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yanderenightmare · 4 years

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yandere ! BNHA headcannons

SLEEPING HABITS

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goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon, noncon, yandere, abuse, profanity, anxiety, arson, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mind control

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

Bakugo respects sleep to the point of obsession. Always in bed before eight thirty, and though the thought of railing his little darling into the mattress is always a tempting thought, a long day of hero-work almost always calls for cuddles and sleep and nothing more and nothing less. He’s just so tired once he comes home, all sweaty and coated in smog with only one petite little gorgeous thing on his mind. He scarcely takes a shower before heading to bed, coming in through the door, grabbing his little darling wherever she is, whatever she’s doing going to waste or having to wait until the morning again, because there’s no chance in either heaven or hell she’s escaping what lock she’s been secured in under Bakugo’s arms, making quick work of shedding all clothes and brushing his teeth harshly in bare-minimum war-like effort, before scooping her up in his arms and collapsing in the bed with a bounce and a much needed groan.

He’ll have her on her side, spooning her, squeezing the breath from out of her lungs, his heavy heartbeats crashing and wreaking havoc through her ribs, hand harshly gripping onto her hip, pushing her ass firmly against his crotch, hissing each time she makes a move. This is how it always goes, every night, no exceptions. She’ll always be locked and pushed to his chest, guarding her as though he’s a dragon protecting his treasure. His breaths wafting close to her ear, those heavy growling huffs making her heart catch in her throat. He’ll breath in the scent of her hair, loving how flowery and serene her scent is as opposed to the smell of smoke and caramel. Finding it a perfect aroma to fall asleep to, pleasant dreams conjured by the associations it provides.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi can’t go to sleep without some sugar. But he too can come home tired after having over-exerted himself with the use of his blue flames, therefor sex isn’t always in the deck of cards for his darling once he comes home. Though, if she thinks she’s off the hook, she’s mistaken, there will be no sleep until he’s satisfied. He’s a selfish asshole about it too, pulling her up and his chest, hands cradling her ass, pinching the soft plump flesh as he makes her grind on him, his tongue and teeth coming to mark-up that pretty soft neck of hers, her soft timid whimpers enough to make him groan, wild energy surging through his loins, perhaps enough to persuade him in ripping those little panties off her anyways.

Afterwards he’ll be lying on his back, having her lie halfway on his chest. One hand stroking with slender fingers up and down her sides, loving how her goosebumps never fail in greeting him. On those days he wants more contact, he’ll swing her leg up over his torso, hand holding onto her ass-cheek, pulling her some further onto his chest. His heart fluttering in gratification as her small hands come to trace his itching aching scars, those careful curious blossom-tipped fingertips dancing over his marred skin, goosebumps of his own flushing the surface in reverence. His spine shivering as he falls ever so softly into sweet-dream sleep.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

Tomura’s sleep habit is sporadic, but despite being tired, his boyish horniness always outweighs his need for sleep. Actually, he finds he sleeps even better after having pumped what frustration the day had given him into his poor little darling. Having her jump up and down the length of his cock, or humping her silly into the mattress. However, he always prepares her first, loving to feel her quivering little thighs locked and spread with his face buried in what sweetness found between them, gorging himself in exploring what places has his darling going cross-eyed. His hungry-hearted curiosity making quick work of finding out which way to curl and scissor his fingers when burying his digits knuckle-deep inside her, feeling her spongy walls clench and flutter about him until her juices drip shamefully down his hand, a cocky smile stretched upon his face as he kisses her stomach. Her prepared slicked-up wet and velvety walls so eager to suck in his cock, the fluttering feel of her walls kissing his girth enough to have his toes cramping and eyes going wild.

He’ll be exhausted afterwards, and clingy, cradling her chest like a toddler. His face using her chest like a pillow, hand squeezing and tweaking at her nipple as though it were some plushie for him to drool over. His foot coming to cuddle and snake with hers until he feels perfectly comfortable. Snores quickly following suit as well as a satiated blissful smile stretched upon his face.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Nothing can help Hitoshi’s darling from doing whatever he wants, however he wants it, whenever he wants it. No amount of groveling, begging, pleading, crying, screaming will stop him. And, although he comes home multiple times throughout the day, having subjugated his darling to his will again and again for several hours on end, sex is still mandatory before she’s allowed to sleep. He’ll laugh as he clutches her mind in a choke-hold, having her focus on every single little movement he makes, making her tremble upon every feather-light touch he bestows upon her, watching her eyes wrench shut upon every vein and bump and ridge as he pinches her clit between his callous fingers, watching as she loses count of how many times he’s made her cum in the span of the mere last hour.

He’ll be a real cocky, manipulative, degrading asshole during their entire play-session, but when it comes to cuddles he’ll wipe the shit-eating grin off his face and kiss her temple softly, stroking and petting her hair as he whispers sweet little nothings into her ear. Still a smidge of cockiness evident in his otherwise awe-struck tone. Limbs flung over and under each other, thoroughly entangled in an intricate and comfortable knot, coated with sweat. He’ll release whatever hold he had on her mind once their done, happy to see her comfort herself in his chest, soft sighs sounding from her small frame, in contrast to watching her pathetically try and snake her way from out of his hold.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Poor darling. She’s lucky she can still stand on some days throughout the week. Praying, wishing and screaming at whomever might be listening, whomever might be in charge of her fate other than Keigo has become like ritual before going to bed. Her prayers are never answered though. It’s a cruel joke, a game, a satire, some form of heaven yet some form of hell. How he comes to her in the shape of an angel, similar to the ones she’s been praying to, only he answers her prayers in whichever way he wants. He’ll have her for hours on end in prayer stance, kneeling, clinging to him as though he were a life-line. He’ll have her slipping in and out of consciousness, with his almighty hands guiding her every movement where she’s grown too tired to do as much as lift a finger in protest, where all that leaves her mouth are cute incomprehensible sounds.

But even he gets exhausted after a while, after a long, long while of snapping his hips forward, jutting into his poor little baby-bird. Sometimes, if he still has the energy, he’ll lay them both in the bath, message whatever strain gathered in her shoulders away, have her melt against him, but on most days: he’ll simply wrap both his wings around her sweat-slicked glowing dewy body, inhale the sweet scent of their love and nuzzle into her neck, whisper small cooing praises and adorations, holding onto her as though she’s absolution, drifting off to sleep while feeling the spontaneous remnants of himself spasm and jolt through her.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Izuku uses everything with purpose, as a lesson, as a reminder, as a threat, as a weapon. Sex is no exception. Does his little darling not understand her place, he’ll gladly teach her. Does his little darling forget who she belongs to, he’ll gladly remind her. Does his little darling think she can leave, does she think she can survive on her own, does she really think she’ll breath better without him? She’ll soon be preaching otherwise while clamping down around the girth of his cock, with his swollen cockhead kissing her cervix each time he pushes into her. He’ll have her screaming, crying, begging for forgiveness, and being the forgiving hero that he is, he’ll allow her rest if she tells him one more time what she’s done wrong and make him believe that she’ll never do something like it ever again through promise upon promise upon tearful promise.

He’ll allow her rest when he’s convinced she’s learned her lesson, where after he’ll always draw a bath before sleeping, carrying her to the water and letting her soak while he changes the bedsheets. He’ll be sweet then, still stern and domineering and intimidating, but refraining from being harsh and brute and cruel. He’ll have her lying on his chest every night, legs secured between his, large hands propping her into position if she slides off or tries shifting, having her ask for permission to leave the bed to do simple things such as using the bathroom. His hand running through her hair, large enough to capture her entire skull in his palm, enough to make her fear sleeping yet enough to make her feel lonely when she wakes up without him.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

On days where Kai is content, or at least something akin to the feeling, all he wants is to cherish sweet moments with his darling. Soft-tinted cuddles in bed where silence is a type of peace that makes his soul feel light like dandelion-fluff. But, days where the hours has spared Kai of the worlds ugliness, sickness and depravity are few and far between. Meaning, it’s not often he comes home content. And when he’s aggravated, when everything feels sporadic and irate and static and like pure and utter chaos, there’s only one thing that can make him feel collected again, like he’s in charge, in control, and that’s having his little darling beneath him with his cock tearing through her, it’s seeing those gorgeous watery eyes look up at him through a thick veil of plead, it’s having her innocence wrapped around his fingers.

It’s soothing, though it looks like punishment, though it looks like torture, it’s the only way he can find peace. Afterwards, lying face to face, tangled together, limbs an artwork of intense and passionate knotwork, his shallow breaths turning to long-felt satisfied inhales and exhales. Feeling the cleanliness of her trembling flesh beneath his fingertips, having her small breakable defenseless body tight against his, the drums of her heartbeats dancing against the thunder-claps residing in his own chest, droplets of tears hanging off her eyelashes as her gem-like orbs look up at him, his hand on her waist. It’s reassuring knowing that perfection still exists in a world devoid of order.

TODORKI SHOTO

Shoto would play all day everyday if he could, but he can’t, which makes the pressure on those hours in which he can play that much more crucially vital. Yet, knowing what’s to come doesn’t mean his darling ever knows what to expect when the night conquers the sky. She’ll be counting the seconds until she hears the front-door unlock, the click sending gunshots to ricochet through her ribs. She’ll hear his booted footsteps on the stone-floors, notice her breathing turning grim and shallow, feeling the beating pitter pattering of her heart in her head, and then she’ll feel him outside the conjuring of her own fears, she’ll feel his slender petal-veined finger gliding up her leg or shoulder, tangling in her hair, his firm lips pressing softly against her forehead, her crippling fear and the rushing of blood boiling past her ears rendering all sounds incomprehensible.

Her mind knows what to expect, what to dread, what to prepare for, but her body never seems to learn. He’ll bite, he’ll claw, he’ll strangle, long digits curling and scissoring in places too deep for her to ever even dream of reaching. Cold then hot then cold and hot or hot and cold or frostbitten and boiling. She always falls asleep with a fever. Cradled and comforted in the same arms that caused her unraveling, her eyes opium-blown as she stares blankly up at him, falling deeper and drowning in chromatic galaxies. Her whole body cold and sweat-slicked and breathless and overwhelmed with Shoto’s inescapable embrace, whether she’s lying beneath him or on top of him or curled up against his chest, she’s not allowed to breath her own air when with him.

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1K notes · View notes

fenristheorem · 3 years

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Hi! First of all, I just wanted to say that I fell in love with your writing and the way you analyze the characters. Now, there is something that has been on my mind for some time, since I found out that Huang Hua can feel other people's feelings, I just imagine that she found out how Lance started to develop feelings for the Guardian. The secret looks he gives her, the restlessness he feels when she enters.

Hello! Thank you so much for the compliment! ❤

The request wasn’t exactly formatted in the way of the typical ask, so I wasn’t exactly sure if you were requesting this as a hc / scenario or just commenting for a discussion, but since my page is primarily writing requests I can only assume it’s a request lol.

I’m not entirely sure what Huang Hua’s special power exactly is to be honest. Some people say it’s the ability to read souls, or sort of read minds, or emotions, things along those lines. I have a general idea that she can read someone’s inner heart, energy/aura, and true intentions, which sort of combines many of those ideas as well as your ideas in the request, so I’ll be writing with that in mind. I hope you don’t mind! It won’t really have much of a difference on how I write this as the general idea (how it’s used) is the same.

~ Under the cut ~

Huang Hua’s observations as Lance falls in love with Guardienne:

Huang Hua, of course, observed Lance during his years of change at the guard. He certainly did become someone different; wiser, more resilient, more composed. She knew him once before his years of being Ashkore, but if asked, she would say that she would like this new Lance better. His actions have humbled him and made him wiser, and he has a more realistic perspective on life now. She’s not pleased with what he’s done in the past, but she realizes that sometimes someone can be their own worst enemy, and if they rise above that and don’t give in to living their life in self-pity, they can become even greater than they once were and provide greater things than they once could have. It seems like this was one of those cases, so instead of holding his past against him, Huang Hua lets him thrive in his new era and provide what he can for the guard.

However, there was one thing that always bothered Huang Hua about Lance: it was nothing but work with him.

Even prior to being Ashkore, Lance spent very little time to himself. He would take care of himself, of course, but aside from the occasional friends or acquaintances, or the occasional one night stands (I don’t think it’s confirmed that Lance had a lot of one night stands, but looking at Valk’s history we can say it’s probably true), he didn’t really spend much time to himself.

This still holds true in this new era, but Huang Hua understands his reasoning better. Even so, everyone needs a bit of a break sometimes; a time to wind down and de-stress. She’s mentioned this once or twice to him when he seems to be carrying the weight of the guard on his back, and he says he’ll keep it in mind... but never really does anything different.

This changes when Guardienne emerges from the crystal.

Immediately, Huang Hua picks up that Lance is high strung and stressed - although he hides it very well (after all, a soldier shouldn’t be easily visibly stressed out right?) - at her presence... but there’s something else, too. Something... deeper. Admiration? Respect? ... Fear?

And even deeper than that seems to be some other sort of distress... Longing?

This genuinely shocks Huang Hua.

Lance, the destroyer of Eldarya, is scared of Guardienne? Sure she saved the world and put up a good fight, but physically she’s completely out of shape now! A great warrior like him has nothing to fear now!

Except, she’s aware that Lance knows the art of warfare much better than her, and he knows personal things about himself that she doesn’t know, even despite her abilities, so perhaps there’s something she’s overlooking or can’t see.

As leader of the guard - with the ability to learn about some of the most private areas of someone’s life by simply wishing to know - she’s basically promised herself to not use her ability unless necessary.

But Lance being terrified of Guardienne is a valid call for her to use this ability to monitor him, right?

Huang Hua has roughly mastered the art of balancing work and her personal life, so she carries on day to day life with little issues relating to this. She knows how to not let this effect the guard, and knows how to hide it so well that nobody would know that anything is going on, so she allows herself to indulge in the sudden mystery that is Lance and his emotions.

And then she realizes just how deeply Lance feels emotions, and just how influential they can be, and it nearly takes her breath away.

All of the emotions flooding through him at once; the regret, shame, sorrow, anger, and even fear, all have a special place in him. They’re always so consistent, and so overwhelming. For a while, Huang Hua wonders if it’s these emotions that drive him in general.

Yes, this is not the first time she's looked into his inner being to know him better - after all, looking into him is how she knew it was safe to release him back into the guard to train new recruits - but this is the first time since then that she's bothered to truly observe him again, and she's shocked by what is revealed. Huang Hua did not know that Lance still carried the burden of his past actions so heavily upon his heart.

But every once in a while, when Lance and Guardienne aren’t feuding with each other, Huang Hua sees the dark cloud of those horrific emotions clear away, and something... wonderful happens.

Lance holds a tender spot in his heart for Guardienne.

Beyond all of that fear, and anger, and sorrow for everything that’s happened to him and because of him - including what Guardienne went through - is a soft spot for the woman he hurt most.

Huang Hua nearly gets whiplash from the sudden realization.

And then she gets curious, perhaps more curious than she should have been.

How long has that been going on for? Did he feel this way before the final war? Is this another reason why he kidnapped her and ran to Memoria? ... Would he have even have been able to feel this way back then?

Huang Hua has never been more interested in someone else’s relationship drama.

She takes to observing his actions over time, trying to decipher what he does for what reasons, and then finds that when he’s not doing things out of responsibility, he tries to make things a bit easier for Guardienne. He keeps his distance, sure, but if there’s anything subtle that he can do behind the scenes to help her, he typically does so.

On occasion - when Guardienne isn’t paying attention to him - he’ll observe her as Huang Hua observes him. She can’t read his thoughts, but she can at least guess what’s going through his mind by the emotions that flood through him, and a common emotion she’s picked up on is cautious hope.

Hope for what? That Guardienne will manage to fix a future mistake he fears making on accident? That she’ll someday forgive him, or move past looking at him and always seeing his past actions? That perhaps someday they can actually be close with each other?

As much as Huang Hua understands why Guardienne is so persistent on being cautious about Lance, she can’t help but hope that one day soon she may relax around him and trust him, perhaps even grow closer than just co-workers or friends.

After all, the savior of Eldarya and destroyer of Eldarya in love? That’s a story of impossible odds, tragic stories, and bending the world’s rules that people write legends and stories about! But it’s also a symbol of hope and faith; that if Eldarya’s savior can one day look past the actions of Eldarya’s destroyer and fall in love with him, then who’s to say that anything is in vain? Who’s to say that moving forward alongside one’s past enemy - despite their past wars - is a fate hopeless and filled with inevitable hurt? Their story could be passed down through legends, and teach important stories to future generations. Among that, she would be a good influence on him! She knows how to relax and spend time with friends, and knows how to stand up and fight and hope for the best even in the darkest times. If the sky were to fall in their future, and their loyalty lie with each other, Guardienne’s hope and faith could be the sole driving force for Lance to perform wonderful miracles. He has the strength, stubbornness, and resources to do so, he just needs the faith.

And then Huang Hua realizes he does have hope and faith... but it’s invested in her.

Guardienne - just like for everyone else - is a representation of hope, but in different ways for Lance than with everyone else. He’s aware of the possibility that she may never be able to see past his former actions but he still works hard regardless, and not to impress her or make anything up, but because he knows that that’s what she would want from him, even if she has her doubts about him.

The Phoenix begins to see a side of the Dragon that she’s never seen before, and she doesn’t know if she approves or disapproves.

Lance begins to work even harder in Guardienne’s presence, and this concerns Huang Hua for a while. He works himself hard enough, how is it possible that he can still give more? Doesn’t he ever get stressed? Will this somehow kill him from overworking? And yet, as she continues to observe him, he still manages himself just fine, and now he’s even more driven to protect Eldarya.

These observations carry on for a long time, and as time continues on, Lance manages to sort out his emotions a bit more, identifying exactly how he feels about Guardienne and learning exactly what pleases her. He does his best to provide what he can for Guardienne, in all aspects of life. However, Huang Hua notices that Lance continues to keep a distance from the Aengel.

This makes her wonder; why is he being so cautious with her? Surely they’ve calmed down to each other by now?

But a small look at how Guardienne is feeling makes her realize why Lance is still keeping away from her; she’s still scared of him, and Lance can sense this.

The Phoenix gains a deeper sense of respect for Lance.

He loves Guardienne, and craves to be closer to her, but notices subtle gestures that she may not even know she does that tell him she still can’t fully accept being around him. Despite his want to be closer, he respects her need for space, and Huang Hua has a feeling that he would keep doing that for the rest of his life if that’s what Guardienne needed. However, even while knowing that she can’t stand to be around him, he still works hard with her in mind.

His loyalty to a woman who can barely stand him nearly makes Huang Hua swoon. This is not a common thing with people, others rarely have this deep of a sense of loyalty to one person - especially someone they hurt who keeps pushing them away; they usually just split up in time - but Lance is firm in his loyalty and persistence for Guardienne.

And then Huang Hua starts to catch him displaying subtle physical signs of his interest. Perhaps he’s decided it’s time to push the boundary? Was he really willing to take the risk of upsetting her?

His eyes will linger on her, no matter where they are, only looking away when he feels as though he’s at risk of being caught. He’ll try and stay physically close to Guardienne when he can, standing close to her side, and on occasion when he leads her somewhere he’ll touch her gently, even if for a moment. He’ll place his hand on her back or shoulder for a few heartbeats, guiding her in the direction they need to head in, and he’ll take her arm softly when he pulls her aside from somewhere to talk to her. Guardienne’s reaction really depends on her mood. If she’s irritated or is feeling threatened, Huang Hua observed, she’ll pull away from him, possibly even snapping back with a blatant statement of “don’t touch me!”. Lance remains calm and collected, but Huang Hua is aware of the jolt of pain that thunders through him when she rejects him, as that same jolt ripples through her as she observes his emotions. However, he never holds it against her, and almost seems to be expecting this sometimes.

On the other hand, every once in a while when Guardienne is having a good moment where she seems to be more trusting of Lance, she’ll allow him to touch her for longer, and Huang Hua could swear she could pick up some sort of... longing, or perhaps disappointment, from her when he pulls away.

And during these times, there’s something that happens between them when they touch. A tension seems to crackle in the air, so thick that Huang Hua is sure that they can see it, and is shocked that no one else can see it. But how could they? No one else has her powers.

This tension is what sparks Huang Hua to become truly invested in their possible relationship. Most of the time Lance and Guardienne don’t seem to know what to make of their relationship, but Huang Hua knows there’s something there that can’t be ignored. Sometimes she finds herself thinking to Guardienne “Oh, kiss him you fool!” when Lance is being particularly tender with her, laying all his tragic emotions bare in front of her as they talk about a harsh topic for him, or when he tells her that he’s glad she talks about important things with him every once in a while, even if it is hard for him. Guardienne didn’t seem to realize that this wasn’t a common thing with Lance; he wouldn’t lie about his emotions, but he was very evasive with talking about his past. To get him to talk openly about his past and have him openly admit his regrets was a rare sight - not because he didn’t like to admit his regrets, but because he felt it wasn’t relevant anymore. It was seven years ago, and he had clearly changed since. He regretted his actions, he wished it never turned out this way, he tries to keep it from repeating in the future; what more needed to be said about the subject?

In this time, Huang Hua begins to realize just how deep his emotions for her run.

Lance had a respect for Guardienne, for every part of her, even when she screwed up a bit or caused a bit of chaos, even if he was angry with her. He admired her stubbornness and diligence at defending the guard and Eldarya, and her optimism even in the darkest hours always had a tendency to shake him to his core and snap some sense back into him. Huang Hua began to notice that his emotions on him pursuing her reflected her emotions during dark hours of their story; it wasn’t over until it was over, and as long as there was a possibility that something could change for the better, that possibility should be sought after.

The Phoenix begins to understand why Miiko once had such intense feelings for the Ice Dragon. Even though so many things have happened to him and because of him, he refuses to be held back or muted. He still allows himself to be who he is at heart, and doesn’t care if others like his personality or not. He had confidence in himself, even after the terrible things he’s done. Lance knew very well the extent of his abilities, and was aware that the most important thing about those abilities were how they were used. He had committed atrocities, sure, but he was confident in himself now because he knows he’s not using his strengths for wrong anymore. He has chosen to fight for good, he can see clearly now, and his loyalties lie with the guard, and, overall, with Guardienne.

However, Huang Hua picks up another emotion as she observes Lance over time, and she’s unsure of if it comes from him, or from herself because of what's beginning to be revealed to her about him.

Some sort of hollow loneliness pierces her chest every once in a while as she watches him. He doesn’t have close friends, he doesn’t pursue any other women, and he doesn’t allow himself much time to relax. Lance is a ghost that drifts around the guard, searching for some true place not within the responsibilities, but within the people he protects.

His past makes him hard to relate to, his perception vastly differs from most faeries, and his emotions are a deep well of running water, constantly shifting and redesigning who he is in any given moment, and yet he strives to find his own place within the guard, not as the Leader of Obsidian, but as Lance; the Ice Dragon, the man, the deep ocean of emotions and history who may very well never find a home among a people he can truly call his. Still he remains the same person inside, but always he is adjusting for the outside world, and he had yet to find someone who would risk unraveling his constant adapting to truly know the man underneath.

But everyday he rises to that challenge, brushing off the echoing thought that perhaps he doesn’t belong among these people - that perhaps he may never find peace here at the guard - because he knows he’s best fit for this responsibility. He can protect these faeries better than anyone else could, and his morals lie first with that, and second with his own fantasies.

Even so, Huang Hua doesn’t miss the hollow echo in Lance’s soul as he watches the guard celebrate, or witnesses close friends embrace each other and confide in each other, and she realizes that Lance doesn’t truly feel at peace here, not at all - not among the people who he’s betrayed and become an outcast from. He feels no peace at all among these people, they are not his people... but perhaps, when he looks at her - Guardienne - within her hope he finds peace, and someday, perhaps, he may find peace, a home, within her arms.

Was it possible that, even as Ashkore, he felt he felt he could find solace within her? Some opening within the dark clouds that overshadowed his existence for him to strive towards?

Did Lance believe that Guardienne made him a better man, even more so than he already is?

By mere chance Huang Hua managed to piece together everything she knew of Lance and his relationship to Guardienne, and she came to realize that there was something between them for a long time. It was deep, and complicated, and was never able to be pursued until now. The Dragon’s emotions for Guardienne ran deeper than any of Eldarya’s oceans, farther than the furthest mapped points, and was purer than even the Aengel’s powers.

Lance was truly in love with her. Not her powers, not her history, he fell in love with a woman who moved something within him that no one has ever touched before.

The Phoenix almost begins to feel guilty over time.

There was something there for a long time. Did Guardienne know this? Did she need a wake up call in order to realize what was happening before her? Was Huang Hua supposed to intervene and help get their relationship going?

If only she knew...

I shouldn’t interfere with this, Lance would feel violated and Guardienne wouldn’t trust me ever again...

But isn’t it a shame to let them possibly waste their life away not telling each other how they feel, or giving this a chance?

Stress eventually invades Huang Hua throughout her days, even when she's not around Lance and Guardienne. The Dragon and the Aengel, in time, grow ever closer, ever more comfortable with each other, and may even be expressing signs of interest for each other! But no one is doing anything about it!

But no one can see the deep roots of their feelings like Huang Hua can, and she's nearly certain that Lance and Guardienne will continue to tip toe around each other in a fearful dance of figuring out where they fit into each other's lives, never daring to test deeper waters in fear of hurting the other and sparking off another bout of painful emotions that may haunt them, and the guard, for years.

It's very possible that their relationship could change the guard and Eldarya - positively - forever, so doesn't this give Huang Hua some right to try and push them together? But romantic relationships are so personal, especially ones as special as this. A unique relationship like theirs shouldn't be interfered with, it will bloom in time if given the right opportunity... but what if Huang Hua can create the right opportunity!? But that's still interfering in their relationship!

Without even knowing, the emotional toll of observing and pondering over Lance and Guardienne's relationship does begin to take effect on her, and Huang Hua's own partner, Ewelein, is the first to notice and call it out.

The leader of the guard then needed to decide if she was willing to indulge her partner, someone completely unrelated to the matter, in her almost stalker-like tendencies of observing the simmering relationship between the guard's resident Dragon and Aengel.

Eventually she breaks and admits to the Elf that she's been observing the inner worlds of Lance and Guardienne as of late, and has realized just how much of a mistake and a blessing it's been.

The first thing Ewelein jumps to is the fact that it's an invasion of privacy, something that - of everyone in the guard - the leader especially should not be partaking in. Huang Hua doesn't really fight back on that idea; she knows it was inappropriate, she should have just approached Lance and asked if he was alright.

"But of course he would say that he's alright! Maybe a bit unsettled, but come on, at the end of the day nothing shakes him for long, and to him that translates to he's alright!"

Eventually its clear to Ewelein that regardless of how Huang Hua came to be in this position, she's trapped in it now, and feels very passionately about the possible romance brewing within the guard, to the point where it truly is stressing her in possibly unhealthy ways.

Ewelein does her best to comfort Huang Hua as she spills everything that's been revealed to her, starting from the beginning of when Lance and Guardienne were still fearful of each other, to the most current moments of when they've been relying on each other, talking civilly, and even possibly shyly flirting. The Elf is quiet and attentive all throughout, knowing that - even as she's surprised in many ways as well by the things time has revealed about Lance and Guardienne - her shock and emotions couldn't begin to rival what Huang Hua has been feeling for the past endless days that she's been observing them.

“I can’t believe it! This is love that stories are written about, that changes worlds and changes people. And he’s hiding it so easily!”

"But would it be right of you to intervene? This is their story, not yours."

"I know, but couldn't this be good for the guard, too? And possibly even Eldarya? And as the leader of the guard, shouldn't I try and do what I think could benefit us?"

"You first started observing Lance under the excuse that it was for professional reasons, to make sure that he was alright to remain in power and carry out his responsibilities despite her presence, but we both know you did it for selfish reasons, too. You were curious as to why Lance felt what he did about her, and now you have your answer. However, you kept observing them after that, even going as far as reading into Guardienne's responses to Lance. Is that professional at all? And instead of invading her privacy, don't you think she would have told you the truth of her fearful emotions for Lance if you asked her heart to heart?"

Huang Hua lowered her head and avoided her gaze.

"You've gotten your professional answers and now you've seen into a very private portion of two people's lives. None of this is professional anymore, so you can't act professionally on it. You need to treat this as what it is; intimate, personal, and something that should be respected, not exploited. I know it would make sense to try and get this to help the guard, but really, there is no guarantee of that. What if they got together and then broke up a while after? What would the message be then, especially if it were known that you set them up together? My advice is to stay back and let this develop in time. Sometimes when I'm with a patient there is nothing I can do for them, sometimes leaving the body alone to heal itself is the best thing to do. I think this is a case where that rule should be applied. The best thing you can do is let them figure out their relationship in time. You can support them, but do not influence them."

Huang Hua knows Ewelein is right, and forever appreciates her partner listening to her thoughts. If Lance and Guardienne's relationship were to be true, they needed to figure out what they meant to each other in their own time.

So Huang Hua follows the Elf's advice. She bites her tongue and hides the fact that she’s witnessed almost every moment of him falling in love with Guardienne, vigilantly awaiting the day where Lance decided to emerge from the dark and shake the guard’s history for a second time.

Goodness this took a while to write, but I'm very pleased with the results! I think I got a good idea of Huang Hua's reaction and how her reaction developed in time in response to Lance and Guardienne growing closer, especially since I don't think her reaction would begin and end within one day of realizing what was going on.

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Prince of Wishful Thinking (Tom Retrospective): Tough Love or The True Monster

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to Prince of Wishful Thinking, what is usually my look at the life and times of Tom Lucitor but since I NEED to cover the season 3 finale as vital part of Tom’s story, we’re taking one last look at the tragic tale of Meteora Butterfly before the finale sends these two stories hurtling together. You’d THINK this would be the last detour of this already sizeable arc.. and you’d be wrong as i’ll also be covering Kelly’s World, as I feel it’s vital for both “Curse of the Blood Moon” and “A Boy and his hard to remember title”, as it provides extra context for Marco’s anguish in the former.. and provides extra evidence for why a CERTAIN MOMENT in the latter pisses me off to no end.. seriously even when as universe dies and the only people left are Frankllin Richards and Galactus, there will still be a little note reading “Fuck how they treated Kelly” written in all caps so Galactus remembers to yell it.

So sadly that DOES mean it’s been three entries in this retrospective in a row that either haven’t feature Tom at all or in the case of the last episode only had him in short cameos. I mean we did get his love affair for pie but we also got a creepy goblin man forcing his girlfriend and best friend to kiss each other, his best friend being WAY to eager to jump to that conclusion, and neither considering using Marco’s Scissors because the writers only remember he has those half the time in Season 3... and clearly I ddn’t either as I forgot to mention that plot hole, something @jess-the-vampire brought up to me. Sadly I DID forget to consult on this when we talked earlier this week , and she’s not online as I write this so I won’t have her insight for this one.

But if you want some Tom content, i’m happy to share my crossover ship for the boy with you. I’ve been shipping him with Octavia from Helluva Boss lately. Because of course it’s Helluva Boss, i’ve not been at all subtle with my obession with it and much like Letterkenny, X-Men and Dragon Ball Z Abriged it is a love I never plan to be subtle about.

But I just think they compliment each other well: They have contrasting atittudes, and tastes in music, but seem like they’d share hobbies. Like taxidermy.. I could see Tom buying this... demonic combination of a badger, a skunk, a deer and my nightmares Octavia is preciously holding up.

Granted I also feel tom would both animate them with their dead souls.. and then use his new woodland friends of the dammned as a chorus to sing “Can You Picture That” from the Muppet Movie, because that’s what my mind does on a regular day. I think the contrasting attitude creates great chemstiry and it made me also realize I have a thing for ships with directly contrasting home lives. Tom has two loving decent parents who deeply love one another and at worst simply didn’t reign in his worse behavior because it was standard for demon stuff. Octavia in contrast simply has two parents, one who DOES love her and tries his best, but his best includes calling his side piece “My big dicked blitzy” right in front of her and hiring said side piece to guard them, and her mother who clearly thinks so little of her daughter’s emotional well being she hired a cowboy to shoot her daddy dead in the middle of a large crowd. The point is I think they’d be adorable and they both badly need to be happy after being emotionally fucked over by people they care about.

But alas my new ship will have to wait as we marginally important things to get down too.. things that will impact both this season and the next’s endgame and utterly destroy Eclipsa and Moon’s relationship for good. Sound fun? Well if so join me under the cut won’t you?

We open in the Pidgeon Kingdom.. and things aren’t exactly great.. and by that I mean Meteora stomped a hole through it and ravaged the place and Rich demands blood.. and vengance.. and possibly blood vengance. But not Tekken Blood Vengance.. he already has like 5 copies of that on dvd. Still needs it on Blu Ray though, hook him up if you got it.

So Moon and Eclipsa are trying to smooth this over/find out which way did she go George which way did she go, and are angrily dismissed after they try Rich’s patience, not helped by Eclipsa not being familiar with the Pidgeon Kingdom because they hadn’t slaughtered everyone who used to live there yet. Look that’s what happened, Star outright mentions in the Big Book of Spells that htey suddenly sprung up where another kingdom was and no one knows what happens. There was some bird murders up in that place.. or birdur if you will. Some birds drank some human blood. This is what Alfred Hitchock tried to warn us about with his film built on horrifying actress abuse.

The point is with some more pidgeon-led murder stabbings on the cards our heroines are trying to find her since their attempts to convince Rich not to go on an Archer Style Rampage fell on deaf ears.

But it’s clear from the second the two are alone both have diffrent priorties: Eclipsa desperatley wants to find the daughter she lost and talk her down from what sh’es become, help her become better and hopefuly heal from the pain she’s been in. She’s lost her husband, her kingdom and centuries. She can’t loose her baby girl too.

Moon on the other hand... clearly has no intrest in helping Meteora or stopping this peacefully. Her first thought is stopping Meteora. Her living through it is not necessary. It’s also clear her racisim isn’t REMOTELY gone depsite Buff Frog and Star’s best attempts and despite learning just how deeply and horribly Mewni’s engrained racism has hurt eclipsa and destoryed Moon’s own family history. To Moon this is just a big monster to fight.. i’ll dive into this more in a bit.

For now our heroines encounter an angry mob. This time their not here for Homer Simpson, but for Meteora as her rampages have destroyd their towns, livelehoods and given some weird guy a hat. It’s the best bit of the episode and i’m embarassed I forgot it happened.

So with them being no help our queens back out but end up finding some actual help: Eddie! You know the guy from the episode I skipped over... River’s cousin or something like that. He dosen’t have a wiki entry, I do not know why. He’s voiced by Rhys Dharby of Flight of the Conchords Fame whose since made quite the career as a voice actor. No major roles yet that i’m aware of, but a lot of delightful minor ones like this. It’s good to see him he was one of the highlights of that show and not just because he sang this..

youtube

Eddie showed up in the Bog Beast of Boggabah and I honestly forgot he was in this episode.. but again, it’s Rhys Dharby. It’s not like suddenly finding out “Aw god dammit Pauly Shore is in this”. So Eddie agrees to help as he’s been tracknig Meteora.. and we find out something troubling: Meteora is getting BIGGER. Gradually, to the point the bog from said episode Is skipped over is drained because she DRANK IT. We also get a great exchange “I’d hate to see the size of her mother” “Actually her father more than helped with that”

Awwwww.... seriously Esme Blanco is a national treasure and has some great deliveries in this one.. and some heartbreaking ones. But before we can get to that it turns out Meteora sucked the powers out of Eddies family.. who he misses..e xcept one guy> That guy can fuck right off. Seriously Eddie is also a national treasure and I wish he’d shown up in season 4. I mean he couldn’t of HURT it. For one it’s Rhys Dharby and for another that season shot itself in the face, both feet, the groin and then the face again enough that I don’t think anything could hurt it as bad as the writers already did.

But sadly we say farwell to Eddie as he goes out how men have since the begining of time.. deciding to poke a strange creature till it murdered him. Or took his soul out in this case, speaking of which...

Yeah while I couldn’t get Jess in time for this review, she did bring this up in the past: Meteora’s ablility to pull a

Comes right the fuck out of nowhere with no build up and no explination for it. She DID drain personalites and according to this episode youth.. but that was with a big ole machine. It MIGHT have been intended to be one of Globgor’s powers.. but that makes zero sense, as if he COULD do that, as we saw with Toffee last season when he had that power, also out of nowhere but at least it made a touch more sense given his power was draining magical energy anyway at the time, so adding souls to that isn’t a huge stretch, but as we saw that would’ve been game over for the comission, especially since we DO see him fighting them one on three next season. If he had this power, he wouldn’t be in crystal and I think they realized that, but just tried to act as if his daugther COULDN’T do that and assumed everyone would casually forget. And I get not accounting for me writing about this years later, even I wouldn’t of thought that, but not counting on fans both young and old to latch onto a continuity error? Have you met fandoms Disney, have you? It dosen’t bring the story down entirely and I get WHY ti’s there, so she can nonlethally kill people so we’re not down most of the cast for Season 4, but it feels like an easy win button and one she barely uses despite it being eye beam activated. It should be easy enough to pull, boom, soul suck, win, rinse and repeat. It’s okay to have uber powerful tequniques but they have to have a drawback. For instance the Kaioken from DBZ. It’s a really damn cool technique that gives the user a neat red aura and amplifies poewr.. but the more you amplify the more strain it puts on your body and the more likely you’ll die, and Super later creatively explained why it hadn’t been used since Super Sayian was introduced because said form would’ve sped it up so much it’d be too much for a body to take. Here whie Meteora dosen’t use it in EVERY fight, she uses it enough that it makes no sense this isn’t just her first move for every fight she gets into, mental breakdown or not.

That being said Meteora’s current mental state as she talks to her mother, having regressed to talking in only a few words and acting like a child, makes perfect sense. Henious already wasn’t in great mental shape to begin with, having a slow sustained breakdown since Marco overthrew her. and now on top of this she remembers her whole life has been a lie, starts to mutate into her natural state at a rapid and likely unehalthy pace, and then finds out on top of all of this Mewni is rightfully owed to her. Given she ended last episode blowing a guy up for rejecting her, it’s not a stretch that given even more power and no time to process anything, Metora would deteroate further.

Esme and Jessica really knock this scene out of the park as Eclipsa presents Metora with her old doll Bobo and gently trying ot talk to her.. but you also get the fear Eclipsa feels as she tries to awkardly manuver around the fact her daughter is far more unhinged than she was prepared for, even threanting Eclipsa simply because Eclipsa wanted to be called mother instead of mommy. But despite this fear.. Eclipsa wants to help and Walter beautifuly captured metoera as a hulk like tragic figure:a being with low sanity and too much power desperate to be loved by the one person it cares about. And it makes it even more heartbreaking as Eclipsa explains what happened: bad people trapped her , a disfunctoinal society with a racist queen and even more racist subjects has taken hold in her absence... and it’s clear both want opposite things: Meteora wants what sh’es owed, her family back on the throne and Mewni back in her graps, but has lost herself so much to rage, anger and insanity she can’t see it’s not hers to take, while Eclipsa.. just wants her daughter back. She’d be happy just settling down with her and having a LIFE after hers was taken away. Eclipsa just wants a chance to be with what family she has left. It just HURTS to know that despite RIGHTFULLY hating the comission, despite having eveyr reason to take the crown from Moon by force and make the world better by force.. she dosen’t want that. She just wants some peace. It’s selfish... but it’s hard not to be when you havealmost nothing to hold onto. Eclipsa has lost her legacy, her husband and her crown... Meteora is all she has and all she wants and sh’ed of been happy if she just accepted that. If that was enough.

But the real telling part, and the thing that ultimately makes this go as bad as it does.. is Moon’s reactions to all of this. Sh’es CONFUSED by Meteora having a toy as if that’s foreign to her a monster would, and she’s cleaerly livid , if restrianing it, at both Meteora’s deire for the crown and Eclipsa RIGHTFULLY calling out the state of how things are, and mildly at that. Despite seeing how much damage Mewni’s inherent racisim has done, how it lead to her living a lie, ruined Eclipss, Globgore and Metora’s lives, despite how DESPERTLY her daughter struggles to fight against it, despite seeing firsthand that Monsters can have famiies and lives... she can’t let it go. She can’t see monsters as people. SHe dosen’t see a flawed person who was turned into a metpohrical monster by years of brainwashing and abuse and is slowly unravling under the weight of her true self.. she just sees a threat to her kingdom. She dosen’t see her kingdom as racist, just as it should be. And she dosen’t see herself as stepping down like hse damn well should’ve the MOMENT she found out everything. Because at her heart Moon can’t accept the truth and clings to her racisim.

And that my friends.. is what ultimately leads to Tragedy. Not Meteora’s unraveling mental state, not Eclipsa’s naitvite. What happens next is ENITRELY Moon’s fault. Whle Eclipsa was failing to get through to Metora, she was trying her best and might of gotten somewhere.. but Moon was already settling to attack.. and does so, making it look like Eclipsa set her own child up.

A fight ensues, a suprisingly even one... but Eclipsa breaks it up and PROVES her way could’ve worked. In one of Esme’s best performances sshe tearfully tells her daughter she loves her.. that ALL she wants is time with her to make up for what she’s lost.. she dosen’t need a kingdom or her crown or her wand, all things she DESERVES... she just wants her daughter. She just wants to help her baby girl before she goes so far down this path of hatred and vengance she’s alreayd well trod upon there is no point to return to.

It gets through to Meteora, makes her stop... and Moon TAKES ADANTAGE OF THAT. She then restrains metoera with a magical rock barrier and starts palpatineing her to death. It’s a horrifying moment that ultimately shows who Moon really is.. that when given the chance to let Meteora go, let her CHANGE and grow as a person and help the kingdom.. she instead tries to kill her. When she’s no longer a threat, hasn’t seriously hurt her in their fight, and could use her power to RESTORE the damage she’s done, fix what she’s broken and help the kingdom grow and mend the bridges racisim has torn down. But all she can see is a monster, and something to destroy.. not someONE to save.

So Eclipsa does what Moon would do if it were star about to die and saves her daughter, desperatly trying to stop mooon.. and allowing Meteora to get a clear shot and take half of moon’s soul. While Eclipsa is able to stop her from taking the full thing, Moon is left disoreinted and half alive and leaves on insticnt to parts unknown while Meteora escapes. Eclipsa is left alone, devistated and with her daughter truly lost. And the worst is truly yet to come.

Before we get into final thoughts i’d like to talk about how this scene impacts Moon’s betryal later. To me having rewatched this scene.. it only makes it work MORE making it clear Moon simply can’t fahtom racial equality and that she can’t fahtom that eclipsa had very good reason for doing what she did ... to me it comes off as her using Eclipsa betryaing her as a very flimsy justifcation to not validate her rule and to first retire and then try a coup. That “Well she “BETRAYED” me so i’m fine. “ But in truth... she betrayed Eclipsa first. She attacked her daughter TWICE when Eclipsa was close to getting through to her Her reasons are flimsy.. because i’ts not ABOUT eclipsa, but what eclipsa represents: equality with a race Moon dosen’t see as people. It’s about Moon’s racisim coloring everything tills h’es truly blinded and should have lost everything She didn’t because the ending is a fucking disgrace, but we might get to that at some point, the point here is for all that disgrace’s faults... it did get it right here, and Moon was always portrayed as being unable to let go of her racisim no matter what it cost her or how much her daughter despteratly tried to change her. Trust me as someone whose Dad used to argue that gay marriage meant he should be able to marry his cat, and who still argues against trans people using the bathroom of their choice, I get trying desperatley to change someone who don’t wanna. “Sigh”.

Final Thoughts: This episode is truly excellent. The writing is top notch as is the voice acting for all involved and the climax isa true, well led up to tragedy. The animation is also on point, with the characters emotions on perfect display. This is an episode I now realize is one of the series best and worth ar ewatch if you haven’ts een it. Truly amazing stuff that gets me pumped for the finale.. and disapoints me in how the series could reach these highs for one finale.. but would sink to it’s lowest point for next seasons. Next Time on Prince of Wishful Thinking: Star tries depseratly to find her mom, while Marco, Tom and a motely crew of misfits try to take down Meteora and Tom learns the awful truth from the photo booth and wears a zuko ponytail which weirdly looks good on him. That boy can rock anything let me tell you.

If you enjoyed this reviews, please consider joining my patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet. As mentioned my 30 dollar stretch goal includes a review of the cluster fuck that is the series final arc, and the goals up to that , me making 20 and 25 dollars a month repectively, have their own nifty rewards: At 20 i’ll review Darkwing Duck once a month, the two remaning Ducktales 87 mini series I have not covered and the Danny Phantom film The Ultimate Enemy. 25 meanwhile gets you reviews of the Proud Family Movie, the theatrical recess movie and the Kim Possible almost finale movie so the drama. And 30 also gets you reviews of every episode of gravity falls season 1 at least one a month till I finish it at some point, so as you can see you get a lot of bang for your buck and these reviews will be public for everybody. Not only that but joining my patreon gets you a review a month if you pitch in 5 dollars and evne if you can’t swing THAT much just 2 bucks gets you access to my discord, a guarnateed pick in my shorts, votes for patreon exclusive reviews, and SAID patreon exclusive reviews. It’s a lot of bang for your buck is what i’m saying so please help me out so I can make a living off this and sign up today. I even JUST ADDED an exclusive and utterly insane scrooge mcduck review, The Great Wig Mystery. So throw in a buck to check that out.

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#star vs the forces of evil #tom lucitor #prince of wishful thinking #meteora butterfly #eclipsa butterfly #moon butterfly #rhys dharby #disney xd #disney channel #disney plus #reviews

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mamsellechosette24601 · 3 years

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In the Green vs the real Hildegard's writings and philosophy

Because of “In the Green”, I started reading a bit about Hildegard and her thinking so as to better explore the themes of the musical. I read the book “Hildegard of Bingen: A Spiritual Reader", by Carmen Acevedo Butcher, which was short and insightful, with lots of excerpts from Hildegard, so I’ll share what I got from it in relation to the musical.

1. The symbolism of the colour green and of the sun

"Hildegard called this vigor viriditas, the “green” energy of agape love pulsing through the entire universe. Over and over in her writings, she chooses viriditas to express God’s vitality and the ways His goodness and love charge the whole world with life, beauty, and renewal—literally, with “greenness.” Her unique, creative use of this Latin word makes it something of a neologism in her work. In Hildegard’s mind, viriditas was first found in the green of the garden of Eden, but it is also the green of whatever twig you or I happen to be looking at in this present moment, whoever we are, wherever we may be. She knew that the natural opposite of this “greening” energy was spiritual desiccation (including what we often call “depression”). But, like God’s mercy, His revitalizing viriditas has no limits. Wherever Hildegard looked, she saw that this “green” force animates every creature and plant on this planet with verdant divine love."

"The patriarchs and prophets who prefigured and predicted Christ were the “roots” of God’s divine tree, on which sprouted the most delicate “bud,” who is God’s Son, and from Him grew the “fruit” of the virtues: Humility, Charity, Divine Love, Patience, and their sisters. This is a favorite metaphor for Hildegard, and in her songs she praises the Virgin Mary as the “twig” or “branch” on which the “bud,” baby Jesus, flowered. By her intelligent selection of this one word, oculus, Hildegard has shown the center of her work—that to see God is to grow."

"In one of this volume’s poems praising Mary, “Grateful for the Unobtrusive Good,” Hildegard’s use of metaphors suggests that she saw no separation between symbol and fact. Metaphors were reality to her. Hildegard’s point in this song is that the divinely made sun giving earth life is also, in a mystical way, the life-giving Son of God who as the Word made creation’s every twig, including Mary, and yet was also Mary’s “Bloom”(…) In this song to Mary, the sun (also God’s Spirit) shines on the Virgin Mary, the “greenest twig.” She is a twig, not even a branch; but she is green with God’s pregnant vitality, and her comparative insignificance (as a woman, and unmarried) prepares her for the greatness of God’s Spirit to grow within her and produce the miraculous “flowering” of God’s divine-human Son. Her weakness is her strength, a recurring theme in Hildegard."

So, when Jutta sings “I can see the last of the light / Reflected in the green / Of everything”and we know what is going to happen, we’re supposed to cry at the distortion of life’s goodness

Sun Song gains a much more religious meaning, when we see everything that the sun and nature meant for Hildegard. In her “Book of Divine Works”, the Holy Spirit says: "I’m the divine flame of life, I burn above the golden fields, I sparkle on water, and I shine like the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Together with the loving, hidden power of the wind, I make everything come alive. Remember that I’m also Reason. I inform the wind of the first Word that created all things. I’m your breath, I’m the breath of all things, and none die because I am that Life." (should I read into In the Green’s “Air leaves my lungs/ I’m lying on my back / I’m staring at the sky / I open up my mouth but the air swallows my cry”? Jutta was forsaken by God, completely).

Death Ceremony, with its translation of “O Viridissima Virga”, introduces us to Jutta’s and Hildegard’s quest away from Eve’s curse and towards the Virgin Mary. The “little green branch” seeks the “branch of freshest green”, instead of rotting.

The idea of strength in weakness, which the Hildegards find in First Verb, appears, together with the aforementioned notions of the “green” and the “bud”, in Hildegard’s “Play of the Virtues”. "The virtues and the souls: 'When the world began, everything pulsed with life and was the tenderest shade of green.Flowers blossomed everywhere. But, after the Fall, everything green faded." The Warrior-of-Truth saw it all and said: 'I see what happened, but my house is not yet full. Look at me instead. I’m the image of your Father. Know my broken body broken for you. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of being made a laughing-stock. It goes straight through me. Even my followers lose heart. But remember this. The original abundance of green did not have to shrivel up, and your faith will see its way to strength, until you know the divinity of my jewel-covered body intimately, a gem in each injury, and each injury a bud. Look, Father! See my wounds? Now, let people everywhere kneel before God the Father, who’ll hand us strength on strength."

2. Hildegard’s “Scivias”, where she first shares her divine visions vs Jutta

In “Scivias” Hildegard writes a metaphor of the sinning soul. Turning away from God and towards sin (the “North”), the soul speaks “I regret that so much now! For I was captured, robbed, blinded, and violated. My garment was torn. I was dragged to a gruesome place and subjected to the worst kind of slavery”.

Then the soul repents, and hides in a cave, like Jutta hid in the Undergound: “After I’d said this, I went down the narrow path and hid from the eyes of the North. I went into a tiny cave and wept because I’d lost my Mother Zion. I wept, too, for all my wounds. I wept for my sadness. I wept and wept. I cried so many tears, they absorbed my pain and bruises. Then I smelled something very sweet. It reminded me of my mother’s soft breath on my cheek. That small comfort made me cry some more. I was so full of joy that I cried until it shook the mountain of my cave." The crying out of joy that will force the soul out of the cave also kind of reminds me of The Ripening, especially in this connection to a mother’s love (“In living I have learned/ to love another as a mother/ And I’ve felt that love inside my wicked flesh”) but I may be reading too much into it.

The soul then is persecuted by her enemies, and we are told “Then I saw poisonous snakes, scorpions, and other hideous reptiles slithering towards me. The snakes were hissing. I screamed, “Mother! Where are you?! Help me!” I heard my mother say, “Run, daughter! The Omnipotent, Unconquerable Provider has given you wings. Fly! Fly over these things blocking your path!” And I did." Compare this to “I’m not going back / I’ll run until I die / And when I can no longer run / I’ll teach myself to fly / I try”. All in all, the world of Hildegard’s visions is far from the reality Jutta faced.

The soul faces self-doubt and recovers remembering it was created by God: “The Devil’s poison arrow is the evil robbing me of my spiritual joy. I don’t want to celebrate people or God. I doubt everything when I feel this way, including my salvation. But when God helps me remember that He created me, then—even in the middle of my depression—I tell the Devil, “I won’t give in to my fragile clay. I’ll fight you!” How? When my inner self decides to rebel against God, I’ll walk with wise patience over the marrow and blood of my body. I’ll be the lion defending himself from a snake, roaring and knocking it back into its hole.” It echoes Jutta’s advice to Hildegard in The Rule, but of course, she is not whole like she claims she is. (“When you are whole, you will be like me / When you are whole, you will move confidently / Through your life / And you will understand how the boulder becomes sand / And you will know how to not become sand / When you are whole, you will never be scared / When you are whole, you will always be prepared / For a dragon's attack! / And you will slay the beast..or scare him away at least / And you will never again be the least”)

3. In “The Play of the Virtues”, Hildegard focuses a lot on clothing, as a metaphor for the “wearing” of salvation, as something we’re born with and must keep clean. This enhances how soul shattering Jutta’s experience was, “His hand pulling at my skirt”.

4. Letter to the Belgian Monk Guibert (1175) and Light Undercover: "My spirit is ever illuminated by what I call the shadow of the living Light. It has no physical limitations whatsoever and is much brighter than a cloud through which the sun shines. I can never predict when or how I’ll see it. As water reflects the sun, the moon, and the stars, this shadow of the living Light reflects God’s Word, sermons, virtues, and the things that humans do. Whatever I see in that Light’s shadow stays in my mind for a long time, stored away. I see and understand, hear and know at the same time. I only know what I see in these visions, because I’m untaught. I record what I see and hear, without adding my own words, and my Latin is unrefined, because that’s how I hear it in my visions. I’ve not been taught to write like a philosopher. Also, my visions are filled with images and sounds that are nothing like words spoken by any human. They’re more like a blazing fire and a cloud floating through a clear sky. I can’t comprehend this Light’s shadow any better than I can look right at the sun. Also, sometimes in that shadow (but not very often) I see another light. This is the living Light I spoke of earlier. I’m even less able to explain what this Light is like in comparison to the other. But I can say that when I look at it, every feeling of sadness disappears, and my every ache leaves me. I’m no longer an old, sick woman. I become young again." “Light is in the dark”, strength is in weakness.

5. The entire play gains a deeper, metalinguistic meaning, when we learn that for Hildegard, “When we sing, we repossess some of the Eden lost when Adam fell”. (Letter to the Prelates at Mainz, 1178).

6. Becoming Whole

Hildegard’s visions in “The Book of Life’s Merits” and Underground"I saw a very tall man. His head and shoulders were above the highest clouds. His torso was in a white cloud below this, while his upper legs were in the earth’s atmosphere. From the knees down, he was planted in the earth, and his feet were rooted in the deepest waters of the abyss, which represent the virtues and their power. They are the antidotes to sin, because they have the might to make anything whole. They do this by cleansing whatever they touch and making it holy. They nurture and sustain the world, and they bear all things. Everything on earth steeps in the moisture of the virtues and is made strong, in the same way that the soul makes the body moist and healthy, regenerating it."

In contrast to Jutta’s teachings about the body, Hildegard finds more balance in her writings, as Butcher puts it “Hildegard understood the symbiotic relationship between body and soul. She knew that when the body and soul are not in sync, a person’s whole world is out of whack. While she believed that the physical body is easily wayward and must be controlled, she did not teach that the body is evil (…) Hildegard’s work also emphasizes taking care of the body, because it is the sacred temple of the Holy Spirit”. Against ideas of duality, Hildegard brings “God’s goodness and the essential wholeness of a divine creation that refuses to be separated into neat-but-useless categories of earth and spirit, body and soul, nature and people”.

#in the green #grace mclean #hildegard von bingen #me doing this instead of studying #good thing I study medieval history anyway

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tiaragqueen · 4 years

Text

Reprise

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Izaya Orihara x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,2k+

✂ Trigger Warnings: Manipulation, possessiveness, mention of kidnapping, implied confinement

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Where do you think you're going? I think you don't know. You got no way of knowing. You got no place to go.” - Where Do You Think You’re Going? [Dire Straits]

You’d never regretted your laziness more.

For the longest time, you always postponed exercising because you thought to eat healthy food and sleeping early were sufficient. Your body was normal, never veering into the overweight or underweight territory. Though, your grades in physical education were indeed average at best. As long as you didn’t fail the class, it should be enough, right? Besides, almost everything you wanted in this world lied on your fingertips, anyway. So, you didn’t have to exert much energy to gain them.

Unfortunately, stamina wasn’t one of them.

You rounded a dark alleyway and leaned against the wall, trying to regulate your rapid breathing. You’d only been running for a minute, and yet, your lungs felt like they were on fire. Your legs trembled and almost collapsed when you finally paused, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t stop now. You couldn’t bear to stop, not when one of the strongest men in Ikebukuro was chasing you.

Unless he didn’t know you’d escaped yet…

No, you shook your head, Izaya wasn’t stupid. Being an avid observer of people, he’d probably predicted this since it was natural for a captive to seek for freedom. That was why he didn’t bother to strengthen the security of his house because he wanted to see whether you’d take the bait.

He wanted to see whether you’d partake in his game. And, as always, you fell into it.

Then again, what were you supposed to do?! Just waiting for his arrival whilst staring at the unlocked door? Maybe that was he wanted, deep inside. He always liked it whenever you obeyed him, to play the role of a submissive housewife. While you didn’t have much problem with taking care of a house, it became a whole new problem when the owner also expected you to shower him affection as though you were truly his wife. While in reality, you were just an acquaintance at best.

Well, you considered him that way, excluding your abduction. Because, really, you knew almost nothing about him. Sure, your friends had warned you regarding his infamy, but that was it. They didn’t know what else could he do aside from provoking that impulsive blond and leaping from one building to another. They didn’t know the extent of his intelligence and insight aside from his job as an informant. They didn’t know how vast his connection around the city, and possibly even the region.

Because they, just like you, knew almost nothing about him aside from the general stuff.

However, it wasn’t the time to think about your ignorance over his background. You needed to start moving. You needed to keep running until his house was nothing but a dot in your sight. You needed to keep running until he lost your track, regardless of how unlikely it sounded.

But a girl can dream, right? If your child self could hope for a prince charming to ‘rescue’ you like those princesses in fairy tales, surely your adult self could pray for freedom from the dragon too, right?

How unfortunate that your dragon looked like a prince at first sight.

Taking a deep breath, you observed the surrounding for any sign of a furred jacket or crouching man. This particular neighborhood was quieter at night than in Ikebukuro, and while you’d love to admire the silence, you had to admit it seemed rather eerie. Then again, it wasn’t as if the people would be bothered to help you anyway.

When he wasn’t feeling so mischievous, Izaya was willing to share some of his observations regarding human nature. And during his ‘benevolent’ mood, you’d learned a common occurrence called ‘Bystander Effect’ in which individuals were less likely to help a victim when other people were present. Although his words were condescending and contained a hidden warning, the impact was still felt until today.

The enlightening yet crushing lesson that nobody would assist you when you needed it the most.

It didn’t matter, though. You were certain someone would be willing to extend a hand once they saw how desperate you were. His warning might be rather depressing to hear, but you couldn’t let it cloud your judgment. It’d be the same as letting him win, and you couldn’t afford that.

Now, you just had to find a person. Anyone, even if it had to be that bespectacled man. You had a feeling he was the only one who could deter Izaya from approaching you, but the question is: where was he? How could you find him when you were stuck in some unknown part of the city? Was this even Ikebukuro anymore? Just how many safe houses did Izaya own?!

You screamed when a pole suddenly collapsed before you, effectively blocking your path. The tremor rocked the ground, almost ripping the very soul out of your body. Several knives punctured the iron, and while ordinary people would wonder how they could get there or why they were there, you knew.

He was here and had possibly been watching you for quite some time now. And he did it all without your knowledge, just like he always did.

The realization spiraled you down the familiar panic attack when you first woke up in his room. Jittery hands clutched your heaving chest as you crumpled, the pure terror and tears blurred your gaze. A pair of arms clad in dark, furred sleeves emerged from the darkness and gently enveloped your shivering body from behind. The owner tried to shush you, but it was just background noise. You couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t feel the comfort he attempted to provide through affectionate whispers and caresses. You could only feel the impending doom, the pulverizing sense of helplessness within his embrace. You could only hear the demons cackling within his voice, jeering at your pathetic efforts to escape him.

Once again, the dragon had captured the princess. And this time, he ensured there would be no chance for her to slip through his claws again.

“Don’t cry. It’s your loss, after all, for not trying hard enough. Just a few blocks away, you’d find the police station. But your legs can’t possibly carry you that far, can they?” Izaya simpered. “What a shame. Had you were lighter on your feet, I’m sure you’d be able to find the freedom you’ve been looking for. But, alas, here you are again! In my arms, where you always belong.”

A sigh drifted from his lips as he stroked your quivering jaw. “You know, had I didn’t know you any better, I would've thought that you’d purposefully challenged me. Ah, my sneaky little princess. You really are a mischievous one, aren’t you?”

“Izaya, please… let me go. I… I promise I won’t tell anyone that you… that you...”

“That I’m what? Loving you? You should be more specific with your request, [Name]-chan. Otherwise, I might get the wrong idea later~” Slipping out a syringe from his pocket, Izaya pricked your neck and slowly thrust the plunger. “Unfortunately, it’s time for you to sleep now. Wouldn’t want to make the neighbors angry with your incessant noises, no?”

Discerning your drowsy visage and sluggish movements with a wicked glint in his eyes, Izaya plucked the syringe and grinned triumphantly. “Sweet dreams, my princess. I’ll see you soon~”

#anime yandere #anime yandere au #yandere imagine #yandere oneshot #yandere anime #yandere anime au #yandere scenario #yandere izaya orihara #yandere izaya #yandere izaya x reader #yandere izaya orihara x reader #yandere durararara #yandere drrr

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magpiemorality · 4 years

Note

Okay okay okay can we learn more about Tall Logan :0?

You absolutely can :D

Warnings: fantasy battle and accompanying implied violence, minor character death (multiple), implied injury

First | Previous | AO3

***

"I'd like to tell you a tale, Remus," Logan said one evening. It was the depth of what passed for winter there in the land of eternal temperate weather. Mostly the nights just felt a little longer, and Eavan's cousins had joined them to journey into the mountains to explore for the season. They'd found a cave and had stoked up a fire, and with Eavan's head in his lap Remus had suggested they find a way to pass the time.

"You have my leave," Remus agreed, getting comfortable and pulling his Fae into his lap and back against his chest to cuddle. "What's it about, your tale?"

Logan glanced at the two other cousins, and they apparently understood some unspoken signal because the first sat bolt upright with wide eyes and the other hid his face in the first's side with a soft sound. "A King, a long time ago," Logan answered slowly, dragging his eyes away from the other two and back over to Remus. "A King of lands unimaginable. Perhaps more than a King, because he ruled entirely unopposed for more years than can be counted, revered almost as a god of the world you now tread."

Eavan shifted. "I don't know this tale," he murmured.

"That's because I have never told it. It's too old and too sad for most days, but it feels right to tell it now, here." Logan and the other two Fae looked around with a curious expression in their eyes before all three refocused on the fire, their glow outlining them to Remus from the opposite side. "Will you hear it?"

The mortal shrugged and his Fae nodded. "Yes, go right ahead," Remus agreed, and tugged his Firefly a little closer for comfort as they got ready to listen.

The tallest Fae nodded slowly, staring into the fire with eyes already gone distant again. "Where to start?" He murmured to himself, as the air hung still and saturated with anticipation.

For a moment the only sound was the soft crackle of the flames, before the Fae who'd hidden his face sat back up, still clutching the other for support. "Start with the beginning of the end, Lo," he whispered, reaching out a hand that Logan took, locking their fingers together. The second Fae nodded his agreement, curling tighter around the first, gazing attentively at their soon-to-be storyteller.

"The beginning of the end, indeed."

"I must stress first that it truly was a shock when things changed. Change was almost unthinkable before that time, after so long of the same and the same and more of the same. The world was smaller then, or perhaps it was bigger, but it felt entirely complete from land to sea to sky and nothing ever strayed from the norm. Oh, people would travel, bicker perhaps, have their own little intrigues and very occasionally there were children born or changes to households through bonding ceremonies or departures, but true change was quite inconceivable. Even the land was simple then, mostly flat plains and rolling hills all covered in rich forest, and the folk gathered in large droves around the shore where the seas would provide for there was little water inland.

The first tremors of change came with the winds. Where there had once been peace with the sky before now there was instead a restlessness. The flurries agitated the trees, and the tides, and the people who walked across the land, sometimes playful or gentle but often biting and bitter and cruel. The King who ruled heard of this new attitude of his once great ally, but little did he know he should not blame the wind, for it was not of its own accord that it was acting so strange.

If only they'd known that then.

Next came the seas, clashing on the shore, stealing the fish, drawing out and rushing in, still when they should run with current and sneaky when anyone tried to swim. Too many were lost to the depths before caution was observed, and the sprawling towns that ran up and down the shoreline grew afraid, always waiting for the sea to rise and claim their homes as it seemed so likely to do.

Which left, of course, just the land as not turned traitor to the folk that lived on it. Before the land could inevitably also rise up against them, the King had word of a possible cause of all of their sudden troubles. There was a faction of miscreants, troublemakers, traitors, who were using magics too dark to contemplate to upset the world against the inhabitants thereof. They weren't targeting the King directly, nor did they seem to have much motivation other than to sow pure chaos, but what they were spreading in its wake was fear and uncertainty and most importantly doubt. People were growing wary and losing faith in their King, and the witches and warlocks delighted in what they'd caused, growing ever bolder.

The King called a council swiftly together, of the Lords of the land he presided over. They came from every corner, all but one. She was called Lord of West because of where she held dominion, but she had reportedly been waylaid by a group of these fanatics. At first there was much sorrow and shock, because Fae were so rarely lost in those days, and even now death is often far from our minds. But the messenger who brought the news had other information to share as well.

The fanatics had been bold, loudly proclaiming themselves true children of the land, which in our oldest language we knew as 'dragon'. These dragons had spun their sorcery over the Lord and had not killed her but entrapped her in a new form, that was bound to unleash destruction on the towns, already burning a wide trail through the forests from her home towards their goal, leaving great swathes of open land where once the trees had flourished.

So the sorrow turned to rage and determination, and the King and his council rode out, gathering armies out of Fae who were more used to tilling and tending the land than defending it. There were a few protests from those Fae who turned out to be sympathetic to the cause, calling for change and crowing injustice whenever they were caught and expelled from the army, but the King and his people carried on despite the growing dissent and he told his people to be merciful, to let them leave to join their chosen side and fight with what honour they had left.

They intercepted the dragons, the Fae who had joined them, and their enslaved Lord long before they reached the peaceful shore, clashing against them army to gaggle of scum. The fight was long and bloody and hard, and magic rent and tore the world around them all, pulling seas inland in great rivers, thrusting the earth up to form new mountains at the top of which great storms gathered, shaking trees down many miles away from earthquakes that rocked the ground beneath their feet.

But they were vanquished when one brave young Fae threw themself from their horse and climbed up the wing of the Lord, foolishly sacrificing themself so that she may be freed from the magic with a spell that has been since banished from memory. The energy involved in that sacrifice shook the foundations of the earth more than any quake before and all those who had fought on those plains were lost in a moment. Too much other magic lay in the air and the sacrifice in the end, ended the battle only at unbelievable cost.

The King himself had been stood at what passed for the enchanted Lord's feet, near the very epicentre of the spell, attempting to reach one of the dragons spouting the foulest magic.

The remaining Fae saw the lights all the way from their homes by the sea and knew what it meant. That magic left behind the first cracks through to the world of mortals, and the Fae that remained living became wary of one another and governed only in small tribes at most. The shoreside towns were abandoned as the seas grew too unpredictable and the Fae became rovers, almost solitary, wild. Changed.

In many ways the dragons in fact achieved their goals."

Logan paused for breath, shaking his head slowly and bowing it with a weight Remus could almost see crushing down on him. "That's... awful," the mortal whispered hoarsely, hugging Eavan tighter. The air felt colder and he shivered.

"Awful does not begin to cover it," the second cousin said, lifting his head from where he'd clung to the first. "It hurts my very soul to hear the tale."

"And there is more to come, hush," the first murmured, still holding Logan's hand tightly. "There is more, Lo. Don't stop there." They all watched as Logan took a deep, unsteady breath, and lifted his head again, squaring his shoulders with a determined nod.

"Quite right."

"It was not the end of the story for the King. For he had not been killed, but thrown far, far away. The dragon he had been fighting had hit him with a bolt of some still unknown magic at the moment the sacrifice was made. I'm sure you may have realised by now that magic is incredibly delicate, and easily mixed and merged to disastrous effect. That magic that enveloped the King combined with the sacrificial spell and every other piece of wild magic in the air and, through some stroke of perhaps fated luck; protected the heart of him as he was transported.

For many years he remained unseen, unknown and yet alive, healing deep in the mountains with V- it appears I- I must have missed a part, my apologies.

Something else happened when he first awoke after the battle. There was the sound of a child crying, and he sat up. Everything hurt, of course it did after what he'd been through, but he could only think to get to the child. A tiny Fae child, so rare, was lying nearby and calling for him. He cradled it in his arms and promised to care for it. No one else could be nearby, he reasoned, if they'd left the child next to his body and run off.

Except there was someone else. Another Fae, but this one an adult. He was surprised to find the King awake, and explained that he'd been running with the child, fleeing from the growing mountains, when he had heard an almighty crash and had diverted to investigate as the mountains finally settled and the magic dispersed. He had recognised the King and set out to find the herbs to help with his injuries, leaving the child alongside his body as he swiftly searched nearby. His home had once been where the mountains now stood, he said, and the remains of it lay far up in the peaks that towered above them. He had pledged himself immediately to help the King and the child, and together they built a home in a cavern, far away from the rest of the Fae where they would be safe and the King could recover.

It was slow progress, and the King insisted every time the Fae offered, that they not send word to anyone about his whereabouts. He was changed, he said, and he had only one charge left to protect, which was the child. After a while the answer changed to two charges, as the other Fae grew to mean much to him in their solitary convalescence. Years passed until they were all strong enough to travel, and the King finally felt restless enough to want to see the aftermath of what had happened, ready to mourn the losses and adapt to the new world.

They found the world as I said, much changed. Insular, isolated pockets of Fae, distrustful and doubtful and proud. It hurt his heart to see it, and to see how few and far between they really had become, but nonetheless there were survivors and he could be nothing but glad for that. The Fae with him helped him raise the orphan child as they journeyed, and they found a new and deeper bond between them, growing close on their long travels across the world that he'd once called his own.

While there were many years to come we will skip to the final chapter to this story. It comes some while after, when the King had long been forgotten. Or so he had thought, but one auspicious day, upon finding a copse and staying in it a while, they were interrupted by another Fae journeying, equally restlessly, across the land.

Once a member of the King's court, this new Fae recognised his King immediately and wept to find him alive, falling into his arms with grief and relief in equal measures. They spoke for many long hours as his first companion tended the child, and after much arguing finally agreed that the decision to no longer be king was the right one, much as the court Fae despised seeing his King no longer afforded the respect his long term of service to their people had rightfully earned. He joined their party and ever since they have all roamed together, closer than family, the three of them raising the child as their young cousin until he was ready to explore the land of his own accord.

The young child Fae left, roaming alone, and for a long while the three old Fae travelled without him. They turned to a new task, keeping order among the Fae that remained in the world and keeping as tight a grasp as possible on the doorways between your land and ours. Their little cousin visited from time to time, until one day he quite abruptly vanished from the world. And when he at last returned he brought an entirely new chapter to their lives, one that has yet again changed things anew. Perhaps, hopefully, for the better."

Logan leaned back and nodded slowly, satisfied with the conclusion to his storytelling.

They sat in silence for a while, gazing at the flickering fire and letting the tale sit in the air between them all. Then the first cousin, the one holding Logan's hand, squeezed it and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek with a soft look, and the other took up residence on the tallest Fae's other side, bracketing Logan with twin embraces.

Eavan sighed quietly, absently stroking the back of Remus's hand where it sat over his stomach. "It sounds familiar somehow, but I don't believe you've told it before," he said, frowning over at his cousins, something tense in the line of his shoulders as though his words weren't quite revealing everything they were actually saying. "It is true?"

"More true than most," the first cousin said with a smile, even though his voice was hoarse with repressed emotion. "Most of it was a very long time ago though."

"I remember it still," Logan said sagely.

Remus looked up at him with raised eyebrows, trying to read the expression on the tall Fae's face. "You remember it? Were you there? Did you know the King?"

"In a sense," Logan replied with a wry smile. "In some ways I only joined the story later on, but that's a matter of interpretation. And as for the King, I knew him better than anyone, you might say."

"Oh talking in riddles is unfair," the second cousin said, snorting softly. "You chose to tell the tale and you must answer their questions now."

"I will, I will. But tomorrow, after the night is done. Leave tonight for stories, tomorrow we can come to truth and answers."

Silence fell again as the five went wandering in their own thoughts. Remus could feel Eavan shifting restlessly and wondered what was going on in that pretty blond head. He was clearly thinking something through but whatever it was was, Remus was apparently going to have to wait until the morning to find out. Remus had learned a new patience from the experience of living with his Firefly, and while often he had to fight to outlast Eavan's stubbornness; this time he thought he might be able to guess what thoughts troubled his beloved.

It wouldn't be such a stretch to imagine Logan as the King of the story, with the two other Fae completing the trio, and his Fae, his Eavan as the child they'd found. It was mysteries upon mysteries and opened more questions than it answered, but such seemed to be the way with these Fae in particular, and Remus counted himself lucky to have been generously given a piece of the puzzle at all, no matter how small it might end up being.

If he was a betting man though; he'd put all he had on this being the biggest piece of all.

#writepie #dukeceit #demus #ts remus #ts deceit #ts logan #fae folk #owing me owing you au #ts writing #ts sanders sides #ts sanders sides aus #ts sanders sides fic #sanders sides #death mention

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mcfanely · 4 years

Text

The Ice Emperor and the Earth Dragon

With night closing in, and efforts to fix the mech concluding without much success. Attempts at repairing the metal structure shifted to the realisation that they were out in the open, and they needed to find a place to stay before full darkness encroached. The barren environment was dangerous, but being caught out during the night, could prove deadly.

Chapter 03 - Bitter Power, 2285 words

Getting a handle on new powers was honestly not as impossible as Cole had thought. It was actually a bit scary how easily he fell into the calming sensation of the biting chill the ice element provided.

Maybe it was because he couldn't feel it, or more he could, but it was slightly absent. He knew he was cold; he knew he must have been downright freezing. Yet, he wasn’t worried.

He and Zane had been trekking through the snow for what felt like a good couple hours. Without a watch or functioning nindroid systems, and specifically not even knowing if the time in this other realm mirrored Ninjago, time was currently hard to determine.

If the present stress of being stuck in a different realm, away from home and his brothers, not knowing where they were or even if there was anyone else out there in the frozen tundra - if it was just them and them alone? The measurement of the passage of time was a minor thing but it was something more that they didn't have.

Cole needed to focus on the here and now, floating a huge structure of ice above the ground, carrying the mech as if it was child's play and not very heavy machinery that had no business floating so effortlessly on their elemental construction.

And it was theirs, both his and Zane's. They were both focused, both on the same wavelength. They'd been walking in silence for a while now, but Cole could safely say they were connected in a way that seemed impossible.

Power flowed from the staff, from the scroll. It arched and hummed and burned and chilled all at once. It was incredible, the way Cole could feel every ounce of power. The way his element reacted and expanded, how it shifted from being an extension of his body to just being.

He could feel the world around him, he could sense structures of rocks and earth buried under what must have been years of snow. The mountains that were barely visible in the distance just felt so close. Everything echoed with a living, thriving energy.

Then there was the ice, this foreign element flowing from his fingers. He didn't know how it worked but it still felt right. The scroll acted as a bridge, a single link in an immense and complex chain that connected the both of them. Cole had every grasp that Zane had on his ice powers, and Zane had every connection to the earth that he had, but it was all multiplied tenfold. Hundredfold even.

It all felt so incredible, so right. Cole had to smile at it, the sensation. The power.

Then all too quickly, the feeling of energy shifted into a feeling of wrong. What was currently happening, what they were doing wasn't natural. It was twisted by the scroll of Forbidden Spinjitzu, powers grown beyond what could ever be achieved naturally. One could argue that what they were experiencing was their true capable potential.

Cole knew that even if he trained for the rest of his life, for every second, the scroll would always provide more power than what he could ever have. That was the appeal, that no matter what he did, if Cole wanted more power then all he had to do was hold the staff.

Hold it and not let go.

He hadn't realised he'd stopped walking until he felt the staff pull in his grip lightly, and came around with Zane standing a bit further in front of him, looking back with an expression of building concern. "Cole, are you alright?" He questioned slowly, as if he’d already asked the question a few times beforehand.

Why is he being so careful? Of course I'm fine. Cole found himself thinking. Why wouldn't he be fine, anyway? They'd made more progress in an hour than they had since they'd been banished to this realm and it was all because of the scroll. They'd moved the mech because of the scroll, they were protected from the harsh climate because of the scroll.

Everything minorly positive was because of the scroll, and it was right there in his grasp. It was weighted, and the leather was wrapped carefully and smooth to the touch. The energy was calming, it provided reprieve from an extremely stressful day. There was no cold, no weakness, no pain from injuries.

There was just power.

"Cole-?"

"What?" he snapped, his grip tightening ever so slightly. All Zane had to do was step forwards a little and pull, Cole could lose grip of the staff, he could lose this energy. Lose everything.

They fell into a palpable silence, unable to step apart due to their contact with the scroll and the need to maintain the usage of the power, but it was clear that Zane had shuffled a step back. The pulled mark made in the snow was all the proof Cole needed.

Cole's eyes widened, "I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap, I-"

"It's the scroll." Zane nodded, content with those brief words to encapsulate the situation. The scroll corrupts those who touch it.

They needed to put it down. Soon. Cole swallowed down a sharp feeling in his throat as he took the staff in through a new light. A clear light.

It was corrupting him, getting in his head.

"We don't have far to go." The nindroid continued, but this acknowledgement didn't help the tenseness of Cole's shoulders, "I can see a cave ahead," Though through the building storm, he wasn't sure how anything was even visible, but Zane's word was more than enough.

"It will suffice for shelter."

"You had me at 'cave'." Cole gave a grin to try and lighten the mood. It fell a little short of the mark when Zane didn't return his expression. "Let's get out of this storm." He lifted a hand, the ice platform lifting back up off the snow.

It was a case of following Zane's guidance, since he seemed to know where he was going. The snow flurry had really begun to pick up, and the impending nighttime wasn't something they wanted to face whilst exposed. Even then, they'd gone through the day without seeing another living soul. Seeing anything, really, other than an assortment of rocks and mountainous ranges. Who's to say there was even anyone out there? In weather as treacherous as what they were experiencing, it would make surviving hard.

But the night could bring dangers that they hadn't even thought of, that they couldn't even begin to comprehend? They were alone during the day, the night could be extremely different.

It seemed that any worry over being stuck outdoors would soon be over, since Cole's gaze managed to break through the haze that the falling snow produced to see a large opening in the cliffs ahead. A fissure spiking up into the rocks, fracturing the landscape into a wholly unique formation. The mouth of it gaped widely, and whilst it would be a form of shelter that anyone desperate would be happy with, aesthetic changes would need to be fashioned in order to suitably keep the elements out.

Cole smiled, and felt a renewed course of energy flow through him. Sure, the scroll kept his energy levels up to a point where using his elemental abilities didn't tire him out, but relief at finding some semblance of safety and security couldn't be replicated. A cave, indented into rock, sheltered, ideally one entrance which made it easy to keep a lookout and defend it if needs arose.

That need ideally would not arise.

So why did it feel like they were walking into something?

It was like an unease sitting in the pit of his stomach, not so much a heavy weight but something that just felt off. No, it wasn't hunger, though that was something that would need to be addressed soon. It was something else.

"You can feel it too?"

Cole's attention snapped over to Zane in an instant, his mouth dropping just slightly. "How did you--" He stuttered out.

"A feeling." Zane said simply, then gestured to the both of them. "And we've stopped walking."

He hadn't realised, but they had ground to a halt. Their ice sled was situated on the ground in front of them, the staff was held lightly between them but they'd stopped moving. Now that Cole was thinking about it, they'd fallen silent too.

He'd been holding his breath, listening.

Listening past the quiet that snow always provided, it seemed to drain all sound, dampening any significant noise that occurred.

"Zane, back to back. Now. " Cole whispered, and took a short step until he could feel the edge of Zane's shoulder plate pressed up against his own shoulder. He didn't know what it was that had put him on edge, but the hair on his neck standing on end was enough to drive him into action.

Only, an ear piercing screech from the sky hadn't been what he'd anticipated. Followed by a huge winged creature diving from the cover of the low lying clouds and making their defensive tactic all but useless.

It barrelled into them before either of them had taken their eyes off the sky.

Cole went one way, and Zane went the other. Landing in a snow mound didn't hurt, but the sudden cold stole his breath away; a cold he hadn't felt in a good while.

Cole glanced down at his hands and saw them empty, he looked around the area and found Zane sprawled out on the ground too. The only difference was that this creature, this giant bird with purple plumes and wide, far too intelligent eyes, was circling back around in a quick arch. Cole could easily bet where it was targeting next.

He had to act fast; taking in a scenario in an instant was both a learned and natural skill, and it wasn't going to fail him yet. It wouldn't.

His hands were empty, so was Zane's, which meant the staff-

The staff was entrenched in the snow a few feet to his left, and the bird was aiming at Zane so he needed protection.

Cole made a straight dash for the staff, picking it up and only letting himself revel in the rush of power for less than a second, the flicker of orange light that shrouded his head before he threw it like a javelin, "Zane!" He shouted over the distance.

Limited communication didn't equate to limited understanding, Zane's head shot up and he dove over the ground, grabbing the staff from where it had landed, blue energy flickering to life as he came to a standing halt with the sharp end of the staff pointed at the creature.

Zane was deathly calm, his gaze focused, his aim perfectly precise as he saw the beast approaching and did exactly what Cole would have done.

He shot it out the sky, a beam of unforgiving ice gripped onto the creature's wing and in an instant it was downed; hitting the ground hard and sliding in what would have been Zane's direction had he not moved out the way.

Cole ran over to his friend, but kept his attention on the bird. It's screeching was shrill, and every time it tried to rise into the air only to get weighed down by the icy sculpture, it caused the ground to shake.

Then upon its next leap, it allowed gravity to pull the weight of the ice down to the ground and broke it apart, freeing the wing and providing the creature with its full range of movement again. Cole was all but ready to fight, even though he was sure that with wielding the power of the scroll, Zane could easily handle the situation. Just as he'd handled Aspheera and the pyro vipers earlier that day.

The beast probably sensed the power too, since instead of staying around for longer, it took to the skies again and seemingly fled. Cole didn't count on it being gone for long, but he wasn't going to stand around and find out if it was coming back.

He turned to Zane, looked at the blue fire cascading through his hair; eyes that already glowed slightly due to his nindroid nature were now crackling and brighter with energy. The scroll was reacting to the contact too, cascading an ethereal light onto their immediate surroundings.

"Zane," Cole said, dragging his eyes away from the sight in front of him. Pressing matters. "Let's get the mech into the cave."

So they did just that, or Zane did.

He lifted the mech on his own, not that he couldn't have done that before. Cole holding the staff had provided help, provided a second person taking on it's burden as well as reducing the amount of power needing to be used by one person.

This was just a short trip, albeit rushed, but Zane could do it on his own. The mech was slid into place just inside the cave, and Cole was about to ask Zane why he'd stopped before the nindroid turned around and shot a blast of ice towards the entrance of the cave. Huge spikes of ice grew in mere seconds, towering up towards the ceiling of the cave and further, shrouding the entrance, near enough sealing it with an elemental barrier. There was a small gap left though, in the centre. Large enough for a person to fit out easily, but it kept the outdoors at bay.

The ice was blue, clear and pure, and immense in size.

Should the bird come back, it wasn't getting into their small sanctuary with any form of ease.

From the beginning

Ch 02 > Ch 03 > Ch 04

Cross-posted to AO3

#The Ice Emperor and the Earth Dragon AU #The Ice Emperor and The Earth Dragon #cole ninjago #zane ninjago #zane julien #cole brookstone #Zane #Cole #ninjago #lego ninjago #The Ice Emperor #mcfanely writes #mcfanely aus #mcfanely

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meishutori · 3 years

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@sphaeraa

Deserved happiness.

Here was yet another person--Rose’s own zanpakutō--saying what it was that Rojuro deserved. In hindsight, it could be viewed as insulting to one of the Hōgyoku’s caliber. For anyone to imply what another soul deserved--good or bad--was to hold them beneath an umbrella of judgment adhering to certain expectations.

How exhausting it was, this series of standards set forth by anyone and everyone but by Rojuro’s own design. A soft breath parted the god’s lips, his shoulders remaining squared into the meditative rest that held his poise.

“For a spirit, you know little of the heart. You seem trapped in the expectations of your own mind. ‘What is best for Kinshara and her survival... and the santity of the temple housing her.’”

He trailed off, eyes opening to cast toward her visage.

“That is what I detect from you. A nearly-panicked level of self-conservation disguised as concern for one’s master.”

It was not him jabbing insults for the sake of doing so. Nor was this meant to be insulting. It was only a level of insight, provided by the Hōgyoku’s sentience interpretation. He could be very wrong, as any god could.

“His ‘deserved happiness’ is something you have decided for him. That is what ‘deserved’ implies. He ‘deserves’ the best, because that is becoming of him. But the ‘best’ for someone is a matter of opinion. What is ‘best’ for a fly, is not ‘best’ for the spider. And it goes, too, in reverse. What is ‘best’ for the spider, is not ‘best’ for the fly.”

The Hōgyoku paused again, this time allowing his gaze to lower, as if in contemplation. Though, a moment passed, and he continued again.

“If Rojuro believes himself deserving of what he has found, then I am only grateful to be beneath the scope of someone of his sentience and caliber of perspective. If he eventually believes himself deserving of ‘better’, or ‘worse’--each defined by his own definitions--then I will respect his decision.”

“Only if, or when, that time comes. Until then, I will not dishonor his willingness to accept my sentience, by rejecting what he views to be his ‘deserved happiness’. To do so would be insulting to his heart and to his mind, and insulting to what he has taught me about the integrity hiding in scarce remnants of humanity.”

--- Funny, this.. He seemed to want to look into her the way he did Rojurou. True, she was a reflection of him, and yet.. Her own person. And the innards of a zanpakutou spirit are but pure energy. Her psyche was much like the Hogyoku’s, in that it did not truly hold a physical form. She just made it so, when it suited her. And so, in a small whirlwind of whiskers and flowing dragon-hairs, the serpent flew, a small tornado all its own that shifted until there, in front of the Hogyoku, now stood a woman. All six arms folded within her giant sleeves of white. Robes and sleeves alike touching upon the ground. She lowered into a flutter of fabric and hair, into perfect seiza, one hand coming up to push a stray strand of ebony hair behind an ear.

“You are mistaken.” She speaks, her voice melodious, as though like bells carried onto the wind. “The concern I feel for my master is no charade.” One pair of hands folds over one another into her lap. “You yourself have seen what havoc was wreaked upon Rojurou’s inner world; his very psyche.” She looked up at him through her lashes first, then tipped her chin. and regarded him a while, without comment, before continuing her reply to his observations. “’Panic’ is not a feeling I am familiar with.” She stated. ��Deserved indeed is subjective; so let me explain what I mean by that. Rojurou has had to carry burden upon burden, and does so still, without complaint. Deserved, is a reprieve from that. Deserved is peace and happiness in whatever form he chooses.” She agrees with the deity on that, at least. “He chose you.” She pauses, studying the face this being has chosen, and understands, in part, what had drawn Rose to him. “I do not intend to interfere, perhaps your reaction comes from an expectation you have projected onto me in turn. I too, respect my master’s decisions. But so too, do I know his habits, his wishes, his concerns, his deepest fears.. We remain harmonious.” Even after everything. “I would hope you would take me more seriously than a loud-mouthed shinigami-” Meaning Kensei, of course “-- when I tell you that Rojurou has his doubts. If he had none, I would not feel them.” Her master will not thank her for her honesty, of that she is sure. But this being appreciated honesty above all, did he not?

“I am not being protective, Hogyoku-san. I am reflective; I am but a mirror.”

#[waow ok]#sphaeraa #{cadenza} Of Gods and Men

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darkpoisonouslove · 4 years

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You’ve basically written everything I’ve asked for and a hundred times more, so to stop me from feeling insatiable and not to crowd you with ideas (more than you do that to yourself haha) consider this a fun fact of me? xd I love hurt/comfort, like it’s very likely my absolute fav genre. So, obviously, I would go crazy over some good old ‘lover worried about their hurt partner’ stuff, preferably with Coven-era Valtor and Griffin, with Griffin as the injured one 🤪

Thanks for the consideration. :D Now I’m kinda curious whether there is anything else you would like to see from me, though. (Why is my brain like that?) So if there is, feel free to tell me. Who knows when the inspo will strike and make me write it. XD

Quite like with this one. “Write a tidbit” Yeah, right. Like I know how to do that. I just want to say that I don’t know what I am doing as I think Hurt/Comfort is my worst genre so be warned about that. I think I managed to steer it to angst again but I tried my best to stick to the request. Also, if you have any pointers on the Hurt/Comfort front, feel free to give them as, like I said, I am not even sure I get what needs to happen in those fics. (I mean it’s kinda self-explanatory but then again, kind of not really and I am totally lost. Help!)

Summary: They say love can make you do crazy things. It can accomplish astonishing things itself as well as it heals wounds it opened with its own strength. Valtor has yet to experience how powerful a feeling that makes you so weak can be when Griffin gets hurt by it.

Griffin was sitting on his–their–bed and nursing a cup of hot tea he’d conjured for her. She seemed to like it if the way she inhaled the steam from it was any indication even if he wasn’t quite sure what it tasted like when he’d been all over the place with his mind too scattered to remember what she loved. Other than him, that was, but he had to focus on her well-being and not get lost in memories.

She was obviously still sore from her injuries even if she insisted she was okay now. He could tell from the way she winced every time she moved to cocoon herself better in the sweater he’d gotten her.

Her mother had knitted it for her and he was sure it would bring her comfort. Probably even more than any of his clothes could have when they were all too formal and restricting which he knew she would have overlooked on account of them being his and prioritized that over her comfort. They couldn’t have that.

She was better after he’d drained most of whatever magic he had left after their mission in the healing spells he’d dug out of his memory when she’d refused to go to the infirmary. She was doing it for both of them when she could picture his mothers’ sneers and magic bolts thrown at them to make any injuries worse and teach them to never make the same mistake again. She’d gotten even more familiar with their temper tantrums now that she was with him in everything. His failure was hers and she was paying for it.

“Ow!”

Griffin’s distress had his attention snapping back to her in an instant.

She swiftly switched the hand she was holding her cup with and waved the other one as if that could make the burn of the tea scalding her go away. As if it was that easy to erase what had hurt her.

“You should be more careful,” Valtor said, pursing his lips the moment the words made it past them to contain the impulse to scream at her. That would hardly be appropriate after what she’d just been through. It would hardly be the way to treat his lover even if it made perfect sense and not just in the confines of his troubled mind.

He could still feel the swelling under her skin that his magic had mapped out, the bruises that had needed only that much time to start forming, the crack in a rib his mind had almost fallen through and out of his grasp, and worst of all – the absence of her own powers reaching to tangle with his. He’d been alone again when she’d lost consciousness on him, just like he’d been before she’d loved him. They’d been lucky he hadn’t sent them to Domino, which had definitely been a probability when the Dragon Fire could provide the healing power his mind had pulled him to but he hadn’t been sure he could find in the darkness in his own veins, when he’d opened that portal to take them home. Back to their base where she’d been safe when she hadn’t had to fight his battles.

“Tea can hardly burn me after I’ve been exposed to your hotness,” Griffin said, the mischief and allure back in her gaze as if her eyes hadn’t closed on him like there’d been no life inside them left.

It was what he was afraid of. She’d walk into the fires of hell convinced they wouldn’t hurt her when his own flames didn’t burn her. But as much as she claimed his warmth helped her muscles relax, she needed cold to keep at bay any bruising his magic may not have caught. His power was in destruction, not in healing that she’d always been so much better at. He’d been the only one that had been able to do anything for her injuries, however, when she’d just regained consciousness and had been robbed of her magic that was only now starting to come back with too little space left for it as gratefulness was filling her to the brim.

She scooted away in the bed to make room for him and lure him close again and he answered her unspoken plea. She would just start protesting and moving to irritate her muscles successfully after everything they’d been through already. Plus, if he was comforted by the softness of her body–even as sore and stiff as it was–he could only imagine the effect his presence had on her.

She laid her head on his shoulder once he was in bed with her only to whimper like a kicked puppy when her neck protested and the sound of misery hit that nerve in him that was still inflamed with worry.

He’d been restless like a scaredy-cat in the few moments it had taken him to confirm she hadn’t broken her neck as she’d fallen out of the sky, not at all similar to a shooting star when she’d plummeted headfirst towards the ground with the frailness of her human life and her death would have only granted his worst nightmare. He’d thanked her lucky stars–she had to have at least a few of those to compensate for the absence of his own that she hadn’t followed into even as she’d followed him everywhere–that they’d lent her some of their endurance and power that had seen her all in one piece when she’d landed in the dirt of his failure to protect either one of them.

“You’re more reasonable than that,” he chastised quietly when the light of her eyes would illuminate every corner of his soul to leave nothing hidden from her gaze. He didn’t want to hide any of his weaknesses from her if it would stop her from taking them as her burden and sacrificing herself to save him from them but it was worth the energy he wasted in attempts to cover them when they would only push her further into her selfless foolishness that she loved to call love. At least he could count on her to read all his pages and empathize with his panic and horror which he could only pray–if he knew to whom–would tip the balance back to her mind, back in her favor.

“I am,” Griffin said, moving again to catch his gaze and causing herself pain in the process, poking him to capture her lips and kiss her until she was out of breath and couldn’t put him first anymore but the steady rhythm her chest was following in its movements had been the only thing keeping him sane when it’d meant she was alive. He couldn’t bear to see it disrupted so soon after that very thing would have been his death. “Your magic was our only ticket back home so I couldn’t let anyone take you out,” she said calmly as if the explosion of her magic hadn’t shaken her to her core like it had him and her pretense of strategy could fool him.

He wasn’t as blinded by her love as he would need to be to buy her lie about the strength of it. Her comfort was a priority right now, though, so he pretended to believe her even when she always saw right inside him. They both saw through each other’s eyes to the mind behind and he hoped that would make her use hers more instead of her heart even if that could hurt their harmony. Her own well-being was in the balance and with that he didn’t want to take any chances.

Griffin nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck and wrapped an arm around his chest even if he could hear her muscles screaming against it. Challenging any logic, the tension in her melted away when he wrapped her in his embrace and pressed her in himself as gently as his heart was capable of when it was racing still from the terror of losing her to her own love for him. He couldn’t hurt her for the damage she’d done to herself in his name when they shared feelings. They were one whole so hurting him was hurting her and vice versa.

It was a shock he had to actively fight against to keep from shaking in its grasp to know how vulnerable their weakness for each other left them. And yet, they were the embodiment of content when wrapped in each other and the comfort of their shared breath as his lips found hers and her life left him too full of itself for fear to find a way in his body.

Send me a summary of the fic you want me to write and I might write a little from it

#winx club #winx valtor #winx griffin #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #ask #her-majesty-wears-jeans

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spirit-science-blog · 3 years

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The Perks of Being a Wallflower is a story about the infinite layers between a person's ego and a person's soul, and in that, the self-discovery and expression of the soul through the connection we have with each other. Much of this coming of age story is centered around being an outcast in a world of sameness, telling us of uniqueness, individuality, and that each of us has the potential to live our best lives if we can just get out of our own way. While the story is based in 1991, it relates very well with most demographics of the last 40 years, minus all the mix-tapes, as much of the message is universal to our human consciousness today.

The story was both written and directed by Steven Chbosky, for both the novel and the screenplay - and while generally, we’ll be focusing on the movie, for those interested - the book adds many dimensions to the story that we don’t see in the film. With that, here’s your Spoiler Alert, and here we go!

The film opens and closes with the infinity tunnel, the place which - to the main characters - seems to be a place of pure experience, an experience of the infinite. We see Sam and later Charlie experience this by standing up in the back of a truck, holding their arms out in joyous surrender to the expansive and seemingly never-ending tunnel. There is where we find Charlie's legendary line that became the Tagline of the movie “We are infinite”.

What’s especially amazing and curious about this is that it subtly explores the line between danger and conscious expansion. In the back of the truck, there is a notable sense of danger, as if the truck bounced or a strong wind blew through in the other direction, these kids could fall off the truck and bump their noggins! Yet, in the surrender of the will of the soul, it opens for this expansive experience that few are familiar with, which deepens their connection to themselves, feelings of freedom, and each other.

Now, in the book and a core part of the movie, is that the narrative is told through Charlie writing these letters to us, the audience, essentially providing a more intimate look at what’s going on inside Charlie’s mind and heart. Throughout the story, we peel back the layers of his nature and go deeper into resonance with his soul, but what's more so, we can see the various layers of his personality, both ego, and soul, that are steering the ship of his life.

And truly, one remarkable aspect of this story in particular is that every character feels like real people, which makes it easy for the film to connect well with anyone, as opposed to some of those other Hollywood highschools where everyone is 30… or constantly breaking into song.

But perhaps one of the challenges of going back to high school through this movie is that in a lot of ways, this is really accurate, which brings up all kinds of memories. For myself personally, there’s a lot of this story that just feels like… exactly my high school life.

Take this girl for instance… *play the clips* WHO HURT YOU!?!

But yet - if the story gives us any indication, is that each of us, with our multitude of layers, has this incredible bank of life experience, and all of us have been hurt in some ways, though rarely we show it openly. Throughout the film, we slowly bury deeper into the layers of these characters and explore the abuse that was experienced in childhood, and how they were able to overcome it, and grow as people.

So even as we watch, for those with the heart to explore it, even the people who are not so nice, like the girl in Charlies class, the teacher who calls his student nothing, or Brad and his friends - are all people who are suffering in their own ways, but just haven’t yet faced it within themselves. Perhaps one of the most significant lessons here is that… Hurt people hurt people.

So getting to know Charlie, we learn that he is a young, budding writer, making these journals and describing his life experiences… If we go into our ancient past - we find many legendary sages telling us that it is through our words that we create and steer our lives and reality, and what’s more so, that writing our words give them lasting power, which is why things like journaling and even vision boards can be so powerful both in creating new things in life, and developing wisdom and meaningful self reflection.

Charlie actively demonstrates this throughout the story by the words that he uses while he’s journaling. Early on, he writes about how his old friend and people he used to know don’t want to connect with him, and he says “well, i’m me, so who am I kidding?” Putting himself down and reinforcing the belief in himself that he’s not worth very much. Yet, he also writes that he wants to make new friends, because he wants to turn things around… and this very intention puts him on the path to actually make some.

Now, the first friend that charlie makes is really his teacher, Paul Rudd, however - charlies own shame prevents him from acknowledging this at the start, but throughout the story, Mr. Rudd essentially becomes charlies guiding mentor, providing him wisdom in the form of books, and supporting him in becoming an intelligent writer.

We are also introduced to Patrick. Patrick really represents the outspoken voice of those who are misrepresented in the world, and one who will stand up for those who are outcasts from society. When we first meet Patrick, he is drawing a beard on himself, pretending to be the shop class teacher, and the teacher comes in and calls him pattycakes. So Patrick says “Look, my name is patrick, so either call me patrick or call me nothing”. And the teacher calls him nothing! In the book, this plays out a bit differently, but we can gleam a lesson here nonetheless.

Because of this exchange, basically all of the kids in school refer to Patrick as nothing. However, by the end of the story we see the transmutation of this energy, as he puts “Nothing hates you” on the top of his hat - owning and even changing the energy, and demonstrating some wisdom and compassion all the same. Nothing hates you, there is only love, get it? Well, this probably went over most people's heads, which... might be a pun, because it was on the top of his hat.

Speaking to friendships, the final of the main trio in the story is Sam. Now the name Sam itself actually translates from Hebrew, meaning “God has Heard” or “Listen, Name of God”, and she plays a significant role not just in her own story, but helping Charlie to open his heart, and supporting him throughout his own self discovery. There is a lesson here too for all of us in the question of - who are we showing up for in our lives? The beautiful thing about Sam is that she really shows up for nearly everyone.

There is a subtle allusion to this in that the first time we see her, she has bright stadium lights behind, depicting angelic radiance. Yet at the same time, Sam herself represents the loss of innocence, for she used to have a reputation of getting drunk with all the boys and you can imagine where that train ends. We can see this in many areas throughout the movie, such as the red and black that she often wears, which falls in stark contrast to the pink wall and twinkly lights of her bedroom, and deeper still, with her story of being taken advantage of by her dad's boss at the age of 11, which twisted her own ego into becoming the girl with the reputation.

Yet, the quality of her soul allowed her to grow as a person - she is not defined by these aspects of herself anymore, moving beyond her past into a higher reality, and progressively does so even to the end, getting into penn state, sharing that things do get better. The tunnel scene, which we explored earlier, is a scene of soaring, flying, trust, and freedom, all things that help Charlie in embodying the same thing by the end too!

Having made some friends, Charlie is initiated into the group by attending his first party, where he experiences his first plant medicine experience, eating a cannabis brownie, and opening up to his new friends in a quirky way, where they essentially adopt him into the group. Welcome to the island of misfit toys, Sam says, after Patrick gives Charlie a toast.

One of the primary activities of this group is going to and participating in the rocky horror picture show. We spoke before about how the tunnel represents freedom, and this is another special place where freedom of expression reigns supreme and inhibitions go out the window. Honestly - these scenes deserve a shout out, both to Steven Chbosky for weaving this into the narrative in a really meaningful way, and also the actors for having such courage to get on stage in front of cameras and an audience of thousands, and perform the Rocky Horror Picture! Mad respect!

Now, one of the primary a

Now, speaking of freedom and big changes, a little while later, Charlie also experiences LSD for the first and probably last time. In addition to exploring Cannabis, later on Charlie also tries LSD. Cinematically, it’s a funny segway between taking the eucharist at church, and doing a tab - which shows a direct correlation to entering the depths of spirituality and all of the ways we can do this. But nobody ever taught Charlie that the best way to practice with psychedelics is in nature or with meditation, so he doesn’t have the best time. At one point, he ends up shoveling snow in a circle on the driveway for a while... Wait a second, THIS HOUSE HAS 6 GARAGE DOORS. WHAT?! … That seems a little excessive but okay.

Anyway, during this scene Charlie says “I just saw this tree but it was a dragon, then it was a tree again, it just lied to me”, and, I’m certain that this was probably unintentional, but when you learn about Yggdrasil, the norse edition of the Tree of Life system, we find that there is this dragon called Nidhogg. In historical Viking society, Nidhogg was a great and terrible dragon whose actions intended to pull the cosmos into chaos, and who also chewed the bodies of those who were guilty of terrible crimes. This is curious, because it relates to the undercurrent of darkness that runs throughout the story, as both Sam and Charlie, and even Aunt Helen were abused when they were kids. Again - probably not intentional, but Charlie seeing the tree become a dragon could be indicative of uncovering the darkness at the bottom of his own inner tree of life.

See, this part of the story really does begin the inward spiral that leads into himself to uncover the truth of his past, represented by the end of his LSD trip, creating a snow angel - representing his purification and rebirth.

Speaking to this undercurrent of trauma, and how it shows up for us often in life, is this idea that “We accept the love we think we deserve”, a key point made throughout as we see so many characters accepting love that deep down they know is only holding them back from becoming more authentic versions of themselves. Whether it’s Candace and Ponytail Derek, Patrick and his secret lover Brad, Sam and Craig, and Mary Elizabeth and Charlie.

The film really explores the idea that we often do things that we don’t want to do for the wrong reasons. Charlie dates Mary Elizabeth and hates it, he has nothing good to say about it at all, and yet he stays in it - why? Because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. Even though it’s not a healthy relationship, Charlie can’t see past his own ego or what he’s creating by staying in the relationship. What's more so, even after the relationship ends, Charlie is still trying to make up with her because he feels bad, he feels guilty - and in this we even gain a subtle reflection for ourselves in how we weave our own traps of suffering…

We can see this expressed during one scene where he has this black dot on his third eye, a symbol of Ash Wednesday from his church, and Mary-elizabeth wipes it off. For much of the film, she seems to represent the spiritual ego, by her tendency to boast about spiritual concepts, but doesn’t really behave much like the buddhist she claims to be.

The story asks us to reflect on our own relationships and our lives in this same way, what are we doing, and why are we doing it? Are our actions in the highest alignment with our souls? However, we must also acknowledge that - as we go deeper, we see that Charlie’s guilt of feeling responsible for his Aunt Helen’s death, also stems into not being able to tell Mary Elizabeth the truth about how he feels. From this, we may discover within ourselves that all of our actions and feelings are interwoven together, far deeper than we know.

To the surprise of many people who first watch it or read the book, towards the end, Charlie goes through what resembles a dark night of the soul, a common thing during the awakening process, where we must face some aspect of our past, we must go through the trauma and the pain, in order to emerge on the other side of it and find healing.

Throughout the film, Charlie’s pain wells up within him in a number of ways, such as the fight in the Cafeteria. Later on, when he is taken to the hospital, he says something very interesting. He asks the doctor how to make it stop, how he can stop seeing everyones pain, that everyone is in pain, all of the time. Yet, the one thing he can’t see is his own pain. It reminded me of a bible verse from Matthew 7 - “First, remove the beam out of your own eye, and then you can see clearly to remove the speck out of your brother’s eye.” Charlie can’t even see his own pain, but it’s so strongly there that it manifests itself as if he’s seeing everyone elses pain. It’s as if his pain itself has anchored him to this frequency of pain and suffering, but unless he faces the darkness within himself, he won’t be able to stop seeing it in others too.

As he faces his past, and comes to terms with it, he begins to let go and find healing. Something we all must do on our journey of reconciling our own pasts. Here we find another moving lesson, as Charlie lets go of his past, he must also let go of his friends, as they graduate and move on into new realities. Yet, not forgetting or losing their friendship, just adding some distance.

One final aspect of the story we must explore, is this very human moment where Sam and Charlie have a serious talk, and Sam asks… why didn’t you ever ask me out? Now - this might not be a fair question, because she was with someone for a long time and hey, maybe Charlie was just being respectful that she had a boyfriend… Yet, Sam reveals something very deep and moving, something we can all learn from. She says that she doesn’t want to just be someones crush, but that she wants someone to love her for who she truly is. It is a powerful and very heartfelt moment, revealing the deepest part of their characters, showing the soul from all of the ego, and for the characters expressing what they really want most, on a heart-centered level and a natural expression of the soul.

As the story comes to a close, Charlie discovers that we may accept the love we think we deserve but it is our duty to show people that they deserve more. We all deserve to fly through the tunnels, see “the light and everything that makes you wonder, with those who love most in this world, and realize that deep down, in all of our hearts... “We are infinite”!

#spirituality #science #ascension #mystery school #spirit science

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

Once Again as in Olden Days

She’s absolutely freezing cold.

It’s a dumb metaphor, one that only serves to make Emma even more pissed off than she already is. Because two hours ago it was summer. But a few more hours before that, she was also locked in a tower guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. And now she’s outside. With her kid. And a pirate that isn’t hers, explicitly, but keeps staring at her like he wouldn’t mind if he was.

So maybe it’s not the worst. Maybe she’ll be able to get warm eventually.

-----

Rating: A whole bunch of teen-type canon divergence. Word Count: 6.4 K to fit in all the ridiculous Meet Me in St. Louis references AN: Back at it again with the Festive Fic Prompt A Thon and two anon prompts today: "you can put your cold feet on me." & "i don't wanna get up-- you're comfy." I started writing this as Lieutenant Duckling the other day, got a thousand words in, was like nah, then came back today and wrote nearly six and a half thousand words of 4x22 canon divergence with a frustrated Emma, enthusiastic Henry and deckhand!Hook who just wants to help. And listen to badly summarized movies. Anyway, they kiss.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

-----

She can’t stop shivering.

Every inhale comes with an almost automatic exhale that seems to wobble its way out of Emma, uneven and shaky and neither of those are good adjectives, but none of this has been good and the storm had come out of nowhere.

She assumes it’s a last-ditch effort to steer them off course, and while he might not be exactly the same man, Killian Jones is still exceptionally good in a crisis. And on his ship.

She hasn’t told him that the Jolly is his ship yet.

So, really, she might be the world’s biggest coward.

Mostly Emma is pissed off.

Magic storms. In the middle of summer.

Of course.

Fuck this reality, honestly.

She lets out another burst of air, and it’s cold enough now that she can see it linger in the space in front of her. Every inch of Emma feels frozen—muscles tense and skin raw from the shackles she is positive she can still feel and she’s starting to think in metaphors now, anger curling at the base of her spine and threatening to burst out the tips of her fingers, but that may also just be her magic and—

“Mom?” Henry mutters, snow clinging to the edge of his hair. She jumps approximately forty-seven feet in the air.

It is admittedly a rough estimate.

Henry’s teeth find his lower lip, far too familiar to be anything except vaguely jarring. Emma huffs, and she’s not sure where her lungs continue to find enough oxygen to keep doing this, pressing the heel of her hand into her cheek, like that will help ground her and her vaguely vertical emotions.

“Yeah, kid?” He jerks his head behind him, lights Emma hadn’t noticed before glimmering in the not-so-far distance, and maybe this will be ok. At least passably acceptable. Possibly warm. God, she wants to get warm again.

That’s another metaphor.

Killian hasn’t said a single word since they anchored the Jolly. Emma hopes that isn’t because she’d teleported them off the Jolly. She was actually surprised she’d been able to do it, but Regina had always told her magic was about emotion and she’s been feeling nothing except emotion, every single thing she hasn’t said yet and wants to say and is hopeful she’ll eventually be courageous enough to actually say.

She’s started biting her lip at some point too.

“We could get inside,” Henry suggests, already backpedaling and Emma knows there’s not really another option. The ends of her gown are drenched. She doesn’t want Henry to be out in this snow much longer.

She’s going to strangle Issac as soon as she sees him.

And then Rumplestilskin.

And then Isaac again, for good measure.

“Maybe get some food,” Henry continues. “That’s how it always works in the stories, right? Roadside taverns and mead and—’ “—You are not getting mead,” Emma cuts in.

Henry makes a distinctly teenage noise in the back of his throat, a bit of normal that Emma is going to think about for at least the next forty-five minutes if only because she can practically hear the nervous energy rolling off Killian. She wishes he would talk. She’s not sure what she’ll do if he does talk.

“Alright,” Emma says, inhaling sharply. She’s desperately got to learn how to breathe. And control her magic.

Killian flinches slightly.

Henry widens his eyes. “Unless you guys want to break into some barn somewhere. Hay is warm and it’s not like we have any gold, do they use gold in the fake Enchanted Forest?” “No idea,” Emma shrugs. “I could probably just magic it, though. I think that’s possible and—” “—I have gold.”

She whips around so quickly she almost loses her balance, far more fabric around her ankles than she’s used to. Killian’s staring at his shoes by the time she straightens out her knees, lips tugged tightly behind his teeth and impossibly straight shoulders, more nerves and anxiety wafting off him.

Emma resists the urge to reach her hand forward.

They’ve got to get out of here.

She needs to magic herself some new clothes too.

“You don’t have to do that,” she whispers, but that only gets him to furrow his brows, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Her magic flares, racing up her spine and taking root in the back of her brain and the center of her soul, which also seems impossibly melodramatic. Killian lifts his head.

“What else am I going to use it on?” he reasons with a shrug, and Emma can’t help the sound that flies out of her.

It’s not a laugh — there is absolutely nothing funny about any of this — but it’s not quite the sigh she expects, something closer to a scoff and a hint of disbelief and her hand moves.

She absolutely cannot help it.

Her fingers brush over his, a quick hitch of his arm, like he’s not sure if he should pull back or push her away and Emma rocks closer, ducking her head into a gaze that can’t seem to hold hers for more than five seconds.

Those few strands of hair drifting over his forehead may be the death of her.

“It’s a fair question,” Henry mumbles. He’s smiling. She can tell, hear it in his voice and Emma’s cheeks object to her own lip-type movement, but it’s still snowing and freezing cold and—

Seriously those strands of hair.

“See,” Killian says, “the lad’s got some sense.” Emma lifts her eyebrows. “Seems to suggest that I don't.” He blushes. It’s absurd and wonderful and entirely awful. All at the same time. She has no idea how she’s going to sleep when her magic is roaring in her veins.

“No, no, no, that’s not—” Killian stammers, and Henry doesn’t even try to mask his laugh that time.

“No?” Emma prompts. Killian swallows. The muscles in his throat move, jaw clenching and it’s another rush of passably familiar that Emma wants to hold onto with both hands. “No,” he echoes. “I—we have to get out of this storm.” “This is what I’m saying,” Henry groans. “So we’ll use Killian’s money and we’ll get some food and maybe some mead and—” “—Seriously, how is no mead confusing?” Emma asks, glancing over her shoulder. Henry sneers. Killian is back to being frustratingly silent.

The color in his cheeks hasn’t disappeared.

It doesn’t have anything to do with the snow.

Seriously, the snow has to stop soon.

“Let’s go,” Emma says. She claps a hand on Henry’s shoulder, trusting that Killian will follow them when they start to move and that’s not quite a metaphor, but it might be the basis of everything else and—

She’s right.

She can hear the snow crunching under his boots behind her.

The air is musty and tinged with what smells like a mix of sweat and ale as soon as Emma pushes the door to the inn open, biting back a groan while her stomach does its best to rise up in the back of her throat.

There are people everywhere, crowded at clearly sticky tables and tucked into dark corners, a surplus of leather and more than a few flashes of steel, the telltale sound of dice rolling on a variety of wooden surfaces. Emma’s eyes scan the space, gaze falling on what looks like the world’s oldest bar and a bald man with a round face and a towel draped over his shoulder.

She snaps her fingers.

And the magic that twists across her own face isn’t entirely uncomfortable. It’s warm, but it also makes it feel as if her skin is melting—like candle wax, shifting and reforming until her nose isn’t quite where it’s supposed to be, her eyes deep set and her forehead a bit wider.

Her clothes have changed as well, gown replaced by breeches and boots that almost provide some warmth to her otherwise frozen toes, a vest and empty sword belt.

She’ll have to fix that last part eventually, she’s sure.

“Whoa,” Henry breathes. “Mom, that was so cool!” Emma can’t help the quick smile she gives him, a flash of pride that disappears almost as soon as her brand-new eyes land on Killian.

He looks stunned.

And maybe just a hint terrified.

Of her. And her magic.

The witch in the tower, indeed.

“I’ll, uh—” she starts, but the words scratch at the inside of her throat like they’re not all that interested in being spoken. “I just figured it’d be best if no one saw me. I mean—do people even know what I look like?” “Lily did.” “Yeah, but she was a dragon.” “That we knocked out of the sky,” Henry reasons. “She’s probably got people to report back to. That’s how it always works in the—” “—Stories,” Emma finishes. Her stomach twists again, fear mixing with dread and those are kind of the same words. “We get a room. We eat. We get a few hours of sleep and then we get out of here. Got it?”

Henry nods once, and Emma doesn't bother glancing back at Killian. That’s not great. She’s not—

It doesn’t matter.

This isn’t real.

They’re getting out of here. She’s going to save all of them.

And Killian isn’t freaked out by her magic at home.

So.

Emma stalks forward, twisting and turning between tables and half-drunk townsfolk, doing her best to breathe through her mouth while ignoring anyone’s curious gaze. It doesn’t matter. No one casts her a second glance, and it takes a few moments of pointed coughing to get the attention of the barkeep.

He brings up the crazy weather at least six times.

Emma keeps nodding. It leaves the muscles in her neck aching, fear tugging on the nerve-endings there because she’s not entirely convinced this is a good idea, but then it’s only a few more minutes for gold to exchange hands, Killian dropping a small pouch of clinking coins on the wood in front of them.

The key to the one room they have left in this entire godforsaken place is cold in Emma’s hand.

One room.

Naturally.

She might kick Isaac too. Several times.

“C’mon,” Emma says, nudging at Henry’s back when his eyes widen at the sight of several foaming mugs of...something. “Right, left, kid and up the stairs.” He grumbles as he moves, and part of her is loathe to to be responsible in a moment like this. Part of her wants to down several tankards of ale and a few more rounds of mead, but Emma also isn’t entirely confident in how to mix Enchanted Forest alcohol and—

There are two beds in their one room.

Naturally.

Version two point oh.

She sighs, running a suddenly exhausted hand over her face, which is only a little jarring because it’s not really her face. The string of curses that fall out of her is more than a little surprising, even to herself, but— “I forgot to get food,” Emma hisses, half to herself and half to this version of the world and Henry is already perched on the edge of one of the beds.

There are only two beds.

She’s going to scream. She’s trying very hard not to cry.

“I’ll take care of it,” Killian says, soft enough that Emma barely ears him. Her magic is doing that thing again.

So is his jaw.

She’s got to stop staring at his jaw. It’s far too close to his lips.

“You sure?” she asks. He lowers his eyebrows again, a quick jerk of his head that feels a little placating and a little hers, as if he’s amused every time she lets him do anything for her.

And Henry.

For them.

Collectively.

“Positive,” Killian promises. “I’m not sure it’ll be very good food, but—" “—We’ll live,” Emma interrupts.

“Aye, I’m sure we will.” It’s not another promise. She knows. He knows. Henry knows. The goddamn barkeep probably knows. And yet. The words slink under Emma’s skin and find a rhythm with her pulse, a guarantee for a future that she’s only just started allowing herself to dream about.

Idiot.

“If you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m going to come downstairs and do something vaguely threatening,” Emma says.

Killian’s lips twitch. “I’ve no doubt.” “And there aren’t clocks in this realm,” Henry adds. He’s definitely still smiling.

Killian nods again—although that one has a distinct air of confusion to it, which only serves to make Emma’s stomach do something else she doesn’t have time to think about and she’s honestly got to stop thinking such absurd things. Because then he’s sweeping back into the hall and his boots are heavy on the stairs and she doesn’t have to turn around to see the expectant look on her son’s face.

She can feel it. Behind her eyelids.

“So, uh—” Henry starts, but Emma waves both of her hands and she’s not all that surprised he ignored her. It’s a weird thing to be proud of. “He didn’t even argue, you know. When I found him.” Emma licks her lips. She shivers again.

And Henry isn’t done. “I got rid of Black Beard and then he just...I mean, it’s not right. Anything here, and especially Killian because he’s—” “—Yeah, I know,” Emma whispers.

“Still didn’t argue, though. He might not remember everything, Mom, but I know he’s—he still cares. About you. About us.” She hums, a noncommittal sound because her tongue appears to be taking up most of the real estate in her mouth and she’s still as much of a coward as advertised. Even more so than the man who’s not quite the man she—

Emma lets out a shuddering breath, stumbling back against the nearest wall. Her knees have started to wobble as well.

And Henry doesn’t say anything else.

She’ll thank him for that eventually. When they get home. Let him play video games for an extra hour or something.

Maybe go sailing.

She’d like to go sailing.

She’d like—

The door swings open again, a tray of food in Killian’s hand and a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. As if he’s worried it’s wrong.

Until.

The warmth of something Emma resolutely refuses to name as soon as her gaze meets his is like falling back into blankets and some joke about the tides and a steady rhythm and his smile stretches, settling on his face like he’s just been waiting for her to make sure it lands there.

Henry snorts.

Whatever is in the bowls Killian is holding is steaming.

“Not exactly dinner at the palace,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. Emma feels her eyes widen. “But it’ll at least keep the chill at bay and—”

He jerks his chin down, a small pile of fabric Emma hadn’t noticed before tucked under his left arm. Blankets.

Some of her muscles loosen.

In a nice way.

“Thank you,” she says, hoping she’s able to infuse as much emotion into two words as possible. Killian hums, another quick nod that isn’t quite as terrified or concerned and— “Can we eat?” Henry asks.

Emma laughs softly, reaching out to grab bowls and blankets and the food isn’t great, but she’s fairly certain none of them have been poisoned. So, she’ll take what she can get at this point.

And the whole thing is oddly comfortable—blankets strewn across the floor and Henry’s tugged his boots off at some point, recounting his defeat of Black Beard and Killian’s ability to sail through that storm, as if Emma weren’t there too, but she can��t bring herself to tell him to stop.

Not when his voice picks up that way, excitement and adventure and he’s so sure they’re going to fix this.

She’ll regret that later, she’s sure.

Letting that hope linger.

God, but she’s the most depressing person in any reality.

Henry’s eyes start to flutter shut eventually, head lolling towards his shoulder and chin bumping against this chest and Emma makes to move, but then Killian’s mumbling something under his breath that sounds a lot like I can do it and Emma’s far too busy making sure her heart doesn’t explode to object.

It might explode anyway.

She tugs her legs closer to her, resting her chin on her knees and eyes never leaving Killian as he hauls Henry up, moving him towards a bed with, she assumes, slightly scratchy sheets. Every shift of Killian’s arms is slow, almost calculated, like he’s holding something important and a word that’s bigger than that, but Emma’s having enough difficulty coming to terms with any of this that she can hardly be expected to care about syntax.

It’s still snowing out.

Henry doesn’t wake up when he rolls over, stuffing a hand under his pillow and twisting one leg across the mattress.

Exactly the same way Emma sleeps.

And exactly the way Killian has complained about Emma sleeping. Her mind jumps to memories — weeks of calm and seasonally-appropriate snow, tucked into a different bed with sheets that seemed to drape themselves over her skin and her soul and she’s clearly losing her grip on her sanity. It is, Killian frequently tells her, because Emma’s feet refuse to retain their natural heat.

It makes him jump every time, a soft gasp that leaves her laughing and giggling just a bit and she’ll never admit to that second one, but he always knows and he’s always known and the tenses don’t matter.

Emma shudders, standing up abruptly and all but sprinting towards the window.

The snow drifts look unnaturally large. If she didn’t know better, hadn’t spent the morning with sweat dripping down her back and hair plastered to her forehead, Emma would think it was Christmas. And if she didn’t know better, hadn’t watched a dragon try and burn her alive a few hours earlier, she would believe that she could be happy here.

An Enchanted Forest princess with a son and a man who would go to the ends of the world for her, no matter what he believed or who he remembered and she’s started rocking her weight between her feet. There’s a certain rhythm to it, matching up to a song no one else in this realm has probably heard of from a movie Emma only barely remembers the plot of.

Maybe she can do something about the snow in the morning as well, still emotional enough that her magic could probably move mountains and that may give up their position, but she’s not a battle strategist either or even a pirate and— “Are you alright ma’am?” It’s probably for the best that her heart has already exploded. Makes it less likely for it to shatter. Dramatically.

Emma doesn’t look behind her, can’t actually bring herself to move at the sound of Killian’s half-mumbled question and she can see his outline in the foggy glass anyway. He’s got his fingers in his hair.

“Fine,” she bites out, and the lie tastes bitter on her tongue, threatens to scorch away all those other words hanging there.

He hums, a step towards her. It’s not as cautious as it’s been in the few hours since he and Henry found her. She can’t believe it’s only been a few hours.

Emma’s perception of time is entirely skewed — and not just because of the goddamn snow, some twisted winter wonderland that leaves her thinking of more possibility and decidedly misplaced wants and there are no goddamn clocks in this realm. She can remember everything and nothing, her real life and her life here, but that’s a generous descriptor for what’s felt like decades chained in a tower.

She wonders how long it’s really been.

She wonders if this Killian Jones has ever wanted the same things she does.

“You may want to practice that a few more times,” he continues, and the floor creaks when he steps that time. “If you’d like me to believe it.”

Emma’s head nearly flies off its neck. “The cheek on you, Captain.” “I’m not a Captain.” “God, that’s so weird. It’s—do you have a sword?” “No.” “Shit. That’s—do you have enough gold for that? I mean...I don’t want to use your life savings or anything here.” The last thing she expects is him to laugh, so, naturally, that is exactly what happens. Killian throws his whole head back with the force of it, Henry mumbling at the noise, and Emma is not entirely prepared for that specific shade of blue. He’s smirking at her. The asshole.

“None of this is mine,” Killian says, laughter clinging to the words even as he keeps inching closer to Emma. “Black Beard didn’t leave much of his horde on the ship—wanted to spread things around, you see, make sure no one would be able to rob him, but—” “—You’re a pirate?” Emma suggest. “Something like that.” “You’re blushing, though.”

“Aye, that too.”

Emma twists a strand of hair around her fingers, desperate for something to do with all the excess energy she’s suddenly bursting with. And the air around them isn’t quite tension-filled, but there’s a certain charge to it, an electric current that’s always been there. More jokes about tenses.

“Were you singing just now?” Killian asks. The windows in that room have a distinct draft to them.

“No.” “No?” “We’re going in circles,” Emma grumbles, and his mouth doesn’t change. She’s got to stop staring at his mouth.

But it had taken everything in her not to throw her arms around him before, to push her own fingers into his hair and yank him forward, find some kind of steady something in the feel of his mouth against hers and the way he always seems to fall into her. Or the other way around.

Seriously, syntax is not important right now.

It’s probably best she didn’t.

Emma would not have been able to cope with it being different.

“What was the tune?” Killian asks, voice almost steady, and Emma is greedy enough to want the conversation. If only because of the color of his eyes when he looks at her.

“You wouldn’t know it.” “Try me.”

“No, honestly, it’s—” She has every intention of being stubborn. She does—walls that she can practically establishing themselves around her heart and her soul and it’s incredible that one person can be so consistently idiotic.

He still cares. About you. About us.

“When I was a kid,” Emma starts, sliding down the wall and pointing towards the space next to her. Killian sits. “I used to uh—well I never lived anywhere very long. And this time of year—” “Summer?” “Nah, winter. Well, this is fake, but—” “—The snow felt fairly real when it was falling on us. You were shivering quite a bit, ma’am.” “Noticed that, did you? And you’ve got to stop with this ma’am stuff.”

“Ma’am stuff,” he drawls. “God, of course you’d be able to tease me,” Emma grouses, but Killian’s staring at her expectantly. Almost as if he’s waiting for marching orders. That probably doesn’t happen on a boat. Ship. “I just—” “—The last thing I want to do is offend you.” The sincerity in the words rock through Emma, leaving her teeth digging into her lip again until she’s threatening to bite the stupid thing in half and Killian’s eyes flicker towards the movement, like he’s thinking about things too and— “I’m not exactly the most respectable person in the world,” Emma reasons. “A crazy witch with out of control magic.” “That’s not true.” “You didn’t know that until Henry found you.” “Aye,” he agrees. “But I—well, it was easy to believe him.” Her lungs have got to get a grip.

Or, whatever.

Work. She needs her lungs to work.

“Thank you,” Emma breathes. That’s not the working she was hoping for. “I—well, I…thank you. For all of it. Dashing rescues—” “—Did you say dashing?” “If you don’t stop calling me ma’am, I’ll punch you in the face.”

Killian barks out a laugh, the sound leaving him almost looking like him and feeling like him and Emma’s fingers flutter on instinct. With magic. He clenches his jaw. “And, uh—what am I supposed to be calling a magical princess, then?”

“You’re trying to flatter me.” “Is it working?” “Maybe,” Emma admits. “More cheek, though.” “Aye, that’s—unexpected, I suppose. But so are you, Swan, it’s—” Killian cuts himself off, eyes bugging and the veins in his throat are obvious when he jerks back, staring at Emma like she will actually punch him.

The magic in her vibrates. With want and desire and goddamn normal.

“That works,” she says.

He blushes again. He might not have ever stopped. “Has that happened before?” “Hmmm?” “The cold,” Killian says. His voice shifts again, sounding a bit farther away than it had, like he’s trying to place a memory or moment and Emma doesn’t want to hope again. It’s not the best thing to remember, anyway. “You were—we...I was…” “You were?” “Worried. Terrified, even. I can—there was ice or—” “—No, that’s right,” Emma interrupts. “It was a giant wall and it wasn’t really Elsa’s fault, but—” “—Should I know who Elsa is?” “Probably not.” He makes another noise, a slow nod that only serves to shift those pieces of hair clearly designed to ruin Emma’s whole life. “The song, then? It was inspired by the snow?” “No, I don’t—well, I don’t know, really, but the song is kind of depressing, honestly.” “Is it?” Emma nods, and her head is close enough to his that her chin nearly bumps his shoulder. She’d like to put her head on his shoulder. That may freak him out.

It’s kind of freaking her out, admittedly.

“I haven’t thought about that movie in forever,” Emma continues, “It was old when I used to watch it. A beat up VHS—” “—What is that?” She clicks her tongue, not sure how to explain now-redundant technology to a pirate who isn’t her pirate in a realm that does not have clocks. The whole thing makes her head hurt. And it’s just absurd enough to make her laugh a bit too.

Killian’s eyes flash.

“That’s not the important part,” Emma says. “And it’s not even really a Christmas movie. It’s, um—well, it’s about a family. In this place called St. Louis—” “—Is that in the Enchanted Forest?” “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a rather pitiful listener?” “You’re teasing.” Emma grins. “St. Louis is not in the Enchanted Forest. It’s a city. In the reality—shit that’s so weird to think about. You know what? That doesn’t matter either. The point is that there was a family and they lived there and then they were going to move. And Judy Garland was upset because the guy she loved—”

She doesn’t finish her sentence.

It feels like it’s weighing down on both of them anyway, more metaphors and passing similarities and she wants him to call her Swan at least forty-seven thousand times.

“She didn’t want to leave this man, then?” Killian asks. “Judy Garland? Was she a princess as well?” Emma shakes her head. “No, but she did get to go to a ball. At Christmas. With a very red gown.” “Red?” “Yuh huh.” Killian swipes his tongue across the front of his teeth, that same thoughtful look Emma’s grown to memorize and maybe covet just a bit. It’s because it always ends with that pinch between his eyebrows. “So, John,” Emma adds, “That’s the guy that she loves. HIs name is John and he...he couldn’t get to the ball at first because he didn’t pick up his tuxedo. He was playing basketball.” “What a strange word.” “It’s a really strange game if you actually think about it, honestly. Henry’s more into soccer, though, so—we’re drifting from the point.” “Are we just?” “You’ll make me think you’re not enjoying my garbage storytelling, Killian.” The pinch disappears.

At the same exact time his lips part.

Seriously, his lips.

“Does John eventually get to this ball?”

“Yeah,” Emma nods. “Romance conquers all. He gets the tuxedo and they dance and it’s—well, Judy Garland wasn’t shy about being in love with him. She sang about it at the start of the movie, but everything kind of comes to light there and, um...when I was a kid, I always thought it was very pretty.” “The dancing?” “The whole thing. Happily ever after.” She can still see the tip of his tongue pressing into the side of his mouth — another tell for her Killian and this is her Killian, just with altered memories and ridiculous allusions to 1940s musicals and—

“What happened after the ball?” “John asked Judy Garland to marry him,” Emma says. Her voice cracks. It’s ridiculous. “She says, yes, of course, but they’re still leaving St. Louis and her sister is there and she’s beats up the snowmen.” “What?” “They’ve got the most ridiculous snowmen in the backyard and Tootie—” “—This child’s name is Tootie?” “I didn’t write the movie.” He chuckles, slumping a bit against the wall. His hand is very close to Emma’s. “And where does your tune factor in?” “Uh—before the snowmen, I think. Freshly engaged Judy Garland sings this song called Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. It’s...like I said, it’s kind of depressing if you listen to the words and—” “—What are the words?”

Emma has to swallow as soon as her brain processes that particular tone of voice. Because it’s not nervous. Or anxious. It’s vaguely hopeful and a little greedy as well, an overstep for a cowardly deckhand, but exactly what Killian Jones would do and Killian Jones would come back.

With his tuxedo.

Or leather jacket.

As the case may be.

“I’m not really a singer,” Emma mutters, ignoring whatever is fluttering in her stomach. Magic, maybe. Emotion, definitely.

Killian nods, a quiet sound of agreement or acquiesce and that might be what changes everything. The easy way he’s looking at her, like explaining the plot of Meet Me In St. Louis is entirely normal and she can barely herself when she starts to sing under her breath.

It’s decidedly off-pitch, Emma desperate to keep her voice low and her nerves in the pit of her stomach, but Killian doesn’t blink and she shakes slightly when she reaches— “Until then we’ll just have to muddle through somehow.” She blinks, sudden tears on her cheeks that are a misplaced sense of warmth and she hates that she’s crying. She hates that she’s feeling, wisps of hope and shards of her own want and Emma can’t imagine there’s even something like Christmas in the Enchanted Forest.

And she’s just about to apologize for it—for being anything except the Savior everyone always expects her to be, but then there’s a crack and a shift and her magic practically rumbles out of her chest and— Killian’s thumb brushes across her cheek.

“Can you—” he stutters, color rising again and tinging the tips of his ears. “The mask. It’s—can you get rid of it?” She’s going to eventually run out of air to dramatically exhale, Emma is sure.

In the moment, though, she’s got just enough, body surging forward as soon as the thought clicks into place and he wasn’t scared of the magic.

He wasn’t scared of her.

“I’d like to see you,” Killian adds, “If that’s—” Emma blinks, nose barley settling back to its appropriate place before she’s leaning forward and that same nose is pressed against Killian’s cheek. He doesn’t kiss exactly the same.

It's not as horrible as she thought it would be.

It’s softer now—still a little cautious optimism that’s almost as weird as the rules of basketball, and it takes a moment for him to tilt his head, a quick flicker of his tongue that leaves Emma reeling just a bit. That’s all it really takes, then. She lets her fingers fly into his hair, barely any space between them when she clamors closer, knees bumping his side and his hook finding the small of her back.

Like always.

She twists and he tilts his head and it’s not quite hungry, but there’s something about it that’s almost like a low simmer, steady and even and normal. It’s absolutely, totally normal.

She’s not sure how long they stay there, making out like teenagers on the floor, but it doesn’t matter because Emma is at least ninety-six percent positive she’s just become Killian Jones’ first kiss and the thought leaves her a little dizzy and even more breathless than normal, goosebumps exploding on her skin that don’t have anything to do with the temperature.

“What happens to them?” Killian asks, pressing the question to the corner of Emma’s mouth. “John and Judy?” “Her name is Esther in the movie.” “Another strange moniker.” She laughs— giggles —and it’s easy to feel Killian’s answering smile against her jaw. “Well, they’re engaged when it ends, and it never really says they get married, but I’d imagine they do after the fair.” “The fair?” “That’s a whole other plot point we don’t have time to go into. It’s—c’mon, we should probably get some sleep.” The smile is gone. “You should sleep, Swan. I can take the watch.” “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” “Someone should be awake, this isn’t the safest place.” Emma waves her hand, lock clicking into place and it’s probably wrong to take some perverse pleasure in Killian’s stunned expression. Or the position of his tongue. “Impressive.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” “You should at least take the bed, love.”

If he realizes he’s switched endearments, he doesn’t show it, but Emma does — and so does her magic. It roars and soars and some other word that is slightly less positive because the thought of not falling asleep next to him is suddenly the single worst thing she could come up with and—

“There’s enough space,” she reasons.

Killian wavers for a moment, more than a few quick breaths through gritted teeth. Emma takes her boots off.

And climbs into the bed. “The sheets suck though,” she says, and it gets the desired laugh out of him. He probably doesn’t understand the idiom.

It doesn’t matter.

He follows her anyway — and that’s a multi-fold thing and maybe they’ll be able to find a copy of Meet Me In St. Louis at home. Maybe she can get another red gown.

Maybe they can— “Bloody hell how are your feet so cold?” Emma buries her face in the pillow to mask her laugh, body shaking despite her best efforts. Killian looks scandalized.

“Bad circulation, I guess,” Emma reasons.

“You’ll get frostbite like that, love. That can’t be healthy, I—what?” “Nothing, nothing, just...I’m sorry about my cold feet.”

He narrows his eyes, looking for the double meaning to those words and he’s always been very perceptive. So. It doesn’t take long for him to understand. “It’s alright,” he says. “Here, c’mere. You can...I’m warm, at least.”

“Yeah, I know.”

It takes some twisting to get comfortable, but that’s really more the sheets than anything and Emma’s head manages to find its way to Killian’s chest, an arm around her middle and lips grazing her hair and— “Swan. Swan, c’mon—Emma, love, we’ve got to get up.”

She grumbles, pressing her face further into the fabric under her cheek, but that fabric is also moving and the man wearing it is breathing and laughing in her ear and it takes Emma a moment to get her bearings.

There’s light streaming in through gauzy curtains, a soft roar coming from behind the closed door of her bedroom. No, that’s not right.

Their bedroom.

In their house.

With their family.

It’s—

“Merry Christmas, love,” Killian says.

Emma jerks her head up, reality rushing back to her and she’d been dreaming. Of a different reality and a past that had been fixed years before. It’s been years.

What sounds like several different crashes sound from, what she can only imagine, is the general vicinity of the kitchen.

“Merry Christmas,” she mumbles. Killian ducks his head, catches her lips with hers and he laughs again when she objects to his movement. “No, no, you’re comfortable.”

“And warm, I know. But—” He winces at another crash. “I believe the little sea monster is awake and likely determined to open the the rather alarming large mountain of presents she’s been presented with. Also, your parents will be here soon.” Emma nods, a schedule flitting through her brain that includes breakfast and lunch and dinner that will end with—

“I expect your dance card to be filled tonight, your highness,” Killian adds. He nips at her nose when Emma doesn’t answer immediately, a knowing flash in his gaze and it had been her mother’s idea.

A ball.

At Christmas.

Emma is almost unreasonably excited. If only because those few strands of hair that still fall across Killian’s forehead have started to take on a distinct silver edge and she can’t really think when she notices it.

She’s anticipating a good deal of making out. In dark corners.

And dancing.

“Aye, Captain.”

The flash gets noticeably darker, another kiss they don’t have time for, but that’s also kind of their thing and—

Crash. Several. In quick succession.

“She might have knocked the tree over,” Emma mutters. “I’ll go and assess damage. Make sure you put socks on, love. It’s probably cold downstairs.” Emma salutes—in tandem with her flipping stomach.

And the kitchen isn’t nearly as bad as she thought it would be, a living room eventually covered in wrapping paper and laughter hanging in the air and Emma lets her mother pin her hair up later.

The gold matches the red in her gown.

And the red on Killian’s cheeks as soon as he sees her, one side of mouth tugging up and that same flash—disarmingly familiar and consistent, no matter the realm or the years or the curses they’ve lived through because—

He takes a step forward, a quick bend of his head and lips brushing her knuckles.

Emma’s magic flutters.

He lifts his eyebrows.

“Your highness, ma’am.” “Captain.” “It’s a very good color.” “No problems with the tuxedo?” Killian shakes his head “I don’t know how to play basketball.”

She can’t help the size of her smile or the force of her magic, memories he probably shouldn’t remember, but they’ve watched the movie enough that he could probably sing the songs by heart now. And he does, humming soft melodies in Emma’s ear all night until she’s dangerously close to swooning.

In a slightly darkened corner.

With her husband’s mouth on hers and his hook pressed to the small of her back and happily ever after playing out around them.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #festive prompt a thon #i'm thinking i'm going to be able to fill one more prompt before we go away #probably on wednesday #which is not the nice round ten i was hoping for #but--life #so if you sent a prompt #it will get filled #it just may not be....straight christmas #i got more prompts than i was expecting #which was very nice and very surprising

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ringmaster-jack · 4 years

Text

Lore

♠️ The wayward ringmaster had gained many a title over the passing years(both boastful and infamous), but only one name held any permanence-- and that name was Jack. A common name, simple, yet among those who had the misfortune of dealing with him, it held a weight to it. ♠️

Note: Lots of triggering content in the following expansion related to mental health, abuse, suicide, drugs, etc. Be warned.

♠️ Born in the dregs of Dawnhold to an ex-aristocrat and a Shuriman immigrant, Jack was the second oldest of ten; proceeding his sister by a mere two minutes. Though his first three years of life were relatively unremarkable, everything changed after the mysterious passing of his father.

Coming from highblood society, his mother, Harper Farrowthrone, had been excommunicated from her family inheritance when she'd chosen to follow her heart, instead of adhering to the tradition of an arranged marriage. Pregnant with their fifth child, her husband's passing left her emotionally and financially crippled. It was the beginning of a long and miserable life-- for her, of course, but even more for the multitude of children she brought into the world.

His twin was provided a formal education, trumped up to be the one who would excel and provide for them in her later years-- but Jack and his younger siblings were not so lucky. Jack spent most of his formative years taking odd jobs and stealing what he could to help care for his family. They never settled in one place for too long, as his mother's growing reputation as a courtesan often preceded her.

Jack was an obedient boy, quiet, if only to mask his stutter. But his unbridled sense of curiosity would get him into trouble more often than not. He spent what free time he had teaching himself to read-- and after that, absorbing as much knowledge as he could through any means available. He had a interest in many topics. Music, animals, magic--especially magic. It was forbidden in their homeland, after all, so like any overly-inquisitive child, he would seek it out--forbidden or not.

Unfortunately, it was this curiosity combined with an overabundance of childhood trauma that led him into a tumultuous teenage life, filled with excessive amounts of rebellion and a rapidly growing criminal record. In and out of detainment for any number of reasons, it was rare for the youth to ever be home, except to aid his younger siblings whenever their mother was being particularly neglectful.

His 16th birthday was marked by a suicide attempt.

Rather than addressing what were some glaringly obvious mental health issues, his mother--now only known as Harper by his word, had opted to take a more tough-love approach to dealing with her unruly son. He’d barely been given time to heal before he’d been cast off to the military, deemed fit for battle if only because his seemingly unstable mannerisms were clocked as fraudulence, an attempt to dodge a duty that most able-bodied citizens of Demacia were fated to live.

It came as no surprise that he only lasted a year or so before he ended up exiled from the nation entirely, a dishonorable discharge, and then some.

Jack didn’t mind. If anything, he found his newfound exile freeing; no longer bound by the walls, laws, or a system of belief that never did anything but bring him suffering. He took to the lands to pursue a lifelong dream of becoming a famous musician, adopting the title of bard and performing for any and everyone who might care to listen. Though he held a raw talent for music, and a captivating energy that earned him many a free drink or sordid love affair, he never gained much in the way of wealth. He spent a couple of years bouncing from city to city, his starry-eyed conjecture and youthful determination quickly stifled by the harshness of the world outside the myopic views of Demacian society.

Beaten down by a vagabond lifestyle with little to show for his efforts, Jack’s luck seemed to change when his sister stumbled upon him. Grown and graduated, Tabitha had followed her own path; though unlike her more creative sibling, she held an ambition for science. With a bit of arm twisting, she convinced her twin to follow her to Piltover-Zaun; and give up on his childish pursuits so he could make a ‘real life’ for himself in the city of progress.

Jack settled quickly into Zaun, though perhaps not for the better. He’d dappled in the use of mind-altering substances in the past, and in violence-- but it was Zaun where he truly began forming habits that he’d later become known for amidst the shadiest districts of the city’s underbelly.

His first feat of homicide had been justified, an act of self-defense over a trick turned horrifically sour. The following 14, however, not so much. It hadn’t taken a lot to ignite his untapped bloodlust. Sat on years of surplus trauma and a developing affinity for stimulants, he was selective about who he took down, however the personal code of morality in which he followed was deeply askew. He’d thought himself a vigilante of sorts; but more than one of those who he’d killed had earned their deaths for as little as a particularly offensive insult. Getting away with murder in Zaun was surprisingly easy; so long as you were smart about it.

By the time his 15th victim met their gruesome demise, Jack had earned himself two nicknames in the local papers. The first, ‘The Nightwalker’, which wouldn’t have been so bad had it not implied he was a female prostitute thanks to his penchant for killing mostly men. The second, and one he proudly embraced in privacy, was ‘The Jackal’, a title he’d been dubbed in reference to the jackal-like gasmask he tended to wear on many of his ‘outings’, ever the stylish sort. Neither of these personas were linked to that 15th murder; one of the only others where self-defense could have truly been claimed. And it was; successfully, when his sister turned him over to the authorities.

It was an extreme act of betrayal in Jack’s eyes; he and his sister had always been close, and she already knew of his so-called ‘habits’. Her streak of sadism was perhaps more vile than his own, merely cloaked beneath a thin but legally passable veil of ‘scientific progress’. Little did he know how deep her betrayal ran, fueled by years of a lust for something greater than herself.

Jack’s follies had landed him in what was perhaps the most notorious asylum in the city, if not all of Valoran. Incidentally his sisters place of occupation, Jack had never pieced together the direct connection between her and the two and a half years of ‘treatment’ he received; a colorful term for what was in essence torture.

Rumors of the experimentation and abuse that patients suffered were commonplace among the denizens of Zaun-Piltover, though there’d never been any formal investigation into such matters. Most of those forced to live among the padded walls were criminally insane, the lowest of the low in an already corrupt world that didn’t give a second thought to what happened behind closed doors. Many horrors took place in the iron penitentiary for those unlucky enough to dwell there, and the Demacian was no exception to that rule.

Where Jack sought pleasure, his sister sought power--something she intended to achieve by any means necessary. Obsessed with studying an ancient entity she’d attained from a generational blood bond, Jack had never thought much of the strange black bottle his sister kept with her throughout their childhood. A sentimental trinket she'd been gifted by their father before his passing, where he'd been left with nothing-- it was just another demotivational tic in an already lengthy list of family dysfunction. Tabitha had convinced her employers to fund her experimentation with the promise that if successful, the eldritch being could be used as a powerful weapon for Zaun, much like Targon's incarceration of the star dragon Aurelion Sol.

Though there was some truth to this promise, the woman had much greater ideals. Rather than upholding a centuries-long duty to guard and confine this creature in secrecy and silence, Tabitha sought to directly bind herself to the beast instead, and ultimately gain access to what was a potentially limitless well of celestial power. An attractive and intelligent woman, Tabitha had all the charms and wiles of her less fortunate brother, and she executed them to her advantage at every given turn. Countless lives were lost in her quest to find a way to anchor this dark deity to a living human before she’d administer her unethical practices onto her own brother; an act that, much to her surprise, actually proved to be successful.

Successful to a degree, that was.

While the beast accepted Jack as it’s host(unlike those unfortunate souls who she’d tried to bind it to in prior times) Tabitha found difficulty in actually controlling it-- or her brother, who had, understandably, not taken well to being used for such horrific experimentation. But Jack hadn’t the slightest idea that it was his own sister who had orchestrated these things, as well as the following attempts to brainwash and psychologically manipulate him.

Always a stubborn man, Jack resisted the conditions he faced with fervency. The power that came with being bedeviled by a dark god wouldn't have been so bad. Though he was terrified of the creature, they eventually formed a symbiosis, a sympathy given to what he came to realize was merely another being that had undergone it’s own sequence of horrors prior to his arrival at the asylum.

What had driven Jack past the breaking point was being told these things were a product of his own mind--that the people who ended up dead around him had been taken by his own hand, that he blacked out and had no recollection of it--that he was indeed, totally, utterly insane, and needed to be treated if he ever hoped to be anything more than this. Jack knew he had some issues, but hallucinations and murderous blackouts had never been a part of that equation. Almost constantly medicated and forced to undergo an assortment of studies which did more harm than good, it was inevitable that escaping became top priority. At times, this notion extended to the prospect of escaping by means of death-- never successful, though it did land him in isolation for long periods of time.

With an intense fear of being alone, and a strange dynamic to the creature he was told didn’t exist, Jack found solace in speaking through the walls. Often times he wasn’t certain if anyone was even there--but on rare occasions, he’d earn a response or two from the patrons on the other side. He formed what he assumed to be a one-sided friendship with a very particular fellow--a man to whom he later found out to be a notorious murderer himself, and one that Jack held a bittersweet envy for in his own time on the streets. When they’d first met face to face, it was in the medical ward, and incidentally the first time he’d made a successful attempt at escaping with aid from the other killer, who had unfortunately not been so lucky to reach the outside world.

He was free for only a few weeks before he returned, despite all common sense and the adamant disapproval of the being still bound to his mind. Jack had made a promise to his friend behind the walls, a promise to get him out of there, too-- and he couldn’t shake that thought from his consciousness. Unsurprisingly, his shoddy attempt proved unsuccessful, landing him back in his own confinement and exposing him to tortures that far exceeded anything he’d experienced thus far.

Unable to successfully control the man or the beast that inhabited him, Tabitha ordered their separation. It was an incredibly painful experience, and one that didn’t go quite according to plan, as it ultimately resulted in nearly killing her brother, and later on, the escape of the creature who she tried to manipulate. Though Jack survived this particularly gruesome procedure, it left him physically and mentally scarred, blocking out memory of the incident entirely-- though that could have been in part the brain surgery. This worked in Tabitha’s favor, as several months after losing her prime subject, she’d sent her brother back into the world as a form of bait. Though no longer physically bound to the entity, Jack still held remnants of it’s essence inside him-- which she’d hoped would serve as a lure.

For a short time, he’d occupied the home of one of his sister’s partners, Seraphina, to whom she had arranged his living-- but soon found himself at odds with her over any number of things. Their personalities clashed, but it seemed the woman was rather persistent in staying with him-- especially after his sister’s untimely death in an accident that he never really did get much information on.

Even when he took to the streets, Seraphina was persistent in her effort to keep him out of trouble, though more often than not he ended up dragging her into his shenanigans too. Ever the astute charmer, it didn’t take too much effort for Jack to convince the woman to follow him into the world of showmanship-- an idea that had come to him and stuck there after a particularly eye-opening night witnessing a small but impressive sideshow. Seraphina was an animal behavioral therapist by occupation, having formed her thesis on the language and habits of fire drakes after several years of living in the wilds, and the thought of being able to work with creatures like this again was an irresistible temptation-- not to mention she’d be given the freedom to use her elemental abilities without the risk of being patronized or imprisoned.

Though their act started off small, it only took a year for them to make their mark. Coming from wealth, Seraphina provided the funds that got them off their feet, and did most of the paperwork and partnering needed to establish their place in the sideshow circuit. Though Jack, with his natural charisma and assortment of talents(A Jack of all trades, as it were) had taken the title of Ringmaster, the firebreather ran things behind closed doors--something that the ringmaster all but forgot the more his own popularity grew. He developed a small fan base who would follow them when they went on tour, something that only emphasized his already bolstered ego-- his dream of taking an almost rockstar persona realized in the performing arts.

By the third year, they’d made themselves known among Zaun and otherwise-- with a wide array of ragtag performers and freaks, many of whom were taken off the streets and welcomed in to their caravan with gusto. Having formed a family of sorts, Jack and his posse opted to take base in the underground catacombs of Zaun, a place he’d frequently explored in his previous years on the streets but never fully realized the potential of until he brought others with him. Styling it into their home, it wasn’t always the safest lifestyle, but they’d managed to cultivate and furnish much of the area enough to be quite comfortable. For Jack, it was also a brilliant means to continuing pursuing his less acceptable hobbies without fear of persecution, carving out an entire sector for him and him alone.

Things continued like this for a couple more years without too much turbulence save for the usual array of misbehavior that Jack was prone to-- everything had finally started to fall into place. He finally had a purpose in life, a calling, and he embraced it with the utmost passion-- perhaps too much at times, but it was a far cry from the life he’d led before, all but forgotten with the passage of time.

Until their 5th year.

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unlockthelore · 4 years

Text

Die For You

Perhaps it was bad form to tell his infant daughter he would kill for her but Hiei’s done worse.

Part of the Smile Bomb series. For more updates, follow the smile bomb tag on this blog.

Crickets begin chirping in the low lush grass dotted with vibrant flowers glowing silver in the dim. Kurama's energy radiates from every inch of their home's surroundings with his plants standing guard over the forest's edge, soaking in the fading rays of sunlight as the evening dwindles into night. Leaning with his back against the wooden doorway, the wind chimes sing and join the symphony of his sons' quiet snores and the distant clicking of Kurama's keyboard as he works diligently in his study. Warm gusts of wind ruffle his hair and whips it back from his forehead, barely obscuring his view of the small youko perched in his lap.

His daughter ― the novelty of such a phrase bringing a smile to Hiei's face ― running her tiny hands up the length of his arm. Scars, raised jagged skin that hadn't quite healed right, examined thoughtfully with her curious golden eyes. Small claws scraping against them until her attention is stolen by the dragon shifting across Hiei's skin. Swimming past the scars and weaving around them, allowing her to chase it fruitfully, a squeal of delight parting her lips and warming her face when she caught its tail or its head. The Dragon peeling from his skin enough to give her a solid hold and she laughs, mesmerized by the game.

An appeased purr answering in the back of Hiei's mind.

The Dragon calls her name when Hiei's mind is idle. Beckons her when her attention shifts and she begins to fuss, unsure of where to keep her mind, but quick to address when a point of interest is given. It amazes Hiei how much of Kurama he sees in her. From the quirk of her smile to the color of her eyes, but he is there too. For the better, he deduces, because nothing associated with his daughter could be considered otherwise. Her hair is raven black with a blueish-tinge just like his own, and Hiei counts his blessing that she hadn't inherited the white discloration in his bangs.

To Hiei, that is where the similarities end but Kurama was quick to point out others. She preferred to be held but only on her own terms. Displeasure was made quickly and loudly known. Her small and strong lungs were used without hesitation. As vocal as her father, Kurama mused when Hiei scowled at the comparison, unable to keep his agitated expression with Kurama's spatter of kisses along his cheek.

With shadow creeping from the sun's retreat over the horizon, the sky tinges an orange-scarlet and he's briefly reminded of the Makai. Adoration blooms and sits heavy in his chest with the thought of Kurama able to run freely in his demon form. Their daughter, perhaps a bit bigger, tumbling with him in the grass. Silver and black mingling together, two sides of the same coin. He'd seen Kurama's smile in his other form, fallen in love with him just as quickly, and relished seeing it once more.

「 One day, I will take you there, Tsubaki. You and your brothers will be able to run to your heart's content and I will watch over you. 」

Tsubaki doesn't hear his thoughts. Her fists balled in Hiei's tanktop and pulling it until he's sure the fabric would give. Kurama tells him he should remind the children to be gentle when they tear at his clothes ― and Hiei reminds that Kurama is rarely so kind to his clothes either. It earns a rare shade of red across the fox's cheeks, a moment of speechlessness, and Hiei feels fulfilled with simply the thought of it.

Seldom does Hiei find his love for her — for all of them — to be overwhelming and all-encompassing, rendering his senses and the world to narrow down to only this small being who relied on him to live. It astonishes him. Was he this small when his mother's people cast him from the mountain peak of Hyouga? He could hardly imagine doing so to Tsubaki and with a sideways glance at his sons, their hands linked even in their sleep, he couldn't imagine them being separated.

Dreams of bringing them to the Makai are soured by the thought of his and Kurama's enemies. Harm would come to his children later in their lives, it was inevitable, and Hiei steeled himself at the thought. But while they were like this — needing his protection and his guidance ― he would tear the realms asunder for them.

Hiei gazes down at Tsubaki and the steady game of tug and release she plays with his tanktop, now stretched to the point where it won't return its usual form. He doesn't have the heart to interrupt her and delights in the gentle wiggle of the ears atop her head. The wisps of her still-forming tail difficult to see in the low light. Compared to Kurama's four, her one is quite small but she has time to grow and grow she will.

Offering his hand to her, a smile creeps onto his lips when she wraps her small fingers around his thumb. A gut-wrenching throb threatens to shake his frame but he holds fast so he won't jostle her. His fingers curling around her arm, guiding it to his lips to leave a few kisses along her skin, watching her eyes light up and follow him. Her smile, wide and with tiny fangs, almost making him want to bare his own to make her laugh.

"I would die for you, you know," Hiei tells her without ceremony, hearing the monotone of his words but the ferocity of them is hidden deep in his chest.

It startles him. Not as much as his love for her but the implication. He'd fought tooth and nail, with blood, sweat, and arguably tears — all so that he could continue existing when fate deemed it he should not. And yet, this small being who'd barely existed for more than a few months could inspire him to lay down his life.

Ridiculous.

As if responding to him, Tsubaki makes a soft noise and her ears twitch, pricking with attention as she regards him — and Hiei falls in love all over again.

The television dully displays a commercial for a television show that he knows his sons would enjoy. If not for being caught so deeply in the throes of sleep, they might have been bouncing around the living room singing the theme song at the top of their lungs. Hiei smiles down at them, tucking Asahi's foot beneath the blanket with a little nudge and curling a knuckle in Kagerou's hair. Silver strands looping around the crook of Hiei's finger and slipping away when he pulled his hand back. Much as he enjoyed the silence of their naps and the quiet their home provided, he preferred their noise and fervor.

"Ieee!" Tsubaki tugs at the strap of his tanktop, bringing Hiei back to reality. She waits patiently as he returns to looking at her and quietly stares back with her golden eyes blinking minutely.

"What were we talking about?" Hiei mutters, thinking it over before his lips parted with a sigh. That's right. "You may not understand the seriousness of it, but know there are only a small number of souls who have such an honor. I've had my share of protecting the realms and fighting for nameless whelps."

Yuusuke seemed to have it in mind that he "tagged along" on their adventures simply because he cared. Sentiment aside, Hiei couldn't say it was far from the truth. They had grown on him like fungus did a rock. He shuddered to think of what would happen if something befell any of them and he could have done something, but chose not.

A few slaps against his shoulder dragged him away from his thoughts and to Tsubaki. Her babbling filling the silence and drowning out the droning of the anchorman, something about rain lost in Hiei's mind as he tries to deduce what his daughter is saying. Lifting her her until they stared eye to eye, her small feet balancing on his thighs as he held her upright.

"What are you saying…"

It occurs to Hiei for not the first time that he could simply use the Jagan and do away with the mystery. He refuses. It's a curious thing but he didn't want to intrude on their minds. Not even his sons. Using the Jagan on them was prohbitied untl his children were old enough to regard him with some semblance of emotion not brought on by their neediness of him. Whether they loved him or abhorred him would be the difference of whether he'd request access to speaking to them telepathically.

So far though, Hiei found himself addicted to having their love and appreciation simply for being their father. It chilled him to think there would be a day when it was otherwiise.

Pinpricks of pain sank into the bridge of his nose and Hiei flared his nostrils in response, earning a squeal. Steam fanning across the palm of Tsubaki's hand evaporated into the open air and Hiei smiled. Allowing another huff and then another to ellicit giggles from his daughter as she tried to catch the vapor in her hands, failing and deciding to clamp her hand over his nose instead. As annoying as it was to have to breathe through his mouth for the few precious seconds it took to pry her hand from his nose, it was worth it for that wide smile.

Curling his fingers around her tiny fist, dotting her wrist with little kisses before he lifted her over his head.

"Your enemies are my enemies, anyone who attempts to harm you is good as dead."

To others, those words would inspire alarm.

To Tsubaki, it inspired laughter and only strengthened Hiei's resolve.

Her hands reached for him and he brought her closer, cradling her to his chest with his hand to her back and the other beneath her head. Letting her hands explore his face, grab at his nose, explore his jawline, tug at the length of the hair spilling over his ward.

The pain mattered little compared to her joy, and Hiei was used to pain ― giving and receiving — and he would suffer it for her smile. Rubbing his nose against her own, her eyes close reflexively as she laughs.

"I'll summon the Dragon of the Darkness Flame all for you. Raze the realms to ash, anything you like."

Hiei's voice is soft and meant for her ears alone, although in the silence, it feels as if the world is listening. Good, he thinks ruefully. Let all the realms hear. If any harm befell his children, hell would be razed.

Tsubaki continues exploring his face but now she makes soft purring noises, contement rolling off her in waves. Her aura reminding him of a flower gradually blooming, a summer storm and a sunshower. Basking in it is enough to bring him peace and he feels shaken to know how easily it comes. Without a word, she can soothe his flames, reminding Hiei all the while of Kurama with her purring and the gentle touches to his skin.

"Action suits me better than words. But your father --- your father can string sentences together to inspire fear in the heart of even the strongest of souls, but he can also be gentle."

Stories do Kurama little justice. He is a gentle soul with the ability to be harsh and unforgiving. His limits have been pushed and tested and proven, but he always has righted himself. Falliable though he may be, his short-comings only inspired Hiei to love him harder. Making up for where he lacked. Holding tight where Kurama was crumbling.

Golden eyes shine, and Hiei sighs.

"Will you be like me or him…?" He asks gently, tipping his head to one side to press a kiss to Tsubaki's cheek. A short pause follows as she nuzzles him, cooing softly and babbling as she reaches for him. Hiei's eyes searching her small form, finding the parts of her that reminds him of Kurama quickly. Only at the gentle pat of her hand does he speak. "… No, you're like your father. There's too much love in you to be like me."

There was so much of him that was ugly. Twisted beyond recognition. He was cold at the core no matter how warm his body ran. Death and destruction were notions he welcomed rather than balked at. Even this idyllic peace they dwelled in was one he looked at with apprehension. He could see the good in a "good" thing but he also knew there were things lurking. It was his job to be ready for when they made themselves known.

Not only for their ragtag team but Kurama and the family they made. It was what he was meant to do. Hiei was sure of it.

Cuddling Tsubaki close to him, the scent of a sunshower in her hair, Hiei sighed. "He would disagree, you know…” A soft chuckle choked out as he shook his head. “He seems to think I'm affectionate."

"Because you are."

Kurama's voice streaks through the open air and lashes deep in Hiei's chest, his head whipping around to find Kurama leaning against the doorway at the other side of the room. Comfortable and assured, wholly unabashed and somewhat smug, his arms folded across his chest and eyes half-lidded. Blood rushes to Hiei’s cheeks as Kurama strolls over to them, stopping shortly to tuck the blanket around the dozing boys, giving both a light peck to the head.

「 How long were you there? 」

Attempting to hide his mortification is a tactic long wasted on Kurama. With his intuitiveness and sheer knowledge of Hiei’s mannerisms, he sees through it immediately and gives a cheeky smile as he nestles at Hiei’s side. Tsubaki’s ears perking, leaning forward at the sound of his voice, her noises a bit louder as she clenches a fistful of Hiei’s shirt and tries to balance herself with a hand outstretched to Kurama.

「 Long enough to hear you threaten her enemies. 」

Kurama smiles warmly, tucking his thumb in the palm of Tsubaki’s hand. His other hand snaking around Hiei’s back to rest at his stomach. A solid warmth pressing against Hiei’s shoulder as Kurama leant forward to press kisses to Tsubaki’s head.

Nose wrinkled and glare scathing, Hiei tries his best to keep his annoyance brewing at Kurama’s lack of transparency but it drains from him quickly at the sight of the fox’s eyes, golden and bright, meeting Tsubaki’s own. A loud squeal from her bringing forth a new wave of emotion too deep for Hiei to stoke the flames of indignant fury.

「 What have I told you about hiding your energy? 」

「 Forgive me, you were having a conversation and I didn't want to interrupt. 」

Shuffling aside, Hiei finds the solid press of Kurama’s chest to his back far more appealing than the wooden frame of the sliding door. A light kiss meanders along the curve of his shoulder, dark red hair tickling his cheek as he twists his head away to avoid Kurama’s lips at his cheek. The fox huffs a laugh, warm breath sending shivers down Hiei’s spine but his attention is stolen by Tsubaki’s babbling. Kurama engaging her in a bit of conversation lost on Hiei as he adjusts her in his lap.

Knees drawn close to his chest and tiny feet firmly planted against his stomach, Tsubaki is given a full view of both of them with Kurama peeking at her over Hiei’s shoulder. A small game of “hide and seek” awkwardly played but no less adored. Pride swells in Hiei’s chest when he hears the quiet shuffle of vines and whispering leaves, the plants hung and gathered around their home drawing nearer as they could at the sound of their daughter’s laughter.

Just as she glows with mirth, the plants react in kind, soaking in her joy and dancing to the currents of energy wafting from her. Hiei sighs when the emotions grow too deep for him to keep them inside, attempting to take a breath to sustain himself and gather air where love and devotion threatened to smother him.

「 She can't speak. I love everything about her and she can't even say a word. 」

Kurama is his best source of information in times such as this. He can make sense of the feelings deep inside of Hiei’s chest, and on the off chance he can’t, he can at least provide solace. A quick squeeze around his middle, a comforting pressure that nearly chokes out the rest of the words hidden in Hiei’s chest, but no less appreciated.

「 She's our daughter. 」

This time, when Kurama’s lips brush against his cheek, Hiei doesn’t turn his head away. Accepting the featherlight kisses to his cheekbones and his jawline, melting under the ones behind his ear.

「 She loves you just as much. 」

Hiei’s heart stammers in beating and he gazes down at Tsubaki. Undeterred by her fathers’ affections, her attention shifts to the vine hanging overhead. It twists and turns, gathering around her fingertips allowing her to hold tight with her small fist. Her eyes are lit with curiosity but her touch is gentle. Almost instinctively. As if she knows too much pressure will bring harm and just enough will guarantee the reaction she desires. It’s so strange.

「 How do you know? 」

「 Can't you tell? 」

Tipping his head enough to glimpse Kurama from the corner of his eye, Hiei scoffs. If he could tell then what would be the purpose in asking him? Kurama arches a brow and Hiei sighs. Not wanting to start a verbal spat with him or let him see too deeply into why he worries.

Tsubaki is none the wiser. Her attention stolen entirely by the flowers and the vines coming to greet her. Blooms on the vines flourishing beneath her light touches and grateful as they wind gently around her wrist, brushing against her fingers and hugging close to her.

Hiei sighs. Would a day come where she no longer looked at things like this? Where she regarded him with contempt for everything he did in the past? For what Kurama had done with the plants that adored her? Would his own standoffishness and habit of silence deter her more than e dear?

Worry and unrest churned in his stomach. His heart aching. These days would always remembered but they were fleeting. The boys were growing like weeds and so would Tsubaki. He only wished this time would slow so he could cherish every moment a bit longer.

Tsubaki tilted her head head up and the vine wrapped around her wrist pulled away, her hands reaching out to him.

「 She knows when you're worried. 」

Hiei resists the urge to flinch but he does tense. Enough for Kurama to raise his head from his shoulder and Tsubaki to whimper. Leaning down to rest his head in her hands, he closes his eyes when she nuzzles him, unable to look into her eyes and lie.

「 I told her, she's like you. 」

「 You could always tell when I was lost in my own head. 」

「 As if it was hard? 」

The nuzzling continued along with a soft purr. Hiei pressing kisses to her cheek and murmuring in words from a Makai dialect, promising her that he was fine and thanking her for saving him. Tsubaki’s answering hum comes with a light scratch of her claws against his cheek but he can’t find it in himself care.

「 She takes after you as well, Hiei. We made them together. Never forget that. 」

Kurama squeezes him around his waist and the feelings he hid so deeply in his chest begin to bubble up to his throat. He would die for his children and their enemies were his own but they weren’t the only ones. He would lay down his life for Kurama, fight all of his enemies physically and mentally if it meant securing another sunrise with him.

「 … It's hard to remember. They're so… good. 」

Hiei glances back at him, hugging Tsubaki close to his chest and listening to her gentle cooing. A light kiss pressed to the top of her head and her ears twitching as she nuzzled close to him. Sparing a glance at Kurama, Hiei sighs.

「 Almost everything good in my life, I attribute to you. 」

Kurama’s hand cups his chin and tips his head up. Hiei’s eyebrow raising until he’s pulled into a kiss. Senses short-circuiting with the quirk work Kurama makes of his defenses, kissing him deeply and drowning out the world. A sharp nip to his lower lip startles him, his lips parting and Kurama’s tongue delves past. Muffled groans becoming soft sighs as they part, heated breaths and panting between them.

What was just happened…?

Meeting Kurama’s eyes, Hiei sees the gold flickering amidst the green.

"S-Sorry…" Kurama mutters, his voice a bit rougher with a timbre that reminds Hiei of the Youko. “… You were being sweet again.”

Hiei huffed, quirking a smile. “I thought you didn’t like sweet things…”

“I’m starting to have a taste for them,” Kurama grins, his lips a bit wet but his tongue swipes along the bottom one and Hiei smiles as he leans in again

Tsubaki’s hand patting Hiei’s cheek to gain his attention and Kurama sighing softly when Hiei turns away.

“I’m sorry,” Hiei says, though he doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest even to his own ears. Far too amused with Kurama’s pouting, his chin resting on Hiei’s shoulder. And Tsubaki’s smiling, unaware of the moment she interrupted. “Your father is distracting.”

#yu yu hakusho #yyh #kurahi #kurama #hiei #fanfiction #my fanfiction #smile bomb #minamino tsubaki #minamino kagerou #minamino asahi

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hawkesvarric · 4 years

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Masterlist of my D&D Characters

⚗️ ARTIFICER ⚗️

Breena Boddynock. Forest Gnome. Alchemist. Criminal. Twin sister to Brocc, a monk. She’s an inventor who sells her creations to the highest bidder, not terribly concerned with “morals” or the “law”. Currently traveling through the Underdark to return a magical hammer back to the duergar clan it rightfully belongs to. (After she stole the hammer in the first place, but let’s not split hairs here, shall we?)

🪓 BARBARIAN 🪓

Cormyn. Human. Ancestral Guardian. Archaeologist. Grew up in the wilds among a tribe of barbarians, though among the clan there were also healers and magic users. He loves learning about ancient histories and digging through the abandoned ruins lost in the mountainside. The spirits of his ancestors speak to him, telling him of the past. He has a wife, another human barbarian named Galatea, and they have a son together named Tiran. A mysterious illness overtook a large portion of their clan, including Galatea, and now Cormyn seeks a remedy to bring home to his people.

📯 BARD 📯

Bonejangles. Skeleton. Whispers. Charlatan. He woke up in his own grave and had to claw his way to the surface. No tombstone, no memories, and no name. People either feared him or tried to kill him, so he learned how to disguise his skeletal features and how to forge fake identities for business purposes. In his past life, he was a powerful warlock named Romero Marivaldi who had struck a deal for eternal life. However, one should be very careful what they wish for when striking a bargain with a fey. Has (had?) a wife named Damiana, who had her own twisted part to play in Romero’s unfortunate fate.

Altair. Human? Lore. Entertainer. Once, Altair was a half-orc named Kash. He was the son of the chieftain, training to one day take his fathers’ place. Then a dragon attacked, slaughtering most of his clan including his father. Including him. Barely managing to escape, his fathers’ adviser Grimon drug Kash’s body away from the carnage, using the last of his magic to return the boy back to life. Only the spell had unintended consequences. For now Kash was in a completely different body, that of a human. He fled once he learned of the clan’s fate, leaving Grimon behind. He took on a new persona, Altair the Wanderer, hoping to leave his past behind him.

🩸 BLOODHUNTER 🩸

Red. Human. Lycan. Haunted One. Unwilling test subject in an experiment performed by wizards on behest of the king to try and create more powerful soldiers for his armies. It worked, though perhaps better than they anticipated. Red managed to break her chains on the night of the full moon when she transformed and slaughtered everyone in sight before escaping. Now she seeks to find any others like her so they may unite and kill the king. Maybe blow the whole kingdom up while she’s at it, she hasn’t decided yet.

⚕️ CLERIC ⚕️

Keothi Ogolakanu, the Wolfkiller. Goliath. Life. Outlander. Grew up high in the mountains, longing to discover the rest of the world. But Keothi’s role was to be the clan’s healer. She had all but accepted her fate when a pack of winter wolves attacked. The goliaths fought back, but were overwhelmed by the wolves’ numbers and ferocity. They began to corner a child, teeth gnashing violently, when Keothi heard a whisper in her ear: “Protect.” She used a magic she never had before, killing the wolves single-handedly. The spirit that spoke to her was that of the Pathfinder, one of the old gods her people still worshiped. It was now her destiny to leave her clan behind, following wherever the Pathfinder’s path might take her.

🌿 DRUID 🌿

George “Pebble” Pebbleton. Half-elf. Moon. Hermit. As a child, she wandered into the woods all by herself. She has no memory of where she came from or what her name once was. A pair of bears found her and, perhaps because they could sense the magical energy inherent in her or maybe because they had just lost a cub of their own, they took her in. Of course, she still interacted with people from time to time. Travelers and adventurers, the occasional bandit, etc. It was from one of them that she heard about a local tournament being ran in a nearby town. So she decided she was ready to leave, though her bear guardians still follow her around to make sure she’s safe. On the tournament registry, she made-up the name George Pebbleton on the fly, hoping it sounded normal enough.

⚔️ FIGHTER ⚔️

Kimbatuul Sora. Dragonborn. Champion. Outlander. Sora was always a braggart, a show-off, and a ham for attention. But for good reason - she really was the best fighter in the Kimbatuul clan. Her father had a seat on the council while her mother ran the market. Life was great. Until her adulthood celebration, that is. Sometime during the night of revelry, a council member was murdered with her trademark halberd engraved with her name. Sora tried to defend herself, but the evidence against her was overwhelming. The punishment was traditionally a battle in which the accused could “prove” their innocence by withstanding a barrage of attacks from the council. However, her father couldn’t stand the idea of raising his sword against his own daughter, nor could he idly stand by and watch the others do so, so he managed to convince them to banish her instead by forfeiting his own council seat. Though alive, she was now disgraced by her own people, being deemed guilty and dishonorable for not fighting. She was banished into the neighboring woods, becoming a sellsword in order to provide for herself.

Seymour Quincy. Warforged. Eldritch Knight. City Watch. On the fringes of a magical college dedicated to cutting edge education, a team of dwarven wizards were tasked with studying the mysterious entity we call the soul. They had performed many experiments with little to no success. Either the souls wouldn’t bind to the objects chosen or they would go on a murderous rampage after being untethered to their own humanity. Just as their research grant was about to be taken back, one of them suggested using a younger soul. Hence Experiment #57 was born--er, created. After a short observational period, it was deemed a success. No unbinding, no stabbing. The experiment even seemed to possess a personality. Perhaps a bit more personality than the dwarves would’ve liked. #57 didn’t like being called a number. In fact, #57 didn’t like being referred to as ‘it’ either. He decided he ought to have a proper name--Seymour Quincy. The research team indulged him at first, still glowing from their success, but it was quickly made clear that #57--Seymour wouldn’t function the way they had hoped. They couldn’t sell him to the military as a soldier. He was physically strong, even capable of performing magic, but he was more interested in searching the woods for stray bunnies. The only times Seymour would fight were when he believed somebody innocent to be in harm’s way. For now, he has a “job” with the local city guard so the researchers can continue to observe his soul’s development and hopefully find a way of making some sort of financial returns off of him. If only he’d stop wandering off because he thought he saw a kitten.

👊 MONK 👊

Rikeo Sepret. Human. Open Hand. Gladiator. Born in the gladiator ring, Rikeo was forced from childhood to fight for nobles’ entertainment. These fights were not only brutal but to the death. He learned early on how to use his body as a weapon so as not to rely too heavily on swords and such. Rikeo also learned how to put on a show. If he was forced to have blood on his hands, then he was determined to be the best at it. His grandiose personality combined with his over-the-top combat maneuvers and his undefeated track record granted him a bit of freedom. Just enough for him to knock out the guards and escape. Now he travels, armed with only his fists and his wit.

🛡️ PALADIN 🛡️

Giselle Baldric. Human. Ancients. Folk Hero. When her hometown was destroyed by a dragon, the Baldrics took up residence in a neighboring city as humble workers. Giselle worked on the docks which required much heavy lifting, though she never minded. She loved listening to people’s stories and the docks had all sorts of interesting folk coming and going. And she loved to help others, always doing little odd tasks here and there. Locals began spreading the word that if you needed help, just look for the red-headed woman on the docks. One night, as she was about to head home for the evening, a mermaid appeared in the water. The mermaid claimed to have heard of Giselle’s heroic nature and decided that she must be the one destined to wield this sword called the Storm Breaker. Giselle took the sword from the mermaid and vowed to protect all that is naturally good in this world.

Kraven. Tiefling. Oathbreaker. Mercenary Veteran. As a mercenary, Kraven did a lot of bad things in the name of conquest. She looked out for her own interests and betrayed people along the way, even allies. None of it mattered to her, so long as she came out on top. But one day, she was hired to bring in a smuggler alive so her client could have a “talk”. She found where the halfling lived and told him to come outside. He refused. Kraven decided a little fire ought to motivate him, so she set his house on fire. Only she was shocked to discover there was an infant there. She had done terrible things, yes, but to other assholes who deserved it. This was too far. She ran inside, seeing the halfling man dead from severe burns, and recovered the child. Kraven took the baby to a local temple to be looked after, but her client was furious. Not only was his man dead, but his mercenary went in to save a child instead of her target. He placed a bounty on her head and Kraven fled into the night. To make matters worse, now she had all these...feelings. That maybe she had been a bad person before, but it wasn’t too late to change. Her magic even began to change too, her previous oath broken. Now she was lost, caught between her past and her uncertain future.

🏹 RANGER 🏹

Don’t have one who is very developed yet :(

🗡️ ROGUE 🗡️

Arkade Vrago. Tiefling. Inquisitive. Investigator. Worked with the local city watch, solving crimes and catching criminals, before opening his own private investigative business. Arkade wishes to retire peacefully on a beach somewhere, but keeps getting dragged into cases. Grumbly, but secretly nice.

🔮 SORCERER 🔮

Jono. Human. Draconic. Inheritor. Slowly morphing into a dragon, no big deal. Jono is very laid-back and chill about most things, but even he is a big concerned that one day he might not be a human anymore. He has a mysterious amulet in his possession that he is hoping is the key to stopping the progression. Oh, and he kinda accidentally got married to the Fey King’s daughter, so the Feywild’s sort of out to get him. No worries, brah!

🌀 WARLOCK 🌀

Andella “Andy” Wroth-Mooncairn. Half-elf. Raven Queen. Noble. Rich, spoiled, and bratty were the best words to describe Andy. Not that she cared what others thought. She considered herself above everyone else. Growing up in a castle named after you tends to do that. Her parents arranged a marriage for her to a neighboring lord’s son, a real nerd. But Andy had little choice in the matter if she wanted to continue living off mommy and daddy’s money. At the wedding, an undead horde led by a powerful lich attacked. It turned out that Andy’s groom-to-be had stolen a cursed spellbook per his own ambitions, but had neglected to take into consideration that the wizard might not be so much ‘dead’ after all. Before he was ruthlessly ripped apart by zombies, he passed Andy the spellbook and told her to keep it away from the lich. She barely managed to escape the carnage, running out of the castle in her bloody wedding dress and clutching the spellbook to her chest. Having witnessed so much bloodshed, she vowed to personally send every undead abomination straight back to Hell where they belonged. And that’s when a mysterious raven landed in front of her with an interesting proposal...

✨ WIZARD ✨

Mialee Zolerii. Eladrin. Evocation. Acolyte. Attends the most prestigious academy, but couldn’t exactly afford to pay for it herself. So she also works at the school as the beastkeeper’s assistant. Her ex-gf may or may not be a dragon. (Although, in Mialee’s defense, she wasn’t in her dragon form at the time, okay!) Always tries her best, but things still tend to explode around her. Currently on a semester abroad, studying any new creatures she happens to come across in her travels. Will she wrestle any of them? Probably!

Bartok Abbadon. Drow. Invention. Guild Merchant. Bartok knows he grew up in the Underdark. He remembers being a weak child who was picked on constantly until he began to show real promise in his eldritch studies. Then he was sent to Menzoberranzan with a small handful of other promising candidates to work and study in the city’s largest library. But that’s where things start to get a little fuzzy. He knows his memory has been manipulated, but still he cannot fully recall his time at the library. Small flashes of things come to him and then they are gone as quickly as they came. If he tries too hard to grab on to the memory, his nose begins to bleed. So, at some point, he decided to stop trying. Especially because his last clear memory of the Underdark was rather horrifying. The library was on fire, bodies everywhere, and when Bartok looked down at his hands, they were covered in blood. It haunted his nightmares for some time after he fled to the surface. What happened there? What were they all doing there that had to be protected so badly they needed to alter his memories? And, worst of all, what if all that flame and death was his fault? Bartok tries not to think of it now, as he has a shop to run where he sells various herbs and inventions of his own creation. His homunculus familiar, Batty, keeps him company. And that’s that, right? No way his past can come back to haunt him all the way up here...right?

#i have like. a ton of concepts but these are the ones w/ a genuine backstory or personality klfngldflknjfl #d&d

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cinnbar-bun · 5 years

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Siegfried is Actually A Demonic Otherworld Dragon (100% Real!! NOT FAKE!!!)

Everyone, it’s time. Put on your tinfoil hats peeps, and I’ll reveal the TOTAL TRUTH ON SIEGFRIED. Reveals spoilers for JJBA AND SOME GBF THINGS

For starters, I want to show you something.

This is Siegfried when he was first revealed. Okay. Legit. Dudes been on the run. Definitely would look like he’s been not sleeping for over a hundred years.

Then look at this:

Do you see something strange?

Hm? Maybe it’s the fact that he looks... younger, even?

He permed his hair and dyed it a lighter caramel, and somehow got rid of his bags? Sorry. I don’t buy it.

But you know what I do buy?

He sucked the life force out of his enemies and victims and made himself younger. Let me tell you a story.

Long ago, an asshole enigmatic nobleman, Dio Brando, wears the stone mask and becomes a vampire. As a vampire, he sustains his life force and youthful appearance by sucking the life energy of his victims.

Simple vampire stuff.

But the creator of the stone mask is one of the most prominent Pillar Men ever, Kars.

See something familiar? The long hair? The bulging muscles?

What if I enlightened you ignorant fools and said they had the same voice.

Kars=Siegfried.

You might be a bit confused, but all shall be explained soon.

Kars, after getting the Stone of Aja and placing it on the mask, becomes the Ultimate Lifeform. He has the ability to control nature itself and turn into whatever he would like (ie, he can grow wings like a bird). How is this relevant-ITS VERY RELEVANT BECAUSE KARS HAS BECOME SO POWERFUL AND UNSTOPPABLE. SO MUCH POWER IN AN ALREADY POWERFUL MAN WHO CAN DO SO MUCH DAMAGE AND PRACTICALLY DESTROY THE WORLD WITH HIS MERE HANDS.

At the end though, it doesn’t last long and he gets blown to space, where he becomes a rock and floats for eternity and stops thinking.

OR SO WE ARE MADE TO BELIEVE

Do you really think a god could merely be stopped like that? I highly doubt such an object in space could remain passively existing there.

But as GBF has shown us-there is a way a God could continue. How?

THE MOON PEOPLE.

The Moon People, from what Second Advent has shown us, is very technologically advanced and promotes efficiency, work, and advancements over ‘inefficient’ things like love, leisure, and enjoyment.

IF KARS WAS FLOATING IN SPACE, I BELIEVE THE MOON PEOPLE CAPTURED HIM AND TOOK HIM IN TO RESEARCH HIM.

Kars has stopped thinking by that point probably, but because it was stated he could not die, he still has some parts of his soul in him. Second Advent also showed us that due to moon research, people are able to transfer consciousness into a vessel/another host (see Alandus).

My proposal is that the Moon People wished to create a powerful vessel that they could study and use to enhance their own race.

But, I’m going to take it a step further. It was simply too much to create a creature that powerful, furthermore, they would need something to transfer Kar’s soul into.

I mean, I dunno if any of y’all ever seen Shadow the Hedgehog, but Shadow was created by combining the blood of an alien named Black Doom with the power of the chaos emeralds and stuff. Same gist over here.

The Moon People, wanting to test their limits, made a pact with an Otherworld creature in order to gain some of their blood to help revive the vessel they would use to research. The Otherworld creatures work and deal in lives/souls. Think Dark Jeanne and Aglovale. Sacrifice is needed to keep the vessel going.

So, the Moon People, after finally creating this creature, try to deal with it but find it’s much too chaotic and too uncontrollable to deal with, so they send it to live amongst the skydom. It is equally as chaotic and unpredictable as the vessel they made, so they try to study it in hopes of seeing different results they never would have before.

Now here’s where shot gets crazy. I’m gonna take a page out of @tainbocuailnge ‘s book and borrow their theory about FGO Siegfried being Fafnir and apply it to here.

Basically, the vessel the Moon People and Otherworld creatures worked to create is Fafnir. Of course, since the Otherworld creatures demand sacrifice and ‘balance’ they decide to go ahead and transfer a bit of Fafnir’s power into a knight that tries to slay it. Fafnir is simply too destructive to exist on its own, and they need to create something that can be capable of defeating that destruction.

The knight that comes is ‘Siegfried’ or basically, what he was before he became the Siegfried we know and love today. Siegfried ‘slays’ Fafnir, although as we later find out that he simply sealed it away (more on that later). The knight that exits is not the ‘Siegfried’ he was before, but instead a new, reborn and potentially powerful creature that the Otherworld can use.

Siegfried tries to be the good knight he was before, but due to the Otherworld blood in him, he too has his moments of chaotic feelings and emotions. The Otherworld knows this.

Siegfried, now paraded as a hero, can freely live his life and continue to be the ‘savior’ everyone wants him to be. He now has the ability to infiltrate and gain trust of those around him. The Otherworld’s desire to take control has him act as a loyal Knight and Commander to King Josef and all of Feendrache. He can’t go exploiting his cover too soon. Not when there’s just so many things he needs to do.

But, since like I said before, to maintain his life force, he needs energy from other people. He can’t just exist at full strength and do what he needs, nor can he just drink peoples life energy away.

So he continues on, doing his best to carry out King Josef’s will. In that time, he finds out about Isabella, and the two co-conspire. In exchange for helping her get rid of Josef, she will offer him human sacrifices. They both have their own ideals, but realize they can’t do it alone and need to gain Josef’s full trust.

Siegfried manages to, as Josef entrusted him with the location of a secret passage/stairwell that leads to a jail cell where prisoners could secretly be out there without anyone knowing.

Then comes the day when Isabella murders Josef and frames Siegfried. This is a part of their plan. Isabella plans to kill Josef, frame Siegfried, and have him go on the run. While he’s on the run, he can form black-market level connections and discreetly find out about other kingdoms and magical/powerful things that can help in their quest for power. Isabella then becomes King Carl’s advisor and plays him like a puppet, while Siegfried’s name was slandered.

Notice, Siegfried always brings up his loyalty to Feendrache, but I want to show THIS evidence that proves otherwise.

After Lancelot, Vane, and Danchou go down the staircase and find the village Chief as well as Siegfried, this convo appears.

Siegfried basically admits that at any point in time, he could’ve broken them out. He has the power to stop the knights trying to fight them, he has the power to break the villagers out, and he knew they were in there the whole time.

And yet, for years, he did nothing.

Would a hero reaaaalllyyy do that? Why would he simply leave them there?

Like I said earlier, he has the power to do so, and the following cutscenes literally show him beating them with ease.

This, much like most of Siegfried’s appearances, is to seem like a hero and continue his facade of a valiant and strong warrior.

Consider, also, he knew about Aglovale, and did nothing to stop him earlier until war was about to break out.

Siegfried does this routinely to make himself appear trustworthy. The more people who trust him, the more powerful he can become. The more powerful he is, the more he can enact the will of the Otherworld creatures and do what he was created to all along- Test Potential. He was created to continuously overpower himself again and again, doing feats seemingly impossible with a calm and demure smile.

The moments he spends with his Dirt Kids are to distract from the obviously shady person he is. I mean, hell, his behavior even continues with Danchou too. Just because you are nice and trustworthy, it doesn’t mean shit to him.

In the Dragon Knights skin, the description says:

“Every gentleman knows that stepping out in style requires both polish and an eye for fashion. The contrast in the dark and light theme lends to the attire's mature calm and allure. And while a cool expression may veil one's true intentions, a simple bouquet of deep red roses whispers secretly of love.”

I mean, ‘a cool expression may veil one’s true intentions’-INCREDIBLY SHADY. And also, notice the mention of ‘contrast in the dark and light’. Also shady.

Look at his outfit closely. Most colors are used to symbolize different things, and usually, white represents purity, while black usually represents dark and more repulsive emotions.

His coat is WHITE. When you wear a coat, you’re concealing your body from the cold. In this case, it’s symbolistic for Siegfried acting on his facade as a pure righteous hero, defending justice and being loyal to those whom he serves.

But it’s not the full trust, as Siegfried is wearing a black suit, and notice, one of his hands (concealed with a white glove too), is in his pockets. The other hand, carrying a bouquet of roses, is concealed in his slouched form, partially covered by his coat.

He’s using you. Saying ‘I love you’, as to convince you that he’s there for you and cares for you. He is. But not for the reason you want.

As you’re the Singularity, you have potential. You have the potential to exceed potential, each time overpowering what was thought to be impossible. I mean, plenty of creatures/characters were interested in your potential.

But, by this theory, Siegfried was created to exceed potential as well. You are a perfect example of what potential is, and he craves for that kind of power that you could have. He loves your potential, the power you could provide, the change you can make.

If he could just grasp your potential, perhaps even take your life energy, he could become the powerful entity he was always meant to be.

#granblue fantasy #shitpost #gbf #siegfried #granblue fantasy shitpost #long post #theory #this is a joke #unless.....?

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