakin sighed back at him in agreement. They both stretched in the small space, joints popping.

“Do you need to walk through the rest of the gardens first?” Anakin asked.

“No,” Obi-Wan replied, tenderly fussing with his kid’s hair and robes so they looked presentable. “This was...more than I could have hoped for.”

Anakin beamed, giving Obi-Wan one last quick hug before gesturing upwards. “Time to get back to the real world?” he joked with a hint of regret.

“Time to get back to the real world.” Obi-Wan repeated heavily.

Part VII

#star wars #star wars au #my au #time travel #suicidal misunderstanding au #Its about the DOUBLE MEANINGS in every conversation #Its about not Understanding because UNEXPECTED TIME TRAVEL is involved but also they’re idiots #obi wan gets a hug #fanfic #star wars au no 27 #why anakin #just why

259 notes · View notes

myfearless-love · 3 years

Text

The Wildest Place You Run (4/?) - It Was Awfully Dark

Another addition to this story that I hope you like! Thanks again for my beta, @thejollyroger-writer for the amazing beta work! Also, check out the beautiful art she made for chapters 3 and 4!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 4/? - It Was Awfully Dark

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~4.1k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2 II Ch 3

TW for this chapter: Graphic depictions of violence

"So, what was that all about last night?" Mary Margaret watched disapprovingly as David grabbed five sandwiches off the tray and thoroughly drizzled the tablecloth with mayonnaise.

"Some patrolling Mages reported that a small group of Vampires were fighting next to a club. They called us in to check it out," David shrugged. "But the Vampires left as soon as we arrived. Some humans, on the other hand, couldn't behave and started shooting."

"They didn't realize we were just trying to protect them," Leo rolled his eyes.

"That's it?" Emma raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," David nodded. "By the way, the guys are coming over for a little party. Now that Leo's out of the hospital, we need to celebrate."

"Great," Emma sighed, mentally canceling her plans to read her favorite book in peace tonight. "Who's coming?"

"Well, Leo obviously, Robin, Ruby, August…"

"August?" her eyes lit up because August was the only person besides Mary Margaret with whom she could talk relatively freely.

"Oh, yeah," David nodded enthusiastically, and Emma could see the tiny little smile hiding at the corner of his mouth.

He was convinced that she had a crush on August and he would be the one to replace Neal. Then she would be her old self again as if nothing had happened. But there was nothing between them at all, she wasn't attracted to the man. He was just a good friend that she really needed now. Nothing more.

"Eloise, Will, and Killian will be coming too…" David listed, but Emma was no longer listening.

-/-

She spent most of her day, as usual, huddled up in her room. The whole situation with the creatures got weirder and weirder. The open attacks almost completely ceased after Neal's death, but still, no one could live in complete peace. They all felt that something was very wrong, and they were also sure that the creatures had not quenched their bloodthirst. They were preparing for something, and Emma and the others had no idea what they should do.

She just lay motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling as her thoughts chased each other in her head. Her eyelids slowly grew heavy as lead, and the monotonous ticking of the wall clock soon lulled her into a deep sleep.

She woke up in a musty basement, her face resting on dirty stones. It was difficult to bring herself to a sitting position. Moss grew on the walls of the basement and water stood in puddles on the damp floor. To make matters worse, it was freakishly cold. Her breath wafted white in the semi-darkness.

The bumpy, cobblestone corridor was lit pale silver by the waning crescent moon. Above her head, instead of a proper ceiling, there were only grids dripping with rainwater between the walls.

She was shocked to realize she was wearing nothing but her favorite red satin shorts and a black tank top. Confused, she scrambled to her feet, her legs covered in dirt. She seemed to be standing at the end of a long corridor. The double-iron door that loomed behind her was locked with a chain and padlock, so there was no turning back...

The hallway opened into a single cell. The room was lit by torches, and in the dancing light of the flames, she spotted rusty chains attached to the wall.

A figure crouched in the middle of the tiny dungeon, tremors running through their body.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized it was Killian. His black shirt hung on him in tatters, he was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. Standing next to him was none other than David and Neal.

Eyes widening, she stared at Neal. Was he alive after all? How was that possible? Her heart flooded with warmth, but as she got closer to the two of them, she stopped, horrified and confused. Killian's wounds were visibly severe and he was shaking like a leaf. David and Neal, on the other hand, didn't even lift a finger to help him. They watched Killian with deep disgust and hatred on their faces.

"And how long have you been doing this? Since the beginning, huh? Is that right?" David roared as loud as he could, he was shaking with rage and the veins on his neck, as well as his temples, were visibly swollen.

Without any warning, they both attacked Killian. They punched and kicked where they could, not even sparing his head.

"How do you like that, you bastard? How could you?"

Emma had perhaps never seen David so rave with fury before. But with Neal, she was even more shocked. Her feet were rooted to the floor, and not a single voice came out of her compressed lips.

What the hell had gotten into him?

He'd never been so cruel before.

As the soles of Neal's shoes stung Killian's stomach again, life returned to her feet. "Neal, stop it! Don't hurt him!" She was about to grab his arm to pull him away, but her fingers slid over Neal's body as if he were nothing but air.

Stunned, she stared at her hand, which shone translucently with pearly light. Apparently, she had no physical body, nor was her voice audible. She was completely invisible to them, an idle observer of events.

Killian fell onto his side, half-consciously, blood dripping from his ears, nose, and mouth as well. The ground around him was completely black, and she slowly realized that it was Killian's blood as well. Dried blood. She turned her head to the side and pressed her hand to her eyes.

What the hell was going on?

Suddenly she heard a loud, sickening crack, then Killian's gut-wrenching scream. When she looked back at him, she already knew what had happened. Open fracture of the femur. Killian's eyes widened in horror, gasping for air as his spine writhed in agony.

She shuddered in shock and fear.

"Emma! Come on, wake up!"

The air grew much warmer and her brother called her name. Suddenly she slipped into darkness and then her head cleared. She was lying on her bed, and David was shaking her not-so-gently by the shoulders.

"Let go of me!" she growled, trying to push his hands away from her. The image of Killian in the dungeon still floated before her eyes.

He didn't need to be told twice. David backed away from the bed and scanned her face anxiously. But he wasn't the only one in the room. Mary Margaret, Leo, and Robin also witnessed the whole show.

"Are you okay?" Mary Margaret settled on the edge of the bed. "You were screaming…"

"I'm not really surprised," Emma muttered, then sat up and buried her face in her hands. "It's okay, I just...had a bad dream, I think," she glanced up at the boys.

They took the hint immediately. As the door closed behind them, Mary Margaret looked at her with a frown.

"Are you sure it was just a dream? We thought you were awake and...having a seizure. Your eyes were open, Emma."

"It was so real. But it couldn't be a vision. It didn't make sense," she shook her head.

Besides, she had never had such a protracted vision before.

"Are you going to tell me what you saw?"

"Of course."

Emma tried to brace herself and collect her thoughts. She did her best not to miss a single moment of the dreamlike vision.

"Are you sure it was Neal? And David?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma answered with a firm nod.

"And Killian... Did they seriously torture him together?"

"Yes, but I already told you that," Emma moaned in exasperation. She didn't want to think about that part of her nightmare.

She hopped off the bed and started pacing in front of Mary Margaret.

"I'm sorry to say this, Emma, but it was definitely a vision," her friend explained. "I don't know what else it could be."

"Anything else! Neal… he's dead."

"Yes," Mary Margaret nodded sternly and grabbed her by the arm. She stopped her nervous pacing and turned Emma to face her. "I'm not so sure whether you actually saw him in your vision. You said yourself that it was awfully dark. I'd bet anything it wasn't him. Because if it's the past…" Mary Margaret bit her lower lip thoughtfully and a frown appeared on her forehead.

"Is it possible that I saw part of the past?" She repeated Mary Margaret's thought in astonishment. "We would've known about it." Emma shook her head.

"Yeah, that's why it doesn't make sense," Mary Margaret agreed. "If all this had happened, Killian wouldn't be here with us now…"

"So, what do you think?"

"I think you should get yourself together and freshen up, it's almost seven. The others will be here soon. I don't think you want to show up in front of everyone in this condition."

"Why not?" she shrugged, but obediently headed towards the bathroom anyway. This had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet.

-/-

People were already gathered in the living room when she came down the stairs. They were sitting around the coffee table playing cards. August, Eloise, and Killian were chatting a few feet away from the designated playing area.

She directed her steps straight to the talking squad.

Eloise noticed her first, and her pretty face immediately contorted into a grimace. Emma didn't like her, and the feeling was obviously mutual. Her shiny red air fell in huge waves to her shoulder, and as always, she was dressed head to toe in blue. She had even painted her nails a beautiful shade of aquamarine.

"Hey, guys!" Her mood was already a bit depressed when she spotted Eloise, but one glance at August brought a smile to her lips.

"Hello, stranger. It's been quite a while since we last saw each other," August took a step forward, right between Killian and Eloise.

He hugged her tightly and pressed his cheeks against hers.

He was a full-blooded Elf, he had turned one hundred and seventy years old last week, but he was still a novice, a mere adolescent of his kind. His slightly wavy, short brown hair hid most of his pointed ears, at least that didn't make him stand out on the streets. He wasn't noticeably tall; he was only four inches taller than her. His figure, however, was anything but frail. His muscular body was quite unusual among his kind. They didn't need the visual display though, they could easily throw vehicles across a road if they needed to.

"Yeah, I missed you, too," Emma remarked, a little annoyed as he let go of her and stepped back a bit.

"I'm really sorry. Please forgive me, I've been traveling a lot." He tilted his head cautiously, but she could see in his dark blue eyes that he didn't feel any guilt; in fact, he was quite amused by her annoyance.

Time passed quite differently for him.

"You all know each other already?" Emma looked at the three of them, but her eyes involuntarily lingered on Killian, even though she had prepared herself upstairs not to stare at him at this party.

It was silly, but she was looking for wounds on his body. Or traces of them. In the end, her gaze fell on his thigh. That, of course, seemed to be completely intact, as did all of Killian's other body parts.

Killian, on the other hand, noticed her gaze, and he failed to mask the surprise on his face in time. Emma felt her cheeks redden and looked back up at August again.

"Actually, we just met," the Elf replied, clasping his hands politely behind his back.

"I thought you wouldn't be here," Eloise remarked, fixing her eyes on the opposite wall as if she found the deep green, serpentine-patterned wallpaper extremely interesting.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see August's face twitch slightly. He always found it difficult to tolerate unwarranted hostility.

"Why wouldn't I be here? I thought you knew I lived here, in this apartment. Does my presence bother you that much?"

She was tired of being polite, tired of being kind to her. Her gaze glowed with anger as she raised it to Eloise. The woman had tried to seduce Neal more than once, in increasingly insidious ways over the years, but to her utter disappointment, she had never succeeded. And that irked her to no end.

Now she seemed to be trying to ensnare one of the boys as well.

"I think a bit of fresh air would do us good. Emma, would you like to go for a walk?" August asked.

"That would be great, actually," she forced out through her clenched teeth and headed toward the hallway with August on her heels.

On the way out, Emma's gaze floated to David's face, and she almost let out a laugh. His expression was overwhelmed with hope that she would soon throw herself into August's arms.

"Where did that red-haired bitch come from?" August asked with an unflinching expression as they walked to the edge of the woods behind the house.

Her heart leapt in her chest, for Emma had never heard him use the word "bitch," though he was already unfortunate enough to know a few.

"I heard her thoughts, saw her memories… it was simply stomach-churning," he explained at the sight of her stunned expression.

The fact that he could see into Eloise's head so easily meant that she was truly as blunt-witted as she seemed. He was still very young for an Elf, and at the moment, he could only peer into the minds of individuals with more modest intellectual abilities. Emma kept asking him if he could hear her thoughts and see her memories, but he replied in the negative every time. She didn't know if he was telling the truth, but she hoped he wasn't lying to her out of pity.

"And where have you been for so long? I really missed you."

"The Guild sent me to France. The situation there is pretty depressing, too. The open street clashes stopped there just as suddenly as they have here. I don't understand it either," he shook his head. "But there's little we can do about it anyway. I'd be more interested in how you survived this month without me."

"I did nothing, as usual," Emma shrugged.

"Nothing worth mentioning again?" he raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval.

"You know I would tell you otherwise. It was unnecessary to even ask."

"I didn't know that man you were dating, but I have to admit, you're making me more and more curious. What was it about him that left such a deep impression on you?" he asked, the question directed more at himself than her.

She wouldn't have had the strength to answer him anyway. Instead, she told him about her dream-slash-vision. She was genuinely curious about his opinion.

"Strange," he muttered, staring thoughtfully ahead for a few minutes. "It can't be a vision since the man you were seeing is already dead. It can't be from the past, either, because then you'd surely know about it and this Killian guy wouldn't be here now. It's rather annoying, but I have to admit; I have no idea what it could be."

"I see."

Of course, she was disappointed; she was very confident that August would shed some light on what was going on.

"But I would appreciate it if you could tell me more about this Killian. When did he join the Hunters?" His eyes twinkled with eagerness and curiously, obviously excited about what he knew so little about.

"About two or three months ago," she answered, tossing a branch from the path.

"He is rather strange," August remarked.

Emma understood, he wanted to know more about Killian. "To be honest, I know very little about him. His magic is pretty strong, and apparently, there were Elves among his ancestors."

"Elves?" he frowned and shook his head imperceptibly. "Strange. I didn't sense that in his aura, though I should have…"

"I don't know from which side of his parents and how many generations back," she added hastily. "Maybe it's just a distant relative, that's why you couldn't sense it."

"It's possible," he nodded, but she could see he wasn't entirely convinced. "He's also quite taciturn," August continued, and Emma realized with a weary sigh that he wasn't going to give up on the subject of Killian.

He was as stubborn as a mule.

"Why do you worry so much about him?"

"His aura…" he shuddered as he thought back to their encounter. "It's even darker than yours."

"Darker? What's that supposed to mean? You never said mine was…" she paused.

August reluctantly came to a stop beside her and turned to face her. "Usually, the aura of people with a dark past, an evil personality, or dying individuals turns black. But it also happens when someone has gone through a terrible trauma or grief and can't get over it. General malaise, depression. Such people are usually very lonely, in some cases even antisocial," August replied.

Emma knew exactly what best described her of the things listed, but she had no idea about Killian. She couldn't really decide. Apparently, neither could August, and she could see that it bothered him.

"But… since when can you see the aura of Mages so clearly? Until now, I thought you could only do that with humans."

"My abilities are getting stronger," he smiled, visibly proud of himself. "Anyway, I feel sorry for the boy. I'm not sure why, but when I'm around him, the feeling just floods over me."

"I get it. I mean, I really don't, but that's probably my problem. Anyway, I think we should get back soon, I don't want David to get the wrong idea…"

"Yes, let's," August smiled and they both turned towards the house.

-/-

Meanwhile, in the living room, people at the coffee table got bored with playing cards and were discussing where to continue the party. The Hunters, of course, weren't bound by the curfew, they could go wherever they wanted.

Emma cut across the hall and marched straight to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. But unfortunately, David was already leaning against the refrigerator.

"Well? What's up with August, Ems?" It probably wouldn't have been possible to scrape the taunting grin off his face.

"Thank you, he's fine," Emma replied measuredly.

She was beginning to get rather annoyed at his behavior. She had decided long ago never to let anyone get close to her heart again, certainly not another Hunter she could easily lose.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, and so does August. But we both just laugh at your attempts. We're friends, that's all. We've even talked about it a few times, if I remember correctly," she stared fixedly at David's face, whose good mood was disappearing like a gray donkey in a fog, and his bleak expression didn't make her feel better.

"And how long do you plan on doing this, huh?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything you could object to!"

"But you do! You drive everyone crazy with this world-weary widow behavior! You act as if nothing matters to you anymore!"

"Maybe it doesn't!" she began to lose her patience and she, too, raised her voice.

"You're not even trying to get over him. You're just… you're just a… selfish, stupid girl! You only think about yourself!"

The hot tea she was pouring into her mug flew straight into David's face. She didn't think he had any idea how much his words hurt her.

David let out a yell, and as if on cue, August stepped into the kitchen. He was astonishingly angry; Emma had probably never seen him in such a state before. If he could have killed with a single look, David would have collapsed dead on the floor.

"The others are getting ready to go to the Witchland Club. You better hurry up and change into something dry before they leave." August's voice was low, but his temper sounded undisguised.

He was one of the few people David never argued with. Without a single word, he left the kitchen.

She shivered all over and turned away from August bitterly. That was when she noticed the figure leaning against the counter at the other end of the kitchen. Killian. He could have seen the whole thing. He had a mug of something in his hand and was watching August and her with a stunned expression. He muttered something under his breath that Emma couldn't make out and shuffled out of the kitchen, leaving them alone.

"Are you okay?" August put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him, concern written all over his face.

"No… David is right. I'm selfish."

"You're not. If anyone's selfish, it's David. He has no idea what you're going through. He doesn't understand that the wounds of the human soul heal over time, not through violence and feigned negligence. Your pain will pass, I promise you. I'm not saying it will happen tomorrow, but it will take effect soon. David is also trying to protect his own soul, it's hard for him to see you like this. We can't blame him either."

She couldn't think of a reply, just watched the tiny drops of the tea on the floor. And then August did what he never usually did apart during greetings. He hugged her. Emma blinked in surprise for a while, then returned the gesture uncertainly.

"I don't understand you. Why do you care about me?" she asked, lips pulled into a smile.

"I have a few special quirks. You count as one of them," he winked at her.

"I need a serious answer, though," she insisted.

"I like you. You're a good friend of mine. I knew you before Neal died, and I wish you were like that again…"

"August…" she turned her head and broke away from his embrace.

"You asked, I answered," he shrugged.

"We're leaving now! Hurry up, guys!" Leo stuck his head into the kitchen.

"I'd rather stay home tonight, if that's all right," Emma replied.

"Me too," August nodded.

"Too bad," Leo said and walked back out of the kitchen.

Emma walked into the living room, August behind her.

"Come on, Killian! You better come with us!" Eloise urged him relentlessly.

"I'd rather go home," Killian shook his head.

"Let him! Once he makes up his mind, there's no changing it," Robin waved it off and followed David and Will out of the apartment.

Ruby shrugged and made her way to the exit as well. She was still limping a little, but otherwise, she seemed fine.

"You could stay here, too," Emma only saw a blur of gray as August slid next to Killian.

He smiled charmingly at Killian, and Emma knew immediately what he wanted. He was curious about Killian, there were too many secrets around him, and August endured it terribly hard when he didn't understand something.

Eloise expelled an angry breath, then left the house behind Mary Margaret and Leo, but the door remained open.

"I really should be going," Killian shook his head.

His face was calm, his gaze indecipherable.

"Are you sure you can't stay?" August frowned and put a hand on Killian's shoulder.

He used all his compelling skills, of which he had plenty as a full-blooded Elf.

"Aye, I'm sorry. Maybe next time," Killian nodded and his icy magic flared up again.

She was more than a foot away from the two of them, but she shivered at the feeling. August's face, on the other hand, didn't even twitch. At that moment, Emma found Killian more terrifying than ever.

"Good night," he turned on his heel and stepped out into the night.

August stared after him for long seconds, then whirled around and settled on the couch.

"What was that?"

"That's what I'd like to know. I'm going to suggest David keep an eye on him," he stated firmly, his gaze hardening instantly. "I tried to read his mind, and he noticed. I've hit a wall I wasn't expecting. And it's not the same wall I bumped into with you. It's a line of defense, and his magic… well, that's the most disturbing thing. He's not a simple warlock, that much is clear. But even if there was Elven blood in him, I couldn't sense it. However, there is something else that I cannot identify in any way. And I must admit, that worries me greatly."

"Not knowing exactly what and how much power resides in him doesn't necessarily make him evil," she explained, slightly surprised at August's sudden hostility.

"I didn't say that either," he nodded. "But it can't hurt to be careful."

#captain swan #cssns21 #cssns 2021 #cs ff #cs fanfic #killian jones #emma swan #captain hook #ouat #ouat ff #once upon a time #emma x killian #captain swan supernatural #thejollyroger writer #TWPYR #my fic

30 notes · View notes

aspoonofsugar · 3 years

Note

Well, since this is very relevant.

Could we have a post about how Mikasa and Ymir foil each other?

This discourse has been pretty common recently that attack on titan's last chapter conveys the message that be selfish and you will be happy. Mostly, they mean that the most selfless person mikasa ended up losing her most precious one and has been alone for 3 years while historia one of the most selfish people saved herself and allowed eren to murder so many people. She didn't inform any of her friends who could have stopped eren. For her silence about genocide she is rewarded with happiness, a family and some real power on the island. I can't help but agree that while eren was killed for his selfishness, historia was rewarded for her selfishness.

Hello anons,

About Mikasa and Ymir, I like @midnight-in-town’s take here.

In general, I would say Historia, Mikasa and Ymir all touch on the idea of selfishness and selflessness.

What is more, Ymir herself is not really a fleshed out character, but more of a thematic/plot device that works well for the theme, but lacks any real psychology or depth.

In short, Ymir is compared to Historia many times throughout the story, but in the end she finds her salvation in Mikasa.

Why is that so?

It has to do with the theme of selflessness and selfishness and how it plays with the idea of “self”.

Ymir is thought by others to be selfless. This is how Historia’s book describes her and Historia is even told to be like her. Her background seems to confirm this since we are shown she is a slave and a scapegoat. Morevoer, she stays as a slave throughout all her life and is one even in death.

However, as the story goes on some cracks start to be shown in this narrative. In the end, Ymir was the one who fred the pigs and in the last chapter we discover she was actually in love with King Fritz. This explains why she sacrificed her life to save him and how she tried to escape him through dying. At the same time, it means that Ymir was actually pretty selfish.

In the end, if Ymir were less focused on her personal feelings for one individual, then a lot of tragedies could have been avoided.

In other words, Ymir is presented as selfless, but she is deep down incredibly selfish. She is the same as Christa Lenz, who acts selflessly, but for selfish reasons. Christa’s persona actually contrasts Historia, who is selfish, but can act selflessly in a more genuine way.

Why is that so?

It is because selfishness is born from a very frail sense of self. This is why in snk selfish characters are actually all revealed to be “children” inside. This is the case for Eren, for example, and this might also be why symbolically Ymir is still a child in the paths. They are all characters who are struggling with their selves. They are characters who can’t stand on their own two feet. This is why Historia’s self-affirmation in the Uprising Arc leads her to become a good queen and to help others more effectively than her superficial and self-centered attempts as Christa Lenz.

It is because only if you have a solid enough self you can act selflessly, even if it is harsh. This is why Mikasa killing Eren, which is a big sacrifice is not conveyed as a negation of the self, but as an affirmation of it.

This is also why Historia’s big selfish act in the finale arc (to protect herself and to sacrifice the world) is actually a negation of the self. I am quoting from the meta linked above:

The point of Historia’s arc was not to become a selfish girl, who would sacrifice others for her sake. The point of her arc was to live not for others, but for herself. She had to become proud of who she was. This is why since the cave she has been trying to live pridefully. However, here Eren is using the words, which were symbolic of her change, to ask her to fulfill another role for him. Eren wants Historia to be a “bad girl”, but this is not qualitatively different from being a “good girl”. It is just a different adjective and a different role, but it is still a role. It is still not what Historia wants. Historia does not want a genocide, but she seems to be giving in to the fear for her future and to the feelings Eren’s words provoke in her.

Historia giving in to Eren’s request is actually her negating herself. It is her going against her promise to Ymir. She had promised to Ymir she would have lived with pride. However, here she is giving up on pride and accepting another role (the role of bad girl) becauseEren is asking her. This is why she is totally unable to affect things in the finale arc and this is why she is instead shown miserable throughout it.

Historia and Eren’s conversation can be compared with Mikasa and Eren’s one in chapter 138 instead. Let’s highlight that Mikasa does not kill Eren because he asks her too. Moreover, she actually refuses Eren’s request to forget about him. Mikasa’s answer to Eren is literally a “No”. In contrast, Historia’s answer to Eren is a heartbroken “Yes”.

So, Mikasa frees Ymir because she shows Ymir she can love, but also be her own person. And once Ymir is shown this she is able to finally affirm herself (ending the curse) through acting selflessly (freeing everyone).

Imo Mikasa and Historia’s ending in chapter 139 are seen out of context. Mikasa’s ending is not a bad one and Historia’s not a happy one.

Mikasa acted selflessly in the final arc and this is why she is given time for herself after the battle. Armin covers for her, so she can grieve in peace. She is outside the public life and can live peacefully as she has always wanted. She has literally no responsibilities to fulfill because she has already given enough. With time, she will overcome grief and will be able to start a new life free.

Historia acted selfishly in the final arc and this is why she has to help more in the aftermath. She must be one of the architects of the new world. She must protect her family, her friends (among whom Mikasa herself) and their loved ones. She has a lot on her shoulders. Luckily, the fact that she is not stuck in a horrible conundrum anymore means she has time to heal and to go back to who she had become in the cave. She can find herself once again and help people with her power.

In short, many takes of Historia getting everything and Mikasa getting nothing seem to me as if people are forcing their ideas of everything and nothing on the characters. Historia still being the Queen and having some kind of power does not matter because Historia has never wanted to be Queen to begin with. Similarly, Mikasa not being recognized as a hero does not matter because Mikasa does not want that anyway. She wants time to heal and to live peacefully.

Is this reading I am offering perfect? Not at all because I personally think Historia’s plot-line was not handled well.

This ask I have received explains why:

I think Eren’s character holds very well even after the final chapter but there’s one thing i’m not able to reconcile and that is his goal.

Eren tells Armin that he wanted them to stop him and become heroes. And also to end the titan curse. Armin says that that’s the future he saw at the medal ceremony so it seems like Eren’s had this plan since before the timeskip.

Basically Eren never intended to kill ALL of his enemies.

But so then, in his POV chapters (130 and 131), in his monologues and in his conversation with Historia, he talks about having to kill everyone and about the cycle of violence.

Doesn’t make sense why he would do that and to also not just tell Historia his actual plan of ending the titan curse and making the Alliance heroes.

Hope you can make sense of this because i don’t think Isayama would have such a major contradiction or a retcon after only 8 chapters.

First of all, to the anon’s actual question. Eren still kills 80% of humanity. It is still a genocide and he explains that it is still this genocide that makes an immediate retaliation impossible. In short, him killing 80% of humanity instead than all humanity does not change much in relation to the scenes you talked about.

It is still a genocide a part of Eren wants to do, as he himself explains. He still believes the cycle of violence will never end. So there is no contradiction here. Moreover, Eren saw a future he thought as unavoiable, so it is not that he had a plan. He simply acted to arrive to the ending he saw and adapted his own ideology and wishes to it. In general, I like this anon’s thoughts on him.

What I think is convoluted and also illogical is the way he approaches the topic with Historia. As you say anon, he could have told her the truth. Making her believe he is going to kill all of humanity and to manipulate her memories is needlessly cruel. Moreover, it does not make sense to be honest. This happens because Isayama could not reveal the ending too soon. However, I think the whole matter should have been handled better.

Thank you for the asks anons and I hope this helped!

#snk #snk 139 #mikasa ackerman #historia reiss #eren jeager #ymir fritz #asksfullofsugar #anonymous #snk meta

49 notes · View notes

cloudycrystalkpop · 3 years

Text

SMOKY | Hell Below

Blind! Prince! Mingi x [unstated skin deformity] fem! reader

Words: 2k+

Warnings: self harm, possessiveness, demonic interaction

au: crown royal au | moodboard

series masterlist: SMOKY

Seonghwa paced back and forth in front of your door. He was placed on guard duty this evening and it was slowly torturing him.

Normally he would never complain, more than happy to forgo his own rest to know that his princess slept safe and sound. However, he was very aware that at the moment, his princess was not sleeping at all.

He gritted his teeth as he heard your voice moan out a name in pleasure. The name of your husband. A name that wasnt his.

Seonghwa squared his shoulders. He had made you a promise, one a very very long time ago.

When he was the man having you sing such pretty praises. When he wrote his name in calligraphy with his tongue between your thighs.

A promise he painted into your skin, one very late night. Kissing every patch that made you shy. Every inch that your family frowned upon. Every piece you had ever wanted to burn off.

"I will protect you, until the day my heart stops beating, And surely even after."

he is more than just a knight. No, after holding you, bare as the day you were born, shaking in his arms. After the words of hate and disgust at the case your very soul lived in, at watching you take blades to try and peel the unwanted flesh away, he would never ever let you hurt yourself again.

He would never abandon you, even if you took his heart right out of his chest, it was always yours anyway.

Seonghwa held his head in his hands. He was always yours anyway.

"They sure are loud huh?" Seonghwa jumped and reached for the sword on his belt at the voice.

"Sorry, bad night?" Hongjoong asked, standing before the heartbroken man.

"Yeah just, stuck in my own head." Seonghwa admitted. The other man nodded, scanning him with curious eyes.

"You and your princess sure are, close." he stated. The words curled on his tongue, watching Seonghwa flitched as the sound of a high pitched groan came from the lover's room.

"We... Used to be." he replied.

"I see. Makes sense why youre not so fond of that Duke." he quirked an eyebrow, a sly grin pulling at his features. "Hey, you wanna know a secret~" the man purred.

"Not tonight Hongjoong. Im not in the mood for your teasing." Seonghwa frownd.

"Hmm~ if you say so." his smile pulled into a playful childlike one, before Hongjoong skipped off down the hall, leaving Seonghwa alone with his thoughts once more.

Hongjoong purred to himself as he glanced over his shoulder as the knight stood at the lovers door. Lust is a very powerful tool in his bag of tricks, one that, it looks like, will do him very, very well.

you spent your days now often with Yeosang, his experience and wisdom helping you greatly in easing your nerves. he told you many stories, explained much about the kingdom you had never dared to venture around in.

whenever you did leave your family's estate, it was always with Seonghwa as your loyal guard. a long veil to hide you away from the world, or heaven forbid you simply, existing taint your family name.

you remembered the day The King died. he was an old man, had been sick for years. while not beloved by his people, he was well respected, and yet. when he passed, no one knew anything about him. there was no mourning, for there was no loss.

The Queen had fully stepped into power then, ten years younger than her husband she was more than capable of leading. and so it had been since your early teens. The Queen was now however, ready to pass her power, rather than see it out live her too, just like her husband.

and that, was where the crown prince and princess had come in. the pair lost at sea in a tragic shipwreck, the kingdom scrambling to find a new replacement. you and Mingi were nobles, sure. second rate royals even, your father once a prince, a second born. Mingi was next in line to become a Duke, chosen over Yeosang for your hand in marriage for, such a trivial reason. or so you thought.

“my family comes from the Valley, My Lady. Lord Mingi’s comes from the Sea.” Yeosang explained, an, almost forlorn look in his eye. “when yourself and your husband were married, it showed a joining of the land and the sea. loosening trade deals with other lands, its... business I'm afraid.”

“that’s all marriage is good for after all anyway. its just business.” you gazed off out the window, watching the roses sway in the morning breeze. the garden was beautiful, flowers in full bloom.

“I’m sorry you feel so my lady. but, you must admit how darling and romantic an idea it is.” Yeosang followed your gaze.

“to be married?” you wondered.

“the prince of the sea, wed to the princess of the forest. and a man who cannot see, tied to a woman never allowed to be seen.” he hummed softly.

“sounds like a horrible tragedy of a play to me.” you shook your head, eyes falling to your lap. “I should have a word with the playwright.”

“would you have preferred a different ending?” Yeosang wondered, dropping his head down to force you to look him in the eye. you chuckled, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile.

“I haven't decided.” you answered. “...are the flowers in the valley in bloom this time of year?” you asked.

“oh yes. the wild flowers were always my favorite as a boy. my sisters and I used to go out and make crowns out of them.” his voice was soft, eyes far away. caught in a memory from boyhood.

“...will you take me there some time, Yeosang?” his gaze focused back on you once more.

“if you wish to see it My Lady.” he grinned. “I will braid you a crown so lovely the royal jewels will be jealous.”

“promise me?” your voice betrayed you. a crack of pain hidden away there.

such a very different ending you could have had. one where you could spend your life safe, hidden away from the judgment and piercing eyes your mother always frightened you of. flowers in your hair, children at your feet, a husband who could provide for your every need. free to play in the forest of your childhood. there was no judgment from the trees, nor would you find it in the open fields.

“you have my word... My Lady.”

but your life was no fairy tale. you were to be queen of a kingdom you barely knew. sure, you had a husband, a man to wear the title of “king”, but both you and Mingi knew, the queen is the most powerful piece on the board.

“My little Prince~” you called to the darkness of the room as you returned to your chambers for the evening. “Mingi?” you cooed once more, looking around for the tall man.

“we need to talk.” you nearly screamed, the voice was not your husband’s. upon turning on your heel, you came face to face with...

“Seonghwa! you nearly had me jump out of my skin!” you huffed, smacking the man on the side of his arm.

“hey! I'm sorry I scared you but, I'm serious.” he sighed, rubbing his arm.

“very well.” you huffed, seating yourself on the plush bed and waiting for his explanation. Seonghwa shuffled, changing his weight from one foot to the other, gaze fixed on the floor. “well? when did you become so awkward?”

“since I had to listen to you having sex for hours last night.” he growled. your ears glowed hot, but you choked the embarrassment down.

“I am sorry, I'm sure that was a bit.. uncomfortable-”

“you don’t get it do you, Princess.” he lifts his eyes to meet yours. “I love you.”

a lump forms in your throat. you do not move, only stare him down, unblinking, unreactive.

“I have been in love with you for almost five years now. I was the one who took your virginity, I was the one who held you when you cried, I was the only who protected you from the evils of this world. and I-” his voice cracked. Seonghwa, your loyal knight in shining armor, the one who had been by your side for the better half of your life, was in tears before you.

“I love you! I'd do anything for you! I've been with you since you were just a young girl! I've stood beside you through everything! and I can't pretend that it doesn't hurt me anymore!” his eyes sparkled with tears, cheeks damp and voice horse.

“... I-” you never got a chance to finish your thought as the door swung open once more.

Mingi stood in the doorway, blank eyes staring straight ahead of him, his face blank of any emotion.

“get. out. of. our. room.” never had you heard the intimidation in Mingi’s voice before. his voice rumbled deep in his chest, but his tone now, was that of a final, deadly warning.

Seonghwa stared at Mingi, shoulders taught, fists clenched. but he didn't say a word.

“...you are dismissed Seonghwa.” you finally broke the tense silence between the two man.

“as you wish, My Princess.” Seonghwa made his way towards the door, stepping past Mingi, only to be halted by said man shoving him against the wood, hard.

“if you dare, to even think of touching my wife, if even the thought of her in such context even passes your mind,” he growls. “I will have you executed for adultery.”

Mingi stepped away from a very shocked Seonghwa.

“she may be your Princess, but she will be your Queen. and never, for a moment forget, she will only be your queen, and she is my wife.” and with that he slammed the door shut.

Mingi developed a possessiveness over you, you must admit you didn’t expect. the once shy boy who could barely speak to you, now kept one hand on your person at all times you were together. when asked he said he preferred you guide him over a staff member. but you know by now Mingi knew this castle perfectly fine. he didn't need help or a guide anymore. he was lying.

he also got rather upset if you were left alone with another person too long, without himself or his chosen guard close by. his chosen guard? Hongjoong.

you woke one morning to find bruises so deep on your hips and chest they looked like black ink in the mirror. Mingi was marking you now. like you were something that belonged to him.

knowing who you needed to speak with, you snuck away one morning, before the sun rose. to find Hongjoong.

“your highness! what a pleasant surprise~” the handsome man cooed.

“may I speak with you? in private.” you glanced to the rest of the guard, Seonghwa the only one not meeting your gaze.

“oh? absolutely. please, come with me.” Hongjoong lead you out into the gardens, just as the first touches of dawn peeked over the skyline.

“alright creature. out with it. what have you done to the prince.” you growled, arms crossed as you glared at Hongjoong.

“such mean words from the ‘princess’ herself~” he smiled a grin, one a little too long and a little too wide for his face.

“why are you here?”

“what a stupid question! you already know that answer~ otherwise you wouldn’t have asked to speak to me, alone.”

“fine, who summoned you?”

Hongjoong chuckled, one in tone too deep for the voice he speaks with. “the dead king of course. but that was a long time ago you see.”

“speak to me truthfully creature, did you make a deal with Mingi?” you glared him down. while your experience with his kind was limited, you understood the one true weakness they had. they cannot directly lie.

Hongjoong grinned once more, that same unnatural once, the one that extended too far up his face, showing teeth a human man wouldn’t have. his eyes crinkled at the edges in the grin, the white parts of his eyes turning dark as a bruise.

“no.”

you held back a whimper at his voice. inhuman. demonic. bloodcurdling.

“...thank you. you are dismissed.” you blinked, and the man was back as he was. charming smile and handsome features glowing once again in the dawn.

“as you wish, your highness.” and with that, he walked back into the castle. leaving you alone in the garden, a ring of dead grass surrounding where the pair of you had stood.

#mingi x reader #smoky au #prince au #demon au #knight au #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #Hongjoong x reader #mingi au #Seonghwa au #Yeosang au #Hongjoong au #Ateez x reader #Ateez au #Ateez sereis #mingi series #royal au #fantasy au

79 notes · View notes

terrietont · 3 years

Text

Undertale: A life for a life

When Toriel accidently kills Frisk mid-battle, a devious flower takes control unwarely creating hope among monster-kind for all except one.

Chapter 1: Murder

Shaking, she washed the blood off her paws,It’s crimson red staining her fur. Tears ran down her face endlessly. She couldn’t stop them. There were too many. Her eyes fogged up, barely a blur left in her vision.

Her whole body felt numb as a lump caught in her throat.

‘This isn’t real...’ She thought. ‘This can’t be real!’

Her lips quivered as her breathing quickened. Short inhalations and exhalations, in and out moving at the speed of sound. Her heart was burning against her chest, as if it were about to burrow through her entire body and escape. The numb feeling enveloped her entire body but at the same time the pure and agonizing pain of her heart pulsed against her very soul.

She had done this.

Her mind wandered into dark corners as the water from the faucet continued to flow. Memories flooding back into the dark abyss of her now empty heart. Horrible memories of what she had done.

The boss monster held her breath as the she turned off the tap. She leaned her hands agains the sink, looking down at the floor. Her chest moving up and down slowly. The disbelief of the situation made her dizzy. A bellowing cry escaped the former queen’s snout. She held her wet paws across her face, sobbing uncontrollably.

Toriel kneeled down onto the floor, holding her face tightly, a deep pained frown. Tears ran onto the floor. Sobs accompanied with hiccups escaped.

She realized something horrific as she held her breath.

“I really am no better than him after all” she smiled almost feeling like she was losing her mind. A another wail of horror escaped.

The grief. The tragedy. The horror of what she had done.

It was all true. She had killed the child. The one child that had trusted her enough to call her “mother” and now they had to be buried next to the first human.

A red glowing heart. An aura of red enveloped it. She could barely keep her eyes adjusted to the blinding beams.

The soul was still in tact for now, soon it would crack and disappear. What choice did she have now?

Her paws merely lay under the soul as it hovered above them.

She placed the soul inside a basket-like container, it’s visual presence undetected.

The only proof she had to be seen were the tear stains across her cheeks and the shaking of her limbs.

“I’m a murderer...” she uttered. Toriel leaned her head in her hands, hiding her face.

Flashbacks of her battle with the child enveloped her brain. She couldn’t fathom what she really had done. All the emotional distress was beating her physical form into pieces. She thought she would turn to dust any minute now.

“Hee hee Hee” a voice cackled. Startled, she looked towards the origin of the laughter. It was a flower. A white buttercup with yellow petals and a wide sinister grin. The flower top sat, resting on a thin green stem.

“You really think no one would find out about this?” Flowey laughed with an evil smirk.

Toriel hurriedly got up from her chair and put her hands out in a desperate gesture. “No please it was an accident!” She cried. Flowey’s grin widened.

“Accident? Haha! I KNOW you did it on purpose to try and “protect” the child.” Flowey leaned closer towards the former queen. His eyes going black with white pupils.

“Now look what’s happened...” He began, his voice echoing with poison.

“They’re dead.” Horrifyingly, Flowey’s face managed to mimick a human skull shape.

Toriel tripped backwards, chair falling behind her. Tears began running down her face again.

“Spare me your self pity!” Flowey seethed.

“YOU did this. This is all your fault!” He teased. “And after you tried not to be like him...” Flowey cocked his head to the side with a mocking tone from his mouth.

The reality finally set in. Toriel fell to her knees. “You are right. I am like him.” She wept.

“What are you going to do now huh?” Flowey asked mockingly. “Are you going to continue crying until you dry out into a sobbing excuse of a queen?” His voice was laced with venom as he spoke.

“Or are you going to go to the Asgore and tell him you’re just the same as him and expect forgiveness?”

“Or what if I take the soul instead? You won’t have to worry about it at all!” Flowey laughed. At this point Toriel was holding her head in anguish.

Thoughts, grieving, worries, all of it was swimming around her brain. Her body felt numb.

“No no no no no no no no!” She repeated hysterically. “No NO NO NO NO!” Her tone began to darken, her eyes going almost pure white.

Flowey began to feel uneasy, whether it was the absolute state of Toriel or the fact that the temperature was begining to pick up in the room, he didn’t know. “Shut up already!” He barked at her angrily.

Memories came flooding back for the Queen. A son, a child... a tragedy. “No!” She cried, fire surrounding her this time.

“Asriel... I’m sorry...” She shuddered looking at Flowey. Flowey frowned, his eyes growing with anger. “Shut up! Don’t you dare use that name!” He barked angrily.

Toriel let out a light chuckle, tears running down her cheeks, her eyes now looking bloodshot.

“My child, do not worry”

Flowey growled, gnashing his teeth. “Shut up! Just shut up!”

The Flowey looked towards the basket where the human’s soul was kept in. Vines burst out from the ground as they grabbed hold of the basket, taking the red soul inside.

“Haha!” Flowey cackled evilly. He took hold of the soul in his vines. He smiled deviously.

However without anyone’s knowledge, the soul began to glow brighter, moving closer to the flower. Flowey looked confusedly at it before feeling a sudden burst of energy rush through him. As if it still had the child’s sentience from before, the soul itself had chosen Flowey as it’s host without him even trying.

The power of this determination, the most powerful soul Flowey had ever felt. It rushed through his non existent body so fast and strong he felt almost overwhelmed.

The flower collapsed, dangling from his stem.

This soul was amazing. A power unlike any other. This child was stronger than anyone he had ever seen.

Asriel Dreemurr’s emerald eyes lit up.

A paw reached out to the grieving mother who was on her knees, unable to focus on anything.

“Mom?” The sad voice called out. Toriel turned slowly. What she saw caused the flames to die out.

“Asriel...?” The words were dry on her tongue, as if she didn’t know what she was actually saying.

Asriel looked down at his paws in shock. “I-I- I’m-“ before he could finish he felt a hard squeeze around his entire body. The shuddering mess that was his mother embraced him tightly. The warmth and relief of the hug filled the prince’s eyes with tears.

“Mama...” he cried out soflty. “Mama!” Another cry as he held her tighter. “My baby!” Toriel cried with exasperation.

As he embraced his mother, he felt a warmth in his soul and heard a voice, soft and echoing yet strange.

“Hello” the voice spoke. “I’m sorry” they said soflty. Asriel didn’t know how to respond, especially with the grief of his mother holding him tightly.

“Where’s dad?” Asriel’s tone was more upbeat, but his mother’s reaction was rather downcast. “In the castle.” She replied, hiding her disgust.

“Can we please see him?...” Asriel asked soflty.

Toriel hesitated. She really did not want to see Asgore again, but for the sake of their child, she would swallow her pride and anger for now.

“If you wish, my child.”

Without being spotted, Toriel and Asriel made their way through the underground and towards the capital. Unbeknownst to them, a pair of eyes were watching them from a camera view.

Alphys’s eyes widened. She nearly spat out her noodles all over the computer monitor. “O-oh my god! There’s THREE of them?!” She bellowed.

Asgore was busy minding his own buisiness, watering flowers.

“Dum dee dum” he sang.

Toriel entered the throne room, dreading the voice in front of her, whilst squeezing Asriel’s hand.

Asgore turned around surprised after hearing someone clear their throat to get his attention. “Oh? Is someone there?”

“Howdy! How can I-“ The king backed away a few steps. “Oh my...” he saw his son’s face, his Ex Wife’s patient smile. It all came flooding out.

“M-my boy...” Asgore weeped with a smile. Asriel ran straight to him, beaming with relief. “Dad!” The two embraced longingly. “Tori... you-“ Asgore began looking at the Ex Queen who was frowning worriedly. “Please do not Tori me Dreemurr!” She groaned exasperated.

“Mom please!” Asriel begged, holding tightly onto his father.

“I-I am sorry I just- how did-“ Asgore was at a loss for words, he didn’t know how his son came back, but he did. He was here and that’s all that mattered.

The horror stricken reality sunk into her. She tried to be angry, she tried to be dismissive and show no emotion but she fell to her knees yet again. Her sins were weighing her down heavily.

“I-I cannot take this any longer!” She cried. Asgore looked towards her, stunned and worried. “Toriel...” he uttered soflty.

“I have- I am-“ She hiccuped, feeling completely nauseated by the very words that she would have to say.

Asriel looked horrified as he realized what she was scared of. His soul. This soul... how did he get this in the first place?

He couldn’t remember and yet it was all about to be revealed.

“I have murdered...” Toriel uttered breathlessly. “

The king was taken aback. He couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. She had done something that he had done in the past to make her leave him? If he was unreasonable, he would’ve called her out, he would’ve been angry as to see she had taken the same path as him. But he stood there in shock, concern, fear. He loved her too much to let her feel the pain he had felt once.

“It is going to be okay...” He tried inching closer to her. Her eyes snapped away from him, pushing him back. “Get away from me!” She screamed. Unlike her usual anger towards him, this anger was a mask. A mask hiding pain and grief. This was an obvious mask it wasn’t to keep him away from her... it was to keep her away from anyone.

“I do not deserve your pity...” She seethed, her eyes turned away from him. Her fangs showed, angry and depressed. “After what I did” She began.

Asgore was confused now. She had said she was a murderer, but how so? Who had she killed? How was Asriel alive again? All of these questions plagued his brain.

“Please. You need to tell me.” He urged sternly, paws out in front of him.

“Take care of Asriel. I- I am going home” Her voice was meek and low. She had walked out of the throne room. Asgore desperately wanted to run after her, but he knew that would do more harm than good.

Asriel however was not going to give up so easily. “Mom!” He shouted.

He ran to her as her pace continued ever faster.

“Mom please!”

“Go away!” She yelled back, running away faster. Asriel was able to keep up, getting closer but remaining at a distance. “They know it wasn’t your fault!” He yelled.

Toriel stopped running and stood still, her face hidden from view. By now the two were by the caste hall, an eerie silence washing over them.

“I can feel their soul talking to me.” Asriel continued.

No response. “They say that... you have always been a good mother despite what you did today. They say they love you still”

Slowly, Toriel’s head began to turn back around. “Asriel.” She began.

“Asriel!” Asgore’s voice echoed towards the hallway. He rushed over to his son. “My son?” Asriel looked up at Asgore, glossy eyed. “Dad.” He murmured.

Toriel inhaled sharply and then turned and continued running. “Mom!” Asriel yelled out, a large white paw grabbing his arm, his other arm reaching outwards. “You must let her go, son...” Asgore sighed sadly.

“I’m sorry” he looked down at his child. Asriel’s breathing quickened. All he wanted was to have the family back together again, as happy as before. He was so tired of being a flower, he was so tired of being conflicted between two worlds.

Word got out that the prince of the underground was alive once more. The absolute shock and confusion swept over the citizens. How was this possible? Only Asriel truly knew.

“I hope the bed is as comfy as you remember” Asgore smiled down at Asriel who had himself tucked into his old bed. New home was less silent than it had once been.

“Thank you dad” he smiled in response. Asgore sighed deeply, smiling warmly. “If you need anything, let me know, alright?” The king looked over at his son who was making himself more comfortable in bed. “Will do” and with that, Asgore left the room quietly. His footsteps fading from earshot. Asriel stared up at the ceiling, his breathing slow.

“What do we do now?” He asked. A voice responded. “Are you awake?” A child’s voice asked in an echod trance. Asriel rolled his eyes. “Obviously.” He replied sarcastically. The child chuckled a little, the voice sounding less like a bad thought and more like some kind of weird guardian Angel.

“I just wanted to let you know... I’m okay like this.” The child’s soul admit. Asriel paused in thought for a moment. He couldn’t imagine a world in which living inside someone else’s body as a soul was a good outcome.

“Really, I am.” The soul spoke almost immediately after Asriel thought about it. The young monster’s eyes widened. “A-are you reading my thoughts?” He asked nervously. The soul chuckled almost in a naughty manner. “Maybe...”

Asriel groaned and lay on his side, ear squishing against the pillow. “Great... now I can’t even think without having my privacy invaded.”. “I promise I won’t look into anything personal!” The soul replied almost frantically. “You better not okay? I’m trusting you on this!” Asriel bit his lips.

“You can trust me, friend!” The voice replied, it sounded as if they were smiling as well. “Are we a team?” Asriel asked impatiently. “We’re a team!” The soul answered enthusiastically. Asriel couldn’t help but smile. This soul was warm and comforting. Although being invasive, he knew he was grateful for this soul, the soul that willingly gave itself to him. Why? He would never know.

#asgore dreemurr #asgore #toriel #undertale #asriel #flowey #frisk #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #asgoriel #undertale au #tumblr’s formatting sucks #pardon for the paragraph mess #undertale: a life for a life

47 notes · View notes

bluegarners · 3 years

Note

AHHHH YOUR CARD LOOKS SO GOOD!!!! maybe hope is scary with young bruce and dick ?

Ugh, dust, you know I’m such a sucker for them!! Thank you so much for sending in your request, I hope you enjoy it~ @dustorange

Hope Is Scary

Bruce never really realized how quiet the Manor was until he began to notice the echoing of padded footsteps that weren’t his own. Alfred was easy to tell, polished shoes with prim heels step step stepping along waxed hallways and carpeted floors. Easy and comforting in a way that Bruce was accustomed to and found a strange warmth in. Alfred had been wearing the same brand of shoes since coming to work for Wayne Manor. The same color and shoe size, and though Alfred had lost some weight over the years, he still carried himself like the young man at heart he’s always been.

But the additional pair of footsteps was new to Bruce and the dim creaking of stairs and uneven floor boards made that apparent to him.

Dick didn’t like to wear socks. He said they were distracting and made it easier for him to slip and fall when he was running around and trying to do intricate flips off of the railways and walls. When Bruce suggested that, maybe, he just not do those things, Dick had leveled a look at him that made him feel as if he had just stepped upon his parents’ graves. Which, perhaps, he did. This was Dick’s livelihood. All he had ever known. To ask him to stop flipping and twirling was like asking him to stop breathing. It just couldn’t be done.

Bruce buys him some socks with rubber pieces on the bottoms as a compromise. Dick wears them only once before stowing them away in a drawer. He says he doesn’t like not being able to feel the floor.

And maybe that’s something Bruce should have been paying more attention to. That key part in Dick’s reasoning. He’s new at this though. New to being a p... a guardian. To being responsible for the well being of another. Bruce doesn’t interact with children. Ever. Sure, he’ll smile at the camera and kiss a couple babies on the head so the Gotham Gazette has a nice picture and headline, but he’s never actually had to take care of a child before. What do nine year olds like? What do they do? Are there certain rules he has to follow? Rules Dick has to follow? It’s not like Bruce can go up to him and ask what his parents usually did because that would be horribly insensitive and Bruce doesn’t want to replace Dick’s parents. He doesn’t.

It’s only been a month since Dick arrived at the Manor. A little more than three since the Grayson tragedy. The weeks in between were days Dick did not like to talk about. Why Gotham thought a juvenile detention center was the next best thing to house an orphan still infuriates Bruce. He tries his best not to think about it. Dick doesn’t seem to be bothered much by it, however. In all actuality, Dick has been remarkably resilient so far.

Again, maybe that’s something Bruce should have been paying more attention to. The stability factor. It didn’t align with everything that had happened recently, but Bruce had taken it as a sign of hope for the small boy. That perhaps he wouldn’t be as badly affected by the murders or the things that happened afterwards. Of course, these were all stupid and foolish notions Bruce had convinced himself of. He’s studied psychology before, knows the signs and symptoms of PTSD, but Bruce kicks himself sometimes for not having invested enough time into child psychology.

Bruce’s room is three doors down from Dick’s. Between them is a guest bathroom, a guest bedroom, and a spare closet Alfred likes to keep his dusters in. They had allowed the nine year old to choose his own room and when he had realized Bruce would be down the hallway from him, a strange look had passed over his face. Dick had looked up and down the corridor, something similar to trepidation flashing across his young features, and Bruce had glanced around too, searching for the thing that had caused that look. It was just an empty hallway though, a picture here and there of a late Wayne or some sort of art piece Bruce has never really bothered to look at.

Briefly, Bruce had allowed a sliver of panic to settle into his chest at the idea that it was himself that was the problem. Perhaps Dick didn’t want to be so close to Bruce, a near perfect stranger offering a house to live in, and maybe three doors just simply wasn’t enough for the boy to feel comfortable. The initial anxiousness had passed after a week though, Dick showing no further outwardly signs of distress at their proximity. In fact, he was a rather cheerful child.

Was, being the unfortunate key word.

The small but sure steps that echo down the hallway at twelve thirteen a.m are Bruce’s first clue that something is wrong. It’s not uncommon for any one of them to get up in the middle of the night, seeking an out from the nightmares or sleepless dreams. Alfred’s habits usually just had him retiring into bed late and getting up early, something Bruce has been trying to coax him out of by taking melatonin pills. Bruce himself is a deep sleeper, his REM cycle taking only about ninety minutes to take over, but even then he can’t seem to sleep more than five or six hours at a time.

The smallest things will forcibly wake him up, now ingrained into him not to ignore them ever , and that has resulted in him listening very carefully to the patter of tiny feet across wooden floors. It’s Dick, Bruce knows this, and it’s not uncommon for Dick to get up late in the night for water or exploration. The boy was still learning to accept the fact that neither Bruce or Alfred would be angry with him for exploring the Manor, peering into all the rooms and invading the attics. Bruce had done the same thing when he was younger and he does remember it being quite fun, but Dick carries the notion with him that one little slip up will spell out his removal from his new home.

Bruce struggles with reassuring the boy. He hasn’t made any head-way as of yet.

The footsteps stop outside his door and Bruce can see the shadow of small feet beneath the gap. The lights are on, dimmed in the hallway, and the figure stands there for several moments, refusing to move. The handle shutters, like someone grasping at it but failing to fully turn the mechanism, and Bruce sits up in bed unsure at what to expect. The handle slowly turns again, jerking back upwards when the door opens a crack, and Dick stands in between the door and the corridor. His slight figure blocks out some of the light, shadowing the child’s face, and Dick continues to stand there, seemingly staring into the void that is Bruce’s room.

“Hey,” Bruce whispers, completely lost on what he should be doing or saying. “Are you okay, bud?”

Is he allowed to say that? Is it alright for him to use nicknames yet? Bruce has heard Alfred refer to Dick as “lad” or “chum” a few times, old English nicknames second nature, but Bruce has been careful not to overstep his bounds. He still doesn’t know what the boy thinks of him. What he thinks of his… guardian.

No sooner do those thoughts enter and leave his mind does Dick turn around and begin walking away. He pads away almost as noisily as he came and Bruce tosses off his sheets to follow the boy. Just as Bruce steps out his door, he sees Dick re-enter his own room, leaving the door wide open. The lights aren’t on in Dick’s bedroom, bathed in darkness, and as Bruce takes measured steps to check in with the boy, he hears Dick begin to cry.

It’s a sad and hollow cry, one that Bruce himself is much too familiar with, and his heart skips a beat as he fumbles with the light switch. Dick is sitting on the floor, legs splayed out in front of him like he’s fallen, and for a moment Bruce wonders if he did fall and hurt himself. He crouches down beside the boy, hands hovering and unsure of what’s appropriate for him to do.

“Dick?” he asks, trying to look into the boy’s eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

The nine year old ignores him though, continuing to cry and look down at the carpeted flooring. The tears that pour down his face and drip off of his chin sadden Bruce deeply, a strange pang in his chest as he merely watches the boy sob in earnest. Should he get Alfred? No, the man gets little sleep as it is. Besides, Bruce is an adult. He can handle this, he’s handled much worse before.

“Dick,” Bruce tries again, “Bud, please look at me. What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”

He’s ignored again, the boy’s small shoulders shaking beneath the weight of his tears. Cautiously, Bruce reaches a finger under Dick’s chin, tilting it upwards so he can see his face. Dick’s eyes are open but there’s a lull in them, like he’s not quite focusing on anything at all and is merely just staring off into space. They contract and expand like normal though and carefully Bruce waves a hand in front of his face. This seems to be the wrong thing to do as Dick flinches back, a whimper escaping him. At the sound, Bruce feels himself pale a bit.

“Sorry,” he is quick to rush out. “I didn’t- sorry. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

It’s like Dick can’t hear him though as he continues to whine, hands fidgeting with nothing and grasping at air. His mouth moves in patterns like he wants to speak but has forgotten the right words, and his eyes dart about as if picking one thing to look at only to find it gone the next. It scares Bruce. He doesn’t know what’s going on. What’s happening? What is happening?

Despite his better judgment, Bruce reaches out a hand again, gently placing it on the ankle of one of Dick’s splayed legs. He’s wearing SpongeBob themed sleep-wear, and though Bruce nor Alfred know hardly anything about the cartoon, Dick’s smile had bloomed at the sight of them and had shyly given them each a hug. It was like receiving a… gift. Full of love and gratefulness that Bruce isn’t used to getting. It was warm. Genuine. Kind. He places his hand, that is neither warm nor kind because he has hands made for punching and handling sharp things, atop the ankle-cuff of the silly pajama bottoms and Dick screams.

Bruce jerks his hand back, immediately shuffling backwards, and he’s about to say something, say anything, say sorry because he’s still new at this, still doesn’t know where the boundaries are, still doesn’t know if Dick is even happy here at the Manor, but Dick is still screaming and wailing. He’s staring off into a dark corner of the suddenly too massive room and a chasm yawns before Bruce as he struggles with the urge to help and the knowledge that it’s not wanted. He steals a glance towards his open hand, half-way expecting to see blood or angry red or something that would tell him what he did, how he hurt the boy, because that wasn’t his intention but he should have known. He should have known.

His hands are not made to be gentle.

Soft and thunderous footsteps pound against the wooden floors and Bruce surges upwards as Alfred enters the room, robe half on and feet clad in old gray slippers. His crinkled eyes are wide open, searching for the distress that had announced itself so loudly, and with a presence of mind Bruce himself isn’t capable of having at the moment, flicks on the light switch to the room.

“Good heavens,” Alfred cries as he finally sees the sobbing child. “Master Dick, what in the world-”

Finally, Alfred’s eyes flick over to Bruce’s guilty and hunched form, a hand hidden behind his back and an awful look of shame shrouding his sharp face. “I don’t know what I did,” Bruce says, shaky and uncertain. “I didn’t hurt- I didn’t mean to hurt him, Alfred.”

The butler just frowns though, neither unkind nor scolding. Instead of a lecture or some reprimand, Alfred cautiously approaches the nine year old, who is still staring sullenly into the far corner of the room and heaving with great hiccups that expand his small frame to a great degree that was surely painful. Carefully, in full view of the child, Alfred lowers himself to the ground and assesses with an experienced and all-too-ready gaze.

“Master Dick?” he calls softly. “Can you hear me?”

There is no response other than the continuing tears and rough hiccups that echo in the much too wide room. One would think with the impossibly thick pillows, soft blankets, and even softer still carpet, sound would travel as if stuck in a tube, but each cry is as loud as a gunshot in Bruce’s mind. He caused this. He did this. He… didn’t mean to.

Bruce is a man composed of glass shards and copper stained cement. There is nothing gentle about him. He should not have tried to be.

Alfred stands then, hands on his knees as he heaves himself off of the ground. Were his joints bothering him? Bruce thinks he should look into getting another physical therapist for the butler. Maybe a chiropractor or massage therapist as well. It couldn’t be good to crouch and bend so often and the man has-

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, “a word, please.”

At the beckon, the younger man takes a few steps forward, meeting the butler halfway to the door. The brighter lights from Dick’s room bleed out into the dimmer hallway, a shadow of sorts created between the two sources as their figures shroud the doorway. Carpet meets wood and Bruce wonders if Dick chose the softer texture for a reason. If he chose the cushioned floor so he’d have something nicer to land on when he falls.

“I don’t like it when I can’t feel the floor, Bruce. I just don’t.”

Bruce sighs heavily and with the knowledge that he was never fit to be any sort of guardian to Dick. He had fooled himself into believing he could save this child from the same fate he’s cursed himself into, save the child from years of torment and ache that came from the bones of murder and the empty graves of justice and peace. Who was he to think he could save someone from that when he was still stuck in that chasm himself, still struggling to use these scarred hands of his for anything else other than exacting his vengeance in the dark night.

“Alfred,” and Bruce hates the way his voice cracks but he’s so lost and still so young himself, “I didn’t-”

“No,” the butler sighs, placing his own calloused hand on Bruce’s sagged shoulder, “No, you didn’t, my boy. I know you would never hurt that child, not if you could stop yourself, and even then that would be some fight.”

“But, Dick, he’s-”

“He’s fine, Master Bruce, I promise you that. He won’t even remember any of this come morning.”

The younger man looks up, still so horribly ashamed and confused. “I don’t understand. He’s crying. He- He screamed when I touched him, Alfred. He’s terrified of me. I must have done something to make him so scared. Maybe this was all a mistake. I thought I could help him by bringing him here, but I’m just making it worse, aren’t I?”

Alfred’s face is a weathered one. The creases in between his brows tell of many nights spent thinking, frowning at the future and unknowns. The crow's feet that dance and jump at the corners of his eyes also tell of many days spent laughing, smiling, embracing the present. He, too, has his own scars to tell about stories that are best left unsaid, marks that are proof of a life that could have been but would never be. There are a thousand words alone that can be thought of through the visage of the old butler’s weathered face, but sometimes, it’s good to say them aloud. Sometimes, they are needed, deserved, to be said aloud.

“My boy,” Alfred says, a softness in his eyes belaying the heartache in his face, “you have done a tremendous thing, bringing Master Dick here. A tremendous and kind thing. In the few weeks that boy has been here, I have seen remarkable growth and healing. This,” Alfred motions to the crying nine year old still on the floor, “is all part of that. This is a sign of hope, Master Bruce.”

“He’s frightened of me, Alfred. He… I’m not good for him.”

“These are simply night terrors, Master Bruce. When you were a child, you had them too. I know it’s… scary to look upon but you must understand that they are here because the boy finally feels safe. Master Dick finally has a place, a home , to feel safe and happy in once more.”

Dick wails again, forlorn and raw, and Bruce flinches at the sound. The palm of his hand stings with the phantom touch of soft fabric and the echoes of wrong-doings.

“What do I do?” he asks, head bowed and voice hardly above a murmur. “I don’t know how to help him.”

Alfred squeezes his shoulder, a grounding and solid gesture. “For now, my boy, you must merely be there for him as I once was for you.” Alfred sighs, releasing Bruce’s shoulder and letting his arm fall back to his side. “Talk to him. The terror will be over soon enough, but in the meantime, comfort the boy. Coax him back to bed. This will pass, Master Bruce, but please. Do take it as a sign of hope for the boy. He is in desperate need of it.”

Alfred’s muted footsteps go back out into the corridor and Bruce is left standing halfway between the open doorway and the weeping nine year old. The carpet feels like grain beneath Bruce’s toes as he shifts to face the boy, tugging against his feet as he takes the three steps that distance them. Slowly, gingerly, Bruce lowers himself to the floor and criss-crosses his legs. He does not touch the boy, does not dare get close enough to even consider it, and folds his hands together in his lap. The bumps and fine lines he feels on his own palms make him cringe and he hides them deeper into his knees.

Dick doesn’t stop crying. His bright blue eyes stay transfixed into the far corner of his bedroom and Bruce wonders what he sees. What captures his attention so completely and holds onto him like that of cold hands and wilted flowers. Alfred said Dick won’t remember tonight. Won’t remember coming to Bruce’s room. Won’t remember cowering away from Bruce’s touch. A small part of Bruce hopes that he doesn’t. Hopes that tonight remains forgotten in oblivion, the only shred of evidence of it all being the wet stains on SpongeBob pajamas.

Dick mutters something, voice small and a jumble of nonsense, and Bruce’s heart clenches in his chest. His hand twitches to wipe away the salty tears that slide down the boy’s face but Bruce resists the urge and continues to sit motionless. Yes, it was better to have this chasm between them. Dick is kind and pure, composed of things that would only become crippled when exposed to what makes up Bruce.

He was not made to be gentle.

Bruce sat with the nine year old into the night, well after the terror had stopped and Dick had fallen asleep once more. He leaves before the first creep of morning, slinking back into his room, and splashing cool water on his face. By eight, Alfred is ringing him to come down for breakfast and with heavy limbs and an even heavier heart, Bruce lumbers down towards the kitchen.

He freezes when he spots Dick happily munching away on eggs and toast, mussed up and pillow-worn hair splayed in different directions. He sees Bruce as well and gives a sloppy wave, sleep still tugging at his small arms and droopy eyelids.

“Mornin’, Bruce,” he says. “Alfie made toast.”

And it’s just as Alfred said it would be. Dick doesn’t remember any of it. Bruce does. He always will. But this is hope, right? This is what healing is: searching eyes. Tears. Screams. Terror. Helplessness.

This is hope, Bruce reminds himself later that night as his door creaks open again and footsteps slap against the wood floors. Dick screams at him again and howls at the walls, grieving over things he won’t remember in the morning but will bounce around in Bruce’s head for weeks after.

This is hope. This is healing. This is Dick feeling safe and comforted. It has to be, it has to be.

But it scares Bruce.

#Dick Grayson #Bruce Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #bad things happen bingo #hope is scary #night terrors #so if it's not clear Dick is not afraid of Bruce at all #he trusts Bruce completely #i didn't want to ramble in the actual fic so i'll explain it here #when someone is recovering from a traumatic experience symptoms don't always show right away until that person's brain feels safe enough to #essentially freak out- which is what is happening here #my little brother had night terrors for a week straight and he would scream for hours and point at his closet saying that a bad man was #in his closet- he never remembered it happening when he woudl wake up the next morning #many children go through night terrors and it doesn't have to be from trauma #it can just be a bad sleep cycle or their circadian rhythm is off #they're very scary to see if you don't know what's going on #dustorange

34 notes · View notes

secret-engima · 4 years

Text

*kicks down door* WHO WANTS TO READ ME RAMBLE/RANT ABOUT THE GRALEA LEVEL IN FFXV AND WHY IT ACTUALLY WAS A GOOD LEVEL AND EVERYONE SHOULD PLAY THE NOCTIS ROUTE AT LEAST ONCE RATHER THAN THE GLADIO ROUTE EVEN THOUGH IT’S TERRIFYING AND FRUSTRATING.

No one?

WELL TOO BAD.

(Unless you haven’t played or watched the game yet and don’t want spoilers in which case TURN AWAY NOW).

...Ahem. *deep breath* Okay so I will forever stand by my opinion that chapter 13 of the game (the one that takes place on the train and then in Gralea) is Good™ and does exactly what it's supposed to in the narrative. That is not to say I don't hate it with a passion and didn't cheer when they added the Gladiolus route for those of us (like me) who didn't want to replay the Noctis route again, but I will stubbornly insist to anyone that wants to listen that the chapter's difficulty and wildly different tone and pacing was THE POINT of the darn thing and deserves some respect for it.

See, the game up to that point is, if not always lighthearted (because it's not), has still been something of an Adventure Story™. Yes there's horrible tragic things like Insomnia falling and Regis dying, but for the most part the gameplay is exploration and cool combat mechanics and the relationship between the four brothers. It's ... happy for a good chunk of it. There's this light at the end of the tunnel, this comfy assurance that there can be a happy ending, that this can all be fixed and tied up in a neat little bow somehow.

Then Altissia happens. Luna dies, Ignis is blinded, and the game puts you on literal rails, forcing you to go hurtling toward A Different Tone. Everyone is stressed, everyone is scared or angry. You’d THINK that this is the lowest point of the story and that surely there’s going to be an emotional reconciliation between Noctis and Gladio and then we’ll get back to exploring and saving the world and all that jazz.

Except we don’t.

The train scene with Ardyn and Shiva happens, and the entire heartbreak with Prompto happens, and that’s when things start to seriously crack. You lose all access to your magic while stuck in this narrow train, then you lose the Regalia, your symbol of freedom, your main way to travel through the game (even when you fast travel, the animation of arrival shows you getting out of the Regalia). You are now trapped in Gralea. In dark, hostile territory with one of your party missing, one of them blind, the other angry at you, and still no magic. Then a few minutes later you are forcibly separated from the rest of your party, the characters you’ve spent all game getting attached to, and leaning on, and laughing with. They are your last anchor points to the brother dynamic that has kept the whole game on a lighter note and now they are GONE. You have none of your weapons or skills, you have no idea where the others are (first time playing the game without spoilers anyway), you have NOTHING. No hope. No backup. No distractions from the fact that, oh yeah, this is a story where the Bad. Guys. Win. Are winning, have won, and all Noctis (all you) can do is take out the Ring that slowly killed Regis, that Luna died for, the thing that represents everything going wrong and all NOCTIS must do to fix it even when he is painfully, woefully unprepared ... and finally put it on.

Noctis (and by extension you, the player) MUST shoulder the responsibility of being the king of a lost kingdom, of acknowledging that he IS the king, his dad was MURDERED, and Luna was killed for the thing you are now wearing and everything it means. It’s your only option until you eventually find the dead Ravus and take back Regis’s sword toward the middle/end of the level, which you can’t use recklessly because every swing drains your very life-force, forcing the Ring to still be your “best” option in many cases.

Most of that level is spent running, and hiding, and praying that the MT Units on the floor don’t leap up and try to murder you, or that the daemons don’t notice you, or that the teleporting daemon doesn’t find you, or that Ardyn will just SHUT UP because his taunts are really unhelpful right now.

The only hope you have left in this level is to grit your teeth and get through it with the Ring until you can reunite with your brothers and get magic back and go get the Crystal, the mcguffin of this whole game, and put the game back on the normal track of brotherly dynamics and fun quests. Just get to the Crystal, and everything will somehow start going back to normal.

And then that turns out to be a trap too.

Welcome to the final act of a tragedy, and your character is the one living through it. There will be no restoration of the norm until you’ve seen this to its final conclusion. There will be no light save for the one Noctis dies for.

Even when I first played that level (vanilla, not even a day one patch version btw because I was an idiot like that) and hated it because it was terrifying, I never thought it didn't belong in the story like ... quite a few comments I saw on the internet later insisted it didn’t. This is Noctis's story. This is Noctis's tragedy. THIS is the level that strips every last distraction and security blanket and shelter away from him and makes him put on the Ring and thus shoulder everything it represents. There is- terror here, there is trauma, there is GRIEF. This is practically Noctis's headspace without his brothers, because let's not forget that while we the players are having fun fishing and catching frogs for a silly scientist lady, Noctis is a refugee from an empire that MURDERED HIS FATHER and the FATHER OF HIS SHIELD-BROTHER, destroyed his HOME and then, right before Gralea, murdered Luna, the girl who he's known and talked to and confided in via letter for twelve years. This is a world falling into literal darkness (and if the player hadn’t noticed how the daytime cycle in the game kept getting shorter and shorter before this point YOU CERTAINLY NOTICE NOW) and it's up to Noctis- JUST Noctis, ONLY NOCTIS thanks to a Prophecy made long before he was ever born, to somehow Fix It™.

One person. Just one.

And he has to fix ... all of this.

How?

He doesn’t know. During the Gralea level he DOESN’T KNOW. All he (all we) know is that the Crystal is the key, but since the Crystal only answers to Lucis Caelums, that means Noctis is the key, and Noctis (and you the player) is painfully aware of how Not Ready he is.

And the weight of that is enough to render you helpless in the face of it. The fear of that is a maze. The terror of it is a monster following you down the halls that you cannot escape from and cannot kill while it laughs at your misery.

All of that is GRALEA. The capital city of the people who overthrew his home, killed his father, killed his fiancé, and isolated him from the last safety nets he had.

The entirety of chapter 13 isn’t meant to be enjoyed. It’s meant to make you scared. It’s meant to frustrate you and make you feel helpless. It’s meant to make you feel sick when you learn what the daemons and MTs you’ve been killing really are. It’s meant to make you RAGE against Ardyn, and the Empire, and this entire situation because you’re one person and you’re not prepared for this and it’s NOT FAIR and you just want things to go BACK TO THE WAY IT WAS AND ALL OF THIS SUCKS.

Yeah. It does.

And who else do you think feels like that?

Noctis.

Chapter 13 isn’t meant to be fun. It’s meant to make you feel like Noctis does.

And what emotions would you expect from someone who has just lost everything and is expected to fix everything for everyone else, and now has no distractions or shields between him and his grief?

I remember reading an article about “why this chapter failed” and it was basically to the order of “this game is about a fun road trip with your bros and reuniting with your fiancé and chapter 13 breaks away from that too hard” and I respectfully have to disagree.

This story isn’t about a “fun road trip” and it isn’t just about “reuniting with your fiancé”. From the very first cutscene we are told that it’s not in Regis’s desperate (and soon revealed as last) words to his son about setting forth on a journey and not being able to go back. We are told it’s not in the first hour or so when Insomnia burns and Noctis cries and Cor tells us that “in his last moments together he didn’t want to be your king, he wanted to be your father”. How is that a “fun story about a road trip?”. Yes the road trip IS fun for us, and it IS about the brother relationship, but in a large, LARGE part-

Final Fantasy XV is about a young man setting out into the world and facing the hardships of it. It’s about loss. It’s about regrets. It’s about how no matter how much you want them to, some things can never go back to the way they were yet you must keep going anyway. It’s about how the darkness of the world will just keep taking-taking-taking until someone is willing to pay the price to make it stop, and that sometimes a happy ending for the people you love most means giving up your own personal happy ending on their behalf.

Final Fantasy XV never really hid the fact that it was a tragic, bittersweet story.

But it’s in chapter 13 that the story refuses to let you mistake it for anything else any longer.

Could the chapter have been structured a little better so that the gameplay itself wasn’t so frustrating? Probably. I know almost nothing about game design so that’s not really my call. But does the chapter, for all its frustration and anger-inducing inversion of pacing and tone, brutally get the point across?

Maybe it’s just my opinion, but I’d say yes. Yes it does. Because this video game was the one that fully 100% convinced me, in a way that no other video game had before, that the platform could tell heart wrenching stories, could give me characters I would care for, cry over, rage on the behalf of.

And a big part of that clicked for me at the ending, but it likely wouldn’t have if I hadn’t first struggled my way through chapter 13 and all the emotions it causes and represents just like Noctis did.

...

There. I’m done. Thanks for reading my long-suppressed rant on the most hated chapter of FFXV.

#Secret Engima Rambles #SE rants #ffxv #storytelling things #writer things #I will die on this hill

151 notes · View notes