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someobscurereference · 6 years

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oh ok so fun fact! u totally have multiple fe anons now! XD theres def at least 2 of us, maybe more tho. im NOT the anon from the last ask, but dragons gate idea! holy shit. this is the Dream Scenario, tell me more. like i think the trio would be way more comfy staying knowing they could visit home whenever they wanted. how do encounters with the other future kids go? i imagine that tho they bicker they actually care about one another quite a bit? do the royal sibs get shovel talked?

Multiple!!! Anons!! I guess I’ve been suspecting that for a bit now but it’s finally been #confirmed and I’m still as surprised as if it were day one, lol. I’ve been addressing some asks as though they’re all from the same anon when they’re probably not. Whoops! At least I can be more careful from here on out ;)

Dragon’s Gate Scenario (where the timelines between Nohr and Ylisse actually match up) is best scenario because allowing the Trio to visit their family and and friends without leaving Nohr behind makes my heart warm and happy. I agree that they’d be wayyyy more comfy with this ability. (Also buckle up bc we’re about to talk about some timeline stuff right here)

I’m pretty convinced most the fe13 crew thinks the Awakening Trio is dead by now, tbh. Which makes me so sad!!! And I don’t want it to be true!! But from what it seems, Anankos showed up right when all the future kids were gonna split ways and was like “please save my kingdom” and threw a paper with where to meet (probably wraped around a brick or something and it nearly hits Inigo, lmao) and then he left. So Owain, Inigo, and Severa go off to check it out, but?? They probably didn’t except to be gone for literal years? Because it’s definitely been years.

I think Selena makes some comment that implies she remembers Corrin as a young child but that feels a little too long for me/they still look pretty young in-game, so to me, the Trio has probably been in Nohr for like five (5) years or so? That’s just personal opinion. That number can change, but it’s for sure been years.

When they meet, Anankos is pretty explicit about the fact if they’re going to help him, they have to leave Right Now. No time to send a letter or say goodbye or anything. Instant decision. And the Trio makes the mythical heroic one, the sacrificial one, but at what cost?

It takes a month to travel from Yllise to the meeting place, so all the parents were probably expecting to hear back from their future kids after like a month. And then they… didn’t.

Some of them probably keep hope. Lissa insists that she’d know if her son were gone, she’d feel it, and most believe that she thinks so but Maribelle knows she worries. And with how close Maribelle and Lissa are, Owain and Brady probably grew up together, practically brothers, and Brady’s doubts eat at him like a black hole and he cries practically every time he thinks about it, about the letters he’s never gotten, about the travels they didn’t get to have together now that the war was over, and Owain’s dead, probably, because of something stupid or heroic or both and Brady wasn’t even there to heal him, couldn’t even do that, so useless and—

Sometimes Cynthia sits with him and doesn’t try to cheer him up when he blubbers and at least once she mentions that they aren’t her kinds of heroes, but Owain always liked the type that showed up at the very last second. She’s kinda hoping he’ll still jump out at some point. Who knew being a lone hero was so lonely? She doesn’t say anything after that, and then Brady’s all out of tears.

Olivia practices dances that require two people and waits for her grown son to come home, knowing he probably won’t. Her baby isn’t big enough to dance yet, and that’s amazing and she loves this little bundle of joy and the future she’s going to have with him that another version of her didn’t reach, but she still misses Inigo. Gerome wanted to live a life of solitude with Minerva and the other wyverns and he got it. He sees the other kids the least out of anyone and he knows better than to expect anything good out of the world even with the cruelest future averted, but even he sometimes catches himself staring at his open palm, trying to remember how Inigo’s hand felt in his own when the fool was trying to convince Gerome to come back in time, please, and then when Gerome relented, in the new world Inigo was always pawing at him anyway to come visit these women or that event and—

Gerome has been stuck in the past long enough. He has to look ahead. His hand aches.

Noire was friends with Inigo and Sevena both, and maybe she had a crush on both of them, maybe. Or at least the potential for a crush. Or something adjacent to one. She loved them both so fiercely, the way only dying things loved (because they were all doomed from the start up until they weren’t), and at some point it didn’t matter if she teetered on the edge of romance or not, she loved them. Inigo always flirted with every girl under the sun but her, but it never mattered because in the end she always worried over him anyway. He never learned. And she misses the way Severa would fuss over her too. Sometimes she still wakes up in the night and wishes Severa were there to guide her, even though she’s long since past any need for hand-holding or fussing. She still wants it.

(Sometimes she makes a cake and wonders what Owain would have named it. The sugar always tastes sour those days.)

Cordelia knows better than anyone how greedy war can be, what it can take within seconds. The problem with that is that the war is supposed to be over, but she seems to have lost her daughter anyway. She’s broken her promise never to leave her daughter alone again. Maybe it’s fate; maybe Cordelia is always meant to be the lone survivor. She wishes a lot of things.

Kjelle hasn’t touched makeup since the time Severa tried to teach it to her and she forgot more important things, like how to hold a shield. Sometimes she catches herself staring at the lines of kohl on other girl’s faces and wondering what Severa would have thought, though. Usually that leads to chopping wood and practicing stances for hours on end until she can’t feel her fingers anymore. Kjelle’s never been much for words or contemplation outside the material—what would this move do against that one, is her armor the proper weight still—but she catches herself wondering what Severa would say about trinkets in the store windows more often than she would like. Laurent and Severa have always been opposits, but it worked, somehow, for them, even if it led to bickering more often than not. She forced him out of his comfort zone, and he tempered her, or so he thought. Perhaps Severa would have matured naturally with age. Laurent can come up with a thousand hypotheses now, but he’s never going to know the truth. Not anymore.

And it’s not just them, it’s everyone. It’s Nah missing chasing Inigo around when she got mad at him, though she didn’t really mean it. It’s Yarne missing Severa’s perseverance, her constant push at him to do better. It’s Lucina missing her cousin, who she always admired with the imagination she didn’t quite have and the bravery she shared with him. It’s everyone. They all miss each other in a hundred different ways, and the Trio misses them and home like a drowning man whose adapted to the ocean but can still taste the salt.

—

Uhhhh, that got sad, but anyway!! You’d bet everyone would be ECSTATIC to find Owain/Severa/Inigo alive and well. There would be many a tear. Kjelle would probably punch something. Brady would try to yell at them but he’d be sobbing too hard to actually say anything. Nah would roar with all the power of the dragon she is, and everyone’s parents would hold them hard and not want to let go. Lucina would beam and Gerome would let go of the little string of tension that had been wrapped around his heart for the past few years and Laurent would have to compose himself and Cynthia would be doing flips, and you know there’d be so much yelling. So much. The story would have to come out in bits and pieces because they’d constantly be interrupting one another, on both sides.

I’ve definitely been focusing on the sadder parts of this idea and not the happier ones, so while this answer is getting long, let me try to fix that real fast.

There’s guaranteed to be a lot of fussing over the Trio, who are now like 5 years older than when they last left and maybe? possibly? still disguised with Anankos’ magic? Maybe also that vanishes when they step through the Gate. Unknown. What is also guaranteed, however, is how much fussing the Nohrians get when visiting officially as a mixed group of royals and the Trio’s BFs/GFs.

Xander charms the pants of Olivia, hands down. He’s genuine and kind and charming, and when his back is turned, Olivia looks at her son and blushes because hot damn. Inigo picked a catch. Inigo sees her look and wants to sink into the floor, but she’s not wrong. Also he feels 12 all over again. Olivia offers to dance for him and Inigo wants to join in and he also wants to watch and he’s also too shy to want to dance in front of anybody, even just Xander and his mom, and it makes for an interesting visit for sure.

Leo passes Aunt/Other Mother Maribelle’s Scrutiny Test, but Niles, for all the effort he’s putting in to make a good impression, probably doesn’t. Owain insists Niles isn’t really that bad, he’s loyal like nothing else, and that’s at least a benefit in Maribelle’s book. She’s still suspicious of his seemingly shady character and all the effort he’s putting into looking good for her (because the fact he has to put in effort at all is suspicious to her, and it would have been suspicious if he were a prince or a farmer or anything other than a thief turned royal retainer. The only reason she can’t pin anything on Leo is because he keeps pulling out obscure knowledge to answer all her probing questions and has only the utmost manners. She’s waiting for him to make a cultural faux pas), but Owain is grown now. He can make his own decisions. Besides, if Lissa isn’t complaining, she can’t either. Lissa loves Niles and Leo both. Lissa maybe catches them unawares with the old “bucket of frogs over the doorway” trick, though. She hasn’t changed.

Cordelia’s happy to meet whoever her daughter loves, so long as they give Severa the love she deserves and pretty obviously craves. Not that Cordelia can talk, since she’s been absent from Severa’s life long enough too. She just worries like any normal mother. That Beruka girl is a little stony, but Camilla seems to have enough love for the both of them combined, even if she is a little intimidating too. Cordelia is mostly satisfied. She tries to keep her back straight when they’re looking at her, though. She’s never been one to be intimidated, but she wonders how Severa’s been faring in the seemingly dark land of Nohr. Well, if Severa has people she cares about there, she figures her daughter must be doing pretty well.

(P.S. I can do more specific reactions if there was something you had in mind! I’m not sure anyone would give a Shovel Talk because I’m not too much a fan of that trope? I feel like it disregards the agency of whoever the Talker is trying to “protect”. I’d say Kjelle might give one, but she might just end up admiring Camilla’s muscles instead. Henry might (for whoever you picture him the father of), albeit unintentionally. I think it’s canon Henry would do Literally Anything asked of him for those he loves, so I can see that fact slipping pretty easily into conversation, even accidentally.

The one most likely to intentionally pull a Shovel Talk move is Noire, probably. Against Xander, even though she likes Xander. Because Inigo never really did learn in the army, and she doesn’t know if Laslow’s learned anything yet. Probably not.)

tl;dr the Kids all Love each other So Much. They grew up together in a destroyed world and at the end of the day, they all know they always have each other, and the Trio being missing is like a hole in their hearts even when the rest of the fe13 kid cast are all on their separate travels

#my text #asks #fe13 #fe14 #long post #character death mention #this was longer and sadder than i expected but i promise i always write happy ends in the end

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saltandsilverstories · 4 years

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Gargoyle

A blob of hand cream, pale pink and scented more like FreBreeze than the cherry blossoms on its packaging, rolls onto my palm. I cap the tube with my teeth, rubbing the cream into my skin. February’s chill had seeped through my gloves, drying out my hands. The cream seemed to coat my fingers more than repair the damage the cold had done.

My legs vibrate against the seat, the keychains on my purse jingling just louder than the rumbling of the subway car.

Most people were sitting, while one or two people stood up, swaying in place as the subway turned down a tunnel. Someone’s music was turned up too loud, the faint screeching of electropop prominent over the shuffling of shoes and crinkling of jackets. Someone down the car coughs, the sound overlapping the voice of the PA system.

“Arriving at: Museum. Museum station is this stop. Doors will open on the left.”

I drop the hand cream back into my purse, swapping it for my phone. The train jolts as it stops, the doors chiming as they slide open. Bodies change places beyond the threshold of the doors, a biting breeze slipping in between them.

My phone lays in my hand, face down. I flip it over, my finger tapping the screen twice. We flood its blackness. 10:24 in bright white rests on our heads. Me and you, the “One Year Sober” chip between your teeth, the stick of a lollipop between mine. Your hair’s parted in the middle, mine a bit to the right. Our outlines are fuzzy, blurring us into blobs of grey sweatshirt and blue jeans.

---

You had a few of the same sweatshirt, keeping them on-site for convenience, you said. You wore one at the graduation party, its sleeves and chest all dotted with stickers of stars and moons.

They didn’t have a lot of food at the clinic, so I left ten minutes after I got there to pick up a cake from Fortino’s. They were still setting up decorations -- sad, droopy things -- when I got back. Staff placed the cake between the cups and plates, the bubblegum pink and canary yellow of the streamers making the room look a little more like it was meant to house a celebration.

“Jackie!” You held a celery stick in your fingers like a cigarette, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Your hair smelled like dad’s shampoo when we hugged. “Hey.”

With how often I visited, you didn’t bother with a tour, but instead brought me to your dorm.

“No cards today.” You were rooting around in a drawer where the deck usually was.

“Why not?” I shifted where I sat, trying to see over your shoulder. “Hey, wait.”

“What?” A pair of socks landed on the tiles.

“You’re making a mess.” My arm reached for the socks.

“Stop it,” you swatted me away, “It’s fine.”

“Okay, okay.” My legs crossed themselves.

“Here. Look.” You held a package, wrapped in napkins from the cafeteria, held together with tape and elastic bands.

In my palms it seemed so tiny. “What is this?” My voice was tinier still.

“A lil’ something.” You hooked some of your hair behind your ear. “A thank-you.”

The elastics came off easy, and the tape didn’t resist my tugging at all. The bare box seemed like it used to house earrings, or maybe it still did. I popped off the lid.

An envelope lay inside, folded, bent in place with two bobby pins. They clattered inside the empty box as I fished open the envelope.

“Dear Miss Evelyn Santos, we are pleased to inform you…” My voice tapered off so my brain could process the meaning of each word. “Do mom and dad know?”

You nodded, your smile warping your tone. “Called them when it came in the mail. I wanted to tell you in person, though.”

“Evelyn, holy shit.”

“I’m back in action, baby!” Your arms went up in a cheer.

A giggle, mine. The first of the day. It built beneath my tongue until laughter broke free. I embraced you, tighter this time.

“U of T, huh? You’re really cleaning up.” You let go of me. I hoped you could hear how proud I was.

Your left cheek dimple peeked out as your smile deepened. “Wouldn’t have tried if not for you, so thank you.”

“You know I’ll always look out for you.” I handed you back the envelope. The letter had details you needed for registration, or I would’ve kept it in a frame.

“I know, and I hope this, uh, shows you that I’ll be okay. You’ve done a lot for me, and I’m gonna be fine now. It’s time you get back to focusing on you, Jackie.” You placed your hand over mine.

In the main room an hour later, you stood on a fake stage, behind a podium, and a mic on a crooked stand. Your sponsor was right beside you, hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt.

You tapped the mic. “I just wanna say something real quick, if that’s okay?” There was four of your voice, all in different pitches, all muddled by the prehistoric speakers they’d dug up.

Your sponsor nodded.

“Uh, so, heh. I guess, one year ago, this isn’t where I thought I’d be. I was supposed to have graduated by now. From school, not here. There was a point where I, like, wasn’t really myself at all, not even just because of the morphine. It came after, and I don’t remember a lot of it, but I do remember my sister, who’s here with me today--” You pointed me out like I was the one graduating. The warmth that blossomed somewhere under my ribs… If I could’ve bottled it I would have. “--just about dragged me out of our house and got me here. I’m on this stage because of her, and I promise you, Tony and Jackie, and everyone else I’ve come to support here, that once I leave here tonight, I’m never gonna be back.”

Someone else beat me to starting the standing ovation. It died down too quick, just as your sponsor handed you your chip.

You brought an extra lollipop with you when you came back to your seat. Yours was gone by the time the last of the graduates had finished up on stage. I saved mine for after, when you hooked your arm through mine and pulled me over to the windows. The sun wasn’t out anymore, but the streetlamps were, dropping spotlights every few feet along the sidewalk.

“Here,” I handed her my phone, putting the lollipop in my mouth. Rainbow didn’t really have a flavour more complex than just ‘sugar.’ “Take a photo of us.”

Your eyes got really wide as you took the phone, holding it out in front of us. You held the chip between your teeth, maybe trying to match me and my lollipop stick.

“Don’t do that.”

You turned your head before I could grab the chip. “Shh! Just smile.”

We did smile, yours wrinkling by your eyes. You tapped a few things when you were done, holding up the screen for me to see after.

“It’s your lockscreen now.” The chip was in your pocket.

“It’s perfect.”

---

Our selfie vanishes, the screen tired of waiting for my input. My reflection blinks up at me from within the confines of my phone screen. I tap the screen again, opening up WhatsApp. Nothing new greets me in our chat. There’s no service anyway.

“im out w friends”

“Do they use?”

“it doesn’t matter m’m not like that anymore”

“Yeah, but what if you get hurt? You’re

almost done your master’s.

Don’t let all our hard work slip away.”

“relax if i was gonna relapse i woudlve already”

“I just want you to be safe.”

“i am safe i am more than safe u gotta let me live a little”

“Now arriving at: St. Patrick. St. Patrick Station is this stop. Doors will open on the left.”

I blink, glancing at the blinking lights of the line map. Just two more until Union. I lock the phone, shoving into my coat pocket.

Laughter trickles down the car until it’s beside me. I follow it to its source: two girls, one in pink earmuffs, the other in a black toque, hunched over a phone in earmuff’s hands.

My gut folds itself in half, sharp edges digging into the inside of my abdomen.

---

I was in the bathroom. Listerine sloshed around inside my mouth, my study sheet taped up on the mirror. Still had to get to my skincare, and floss before going back to review the rest of the review notes I’d left lying in my room.

The exhaust fan was on, and it clunked every few seconds. The squeak of the knob on my bedroom door was only just louder than the fan.

I spat the mouthwash out, wiping my mouth with one hand, the other unlocking the bathroom door.

The light was on in my room. A shadow flitted around inside. Papers rasped, drawers groaned open and shut.

You were in jeans and a shirt I didn’t recognize. Your hair was up in a bun on top of your head, off-centre. You knelt by my bed, one of your arms lost beneath the space between it and the floor.

My lips pressed together, leaning against the doorframe. I faced the hallway.

The box scraped along the hardwood as you unearthed it.

Maybe you’d leave the change in there. Maybe you’d only take the change. Maybe you’d only take what you needed. Maybe you were adding to my savings. Maybe you’d pulled out a normal shoebox instead.

Coins jingled, and any other maybes dissipated.

The photo of us, of me, you, mom, and dad, hanging by the stairs was obscured. The glass caught the light leaking from my room, blotting out the four of us.

The box replaced itself, your footsteps dampened by your socks.

The light switch clicked. The door shut.

Your eyes were on me, and mine were searching for you in a photograph.

---

“Now arriving at: Union. Union Station is this stop. Doors will open on the left.”

My legs wobble as I cross the car, the motion of the train working against my heels.

The walk to the Tim’s is short, or maybe it’s long and I’m fast-forwarding the in-between. My phone buzzes in my coat pocket. Once, twice, again.

I forget to check the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Hey. You close?” The inside of the store spills out with your voice.

“Yeah, I’m coming in now,” I huff, my breath blooming in front of my face. I pass through the cloud, pulling open the door.

“Jackie!”

I turn towards the call and see you in a booth for two, one arm waving me over, the other placing your phone into the pocket of your scrub shirt.

I drape my coat over the back of my seat. A French Vanilla sits on my side of the table, mirroring yours.

“Cold out there, huh?” You start, pulling your drink towards you.

I nod, taking my seat.

Your scrubs are clean and without wrinkles. You iron them. Your hair is smooth and curled at the ends. You style your hair. Your eyes are lined with thin wings, your skin airbrushed. You do your makeup now.

My jeans were bought two years ago. My hair is in a bun. I’m bareface and in a sweater I wore two times this week.

Chatter and a grainy remix of Bad Romance fills the space between our words.

“How’ve you been?” I ask right away. It’s all I really need to know.

You sip from your drink, nodding. “Good, good. Work’s good, I’m good.”

Are you using? “That’s good, yeah.”

“What about you? You guys working on anything new?” You sound curious. Genuine.

“Uh, not yet. We’re between projects right now.” I rotate my cup with my fingertips. “The last game didn’t do very well, so we’re just brainstorming.”

“Ah, okay. I’m sure you’ll figure out something.” A smile.

I return with my own smile. It ends at my cheeks.

We take a sip from our drinks.

“Okay, I’m just gonna say it before I can’t.” You exhale sharply.

“Say what?” I hear myself ask.

You look down at your drink, then at me. “I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?” I regret drinking anything at all.

You nip your lower lip, pushing some of your hair behind your ear. You match the tiny photo of yourself on the ID pinned to your shirt. “I can’t… If… I don’t want us to not talk, you know? And if you’re gonna freak out and try and micromanage me again…”

My head bobs. “I get it, Evelyn. I… I will always look out for you, but I get it, and I’m trying. I’m trying to give you what you want. Youve gotta know why I worry, though.”

You hold your drink with both of your hands. “I know, I know, but sis, it’s been like six years. I’m around the stuff every day and I don’t have urges. I don’t wanna be where I was before. I’m okay now, and I need you to know that, like, really know that if I’m gonna let you back in again.”

What if you get hurt? What if I could stop you but I don’t? A long exhale escapes through my nose. “Okay. Yeah, okay. I, uh. You’re right. I backed off for this long. I trusted you, I do trust you, and yeah. I get it. You’re okay now.”

You don’t need me anymore.

“Thank you.” You take my hand across the table, squeezing for a second before letting go. Your smile is large, pushing even your eyebrows up higher. Those used to be untrimmed, bushy things, but now they were slim, framing your eyes. You’re okay.

I smile back. It goes a little farther this time.

#from the same portfolio as memento mori #this one is called gargoyle bc #what do gargoyles do #they guard things #but this is guardianship to an extreme #it was a lot more surreal in its earliest drafts #mywriting

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