#I should probably try drawing more Beast Wars characters as well | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flingza-roller · 2 years ago

Note

Sorry if this is bad timing, but I just saw your post about lorikeet and I love them! Could you tell me a bit more about them and your other splatoon OCs?

OHO YES! there is no such thing as bad timing to ask about ocs, im just incredibly happy that somebody is interested!! heheh time to Ramble (this is long sorry)

ok so im gonna stick to the bird kids cuz theyre a lot easier to explain GSJFD (maybe someday ill give my other ocs refs and backstory stuff....)

all four of em are very much based off how i play the game as each character, so i pretty much just grab my in-game behaviour and give it to em as a personality.

so, lorikeet! splat3 is still very new but i think ive somehow already solidified their personality lmao. theyre super reckless, pretty much always falling off stages and getting themself splatted by doing stupid things like running headfirst to a tacticooler or trying to challenge the eliter that wont leave them alone (i think mahi-mahi is the absolute worst for this). they like to go a little bit cazy and get as many kills as possible, which is silly when the only mode u play is turf war... (on that, there is not a single splatoon game that has gotten me to like ranked/league. i played it a few times and then swore off it, so now all four of the kids hate ranked lol)

lori fucking ADORES deep cut so theyve got the three earrings in their right ear bc they wanna be like shiver and frye. on deep cut, they love splatfests and all the music n fun stuff that comes with it. theyre weirdly not too competitive when it comes to defending their team, BUT they will go extra feral during splatfest turf wars and go complete beast mode. they still dont have a main weapon? favours brushes but thats pippins thing so they should probably pick something else GDKGS

oh they have the worst adhd brain. if they see something cool happening in the bg of a stage they will just straight up stop in their tracks and watch for a while, completely oblivious to whatever is happening in the match. and of course the moment they hear the tacticooler they will run for it even if theyre literally in the opposite end of the stage.... stupid. favourite stage is yet to be decided, gotta let the game marinate for a while longer

as the new agent 3 lori is pretty good at following orders, they just kinda... die in the dumbest possible ways. trying to jump through walls, walking straight off ledges, accidentally attracting attention to themself by throwing lil buddy right next to them. but theyre pretty good at fighting! also they like annoying the captain, because of course (this doesnt bode well for kiwi)

id like to build more on their character eventually but that requires me playing more splat3 and ive been rly unmotivated to do so >:/ ive barely played any salmon run and still havent touched table turf. augh. lori u will grow as a person i promise

now PIPPIN! (she/they) theyre my kid from octo expansion! shes very silly but surprisingly strong and skilled. never asked for help from OTH and went through every single test multiple times to get every weapon ticked (hell). also enjoys fighting inner agent 3 because ??? clearly a lot more competent than theyre letting on.

so once pip came to the surface they were very much like "id rather NOT do the whole fighting thing again" and jumped into turf wars with the intention of just having fun and messing with people. her gear set is 100% QSJ cuz she likes annoying the enemy team and then jumping away like a coward when theyre cornered (it jumpscares people bc they dont expect an octo to jump THAT fast).

she uses brush so that they can draw love hearts in enemy base :] they think its very cute and gets sad when ppl ink over it. also if an enemy tries to initiate a party they will always join bc make love not war etc. always goes for the highest inkage (highest score excluding win points was over 2000) favourite stage is inkblot art academy!

zero sense of fashion btw they either wear the QSJ gear or whatever they think will make her look hot (big fan of the octoling armour and marinas crop top). sometimes changes gender to Boy bc why the hell not, gender is arbitrary.

when grouped up with the others, they like teaming up with pigeon to cause chaos and havoc. shes very excited to see lori joining the team cuz theyre equally as insane as the other two! kiwi is the only one carrying a braincell here rip

PIGEON time!! (also she/they) technically my first oc because splatoon 2 was my first game! so she definitely has the most going for them. foil flingza main (my beloved), absolutely a frontliner and goes for the kill as much as possible. very good at sneak attacks! main gear is almost entirely special charge up (sorry. im the og missile spammer) except for ninja squid which they use to scare the shit outta ppl.

pigeon adores the birds u see hanging out on various stages, especially the pigeons (naturally). favourite stage is moray towers! i never said we had good taste. moray is excellent for roller users and allows for fast clean base inking >:]

like the others they love a good squid party but isnt always in the mood, HOWEVER she will never splat an innocent partier bc thats a dick move. if theyre not a threat, theres no need to splat.

outside of turf, pigeon is actually not a very violent person. very sweet to their friends and oh so very lesbian. she sees a pretty girl in the square and goes 😳 (btw this DOES work in battle, be a cute girl and they will be distracted). fucking absolutely obsessed with squid beatz like you have no idea, aims to get gold on every hard mode song. favourite songs to play are frantic aspic, shark bytes, and entropical. she and pippin love playing games like this together, i bet theyd be great dance duo.

in hero mode, pigeon is naturally a completionist and obtained every weapon. fucking loves harassing marie and annoying her as much as possible. adores callie so much <3 their best speedrun time is 40 sec on octo samurai (sadly cant reach the world record of 39)

unlike pippin they actually have a pretty good fashion sense, always coordinating their outfits and ink colour to match. a very stylish squid!

now kiwi is an interesting one. i first played splatoon 1 in beginning of 2018, so sadly i missed out on the splatfests. still got plenty of turf in and played hero mode repeatedly bc i have brainrot!

so kiwi (again. she/they) is really into amiibo challenges, especially the kraken challenge. being a kraken for that long makes em feel powerful, and its lotsa fun. they actually spend far more time on hero missions than anything else, they enjoy turf on the occasion but find it weirdly intimidating (favourite stage is flounder heights!). she feels most at home in the valley, with craig and the squid sisters. theyre far too sympathetic toward octolings (unlike pigeon who just goes fucking ham) and tries her best to just avoid fighting them entirely. because of this, shes pretty good at stealth missions, especially since she rarely makes much noise anyway. theyre definitely the most low-key out of the four agents.

SO!! why do i name them all after birds? because.... i like birds :D yes im a wannabe ornithologist and birds are my main special interest. i also mainly name them after aus/nz birds cuz im just Like That. we have cool birds in australia, and lorikeet was just far too fitting to pass up. (btw pippin is short for peregrine falcon)

despite being so skilled in hero mode missions they do actually get hurt a lot and almost always has some kind of bandaid or gauze on her body from various injuries. is it a lack of skill, or just recklessness? hmmm (its definitely just because she doesnt take enough care of their body lol).

if kiwi were to be captain in splatoon 3, theyd definitely be just constantly scruffing new 3 by the collar to stop them from doing something stupid. is very afraid of a new idiot joining the gang, as if pip n pidge werent bad enough. all 4 as a splatfest team would definitely be the most chaotic thing possible.

also theyre this way because when i draw squirds (tagged on my blog as "wings au") i think its fun to see how different they all look! kiwi would certainly be more fitting as a bird of prey but i think they look so silly with the stubby wings so im not changing my mind. this does mean shes real fast at running! pip and lori are the fastest flyers, pigeon is just kinda in between rip

final note, theyre all at LEAST 18 just so that its not weird. they all use she/they except lori, whos exclusively they/them. they all fucking hate ranked but love hero missions. also all of them have 1 braincell bouncing between them (mainly held by kiwi)

if u managed to read this far, thanks for ur time!! ill eventually draw all these silly bird kids together as squirds, i think itd be fun.

#text #my ocs #pigeon #pippin #lorikeet #kiwi #thank u so much for the ask!! sorry if this response is too long DGKS

10 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 4 years ago

Text

Curse Of The Tiger King

NCT King!Jung Jaehyun x Zoologist!Reader Characters: Jung Jaehyun, Lee Donghyuck (Haechan), Kim Dongyoung (Doyoung), some tigers n stuff. Summary: Jung Jaehyun was known as the Tiger King of the Joseon Era because of how many men he fearlessly killed on the battlefield that matches how many tigers he said to have killed with his bare hands. Because of this, he was cursed into a eternal life as a tiger spirit with only one way to break it. Word Count: 6k+ Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, animal abuse, war, curses, suicidal thoughts, angst, fluff, etc.

A/N: Idek my mom said the plot is weird but i dig it also listen to tiger inside by superm prolly okie thx. I honestly could have done more research on tigers but like let me live with my inaccuracies okay. Also i may do a pt2 idek

Donghyuck was thankful that it started to storm tonight. Even to the roars of thunder he was indebted to, for it meant his king would not go out and hunt at this hour.

The sycophant adviser Moon Taeil argued with Donghyuck constantly that he was trying to constrain the King of their nation his rights to a glorious hunt of tigers. Why must he dissuade the hunts of the King when he was doing the people a favor and destroying the monsters that could come into their towns and each their children?

It took a lot for Donghyuck not to roll his eyes at the blatant excuse that old minister Taeil had to get the king’s favor. Never in his life had he even heard of a tiger willingly coming out of the wilderness close to human territory had it not been forced out.

It was not that Donghyuck felt sympathy towards tigers either. I mean, who did in this era? It was just that Donghyuck worried the king would strain himself if he immediately goes hunting after just defeating a fleet of usurpers with his army.

He knew how frenzied the king got after drawing blood.

Donghyuck, as the king's right hand man, had a responsibility to keep the nation's sole rule sane.

"Stop worrying," the king said to Donghyuck who was stood not too far behind him.

"I always worry about you, Jaehyun hyung."

Behind closed doors, Donghyuck and Jaehyun were brothers forged by time and not blood. If anyone could help Jaehyun keep his sense, it would be Donghyuck.

Jaehyun was in a dim lit room, kneeled in the middle in front of a slab of stone which he slid his sword back and forth from to sharpen it. Truth be told, it was a habit of his to do this every time he used his sword. But that wasn't what Donghyuck was anxious about. It was the fact Jaehyun didn't wipe the blood on his skin nor did he properly wear his royal robe that keeps goose bumps on his arms.

"It's almost your birthday, Hyuck-ah. Would you like one of my tiger pelts- ah-- should I hunt a tiger for you?" Jaehyun stops sharpening his sword and turns to Donghyuck.

The younger of the two shakes his head and replies, "I couldn't possibly ask for something from my king."

Jaehyun scoffs, "ya you bastard, tell that to all the times you made me buy you noodles when we snuck out the palace as kids."

Donghyuck cleared his throat, "that's on you though for agreeing."

The king chuckles and stands, "there's some rumors going around that there's a white tiger roaming the mountains. They say it is mightier than any ordinary tiger. What do you think? Would you like a white tiger cape?"

"You'd give me something so rare?"

Jaehyun scoffs again and rolls his eyes. He points his sword to Donghyuck, to which he the latter thinks nothing of, "why? Do you think your king is so selfish and keeps everything to himself."

Donghyuck is touched.

But he regrets how pleased Jaehyun's smile was that night. He regrets how he said they should bathe in the royal bath house together and should hunt the white tiger at the break of dawn. He knew in his bones something somehow was going to go wrong with the king.

And even with all his efforts to stay close to him, with all his looney athleticism and determination to catch that white tiger in the mountains, Donghyuck's foot got stuck and twisted upon a tree root.

Of course Jaehyun and he at this point had caught sight of the beast and had scared it off with their numbers. You couldn't possibly believe that the king would be left to hunt alone, would you? But Jaehyun had always been gifted with such immeasurable agility, and well Donghyuck spent most of his life trying to measure up to that. He could not match him however, but much less could the soldiers.

That was why Jaehyun stopped and turned to Donghyuck. He was worried for him like anyone would their younger brother since he deemed Donghyuck as such.

I suppose it was Donghyuck's mistake of trying to talk the king out of catching the white tiger. He knew out of everyone that Jaehyu didn't believe in supernatural or superstitious beliefs simply because they historically worked against his favor. Jaehyun had a knack of proving people wrong with his sheer will, and up to now, he had done nothing but that

Donghyuck had triggered that in him when he muttered to the king, "I have a bad feeling about this hunt. We should turn back, lest you get hurt."

Jaehyun's face ignited at the posing challenge. "Nonsense, I won't let your injury heed nothing. I should definitely catch that tiger no matter what."

So Jaehyun tread off by himself. Donghyuck tried to force himself to go after him. He watched as the king got far enough that he looked like a dot. Still, Donghyuck pushed on. He propped himself up and limped as fast as he could. He thought of simply turning back, but he didn't have much of a choice when he heard the king scream and a tiger roar.

Suddenly, it was silent.

Donghyuk felt like he choked on his heart, "the king is dead."

Jaehyun doesn't remember what he saw, but he remembers what he felt. He felt excruciating pain, like his inside were being pulled from inside out. Then he felt cold. Then there was darkness.

Then he blinked his eyes open and saw the face of a white tiger. His heart dropped and he felt the need to flee. But he was unable to do nothing but wiggle like a worm. He could no longer feel his hands.

The realized then... he had no hands.

The white tiger at this point was above him. It began to lick Jaehyun's body. There was an aroma in the air he recognized as blood. Dear lord, did this tiger devour his body?

But Jaehyun felt no more pain. He tried to scream, but he was only able to make a small sound.

He heard a similar sound next to him, and soon he was kicked in the face by paws. Instinctively, he was annoyed and felt the need to fight back, but he could barely muster the strength to stand on his four feet.

Wait... he had four feet?

The white tiger who had assaulted him with its tongue, laid before him and rolled her belly, revealing pert nipples. It seemed a litter of kittens waddled towards the invitingly plush belly and began suckling. Jaehyun disagreed as it slowly sank in what was happening. He felt his belly rumble in hunger.

Somehow, this large tiger felt Jaehyun's reluctance and clumsily but softly shoved Jaehyun close to its belly. The white tiger was a mother to four cubs, and Jaehyun was one of them.

The mother tiger laid down and yawned, blinking slowly until she shut her eyes. He saw there was an available area where he could suckle in between the two cubs on the left and the one on the right.

Jaehyun screamed, but again, there was only a pathetically small sound that left his throat. After minutes of waiting, he grew weaker and found it was futile. This baby tiger body he was in much strongly disagreed with the emptiness of its stomach.

So he nursed on warm milk and he began to dream he was a white tiger cub.

Except it wasn't a dream, and he remained trapped in this body up he slowly grew stronger and stronger.

Jaehyun began to recall the voice of his mother, his real mother, in his sleep. She warned him of spirits in the rivers, in the trees, in the mountains, and how it was the king's duty to protect the people from it.

It made him think that the white tiger he was following in the mountain may have been a spirit, and this was the punishment for wanting to hunt it. That white tiger spirit made Jaehyun the cub of a real white tiger. He knew this tiger he now trusted like a mother was not the one he had been following in the forest by the mountains, simply because this forest they roamed where not by those mountains.

He knew that place like the back of his hand since he both grew up there and hunted there frequently. Jaehyun found no familiarity in the landscape here. It smelled very similar, but even in that he could tell a difference. There was a repulsive bitterness in the air he could not distinguish. It was unlike any smoke he had breathed in. He began to doubt he was even still in his Joseon borders.

What he was certain of, after moons and suns passed, was there was no way he was getting out of this body. He thought of killing the cubs, but it seems the cub-body he was in was the weakest of the four. And of course, killing the mother came into mind, but he could barely fend himself from the cubs, how could he defeat the largest of them all?

Jaehyun vowed to learn their ways and use it against them once he was large enough. One may think it despicable, especially when Jaehyun trusted the tiger mother would not harm him, but it was his only chance as he could see it.

That was until a storm struck the forest, and it awakened a vivid memory of Jaehyun. It was like his last night with Donghyuck. He had just told him he would catch a white tiger for him. They had bathed in the royal bathing house. Jaehyun shivered under his fur at the memory of the warm water Donghyuck farted it.

Donghyuck.

He could help him.

Why hadn’t he thought of looking for his friend before?

So from the dry safety of this cave they stayed in, Jaehyun ran past the licking cubs and ran into the storm. He didn't know how he could find Donghyuck, but Jaehyun thought he would probably at least find his palace... Right?

It was funny that he heard chuffing from behind. He initially thought it was the rain beating down on him or the water that got into his furry ear, but he realized it was the mother tiger calling out to him. She ran after him and snatched him by the nape to drag him back into the cave.

Jaehyun knew there was no way out of this, since this tiger had done it to him multiple times. He had to wait until she put him down before he could run again.

And she did, gently on the other cubs. Jaehyun made sure to paw the largest of the other three in the face. He was satisfied when he shook his head at the action.

The mother tiger then shook off the water on her coat just as Jaehyun did. She then thought to lie in front of the opening of the cave to block further passage, as if she knew Jaehyun would try it again.

He had to admit, this mother was intuitive, not unlike Jaehyun's own mother. Part of him couldn't help but feel pity of the dumb creature because she genuinely believed Jaehyun was her cub. If she only knew what he did to tigers in his life. She surely would not hesitate to let Jaehyun leave.

Jaehyun suddenly got his head bashed into the mother tiger's arm.

WHO DID THAT?

He turned and saw it was one of the other cubs in the litter that then made one of those playing sounds and began to batter at Jaehyun's face with its paw.

Jaehyun scoffed, you don't know I've been practicing my pouncing.

He then put his front legs down and hind legs up and aimed for the annoying cub. He then jumped to its face and began gnawing at him. Haha, serves him right.

But suddenly the fat cub joined in and went at Jaehyun and the other cub. At this point they were really going at it. Jaehyun screeched for help, knowing it would alert the mother, to which the mother tiger did then sound back a warning to the cubs which made then pull back instantly.

Serves them right.

Jaehyun decided he was too tired to run away today, and wasn't even sure how to catch prey yet, nor was he big enough to kill something larger than sparrows, so he should probably stay and learn that first.

He turned and saw that one of the other cubs were being licked, to that Jaehyun felt vexed because as far as he remembered, he was the one that got wet and needed excess water off his coat.

So he then shoved his cub brother to the side and took all the warm licks from his mother tiger.

It dawned on him why this tiger went after him. Jaehyun had been left to nothing but thinking. Mother tiger wouldn't have been upset that she only three cubs left, she would be upset because she lost one. This tiger, after all, was still a mother, aside from being a beast.

Through time, Jaehyun grew fond of her. Jaehyun realized she was very patient and her favorite food was deer. He even grew fond of the annoying cubs enough that he gave them their own names. The big oaf he named Youngho, the daintier one, Jungwoo, and the more refined one, Taeyong.

He didn't have to name his tiger mother since she was set apart, but Jaehyun decided to call her Aerum, which meant beautiful.

There was a roar of thunder in the sky one day, only it wasn't raining and there were no dark clouds. It was the first time Jaehyun felt palpable fear in this form. It was so intense he ran to his mother.

He saw something moving in the sky. Jaehyun's tiger eyes widened as he decided it was most probably a dragon. His mother did not seem to fear it, and so he thought the five of them could probably kill that dragon if it came near enough. In the clear sky, Jaehyun could not believe what he saw. He began to doubt it was a dragon all together since it looked nothing like one. It had no scales and was silvery smooth, it neither had a head to breathe fire from, nor did it have impressive flapping wings. In fact it wings didn't beat like a bird's at all, which made Jaehyun wonder how it was flying anyway.

He soon forgot about the encounter with that wannabe dragon. Jaehyun knew he had nothing to worry about anyway since he was with his mother.

That is until there was a slipping sound from not too far and it alerted everyone of them.

Jaehyun breathed in deeply and smelled something different in the air. He heard what he could never mistake, the hushed arguments of humans.

He turned to mother tiger and saw her defences were up. They were being hunted.

It somehow made Jaehyun both relieved and concerned that mother tiger knew exactly what was happening.

There was suddenly crack in the air and it made Jaehyun's hair raise. He could not distinguish the sound. It sounded something like a canon, but it was not as loud. He knew arrows would not sound as such, so it frightened him that he did not know what it was.

It all happened so quickly, so quick in fact that it made Jaehyun realize how terrifying it is to be hunted.

They were upon then. There were three hunters with blood shot eyes. Jaehyun wondered what county these people came from that they dressed so awkwardly and held black sticks wherever they went.

But then they aimed at Youngho and head was cracked open. He fell instantly without a sound, and all they could do was run.

Jaehyun heard them laugh for joy, but I knew they would not stop until they got all of us.

The cracking sounds, Jaehyun realized, came from the weapons he thought to be sticks. It smelled hot and malicious. He loathed them.

They were bought to a mountainous area. Surely they could not keep up with them if they climbed high enough. Jaehyun was perturbed when they saw the men in some sort of machine with wheels. It had to be the most terrible thing he had seen.

They thundered towards them. Jaehyun knew they were aiming for their mother. Still, they ran and ran. Jaehyun wondered if he could try and lead them astray if he separated from them. So he did and breathed heavily as he ran with all his legs.

Crack.

Jaehyun was scared they were shooting for him but he dared to turn back and jar his teeth out. It was then he saw Jungwoo fell flat and so did Taeyong from behind. His mother was now running towards him.

Their mistake was to stop and gather Jungwoo and Taeyong's bodies. As much as it enraged Jaehyun to see them, it made mother tiger furious. She began to charge towards them, and so did Jaehyun.

The fools somehow did not know it was coming, and the three that had been on their tail were scared for their lives that they had not time to act.

She came for their throats and ripped them off with her mighty power. I came for the leg of the other that tried to flee and when he fell on his face, when for his neck as well.

Crack.

The man shot at mother but only got her leg. She tried to come for him next, but he tried again and then shot at her head. Once she was down, he shot at her again, and again, and again, and again, until he could no longer make a cracking sound with his weapon.

This was his mistake. He realized this when he and Jaehyun caught each other's eye. Jaehyun was pleased he looked terrified beyond compare.

Donghyuck always said he got into a frenzy whenever he's just gotten his sword slick with blood after he's gotten off of the battlefield or done with a hunt. But in truth it was the chase that excited him, and not what he has slain. But Jaehyun knew for certain that he was going to enjoy killing him.

Jaehyun knew he deserved to die a miserable death when he ran like a coward and didn't think to raise up one of the weapons his friends had. He was upon him, but then out came more people. They were in the same machines the three came in, and there were much more of them. Jaehyun would be a fool if he thought he could take them. He had no sword, no army. He barely had fangs and claws.

Jaehyun decided to slow down. He came to a halt when he saw these people were seemingly not on his side. They apprehended his mother’s kill. They shoved him against a tree and bound his wrists behind him. He was half pleased, he would be fully if he could rip his throat out.

But then there was you.

You came out of the same contraptions the ones who killed the tiger brothers did but you came out slowly.

You wore the same thing they did, but you held a different expression.

There was a man next to you that raised a similar weapon the other men had, but you told them to stand down.

You brought out meat. It smelled old, but it made Jaehyun realize he was so hungry. So hungry, and scared.

He knew you were trying to win him over. But he knew better than to easily trust a stranger. Then he thought of how the people on your team apprehended his mother's killer, and how you told off the man who was going to aim at him. Jaehyun decided he could take the meat you had and run.

You slowly crouched down and tossed the meat to him. Jaehyun thought it smelled unlike the meat he had eaten before but decided to eat it.

Jaehyun decided to bolt, but there was a sound of a fired arrow in the air, and he so suddenly he couldn't feel his legs.

When Jaehyun woke up, he was in a cage. It wasn't made of wood, but metal. There was food and water in a metal bowl in front of him, but he knew better than fall for that again.

He looked around the room with white lights that had no flame. There were dried plant stalk on the ground, much like a prison cell but it was only Jaehyun.

"Hi there," you spoke when you came into view. You smiled at Jaehyun’s tiger form and stuck your finger into the cage to point at the food.

Jaehyun thought if he wanted, he could bite it off.

"I'm sorry Dongyoung had to tranquilize you. I'm sure you must feel horrible."

Oh, don't try to sympathize with terms I don't understand.

"You should eat. I promise no one will shoot at you."

Jaehyun and you stare at each other. He decides he would rather get shot and join his tiger mother and brothers that live the rest of his life in this cage with you as his captor

You expected no less than the reaction you were getting. Still, you continued with what yow wanted to say, "You must feel so angered and lonely."

Jaehyun watches as you sit on the floor you stood on. He paces around the cage as you continue, "I saw what you did to the man. You tore his calf and punctured airway, suffocating him with his blood. Impressive for your size, honestly."

I would've killed his friend too had you not taken him.

"And you should know, the poacher who killed your mother is going to spend the rest his life in prison for hunting the last snow tigers in the country."

Jaehyun freezes. Hunting? Jaehyun begins to wonder then who has made the act illegal.

Could it be Donghyuk? Does that mean he ascended to the throne. That seems unprobable, when his cousin Sungchan has been eyeing the throne since he was born and Donghyuk had no desire for power. And why would Donghyuk make it illegal anyway? Could he possibly know his king was turned into a tiger?

A thousand questions ran into Jaehyun’s head.

"Don't worry, I'm fighting to pass a law that can protect you and your kin with the U.N.," you say suddenly, which further baffles Jaehyun.

Who is the world are you to have such a power? And who was this Yooen?

"Now come and eat, tiger cub. The sooner you get big and strong, the sooner we can release you back into the wild."

Based on that, Jaehyun didn't believe you at all at this point. He knew you had to at least be blantantly aware he was not a cub. Sure he was not nearly as large as his mother yet, but he was neither a defenseless suckling baby. You said it yourself, he killed a man.

You watched as the caged tiger continued to pace inside. You knew animals could feel and mourn, but somehow you felt this tiger was scheming. You knew this white tiger was still leaning into maturity, since it took a long time for him to kill the poacher. It excited you that you’d be able to spend a few months with such a rare and majestic creature.

Jaehyun decided to pretend he was going to try and trust you. He might learn a lot about his predicament from you since you shamelessly talked to the him as if he were still human.

His days began like this for a while, there would be food given everyday in what he observed to be the exact same time, and you would randomly come and talk and talk and talk and talk.

Jaehyun supposes he got on your good side when you drew him into a cage and let him into a grander setting. It was in a vast cage outside, not like the stuffy one he was originally in. Prison was still prison, but at least he couldn't see all four walls on one side.

There was initially a drawback with that. In this enclosure, as you called, you were much more present, and became more bolder. You began to touch Jaehyun, which made him shudder. How dare you touch the king of Joseon?

"You're such a drama queen," you would quip everytime Jaehyun jumped at your touch from behind the thin rodded cage.

"Maybe I should name you that, huh, drama queen," you jested. Jaehyun rolled his eyes and finished his chicken. You were bold no matter what. You were making fun of not only a white tiger, but the Tiger King. What's more, he found it annoying you gave him old chicken all the time.

"Wang," you said suddenly, which made Jaehyun stop his feeding. King, he hadn't been called that in so long.

You made a sound, "you seem to like that, huh. I guess that can be your name then, Wang."

It felt so sudden to you that Wang grew in to that what you proudly stated a fine tiger specimen. Jaehyun felt proud of himself whenever you would bring what he grew to learn were doctors who studies animals as their profession.

You and Jaehyun at this point had grown comfortable enough that Jaehyun let you sit next to him and stroke his head while he slept. It was only you though. He hated it when that Dongyoung tried to touch him, or when he tried to touch you, especially when you'd let him.

On this breezy afternoon, he was saddened as he put his chin on your thighs. He had never been so vulnerable like so with a woman. Sure he had bedded gisaengs in his time, but he wouldn't let them touch him, much less stroke his head.

It saddened him more when he realized the reason why you and the rest of the people here wore such strange things and had such strange objects was because you no longer lived in the time of Joseon. After all the stories you've told about your day to Jaehyun, he has learned hundreds of years has passed between the time he was king and now.

You now were born into the country of Korea, a nation split in two; you were in its Southern part. You cared deeply for who you called Wang because Jaehyun lived in the body of the last white tiger in the country, the few left in the world. You were a doctor and an officer that protects the welfare of wild animals.

You were going to set him free in a few days.

That is, until this tiger was put in the enclosure next to Jaehyun's. He smelled afraid. He jumped at everything and had lash and burn marks on his body. It was clear to anyone humans inflicted these marks on him.

"Wang, this is Yuta. Be kind to him because all he's ever known is abuse from his captors."

Yuta, beyond smelling like fear, smelled like he was dying. He was clearly unwell. Jaehyun had to make sure you knew this somehow.

Jaehyun was unsure what you thought would happen, but Yuta barely came near him even though Jaehyun chuffed his way. He barely acted like a tiger, if you asked Jaehyun. Trust him, he knew.

You began to focus your time on Yuta more. For once, Jaehyun didn't mind, because he knew the battered tiger needed it. He didn't seem that much older than Jaehyun, which somehow made you think you would be instant friends. For your sake, Jaehyun tried to show him what could be done as a tiger. He flaunted his prowess in running, tree climbing, even in roaring.

Yuta didn't seem to care and stayed in his side of the enclosure.

Strangely enough, Jaehyun still tried to chuff at Yuta, and to his surprise, Yuta chuffed back.

You jumped into Dongyoung's arms upon seeing Jaehyun's victory, to which Jaehyun nearly lashed out for.

It was then, Yuta and Jaehyun slowly became to form a bond. They would meet each other in the middle of the enclosure and would pace around together. You began to suggest bringing each other into the same enclosure, to which Dongyoung strongly disagreed with. Jaehyun wanted a chance to prove that man wrong, and it was eventually given to him.

Everyone was apprehensive with the idea of putting two male tigers into the room, which was why Dongyoung held tightly onto that weapon of his, but you reason you were both not fully adults yet, so there is a chance Yuta and Jaehyun to bond.

And a bond was surely created.

Jaehyun felt his heart swell at the sense of companionship he had with Yuta. It was neither that of what he felt with Youngho, Taeyong, or Jungwoo, but he somehow felt an undefinable closeness with this tiger.

Yuta was not a white tiger like Jaehyun, but an orange tiger. You reasoned that could be a reason why you had a bond with each other, you were different to each other and there was no females present for competition.

Jaehyun began to think of you and Dongyoung, and how he could eat him without getting caught.

Again, the day of the new joint release of Jaehyun and Yuta came close.

You cried on what Jaehyun knew to be your last visit.

You led the two tigers into cages and shipped them into protected forest land.

Yuta waited for Jaehyun before coming out of the cage they were shipped in. Jaehyun felt something indescribable in his paws when he walked out. Recognition came into his senses. He gave out a roar and began running.

He found that he was being followed by Yuta as he wove through the forest. The breeze was not exactly that of his childhood, but there he saw the same mountain he tread upon when he was hunting a white tiger. Suddenly, he began to see a figure of a man running towards him. He held a sword and a determined look. It took a moment to realize that it was him.

He screams and jolts up. It seems he was lying on a leafy ground and sat up.

Donghyuck shouts, "the king is dead. Oh, lord let him not be dead."

Jaehyun snaps his head to the limping figure from afar who was struggling to stalk towards him. He quickly stands from his the ground he was sat on.

"Donghyuck-ah!" Jaehyun calls, running towards him and sealing him into a tight hug.

Donghyuck is nearly taken aback but pats the king's back, thinking the relief he felt was from his brush with death.

"Let's go home," Jaehyun mutters.

Donghyuck is flabbergasted that the king decreed the next day he would make hunting for sport illegal. Everyone is appalled by the sudden decree, but the law is quickly passed.

Donghyuck does not believe the story Jaehyun said, how he saw the white tiger he was following had four cubs and it made him realize that the tiger he was trying to hunt was a mother more than a beast. Still, he couldn't possibly dare try and argue with the king, no one did for that matter.

Since he had no white tiger pelt to offer, Jaehyun instead bought him a house just outside the palace as a birthday gift. On Donghyuck's day, the king even organized a house warming.

The birthday boy was not enjoying it however.

"Hyung, are you sure you're okay? You haven't been the same since we got home from the hunt."

Jaehyun turned to Donghyuck, who scowled at him. The older of the two placed a hand the younger’s shoulder, "It's already been four days since that incident. Drink some alcohol, relax."

Donghyuck sighs, "Why did you even buy me a house when I live in the palace?"

"Consider it your approval for freedom."

"What?"

Jaehyun pours Donghyuck a drink. "I know you find only burden in the throne. You were sent to the palace by your scheming father so he could get his hand in power. But your father is dead, and you are the head of your household." He turns to his own drink and sighs, "I know what it feels to be imprisoned. Follow your own path. You don't have to live the rest of your days worrying for me anymore."

Donghyuck watches as Jaehyun drinks.

"You are my king," Donghyuck says, "but before that, you were my brother and my best friend. I will gladly live my life close to you if you let me."

Jaehyun feels his lips curve and he scoffs out a chuckle, "ya, it's like you want me to marry you."

"Nope. I already have someone in mind to marry."

Jaehyun looks at Donghyuk with a baffled expression. The latter drinks his drink and mutters lowly "you don't possibly believe I don't get around, hyung?"

The king slaps Donghyuk's shoulder, which nearly makes him spit out his drink, "bring the lucky fool to the palace tomorrow."

Jaehyun has never regretted a decision before, but as Donghyuck knelt there with that person he said he wanted to marry beside, he began to regret something wholeheartedly.

Donghyuck wanted to marry... this? This person that had your face.

How... how could he... how could your face exist in this time.

Donghyuck and this person were knelt before him in his throne room. Jaehyun was stiff on his throne and he quite frankly didn’t know what to do. He left the room in a thick silence. His throat was caught in anxiety. Donghyuck noticed his lover was beginning to get uncomfortable, so he snuck a look at the king and found his face was pale.

“Your majesty,” Donghyuck spoke in concern.

Jaehyun snaps out of it, “how long have you been seeing each other?”

“Two years, your highness.”

He hisses, “you have been going behind hiding this from me for two years?!”

Donghyuck knits his brows and his lover squeaks in fear.

“SURE!” Jaehyun shouts and he stands, “you traitors should get married and get out of my sight!”

Jaehyun got drunk that night and wandered out into the mountains. He bought a bottle of alcohol with him and threatened to kill anyone who dared stop or accompany him.

Of course the servants alerted Donghyuck about this, which was why he ran after the king with a torch.

“WHAT KIND OF CURSE IS THIS?” Jaehyun screamed as he slung his alcohol bottle around, “you want my best friend to marry someone with that face?” Jaehyun began to laugh, “I made hunting illegal! What more do you want from me?!”

“MY KING!” Donghyuck shouted when he caught sight of Jaehyun.

When he got close enough, Donghyuck took reached out to Jaehyun with his free hand. Jaehyun splashed alcohol on him, “I don’t to live like this.”

“Like what, hyung? Do you hate Aerum that much?”

“Aerum?” Jaehyun felt sober again.

“My woman, Aerum.”

“That woman’s name is Aerum?”

Jaehyun began to laugh again. Donghyuck grew uneasy. Jaehyun fell to his knees, his friend dashed over to him in concern. Jaehyun shook his head as Donghyuck talked to him like a gong being sounded. Jaehyun whispers, “I don’t want to live like this.”

But he had no choice.

Jaehyun and Donghyuck went back home. Donghyuck threw Aerum away for Jaehyun’s sake, but he began to slip into depression. It was then Jaehyun began to notice things he was blind to, like how Donghyuck always went out of the palace at a certain time, which he no longer did, and how he always smelled like oranges and had messy hair. No longer did his brother suddenly smile for no reason, nor did he ever ask for mooncakes anymore during lunch. It was then Jaehyun realized he had not hidden anything, but that he was blind to Donghyuck’s sentiments.

So Jaehyun told Donghyuck to marry her, to which he firmly declined. Jaehyun reasoned with lies on how he loved a woman with a similiar face when they were younger, but Donghyuck knew nothing of a woman like that. If he had, he wouldn’t have dared liked Aerum in the first place.

“Do you love her?” Donghyuck asked Jaehyun.

Jaehyun saw the desperation in Donghyuck’s eyes as he asked him this. He was praying he’d say no. Jaehyun spoke firmly, “I don’t.”

Donghyuck believed him, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jaehyun said. He chuckled bitterly to himself, “I don’t even believe myself.”

“The truth can be hard to believe, but it’s still the truth,” Donghyuck said.

Jaehyun looked at his dear friend and licked his lips, “alright.”

Donghyuck believed every word, to Jaehyun’s astonishment. Jaehyun told him that Areum was not you. Donghyuck was still reluctant when Jaehyun gave him a hairpin to offer Areum, but when the lovers met again, it was easy to fall back in love.

They got married a week later, and it wasn’t long until they welcomed a son into the world. The couple allowed the king to name the boy, and so Jaehyun called Haechan, which meant to shine bright uprightly.

Jaehyun watched as the boy grew stonger, taller, and better in archery than he was at this age. He too watched as Donghyuck began to get slower, and he slowly realized that the world was changing and yet he wasn’t.

It was when Donghyuck had a daughter that both Jaehyun and Donghyuck came to terms with the fact the former was not ageing. At this point, Heachan was eight and brave enough to ride a horse. Donghyuck and Jaehyun looked like they were the same age, or how Areum joked, Donghyuck looked older than the king.

Jaehyun at a point realized if he was not aging, he could meet you again.

So when a time of war came, Jaehyun saw it as a chance to disappear. Donghyuck decided greatly against it. Since Jaehyun took no bride, it meant his cousin Sungchan would succeed the throne. He told him not to worry, and that he would keep a close on eye everything once he was gone.

And so he did.

The line of succession shifted. The colors of the sky changed. Haechan had a son, and his son had a son, and his son had a son, but Jaehyun roamed on his own.

“That’s basically the story of the Tiger King,” Jaehyun smiled his dimpley smile that made all the lined up teenager sound out, impressed with the story.

“So, basically, the Tiger King is still alive, Mr. Jung,” one of the students asked as they moved to the next painting in the museum. Jaehyun looked at the child and thought her eyes reminded him of yours.

“Yes. I think so,” Jaehyun spoke.

“Are you the Tiger King?” another voice spoke, pointing at the ancient drawing behind glass, “you look like him?”

Jaehyun hummed and adjusted the glasses he wore for show, “I get told a lot that I look like him. Would you believe me if I said yes?”

The class cheered, “yes!”

Jaehyun chuckled, “okay then. I am the tiger king.” He said, curling his fingers and pretend growling. The teenagers laugh, fully pleased that he was in on what they believed to be a joke.

By the end of the tour, Jaehyun escorted the students to their bus, where their teacher was waiting for them. And for the first time in years, Jaehyun felt his heart pound at the sight before him.

A group of girls ran up to their teacher and muttered to her how cute the tour guide was. They got a chuckle in response.

“Thank you Mr. Jung for taking care of my kids,” you spoke as you made your way towards him from the bus. Jaehyun looked at you for a prolonged moment, which made you raise your brows slightly.

“So you’re their pretty teacher?” Jaehyun spoke.

You froze for a moment, which made Jaehyun feel smug. He placed his hands in his grey pants’ pockets and clarified, “I mean, the kids described you as ‘their pretty teacher’, that must be you.”

You looked at him for a moment and nodded slowly. Jaehyun smiled, “are you teaching science perhaps?”

You again nod slowly.

“I love science, anthropology and biology especially."

You nod and chuckle nervously, unsure of what to say.

Jaehyun decides to clarify again, "are you teaching part time?"

"Uh, I'm actually going to be a full time faculty soon."

He grows a little confused, "I see. I don't know for some reason you pegged me as a zoologist. Maybe it's because your kids kept singing 'In the jungle the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight'."

You blush, "yeah, sorry, I actually studied zoology which is why I am so passionate about teaching animals to my kids. I unironically play that song a lot in class."

Jaehyun smiles, "well, you know. I think you're interesting and I do agree with your students that you're pretty. Could I possibly get your number?"

"SAY YES, MISS!"

You and Jaehyun turn to the kids sticking their head out in the window. Jaehyun snickers lowly. You begin to burn from head to toe, you feel like. You turn to Jaehyun and turn away, "I'm sorry. I-" Jaehyun watches as you fumble for words and he has honestly never seen you in this light before. You've always been so confident around him as a tiger, and yet you were so timid in front of him as a man. "I'm on the job right now."

Jaehyun nods with a soft smile as you turn around and walk away. No hard feelings. It's not like he's been waiting his whole life for you or anything. He calls out, "visit me sometime, okay?"

The teens squeal.

He watches as the bus drives off and takes note of the school name.

211 notes · View notes

baggebythesea · 3 years ago

Note

How do you think Glimmer would or should deal with her trauma post canon? I don’t think people talk about it enough and I’d to hear your thoughts since you seem to understand her best.

Thanks for a very interesting question, and a reminder that the 'happily ever after' is more complicated when we sometimes pretend when we write the final kiss (there's a reason I ended my Beast Island story where I did). I'm far from sure I understand her best, but I at least have strong feelings about Glimmer deserving good things in the end (even if I seem hell bent to add complications in her stories for the sake of drama).

From a narrative point of view, there are three main focus points of her trauma - her mother, her friends and her throne. She already started the grieving process in S4, and after the show she also has a father to cry together with, so I like to think she will put a flower on angella's grave every month or so and allow the grief to mellow out with time. (Of course, that assumes she actually is dead. If Entrapta shows up one day being all 'Hiiiiii! I was running some simulations and I think we can open the portal again. Wanna try?' Glimmer would have an entirely fresh set of traumatic emotions to deal with. But it's not like it'd be first time her parents return from the dead.)

When it comes to her friends Glimmer has to deal both with all the near-death situations and her own perceived betrayal of them in late S4. The latter one goes double - she both feels she let the alliance down by not being better at beating the Horde and that she let everyone down by going to Light Hope to open the Heart of Etheria. This trauma goes back to leaving Entrapta behind in the Fright Zone and just builds from there. I think she and adora should have some group therapy on the topic of 'you don't have to save everyone all the time and sometimes it's OK to let other people take responsibility for themselves'. She'll also need a lot of hugging. We saw how she followed Bow around like a hopeful puppy after she was saved from Horde Prime, putting on a cheery face while crying on the inside and begging for forgiveness at every turn (I have to write that Glimmer at some point - it's heartbreaking and beautiful). I think she'll do something similar to many of her friends, including the princesses. She would probably also benefit from some group therapy with Catra (essentially a more structured form of what they started by themselves up on Horde Prime's space ship) talking about things like war crimes, responsibility, anger management, forgiveness of others and yourself...

Somewhere around there, the discussion would also have to turn to Glimmer's actual responsibilities (although I always feel that's the less interesting fanon discussion. The important part is what the characters feel, not how an outside, 'objective' observer would judge them.). Glimmer acted like the whole world was on her shoulders as the (self-appointed) leader of the princess alliance, but they were an alliance. You could blame Perfuma or Frosta as much as Glimmer for them being unable to stop the Horde, and maybe Mermista even more so. after all, the Sea Gate had historically been the big stop gap preventing the Horde from expanding by sea, and it was the loss of Salineas that heralded Catra's and Hordak's big push. Still, Mermista seem to have a very different attitude to her loss than Glimmer. She mopes in a bathtub and beats up Horde soldiers to rock music, but she doesn't walk over corpses for the chance of using a super weapon to take her kingdom back (although she kinda DID look like she enjoyed sinking that ship when powered by the Heart). So probably Glimmer should have some group therapy with the princesses as well.

and there is her throne, her queenhood and her full connection to the moonstone. all the power she thought she wanted, at too steep a price and coming with more responsibility than she could handle. at the end of the show, when she was happily talking about gallivanting out in space with her friends and her lover, I just wanted to shake her and say that 'oh no young lady - you go back this instant to angsting about being queen!'. Glimmer should totally keep the throne (and Micah would run screaming back to Beast Island anyway if someone suggested he would take it), thereby completing her story arc of craving power, getting power, getting burned by it and finally accepting it and stepping up to embrace being an adult with adult responsibilities. She will feel inadequate to fill angella's shoes for a long, long time, and she will need a lot of reassurance from Juliette, Micah Castaspella and other people who knew angella that she's actually doing an OK job.

There is also some thought that needs to be put into the whole elemental princess thing, in light of learning just what the First Ones did to the magic of Etheria. Just like She-Ra, the elemental princesses are part of a system to control Etheria's power. She-Ra was part of the 'wild' magic, but is the same true for the princesses? Should there in fact be runestones and princesses drawing power from them? Yet another tricky ethical question and source of trauma for the leader of the princess alliance to deal with.

This is how I think she should handle her trauma. and I think she probably would attend most of her sessions. She probably would try to weasel out of one or two, but a stern (or worse - disappointed/worried) look from Bow would bring her right back. She is after all surrounded by people who love her, are really worried for her and have seen just how bad it can get when her trauma goes unaddressed for too long (I think both Catra and Glimmer would be the one to bring the other kicking and screaming to therapy more then once. "Oh no, Sparkles. We are not doing the whole 'moping in space' thing again.").

In other words, she should do what she should have done from the beginning and listened to Bow and allow her friends to be there for her.

My current 'Queens of the Horde' fic kinda addresses this question in a roundabout way. One main point of it is that both Glimmer and Catra find a way to run away from their trauma and perceived failings without addressing it. I'm sure it will work out fine for them :-)

Please note that I'm talking about Glimmer as a character in a story. When it comes to actual therapy and trauma management I don't have other advice than that she should have lots of it. In fact, I think the entire best friend squad should spend a long, long time in Mystacor for a combined therapy/spa/make out session... doing whatever it is Castaspella cooks up over in Swearyshera.

#spop #Glimmer #asks #swearyshera #I love the smell of a freshly-baked batch of therapy

13 notes · View notes

shera-dnd · 4 years ago

Text

Love for a Dark Heart

Adding now to the list of things I can’t fucking believe I got paid to write: My FFXIV character falling in love with herself.

Honestly I could have kept writing this for another 5k words more, but I set the rules so I’m gonna stick to them

As usual you can follow this link right here to read it on AO3 if you’d prefer that. If you’d like to have a fic written by me you should feel free to donate to my ko-fi (rules for donations over here) and let’s get going with the fic

You are a rational woman.

You try to deal with the facts and not let emotion rule over your decisions. That doesn’t mean you’re cold hearted or any such thing, but when it comes to wielding aether you really cannot let your emotions get in the way, lest your magic escape your control entirely.

It’s why you joined the Arcanists Guild so long ago, their approach to spell craft was exactly what you needed, and after many long months of training you had even mastered the lost art of summoning. It had been your calculated and well crafted spells that had felled the Primals and even bested Gaius and his Ultima Weapon.

But what did that amount to?

You’ve been betrayed, the Sultana is dead, your friends are lost, and the nations you fought to defend probably have a price on your head by now. All your possessions now fit neatly into the tiny backpack you brought along in your journey to Ishgard, and the only people left to console you are Alphinaud and Tataru, but in all honesty you’re usually the one consoling them now.

But Ishgard still welcomes you and still needs you. House Fortemps has embraced you and the least you can do is fight to protect them as well. Just keep fighting and saving people until everything gets solved, it definitely worked just fine the first time you tried that, so why not try it again?

You don’t want to be bitter, you don’t want to be angry, you genuinely feel sorry whenever you snap at Alphinaud or Haurchefant, you know they’re having a hard time too. Still it is so hard not to just let that frustration fester in your heart.

One day you’re walking the streets of Ishgard, trying to work the anger out of your system, when you hear a man muttering something. It was a story about a man who fought like a beast, who wielded the Darkness like other men would wield a blade. Something about this story sparks your curiosity and next thing you know you’re pressing the man for details.

It seemed your mystery man had died in battle with the holy knights of Ishgard and his corpse had been dumped in the Brume. It was unfortunate, but mayhaps you could still find his corpse, maybe even his soulstone.

You weren’t thinking of wielding the darkness, were you? No, it was simply academic curiosity. You just couldn’t leave such a thing unstudied, right? Of course. Now to make your way to the Brume.

No pulse, no breathing, skin as cold as the snow around you, that man was a corpse. At least he was a corpse with a soulstone, maybe you could study that. You just have to take it and-

A voice calls for you in the dark.

You wake up confused, but still intact. Better yet, the man you thought dead was now alive and well in front of you. His name is Fray and he was a Dark Knight. Apparently so were you now.

Perhaps embracing the dark should have been difficult, it should have been the kind of decision you pondered over and considered all the pros and cons. It wasn’t supposed to be something you did on a whim, but in reality it was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

You were stronger now. How else could you wield a weapon so massive? How else could those knights strike you with their blades and barely make you flinch? How else could you take all that anger, and frustration that you had repressed for so long, and give it such a beautiful shape as it cut down those hallowed bastards?

It felt good.

It felt too good.

Perhaps the life of a Dark Knight was exactly what you needed.

In the weeks that passed no one questioned why you disappeared every night or where you went. You had gone through a lot, and they just wanted to give you space to heal. Besides, who would question what the Warrior of Light did with her spare time? It almost made you feel bad for what you were doing.

Almost.

It was hard feeling bad now that you have started studying the Darkness. No, studying would imply a lot more research and controlled tests. What you were doing was more like exercising it, working out a muscle you didn’t know you had until now. If that meant killing your fair share of monsters then so be it.

Especially when working that metaphorical muscle also seemed to improve your physical ones. Even your eye sight seemed to have improved somehow. With time your tunic had been replaced by plate armor, your glasses by a full helmet, your book of spells by the biggest sword you could carry.

There were still hiccups when adapting to this new life as a Dark Knight. No matter how many times you attuned yourself to the Darkness you could only ever hear whispers of that voice in the dark that had once called your name. It worried you, and frustrated Fray to no end.

Frustration seemed to be Fray’s default state. Always furious at the people around you who insist on asking you to fix all their problems, ready to throw threats and insults any time someone so much as thought of interrupting you. You try to be nice, you try to de-escalate, to help those people anyway, but you know deep down that you agree with her.

Her? Wasn’t Fray a man?

Doesn’t matter, Fray can use whatever pronouns she wants. You just can’t remember her ever telling you she changed those.

Wait did she just mention fighting Leviathan? Had she been there with you on that ship? Surely you’d remember that.

Why hadn’t she mentioned that before?

Maybe if you still saw the world through your old scholarly lens, maybe if you still distanced yourself, studied the situation, maybe then you would have realized what was happening. You really can’t help but feel a little stupid when the truth finally reveals itself.

When Fray takes off her helmet it is your face that you see, your eyes that stare into yours, your voice that challenges you. She was your Darkness, your repressed rage against those who used you again, and again to suit their needs; your frustrations with this world that would exhaust you to the bone before finding any solution that didn’t involve you, your need for someone to just step up and care for you even once.

If only she hadn’t hurt those people, if only her first answer wasn’t to just draw her sword on those she saw as a threat to you, maybe then you’d let her go.

Your swords clash and ultimately she’s the one to fall. Your Darkness, your heart, your…

...Esteem, lies defeated before you and you don’t know how to feel. She was a monster formed from the deepest abyss, yet when you hear her declare that she will always be there for you, if only you were to call her, you can’t help but feel hope.

It was only after you exposed yourself to just about every guard, and soldier at Dragon Head that you decided that it’s about time you came clean to your friends.

Alphinaud and Haurchefant didn’t understand why you had made the decisions you had, but they couldn’t think of anyone better to wield such a power. Tataru trusted you with her life and just a bit of Darkness wouldn’t get in the way of that. Estinien claimed that he understood, that he too struggled against the evil that granted him his powers. In the end it all felt too easy, too unearned.

Still, there was a nation to save and a war to stop. Your little existential crisis would have to wait. You could almost hear Esteem screaming at you for ever forming that thought.

Soon it wouldn’t be just almost.

Weeks passed as you traversed Dravania, searching for a way to stop this war. For a moment you had hoped that by exposing the lies of Ishgardian nobility you would finally put an end to this, but of course that just led the holy men of Halone to do what they thought was right, which just happened to be capturing and torturing an innocent man.

You went in to try to save a man, to make those self appointed saints pay. You didn’t go there to lose a friend, yet that’s what you did.

You kept your composure long enough to reach your private chambers in the Fortemps manor, but as soon as the door closed behind you, you collapsed. You could have saved him, you could have prevented this, you could have jumped out of the way, or pushed him away, or just done anything.

But you didn’t, and now he paid the price for it.

What a pathetic excuse for a Warrior of Light you are.

“You’re no such thing!” A familiar voice calls. You don’t know when or how you summoned her back, but there she was.

Esteem lifted you from the ground and laid you in your bed. You noticed now that instead of the black armor she had favored in your fight, now she wore one of your old robes and your old glasses. It was almost funny thinking of a being of pure aether deigning to wear glasses for some reason.

With a gentleness you didn’t know either of you had, she caressed and soothed you as she repeated those same words over and over again, “it wasn’t your fault.”

It felt pathetic to only have a shadow of yourself to care for you, but for now it didn’t matter. All you could do in that moment was cling, cling to the kind words and the soft touch of the only person who cared enough to offer, and try as hard as you can to believe in what she’s saying.

“Rest now, you fool,” she asked, her voice just as gentle as before.

“Please stay,” you pleaded, unsure if she would disappear the moment you closed your eyes.

It was a selfish thing to ask, to force her to stay in the material world simply for your own comfort, but Esteem wanted nothing more than for you to be selfish, so there was never any doubt that she would oblige.

The next morning she was still there, asleep somehow, still holding you in her arms. It shamed you to admit that this was the closest you’ve ever been to another person. No one had held you this close, no one had ever let you fall asleep in their arms - or fallen asleep in yours for what that matters - had she been more than just a piece of your own heart, perhaps you would have found reason for embarrassment.

There was certainly some strangeness to it, of course. Waking up in your own arms and seeing your own face in the morning was as surreal an experience as you could imagine right now. Though it did allow you some interesting introspection. You shifted in bed a little, trying to get a good look at your own face, wondering if you had ever looked this peaceful before.

“If you even consider rising from this bed I promise you the Archbishop will be the least of your worries,” she grumbles without even opening her eyes.

“I did not know you could sleep,” you comment.

“Neither did I,” she replies. She pushes herself into a sitting position, having completely given up on the idea of returning to your shared slumber, “if I must be honest, I don’t even know how I was granted physical form once more.”

“Yet your first response to sudden corporealization was not to question it, but to attend to the sobbing mess on the floor,” you are by no means attempting to mock her, it simply sounds odd to you.

“What am I to say?” She jested, “I’m quite fond of that sobbing mess.”

At that you averted your gaze. It felt embarrassing somehow, to have someone declare their fondness so bluntly, even if that someone wasn’t an actual person.

“Have we truly grown so alienated from affection?” She sighs, her voice a mix of worry and disappointment.

You motion to protest, but a knock on the door interrupts you both. With a gesture, she requests you stay in bed while she handles this. That may be the worst idea you have ever heard, but you’re far too tired to protest.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake and well,” Alphinaud greets her cheerfully, “If you’re disposed, I’d like to ask-”

“I’m not,” She interrupts, “now, you may be on your way.”

The poor boy is too stunned to reply, and does nothing to stop her from slamming the door on his face. A smug smirk forms on her face as she strides back to you.

“Must you be so rude to all my friends?” You say as you glare at her.

“Must you put the needs of every last soul above your own well being?” She shot back, matching your stare.

You’re the one to break the stare first, “I’ll try not to.”

She nods and gives you a satisfied smile as she sits next to you, “now do try to rest. Wouldn’t want me to be rude to poor Alphinaud for naught.”

In the weeks that followed she had been ever by your side. Like your old summons she could effortlessly appear and disappear from thin air, combined with her nature as a being of pure aether it made you suspect you had somehow called upon an egi of Esteem’s former self. This was promptly disproven by the fact that her response to any direct commands was a simple and direct, “sod off!”

By all accounts she should simply be darkness aspected aether, given shape and purpose by your needs and desires, as unreal as Ysayle’s false Shiva. Yet here she was, talking when she wanted to, sleeping when she wanted to, eating when she wanted to--seven hells she even has different tastes than you. There was no other way around it, Esteem had become her own person somehow.

Part of you worried that you had somehow created a Primal of your own heart. That had now been buried under the far more substantial worry that you have been utterly mistreating an actual person with thoughts and feelings, who had done nothing but help you and care for you for weeks. This in turn had been buried under the mess of feelings that struck your heart at the fact that this woman had held you in your sleep for weeks now. Mayhaps you should just focus on hitting things with big swords for now.

On that angle things have been a lot simpler. Your preparations for the journey to Azys Lla were now almost concluded, and as you waited for Master Cid to finish his work you took your time to aid a fellow Dark Knight by the name of Sidurgu.

That man quite proudly embodied the mass of hate and anger you expected from a Dark Knight, a trait that seemed to invoke Esteem’s disdain and earn him quite a share of her unkindly remarks. Neither his emotional state nor her opinion of him were ever aided by the fact that you surpassed him with ease.

You may have stumbled onto this power like a blind fool, but it had somehow suited you with a natural ease that eluded your companion. It was in the pursuit of more power - under the guise of aiding a young girl that Sidurgu had taken under his wing - that you found yourself once more doing menial tasks for moogles. At least today you’d have the catharsis of beating them within an ilm of their lives for it.

What you did not expect was for them to burst into song and dance afterwards.

“‘Tis love! ‘Tis love!” They profess with their tiny voices, “all-powerful, shining love!”

Suffice to say that the both of you were completely befuddled by the performance - Esteem loudly laughing in the corner she carved for herself in your mind - had Rielle, your shared charge, not appeared in that moment you were sure you’d both sit like that for an hour.

It was only as you made your way back to Ishgard that Sidurgu took you aside to talk about what had unfolded. He mocked the idea that love could be the true power of Darkness, but you could see that sharp edge on his voice begin to dull ever so slightly.

A year ago you would have been just as dismissive of such an idea, to properly channel aether you require coldly calculated theorems, not something as nebulous as love.

Yet here you are. You’ve wielded anger and frustration like weapons for months now, why can’t you wear love like an armor?

You loved your friends and that gave you strength.

You loved Eorzea and that gave you strength.

You loved yourself and that…

...Well, did you really love yourself that much? Not as much as you should if Esteem were to be believed, but she does. She loves you, and that gives you strength.

It’s with this context that you begin to notice the little things she does, even when she’s not around. The gentle touches, the kind words, the worry in her eyes after a rough fight. It had been her love that helped you strike down with your blade, it had been her love that held you up when an enemy would fell you. It made you oh so keenly aware of her heartbeat - surprisingly human and comforting - next to yours as she held you both together.

Had you loved her too this whole time?

Perhaps you should have questioned this before the worries of facing Garleans, Ascians, and the Archbishop, loomed this close in the horizon. Perhaps you should have questioned that Esteem’s love didn’t come just from some magically ordained purpose. Perhaps you should have questioned what it meant about you that you so willingly accepted and reciprocated that love.

By the time you arrive at the Fortemps manor that night, you have already made your decision and you find her in your room, reading a spicy romance novel from Emmanellain’s secret stash. Steeling yourself in a way you hadn’t done since facing Ultima, you approach her and bring your lips to hers. It was a fleeting touch, but it had the whole of you buzzing with nervous energy.

With the most detestably smug smile, she brings you close again so she may kiss you back and, as if she hadn’t just shaken your very soul with that act, returned to her reading.

You stare at her, utterly confounded by her lack of any real reaction. It takes her a moment to realize you are still staring and the words that escaped her mouth would infuriate and haunt you for the rest of your existence.

“Was I wrong to assume we’d been lovers for at least a month now?”

Perhaps you really should have just stuck to hitting people with big swords.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #dark knight #ffxiv dark knight #drk #warrior of light #esteem #warrior of light x esteem

24 notes · View notes

aros001 · 3 years ago

Text

First time read through light novel vol. 7. Random thoughts.

Through some kind of mistake, Rem had completely accepted Subaru, but he knew all too well that the Subaru Natsuki she saw was an ideal far removed from the real thing. Compared with the man she envisioned in her mind, the cards that the real Subaru held were few in number, and poor in quality—

But he learned, now that he stood at the playing table, no one cared about his personal problems.

All anyone in his position could do was try to win with the cards he was dealt.

This is sign I think Subaru has grown a little bit, though he is still growing. It's not about him, and Ferris later seems like he's trying to drill that into him a bit more later when Subaru wants to help with the battle preparations. It's good that he wants to help but sometimes he's unintentionally making things too much about himself, just to ease his own feelings. There are places where he would be getting in the way if he tried to help and Subaru's learning to accept that; to be patient and give his services where he can actually be of use, not just to help himself feel better. And damn, does he put that new maturity to good use in the big battle.

Originally, these negotiations had been Rem’s appointed duty. He could easily imagine how being unable to divulge her task to Subaru and having to speak with Crusch day after day had whittled away at her spirit.

Subaru had continually rotted by himself while the future of the Emilia camp had been entrusted to her—she must have suffered under that burden.

He hoped that in some small way, this victory repaid the girl whose feelings had supported him for so long; if so, then for the moment, that was enough for Subaru to be happy.

I really like this part. Again, it's not all about Subaru. He's acknowledging how much Rem's had to deal with while he was having his breakdowns and indulgences during his prior loops, and how much she still did what she could to support him in spite of it all. We're getting a little more that she does have a life outside of just Subaru and a little more added on to why he feels he's been so selfish. It really feels like he is now doing this for her. It's not like Subaru was completely self-centered before but I imagine there were times, especially with Emilia, where he wanted to help, but he wanted to be the one to help. He wanted good things for her but part of him cared more that he was the one giving them to her, verses her just getting what she needs in general. It's like how he couldn't feel happy that Otto was in support of Emilia first time he met him, though of course that was when he was at one of his lowest points.

And, of course, I'm absolutely reveling in all the sweetness of Rem supporting Subaru through his negotiations. Even if it's just holding his hand and reminding him she's there, he clearly appreciates the strength and courage it's giving him. Obviously they're not a romantic couple but this is the kind of stuff I love to see in romantic relationships. Just the basic comfort and support they find in each other's presence.

“...If I am gone, will you remember me just as long?”

“...I don’t wanna answer that. It’s bad luck.”

Speaking with a voice of dismay, Subaru gave Rem’s forehead a little poke.

When he touched Rem’s forehead, she smiled with a happy expression, almost as if she’d received the reply she had been hoping for.

Given something I believe I've been spoiled on for what happens later in the story (after where the anime leaves off), this feels like a very cruel monkey's paw bit of foreshadowing.

“Subaru.”

“...What?”

“I am fine with being your second wife.”

They were words to make a man unwittingly halt in his tracks.

When Subaru, unable to resist, looked toward her, Rem made a face like that of an adorable puppy, seemingly wagging her tail as she awaited Subaru’s reply.

Oh, good grief, just how far is this girl gonna—?

“If Emilia-tan’s a very generous first wife...”

“Well then, when we get back you must convince Lady Emilia. I shall try hard as well.”

Rem clenched the hand not grasped into a fist, very animated as she spoke with a smile.

Speaking jokingly like that broke all the tension, driving home to Subaru how weak he was. He truly couldn’t hold a candle to the girl.

I'm...going to have to see where the story goes from here, and how truly joking/serious Rem was with that second wife line. Just to put it out there, I don't really have a good view of polygamy. I'm always going to think that, 1st wife or 2nd or 3rd or wherever, someone is always going to be treated like second best and second priority. What they're receiving doesn't feel like real love and that's not fair to them. The only way I can see myself supporting a polygamous marriage in this series is if it's made clear Emilia and Rem are attracted to each other as well as Subaru and want to bang. Then it at least becomes three people who love each other as opposed to just "the guy and his two prizes".

So, first time you read this part in the novels or watched it in the anime, was anyone else afraid of the White Whale not showing up where and when Subaru told everyone it would? Like the world would just want to gut punch him one more time and have everyone think he's a fraud? I remember I was.

One theory I have for why the witch's scent grows stronger, not just when Subaru RBD, but also when he tries to talk about RBD is that maybe the witch likes when he acknowledges her "gift" to him. But she's also quite screwed up and doesn't like it when he tries to "share" what's between them, thus why she punishes him or those around him for doing so.

In front, behind and up above, he saw yet another whale-shaped figure high in the sky, scattering mist all around.

—The infinite mouths of the three White Whales laughed together, drawing out the despair of men.

Subaru, Crusch, the soldiers, everyone, etc.

Though pests had interrupted it, the White Whale’s mission was to cover the world in mist. This, too, was the command of its instinct, and doing so was the purpose of the White Whale’s existence.

One thing I've enjoyed about the various light novel series I've been reading is that, compared to their anime, I get a better idea of various characters' and monsters' mentalities. The best example I could give would be the goblins in Goblin Slayer (that they are not mindless creatures; that they know EXACTLY what they're doing to people and they enjoy it) and this bit with the White Whale is another good one. It seeks to cover the world in its mist and thus destroy/consume/erase everything (maybe?) And it doesn't know why it seeks to do this. It just does, suggesting there is something else, possibly the one behind its creation, driving it.

It's also interesting that, to the White Whale, the witch's scent is described as foul, despite the stories that she's the one who created it. This brings to mind a couple different theories.

Satella didn't actually create the whale. Someone else, perhaps one of the other six witches did or one of the archbishops.

Satella did create the whale but maybe used one of the other witches to do it. Puck did mention something about Gluttony when he sensed the whale approaching in the last loop.

Satella REALLY cannot tell the difference between positive and negative emotions, even more so than we were already led to believe.

Kind of cruel of Rem to trick Subaru into thinking she was dying, but at least we do get Subaru's completely true feelings out in the open. Back to the polygamy matter, I don't have a problem with Subaru being indecisive between Emilia and Rem or being in love with them both. It's not just that they've done so much for him, in which case the relationship would feel just like how Emilia described, just the two of them repaying debts to each other. Both women have been a hugely positive influence on Subaru's life. They've impacted it for the better and helped push him into being more of a man he can live with being, and it works the other way around too. It would be hard to imagine his story without either of them in it. I feel the same way with Code Geass in regards to CC, Shirley, and Kallen in Lelouch's story. It was the only "harem" series I've ever watched where I had trouble saying who the MC should end up with, because all three were irreplaceable in his life and story. Take any of them out and it loses a lot. Emilia and Rem are a similar case.

As Rem looked back at Subaru, now beside her, large tears filled her blue eyes. It was not being left behind that she feared. No, what she feared more than anything was—

“When you are in distress, Subaru, I want to be the one offering my hand faster than anyone. When you hesitate along your path, I want to be the one pushing on your back. When you challenge something, I want to be at your side, stopping you from shaking. That is—that is all I wish for. So please...”

Again, more great parallels between Subaru and Rem, as this isn't dissimilar to what he wanted to do for Emilia.

Wilhelm might just be the biggest example of a tsundere I've ever seen. Married a woman he loved from the bottom of heart for what was assumedly a decent amount of time...never freaking told her "I love you" until he finally killed the beast that killed her.

As for Theresia, it's definitely a case of why context is so important. She never wanted to be the Sword Saint. She only did so because she found purpose in saving as many lives as she could with the insane power she had (the whole "great power, great responsibility" chestnut). If Wilhelm is strong enough to protect and save people, to where her absence would make no difference, then she doesn't have to be the Sword Saint anymore and can live the life she wants. It's what makes it an actual kindness vs. some chauvinistic BS. Probably helps too that she'd already helped put an end to a long war, so she wouldn't have been needed as much anyway.

“So it is said. The existence and origins of demon beasts are mysteries to us. Some propagate in the same manner as ordinary living creatures, but some suddenly appear out of nowhere like the White Whale. Though, properly speaking, the only exceptions on par with the White Whale are the Black Serpent and the Great Hare.”

Oh...I'm so not looking forward to meeting those two. After how much tragedy just the White Whale caused, what the f**k are those things going to do? My money would be that whatever it is, it will hurt Subaru quite horribly.

This book potentially answered a question I had in my last post. The Witch Cult is after Emilia because they see her as an impostor of the Witch of Envy, or at least so the characters in-story are speculating.

Not sure how many people here are fans of Rising of the Shield Hero but after this I kind of want to see the White Whale and the Spirit Tortoise duke it out. That sounds awesome. Mountain Turtle vs. Witch Fish.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Re_Zero/comments/gub735/novels_first_time_read_through_light_novel_vol_7/

#re:zero #random thoughts #reddit repost

2 notes · View notes

libralita · 4 years ago

Text

Way of Kings Reread

This is my post Rhythm of War reread so if you don’t want spoilers for Rhythm of War then come back later. These are essentially just the notes I took during this read through so things like “Szeth is darkeyed” isn’t really stellar commentary but there are a few interesting things in here. Also this reread was like…very sporadic so I probably missed things.

“A man with a long grey and black beard slumped in the doorway, smiling foolishly—though whether from wine or a weak mind, Szeth could not tell.

‘Have you seen me?’ the man asked with slurred speech. He laughed then began to speak in gibberish, reaching for a wineskin.”—Page 23

Oh god, it’s Jezrien. Nooooo.

I’m curious to see how Humans being voidbringers plays into Szeth’s punishment.

“Occasionally, light would flash without the thunder. The slaves would groan in terror at this, thinking about the Stormfather, the shades of the Lost Radiants, or the Voidbringers—all of which were said to haunt the most violent highstorms.”

Interesting that they’re called the “shades”, perhaps referring to cognitive shadows?

“Talenelat’Elin, bearer of all agonies.”

Wait…do people know about Taln?

“This room is called the Veil…That which comes before the Palanaeum itself. Both were here when the city was founded. Some think these chambers might have been cut by the Dawnsingers themselves.”

First of all, Veil, haha. Second, interesting bit of lore.

“Thaylens had their own systems of rank.”

I’d like to know what it is.

It’s very interesting that philosophy and history are feminine arts and yet the merchant is still trying to sell Shallan on a romance novel

I wonder if Yalb still has his drawing. It was probably ruined so that sucks.

“There, she used all her remaining sphere to fill of all nine colors and all three sizes.”

Hmmmmmmmm. Nine and three. Interesting

“Then he’d have someone to talk to in Damnation. They could reminisce about how terrible Bridge Four had been, and agree that eternal fires were much more pleasant.”

K…Kaladin please don’t joke about that.

“His ways were odd—though Lirin made certain that his son didn’t mix up the Heralds and the Lost Radiants, Kal had heard his father say that he thought the Voidbringers weren’t real. Ridiculous.”

RIP

“He reached the base of the slop, wind-driven rain pelting his face as if trying to shove him back toward the camp.”

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“She looked exhausted. ‘These things are heavy!’ She lifted the leaf. ‘I brought it for you!’”

I love her so much I could cry.

Szeth is a dark eyed.

We need to get the void sphere back.

“It was fairly ordinary, a simple piece of rock with a few quartz crystals set into it and a rusty vein of iron on one side.”

Iron.

“‘Today,’ King Elhokar announced, riding beneath the bright open sky, ‘is an excellent day to slay a god. Wouldn’t you say’”

Owwwwwwwwww my heart

“One might say that gods, as a rule, should fear the Althei nobility. Most of us at least.”

Y’know…Sadeas has a point

Actually they should probably fear Taravangian.

Sadeas wears red plate. I always imagine him in green.

Shardplate is naturally slate gray. I wonder if it’s the same color as what your limbs go if they’re cut by a shardblade. Hmmmm.

“Adolin found himself wishing, passionately, that his father would do a little more these days to live up to that reputation.”

Adolin, sweet pie, NO

I miss Elhokar so much

Also the Thrill of Contest, that’s interesting.

“I felt like a youth again, chasing after your father on some ridiculous challenge.”

Dalinar, we all know that it was Gavilar chasing you

“There was someone watching me in the darkness that night.”

My poor baby…

“‘I defy you, creature!’ Elhokar screamed. ‘I claim your life! They will see their gods crushed, just as they will see their king dead at my feet! I defy you!’”

Elhokar…

“Adolin—stalwart as always—had dismounted beside the king. He tried to stop the claws, striking at them as they fell. Unfortunately, there were four claws and only one of Adolin.”

Hmmmm, Adolin v 4 is becoming a pattern.

“Dalinar should have been there to defend him. Only two things remained of his beloved brother, two things that Dalinar could protect in a hope to earn some form of redemption: Gavilar’s kingdom and Gavilar’s son.”

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

“Let me first assure you that the element is quite safe. I have found a good home for it. I protect its safety like I protect my own skin, you might say.”

It has been ten years and I still have no idea what this means.

“Kaladin punched Moash right in the gut, where he knew it would wind him. Moash gasped in shock, doubling over, and Kaladin stepped forward to grab him by the legs, slinging Moash over his shoulder.”

Ahhhhh I could read this paragraph over and over again.

“He worked himself ragged. In fact, he felt close to collapsing several times, but every time he did, he found a reserve of strength from somewhere.”

I wonder where.

“Rockbuds had opened nearby, their vines reaching out to lap up the beast’s blood.”

Gross.

Insult his son and the Blackthorn will peek through

“I had…things to be about.”

I don’t like the way Wit said that.

“You going to do Alethkar a favor and rid it of both of us?”

That is a very interesting line for Wit to say…Also concerning. Wit what are you up to?

It’s very interesting that without Sadeas and Gavilar, Dalinar has to learn how to be a politician. It’s clear that both men maneuver others while Dalinar is blunt force. Good character development, I really love it as a political scientist.

“Brother, follow the Codes tonight. There is something strange upon the winds.”

Hmmmmmmmmm, I think Gavilar was planning his death.

“We’d protect Gavilar’s son. No matter what the cost, no matter what other things came between us, we would protect Elhokar.”

…Would…Elhokar have died if Sadeas was still alive?

“The book was used by the Radiants as a kind of guidebook, a book of counsel on how to live their lives.”

That…something that I forgot. Dalinar maybe you should have some required reading in your Radiant generation.

It’s interesting that Shardplate and Rsyhadium have no problem with humans using them but shardblades do.

“Dalinar was shocked that he could remember the story word for word,”

Hmmmmmm

“Could he train himself out of freezing in battle like that?”

End me.

“You sure he’s not decayspren wearing a man’s skin?”

S…Syl…is that a problem we have to deal with?

“They break the land itself! They want it, but in their rage they will destroy it. Like the jealous man burns his rich things rather than let them be taken by his enemies! They come!”

The…humans?

“‘Hm,’ he said. ‘Yes. We’ll be getting right to that soon. It’ll be grand. Lots of prancing, sauntering, and er…’

‘Promenading?’ Yis the leatherworker offered.

‘Isn’t that a type of drink?’ Adolin asked.

‘Er, no, Brightlord. I’m fairly certain it’s another word for walking.’

‘Well, then,’ Adolin said. ‘We’ll do plenty of it too. Promenading. I always love a good promenading.’”

He and Shallan are truly made for each other.

“Highprince Aladar has begun to talk of taking a short vacation back to Althekar. I want to know if he’s serious.”

Oh?

It’s very interesting how Gavilar after death is portrayed as having grown weak and yet there’s so much reverence for him.

Three gods, huh?

It’s interesting that Dalinar can feel the thrill in these visions.

“It was a topaz entwined with a heliodor, both set into a fine metal framework, each stone as big as a man’s hand.”

Is that some kind of fabrial? Is she an edgedancer/truthwatcher? She seemed to have Stoneward shardplate. How confusing. I guess she could have borrowed Shardplate.

DABBID MY SON!

“‘Next time it could be you!’ he called. ‘What will you do if you’re the one that needs healing?’

‘I’ll die.’ Moash said, not even bothering to look back. ‘Out on the field, quickly, rather than back here over a week’s time.’”

Oh that would be so unfortunate.

REREADING THIS BOOK WITH THE TEFT SECTIONS OH OHHHHHHHHH BOY SUFFERING. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE

“I was under the impression that you were going to aid the queen in protecting the king’s interests in Alethkar.”

That is interesting to think about. What would have happened in Navani had stayed in Alethkar? Did the Unmade compel Navani to go? Or would she have been under the influence of the Unmade?

“I have determined that the queen is sufficiently endowed with the requisite skills needed to hold Alethkar.”

Uhhhhhhhhhh

“‘Well, I suppose that’s all right,’ she said. ‘I kind of trust Sadeas.’”

Interesting. Also my son, my love, Elhokar...you are so dumb.

“‘You still argue he isn’t a bad king?’ Navani whispered. ‘My poor, distracted, oblivious boy.’”

HE COULD HAVE BEEN GREAT

Ishar is the herald of luck?

WAIT ROION! TURTLE MAN! My baby!

My god I sometimes forget that Dalinar has no fucking chill and no impulse control.

“The Almighty himself depended on the Alethi to train themselves in honorable battle so that when they died, they could join the Heralds’ army and win back the Tranquiline Halls.”

Is that…Honor’s influence or Odium’s? Or has Odium corrupted this idea? Because judging by Rhythm of War, Odium’s end goal was to raise an army from Roshar and then send them across the Cosmere.

“My sense of honor makes me easy to manipulate.”

Whaaaaaat? You Dalinar. Pffttttt Noooooo. Pfffftttttt.

“‘He is well, though you presence here is sorely missed. I’m certain he could use your counsel. He is relying heavily on Brightness Lalai to act as clerk.’

Perhaps that would make Jasnah return. There was little love lost between herself and Sadeas’s cousin, who was the king’s head scribe in he queen’s absence.”

First, there’s another Sadeas we must deal with besides Sadeas’s nephew that I’m sure will be around in arc 2. Second, interesting wonder where that drama stems from.

“They may be a little too stable. The world is changing outside, but the Shin seem determined to remain the same.”

Hmmmmmmmmmm

“Gavarah hadn’t reached her twentieth Weeping when she proposed the theory of the three realms.”

WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA. Lemme hear this theory, my dude.

“He reminds me of my uncle Dalinar. Earnest, sincere, concerned.” “We could do with more men like Taravangian,”

I…mmm….aw man…I…that’ll be a yikes for me.

“He found a half-finished bridge. It had eventually grown out of that one plank Kaladin had used.”

ASODFKJSLDFJSLDF JUST LIKE THE FOURTH BRIDGE

“Had something moved in the darkness?”

His spren?

“‘Roshone lets them know he finds them contemptible. And so they scramble to please him.

‘That makes no sense,’ Kal said.

‘It is the way of things,’ Lirin said, playing with one of the spheres on the table, rolling it beneath his fingers. ‘You’ll have to learn this, Kal. When men perceive the world as being right, we are content. But if we see a hole—a deficiency—we scramble to fill it.”

This feels like how Lirin is acting in Rhythm of War.

Y’know it really makes sense why Kabsal would be working for Thaidakar.

Is…Kabsal attempting to get Shallan to join the Ghostbloods? Rhythm of War makes me wonder how honest Kabsal was towards Shallan. Yeah, Jasnah thought Kabsal was just manipulating her but she didn’t say how she knew this.

“He smiled, then drew the bow across the edge of the metal plate, making it vibrate. The sand hopped and bounced, like tiny insects dropped onto something hot.

‘This,’ he said, ‘is called cymatics. The study of pattern that sounds make when interactive with a physical medium.’

As he drew the bow again, the plate made a sound, almost a pure note. It was actually enough to draw a single music spren, which spun for a moment in the air above him, then vanished. Kabsal finished, then gestured to the plate with a flourish.”

Well, Rhythm of War certainly made this more interesting.

“Bridgemen aren’t supposed to survive. There’s something about that. He wouldn’t be able to ask Lamaril. That man had gotten what he deserved, though. If Kaladin had the ability to choose, such would be the end of all lighteyes, the king included.

Your inner Moash is showing.

“I want you to go back into the barrack and tell the men to come out after the storm. Tell them to look up at me tied here. Tell them I’ll open my eyes and look back at them, and they’ll know that I survived.”

No wonder a religion might be forming around Kaladin.

“Teft lingered too, as if thinking to spend the storm with Kaladin. He eventually shook his head, muttering and joined the others. Kaladin thought he heard the man calling himself a coward.”—Page 517

Brandon Sanderson, leave me the fuck alone.

“‘Taking the Dawnsahrds, known to bind any creature voidish or mortal, he crawled up the steps crafted for Heralds, ten strides tall apiece, toward the grand temple above.’—From The Poem of Ista. I have found no modern explanation of what these ‘Dawnshards’ are. They seem ignored by scholars, though talk of them was obviously prevalent among those recording the early mythologies.”—Page 524

Wait…who’s he? And aw man this becomes more relevant in a few years.

“‘Then you’re not a murderer,’ Kaladin said.

‘Not for want of trying.’ Sigzil eyes grew distant. ‘I thought for certain I succeeded. It was not the wisest choice I made. My master…’

‘Is he the one you tried to kill?’

‘No.’”

We need some backstory.

Marabethia sounds similar to Twitter.

“It claimed that humming of all things, could make a Soulcasting more effective.”

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“That isn’t the kind of thing the Dawnsingers did. They were healers, kindly spren by the Almighty to care for humans once were forced out of the Tranquiline Halls.”

Is…that right?

“‘We believe that the Voidbringers were real, Shallan. A scourge and plague.. A hundred times they came upon mankind. First casting us from the Tanquiline Halls, then trying to destroy us here on Roshar. They weren’t just spren that hid under rocks, then came out to steal someone’s laundry. They were creatures of terrible destructive power, forged in Damnation creature from hate.’

‘By whom?’ Shallan asked.

‘What?’

‘Who made them? I mean, the Almighty wasn’t likely to have ‘created something from hate.’ So what made them?’

‘Everything has its opposite, Shallan. The Almighty is a force of good. To balance his goodness, the cosmere needed the Voidbringers as his opposite.’”—Pages 634-635

Thaidakar’s reveal really makes Kabsal a more…suspicious character. Like how much does he actually know? How much does Thaidakar actually know? Also, I don’t know if Odium is the opposite of Honor. I guess we’d need all 16 shards names to compare.

“A city where people lived in gigantic, hollowed out stalactites hanging beneath a titanic sheltered ridge.”

EXCUSE ME WHAT

“‘I doubt many would disagree. But I mention these horrors for a purpose. You see, it has been my experience that no matter where you go, you will find some who abuse their power.’ He shrugged. ‘Eye color is not so odd a method, compared to many others I have seen. If you were to overthrow the lighteyes and place yourselves in power, Moash, I doubt that the world would be a very different place. The abuses would still happen. Simply to other people.’

Kaladin nodded slowly, but Moash shook his head. ‘No I’d change the world, Sigzil. And I mean to.’”

Hmmm, yeah that didn’t exactly work out.

“‘That makes you wiser, presumably?’

‘Damnation no,’ Teft said. ‘The only thing it proves is that I’ve more experience staying alive than you.’”

Brandon. Leave. Me. Alone.

“Cenn stopped wheezing. He convulsed once, eyes still open. ‘He watches!’ the boy hissed. ‘The black piper in the night. He holds us in his palm…playing a tune that no man can hear!’”—Page 671

Is…is that a reference to El?

“I’m sorry I drove you to suicide. Here’s some bread.”

How people on this website think Moash’s redemption arch is gonna go.

“‘…why Thaidakar would risk this?’ Amaram was saying, speaking in a soft voice. ‘But who else would it be? The Ghostbloos grow more bold.’”—Page 701

Jasnah was complaining last chapter how she hates being wrong but she was wrong about Shallan’s intentions and that Amaram is not as smart as he seems. Yeah, he’s wrong about who sent the shardbearer to kill him but if I was in the cosmere and someone tried to kill me, I would assume it was Thaidakar. On that note, holy fuck, I need to know what conversation prompted both Gavilar and Amaram to assume that someone trying to kill them had to be Thaidakar. I really hope that Gavilar’s pov is next for KOWT for his death so maybe we could get a conversation where they talk to Thaidakar through cube skype or maybe this avatar (whatever the hell that means.) God Rhythm of War makes this scene so much funnier.

“You’d have changed your mind. In a day or two, you’d have wanted the wealth and prestige—otehrs would have convinced you of it. You’d have demanded that I return them to you. It took hours to decide, but Restares is right—this is what must be done. For the good of Alethkar.”—Page 703

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—this is why we reread—aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Kaladin is going to have some words with Restares.

What happened to Baxil and Av?

?????????????????????????? Why do these two Ardents know about the Physical/Cognitive/Spiritual realm?

“Eight weeks? Forty days of winter at once? That war rare.”—Page 728

Did the weather used to be more consistent on Roshar?

Oh god Rhythm of War has made the Recreance so hard to read.

“If I abandon my principles, then I become something far worse than they. A hypocrite.”—Page 741

A hypocrite is a just a man changing or something. I forget the quote.

“Have you been paying much attention to the conflict between the Tukari and the Emuli?”—Page 753

“And the Tukari are led by that god-priest of theirs, Tezim.”—Page 754

Look at the foreshadowing.

“‘Just as Hatham wishes his partner in negotiations to know of his goodwill, I wish you to know of our goodwill toward you, Brightlord.’

Dalinar frowned. He’d never had much to do with the ardents—his devotary was simple and straightforward. Dalinar got his fill of politics with the court; he had little desire to find more religion. ‘Why? What should it matter if I have goodwill toward you?’

The ardent smiled. ‘We will speak with you again.’ He bowed low and withdrew.”—Pages 756-757

OKAY AT FIRST I THOUGHT THIS WAS FUNNY BECAUSE THE ARDENTS GET VERY MIFFED AT DALINAR IN OATHBRINGER BUT “we” HOLY SHIT THAT’S ONE OF BUG PEOPLE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I can imagine why this bug man wants his goodwill because they’re pretty sure he’ll destroy them.

“‘This thing will not happen,’ Rock said. ‘Is impossible to get sphere out of the chasms.’

‘We could swallow them,’ Moash said.

‘You would choke. Spheres are too big, eh?’

‘I’ll better I could do it,’ Moash said. His eyes glittering, reflecting the verdant Stormlight. ‘That’s more money than I’ve ever seen. It’s worth the risk.’”—Page 766

I swear to god, one of these days Moash is going to swallow a sphere.

“You call him the Stormfather, here in Alethkar.”

So people in Alethkar think that Jezerin and the Stormfather are the same person?

“Light grows so distant. The storm never stops. I am broken, and all around me have died. I weep for the end of all things. He has won. Oh, he has beaten us.”

O…Oh man, I hope this isn’t foreshadowing for KOWT.

“We should have expected this, Dalinar thought. We started bringing two armies to a plateau, so they have done the same.”—Page 781

Interesting that Kaladin thought about this when fighting the Fused by Dalinar didn’t fighting the Listeners

“When other men failed, a field of crops got worms in them. When a surgeon failed someone died.”

Well…if your crops fail then you could very much cause a town to starve to death.

“Though there was one thing he clung to. An excuse, perhaps, like the dead emperor. It was the soul of the wretch. Apathy. The belief that nothing was his fault, the belief that he couldn’t change anything. If a man was cursed, or believe he didn’t have to care, then he didn’t need to hurt when he failed. Those failures couldn’t have been prevented. Someone or something else had ordained them.”

Those are some fucking foils right there.

“They watch me. Always. Waiting. I see their face in mirrors. Symbols, twisted, inhuman…”

Babbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbby

“I wish to sleep. I know now why you do what you do, and I hate you for it. I will not speak of the truths I see.”

The sibling?

“I’d surrendered my plans, but you’ve returned them to me. I’ll guard you with my life, Kaladin. I swear it to you, by the blood of my fathers.”—Page 881

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

LISTEN I KNOW ELHOKAR IS AN IDIOT BUT HE’S MY IDIOT

“The further you look, the more pieces that wind breaks into.”—Page 995

That’s interesting

“A champion could work well for you, but it is not certain. And…without the Dawnshards…”—Page 997

Well, we’ll see how Rysn plays into this.

#Brandon Sanderson #way of kings #Stormlight Archive #cosmere #TaylorRereadsSA

12 notes · View notes

littleladymab · 3 years ago

Text

The Phoenix Suite (SW Rebels Pod+Fic)

Do you know what a phoenix is? It is said that the bird would go out in a burst of flames, and then rise from its ashes, born again. Even if we lose here, the Rebellion will never go out. Someone will always be the spark.

((Kallus tries to get a message to the Rebellion, but he fails -- tries to get a message to the Rebellion but he fails -- but he fails -- he fails))

Series: Star Wars Rebels Characters: Kallus, Thrawn, and the Ghost Crew Rating: Teen Tags: S3 Finale, time-loop, warnings for implied torture/character death/suicide (but again, it's a time loop, so it doesn't stick)

Read by Litra (link to stream)

----

Kallus hits the ground, hard.

He wheezes, more in shock than in pain, and inhales a lungful of dust and air tinged with the ozone of blaster fire. His shoulder takes the brunt of the blow, hands cuffed uselessly behind him.

Still, he’s able to roll into the fall and scrambles to his feet as the call goes up behind him.

“Grand Admiral!” a trooper shouts. “The prisoner is trying to escape!”

Kallus can’t hear Thrawn’s response, but the screams of the dying Rebel forces and the heavy tread of the walkers is enough of an answer: He’ll die with Atollon, and with the Rebellion.

For a wild, frantic second, Kallus considers charging one of the rear guards and taking their blaster, dragging down whoever else he can with his inevitable demise.

But then the part of his brain that clings to survival, to the barest glimmer of hope that this can still be salvaged, urges him onward.

So he runs — away from the sounds of the massacre, away from the orderly advance of the troopers and their walkers. Far enough that the only thing he can hear is the distant roar of chaos and ships crashing to the planet’s surface in his ears.

Breaking the cuffs is easy when he has a moment. He knows where to apply the right amount of pressure, even with his hands locked behind him.

There’s a faint and ominous skittering sound to his left, so he banks right. He has no knowledge of Atollon, and he certainly doesn’t want to learn about the local fauna.

Not when his brain is reeling and clawing desperately for a solution. Not when he’s staunchly ignoring the voice in the back of his head, the cold, calculated tone of the ISB Agent, as it scoffs and says you know a hopeless case when you see one.

Because he does. He knew from the moment he woke up in the cell after being knocked out by Thrawn on the communications tower.

Shit, probably earlier than that, if he’s being completely honest.

Playing at being a Rebel, thinking he could handle the mantle of Fulcrum.

The moment Thrawn walked into the picture, he was fucked.

His feet carry him without thought, winding away deeper and deeper into the wilds of this uninhabited planet. Further, he thinks, from the remains of his failure.

Until he crests a ridge and he’s standing on a cliff and he can see it all spread out before him. The base flattened, like a bug squashed beneath a boot. The white shapes of troopers picking their way through the remains, and the occasional flash of blaster fire when they find a survivor.

His stomach turns at the sight, the now familiar sickening sensation that this is the mighty hand of the Empire. This is not a war, and it never will be.

And it’s not that he wanted to go down in a blaze of glory or anything. He just wanted to make a difference for once. The tug in his chest, the last desperate pull of hope that led him this way, finally dies, leaving him standing on uneasy legs at the edge of the precipice.

“This is all my fault,” he says to the valley below, and wishes that it could be more of an apology and less of a goodbye.

“Which side do you mourn for?” a voice like thunder asks, and Kallus whirls around — reaching for a weapon that isn’t there.

But instead of a man, instead of Grand Admiral Thrawn with his glowing red eyes or the emotionless mask of a trooper, Kallus finds himself facing a creature that towers like a mountain above him. Its head is framed in a halo of dust as constellations of atmo burners light up behind it, and eyes like twin suns stare down at the human.

Kallus is speechless. Nothing in all of his training has prepared him for this. “What are you?” he asks instead.

“I,” the creature intones, shifting its head so that its silhouette is visible in the fading light, “am the Bendu.” It creaks with every movement, the coral that forms its antlers and outer shell grinding together as the beast lowers itself to Kallus’ level. “And what are you? You found me, yet… you are not a Jedi.”

Kallus wonders what makes being a Jedi a prerequisite for this. “I am…” Kallus starts, but in the end, he can’t figure out what the answer should be.

“Alexsandr Kallus, Imperial Security Bureau Agent 021,” the creature supplies, and Kallus feels hot and cold inside all at once.

He grinds his teeth and clenches his hands into fists and refuses to give into a physical display of his anger. “Not any longer.”

The Bendu studies him, those burning yellow eyes peeling him away layer by layer. “You wear the uniform. You keep that name close to your heart. Who are you, Alexsandr Kallus, if not an agent of the Empire?”

Enough is enough.

Every bruise and broken rib and laceration stings, the pain pulsing in time to his ragged breathing and his labored heartbeat. They are what reminds him of who he is, because everything he can see and hear tells him that the Bendu is right, he still is ISB-021.

He draws himself up to his full height, and throws his shoulders back in a way that he has seen Rebellion fighters do — one that conveys defiance instead of the perfectly postured lines of the Empire. “I am Fulcrum,” he says. “I am a Rebel spy, an Imperial defector. I am—” Here he falters, voice finally cracking. “I am well and truly fucked.”

The Bendu gives a low growl of something that might be understanding deep in its chest. “So then, Alexsandr Kallus: Which side do you mourn for?”

A laugh, strained and hysterical, boils up the back of his throat, but he swallows it down before it can get loose. “Why would I mourn the Imperials? They are the clear victors here.”

“Ah,” the Bendu says, as if it had caught Kallus in a particularly clever trap. “But in their victory, have they not also lost? Things they don’t even realize are missing.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Kallus counters. “If you were here, why didn’t you help the Rebellion? Why didn’t you help the Jedi?”

There is another rumble, this time like a storm, and the blazing suns of the Bendu’s eyes flash in warning. “I am the one in the middle. As I told the Jedi Knight who came and asked for my assistance, I take no side.”

Kallus just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. More Force and Jedi nonsense taken to the extreme. “This is a war. You side with the oppressors when you refuse to take action against them.”

“You picked a side, Agent. You carry pride for what you have done. Who are you, with your accolades and titles bestowed upon you by your Empire, to tell me that I do more harm than good? I am the Bendu. I am the one in the middle.”

Standing there on the cliff’s edge, still in his ISB uniform, Kallus wonders if he himself isn’t currently dangling precariously in the middle. Stranded between two worlds, no longer one but not truly another. He rejected the Empire, but was never fully accepted by the Rebellion.

Except that’s not true, is it? Not really. It wasn’t all that long ago that he was in the detention cell, undoing Ezra Bridger’s handcuffs, and the boy turned to look up at him with an expression of distrust but determination. The crew of the Ghost put everything on the line to try and save him, but he had said no. I can do more good here.

“I didn’t think that I had a choice,” Kallus finally says. “I didn’t know anything else.”

“Then what changed?”

How to answer? A part of him had died after that night on Bahryn. The person who crawled his way out of the ice and into the trader’s ship was someone else entirely.

Kallus had been given a choice; several, in fact.

He had spared Garazeb Orrelios’ life, twice. He had declined the invitation to be rescued by the Ghost crew.

That’s when he began to acknowledge the cracks — the chipping veneer on the Empire’s elaborate portrait of the future. When given the chance to do something more, he knew that there was another answer than the easy one offered by the Empire.

Eventually, he gives a helpless shrug. “Everything.”

The Bendu considers this, considers him. It’s similar to the feeling of being studied by Kanan Jarrus, or by the Inquisitor. That depth in their gaze that sees beyond this moment, like they know something is about to happen.

Someone who can see the full picture, where Kallus cannot.

Kallus knows, without a doubt, that he’s about to be given another choice. He is a man who takes disjointed pieces and knows how to put them together into a narrative. He is a man who has thrived on logic and reason for so long that they are second nature to him.

There is nothing left for him except execution at the hands of the Empire, or a slow death in the wilds of Atollon. There is no other way for this story to end, except for the choice that he will be offered.

“Would you change this, if you could?” The Bendu waves one massive hand, encompassing Kallus beaten and bloody, the smoldering valley below, the remains of destroyed ships like falling stars in the hazy sky.

“Yes,” Kallus says without hesitating.

“What would you change?”

Another shrug, not knowing where to begin. “Everything.”

The Bendu leans in closer still, until its eyes are the only thing that Kallus can see, and its hot breath washes over him. “If you could do this over again, would you?”

Now is not the time for logic and reason. Now is the time for gut instinct, in trusting something bigger than himself, bigger than the Empire.

Alexsandr Kallus, no longer an ISB Agent, no longer Fulcrum, dead man walking, looks the Bendu straight in the eyes and says, “Yes.”

It happens all at once. (It happens over the course of an eternity.) [It happens in juddering starts and stops and flashes of moments strung together.]

Kallus feels like he’s being plunged into a pool (into the dead cold of space) [like he’s being torn apart and reconfigured]. There is a weight on his chest that saps the air from his lungs and before he can get a chance to wonder if he’s made a mistake, everything goes black.

(( read the rest on ao3 ))

#star wars #sw rebels #star wars rebels #i live life on the wild side and just leave the links in the main post #a lil miss fic #podfic #baby's first podfic please enjoy #litra did an amazing job reading it #written for the pod_together 2021 event

2 notes · View notes

anime-lover-forever-1127 · 3 years ago

Text

A Woman With Vision {Arthur Leywin} - 20. Beast Glades

Beast Glades

*****

Disclaimer - (Cause fanfiction is tricky ground and I hope not to offend the creator of the original story and get sued)

I do not own "The Beginning After The End", it belongs to its original creator TurtleMe. This is only a fanfiction that I was inspired to write by the original work. Please support the official release. Most of the media - such as the art and illustrations, gifs, video's, etc. used in this fanfiction - are from the web. Thus, most of them aren't mine (because I really, really can't draw) unless mentioned. To fit the story, images are also edited by various apps and websites. So they aren't mine, just edited. I get much of the text, especially the fight scenes and thought, aside from my oc's, from the original novel, which can be found on Library Novel. Please support the official release.

Also if you own a picture or Video that I found online, and you either want your name added, or me to take it down. Please contact me and we can talk it out. P.s. I also ask that you do not copy my work and publish it onto any other website.

If you're gonna use my idea, please ask me (If you ask nicely, I for sure, will agree). If I don't contact you within a week, then just assume I'm giving you the all clear and go for it. Just remember to credit me.

I will be writing out scenes even if my Oc isn't in them. As long as she's mentioned, or influencing the characters in some way. This may seem a bit annoying. But that's just how I write. I like to embed my characters into the story line. Because of this, most of the dialogue/scenes will come from the original work.

Playlist

For the playlist you can go to my YouTube channel, which is under "Anime-lover-forever-1127" and click on the playlist titled "A Woman With Vision {Arthur Laywin}". Or you can use this link watch?v=GYlAaNM7WS8&list=PLVKYkztH1Zd8bdl2_a1C8F6u8gPPwfa6D&ab_channel=7clouds

Warnings: Spoilers for Chapter 30 and chapter 54 of the comic

*****

Today's Special

No one tells you that the hardest part of MOTHERHOOD is when your kids grow up

~ sitiraihana

*****

{Morgana P.O.V.}

Crossing through the teleportation gate, my senses jolted from the scenery. The City of Xyrus had the most teleportation gates among the cities since they were the only way one could enter it, it being a floating city and all. The one we crossed led us directly to the front entrance of the area known as the Beast Glades.

The chirps of birds, occasional cries and roars of beasts, and the constant sound of water flowing filling the background all created an enticing symphony of nature. The sight of tall trees and numerous hills covered in various plants and shrubs made it hard to believe that this beautiful landscape was filled with magical beasts capable of killing even the strongest mages. However, because of abundances of natural resources on the outskirts, it was mostly only the lower rank beasts that inhabited this deeper an adventurer traversed, the more mysterious and treacherous the landscape turned, filled with the lairs of powerful beasts that have amassed their treasures and power in the solitude's of unexplored regions in the Beast Glades.

I took a sip of the crisp air as Jasmine and Arthur arrived behind me through the teleportation gate when, suddenly, I heard a wish, and from the corner of my eyes I saw Sylvie scurry off.

"Wait, Sylv! Where are you going?" Arthur called after her, dumbfounded.

Sylvie transmitted a vague response; I could feel her emotions of excitement as she sent out thoughts about her plans to train as well.

"Did she just?" I asked, pointing at the direction my baby just ran off to.

"Yep, she just ran away from home." He answered weekly, his tone going a little high.

"Oh, Arthur." I sighed, pulling him close and giving him a shoulder hug. I had only known Sylvie for a couple of months, and I felt as if something was missing without her here.

But she was Arthur's bond, and had never left him since the day she had hatched. I could only imagine how big the hole in his heart must feel.

"Are you gonna be ok?" I asked. "We could take a break."

Arthur shook his head, "We just got here. Plus, I'm only a little…" He struggled, unsure of what world to use, "...uneasy. But… I can sense her whereabouts. So it should be fine."

"You can sense her whereabouts?" I asked, surprised.

He nodded, "Wait! You can't?"

I shook my head.

"Close your eyes, and try searching for her aura."

I did what he had said. I could see the mana floating around me, but no Sylvie. I opened my eyes, "Nothing. No trace of her. Maybe we're not just there yet."

Sylvie had explained to me that the longer me and Arthur were with each other, the stronger our mate bond would become. And the stronger it becomes, the easier it would be for me to create an adopted bond with Sylvie. Of course that would only be possible after spending time with her. And if I ever got a bond, it would be the same with Arthur. He would form a bond, through me, until he had a second, slightly weaker bond, with my own, on his own.

So because of that, until my bond with Sylvie was complete, I would be using Arthur's bond, to support my own developing one with her.

Now it was Arthur's turn to give me a sympathetic and reassuring hug. "It's fine mama bear."

"You're right." I nodded, "Knowing you can still

"She'll be okay. Mana beasts have a natural instinct to grow stronger. She must've felt very suffocated being in a sheltered environment all of her life," Jasmine pips up , walking next to Arthur.

"I know." I nod, "But that honestly doesn't make it hurt any less."

Jasmine lets out a chuckle, "It's like your her mother."

"She is" - "I am"

Arthur and I answer at the same time.

Jasmine stops a bit, staring at us long and hard, before smiling, "I think I get what your parents meant now. Well, to each their own."

Both me and Arthur smile at that. She really is a great woman.

Putting her hand on our shoulder, she signalled for us to start moving. "There's a place I wish to visit first before going to a dungeon. We have to hurry though; it gets a little more dangerous at night."

Willing mana into her body, Jasmine bolted off into the distance, her wind attribute mana propelling her even faster.

I followed after her, forming two gales of wind below my feet as I dashed after her, Arthur doing the same, followed.

Everyone in a while, Arthur would give me an update on Sylvie.

"I just hope that she doesn't go after bigger beasts until she's ready." I sigh.

"Don't worry. She knows she has us if she ever gets in over her head. She knows she can always ask us for help." Arthur says, petting my head.

*****

The journey lasted a few hours and it began to grow dark. The only reason Arthur and I had been able to keep up with Jasmine, even when she was at a dark yellow stage, was Arthur had been using mana rotation throughout the way, and I had controlled mine to only use the bare minimum amount mana needed to create a controlled, constant amount of wind. This skill had become almost second nature to me now as I utilised it unconsciously whenever I exerted mana.

By late evening, we had cleared through a dense forest and arrived at a small clearing. Surrounded by trees, there was a small field of grass with a stream of clear water flowing through it.

"We'll camp out here for a few days," Jasmine announced as she set down her bag and took out a couple of items.

"Weren't we going to a dungeon right away?" Arthur asked, setting down his bag as well.

She simply shook her head, picking up a few branches of wood and gathering them together.

Well Arthur and I went into the forest, finding some decent-sized branches to make a fire with. After a bit, we had a fire crackling and popping in the middle of our camp. Making myself comfortable, I leaned against Arthur who had removed his mask and sat silently by Jasmine, next to the fire.

Trying to break the silence, Arthur asked Jasmine, "What made you want to become an adventurer?"

"…"

Her gaze never left the fire and after a few minutes of more awkward silence, I just stared back at the flame, assuming she didn't want to answer.

"I wanted to get away from my family." I almost missed what she said from how quietly she spoke amidst the wood of the fire snapping fiercely.

"I see… were you on bad terms with your family?" Arthur responded, his eyes focused on the fire.

I choose to just listen to their conversation.

"…"

"The Flamesworth House was a major contributor to the war against the elves. Our house has provided many powerful mages, both conjurers and augmenters. Our lineage in the fire attribute element was second to none. We took great pride in this, because fire is considered to be the most powerful of the elements," she stated monotonously.

Despite her short sentences, this had been the most Jasmine had talked in one sitting.

"But Jasmine, aren't you a…" Arthur asked, looking up at her as she nodded in response.

"Since early on, when I had first awakened and started training, my family tried to test my mana for fire affinity. I went through various tests so they could see how my mana was exerted and how it flowed through my mana channels." She took a pause and poked at the fire before continuing on. "When it was made clear that I had no aptitude for the fire attribute, my family regarded me as lesser."

"…"

Arthur didn't know how to respond to her. For the first time, the always aloof and cold Jasmine seemed…vulnerable.

"I'm sorry for what happened…" was the only response Arthur managed to utter.

But so much for staying silent, I stood up to my knees and crawled over to Jasmine until I was face to face with her. Looking her directly in the eyes, I told her firmly. "Your family is wrong… and crazy." Her eyes went wide at my statement. "Wind magic is probably stronger than fire when you get down to it! All your family is, is a walking matchstick. All they can do is shoot out flames, a pillar if they're really getting creative. But with wind magic… we can create tornadoes, fly, move objects across a room. I mean it was because of wind magic we covered a distance that would have taken us days, in mere hours. Do I really have to say more?"

Jasmine's eyes widened and she shook her head, she gave me a faint smile. "The Twin Horns have treated me well and I don't dislike what I am."

I smiled, "I know that. I can tell it on your face whenever you're with your party, that you're clearly happy. But I'm just letting you know that your family is wrong. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but theirs… is just plain stupid."

I glanced at her palm as Jasmine formed a small swirl of wind, different emotions running through her face as she peered at her hand.

This world was a place of discrimination and classification. The hierarchical roots embedded into this land would never truly disappear. Normal humans were considered second-rate people, while even amongst mages, augmenters were discriminated against by conjurers. It went further than that where, unless one was a deviant or a dual element specialist, some elements were considered "higher class" than others.

Being born from a family of powerful fire attribute mages, she was discarded as inferior because of the elemental attribute she had; something that most mages would kill to acquire. She was a dark yellow augmenter skilled in fighting and mana manipulation at the ripe age of 24. Many would consider her a genius but from the standards she grew up with, she considered herself lesser.

We placed more wood to last through the coldest parts of the night and laid out our sleeping bags a few feet away so we could still feel the heat.

As we got ready to go to sleep, Arthur leaned into my ear and whispered, "I know subtlety isn't really your strong suit. It never has been."

I sent him a glare, "This better be building into a compliment."

He sent me a smile, "Well, more of a request. But I'm not shy to add one in there. Anyway, if we ever meet with nobility… and royalty again - assuming you haven't scared them enough yet. Could you at least try to hold it in. Until we least have a chance at beating them."

I huffed, "Speak for yourself. I already have my network ready. Of course it really isn't anything that great yet, but it has potential. The seeds are planted, and ready to sprout like a butterfly bush at a moment's notice." I winked at him.

He stared at me confused, "Who would-"

I cut him off, "Finishing school is quite boring when you've actually played the high society game. But, when it comes to making connections with little girls eager for your approval, there's nothing like it. As for informats, they're easy to buy. Mom and dad's allowance has always been generous, and I know exactly how to put it to good use." I smirked as I thought of the various amounts of blackmail I had collected for various families.

Arthur stared at me, wide eyed. "Damn, why didn't you say anything?"

I shrugged, "I thought you knew me?"

"I do!" He defended himself. "But I may have accidentally underestimated you. I thought your network may take you another two to three years. Sorry. Never again."

I smiled into the fire, "Well… If I'm being honest. It's nowhere near as good as my old one. But it's better than nothing. Information is the name of the game. And plus, every now and then, I do find a few pieces of gold." I said, remembering the little golden nugget of information I'd collected on a certain elf princess. I don't wanna be mean, but if she pushes my hand...

My eyebrows furrowed as I remembered, "Where's my compliment?" I pouted.

Arthur chuckled, "What you said to Jasmine, was truly amazing."

"Of course it was." I said, smiling and accepting the compliment. I ran my fingers through his hair, and added, "Though, we really do need to work on your elements. You need to do so much more than just creating pillars of fire." I felt a sweat drop roll down the side of his neck as I began making plans. "I've made a lot of progress with my wind, though I definitely need to work on my water. Before we start school, I would like to start working with ice a little bit. Though I'm not sure how much I could exactly get done between practising wind, and working on water, and relearning the sword." I pouted, eyeing the blue blade Arthur wouldn't let me touch unless he knew for a fact I wouldn't drop it on myself.

As much as I hate to admit it, I don't really blame him for it. Considering he never lets me forget it, I know for a fact he remembers how bad my first sword training lesson went. And to be honest, as fun as it would be to swing it around again, I don't wanna know how well it would work out with my current build. It was too big for my current body. So until I grew a bit, I'd have to use a practice sword.

Eyes closed, I waited to drift off when I heard Jasmine mumble something.

"…It's weird. When I talk to you two, it doesn't feel like I'm talking to children."

I didn't respond. Pretending to be asleep, I hoped she wouldn't push further for a reply.

*****

"Good morning." Jasmine was up and cooking something over the fire by the time I had gotten up and out of my sleeping bag.

My stomach rumbled to remind me that I hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon as I looked hungrily at the skewered fishes being grilled on the fire.

"Good morning! You should've woken me up, Jasmine. There's no need for you to do all of the chores on your own."

I turned my head to see Arthur rubbing his eyes.

"…I tried waking both of you up… But you wouldn't budge." Her half-closed eyes that give off an apathetic stare regarded us with concern. "If I didn't hear you breathing, I would've mistaken you for corpses."

"Haha…" Arthur let out an awkward chuckle. "I'm sorry, I really need to fix that."

"You and me both." I nodded. I usually woke up early on my own. But if I didn't, then nobody could wake me up.

After devouring the grilled fish for breakfast, we put out the fire. Using the nearby stream to wash myself and my clothes.

Arthur put on his mask and swords, well I wrapped my cloak around my shoulder, and placed my contents lenses in, assuming we'd go hunting for some mana beasts around the area, when Jasmine stopped me.

"Your opponent for these few days will be me."

"Huh?" I couldn't help but be surprised at the turn of events. We came all the way here to spar?

"This area is close to the dungeon we will be exploring, but for these days, I want you to focus on fighting me. I noticed that your fighting style seems… awkward at times. Like, you know it in your head, but your body doesn't listen to you… or something like that." She told Arthur and then turned to me, "You have your control down. But you need to focus on increasing your mana amount. We can stay in a dungeon for days at a time. So you're going to need to work on that."

Unsheathing her two daggers, she pointed one at me, continuing, "We won't use any kind of mana for these next few days while sparring."

I hadn't expected Jasmine to catch on to what I had been worried about, but it was a good opportunity.

"Good idea," Arthur replied, unsheathing his short sword.

I sat down on the grass, getting ready to meditate.

{Arthur's P.O.V.}

"Use your other sword…" Jasmine's eyes flickered toward Dawn's Ballad.

"How did you know this was a sword?" I wasn't planning on hiding my weapon from her but I was still caught off guard.

"Knowing you, that black stick should be something more than just a cane or a practice stick," she shrugged, walking a few steps closer to me.

Giving her a confirming nod, I tossed the short sword to Morgana, who caught it with her eyes closed. From my position, I could see the mana around us, begin to gather towards her.

As the sword soundlessly glided out from its scabbard, the translucent blade glowed a light teal as it reflected the sun's strong rays.

Holding it out in front me, I positioned myself. "Ready when you are."

"Y-Yeah," Jasmine stuttered as her eyes remained glued to Dawn's Ballad.

We dulled the edges of our weapons using mana before beginning. Without mana strengthening my body, I realised just how much I had been neglecting myself. After a few swings, my arms felt heavy and my legs trembled as they pushed feebly off the ground.

This was my mistake. I knew of the limits that my juvenile body had, but instead of trying to fix my shortcomings, I chose only to mask it using mana.

While magic in this world was capable of many things, it should be only used as a supplement to your abilities, not a replacement to cover them.

I lunged out with a sharp thrust aimed at Jasmine's sternum. Even though our swords were coated to prevent fatal injuries, it would still leave bruises and even broken bones if taken lightly; this made the sparring experience much more intense and real.

Jasmine swung her two daggers down in an outward arc, parrying my lunge and knocking the blade of my sword into the ground.

I brought my rear foot forward to maintain balance as my teal blade sunk into the ground below her. However, by that time, Jasmine had already brought her daggers back into position to follow up with a quick, downward slash.

Prying out my sword, I immediately pivoted my body to the side to avoid the overhead slash. As her daggers grazed harmlessly past my loose shirt, I kicked her arm away and stepped away into a more comfortable distance.

My arms were burning from the quick, consecutive movements as I positioned my sword in a defensive stance.

"It's my win," Jasmine said, sheathing her two daggers deftly into their scabbards attached to her thighs.

"You're right," I laughed as I dropped Dawn's Ballad on the ground. We had sparred for a little less than five minutes but my arms and legs screamed in protest from overuse. Massaging my forearms, I picked my blade back up and slid it back into its black sheath.

The duel had ended with me with the upper hand, but I didn't have the strength to proceed. It was my loss.

"Hey Jasmine, I think I'm going to need more than a couple of days to work this out," I confessed with a chuckle.

Her lips curled up slightly as she nodded in agreement.

I had three years before I'd attend Xyrus Academy. During my time at school, I would have plenty of chances to focus on studying mana.

I knew what my priorities were at this time.

Making a rough calculation in my head, I held up two fingers. "Two years, Jasmine. I'll dedicate two years to getting my body truly adjusted to sword-fighting without relying on mana."

"That's it?" she said, surprised.

"Just watch," I smirked.

*****

A Butterfly bush is a really fast growing plant. I could have used weeds, but referring to an information network as weeds, doesn't sound nearly as nice.

Also, finishing school only takes about 6 weeks. So I didn't have to worry about that.

I get the whole bond system is a little confusing, especially with me throwing in mate bonds and secondary bonds. So if you have any questions, please feel free to ask. Because I do have plans to keep using and referencing the bonds - so it would be easier for you guys and less confusing, if you know what's actually happening. (Or if your just here for the romance - I guess you can sort of skip it - though again - their is the mate bond)

I feel like I should give you guys a heads up, that the next chapter is going to likely be on the shorter side (and the two after that as well). But man will it leave a huge impact on you guys. I'm actually willing to bet the title of the next chapter alone would be worth the hype (and the happiness and excitement you would get from four pages - why four you asks, one page for each word in the title.)

In fact, here's a little teaser (Feel free to try and guess what may be happening, and the contents of the paper):

Next Time~

Morgana untied the bright red ribbon and uncurled the scroll.

Her eyes widened as they flew over the contents of the paper, before tears began streaming down her cheeks.

#animeloverforever1127 #tbate #the beginning #the beginning after the end #a woman with vision #A Woman With Vision {Arthur Leywin}#Arthur Leywin #20. Beast Glades #arthur #morgana

3 notes · View notes

rosecorcoranwrites · 4 years ago

Text

What to Put in Your Story (and What Not To)

I have been contemplating writing or filming a piece on “Why I (Book) Blog”, which may at some point be forthcoming, but the long and the short of it is, I find it useful to analyze stories. Note, stories, not books. As you’ll know from my Rant Rave Reviews to my four-part series on different mediums of fiction, I consider books, movies, video games, and so on to all hold value in terms of narrative structure and choice.

Despite their differences, all stories have one thing in common: someone wrote them. Which means that someone, or someones, chose what to put in them and what not to put in them. This might seem obvious, but the import of this fact seems to allude many an amateur writer and book critic. Particularly when talking shop, writers seem so focused on what taboos to avoid or what structures to follow that they forget the most basic question: what should go in the story? And its mirror image, what can be left out.

If this all seems opaque, let me illustrate with some examples.

3rd Person Omniscient: In Frame and In Focus

Someone on Twitter asked if, when writing 3rd person omniscient, it would be cheating to have a twist, since that would mean keeping facts from the reader and thus, I suppose, no longer be omniscient. I told her not to worry. As the writer, she gets to decide what is in frame in focus, and what is out.

Think of 3rd person omniscient as the lens of a camera in a movie. It shows the scene, apparently without bias, and may focus in on one character or another, or have wide shots, close ups, etc. The skilled movie-maker can still pull off wild twists, simply by decided where and how to point their camera.

Similarly, the author can choose what to focus on. Nay, she must choose, as it is literally impossible to describe every object, every action, and everything else that happens in a given scene. Even if possible, it would be boring.

This is why I think it’s helpful to analyze non-book media. What do those storytellers do, and why, and can that translate to a book? In this case, the eye of the camera is a perfect analogy for the view of omniscient 3rd.

Memoir and Other Nonfiction

In another online interaction, I mentioned that, if I ever get around to writing a memoir of library life, I might just leave COVID out (probably not, anymore, but this was back in May, and I was young and naive). Shocked, someone replied that it’s such a huge event and part of everyone’s lives; why would I do that? They might well have said how can I do that.

Because it’s a memoir, basically. Memoirs, unlike autobiographies, focus on one aspect of a person’s life. They don’t need to include everything. If it hadn’t dragged on for months and actually affected the type of experiences I want to put in my book (ie, weird things that patrons and staff do at the library), there would be no point in including it.

One can write a memoir set during the year 2001 without delving into the World Trade Center Attack, though it was the most influential event on that year and the next decade for two countries. I was in middle school then; my “middle school memoir” would include, mostly, adolescent girl and Catholic school silliness. Maybe two pages might be devoted to the attacks, because, at that point in my life, they pretty much affected two days of my consciousness. It wasn’t for a while that my focus, my lens, really realized all the repercussions.

And though this is particularly true of memoirs, all nonfiction has to leave some events and individuals on the cutting room floor, again, by nature of the bookish beast. More interestingly, in my mind, is what nonfiction writers choose to include. One of the reasons I love nonfiction is that those authors are some of the most skilled meaning makers, weaving together seemingly disparate aspects of history into a cohesive narrative.

A wonderful example of this is The Apparitionists: A Tale of Phantoms, Fraud, Photography, and the Man Who Captured Lincoln's Ghost by Peter Manseau. Manseau takes the American Civil War, the early history of photography, and the Spiritualist religion and examines how each one influenced and was influenced by the others. Note that most books about the Civil War don’t focus that much on photography, and almost none mention Spiritualism. They don’t have to, because that’s not what those authors are trying to talk about. Manseau takes a different perspective, not about battles or the fight against slavery, but about the cyclical influences of technology, religion, and war on society. Neither focus—the general Civil War view nor Manseau’s—is wrong or misleading. Both are historically accurate; they are simply about different aspects of history.

Mystery: Clues and Red Herrings

Finally, we come to my current obsession, and one where the question of what to include and what to leave out is particularly relevant: mystery fiction. Not only am I writing a mystery, I’m on a mystery binge. Poirot, Miss Marple, Father Brown, and The Red House Mystery: by soaking my brain in these, I am hoping to gain the ability to write a satisfying puzzle and denouement.

Any classic mystery relies chiefly on two things: clues and red herrings. Rather than excluding relevant details, and thus pulling the solution out of nowhere, the skilled writer’s ability to satisfyingly fool the audience relies on putting in more details that necessary and then obscuring which are relevant to the actual case.

This is deliberate on the writer’s part. When throwing in a red herring, they have to decide why it would be misidentified as a real clue, what it’s actual meaning is, and how the clever detective comes to figure out the difference. They then have to do the opposite for important clues: why does this get overlooked or misinterpreted? How does the detective discover the truth?

I had to consider this in the chapter I wrote—then re-wrote—recently. The first draft had all the facts of the case, but essentially laid it bare for the reader. It was not only too obvious, but also not punchy or interesting. So I went back to the drawing board, mentioning important clues but only hinting at their true meaning. I’m not sure I put enough physical red herrings, but I have several misleading conversations and assumptions on the part of the detective’s assistant.

Will it be satisfying? That remains to be seen, as I’m but a novice at mysteries. I may just need to adjust the focus of my lens a few more times.

8 notes · View notes

baebeyza · 4 years ago

Text

Heya! ~

First of all, thank you for everyone who voted! Didn’t expect 44 people and it sure helped me in places to decide on things and being able to think of more plot :D

Lemme just go through all the questions under the cut:

1. Big or small cast? Big cast but only caring about few does suit me! If it were a small cast, I’d probably have gone with a plot structure similar to Beast Wars. Like this, I can make the premise more like TFA (the premise is like TFA in a lot of ways btw).

And it does suit me as well to not have to figure out an arc for too many characters, I don’t want this whole thing to be too long.

2. From which continuity would you like characters? This is a little hard to decipher, but suffice to say, most people want more G1 characters. Beast Wars and Japanese G1 have more votes as well! To Beast Wars: I love Beast Wars and its characters, however, I do not like to draw them. Their designs are cool and it’s not like I can’t draw them, I just prefer not to. So if I were to bring Beast Wars characters into this, I would change their designs for me to feel more comfortable drawing them. On another note, I also don’t like drawing animals (at all) so I’d probably give them a mechanic alt-mode with animal features in their robot mode (like the Breast Force in Victory)

As for Japanese G1, I do have quite a few planned! ~ As for G1 characters which never appear in another show...gotta say, most of those I don’t care for either. Some I do, but most not. Might bring them in somehow, but don’t expect them to have bigger roles. (exceptions exist, like Springer, love me the dude!)

3. Choose a dead Prime who ruled before Optimus! Sentinel won! Did like some of the extra choices as well though, like Prowl. Also noteworthy to me, no one voted for Arcee xD Guess no one wanted her dead.

4. Choose an Optimus Prime squad! So, for this I wanted to pick the two most voted guys and girls! And coincidentally, those happen to be the most of voted of them all! For guys, we have Jazz (not surprised by this) and Hot Rod, and for the girls, Elita and Arcee.

Guess that’ll be the squad.

Also, note here: A few people voted Ratchet as a custom answer and do not fret! He will be in this! This Optimus squad is simply a little group of Optimus and his close friends, and since I want to have a young Oppy, I want his friends to be in the same age range. On the same note, just because some characters aren’t in the friend group, doesn’t mean they won’t appear at all. Windblade and Jetfire for example are gonna be in this!

5. Choose a Megatron squad! This is about Megatron’s generals btw - characters who aren’t in this group can still appear! (examples are Cyclonus, Megaempress and Sixshot)

And again I want to choose equal part guys and girls, so for the guys, it’s Soundwave (boy getting loved I see), Starscream and Shockwave, and for the ladies, we have Nightbird, Blackarachnia and Strika.

A little note here: Because a friend commented on this I wanna make it clear: Drift/Deadlock will be based on the Aligned version, NOT on the IDW version. I had made it clear in the poll that I don’t like IDW1. (which I guess some people didn’t read, given that Tarn was given as a custom answer)

6. One love is story is planned, want any more?

I feel like I should have specified who the love story is about - It is about Megatron and Ultra Magnus. Big time. As for the answers, yes I can live them all! They don’t contradict each other anyway :D

7. Any ships you wanna see in this? Okay, the tricky stuff - as I said, the main love story is Megatron x Ultra Magnus, so any ship-wish that includes Megatron or Magnus here, sorry, not happening. I mean most don’t care, but for those who do:

- Dratchet: I know it’s an IDW thing, I can still think of something with the versions I have in mind if you still want that. - Windstream: Friends of mine wanted this, and I will try my best to make something nice out of it!

- JazzWave: Gotta see, so far I wouldn’t know how to include it

- Giving Arcee love: Got something nice and sapphic planned for her!

- Optimus/Elita: Again a friend wanted this, and I too would like to see them in a truly romantic light, so I’m going to include it!

- Happy ones, for the bad guys as well: Hell yeah! - Simpatico: I do not have Percy or Brainstorm planned in this

- Hot Rod/Arcee: I had another idea for Arcee, sorry! - Anything with Jazz: Good to know, if I can’t make it work with Soundwave, I’ll try with someone else (Hot Rod perhaps)

- Strika/Lugnut: Why not? Something in the background, as I have no plans for Lugnut - Windscream: Thing is, there are people who had this ship in the “Do not want” question that follows. Personally, I am indifferent to this ship, but since more people don’t want it (and because I have plans for Windstream), I’m going to pass on this. WaveWave: Gonna see how it goes with Jazz!

8. Anything you don’t want? Most people don’t care, which is nice, as for the things people listed: - Sparklings: Never planned them anyway, I want to go for something else to get parent/child dynamics. - Windscream, MegaStar, MegOP: See upwards, not going to happen here, same with DooP, since I wanna go with OpLita - “If functionalism exists, please don’t make the oppressed characters the villains for fighting back”: NO WORRIES, IS NOT PLANNED! Megatron’s backstory has no freedom fighter motive whatsoever. - Manipulative/abusive ships: Not planned - Bumblebee: Good luck, buddy, I didn’t have him planned either! xD - Slash: Tough luck, buddy, this will be one hell of a MagsMegs ride!

- Negativity directed at me: Thanks, pal! I do not wish for that either! :>

ALRIGHT, that would be it!

Again thanks for everyone who voted! I do hope to start with this in the near future and I hope it will be something enjoyable! <3 If there are questions about this, go ahead! <3 I’d be delighted :>

#transformers #maccadam #fan comic #fan continuity #transformer posting

19 notes · View notes

marta-bee · 4 years ago

Text

On Fanworks as Commodities

I've been thinking lately about commodification and how it applies to fandom.

At the risk of giving an unhelpful circular explanation, commodification just means treating something like a commodity when it really isn't. And by commodity, I mean the kind of good or service that it's the kind of thing we can "reduce" to market terms. A loaf of bread is a commodity. So is a house or the services of an accountant- you're not losing anything or "debasing" anyone when you suggest these things can be bought and sold.

But what about surrogacy pregnancy? This is the question Elizabeth Anderson asked in her philosophy paper, "Is Women's Labor a Commodity?" (This is where I first encountered the concept.) She asks what exactly is being sold when we pay a woman to go through a pregnancy and then give up the resulting child to someone else. Anderson said if it's the child that's being sold that seems obviously inappropriate- we rightly consider a human person as the kind of thing you can't just buy and sell- but she also argued even if the woman is just selling the use of her body for a period of time (say, implantation and surrogacy pregnancy of a fetus conceived through in vitro fertilization of the adults who will become the legal parents), there's still something lost. The argument is, pregnancy naturally (at least usually) forms a loving bond between mother and child, which a surrogate woman would wisely try to avoid; otherwise giving up the baby would be that much harder. In effect, it encourages her to alienate herself from the products of her pregnancy. It degrades the commercial surrogate, turns her into an emotionless, contextless factory. And it degrades women who might lovingly serve as surrogates (say, for a sister or friend) because it turns their gift into something indistinguishable from a market transaction.

That's the argument, anyway. Once I found it convincing but these days, I have my doubts. For instance, I don't see any problem saying commercial surrogacy is a different kind of process than surrogacy offered as a gift to someone you know. Even if the result is the same, they seem like very different beasts. I'm also uncomfortable with this idea that certain kinds of work just can't be ethically paid for. Because this usually comes up with "caring" work, which is most often done by women even these days, it becomes too easy to not help bear the costs of that work. We can expect, say, a nurse to care about her patient even though she's paid a salary; is it so wrong if a child who quits her job to care for a sick parent to also be paid for her sacrifice?

That's more a criticism of how the concept is applied, though. I think it's applied too quickly, and in ways that turn it into an either/or, where this doesn't need to be the case. I still think the basic idea has a lot going for it. We do give the market too much power to answer questions it really isn't well suited for. Healthcare, for instance; it needs to be paid for, but not in a way that keeps people from accessing it who need it, or even lets those who can pay get to it more quickly. And maybe market pressures can make it more efficient, to a point, but we really shouldn't reduce it to something that can be bought and sold and understand entirely on those terms.

So, what does all this have to do with fandom? Well, I'm of a different fannish generation than a lot of you young whippersnappers- I first got involved in fannish circles with the Lord of the Rings movies back in the original 2000s. This was pre-AO3 and pre-Tumblr, and only a few years after Anne Rice got ff.net to disallow all fanfic based on her novels. We posted our disclaimers about not owning the characters for a reason and professed our poverty because we believed (or feared at least) we could be sued by the canon's authors. I was mostly in the Tolkien fandom, and it was well known that the estate was never going to authorize fanfic, commercial or otherwise. They state as much on their website, though I can't remember how long that Q&A has existed in its current format.

That gave us a lovely little commercial-free zone. If you couldn't sell your own work commercially, then you could give up all pretenses of success along the normal capitalistic lines and delve into areas that just would never have been very marketable in traditional publishing. Tolkien fandom itself was pretty conservative but I know other fandoms went much further in this regard, exploring genres that just would never be marketable especially before the niche and self-financed publishing the internet opened up for a lot of authors. If the law wouldn't let you do what you wanted to do anyway, why not become utterly ungovernable? So, fanfic became (for me at least) art about art rather than filthy lucre. We were doing what we did because we loved it, and as gifts for our friends, and as a way to be something that wasn't quite allowed in the "normal" culture for whatever reason- even just because we were women daring to make time for our weird little hobbies. It was glorious. And we worked hard enough in other areas of our life that we had the $$$ to indulge in this. We didn't need to be paid, and even if you offered to pay us for our works, we'd likely get a bit insulted and insist that wasn't what this was about at all.

I was told more than once by family that I was good enough to be a "real writer" and didn't I want to do my own thing. So yes, I did get a bit miffed and lean in to my identity of fanfic-writing as hobby not intended as a career.

And I'll be honest: when I see people advertising for commissions or celebrating fan-authors going "professional" as if this is necessarily a step up from unpaid fannish work, I often have this old framework in the back of my head. And it's not really fair. For one thing, I was in college in the early 2000's and so even when we didn't have a lot of cash, we expected to soon get day jobs where we could afford to live comfortably and still afford our hobbies. The housing market crash and the Great Recession changed all of that, as did work opportunities like Instacart and Uber. For a lot of people even a few years younger than me, everything became a side-hustle and there just wasn't this expectation a hobby could be a hobby. I get that there's a lot of privilege entering into that.

On top of which, there's all kinds of gender issues: professional artists, predominantly men, have been painting and selling drawings of comic book characters for years. Star Trek and Star Wars affiliated novels, and Sherlock Holmes pastiches (as opposed to fanfic), again written primarily by men, are also very much a thing. Hell, so are Renaissance artists and the patron system that was built off of. And of course, just because you sometimes produce fanworks just to sell and still do the less commercial work just for yourself if you ever want to. There's no real conflict in that. And it's not like producing art to sell is at all wrong. But to me it does feel like that kind of art is different than what I fancy I do, back when I occasionally wrote. :-) And I probably am more aware of this than I should be, because my backdrop is different from a lot of fans younger than myself, and really do try not to let my situation turn into a blind spot.

Even so, I worry and struggle to find the balance between letting art turn a profit and be reduced to a strictly commercial venture. It's never been anything I've been even remotely drawn to do, and human nature being what it is, I probably do think more highly of the kind of thing I'd choose to do. But I don't want to be unfair, and I don't want to think just because art is paid for and written/drawn to order, it's some sort of assembly-line output with no heart put into it by the writer and artist. Just like an artisan shoemaker might take great pride in his art and work his hardest on each shoe he crafts, even if he must sell it to make ends meet. Somehow, I suspect thinking about this in terms of commodification, the dangers of evaluating artistry using market standards and the ways in which it can still have a value beyond commodity even if it’s bought and sold, might help. But I've not quit worked out what insight that kind of thought would provide, if any.

Do you think there's a special value in fandom or art generally that's not made to be bought and sold? Or am I perhaps making too big a deal over nothing and revealing myself to be an old fuddy-duddy in the process. (It's always a possibility!) I'd be very interested to hear your thoughts if you have any to share.

#philosophy #fandom #commodification #marta blathers

2 notes · View notes

santaclausdeadindian · 4 years ago

Text

Sorry for doing it this way, I think OP deleted their post or blocked me like a mature, balanced person would, so I have to tag you in

@mr-laugh

Oh boy, lot to unpack here.

So you didn’t even know there were that many subgenres of fantasy, one of the most popular classifications of fiction on the planet... And you think you know enough to tell ANYBODY what classic fantasy is?

And where exactly I attempted to do that, huh?

If you don’t even know the most common subgenres of this vast pool of fiction, why are you jumping into this discussion? You just admitted you don’t know anything!

There is no discussion, there is a stupid ass post. Don't flatter yourself, you don't know jack shit.

Me not knowing what exactly are the precize subgenres of a genre of literature, which, btw, are completely arbitrary and for your information, sword&magic is a legitimate category, has absolutely nothing to do with what that post you were so keen on agreeing with above. It was you who said pretty much any classic fantasy is like that: some poorly written, self-indulgent and borderline racist.

Did ya read the link, buddy? Howard talked about knowing what burning black man smelled like. He was quite approving of these things! And the books are pretty racist, it’s not hard to see, unless you ain’t looking.

Yes, I started reading and by the end of the first paragraph I was convinced he was ahorribly racist man. And? Still doesn't change the fact, that for my 12 year old self, there was nothing racist about it. I definetly wasn't looking for it, that much you got right. If I'd read it again, I'm sure I'd catch on to it now, that I know what kind of asshole he was. So the implied racism would be there. You got a point for that.

Rugged individualism? It always amuses me how that argument always pops out of the mouths of guys who are aping what they’ve heard their buddies say. If ten thousand mouths shout “rugged individualism”, how individualistic are they?

Then you should amuse yourself by looking up why this thing crops up as of late. It's coming from certain, supremely racist yet unaware of it publications that claim ridiculous shit like "rugged individualism" is a hallmark of white supremacy, among other, equally laughable things, like punctuality. It's a joke.

Again, I will give Howard to you, if someone that racist writes a black man saving the hero of the story, I bet there was something else still there to make it wrong.

Conan’s not some avatar of rugged individualism.

Uhm, yeah, he pretty much all that.

He’s as unreal and unrealistic as the dragons are,

It's called fantasy for a reason, buddy.

but more dangerous because White Men model their ideas of reality on Big Man Heroes like him;

Glad you are totally not racist, yo!!! It's such a relief that White Men are the only ones with this terrible behavior of looking up to larger than life, mythic superpeople and nobody else. Imagine what it would be like, if we would have some asshole from say, hindu indian literature massacering demons called Rakshassas, by the tens of thousands, or some bullshit japanese warlord would snatch out arrows from the air, or a chienese bodyguard would mow down hundreds of barbaric huns without dropping a sweat, or some middle eastern hero would fight literal gods and their magical beasts in some quest for eternal life.

it's a poison that weakens us, distracting us from actually trying to solve the world’s issues, or banding together to deal with shit.

This is what you just said. It's up to the white man, to get their shit together, be not racist and solve the world's problems, because those poor other people's just can't do it. If we would just not be oh, so racist, then China would surely stop with the genocides they are doing now, or blowing more than half the greenhouse emissions into the athmosphere, the muslims would stop throwing their gays from rooftops or ramming trucks into crowds and would just start treating women as equals, India's massive rape problem would be gone, subsaharan African would be magically bereft of the host of atrocities committed there on a daily, yeah, you sure have that nonracism down, buddy!

A rugged individualist would be smart enough to realize that even the most individualistic person needs others; no man’s an island, and a loner is easier to kill.

Individualism doesn't mean at all what you think it means, it's a cluster of widely differeing philosophies that puts the individual ahead of the group or state, it's ranging from anarchism to liberalism and is also has nothing to do with my point.

Central Europe? What, Germany? Because let me tell you, historically they are SUPER concerned about race!

Germany traditionally considered western european, central europe would be the people stuck between them and the russians, to put it very loosely. We are equally nonplussed by the self-flagellating white guilt complex and the woe me victim complex of the west. We did none of the shit those meanie white people did to the nonwhites and suffered everyting any poc ever did and then some. We don't give a shit about your color, we care about what culture you are from and if you respect our values.

I’m an American from a former Confederate state; trust me, race is everything. It always is.

No it really isn't. How old are you? Asking without condescension, genuinly curious, because if you are in your low twenties at most, it's understandable why you think like this.

See that hike? Do you know what happened at that time that made virtually all american media suddenly go all in with racism?

Occupy Wall Street, that's what. It's a brilliant way to sow victimhood and hate and desperation amongst the people who have one common enemy, the powers that be, the banking sector, the politicians, the megacorporations.

Can't really blame you if you are in your early 20's at most, you grew up with this bullshit hammered into you. If you are older, step out of your echochamber please!

If you actually believe, that mankind doesn't progress naturally towards a more accepting society purely on the merit of there being more good people than bad and sharing a similar living with all the hardships in life, seeing that our prejudices inherited by our parents are baseless, that's how we progress, not virtue signalling courses and regressive policies. I was raised as any other kid, I had a deep resentment towards the neighbouring nations, I said vile, racist shit against people who I actually share a lot of genes with, of which fact I was in deep denial about, and then as I gradually got exposed more and more actual people of these groups, I started to realize I was wrong and everybody should be judged by their individual merits. It works throughout the generations, my grandma was thought songs about Hitler and how all jews are evil in school, she legit thought all black people at least in Africa are cannibals and shit, my mother stillsays shit that would get her cancelled in the USA, and I will probably have a mixed race kid as we stand now.

This whole racism is an eternal problem is laughable and disingenuous and I am actually sorry for you that you feel like that.

Moving on. As for Dany, the “noble white girl sold to scary dark foreign man” is a very popular trope, especially in exploitation films, which Martin draws on much more heavily than most authors do.

No, he fucking doesn't. I already wrote a bunch of examples from the books you seeminly ignore willfully. First of all, she is sold to those olive skinned savages by a white man, who is a terrible, increadibly evil man. He want's to fuck the then 11-12 ish Dany so bad, she picks his slave most resembling her and rapes her repeatedly, "until the madness pass." He also maimes children and traines them as disposable slave spies by the hundreds. There is no boundaries colour here, GRRM prtrays all kinds of people as reprehensible, evil and disgusting. Just like you can find plenty of examples to the opposite.

What is he drawing from your exploitation movies exactly? He writes about the human anture, he writes about the human heart at war with itself, that's his central philosophy of writing.

ASOFAI is basically just a porn movie with complicated feudal politics obscuring it, which is probably why it worked so well as an HBO series (up until the last two seasons or so.)

There is no gratuitous sex scene in the books, the rapes are described as rapes, they are horrible, they are very shortly described and usually just alluded to.

The people commiting them are not put into generous lights and one of the single most harrowing stories hidden behind the grand happenings of the plot is a girl named Jeyne Poole, whose suffering although never shown, is very much pointed out, along with the hypocrisy of the people who only fight to try and save her, because they think her a different person.

Honestly, if you actually read the books and they came of to you as porn, you might want to do some soulsearching.Btw, the HBO series was a terrible adaptation, it immedietly started to go further and further from the books with every passing season and the showmakers made it very clear to everybody, that they didn't understand the very much pacifist and humanist themes of Martin. And neither did you.

We also get no indication Essos will eat it when Winter comes; hell, they seem to not know Winter exists, given the way people act, even though that is also unrealistic and weird. Essos was just super badly designed, and Dany is a terribly boring character.

to be continued

2 notes · View notes

allie-writes · 4 years ago

Text

on ghosts

Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen, M/M Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Dedue Molinaro Additional relevant tags: Character Study, Pre-Slash, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, (Minor) Animal Death, Post-Timeskip, Blue Lions Route Word count: 4753 Language: English Read on: AO3 | Fanfiction.net

Perhaps he might be the most bloodthirsty spirit Faerghus has ever brought forth, really. He roams the chapel to the sound of rattling metal and the smell of death and rot surrounding him. His face is gaunt, pale, and contorted in a pitiful sort of rage. His whispers and mutters well into the night, as though he never sleeps. As if his fellow ghosts won’t let him rest.

And it’s weird. He might as well be a face-snatcher, too, because Sylvain could swear that he looks a lot like a boy he used to know.

Sylvain thinks about ghosts.

Content warnings: Mental health issues, a rat getting killed, mentions of blood, dead bodies, death imagery. Please read at your own discretion and stay safe!

With the Pegasus Moon comes a cold icy enough to blanket even Garreg Mach with a thin layer of snow.

It’s nothing compared to northern Faerghus, where winter draws on endlessly and spring is unkind. Here, the snow falls in tiny flakes that cover the grass like powdered sugar. It glitters in the dying lamplight, silently settling on the ground as the night draws on.

It’s painfully quiet.

Any soldier would know to not to trust the quiet after five years of war. Murderers can hide well under the cover of the night. Ambushes may lie in the wait where you can’t see them yet. Better sleep with a knife under your pillow and listen to the silence as though it were your favourite song. Goddess forbid you may find an offbeat.

War begets sleepless nights and fitful sleep. Tonight seems to be a night of little sleep, if any at all. The courtyard in front of the officers’ academy gathers more and more dusted snow as Sylvain stands and watches it fall. His sleepwear and the thin blanket thrown over his shoulders do a poor job of keeping him properly warm, but he is used to the cold. And he’s survived even worse things, besides.

Maybe, were he younger, he would have found someone to keep him company for the night by now—to warm his bed, to thoroughly exhaust him, and to chase the sleeplessness away. But he isn’t twenty anymore, and he doubts he’d find any genuine comfort in it with things as they are. He can’t recall if there ever was a time where it was about comfort at all.

It’s not comfortable, standing in the cold with his sleep pants tucked into his unlaced boots and his bare feet surrounded by coarse lining. Nothing is comfortable. War isn’t comfortable.

Sylvain is tired.

He steps out onto the grass. The snow is so thin it doesn’t even crunch under his feet. The sky is a perfect, pitch black—the kind of colour that folktales from back home would use as the backdrop for fantastical stories about spirits that come for you in the night.

An eternity ago, when things had been easier, Mercedes would occasionally recount some of those tales. She would scare the fainter of heart, like Annette or Ashe, and entertain everyone else with a good story for the night. She hasn’t told any tales ever since everyone reconvened a few months ago, though. It isn’t the time or place to speak of ghosts. They all have their own ghosts now, and the most terrifying of all of them haunts their thoughts and the monastery day in and day out.

And it’s weird. He might as well be a face-snatcher, too, because Sylvain could swear that he looks a lot like a boy he used to know.

But it’s still painfully quiet. And Sylvain is still tired. And no iron clatters, and no mutters are to be heard, and it almost doesn’t smell like the blood of enemy soldiers, either.

The snow catches in his hair, and his breath fogs up in the air. Everyone has their own ghosts now, and Sylvain has been cultivating an entire army of them since long before the war. They were born somewhere between a village girl’s thighs and the give of his brother’s flesh when he drove his lance between his ribs. It’s almost funny how cathartic the horror of it all sometimes feels.

Maybe Sylvain is long since gone, too. Maybe he died at the bottom of a well, or froze in the wilderness, or bled to death on the inside. Something within him definitely did die. He’s no less of a ghost than what lurks in the shadows of the cathedral.

But his haunting grounds are much colder, and quiet as death. Sylvain wipes the molten snow from his lashes and pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders. He probably won’t catch any sleep, but he still steps back from the grass, and into the corridor leading to the great hall, and eventually, back into his room. By then, he’s almost dry.

ii.

There is a sense of abject horror to watching his prince crush a rat in his hands. The poor thing’s bones snap and crack, and there’s no mercy to the grip around its limp little body until its guts come spilling out. Its blood drips onto the floor in slow droplets, looking like liquid tar in the moonlight.

“Nuisance,” booms the vengeful ghost wearing an old friend’s face.

Sylvain sits in one of the pews towards the back of the cathedral, silently watching. The sun had set only about two hours ago. The altar at the very front is covered in snow, glowing a strange blue colour where the moon shines through the broken roof.

The ghost slowly skulks towards it. His movements are sluggish and tired like a dying animal’s, and he ever so carefully places the rat’s carcass atop the altar as though it were a sacrifice to the Goddess. He mumbles something, so quietly that Sylvain has no hope of making out a single word.

It almost looks like he is praying.

But that can’t be it. Rather than the Goddess, he must be trying to appease his ghosts—his father, his mother, an entire army and Glenn Fraldarius. Dedue. Everyone is familiar with what haunts him by now.

Sylvain carefully studies the hunched over form at the altar. The moonlight makes the patches of ratty white fur draped around his shoulders shine like the snow surrounding him. Not a hair moves. He is entirely still, and hopefully unlikely to turn around.

So Sylvain stands up, as slowly and quietly as possible. He hasn’t yet taken off his armour from the day’s routine scouting mission, and the plates of it scrape softly in the cathedral’s silence. It’s barely noise, but it’s apparently loud enough for a wounded, paranoid beast to hear.

“Who’s there?” he snarls, turning, and his bared teeth and icy, singular eye glint silver. He scours the darkness before him like a predator. Then, he steps forward. His boots clink against the floor with every heavy footfall.

Sylvain stands rooted to the spot. There is no point in running—if he did, surely, the prince would be onto him in an instant. So he slowly forces his legs to move, one after the other. He steps out into the corridor between the pews, hands raised, palms open.

“It’s just me,” says Sylvain, not daring to make eye-contact.

The clinking of armoured boots against the floor’s tiling continues, grows ever closer. Sylvain breathes evenly, staring at his feet, until the steps come to a halt. The overpowering smells of filth, sweat, blood, death and decay surround him and he almost wants to gag.

“Why are you here?”

Sylvain feels a smile strain his lips, out of habit.

“I don’t know, honestly. I just wandered in here. Guess I’m a bit restless.”

He raises his eyes as if to prove his honesty. Usually, he makes sure not to look directly into the face before him. He doesn’t like having to acknowledge—beyond a doubt, beyond plausible deniability—that this is Dimitri. But at the same time, this wounded animal, this little boy from his childhood, deserves to be looked at, and be it only to set his frail mind at ease.

“Restless,” echoes Dimitri. “What do you know about restlessness.”

Sylvain swallows and holds Dimitri’s eye. “Nothing at all, Your Highness,” he says, exaggeratedly blithe. He begins to lower his still raised hands. “I was just about to leave, anyways.”

In a blink, Dimitri seizes his right wrist. He holds it up with a grip that could crush Sylvain’s gauntlet and bones alike were it just an iota tighter. His rank breath fans across Sylvain’s face. “Do you take me for a fool?” he snarls.

“Never, Your Highness.”

Dimitri glowers at him. “Then do you really think I would let you reach for whatever weapon you’re carrying?” He indicates towards Sylvain’s lower body with a tilt of his head. “Should I just sit patiently and wait for you to stab me in the back?”

“I’m not carrying any weapons,” replies Sylvain. The hand around his wrist tightens threateningly. “I swear I am not. I fight for you every day. I have no reason to hurt you.”

“Let us pretend you weren’t a filthy liar,” Dimitri jeers. “So what if you have no reason to hurt me? Do you think people need a reason to kill?”

Sylvain can’t help but remember the rat, squeezed to death in the same iron grip that is currently holding his hand up. His eyes flicker towards the altar. “Maybe not.”

That seems to satisfy Dimitri. He grins, and the shadows passing over his face bring out the monster quite well. “So you admit as much,” he says. “But let me tell you something. I won’t let you kill me, yet. Not before I get to hold that woman’s head in my own two hands. The dead are helpless. They cannot act upon their thirst for revenge. So I must not join them before then.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Sylvain replies. The smell around him is slowly making him nauseous. He still takes a deep breath. “But I need you to understand that I’m not here to kill you. Or harm you in any way for that matter. I don’t have as much as a butter knife on me.”

“And isn’t that a shame.” The fingers around Sylvain’s wrist tighten just a bit more. Even through the padding below his armour, it hurts.

“Please let me go, Your Highness.”

Dimitri stares, but looks right through him. “You couldn’t kill me if you wanted to,” he says. “But know that I could crush you like vermin. That I will crush you like vermin, if you ever scutter back in here and hide in the darkness like this.”

“And do you really think you would you enjoy killing me like that?” Sylvain asks. He would bet that there’s no way he would—in a moment of clarity, he would realise what he’s done. He would have to live with the knowledge that he had murdered someone close to him, for no good reason. That he’d become what he despises most. That Sylvain’s ghost would come for Dimitri’s head, and Dimitri’s head alone.

The hand around his wrist goes slack. Then it drops away.

Dimitri averts his eye, looks towards the grand portal at the back of the cathedral. His shoulders and jaw tense up. “Leave,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Don’t come back.”

Sylvain nods, and cradles his right hand close to his chest. Wordlessly, he walks past his prince, and doesn’t turn to look back even once. He pulls the portal open only far enough to just slip through, and only once he has an inch of solid wood between himself and Dimitri does he dare release a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The night is cold, and the snow on the bridge is frozen over where it’s been pushed aside in heaps. Sylvain shivers and breathes shakily. Funny. Almost as if he’d seen a ghost.

He looks down at his wrist—properly examines it in the moonlight. There are four finger-shaped indents in his gauntlet, spanning three individual plates. The dents in the metal almost feel like Dimitri’s grip is still there.

It’s smeared with blood and rat-guts.

iii.

The world seems to run on quid pro quo these days. Perhaps it is a byproduct of war. If you keep on taking and taking from one party, you can eventually begin to give back to another in equal parts.

Ferdinand von Aegir and his trusty steed cheerfully bleed out on a stiflingly warm spring afternoon. In turn, Dedue comes back from the dead.

And he must have brought back some part of Dimitri from the underworld along with him, because in a moment of clarity, with shaking hands clasped around his most trusted vassal’s forearms, the tremor in the prince’s voice sounds almost human. One ghost has returned—a living, breathing thing, instead of a bloodthirsty facsimile that lurks in the darkness of Dimitri’s mind.

By the time they regroup at Garreg Mach, the spell is broken.

Nothing truly changes, except that the spectre haunting the monastery grounds now has a shadow following it around. At least the nights are milder now, so Dedue’s stalwart vigils are not bitten by frost nor covered in snow.

Sylvain sits with him, one night, in the third row of pews from the front. A few candles around them remain lit. Sylvain’s gauntlet has long since been fixed and Dimitri pays neither of them any mind, either way.

“It’s good to know that you’re watching over him,” Sylvain says, lowly. “None of us really managed to.”

Dedue gives him a curious sideways glance, but doesn’t ask him to elaborate. He just straightens in his seat and sighs. “I would never mind looking out for His Highness,” he says, “especially when I am, arguably, to blame for his current state.”

“Are you, though?”

“The dead have always had a firm grip on his conscience. And I left him to think that I had died. That yet another life had been laid down for him. It was the cruellest thing I could have done.”

Sylvain purses his lips, stalls by glancing around the empty cathedral. “Maybe you’re right,” he says. Dedue nods grimly. It’s funny. He’s younger than Sylvain, and so severe. “But I still think you did the right thing. Goddess knows what all of us would be doing by now, were His Highness gone for good.”

Dimitri mutters something to himself, almost loud enough to be intelligible from where they’re sitting, and starts to pick at a heap of debris. Dedue watches him like a hawk, and maybe one day, his efforts will be rewarded. Sylvain wonders how that would even work.

Silence stretches on between them, only filled with vague muttering and the scraping of stones and plate mail. “Well,” says Sylvain eventually, “and then, there’s still that sliver of a hope that he’ll actually come around. Take the throne, become the king we need. Keep Faerghus from falling apart.”

Dedue’s lips press into a firm line. He slowly tears his gaze away from Dimitri and meets Sylvain’s eye. “Is that really what you think?”

“I want to, at least. Don’t you?”

He pauses. “Of course. There is not a doubt in my mind,” Dedue settles on. “Though I do not think there is a magical cure for what ails His Highness.”

It almost makes Sylvain laugh. “No,” he says instead, “there really isn’t.” And it’s understandable, and relatable—all of them are messes in their own right. War does that to a person. Sylvain has no trouble admitting that he might be the biggest mess of them all, has been for a long time. But unlike him, Dimitri used to be kind. He had no time to properly get used to all the vitriol being pumped into his system, had no time to build up a resistance to the poison, and was promptly killed from the inside out for it.

Dedue shifts in his seat, looks back towards their prince. He has stopped his aimless digging by now, instead staring off into space.

“At the very least, he is alive,” says Dedue, very quietly. It sounds as though he were only now beginning to reconcile his guilt with his own conscience. Sylvain almost laughs. Dedue, too, is kind.

“Alive might be overstating it,” he says.

iv.

And then Rodrigue Fraldarius dies so Dimitri can actually come alive again.

It’s almost unsurprising, that the toll for their prince’s soul has to be paid in blood. The sun slowly sets on them, dyeing the sky a similar shade of red, and by nightfall, Duke Fraldarius has gone well and truly cold.

It rains throughout the night, as though the heavens themselves were weeping for their loss. They leave their march back to Garreg Mach for the morning, and lay out Rodrigue in the most dignified manner possible, given their circumstances. Mercedes softly offers a prayer, Felix runs, Dimitri runs farther, and the Professor gives chase.

The rest of them remain at camp, and sometime during the night, as the rain eases off to a drizzle, Sylvain and Dedue set out to dispose of the body of a murderous girl left unaccounted for. Gilbert surmised she might have been a Bergliez—the younger sister to a general who had preceded her in death.

It ultimately doesn’t matter. The rain rolls off her cold, pale skin the same as any other corpse. She is limp and heavy between them as they heft her towards a ravine. And hard as carrying her might be, she falls easily.

This close to Gronder, the Bergliez girl finds her resting place on familiar soil at least. It still strikes Sylvain as somewhat cruel. Somewhat terrifying.

“Taking her back to the monastery,” Dedue begins, quiet and even, rumbling like subtle thunder, “would not have made anyone happier. I do not imagine the Empire would have claimed her.”

Sylvain’s mouth is bone dry amidst the rain. “We didn’t have to leave her dead in a ditch to be eaten by wolves, though,” he says, lightly, like it’s a joke.

Dedue’s voice is firm when he replies, “After making an attempt on His Highness’ life, this is a greater mercy than she is deserving of.” The raindrops plink on his armour. “I have no pity for her.”

There’s something terrifying about Dedue, too.

Sylvain purses his lips. “Do you think...” he begins, and trails off. It’s hard to see much in the darkness, but Dedue seems to be listening intently, back straight. Do you think vengefulness finally came to bite Dimitri in the ass? he desperately wants to ask. Do you think the Empire would be tossing him down there instead, had things gone just a bit differently? Where would that leave us?

But these are not questions to ask Dedue, of all people. Maybe he will bring them up with Felix, when it stops being the insensitive thing to do.

The rain falls on, and Sylvain doesn’t finish his question. Instead, he stares down the dark ravine as if he was waiting for something. He half expects the Bergliez girl to come crawling back up. Perhaps all the spite stored in her small body is enough to miraculously revive her. Make her into one of Dimitri’s heartless, murderous ghosts. If she grabbed at Sylvain’s ankles, could she pull him back down with her? Would he even think to fight her?

“We should head back to camp, Sylvain,” says Dedue, eventually. The rain is getting heavier again, and he’s right. He’s right, and yet.

And yet.

There’s something genuinely human about Dimitri again, after that.

Sylvain feels like his insides have been freshly scraped out, but their prince finally dares to stand before his people again—one-eyed, filthy, and with tears streaming down his face. And he’s hopeful. Goddess, he’s hopeful, because the people looking up to him remind him how hope looks.

And to them, hope looks an awful lot like Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

It is hope that has him struggle to rekindle his humanity, bit by bit. He spends days tracking down the people close to him around the monastery, always keeping his head bowed and voice low as he apologises and, eventually, tentatively speaks to them as one would with old friends. It’s as amusing as it is sad to watch.

Eventually, he seeks out Sylvain in one of the many courtyards. Someone has chopped off some of his hair since Sylvain last saw him, and he doesn’t reek anymore, either. It seems like a miracle, after all these months.

“Sylvain, may I have a moment of your time?” he asks, shoulders curled inward, in a clear attempt to make himself look small.

Sylvain almost laughs. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Dimitri smiles—a small, wobbly little thing. “Thank you,” he says. His tone is close to the regal cadence from their childhood. It feels almost nostalgic.

“Well, how can I help you?”

The prince sighs. He is pale—not in the way a ghost is. Not in the way a corpse is. Goddess knows Sylvain has seen his fill of jaundiced, bruised bodies lately. By comparison, Dimitri only looks exhausted, and isn’t that a good look on him for a change?

“Sylvain, I must apologise to you,” he says. “As must I to everyone else, of course. You understand my meaning.”

“I do, but... I’m the last one who needs your apologies, Your Highness,” Sylvain replies. It comes out a little dry, almost enough to make him want to cough. Dimitri frowns, looks agonised at hearing Sylvain dismiss him so.

He straightens up, squares his shoulders. Emphatically, he says, “I disagree.” Whether his bearing is animalistic or kingly in nature, Sylvain can’t tell. “Words cannot make up for everything I’ve done, or for what I’ve put all of you through. Believe me, I am more than aware of this. But even if this is mere lip service, I want to think of it as a starting point.”

And then, curiously, Dimitri reaches for Sylvain’s bare wrist. He slowly curls his fingers around it with a measured, deliberate gentleness. “Whether you need it or not, I still think you deserve an apology. If only as much as everyone else.”

“I got the gauntlet fixed,” Sylvain replies.

“So you did.”

Sylvain sighs. He wants to run a hand through his hair, but finds one of them inconveniently held down. “Listen, Your Highness, let’s just focus on winning the war, first thing. Everything else can come later.”

“But—“

“Did you apologise to Felix, yet?”

Dimitri starts, then looks away, studying the caps of his boots and the grass. He dips his head in a nod. “I’ve lost count how often, quite frankly. And I still feel like it will never be enough.”

“Maybe it won’t,” Sylvain agrees. Dimitri’s gaze snaps back to him, the hand around his wrist clenching. His eye is wide, with something wretched and hungry boiling beneath the surface. A gluttony for punishment. “But you know how he is—actions mean more to him than words do. So show him that you mean it.”

Dimitri suddenly drops—slaps away—his wrist as if it had burned him. “And then what, Sylvain?” he asks. “Is that what you’re asking of me as well? How would I even go about that? How does one show repentance?”

“That’s not—listen,” Sylvain says, holding back a groan. “No one is asking you to spend the rest of your days between self-flagellation and martyrdom. Just... win this war. Show everyone who sided with you that they didn’t fight for nothing. That’s all you have to do, really.”

“And the throne?”

There’s not a doubt in Sylvain’s mind that Dimitri will ascend it. Out of a sense of duty, or because people push him into it, he doesn’t know, but—he will. “You’ll cross that bridge when you get to it,” is what he says, though.

Dimitri seems to relish in the ambiguity. His eye slips shut. “Very well, then,” he replies. Hums. Sylvain thinks that’s the end of that, but his price proves him wrong. “Rodrigue would have liked to see me coronated, certainly.”

“I’m sure he would have. And maybe Felix would agree, though he’d never admit it.”

Dimitri laughs, soft and rumbling. The ghost of Duke Fraldarius seems to hang about him much more lightly than the rest.

When Dimitri’s blinks his eye open and he looks at Sylvain, it’s with a level of fondness that almost catches him off guard. “I think we went quite of track, Sylvain,” he says. “I came here to apologise to you, and yet...”

“It doesn’t matter, Your Highness. Really.” And because Dimitri looks almost sceptical, he adds, “I mean it. You might not realise it, but I think I’m more willing to forgive you after this than I would have been after nothing but an apology.”

“Very well, then,” concedes Dimitri. He straightens up, rolls back his shoulders. He stands about as tall as Sylvain these days, but wears the height much more imposingly. Kingly. “I suppose I will have to lead our troops to victory, then. Just to be assured your forgiveness.”

That sounds suspiciously like a joke, albeit a bad one. Sylvain still laughs at it. “I wouldn’t forgive you if you didn’t, that much is true.”

Dimitri smiles. “Thank you, in any case,” he says. Then, looking around, pretending—endearingly badly—to be busy, all of a sudden, he adds, “I unfortunately have a lot to catch up on, so if you’ll excuse me.”

Sylvain waves a hand, dismissive. “Off you go,” he says.

And the prince bows to him, just by a few angles, before he turns on his heel.

vi.

Pegasus Moon in Fhirdiad is freezing, but it feels like spring compared to Gautier.

Rime covers even sunny days until nightfall, and nights are almost endless in Fódlan’s North, even though the city’s lights make a valiant effort to stain the pitch blackness of the sky a bruised orange. A few lamps and torches around the castle remain lit until morning, still. By their humble light, guardsmen and knights brave the cold without as much as a complaint.

Sylvain is not nearly as brave—a mere political visitor, who only stays at the capital to play nice with court and king when negotiations with Sreng slow, who only visits when his father wants him out of his hair.

He walks about the courtyards in the dark, where snow is piled as high as his calves. But he’s wearing his sturdy travel boots, laced up almost all the way to his knees, and the crunching of the snow below his feet feels like home.

That’s how the ever busy king of the united Fódlan finds him—standing knee-deep in the snow, bundled up in furs over his relatively humble travel gear. Sylvain doesn’t expect him, but then, in a way, he does. Dimitri is awfully used to haunting ancient halls.

“I see you couldn’t be bothered to announce your arrival personally.”

Sylvain grins. He turns to face his king. “I had a lot of excess energy after being on the road for so long, Your Majesty.”

If they hadn’t know each other for the better part of their lives, perhaps Dimitri would reply with something other than a shake of his head and a vague huff of laughter. But as it is, he only steps into the snow—briefly, disdainfully looking at his feet as though he were surprised it is wet—and then proceeds to step into the holes of Sylvain’s tracks.

A twin set of torches tries to illuminate the entire courtyard, but their soft yellow glow is not nearly enough to drive off the darkness of the night. Dimitri comes to stand before Sylvain, looking disgruntled in soaked shoes and dishevelled regalia.

Perhaps the faint light hides some of his tiredness, but he looks good. Healthy. Alive. Sylvain smiles at him, tilting his head. “Are you without Dedue tonight?”

Dimitri nods. “I promised him I would look for you, then turn in for the night,” he says. “I wish he would stop his constant fretting, one of these days.”

“To be fair, I’m sure lots of people are out for your life,” Sylvain replies.

Dimitri laughs, like it’s a joke, and well. Enough of that.

Sylvain roughly yanks his king into a crushing hug, because he can do that, what with them having known each other for the better part of their lives. Dimitri goes stiff against him, as he always does, before returning the embrace even more ferociously.

“I’d like to announce that I have arrived healthy and whole, Your Majesty,” he says into the fur trim of Dimitri’s collar, and Dimitri laughs again.

#fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3h #sylvain jose gautier #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimivain #dedue molinaro #word count: 4k+#cw: blood #cw: death mention #cw: dead body #cw: mental health #cw: dead animals #cw: violence

2 notes · View notes

swtorramblings · 5 years ago

Text

I Shall Save Myself - 1: The Final Chain

Injured Vaylin by @fleeting-sanity, with much thanks.

Re-working an old story, to clean it up, add pictures, and actually pick a Commander. I used my character Richerd (link to come). He was the first character I made, and the first character through KotET. I haven’t played him much since then, for reasons. I’m still disapproving enough to let him get roughed up.

I Shall Save Myself Second Draft Chapter List

Vaylin nears defeat in the second Battle of Odessen. Then, well-ordered Fate is suddenly disrupted.

The battle had gone their way, for a time. The power of Richerd Pauers, Barsen’thor and Alliance Commander, with Senya and Arcann at his side, had easily defeated Vaylin’s forces. And, while perhaps Vaylin was still more powerful than all of them combined, they were all experienced in war. Eventually, she was brought to her knees, pained by numerous small wounds, exhausted by their attack.

He felt for her, but knew she had to die. She was too broken and too powerful to live. Her crimes too great. It was the only way.

Wasn’t it?

------------

Vaylin was on her knees, again, gasping for breath, and then she heard his voice. Telling the Outlander, his favorite pet, how she was still dangerous.

How could he? Throwing them all aside for this upstart! None of them deserved this more! None of them had gone through the pain she had!

Well, they were going to now.

She mocked her father one last time, and then, finally, unleashed her full power. She realized then that she had, even now, been holding back.

Not any more.

Arcann and Senya were blasted off of their feet, unable to stand against the gale.

The wind she caused to rage around her was even strong enough to begin cracking thick walls of the Alliance base. Nothing living would stand against it.

The Outlander, though, somehow, did. He couldn’t be more powerful than her family, could he? He was struggling, but he pushed against the winds.

She gritted her teeth, let the power rage through her. No matter the cost, she would destroy this usurper. She could feel the ships overhead, even out in orbit. She began to drag them down. Even if she fell, they would still destroy everything the Outlander and his puppet master had created here.

If this was to be her last stand, at least it would be a glorious one. It would have to be enough.

-------------------

Richerd staggered forward. A few steps more and it would be over. He heard himself saying something to her as he reached for his lightsaber. He wasn’t sure what it was. The only sounds he heard now were the winds, and his followers over the com channels.

And the Empress Vaylin’s cries of pain and fear.

It had been unfair, his taunts. She really was a child, wasn’t she? Or, maybe had simply never had the chance to be.

But even if she had, she would still be a monster. She’d never had a chance. Her power had been too great and too early, and she’d needed to be controlled. And now she was free, and had decided on this.

As he ignited his weapon and prepared to end this, though, her expression changed. The winds suddenly stopped, and he staggered forward, surprised. Before he could recover, he suffered the fate he had planned for the broken woman before him.

-------------------

Part of her had accepted that she was about to die. Whatever she did, whatever she had tried, it only made everything worse. The day she lashed out at the Knights in the arena had revealed her power to her father. Her rage at her mother for leaving her that day had kept her from accepting help. Her time on the Throne meant all but her most loyal subjects hated her.

At least coming here at the Outlander’s taunting meant an end to her pain. Then she saw it. Her brief future. The way things were meant to be, had been arranged, probably even at the moment she was born. A single path that would put her power in the hands of the Eternal Emperor, her hated father.

That, she could not stand.

She pulled it all back to her at the last moment, causing the ships now unrestrained to surge upward and the Outlander to lose his balance.

Which let her end the fight, but on her terms.

She leaned close to him, whispered into his ear, “Did you really think it would be that easy, ‘Father’?”

She knew it almost had been. She just wouldn’t admit it to either of them.

She deactivated her lightsaber. She now understood it would do her no good against the real enemy here, the one that gave it to her in the first place.

Richerd’s power had always leaned towards healing. Even as he attempted to lift his lightsaber to defend himself, he was attempting to repair the wound as best he could.

Vaylin gestured, and he was slammed to the ground, knocking the air from his lungs, leaving him defenseless. Through the pain, he couldn’t focus well enough to resist her power.

She was swaying, a gash on her arm dripping blood to the ground, but she still smiled down at him, saying, “Now you’ll have a scar to go with the one my brother gave you.” Then she looked uncharacteristically thoughtful. “If you survive. He saved you before, didn’t he? He won’t be able to this time. I’ll make sure of that.”

Valkorion emerged as he had before, attempting to slow time, but she was having none of it, the glittering sphere shattering. “Kneel before the Dragon of Zakuul!” he shouted in desperation, as Richerd had while trying to save Torian.

“No, ‘Father’. Never again.”

“Daughter,” he began. Before the spirit could say any more, Senya shouted, “Vaylin, no!” She and Arcann draw their lightsabers as they charged forward.

They may as well not have bothered. Vaylin’s smile broadened as she looked away from the Outlander, saying in a light, almost sing-song voice, “Not now, Mother, I don’t think I have much time, and ‘Father’ and I must talk.”

Before they could reach her, she gestured, slamming both into the cracked wall. They fell to the ground, no longer moving.

She looked down at the Outlander, still clinging to consciousness. “What was it you said to me? That killing Father wouldn’t heal my scars?”

“You said you didn’t have any,” he replied, barely able to get the words out.

The smile disappeared, finally. “Idiot. My father caged me like a beast for my entire childhood. I endured countless experiments, cut off from my power, tormented by the world he killed. And then they came, tortured me, conditioned me, controlled me. I don’t have scars. All I have is rage.” She stood again, turning to the fallen. “And you come to me with your Jedi ‘wisdom’, your platitudes, your manipulation. Your taunting. No better than SCORPIO, or my brother. You were given my chains, and never hesitated to use them. So, no better than Father, either. What did you would happen? What I would say?” She gestured at Torian’s body. “What I would do?”

Valkorion had been silent, but now he said, haughtily, “You cannot blame us, Daughter. You brought yourself here. You killed the Mandalorian. I only tried to prevent all of this. To protect you from yourself.”

She ignored him, keeping her eyes on Richerd. “I do hate you. All of you. Still, I’m going to give you a chance, not because you’ve earned it. You’re just not that important. Maybe Father was holding your chains. I don’t know and I don’t have the time left to care what happens to you. It is over.”

Valkorion begins, lacking his usual smug tone, “Vaylin…”

She repeated, “No, ‘Father’.”

Lightning leaped from her hands and into the spirit of Valkorion, and he screamed. Richerd saw Vaylin through the almost blinding light of her power, at first straining, then smiling. Finally, she began to laugh, not the broken sound he had heard before, but something like joy. It was terrifying, but he had to admit, there was also beauty in that sound.

Soon, the lightning stopped. Where Valkorion had seemed to stand was only smoke and melted stone.

Vaylin was swaying where she stood, her breathing ragged, when she turned back to the Commander one last time.

They had won. She had won.

She looked down at him. He noticed that, oddly, her eyes were blue. He did not understand for a moment.

“You were wrong,” she said. “Sometimes, the only way to heal is to strike back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

She smiled then, not that predatory grin, but as though at a private joke. Then, her eyes closed and, with a sigh, her knees folded under her, and then she toppled to the ground. Moments later, the Commander followed her into the darkness.

#I don't know if it got better but it did get longer #IShallSaveMyself #Vaylin #Richerd (OC)#Senya Tirall #Arcann

23 notes · View notes