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jemmahazelnut · 3 years

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Dark Écriture

Summary: The magic swelled in him, draining his energy. It was more powerful than any of his previous spells. More terrible than the rune of pain, more sinister than darkness, more vigorous than the rune of fear. It was pure evil and Freed was beginning to enjoy it, knowing full well the spell would end too quickly to relish it.

Or: the story of how Freed lived with his demonic magic over the years. [Freed/Laxus]

Link: AO3

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, unnamed character deaths, morally ambiguous actions.

Notes: This is a story about Freed, his dark past and his cruel side.

Thanks to oofenflugen who has beta read my fanfic. Without his help I would never have published it. Check out his blog @cygnus-arts to see his art. He also has a profile on AO3 oofen_flugen where you can find his fanfics.

Hope you like it!

Dark Écriture

-Year X777, Dark Écriture: Death-

(16-year-old Laxus, 13-year-old Freed)

Freed had promised not to do it again. He promised it only a few months earlier, but there was no way he could keep that promise to the Master. Not when he saw those children locked up in the cells and the instruments of torture surrounding them, not when he saw the man’s cruel face, not when he heard the whimpering of the children. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hold back his strength, much less the hatred that was beginning to rise and fill him.

Freed almost didn’t realize it, but he subconsciously raised his sword in front of him. He hardly noticed the way the Master’s grandson stared at him. He almost didn’t realize the demonic aura that enveloped him and choked the oxygen in the room. Mentally, he knew it was happening. He knew that he was breaking a promise he had made, and in doing so, he was doing something terrible that -maybe, just maybe- he would regret. But he couldn’t afford to worry about it.

The magic swelled in him, draining his energy. It was more powerful than any of his previous spells. More terrible than the rune of pain, more sinister than darkness, more vigorous than the rune of fear. It was pure evil and Freed was beginning to enjoy it, knowing full well the spell would end too quickly to relish it.

His magic caused his hair to rise. Freed's fringe lifted and exposed his face, leaving his black eye uncovered. His body burned, and he felt the pure hatred concentrated in his eye. His mind focused on a single thought.

“Death,” Freed hissed, unconsciously, as if his lips had moved on their own.

A deadly silence fell. It was as if the whole world had been silent for a moment. He no longer heard the whimpering children, the fighting upstairs, the voice of the guild leader, or that of the Master’s son. He heard nothing, and it was unreal.

A moment later the magic shot out with all its power out of his body, passed his guildmate, and struck the enemy. The dark wizard clawed at his chest, desperately trying to breathe. His body twitched, and he fell back to the ground, continuing to jerk, causing his leg to thump erratically against the wall. It was a terrible sight, and Freed was enjoying every moment of it. The dark mage's eyes filled with terror and widened. His drool poured and mixed with his blood staining the floor. The veins in his neck swelled.

It was magnificent. It was what Freed wanted, pure evil. It was what the man deserved.

It ended too quickly. In a few seconds, the man stilled, reducing himself to a corpse. Freed’s magic faded, and the ambiance of the room returned. The distant sounds of fighting and whimpering only brought Freed exhaustion.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, sword slipping from his fingers, forcing Freed to lean on his hands. Even if the spell had only lasted for a few seconds, Freed felt as if he had been fighting for hours. Sweat coated his body, and he struggled to catch his breath.

He couldn’t see the shocked gaze of the Master’s son. Freed didn't bother to check that the man was dead. He knew it was impossible.

He tried to stand up but staggered, exhausted in a way he’d only experienced a few times before.

“You killed him,” said the Master’s son. Freed smiled. Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, I did, and it was wonderful. Instead, Freed stood silently, realizing what Laxus Dreyar must be thinking.

No. It wasn’t okay. He had to go back, back to a safe place, go back to being Freed Justine. He was no longer Freed the Dark. He was no longer a killer, no longer evil. He was a member of Fairy Tail.

That awareness immediately brought him back down to earth, and he felt nausea rise in him. What had he done? He advanced towards Dreyar but staggered again and was forced to lean against the bars of a cell while he tried to regain his strength and balance.

He had broken a promise. The only promise he had made to the Fairy Tail Master. He had broken it within a few months. What the hell had he done? He began to feel the terror rising in his back, terrified that everything he had done to change had been in vain. Nausea made him double over, and Freed coughed with tears stinging his eyes.

He was a monster. A killer. Just a cursed child.

He heard Dreyar’s footsteps approaching, and Freed looked up, swallowing hard.

“I’ll take responsibility for everything,” Freed said, petrified to hear his guildmate's incoming judgment, Dreyar, however, tilted his head to the side, his eyes glittering with curiosity.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

Freed blinked in confusion.

“Excuse me?”.

“What spell is that?” Dreyar asked again. “I want to learn it”.

Freed’s eyes widened and he took a step back, straightening his back and avoiding his gaze. Was he crazy?

“You don’t want to do that,” he said. There was no way that the Master’s grandson wanted to learn how to do something like this.

“I want to know what spell it is,” Dreyar insisted. Freed shook his head.

“You can’t learn it anyway. Magic is tied to my eye,” he said. He saw Dreyar grimace and Freed turned to the children who were still locked up and crying. “I’ll tell the Master personally, for now we have to free them.”

“You don’t need to tell the old man,” Dreyar retorted. “Besides, the bastard deserved it,” he added as he opened a cell. Freed gave him a surprised look, but he didn’t say anything else. The mission wasn’t over yet.

-Year X778, Dark Écriture: Darkness-

(17-year-old Laxus, 14-year-old Freed)

Freed wanted to stop. He wanted to cry, scream and stop those attacks. He wanted to kill that darkness, kill that agony, kill the feelings suffocating him. But the only thing he succeeding in killing, were his teammates. It didn’t matter how much he fought; it didn’t matter how much he tried to free himself from the grip. The darkness enveloped him, and he was sinking inside it, letting the demon prevail over him.

Freed felt tears sting his eyes but, he was unable to escape. He couldn’t even control the tears pooling at his chin. He couldn’t do anything; his body was completely out of his control. He could only watch. Watch and suffer from every blow Laxus dealt. Watch and suffer for every blow the demon dealt.

Freed felt small, helpless, useless. But he was just that. He was just a cursed child, just a monster, just a killer. Freed put his hands to his ears in an attempt to drown out the thoughts, but nothing could stop them. Now they were there, they were constantly repeating themselves, filling his brain, echoing through every nerve.

Stop it, stop it!

But they were right; he was a monster. A monster, a murderer, he deserved that pain, he deserved to die, he deserved to sink, he deserved to disappear.

“Fucking hell, do you wanna get goddamn control back?”

Freed heard a scream and saw flashes of electricity piercing him everywhere. They stung and burned, leaving him in excruciating pain. Freed opened his eyes biting back tears, only for another punch hit him, with Laxus’ magic building stronger and stronger in ever more acute pain.

“Stupid kid, what the fuck are you doing, huh?” the voice growled again, and Freed looked up, seeing his teammate keep fighting him. Laxus was right, what the fuck was he doing? Crying and letting the demon seize control? No, he was stronger than that, he was better than that. He wouldn’t let the demon kill his team. He was a member of Fairy Tail, the Captain of the Raijinshuu, the bodyguard of Laxus Dreyar. He had to protect all three. It was his promise. No matter what, he wasn’t going to kill them.

Freed scrambled to stand but was halted by another shock. He gritted his teeth trying to bear it best he could and tried to rise from the darkness. It swelled around him and pulled him down, leaving him suffocated in the darkness. But he could still reach towards the light. Freed knew it. There was always a way to escape.

He growled and forced himself back up, ignoring the pain of lightning and the burning. He just had to think about his teammates and the guild he was a part of. He had to think of his friends, Bickslow and Evergreen. Freed ascended and for a moment stopped the blow the demon wanted to throw, only to sink into its control again.

The demon struck once more. Laxus had wavered for a moment, and the demon was more than happy to take that opportunity. Freed gritted his teeth again, scrambling a second time. The demon was launching another attack but as soon as Freed regained control he held it back. He was already sinking again, but the shock of electricity convinced him to grit his teeth and stay aloft. Then he closed his eyes and pushed all the darkness into himself, into the back of his mind, into his heart, and his soul.

When he finally felt it grow small, he forced himself to open his eyes again, only to see two orange eyes staring at him doubtfully. Laxus had a ready fist with electricity crackling.

“Hope you’re you again,” he growled, and Freed nodded.

“I’m back,” he whispered and Laxus lowered his fist.

Freed realized that he was collapsed on the ground, Laxus at his side.

“Your demon is fucking awesome but you really have to learn to control it,” Laxus snapped as he walked away. Freed didn’t move. He still felt numb from the shocks, dizzy from the fight, and tired as if he had exhausted all of his energy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Bickslow and Evergreen rushed to his side and helped him sit up. Freed grimaced but held back a groan, even though he could feel injuries covering his skin. It wasn’t the first time he fought Laxus, but God, that was painful. Freed glanced at Laxus and noticed that his leg was injured.

Freed reached out to him.

“I’ll heal your wound,” he said, partly to apologize, partly because he felt guilty. Laxus gave him a dirty look.

“It’s nothing,” he retorted grumpily and stood up. Freed noticed that he was staggering a bit and felt even worse. However, he didn’t dare say anything knowing his pride. Laxus glanced at him as Freed got to his feet, aided by Bickslow and Evergreen. “You should fight with that demon more often, he’s fucking strong,” Laxus said with a grin.

Freed looked up with widening eyes, wondering if he was crazy.

“You saw what happens if I do.”

Laxus rolled his eyes and snorted and took a step toward him. Laxus was close, close enough that their foreheads were almost touching. Freed looked up.

“This happens because you don’t train, kid. You just have to get stronger than the demon, that’s why he takes control.” Laxus turned away and walked away. “Now let’s get this fucking reward, I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Freed couldn’t argue and followed Laxus, refusing the help of Bickslow and Evergreen. As he watched the blond with admiration and respect, a thought formed in his head. Maybe Laxus wasn’t all wrong, maybe the only thing he needed to resist the demon was training.

-Year X781, Freed the Dark-

(20-year-old Laxus, 17-year-old Freed)

“For a kid who wants to follow the rules, you break them quite often.”

Freed’s head jerked up in surprise at the voice. Laxus Dreyar. How did he find him? Freed made sure he wasn’t being followed by anyone when he walked away from Magnolia.

“How did you find me?” he asked aloud this time.

“Easy, I saw that the mission I wanted to take was gone and that you were gone too,” Laxus explained, sitting beside Freed. “Now you have to explain to me why you took a class S mission, especially when you know it’s forbidden,” Laxus commented, crossing his arms behind his head and throwing him a curious look.

“I’ll take full responsibility for my actions,” Freed assured, deflecting the question and staring straight ahead. He didn’t plan on coming back. He would complete that mission at any cost.

“Not if you do it with me,” Laxus retorted. Freed remained silent, refusing to reveal his true motive. “Then I’ll guess,” the Dragon Slayer challenged, glancing at Freed from head to toe.

“You hide under a cloak, in the past this place was headed by Lord Justine, and the mission requires to break a demonic curse written in strange purple characters. I suppose you or your family created the curse, right?” he inquired, and Freed pursed his lips, nervous. The last thing Freed wanted was for anyone to know his past, or to know his family.

“So? Are you going to explain it or do I have to find out all by myself? Because I will,” Laxus challenged. Freed stared at his hands, peering at his guild mark. He knew that Laxus would find out. He was one of the most skilled wizards he knew, and not just physically. It didn’t take a genius to understand that this mission had to do with Freed or his family.

Freed sighed and then looked up at Laxus, who was watching him expectantly.

“Okay,” Freed said. “But you have to promise me that you’ll never tell anyone about it.” Laxus nodded and Freed resolved to speak.

“You’re right, I was the one who launched the curse five years ago. I lived in that villa with my parents” he said, indicating with a nod of his head the large villa located on the hill, surrounded by a black fog, the same one breathed into the city, and the reason the city had asked Fairy Tail for help. “I was part of the Justine family; my father was the lord. It’s not like they really headed over this city. Theoretically, they had no rights other than the territories behind the hill. However, they were feared by everyone for their strength,” he said. “And a few years ago,” he paused for a moment, uncertain. “A few years ago, there was a bad fight, which led to the birth of the curse,” he concluded.

Laxus raised an eyebrow and peered at him.

“I guess that’s not all,” he said. Freed looked away.

“Details aren’t important.”

Laxus snorted and stood up.

“Okay, then let’s go and destroy this curse. I guess I’ll find out of the rest when we get there.” Laxus started towards the hill and Freed hurried after him, making sure his cloak still covered his face well.

“We won’t go into the villa,” he objected.

“It’s not for you to decide” was the dry reply of Laxus.

Freed wasn’t satisfied. He had destroyed the curse in minutes. It was child’s play, but Freed certainly didn’t feel good at it. Since he created the curse, it was quite obvious that eliminating it would be easy. Revisiting the villa had brought back only old memories. Old and terrible memories, and in that moment, Freed had decided that he was going to destroy that house.

He had done it, now he could only look ahead of him at the rubble of what had once been his home. But he still wasn’t satisfied and wanted to let years of anger and fear out. He would eliminate his past, destroy it definitively, destroy every little existence of the Justines, destroy everything that bound him to that place, but he couldn’t do it. He growled as he put his hands on his thighs, exhausted from the amount of magic he had used. An exaggerated amount, since he could have destroyed that building with much less. But he needed to let off steam, and he still needed it.

A new wave of dark magic rose, but he felt Laxus’ hand rest on his shoulder and a felt slight jolt run through him.

“That’s enough,” he said. Freed turned to him, gritting his teeth.

“No,” he growled.

“By now you’ve nothing else to destroy. What you’re doing is pointless and senseless,” the Dragon Slayer retorted harshly. Freed pulled away from his hold.

“Pointless and senseless?” he repeated furiously and again a wave of energy surrounded him. “You’ve no idea what I had to go through, you’ve no idea how much I want to destroy everything here” he growled and Laxus looked at him with an indecipherable expression.

“Tell me then,” he said. Freed turned to the castle, refusing to do anything like that. Laxus wouldn’t have understood anyway, he doubted anyone could. Seeing the rubble and dirt he had raised pissed him off even more. Laxus was right. It was useless, destroying the castle wouldn’t change his past. It wouldn’t change who he had been, nor who he was at that moment.

Frustrated and furious, he collapsed to the ground, trembling and feeling a sudden urge to cry. He didn’t, because Laxus was there and he wouldn’t show himself so vulnerable. He was silent and strangely Laxus sat down next to him, staring at the rubble and silently lighting a cigar.

They stayed like that for a few minutes until Freed’s nerves compelled him to speak.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for the story” was the simple reply from Laxus, who glanced at him, throwing out a puff of smoke. “You hated your parents, didn’t you?”

“I hated my father,” Freed clarified. “I still hate him.”

“Parents can be assholes,” Laxus commented. “So, what did he do?”

Freed almost laughed. He mentally filed through the very long list of things his father had done and hadn’t. The longer he thought about his father the more he resented him, and the more he wanted to go back in time and exact revenge. Now that he was dead, Freed had lost his chance.

“My parents were mages, but they weren’t very powerful. However, they were both very fascinated by wealth and dark magic” he began to explain chronologically, despite the difficulties to remember it in order. Laxus let him speak and Freed continued, unsure why he was telling Laxus. He had never thought of confiding in anyone, and the Dragon Slayer certainly wasn’t his first choice. But he was here now.

“They did business with dark guilds. They found items for them and sold them, or they bought items to then resell to others. Our house was full of those things, and I was a curious child, I wanted to know more. I was fascinated by everything related to magic, so one day I opened a book and read a spell. There was a demon in that book, and I saw that with that spell I could capture his soul and have his magic. My father didn’t pay much attention to me, he thought I was just a child with no magical talent, no matter what I did. I wanted to prove otherwise, so I cast the spell and united our souls.”

“You were a child and was already able to do something like this?” Laxus asked.

“Yeah,” Freed replied. “I think I’ve already proven to be skilled,” he commented coldly and Laxus just gave a half-laugh, puffing more smoke and waving him on.

“It actually worked. I caught my father’s attention all too well. At first, I lost control and feared he would treat me even worse, but he didn’t. He saw potential and he decided to train me. I was very happy, so I did what he said,” Freed said and stopped for a moment, thinking about the training his father had forced him to do. He clenched his hands in two fists and a new wave of hatred overwhelmed him.

“I told you the Justine family was feared. Well, it was because of me. When someone dared to challenge my father, he would bring that person to me and tell me to torture or kill him. Every now and then he even made me do it in public, in the town square. Everyone began to fear him and my father was happy, he felt himself the master of the city” Freed stopped for a moment. “My mother wasn’t happy, and she told me it was wrong to do it, and I knew it. So, one day I refused and… my father blocked my magic and made me understand that refusing him wasn’t allowed, especially in front of other people”.

“Did he beat you?” Laxus asked.

“Yes,” was the dry reply and Laxus snorted.

“Asshole” he growled and Freed turned to him, feeling a little understood. Maybe that was the reason he was comfortable sharing with his teammate.

“My father became more pretentious and crueler. Both with the wizards of the dark guilds, with the city, and with us. I don’t know if it was the wealth or the amount of magical power, he had accumulated that drove him out of his mind, but it happened. And one day he killed my mother,” he said in a distant tone as if he wasn’t talking about his family but something foreign to him.

“I was there, the two of them were arguing because of me and then they started fighting. I knew my dad would win, but I was scared, so I didn’t even try to stop him. My mother was a good woman, I loved her, and since all the children in the city feared me, she was the only person I could have fun with. She was the only one who really loved me. She died because of me in front of my eyes, and I didn’t even try to save her,” he said coldly, reviewing the images of her in his head as if they were part of a movie. He would never forget his mother’s expression, her screams, her lifeless body.

“My father destroyed her body. When I realized she was dead I went mad and my demon took over. I tried to kill my father, but I was still too weak and he stopped me. My father locked me in a room for weeks, torturing me to make me understand who was in charge and what would happen if I failed his orders. I think that’s when I truly started to hate him.”

“I hated him. I hated him so much you can’t imagine. But instead of taking that anger out on him, I took it out on all the innocent people he brought in front of me. If I was hesitant to torture people before, at that moment I began to enjoy it. He was proud of me, but the more he was, the more I hated him”.

“I’ve never forgiven him. I’ve never forgotten that day, and for years I’ve prepared a revenge for him. I wanted to destroy him. But I didn’t want to just kill him, I wanted him to suffer, I wanted him to feel what I had felt all those years, what my mother had felt before she died. And I wanted to take everything away from him. So, I studied for a long time in the library, looking for the most frightening spells, until I found a forbidden curse”.

“This curse would have locked people into an eternal Hell. I was excited, I couldn’t wait to torture him and the men most trusted by him. I prepared everything in advance, away from everyone. I drew the runes around the entire villa. It took me half a year. Every time I thought about the final spell, I enjoyed the sights, I imagined my father’s expression, I imagined him crying, I wanted to make him cry.” Freed’s words poured out of his mouth uncontrollably.

“And finally, the day come. It didn’t go the way I wanted. Even though it had taken me half a year to prepare it, I wasn’t powerful enough. The curse hit my father and it worked. But for only three days. I stayed there for three days hearing my father’s screams and I was delighted. But after only three days he died, I no longer felt anything. I made sure he was really dead, and I was so angry that I destroyed his body. But I still wasn’t satisfied. But it was over now, I couldn’t do anything else. So, I left. I wanted to live in the city, but I heard what they said about me. They all hated me, they called me the monster, the cursed child or Freed the Dark. I left and vowed never to come back,” Freed concluded. Laxus was silent and Freed continued to stare at the rubble for a long time. No words were exchanged between the two.

“This mission was because of the curse. Something went wrong and filled the city with fog,” Freed explained after a while.

“Your father is even worse than mine,” Laxus commented and turned to him. “At least you managed to take revenge.”

“I don’t deserve to be part of Fairy Tail,” Freed murmured, sadness enveloping him.

“You do,” Laxus sternly retorted.

“I’m just a monster,” Freed sighed. Laxus snorted and put out his cigar.

“You’re not what your father decided for you,” Laxus consoled. “You’re much better, and you’ve already proved it. You deserve to be a part of Fairy Tail more than anyone else.” Freed turned to him, surprised at the statement said with complete certainty. Laxus had never been very sensitive, yet he was here. He had listened to him and hadn’t changed his mind about him. Indeed, he had Laxus’ respect and friendship, and it made Freed feel accepted and warm inside. Laxus put his hand on his shoulder.

“You’re a skilled wizard and a good person. And you’re so much better than anything your dad has ever led you to believe,” he added, and Freed could only look into his eyes, feeling overwhelmed by those words in a way that had never happened. “So don’t be ashamed of who you are. Take off this cloak and show that you’re different from your father,” Laxus said and stood up, holding out his hand. Freed took it and stood up without hesitation.

“Thanks,” Freed murmured. Laxus grinned.

“Although, I have to say, Freed the Dark sounds quite threatening. Maybe you should start using it.” Laxus started down the hill. Freed watched him for a while before following him, feeling his heart beating madly. If Laxus, the person who most represented Fairy Tail, told him that, then Freed had no doubt he was right.

I swear Laxus, you won’t regret putting your trust in me, Freed thought, as he walked beside him.

-Year X791, Dark Écriture: Fear-

(23-year-old Laxus, 20-year-old Freed)

The brush ran smoothly through the boy’s hair, who looked at himself in the mirror. He was sitting on the big mattress, and behind him, his mother was singing softly, fixing his hair. Freed hummed the melody to himself and moved his fingers to the rhythm of the song. When the woman put the brush on the bedside table, she smiled in the mirror.

“You like it?” she asked.

Freed ran a hand through his hair, which reached over his shoulders and shrugged.

“It’s just hair,” he said automatically. A phrase that his father constantly repeated every time he saw Freed brush it.

“You don’t like it?” the woman asked softly.

“Father doesn’t care” was the next automatic reply.

“Your father isn’t here,” the woman said and rested her chin on his shoulder. “What do you think about it?” she asked again. Freed observed himself for a long time in the mirror.

“I like it,” he said. His mother smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Then she sat cross-legged on the mattress and grabbed a large hardcover book. Freed turned to her, suddenly curious and excited.

“Will you read me a story?” he asked, and the woman nodded, smiling, looking down at the first page and beginning to read. Freed rested his head on the palms of his hands, curious about the new book.

His mother continued to read aloud, but it became a distant murmur. He heard a scream and then some crying and looked around, trying to understand the sudden foreboding changes. He turned to the mirror but didn’t see the reflection of a child, but that of a teenager. His hair now reached his waist, his face was sharper.

He turned back and was no longer in his room. He was in the garden of his villa, holding a sword. A woman in front of him was crying and pleading. Freed couldn’t understand what she was saying, but of one thing, he was sure. That woman was terrified, and she didn’t want to die. By now, however, her fate had been set.

Freed felt the darkness envelop him, the heat rising through his body. His right eye burned and all his muscles were tense. His lips moved on their own and a single word came out.

“Death,” he whispered.

For a moment, silence fell around him. He no longer heard screams, no tears, no pleas. It was an abnormal silence as if the whole world had fallen silent. The woman put her hands to her chest, winced a couple of times with wide eyes, and then fell back to the ground. A helpless body with a blank expression on her face. Her eyes were full of the terror that had struck her in the moments before death took her.

Freed looked at her and lowered his sword, exhaustion hitting him suddenly. His energy disappeared, and he collapsed. But he didn’t have to. He could stay up, stand up, he didn’t have to let him down.

A hand rested on his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” his father said.

Freed raised his head. Two large bright green eyes met his. The little girl was screaming.

“Mom! Mom!” she screamed and Freed stepped back.

“Murderer! Murderer!” the little girl screamed. Freed backed away and crashed into a wall.

“You’re a killer! Give me back my mom!” she kept screaming and Freed wanted to run away. He turned but couldn’t run anywhere. In front of him was the body of Cana, lying in the rubble. Freed stopped and the sword fell from his hands. He was shaking. He wanted to turn around and leave and never return. But he knew that if he did it, it would be worse. That something even worse would happen. The darkness would follow.

As if forced to do so, his face turned to the right. Elfman was there, also lying on the ground. He was perfectly still; his chest was covered with the rune that had killed him. Above him, Mirajane was crying, and she was screaming, and her screams filled his ears.

“Murderer! Murderer!” Freed desperately turned, tried to escape, but stumbled through the rubble, fell to the ground and sank, under the earth. It was all dark, and he felt lost. He tried to fly. He had to get out of there. He had to escape. He had to find a way back home. But something was holding him down.

“Freed” the voice calmed him instantly. Freed turned and was greeted by Laxus.

“Freed,” he repeated, and Freed tried to get closer.

“Laxus, I’m sorry,” Freed breathed through tears.

“You killed him.”

Freed stopped short and Laxus looked away. Whatever void Freed had fallen into had vanished, and he was back down on earth. He was in the center of Fiore’s arena. And in front of him, there was another dead body. Ivan. His armor was shattered; his body was full of wounds. Blood stained the ground beneath him. His eyes were wide with pain and fear. Freed took a step back.

“You killed him,” Laxus said.

Freed looked up, perhaps for a savior, or any sense of peace, but in the stands, there were members of Fairy Tail. They hated him, everyone hated him. He caught the Master’s furious gaze and Freed was still under his glare.

Makarov raised his hand and a powerful light radiated from his palm, Freed tried to bring his arms in front of him to defend himself, pleaded that it wasn’t him, but it was useless. He was outnumbered and outmatched when everything went white.

Freed jumped up, his heart pounding in his chest and sweat sticking his clothes to his body. Terror ran through him and Freed inhaled deeply to attempt to calm himself.

‘It was a nightmare,’ he thought. ‘It was just a nightmare’ But it didn’t help him, because he knew it wasn’t just a nightmare. Because he knew he had really killed that woman years ago. Because he knew he had risked killing Elfman and Cana. Because he knew that when he saw Ivan in the arena, he felt that sudden desire to let himself go to the darker side. Because he wanted to kill the father of the person he loved.

Freed put a hand to his chest feeling his still racing heart. He wanted to throw up and cry.

“Freed, are you okay?”

Freed looked up suddenly. It was Laxus. The boy sat by the fire they had built on their way home from a mission. Freed scanned their campsite. There were two sleeping bags, the small fire, and their backpacks placed on the ground. They had decided to walk home so that Laxus wouldn’t have to take the train.

“Freed?” Laxus called him and Freed turned to him and smiled slightly to reassure him.

“I’m fine, I just had a nightmare,” he explained as he stood up and got out of the sleeping bag. He realized that his clothes were indeed damp with sweat and his hair was sticking to his neck and his clothes.

“You’ve been getting them a lot recently, is something bothering you?” Laxus asked. Freed shook his head.

“No,” he replied simply and sat next to him in front of the fire, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. But Laxus was right, he had been having nightmares for weeks, about his past, about his mother, about the people he had killed, about the people he could have killed, and about the ones he wanted to kill.

He'd had nightmares in the past, namely the Battle of Fairy Tail, and just as he finally began to overcome them, the Grand Magic Games brought them back in full force. And as much as he wanted to banish those thoughts, he just couldn’t seem to do it.

He felt Laxus’ arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t you want to talk about it?” he asked and Freed closed his eyes, leaning against him and closing his eyes. Talk about it with him, of all people? He who had asked him to kill his guildmates? He who was the son of the man Freed wanted to torture to death?

��No,” he said, “I’ll pass.”

He felt Laxus’s gaze fixed on him and his arm comforting him.

“You said my name,” the blond said, and Freed stiffened. “You said my name and then yelled that you weren’t the one who killed them,” he said tonelessly. “You know, I’ve never thought about it too much but I can’t believe I asked you to do something like that. I used you like your father did and I’m sorry. I know you’ll never forgive me but…”.

“I’ve already done that,” Freed said. “We’ve already talked about it. I forgave you Laxus, completely. The only person I haven’t forgiven is myself”.

“My fault,” Laxus murmured.

“No,” Freed tried to say reassuringly. “Laxus, darkness has been with me for a lifetime, it wasn’t you who pulled it out, it wasn’t you who put it in, and it wasn’t you who made me hate it,” he said forcefully. “You helped me instead to make me accept it as part of me, and even though I’m still working on it, it’s to your credit that I can now control the demon. It’s to your credit if I don’t feel horrible for everything I’ve done”.

“But you still have nightmares about the battle of Fairy Tail,” Laxus muttered and Freed shook his head.

“Trust me, that’s not the cause of my nightmares,” he said.

“So, what’s it?” Laxus asked.

Freed didn’t answer. He stared into the flames in front of him while he thought back to the nightmare he had had, the destroyed body of Ivan, the pleas of that woman. Freed didn’t think those nightmares would ever go away, but that wasn’t Laxus’s fault, it was the fault of the darkness that accompanied him and the evil he was hiding and that he was trying to control.

“My greatest fear” he answered simply. He let himself be enveloped by his friend’s embrace.

-Year X793, Dark Écriture: Suffering-

(25-year-old Laxus, 22-year-old Freed)

Freed could still hear the screams of terror of the enemies. He could still hear their pleas and their cries, their prayers, and their despair. And the more he heard them, the better he felt. The more he heard them, the more satisfaction grew inside him. The more he looked at their faces full of terror and pain, the more his soul laughed. There was no escape from that rune and Freed enjoyed every single moment of it.

He wanted it. He wanted to make them feel small. He wanted to make them feel powerless; he craved their terror. He wanted to make them pay for everything they did to his teammates. He wanted them to feel the way they did. He wanted to hear them pray for death. At that point, perhaps Freed would have satisfied them. Though he probably wouldn’t have indulged them.

They deserved it; they had asked for it. They had mistreated his comrades and still had laughed at it. They had enjoyed Fairy Tail’s momentary helplessness. Now it was his turn, and it was right. And if that wasn’t right, Freed didn’t care. It was he who made the rules.

Freed walked down the corridor going out into the fresh air and closing off the screams with the door behind him. He almost wanted to stay there and listen to them longer, but he knew that if he did, he'd seriously risk going mad and giving in to his dark side. And as much as he enjoyed having that dark power, he knew it was best not to go too far.

He walked away and entered the woods, passing all the trees in the shadows of the night and reaching the small stream near Magnolia. He sat down on the ground and looked at the water in front of him.

He didn’t want to get carried away by rage or fury, but he was far too happy to hear those screams. And even though he could no longer hear them now, just knowing that those men were still suffering filled him with a terrifying joy. He knew he would have to let them go sooner or later. He had to do it, fearing his sanity would disappear with each scream.

He heard footsteps behind him and then a voice.

“Are they still in there?” Laxus asked as he sat down behind him and wrapped him in a hug, pulling Freed against him and resting his head against his chest.

“Yes,” Freed said. “They were already begging,” he said with a sadistic smile and felt Laxus’ arms squeeze him even more. Freed felt himself returning to reality and realized what he had said and in what tone. “Sorry, I sound like a monster.” He knew that Laxus avoided gratuitous violence. He could kill someone or fight them if he was pissed off, but torture wasn’t his style. God, he must have found Freed awful. His stomach sunk at the thoughts, but still, Laxus’s proximity helped him. The blond rested his chin on his shoulder.

“I knew who you were from the moment I met you,” he said. “And I never thought you were a monster, you know.”

“I know,” Freed agreed softly. It still seemed strange to him, but it was true. Laxus had never been afraid of him, and he had seen some terrible things.

“Don’t keep them in there any longer,” Laxus murmured, leaving him a kiss on the neck.

“They deserve it,” Freed objected.

“Yes,” Laxus agreed. “But you don’t, and I’d rather you stay with me.”

Freed didn’t answer, knowing what Laxus meant. And he was right, he didn’t have to give up. He could have fun, but without completely abandoning himself. He closed his eyes and leaned completely on Laxus, who was now holding him in a loving embrace that Freed probably didn’t deserve. Even that didn’t interest him. Laxus loved him, Freed loved him, and that was one of the few pure things in Freed’s life. He wouldn’t let him go.

“You know Laxus,” Freed said after a while, placing his hand on Laxus’s and stroking it slowly. “Sometimes I like to be a monster”.

#fraxus #freed x laxus #freed justine #laxus dreyar #fanfiction

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galoots · 4 years

Text

A Hatchling’s Tale

Don’t forget to leave me a comment and/or kudos on AO3 if you enjoyed this piece!

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“Tell me a story.”

It was Donald’s nightly request.

Putting Donald to bed was always an arduous affair. It started early in the evening with Scrooge chasing Donald around for hours to wear the boy out. More often than not, it was Scrooge who would end up exhausted while Donald would still be zipping around full of energy. Then came bath time, and the usual struggles that came along with it. Most kids hated baths and getting them in the tub was the trouble. For Donald, it was getting him out. The wee bairn could stay there all night, sailing his little tugboat bath toy around the bubbles until the water grew ice cold. Scrooge had to all but pull Donald out of the bath, kicking and screaming. After that came the ordeal of wrestling Donald into his footie jammies, always difficult when his baby much preferred running around in a towel and causing havoc around the house.

Sooner or later, Scrooge would catch up to his duckling and carry him giggling and squirming to his bed. He’d tuck him in tight, pulling the blankets up to Donald’s chin and kissing him on the forehead. Then—and only then—was it time for a story.

The mattress dipped as Scrooge settled his weight upon it. “What story shall we spin tonight then?”

Donald’s face scrunched up as he considered his options. “I got one!” He snuggled closer to his uncle, leaning his head against Scrooge’s side. “Tell me the story of when I hatched.”

“When you hatched?” Scrooge swung an arm around his duckling, pulling him in for a snug embrace. “Alright. That I can do.”

Scrooge cleared his throat with aplomb before he began. “It was May Day when your mother laid you—"

“No! Stop!” Donald slapped his covers with irritation. The sudden interruption startled Scrooge so much, his glasses fell off his beak and onto the bedspread.

Scrooge felt around blindly for his glasses. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s not how it happened.”

Finding his bifocals, Scrooge placed them back on the bridge of his beak. With his glasses back on, Donald’s sullen face was suddenly clear to see. “Laddie, I’ve barely even begun!”

“And you’re already messing it up, unca!”

“If you’re the expert, why don’t you tell it?”

An inspired smile spread across Donald’s beak at the idea. “I will tell it! I’ll tell the real story of how I was hatched.”

And so began Donald’s tale:

Once upon a time, in a far-off land, a man was engaged in fierce battle with a powerful witch. The man was Scrooge McDuck, the richest duck in the world. And the witch? She was the fearsome Magica de Spell, the most powerful spellcaster the world had ever known. The two were perched atop the famed Mount Vesuvius engaged in a battle that had raged for hours now. So deeply embroiled in their turmoil were they, that they failed to notice when the ground beneath their feet began to rumble. A sound echoed forth like hell had opened its maw and grew in intensity until a cacophony emerged so loud it was heard in the farthest reaches of space. With its terrible cry, a gush of lava issued from the volcano’s throat and poured down the sides of the mountain. Forgetting their scuffle, Scrooge and Magica rushed down the mountain, hopping over streams of red-hot lava carving its way through the igneous rock. Only one moment was spared to glance back at the oncoming threat, but to the pair’s great surprise, riding the crest of a magnificent flare of magma was an egg!

“An egg?” Scrooge asked.

“My egg.” Donald informed him. “Please don’t interrupt, unca.”

“Darling, you’d be hard-boiled.”

Donald placed a tiny finger on his uncle’s beak. “Shh. This is my story, unca.”

Upon seeing the definitely not hardboiled egg, both Scrooge and Magica knew they had to have it.

Once they had fled to safety, their fight began anew. But this time it was over who would get the privilege of raising such a clearly rad baby. For hours they fought, Magic hurled spells with all her might and Scrooge did some sick backflips and roundhouse kicks.

Scrooge laughed. “I am not, nor have I ever been, capable of that kind of athleticism, kiddo.”

“Shh!”

Magica’s might was great, but Scrooge’s love was a force even greater than the witch’s spellcraft. He overcame her might and defeated Magica de Spell. She skulked away from the fight, cursing Scrooge McDuck’s name, and swearing to return to visit me and shower me with love.

“Mm-hmm.” Scrooge nodded. “That’s definitely why Magica always bothers me.”

Donald allowed this one interruption. “I knew it!” He whispered to himself.

Scrooge examined his newly won bounty. My egg was dark-blue with a sick yellow lightning bolt across its circumference. Detailed on the eggshell was a tableau of my birth, the volcano’s eruption, the legendary fight, my unca’s victory—all of this had been foretold.

“Your eggshell was white. With a few off-white speckles.”

“That isn’t cool at all! That’s boring!”

“The cool part was the life generating inside.” Scrooge booped Donald on the beak, but Donald frowned despite the affectionate gesture.

ANYWAY—tired and sore from the long battle, unca—I mean Scrooge—scooped me up into his arms and cradled me. It was time to begin their long journey home. It was an expedition fraught with peril… Scrooge crossed stormy seas that teemed with sharks, bounded over cragged pits filled with monsters and their terrible gnashing teeth, and battled with a tiger in the dense Amazonian jungle who wanted to eat me! Through all this, Scrooge prevailed, and he dreamed about the duck that would soon emerge from his egg. He was certain he’d be amazing, and strong, and handsome, and—

“Cute as a button!” Scrooge supplied with a smile.

Donald poked his uncle hard in the side as punishment for interrupting his tale. “I’m not cute! I’m super cool and awesome!”

“And adorable.” Scrooge whispered this addition under his breath so as not to incur more punishment from the temperamental duckling.

Finally, after many woes and trials, Scrooge arrived back home and collapsed into the awaiting arms of his beloved.

“My what?”

Donald gawked at his uncle. Surely, he was playing dumb. “Duckworth!”

A blush colored Scrooge’s white feathered face. “My b-beloved…? You mean my… beloved butler? Pal? Workmate proximity associate?”

A scoff emanated from Donald’s throat that sounded near identical to the kind Duckworth would let out whenever he was fed-up with Scrooge’s shenanigans. Donald ignored his uncle’s blundering and continued on with his story.

Home once again, Scrooge relayed his epic tale of discovery, danger, and thrill. As he recounted each harrowing detail, cracks started to form in the shell of my egg. I was ready to hatch! With a decisive karate kick, I burst from my egg, vaporizing the shell in an instant and leaving behind only a fine powdery dust. I emerged from my egg clad toe to tip in a pirate’s outfit. Complete with pirate boots, eyepatch, and a cutlass.

Scrooge clutched his sides as he chortled. “You weren’t born with a pirate costume on!”

“What was I wearing then?” Donald leveled his uncle with an incredulous eye.

Scrooge wiped away a tear from his eye. “O-ho, that was priceless. Dearie, you were naked when you hatched.”

Donald’s beak gaped wide with shock. He couldn’t believe the blasphemous words his uncle had uttered. No pirate outfit? No clothes at all? “Unca! I was not born…” Donald lowered his voice to a whisper, “naked.”

“You sure were. Naked as the day, well, you were born! You had the cutest little tush.” Scrooge pinched Donald’s behind with a wink.

“Ouch!” Donald slapped away his uncle’s hand. “I was not born naked and I do not have a cute tush!”

Scrooge heaved his shoulders up in a shrug. “I think the pictures in your baby book would prove otherwise, but have it your way.” He ruffled Donald’s messy head of feathers. “Is that all then? That’s the story of your hatching?”

Donald crossed his arms testily. “Yes! And it was way better than your lame story.”

Scrooge yawned and pulled his angry little duckling into a warm hug. “If you say so, dear.”

“I do say so.” Donald’s eyes fluttered shut as he wormed deeper into his uncle’s feathers.

Their argument ended there as the two of them drifted off to sleep, cuddled together in Donald’s small bed. Perhaps they’d renew their argument in the morning, but for now, they were just happy to have found each other.

#teamuncleweek2020 #LDU #loots duck universe #duckverse #disney ducks #donald duck #Scrooge mcduck #team uncle

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fireminer · 7 years

Text

Writing advice: Forging a sword

Let me say upfront that this list is meant to fit a wide variety of settings, from high-magic to low-magic. And it is NOT the ONLY which you can make an awesome sword. In fact, your character can simply pick up any tree branch laying on the side, enchanting it with a multitude of spells, and there you have something which can take on the likes of Dragons.

What I am about to say is, however, gathered from my real-life experience (as both a sword affectionado and amateur blacksmith,) mixed with a very low amount of fantastic elements. As I said above, what listed here can be put in almost any campaign and would not look completely out-of-place. You can expand the list, or choose to remove elements from it, it depends on how you are going to play.

So, let’s us begin

I. MATERIALS & TOOLS

- Steel: Meteorite ore gives that “Oomph”, but if it is not possible I recommend Magnetite (Fe₃O₄). In some cases, you may want to have a sword which was made from several types of steel (more on that bellow.)

But Ore is not the only type of steel you can use. Recycling steel is something which blacksmiths have been doing since the dawn of their carrer. Any steel, even those have rusted, will do as long as it is homogenous (made from one type of steel only) such as a hovel or a pot (cast iron is fine, too.)

Sometime recycling steel also has spiritual meanings. The most obvious one is scourging the battlefield for broken blades, but you can really made a spin on this idea - for example, a sword which is a tribute to a god can make use of the steel from the nails which are taken from a shrine dedicated to that same god

Also, never use stainless steel, unless you’re looking for a knife. Use steel with high carbon content

- Coal: Good old fat coal, or if coal is not available then use charcoal, which is normally formed by slow-burning wood or (sometimes) bones. If you want to add some more “Oomph”, considering the coal is fossifulized from the remains of an ancient magical forest or bones of magical beasts.

[Unconfirmed sources tell that in the pre-Medieval time, people did use the bones of their ancestors/enemies, not as the primary fuel source, but for the carbon content gained when burning the bones while smelting the metal.]

- Tools: The older the tools are, the more prestigious they carry (and, work like the extension of an arm.) If possible, then have a dragon to substitute for the furnace (so as to raise the temperature as high as possible, therefore pushing out more impurities from the iron during smelting), and let a spirit possessing you and guiding your hammer hand

- Steel types: Hagane/Shigane/Kawagane (edge steel/core steel/skin steel used in the making of Katanas,) Crucible, or Damascus (essentially a variation of Crucible) steel. You can see that these types of steel all consist of several layer of steel of different strength, which gives the sword both strength, sharpness, and flexibility.

Steel-working in the ancient days was also more advanced than we thought. For example, the 2nd century Romans used naturally occurring metal alloys (Molybdenum from Dacian iron ore) as cores, with soft iron sheathing. It was basically a sandwich forge-welded together with a hard edge and tough exterior

- Wood: For the grips, blacksmiths has always favor straight-grain woods (oak, ash, etc with teak the most expensive of them) for easy shaping and durability (it’s much harder to break a straight-grain wooden stick when you put it on your knees and break)

- Enchantment: Ofuda or any other types of paper talisman to wrap around the still-hot ingot (Japanese steelmakers still do this today.) Having a priest (or any supernatural entity) blessing everything also help, too

II. STEPS TO FORGE A SWORD

- Smelting the ore into steel (or buy already-made steel)

- Drawing out the shape of the blade: Heating the ingot till it is red, hammering it, reheating the ingot again, hammering again. Repeat the process until you have the basic shape of the sword in your hand. Then it is all about grinding which you create the profile of the blade, which includes its point and edges. All engraving should be done by now

- Hardening the blade: Heating the blade till it glow, then quenching it in a liquid. Please note that curve swords (like the katana) only become curved after they have been hardening

- Tempering the blade: Heating the sword (at a temperature lower than the temperature which the Hardening happened), then quenching it again. Repeat the process for several times. This is one stage where the skill and experience of the swordsmith is invaluable. It takes trained hands and sharp eyes to understand the properties of the metal

- Finishing the sword: Polishing and applying finish to the blade, then adding hilt, guard, pommel, etc to the sword.

III. TIPS

- Metalworkers were rarely specialized in the way we think of having a "job" today. The local blacksmith was also the dentist, not because he had medical training, but because he had tools. Metalworkers often had a toe dipped in alchemy, which is not surprising since they appear to transmute "dirt" into metal and then tools

- Choose the type of blade: Look online for “Oakeshott Typology” and see for yourself what kind of blade you are going to make. Stranger types of blades, such as the Flamberge, also work but you must first think of the setting which your characters stuck in. Is it a period where full-body armor prevails? Are you more likely to fight against men-at-arms, thugs, or knights, etc.

I notice that the most commonly used blade style is a hybrid Viking sword/Arming sword style with little taper and a wide fuller (in practice, however, depend on the sword you may have to adjust the size of the fuller.) Artists tend to exaggerate the width of the blade, though.

- Sharpness: European longswords were never much sharper than a butterknife. They didn't need to be sharp to cleave armor and limbs, and a sharp blade will be more likely to warp, chip, and shatter. Rapiers and other quillion-hilted swords take this to the next step – as they are mainly used to thrush and lunge, the edge are left blunt

- Hardness:

The hardness of the steel can be determined when you are grinding and polishing it: The more spark it creates, the harder the steel is. Normally, with swords which just have been quenched, you will have the outermost layer of steel quite soft. You must grind the edge down so as the now-hardened edge can reveal itself

- Fuller: Depend on the type of the blade, the number, length and width of fuller will change. You should do some research first before coming to your decision

- Folding: The primary purpose of folding the ingot is to beat out the impurities. The "wavy" pattern on Damascus swords are only a byproduct of folding. That said, never fold the steel over 5 times, unless you're really sure what you're doing. Long short story, the molecular structure of steel is messed up so bad it can no longer be used to draw out a sword

- Tempering: Use either oil or water for tempering, but in any case DO NOT use blood. Medieval sources tell that blacksmith once quenched their blades in rendered lamb's fat

If you use a single type of steel for your blade construction (most likely the case with modern steel. Most of the “backyard knife/sword/etc making videos you see on Youtube are actually like this, with the maker traced their sword on a sheet of steel and then cut it out), quenching the blade in oil will make the blade lost its curve. The opposite happened with cruxible steel, as the sword curves more when quenched with oil (for example, the shape of the Katana is formed like so.)

- Blade decoration: The sky is your limit, but remembers that any carving must be done before the blade is tempered, and even then the blade can still be weakened if not properly treated. Inlaying gold or silver, however, is done after tempering but before polishing. If you want to inscribe something after tempering, use acid and stencil. DO NOT attempt to use a chisel on a finished blade

A lot of times gold, silver, ruby, and other precious materials have magical and/or religious meanings, so make sure you know what you’re doing.

- Grips, hilts, guards, and pommels: Once again, go with the Oakeshott classification. The hilt, guard, and pommel are actually the part where all of the “Blings” will go, and whether a sword is visually impressive depends on these parts. That said, do not try to “hang” everything on the three of them. In some cases they will make the sword impossible to be used.

Do not have the grip rounded, for when your character wielding that sword, he won’t known which is the front and which is the back of the blade (wrong blade alignment.) Have the grip quadrilateral, hexagonal, or octagonal.

For the wrapping of the grips, hilt, guard, uses cured hide of a monster, or its dried tendons. If necessary, boil down bones to make glue

- Finishing: Choose between browning, bluing, blackening, Parkerizing (the last three methods are recent inventions, and while they may not give the most aesthetically-pleasing look, they certainly protect the metal surface weel,) or just a simple layer of oil.

A traditional and effective method was to warm the blade and melt beeswax over the surface. It will protect the blade until rubbed off, and it has a good look.

Remember that your sword will certainly rust, considering the amount of blood you are going to douse it with, so if your game has a “Breakable Weapon” system, remember to clean and sharpen your sword after each engament

+ Case hardening: In case you want to make your sword fancier, there is the Case Hardening method which turn the polished blade into the color of translucent rainbow (seriously, Google it up.) There are two plausible way Case Hardening can be done in a medieval-fantasy setting: dunk the parts in a bath of boiling cyanide, or, packing the metal parts in a box along with charcoal, leather, and bits of bone (you can add some copper coin for an even shinier finish,) then heat everything up for several hours, and then quench it in water.

#writing tips #writing advice #sword

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ruwithmeguys · 8 years

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What are overalll thoughts on Dinah from the past 2 episodes, 11+12? I still don't see why ppl are freaking out on a potential O/D? I think the writers are trying to set up a GA/BC partnership that lacked from the LL version of the BC. I thought it was interesting that felicity didn't trust her yet and called Dinah an unknown quantity. Still burned from Evelyn. So dinah now has to earn Felicity's trust and respect that was freely given to LL. Another strike against LL and her integration into TA

Sorry this took so long toanswer Anon – I’ve had a brutal shift change at work that no matter how hard Itry I can’t seem to get used to! I really wanted to have this posted BEFOREepisode 14 but oh well…

Here’s the low down: I neveronce thought they were bringing in a new BC as a way to redo the GA/BC romance.Not once. Technically it’s been done twice in the show and neither time endedwell. They’ve learned their lesson. Before I get into this (LIKE I DO WITHEVERY ASK) I just want to add something I’ve never had the chance to before.

The BC/GA romance in thecomics suited the comics. It was likeable. I’ve read some of it and have noproblem with saying that. But sometimes transferring from comic to screen hasthe opposite affect to what was intended. It didn’t help that KC’scharacterisation of LL was beyond hard-core judgemental and bitter in season 1- it was understandable why but she didn’t allow (plus her and SA’s chemistrywasn’t close to what was wanted) for much softness and when she DID she took itback with a vehemence and confusing twist to logic that left many a fan reeling- nor did it help that she wasn’t believable when the time came to arise as theBC. It also didn’t help that, as part of her contract, her character was madeto be unaccountably and unbelievably self-entitled and contradictory (I amreferring to the way she did a 180before she died and the way they couldn’t kill her off or make her leave BEFOREshe became the BC). OR that, thanks to KC’s, her agent’s and the writers/producersinput, her character was reduced to two things in her time as LL & BC: anadrenaline junkie (an addict) and someone who couldn’t let go of the past, i.e.her and Ollie and her and Sara.

Way to reduce the heroicfigure of the comic version of BC.

But what do I mean by that?

‘Ollie’ was the love of LL’slife and she held that torch until she died (btw was actually painful to watchher say those words to Oliver only to have him keep silent; he NEVER SAID AWORD BACK- he couldn’t even give her a lukewarm ‘love ya too’ because itwouldn’t have been true). EVEN though we all know, because Stephen Amell confessedto it and because Oliver said on screen (plus he never told her he loved hertoo) that she wasn’t the love of his, she still kept to her season 1foundation. This lack of change, of progression, got her killed. That, in part,was KC’s accountability for never letting go of her season 1 moniker (mainfemale LI and character/budding hero) and the writers (or whoever’s job it wasto promote characters) error for never bringing her character forwards with therest of cast.

Even LL/KC knew in the endthat she had to go.

In many ways, her loyal fansseem to see the attention she’s gotten this season as tribute to her. Buthonestly, they should see it as more insulting than anything else. LL isreceiving more love and respect NOW – dead – then she ever did in life. She wasonly granted the Ollie/LL closure she should have had in season 2 in season 5after death and it was a literal rendition of ‘we would have never workedLaurel ; what we had died years ago’.

What the hell? Smack to theface.

Her (ugly ass) statue wasdestroyed by her doppelganger of all people, like they were saying it was timeto move on.

And notice how everyone canonly repeat how brilliant she was but can never give examples as to why theythink that?

Notice how LL/BC didn’t have anemesis. Not in 4 seasons did the writers ever grant her a bad guy of her ownwhich is the hallmark for hero’s on a TV show; if you get either a loveinterest or a storyline set apart from the other characters involving a battleyou fight and prevail through, it means you’ve made it as the female lead.

LL’s character failed inrepresenting the comic book BC many love.

Then along came Sara. CaityLotz man, she stole it.

In season 2 there’s a line LLsays to Sara and it FITS: “You stole my life.”

In a way she did.

It’s Sara who get’s Ollie/GA.It’s Sara who is the preferable BC. It’s Sara who gets her own TV show. ItsSara everyone wants back. It’s Sara who is able to progress, to have loveinterests and storylines. She was awesome.

Except… she didn’t work out onthe show either.

She was good in small doseswhich isn’t what we want in the female lead and for BC mantle. Her brand ofheroism didn’t fit with the show.

To a fashion, she temporarilyworked with Ollie/GA. But they couldn’t make it last: their romance was basedon the connection of their darker selves (believing no one else wouldunderstand or accept them) and, at times, lacklustre. There was no reason – notanywhere – for them to progress and the idea of that happening felt flat-outweird because the only reason why they started was because of their pasts.

And just like the LL & OQromance, they nipped Sara and Ollie in the butt. It had nowhere to go.

According to Stephen and MarcG, both of the above romances where based on the past, something that isconfirmed for the last time (because some fans won’t let it go either) inseason 5 when Oliver tells the Laurel hallucination that he could never loveher the way she wanted – that they would have never worked – because he was nolonger the man who she fell in love with. He died in the ocean.

Sara’s Ollie died in theocean.

Laurel had always been waitingfor him to come back, even after she donned the mask.

And notice that everyone whohas ever called Oliver ‘Ollie’ has died.

(Thea is exempt)

In Arrow, the past has to die.

I know Sara came back butaccording to the directors, she was missed so much they HAD to bring her back.Not LL, Sara.

Now, in its dullest terms it’s‘fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me’

No way are they going to makethat mistake again.

There’s another aspect to theGA/BC comic canon that doesn’t represent well.

On-screen, this pairing – theGA/BC part not the OQ/LL/DD part - are obnoxious. And by that I mean, they’reconstantly in competition with each other.

Like too much will andconviction onscreen at once; both figures fight for supremacy and it becomes abattle of wills that’s exhausting and often confusing to watch. It’s the Arrowshow not the BC and Arrow show.

Even when they weren’ttogether, LL and OQ fought constantly on opinions, on the reasons why they dowhat they do and how they eventually do them. She fought with him on how hedealt with Felicity being shot for God sakes. ‘How dare you be emotional when Ibrought my sister back and let her loose on the city and and and…’

SO did Ollie and Sara: onlywhen they split up this petered off and it turned into a friendship.

It seems with this new BC,Dinah, they’ve taken on board everything that didn’t work in the past and cutit out.

First, her backstory is -though redone/familiar - plausible.

Second, she – the actress andcharacterization - more believable.

Third, her relationship withOliver is exactly how it should have always been: she’s a team mate. Evenbetter, she’s learning from him. Not competing.

LL, even Sara to a degree,could not stand up to Oliver on the basis of experience. I know Sara was in theleague but learning how to be a professional assassin is a very different setof experiences and skills to the daily hell of discovering the monster withinthat Oliver had to face – alone - on his nomadic journey.

Notice how her first year onthe Amazo was spent being in the care of Dr Ivo?

Notice how his first year wasspent battling to survive with everyone trying to hurt him?

Notice how, when Sara wasbrought into the League, she had Nyssa the ENTIRE time to have some sembalncepeace in.

Notice how Oliver justcontinued to loose and infect the people around him with his growing darkness.

Notice how, when he was giventhe choice, he didn’t return home whilst she was never given one?

These are just a few examplesof their differences and I am not undermining the horrors Sara faced.

Those five years for Oliverweren’t one long lesson in being an assassin; it was filled with terrorism,violence, gang warfare, biochemical warfare, murder, vigilantism,sort-of-espionage, spying, missions and magic. And they weren’t five yearsspent building a grudge like with LL.

You can’t compare to thatexperience.

And LL tried to all the time.

Sara did when she was datinghim.

Both were repetitive and bothbecame irritating fast.

This new BC, listens. Learns.Watches. AND she’s totally badass on her own. She’s a female Oliver Queen andone day she’ll step out of his shadow and become her own hero. And when shedoes, FULLY, she’ll leave the team. They may team up in the future buteventually she’ll want to do things HER way and she’ll know not to rock theboat.

It’s so refreshing bringingher in because not only is she believable, not only do they give her courtesyof grieving the man she loved, not only is she physically capable, not onlydoes she fit in with the team, not only does she not fill the screen with pointlessmoments, not only does she not compete… she and Oliver have zero romanticchemistry.

A BC being placed on theromantic chemistry pedestal with GA on the Arrow TV show is like a deathsentence for the character, despite the actress. LITERALLY.

At the moment she’s getting toknow the team and Felicity recently gave her a mask which, as we all know, isArrow’s way of saying ‘okay, NOW you’re in business’. She’s been given thegreen light.

I think she’s also there tobalance the scales: Thea’s gone and so is LL/SL. SO is Evelyn. They needed awoman in there stat who could hold her own.

Like you said, not everythinghas to be about romance. A lot of people have decided that EVERY new femalecharacter on Arrow this year will be a love interest. It’s been super tiring towade through that kind of angst and I’m pretty sure it hasn’t made the watchingof it more enjoyable.

Stephen Amell doesn’t dobelievable romances with most actresses on Arrow anyway, other than Felicity.

And I believed in him andHELENA, more than I believed in him and Sara. Laurel.

The spiral needed to changeand change it did. They’ve made this new BC, this redo of BC/LL, a story onsecond chances and redemption. Oliver can give her the time and patience hewouldn’t give Laurel (and for that he’ll always feel guilt). But with this, hecan learn to let that go.

And hopefully, season 6 won’tbe a constant worship of a dead woman when, in life, no one really cared whathappened to her.

But I believe this new BC hasalready generated her own fans. Good luck to her.

(PS – with Stephen’s interviewthis week NONE of the above was necessary and I’m laughing)

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