#a mother's attempt to preserve her child's spirit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redrobin-detective · 3 years ago

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Ben 10 lore that exists in my heart regardless of canon

- Ben’s personality in his mid-late teens is a mix of his Alien Force and Omniverse self. On the surface, he’s very cheerful and kind even if he is a bit of arrogant showoff. He makes jokes and plays around and acts as if he isn’t bothered by the things in his life. Those who know him best understand a good portion of his outward confidence and cockiness is just a facade to cover up his insecurities and to project the ideal, effortless hero. While sometimes seen as immature, most beings know Ben 10 means business as he takes his unofficial job and people’s safety very seriously. He’s clever, adaptable, charismatic and empathetic which makes him a formidable opponent and a loyal friend. Doesn’t open up easily but if you get to him, he become so dearly attached.

- Drinks smoothies so much for several reasons. Comfort food go brrr, reminds him of the good easy times with him Gwen and Kev. It’s also a light but generally nutritous food to give him energy for heroing. Anything too heavy and he’ll be puking (both from physical and emotional stress). Though he jokes about his mom’s health foods, his are a crazy concoction of add in proteins and vitamins/minerals bc he knows he’ll out and out collapse without it. (Still has on occasion bc boy still doesn’t eat right/enough)

- While Fame is exciting for him at first he soon begins to detest it. Not the fans, no, he can’t bring himself to hate the people who look up to him. But he hates the constant attention, that he can’t walk outside without being mobbed. the only place he feels safe is his hometown where most people are so used to him and his weirdness that they don’t react much anymore. Takes to wearing a cape and face shield when going out anywhere so he can actually get things done without being recognized and mobbed.

- Part of the reason Bellwood isn’t concerned with Ben is partially because ben’s been weird and alien for as long as they can remember but also many don’t realize how famous/powerful he is. Yeah that’s just Ben Tennyson over there, sometimes he turns into funny creatures- wait what do you MEAN he’s the savior of the universe?? He cried over a spilled smoothie the other day.

- Does mostly online schooling by the time he’s 15. At first he tries to do half day things to maintain something of a normal life but it quickly becomes overwhelming and dangerous him/the school. Finishes his GED early but the Plumbers and Azmuth make him take additional college level and alien courses to prepare him for his future role. Ben gripes but really does love learning all these things, especially on his terms (ADHD and stress + the public school system do not always go hand in hand). He’s a quick learner when he deems the information important and is made accessible to his learning needs.

- Ben definitely has ADHD speaking of which, it was nearly uncontrollable as a child bc his free-spirited parents didn’t believe in medicating. Ben convinced them he needed it and after some trial and error, found meds that worked. As he became more involved in heroics/growing up he had to change his medicine regimen (resulting in him being a bit more off the rails in OV) and needed antidepressants and therapy to manage it better. As an adult he has a whole litany of coping mechanisms (good and bad yes) and regularly checks in with his therapist and doctors to keep things under control.

- Has a complicated relationship with his necrofriggian children. Considers himself their mother and worries after them. They too feel a connection to their parent despite this being unusual for their species. A few visit (some more than others) while they grow while others maintain distance. Ben never breathes a word of them to the media for fear of them being targeted. Still he keeps an eye on them and ensures all 14 mature to adulthood (another rarity for the species). Checks in every now and again with the ones who don’t want to see him and those that do. Two join the Plumbers and Ben is both proud and worried. His youngest becomes partners with Rook Ben.

- Just in general loves kids, they’re his favorite fans and while he’ll grumble at pushy adult fans he always smiles and kneels down for the little ones. Not so secretly wanted to have children of his own but knew it was a risk overall and used a lot of that energy with mentoring and teaching. Eventually had Kenny later in life (late 30s-40s) and was over the moon, becoming such a loving and doing parent or as much as he could be with his hectic schedule.

- Omnitrix can’t come off, never has at any point since it first latched onto Ben’s arm. Azmuth tried and failed to get the device off, doesn’t let Ben know for many years as he feared the consequences. The watch loves and protects Ben even beyond it’s programming making him much more durable to damage and releasing energy charges when he’s threatened. Not even removing Ben’s arm would separate them. They’re stuck for life.

- Ben does have Anodite heritage but the Omnitrix actively suppresses it and uses the built up energy to power the transformations which is why ben is mostly unaffected by what should cause a massive energy drain on him. Theoretically if Ben learned to harness and safely use his Mana at an early age like Gwen he would have been fine but letting it build up without safe outlet meant activation would have killed him. Omnitrix Ben, however, went his whole life not knowing of his latent abilities and how the watch saved his life.

- Ben’s eyes get more green and glowy as time passes from the Omnitrix. At first they think its a trick of the light but by the time he’s an adult his eyes are pretty much glow in the dark. His veins light up too after long stretches of using the Omnitrix. Its vaguely unsettling to people who aren’t used to Ben.

- Max and the Earth Plumbers work so, so hard to keep teen Ben on Earth when half the universe is blowing up their comm lines asking for The Ben 10 to help with whatever problem of the day. Ben himself doesn’t quite understand when he’s younger the prestige and expectations on his shoulders. Max throws up a million and one roadblocks so Ben can live as normal a life as possible while he still can. Still, while doing that he Still overloads Ben with expectations and responsibilities on earth and beyond. He becomes a soldier again with Ben as their greatest weapon. He never forgave himself of losing sight of his grandson underneath the hero esp after Ben’s breakdown.

- Rook partnership with Ben ends not long after Omniverse with his promotion to Magister. Ben tries to play it cool but the thought of another loved one/teammate leaving his tears him apart. Max revealing that Ben most likely wouldn’t get a new Plumber assigned partner since he’s almost an adult and won’t need it and Rook accidentally missing their last smoothie run due to a scheduling mishap causes Ben to snap and have the nervous breakdown that had been building for almost a decade. He completely loses it for a little while and needs to take an extended leave of absence from school and heroics that lasts about a year. Spends time recovering both on Earth and Galvan Prime, does some diplomatic training, learns about aliens, actually confronts the stress and loneliness of his life. He comes out the other side stronger but still fragile and exhausted.

- Ben’s above mentioned breakdown brings him closer to all his friends who didn’t quite realize the extent of Ben’s burden. Rook had been under the impression Ben didn’t like him all that much so the knowledge that his departure was the final straw for friend/hero’s collapse was shocking. Ben and Azmuth also become closer, the Galvan becoming fiercely protective of the boy seeing as his Earth family didn’t do well to keep him safe. It takes years for him to get over his anger at Max for putting so much on his grandchild. Ben makes more friends, in and out of the hero business, finally gets a therapist and gets some of his burdens eased a bit. It’s not a sure fire fix and Ben has several smaller breakdowns the rest of his life but its something.

- Azmuth was straight up suicidal before he met Ben for the first time. Ben gave him back hope for the universe and his ability to create items for peace not weapons. The boy infuriates him, frightens him, frustrates him but Azmuth cannot deny in his heart of hearts that he loves Ben dearly. He’s very upset at Ben’s breakdown and doesn’t know how to handle the worst of the initail outbursts. Azmuth talks Ben down from a suicide attempt. He reaches out to Ben that he Too felt overwhelmed by pressure, thought himself only good for war. Ben’s arrival in his life saved him and now he will do the same for Ben. It’s the first positive step forward in Ben’s recovery.

- For no other reason than I like it, Azmuth primarily refers to Ben as Benjamin (mostly to annoy the kid but he likes the way it sounds too) and Ben in softer, more serious moments.

- Professor Paradox continues to flit in and out of Ben’s life. He says its because Ben is the most equipped to handle universal peril (true) but he’s also just very fond of the boy. Ben, existing in so many forms and having such importance also exists a beat outside of normal reality which Paradox identifies with. Ben is naturally attuned to time related problems because of this (instantly IDing Spanner as from the future before being told later deducing him to be his unborn son). Plus Ben named him, way back when. He’s just drawn to Ben.

- Adult Ben, while being seen as an impressively skilled fighter and champion, really has his strength as a universal diplomat of sorts. Based out of Earth, he helps mediate and defuse conflicts, advocate against tyranny and overall preserve peace and balance. He’s not perfect, he makes mistakes and sometimes is forced to become violent (and yes kill) but overall is regarded as a peacekeeper, something younger ben simply couldn’t understand.

- Gwen gets her degree and primarily does work with advocacy and teaching about magic/alien culture. While she and Ben are still close, there’s a bit of a frustrated divide in that she isn’t helping him share the burden of the universe. Gwen never wanted to be a hero and has enough worth to not shackle herself to a job that’ll burn her out. Ben loves heroing but gives too much of himself away trying to fix everything. They get into screaming arguments that it wouldn’t be so bad out there if she just helped him but she refuses to budge and says he shouldn’t make himself do so much. They always make up and thy still are each other’s closest relationships.

- Ben marries Kai in a political move, Kai is Asexual and Ben Aromantic. They didn’t love each other but they got on well enough and Ben was really feeling the stress of carrying the hero burden so Kai also being involved made him feel like he wasn’t alone. Both were also so tired of the universe constantly asking about their love life and said ‘fuck it we’re married leave us alone’. Gwen was always mad about it feeling Ben deserved better but the two of them were happy with it. They had separate rooms, mostly separate lives but they became strong friends and supports with their strictly platonic marriage. They had Ken via Invitro in an incubator and were loving if extremely busy parents.

- Also from the moment he appeared, Ben knew that Spanner was his future son, Kenny. He played ignorant and then was kind of deliberately teasing him in future encounters. He knew the rules of time and didn’t want to disrupt things further even if he was angry and worried as heck about why Ken felt the need to time travel. When future Ben catches up in the timeline, Kenny gets SUCH a lecture.

- Ben isn’t quite immortal but he’s also not entirely human anymore either. The Omnitrix not only keeps him safe from most harm but it lightens the effect of aging. Ben 10 is active many, many years when most humans would have been forced to retire. He’s not sure how long the watch will keep him alive and it terrifies him. Gwen too is functionally immortal however she ages like a normal human, then when her natural death came, shed her skin and became a fulltime Anodite. So in the end, it was her and Ben together wondering which of them will die first. Gwen has trouble retaining her humanity as pure energy and swears she’ll let herself fizzle out when Ben goes. When that’ll be however...

#Ben 10 #this took sooo long whoops #i wanna write about ben's breakdown so mad you have no idea

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thesynaxarium · 2 years ago

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Today we celebrate the Holy New Martyr Aquilina of Zagliberi. Saint Aquilina's father denounced his faith and became a muslim out of fear when his daughter was still young. Her mother raised her a Christian, and taught her never to abandon her faith. When Aquilina came of age, the Muslim authorities pressured Aquilina's father to convert his daughter to Islam. When she heard this, she utterly refused, wishing to die rather than deny her faith. She was subject to torture, but this did not shake her faith. They then attempted to win her over with flattery, riches and even a prince to marry, however she remained steadfast in her faith. Eventually, they tortured her so harshly, they left her for dead in the court. Her mother collected her body, and noticing she was still alive, asked her daughter, "what have you done, my child?" To which she replied, "behold, I have preserved the confession of my Faith, just as we agreed.” With these words, she gave up her spirit. On the way to the cemetery, a divine light shine upon her holy relics which also emitted a heavenly fragrance. May the holy New Martyr intercede for us always + #saint #aquilina #akylina #akilina #newmartyr #martyr #turk #turkishoccupation #christian #islam #muslim #convert #faith #orthodox #saintoftheday (at Zaglivérion, Thessaloniki, Greece) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ci_vfNCDd_-/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#saint #aquilina #akylina #akilina #newmartyr #martyr #turk #turkishoccupation #christian #islam #muslim #convert #faith #orthodox #saintoftheday

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valleyfthdolls · 2 years ago

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IM ASKING ABOUT YOUR FNAF AU. IM ASKINV ABLUT IT -vanny you know the one

THANK YO U .

So my fnaf au I’ve been calling the Christmas Kids AU, because I have an obsession with I Can’t Handle Change.

The main characters (and my weird nicknames for them) are as follows:

Michael Afton (“the son and heir”)- Michael is basically the same as in canon. He’s William’s oldest son and his kind of favorite, and he holds a LOT of guilt over not only his siblings’ deaths and the bite, but also over the missing children in general and William’s actions. Following being scooped by Baby, he uses the remnant William harvested from the missing kids to keep himself alive, but he only does so to prevent himself from dying before he can stop William. He was 14 in 1983, and 21 when he was scooped, which is where his body has been permanently preserved. His spirit possesses Glamrock Freddy during Security Breach.

Cassidy Afton (“the vengeful spirit”)- Cassidy is the youngest of the Afton family, born in 1974. He is autistic and generally very unlike others, leading to him being alienated and bullied heavily, with very few friends. He was William’s least favorite child, mostly due to his high intelligence despite his young age meaning it was hard to manipulate him the way he did to Elizabeth and Michael, which made it especially bad when Cassidy began claiming he’d witnessed a child get “eaten” by an animatronic and killed. While he wasn’t supposed to die, William held no contempt for Michael after Cassidy’s death on his ninth birthday, believing it was better off if Cassidy was dead. He just didn’t stay dead.

Elizabeth Afton (“the turtle girl”)- Elizabeth is the middle child and the only daughter of the Afton family. Before their mother left in October of 1982, Elizabeth was her mother and father’s favorite. Amalie, her mother, simply thought she was the sweetest girl in the world, and William saw her loyalty as a good beginning to make her a perfect child and a successor. Despite her sweet demeanor, due to her parental issues she had a harsh mean streak and struggled to get along with her peers. The lengths she went to earn approval and love ended up with her pegged as a bad kid in most people’s eyes, but she kept up a superficial reputation as a sweet and loving girl. She absolutely adored her father and his work, but her favorite things were dolls and circuses, which ultimately inspired the Funtime animatronics.

William Afton (“the shadow man”)- Pretty similar to canon William. He’s a garbage dad, horribly manipulative, and obsessed with control. He always wants to control everything around him, especially who lives and who dies.

The five missing children (“the gifts”)- Each child was killed from 1982 to 1985, and the five of them- Charlie, Susie, Jeremy, Gabriel and Mitzi (nicknamed Fritz)- each possess one of Fazbear’s main animatronics (including The Puppet). Each of them, slowly losing their grip on themselves and their sanity, target and attack any adult they can get their hands on in an attempt to find closure. Charlie, absolutely terrified of what’s become of them all, is the one who brought the other four back to life to try and save their souls. Cassidy did it himself though.

My phones at 1% I’ll talk more about it later if it doesn’t die

#vannyvannyvanny

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sirthisisa-wendys · 4 years ago

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The General (Part 1): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: matchmaking day is upon you, and you’re in for more than just a partner.

wc: 2.1k

tw: none - just a bunch of backstory. (part 2 is going to be much more interesting and Geto WILL appear.)

masterlist

The trees along the grounds of your family’s estate are blooming in full force, once again signaling the coming of the most anticipated day of the year: matchmaking day. Beautiful petals of yellow, red, and pink would decorate the lawn and as a child, you would gather them up and toss them around. You imagined your wedding would be just as majestic as the coming of spring and that matchmaking day would be the happiest day of your life.

For years, you had watched your older siblings be married off to wonderful and loving partners, their names being called from the crowd of people who gathered in the village square every year. For years, you eagerly waited your turn to meet the love of your life. And last year - the year before you were set to make your debut in the matchmaking pool - you found him.

The man you wanted to be set up with - Yuko Hashinara - was perfect.

As the son of a potter, he wasn’t filthy rich, but for a whole six months, you dipped your hands into the kaolin just to get closer to him. Yuko seemed to take a liking to you too, his soft features and green eyes following you around the workshop while you made conversation or giggled over town gossip. He had even touched your hand tenderly once; the white clay smearing over your fingers with care. He hadn’t admitted that he loved you, but today would change all of that.

“Mother! What should I wear?” All of the formal wear in your closet now seemed too plain for what you planned on being your debut into society as Yuko’s Betrothed. You no longer had the scores of clothing your sisters offered or the keen eye of your eldest brother. It was just you now, and as the youngest, there was a need to show everyone you were just as worthy as your siblings of a perfect match.

Your mother bustles in hastily, attempting to fix your hair while you rifle through the clothing that’s available to you. “Don’t wear red; only whores wear red. Perhaps the hunter green one will do.” When you pull out the silk garment your mother detailed, your shoulders fall a bit, noting it’s plainness.

“But will this look attractive for Yuko?” you wonder, trying to see the dress in better lighting. Gold and brown swirls decorate the dress around the neck and hemline but it still looks inelegant. “You know, like I’m supposed to be his wife?” Your mother’s hands still on your hair, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve said something wrong.

“This dress will look beautiful on you, like it did on your grandmother when she was matched with her husband.” Ah, yes. Grandmother. At the mention of the old matriarch, you’re silenced immediately, recalling the love she and your grandfather had upon their union. “We should only hope you are as lucky as she was to find a worthy match.”

“Yuko is a ‘worthy match’,” you retort, but your mother doesn’t reply, finishing your hairdo and stepping back to admire her handiwork.

“Now let’s get you dressed; we don’t have a lot of time.”

_______________________________________________________________________

When you arrive in the square with the other girls of the village, there is an uproar of chatter about who would be matched with who, and whether or not the matchmaker would be fair to some of the older girls who had never been matched with before.

You’re not overly friendly with any of the others gathered - due to your family’s estate being on the far side of the main village and as such, every trip into town required a long trek - but you’re welcomed nonetheless. As you stand in the cool, spring breeze, your eyes roam around the boys who were gathered on the left side of the square. Your eyes fall upon Yuko, and a sigh escapes your lips, your mind fluttering off to begin fantasies of the rest of your lives together. You would have an extravagant wedding, a lavish reception, and an equally attention-bringing birth of your first born: a son you’d already named in your head.

But as soon as you get to the day your son would take his first steps, the sound of the matchmaker’s voice echoes across the courtyard. She was short - very short - with small, beady eyes, and white hair that feel in a braid down her back. Her wrinkled skin holds all of the years she performed this ceremony, and you’re sure if you stare long enough that she might even shrink a little.

“We will now begin the matchmaking ceremonies with a prayer…” Your nerves bundle up in your stomach as the old woman begins reciting a prayer to the gods that you completely ignore. Couldn’t she just say all of the names and then pray? What did the gods care about the order of things?

It isn’t until you hear the soft murmurs of the women around you that you know it’s time to look up and resume your fretting about the pickings, which were sort of slim to begin with.

“Kashishime Okkostua… and Junte Yakamura.” The first couple of the ceremony had been announced, and you look at the brightened expression of a woman in the sea of female faces, who excitedly approaches her betrothed with arms open wide. The following twenty or so names were read off with similar results; only a few couples do not already know each other, and they approach each other with a timidness you could only describe as painful to watch.

“Yuko Hashinara and…” Oh, no, the time had already come. You look at the man who wrings his hands nervously, eyes glued to the matchmaker, while you hold your hands similarly, heart pounding beneath your dress wildly. The name of the woman falls from the matchmaker’s lips in slow motion, it seems, but it’s obviously not your name.

It’s not me.

It’s.

Not.

Me.

Your first thought is to go numb. As you eye the female who emerges from the crowd, your self-preservation instincts take over, analyzing the way she looks while you fix your fallen countenance. She is nothing amazing to look at, you reason, but as they acknowledge each other and depart from the crowd, your heart goes with them, never to return to the hole in your chest. Not even a trade from another other-worldly spirit could bring it back.

The rest of the day blows by you, and you don’t even hear a single syllable that sounds remotely like your name grace the tongue of the matchmaker. When she sets aside her papers, you and two other women are left standing in the square.

One of them started crying long ago, her face puffy and red. The other crosses her arms and takes a glance at you, shrugging her shoulders disinterestedly. But you… you’re feeling as numb as a rock. You stare at the sand lining the pathway, unsure of what to say or how to feel other than empty. The matchmaker hobbles down from her perch to where you three are standing and looks all of you over once. When she opens her mouth, all you can hear is:

“... maybe next year.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Next year. That’s the only thought that bounces around your skull as you make the embarrassing trek back to your residence. Next year.

But there wouldn’t be a next year.

The one you wanted was already gone, and--

Your eyes lift slowly to the door of your family’s home. Never in your lifetime had you experienced such a painful moment, but you wouldn’t let anyone see you defeated. Even after your mother opens the door and witnesses your shuffle back into the house, you announce to her and your father stoically: “The matchmaker said next year would be the year,” and walk into your bedroom with nothing else to declare.

The pillows on your bed muffle the sobs of your broken heartedness, and cover up the absolute humiliation you had suffered in front of the whole town. You wouldn’t speak of this day to anyone, not even your parents. Next year would be your year.

_______________________________________________________________________

Thunder rattles the windows of your house, and you stare at the various trees being stripped of their buds and flower petals in the pending storm though the panel in your bedroom. This is perfect weather for your mood, you note, and settle into the soft cushion beneath you with a sense of satisfaction. The world mirrors your inner turmoil with this storm, and you like the way the darkness swallows up the bright blue sky.

“Y/n…” A tap on your door signals the arrival of your mother, but you don’t answer, preferring to stare out of the window at the destruction instead. “I’m coming in.” The door is pushed open with ease, and your mother waddles in, holding a bowl of your favorite soup. “I made some soup for you.” You look at the offering with disinterest, eyes sliding away from the bowl and to the mirror across the room.

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” you croak. You can’t see your reflection, but you know you look like a wreck. You had snatched out the bobby pins and ribbons in your hair after you cried, then stripped the dress off in haste, throwing it into the corner before dressing in a plain kimono to remain decent. You’re still in that same kimono, even though it’s been almost a day since you’d changed.

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.” The keen observation doesn’t make your stomach growl. Instead, it’s like a stone is sitting in your gut, preventing you from even desiring food.

“I’ll be okay.” Your mother sits the soup down on your bedside table anyways, leaving you in peace just like she found you. A slight hiccup finds its way into your throat, and you want to cry, but you have no tears left at all. Your face is tight and raw, and you want to scrub at it to make it all go away… but you can’t. The matchmaker’s word is as good as a bond, and you can’t break that bond; not even if you tried.

The sound of the front door rattling initially sounds like some aftereffect of the lightning and thunder rolling across the sky, but you notice that the windows hadn’t shook. The pounding sound echoes again, and you find the strength to slide to the edge of your bed, feet dangling in the air precariously.

Your father would be there to get it, wouldn’t he? So why are you moving? Before you can question yourself further, you place your feet on the floor and pad to your bedroom door. Perhaps it was Yuko, and something had gone terribly wrong with his new wife. The thought makes you move even faster, your legs propelling you down the hallway and to the foyer, where your father stood with the door open to the rain. As you crane your head around the wall between the foyer and hallway, you see a figure bent over at the knees, catching their breath and mumbling erratically.

“Can I help you?” your father asks the person, who’s head snaps up, flinging his long, white hair back and showing his startling blue eyes. He’s dressed as an Imperial Warrior in a black and red kimono and hakama with a white sash around his waist, which signifies his rank, but you don’t know what rank white is.

“Sir, I have come a long way,” he begins, panting still. “The Imperial Court is in need of your youngest daughter. I have ord--” Your father scoffs, not even entertaining the man at his feet by listening to his speech.

“I’m sorry, but my youngest daughter is not a fighter,” he cuts the man off with his hand, but the man continues anyway.

“If you would please grant me entry into your home, I will be able to tell you the entire story. I am sure you will allow me this much upon seeing this.” Suddenly, the man reveals a water damaged envelope with the Imperial seal stamped upon it from his kimono. Your father looks at the document, but does not open it.

“Come inside, then. I’m sure you’re weary from your travels. I’ll have my wife prepare you some dinner.” As your father lets the man inside, your peer a little closer at the soldier and find his sapphire orbs boring right into your soul. A charming half smile pulls at his lips, but he turns away to follow your father into the kitchen, leaving you alone in the foyer and to wonder who exactly was in your home and why.

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

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heliads · 3 years ago

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I Need a Savior

Based on this request: "A songfic for My Demons by Starset? Stiles and the reader are twins. She’s a witch and part of Scott’s pack. The reader helps Scott and the others get rid of the nogitsune and save Stiles."

masterlist

There’s a video playing on your computer. You’re sitting before it, knees tucked up to your chest like you’re a child right now instead of watching yourself as one on the screen in front of you. Your eyes are glued to the two playing figures as if they’ll find some way to save you from the mess you’ve found yourself in, as if by watching what you used to have you’ll be able to have it all back once more.

You’re not alone in the video. The four-year-old Y/N rarely was, and in this particular video her laugh is joined by someone else- your twin brother, Stiles. He’s racing after you in a grassy backyard, in the midst of some no doubt momentous game of tag. He’s shouting something at the top of his tiny lungs as he goes, something about how he’ll always get back to you in the end. If only you could make that same promise now.

The video ends, but you still sit there, unable to move. It’s barely been a few days that your brother was fully possessed by the Nogitsune, but the loss still cuts at you like a knife. Stiles is your twin brother, older only by ten minutes or so. You’ve never had to go without him for longer than a few hours- he’s always there, at home or at school or at your father’s station. This, knowing that he’s somewhere within Beacon Hills but utterly gone to you, is an entirely different kind of pain.

A knock sounds at the door, and you look up to see your father hovering in the doorframe. His attempt at a reassuring smile drops as he sees the video still up on your screen. “I thought I heard voices.” You sigh. “I miss him, Dad. I miss Stiles.” Sheriff Stilinski sighs, walking inside the room at last. “So do I. We’re going to get him back, though. Don’t worry about that.”

You throw your hands in the air, frustrated. “We don’t know that! We don’t know that at all. This is so out of our range that it’s almost crazy. I mean, you barely even started to believe us about the supernatural. You didn’t trust us that werewolves existed, and now my brother has been possessed by a spirit that’s thousands of years old. None of us have any proof that we’re going to get him back.”

Your father winces for a second, then his expression smooths over again. “I’ve heard what you said about all your other exploits with Scott. He never gave up on anything or anyone, and I know you won’t either. None of us are giving up on Stiles, and even if it means that we have to play the long game to get him back, we will. Sure, I may not completely get why Scott McCall went from a kid with terrible asthma to a werewolf, but I know we won’t leave my son behind.”

His voice twists slightly as he says ‘my son’, and you’re hit with the distinct memory that you’re not the only one grieving someone you might have already lost. Yes, you lost your twin brother, but the sheriff lost his son. You can’t snap on him completely. So, you close your laptop screen, forcing the image of you and Stiles away into the darkness, and stand up. “What do you say we get some dinner? It’s late and I’m hungry.” Sheriff Stilinski nods, accepting this best attempt at an apology, and heads back downstairs. You’re left in the dark again, alone.

You can’t help but think through the whole thing over again. Your dad’s right- there’s no way Scott or you or anyone else is remotely considering letting Stiles go. You’ve seen Scott before, and you’ve known him for almost as long as he’s known your brother, so you know for a fact that he won’t give up until your twin is back and as he should be.

Besides, you’ve got another tool in your kit that will help you rescue Stiles- namely, your magic. You are a witch, just like the women in your family before you. Well, just like most of them. Your mother, Claudia, should have inherited the power of the family coven, but the magic seemed to skip over a generation and it went to you instead. Your grandmother kept the power of the witches a secret until it manifested in you a few years ago. You’ve learned spells from her, and you’re hoping that you’ll be able to use at least one of them to save Stiles.

This, actually, is what you find yourself doing the next day. Scott calls you up early, saying something in a rushed tone about how he found an old story about a healing spell in some dusty text in Deaton’s storage. You head over there immediately, and are surprised to find that Scott’s spell just might work. It’s fairly simple, as spells go, but it’ll take a lot out of you. In the spell, you’ll be able to peel back the Nogitsune’s control over Stiles, but you’re not sure that you’ll be able to completely eradicate the spirit’s presence from your brother’s mind, you don’t have enough power for that. Then again, even a brief reprieve for Stiles may help you save him.

So, you, Scott, Lydia, Allison, Isaac, Kira, and the rest head down to where Stiles was last spotted. Derek’s waiting for you there, and he points wordlessly into the Beacon Hills preserve. “I think the Nogitsune is trying to find the Nemeton. He just went in there a few minutes ago.” You nod your gratitude, already slipping between the trees. You used to play in these very woods with your brother when you were small, doing your best to escape your father’s watch long enough to have some fun before the rules came crashing back down around you.

When you see Stiles at once, you almost wonder if you’ve stepped back into your memories. It makes no sense- surely, you should be able to tell that this is an ancient spirit and not your brother. You should know your twin by soul and heart and word, shouldn’t you? Yet, for that one moment, you want to run over to him, sure that Stiles has managed to shake the spirit possessing him and come back to you.

Then Stiles turns around, and you’re hit by a wave of utter wrongness. There’s no other way to describe it- this being is your brother in flesh, sure, but in nothing else. There is no soul in the eyes looking at you, no love or even familiarity in the gruesome smile twisting this thing’s lips. The body is your twin brother, but the mind, oh the mind is so far from being him that it’s almost repulsive.

The Not-Stiles leers at you from where he stands amongst the trees, taking a few steps towards you as if relishing your horror. “Ah. I see my sister has come to visit me.” You shake your head. “I’m not your sister. You’re not him.” The Nogitsune shrugs. “Well, I see I can’t fool you like the others. Unfortunate.” Scott and the others have reached you by now, and your old friend hands you a scanned copy of the spells. You take it wordlessly, although you notice that the Nogitsune’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the transferral of the document.

Seconds later, its voice rings out across the forest again, and you swear you can detect an almost nonexistentant strand of nervousness in the spirit’s voice. It’s as if it’s woven trepidation in with the usual array of emotions as it toys with Stiles’ vocal chords. “What’s that about?” You ignore it, beginning to read the spell. You can only hope that it will work, that it will clear the Nogitsune from Stiles’ mind long enough to speak with him.

You finish reading out the spell and stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. At first, it looks as if the spell hasn’t done anything at all, and then the boy in front of you that was previously not your brother spasms slightly, bending over at the waist. When he straightens, you know at once that Stiles is back. You run to him, unable to keep a slight sob from tearing its way out of your throat. “Stiles!”

He catches you in his arms. Stiles feels the same way he always has- your brother is well and truly back. He stammers at first, hand rising to his temples as if he can’t believe that he’s back in control once more. “Y/N- it’s me. I’m me.” You muffle another sob. “How are you? Are you okay?” A dark look crosses Stiles’ face now, so mute in its agony that you almost think the Nogitsune has come back to possess him once more.

“It’s bad, Y/N. It’s really bad. I keep trying to fight, but it’s like I’m going insane. Even now, I can feel it circling around me like a vulture.” He grabs at your hands now. “I need you to save me, Y/N. I’m becoming it.” You try to speak, but you can’t find the strength. Already, the power necessary to cast the spell is wearing at you; you’ll only be able to keep it up for so long.

Stiles seems able to sense this, and his voice takes on an additional note of urgency. “I need you to make everything okay again, Y/N. I can’t fight this forever.” You shake your head slightly, afraid to let him down yet knowing that you can’t do much more. “I’m not all-powerful, Stiles. I wish I was.” Something like a broken half-smile flits onto his face. “You’ve always been able to take my pain away, Y/N. Not like Scott, but because of you. We are one and the same, are we not? We’re twins. I know you can do this.”

The spell is clawing at you now, practically tearing you into pieces. You manage to fight it back. You can’t let him go yet- you just got Stiles back. “What can we do? How do I get you back?” Stiles looks panicked, as if he can physically feel the Nogitsune forcing its way back into his head once more. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I just need you, Y/N. Save me if I become this demon.”

Then you’re stumbling, lost in an intense thicket of pain. The spell is overwhelming you now, and through tears you release it, letting your thin veneer of control go once more. Scott and the others catch you before you fall, but you’re not paying attention to yourself anymore. No, you’re looking back at your brother, or the body of a boy that was once your brother. The Nogitsune is back, and all traces of Stiles can only be seen in his physical form once more. You feel like sobbing, like breaking down entirely, but you remember what Stiles asked you to do. You have to save him, and that is exactly what you intend on doing.

In the end, you do save him, along with Scott and the others. You barely have time to mourn Allison’s death before you’re plunged into yet another peril, this time to take the Nogitsune down for good. You end up separating from the pack as they go into battle, choosing instead to maintain protective spells around the area that will keep the Oni and other aspects of the Nogitsune from killing your friends. The cost of maintaining all of that magic is wearing on you, but you stand firm. When Scott calls out to you, asking you to give him one last ounce of strength or courage or anything, you do it. Anything to save your brother.

They come out of the school in the end. Walking with them is a dark-haired boy who’s been your friend since birth, someone who was there to take his first steps with you and make you laugh when no one else could. For a second, you draw back, terrified that after all of this the Nogitsune might still be lurking under some crevice of Stiles’ mind, ready to draw him back under again, but when your brother looks at you, you breathe a deep sigh of relief. It’s him. It really and truly is.

Before you can run to him, though, Scott is offering you a small container. “We trapped the Nogitsune inside it, but it could escape at any moment. Can you secure it?” You nod, the spell to contain the evil spirit already running through your head. A second earlier, you would swear that you didn’t have enough energy to levitate a feather, let alone trap a thousand-year-old spirit, but you’re not about to let any chance of harm come to your twin again.

When you finish the spell, you see Stiles straighten up beside you, as if one last chain binding him to the earth has been released, one final shackle broken. You carefully hand the now-bound contained to Scott, and wrap your arms around Stiles. He holds you tight for a second, then steps away, holding you at arm’s length as if he’s almost forgotten what you look like. “Thank you for helping me. Scott told me that you’ve been using your magic to save us.”

Scott nods fervently. “I don’t know that we could have done it without her. Her spells saved our asses several times over.” You can’t help but grin shakily at that. “I needed to get you back. Anything else didn’t really matter.” Stiles hugs you one last time. “Thank you, anyway.” You smile back at him. “Of course, we’re family. You’re my twin, I would do anything for you. Besides, you asked me to save you and so I did. We don’t have to be our demons anymore.”

teen wolf tag list: my savior @underc0vercryptid

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski oneshot #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf oneshot #stiles #stiles imagines #stiles x reader #stiles oneshot #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf stiles imagines #teen wolf stiles x reader #teen wolf stiles oneshot

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timeguardiansarchive · 2 years ago

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Courting Danger

@sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins continued from X

Careless words amble free of Rose’s far too spirited tongue. Immediately in their wake, her mother’s voice clouds her thoughts. She ought to be ashamed and thoroughly admonished for her haphazard ventures. Crimson lashes flitter downwards attempting to partially conceal the sheer terror housed in cerulean orbs. Her errant confession did not come without turbulent trepidation which, directly transfers into porcelain hands. Hands that had nowhere to hide the penting up nervous energy.

The socialite doesn’t even realize that her suffocated apology, along with her next inhale, had snared somewhere in the corridors of her throat. That is, until her lungs began to scorch. His calm voice dispells the plague of restlessness, bringing a foreign stillness to the turbulence inside of Rose. Her eyes snap upwards.

“Rose,” she whispers, praying that he’d see fit to use it. “Please.” Dewitt-Bukater belongs to her overbearing mother and deceased father. It is little more than a shadow; a stone anchor tethered about her throat dragging her towards death. A destination she no longer reaches for with the same desperation, thanks to his eternal kindness. So she opts to bridge familiarity with the Major who had rescued her. “To... To court me?” She parrots, almost numbly before the meaning sinks in. No one had ever dared to seek her permission nor her opinion. Cal had always been assertive, taking command of every choice in her life. Major Hewlett was giving her a choice. The surprising commentary nearly causes a laugh to tumble through her parted lips. Just as she is about to reply, his words once more cause a hush to fall over her.

A gentle hand? Astonishment warps Rose’s features and her eyes begin to flood. It was impressive how very different he was to Hockley who believed only in ironed-willed leadership with a forceful hand. He left her in control of nothing. It was bend to his will or be made to bend to his will. Words twist, sticking untactfully to the roof of her mouth. She has always been told that she needed a man who will order her every step, no matter how suffocating the promise of that was.

With her cerulean orbs still fixated upon him, she ventures a step closer. Freedom is now in her grasp, if only she will reach out and clutch it. Shattered, Rose’s breath dispels over the plump curve of her lip. It is hedged with the anxiety of making her own choices intermingled with a new-found confidence. That’s what the major did for her. He restored her faith in humanity, in herself. He didn’t make her feel like a burdensome imbecile or hapless child. She was intelligent and whole. Smiling, she offers her reply with a bashfully dipped head. “I had, until this very moment, been wishing for something I knew I could never have.” Lifting her head slightly, she continued, “that is you.” This moment felt far too blissfully wonderful to be true. “I don’t remember what it is like to court anyone. So, if you will find it in yourself to be patient with me, I should love to give it a shot.” With her words, Rose realizes just how oppressive Hockley’s reign had been. That she hardly knows who she is apart from the cruel man’s shadow. What if she’d be found unworthy of the Major? What if she only deserved a wealthy tyrant? She shakes her head of crimson coils softly. Her mother’s voice could not be the only one taking up space in her mind. Rose had no need for abundant wealth, nor for polite society; both money and the company of the upper echelon were overrated. She couldn’t be subjected to more brainless parties and cotillions or she’d just about jump into the frozen Sound.

A trembling hand reaches for his arm. “I can offer you nothing.” Rose mournfully reveals. Oh, how her mother would be mortified if such knowledge was gifted a suitor. The Dewitt-Bukater name was little more than a hollow, penniless legacy though they still gave off airs of prosperity. The charade was more to preserve her mother’s standing than bolster her own. “I come to you destitute and with sullied reputation. I can’t even cook or clean very well---” If he was taking a leap of faith being honest with her, she felt she must do the same for him. But she did have one thing working in her favor. Or well, she hoped she had one good thing in her favor. A thing known as loyalty. At least, towards those who treat her with respect. All of society would talk. Yet, Rose knew the gossip would abound anyways. She abandoned Hockley at the alter in York City and ran. Rose ran so far that the grasp society held on her could be shaken.

#sharpteethandwidegrins #muse: rose dewitt bukater #Hewlett #I'm so soft for these two #(not as soft as Annlett but almost)#Courting danger #this is the reply that took me nearly three weeks. I am so soorrryyyy

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lisinfleur · 4 years ago

Text

Shelter

The request:

Author’s Notes | I took the chance for Day Felice’s new album and wrote it while listening to their song Shelter, if you guys want to listen to it while reading as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! (And the song too haha). Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon. Words | 1878 ⁑ Warnings: Mentions to child abuse and abandonment. Wounds, blood, and some angst.

His chariot noise was always something that would help his mind to ease after any kind of arguing. And with his wife, it wasn't different. This morning he’d left after a huge discussion with her.

Why was Y/N so worried about a slave child?

Ivar insisted several times she should just forget the thing and let it go. It wasn't their responsibility! And more: by taking leftovers and water for that child every night, she was only making the little thing's suffering longer!

"It would be dead already if it wasn't for you, feeding it every night!" he remembered trying to insist.

But Y/N's was stone-headed! Every single night, there was his queen, dressing her cloak and leaving his castle - once a former church - to visit the thing that now wasn't moving places, of course.

Someone was feeding it, helping it, all the time! Why would it be stupid and leave it behind?

Ivar was getting used to passing by that child every day as if the girl was some kind of door or local decoration. But not for his wife. Not his Y/N and her heart blessed by Frigg.

She was a natural mother. He knew that! It was one of the reasons he chose her the love Y/N would show for any child she could have around.

But when she came with that stupid idea, it went too far for him.

"I'm going to take her home."

A thing.

A useless thing that wouldn't serve not even as a slave, so thin it was.

They've discussed it for hours. Ivar screamed at Y/N she was insane, perhaps touched by some local spirit. Y/N yelled he was an insensitive motherfucker who could fuck himself out of her room if he thought she would let a child starve to death on her door.

As always, their love was intense but also was their anger. And whenever they would yell at each other, one of them would end up hurt.

This time, it was her.

"I don't fucking care about what you think! It's cattle, Y/N! Cattle die! And that's it! I won't spend my supplies with a thing that can barely give anything back to us!"

Or maybe not.

Perhaps... It was him.

"Fine then. Let us guide her to the woods and leave her to the wolves, Ivar. Isn't it what we do with useless things? Oh, wait... Wasn't it what your father did to you?"

Their words would always hurt each other deeper than they wanted to hurt. Their hearts would regret the words said at the moment they’d left their mouths.

But this time, her words forced his eyes to look out of his chariot. And Ivar stopped it by the street near where that thing was sitting, observing. Trying to understand why his wife was trying so hard to save that starving child.

Why was she comparing them as if there was anything in common between him and a Saxon abandoned child?

It was early in the morning. He watched as the little girl unwrapped the leftovers his wife had given to her the last night. At first, Ivar thought the little hungry thing would, of course, eat everything without care. But he watched with surprise as she fractioned the little portion, eating a quarter of it and saving the rest for later.

It was an intelligent move... She wasn’t a wild animal, after all.

That would be a cold day. Ivar observed as the little one looked up to the sky. The sun was born behind some heavy clouds - probably some rain would be coming at night.

He watched as the little thing looked around, smartly stealing a barrel from the trash of a nearby store, checking on its wooden pieces to place it properly as a shelter. She was young and thin enough to fit into it. It would serve for the night and maybe keep her warm.

The owner of the store, so as some people who were passing by, pushed her here or there, complaining about her attempts to move between them. And Ivar watched as the little girl looked up from the ground to the bigger people around her, fearlessly.

She wasn't such a defenseless little thing as he thought she was.

In fact, she was pretty smarter than he thought a Saxon child could be, hiding her barrel between the mead barrels of the same store, covering its problems with some mud, so the owner wouldn't see it wasn't one of his barrels.

She wouldn't have her shelter for the night thrown away or broken before she could use it.

Ivar lost track of the time he spent there, watching the girl moving here and there, gathering stones and mud to imitate the shop owner's way of stocking his barrels and preserving hers.

But the important matters of the town had to be more important than his arguing with his wife, and with this, Ivar moved away from that place.

His mind wondered if that was the reason why his wife was so sure he and that child had something in common.

The little girl was a fighter like he was someday, indeed. She was fighting her way to keep herself alive and, perhaps, his precious Y/N was right, and death wasn't exactly the fate that child had in this world.

Ivar tried to get himself occupied during the day. But the truth was that his mind never stopped lingering over Y/N's words, passing over and over the things he had seen that morning.

When the night was threatening to come, the sky broke in water as he thought it would. But curiosity dragged him away from the path to his home.

Ivar wanted to see if the little girl's plan had gone right and what was his surprise when he found the little one sitting away from the store under the heavy rain, with nothing but a rag to cover herself and wounds everywhere.

The barrel she'd tried so hard to protect was shattered near the store's trash, and a fence was placed by the owner around his barrels with some spikes near the place she was sitting before. It was preventing her from having coverage under his roof, even from the outside.

That angered Ivar a little. He'd seen her hard work! And, in the end, her plan had failed. She was clearly beaten and wet from her head to her toes anyway.

However, his eyes caught something he wasn't expecting.

After eating the last piece of what his wife had given to her, the little girl extended the leather over a hole he watched her carve with her bare hands on the ground. Treated, the leather started to catch water and fill itself, becoming a bag into the hole. The little girl caught the bag before it could lose its content, tied the leather with a strand of her ragged trousers, and created a canteen from where she started drinking the rainwater, relieving her thirst.

She was beaten down, defeated. Yet, she didn't give up. She didn't lay her pride down. And found herself a way to turn that rain into a chance for her to survive one more day.

There was determination in her eyes.

That little thing wasn't being sustained by his wife's crumbs. No. She was fighting to the limit of her strength to survive.

Like he'd done someday...

Ivar's eyes filled with surprise when he could see himself in that little girl's wounds, dragging himself through the mud when everyone thought he would never move.

Standing, when everyone was expecting his legs to break and let him fall.

She was a fighter. And, maybe, Y/N was right. Perhaps it wasn't about a Saxon child or a useless slave. Perhaps the gods were showing him they've chosen that little thing, to give her a chance, to reward her for the fight she was putting on for her life.

"Get in," Ivar's voice sounded.

The little thin thing lifted her eyes to see the mighty Viking looking at her from the chariot everyone from her people was taught to fear. Her wounded little body could barely reach the top of its wheels when she got up to look at Ivar.

Her eyes into his, instigating even more the curiosity he was starting to have about that little Saxon thing.

How fierce would she be if raised under his roof?

But the little thing didn't get up on his chariot at once. Instead, she lowered herself, gathering more stones with her muddy and wounded hands.

"I said get in! Don't you see you'll end up dying under this rain?" Ivar complained, annoyed he was standing under such heavy and cold waters for a thing that dared to turn her back on him, carving the floor and placing the stones in a way the rain wouldn't destroy her little monument. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I must do it, sir," she mumbled.

Ivar could recognize a small stone monument in that little girl's construction. His people were used to rising those little towers to pray for the gods or place small sacrifices and offers.

Was Y/N teaching her about the gods?

"Why?" he asked as she tried to climb up on his chariot, struggling a little with the height and her wounded knees.

"It is for the lady who comes here every day," she mumbled. "I promised if I ever was to leave, I would leave one of these for her, so she would know I'm not dead."

For his wife.

She was leaving a stone monument for Y/N, so she wouldn't be worried...

"I don't know where you're taking me, king Ivar," she said, showing she knew who he was. "But I don't want her to be sad."

Ivar's heart ached. There was indeed something in common between him and that child. But not only the fact that both of them were survivors.

She didn't want his wife to be hurt.

And so didn't he.

"Cover yourself," he said, throwing his warm cloak around her.

It covered her like a blanket in which she rolled herself, nestling with a grateful smile.

"She was right," the little girl mumbled as Ivar started to ride his horses.

"What?" he asked, and she repeated, smiling at him.

"The lady was right." She said. "The gods were watching me. Maybe I passed their test."

Y/N was definitely teaching that girl. And Ivar sighed, looking at the road.

Perhaps it was a test for himself as well. Or Skuld just had decided to use him as a feather to write that little girl's fate differently.

"Skuld," he said, catching her eyes. "We shall name you Skuld. To honor the god that wrote your fate like this."

"Skuld," she tried.

Pronouncing it perfectly.

"Sounds strong... I like it!"

What a petulant little thing, Ivar thought. As if she had any choice on how things would be from now on. A giggle filled Ivar's mouth.

Y/N was right and he would remember apologising after coming home that night.

The little girl wasn’t a useless thing. And he had to admit.

She was like him, after all.

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gallyl · 4 years ago

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Alluka’s artificial world [HxH meta 3]

Personal notes about Killua & Alluka reunion in the Election arc.

WARNING: LONG POST

The Zoldyck family’s attitude to their children has always been clear and reaches its climax in Volume 31. The cover portrays Killua and Alluka as plushy toys. Dehumanization and objectification are what Killua is going to fight against. By protecting his sister, Killua protects their human dignity and right to independence. To show the difficulty of this fight, Togashi rewrites the “creepy girl” trope for Alluka like he rewrote “a killer kid” trope for Killua.

Alluka’s pre-introduction on the photo is vague. She looks creepy… but not quite. Later it becomes evident that during that moment she was already excluded from the family. She’s not allowed to stand with Killua. Killua doesn’t object, at this point he must have been “tamed” - he is unnaturally docile in his mother’s arms and has a blank stare. Later Alluka’s introduction is done by Illumi, who shares the Zoldyck’s mentality. As an unreliable narrator, Illumi is blind to Alluka’s humanity and the pain she and Killua experienced due to their family’s actions.

In the Election arc Killua returns home as a changed person. This is manifested by a harsh dialogue with his father, where Killua is one step away from threatening him. He is the opposite of the shy, humble son he used to be in this same room. The paradox is that he refused to be the heir but now he behaves like one. He takes full control of the family, tricks them and forces them to do what he wants. Killua tames the dog - a symbol of the Zoldyck’s heartless, bloodthirsty spirit.

However, Killua goes completely still, when he sees another rescue mission ahead. A curious detail: isn’t it weird that Alluka was kept alive? She is “too dangerous”, not considered a family ( = can be killed), and she risks the Zoldycks’s safety and reputation. Why keep her and to bother so much with security locks and doors? My only guess is that Killua asked not to kill her. Maybe he defended her right to life with ultimate despair; it became clear that if the family got rid of Alluka, their heir would undoubtedly join her in death (shinjuu includes family too).

This would explain, why Killua tolerated her imprisonment for so long in the back of his head. He had accepted the cruel compromise as long as she was alive, not forced to kill, and left in peace. It would also explain why Illumi ended up training Killua in self-preservation and even used a needle to stay on the safe side. And why Silva personally sent his son into exile to the Heaven’s arena for 2 years. Fancy locks and doors keep Alluka away from unwanted strangers, but first of all, from, well, Killua.

I’ll use both manga and anime images further, because they complement each other.

Alluka’s prison cell was converted into a girl’s room, but in a special way. The walls are painted in light blue with clouds and stars (“sky”), sunflowers and palm trees (“sun”, “summer”, “warmth”). The lights are bright. It’s an attempt to recreate outdoors, an open, warm and friendly space. Abundance of toys is a “creepy girl” feature, but not quite. It’s also an imitation of life - plushy animals and dolls keep lonely Alluka company. To fill the void, she asked for toys, just like she asked for a dress, a princess bed with curtains and a girl’s dressing table (without her/Killua’s asking she would have a boy’s room).

But all her asks were met out of fear, not out of love. In the manga (NOT anime), the ceiling and cheerful wall drawings are spoiled with moist. Small toys are scattered under Killua’s feet. These bunnies and glass balls had probably been lying around, untouched, for a long time. It is hard for a child to clean up alone all the time and an unclean room is a sign of depression. Also, she’s quite a grown-up to have the same interest in toys or treat them as substitutes for real people. Nobody dares to help Alluka clean the room, and nobody renovates the room to make it proper again. This place is a worn-out, outdated, fake decoration. The hypocrisy of family care is what truly makes this place horrible.

It is an artistic choice in both manga and anime, that Alluka is sitting still. She was dehumanized by her family and became invisible among other discarded and abandoned toys.

She looks like she’s drowsy, but she’s really not, it’s a subtle portrayal of tiredness and sadness. The animators make her sit head down with eyes closed. When she looks up, her bright blue eyes are darkened. Because Alluka did her best to stay strong all these years, she holds back her emotions. She is strong and persistent.

Unlike Killua, she never had the comfortable amnesia. The audience is afraid that she might kill her brother, but in reality the happy shock she is feeling is unimaginable. She had waited for Killua in prison, for years, with undying hope, with Nanika as her only real companion.

A sinister black background suddenly turns into a cheerful white one, and she looks as innocent as she can possibly be. Surprise! From now on Togashi is deconstructing Alluka’s negative image even more effectively by using Killua as her defender. Killua is alone against the world, including us, the audience. We know nothing good about her and stand more or less on the same side as the Zoldyck family, biting our nails.

“Onii-chan, die” - good one, Togashi! What an amazing way to troll the audience and release a bit of tension from the start!

Alluka doesn’t ask for things like new toys or furniture. She doesn’t even ask for a liver or a spine like we expected. She needs only time with her brother. To show feelings of love, Togashi uses the imagery of flowers (“natural beauty”, “love”, “sincerity”, “innocence”), which opposes the materialistic mentality of the Zoldycks. White frames are sandwiched between darker frames: two children within the grim family doman.

Alluka doesn’t ask to free her. Either she accepted her fate, or maybe she hopes he’ll free her anyway. From his side, Killua has no doubt. No more compromises. Now he knows what life and love is, and this existence is neither. He doesn’t stop the “last hug” and stands up, still holding Alluka in his embrace. Now he must save TWO dearest people, but instead of feeling stressed, he is serene like never before. He found his missing piece. The big smiling cat to the right resembles him at this moment (although this might be a sweet coincidence).

He’s taking her out from this untidy, moisty, lonely place. On the wall there is a painting of the Kukuroo mountain: it turns out, that the walls depict idealistic surroundings of the Zoldyck mansion.

Last time, in the best traditions of the Greek lore, Killua was asked by his father to keep an “impossible” condition to never betray his friends. This time he’s the one who makes conditions that ensure a return to “the world of the living”. When they escape, his sweet “Eurydice” gives him a kiss.

Killua didn’t forget Alluka. If that was the case, he would experience a huge surprise upon remembering his sister. Killua’s forgetfullness is similar to how Meleoron described his ability “God’s Accomplice”. Killua didn’t forget but rather overlooked Alluka’s existence. But he never stopped loving her.

Those who consider her confinement humane because she had basic needs served like food and bed: no, she didn’t. She didn’t have the right to go out, communicate with the family, travel, buy things, work, create, fall in love, get married, have children, own home, pets and a garden. Human needs are useless without human rights. She was not living but kept alive. It’s not the same at all.

Gon invaded the Zoldyck mansion to rescue Killua. Killua followed his light, grew strong and rescued his sister in the same manner. His journey was a circle, and he rediscovered himself as a changed person, furious at his younger self: “How could I have left my sister here to get treated this way?!” Following Gon’s example once more, Killua took his sister on a journey to show her the world, heal together and make up for the lost time. Just like Gon was the light for Killua, Killua learned to be the light for Alluka (and others, too). Killua thanked Gon for this in the end: “She was able to come out of this because of you. Now I am ready to protect her for the rest of my life. We are the ones who should be thankful”.

PART 2: Alluka’s character portrait (so far)

Alluka is Killua’s first friend. Together with Nanika they gave Killua unconditional love, family love, friendship and kindness. They showed that one can not only kill, but do the reverse - heal - and it’s a wonderful thing to do! They made Killua human and secretly changed his future. He left home to find freedom and prove his worth, but above all he searched for happiness that he lost.

Alluka is wise. She understands her heavy influence within the Zoldycks. But, unlike Killua, she holds no grudge against her family, even considering herself a burden: “Do you think I shouldn’t be here? Would the family be better off without me? Would you all get along better?” She knows only Killua loves her in the whole world. She smiles broadly when he tells her so, because it’s no news, she’s just happy.

Alluka and Killua are similar in their natural kindness and utmost devotion. Alluka always believed in her brother’s return and calmly entrusted her life to him during the whole dangerous adventure. She’s brave and persistent - she goes all out to defend her brother and her sister. Even if it means to defend the sister from the brother. Alluka can knock sense into him. She’s Killua’s saving grace.

Alluka is unselfish. She sees through Gon. In addition to both being sweet and brave cinnamon rolls, they have one more thing in common: Killua. She likes Gon for liking her brother, and she understands Gon’s sadness and insecurity. There is no jealousy from her side - she promises “to return Killua back”. Alluka supports Killua’s friendship with Gon because she sees that it’s genuine.

Alluka’s story is not over. She and Nanika coexist in harmony. But Togashi’s skepticism about codependence suggests that at some point “siamese twins” might have to be separated. Nanika will leave Alluka’s body (under happy or tragic circumstances), or they will find a way to become two detached physical persons who can finally touch, play and live together.

INTERLUDE: Alluka behind the scenes

Five Zoldyck kids were named by using a shiritori game (IlluMilluKilluAlluKalluto). That’s why a mysterious missing child named “Alluka” was identified by Japanese fans as early as in 1999, before her first manga appearance in 2005 (photo). Some people doubt if Alluka was initially designed the way she is today. That said, a slightly similar story about a brother saving a sister from prison was in Togashi’s earlier work Yu Yu Hakusho (Hiei and Yukina).

The old HxH anime took many liberties with the original, but there is one scene that stands out for me like an eyesore. Because Togashi was involved in the production (to an unknown extent), I’d like to guess that Alluka could be foreshadowed as early as in 2001 (Episode 59). This doll with familiar thick locks appears in Killua’s PTSD flashback:

In this scene, Killua and Gon are detained by Nobunaga (the Yorkshin arc). Frustrated by his inability to protect Gon, he experiences a PTSD memory with Illumi’s notorious mantra about his worthlessness. Interestingly, the mantra is now spoken in Killua’s voice, because he mistakes Illumi’s hypnosis for his own opinion of himself. This memory consists of 6 frames (the 7th frame with Illumi’s face is detached from the flashback and may not be a part of it, so i omitted it).

I’ll try to recreate the story. The ominous figure on Frame 1 is Illumi, who watches Killua from afar, by the graveyard. Mountains imply that they are still close to the Zoldyck estate. Killua is clinging to a pile under the ruins that cannot hide him. One shoe is missing (“running away”, “prey”, “vulnerability”). Then we see a black raven eating a worm in front of the fishing net (“predator”, “ill omen”). The graveyard, empty terrain, ruins, a pole forming a cross, a ragged rope, a raven - all symbolize death. Next… this doll, destroyed (“victim”, “violence”). This doll is important to Killua, because, as the hypnotic mantra continues, her image is replaced by Gon, blackened by a shadow and disappearing out of sight (“same fate as the doll”, “death”). After this Killua loses one’s nerve and braces himself for the attack. He no longer wants to run away and be weak. He doesn’t want to lose Gon. It’s an attempt to break the cycle.

So, the flashback is about experiencing a loss: Killua ran away to protect a doll, but Illumi caught him and destroyed it. The value of Gon is not compared with the value of the toy, no! On the contrary, the doll is treated as a precious, vulnerable human. This is what makes this memory traumatic. But one question remains: why not a toy soldier, or a plushy animal, or a live stray puppy / kitten? This doll with similar thick black locks, big button eyes a kind smile sort of resembles Alluka. If it’s true, Killua kept the doll as a memento of Alluka. This explains why Illumi had to chase after the kid for miles and do what he did.

This flashback is one of the earliest moments when toys and people intertwine in Togashi’s work. The flashback is most likely an original anime idea, but the imagery of death and objectification truly reflect the Zoldyck family dynamics. This flashback matches Killua’s struggle for human dignity, and Togashi’s use of toy symbolism for Alluka. It’s also consistent with Illumi’s repeated predatory behaviour, and his role as a puppeteer. Illumi is himself designed from a voodoo doll.

All in all, history doesn’t really matter. But I like to think that Alluka always existed behind the scenes the way we know her today - a beautiful, important, wise and strong sister, and a future proof of Killua’s character growth.

PART 3: Alluka’s self-identity

Alluka’s outfit is based on Miko’s dress. Miko is a Japanese shrine maiden. But in the past she also served as a shaman maiden. Miko performed spirit possession and served as a medium to communicate the divine will or message of that kami or spirit. Alluka wears this dress because she identifies herself AS the girl and AS a shaman, who communicates Nanika’s will. Kanji is also interesting. Wikipedia article says:

The Japanese words miko and fujo (“female shaman” and “shrine maiden” respectively) are usually written 巫女 as a compound of the kanji 巫 (“shaman”), and 女 (“woman”). Miko was archaically written 神子 (literally “kami” or “god” + “child”) and 巫子 (“shaman child”).

***

Thank you for reading and endless attention span, and feel free to share your own thoughts and ideas! I’d like to thank @telehxhtrash for inspiring me to write this months ago, and to @buzzykrueger for priceless observations. In case you’d like more:

A nuclear proof article on Alluka’s transgender identity

Love as a whole - Alluka, Nanika and unconditional love

The cost of Nanika’s nen - She probably pays for Killua’s wishes herself

How Killua lost Alluka - about Killua’s “memory loss”

Reconciliation meta - the middle section is about Nanika’s healing power and reconciliation with Killua

#Alluka Zoldyck #Alluka meta #Killua Zoldyck #Hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter 2011 #my meta #food for thought #gally meta

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joyfulsongbird · 3 years ago

Text

broken not shattered

in the year following Vecna's defeat, Percy starts to notice that Cassandra is displaying the same attributes that he had in himself in his darkest time. Percy helps pull her through her anger and darkness, knowing what it is like, and makes sure she doesn't spiral the same way he did.

the cassandra-centric self indulgent fic i was born to write <3

ao3 link!! (content warnings listed in the notes)

***

You learn things, when you get to a place where your mind is no longer your own, let alone your body. You learn how to survive, when there is nothing you can do but save yourself.

You learn more than how to hold a blade, more important skills than how to dress yourself in armor, or tie your hair back by yourself because mother was still doing it for you when she died. Vesper always said it was ridiculous how much her little sister depended on their mother. “I was braiding my own hair before I even got to the double digits!” she’d say indignantly, but Cassandra never listened. She refused to learn. Being the youngest didn’t mean as much as many think. She was not doted upon as much as the twins were, she was the smallest, the least interesting, and being left in the dust made her starve for attention. No one could blame her, she was a child. A child who would not regret the minutes in the early morning when Lady de Rolo would braid her youngest daughter's hair into a neat plait. She did not regret the fuss she had made, not when it gave her just a few more minutes with her mother. So she taught herself how to braid her hair.

When she got older, maybe 15 or so, she was braiding her hair every morning. She’d spent two years with the Briarwoods, growing more and more numb every day. She had doomed one rebellion already, and she did not know that she would doom another yet. There was very little she could do that would make any sort of lasting impression, besides string herself up on the Sun Tree in the same place they had hung her family's corpses. Despite herself, she could not bring herself to. There was still a self preservative spirit inside her that she could not quell. The only rebellions she got at that time were silent, not even rebellions. Lady Delilah did not know that the way she wore her hair was in honor of her mother. Honoring her deceased family was strictly forbidden and Cassandra was quite sure the De Rolo name had not been uttered in the Briarwoods presence, maybe at all, in well over a year. She still did it. She wore the stockings gifted to her by her father even though they had been meant for 12 year old feet and had been darned and patched many times over. She wore her mothers braid; and when her fingers wound her hair tightly into the simple braid, she could feel the ghost of her mothers hands in their place.

She honored the De Rolos. Her mind was broken, her body did not belong to her anymore. But she honored them by existing. In the mirror she looked into the eyes of the dead. That’s the thing about big families, they all look at least a tad bit similar. You could look up at the portrait that used to sit in the grand hall. The dark hair, the strong jaw, the striking eyes, even the freckles. On some they showed more than others, but they were there. She remembered how in the summer, when they vacationed South where the sun was so much brighter and stronger, they’d come back sunburned and freckled. She’d laugh at Percy, who hated how his skin got so dotted and peeling from lying in the sun. Cassandra rarely wandered outside the castle walls, her freckles were non-existent. Still, she was comforted by the fact that if she did wander the gardens more often, her nose would soon look just like her grandmothers. She, too, was long gone and Cass barely remembered her, but in the few memories she had, her freckles stood out.

Cassandra learned to brave the cold. Even when it meant giving up her honorances. Lord and Lady Briarwood were not dumb, they were quite the opposite. There was a reason they had made it this far, a reason they had managed to convince so many that the murder of her family was just an awful tragedy. Her socks were burned. Her mind picked apart until she confessed to every thought she had of her family, every death wish to those who hurt them, every inkling of rebellion. She learned to brave the cold even when it meant forsaking the ones she loved. They were not here to see her betrayal, the guilt persisted anyways. Her mind did not belong to her. She was never alone. She forgot what her family looked like. How was it possible, some might ask, that she forgot what they looked like when she saw them every time she looked in the mirror? Maybe it was that she did not recognize herself, either.

She was 13 when the Briarwoods came. She was 14 when she was tortured until she told Anna Ripley everything about the first rebellion. 15 when her mind started to wane. 16 when she wasn’t sure how to breathe anymore. How do you breathe when there is no air to consume inside of the castle? On the outside, she was perfect. Perfect, lovely brown curls. Bright, alive, attentive eyes that shone like sapphires. She grew into a beautiful young lady. That’s what they all said. The little girl who had run through the halls and caused a riot grew into a lady who would fetch a fine husband someday.

The years passed slowly, the second rebellion came and passed. She didn’t even try to resist the questions when they came. They asked “where are they planning to meet?” She told them everything. “What is their plan?” She told them everything. She bore the scars from the last one, the white in her hair was proof enough, how could she even attempt to put herself through that ordeal again? She could not bring herself to pray, she didn’t even think to ask for any kind of holy assistance until late one night and pushed the idea away quickly. If a god wanted to help her, they would’ve already. It was too late for her, she had supposed long ago, no god could destroy her when there was nothing she felt was worth destroying.

She learned there was nothing she could do, but go along with the plans placed in front of her. She was their puppet. She was their little doll they played dress up with, they stole not just blood from but her soul itself. It was not a quick realization, that she was without hope or future. It came slowly, when she was maybe 17 it entered her mind, fully formed.

She was a Briarwood now.

The De Rolos were no more.

Years and years later, she will lie awake in the late hours of the night, wondering how much of that realization was mind control and how much of it was sheer, unadulterated mental exhaustion on her part. She was so tired. Tired of getting flashes of her brother's bloodied body every time she glanced at the doorway leading down to the dungeon. Tired of seeing her parents mangled corpses’ every time she met Dr. Ripley’s eye. Tired of sharp slaps when she let the wrong thing slip off her tongue. Tired, tired, tired. Better to leave it all behind. Better to let it fade away. She was a Briarwood. That was the reality.

She learned much, in those five years in that dark, bloody castle. How could she not? Every day was a lesson, every day was a test. Failing meant dying. She would not fail.

Maybe if Percy had come any later than not too long after that realization, she would have been too far gone to be saved. He came months later, but what were months when she had spent years in the dark? He had failed to pull her from the snow once, this time he dragged her from the cold and she was almost warm again.

It was strange to have been stuck in the dark recesses of the castle, something more than lonely, something more than lost, and then to suddenly be shoved into the light. Be faced with a brightness that hurt her eyes and left her feeling blinded and stumbling for something to grab hold of. But she was strong, and she was resilient, and she was her mothers daughter. She would not succumb to this darkness inside of her, this persistent voice that sounded like some odd mix of her own and the whispered, sultry tone of Delilah Briarwood. It crooned, it cried, it begged for a bone to be thrown its way. If she paid it no mind, it would slowly wither and die. She held her head high, lifted her chin even when she faced her captors, refused to cry when the nightmares came after years of silent nights. There was nothing she could do about the pain that continued to rack through her body now that she was coming to.

She was essentially a child leader. She saw the looks from other council members, the sideways glances of even her own citizens. She was barely grown. It showed in her face. She’d always had full cheeks, but as a child that was normal. Now, when she’d gotten older and lost her baby fat, she’d held the youth of her face. She looked like a child, felt like a child especially when she was surrounded by so many politicians with years of experience, but she refused to let her intimidation show. She was firm, strong in a way that brought others comfort. Whitestone was in her hands and her knees were shaking under its weight. But she had yet to crumple, even through all of her pain, and this weight would not break her. She gained respect every day that passed by and when Percy returned for good, she had grown from a step below a child queen to a ruler who knew how to hold her shoulders just so, how to shake a hand the correct way, how to smile while appearing confident but not overbearing. She learned many things, after the Briarwoods.

You learn things, when you are trapped and have been trapped for a long, long time. You learn or you break. Cassandra was lost, and lonely, and yes, quite a bit broken, but Pelor help her, she refused to shatter.

He surprised her with a hug, when he arrived. She had been resting in her room after the ordeal with Vecna and being… well, you know, killed . She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little shook but surprisingly, she was very calm. Her body was tired but her mind was alert. The only reason she was in bed at all was because her maid, Margie, had taken one look at Cassandra upon her return and said she looked like absolute hell and needed to be taken care of at once. Cass relented and let herself be bathed and fed and dressed in her night clothes despite the early hour. She sat upright in her bed, flipping absently through some book about the history of taxation in Tal’dorei which had been recommended to her by a council member. It was incredibly boring and her eyes only took in every other word or so. It was a welcome intrusion, then, when there was a knock on the door and she could gratefully dogear the page.

“Come in!” she called, grabbing her blankets in preparation to cover herself if need be. But when her brother cracked the door open, she let the blanket fall and stood immediately. She hovered there for a moment, halfway between sitting and standing, as she stared at her brother. He looked more shaken than her, dirt caked and bone tired. He looked wrecked and like he had just arrived back home moments ago.

Nobody spoke for a moment. Then he made several long strides (he was quite tall, with long gangly legs that she remembered Julius had teased him about) to meet her at the edge of her bed. He did not speak, barely met her eye before tugging her into a messy but not unwelcome hug. A little shocked, for Percival was not one to veer on the side of physical affection, it took her a moment to reciprocate. But when she finally came to her senses, she wrapped her arms around his neck, placed a comforting hand on the back of his neck and felt him shaking just a little under her palm.

It did not last long, even when he was in a particularly touchy feely mood, it didn’t seem like it stayed around for very long. He pulled back, looking at her with eyes that mirrored hers to the point where it was uncanny. How she’d forgotten how similar the De Rolo children were. Beautiful children, all lined up prim and proper. Each ball they went to, they were praised. The seven of them were the bright stars of Whitestone, though some were brighter than others. Now, just two remaining, she found herself looking into his eyes and seeing herself reflected back. Pained. Afraid. Lonely, but learning to love again.

“I…” he licked his lips. “I’m glad you’re alright, sister.”

She nodded. “And I you.”

He let go of her shoulders which he had been holding tightly. “I have to go to Vex. I’ll be back to discuss. Have a well needed talk. Maybe over tea. I swear.”

She smiled and voiced her assent. Of course, they would. Of course, they needed to catch up. Wonderful idea, Percival. Looking forward to it, Percival.

The next day came. She saw him over breakfast and she put on her practiced smile for her overwhelmed brother and a grieving Vex’ahlia. She was good at this; putting on a facade, knowing what people wanted to see and adjusting based on their reactions. It was easy. She had done it for years, shoved down her fears so that she wouldn’t be questioned, disguised her thoughts and covered her emotions in layers of small talk and politeness.

They did not have that discussion over tea that day. Nor the next. Nor the next week.

They talked, of course they talked. But it was always in surface level ways. She knew that he wanted to see deeper, to look at her and be able to understand her. But she didn’t even understand herself. Days, then weeks passed and she was spending more and more time absorbed by her work. This was what she had to do. Spent hours in her office, locked away until she barely saw the sun anymore. Give her a project, she got it done in a day. Give her something to do, she finished it in record time. For the first time, she was good at something that didn’t hurt anybody.

The bliss of finally being of use lasted maybe two months into the year after the defeat of Vecna. Percy and Vex were busy as usual, but now more than ever because of the baby. Their child wasn’t due for many months but the couple was determined to get everything done as soon as possible, to prepare and plan every instance. The nursery was ready and waiting for the child not long after Vex began to show. Cass was one of the first to know, as the only other family member who lived with them. She was happy for them, she really was, but there was a twinge in her heart when they came to her with grins on their faces and brightness in their eyes. This child would continue the line of the De Rolos, this child would honor them. For years, Cassandra had lived out of the belief that she was the last of her kind. That she was the last of her family and therefore needed to survive. She was not the last. The line would continue without her.

The bliss of being constantly busy ended over breakfast. Vex was rambling about the gift that Pike had sent over, some baby rattle that Cassandra had yet to see, and Percival was nodding along, listening intently. Her brother’s wife was still obviously in mourning, there were bags under her eyes and more often than not, Cassandra saw her looking in the mirror and cringing away. She empathized; there is nothing more difficult than being unable to look at yourself without remembering all that you have lost. But she had Percival, and she had all of her family, that was enough to keep her going. She still smiled and laughed daily, that consoled them all.

The door to the dining hall opened with a creak, the three of them looked up from their food. Vex’s words were cut off immediately as a guard entered the room and left the door ajar before opening his mouth to speak.

“We've captured somebody on the outskirts of the forest, a man who we suspect assisted the Briarwoods in the coup against the De Rolos.” Cassandra's eyes immediately found Percival’s, they were wide and blue and determined. She and him stood at the same time, pushing their chairs back and starting towards the guard. Cassandra glanced over her shoulder and saw Vex, standing as well and grabbing Percy’s hand. He gave her a glance, pressed a kiss to their entwined fingers as they walked to meet Cassandra at the door. He did not reach for Cassandra, he had that expression on his face, one that she only saw every once in a while when a memory resurfaced. She couldn’t do anything to make it go away, the memory would still exist. They would always exist.

They followed the guard down the hall, silence filling their chests. It was pressing, suffocating but Cass was good at miming the act of breathing. She kept her eyes forward, ignoring the memories that appeared in her peripheral vision. The 13 year old with dark hair curling behind an old set of armor and sobbing into her skirts. The maid tried to clean up the blood that was smeared on the floor with a mop. It had stained the carpet. She’s pretty sure the Briarwoods burned it. This castle was filled with ghosts and in her day to day, she was usually able to ignore them or avoid them entirely. But this short walk to the dungeons was the worst it had been in years. Hearing the name “Briarwood” out loud had made it so the halls had awakened again, the memories that had faded somewhat into the background reappearing with a fervor.

They walked through the castle, making their way to the stairs that lead to the dungeons. As they descended the stairs, she heard Percy let out a tiny, almost imperceptible shaky breath. Yes, this was where he had spent most of his time between the attack and his escape. She tried not to remember in detail what she had found when she’d come to break them free. She wanted to turn around and comfort him but Percy was often not one to openly accept comfort, maybe just from Vex. Maybe he’d accept some from her but not when they were in front of a guard. It would feel too intimate to him, and to Cassandra as well if she was being honest.

The guard led them to the small series of cells until they were standing in front of a small, shadowed cell. Whoever was inside was shrouded in darkness and none of them (except perhaps Vex'ahlia, with her elven blood) could make out the prisoner. The guard lit a torch and suddenly they were all flooded in golden light. Cassandra blinked at it, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at the figure that was curled against the stone wall. He was stripped to his basic layers, ragged looking tunic and pants, bare socks riddled with holes. His hair was long, blonde, matted and unkempt. He looked like one of the poor civilians she used to see all over the place years ago, before Whitestone rose again. She almost let pity bloom in her chest before she remembered why he was in this cell. No pity would be born on this day.

Moments passed, and she was close to saying something to get his attention, before he lifted his head. His face appeared out of the shadows and was flooded with light.

And suddenly, she was a child again.

She was 8 years old and laughing because one of the guards was playing with her, holding her doll high above her head and she was jumping to try and get it back. He was tall and smiled at her.

You see, the De Rolos were a powerful family, yes, but they were a family nonetheless. They valued every member of their staff, they were as close as family with many of them. And most of them loved the family right back. Cassandra had a few vague memories of being held on a maid’s hip and walked around the castle, her thumb in her mouth. Of playing tag with the cook’s children. And of this. Of a relatively young guard teasing her.

There was more. As there always was.

She was 11 and the guard was still around. He worked for them for as long as she could remember. He helped her with her studies when she became frustrated. He pointed out her mistakes and worked through them with her. He was kind to the spaz of a girl that she was.

He gave her candy. Snuck them from the kitchens and slipped them to her when no one was looking.

She was 13. She was crying. Screaming. Begging for her father. And he was… looking at her. The man who had been kind to her since she was small. He was looking at her and she realized, probably for the first time, that there was nobody left to save her. His eyes were brown, and they were empty, and he stared at her for many moments. He opened his mouth, and for a second, for one beautiful second, Cassandra thought he was going to call for the people holding her down to let her go. Her friend. Almost a member of their family; he had been loyal to them for years . But when he spoke, it was nothing. He turned to Lord Briarwood and asked what his next order was. She could hear them clearly as anything.

“Dr. Ripley needs assistance. Go to the dungeons and see what she needs.” And he left without sparing her another glance.

He was there. For the first three of those five years, he was there. There were a few times, in the beginning, when she had tried to get him to help her. She learned quickly there was, and to her it seemed like there had never been, no affection for her or her family. He left, after a few years, and she can’t quite remember how, maybe from the snooping into Ripley’s journals she often did, or just from an overheard conversation, that he was the one who slaughtered Whitney. That he was the one who assisted Ripley in the torture of her siblings. She had no affection for him after that. The memories from her childhood tasted like bile, and to her chagrin, the faint flavor of lemon candies.

“Luther.”

She took a few steps forward, her hand coming to rest on one of the bars of the cage. She could look through them easier this way, see his face and every angle in it. Every line and wrinkle, every twist in his expression.

He tilted his head to the side, recognition flooding his eyes after a few moments of tense silence. His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Cassandra.”

She stood there, clenching her hands around the bars to keep them from visibly shaking. She had never experienced anything like the pounding in her mind, the undeniable flood of feeling that coursed through her entire body. She did not like it; didn’t like the way she no longer had control over her limbs. She knew that her voice would shake if she tried to speak at this moment, so she kept her lips pressed together and body stiff.

Percy stepped forward next to her. The last of the De Rolos, side by side.

Luther did smile now. “Ah- Percival. I barely recognize you. Though I heard a few stories about you… thought they were false, of course. Why would that boy I knew be traveling with- what was it- Vox Machina ?”

His tone felt too casual, as if they were three acquaintances just getting caught up on each other's lives after years of separation. Percy was frowning, his eyebrows furrowed. “I remember you. I remember what you did.”

Luther’s smile falters. “Yes. The Briarwoods were quite the villains, weren’t they?”

Percy shifted his weight from foot to foot. “‘Villains’? That’s quite a perspective change, sir.”

He shook his head. “They had control of me. They had control of us all. I wish I could’ve done more, but alas, I-”

“Liar .” Cassandra found her voice without meaning to. The word came out strangled and snarling, like a wild animal fighting against its captor.

His eyes turned to hers again, he blinked slowly, so docile, so calm. It only made her rage even more. “I remember you so well. I desperately wish I could’ve saved you.”

“You’re a liar.” she breathed, her voice coming out a whisper but it felt like a shout. She took a step back from the bars and turned to the guard. “Let him out, keep him in chains but lead him out with us. I want to see him up close.”

“Cass-” Percy’s voice came from behind her, she held up a hand to stop him. It was enough to silence him, and he did not speak or protest as the guards fiddled with his keys and opened the door to the cell. Luther was unchained from the wall, but the cuffs keeping his wrists behind him stayed on. Cassandra pointed to the ground in front of her silently, and he was led there, standing before her.

“On your knees.” she ordered, using the same tone she’d use in a meeting with politicians. Luther looked at all the while, he stumbled a little as he dropped to his knees in front of her. She stared at him. He was older now, many years had passed since she had last seen him, but so many that she couldn’t take his face now and warp it into the expressions of the man she knew back then. He had broken his nose since leaving Whitestone, and his hair was thinner than it had been.

“Do you remember,” she began, her voice unshaken now. “The day you buried Whitney?”

He shook his head. She clenched her fist.

“No?” he shook his head again. “Let me paint you a picture.”

She took a step forward until she was just a few inches away from him. In the last moment before speaking, she reached forward and took a fistful of his hair, yanking it back so that he was looking right up at her. She might be small but from this angle, he needed to crane his neck to look directly at her. She made sure he was staring into her blue, De Rolo eyes. She wanted to make him see them all, make him see the children who once ran through the halls, the leaders who ruled so peacefully; see the people he helped to slaughter.

“There’s a reason you don’t remember.” she said a little too sharply and a little too loudly, so that when the words came out it sounded a little unhinged in her anger. “You took her down from the tree, I’m sure you remember this. You took them all down from the tree, you can say more than I can what you did with the rest of them, but Whit, she was still in one piece. Remember? Remember how you killed her? And what did you do with that little girl’s body, long after she was gone? Bury her respectfully? Burn her and spread her ashes in the garden? I know how the Briarwoods worked, Luther, they don’t control you all the time. I watched you do it.”

He swallowed under her gaze, trying to turn his eyes away from her eyes but she ripped hard at his hair so that he winced and his eyes watered. But he looked at her again.

“What did you do?” she asked, not really asking. She was ordering again.

“I-I don’t remember.”

“I know you do. I broke a lot of rules to try to reach you, to try and get your attention outside the castle, but instead I watched you. What did you do?”

His eyes were watering more now but it was something else besides the pain making him do it. His whole body shook. “Cut her hair. Took her clothes. Sold it.”

None of the others had salvageable clothes or hair, Cassandra had realized back then. They had been covered in blood, ripped apart, unclean and unprofitable. But Whitney, she had been killed the most cleanly. Not the most mercifully, of course not, none of them were capable of mercy. But Whit still looked most like herself and that was dainty, pretty, clean. They took even that away from her. Cut off her long curls until she had shorter hair than father’s. Took her clothes so that she had no dignity, even in death. And then, only then, could her sister be taken back to where the rest of her deceased family was. It had stuck with Cassandra, for the rest of her life. The way the men had talked and even laughed as they did this to a child. She couldn’t hear a lot from her hiding spot but she could see their faces and that was enough. It was mind control. And she still didn’t know why they were so horrible. She had more nightmares about that memory than any other.

“Why did you do it?” She knew her voice sounded more hysterical than she would like it to but the image of her sister’s white corse floated over her vision. “Why? Why us?”

He did not answer for a long time. “Gold lined our pockets for what we did.”

“No.” she bit out. “Why did you hate us?”

He looked at her with dull eyes, his eyes were still half full with tears but his eyes held hers with no emotion in them. “No ruler is well loved by all. We did what we wanted, for the first time in years. The children were just in the crossfire… we got carried away.”

She leaned back, letting go of his hair. Carried away. Carried away .

She didn’t even try to stop herself. Her punch was filled with a power she didn’t know she had. She swung hard and hit him square in the jaw, the momentum carrying his body to the ground as he was unprepared for the hit. When she saw the blood on his cheek she realized that she had hit him with the hand that she wore her ring with the Whitestone crest on it. Poetic in an odd way. She did not regret the gash that she had left on his face. She hoped it scarred, hoped it would stay there forever.

There was a ringing silence as she shook out her fingers that buzzed with the impact.

“Give me a reason not to slit your throat.” she let her left hand rest on the blade that hung on her belt. “Because there has not been a word out of your mouth that has convinced me you are deserving of another minute of life.”

“I wasn’t in control-”

She wrapped her hand around the hilt of the sword.

“I could’ve killed you, I could’ve-”

Pulling the blade out, she watched the torch light glint off the blade. Metal is oddly beautiful, especially when the promise of vengeance sits on its tip.

“I’ll do anything, I’ve become a better man!”

Cassandra placed the tip of the blade on his throat. Over the past few years she had gotten to be far more skilled with a blade. Thanks to Vex’s tutelage and her own determination to defend herself against any sort of danger, by now she could join Vox Machina and hold her own. But this was not a test of skill by any means, he was directly in front of her, chained and shaking out of fear. It felt good that he was so afraid that tears started rolling down his cheeks, that she held power over him. It felt good to be powerful. Never in her life had she been this strong in the face of somebody she used to fear.

“Cassandra!” Percy’s voice was the only barrier between her and slicing this man’s body in two.

“Brother, shut up.” she bit out. She felt a hand on her shoulder and tried to shrug it off but he stayed firm.

“I know what you are feeling. I truly do. And if I were myself at any other time in my life, I would be right next to you. But I can’t let you do this, Cass.” His voice was the most sincere she had heard him in a long time. The softest he had ever been in her direction since they had defeated Vecna.

“Yes, you can.” she said, pressing the blade in a little harder so that a dot of blood appeared right between his collarbones. “You can step back and be silent for once.”

“He can’t and neither will I.” Cassandra let out a half sigh, half laugh, as Vex’s voice joined alongside Percy’s. “Darling, you need to give me the sword.”

“You can’t take this away from me.” she snapped. “Just let me have this one thing.”

In her peripheral, Percy was standing there, hand on her shoulder and face dead serious. But on her other side, she could see his younger, crumpled, bloodied body. The body she had seen and thought he was gone like the rest of them until she saw his rising and falling chest.

“I can’t.” he said softly.

“You can. You can . He let them destroy us, Percy. He killed Whitney. He helped Ripley. He’s one of them. Why do you get to kill them all and I get nothing? Let me have something for once in my life!” she let her voice rise, finally, shouting at him even though he was right by her. She wanted to scream. To cry. To beg for her family even though her only family was right here.

“I wish I could.” His voice was so eerily calm, so sad in a way that made her want to shove him away even harder. “I need you to put the sword down, Cass. Or I’ll have to do something I don’t want to.”

“I hate you.” she said, staring directly at Luther but not sure who exactly she was saying it at. She knew that she sounded like a petulant child who wasn’t getting what they wanted and was throwing a fit but her whole body trembled with need . She needed to destroy this physical manifestation of everything the Briarwoods did to her. She needed to hurt him in a way she couldn’t hurt them. Killing Delilah wasn’t enough to quell this need in her soul. She needed more.

“He deserves it.” she argued, her hand that held the word trembling.

“He does.” Percy agreed. “But I will not let you become what I was on the path to. I swear to all the gods, I know what you’re feeling intimately. Killing this man will not make things better. Give Vex the sword.”

She felt tears sliding down her cheeks. “I can still see them.”

“I know.”

A hand that wasn’t Percy’s gently pried her fingers off of the hilt of the sword. She let it happen.

“I’m so tired, Percy.”

“I know.”

And then the sword was out of her grip, and she let out a strangled sob as she shoved Luther hard in the chest. It sent him tumbling back to the ground, onto his back, his hands still behind his back. Leaving him completely vulnerable. But her hands were empty, and the world wasn’t fair, and she could barely see him through the wall of tears obscuring her vision.

She placed a knee on his sternum, leaning into it enough to hurt. Tears dripped off her chin and landed on his face. She wanted to kill almost more than she had ever wanted anything.

“This world will be brighter when you are gone.” She spoke impressively clearly considering all that she was feeling. “And I will be that much happier.”

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. She did not let him speak, when he opened his mouth to say something, she pressed harder onto his chest and shortened his breath. He simply let out a pained squeak and she let herself smirk in satisfaction. She straightened back up, adjusting her blouse before turning back to the guard that had led them to the dungeons in the first place. Her cheeks were still soaked with tears, she didn’t bother to wipe them away. They would dry eventually.

“I want him chained, hands and legs, and gagged until his trial date. Thank you.” the guard nodded his head in confirmation, his eyes just a little wide. No doubt in shock at the display from his ruler he had just witnessed. She knew that she should care that he had just seen her at her weakest but she couldn’t be bothered to. All she could do was watch as she made sure he was bound correctly back in his cage before turning on her heel and climbing the steps back up into the corridors. Her body felt hollow, each movement felt like a ghost inhabiting her body.

She made it maybe fifteen paces before Percy caught up to her, grabbing her upper arm and turning her to look at him. She didn’t speak first, her face spoke enough for her. For the first time, Percy really saw her. It was like he hadn’t truly looked at her in months. She looked wrecked, cheeks splotched and wet. But more than that. There were dark bags under her eyes, a hollowness in those eyes and she looked exactly as she had said. Tired. Just exhausted to a point where anyone else would be dead on their feet.

“It’s alright.” it was all he could think to say. What was he supposed to console her with? There was nothing good about the situation they had found themselves in. He tugged her into a messy, awkward hug. “It’s alright, Cassie.”

She buried her face into his chest, breathing in the scent of her brother. Black powder and the hint of Vex’s perfume and smoke. He was so much taller than her, all legs and arms. Her body didn’t fit quite right into his like it felt like it should. In all books, when people were family or close to family, they fit together like puzzle pieces. Their hugs felt just right. This didn’t feel perfect, it wasn’t “just” right but it was definitely right. There would be an indent on her face from pressing her face into a button on his vest but she was caring less and less about dignity. It had been so long since she’d properly hugged Percy and he hadn’t had to rush away for whatever reason. He held her for a long, long time. She got the impression that he had decided in his mind that he would not be the first to pull away.

Eventually, one of them had to and Cassandra pushed off him with a sigh. She saw Vex hovering a little ways away, trying to look like she wasn’t watching but glancing over every once in a while. Percy was looking at her fondly but with worry in his eyes. She reached up and brushed hair off of his forehead, distracted by the hair that had almost fallen into his eyes. He needed a haircut.

“I’ll be alright, Percival.” she murmured. “I promise. You don’t need to worry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t. You have to let me help you now. Let us help you.”

“My darkness is not your darkness.” she told him. “We are not the same.”

“I know,” he said earnestly. “But you’re my sister. And I will not be able to go on if I don’t help you now.”

She pursed her lips, looking away. “I know.”

“Cassandra?” She lifted her eyes back up to his. “I care about you. Very much.”

“And I you.” she said, the response she always said in response to intimate speeches.

“What he’s trying to say is that he loves you dearly.” Vex had walked up to them now, standing beside Percy and looking at Cassandra with a knowing look in her eye. “Right, Percy?”

Percy tucked his chin against his chest for a second, smiling. “Right. Love you, sister.”

She hadn’t heard that in a long time either. “I-I love you too.”

It almost felt wrong on her tongue. And she hated that it felt wrong. Hated that she was so unpracticed in love that she didn’t know the correct way to say it. That the cadence of her words was all wrong. That her tone wasn’t sincere enough.

“You look a mess, dear.” Vex was the first to speak after a bit of a silence, she wrapped an arm around Cassandra’s shoulders and started walking them down the hall. “Come. Let’s go for a walk, hm?”

So Cassandra let herself be led through the halls and into the gardens. With her sister-in-law on one arm and her brother on the other, she felt fully secure. Each step forward brought her closer to herself and though she was still shaking with anger, her hands itching for the hilt of the sword Vex had left behind, her mind scrambling to cope with all that happened in the last twenty minutes. She let herself be led around by her loved ones, Vex at one point pressing a kiss to her cheek and smiling before turning forwards again and continuing on with some story about Trinket. She did feel loved and was surprised to find that after months of being holed up in her office, it was nice to step out into the sun and breathe.

That night, when she lay in her bed wide awake, she wondered what exactly the darkness in her chest was. Percy had Orthax in him whispering desires of vengeance into his ear, urging him to do horrible things. But she had no monster inside her. She had no odd dreams and no voice in her ear telling to cut that man’s head off. She had wanted that, herself, her mind. It had been her own desires and need to quell that need inside her, not some outside force. Did that make her worse than him? She did not think herself a terrible person for having the desire to hurt those who had hurt her worse. But even Percy had let his revenge empty from his body when Orthax had left.

She pulled herself out of bed, walked barefoot down the hall, down all the steps until she reached the door that led into Percy’s workshop. At this time of night, it was a toss up on where he would be. Sometimes Vex was able to drag him to bed at a decent time but still, even with the pressure from her and Cassandra, more often than not Percy could be found bent over some contraption he was spending far too many hours perfecting. She knocked on the door and when she didn’t hear an answer, gently turned the doorknob and peaked inside.

He was there, so absorbed in his work that he didn’t hear her knock. She stepped inside, and it was only when she closed the door that he lifted his head and turned around. Confusion immediately knitted his eyebrows together. Seeing her in her nightgown, hair completely down and loose around her face, no shoes on her feet, was probably the oddest thing he had seen in awhile. Cassandra almost never let her appearances slip on purpose, and the few times she did were either accidental or something forced her to. Her skirts always had no wrinkles in them, her sleeves always buttoned, her hair made just so. But she had come to him, vulnerable and looking so very not-Cassandra.

“Cassandra.” he said, meeting her gaze. “What can I do for you?”

“Might I just sit and watch for a bit?” she asked.

He blinked, taken aback before rushing to answer. “Uh- yes. Yes, of course.”

He grabbed a stool and placed it next to his work table, patting it awkwardly. “Come sit.”

She did. Lifted herself up and watched him work on some clock-like machinery. She was fascinated by his work, even if she didn’t completely understand. Sitting here with the heat of the furnace close and only Percy’s soft humming, she felt more calm than she had in a while. Especially not after how emotionally taxing the day had been. She wanted to ask about what he was doing but didn’t want to break the silence, and anyways, she was too caught up in her own thoughts to be able to follow any complicated explanation at the moment.

“Percy?” she said after a long time of just silent working. He hummed in response, a confirmation that he had heard and was listening. “Did you still… want to hurt people, after Orthax? Want to kill those who forced us to lose everyone?”

His hands stopped moving and he let them rest on the table, completely still. He stayed that way for an uncomfortably long amount of time, letting the silence stretch and stretch until she felt it was going to snap. Instead of breaking it with a word, he let out a heavy sigh. Leaning his head back so that he could look up at the ceiling.

“It’s a good question.” He finally said. “The thing about Orthax, about the darkness, is that it didn’t create the want in my mind. He didn’t make me want to murder those people, Cass, I wanted to. I want to. He gave me the tools and then it was just a matter of me saying yes. In the state I was in… of course, I said yes.”

She nodded along, listening intently. “But after. What about after he was gone?” He tapped his fingers on the table, chewing on his bottom lip. “I think… I think by that point I had gone so far for my revenge, I had experienced it to the point where I was both satisfied and hungry. I knew I had done what I set out to do, but part of me still wanted more. I knew then, and it was only thanks to my friends that I was able to, that revenge was not what would fix me. As much as they deserve it. As much as I wanted to make them hurt for what they did. It was not what would bring me joy.”

He looked over at her then, her pale skin golden from the small lamps that were littered around the room and the fiery furnace. He considered her for a few moments, taking in his baby sister who he had had no idea how to approach all of these months. He had been so afraid that she would realize that she hated him for leaving her behind, that she had grown so far away from him that there was no closing that gap. He looked at her, and the white streaks in her hair that would always remind them of what she had gone through, and saw himself reflected back. It was too hard to explain, even to himself. But in her eyes, if he looked deep enough he could see that hunger that had drawn him to Orthax in the first place. In the set of her frown, in the clench of her fist. His sister was strong, she had always been that way. Her darkness would not overcome her.

“I truly wish I could let you kill him,” he said with a humorless chuckle when she did not respond right away. “But this world doesn’t need another De Rolo on a destructive streak.”

She cracked a smile at that. “Yes, from what I hear, that would not be the brightest idea.”

She was breaking inside, a little. Cassandra De Rolo, strong, fearless, always held her head up high, had cracks spreading through her chest. She was afraid they would show on her face. She wanted nothing more than to burn and burn and burn until she felt happy or she was gone completely. She wanted so much. So much she couldn’t have. But one thing she could have, she wanted. So she did it.

She reached for Percy, placing her open palm on the table as an invitation. He reached and took it with both of his, holding it tightly. She whispered to him, even though there was no one else around, “I hate that it’s just us. I hate the quiet.”

He nodded. “I do too.”

“It was awful, when you were gone after the Briarwoods.” she told him, for the first time. Admitting something she knew he didn’t want to hear. “I was… lonely. So lonely, Percy. In this cursed castle, having to remember-”

He squeezed her hand tightly when her voice started to have an edge again. She had lived her entire life in this castle, she had known it in its prime, she had known it in its darkest hour, and she would know it for the rest of her life. It was the hardest thing, every morning, to get up and face the rooms where she faced horrors for five years. And when it was over, it was still as if she had to face them every day. She hated it, seeing their faces, seeing the bodies hanging from the Sun Tree. There was nothing from her to do but move through each day and ignore the painful chasm in her chest.

“I’m here now. Vex is here now. We’re not going away.” he told her. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

She wanted to cry again but instead she half smiled. Lovely to hear him say that, lovely to hear his voice at all. She needed to treasure that more often. For years, she had thought she was alone, the last of the De Rolos. And finally, her brother sat before her once again, he was at her disposal all of the time and yet she didn't hold him tightly everyday, she didn’t treasure his every word. But maybe that was a good thing. It meant they were healing. It meant that they had become a normal part of each other's routine again. She didn’t need to hold every moment with him dear because they had years to find happy moments with each other. It brought her some peace, to remember they had so much time. The clock did not feel as if it was ticking down every second anymore, and they could breathe in these minutes of silence.

“I’m very tired.” she told him finally. He slackened his grip on her hand, but still held it loosely with one of his.

“Let’s get you to bed, mother would be so unhappy with the hour.” Despite the pang of sadness the mention of their mother brought her, she laughed.

“She would, wouldn’t she?” she replied. She made him turn off the furnace and put all his things away before they walked out of the workshop, in the hopes that would force him into bed. They walked through the dark hallways, Cassandra’s arm looped through Percy’s. He brought her back to her room, opening the door and leading her inside. She hadn’t known Percy to ever be the most affectionate person but over the last few months it was like he was practicing for his child. Giving more hugs, giving more kind words, going out of his way to make his intent clear. It made her proud, made her happy, that her brother was healing alongside all of his friends. She felt left behind sometimes, that he was making strides in his journey to happiness and she had inherited his gloom. But it still made her happier, when he sat down on the bed next to her and pinched her cheek playfully, the way he used to when she was a child. He’d been only a few years older than her, but old enough to tease her and remind her he was the elder of the two.

“Goodnight, Cassandra.” he said as he got up. “Sleep well.”

“Sleep well.” she repeated as he left and closed the door softly. The room felt fuller now than it had when she had left to find Percy. Warmer.

After she blew out all her candles, she laid in the dark, staring up into the expanse of her ceiling. The darkness felt heavy after all the discussion from the day. It was closing in on her and she closed her eyes to fight against it, now looking at the back of eyelids instead of her pitch black room. Maybe it was her subconscious or maybe it was her tired mind beginning to descend into dreams or maybe those are the same things but regardless, moments passed and then, clear as day, she heard the woman who had ruined it all.

“You could’ve been my daughter.” Lady Briarwood crooned in a sing-song voice. That voice that had been used against Cassandra for so many years, that voice that had haunted her dreams, and her waking hours, and never seemed to leave even when she was alone.

She was a De Rolo. She tried to scream it but her throat wouldn’t work, her mouth wouldn’t work.

I am a De Rolo .

She would wake up tomorrow and she would still be a De Rolo. She had always been. Even when there was nothing to keep her chained to her family, she had this castle, she had their memories, and she would not let them go. She planned on living a long life, one that honored her family in every decision she made. She wanted to make them proud, make her living family proud, and make her home a home for the continuation of their line. There was so much to do and every day she had to remind herself she had time. Beautiful, sweet time. And when Delilah’s voice grew stronger in her head sometimes, she would turn her head and Percy would be there. If the ghosts got a little too strong, she’d turn her cheek. The visions didn’t go away, how could they, after all of these years of persisting and festering in her head? But she lived with them.

She hurt. She’d always hurt, she supposed.

She was broken but not shattered. She refused to shatter. That would have to be enough until she was whole again.

#hilariously. I wrote a fic very very few people care about and I LOVE IT SO MUCH PLS VALIDATE ME #calling all cassandra lovers/gay people!!#anyways #there's a lot more notes and sentiments on ao3 that's a much better place to read this!!#critical role #critical role c1 #critical role campaign 1 #briarwood arc #cassandra de rolo #percival de rolo #vex’ahlia de rolo #the de rolos #delilah briarwood #sylas briarwood #critical role fic #cr percy #cr cassandra #cr vex #AHHHHHHHHHHHH

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