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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

The Enforcers Part 8 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

wc: 1.7k

tw: dark content (self-harm)

masterlist

a/n: By no means do I condone self-harm or want to glorify it in the light of this chapter. As a person who struggled with physical self-harm in her early teens, I know the destructive nature of this type of activity. However, as my characters are not perfect and complicated, I see this particular mode of action as something she would try to do in order to alleviate her pain and confusion. If you have questions or concerns, my inbox is always open to having a discussion about it.

If you so wish, you may skip this chapter altogether. There will be a recap on the next one if you choose to skip for your mental health. Take care of yourselves and see you soon. (ALSO, I know I promised smut but I gotta give y'all a raincheck this go-round. SORRY PLS DON'T KILL ME)

You're on your forty-seventh file of scandals, coverups, and secret dossiers that you finally feel it. The fabric of your identity begins to unravel right before your eyes.

Everything you've known is a lie.

The CSB has covered up so many things. So many lives lost. So many people forced to flee. So many families ripped apart--

An email makes its way over to the server, and you open it, the words across the screen coming from Suguru.

I know it's late, but send over Yu Haibara's files when you can.

You hit the reply button and begin to type out: "You mean the boy you killed?" but you stop yourself, deleting the words rapidly. Instead, you attach the files and send them over, not even bothering to look at them. You can't do it. Not another file could be stored away in the annals of your brain.

Nothing is as it seems anymore. The lies... they pile up in your mind, flooding the spaces where you used to hold what you thought was true, what you thought was real. Now, they're overflowing out of your brain and into your heart and soul, plaguing you like the nightmares that face you down night after night, more like demons that lurk in the corners of your mind than full file cabinets.

You always wake up in a tangle of sheets and sweat, one of your various enemies' faces hovering over you right before you stare down the barrel of a gun and --

You stumble out of the chair, eyes wet with tears, and go to the sink in the bathroom to wash your face. After you splash water on your skin, you look up at your reflection, anger rolling through you at the way you look. Weak.

You're fucking weak.

The voice in your head that usually told you that you were doing okay, that you had it all under control, is now turning on you, spitting nasty words that stick in between the synapses of your brain a muddy your rational thoughts.

The voices rise to a fever pitch, and you suddenly see red, the entirety of the world descending into blood-colored madness. The shattering of the glass mirror only becomes a reality when you're standing above the sink, chest heaving as your thoughts silence one by one, like shutting off lights in a house.

But only one stays behind as a shard of the mirror clinks into the sink.

Escape.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

You could get rid of the feelings here. You could get rid of the thoughts. You could escape. Why hadn't you thought about this before?

"Do it."

Your fingers grip the jagged shard of glass carefully, and before you can stop yourself, you drag it across the inside of your wrist, end to end, leaving behind a red line of blood that immediately blooms. Crimson dots drop into the sink, and you stare at the color, mesmerized by the way the blood runs down your arm and into the porcelain bowl. But there's no relief.

No sense of freedom.

Maybe you didn't do it hard enough?

Maybe you didn't--

The door to your room slams open, and you turn your head just as Suguru comes rushing into the bathroom. The shard of glass is still in your hand, as well as the blood running down your arm, and Suguru catches this immediately.

"Fuck," he breathes, and you turn to him, shard extended.

"Don't come any closer."

"Y/n," he calmly whispers. "You don't look so good."

"I wonder why that is," you reply, and Suguru stares back at you, hands raised in surrender.

"What're you doing?"

"What does it look like, Suguru?" you state in a trance. Your bullet wound begins to throb dully, but you ignore it, just like you're ignoring the blood dripping onto the tile flooring.

"Y/n, let's think about this."

"I don't want to think anymore!" The shrill scream is loud enough to make Suguru flinch, and you softly repeat, "I don't want to think anymore," over and over again as tears run down your face.

"I know," Suguru whispers. "I know. Will you let me help you?" You hiccup and drop the piece of glass to the floor, dissolving in a heap of tears and moans. You feel hands pulling you up from the floor and into strong arms, your head being cradled against a broad chest you've felt before. "Go ahead," Suguru encourages you. "Cry it out."

He carries you to another room in the building in silence, laying you on a firm bed and disappearing as you heave painful sobs into the sheets.

"Everything... hurts..." you gasp, and when Suguru reappears with a white bundle of cloth, a bandage roll, and some water, he nods.

"We're going to make it better, don't worry." He takes your injured arm and carefully wipes away the blood, examing the cut slowly. "Doesn't need stitches, thankfully." He turns to open the water bottle and hands it to you, silently telling you to drink while he bandages your wrist.

You drink the water greedily then lean back on the headboard, eyes closing down as Suguru works diligently on your wound. And then you remember the first time he did this for you and the mistake you made in your pridefulness.

"Thank you," you murmur, and Suguru looks up at your face, finally seeing some form of clarity cross your tear-streaked cheeks.

"You're welcome," he replies tenderly. "I have to keep you safe, remember? I promised you that I would." You don't answer him, but he finishes at that exact moment anyways, standing and placing the remnants of the bandage roll on the nightstand. The wound is now covered up completely, with no sign of blood seeping through the cotton and staining the white cloth dark red.

You watch as Suguru crawls into the bed beside you, sighing deeply as he runs his fingers through his locks. "Should I stay awake with you or do you want to try to sleep?"

"Sleep," you answer - albeit not confidently - and the black-eyed man obliges, pulling the thin sheet over you.

"I'll be right here," he affirms, but you reach out your uninjured arm and touch his hand. He instantly turns his palm up to let you grab his fingers, and you pull him closer to you in the king-sized bed.

"Hold me." A second passes with no movement, and Suguru whispers,

"Are you sure?" You nod, and he wordlessly scoots closer, wrapping an arm around you as you nestle into his side with your bandaged hand resting on his chest. His fingers rub a soft pattern up and down your skin, soothing you to the brink of sleep. "I've got you. We'll deal with everything else in the morning," Suguru murmurs as you slip off into a dreamless - and nightmare-less - sleep.

_____________________________________________________________

Morning comes and goes.

Midday arrives, and you awaken from your terrorless sleep still encased in Suguru's grasp. Your eyes flick up to his face, which is peaceful in the midday light streaming in from the windows. The Leader of the Fallen Sun District is asleep and dead to the world around him, but the sound of his breathing lets you know he's on the brink of waking up.

Part of you doesn't want him to. You want to lay there without any responsibilities to him, without any concern, or further harm to either one of you. Maybe if you continued to sleep, all of this would become a distant memory. All of this would go away, and you could go back to living in ignorance.

But Suguru's stirring makes you stiffen, and you feel his arms tighten around you before sliding away.

"You're awake."

"Yeah," you whisper, and he sits up, pulling his knees to his chest.

"We need to talk about last night." You sit up as well, staring at the edge of the bed blankly. "Why didn't you tell someone about your declining mental health?"

"I didn't realize it until it was too late," you admit, looking at the bandage on your wrist. "But I won't be doing that again."

"Doesn't matter," Suguru interjects, looking over at you. You choose to avoid his gaze and stare at your feet, inhaling deeply. "I have to have someone watch you now. I want you to be safe, and now I'm not sure if I can ensure that without some oversight on my part."

"No," you exhale quickly, looking over at him in fear. "I'm better now, I promise."

"I'll have someone move a few of your things over here. That way I can keep an eye on you, just in case." Suguru continues, standing from his position on the bed. "I won't bother you. But I made a promise to you, and I'm going to keep it at all costs." He turns back to you, stating, "Today we'll take a day off and go into the town. I've been wanting to show you around for a while anyway."

You conclude the argument is over when he places a kiss on your temple, then walks into his bathroom, shutting the door and leaving you on the bed alone.

_____________________________________________________________

A car picks both of you up from the building, and when you slide into the backseat, Suguru points to the expanse in the distance.

"Take us to the marketplace." The driver nods, scars running up and down his pale face and his blue eyes looking up at you in the rearview mirror. Does this man even know that he's sitting next to the leader of the Fallen Sun district? Or is Kenjaku a faceless man, hiding behind walls of ones and zeroes?

The scenes that pass by you look identical to those of the city you know and love. There are children playing on the sidewalks, people carrying groceries, life carrying on as if the majority of their names aren't on some rejected list of people who defected from their previous society. Suguru notices your awe at the way things are, and looks over at you, smiling brightly.

"You'd be surprised what you can build from ashes, y/n."

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TAGLIST: @missbonekitty @wack0-genius @thankuary @jsqeeut @r-i-m-f-009 @sunfloweroranges @leanne-tamashi @girlruby23 @rein-icu @brownskinnedgirll @chanelmalandro @savantsoulfinder @jibe-gajima @chilledlucifer @amnxsia @kontentious @fuyuko26 @everybodylovescayrayray @flare-on @sammytamaki @meena-in-a-nutshell @falling-through-pages @naoyasdarling

#geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen geto #getou suguru #jujutsu kaisen getou #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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soranis-sunshadow · 3 years

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Why Hordak and all of his brothers are cult victims suffering from Religious Trauma Syndrome

A detailed (and very, very, veeeeryy long) explanation on why I take issue with dismissing Hordak’s trauma as “daddy issues” that is frequently done as a way to hand wave his background and the context for his actions all while attributing said cultic abuse and indoctrination narrative to a character that, though has a tragic, abuse-laden past has never actually been part of a cult. *cough* Catra *cough*

Lets see how deep the rabit hole goes shall we?

First off: The Galactic Horde is based on a suicide cult, with Horde Prime as its leader.

That is irrefutable fact. It has been stated by the show runner and there are plenty of in-show examples of religious speak, religious themes pertaining to Horde Prime and his acolytes and even the interior design of Horde Prime’s ship is that of a grandiose Cathedral.

The source of this is an article by Polygon where the show runner breaks down what went into creating Horde Prime. (link in the notes)

Onto The Etherian Horde – though totalitarian in nature, it is not a religious institution – merely a military operation. Though the argument could be made that propaganda is used to instill an anti-princess agenda, no horde members are ever seen spouting doctrine or discrimination against their very own Princess in the ranks – Scorpia. Not only is she not discriminated against, she holds the rank of Force Captain. She also has the respect of her peers.

The only person that seemed to have taken it seriously is Adora, who - due to Shadow Weaver’s personal attention – has been raised with the specific mindset of a self-sacrificing martyr. After learning of the fact that Shadow Weaver has always known about the Heart of Etheria, it is not a huge leap to assume that in her bid for more power, her plan had always been to have Adora unleash the planet’s magic, possibly sacrificing herself in the process. Shadow Weaver had groomed her for this specific purpose. (It’s one of the reasons for which the subject of Adora’s martyrdom hurts Catra so deeply –she had been witness to the manipulation taking place but was powerless to do anything about it for most of her life)

The other cadets are more well-adjusted and don’t seem to care much about the horde’s ideology or goals, not even Catra who has suffered the brunt of Shadow Weaver’s psychological and physical abuse and has been subjected to her manipulation too.

The above exchange proves that even if there had been any indoctrination in The Etherian Horde, it has failed in affecting Catra’s judgment. I am legitimately surprised on how little credit her own fans give her and on how her perceptiveness and intellect is dismissed to have her fit into this “brainwashed victim“ agenda for more “sympathy points”.

With that having been said I’ll start this off with a bit of a definition: Religious Trauma Syndrome is a common experience shared among many who have escaped cults, fundamentalist religious groups, abusive religious settings, or other painful experiences with religion.

The symptoms of Religious Trauma Syndrome are comparable to the symptoms of complex PTSD. The symptoms are as follows.

(link in the notes)

I will discuss all of the symptoms and causes by turn and expand upon them.

1) Cognitive: Confusion, poor critical thinking ability, difficulty with decision-making,

negative beliefs about self-ability & self-worth, black & white thinking, perfectionism,

Hordak’s whole misguided crusade on Etheria is an act of confusion. What on green Earth had ever convinced him that it would work in proving his worth to Prime? Hordak had been confused on the reason of his rejection, self-delusional even. Hear me out:

Despite what Hordak himself believes, he wasn’t excommunicated because he was useless, he was abandoned for being born defective, aka for existing as he was created.

His inborn defect, by nature of being an unchangeable fact was not something that he could overcome in order to earn back the acceptance of his Maker. To a certain degree, he was aware of this but had refused to acknowledge it and as such, he has framed it to himself as “his defect makes him worthless”.

By overcoming uselessness and proving his competence in furthering Prime’s goals, he had convinced himself that he would be welcome back into his brother’s flock.

He had convinced himself that by proving his usefulness, it would erase his defect. He had given himself a reason for rejection that, unlike an inborn one, could be overcome - worthlessness. His logic being that Worthless=Defective, if he were useful, he wouldn’t be defective anymore.

He has framed his accidental stranding on Etheria as a trial of faith, not a chance at freedom or bid for power and self-actualization.

In his confused reasoning, he had not realized that by attempting to prove his worth to Horde Prime, he would be in essence, proving that Prime had been mistaken about his deficiency. This was anathema to Horde Prime’s own doctrine – that Prime is all knowing, all powerful and Horde Prime is Never Wrong. His attempts were always destined to fail from the start, the premise was flawed at the core but Hordak’s own wishful thinking prevented him from seeing the fault in his mission.

This is how Hordak sees himself:

This defect => useless => worthless mentality can be observed when he projects onto Catra. I swear, everyone projects onto everyone else in this series.

This is an example of him emulating the only leadership he’s ever known - that of Horde Prime and exerting Prime’s judgment over a supplicant or Prime – In this case Catra (what Prime would have done to him in the same situation). He imitates Prime’s way of speaking and even his facial expression during Prime’s “speeches” (look at position of his ears in this scene and that little dimple damnit!!!)

(yes, *sigh* I did a spacebat ear position diagram)

Horde Prime has that ear position even when possessing his little brothers to give his grandiose speeches:

Hordak’s and other little brother’s “default” ear position:

It’s worth adding that perfectionism is not only part of a symptom of his cult trauma but also a tenant of Prime’s doctrine making it a double whammy.

2). Emotional: Depression, anxiety, anger, grief, loneliness, difficulty with pleasure, loss of meaning

As they say, a picture says a thousand words…

To call Hordak depressed is like calling the ocean mildly humid.

He is alone, on a planet of primitive aliens (from his perspective) surrounded by potential enemies and in an incredibly vulnerable position due to his illness with no clear end to any of it in sight. He feels nothing for this world other than irritation at his inability to leave it. His only meaning and purpose is returning to his congregation, a purpose he is no closer to fulfilling than he was when he had started a few decades ago. The only open displays of emotion he manifests are that of anger, self-loathing., frustration, fear – in the blanket scene before he comes to his senses completely and starts masking the fear with anger… at the blanket… there was nothing else in the room to be angry at… ridiculous spacebat.

After Catra deceives him about Entrapta, he openly manifests grief and apathy as well.

3). Social: Loss of social network, family rupture, social awkwardness, behind schedule on developmental tasks, sexual difficulty (no snu snu for religiously repressed spacebats... yet *wink wink*)

This one is self-explanatory. He is in essence an exile on Etheria, away from all he has ever known. He is the only one of his kind on the planet, even Imp - his attempt at replication is not a proper replacement for the community provided by the Hive mind.

From a social perspective- he is a recluse and is not seen interacting with anyone in anything but a “professional “ manner. The only exception to this is Entrapta’s interaction to him. Due to her indifference to his posturing, she is immune to his attempts at self-isolation. “Get out!” and vague threats of reprimands don’t work on her. Their shared interest in science allows Entrapta to force the interaction on him. (At least in the beginning of their collaboration)

Later, after having become accustomed to Entrapta’s companionship and having that ripped away, he tries to form a connection – at least of commiseration – with Catra:

Even after she did this to him:

he still tried to form a connection through their shared need to prove their own worth.

Did you catch that little detail? : “Victory is ours” not “mine”.

4.) Cultural: Unfamiliarity with secular world; “fish out of water” feelings, difficulty belonging, information gaps (e.g. evolution, modern art, music)

…

Do I really need to expand on this one? *Sigh* … he is literally an alien to this world, “fish out of water” would be an understatement.

As we have established, he fits the bill of Religious Trauma Syndrome to a T. He presents all of the symptoms.

Now let’s move onto the causes of it:

1). Suppression of normal child development – cognitive, social, emotional, moral stages are arrested

This one is self-explanatory. The horde clones and by extension Hordak are severely stunted in their psychological development and that is by design. They are deliberately kept from developing an adult mentality so as to never become a threat to Horde Prime or ever be able to break away from his control. Prime keeps them in a child-like dependency on him as a way to exert his power over them. Should they ever develop even a budding sense of self, their indoctrination compels them to submit to correction and erasure ensuring that they never surpass this state of learned helplessness. Horde Prime encourages this self-flagellating behavior, deeming it a mercy, even a favor to be granted – to suffer in His Name.

Hordak shows almost no emotional coping mechanisms and manifests child-like tantrums of frustration as an only outlet for his emotions throughout the show. He attempts to hide any other attempt at emotion, with differing degrees of success.

Wrong Hordak is emotionally unstable and is prone to fits of crying. (However, due to the comedic fashion in which his arc is written, I suppose that this could be taken with a grain of salt)

The clones are not only prevented from growing and maturing mentally, they are also robbed of childhoods –having been born in adult bodies and with the necessary knowledge to serve Prime literally programmed into them so as to make them able to serve efficiently from their first breath. As such, they are robbed of their formative years where one individual grows and develops naturally. Those precious experiences are replaced by Horde Prime’s literal programming through the hardware they have installed in their bodies to facilitate Horde Prime’s control over them (without their consent). In essence, they are a people born pre-”chipped”

Regardless of their actual age, and despite the fact that they are intelligent, capable and responsible individuals, I see the clones as having the emotional maturity of toddlers.

They never had the chance to develop any emotional coping skills, they were never allowed to have emotions to begin with.

2). Damage to normal thinking and feeling abilities -information is limited and controlled; dysfunctional beliefs taught; independent thinking condemned; feelings condemned

This is The Galactic Horde’s core belief:

Along with:

Incidentally, Hordak does his version of this speech trying to puff himself up in front of his soldiers… buuut Catra pushes the Failure button and that snaps him out of his little Prime impersonation moment.

More dysfunctional beliefs:

Condemnation of independent thinking:

Results in this:

No further explanations are necessary…

3). External locus of control – knowledge is revealed, not discovered; hierarchy of authority enforced; self not a reliable or good source

Prime exerts his dominance throughout S5 by force,

and coercion:

He is even petty and vindictive enough to force himself into Hordak immediately after his speech and to kill Entrapta with Hordak’s own body.

As for the self not being a reliable narrator… Hordak believed this about his former position.

He is not prone to exaggeration or deception being woefully incompetent in the latter – both perpetrating and spotting it. We have to assume that this is the way he saw his position in the Galactic Horde.

Season 5 revealed that all of the clones are equally disposable and interchangeable, there are no ranks. They are all equal tools whose sole purpose is furthering Horde Prime’s agenda. Horde Prime has no need for generals or delegating since he is able to inhabit his little brothers and be in more than one place at the same time. Hordak’s job in S5 was that of hall monitor and planetary acquisitions guy…

@cruelfeline goes into detail about the dissonance between what Hordak believes and what is actually his position in The Galactic Horde. A link to it is in the notes because Tumblr is being fussy.

4.) Physical and sexual abuse – patriarchal power; unhealthy sexual views; punishment used as for discipline

Some people have seen this, ugh… form of penetration… ugh again… as rape allegory.

Not a hard thing to do since Prime himself is rape personified and he consistently forces himself onto and into his little brothers, Catra and later, the chipped Etherians. Prime does nothing but "bad touch" people all of S5 and is particularly enjoying his disciplining of his "wayward little brother", the most unworthy and unlovable amongst his brothers. (According to the extended scene)

Here’s some more of Prime’s touching with rape subtext:

Here’s more of Prime forcing himself into his little brothers – they all seem to fight it and find it painful to some degree despite the fact that they have been conditioned to accept it and welcome it. Prime’s touch is a good thing, even when it hurts them.

Ironically, the one who fights this violation the least is Hordak himself. (this could be either because he’s extra repentant and wished not to further draw Prime’s ire or that his condition of chronic illness has raised his pain threshold)

The process of possession is not seamless and some of the clones appear to be unsettled by it after prime retreats from their bodies.

As much as this Utter Disaster of a clone wanted to finish his little speech about dirt and as much as he was gleefully enjoying it, after Prime was done with him… he just wanted his task over with…

The very nature of their indoctrination makes them unable to escape what has been done to them nor change their whole world view without outside intervention – which is exactly the help that Wrong Hordak received immediately after being abducted from the collective by people who slowly de-indoctrinated him and offered him a supportive environment for all of that growth and healing to happen.

When the Best Friend Squad kidnapped him, he was ardent about his service to Prime and he only followed them because they deceived him in believing they were servants of Horde Prime.

By providing clear irrefutable evidence of Prime’s fallibility, deceit and the squad’s (mostly Entrapta and Glimmer) moral support throughout this moral crisis, they (just Entrapta here *coughs* ) were able to wean him off of his programmed behavior and offer him an informed choice.

This is information none of the other clones, not even Hordak were privy to.

Even with this information, Wrong Hordak is still in emotional turmoil (though the show plays it for laughs – yuck)

The closest Hordak ever gets to walking away from Prime’s doctrine is this moment:

He was considering indefinitely putting it off to stay here, with her, and her worldview that he could be worth something, imperfect as he is. He is offered her emotional support and guidance.

Unfortunately... Catra nipped that in the bud before it could lead anywhere.

After convincing Hordak that Entrapta betrayed him, her message of inherent worth was rendered null, to him - her unconditional affection and the notion that he could to live apart from Prime were a manipulation. This further radicalized him in his faith and need to prove his worthiness.

Not only did Catra remove Entrapta’s influence over him, she goaded him even further with this cursed little speech and her whole “yass queen moment!”. you know the one...

“Get.Over.IT! You don’t need Entrapta. You never did. You don’t need a Princess in your life telling you what to do. Look at what you’ve done without her. You’ve build an army. An empire! You and me, we don’t need anyone. Forget them all. No one matters, nothing matters but this mission. You want to prove yourself, prove your worth? Then do it! You and I are going to conquer Etheria. And then, they’ll all see!”

Both of them were in clear downfall in S4 and they amplified each other’s most negative tendencies. I will not hold this against her.

The last thing I want to mention is that for cult victims, it is incredibly hard, if not, almost impossible to leave their cults by themselves. The first step for leaving a cult in the real world is looking for outside assistance.

It takes enormous amounts of strength – an almost imaginable degree of resolve – to leave a cult, particularly when you may have been born into one and have no friends or connections on the outside world. Cult survivors are often ostracized by everyone they have ever known who remain within the organization. To a cultist, the world outside the cult is a hostile, sinful and dangerous place. The assistance of someone from the outside is crucial.

Only with the assistance of a “friendly outsider” or a support group can the former cultist change the world view with which they had been indoctrinated with (sometime since early childhood).

A cult and set of beliefs warps your whole world view to the point of delusion. Faith in the cultic creeds is more important than factual evidence. As a matter of fact, the evidence in itself is evil, a contradiction to the creeds of faith and successfully denying it is an act of faith fulfilled. This mentality is encouraged in cults.

Many people in this fandom have claimed that Hordak, once pulled through the portal was free to do as he pleases. (he didn’t chose to come to Etheria – his arrival on the planet was accidental)

This is not really the case. Hordak never decided to leave the cult. He was still part of the cult when he was sent to his death on the battlefield for his defect and he was still a believer when the portal delivered him to Etheria.

In essence, Hordak didn’t leave his cult so much as he was forced apart from it, physically. In spirit, he still believed in Horde Prime’s dogma. His experience is the equivalent of a religious man getting stranded on an island in the middle of the ocean. He is apart from his church, but his faith is still with him. Hordak’s faith hadn’t waned in the decades of separation. His purpose had always been returning to Horde Prime –hence the focus on building a portal and not on levelling towns with an arm laser cannons. He has proven in S4 that, had his main mission actually been conquest, he could have done it with not much difficulty – He wasn’t half bad at it actually. Instead, he delegated the conquest to his underlings and focused most of his attention on attempts at reuniting with Horde Prime via investigating rogue portals and trying to build one of his own.

Due to the nature of his “upbringing”, Hordak’s whole world view is warped. He has not had the benefits of a “moral” education from a human’s standpoint. Why would training cadets to become soldiers in your army be morally reprehensible when you, yourself, had been bred for war and have served your God with your first breath?

This was Hordak’s idea of a “normal” childhood:

What could he possibly know about the healthy raising of children?

Why would conquering a planet be a morally reprehensible thing when his God did this to places?

And this:

Before one ascribes evil motivation, for the sake of evil – one should bear in mind that these creeds were literally programmed into him. This is not a life he has chosen for himself– this is something he was born into, literally manufactured for, this is something that was done to him.

And for those that would have wanted him to regret his actions on screen, keep in mind that it will likely take a lot of therapy and reeducation before he even comprehends the nature and magnitude of his crimes on Etheria.

(besides the fact that he had spent 99% of season 5 in an amnesiac daze doesn’t help with the whole remembering his crimes bit either)

The show runner has declared in one of her post show interview that he will make reparations for the damage he’s caused.

What more do people want from a person born and flung into an impossible situation besides his head on a plate?

Phew!

Long post was long

#hordak #horde prime #catra #spop discourse #spop meta #cultic indoctrination #religious trauma #will you stop calling them daddy issues now?

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todoscript · 4 years

Note

10, Tamaki Amajiki, fluff or smut

Support

prompt: 10. “You really shouldn’t touch that… I told you.” genre: fluff. pairing: amajiki tamaki x fem!reader word count: 2.0k+ warnings: mentions of insecurities.

author’s note: This is longer than a drabble should be but I couldn’t control myself. Also, this is my first time writing for Tamaki so I hope I did well portraying him. Big thank you to @burnedbyshoto for being my beta reader as well as recommending the title for this work!

Tamaki Amajiki has experienced an extraordinary amount of circumstances in his life so far that not many boys his age could even imagine to go through. He’s fought crooks, robots, supervillains, hell even the yakuza, and has managed to come out in one piece every time and claim victory. Of course, he has his training and studies from a prestigious hero school to thank for equipping him with the tools he needs to combat such peril. However, no amount of training or experience could truly prepare him for this new, menacing adversary.

A classroom full of school children.

Being a trio backed up by the honorable title of The Big 3, Mirio, Nejire, and Tamaki were given the opportunity to represent U.A. High School as they speak to classrooms of elementary students next week. This was a chance to talk with the younger generation and encourage them to think about a possible career as a crime fighter, while also ensuring that their futures were in safe hands thanks to heroes like them.

As a shy, introverted person whose solution in these social situations is to envisage everyone in the form of vegetables, Tamaki was not keen on this idea. Kids were boisterous and contained way too much energy in their little bodies to handle, making it much harder to conjure them as potatoes in his head. Not only that, but these days they’ve grown judgemental and full of themselves. They boast about their newly developed quirks amongst each other at playgrounds, already comparing their abilities at such an early age. All in all, his fragile spirit cannot handle interacting with these miniature monsters.

Nejire and Mirio seemed much better suited for this task. They glowed with charisma, and their energetic personalities naturally drew people to them. No doubt, the kids will especially be fond of how receptive they are to their young and frisky attitudes. Tamaki felt he just paled in comparison behind their light; however, his two friends would not allow him to deem himself that way.

“C’mon Tamaki, you have so many things going for you!” assures an optimistic Mirio during lunch as Tamaki sulks in the thought of meeting the kids. “You have an amazing quirk! I bet if you show it off, the kids will love it.”

True, the ability to manifest certain animal attributes depending on whatever he digests could tide the youngsters into liking him. But at the same time, would they really be captivated that easily? Aren’t kids at that age more into flashy things like lasers and explosions? No one wants to see him with cow hooves and clam hands, not with Nejire spiraling concussive vitality from her palms and Mirio shooting right up out of solid ground.

“I… I don’t know if the kids would be into my quirk…” he murmurs, eyes averting to his twiddling thumbs beneath the table.

“Amajiki, if you’re aiming to be a Pro Hero, you can’t let a bunch of ten-year-olds deter you!” chides Nejire. She forks a bit of her strewn pasta.

“Easy for you to say, Hadou. You’re bubbly and approachable. Everyone always comes to you. Meanwhile, the freshmen were intimidated by me before I even spoke a word.” Tamaki broods at his plate of food that grows colder during the conversation, but he can’t muster an appetite to eat it. “I can’t imagine how the kids would feel.”

Nejire chews on her noodles with a pitched hum. The trill ceases the moment her eyes light up, an idea flickering in her head.

“Say, how about you visit ____ at support during hero training today? I bet she can hook you up with some flashy gear that they’ll like.”

The utter of your name sends Tamaki’s body rigid.

“Oop, I think you touched something you shouldn’t have, Nejire,” Mirio gestures to the steely expression written over their friend’s face.

Dealing with children was one thing, but you were another matter entirely.

Being enrolled at U.A. since their very first year, the senior students of the hero and support departments coincided together. They drew out each other’s potentials—whether it was fighting on the battlefield or producing new innovative gadgets in workshops. Naturally, within that time, Tamaki developed a fondness for you.

You were a spirited individual driven by your passion for creating and bringing out the very best out of everyone you worked with, which included himself. With him, you were patient, never one to discourage or berate him despite his nervous and awkward nature that he viewed as probably a displeasure to work with. You took all his strengths and weaknesses to heart, and created the right tools to make him shine in triumph.

If Tamaki is the dead night, then you are the moon and stars that lit up his dark twilight, enlightening the world with his true potential.

However, the boy has never brought up his feelings to you, driven back by the thought you didn’t reciprocate, or wanted to focus more on your future as a craftswoman rather than prattle with romance. To bring you up in his dilemma of having to interact with mere elementary school kids is the last thing he wants to do.

“I don’t—”

“C’mon Tamaki! This is the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone!” Nejire enthusiastically waves a finger ready to describe her expertly thought-out plan. “You come to ____ asking for some of her gear, the ordeal brings you closer together, and then boom, you naturally confess your feelings and then impress those kids next week!” She sits with a proud, lifted head and hands on her hips after explaining her master proposal.

“Hm that’s quite an ambitious plan, Nejire,” chuckles Mirio.

“Way too ambitious if you ask me,” Tamaki scowls, uncertainty forming in his features.

“Confessing to someone you’ve liked for so long doesn’t come that easily…”

Nejire pouts, spinning the last remnants of her pasta around her fork. “Well I say you should still think it over! If anything, the new gear could help.”

And so he does. Lunch soon passes in the next flutter of an eyelash. During an academic class, Tamaki ponders the idea a bit more until it’s eventually time for their hero training course.

Lo and behold, he’s standing right outside the development studio with wickedly narrow brows and contemplating eyes, acting like if he glared at the door hard enough, all his problems would be solved. With his feet cemented into the ground, he doesn’t budge for the next couple of minutes. His mind bounces between his predicament and the possible solutions at hand, reaching to a standstill. Ultimately, he knows nothing will come out of not making a decision, so after another second of thought, he decides to progress.

The steel door jars open at a slide of the handle and Tamaki ganders at the messy workspace before him. He navigates through a mess of gizmos and gadgets with careful hesitant steps.

“____? Are you in here? I, um, need your help with something,” he calls, tentative voice drawing out across the room.

“Tamaki? Is that you?” He hears the distance between your voices, “Sorry, I’ll be with you in just a minute…”

He nods to no one in particular, standing in place as his fingers play with the hem of his white, hooded cape. Too late to turn back now, he thinks. While he dawdles, he can’t help but let his eyes wander around the room, eyeing the vast amounts of meticulously crafted contraptions and accessories all developed in a high school workshop.

The support course sure is something else, Tamaki regards the creativity such students have, being able to construct so many complicated gadgets. He doesn’t know how you do it, but supposes that was another charm about you that he admired so much.

Suddenly, a whirring noise catches his attention, and he turns in its direction. He spots a device flaring in place on a table across from him, the widget shifting and flashing into an assortment of colors that isn’t comfortable for his liking.

“Uh… ____… C-Can you come out real quick? I think there’s something wrong with this thing,” he warns, tone rising with every dissonant sound the device continues to resonate.

“OK Tamaki, I’m done. What do you need— Whoa!”

Your words are cut off by Tamaki, pulling you to him using vines sprouted from his fingers, thanks to the vegetables he managed to eat today. Confused, you brace against his chest as the evident droning whir increases in volume. Tamaki holds a wavering hand over the device.

“Ah wait, Tamaki, you really shouldn’t touch that!” you cautioned. However, Tamaki’s entire hand transforms into a giant clam that quickly envelopes the contraption just as it flares and reaches its peak. He contains the small burst of energy within his shell with a wince, preventing any catastrophe from befalling on both of you and the work studio.

“Hehe, told you,” you shakily laugh off which makes him sigh as he releases you from his steady grasp.

“____, you could’ve gotten severely hurt,” he chides.

“But I didn’t because of you, so thank you very much, Suneater,” you say with a grin. Tamaki slightly tugs his hood down to obscure the growing blush on his cheeks that threaten to expose his flustered reaction to your gratitude.

“It... It was nothing,” he manages. You nod in response before approaching the faulty contraption, shifting your gaze side-to-side to inspect the damage.

“Sorry about that, I think this is one of Hatsume’s inventions from Class 1-F.”

You toss it into a pile of other defective equipment, relaying in your mind to reprimand your junior later.

“Anyways, is there anything I can do for you, Tamaki? You said something about needing my help?” Ah, right, he nearly forgot. He slowly nods.

“I need some new gear…” he admits. A light of passion infused with curiosity dazzles in your eyes.

“What for? Going to face a new powerhouse crime organization next week? Ooh, maybe another gangster threat in the criminal underground? Or perhaps you need something to combat a future natural disaster?” you surmise, but Tamaki only avoids your gaze at all your grand guesses when comparing it to the true reason:

“I need something to impress these kids I’ll be talking to next week…” he mutters under his breath, as if embarrassed.

“Huh?” You knit your eyebrows, muddled by the answer. Tamaki’s head imbues with self-conscious, anxious thoughts about what you must be thinking. However, your response to his predicament is one that leaves him more perplexed than you are.

“Why? You don’t need any gear to impress anyone. You’re fine the way you are,” you say without a single pause or hint of doubt in your tone. Tamaki pauses, grabbing his bearings at your statement before eyeing his spread out hands, unsure.

“But I’m so plain, not flashy or charismatic like Mirio and Hadou… Would kids like me the way I am?” he urges the question with uncertainty, keeping his stare on his calloused palms.

Would you like me the way I am?

You reach out for his hands, holding your own over them and bringing his wavering gaze to peer into yours.

“Tamaki, the kids will like you for who you are as long as you’re passionate about what you’re aiming to do. And that’s to save everyone and become a hero, right?” you assure, slightly tilting your head.

“You protected me without even a thought in your mind just now. That makes you heroic and courageous,” you continue, “Your nervous and shy personality are just small little quirks about you that make you who you are. You don’t need to change that.”

A smile of pure adoration forms on your lips. “Plus it’s what I like so much about you.”

Tamaki’s eyes lift in realization at your statement, his hands slowly gripping yours from below like he may not have heard you correctly.

“You like me?” he repeats, and you nod your head.

“I’ve liked you since our first year, silly.” You giggle at the stunned look etched on his face.

“I…” his words are caught in his throat for a second over the growing developments, but with every ounce of his being, he musters them out, his tone laced in only warmth and affection for you.

“I’ve liked you too, ___, I-I always have. You were so dazzling that I couldn’t help but let these feelings for you grow, and now, I’m glad I got to say them to you.” He finally admits to all the emotions stirred inside him for the past three years, and your smile widens. You inch forward, planting a small peck on his cheek that renders him a flustered mess from the surprise.

“Alright, go show those kids who Suneater is next week!”

Nejire’s plan was a success, after all.

#bnha #bnha x reader #tamaki amajiki #mha #bnhabookclub #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha x reader #amajiki tamaki #tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #my writing #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bnha imagines #mha imagines

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thesolitarystripe · 3 years

Text

The knights of Lumina were posted outside the main city gate; arming gleaming beneath the hot summer sun. Each one sat atop a night warhorse, varying in color and size but matching in the same obedient stillness. Not a single living being moved within their formation. Every so often, a necessary tail flick to ward off the relentless flies could be seen but otherwise, it was as if the gods had left a magnificent painting as a gift, by the city entrance. At their front was Thomas Grey. Sir Thomas Grey. He was the right hand of the king, protector and personal guard of the kingdom’s princess, and a peasant by birthright. A bastard. It was odd to find one of his lineage within the knighthood and of the highest-ranking position but, his history within Lumina’s royal family spanned from the first year or his life, to now. Twenty-eight years. The young knight rode atop a bright palomino whose coat shown as brightly as the golden stalks of wheat their farmers grew. Its mane was a striking cream color. One dark brown eye, like most equine creatures, and the other an eerie crystalline blue. The mare had been gifted to Thomas as a boy for he too, was crafted uniquely by the gods. Hair as brilliant as the sun, white gold, and eyes as different from one another as night and day. Thomas bore one azure iris and the other a vibrant verdant. It was a rare condition, one seen perhaps between one person every few cities over. Some thought it a blessing, others a curse.

“Sir, dust from the East there,” a voice stated from behind Thomas whose head had turned to take note.

“Our guests have arrived, look sharp men.” Thomas squeezed the belly of his horse, urging her forward. The creature obliged and took Thomas forward with the rest of his men in his wake. Presently there were fifty of them on horseback, only a sliver of the knighthood. They were to greet and escort a small caravan of royalty from the Eastern kingdom of Stalwert. It was an admirable city whose trading routes and exports were undoubtedly some of the best. Lumina’s king sought an alliance by way of marriage. The princess, while not opposed to the arrangement had her reservations—all of which Thomas was acutely aware of. Many did not know his full history, they simply knew that Thomas was a babe dying on the streets when he was found by the royal family during one of the kingdom’s festivals. He was taken in, under what circumstances or pretenses they did not know. Thomas was raised within the castle walls, groomed to be a knight, and fast became the young princess’ most dear and trusted friend.

There had never been thought to anything more. Thomas knew, while his station was admirable, his birthright made him unsuitable for any romantic pursuits when it came to the princess of Lumina. Therefore, the idea never entered his mind though many teased them as children. One was never without the other unless stolen away by their mentors and tutors. It was easy for King Marcus Abraya to assign the young Thomas to be his daughter’s guard, even at the young age of sixteen. Most nights she stole him into her chambers to make her laugh rather than stand guard at her door. They were fast friends. As such, Thomas took today very seriously. He would be this prince’s harshest critic and report any concerns regarding his character to King Abraya himself.

The fleet of knights swarmed the royal caravan, introducing themselves well and offering their protection as they entered the city. The King and Queen of Stalwert greeted him warmly but there was no appearance made by the prince. Offense number one was noted. Thomas led the way back within the city walls, lines of commoners formed all of them trying to gain a look at the potential future king of Lumina. They would see no one. The man kept himself hidden away within his carriage. Only when they were within the sprawling courtyard, just in front of the alabaster castle, did Thomas bring his men to a halt. All of them but Thomas stays on horseback while the blonde dismounted and tended to the royal family. He stood at the carriage door and offered his arm, seeing the Monarchs safely to the ground. It was now, that he beheld the prince. He was of a modest build but clearly untrained in the art of war. The prince was of average height and looked quite small standing beside Thomas who was six feet and six inches more. This prince appeared soft, a man of the arts perhaps with caramel colored hair and deep brown eyes. Thomas would’ve given his honest remarks—the prince was handsome, devilishly but wouldn’t last a day within the ranks of any knighthood Thomas knew of. It wasn’t a prince’s job, however, to wage war with his own hands. Thomas was sure the man was likely a brilliant mind, expert at strategy, and adept at making treaties. Thomas was eager to speak of such topics with him as Lumina got to know their potential ruler over the course of the next few days.

“Prince Robert,” Thomas bowed deeply, the crown of his head exposed. “Might I speak for the knights of Lumina when I say it is a great honor to have you within our kingdom. Please let me know personally if there is anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable.” Thomas stood upright again and found those dark eyes regarding him.

“Thank you, knight, what may I call you?”

“Sir Thomas Grey, my lord,” he replied, bringing his gaze up to meet the prince’s.

“That is a wild look within your eyes, Sir Grey. A defect at birth?” He pointed between his own two eyes as he observed Thomas more closely.

“Indeed sir, I was born with it.”

“Interesting,” Robert sighed before he turned on his heel. Ending the conversation.

Thomas felt a strange sensation wash over him. Something in his gut churned. The skin on his arms pulled up and away from his bones and he had to stave off his urge to frown. The knight led the royal family within, only to be greeted by King Abraya within the great hall. The three flocked to the King and Thomas stood quietly behind, surmising what it was his gut was telling him. Every move Prince Robert Winsley made, ignited Thomas’ nerves. Distrust was already being sewn within the belly of the knight whose hands were clasped in front of him, face expressionless as he watched the greeting of two kingdoms unfold. Their ruler of Lumina ushered the royal families into the throne room, his knighthood in tow behind him. At the head was Thomas, to his right, Belor, and his left, Edward. The three highest of rank and the ones trusted to enter the throne room and stand guard within. Outside, lower ranking knights took their posts and waited behind closed doors. Thomas took his stand beside the elevated slab of marble that held three ornately decorated thrones. The largest in the middle was made of solid cherrywood, a deep red in color and carved with the Kingdom’s crest: an ivory horse, rearing back on its hind legs, mane whipping behind its muscled neck as if the wind blew against it. The background was black while the sides were embroidered in intricate floral patterns. While there were no other colors, save the natural hue of the wood, the marking was unmistakable on the backing of the king’s throne. There were two others, lesser seats but still beautifully made of strong oak. Within the smaller ones sat their Queen and beside her, the princess. The moment Thomas’ gaze lifted and he met the eyes of his childhood friend, the princess smiled. Her eyes hadn’t yet sought out her suitor before they landed on Thomas who was as reserved as ever but offered a half upturn of his lips. The Knight took his place beside the royal ladies while King Abraya waved a hand grandly through the air and motioned to his kin.

“I am pleased to introduce you to my lovely Queen, Amina, and my daughter.” Both women stood with the grace and poise of a swan, their dresses flowing around their bodies to accentuate every luscious curve and dip. Thomas stood with eyes forward, hands crossed in front of him.

“It’s a pleasure,” they both said in tandem as they curtsied and then sat again. Prince Robert flicked an eye over his potential wife and merely nodded his head. The second offense. Thomas wanted to scowl but kept his expression smooth. The royals fell into conversation as King Abraya brought their company to sit and rest; over his shoulder, Thomas heard a familiar clearing throat. Mismatched eyes found the princess who was already looking incredibly bored; she was obscured by her father’s commanding height so she could not be easily seen. The princess rolled her eyes. Thomas smirked.

He puffed out his cheeks and made an exasperated expression.

The princess smirked and stuck out her tongue.

Thomas’ eyes grew wide as if offended. Then he returned the gesture, tongue poking out of his lips and eyes crossing lightly.

The princess bit her lower lip and dropped her chin, desperate to hide her giggling.

Thomas straightened, happy to know he hadn’t lost his ability to make their princess laugh. Even after all these years. The two exchanged glances across the room, every time Thomas looked, his princess had turned away; as soon as he averted his gaze, she was peeking back at him rosy-cheeked and coy. When their eyes finally did meet, each one couldn’t stop the break of a smile across their faces. Children at heart, surely. Thomas clasped his hand over his wrist more tightly, with more resolve than ever to ensure Robert Stalwert was worthy of Lumina’s princess.

#thesolitarystripe #writing #creative writing #writer #medieval fantasy #OC #Author #writers on tumblr

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cruelfeline · 3 years

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(1) "[H]is needs, physical, emotional, and mental, must likewise be addressed and comfortably handled. I do not accept the idea of something being done specifically to 'punish' him..." Sure, I guess. Hordak should have medical care and mental heath care if needed. He shouldn't be physically hurt or put in jail, Entrapta can help him, etc. And he'll probably be in a lab most of the time anyways. Treating him with humanity will help him be a good person. (Insert swedish prison studies here).

I... ah... Well. Yes. It will.

Though. I guess, for me, treating him with humanity doesn’t have anything to do with helping him be a good person. It’s just a thing that I feel should happen. Whether it makes him a good person or not.

Ensuring that he is safe and comfortable and well isn’t something that I’d want to do in order to help him be a good person. It’s something I’d want to do to ensure that his safe and comfortable and well. For its own sake.

Like... to look at it from the opposite direction: I wouldn’t withhold care or comfort from him if he wasn’t being a good person. Y’know? Like... I wouldn’t deny him a comfortable sleep or medication that helps him feel well because he wasn’t hitting someone’s moral goals. If that makes sense?

(2) So that leaves this: How much freedom should he have? If there was an event where princesses could invite someone, like with princess prom, could Entrapta invite him? On one hand, all the bad stuff he did, his rebuilding/renovation sentence, and the fact that his presence might make people uncomfortable. But on the other hand, saying “you can’t sit with us” punishes Entrapta for something she didn't do. (Entrapta's war crimes and extenuating circumstances are an ask for another day).

I would venture to say he should have as much freedom as is safe for him to have. I suppose I don’t see the point in limiting it? He’s not dangerous. His motivation for taking over Etheria is literally dead and gone. I don’t see a point to imprisoning him.

As far as the specific scenario you mention (Princess Prom), well... remember that the Princess Prom seemed to have specific rules to encourage socialization and harmony in times of conflict (weapons and quarrels left at the door, so to speak). It’s very likely that enemies regularly met at the Princess Prom and were expected to treat one another with civility; I’d expect the same courtesy to be extended to Hordak.

And in terms of him making people uncomfortable... this is a difficult thing to address. On the one hand, yes: people will likely be afraid of him. And rightfully so, considering what he did. And people should not be forced to interact with him if they do not want to.

But on the other hand: such people are likely to be afraid of all of the clones, seeing as they all look the same. And sound roughly the same. And were part of a much more damaging war on Etheria.

Is it “fair” to segregate all clones, Hordak included, forever, to keep other people comfortable? Is Hordak to be kept out of society for the rest of his life, because people are afraid of him? Or should he be kept out of it until... well, when? When he reaches some arbitrary level of “penance performed?” If he finishes rebuilding Etheria, are people automatically going to not be afraid of him now? Yes? No? If they still are, does that mean that he still needs to be kept locked away?

One can go around in circles like this all day because there is no real answer. This is all entirely subjective. The level of segregation, of penance, of restriction, is entirely subjective. And that’s why I don’t really believe in it. I don’t believe in limiting freedom or inflicting suffering due to someone’s subjective opinion.

Rather, I try to ask how further harm can be minimized or prevented. And whether a restrictive measure is actually necessary to prevent said harm.

In terms of Hordak being restricted in some way: I don’t see a reason that he has to be locked away or forbidden from socializing. Do I think that he should be forced onto people? No. I don’t think anyone should be forced onto anyone else, former warlord or no. But I also don’t think that he should be sequestered away from the community that he is supposed to be working to join.

(3) Also, should Hordak have to work constantly on the rebuilding/renovation, save for sleeping and medical leave? Or should he get to take breaks? It wouldn’t be fair for him to take a vacation while villages are still in ruins. Humans and Etherians need rest to have good mental health and be productive, but Hordak is a Prime clone, and the clones are probably designed to work without much rest. So would that be okay for him or no? Do you have any posts that explore this sort of thing?

Absolutely he should be allowed to take breaks. No question. None. For multiple reasons.

First: I do not view Hordak helping to rebuild Etheria as a punishment. And I feel that viewing it that way is... I’m not sure that “mistake” is the right word. Inaccuracy, perhaps? I’m not sure. Whatever one wishes to call it, the point is that Hordak fixing what he broke should not be considered a punishment. Any more than me cleaning up a vase I knocked over should be considered a punishment. It should be considered... well, “fixing what one broke.”

Etheria is Hordak’s home now. The Etherian community is his community. Helping repair the parts of it that he broke isn’t something that should make him suffer; it should be something that he does in order to be a contributing, responsible member of the community he belongs to. If he wishes to stay on Etheria, then it is only logical that he contributes to its successful functioning. Not because he has to “pay for what he’s done,” but because that’s what a responsible community member does.

Keeping him from having breaks or... I guess “enjoying himself” as he does this is, in my mind. an actual mistake.

Something that I always have at the forefront of my mind when considering these things, anon, is that Hordak is healing. Whatever damage he caused, whatever traumas he is responsible for, he is just as damaged and traumatized. He did what he did not out of greed or genuine malice but out of a form of emotional sickness. He did it out of a need to be loved and welcomed and wanted. He did it because he wanted to belong.

Denying him those things until he reaches a certain level of “punishment complete” is... well. In my opinion, it’s another form of what Prime was doing. Another form of “you’re not worthy of happiness or love until you’ve done XYZ.” And I don’t like that. I don’t like that because it disregards the fact that, though Hordak should strive to fix what he broke, he is still an individual who underwent a severe amount of trauma and needs time and support in order to heal. If he does not get that time and support, chances are he will be further harmed. Chances are, he won’t become that well-adjusted member of society. Chances are he will remain emotionally sick and bitter and self-loathing. And those are not chances that I think are worth taking in the name of chasing an arbitrary sense of “fairness.”

Second, though just as important: I take significant umbrage with the idea that it would be acceptable to work clones harder because they’re “designed to work without much rest.”

The clones were “designed” to be brainswashed slaves. They were “designed” to labor and glorify and sacrifice themselves for their god. That absolutely does not mean that they should be exploited as such. To do so would be vulgar.

The clones are people; they should be treated as such, not as the tools their slavemaster indoctrinated them into being. Now, if a clone wishes to work hard because he is comfortable doing so, then so be it. But he should not be expected to do so and be denied rest and relaxation because he was “designed” to go without. That... I’m not sure how to accurately convey how much such a concept disturbs me. A lot. It disturbs me a lot.

Horde clones were purpose-bred as livestock. This was horrific. It is not something that should be taken advantage of by their new Etherian neighbors.

And while I do see that you specify “medical leave” and thus may have taken this into account, I still wish to mention: it is generally understood in this portion of the fandom that, despite the show not really going into detail regarding it come season five, Hordak still suffers from his defect. He is still chronically ill. He is disabled. Demanding that he work at a certain level because he was technically “designed to” is ableist and cruel and can only contribute to his already-deep self-loathing. And this applies to any other clones who might be disabled and hiding it.

Finally: I do actually have a post addressing some of this! And as a bonus, it’s not just about Hordak. It includes Catra, too. It was written in response to some of the complaints I saw regarding both Catra and Hordak being forgiven “too easily.” Specifically, about Catra being so quickly invited into the group, if that means anything. It goes into my distaste at the concept of denying someone a sense of belonging until they achieve a certain level of “redemption.”

Here is that post. A quick warning: it’s a little sassy. I was annoyed when I wrote it. Should be read at one’s own risk, if one is uncomfortable with me being sassy.

I also have an older post about the importance of emotional support in the healing process. I feel like it’s also relevant, as it addresses things like providing companionship to people who may be considered as “not deserving it.”

Here is that post.

Let’s see... what else...

Oh! I also have this post about Hordak being forgiven without being redeemed.

And I think those are the most relevant.

Anyway, anon, I hope that this provided some sort of useful answers for you! If, at any point, I came off as too sassy, I apologize for it. It is not my intention to sound rude, but sometimes I don’t realize when I do. Especially when I write about things that stir emotion in me.

So! Thanks for the questions, anon. Have a lovely evening!

#hordak #horde clones #Anonymous

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aqua-the-smiter · 3 years

Text

Wind Guide You

Chapter 2 - The Runaway

Arcee was just out for a walk. That’s all.

Why couldn’t she ever catch a break?

Her peds crunched along the gravelly ground and her servos were clasped behind her back as she slowly trudged forward, going nowhere in particular, just out to clear her processor. The land was barren and surrounded by cliffs and ridges, and the sky was overcast, swathed in a blanket of grey clouds that took away most of the shadows. It was calm if a bit gloomy, and the wind whispered over the ground, occasionally flicking pebbles.

The two-wheeler guessed it was just one of those days where everything was dull and a bit slow. She could tell some of the other ‘bots felt it as well, and seeing as there were no present emergencies to tend to, she’d come out here. Partially for some peace, partially just because she wanted to be alone, and (though she’d never admit it out loud) she still felt a need deep in her spark to silently mourn Cliffjumper.

Maybe it was silly. Maybe she should have gotten over it by now. She had, somewhat, but something in her still ached everything she thought of him. Thus, she took small chunks of her time every day to grieve, and it slowly minimized her pain by degrees, bit by bit. It helped.

What didn’t, however, was finding a Decepticon passed out among the stones.

“What in the Pit? ” Arcee asked herself out loud, staring down at the dull silver chassis of Megatron’s right servo bot.

Starscream.

At first she thought he was dead. He was lying as still as the rocks he was surrounded by, but as she watched him, she noticed like bits of movement: a wing flicking, a digit scraping, a ped twitching. No, he was still among the living, unfortunately.

She stood frozen, staring at the motionless form of the seeker, the very ‘Con who had murdered the bot she was out here mourning. Her spark clenched in anger, and she let one of her servos turn into a blaster before backing up and lowering her arm, trying to calm herself. It would be stupid to just shoot him right off the bat.

Think, Arcee.

Primus, she wanted to just shoot him in the faceplates and be done with it. He was the reason Cliff was gone, and he’d put them through so much grief besides that, both on Earth and off. Her spark seethed, even the small bit of pity she held for him not enough to quench her desire to pay him the same mercy he’d paid Cliff; that meant none at all.

She took a better look at him. He looked...ragged. Worn out, like he’d been flying solo for a while, the kind of wear that couldn’t be faked. Her optics widened when they landed on his chest plate. The Decepticon insignia was gone, and in its place were scratches. She thought hard. How long ago had their last battle with the ‘Cons been?

Somehow, by some miracle, Starscream had defected between the aftermath of then and now. What else could it be? Maybe a trap, but something like this wasn’t Megatron’s style. Sure, he could’ve been kicked out, but if he had been, most likely, if she even found him, he’d be a corpse. He decidedly was not that.

She sat next to his still chassis, thinking. What to do with a possibility renegade ‘con? Primus, her luck was shoddy.

She was oblivious to how long she’d been there, feeling the cold breeze over her chassis, listening to it howl between the empty places in the rocks. Starscream did nothing more than twitch.

What to do, what to do?

It would be easiest to just terminate his aft right there, pull the thorn that was him out of their collective sides right away. Nearly all of her wanted to, and yet...that little drop of pity still yanked at the edge of her processor. She didn’t know exactly why, but something about the ‘Con just made her feel bad for him. Maybe it was the desperate way he vied for Megatron’s favor, maybe it was the fact he was always getting whacked in the ankles every time something was going right, or maybe it was just that he was excellent at making that particular sad face. There was something just...pathetic about him, and she granted him a bit of mercy for it.

Wait…

Call Prime. Of course, the simplest solutions were often the best, and she berated herself for not having thought of it sooner. It should have been the first thing that sprung to mind.

Maybe she was still much angrier about Cliffjumper than she thought.

-Optimus, it’s Arcee.- she said over her comms.

-We were just starting to get worried about you.- came the reply of his usual firm but kind tone. -Where have you been for so long?-

-Like I said, just out for a walk. You’ll never believe who I found.- she baited, her voice unintentionally taking on the same excited tone as Miko’s whenever Wheeljack came around.

-Did you run into trouble? If you've found an energon mine, come back, don’t try and clear it yourself.- Prime warned, sounding for all the worlds like a gently chiding father.

-That was one time , I’m fine. I didn’t go out looking for trouble, it found me, in the form of Starscream. He’s recharging on the ground right next to me, all dinged up. What do you want me to do with him?- she asked, getting straight to the point, and trying not to sound too willing to offline him.

-Starscream?- The Prime paused, just a little bit alarmed -Are you sure he’s alone? Is there anything off about him?-

-He scratched his insignia off his chest. Just a bunch of claw marks there now. It looks like he’s defected. He’s definitely still alive.- Arcee confirmed.

-Scratched the insignia off his chest.- Optimus repeated slowly, the gears in his processor whirling. That sounded like a sure sign of defection. Was it too much to hope for? He has long since seen potential in bringing Starscream over to the Autobots, and now might be his chance. -Give me your coordinates and wait there with him. I’ll meet you there.-

-Personally?- Arcee asked in surprise. -Are you sure?-

-I’m sure. Don’t worry, I won’t come alone.-

-Alright.- She relented, berating herself. This was Optimus Prime. There was nothing to worry about.

<>{◇}<>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The familiar green spirals of the groundbridge gave way to the figures of Prime, Ratchet and Bulkhead. Arcee rose to her peds when she saw them, raising an arm in greeting. Starscream still rested next to her, optics firmly offlined. She resisted the urge to give him a swift kick and ran over to her comrades.

“Hey ‘Cee!” Bulkhead called to her. “Where’d you dig up Screamer?”

“He was on the floor when I got here.” Arcee replied, hands on her hips as the four of them made their way over to the recharging seeker. She nudged him with the toe of her ped as the others looked on. “And if you’ll look to your right you’ll see the Decepticon’s possible ex-commander, passed out cold.” she gestured to him with a servo.

“He looks like a Predacon chewed him.” Ratchet said, eyeing him warily. “Probably been on his own for a while now. Almost definitely has an energon deficiency.”

“You can tell all that from looking at him?” Arcee questioned, raising an optic ridge.

“More or less. I’ve been at this for a long time, you know.” Ratchet said, his tone implying a lecture if this conversation kept rolling

“So...what are we going to do with him? We can’t just leave old Screamer here, can we?” Bulkhead asked.

“Who says we can’t?” Arcee spat. “If we take him with us, he becomes even more of our problem then he already is.”

“We’re not leaving him.” Optimus interjected, his voice having an air of finality.

“Why?!” Arcee exclaimed, failing to tamp down her anger. “What could we possibly do with Starscream of all bots?!”

Optimus gave her one of his looks that could possibly make even Unicron himself feel guilty. “We could help him, make him one of us. Show him the mercy he was never granted from Megatron.”

“And that he never granted Cliffjumper!”

“If we pull him to us, he’ll never be in a position to do what he did to Cliffjumper again.” he replied coolly. Arcee said nothing, just crossed her arms and turned away.

There was no argument after that. Optimus was determined, and he made a good point. They brought Starscream to the base, dragging him home like an abandoned kitten found on the side of the road.

<>{◇}<>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Starscream’s red optics flew open and were greeted to complete darkness and silence. He felt strange, and it took him a few moments to realize he wasn’t hallucinating or shaking from energon starvation anymore. That should have been comforting, but it only shot him through with fear. Someone had gone through some effort to take care of him. Had Megatron found him? Was he back in the belly of the Pit that was the Nemesis?

His head whipped back and forth trying to get some kind of grip on his surroundings but it was black as pitch. He tried to sit up, but his wrists and ankles were tied down to the berth. Megatron must have found him when he collapsed, there was no other explanation. He was probably thinking up some new, horrifically creative way to ensure his loyalty, or wanted him for some nightmarish way to end his life. His spark was hammering inside it’s chamber.

His bonds wouldn’t break no matter how hard he strained at them, but that could possibly be because he was too weakened after so much time alone and with no energon. He felt his optics well up with washer fluid as his spark pounded, so loud in his audials he would’ve sworn anyone outside this...place could hear it writhing in his chest as he started to shake and quiver.

An audial-splitting shriek tore from his voice box as he tried to tear free of his bonds, his back arching as he struggled.

He couldn’t do this again.

#fanfic #fanfiction #transformers prime #tfp #tfp arcee #tfp starscream

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muertawrites · 4 years

Text

Two Halves - Chapter Six (Zuko x Reader)

Part Five

Word Count: 2,100

Author’s Note: Wow it’s been a clusterfuck this week. I’ve been exhausted and unable to concentrate for the past few days, and then today when I tried to release this chapter for patrons it turned out that all of Cloudflare was down, so something like 12 million sites worldwide were just completely unreachable. I plan to force myself into going to bed early tonight so I can actually get myself back on track and be productive over the weekend (I have two requests I want to publish so they don’t get pushed back into all my ideas for next month, and I also want to look into other ad providers outside of Adsense so I can start saving up money for my eventual move out of the country). I promise that next week will be less of a bummer chapter. Here’s hoping sometime we’ll actually catch a fookin break, m8.

~ Muerta

You stand in the portrait hall, awaiting its newest addition with Rina; she grips your arm, clapping giddily as the towering scroll unfurls to reveal the painted image of you and Zuko beside one another.

In it, you're seated to his left side, mirroring the generations of other wedding portraits that line the massive hall; what's different is not only the color and style of your robes, but the fact that Zuko’s hand rests on your shoulder, yours clasped firmly within it. When he did so, the royal historian who was present instructed that the Firelord and lady were never depicted touching one another - you'd placed your hand over his in a unified stance of defiance. You'd also been asked to remove your betrothal necklace for the portrait, and had told the historian in a few choice words exactly why it would be staying on; you still feel the rush in your veins of hearing Zuko mumble “that's my girl” under his breath.

“Oh, it's gorgeous!” Rina exclaims, bouncing excitedly on her toes. “The Firelord looks so handsome in a Water Tribe silhouette; I'm so glad you did this!”

You laugh, hugging her by the arm that's hooked with your own and unable to deny the fact that the Southern style tunic you had the seamstress make for him does provide a nice view of his body, highlighting more of his broad shoulders and sturdy midriff than the billow of traditional Fire Nation robes. It also pairs well with his chest plate, making him look every part the skilled warrior he is instead of some aristocratic monarch ruling only by privilege. Beside him, his fingers locked between yours, your gaze steely and knowing behind layers of ink, you look like a weapon instead of just a wife; you start to think there might be much more reason Hakoda arranged your alliance with Zuko than just forming a concrete tie between your nations.

“My lady,” one of the palace messengers addresses you, bowing respectfully as he approaches. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Advisors Sung and Qiang request an audience with you in their offices.”

You and Rina look between each other, Rina’s eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Just me?” you ask. “Should I also send for the Firelord?”

“No, your majesty,” the messenger says. “The councilmen asked that only you be sent for.”

You nod, bowing to the messenger in thanks before taking Rina’s arm once more, walking in pace with her to the administrative wing of the palace.

“They’re sure to send me out of the room,” Rina tells you, speaking in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “I’m unsure about Advisor Sung, but Qiang has never trusted servants with any kind of information; he used to work information security under Firelord Ozai until he defected after Prince Zuko’s banishment.”

“If he won’t allow you in the room, you’ll wait at the door,” you state. “Whether he likes it or not, I still have more power than he does.”

When you arrive at the international affairs office, Qiang and Sung are seated around a small table, primed in wait for you. You make a point of not bowing in return when they do so upon your announcement, instead choosing to simply nod in greeting. Sung smiles at you in his polite, pleasant way as you sit, while Qiang eyes you with a cold, almost uncertain stare.

“My lady,” Sung welcomes you, “I apologize for bringing you here on such short notice, but there are urgent matters that must be discussed. As you know, Advisor Qiang has taken the liberty of guiding me as I adjust to my new position as the head of international affairs, and we’ve been mulling over the matter of your wedding portrait for the past few days.”

“More specifically,” Qiang interjects, “we’ve been discussing the stunt you pulled in deciding your wardrobe. Many people across the Fire Nation are not pleased to see their Firelord in Water Tribe garments.”

“It was simply a tunic,” you calmly defend yourself. “The only other change was to the color. Has anyone taken issue with the fact that I wore a Water Tribe dress under a Fire Nation robe?”

You glance between the two men, expecting the question to be entirely rhetorical - you know the answer already, but as you guessed, they’re either too cowardly or too correct to say it aloud.

“We understand your intentions,” Sung replies after a beat, “but we’re uncertain the execution of your ideas is as tactful as it should be; I know I needn’t remind you that we’re still living in very unstable times as of the end of the war.”

“I understand your concern, but I don’t think the nature of our mixed heritage is the most pressing issue at hand,” you say. “The world experienced a century of cruelty under Fire Nation imperialism - it’s important that we reform our militant image in every way we can. Dressing me like a traditional Firelady when I very clearly am not one would have upset far more people than just our citizens.”

“The Fire Nation is still very powerful,” Advisor Qiang argues, “even with the abolition of many of the Earth Kingdom colonies. Upsetting our people could have consequences that reach beyond the mainland’s borders.”

His words are spat at you almost like a threat. You tilt your chin a little higher, meeting his gaze without faltering.

“What do you suggest, then?” you ask.

“We want to keep watch on you,” Qiang tells you. “Our aids will accompany you as you gain more freedom from the Firelord and guide you to ensure that your actions reflect the image the nation wants to see from their leader.”

“This sounds like something Advisor Yong should oversee,” you evenly contest. “I'm certain my husband would like to have his say, as well.”

“We simply wanted to present the idea to you,” Advisor Sung cuts in. “We thought it might give you more peace of mind to have someone beside you; teach you how to properly present yourself to the people of the Fire Nation.”

“You can send your aids to keep tabs on me,” you reply, “but I am still your superior. Firelord Zuko has been more than an adequate mentor. I don't need another one.”

“Do you suggest we have you answer to the Firelord on our behalf, then?” Advisor Qiang asks, sounding skeptical.

“I'm stating that I don't answer to anyone,” you respond. “Zuko is my equal. You're the one born and raised in the Fire Nation - you should understand that better than anyone.”

Qiang fixes you with the chilled, empty glare you noticed your first day in the council’s meeting chambers. You keep your own expression blank, refusing to avert your eyes from their lock on his.

“My lady,” Advisor Sung addresses you, “I promise you, we mean no offense. We truly have your best intentions at heart; we understand that the culture of the Fire Nation is very different from that of the Southern Water Tribe, and only want to keep you safe in the wake of Advisor Fen’s passing. We believe taking extra care in how you interact with our people is the only way to move forward.”

“Alright,” you say, standing abruptly. “I'd like some hands-on training, then. I need fabric to build my wardrobe with, and want to explore my new home. Gather your aids - I’m taking them to the market.”

To say that people are shocked to see the Firelady out amongst common folk is an understatement.

You travel in a rather large group, flanked not only by Rina, Iroh, and Toph, but three of Qiang and Sung’s aids and a small army of royal guards. People flee when you approach, some of them going as far as to fall to their knees before you, bowing out of fear; each time, you offer your hand and help them back to their feet, explaining that you're only out to do some shopping. Once more onlookers notice your kind, gentle handling of those who cross your path, panic turns to interest, many people staring at you as you pass or calling out to you, saying hello; a little girl manages to get past the guards, scurrying out of her father’s flower shop and through their legs, stopping in front of you with an adorably clumsy bow to present you with a dandelion she picked from between the cracks in the cobblestone street.

“Why, thank you!” you exclaim, daintily taking the flower from her chubby little hand and bowing in return. “It's very beautiful, just like you.”

You twist the dandelion into your hair before walking the girl back to her father, who apologizes and thanks you profusely; you assure him it's no trouble.

“How very touching,” Iroh says to you once you continue on your way. “I wonder what the aids will tell their superiors.”

You huff, smirking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Probably that I don't inspire enough fear,” you mock. “I thought the dictatorship ended when my dear father-in-law was thrown in prison.”

“The memories of his reign are still very fresh,” Iroh explains. “A brute hand is all much of the Fire Nation knows in a leader; it is hard to bring change.”

“I still don't like our little entourage,” Toph remarks, loud enough that the men trailing you can certainly hear. “Aang never travels with guards, and he's got a way bigger target on his head than you do.”

“Yeah, but he can also bend everything,” you remind her. “I've never even held a spear.”

“I'm blind and I still kick hella ass,” Toph replies. “You don't have an excuse.”

You roll your eyes, grinning as you shove her sideways so she stumbles; she laughs, coming back at you with a hard punch to the boob and blowing a raspberry into your face. You can't help but cackle, taking her into a headlock and scruffing up her hair.

“My lady,” one of the aids pipes up, her nose wrinkled in disdain, “this isn't proper etiquette for a Fire Nation queen.”

“Oh, spirits forbid anybody be human,” Toph groans. “The war is over and this is a leisure trip. People have to get used to the Firelady acting like a person instead of a government puppet.”

Rina takes hold of your arm, leaning in close to your ear.

“I like her,” she whispers. “Can we ask her to stay?”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“I wish,” you mumble back, “but Toph sort of just does what she wants.”

You choose a small, cozy-looking shop to buy fabrics from, everyone in the group (save for the aids and guards, who have no choice but to wait outside) making easy, pleasant conversation with the owners; they're a relatively young couple from Omashu, who came to the Fire Nation after the war to trade fabrics that weren't widely available in either country, wanting to bring more options to each place. Their shop is filled with soft cottons and delicately embroidered patterns, many laced with shimmering metals and gems only found in the Earth Kingdom; you purchase a few yards of almost everything, leaving them a contact to the palace so that they can come and discuss expanding their trade routes. Everyone is pleased except for the aids, who look on with disapproving glares.

When you return to the palace, you find not only Zuko awaiting you, but Qiang and Sung as well; you hardly acknowledge the two councilmen, instead going straight to Zuko’s side.

“Rina sent me a message about your meeting this morning,” he murmurs. “I told Advisor Yong, too. They should have come to both of us.”

You nod, taking him by the arm and leading him away from the larger group, out into an open corridor surrounding a courtyard that sits off the entrance hall of the palace’s administrative wing.

“There has to be something we can do, right?” you wonder. “We’re above them. We have the final say in everything.”

Zuko sighs, taking your hands within his and holding you close to him, chests pressed together.

“We’re supposed to,” he says. “But my grandfather taught my father and sister how to manipulate their way into power. Lots of other government officials learned it, too, and it hasn’t completely gone away.”

Advisor Qiang passes through on the other side of the courtyard, eyeing you with his signature frigid gaze as Advisor Sung and the aids trail behind him. You look away from him, focusing only on Zuko.

“We have to keep the people on our side,” you murmur. “The government may be able to manipulate itself into submission, but they're no match for everyone else. The world beat them once - we can beat them again.”

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bookofjudith · 4 years

Text

I received this LOVELY ficlet set in the same AU as ‘a cardinal hits the window’, and it made me cry. thank you so much anon for sending it to me!

_________

Hi! So. I love your fanfic so much. And I was reading through the comments/threats posted on “Cardinal” and saw one that made a suggestion for a fic set in the same universe that involved Zuko. And the plot bunny attacked. So here it is; self-indulgent and un-edited. Please don’t feel obligated to post this at all! It’s just a thank you for all you’ve written. On the other hand, please feel free to throw this up wherever you want, and to make any changes at all to it. From this point on, it’s fully, 100% yours to do with as you please. May your weekend be lovely!

Warnings: Brief mentions of past character deaths, mentions of injury, mentions of surgery and other hospital things, mentions of child abuse.

It always took long enough for Iroh to register that he was hearing his own mobile phone ringing – there was just always so much background noise in the Jasmine Dragon that he had learned to tune everything but the landline and the words ‘excuse me’ and his name out completely – that it stopped before he got to answer it. Usually, when that happened, he let it be; there was no point dropping things to dive for a call he’d already missed, anyway. But, that afternoon, the phone started up again almost as soon as the last call had died down, and the ringing was close enough to the first that he noticed. Still, by the time he’d carefully set the trays down and fished the device from his pocket, it was silent again. Iroh peered at the screen and felt his eyebrows raise even as his heart clenched suddenly. He had no fewer than eleven missed calls – four from Sokka, and seven from Katara.

The landline rang, but Iroh called for Jin to please answer it, his fingers slow but determined on the phone screen before him. Something was wrong; he could feel it in the very blood his thudding heart was pumping around his body. Something was wrong, because Katara and Sokka wouldn’t be that adamant to get hold of him if it wasn’t. And, oh, hadn’t he had a premonition of ill omens the evening before, when Zuko had asked him to swap out his shift at the Dragon last minute but then had been cagey about why? He should have pressed for more information; should have forced Zuko to tell him why he couldn’t meet his eyes as he mumbled out weak excuses. Meeting somebody who can only make that time Zuko had said. Katara’s coming with. Iroh shouldn’t have let that appease him; shouldn’t have been mollified by the young woman’s presence just because she and Zuko had made such surprising, strong friends in the past few years after their initial rocky start. He should have done more than warn Zuko to take care of Katara, not yet fifteen and therefore more Zuko’s responsibility than any of his other friends, and should have not been so easily reassured by Zuko’s offence at the insinuation that he wouldn’t do all in his power to ensure all those he cared about were safe, but especially the younger ones. He should have –

“Iroh!” Jin stuck her head around the door. “The phone’s for you. It’s Katara. And it sounds urgent.”

Iroh abandoned his attempts to call one of the siblings back and instead half ran to the phone. “Katara?”

“Uncle,” Katara sobbed, her breathing harsh and full of tears. Ice began filling Iroh’s veins as sweat broke out all over him. “Uncle you – you have to come quick.”

“Katara, what happened?”

“You have to get to the h…hospital,” Katara sobbed. “It’s Zuko.”

Iroh’s heart nearly stopped beating on the spot, and he hung up without a proper goodbye.

***

Iroh’s heart didn’t stop beating. But Zuko’s had. If Katara, with her first aid certification, hadn’t been there… If the ambulance hadn’t arrived before he’d crashed a second time…

He’d promised himself, when he’d lost Lu Ten, that he’d never take for granted the spaces a beloved son filled inside his heart and his chest. Never again would he only notice how full he had been because there was suddenly emptiness there. But, despite his promises, he must have still forgotten, because sitting in an uncomfortable waiting room chair while Zuko’s life hung in the balance of the spirits’ and the doctors’ hands, all he could see was the approaching emptiness. What life would be like without Zuko. And he was too numb to even cry.

From Katara, he’d learned this: Zuko had made plans to meet with Azula, to try and convince her to leave Ozai to come to stay with them. He’d been hopeful enough to drop everything to see her, but wary enough that he’d brought Katara along with him as backup. It had started out almost hopeful; Azula had swung between scorn and doubt, between spite and near-broken uncertainty, and Zuko had seemed to really be getting through to her, for once. And then something had changed, and she’d gone on the offensive, dragging Zuko into a fight that had grown worse and worse until Zuko had firmly chosen to walk away. He had told her, out loud, that he was not going to be the person Ozai had tried to make him, that she could contact him if she needed anything or if she was ready to talk, and had begun to walk away. Azula hadn’t liked being left behind. Something in her seemed to snap, and she kept trying to force Zuko to stay. Katara had stepped in, realising it would be easier for her, an outside party, to respond to Azula than it would be for Zuko. Azula had been merciless with her, but Katara had stood her ground. And then Azula had, so quickly Katara still couldn’t understand how or why, brought out a Taser. Zuko had done what he always did – what Iroh had known he would do without thinking about it even as he’d reminded Zuko to take care of Katara: he’d stepped between his friend and harm.

Zuko had gone down, and hadn’t gotten up again, and Azula had zapped him once more in her rage. Katara had shoved Azula off and somehow disarmed her and then fallen to Zuko’s side and had found him unresponsive but panting. And then… then there had been nothing. She couldn’t tell Iroh exactly what had happened after that, but somehow she’d called Sokka on autopilot, and he and Suki had dropped everything to rush over, calling the ambulance as they came. Azula had… disappeared. Katara thought she remembered yelling at Azula to call somebody, and seeing only a face white with shock and horror, staring at her brother’s fallen form. But she couldn’t be sure what had really happened in those moments.

From the doctors, Iroh had learned this: much of Ozai’s complaining about how Zuko was never as fast or strong or energetic or full of endurance as Azula was down to a congenital heart defect. Nobody had picked it up (or so they said, but in Iroh’s head rang Ozai’s voice spitting that Zuko had been lucky to be born) and it had steadily worsened over time, never getting bad enough that it was more than an inconvenience. He would have had mild heart palpitations from time to time, the doctors said. Probably not painful if Zuko had never said anything, the doctors said (but Iroh knew better, he knew his nephew he knew and, oh, Zuko, what more suffering had been kept a secret?). They couldn’t know for sure without a diagnoses, but the worse symptoms would have been that he tired easily, got breathless and/or lightheaded occasionally and had a slightly more rapid heartbeat. Inconvenient, but not truly dangerous. Not until the Taser had been applied directly to his chest.

From the kind nurses he would have flirted with, slightly, if his world wasn’t on the brink of ending, he learned the following: they were doing all they could to fix the underlying damage as well as the damage the Taser had done. They’d tried doing a non-invasive route, first, but had had to resort to opening up his chest. They’d tell him once they heard any other news, they promised.

Katara, Sokka and Suki had been there for an undetermined bit of time at the beginning. Katara, despite being tear-swollen and devastated, hadn’t wanted to leave until she was sure Zuko would be okay, despite the nurses trying to gently but firmly tell her only family was allowed. He is family, she’d snarled at one point, and Iroh had almost had the energy to side with her against the nurse, who hadn’t understood just how true Katara’s words were. Eventually, it had been Sokka who had convinced his little sister to leave. Iroh hadn’t seen it at the time, but sitting in the aching, black eternity of waiting, he suddenly put together the clues he hadn’t recognised before: this hospital haunted that young man in a way that was still viscerally painful. Too much time with his friend who had only recently passed. Too many ghosts, and far too much pain, and his inability to stay, even for Zuko, had finally broken through his little sister’s stubborn fear-love enough for her to agree to leave for the time being. Iroh might have imagined it, but they could possibly have said they’d gather the whole group together in order to wait for news.

It was one of the most coherent things Iroh thought about in that ceaseless agony. The rest of his thoughts were far more incoherent, with only brief flashes of lucidity. No, don’t call his father, I’m his guardian. I will not let his father near him, was the longest sentence he said out loud. The rest were monosyllabic responses coaxed out of some automatic part of himself while his true nature hunkered down like a wounded animal, believing that if he was just quiet and still enough the pain wouldn’t find him a second time.

That wounded animal also had teeth, however, and it bared them in his mind. Why hadn’t a single doctor in the burn unit picked up the heart problems? Zuko had been in their care for months. Why hadn’t Ursa? Why hadn’t Iroh himself? Why hadn’t Zuko just said something? How often had he said I’m tired and meant that his body was unable, unable, unable to do what the world was demanding of it? Why had Zuko gone to meet Azula in the first place, with only Katara with him? Zuko should know by now what a poisonous woman Ozai had made his daughter into. A Taser. Her own brother. Could he arrest her for it? Could he make sure that Azula never again hurt another person? Could he punish her for what she’d done, the way Ozai had punished Zuko so many times?

Shame made him lucid. Shame and guilt and a bowed head of silent apology to his niece. But, even as he meant it, he also did not. There would be time to truly repent for the things he felt toward Azula in those long moments, but that time would come after. He simply… did not have the capacity to forgive and see reason and compassion for his as-abused niece while his nephew – his son, his Zuko – possibly lay dying. Those moments turned him back into the man he’d spent years growing away from after Lu Ten’s death, because, as much as he’d genuinely changed and fought for that change, he was only human. More than that; he was Ozai’s kin.

That shame in him made him think, as the tired doctor walked toward him, that the universe would punish him the same way twice. And all he could think, distorted and desperate, was, please don’t kill him for my transgressions. Nor for Ozai’s or even Azula’s. Please. You’ve done enough. He’s paid enough. He’s done enough reparations for himself that he doesn’t deserve this.

From the tired doctor, Iroh learned this: he was still allowed to keep this son.

Crying loudly in the middle of the hospital was not one of the things Iroh would feel shame about in the days to come.

***

Sweet talking and bribing all the nurses not only meant that Iroh could stay past visiting hours but that he could sneak Zuko’s friends in past the family only rule. Zuko would only be kept in the hospital for a week before being discharged to heal at home, but the kids couldn’t wait that long to see him, and Iroh understood their anxiety. They’d been told to limit it to two at a time, and Katara was almost always one of the two. Some of her tenacity being at Zuko’s side was born of guilt and processing the trauma she’d been through, Iroh knew, but most of it was that near-nameless understanding that had dropped between the two of them, sometime Iroh hadn’t been looking. Suki was second most frequent, Aang and Toph were tied and Sokka… Sokka barely came. Iroh was nearly as anxious to get Zuko home for Sokka’s sake as he was for his own and Zuko’s, because it was obvious that Sokka wanted to be there for Zuko, but just as obvious that the hospital killed him inside.

“It… smells the same,” he’d confessed to Iroh, looking haunted and on the verge of tears.

Zuko whispered something similar to Iroh when he was most inhibited; when calm and focus couldn’t stop the memories of the burn unit from encroaching. That morning, Iroh had found his nephew in one of those moods – anxious enough he was making the nurses frown at his heart rate and anxious enough to snap and snarl to try and get them to stop poking, stop demanding, stop keeping him there – and so he’d made a big show of going to get Zuko his favourite food. It hadn’t helped, much, but it had helped Zuko get his tongue under control a little bit more. Iroh returned with the food to hear murmurs from inside Zuko’s closed curtains, and so he paused and took a peek inside before entering.

Katara was on Zuko’s hospital bed, curled carefully on his left side so that she didn’t jostle or lean on Zuko’s still very broken sternum. One hand was in his hair, and Iroh realised that she was guarding his weaker side as Iroh himself had subtly tried to do countless times. Having somebody trusted there helped Zuko to relax more, and she knew this. Sokka was the other one in the room, and, although he was still in a chair, it was pushed so close to the bed his knees were up to his chest. He was holding Zuko’s hand, and looking utterly unperturbed by that fact.

The most surprising thing was that Zuko was the one speaking; murmuring reassurances and comforts to both of them in a voice still weak and breathy and more raspy than usual. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s going to be fine. You’re both okay. Thank you, Katara. Sokka, buddy, hey… Hey…

Iroh backed away. It wasn’t for him to see. It tasted bittersweet in a sharp way he wasn’t sure he’d ever really experienced, before; Zuko reassuring a friend who had saved his life and a friend who hated hospitals because he’d lost love slowly, painfully, inevitably inside of one. Zuko, surrounded by so much love, this time around, when the first time he’d been so alone and small and quiet and heartbrokenly enraged in a similar bed. That young boy hadn’t even had the pieces to comfort himself, let alone others. And here Zuko was now, being comforted and giving out comfort. Without tripping over himself, without second-guessing, without embarrassment, because that love had become second-nature.

In that moment, Iroh truly began to repent for what he’d thought about his niece. Because he understood all too well why Zuko had gone to meet Azula, and why, even after all this, he’d never stop trying to coax his sister into a proper home.

***

The tense, anxious mood relaxed slightly when Toph began to cackle out of nowhere. “How much does this suck, eh?” she giggled at Zuko.

Zuko rolled his eyes, even though she wouldn’t be able to see it, pinned between Suki and Sokka, who were each gripping an elbow, and hemmed in by Iroh and Katara in the front and Aang at the back, ready to catch him if he fell.

“If I ever coddle you like this, push me down these stairs,” Zuko grumbled at her.

“It’s a deal,” Toph said, cheerfully, even as Suki gently – very gently – flicked Zuko with her free hand.

Katara put her hands on her hips. “Say that without panting or wheezing and when you don’t look white enough to pass out and it might have more weight,” she said, primly.

But they did all ease up some as they continued to slowly shepherd Zuko to Iroh’s apartment. There was no elevator, and the stairs were steep, and despite the fact that they might have been a little over-protective, it was hard going on Zuko’s broken chest and still-healing heart. And so they all stuck close, and caught him when he staggered a little, very careful of his broken bits, and finally managed to ease him down onto the sofa. Zuko’s eye widened a little as he looked up and caught them all looming over him, very close, all huddled together.

“Holy shit, you guys – ” he started, sounding exasperated.

“Okay, okay, yeah, back up and give the dude some space.”

Everybody shuffled maybe a step or two away. Suki kept her eyes carefully on Zuko’s face, noting the things Iroh himself was picking up. Suki met Iroh’s eyes and pursed her lips a little before venturing forward with, “Hey… if you want us to rather go and come back tomorrow…”

Zuko blinked at her. “I thought we were watching shitty movies,” he said, in confusion.

“Yeah, but… if you’d rather sleep,” Katara said, catching on.

Sokka let out a rude noise. “Then he can sleep. But, dude, Movie Night Rules apply to you, too, so if you’re the first to go you know you’ll wake up with a Sharpie ‘stash.”

“As long as Toph doesn’t draw it,” Zuko said, and Toph happily flipped him the bird.

Still, Suki met Iroh’s eyes one more time, seeking permission. Iroh smiled warmly at her and made a gently, slowly motion with his hands where Zuko couldn’t see. And so the group arranged themselves, snacks and extra pillows – most of them for Zuko – and set up Toph’s state-of-the-art laptop. Sokka sat to Zuko’s one side, Suki on the other with her leg casually over Zuko’s, both of them as close as they could be without hurting. Toph and Aang sprawled on a futon nearest the laptop, while Katara had a beanbag chair set up so that her back could press against Zuko’s legs while her legs could be used for Aang to lounge against.

Iroh persisted until he captured a great photo of the moment, because he wanted to remember what quiet, strong love looked like for many days to come.

“Who wants tea?” he called as the opening credits started, and he knew their grunts enough to know who had answered and what, exactly to get each of them.

He, just like Zuko, was also no longer alone.

#gift fic #Anonymous #a cardinal hits the window #every part where u mentioned sokka made me tear up HONESTLY #also galaxy brain anon giving zuko heart problems cus like...ive done the same thing....something about it just hits different #submission

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wheretwofacesmeet · 3 years

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Omne Trium Perfectum

The air was unpolluted,as cold in the lungs as snow to the touch.

It didn't bother him,or them .

The trees were each the size of a village, their bark thick as a leviathan 's hide , seemingly hundreds of leafy branches sweeping out grandly from the trunk ,with innumerable offshoots sprouted from each of those .

The grass nearly stood taller than him.Rough - textured , its color a vibrant herbaceous green .

Was it an oneiric memory ,or reality ?

He was uncertain,yet content not to ascertain the truth ;for once, the howling snowstorm within him had calmed .

He could sense his heart , felt something from it that could elicit a response. It should be impassive,cold and hard as ice in his chest ,yet, he felt . He was not supposed to feel, emotions were inherently untrustworthy and manipulative.

They'd caused him pain for the last time after she defected ...

But she couldn't have defected. She had not even joined . Currently,she or they currently grazed in the vast antediluvian meadow , not even seeing either of the two archmages .

No humans around,not for many leagues. The unlettered,feral - looking novice demigod bounded through the bushes, reaching for some blackberries and stuffing them apishly into their smiling mouth . Thick moss - green hair rested on her back in an intricate braid , something she clearly couldn't have done herself, given the simian behavior she displayed . He wasn't just feeling again, he was also wanting.

Loneliness frosted his heart , unhappiness and longing ate away at him as a horde of worms.

He opened his mouth to call them,her,by the name she'd answered to when betwixt those unwashed , ignorant, uncouth villagers.

Now he remembered.

That cursed time loop had gone off - course ( if it had had one ), and shattered. He'd supplanted himself,the old him from millennia ago.

The former Skrael had informed Bellroc of a potential new member,one he'd discovered through scrying on a wall of his ice .

Should he set the same history in motion ? Push that first domino, and watch as they all sequentially fell and ultimately formed the pattern he knew ?

He opens his mouth , finally addressing the impatient pyromancer .

The sun has risen, it touches him as gently as it used to,as it presently does - the future has not yet come to pass.

And he doesn't wish to lose Nari this time too.

" I was mistaken. This beast could hardly be worthy of joining our Order."

" Then WHY did you bring me here and WASTE MY TIME ?" growls his sibling in irritation , orange eyes glaring at him. Hopefully they can keep them,if he does things differently.

( For one, he'll be ensuring that the first Trollhunter and Bellroc never meet.)

" I ..." He looks sheepish,but feels happy . Let her live the life she wished she had in the future , and perhaps they'll get to know each other later .

Without Bellroc .

"I have seen a vision,of a woman with red hair and green eyes, living in a place known as ' Camelot. ' SHE will become our third member ,not this savage nymph. I misinterpreted the vision."

" HOW COULD YOU HAVE -"

" I have explained myself,and you have no need to say anything more ."

Millenia from now, silencing them would be a painful error. Right now, however,they yet possessed some restraint. Their fire had not consumed their hearts ,it could still be said that they loved him.

He dared to touch them , fingers wrapping around their fist and coaxing it into unclenching . His smile smothering the flames .

They sighed , anger assuaged.

( Such a thing would be a miracle,in the old future. He had chosen to diverge from that path, to forge a tangent timeline in which he could have happiness,and succeed in restoring the balance.)

" The woman will only exist a while from now. We can wait, it's not the end of the world. In fact,I think we may as well build ourselves a dwelling."

" Flying castle? With ... let me guess...

some sort of ' aesthetic ' ?"

He grinned. " How did you know?"

" You love your ' aesthetic ' and 'atmosphere' and all such ridiculous things . I assume you want this castle to be shaped like a dragon ?"

" Actually,what about a skull ?"

" Built in the shape of one,or WITHIN one ?"

" We'll see. For now,I would like to suggest you acquire a more durable helm. That fragile skull will shatter

as soon as someone attempts to destroy it."

Bellroc ascends,and he follows ,each of them clutching their newly - made staves .

" Who would be so irreverent as to do that ?"

" Don't underestimate anyone, sibling.

Just follow my advice,and get better protection for your head."

" Yours has hit the ground many times in infancy,and you seem healthy."

Skrael rolls his eyes and flies faster to keep pace with them, his last comment :"I am in my right mind,and I see more clearly than ever . "

He glances back.

The nymph, the once -and - future sister, is jumping up and down . Waving a little green hand, and gazing at him with wonder in her cherubic eyes .

He waves back ,and turns to face tomorrow.

They'll meet again someday.

#an AU not canon #nari of the eternal forest #bellroc keeper of a hardier helmet #skrael with precognition and foresight Thank You Time Travel #arcane order

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oneyanderegirl · 4 years

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Hiraeth

Genre: One-shot, Angst Rating: T Sasuhina Month 2020 Theme: Day 11 (Hiraeth)

A/N: I wrote this before I wrote day 8/9/10, but I wanted to post them in order so I didn’t get a chance to post this until now. Part of my one-shot series for Sasuhina Month! Hope you enjoy!

Hiraeth - A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

@sasuhinamonth (in case this doesn’t show up in the tags)

The smell of earth and wildflowers overpowered her nose. She could feel the blades of grass tickle the soles of her feet. A gentle breeze passed by her as her silvery eyes tried to make out the surroundings.

She could see an open field of grass that seemed to stretch for miles with no trees in site. Though there was no rain, she could see the gray clouds fill the sky to prevent the sun from reaching in. The land felt unfamiliar, yet a part of her seemed to recognize where this was. However, no matter how hard she tried to think of where this was, she could not come up with anything.

Instinctively, she could feel her feet start to walk without her permission, as if something was pulling her towards a destination. There were no landmarks nor were there any paths that she could see, yet her feet continued on as if her body knew where she was going. She did not know how long she had been walking, but eventually she came to a stop.

There sitting in the middle of the open field was a large raven. Next to it was a small hawk with a broken wing. When the raven saw her, it immediately shield itself in front of the injured hawk as it glared at her.

It was a dream.

Dreams were something that Hinata had become all too familiar with over the past month. Lately, she had been having the same dream. She dreamt of the grass field that now surrounded her. She would then walk around and eventually meet the raven and the injured hawk. The raven would glare at her while trying to protect the small hawk.

She wondered why this scene would often occur in her dreams.

The hawk looked at Hinata.

It had silvery eyes similar to her own. It looked at her with a sadness that Hinata couldn’t understand. The raven looked upset as well. It made her want to help them for a reason she couldn’t explain. But when she tried to go closer to them, a sudden loud rumble startled her and caused her to jump in fright. Looking up at the sky, Hinata saw lightning and thunder started to appear. A heavy downpour of rain immediately followed afterwards.

A gust of wind blew past her, forcing Hinata to close her eyes as she shivered. The cold chill froze the land around her. She could see small icicles that formed on each blade of grass. The flowers had become dead and wilted.

Suddenly, the raven and hawk had disappeared. Instead, what took their place was the back of a man.

A man she didn’t know.

A man she couldn’t recognize.

In front of them was a forest of trees. The trees were frosted with ice and snow. The rain was now a mix of snow and ice. The atmosphere became colder as each second passed. The land around them was dying.

But Hinata didn’t care. All her attention was on the man she couldn’t see.

He wore a black yukata and carried a black sheathed sword on his back. He had raven-black spiked hair that reached just to the end of his neck. Though she couldn’t see his face, she could see that he was as pale as snow. The man was walking away and heading towards the forest.

An unfamiliar sorrow enveloped her heart as she watched him leave her. Hinata didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t understand why she always dreamed of the man. It was always the same man in her dreams. He would always leave her when she saw him. No matter how many times she would call out to him, he would ignore her. And when he finally did leave as the world around them crumbled to pieces, waiting for the wintry chill to send them to their deaths, she would feel her heart cry in heartache.

“ Who are you?” She cried out.

The man stopped walking. He turned slightly towards her, but she still could not make out his face.

“ Are you ready to go home now?” He answered.

Not waiting for her response, the man disappeared into the forest.

Hinata woke up.

The quiet buzzing of the heater echoed the room as she laid in bed. The clock on her nightstand read 4:13 AM. She reached out to open the blinds in an attempt to bring in some light.

It was raining.

The sound of rain brought a loneliness that added to the pain that Hinata was already feeling from her dream. She could feel the dried tears that had been running down her cheeks. It irritated her skin, though she didn’t try to wipe them away. Instead, she opted to head towards the kitchen to brew some hot tea in hopes that she could fall back asleep.

The kitchen was a simple one. A black refrigerator stood alongside a kitchen stovetop that came with an oven. The countertop was made of black marble. There was a small wooden dining table that held a light blue vase filled with white camellia flowers in the middle. Hinata could see a piece of paper underneath the vase, so she carefully grabbed it to read what was written on it.

I’ll be gone for a few days on a mission. Take care of yourself. I’ll be back soon. - Sasuke

Hinata read the note in her hand as she sipped her tea, unsure of how she should feel about it. He was gone again. It seemed that he had been taking on more missions lately. Whether it was to avoid her or not, she did not know. All she could do was stare at the note wondering if he really would be back in a few days or would he take on another mission again?

Sasuke Uchiha.

The man who everyone had said was her lover.

The man who she had been living with since they were twenty-three, though their relationship had been going on far longer than that.

Yet, Hinata could not remember him.

She could not remember a single thing about him. The only thing she could recall was their childhood days when the Uchiha were still the largest rivals with the Hyuga. When their families would compete in power and influence. She could recall their academy days where she had watched the hatred consume the twelve year old in such a way that seemed to make him unapproachable. She recalled him defecting from the village shortly after discovering a small taste of power in order to become even stronger.

Then the Fourth War came.

She remembered at some point, he had switched sides and decided to help Konoha and the other villages fight the war. She remembered the aftermath where countless civilians and shinobi had ended up injured or dead, including her cousin Neji. She remembered at one point, the night before Sasuke had left the village for good, how she had desperately tried to find comfort within the hospital room that he stayed at. She remembered his words clearly, and how they had provided her relief in a time where she was grieving. She remembered seeing him vanish in the morning before she could even thank him for his kind words, despite how unusual that was for the man.

And then nothing.

That was the last thing she could remember.

Memory loss was what they had told her at the hospital. She had suffered from severe memory loss due to becoming inflicted with a poison containing a cursed jutsu. Tsunade had told her that she would have almost died if not for her friend Sakura. They told her that the memories would eventually come back, given time. They had told her to come see them every month for a check up to ensure that things were progressing. They had told her to let Sasuke take her places, show her familiar objects, and tell her stories. They told her to let her friends and families do the same as long as she did not feel overwhelmed. They told her that as long as she kept trying, they’ll eventually come back.

How many months has it been since they had told her that?

Hinata walked to the living room. She could see a futon with dark blue blankets messily spread out across the floor. There were books of all sorts on the sofa and the coffee table next to the futon. There was a TV, though neither of them really ever used it. Next to the living room was another open space that had a sliding door that led to the outside. Near it was a low wooden table with a clean tea set on it. In the corner was a drawer with a basket full of blank scrolls next to it. Hanging on the wall were two scrolls. One was black with a fan that was red on top and white on the bottom half. The other scroll was white with a drawn flame that was enclosed by two lines with a half circle to form almost a cone shaped pattern using black ink.

They were the symbols representing the Uchiha and Hyuga clans.

A sign that she had permission to live here.

Hinata decided to tidy up the blankets and refold them. The blankets smelled like burnt ashes and tea. It made her feel a sense of yearning and a sadness that she couldn’t quite explain. It was as if her body knew what it wanted, but her mind couldn’t fathom the emotions. She laid on the sofa and closed her eyes.

Ever since Hinata had been released from the hospital, Sasuke had opted to sleep in the living room so that she could use the bedroom. He had told her that until she remembered him, he would respect her private space. She was grateful at the gesture.

Yet no matter how many times they had tried to help her recall the lost memories, nothing ever came back.

They had tried over several months to help her remember the past eight years. There were fragments that would come here and there, but it never added up to a whole memory. She could recall small bits of details, but never anything coherent. And as months passed to no avail, their relationship had begun to slowly devolve.

They were no longer like they once were. They had become more like roommates than lovers. They were no longer close as their friends and family used to tell her. The bedroom that they had once shared only waited for her now.

The two of them had essentially become strangers again.

She looked at the neatly folded blankets that she had placed next to the futon. The sound of rain echoed throughout the home. Hinata found herself slowly moving to touch the empty futon. It too smelled like Sasuke. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but before she knew it she had found herself laying on it. Closing her eyes once more, she inhaled his scent as she laid there in silence.

Though she was now an adult, in her mind, she was a seventeen year old stuck in a twenty-five year old body. It felt as if time had frozen in place. She could not recall anything past that age. Her memories were not coming back. In her mind, the relationship they had shared was never there. It never existed.

But as Hinata laid there listening to the pitter pattering of the rain while inhaling his scent, she could feel a desperate yearning for the Uchiha to come back.

Her mind may have forgotten him, but her heart certainly did not.

It confused her. Yet despite the anxiousness of her heart, she felt at ease laying there. She wanted him to come back. She wanted to see him once more. She was tired of the emotions that would surface again and again, often hurting her heart. She wished she could remember him. She wished she could regain all the lost memories and become happy once more.

But she couldn’t.

The last line from her dream suddenly crossed her mind.

“ Are you ready to go home now?”

Except the image of the man who had asked her was now Sasuke Uchiha.

“ I am,” Hinata whispered.

She just couldn’t remember where her home was anymore.

#sasuhina #sasuhina month #sasuhinamonth2020 #shmonth2020 #personal #writing #AL #fanfic #fanfics

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elmidol · 4 years

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The Kaleidoscope of Reality

Three Blind Tooke Part Three Death Is An Art

Read On AO3

Three Blind Tooke

Part Three: Death is an Art

Chapter Sixty-One: The Kaleidoscope of Reality

Of the colors and the shades

In this kaleidoscope of childhood,

I never saw that shapes they made,

Nor their meaning ever understood.

The Knights of Ren had boarded the Night Buzzard ahead of Kylo Ren. You stared past his shoulder at the modified starship while digesting the information he had given you. Though you were not benched, you would not be on the front lines alongside him and the warriors you had accompanied on other missions. This was to better utilize your skillset as an LDS, which was why you were not opposed to the idea. It was more that you were suddenly quite afraid as the reality of the war hit you anew. The losses that you had endured had compiled one after another until there you were, unsure if your mother yet lived. Aware that you did not want to lose Kylo, not for a second time. You released a shaky exhalation and clutched the helmet more tightly against your abdomen.

His eyes roamed your face. Neither of you wanted to say words of farewell. There were no cheesy or overly sentimental lines to share either. The silence was a comfortable one. An understanding. You traced his features with your gaze to assist in once more memorizing them. This was who you were fighting for. You felt your head bobbing in gentle nods despite not having made a conscious decision to do so. Kylo mirrored the movement, albeit a single time. His feet carried him away from you in the next breath, which you released while watching him leave. Only as he headed into the Night Buzzard did you abandon that position in order to enter the ship that would take you to the same planet.

Four ships including the Knight Buzzard, that was all that Kylo had gathered for this. The Star Destroyers belonging to the Order of Ren would be nearby for if the First Order worked to show its full might. From what the scouts had revealed, however, Armitage Hux was taking a different approach now that the weapon that had destroyed Naboo had been dismantled. He was deploying ground troops and, if their intel was accurate, was there himself. This fact alone caused your lips to curl upwards at the sides, a cruel smile gracing your face. You strapped yourself into your seat then rested your head against the wall and closed your eyes.

There were stormtroopers and officers alike in the shuttle with you. The majority of them were Force sensitive, however there were at least three individuals you knew to be ‘normal’, like you were. They had defected from the First Order to join the Order of Ren not because they were being persecuted by Supreme Leader Armitage Hux, but due to their personal beliefs. Time and again they had put their lives on the line. Your respect for them grew, more now that you had joined the cause in full. Kylo Ren would require guidance, as would any leader, however you were more certain that he could rule the galaxy with fairness. To help temper his anger would be to assist the galaxy in finding peace after the war. This was true for Force users. It was equally true for those who could not master those mystical arts. The First Order would work to eliminate Force users. The Resistance was foolishly anchored to the past, to the leaders of old rather than transitioning into what the galaxy had become or was becoming.

It was the Order of Ren that drew from the past as well as the future. Kylo Ren worked to utilize the artifacts of Jedi and Sith alike, to merge the Light and Dark--ultimately this would assist in driving away fear. He wanted power, yes, however he also made clear that he did not oppose others having power either. Rey, for instance, was a being he openly embraced. He had praised you for your strength since the beginning. Kylo Ren was a man of action who would commit to the deeds himself; he did not hide behind an army like Armitage Hux did. He did not lead from behind as Phasma had. His Order was not the First Order that you had opposed. It was not the Resistance either. Kylo Ren did not move to shove the role of hero onto a legend nor force the young to become symbols of hope simultaneous to the previous generations maintaining the true roles of power, of political influence.

Responsibility and accountability. You breathed out through pursed lips. If one pulled the trigger or handed another a weapon, they were accountable. But so many leaders hid, you realized as time dragged on. They did not put themselves on the frontline. Kylo Ren did. He was reckless at times. Foolish even. Yet he earned your respect and the respect of those who followed him. Even where he had viewed others as pawns, he had taken it upon himself to commit to the cause in full. Armitage Hux was a dictator. The Resistance was a fumble to reinstate senators that valued their own self-interests rather than those they were meant to represent. Kylo Ren was ready to relinquish the chains of the past to move forward into this new era.

In truth, you still did wish that the Resistance and the Order of Ren would merge. You lamented over the knowledge that Leia Organa was not allowing this--and it was, you thought, out of fear of the past. The terror that her son would become a combination of Vader and Palpatine. So instead of working to ensure that he wouldn’t by guiding him, she had sent him away and now fought against him even when he had metaphorically extended his hand to her. The repetitive rejections were felt by the galaxy as a whole. Three sides to this war in place of two.

“Are you ready for this?” One of the officers was speaking, and it was the lack of an answer that prompted you to reopen your eyes, which allowed you to see that you were the recipient of the question. You hummed out an affirmation despite feeling a sudden conflict within yourself; not knowing the extent of what you were agreeing to did not sit well with you. This could well be a battle between the First Order and the Order of Ren. You were ready for that. This could be a threeway fight, in which case the lines blurred. You wanted to shrink away from such an experience, however you knew that you wouldn’t.

Your hand skimmed along the length of your weapon. Kuruk would be fulfilling his role as a sniper in a different location from yours. In this, it was similar to what had occurred when you had assisted in taking down Phasma. Rage was beginning to boil within you as you thought of how much you wanted to target Hux specifically. That would be to the detriment of the mission. If you had the opening, you would take it, but your priority was to pick off any larger threats that you could. Those aboard the shuttle that carried you would split off save for one officer and a Force sensitive stormtrooper. These two would ensure that you were safe. This was not the first mission any of them had been on, a fact that allowed you a modicum of comfort.

After glancing towards the pilot of the craft, you returned your gaze to the officer who had spoken and gave a verbal reply to accompany the previous nod. “Yes.”

“There will be civilians present.” You sucked in air through your teeth, your chest expanding. The information was not new to you. That did not detract from the fact that it was, in your opinion, poor taste to focus on it. The presence of civilians was one of the main reasons Kylo had given you a blaster in place of a blade. The threats that you would target were those that would be using civilians as shields. In response to your forming scowl, the officer’s eyes flickered away. “It’s been different with him in charge… Well, different than when he led the First Order as well.”

A truth that you had come to embrace, to adore. It was one of the reasons that you had been able to join Kylo at his side and fight for him. Kill for him. The First Order under Kylo Ren’s rule had not been concerned with protecting civilians. Guilt by proximity, no contact necessary. This was different. You now understood the officer’s concern was not for you but for themselves. The deflection was very similar to how Kylo had always been around you, and you found yourself beginning to smile gently as though to comfort this person.

“Don’t let fear of failure or death stop you,” you said. Your voice was soft, tone level without being condescending. “We’re going to see people die. We aren’t going to be able to save them. It’s a cold fact of war.”

There had been an emphasis on the success of the mission overriding the value of life when these Order of Ren members had been a part of the First Order. This mission was the value of life. You thought of Leia in that moment. How she had inspired you, the hope that she had given you. Your mind drifted to Kylo. You placed a hand over your heart while bowing your head. In that brief pause, you wished that you were able to feel the Force so that you could reach out to him in the bond that you shared. It had sapped much of your strength to do so with Rey, and even that had been clumsy on your part. The upcoming battle meant that you had no energy to waste. Not that expending strength would be a waste, it never would be when it came to Kylo.

“Mm.” The grunt echoed from all Force sensitives in the shuttle with you. You once more turned towards the pilot. The planet loomed in view, as did numerous First Order vessels. Some of those were engaged in dogfights with what you knew to be Resistance starfighters. The Resistance pushed towards the planet as best it could similarly to what the craft you were on was doing. The turbulence jerked you back and forth. There were ysalamir in some of those First Order ships and on the planet. You knew this based on the reactions of and expressions worn by your comrades.

I’ll protect you from death, you silently promised them, your grip on the weapon in your hands tightening. You willed away anything that would be a distraction or weaken your resolve. The sounds of the dogfights drifted away until the beating of your heart was all you could hear. An invisible caress assisted you in further relaxing; Kylo was with you, always with you even while you were physically apart. You had both come back from death, you remembered, you had both mastered its art.

Within minutes of landing on the planet, your two long term companions for the mission were falling into rhythm. They raised their blasters to cut past any foe that would hinder your movements as you sought an ideal location that overlooked the battle, which was more widespread than you had hoped. The First Order had poured a multitude of resources onto this planet. That, or the Empire before it had. Not only did this planet contain families that were known to produce Force sensitive offspring, it housed technology for weaponry.

And something far more sinister than that, you thought, your gaze cutting to the stormtrooper accompanying you. The ysalamir presence did not kill all of their heightened senses. The moment that the ship had broken atmosphere, more than one of those aboard had commented that there was something on the planet. Someone, you recalled them claiming.

The Resistance presence left you hoping that what your allies sensed were the Force sensitives that you knew; Leia, Finn, and Rey along with the stormtroopers that had left the Order of Ren. Jannah, you remembered Ap’lek saying when he referenced one of the stormtroopers. Your stomach clenched at the Knight’s name. Stars, you wanted him there with you on the mission.

Pushing forward and dismissing those longings, the three of you worked your way away from the thick of things. You laid upon your stomach then began to adjust your weapon. Stared through its scope and scanned the individual fights that comprised the battle. Your gaze was drawn to activated lightsabers. Finn was there on the ground. He was engaged with two First Order stormtroopers that were using laser axes, and his training with the Skywalker twins was revealed with how easily he was able to twist away from their blows. The next lightsaber you located was Kylo’s. Its red glow illuminated its victims as it cut through them and moved on to the next. General Organa worked her way through First Order soldiers. It took you aback to see her there on the battlefield. There were six Resistance members with blasters keeping her way clear.

You followed the trail she was making for herself and grit your teeth as you beheld Armitage Hux. His hair was immaculate despite the setting. An energy shield kept him safe, otherwise you would have pulled the trigger, not caring if you gave away your location. In that you were, to an extent, foolish. What caught your eye next was the lightsaber to his left. You furrowed your brow. Your breath caught in your throat and you mouthed the words what the…? The robed woman had her hood drawn up, however the angle you were at allowed you to see her face. Such a familiar face though it possessed differences as well that made you refer to her as Not-Rey.

Not-Rey had cheekbones that were a little higher than the Rey you knew. Her features were harsher yet elegant. Harsh because of the cruelty in her gaze, you noted. This woman was older than Rey, at an age that indicated she could well be your friend’s mother or aunt. Perhaps an older cousin. Empirical secrets--you thought of the lists, the one of the children that had been sold to Brendol Hux for experimentation and the one of planets with known Force sensitive families. To locate Rey’s family. You felt a growl rising as you realized the calculated cruelty of Armitage Hux. To combat Rey, he sought out what he knew for a fact to be a great weakness of hers: family.

Is this why Leia wanted the chip? You felt ill at ease and hated that you were in the dark on these matters. Focus on what you can control. You directed the scope elsewhere. A buzz along the back of your neck urged you to look back at Not-Rey and Hux, however you ignored it as best you could for the time being. There were, as had been pointed out, civilians present.

A First Order officer had a woman held captive, his arm extended over her shoulder to fire at a Resistance opponent, who wavered and thus was caught in the arm. You took aim at the officer’s side then paused. If he shifted at all, you would hit the civilian woman instead. Another shot from the officer, the Resistance fighter crumpling to the ground. One life lost, one that you may have saved but at the risk of another’s life. You clenched your teeth again. Waited for the First Order officer to turn--which he did in order to use the civilian as a shield against a different opponent. If you fired your weapon, the blast might cut through both bodies. You had to wait for her to move.

“Shift, you kriffing little...there.” Your finger pulled the trigger, the blast clipping the First Order officer in the right side, obliterating that section of his torso without wounding the female. The shot caused his grip on the woman to falter. Cleared to fire with no risk to the civilian, the Resistance fighter fired twice and killed the target.

You trailed your gaze, amplified by your scope, along the battlefield. Finn had killed one of his opponents. The other shuffled to keep after him as Finn worked to join Leia. She had five escorts at that point, two of them wounded and staggering. The next individuals you sought were the Knights of Ren. As you found one, his opponent was taken by a blast you knew to have come from Kuruk. Vicrul killed three First Order stormtroopers in the time it took you to quickly scan his position. When you found Cardo, you fired your blaster at an enemy that was coming to him from the side while he was engaged in battle with two others.

The officer assisting in keeping you safe peered through their electrobinoculars. You knew that they were observing Hux with how they growled then gasped. They had noticed Not-Rey. “Is that...no… Who?”

“This is likely her birth planet,” you muttered. “He came here for a reason, and she is likely it.” A powerful ally to replace Phasma, one who could counter Kylo Ren and Rey. She would not be as well trained in the Force as they, yet that hardly mattered. Rey would hesitate, her thirst for her past so strong. It would cause a rift between her and Kylo. Multifaceted reasonings, you noted, had directed Armitage Hux to this location though he had no love for the Force.

You scanned the battlefield in the opposite direction so that you were able to check the status of the shields that protected Supreme Leader Hux from your wrath. There were no perceivable weaknesses. Not-Rey had failed to draw away from Hux’s side. The angle of their bodies suggested that they were like-minded, the solidarity that existed between them causing your stomach to roil. They had a history, though how far that extended was not information you were privy to. You speculated that they had met subsequent to Kylo’s death. Or had it been close to it? Had Not-Rey been one of the pieces that had given Hux enough confidence to officially pursue Kylo’s death? It hardly mattered in the end. No matter what, this was the result.

Next you searched out Kylo’s position. He was moving in closer to Hux although more First Order troops worked to obstruct his path than they did with Leia. You looked to her and discovered that another of her allies had been lost along the way. She twisted her wrist in order to deflect a blaster bolt from a First Order stormtrooper. It bounced off her blade and hit one of the shooter’s allies. You resumed targeting the First Order troops that were grabbing civilians or else cornering some of your allies.

Above, the Millennium Falcon swooped into view and shot at two of the Walkers that the First Order had deployed. You felt the muscles in your legs tensing. It was difficult to not wonder who the pilot of the famous ship was. Poe Dameron? Rey? Some other Resistance hero? Aware that it ultimately did not matter, you committed yourself to your duty. You pulled the trigger, injured another, and fired upon more. At times it was to kill, other times to injure, and there were several instances where you fired your weapon to damage objects. All of it was to save the lives of your comrades and protect the civilians that had been caught up in this war. The Falcon passed overheard multiple times throughout. It eliminated the first Walker with no issue. For the second, it took a third run before the technological behemoth was downed.

The stormtrooper by you fired upon one of the First Order enemies that had come too close to your location. The officer was in contact with other ground troops. He read off coordinates for you to transfer your attention to. You obeyed without question; what was important was that you were useful and could fulfill your duty. As much as you wanted to fire at a faster rate, you knew better than to give away your position.

“Oh, will she….” The unfinished question had you turning yet again to where Armitage Hux stood with Not-Rey. Leia and her entourage had managed to work their way through the shield, which flickered for a moment before resealing itself. You narrowed your eyes while peering through the scope of your weapon. Such behavior from the shield indicated that it had been released by one of those using it as protection.

Your finger quivered on the trigger. If you fired a shot, it would not penetrate the shield. There was no way for you to protect General Organa nor those who were being picked off by Not-Rey and another of Hux’s guards. The First Order Supreme Leader smiled cruelly while stepping around Not-Rey so that the woman could engage Leia in battle. Their lightsabers clashed, reminiscent of how Kylo and Leia had met one another in the cavern after years of being so far apart. You stared at the red-bladed lightsaber that was in Not-Rey’s possession; you had taken for granted that the First Order would have kyber crystals beyond what the Knights of Ren and Kylo had taken. Or had Not-Rey made the lightsaber before Hux had come to the planet?

Not-Rey ducked around one of Leia’s attacks then twirled while aiming at the older woman’s head. Leia raised her hand. Her blade caught the other one. She blocked a kick aimed at her hip with the heel of her hand. It weakened her grip on the lightsaber, however Leia recovered quickly enough that there was no lasting impact.

You scanned back towards the remainder of the battle, looking for the individual Knights of Ren and then Kylo himself. He sliced one of his opponents in half, his hand reaching out as he struggled against the ysalamir effects so that he could call upon the Force and drag one of his enemies into his grasp. The other staggered forward rather than fly into Kylo’s grip. This was far too reminiscent of the set-up Phasma had arranged with Hux that had resulted in Kylo Ren’s death. You clenched your jaw, your frustration mounting.

“How is she faring?” you asked your two companions in regards to the Resistance Leader. You fired your blaster at an enemy that was but a few feet away from Kylo. Anything you could do to assist him, you knew that you would.

“Hux’s mystery woman has been trained in combat.” It felt like a punch to your gut. Snoke had been exploring alternate routes for controlling Force users that Kylo Ren had never been made aware of. Beyond the Knights of Ren. Beyond Kylo. Beyond Rey and the other children used in experiments.

You tracked along the path that Kylo would be required to take to make it to Armitage Hux and Not-Rey. There were no targets that you could assist in eliminating. Continuing on, you focused your weapon on Supreme Leader Hux then switched to Not-Rey. She and Leia were evenly matched. Their blades locked.

Through the scope you saw Hux move nearer to Leia. His arm twitched, a blade slipping from his sleeve into his hand. Your heart raced in your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears. Hux reached around Leia as Not-Rey swirled her wrist and ensured that Leia’s hands remained occupied, her blade held captive. Before the Resistance Leader--General Organa, who had been your hero; Leia, who as your mother-in-law--could react, Hux jerked his hand and the blade he held across her throat. Red erupted in your vision. You screamed.

It was not only your own pain that enveloped you. Not only your own rage. The pounding anger that threatened to explode from you was coming from the bond. Your trembling hands were barely able to direct your scope away from the woman’s crumpling body to her son instead. You felt impossibly hot. Tears slipped from your eyes although you did not initially realize that as the wetness you felt or as the fluid obscuring your vision.

Kylo had stopped walking. His eyes were trained on the ground. Or you assumed they were, for his back was to you. He was standing there, rigid. His hand clenching more tightly around his lightsaber, which remained activated.

There had already been cries of death on the battlefield. Ones that had faded into the background as you tried to process the fact that this was reality. The death you had witnessed was no illusion. The pain that you felt, your own and his, was a part of reality. A pain that began to morph into darkness, which crept outwards in tendrils that developed prongs and split off into spears. These invisible weapons pierced through the ysalamir that threatened to eliminate their presence simply by existing. The creatures exploded in showers of gore. Thus the power that had been contained was amplified. It grabbed hold of the throats of Kylo Ren’s enemies along with some of his allies. You watched the bodies raise into the air. Their legs kicking. Their hands clutching at their necks. Their eyes bulging before also bursting.

Blood spilled from their mouths just as your heartbeat, the one you heard in your ears, devolved into a high-pitched squeal. You dropped your weapon and grabbed either side of your helmet. Your breaths were shaky, forced. Grief was not the only hand squeezing your heart.

The Millennium Falcon took another pass, cutting in front of your view--you would have missed it had it taken an alternate route. From its opened ramp descended a warrior clad in white. You dropped your hands away from your ears though still you shuddered and felt your body protesting the power of the Dark side, which was rising in potency. The Resistance warrior, whom you quickly recognized as Rey, landed yards distant from Kylo. She hit the ground running towards him. Her lightsaber was on her hip, the weapon she had chosen to utilize was the lanvarok that you and she had used together.

You felt her through a bond as well, albeit one that had been weakened ever since she had cut you off. Her determination and the lack of bloodlust halted you from seeking to fire your blaster. You clumsily grabbed up your weapon all the same. Peered through its scope and saw to a greater extent the slaughter that had occured in the aftermath of Leia’s death. Her child mourned her in rage. You relocated Armitage Hux. He stared at the battlefield as well, his mouth set into a frown. Not-Rey spared him a glance before she headed for the shields. A flick of her hand, the shield was extinguished for the split-second it took her to leave its safety. Your finger found the trigger. Before you could pull it, however, you found yourself faltering. Not-Rey ignited the other half of her lightsaber, the dual-blades both a red that was identical in shade to Kylo’s.

Terror rippled through you, a sense no less intense than what you had felt mere moments before when Kylo’s powers had spiked. Rey, too, took notice of the other woman. Of her relative, you reminded yourself as Rey turned only to stumble. She walked backwards as though on autopilot. Her feet carried her nearer to Kylo Ren, who raised his head. You rolled; grateful that neither the stormtrooper nor the officer that were your companions impeded the movements, you repositioned yourself to where you could see Kylo’s face.

His eyes, as you had suspected and feared, were much as they had been when he and Luke Skywalker had been battling over the two halves of the Sith amulet. With a swipe of his lightsaber, more soldiers fell to their knees. Not-Rey mirrored his actions. She cut down people indiscriminately. There was no one she viewed as an ally, not a single person worth saving. Between them was Rey, a spot of Light between the Dark. You pulled the trigger, hoping that somehow you would at least harm Not-Rey. Instead she extended her hand in your direction. The blaster bolt froze midair. You felt fear creep into your body.

This preceded the sensation that a hand had gripped your throat. If you had wanted to scream, you would not have been able to. A gurgle erupted instead. Somehow you kept hold of your weapon. Stared through its scope, which allowed you to witness Rey fire the lanvarok at her relative. Not-Rey swung her lightsaber in an arc to deflect the projectile, which dodged the plasma blade. Barely able to breathe, you saw that Rey was wielding the Force as she had trained to do. She altered the projectile’s route and forced Not-Rey to relinquish her hold on you lest she be injured.

Where are the Knights of Ren? Where’s Finn? The questions tumbled one after another through your mind. All the pieces were falling. Armitage Hux hid behind a shield and let others bloody their hands. He headed in the direction of a ship that would take him to safety. Kriff. I’ll kill him!

It was with revulsion that the First Order Supreme Leader considered Leia’s body. He spat on her as he walked by. Stormtroopers had moved to meet him. They surrounded him. More ships were pouring from the skies. Resistance, First Order, and Order of Ren. The deaths were nowhere near finished, although you feared that this would not be the final battle that you would witness in the war--if you survived. The shield would protect Hux if you tried to fire. Not-Rey had the Force to stop you. You felt helpless, foolish. Much as you had during countless missions with the Resistance where all you could do was observe the slaughter. You watched the battle through a scope.

I cannot be in this position again. You refused to be helpless, to be of no help. The raw agony and rage that you felt from Kylo was a darkness that would extinguish him. You leapt to your feet, slung the blaster strap over your shoulder, and took off running before your two companions had the chance to question you.

The Knights of Ren were in various locations. They were locked in their own fights or else heading for Kylo, albeit cautiously. One was injured, the damage sustained from Kylo Ren’s reaction to his mother’s death.

Kylo rose to his full height again and took a single step in the direction of Not-Rey. They matched one another step for step after a pause. Between them, Rey had switched so that she was perpendicular to their path. She moved in reverse though not in retreat. Her intention was to prevent herself from being caught between their blows. Finn and the Knights of Ren were fanned out. Power rippled from the pair of Darkside Force users. Rey bared her teeth. Her eyes locked with yours, and you knew in that moment that her bond with Kylo was a burden as she fought to swallow the grief of her loss. The grief of realizing that a member of her blood-family had assisted in killing the woman she had adopted as her found-family.

Not-Rey and Kylo charged one another, their lightsabers clashing so violently that you realized they truly would have cut through Rey to get to each other. Their bloodlust spiked, palpable to you from more than the bond. Rey tossed aside the lanvarok and grabbed hold of her lightsaber. You, aware of her intention, dropped down to your knee and fired at the shields that had for so long protected Hux and now blocked no one. You expended the full energy of your weapon, not a soul stopping you. Kuruk, from wherever he was located, assisted you. The angle of the blasts were what gave away his identity. Cardo, too, began to shoot at the shield. It crackled noisily. Kylo and Not-Rey’s strikes were a louder roar.

As the shield weakened, Rey extended her arm and began to call upon the Force. Leia’s saber wobbled before it began to fly in the right direction. Except it bypassed Rey’s hand and landed in Kylo’s. He ignited it, hammering with his lightsaber at the weapon of Not-Rey and using his mother’s blade to cut an arc in the direction of the woman’s throat. She pushed off of him with her foot against his thigh. Flung herself backwards and twisted to take a swipe at Rey, who clumsily dodged. She had not recovered from the likeness they shared. Rey did manage to avoid being cut. That did not mean she had the upper hand. This Not-Rey had secured. She executed a similar maneuver to the one that had sealed Leia’s fate. The difference now was that there was no Hux to sidle up behind Rey and slit her throat.

Instead there was Kylo Ren, who was Not-Rey’s opponent. His red blade narrowly missing Rey’s head as Not-Rey dropped down to her knees to avoid the man. Leia’s lightsaber cut through part of the woman’s cloak, which she then whipped off and let fly in the wind.

You wanted to get closer, to help somehow. There were stormtroopers closing in from all sides, encircling all who had thus far survived the battle. So many corpses, you realized. Many of them a result of Kylo’s Dark side energy--would that ever fade away? Would he become the man you knew him to be? Masters of Death without being monsters.

You tossed aside your blaster. In the next second, Finn had drawn up to your side. His body was angled into a defensive stance, albeit not one that marked you as his enemy. “She’s gone,” you whispered. He nodded, his expression pained. The First Order was closing in, and what remained of the Resistance and Order of Ren were grouped together. As though in an unspoken truce, you were all of you working to defend one another from the First Order troopers that had arrived. Waiting for reinforcements of your own to properly land. Realizing that no one knew what to do with Kylo. Neither Finn nor Rey were moving to harm him. The Resistance had witnessed that Kylo had cared about Leia.

Did that justify the deaths that had occured as a result? It’s war, you wanted to say. Yet the reality was I don’t care. I can feel his pain like it’s my own. You placed a hand over your heart and tried to catch your breath.

“He’s not leaving an opening.” There was a strain in Finn’s tone that you knew was from the loss of Leia and the sense of helplessness as he watched Not-Rey and Kylo engage one another in combat. The clash of their sabers sent a shockwave that knocked you to your knees. Many others faltered as well, a few landing on their backs. The Knights of Ren, Finn, and Rey recovered most quickly. They each had a hand extended, palm downwards, towards the ground. You envied their ability to call on the Force to assist themselves. Finn was considering soldiers on the battlefield beyond those nearest. His eyes landed on civilians--or those you had assumed to be civilians. “What brought you here?”

The question caused your brow to furrow. “What....” Finn was slipping a pistol into your hand as you considered things. The First Order, the very reason that Leia Organa had come to this planet, had died there. After a beat, you remembered the chip that had been obtained from Millicent’s collar. That was why you were there. So what had alerted the Resistance to the presence of Armitage Hux? “There is a list of planets regarding Force sensitives. This was one of three, alongside Naboo and another, that… Wait, what brought you?”

“Leia and Rey sensed something. It called to Rey.” The temporary lull in separate skirmishes as the shock of Kylo’s power dissipated. Finn and you moved so that you were back-to-back. He used the Force and lightsaber to deflect blasts that were directed at the pair of you. You, meanwhile, took aim and fired. There was a comfortability, a rightness being with him that had never left no matter the times your paths had separated. Circumstances had failed to be favorable, and yet your friendship had endured. It was with him that you had first laughed as you had before joining the Resistance. Before you had been captured.

How wrong it felt to consider that Leia, who had just been murdered, had been one of the reasons this alliance had failed to come into fruition. You choked on a breath, on a sob, felt tears threatening to form anew. Heat traveled throughout your body and into your limbs. This sensation was not foreign to you. It was how you had felt when you had met your mother after believing her to be dead. The judgment there. The momentary wish that it was your father you were seeing. So human. So selfish. So cruel. You pulled the trigger and ended another life.

“He wants to kill Force sensitives. He doesn’t care. Why is she fighting for him?” Your voice was rising in pitch. Both you and Finn turned to consider Rey and how she fared against the pair of Darksiders. Not-Rey caught Rey’s blade with one side of hers simultaneous to deflecting a blow from Kylo, who used his mother’s saber to thrust at Rey. She ducked, relinquishing hold of her blade then catching the deactivated saber as she rolled forward to disengage from the pair. This appeared to have been his intention--to have Not-Rey to himself. The two twirled, their two blades utilized in different ways.

Finn reached towards Rey, halting a blaster shot that a First Order officer had fired so that the young woman could remain focused on Kylo and Not-Rey. “I was taken as a child, and I wasn’t the first. If the Empire was running experiments”--you knew it was-- “on Force sensitives, they might have pacts with families.” In which case the implication was that Not-Rey had been training to uphold the First Order that Snoke had been Supreme Leader of. You ran your tongue along your lips whilst continuing to shoot. You explained the information on the experiments that had increased Rey’s abilities. “You’re thinking Hux and...her…” You nodded though you knew he could not see you with how the two of you were standing. “He located the remnants of the experiment.”

“Grafted them into her or whatever, yeah.” For you, it explained how the Skywalker twins had not sensed this woman’s power, what with how strong it was. The palpable darkness of both Kylo and Not-Rey spiked again, the two of them feeding off one another. “I thought he had killed my mother with ordering the destruction of the Hosnian system. But Kylo kept her alive. And yet I… I didn’t even try to shoot to protect her. His mother. My mother-in-law. Leia is...I did nothing.”

The words that you said, you realized, were not only your own feelings. The anguish in the bond resided there underneath the rage that worked to stomp it down. Kylo Ren was angry with himself for not saving his mother, for saving yours instead. The selfishness of it--the fact that he remembered you would have preferred your father while he preferred his mother. He had been incapable of killing her, would not have done so as long as he could choose. By leaving Armitage Hux alive when he had become Supreme Leader of the First Order, he had doomed all of Naboo. He had doomed himself, perishing temporarily. Had lost the one member of his family that he adored with all his heart despite her betrayal.

He was tumbling in darkness without his mother to reach him. Rey was doing what she could, however she was also being consumed. By loss. By betrayal. By the realization that the family she had longed for was her nightmare. You fired another shot. Looked at how the Knights of Ren were on the periphery of the battle and were fending off any who might interfere with Kylo’s desire to attack Not-Rey or harm him at all. Yet they were not aiming to stop him. They would not be able to do so even if they tried.

When Aris had died, you had been assaulted with guilt. You had placed the weapon in her hands that first time. The guilt that you felt through the bond surpassed that beyond anything you would ever be able to articulate. He was alone, the last of his family gone. You, too, had felt that when you had believed your parents both perished. Except you hadn’t had to endure watching their deaths. You had not been alone. He was. While Rey had found her family, he had lost his. Alone. Enraged by the fact that he had not killed Hux, that Rey’s face was an echo of this woman, who had assisted in his mother’s death. All while he had done nothing. He could have stopped this, was meant to be a Master of Death. Rey’s conflict was something that fed into his despair. He hated her in that moment.

“I have to go to him.”

“Are you crazy? He’ll kill you!”

He might, you thought as the tears trickled down. Yet he was grasping at his anger to drown out his sorrow. Your desire to go to him was not rooted in self-preservation. As Ap’lek had said about Aris, it was not about you. This was about the death Kylo himself had felt. It was about him.

You repeated your statement to allow Finn to prepare himself for the sudden absence of your back against his. You rushed forward, doing what you could to avoid injury, and passed by Trudgen on your way. He cut through two enemies to allow you to pass, and you hissed out gratitude with what breath you could spare. Rey had gone for Not-Rey, knocking her away from a strike from Kylo that would have beheaded her had he succeeded. The rage spiked again. More terrified screams from nearby soldiers who were cut through the Force tendrils also pierced the flesh of your arms. You felt blood beginning to pour from your wounds. They were, thankfully, shallow enough that you did not drop your weapon.

Kylo aimed for Rey with his mother’s lightsaber. His own nearly caught you as he twisted to kill whoever had dared to draw close. Those amber eyes landed on your face. Rey, now no longer occupied with Kylo, was able to prevent Not-Rey from pursuing Kylo or you. She worked to batter at the other, to attempt to gain a more offensive position and drive Not-Rey away.

The crackle of Kylo’s red lightsaber was at your throat. Perpendicular to it. His arm bent as he took a step closer, closer. You had reached up and removed your helmet. Tossed it off to the side so that he could see your face. He was drowning in darkness. Tumbling, tumbling, alone, hurt. A child without his mother. A child who had been abandoned and who now had no hope of ever having his mother fully see him for who he was. Without hope that she would embrace him--as she had embraced you.

Why did you hug her? He had asked this though both of you had wondered why she had not pushed to hug him. Why she had not embraced him. Why she had waited so long. She had sent him away in fear of this Darkness that not threatened to consume him. You had run towards it--towards him. After all these deaths. You were not spitting out that he was responsible for them. You were standing there with his blade at your throat.

“I didn’t pull the trigger.” It was not about you, but also you knew him. Knew that he deflected. That it was harder for him to admit his shortcomings. If someone met him halfway, it was easier. It felt less vulnerable.

Kylo’s eyes wandered along your face. “I had this power all along. I could have stopped it.” I could have saved her. You placed a hand over your heart. The hand that held the name Ben Solo. He lowered the lightsaber, its crossguard so near the digit. If either of you twitched, you would be harmed. You were not afraid. And if he asked you to, you would push forward and impale your finger on the blade. Instead of saying tooke, he said your name.

“Kylo,” you said, returning the gesture. Reaching out for him. Not an idea. The entirety of him, the man lamenting the death of his mother, whom he had failed to save. “This won’t bring her back.” Your voice cracked near the end. His thumb hit the switch of his weapon, deactivating it. The thrum of his mother’s blade did not die away. His eyes were intense and did not soften in the least. “You have to control who you kill.” Because there would be more death, but you could not stand to witness the casualties rise in the wake of his rage.

Here he reactivated his lightsaber while turning away from you and extending his arm. You stared at the offered hilt of Leia’s weapon. You holstered the pistol that Finn had given to you and took hold of the lightsaber. The Knight of Ren had been assisting in training you more recently. You knew how to handle a blade--that Kylo was offering you this specific one hit differently. This was not only a weapon to kill. It was a weapon to save him, to join him, to help defend the vulnerable part of him that so few were welcomed to see.

You were not as skilled in lightsaber combat as any of the others and thus you did not aim to pursue Not-Rey. As for the First Order enemies that had rushed closer, you turned to them and caught a laser axe on the blade. The force of the blow knocked you, their power more than you had thought. You were not alone, however, and Finn surged forward to cut at the laser axe as Trudgen swung his large vibrocleaver at the First Order stormtrooper’s midsection. With the pair in wordless camaraderie, you moved onto the next opponent, attempting to stay as near Kylo as possible.

The Dark power he exuded had lessened though it had not disappeared entirely. You knew that it could spike at any given moment. All he would have to do was remember the sight of his mother’s throat being slit. Remember that he could only watch. Recall that he had wanted her to accept him and it was too late for any of that.

Your grip on the lightsaber hilt tightened as you placed both hands on it and altered your stance. There were two fighting forms that you had studied, and this one would better allow you to block any incoming blaster fire. Maker, though, you wished you had the Force to help your reflexes. The bleeding wounds that had formed on your arms from Kylo’s power stung and ached with the next attack. The battle was different now that you were not observing it through a scope. Things were swirling faster. Your focus did not alter as frequently. That would mean your death. More than that, you merely wanted to be there for Kylo.

Not-Rey deactivated then reignited one end of her lightsaber, this resulting in her able to successfully injure Rey. The wound on the woman’s leg did not bleed. It was cauterized immediately. She dropped down and would have been beheaded had she not snapped up a hand and call upon the Force to halt the blade mid-descent. Kylo attacked the woman then, their blades meeting in a flurry of blows that you could barely keep track of; even if you had not been forced to divide your attention between that battle and the enemies coming at you, you would have had such difficulty.

A blast from a starfighter forced you to jump backwards. Another volley, a strafing run that left Kylo, Rey, and Not-Rey no choice but to break apart from one another. This frustrated Kylo, rekindled the negative emotions that dwelled within him. In accidental unison, Not-Rey and Kylo reached for the offending ship. Together their power snapped the craft in half, rendering it a ball of fire. Pieces of the starfighter rained from the sky. Some cut into foes, others into allies. The durasteel bounced and rolled, cutting up the land. A section nearly hit the Millennium Falcon, which was in pursuit of three First Order TIEs.

What caused a scream to erupt from you was the portion that bounced off the ground and impaled Cardo, who was knocked onto his back. The enemy he had been fighting moved to take advantage of the situation. You roared in fury, rushing forward. Kylo Ren whipped around at the sound of the cry. His hand, palm facing the enemy, was quickly clutched into a tight fist. You heard the crunching and crackling, the snapping of bones. All these noises soon complemented by the sight of blood spewing from the man’s orifices and wounds as his bones were made to saw through the flesh meant to contain them.

He can’t lose anyone else. Not today. You lunged for the First Order stormtrooper that had moved in despite the display of Kylo’s might. Leia’s lightsaber blade gutted them milliseconds before you dropped down to your knees. You were ripping off your jacket and wrapping it around the wound, doing your best to not jostle or remove the durasteel that had impaled him.

You had gone from watching the battle through a scope to now feeling it through the bond, which was filled with rage and a growing bloodlust as despair crackled through Kylo in blows that tore at his soul. Memories stirred of the shower you had shared. The ashes and the blood that had covered you both. The phantom tears that had threatened to fall, that he would not allow himself to cry. So you cried for him and you pleaded, “Don’t die, Cardo.”

She’s already gone. She’s gone.

The mantra, in his voice, resounding in your head. Cardo took a shuddering breath. You could not breathe a sigh of relief as an Order of Ren medic trooper arrived. There was only so much that they could do, and the enemy was closing in. The dogfights multiplying in number rather than dwindling down. It was an insult that Armitage Hux had--at least, as far as you knew and had seen--escaped. He had left the planet after spitting on Leia’s still-warm body. His victories felt like they were mounting, multiplying, swallowing you as they consumed Kylo.

I am the Dark and the Light.

I would be a monster without you.

You swallowed thickly, forced yourself to rise to your feet. There was nothing you could do beyond watch the medic attend to Cardo. He weakly nodded at you as though he understood. Whether he lived or he died, he wanted you to do this--you turned away from him and ran towards Kylo for a second time. Ran in the direction of the man who was aiming to kill Not-Rey, who in turn was smiling wickedly. As though she did not care whether she lived or died; she merely wanted to experience the joy of battle. It terrified you to think that this could be Kylo if the Darkness took him in full. You could not and would not allow that.

He would never, you swore, be without you.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #three blind tooke #death is an art

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blahblahwritings · 5 years

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When It Rains, It Pours.

A/N: Heres to pumping out bad writing to try and resuccitate the writer inside. This didn’t turn out how I wanted it to because the evidence points aren't really explained but whatever its getting late and I'm too tired to care.

Words: 2103.

Warnings: Well its a criminal minds fic so murder mentions, drownings, abuse mentions, kidnapping the usual.

The past few weeks had been exhausting for the BAU team, with back to back cases they rarely had time away. Their current case involved an unsub who was drowning women in their 30s one a day for the past three days. With Spencer by your side, you made your way to the medical examiner to look at the bodies for further analysis.

The abrasions around the victims wrists and ankles showed they had been restrained with rope and struggled against the binds. There were scrapes and scratches on the heels that had pieces of concrete embedded into the skin meaning that they were kept somewhere possibly underground in an old abandoned building or factory or even in someone’s basement. Reid, your husband, continued examining the body of the third, most recent, victim as you read over the reports.

“It says here they were drowned and that their lungs contained traces of common fertilisers and pesticides. So we’re looking at a rogue farmer?” Your eyebrows furrowed slightly in question. You glanced out the window, the rain streaming down the panes of glass just as heavy as it had been the past few days.

“Most likely. Given the geographical profile of where the women were last seen and where their bodies were found there are three hundred and twelve point six square meters of farmland but the problem is pinpointing which area the unsub is working in because the fertilisers are so commonly used.” He replied without breaking focus from the body in front of him. A small smile found its way to your face, his knowledge always impressing you.

“Okay, Sherlock, so what are you thinking?” You asked, putting down the report and moving towards the table. He stood to his full height, turning to you with tired eyes. “That we should call Garcia, I’ll tell her what to search for and hopefully she can give us a lead.” He almost managed to finish his sentence without a yawn. Almost. “Well you can do that in the car, you look drained, I’ll drive.” You kissed his cheek as you took the keys from him, intertwining your fingers and guiding him through the office until you reached the exit.

The team were taking shifts, Reid, Rossi and Kate were asleep in the hotel around the corner from the precinct while Hotch, Morgan, JJ and yourself worked on the case. You had dropped Reid off before driving through the storm to get a round of coffee to bring back to the rest of the team, your own tiredness starting to set deep into your bones. It was 11:30pm and the white noise of rain wasn’t doing anything for your sleepy state but the promise off coffee kept you from turning around and going straight back to the hotel for some much needed Zs.

You parked up outside the first 24hour coffee place you saw, ordering four of the strongest drinks they had. The lights were blinding in comparison to the streetlights outside but you stood, patiently waiting for your order. The only other customers were what looked to be two construction workers in hi-vis jackets, probably form the road works a little while back. They sat at a table in the corner, almost asleep until the guy at the counter shouted their order, causing them to startle awake. A few minutes passed and your order was called. Collecting the cup holder you jogged back to your car, opening the passenger-side door and setting them down on the seat.

As you started to walk to the drivers side, you shot a text to JJ telling her you’d be about five minutes, getting soaked in the process. Rounding the back of the car you bumped into a man, dropping your phone. Alarms sounded in your head, every muscle kicking into action as you took several steps back, a guarded look on your features. He was in his forties, well-built and had at least a foot on you with a face like clay, pushed and pulled and contorted. His boots were covered in mud and his jeans had dirt on the knees. Your phone was behind him. Your gun in the car.

Three strides and he was on you. As you opened your mouth to scream, he covered your mouth with a cloth, the sound muffling and the pungent smell of chloroform filling your nose. You held your breath and tried to fight, flinging elbows and feet behind you in a futile attempt to break free. Your last thought as you started to go limp was Spencer. Then it was dark.

It had been over an hour since JJ received the text from you. After her calls kept going to answer phone, Morgan had left with Hotch to try and find your car, tracking the GPS location of the vehicle to the parking lot you’d been taken in. JJ rang Reid once they had confirmed you were missing with your phone found smashed near your unlocked car. By the time he and the others arrived at the station, Morgan and Hotch had sent the security camera footage to the precinct. Spencer stood staring at the screen, fear manifesting in every fibre of his being as the only image was of your struggle against a man clearly much larger than you then your body drooping as you passed out. His vision blurred, his mind somehow coming to a standstill, unable to move or breathe.

“Spence.. Reid” JJ shook him gently. He didn’t flinch, instead turned slowly to his friend with tears in his eyes, hair messy from his hands running through it over and over. “We’re gonna find her, I promise.” But the words didn’t seem to process in the genius’ mind. Right now, all he could think about was the slim chance that you’d get out of this alive. His jaw clenched, a look of anger took over his usually soft features before he started working on the case again. He wouldn’t let you die like this, he refused. He needed you by his side and he would stop at nothing to ensure your safe return.

The first thing you felt was the sting of your feet being scraped against the floor, then the ache in your arms and shoulders as you realised you were being dragged by the rope binding your wrists down dark, cold hallway. You were still groggy from being drugged and couldn’t bring yourself to fight against the unsub but you tried your best, pulling at the binds. Your kidnapper grunted in response, the attempts not concerning him in the slightest. He picked you up, lying you in something cold and smooth then tying you down so you couldn’t escape. You shook yourself further awake.

“Who are you and why are you doing this.” You mumbled, the words tumbling carelessly from your lips. No response. A calloused hand found its way to your face, his thumb rubbed against your cheekbone and a whimper was heard from beside you. “What’s wrong?” You tried showing sympathy but still got nothing in return. The room was pitch black and you could only make out his silhouette. He stood, walking somewhere out of sight before you heard a door shut and lock. Your head lay back against the hard material behind you, arms hanging above and your legs folded over some kind of edge. You felt anything you could get your hands on and found you were tied to a thin pipe of some sort but nothing really became any clearer.

A loud metallic clang sounded above you and freezing water rained down on you, soaking your already damp clothes. The light from the opening revealed you were lying in a bathtub, hands by the taps and your legs bound so you couldn’t move. You jumped at the sudden drop in temperature. Panic rose in you and you started thrashing around but to no avail. You were trapped. The only spark of hope was that the team would find you. That Spence would find you.

“Okay so I analysed the footage and ran it through different software and it looks as though our unsub is about 6’4” and built like a bull but thats all I can find.” Garcia’s voice rang out through the tinny speakers of the phone.

“Alright babygirl, I’m gonna need you to look for men in their mid thirties to forties who possibly works on a farm or lived on one as a kid.” Morgan began. “Yeah that’s only the entire population of the town you’re in, c’mon I need more than that.” She quipped.

“Crosscheck that with a history of violence against women or a history of abuse during childhood, the victims are a surrogate for a woman in his past possibly a parental figure as they all share similar physical attributes.” Spencer added, his brain spitting out words quicker than Garcia could really process. Rapid typing could be heard on the other end of the phone a moment after.

“Oh good doctor you are brilliant, there are two men who fit the criteria and live in the comfort zone, one being Mr. James Bailor, a 38 year old farmer who has been arrested on three accounts of domestic violence against his wife. He lives on the farm, recently ordered a batch of the same fertiliser found in the victims’ lungs and lived on a farm with his aunt at the age of eight due to abuse from his parents.” She explained before continuing. “The other is Mr. Grant O’Connor, a 43 year old farmer with a long list of felonies consisting almost entirely of beating on women and drug use. His mother died a week ago but he was taken into care at a young age because… oh my god… she tried to drown him in a tub when he was just six years old claiming his birth defects were ‘against god’ and he should be ‘cleansed and sent straight back to hell’.” She finished breathless, their backgrounds clearly upsetting her.

“Thats him. Thats our unsub.” Reid declared, grabbing his gun from the table as he stood. “Whats his address?” He asked, shaking with too many emotions to count. There were two, one being his current home and the other being the farm his mother used to live in. The team leapt into action, speeding off to the latter address.

The water had reached your chin, the shivering long subsided as hypothermia took over your body. You couldn’t remember when you had begun to sob, the hot tears a sharp contrast against the coldness of your skin. “PLEASE.” You wept, hopeless. “Just let me out.” Your voice broke. Exhaustion had washed over your body a long time ago, the lack of sleep, the drugs and the cold all beating you down and preventing you from fighting with any real strength.

The water continued to rise and as it reached your nose you flailed about in the water, managing to get very little air. Then the unsub came in, wrapping his hands around your throat and pushing you down into the water as you fought. A loud siren pierced the noise of the room, startling the unsub but he kept you under. You held your breath for as long as possible but you could only do so much. The door to the room burst open, slamming against the wall, muted voices shouted but your world started to fade, your hearing going too.

A shot rang out and the water turned red. You kicked your legs and felt someone cut the ropes at your wrists free, pulling your top half out of the water. Coughing up the water you’d taken in, you gasped and clawed at the body lifting you out of the water, horrified cries the only thing left to leave your mouth. Two arms wrapped around your torso which you quickly identified as Spencer’s.

“Sh sh shhh. You’re alright, I’ve got you, love, you’re safe.” He cooed, trying to calm you down as well as himself. You curled into him, sobs wracking your body as you gripped onto his shirt. You thought that you’d die here, never to see him again, never to see your friends or family. The horror and anxiety snapped your chest in two, breathing becoming even more difficult as you broke down in his arms.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again, I love you so much, I’m so sorry. It’s okay now. It’s okay.. It’s okay…” His voice broke as he too cried, repeating those two words as you rocked back and forth.

#spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagines

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missjosie27 · 4 years

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The Other World- Part 1

Ladies and gentleman, I’d like to say my customary few words before you read this fic. As most in the HM community know on here, there are many who have drawn or written out our characters for this extremely flawed game that we’ve come to love one way or the other. One of the best and most thought out is the one created by @hogwartsmysterystory better known as Ethren Whitecross. I think we can all agree how incredible his writing is and how it’s inspired many people, including myself. This is my own way of saying thank you and to pay homage to his MC.

The following story is split into two parts, since the whole story is too long to release all at once. It is my tribute to him and his writing and I hope you all enjoy reading it. Part 2 will be released tomorrow.

If anyone needs background on my MC, please visit my tumblr page and MC info. I realize not everyone will get the context right away.

Enjoy!

A ringing in David Grant’s ears echoed as though it were the loudest noise on the planet. It was also hardly the only commotion going on at the moment. Within the confines of the Ministry, the scene could be described as quite chaotic.

It’s to be expected. Especially given that You Know Who has been dead for less than forty eight hours.

Standing within the spacious halls of the atrium, the once precocious curse breaker of Hogwarts was a much different man from the days of chasing after his long lost brother. Gone was the easy going smirk, the baby faced features of a teenager ready to take on whatever the world had to throw at him. What remained was a tired, unshaved, long haired ex-Auror who had suffered the trials of war, intrigue and then some. The once warm hazel-blue eyes were dulled to a flint like cynicism unrivaled even by the hardiest of warriors.

With the exception of Harry Potter (the stories were certainly true about his exploits), the law enforcement of Magical Britain had suffered more than most. Some had kept up the charade of the blue robes by staying in the Ministry after Voldemort’s takeover, others were placed under the imperious curse (poor Dawlish), while others yet defected and joined the resistance. But to David, that mattered not. The end of the battle of Hogwarts only brought a simple question to his mind.

Where was his wife?

Memories of the battle against her parents flashed in his mind once more- the sickening crunch of Matthias Snyde’s neck breaking, the unhinged screams of his wife, Lyra, who ordered her daughter to kill him. The battle for the soul of Merula Snyde. It had taken every once of his willpower to break through to her and he was certain she had been placed under the imperius curse herself. No one could control his wife, not unless they were prepared to do so by using the Dark Arts. However, that did not change the fact that she still carried the Dark Mark on her forearm and that in turn marked her as a Death Eater and a traitor.

Funny how fast things can change in the span of two days, he thought humorlessly.

There was no joy in his heart, no consolation to be had. He had stepped into the halls of this Merlin forsaken place for a single purpose and would not leave without knowing that Merula would not spend an eternity in Azkaban for crimes she was not culpable for. Consequences be damned, he would spend an eternity in there with her if he had to.

He needed to see someone with the authority to release her. Someone close to the newly appointed Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, his mentor and friend. Surely, he would listen.

Finally, amongst the crowd of hectic witches and wizards, he spotted a familiar face, Williamson, one of the few Aurors that had actually been clever enough to escape the Ministry and resist the dark regime before it happened. He was also a protégé of Kingsley and was probably in a position to speak to him given the circumstances, even if they were not the closest of blokes in the past.

He grabbed the shorter man by the shoulder as he hurried by.

“Williamson.”

“Grant?” the dirty blond haired Auror exclaimed. “Is that really you?”

“No, it’s the Archbishop of Canterbury. Of course, it’s me.”

Williamson shook his head.

“Still haven’t lost that infamous sarcasm, have you Grant? It used to be a lot funnier.”

David’s patience, already on thin ice, showed signs of cracking. He had not gone traveled thousands of miles and collected numerous bounties across Europe and the U.S. to bandy words with a lesser Auror.

“You know why I’m here, Williamson. I need to speak to Kingsley.”

The man gave a haughty sigh, though similar to everyone else, he too showed signs of immense fatigue and stress.

“The Minister,” he corrected. “Is not seeing anyone at the current moment as he has quite enough on his plate. Namely, the envoys from France and the United States.”

“He can make time for me. My wife is currently locked up in a cell somewhere in this fucking hellhole and I want assurances she’s not going to be charged with anything.”

Williamson tried to tug himself out of his grip, but David was much stronger and much more seasoned than his counterpart. The former recognized this and attempted to placate him as best he could.

“For God’s sake David, let me go,” he said, shaking his shoulder away. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to your wife. And I don’t think the Minister does either.”

That evasive response got his blood boiling again. Even with Britain and shambles, red tape and bureaucracy still impeded him.

“She’s innocent,” he growled. “She was under the imperius curse and nothing she did was voluntary.”

“We can’t prove that one way or the other. She’s got the mark and is the suspect of several crimes perpetuated against muggle born families.”

David could feel himself going numb, refusing to believe that Merula ever did anything so horrific under her own willpower. It wasn’t possible. Even as young children, when she was at her worst, he never truly believed she was capable of such atrocity.

“You’re wrong….”he managed to choke out. “You’re wrong and I can prove it. I just need to see Kingsley.”

This time it was Williamson’s turn to get serious as he received a hard stare.

“Frankly, you don’t have much to stand on either. Your own conduct in this war is under scrutiny as well. We’ve received word from the American, German, and Russian governments about various undertakings that occurred under your watch. Bounties, assassinations…”

“I did what I had to,” David replied with quiet fury. “You have no right to judge me for anything, Williamson. I’ve suffered through enough, I’ve…” he barely contained the lump in his throat as thoughts of the deceased permeated through his mind, people he’d never talk to or interact with again. People he loved.

“I just want my wife back. Please, she doesn’t deserve to be treated like the rest of those monsters.”

A flicker of sympathy appeared on his colleague’s face, but it was clear from his defeated posture there was nothing he could or was willing to do.

“I’m sorry, Grant. My hands are tied. The dust hasn’t even settled at Hogwarts nor on this new Ministry and you come barging in here demanding a Death Eater be released? Not only can I not guarantee such an action, but the question of your reinstatement among the Auror office remains to be seen as well. I’m sure the Minister will see you when he has sufficient time. Until then, there’s nothing I can do.”

And with that he walked off without another word, leaving David with no prospects or immediate solutions to his problem. He was completely and truly alone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Quiet. Then again, this place was always quiet.

In the aftermath of his plea falling on deaf ears, David did not heed Williamson or any other Ministry official. Given the chaos surrounding Britain, there was no one to stop him from going into the Department of Mysteries, namely the room of death.

He had only been in here once. And that was in the aftermath of a massive battle between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters over some ancient prophecy that You Know Who had desired for some reason or another (the circumstances surrounding his connection with Harry Potter were still dubious). That basically had been mop up duty and ensuring that Tonks was not too seriously hurt.

A massive lump formed in his throat at the thought of the pink haired witch, one of his best friends and partners in crime. Seeing her body- pale, cold, and fragile body on the stone floor of Hogwarts- was too much to bear. Despite Tulip’s attempts to console him, there was no consolation to be had.

David shut his eyes as silent tears rolled down.

Tonks, Fred, Talbott, Badeea, Ben….they’re all gone. They’re gone and I’ll never be able to see them again.

If there had been a stray rock or pebble, he would have flung it into the archway itself. But there was none to be had. The emptiness was symbolic of room itself, black and devoid of life. Personification of death, the lives robbed by its random cruelty. Because that’s what this was in his mind: simply cruel

Dropping to his knees, he ran his hands through his almost-shoulder length hair, the tears dripping off the stubble of his chin and onto the floor. By now the shock of the battle had well worn off and the only thing remained was the unadulterated, raw pain that marked its end. Hundreds were dead, including numerous friends and coworkers. And now his wife was essentially condemned to live out the rest of her days in prison, victim of a family legacy forced upon her.

It’s my fault, he thought to himself. I couldn’t protect her. I let her fucking manipulative, piece of shit parents get their hands on her and now our entire lives are bloody dead on arrival.

After all the fighting, after all of his efforts to find Merula and end the pestilential war that plagued the U.K. for almost twenty years, he had failed. Even with You Know Who dead, the ideology he perpetuated took a piece of himself and his life with him.

What was the point? What was there left to live for or hold onto? Merula wasn’t dead but she might as well have been- a fantasy of something that wasn’t coming back. Just like Tonks.

Like Ben….

Like Badeea…

Like Talbott….

There is no point, came the internal conclusion.

Suddenly, David felt another presence within the room. At first, he believed it to be some stuck up official who was about to order him to leave (in which case he would have been in for a rude awakening) but he found that the feeling was much different than sensing a person sneaking up behind you. No, this was…supernatural.

The presence was not one entity, rather it felt like multiple. Even more unsettling was that these entities seemed to speaking to him.

David Grant…..David Grant

It was barely more than a whisper, but it was extremely audible, as though the message was specifically designed for his ears only.

David Grant….David Grant

He looked around and realized that this voice, or voices, were coming from the mysterious archway itself. Even more mysterious, he felt drawn to it, despite his own fear.

“Who…who are you?” he said standing up walking towards the archway.

Come….Come….

“Come where? I don’t understand.”

Come see….come see….

At this point, David was so delirious, so filled with grief and emotion he didn’t even consider he might be going mad. Who were these spirits that desired to speak with him? What did they want to show him?

“Tonks?” he asked aloud, swallowing his throat. “Ben? Talbott? Grandpa? Is that you?

He reached his hand toward the shadowy, white substance that moved about within the archway, all rationality forgotten. The knowledge that this door was the veil to a world beyond life, to death itself, did not register.

I can see my friends again. Maybe I can go to a place and be with Merula again and start over. No war, no pain. Just a life worth living, a life better than this…

As the tip of his index finger touched the veil a white, hot flash blinded him as a force more powerful than he had ever experienced tore into the very soul of his being. Time and space seemed to be ripping itself apart and back again as he was plunged into an unknown cosmic channel that seemed to go faster than the speed of light, yet slower than the oldest tortoise. Just as David thought he might go mad from the insanity around him, everything went black.

Then he knew no more.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The scent of daisies and wildflowers wafted in the air, carried by a soft breeze. The air was warm and tender as it was on a summer day in Britain. The chirping of birds signified the season and the promise it offered to all creatures.

Hazel blue eyes fluttered open.

Thinking back to what just occurred, David sat up and saw that he was in a meadow on the edge of a forest of some sort. Tall grasses partially obscured his view, and the ground itself was so soft, he almost wished to remain there. However, curiosity got the better of him.

Standing up, the scene became more familiar. This was no ordinary meadow. It was a place he and someone very dear to him had once visited during a weekend at Hogwarts. A peaceful place that had been the spot of one of the greatest moments of his life.

This is Hogwarts. Or at least the edge of the grounds.

He saw the forest, the same one he once saw Fenrir Greyback emerge from in his first year, its tall trees just as imposing as ever, though less so in daylight. To his north, was the castle itself, its massive presence right where he left it…except it wasn’t. There were no visible signs of damage to the longstanding magical institution, at least none that he could see. It was as if the Giants who had wreaked havoc with their clubs on the towers, never existed in the first place.

Frowning, David turned his gaze downward. Though the day was cloudy, visibility was still strong. The hoops of the Quidditch pitch could be seen even from this distance. Sloping all the way across the hill was Hagrid’s hut, the fire damage to its roof also gone.

“What on earth?” he muttered to himself. This couldn’t be Hogwarts, he was just there. The state of the school was a mess and the physical damage immeasurable. How could it have been gone in the span of one day? Come to think of it, how long had he actually been out for after he touched that veil?

“Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, after all,” he said aloud. “But how in the hell did I get here?”

Whatever the case, he needed to find out what exactly was going on. If a significant amount of time had passed, Merlin only knew what happened since his absence.

But before he did, another marking caught his eye, one that he was unfamiliar with. To the untrained eye, it looked like a piece of dark granite stuck in the middle of the ground, but David knew better. Whatever it was, it warranted a closer look. As Kingsley always told him- “Check every aspect of your surroundings. If something is out of the ordinary, investigate with caution and care.” As David often joked, it was his own version of ‘constant vigilance’ employed by Mad-Eye Moody. Really, it wasn’t a surprise the smooth and capable man became Minister.

Deciding to test apparation this far from the school itself, he discovered that there were no wards and saved himself the walk.

Upon closer inspection, he saw that the gray semi-obelisk was actually a monument. A monument to those who had died in the fighting against Voldemort and his forces during that fateful night. He read the inscription.

Here lies those who willingly gave their lives in the face of the greatest evil our world has yet seen. May their sacrifice never be forgotten, and their memories preserved by the love of family and friends. This monument is a tribute to them and the day of May 2nd, 1998.

David could feel goosebumps rush down his body as he glanced at the names engraved on the stone. There was at a least a hundred, which thinking back to the official dead count was about the number killed in the battle. His heart sank as the casualties remained unchanged, ‘Nymphadora Tonks’, ‘Remus Lupin’, ‘Fred Weasley’, ‘Ben Copper’, and others were all listed. Curiously, however, there were others he didn’t even recognize while some were conspicuously absent. Badeea’s name was not among the dead nor was Talbott Winger. One of the names, a man by the name of ‘Ethren Whitecross’ had the stars and stripes flag next to it, signifying he was American.

“There were no Americans at that battle as far as I know,” David said to himself. “I spent the last two weeks of the war trying to bloody well convince them not to intervene, didn’t I?”

It suddenly occurred to him, that this monument had to have been created after the epic battle and sure enough when he checked the creation date, his guess proved to correct.

“Commemorated September 1st, 1998,” he said. “Paid for by the Board of Governors with the consent of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.”

David almost had to sit down again and suddenly felt very disoriented.

I’m…I’m in the future, he realized. But how is this possible? Has such a thing ever been confirmed?

Sure, there were stories, but they were usually old wives tales, legends that carried no bearing on reality. Though time turners technically had the ability to send someone back in time, they were all destroyed three years prior and besides, it could only send you to the maximum of thirty-six hours back in time not forward.

There was no question, he needed answers. And the sooner he received them the better. What year was it? Were people wondering where he went? What was the state of the Ministry? Was Kingsley still in charge? Were the Death Eaters given trial or executed? His stomach then dropped a few notches.

Merula

Above all else, the fate of his wife was the most important aspect of this investigation. If something had happened to her without him there to defend her honor…well he didn’t want to think about that just yet.

“She’d come and find me no matter where she was and tear my ear off,” he said with a dry chuckle.

Wasting no more time, David decided to visit the Ministry first. They would surely hold the records and documents about all trials, prisoners, and even the status of current, ex, or retired Aurors. People might be shocked or incredulous to see him barge in randomly, but it was worth a shot.

Making sure he maintained the necessary distance from the wards, David apparated away and in a flash was gone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Unbeknownst to everyone aside from the Minister and the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, there was a secret entrance to the Auror Office in a random pay phone booth in Manchester. As part of their training and oath, they were not allowed to use it except in cases of extreme emergency such as an attack or during a war. And though David’s situation didn’t qualify under either circumstance, he figured that going missing for God knows how long and not knowing what happened was enough of an excuse. Besides, if Tonks didn’t get caught for sneaking a whole case of beer during training, it was a safe bet no one would give him grief over this either.

Trying not to think about Tonks and making sure no muggles were looking, David stepped into the booth, awaiting to be transported to the main Auror office. It was quite a simple process. The old muggle machine had been charmed to recognize the magical signature of any law enforcement officer in its ranks. All you had to do was place your wand in the tray, say aloud your name and you’d be whisked away to the halls of the Aurors.

David did just that, as he could feel the magical sensors checking him over including multiple dark detectors.

“David John Grant,” he said, showing his badge.

However, instead of finding himself inside the Ministry in the next second, a wave of green slime appeared out of nowhere, drenching him from head to toe in a disgusting ooze.

“ACK! What the f-”

He quickly exited the booth to the curious glances of some muggle onlookers, who were no doubt attracted by the minor commotion. Giving them all a quick smile and a wave, David ducked behind one of the brick buildings the city was known for, cursing himself and the booth.

A few cleaning charms later, there was little trace of the substance on him (save for his vans) but the incident only brought more questions. Why had the secret entrance denied him? Technically speaking, he hadn’t officially resigned from the Aurors when he went into hiding and took up being a vigilante. His magical signature and badge should have been more than enough to avoid the pitfall of having that odious slime dropped all over him. It was merely a safeguard against dark wizards, but it also revealed something else.

Whatever the reason, the Ministry no longer recognized his credentials. That in itself was an ominous sign. If he wanted answers, he would have to go about it the old fashioned way.

Ensuring no one was peering into the alley, David apparated out of sight once more.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

One trip to London and a red phone booth later, David was finally inside the Ministry. Walking down the sleek, marble halls, it was almost exactly as he had remembered- the same statues, same fountain, same amounts of flying memos zooming in and out of their respective stations. The hustle and bustle was back and there was no sign of any damage from the war.

If the Ministry looks this good, it must be a fairly long time since the last battle.

Even more promising was the person sitting at the front entrance desk. David recognized those dark features and orange sideburns anywhere: Talbott Winger. He was wearing the blue robes most Aurors did while on duty and that was also a good sign. He, Tonks, and Talbott were the last ones accepted for mentorship in 1991 which meant he would know just what the hell was going on.

He was just about to greet his old friend, until he stopped dead in his tracks, recalling the monument and how Talbott’s name wasn’t on the list of the fallen. Seeing him alive and well at the Ministry all but confirmed this was the case. But this only brought more confusion to David’s already very bamboozled mind.

He died during the battle. I witnessed it with my own eyes. So if this is the future, how can he still be alive?

None of this was making any sense at all. Nevertheless, David knew that he had to try and do something to figure this mess out. Though naturally reserved, Talbott did not hesitate to help the rare few he called ‘friend’. Perhaps he could provide some assistance, whatever the reason for this madness.

“Hey, Talbott.”

The ebony skinned wizard looked up, his sharp eyes penetrating him like the hawk of his animagus form.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice betraying no hint of recognition.

David rolled his eyes playfully as he leaned on the desk.

“Come on, mate. Quite having me on. It’s Dave.”

An awkward silence followed as he sought to clarify.

“David Grant.”

Again, the name did not compute as Talbott merely gaze a polite look of bewilderment.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Okay, now this was definitely getting weird. How did Talbott, even if he was somehow not dead, not even know who he was?

“Talbott, I’m your friend. David Grant. We went to Hogwarts together. I helped you find your lost necklace that your mother gave you.”

That statement lit up the dark, brown eyes of the animagus though it was not out of familiarity, rather the emotion seemed to be pain and shock.

“I don’t know how you know about that, but I can assure you, you were not the one to help me find my necklace nor did I attend Hogwarts with you. Now, is there something I can help you with?”

David was practically reeling. How was it possible that the man he had gone through so much with didn’t even so much as recognize him? It didn’t make sense. Nothing about this made sense.

Alright, at the very least, I can get in here, find my old office and pour through some old files. I’m sure whoever’s in charge now can clear this up.

“Yeah…uh…I’m an Auror,” he said showing his badge. “Listen, I’ve been gone awhile for reasons you wouldn’t believe anyway but I just need to get to my old office and talk to someone. Is that possible at least?”

“Give me your badge and wand.”

Short and to the point, no time for idle chit chat. That was Talbott alright, which made the situation all the more disconcerting.

Talbott took his items and examined them, muttering a few standard identification and security spells, before getting up from his chair.

“One moment, please.”

David raised an eyebrow but didn’t object. Though he didn’t know why a simple identification spell required going into a backroom, he was sure whatever issue popped up would be cleared soon enough. After what seemed like half an hour (it was only ten minutes, but it seemed longer), Talbott returned and handed his wand and badge back to him.

“I’m not quite sure what the issue is, sir. But there’s no record of any David Grant of having worked for the Auror Department, or any other Ministry job for that matter.”

The twenty five year old leaned forward slightly, as if not hearing him correctly.

“I’m sorry what?”

“Your badge is authentic but there’s no employment history of anybody with your name here. When I applied more tests to your wand, it didn’t match any current witch or wizard in the entirety of the United Kingdom, nor anything ever sold from Ollivanders.”

This time the confusion was shared by both men, as David looked incredulously at his wand and badge as though he no longer knew what they were, while Talbott appeared to be a cross between dumbfounded and even a tad sympathetic.

“Nothing at all? No David, or John Grant or anyone with that name?”

“Nothing. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never seen anything like this before. I want to believe you. But as far as the government is concerned, you don’t exist.”

David let those words hit him a few times before even contemplating a course of action.

As far as the government is concerned, you don’t exist

You don’t exist…

You don’t exist….

“I-I don’t understand,” he finally spoke aloud.

“Neither do I,” Talbott affirmed. “But unfortunately, I can’t let you in the Ministry at this time. I’m sorry.”

David didn’t even bother to argue the point. It seemed as though every time he found a simple method to answer his questions, the end result would just add more to his ‘to-do’ list. The revelation that the British Ministry held no record of anyone with his name was the icing on the cake.

“Well…uh…thank you anyway.”

Turning around to leave, there was one more question burning on David’s mind, one that he was sure even this version of Talbott wouldn’t mind revealing.

“Would you at least mind telling me this? What day and year is it?”

Talbott gave him a questioning look but gave him a straight answer.

“May 4th, 1999,” he answered.

So a whole year has passed? That explains why the war damage has been fixed. But not everything else. Including my own status as living, breathing person.

Then he noticed something else. A small pin attached to the front of Talbott’s Auror robes. Upon closer inspection, he saw it was an American Flag, the second one he had seen today.

“I beg your pardon but why do you have a lapel of the United States flag?”

“Full of questions, aren’t we? It’s a commemoration.”

David didn’t understand but then again what else was new. He needed to ask for more.

“What does America have to do with the commemoration of the end of the war?”

There was no mistaking the obvious look of pain and sorrow on Talbott’s face this time. So distraught that look was, he shifted his gaze to the side.

“The citizens of the United Kingdom weren’t the only ones who gave up their lives in order to stop You Know Who.”

It was there that David ceased, prudently unwilling to press the matter further. Talbott wasn’t going to speak more on the subject anyway and to do so would have been inappropriate anyway.

“Thank you for your help, good day.”

David didn’t turn to witness Talbott’s reaction. He had seen enough. From being thrusted a year forward in time, to seeing an old friend alive, right down to his own seemingly non-existence, this whole scenario was becoming positively ridiculous. And if he couldn’t find information at the Ministry there was another source he could turn to.

It was a time for a trip to Diagon Alley.

#ethren whitecross #david grant #harry potter #hogwarts mystery #tribute #fanfiction #talbott winger #nymphadora tonks #battle of hogwarts #au #hphm #hphm fanfiction

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ghostofbambifanfiction · 5 years

Note

Hey Sarah! Another GOT question. Since episode 2 was so wonderful, which of our favorites do you think will be killed? Any time there was a heartfelt moment I immediately thought one of those characters wouldn't make it out of episode 3 alive. I feel like Jaime, Theon, Jorah, and Gendry won't survive. Mostly because the showrunners don't like to give us happy endings. What do you think?

Hi lovely!

Okay, so, the first thing to note is that I really don’t think that the showrunners like denying us happy endings. I think they’re working—more or less—towards the same ending that GRRM has planned, and I also believe that they love the characters. I think they really love the characters and want to do them justice, whatever that means for the individual. Sure, some of the deaths have been shocking and sad, but I’ve never seen a major character die with their arc still in progress. Every major death has served a purpose and made complete sense to me. So with that in mind, here are my theories on all four of the characters you’ve named. Let’s bullet point this mother!

Jaime: I honestly think he’s safe next episode because he still has an overarching plot with his family to resolve and I honestly can’t see the show letting him go without him at least telling Brienne that he loves her. The fact that Cersei has sent Bronn to kill Jaime and Tyrion seems like a guarantee to me that both Lannister boys are making it through the battle, because you know the show is going to touch back on that again.

Theon: Of the four characters you’ve named, I can see Theon dying in the battle because his arc could very well point him to an act of self-sacrifice in the service of the house that has been his truest family. I think the audience are going to feel cheated if at least one major character isn’t killed, and Theon dying—after all of the horrors he has endured and all of his growth and self-improvement—would fulfill the dual purpose of ending his arc in a fitting way and breaking the audience’s heart. I am hoping that he won’t die, but worried that he will.

Jorah: I could go either way on Jorah, honestly, but his growing bond with Sam and Sam’s clear discontent with Daenerys leads me to think that he has more still to come. He’s been largely away from Dany since season 4 for some reason or other, and he hasn’t truly seen what kind of person she’s turned into. I’m still 100% convinced that she is on a villainous path and that he could be the last person to defect from her. So I dunno. Jury’s out.

Gendry: A lot of the theories flying around about Gendry seem to be based on the common horror/thriller trope wherein two people have sex and one of them dies afterwards. Since Melisandre informed Arya in season 3 that they would meet again, yet she hasn’t shown up at Winterfell yet, I feel like that means Arya is safe. If we’re following the common trope, that would put Gendry in the firing line, but Game of Thrones has never been a show that conformed to common tropes. It subverts tropes. I think it’s trying to make us fear for Gendry, but I don’t actually think he’s going to die.

Some other things to consider re: Gendry (because anyone who knows me knows that Arya, Gendry and the Gendrya pairing are my top priority along with Sansa and Bran)

He’s the only Baratheon left in the world, and we were reminded of that in his most recent scene, which seems pointed, especially when you consider that…

Ned and Robert wanted to join their houses all the way back in season 1, but unfortunately, the son that Sansa was betrothed to obviously wasn’t a real Baratheon. Yet Robert’s proclamation was an assured one, it always seemed oddly prophetic to me.

The below shot of the two of them leaving King’s Landing on the wagon headed north, while a procession follows on foot, has always seemed to me like foreshadowing. Can’t you see them ruling the people of Storm’s End together? The show has used imagery to foreshadow before. In season 2, Tyrion and Shae lay on his bed in nearly the exact positions they were in when he killed her two seasons later. That’s just an example, but you get me.

The show spent two seasons building up a foundation to Gendry’s relationship with Arya before Melisandre took him away. Arya trusts him. She cares for him. She was in love with him way back when, and he clearly cares about her. When she took off her clothes in front of him, he was very concerned by her scars and, I dunno, that seems like…not nothing. It seems like a segue into a deeper examination of their relationship. He is clearly trying to get a handle of who she is now. Of all the relationships that Arya formed as a runaway over the years, her friendship with him was the healthiest and purest. The connection and affection she feels for him will, I believe, play a vital part in furthering Arya along on her journey to reclaim her humanity and her sense of peace, rather than continuing on this insanely damaging revenge mission. Their relationship has depths to explore, and I don’t think the show is going to throw that all away just to give us a sad death. If he did die, I feel like she’d go careening in the other direction, and as I’ve already stated, I feel like the showrunners and writers (and especially the Bryan Cogman) love her character too much to do her such a disservice, especially since this season and season 7 have gone such a way towards pulling her out of that darkness.

On Gendry’s part—because he has as much agency as Arya and he matters as a character outside of what he represents for her, I also think that Cersei could be his real mother. I’ve detailed as much in the article I wrote here which you can take a look at if you like. It saves me from explaining it now, haha.

Even if she isn’t his mother, I still think the fact that he’s Robert Baratheon’s only surviving child is important and that he has a role to play in the restoration of that house. He’s certainly a much better man than his father, and he’s been one of the smallfolk for long enough to care about them and ensure that they are well treated—and isn’t that the kind of liege lord the people need?

This answer was mostly about Gendry and Arya. If Tumblr mobile messes up the formatting (which it will) I will be pissed.

#Game of Thrones #Gendrya

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aspiring-dm · 5 years

Text

Three-Headed Puppy Is Back On His Bullshit

So, some of you may have read my previous post about Paolo Manchado, the Cerberus from a game of Monsterhearts I’m playing in. The game has mostly just been me playing and the GM torturing me with the awful choices I impose on myself. Paolo has ended up being one of my favorite characters to play due to the deep, painful, emotional trauma I experience while portraying this innocent monster. This post is going to be a more in-depth look at the first three sessions I’ve played with him.

So in session one, we’re off to a somewhat slow start that many powered by the apocalypse games experience where the GM is frustrated trying to figure out what the player(s) want to do and the player(s) are frustrated trying to figure out what they’re supposed to do. I’ve never been a fan of any games that take place inside a school because the act of roleplaying the menial act of going to classes bores me sooo much (I was in many free text role plays on supercheats and figment that had this problem).

Paolo is a Cerberus. In particular, THE Cerberus “gave birth” to him, a phrase which here means he woke up in Unity, New Hampshire, knowing he was Paolo Manchado, son of Cerberus, put here on earth to ensure that the beings of light and dark remain in their place. That goal makes up every fiber of his being the same way blood and bones make up you and me. He gets very frustrated because humans keep trying to get him to feel human and he keeps telling them “I am incapable of feeling the same way you do about life, relationships, and purpose. Not I DON’T feel the same way, not I WON’T. I CAN’T.”

So we started off in a classroom, and then there was a car crash outside. The car had crashed into nothing, so Paolo was searching around for invisible creatures, visiting her in the hospital, gazing into the abyss, trying to find answers but nothing was really going anywhere.

Then he encounters Ronan, who directs him at Elijah, who he’s apparently trying to avoid. Paolo could smell death on Elijah and chased him under a bridge, demanding to know what he was. Turns out, he’s basically a zombie.

Elijah’s backstory is that he was seduced by Ronan, who took him back to his cabin, starting making out, started getting handsy, started getting knifey, and then sacrificed Elijah in a dark ritual. Elijah came back, though, now in undead form, with some dark violent tendencies he can’t control.

Paolo lets Elijah go and goes to track down Ronan, the true problem here. Specifically, Paolo’s not concerned with the mere existence of zombies or warlocks in his town, just when they start interfering with mortal lives, which Ronan had willfully done. After talking a bit to Elijah’s ex, Hero, Paolo manages to track down Ronan’s house. They traded lots of high philosophy arguments that I forget most of, which mostly amounted to Paolo demanding that Ronan not hurt anybody else and Ronan shrugging and going “What can you do? Gotta break a few eggs.” Ronan is frustrating and clearly Neutral Evil. His alignment doesn’t concern Paolo, though, only his risk factor of exposing the dark side of the world.

So Paolo leaves. By the way, having been born without parents, or money, or a social security number, Paolo’s only possessions are the clothes on his back. As such, he lives in an abandoned boxcar, like the Boxcar Children. This is important to note because when he gets back there, Elijah is waiting, depressed. They talk a lot about Elijah’s issues with being dead, his personality defects both before and after dying, his relationship issues, etc. Then they both went to sleep together. Before you ask, yes, there were gay vibes, but that’ll just make it worse later.

That night, Paolo discovered he had the ability to enter a sort of mindscape, which was essentially Elijah’s Metaverse Palace where there was a courtroom where he played judge, jury, defendant, prosecutor, and defense. The people on the stand were all the people Elijah had fallen in love with telling the judge Elijah how quickly he’d fallen in love with them and what he did that drove them away.

Then Paolo discovered the ability to interact with these mind-Elijahs, and took the stand before taking the role of one of the attorneys. Thus began a long and emotional and philosophical monologue by Paolo trying to help Elijah learn how to control his emotions, how to not love to eagerly, and especially not to love people like Ronan. See, Elijah was still in love with Ronan, even though Ronan had only used him for the sacrifice (Ronan’s mind had also gotten pulled into this Palace). A little bit of progress was made here.

This was about the end of session 1 I think.

Later, Paolo went to Ronan. He’d at some point looked into Ronan’s emotions (because these are powers a Cerberus has for some reason) and learned that Ronan was obsessed with being remembered for his “scientific” achievements. So, Paolo went to Ronan and said “I am the only creature of my kind in the entire world. Maybe you can put your... creative energies into studying me, rather than murdering people.” Paolo is not confident in Ronan’s agreement having a lasting effect, but as long as it’s working he’s not complaining.

That night, Hero came to Paolo’s boxcar saying that Elijah needed help. Paolo was apprehensive at first, because it’s not really his job to help in general, but when it came to his attention that Elijah was attacking someone he agreed to follow her.

Elijah’s dark side had given him a need to be feared, and was hitting a guy’s car with a baseball bat, with the guy inside the car. Paolo transformed in front of Hero (his eyes turn black, his hands grow bone claws and fur, and his teeth sharpen) and tried to threaten Elijah down at first, but that didn’t work, so he then convinced Elijah to come back to the boxcar and talk.

Elijah, defeated, came to the boxcar and began smashing the door with his fist repeatedly, droning and punching. Paolo had asked this before, but he asked it again, what did Elijah want. Elijah’s answer was always the same: he either wanted to go back to the way things were before he died, or be able to move on and die.

Paolo thinks very hard, and very conflicted. He and Elijah had become close friends over the course of these two sessions, but Elijah’s worsening condition made him a threat to the balance between worlds Paolo was sworn to protect. Paolo asked this wanting an instruction on what he could do. While he knew his purpose, he was very directionless on how to achieve it.

Paolo asked Ronan if he could reverse Elijah’s curse, but Ronan’s experiments to look into such a task would be both risky and time-consuming. Time Paolo might not have.

So, while Elijah slept in Paolo’s boxcar, Paolo stared at his confused and broken friend and made a horrible decision. He set about the gruesome work of chewing Elijah’s head off. He didn’t bother trying to clean the boxcar- he knew the police would find it. He simply buried the head in the snow, left the body in the car (in case they could reconnect somehow), and wandered off into the woods. He stopped in the cemetery where he made his new home. The next day, on Hero’s birthday, he told her what he had done. It broke her more than it broke him, to say the least.

While Elijah had been alive, he’d asked Paolo what kinds of girls he was into. Quote, “What about Jessie Lynn?... She’s cute...” After Elijah died, somehow the words stuck with Paolo. He’d gotten very close to Elijah very fast and it ended very badly. Paolo just wanted somebody he could be friends with and take very slowly, without needing to deal with the whole monster thing. So he started talking to Jessie Lynn, who played a sort of Magic the Gathering Parallel that Paolo likes because Cerberus is one of the cards in it. And they started being friends, and that’s where session 2 ended.

AND THEN THE BULLSHIT BEGAN. Oh, you think murdering your zombie son who you wanted to teach how to love but whose psychological illness made him a danger to himself and to society so you ATE THROUGH HIS NECK was pretty raw and emotional? Well session 3′s the game that made me feel actual anger and cry actual tears. This is the game where Jonah starts yelling at NPCs at 1 AM and waking up his parents.

By the way, here and there have been some interactions with Jupiter, a ghost in Paolo’s class, but she doesn’t bother him too much cause she’s not very active and can never remember anything anyway.

Fast forward three weeks, Paolo and Jessi Lynn have been getting along pretty well, nothing super serious has happened except for all the student life trauma of finding out your classmate was mysteriously murdered, police had questions, etc.

Paolo gets back to his graveyard he’s been sleeping in, because that’s his life now, and he finds Hero lying under his tree. Who knows how she keeps finding where he sleeps. Anyway, she looks up at him and she’s a vampire now and says she needs his help and Paolo and Jonah both go “Welp. This’ll end badly.” She starts telling him about how she’s been on a drinking binge since Elijah’s death and she met this vampire and she asked him to turn him because he said she could see Elijah again, and she takes Paolo to the body of someone she killed. Paolo at this point is honestly not very conflicted. The vampire who turned her would only be a problem if she hadn’t literally asked to be turned, but Paolo still wanted to identify the guy so he could be aware of vampires in his town.

As for Hero, he sent her to Jessie Lynn’s house (the girls were both good friends) and tried to find out anything he could about the vampire, but to no avail. He went back to Jessie Lynn’s house to check up on her when he heard a scream, ran into the room to find Hero feeding on Jessie Lynn. Already Paolo is panicking because if Hero’s gonna have Elijah-like impulses, it won’t be good. Paolo tries talking, he tries pulling her off, he tries hugging her, he tries playing wounded puppy dog, but I ROLLED SIX FAILURES IN A ROW during this whole segment, giving me two level-ups within ten minutes. AND THEN I DIED cuz Hero ripped my throat out. Luckily I had just taken a move last session that meant I never stayed dead, so a few hours later Paolo wakes up propped against the dresser, Jessie Lynn lying on the floor with a damp towel against her neck.

Paolo is thinking, one, okay this is weird, but of course since I’m the child of the guardian of the underworld, they’d just send me back. Two, gotta make sure Jessie Lynn is okay, yep she’ll be fine despite the big hole in her neck. Three, gotta find Hero. Eventually Paolo finds her in a crawl space on the staircase and get her to talk to him, reassuring her that rumors of his death were greatly exaggerated.

Then Jessie Lynn wakes up and Paolo keeps Hero hidden in the crawl space until there’s and opportunity for her to get away, and he tells Hero that if she can’t get into her own house (due to needing an invitation) he’s recently been sleeping near Ronan’s cabin in the woods, which no one lives in. Jessie doesn’t remember much about the attack, and Paolo struggles to find a good lie, but luckily “I don’t know” seemed to work well enough. While Paolo’s wounds have vanished, his clothes are still coated in his blood (which right now we’re going to pretend Jessie thought was her blood), and she offered to let him borrow some of her dad’s clothes while she washed those. So the fanfiction begins, and then while Jessie is making tea and dinner Hero runs out the door.

Fanfiction continues, a moment where Jessie reaches for Paolo’s mug and he thinks she’s going for his hand so he reflexively takes her hand awkwardly. Then of course they end up sharing the same bed, and then the smutty stuff began.

I’ve been portraying Paolo as semi-aromantic? Not exactly fitting that label, the main idea being that as he is a Cerberus, he doesn’t experience the same range of emotions that humans do, but he does still possess a human-ish body with sexual urges. I think it’s possible he’s capable of romantic love, but so far such a thing couldn’t happen with any creature from this world.

So anyways, after a somewhat awkward first time for both of them, Paolo basically confesses as much as he can about himself without outright telling Jessie monsters exist. He tries to explain that if she had known the parts he can’t tell her about they might not have happened like this, but she doesn’t seem concerned about it at all.

So onward from there, Paolo heads out the next morning to the cabin to find Hero’s broken into it and slept on the bed. Paolo scrounges up some clothes for her and gives her his hoodie hoping it’ll be enough to protect her from the sun, but it’s not enough. Also we later retconned, because the fanfic nature of this game demanded it, and decided that Paolo made no attempt not to watch her change and Hero made no attempt not to be watched changing, which may or may not be relevant in future sessions, idk. They decide they’ll have to wait til nightfall, and Paolo leaves for school.

Now, Paolo has never not worn his hoodie anywhere. Given as its one of the only things he owns, he doesn’t really take it off much. But in this case, he’s forgotten to get it back from Hero, exposing the snake tattoos on his back (there are many snakes, all of their heads coming to the back of his neck while the tails slide down his back and curl around his upper arms). Several students were curious about them. Things during the day with Jessie were about the same, except she kept giving Paolo playful looks of “I know what your dick looks like.”

Paolo spends that day trying to get Jupiter to not walk through walls and then spends some time with Jessie before returning to the cabin. Having discovered that his blood sates Hero’s hunger and also he can’t die even if she overfeeds, he decides to become her personal blood bank to keep her from attacking people.

Then the two of them go shopping to get her some clothes that don’t look like they were made for a lumberjack twice her size. She immediately gets into the vampire look, with the black, and the fishnets, and yadda yadda. She also gets Paolo a black leather jacket, to which his response was “I already have a jacket though... I wear it everyday.” She also insists he pick something out, so he gets a pair of fingerless gloves, which apparently Elijah also wore and Hero gets quiet for a moment.

Paolo then takes Hero home and invites her into her own house before her dad comes downstairs and grounds her. Paolo returns to the cabin. Previously he’d been sleeping outside under a tree because he didn’t expect Ronan would appreciate him breaking in, but now that Hero’s already broken a window and now that Paolo’s experienced what a real bed feels like, he decides to go in and sleep on the bed.

So, Saturday, Paolo and Jessie meet up and they decide to go help Hero (who at this point, I believe Jessie thinks she was sexually assaulted based on the vague approximations of what Paolo’s told her) and spend time with her while she’s grounded. Paolo knows that grounding is a punishment given by parents to their children, but he’s unclear on what exactly that means, so he spends a little while just trying to find a roundabout way of getting Hero to say what grounding is without him directly asking.

Hero’s got garbage bags up on all the windows, saying she sunburns super easily now. Jessie goes into another room to try to find something more permanent, leaving Hero and Paolo to FUCKING discuss the fact that Paolo hasn’t told Jessie Hero’s a vampire, or what he is. This is the part where I started feeling Paolo’s anger and frustration, because they get into an argument and then Jessie enters the room and Hero goes “Hey, I’m a vampire, and it’s his job to kill me!” Paolo tries to play it off like a joke, and then Hero shows Jessie her fangs. Paolo, in his anger, just shuts down for a moment, goes to close the door, and slumps down in front of it, now trying to process in his head if this information is going to leave this room, or if he has to repeat what he did with Elijah with the girl he slept with and also Elijah 2.0. Jessie runs out another door in the room, Paolo makes no attempt to stop her and angrily starts yelling at Hero about his job and how her actions were totally reckless, if Jessie tells anyone there will be panic on both sides of the divide and basically a war would just break out. Hero’s trying to act like it’s not that bad and Paolo’s not having any of it, and he’s trying not to bring up the fact that it’s very possible he has to KILL both of them now.

So he leaves and tracks down Jessie hiding in the hollow of a tree. Some notes about Paolo’s role play, his voice is always very ineffectual and emotionless, he often hums three times while trying to think about things he doesn’t find super serious. In this moment, though, he angrily stands outside this tree and demands Jessie talk to him. She tries to leave multiple times during this conversation, but he keeps stopping her. Says “Guess now I have to tell you.” He explains everything about Elijah being dead and Hero being a vampire and his job to make sure normal humans never find out about it. Looking back, he never actually said anything about what he is, just his job. And then he gets to truth of what happened to Elijah and he says “It seems manipulative to tell you this! It feels like a threat, and there’s no way to get around it being a threat!” And he tells her that he killed Elijah. Then she leaves, and he just stands there. In his mind, he’s making a gamble. He’s gonna hope Jessie doesn’t tell anyone, and if she does... well, he can start killing people later. For now he just wants to feel like he’s accomplishing something, so he goes back to help Hero with her window situation.

Hero and Paolo have a long argument containing many typical elements of Paolo arguments, such as “it won’t be that bad if people find out,” and “you can choose your own destiny” vs. “I literally cannot I am not a human.” Somewhere in here I started crying actual tears as Paolo’s defeated by the world. He wants so badly to not have to kill anybody and he’s remembering how awful it was with Elijah when he failed him.

Hero leaves the house for a bit, and when she comes back Paolo is still standing in the middle of the room. He’s so lost on what he should do he can’t even figure out if he should go anywhere or move at all. The first time she tries to comfort him, he turns away from her, in his mind the current situation is her fault to begin with. The next few times he shows no sign of accepting or resisting. She hugs him, makes him sit on the bed, makes him lie on the bed, and plays with his hair after calming him down a little. She tries to get him to stop thinking for a bit, which only happens when she starts humming a song, but beyond that his mind is racing. She falls asleep and Paolo assumes she expected him to, but his version of sleep is actually consciously gazing into the abyss, so his options are either think while conscious in this world, or think while conscious in the abyss. The abyss is the more informative and intimidating of the options, so he just stays awake until she wakes up again.

That’s where we are now. Fucking three sessions and Paolo’s already broken. Oh: right after sleeping with Jessie he took the move Loyal, so Jessie’s basically his master. ALSO, though, Jessie hates him now and wants nothing to do with him, so unfortunate timing on that. *shrug*

#paolo manchado #monsterhearts #ttrpg #campaign diary #powered by the apocalypse

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