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bratzkoo · 1 month ago

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yours, always and forever | jeonghan

Author: bratzkoo | beta read by: @spnyin Pairing: perfumer! jeonghan x estrange wife! reader Genre: fluff, angst Rating: PG-15 Word count: 5.9k Warnings/note: went on a shopping trip with my mom and i cried when i smelled rose kabuki by dior. Happy National Boyfriend's Day to our boyfriend, Jeonghan.

summary: Perfumer Yoon Jeonghan took the Perfume industry by storm with his intriguing perfume names that seems to be inspired by one specific person which makes the industry question, who is he even naming his creations after? Only Y/N, Jeonghan’s estrange wife knows the answer.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The soft glow of the setting sun painted the New York skyline in hues of gold and pink, a stark contrast to the sleek, modern interior of the penthouse apartment where Yoon Jeonghan stood, gazing out at the city he'd conquered. In his hand, a delicate crystal glass held a swirl of amber liquid, its aroma mingling with the lingering scents that always clung to him—a symphony of olfactory notes that had become his signature.

Jeonghan took a sip of his drink, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. His eyes, dark and intense, reflected the city lights beginning to twinkle in the twilight. At thirty-two, he was at the pinnacle of his career, a prodigy in the world of perfumery, and the toast of the fashion and beauty industries. For the third year in a row, the title of Perfumer of the Year sat comfortably on his shoulders, a crown he wore with a mixture of pride and nonchalance that only added to his allure.

The gentle ping of his phone drew his attention away from the view. Another congratulatory message, no doubt. They had been pouring in all day, ever since the announcement of his latest triumph. Jeonghan ignored it, choosing instead to walk over to his workspace—a sprawling, custom-designed lab that took up nearly half of his living area.

Here, amidst the orderly chaos of beakers, pipettes, and countless vials of essences and extracts, was where the magic happened. This was where he crafted the scents that had taken the world by storm, perfumes that didn't just smell divine but told stories, evoked memories, and stirred emotions in ways that left critics and consumers alike in awe.

Jeonghan's fingers trailed over the labels of his latest collection, a small smile playing on his lips as he read each name aloud:

"You, in the Garden."

"You, in Greece."

"You, in the Club Holding Your Favorite Drink."

"You, in New York."

Each name was a whisper of the past, a fragment of a story that the public could only guess at. And guess they did. Entire forums were dedicated to deciphering the meaning behind Jeonghan's enigmatic perfume names. Who was this mysterious 'you'? A lover? A muse? A figment of the perfumer's vivid imagination?

Speculation ran rampant. Some theorized it was a marketing ploy, a clever way to personalize each scent for the wearer. Others believed Jeonghan was leaving breadcrumbs, telling his own story through these olfactory chapters. The more romantic souls insisted it was an ode to a lost love, each perfume a memory crystallized in scent.

If only they knew.

Jeonghan's smile faded as he picked up the bottle of "You, in New York." The weight of it in his hand felt heavier than it should, laden with memories he both cherished and tried to forget. He uncapped it, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.

Notes of crisp apple and bergamot gave way to a heart of rose and jasmine, grounded by a base of sandalwood and vanilla. But beneath these carefully orchestrated notes lay something else, something only he could detect—the ghost of her perfume, the one she wore on that last night.

Across the city, in a modest but charming brownstone in Brooklyn, Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by discarded wrapping paper and birthday cards. The celebration had been small but joyful, a gathering of the close friends who had become her support system over the past few years. As the night wound down and the last guest departed, she found herself alone with her thoughts and the pile of gifts yet to be properly examined.

One box in particular caught her eye. It was elegant, wrapped in matte black paper with a single silver ribbon. There was no card, no indication of who it was from. Curiosity piqued, Y/N carefully untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper.

Her breath caught in her throat as she revealed the contents. Nestled in a bed of black satin was a bottle she recognized all too well, even though she had never held it before. The clean lines of the glass, the minimalist label with its distinctive handwritten font—it was unmistakably one of Jeonghan's creations.

With trembling hands, Y/N lifted the bottle. "You, in New York," she read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. A humorless laugh escaped her lips. How fitting, how cruelly ironic that of all his perfumes, this would be the one to find its way to her.

New York. The city where dreams came true and hearts were broken. The city where, five years ago, she had celebrated her last birthday with Jeonghan. It had been magical—a surprise weekend getaway, a whirlwind of Broadway shows, candlelit dinners, and long walks through Central Park. It was the last time she remembered feeling truly, incandescently happy.

It was also the weekend that marked the beginning of the end.

Y/N uncapped the bottle, hesitating for just a moment before bringing it to her nose. The scent hit her like a wave, transporting her instantly back to that weekend. She could almost feel the crisp autumn air on her skin, hear the bustling streets, see Jeonghan's smile as he pulled her close on top of the Empire State Building.

Unbidden, tears began to fall, leaving glistening trails down her cheeks. Five years. Five years since she had spoken to him, seen him, been in the same room as him. And yet, with one carefully crafted scent, he could still reach across that divide and touch her very soul.

They weren't divorced—the paperwork sat untouched in a drawer in her study, a task neither of them seemed able to bring themselves to complete. But they might as well have been strangers for all the communication that passed between them. Estranged was the word the media used when they bothered to mention her at all. Jeonghan's mysterious wife, who had disappeared from the public eye as swiftly and suddenly as Jeonghan had risen to fame.

Y/N set the bottle on her nightstand, unable to put it away but unwilling to hold it any longer. She reached for her phone, scrolling through the countless birthday messages until she found the one she was looking for. It was from her best friend, Mina:

"Hey birthday girl! Hope you loved all your gifts. That last one... the perfume. I hope it wasn't too much. When I saw it, I just thought... well, maybe it was time. You can't run from the past forever, Y/N. Call me if you need to talk. Love you!"

So it had been Mina. Y/N wasn't sure whether to thank her friend or curse her for this unexpected trip down memory lane. She fell back onto her pillows, staring at the ceiling as her mind raced.

Did Jeonghan know his perfume had found its way to her? Did he still think of her when he created these scents? Was she the 'you' in every bottle, or had someone else taken her place in his heart and his art?

Questions she had buried for years bubbled to the surface, demanding attention. Y/N closed her eyes, willing sleep to come and provide a temporary escape. But the scent of "You, in New York" lingered in the air, a persistent reminder of all that had been and all that was lost.

Meanwhile, in his penthouse, Jeonghan had moved from his lab to his home office. The wall opposite his desk was covered in framed magazine covers and articles, a testament to his meteoric rise in the industry. His eyes, however, were fixed on a single frame tucked away in the corner of his desk. It was turned face down, but he knew every detail of the photograph it held—him and Y/N, laughing and in love, on their wedding day.

He reached for it, hesitating for a moment before picking it up and turning it over. They looked so young, so full of hope and dreams. Jeonghan traced the outline of Y/N's face with his finger, wondering not for the first time where she was, what she was doing, if she ever thought of him.

A notification on his computer screen drew his attention. It was an email from his publicist, marked urgent:

"Jeonghan,

The press is buzzing about your win and the launch of 'You, in New York.' Vogue wants an exclusive interview, and they're particularly interested in the inspiration behind your perfume names. I've held them off so far, but we need to give them something. The mysterious artist angle only works for so long.

Also, there's been some renewed interest in your personal life. A few gossip blogs have dug up old photos of you and Y/N. Nothing scandalous, but we should be prepared for questions.

Let me know how you want to handle this.

- Somin"

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, a frown creasing his brow. He had known this day would come eventually. The perfume industry thrived on stories, on the personalities behind the scents. He had managed to maintain an air of mystery for years, letting his creations speak for themselves. But now, with his continued success and the increasingly personal nature of his perfume names, the world wanted more.

How could he possibly explain the truth? That each perfume was a love letter, a memory, a piece of his heart poured into a bottle? That 'You, in the Garden' was born from lazy Sunday mornings spent in their tiny apartment's rooftop garden, Y/N's laughter mingling with the scent of herbs and flowers? That 'You, in Greece' captured the essence of their honeymoon, sun-kissed skin and salty air and the intoxicating feeling of being young and in love?

And 'You, in New York'... Jeonghan's gaze drifted back to the photograph. Their last happy moment, preserved in glass and scent. He had poured every ounce of his skill into that perfume, trying to capture not just the smells of the city, but the feeling of that weekend—the joy, the love, and the bittersweet edge of what was to come.

He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Y/N's contact. He hadn't deleted it, couldn't bring himself to erase that last tangible connection. But he hadn't used it either, not in five long years. What would he even say?

"I'm sorry"?

"I miss you"?

"Every scent I create is a desperate attempt to hold onto the memory of us"?

Jeonghan set the phone down, leaving the call unmade. Instead, he turned back to his computer and began to type a response to his publicist:

"Somin,

Set up the Vogue interview. I'll give them the story they want.

As for my personal life, it remains personal. No comments on old photos or relationships.

- Jeonghan"

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. It was time to give the public a peek behind the curtain, to feed the curiosity that had been building for years. He would craft a story, something romantic and mysterious enough to satisfy the masses without revealing the raw, painful truth.

After all, isn't that what he did best? Create beautiful illusions, capture feelings in a bottle, tell stories through scent? This would just be another performance, another carefully constructed facade.

But as Jeonghan stood to pour himself another drink, his eyes fell once more on the photograph of him and Y/N. For a moment, the mask slipped, and a look of profound sadness crossed his face. All the success, all the accolades, all the adoration from fans around the world—none of it filled the Y/N-shaped hole in his heart.

In the quiet of his luxurious apartment, surrounded by the fruits of his success, Yoon Jeonghan—three-time Perfumer of the Year, creator of the most sought-after fragrances in the world—had never felt more alone.

As the night deepened, two souls on opposite sides of the city lay awake, each haunted by memories and might-have-beens. The scent of "You, in New York" lingered in the air, a fragrant bridge across the chasm that separated them. Neither knew that this birthday, this perfume, this moment of remembrance, was about to set in motion a chain of events that would force them to confront their past and decide their future.

The sleek, modernist interior of Vogue's New York office buzzed with nervous energy as staff scurried about, making last-minute preparations. Today was no ordinary day—they were about to interview Yoon Jeonghan, the enigmatic perfumer who had captivated the fashion world with his mysterious creations.

Jeonghan sat in the makeup chair, his eyes closed as the artist applied a light touch of powder to his already flawless skin. He exuded an aura of calm, but beneath the surface, his mind raced. This interview was a calculated risk, a chance to satisfy the public's curiosity while maintaining the mystique that had become his trademark.

"Mr. Yoon, we're ready for you," a young assistant called, clipboard clutched to her chest.

Jeonghan opened his eyes, meeting his reflection in the mirror. He adjusted his tie—a deep, midnight blue that brought out the intensity of his gaze—and stood. With a deep breath, he stepped into the lion's den.

The interviewer, a sharp-eyed woman named Clara, greeted him with a professional smile. "Mr. Yoon, thank you for joining us. Shall we begin?"

As the cameras rolled, Clara launched into her questions, starting with the safe and expected before gradually probing deeper.

"Your latest fragrance, 'You, in New York,' has taken the world by storm," Clara said, leaning forward slightly. "Can you tell us about the inspiration behind it?"

Jeonghan's lips curved into a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "New York is a city of dreams and memories," he began, his voice smooth and measured. "I wanted to capture the essence of a perfect moment in time—the crisp air of a fall evening, the excitement of possibility, the bittersweet beauty of a fleeting experience."

"And the 'you' in the title?" Clara pressed. "Your fragrances all seem to be addressing someone specific. Is there a story there?"

For a fraction of a second, Jeonghan's composure slipped. A flicker of something—pain? longing?—crossed his face before the mask slid back into place. "The 'you' is everyone and no one," he said carefully. "It's the wearer of the perfume, the object of desire, the memory of a love lost or yet to be found. I believe that the most personal stories are often the most universal."

As the interview continued, Jeonghan wove a tale of inspiration drawn from travels, fleeting encounters, and imagined romances. It was a beautiful story, crafted as carefully as his perfumes. But those who knew him best might have noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers occasionally twitched as if reaching for something—or someone—just out of grasp.

---

The publication of the Vogue interview sent shockwaves through the fashion and beauty world. Social media exploded with theories and interpretations of Jeonghan's words. Fan forums dissected every sentence, looking for hidden meanings and clues about the mysterious muse behind his creations.

@ScentObsessed tweeted: "OMG, did you catch how his voice changed when talking about 'You, in New York'? There's definitely a real story there! #YoonJeonghan #PerfumeMystery"

A popular beauty vlogger released a 20-minute video analyzing Jeonghan's body language during the interview, claiming to have spotted at least five instances where he seemed to be holding back tears.

Even serious fashion critics couldn't resist speculating. A piece in WWD posed the question: "Is Yoon Jeonghan's entire oeuvre an olfactory autobiography? The clues hidden in his fragrances."

---

Across the city, Y/N sat at her kitchen table, a cup of coffee growing cold beside her as she stared at her laptop screen. The Vogue article was open, Jeonghan's face looking back at her from a series of artfully shot photographs.

She had promised herself she wouldn't read it. Had sworn she was past all this, that she had moved on. But curiosity—and perhaps something deeper, something she wasn't ready to name—had gotten the better of her.

Now, as she read his carefully crafted words, Y/N felt a complex mix of emotions churning inside her. Anger at the half-truths, sadness at the memories his words evoked, and a traitorous flutter of her heart at the moments where she could see through his facade to the man she once knew so well.

A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. Y/N closed the laptop quickly, as if hiding evidence of a crime, before going to answer.

"Ms. Y/N?" A woman with a press badge stood in the hallway, notepad in hand. "I'm Mia from Style Weekly. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about Yoon Jeonghan's latest interview."

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," she said, moving to close the door.

The reporter's foot blocked the doorway. "Please, just a moment. Your connection to Mr. Yoon is a matter of public record. Surely you must have some insight into the inspirations behind his work?"

"No comment," Y/N managed, her voice strangled. She pushed the door closed with more force, hearing the reporter's muffled protests from the other side.

Leaning against the door, Y/N slid to the floor, her heart pounding. It was happening again. The life she had carefully rebuilt, separate from Jeonghan and his world of glitz and glamour, was threatening to crumble around her.

---

In his penthouse, Jeonghan paced back and forth, phone pressed to his ear. "Somin, I thought we agreed to keep my personal life out of this," he said, frustration evident in his voice.

His publicist's calm tones came through the speaker. "Jeonghan, we did our best, but you have to understand. The public is hungry for this. Your story, the mystery—it's what sells. The interview was a huge success."

"At what cost?" Jeonghan muttered, more to himself than to Somin.

After ending the call, he walked to his workspace, surrounded by the tools of his trade. His fingers trailed over the bottles of his creations, lingering on "You, in New York."

For a moment, he allowed himself to remember—truly remember, not the sanitized version he had presented to the world. He saw Y/N's smile as they watched the sunset from the Top of the Rock, felt the warmth of her hand in his as they strolled through Central Park.

Almost without conscious thought, his hand reached for his phone. Y/N's contact information stared back at him, unchanged after all these years. His thumb hovered over the call button.

A war raged inside him. The desire to hear her voice, to explain, to apologize, warred with the fear of rejection, of reopening old wounds.

In the end, he set the phone down, the call unmade. But the desire, the need, lingered.

---

"Y/N, have you seen this?" Mina's voice came through the phone, excitement evident. "Jeonghan's Vogue interview. Girl, he's talking about you."

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Mina, please. You know I don't want to hear about—"

"No, listen," Mina interrupted. "He talks about a moment in New York, watching the sunset from a rooftop garden. That was you two, wasn't it? On your last birthday together?"

Y/N's breath caught. She remembered that evening with painful clarity—the golden light, the gentle breeze, the feeling that everything was perfect. It was mere days before it all fell apart.

"It doesn't matter," Y/N said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Honey," Mina said gently, "I think it does. He's been telling your story all along, in every bottle. Maybe... maybe it's time to tell yours."

After hanging up, Y/N found herself once again staring at the bottle of "You, in New York." She uncapped it, letting the scent envelop her. In that moment, she allowed herself to truly feel everything she had been suppressing for years.

The realization hit her like a wave: Jeonghan hadn't forgotten. Every perfume, every story, was a message in a bottle, cast out into the world in hopes that someday, somehow, it would reach her.

---

The charity gala was in full swing, the cream of New York society mingling amidst the glittering decor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Jeonghan moved through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, the perfect image of the successful artist.

He was in the middle of a conversation with a fashion designer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face to face with an old friend—one he shared with Y/N.

"Jeonghan," the friend said, a strange mix of emotions playing across their face. "It's been too long."

As they talked, catching up on the years that had passed, Jeonghan found himself hungry for any scrap of information about Y/N. He tried to be subtle, but his old friend saw right through him.

"She's doing well, Jeonghan," they said softly. "She's strong. But... I think she misses you too."

The words hit Jeonghan like a physical blow. He excused himself, making his way to a quiet corner of the museum. His carefully constructed world felt like it was shifting beneath his feet.

Across the city, Y/N was experiencing a similar upheaval. A mutual friend had let slip that Jeonghan had asked about her, that he still kept a photo of them on his desk.

As the night wore on, both Jeonghan and Y/N found themselves standing at a crossroads. The walls they had built, the distance they had maintained, suddenly seemed more like obstacles than protection.

Unbeknownst to each other, they both reached for their phones at nearly the same moment. Fingers hovering over screens, hearts pounding, they stood on the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

In the air, the faint scent of "You, in New York" lingered, a reminder of what was lost and what, perhaps, could still be found.

The stage was set. The next move was theirs.

The Autumn chill nipped at Y/N's skin as she stood outside the small café, her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets. Her eyes darted nervously up and down the street, searching for a familiar face she hadn't seen in years. Her heart raced, a mix of anticipation and fear coursing through her veins.

She almost jumped when her phone buzzed. A text from Jeonghan: "I'm here."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she spotted him rounding the corner. Jeonghan looked much the same as she remembered, yet somehow different. His hair was styled differently, and he carried himself with a weariness that hadn't been there before. But his eyes—those eyes that had once looked at her with such love—were as intense as ever.

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the busy New York street faded away. It was just the two of them, standing on opposite sides of a chasm five years in the making.

Jeonghan reached her first, stopping a few feet away. "Y/N," he said, his voice a mix of relief and uncertainty.

"Jeonghan," she replied, surprised at how steady her own voice sounded.

An awkward silence fell between them, years of unspoken words and suppressed emotions creating an almost tangible barrier.

"Should we..." Jeonghan gestured towards the café, and Y/N nodded, grateful for the suggestion.

Inside, they found a quiet corner booth. The warm, coffee-scented air was a stark contrast to the tension between them. They ordered—an Americano for him, a latte for her, just like old times—and then faced each other across the small table.

"You look well," Jeonghan said, his fingers fidgeting with a sugar packet.

Y/N managed a small smile. "So do you. I... I've seen your interviews. Congratulations on all your success."

Jeonghan's face tightened almost imperceptibly. "Thank you. I hear you're doing well too. Teaching, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, literature at NYU. It's... it's good."

Another silence fell, heavier this time. Y/N took a sip of her latte, using the moment to gather her thoughts.

"Why did you want to meet, Jeonghan?" she finally asked, setting her cup down perhaps a bit too forcefully.

Jeonghan looked up, meeting her gaze directly for the first time since they sat down. "I... I missed you, Y/N. Every day for five years, I've missed you."

The raw honesty in his voice caught Y/N off guard. She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and blinked them back furiously.

"You missed me?" she repeated, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone. "You're the one who left, Jeonghan. You chose your career over us."

Jeonghan flinched as if he'd been slapped. "I know," he said softly. "And I've regretted it every day since."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, familiar bottle. Y/N's breath hitched as she recognized it—"You, in New York."

"Every scent, every name," Jeonghan continued, his voice thick with emotion, "they were all for you. About you. My way of holding onto what we had, what I threw away."

Y/N stared at the bottle, memories flooding back. The laughter, the love, the pain—it all came rushing back in a dizzying whirl.

"I thought I was protecting you," Jeonghan said. "The pressure, the spotlight—it was destroying us. I thought... I thought if I let you go, you could have a normal life. Be happy."

"That wasn't your choice to make," Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You should have talked to me. We could have figured it out together."

Jeonghan nodded, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so familiar it made Y/N's heart ache. "I know that now. God, Y/N, I know. I was young and stupid and scared. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was just a coward."

Y/N felt the walls she'd built around her heart begin to crumble. She reached out, almost unconsciously, and took the perfume bottle from Jeonghan's hand. As she did, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through both of them.

"I tried to hate you," Y/N admitted, her thumb tracing the label of the bottle. "I tried so hard to forget, to move on. But then I'd catch a whiff of one of your perfumes, or see your face on a magazine cover, and it all came flooding back."

Jeonghan leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "I know I have no right to ask this, but... is there any chance? For us? I'm not the same man I was five years ago. I've learned, I've grown. And I know now that nothing—no amount of success or fame—means anything without you."

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling tears slip down her cheeks. When she opened them again, she saw that Jeonghan's eyes were also wet.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "You hurt me, Jeonghan. Deeply. That's not something that can be fixed with a conversation and some pretty words."

Jeonghan nodded, his face falling. But before he could speak, Y/N continued.

"But... I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss you too. That I didn't still love you, despite everything."

Hope bloomed in Jeonghan's eyes. "So... what does that mean?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "It means... it means maybe we can try. Slowly. No grand gestures, no rushing back into things. We need to relearn each other, rebuild trust. Can you do that?"

Jeonghan reached across the table, gently taking Y/N's hand in his. The familiar warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine.

"Y/N, I would wait a lifetime if that's what it took. We'll go as slow as you need. I just... I just want a chance to make things right."

For the first time since they sat down, Y/N felt a genuine smile tugging at her lips. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's try."

The gentle spring breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms through Central Park, where Jeonghan and Y/N walked hand in hand, their steps slow and purposeful. Two years had passed since that fateful night when they both reached for their phones, finally bridging the gap that had separated them for so long.

"I still can't believe we're here," Y/N said, squeezing Jeonghan's hand. "Sometimes I think I'll wake up and find it was all a dream."

Jeonghan brought her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "If it's a dream, then I never want to wake up," he replied, his eyes shining with emotion.

They found a quiet bench overlooking the lake, the same spot where they had sat years ago, planning their future together. Now, older and wiser, they sat again, the weight of their shared history and renewed love settling comfortably between them.

"The launch is tomorrow," Jeonghan said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "Are you ready?"

Y/N took a deep breath, nodding. "As ready as I'll ever be. It's still surreal, you know? Being back in this world, but on my own terms this time."

The past two years had been a whirlwind of rediscovery and healing. After their reconnection, Jeonghan and Y/N had taken things slowly, rebuilding trust and relearning each other. Y/N had been adamant about maintaining her independence, refusing to be swallowed up by Jeonghan's world as she had been before.

To everyone's surprise—including her own—Y/N had discovered a talent for perfumery. What had started as curious questions about Jeonghan's process had evolved into a genuine passion. Under his guidance, she had begun to create her own scents, her natural intuition complementing Jeonghan's technical expertise.

And now, tomorrow, they would launch their first collaborative perfume.

"I have something for you," Jeonghan said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, elegant bottle, its contents shimmering in the afternoon sun.

Y/N gasped, recognizing the prototype they had been working on. "Is this...?"

Jeonghan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "The final version. I wanted you to be the first to see it—to smell it."

With trembling hands, Y/N took the bottle. The label read "Essence of Us" in Jeonghan's distinctive handwriting. Below it, in smaller letters: "By Jeonghan & Y/N."

She uncapped the bottle, bringing it to her nose. The scent enveloped her immediately—bright citrus notes of bergamot and lemon, giving way to a heart of rose and jasmine, grounded by warm sandalwood and a hint of vanilla. But there was something more, something uniquely them—a note that spoke of long nights of conversation, of laughter shared over coffee, of gentle kisses and whispered promises.

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "It's perfect," she whispered.

Jeonghan wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "It's us," he said simply. "All of us. The good, the bad, the journey we've taken."

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Jeonghan and Y/N sat in comfortable silence, the scent of their creation lingering in the air around them.

The launch event for "Essence of Us" was the talk of the fashion world. Held in the same New York hotel where Jeonghan and Y/N had celebrated her last birthday before their separation, it was a poignant reminder of how far they had come.

Cameras flashed as Jeonghan and Y/N stepped onto the red carpet, a united front. Y/N, dressed in a flowing gown that shimmered like liquid silver, looked every inch the confident co-creator, a far cry from the woman who had once hidden in Jeonghan's shadow.

Inside, the room was transformed into a sensory wonderland. Different stations represented the various notes of the perfume, allowing guests to experience each element individually before sampling the final product.

As the crowd mingled and the excitement built, Jeonghan clinked a glass, calling for attention. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the stage where he and Y/N stood.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," Jeonghan began, his voice carrying easily through the room. "This launch is special for many reasons, but none more so than the fact that it represents not just a new scent, but a new chapter."

He turned to Y/N, love evident in his gaze. "For years, my perfumes told the story of what I had lost. They were messages in bottles, cast out into the world in the hope that someday, they might find their way back to the one who inspired them."

Y/N stepped forward, taking Jeonghan's hand. "And I heard those messages," she continued, her voice strong and clear. "Even when I tried not to listen, even when I thought that chapter of my life was closed forever. They called to me, reminding me of a love that never truly faded."

Together, they unveiled the perfume—an elegant bottle that seemed to capture the light, refracting it into a thousand tiny rainbows.

"'Essence of Us' is more than just a perfume," Jeonghan said. "It's a testament to the power of love, of forgiveness, of second chances. It's the scent of two people who lost their way, only to find that all paths led back to each other."

Y/N nodded, adding, "It's also a new beginning. A declaration that our story isn't just about the past, but about the future we choose to create together."

As the crowd applauded and the first samples of "Essence of Us" were distributed, Jeonghan and Y/N shared a private smile. They had poured their hearts into this creation, distilling years of love, loss, and rediscovery into a single, perfect scent.

Months later, as "Essence of Us" continued to top bestseller lists and garner critical acclaim, Jeonghan and Y/N found themselves back in their favorite spot in Central Park. The trees were ablaze with autumn colors, a crisp breeze carrying the promise of winter.

"I've been thinking," Jeonghan said, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a hint of nervousness. "About the future. About us."

Y/N looked at him curiously. "Oh? And what have you been thinking?"

Jeonghan took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket. "I've been thinking that maybe it's time for a new scent. Something... permanent."

He pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning ring. The design was unique—a delicate gold band that twisted into the shape of an infinity symbol, set with tiny diamonds that caught the light like drops of perfume.

"Y/N," Jeonghan said, his voice thick with emotion, "will you marry me? Again? For real this time, for always?"

Tears sprang to Y/N's eyes as she nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. As Jeonghan slipped the ring onto her finger, she finally found her voice. "Yes," she whispered. "Forever and always."

They sealed the promise with a kiss, the scent of "Essence of Us" mingling with the crisp autumn air. As they broke apart, both laughing and crying, Jeonghan's eyes lit up with that familiar spark of inspiration.

"I think I know what our next perfume will be called," he said, grinning.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh? Do tell."

Jeonghan pulled her close, whispering in her ear: "You, Forever and Always."

And as they walked hand in hand through the park, already discussing notes and accords for their new creation, both Jeonghan and Y/N knew that this—their love, their passion, their shared creativity—was the most intoxicating scent of all.

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themodernwitchsguide · 2 months ago

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altars for titans and protogenoi

This post more than any of the others is going to be mostly upg or spg. Hardly anyone in antiquity spent a lot of effort worshipping most of these deities, especially the protogenoi, so resources are limited. If you have suggestions or personal addendums, feel free to leave them in the comments. I made a lot of decisions based on what the herbs/crystals are usually associated with: for example, black tourmaline is associated with Nyx (the night) therefore Chaos (the embodiment of the primordial soup and basically the universe) has black tourmaline too.

Also, all the deities on this list can be honored with libation of wine, milk, honey, and oil; offerings of meat or desserts; and burning frankincense/myrrh.

Disclaimer: this is not all of the protogenoi or titans that exist, these are just the most recognizable ones that have the most lore attached. I used theoi.com to research all of these deities.

CHAOS: the first to emerge at creation, the protogenos of the space between heaven and earth, and the air

Colors: black, grey, purple for the concept of chaos Offerings: feathers, burning incense, cinnamon, anise, cardamom, clove, black pepper, representations of the four elements Crystals: obsidian, tourmaline, labradorite, lava rock, angelite, amethyst Animals: birds

PHANES/EROS (the elder): protogenos of procreation

Colors: red, pink for love/procreation. blue, green for nature and creation Offerings: heart shaped objects, eucalyptus, flowers, egg shells Crystals: rose quartz, rhodonite, rhodochrosite, malachite, azurite, garnet, desert rose selenite Animals: birds

NYX: protogenos of the night

Colors: black, dark blue, purple for association with the night, anything galaxy patterned Offerings: blackberries, blueberries, plum, dew (morning is fine but after sunset is best), dark feathers, dark chocolate, night-blooming flowers (like moonflower or wisteria), black tea/coffee, mugwort Crystals: obsidian, black tourmaline, labradorite, moonstone (especially black moonstone), selenite, lapis lazuli, amethyst, smokey quartz Animals: owl

also, she is associated with symbols of keys and veils/cloaks

EREBOS: protogenos of darkness

Colors: black for darkness Offerings: dark chocolate, black pepper, black salt, charcoal, asphodel Crystals: black tourmaline, obsidian, smokey quartz, lapis lazuli, azurite, red jasper Animals: moths

AETHER: protogenos of light and the heavens

Colors: yellow, orange, white for sunlight. blue for the sky Offerings: sunflowers, bee pollen, morning dew, fruit, feathers Crystals: honey/blue calcite, yellow/bumblebee jasper, angelite, celestite, milky quartz

HEMERA: protogenos of the day

Colors: blue for the sky, white for the heavens Offerings: chamomile, sage, lavender, basil Crystals: angelite, blue calcite, selenite, celestite, milky quartz, sapphire

GAEA: protogenos of the earth

Colors: blue, green, brown for the earth Offerings: flowers, wood, dirt, anything from nature, really. doing good deeds for the environment Crystals: unakite, jaspers (various), agates (various), lava rock, tiger's eye, bumblebee jasper, jade, nephrite, serpentine, amber Animals: serpents, bull, pig, bees

OURANOS: protogenos of the sky

Colors: blue, white, grey for the sky Offerings: rosemary, sage, mint, leaving your windows/curtains open Crystals: angelite, celestite, selenite, blue calcite, moonstone, sunstone, star jasper, blue lace agate Animals: birds

OCEANUS: protogenos of the ocean

Colors: blue and white for the ocean Offerings: shells, gull feathers, fish scales/bones, sea water, pearls, sand from the ocean Crystals: larimar, aquamarine, turquoise, lapis lazuli, azurite Animals: gulls, pelicans, fish

TETHYS: protogenos of fresh water

Colors: blue and green for fresh water Offerings: lake/pond/river water, fish scales/bones, cattails, sand from a fresh water beach Crystals: larimar, aquamarine, fluorite, amazonite, petoskey stone Animals: fresh water fish, dragonflies

THEMIS: protogenos of divine law and order

Colors: white, silver, gold for law Offerings: thyme, rosemary, anything resembling scales Crystals: pyrite, bloodstone, smokey quartz, obsidian, alexandrite, lapis lazuli Animals: owls

TARTARUS: protogenos of the depths

Colors: red and black for the underworld Offerings: sulfur, saltpeter, black salt, charcoal, deadly nightshade Crystals: jaspers (various), obsidian, black tourmaline, bloodstone, garnet/ruby, pyrite (contains a lot of sulfur) Animals: bats, black dogs

KRONOS: titan of time, harvest, and abundance

Colors: yellow, gold for his scythe. white, grey for the concept of time. green, brown for fertility Offerings: grain, bread, clocks/watches, vervain, poppy, nightshade, clove, allspice Crystals: jaspers (various), agates (various), labradorite, quartz (various), amethyst, honey calcite, serpentine, amber Animals: snakes

RHEA: titaness of motherhood, fertility, and generations (like of family)

Colors: red, pink for motherhood. green, brown for fertility Offerings: menstrual blood, milk, red clover, raspberry, allspice, clove, cinnamon Crystals: rose quartz, rhodonite, rhodochrosite, amethyst, pink opal, jade, nephrite, tiger's eye, cat's eye, amber Animals: lion

PHOEBE: titaness of bright intellect and prophecy

Colors: blue, white, and grey for intellect. purple for prophecy Offerings: sage, bay leaves, lavender, tests/quizzes/homework, yarrow Crystals: lapis lazuli, amethyst, labradorite, howlite, celestite, moonstone, selenite, celestite

LETO: titaness of motherhood, modesty, and womanly demure, protector of children

Colors: pink, red for motherhood. white for modesty Offerings: raspberry, allspice, clove, cinnamon, lavender, flowers, Crystals: moonstone, sunstone, selenite, rose quartz, carnelian, lepidolite, howlite Animals: wolf, rooster

also, she is associated with veiling

ASTERIA: titaness of falling stars, night time divination, and astrology

Colors: blue, black for the night. white/galaxy pattern for stars. purple for magic Offerings: star charts, feathers (especially quail), lavender Crystals: celestite, selenite, star jasper, amethyst, azurite, obsidian, black tourmaline, labradorite, jade Animals: quail

HELIOS: titan of the sun

Colors: yellow, orange, white for the sun Offerings: anything that refracts sunlight, sunflower, st john's wort, sage, cow pelt, chicken feathers Crystals: sunstone, yellow jasper, honey calcite, carnelian, citrine, milky quartz, celestite, angelite, amber Animals: cattle, sheep, white horses, rooster

SELENE: titaness of the moon

Colors: white, grey for the moon Offerings: yarrow, moon shaped objects/food, lavender, night-blooming flowers (like morning glories), nighttime dew Crystals: selenite, celestite, angelite, moonstone, labradorite, smokey quartz, howlite Animals: horses, oxen, mules

EOS: titaness of dawn

Colors: blue for the sky. white, yellow, orange, pink for colors of dawn Offerings: morning dew, morning glories, lavender, yarrow, sage Crystals: rose quartz, citrine, honey calcite, yellow jasper, milky quartz, moonstone, sunstone, selenite, celestite Animals: horses, cicadas

MNEMOSYNE: titaness of memory

Colors: red, yellow for memory Offerings: forget-me-nots, myrtle, rosemary, jasmine, Crystals: jade, amber, turquoise, fluorite, red/yellow jasper Animals: animals with good memory, like an elephant or raven

PROMETHEUS: titan of forethought, creator of mankind

Colors: red, orange for the fire of creation Offerings: fennel, burning things, charcoal Crystals: bloodstone, carnelian, citrine, amber, jaspers (various) Animals: eagle

divider by @vibeswithrenai

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blue-lotus333 · 4 months ago

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💕Goddesses of love💕

Aphrodite: Greek Goddess of love, beauty, sex and lust.

Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, emerged from the sea in a scallop shell and sailed to Cyprus. She possessed a magical girdle and had many lovers, including Ares and Adonis. Ares killed Adonis out of jealousy, leading to the creation of anemones. Adonis became a god split between the Underworld and Earth due to Aphrodite's love. She travels with the Three Graces and bestows joy, brilliance, and abundance upon mortals. She aids in romantic love and is associated with myrtles, roses, and anemones.

Freya: Norse Goddess of love, war, fertility and magic.

Freya, the Norse goddess of love and ruler of war and death. She mediated conflict between warring groups of Norse gods and established peace in Asgard. She is known for her beauty, sorcery, and sexuality, as well as for riding a cat-drawn golden chariot. Freya wears a falcon-feathered cloak that allows her to move quickly between heaven and Earth and has an enormous palace in Asgard where she celebrates with the souls she chooses from the battlefield. In one myth, she obtains the famous amber necklace, Brisingamen, from four dwarves by sleeping with them, beauty for beauty.

Oshun: African Goddess of love, beauty, prosperity & femininity.

Oshun is a goddess of love in the Yoruba religion. She is one of the 7 orishas and the source of power for all the other orishas. Oshun has the ability to make all things flow in the universe through her love and strength. She played a significant role in encouraging Ogun, father of civilization, to continue creating. Oshun is the only goddess who can carry messages between the mortal world and the Supreme Creator in heaven. In Nigeria, there is an annual ceremony called Ibo-Osun where women dance for Oshun during a feast of yams, with the best dancer winning Oshun's favor and becoming the village adviser on healing and fertility.

Parvati: Hindu Goddess of love, fertility, harmony and motherhood.

Parvati is a golden Hindu goddess known for love and devotion, forming a holy trinity with Saraswati and Lakshmi. She was born in the Himalayan mountains and embodies nurturing feminine energy. Parvati won over her husband, Shiva, through patience and determination in asceticism. Parvati is the creator of her son Ganesha, the elephant-headed god of wisdom. She is also worshiped for her strength and ferocity. In one legend, she transformed into the fearsome goddess Kali-ma to overcome & destroy demons who threaten the earth, showing her protective nature.

Guan yin: Buddhist Goddess of compassion, love, peace and kindness.

Guan Yin, originally a mortal princess named Miao Shan, was known for her compassion and kindness. Despite her father's cruelty, she devoted herself to helping others and performing miracles. After her death, she chose to remain in human form as a bodhisattva to help suffering beings, eventually becoming a goddess. By simply invoking her name, people can receive protection from harm. Guan Yin is often depicted in a white gown on a lotus throne and is revered by her followers as a symbol of love, compassion & purity. Her devotees often follow her vegetarian diet on her sacred days. Guan yin is not only the goddess of compassion, but the literal personification of it.

Hathor: Egyptian Goddess of fertility, love, womanhood and the sky.

Hathor, ancient Egyptian goddess of love and joy, has been revered for over 3,000 years. Known as the Gentle Cow of Heaven, she provided milk to the Sun God Ra, making him and other pharaohs divine. Hathor created the Milky Way and is often depicted wearing a crown with cow horns. She is worshipped through joyful ceremonies of music and dance and is the most beloved goddess in ancient Egyptian belief. Hathor is also the goddess of the Underworld, protector of females, and champion of romantic bonds. She can appear in different forms and her symbols are the sistrum and hand mirror.

Laka: Hawaiian Goddess of love, wilderness, the hula & music.

Laka is a Polynesian goddess of love and wilderness who taught humans the art of the hula dance. She is married to the fertility god Lono, and rain is considered a sacred time for them. Dancers in training build altars to Laka with her favorite flowers and plants, and offerings are taken down to the ocean after performances to thank her for her blessing. She is a Goddess who rules over all vegetation. Plants sacred to her are: maile, Lama, hala pepe, `ie`ie, ki, `ôhia lehua, `ôhelo, and palai.

Aine: Irish Goddess of the summer, love, wealth and light.

Áine is a powerful and loving fairy queen in Irish legend, associated with agriculture, animals, and light. She is celebrated at the Midsummer Festival in Limerick, where people run up her hill to seek her blessing. She is also a survivor of sexual abuse in legends, where she shows strength and guides women to empowerment. Áine is depicted with red hair, a headband of stars, and surrounded by her animals. She can transform into a red mare who is unbeatable in speed.

Xochiquetzal: Aztec Goddess of fertility, beauty, flowers and love.

Xochiquetzal was a powerful and complex Aztec goddess known for her beauty and seductive nature. She was worshipped as a patroness of lovers and prostitutes, encouraging love-making for pleasure rather than reproduction. Despite her associations with sexual relationships, she also had the ability to absolve humans of sins unrelated to sex. She was married to the water god, Tlaloc, and was considered a consort to the creator deity, Tezcatlipoca. Xochiquetzal was widely worshipped and honored through great rituals that included acts of sacrifice and confessions.

Ishtar: Mesopotamian Goddess of love, war, fertility and power.

One of the oldest goddesses in the world, Ishtar, the goddess of war and sexual love, was the queen of heaven. Ishtar is considered a member of the special class of Mesopotamian gods called the Anunnaki. Ishtar is often called Inanna, she is also an astral deity, linked to the planet Venus, and was worshipped widely in the ancient Middle East. She was known as the Queen of the Universe and had powers attributed to various other gods. Ishtar was the very first goddess of love, Mesopotamians described her in her many legends and poems as young and strikingly beautiful, with piercing, penetrating eyes.

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violettduchess · 5 months ago

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I would like to request Chevalier and the prompt lullaby!

A/N: Here you are, anon! This is an entry for me and @lorei-writes Sunshine and Starlight Creation Challenge.

Chevalier x Reader

tw: pregnancy, baby

WC: ~1k

Baby mine, don’t you cry / Baby mine, dry your eyes / Rest your head close to my heart / Never to part, baby of mine

The sun sets, running its pink and orange fingertips across the darkening sky. You lean further back in the cushioned rocking chair, resting your hands on the swell of your midsection, deeply content.

Chevalier had noticed how often the fresh air and view of the exquisite palace gardens seemed to soothe you when you felt ill or especially tired or when you just needed a moment away from the chaos of the day. He decided he would make sure to give you a comfortable way to enjoy the outdoor respite from the wide, stone balcony off your bedroom. Without informing you of his plan, he had commissioned an extraordinary rocking chair from a master woodworker, a man whose name was almost legendary throughout Rhodolite for his craftsmanship and attention to detail. In the end, he presented the king with a pale wooden rocker inlaid with soft, green velvet cushions and adorned with delicate carvings of roses and small garden creatures peeking out from behind the delicate petals. The king was pleased.

The rocking motion usually helps calm the restless baby stretching its limbs in its limited space, but tonight, despite the gentle rocking, it still continues its fidgety movements. “Oh, little one, what’s wrong?” With a sigh, you begin singing quietly, a song about treetops and cradles and breaking boughs, while rubbing over the spot on your bump that a tiny foot keeps insistently kicking.

You’re so lost in the moment that only the shifting of the shadows alerts you to the fact that Chevalier is there. He’s been watching you, head tilted as if studying a curious riddle or an interesting passage in a book. “Does singing really help calm the child?” Smiling while still continuing to sing, you reach out for him, taking his hand when he is within reach and placing it on your belly. Sure enough, the movement has slowed, the uneasy thrashing having faded away to a mild shifting of position. He glances from his hand to you, listening to the gentle sound of your singing. It seems he has more preparations to make.

Little one, when you play / Pay no heed what they say / Let your eyes sparkle and shine / Never a tear, baby of mine

He has many music books delivered to join his already impressive collection. Lullabies from Jade, Obsidian, Iolite, Benitoite, and Amber, just to name a few. His elegant fingers drift purposefully over piano keys, learning their melodies, the valleys and peaks of their notes. He can play them all impeccably, without sheet music, within a week. You watch him from the doorway of the sunlit music room, taking in the lines of his broad shoulders, the curve of his hands as they play, the fall of his pale hair across his forehead. As the last notes fade into nothingness, he turns to look at you. “And? Which children’s song do you think our child will favor?” He reads the expression that crosses your face before you can school it into something neutral. His lips turn down in a slight frown. “You’re not pleased.”

Sighing, you make your way over to the piano bench, placing your hands on his shoulders. “It’s not that. I think it’s really wonderful that you’ve learned so many songs for our baby.” He turns to look over his shoulder, blue eyes questioning. “But?” You give his strong shoulders a light squeeze, your baby bump brushing against his back. “It’s too perfect. Too practiced. A lullaby doesn’t have to be so flawless. It should come from the heart.”

Again a small frown. You answer it with a tender smile, cupping his cheek. “Nevermind. Our child is so very lucky to have such a thoughtful father.” You place a kiss right on the line of his cheekbone. “Come, let’s go and see what treasures the new delivery of books has for us.” Chevalier allows his wife to take his hand and pull him from the bench, but your words echo through his mind.

And suddenly, he knows what he must do.

If they knew all about you / They’d end up loving you, too / All those same people who scold you / What they’d give just for the right to hold you

Three Months Later

You’re in the exhausted, deep sleep of new parenthood. So tired that the natural, internal alarm that usually shakes you awake when your daughter cries doesn’t work. You remain in the dark void of dreamless slumber. Instead, it's Chevalier who pushes back the covers, crossing the darkened bedroom to where she is stirring, mewling like a kitten as she kicks her tiny legs. He reaches down into the white cradle, carefully lifting her out and with a glance at your sleeping form, gently lifts her to him, resting her against his shoulder before walking out onto the balcony and into the warm, summer night. Above, the stars twinkle, bright and diamond-like against an indigo sky. The scent of roses lingers in the air.

“You were fed not an hour ago, child.” He speaks softly as he lowers his long body into the rocking chair, one hand patting her little bottom. “And it seems everything is still dry.” She lets out a sigh, a shudder rolling through her as she wiggles in his arms. Chevalier begins rocking slowly back and forth, running his large hand up and down her small back. “Perhaps a song, hmm?”

Closing his eyes, he breathes in her newborn scent, still surprised by how comforting it is, how the feel of her in his arms fills his heart like an explosion of summer roses. Laying his cheek lightly against her downy hair, he starts singing, his voice low and tender like the warm wind through the branches of a willow tree.

“From your hair down to your toes / You’re not much, goodness knows / But you’re so precious to me / Sweet as can be, baby of mine.”

The words Clavis taught him, the very same lullaby his mother Leticia always sang when putting her golden-eyed son to bed, live on, drifting up into the summer sky to join the cavalcade of stars.

Note: The lullaby is from the movie Dumbo and you can find it here (have tissues ready)

Taglist: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey

@mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight

@ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea

@chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating

@portrait-ninja @starlitmanor-network @sh0jun @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing

@nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @ozalysss

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen chevalier #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfiction #sunshineandstarlightcc #violettwrites #tw pregnancy #tw baby

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bestworstcase · 7 months ago

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Any Summer Maiden ideas?

Not their identity per se, but rather their role or thematic undertones you think they might have in future volume/s? And how they might contrast to the other Maidens?

Or even the Maidens as a whole, especially as we slowly inch closer and closer to having a 'full set'?

i stand by the gillian theory and my general thoughts on what the maidens are for, thematically. if she isn’t gill, i think she’s definitely starr (& as outlined in the gillian theory post, between gill’s semblance and the ATMs i think the summer maiden might get hot potatoed without character deaths—in the form of gill temporarily stealing the magic by draining the real maiden’s aura with her semblance, or if gill is the maiden, the ATMs being used to permanently transfer half her aura to jax and that causing the maiden power to part from her and go to someone else, probably starr).

there’s also the ‘lessons’ and the divine quality associated with each maiden:

winter + creation + “learn to center yourself and think reflectively to gain awareness of who you are and what you can contribute to the world”

the medical neglect fria is subjected to as an woman with dementia deprives her of this ability, until penny treats her with compassion and dignity, which affords her a moment of clarity and agency in whom she chooses to be her heir;

likewise, penny is subjected to extreme dehumanization even by the standards of the atlesian military and the central conceit of her character arc is her struggle to assert her personhood; becoming the maiden intensifies this struggle and, like fria, she’s unable to escape it in the end;

so the winter maiden passes to winter, who embodied the lesson all along: “emotions can grant you strength, but you must never let them overpower you” + “we must still acknowledge our feelings, wrestle with them. it insures us that we’re on the right path. it’s what makes us human.”

the winter maiden arc is about the act of self-creation—how do we make ourselves human? how do we define ourselves? what does it mean to be a person? to become real?

spring + knowledge + “hard work can be its own reward” and “try to nurture the life around you and remember to ‘stop and smell the roses.’”

the last spring maiden, we’re told, found the burden to great and ran away. raven says that she “never learned,” no matter how much training raven put her through.

vernal, the false maiden, is presented as someone with incredible dedication to her tribe who has trained hard with the magic she was given. (and this is not entirely false: vernal is devoted to the tribe, and she has clearly worked hard to hone her skill.)

raven, the real maiden, “needed to know more” and went looking for the truth on her own; she tells weiss and yang “so far you’ve done nothing but accept what others tell you, but you need to question everything” and that “the truth is hard to come by.”

the spring maiden arc is about the effort it takes to uncover the truth, but also the effort it takes to conceal it, and the connecting thread between all three ‘maidens’ (real or not) is this idea of training-as-duty; something both of the real maidens are said to have ‘abandoned’ whereas the false maiden did not.

crucially, this arc is not over and won’t be over until we know what really happened to the last spring maiden, but the set up is toward an interrogation and rejection of this ‘training-as-duty’ conceit: hard work is its own reward, but it’s important to stop and smell the roses; ie, training and dedication to a cause is its own reward, but only if the cause itself is worthy. the last spring maiden was a child given too great a burden, raven left because she found that she had been deceived.

fall + choice + “be thankful for what you have and show your gratitude.”

amber is traveling alone when she’s attacked, with qrow tailing her at too great a distance to intervene; it’s unclear whether she was part of the inner circle herself. after the power is divided, they keep her on life support inside the ATM in anticipation of finding a new vessel for the magic still attached to her soul. no apparent attempt to get her actual medical care.

pyrrha is asked to become their sacrificial vessel for amber’s soul, for the sake of keeping the remaining part of the magic from recombining with its other half in cinder. she’s torn between feeling like this is an obstacle preventing her from fulfilling her destiny and fear that this is how she must fulfill her destiny, at the cost of who she is.

cinder—who had nothing—sees the maidens like this: “you think that hoarding power means you’ll have it forever, but that just makes the rest of us hungrier! …and i refuse to starve.” she’s the only maiden in the story who actively wanted to become a maiden and her chief role in the spring and winter arcs has been forcing the other maidens out of the vault-keys paradigm, through opening the vault (spring) or interfering with a machine transfer (winter).

the fall maiden arc is about freeing the maidens so that they can choose themselves; ozpin and his inner circle objectify the maidens and seek to possess and control them. the maidens are disposable, replaceable as long as the other side doesn’t get them. cinder represents the inversion of the fairytale moral, as someone who was deprived and subjugated for her whole life; “be grateful for what you have” becomes the wrathful “it just makes the rest of us hungrier.”

this arc is not over either; what remains is for cinder to let go of her desire for the other maidens and find a way to fulfill what she actually wants, which is freedom and safety. but because the fall maiden arc is so intertwined with the others—cinder as the violent liberator wrenching the other maidens out of this system—her presence in vale with salem has implications for how the summer maiden arc might unfold.

so.

summer + destruction + “don’t view the world at a distance, take an active part in it.”

as i discussed here, i’m skeptical that the mystery girl in B1 is the summer maiden. but if she is, or if she’s a presumptive heir, the secrecy surrounding her and the fact that she isn’t publicly known or acting in the open like winter and raven are would suggest that the inner circle hasn’t shifted its thinking whatsoever on the maidens: winter and raven are free because their vaults are open and salem has their relics, but the summer maiden must be kept hidden to safeguard her vault.

on the other hand, if mystery girl is a spy (emerald), then the summer maiden’s absence could suggest either that she is in hiding or that she is someone outside of the inner circle’s control.

because cinder isn’t in vacuo, i think the latter option is more likely—which is one reason i think it’s probably gillian first and starr becoming the maiden during the vacuo arc. if the summer maiden is already someone outside of, and antagonistic to, the inner circle, then there is no narrative need for cinder to be involved in the summer maiden arc; the summer maiden is already free.

(this would also allow for an interesting inversion of the last two arcs and mirroring with the second beacon arc, in that if gillian is the summer maiden, the crown will be gunning for the sword of destruction, and the conflict is not “how do we keep the key out of salem’s hands” but “how can we prevent an enemy maiden from taking the relic.”)

similarly, if the maiden is starr, then the crown is likely to be gunning for her and between the twins’ semblances and tyrian they certainly have the means to do it if they find her.

the other thing to consider with regard to the summer maiden is the history vacuo has with the sword, and how that intersects with the summer maiden’s theme of taking an active part in the world: eighty years ago, ozma used that sword to end a war and enact dramatic world-wide changes, and then he sealed it away with the presumable intent that it would never be used again. this is antithetical to the thematic purpose of the summer maiden and of destruction conceptually; the summer maiden must act, and destruction is a force which drives constant change.

if the summer maiden is part of the inner circle and on board with keeping the sword locked away at the top of the vacuo arc, i think it’s very likely that she will die, and the power will go to a character who wants to open the vault and use it to protect vacuo. whether that is gillian or starr or both at different points in the narrative, it makes sense to me for the summer maiden to be someone who decides that the sword must be used, for better or worse.

if gillian is the summer maiden, i think her determination to use the sword for vacuo’s sake in combination with her love for her brother might end up being the common ground between the crown and the coalition: they agree to help her heal her brother via partial aura transfer, she agrees to relinquish the maiden power, and everyone comes together to mount a counteroffensive using the sword of destruction. or the summer maiden power might end up divided between multiple people, with gillian keeping half and the half attached to the aura transferred to jax seeking a new host.

generally, i think it’s more likely than not that the summer maiden will break the existing pattern of [vulnerable dead/dying maiden] -> [“false” or “illegitimate” maiden] -> [freed maiden] and in that case the expectation that the initial summer maiden will die might be subverted completely. there is also something compelling about the summer maiden choosing to ‘destroy’ her power by dividing it, in a mirror image of the fall maiden arc.

although that being said i don’t think the maiden cycle itself will be ended, just freed from the artificial system of control imposed by the vaults and the oz conspiracy.

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ladylaviniya · 4 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐳𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 — 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 || 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭...𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞? 𝐀𝐬𝐤 𝐒𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐲𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. 𝐋𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤!𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐗 𝐋𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 (𝐌𝐲 𝐎𝐅𝐂)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐚𝐭, 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐊𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐄𝐱𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐯𝐢𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓.𝟗𝐤

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬:

★𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲: 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐲𝐚'𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧?

★𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: "𝐂𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭" 𝐛𝐲 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬

She knew she was not awake when she opened her eyes, she was aware that it was only a creation of her mind. Over the years, she had become accustomed to this lucid recognition, a skill she had honed through experience. Despite the initial thrill of discovery, she had grown weary of the predictability of awakening in this realm of sleep. But there was always an element of mystery to these dreams, for sometimes they reflected her innermost thoughts and desires, while at other times they took unexpected turns, leading her down paths she never dared to tread in her waking hours.

Beneath her, she laid on her back, feeling the damp grass beneath her. Looking up, she saw the sky was a soft, heavenly blue, scattered with fluffy white clouds. The air was gentle, caressing her face like a warm, soothing embrace. This was a good dream, pleasant and comforting, like being enveloped in a blanket of peace. The breeze carried a scent of pine and fresh dew, rustling through the trees and rustling the leaves in a soft, lulling whisper. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply be, to bask in the tranquillity of this dream world.

She rose slowly, taking in the sight of the sheep grazing peacefully in the fields around her. Little lambs could be heard bleating for their mothers, a comforting sound in this tranquil scene. As she sat there, basking in the quietness of the dreamworld, her eyes caught sight of a familiar figure approaching across a hill through the tall, swaying grass. It was her mother, walking towards her with a warm smile on her face.

The Lady Rhea Royce had a regal and strong appearance, with her sharp features and a sturdy build. Her hair was a mess of dark curls, and her eyes were a warm shade of amber. She was dressed in her usual riding leathers and cloak, a testament to her love for horseback riding. She used to let you sit in front of her on the saddle astride her steed, Buttercup.

Whenever Laviniya looked at her mother, she couldn’t help but picture her donning her heavy bronze hunting armor, adorned with intricate runes etched into the surface. It was a rare sight to see her mother in dresses. She could vaguely recall the council’s concerns that her mother’s preference for armor might have a negative impact on her, but Laviniya had always found strength in her mother’s independence and warrior spirit.

As her mother gestured with her arms, beckoning her closer, Laviniya couldn’t help but giggle in delight. She quickly got up, shaking off the blades of grass that clung to her dress, and dashed across the field towards her mother. She was filled with excitement and anticipation, the joy of reunion clear on her face. As she drew near, she threw herself into her mother’s arms, wrapping her own around her waist in a warm embrace.

Laviniya’s dreams with her mother were like little pockets of pure happiness, moments she savoured and looked forward to. Sometimes, they would engage in light conversation about mundane topics, sharing a laugh over little things. Other times, they wouldn’t speak a word, simply enjoying each other’s presence and relishing the silent comfort they found in each other’s arms. Whatever the case, these dreams always left her feeling safe and loved.

Her mother took her hand as they strolled side by side through the hills, their bodies swaying slightly in time with each step. They watched the sheep graze peacefully, contentedly munching on the soft grass.

The once peaceful scene was abruptly shattered as the sheep that had been grazing contentedly suddenly grew agitated and began to scatter in every direction. A chilling roar echoed through the air, and a giant shadow descended upon her and her mother, plunging them into an almost oppressive darkness. Laviniya's eyes widened in terror as she gazed up at the source of the disturbance - a dragon.

This dragon was unlike any she had ever seen before. Its scales shimmered in the light, reflecting a dazzling array of colours that seemed to dance and shift with every movement. It was breathtaking, an entity of power and grace that commanded a sense of awe. She felt a pang of jealousy, though, as she remembered how her father’s own dragon, the fearsome Caraxes, had instilled in her a deep fear every time she saw him in the sky. How unfair it was, that she had never been granted the chance to bond with a dragon of her own.

Her mother placed her hands firmly on her shoulders and spoke in a steady, calm tone. “In House Royce,” she echoed, “We Remember.” The words echoed in her mind, a familiar refrain that stirred within her a sense of pride and purpose. These were not just empty words, but a motto to live by, a call to honor their legacy and all that came before. They were the House words of House Royce, a reminder of their strength and resilience throughout generations.

We Remember...

She strained her memory, trying to recall what it was that she should remember. The dream felt different than usual, with a sense of urgency and significance that she couldn’t quite grasp. She could sense that something important was hidden beneath the surface, just out of reach of her conscious mind. It was as if this dream was more than a simple visit with her mother, but a message or a warning that she couldn’t afford to ignore. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, as she tried to unlock the secret that her subconscious was desperately trying to convey.

She recoiled in horror as the dragon unleashed a torrent of fire upon the valley below, setting everything ablaze in its path. She instinctively shielded herself, lifting her arms up to protect her face from the inferno. She waited for the searing heat to scorch her flesh, but instead, the flames seemed to glide over her body without leaving a mark. It was as if an invisible shield surrounded her, protecting her from the dragon’s fiery wrath.

Her eyes widened in shock and terror as she felt her belly growing larger and larger with each passing moment. It was a surreal and terrifying sight, but she couldn’t understand how it was happening. Suddenly, her mother was gone and replaced by her father, who stepped forward and placed his hand gently on her distended stomach.

Her father’s gaze was intense and commanding as he looked at her, and his words echoed in her ears. “Fire for the egg, blood for the saddle,” he said firmly. She followed his eye line down to her stomach, where he had once rested his hand. Instead of a swollen belly, she now held a large, bronze-coloured scaled egg, its surface sparkling like coins.

The egg in her hands began to tremble, as if something within it was pushing and writhing, desperate to break free. The movement was not gentle or subtle, but frantic and restless. The shell vibrated against her palms, and she could feel the strength of the creature's movements as it battered against its confine, bouncing back and forth like a caged beast trying to escape.

The breeze around her intensified, turning into a powerful wind that whipped at her hair and dress, making it harder for her to keep her bearings. The roar of the dragon above echoed in her mind, its intensity overwhelming her senses. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, a mixture of fear and desperation coursing through her veins. She longed to escape this dreamscape, to wake up and find the safety of her waking world.

She let go of the egg, letting it fall, falling with it into the darkness of her mind before light peaked in under her eyelids.

Her mind slowly clawed its way back to consciousness, plagued by spots of colour in her vision and an intense headache that felt like she had been struck by a heavy stone. Blurry sunlight filtered in through a window with intricate latticed panes, warm against her cheeks. The brightness was almost painful, and she didn’t dare open her eyes at first. Her limbs felt unbearably heavy, as though weighed down by logs, and her head felt like it was made of solid rock.

She automatically raised her hand to her temple as she sat up, and her fingers brushed against a mask. It felt different, larger. Pulling it away she could see that it was not her mask. It was more extravagant, decorative, adorned with long plumes of crimped feathers and painted swirls and a emotional frown...the mask of Lady Saerra? She promptly cast it away, her mind still clear enough to suspect its purpose. Her hair, which had been tightly bound in a bun, was now a messy tangle, and she quickly untied it, allowing the locks to fall loosely into a single braid that cascaded over her shoulder.

She was grateful, her attire and possessions still seemed largely intact, a small comfort in the midst of her turmoil. The sunlight seeping in through the window held a crisp, dawn-like chill, hinting that it was still early. How much time had passed? How long had it been? She could hear soldiers marching in the distance, and even in her disoriented state, her mind focused intently on their insignia, trying to identify the army they belonged to. Panic overtook her confusion, consuming her thoughts.

She attempted to regain her composure, to think lucidly. What could Ser Martyn possibly hope to achieve with this act? Was he insane? Was she a fool for being so easily deceived? She knew she shouldn’t have trusted him, no matter how charming or captivating he had been. In fact, his affability, his engaging charm, was precisely what had led her to be in this precarious situation.

Holding a member of a noble family captive, and even resorting to harming them with a blade, was beyond the realm of acceptable behaviour, even in times of war. If Ser Martyn had hoped to hold her for ransom, then he was sorely mistaken. Her elderly cousin Lord Gunthor was known for his measured restraint, but this action was beyond the pale. She could not imagine that he would let it go unchecked. It was simply inconceivable.

As fragments of the previous night came back to her, she gingerly pushed up her sleeve, only to find her arm carefully bandaged and attended to. The distinctive scent of medicinal herbs filled her nostrils, and when she gently tested the bandages, she discovered they were securely and meticulously wrapped. Despite the care taken, there was still pain, each movement sending sharp pangs up her injured arm.

How had they managed to steal her away, right under the watchful eyes of the sentries stationed at each exit point in the garden? How had they been able to slip out of the palace undetected? What was it that Ser Martyn had mentioned before she succumbed to the effects of the poisoned blade? The answer suddenly emerged from the swirling vortex of her thoughts, staring her in the face in the form of the ostentatious mask she’d just jettisoned.

Troubadours. Yes, it all started to make sense now. They must have been in on it too in some capacity. They provided the perfect cover to slip out of the gardens and the palace itself. And there were existing explanations to conveniently excuse the early departure – maybe the Chamberlain had finally lost his patience and had them booted out.

Her eyes scanned the confines of the caged cart, desperately searching for any apparent exit. Her fingers finally alighted upon the internal latch of the door, and she wasted no time tugging and wrenching at it, to no avail. Frustrated, she pounded on the wooden frame and called out, her parched throat causing her to break into a cough. “Release me!” she shouted through the window, her voice raspy and hoarse.

The knights, directly within sight of the latticed window, appeared to be either deaf or simply ignoring her pleas. The gall! But she knew she had only herself to blame for being so naive. She swallowed the bitter lump in her throat, drew in a steadying breath, and began banging her hands against the solid door of the jostling carriage.

The act of pounding against the solid surface helped to temporarily assuage her frustration, though only minimally. Her voice rang out, loud and clear. “Let me out! Y-you bas-bastards!”

The deep voice of a familiar figure sounded, calm and composed. “Good morning, if only I knew you were a lady of unrefined language, I may never have taken you.” His voices tripped with sarcasm.

A massive horse fell into stride alongside her carriage, keeping perfect pace with it. Lord Martyn himself was still clad in the same attire he had worn the previous evening, but his mask was conspicuously absent.

His smile remained visible, and a conspicuous scar traversed his face, running from just below his temple to his chin. One of his eyes was concealed by a bulky bandage, and the rest of his head was shielded by a heavy woolen hood, obscuring his long red locks from view.

The sight of him, without the cover of his mask and in the bright sunlight of the day, was striking enough to silence her frenzied pounding. There was a harder, more cold-hearted quality about his features, his cheerfulness taking on a slightly sinister edge that gave her pause. How much of his kindness and charm was simply a facade?

It was almost difficult to comprehend. Against all odds, they had seemed to have forged a genuine rapport, their conversations effortlessly flowing between them. Yet, in spite of all that, she caught herself on the verge of falling for his deception once more. She quickly reined in the thought, determined not to be fooled again. Gods be good. If she somehow managed to escape from this predicament unscathed, she knew she would never live it down.

Foolish girl. She rolled her eyes at herself. She could readily visualize the smug amusement on Eldric’s face, his mocking laughter ringing in her ears as the memory would haunt her for days. But even in her dire circumstances, she couldn’t help but acknowledge that her cousin’s insulting amusement was probably one of the best outcomes she could hope for. How comforting...

Rather than showing any hint of remorse or guilt for his actions, Lord Martyn appeared utterly self-satisfied. He casually apologized, seemingly indifferent to the gravity of his actions. “I do apologize for not finishing our game,” he stated, as if the interruption of their game were the harshest offense he had committed. “If my plans were not so important, I assure you my lady, that I would have truly enjoyed finishing it. Perhaps we might find other games to play in the meantime?”

His charm remained all the same as he continued to speak with the same affable manner, as if their situation were nothing out of the ordinary, merely continuing their discussion from where they’d left off.

“I would refrain from doing that, dear lady,” he advised casually, as she raised her fists once more to pound on the unyielding door. “Your carriage is quite secure, and you’ll only tire yourself out. But I’m glad to see you’ve regained your energy.”

She didn’t even bother to address the staggering impropriety of it all; he certainly knew. Perhaps he wasn’t as stupid as she had initially thought – unless this was a deliberate act, and he truly was malicious. A thought darted through her mind: had he ever been genuine at all? Frustration simmered in her chest, but her lips remained resolutely closed, refusing to give voice to the scathing remarks that threatened to spill from her mouth.

And what, exactly, did he have in store for her? It hardly mattered, she thought bitterly. She already anticipated disliking it, regardless. Given his track record, she seriously doubted he would offer any honest explanations if she chose to ask.

Instead, she fixed him with a look of contempt, her gaze became a violet, burning through the crosshatched window with a mixture of anger and resentment. That the carriage itself did not explode in her fury was nothing short of miraculous.

“Whatever stupid plan you have concocted I feel I am entitled and must inform you that I do not endorse it!” she snapped, her voice coated with anger. “Stop this carriage. Release me at once!” She had little faith that he would actually heed her words at this point, but she felt compelled to make her stance on the matter abundantly clear.

He responded with a snort of derision, his laughter resounding through the air. “Oh, you don’t endorse this? Had I but known,” he mocked scornfully, laying his hand mournfully on his chest.

Despite her great frustration, she pressed her back against the unforgiving surface of the carriage and delivered a forceful stomp to the door with all her strength. She recalled his assurance that her accommodations were secure, but she was determined to find out for herself. The rhythmic thumping and banging recommenced in earnest, her wounded arm protesting each frantic jerk with a sharp flash of pain.

“Open this damned door!” Laviniya yelled, punctuating her words with an emphatic bang. She screamed inside of the carriage, knowing that escape was improbable but determined to make their journey miserable. “You are mistaken if you believe I intend to just allow you to kidnap me! My Lord Cousin shall have your head Ser!...” She had no unrealistic hope about outrunning his powerful horse or breaking her way out from the thick wooden panels, but she’d make sure every moment was agonizing for her captors if she could help it. The belief fuelled the fire in her, and she resolved to make their lives as hellish as possible.

His mocking pleasantness continued as he spoke. “I am to believe this is your first time being kidnapped, yes? Well allow me to grant you your only alternatives,” he said. “It is within your power my lady, not to upset or annoy the man who has total reign over your safety. After all, at this current passage of time, you are journeying in what some would call a relatively comfortable carriage right now because well - I’m rather fond of you. If you give me reason my lady, that can easily be changed.”

His one eye shifted towards her, and she felt the intensity of his scrutiny increase from before. It was as if he were judging her, like a merchant weighing the value of an item at the market. The previous pretence of modesty had vanished, replaced with a hint of arrogance in his smile and a sense of superiority in his bearing. His confidence, even as a supposed knight, was jarring to her. She might have expected his arrogance to be accompanied by a sense of foolishness or pompous ignorance, but there was something strangely level-headed about him. His eye held a hard, flinty quality, exuding an unsettling strength.

His smile grew more menacing, his words carrying an intimidating weight. “If you force me,” he continued, “I shall not have a single doubt in shackling you to the side of the carriage and gagging you for the remainder of our travelling.” The threat hung in the air, his smile hardening into a look of ruthlessness that sent shivers up her spine. “It matter not to me one way or the other. The option is entirely yours.”

With a reluctant and sullen movement, her hands relented and dropped from the walls of the carriage, returning to her lap in a brooding position. Her eyes bore holes through the wooden bars, a furious glare that spoke of her bitter resignation towards the bastard.

Their journey continued, without interruption, traveling at a relentless pace through the day and night. They only intermittently stopped for brief periods to adhere natures calling. Laviniya was given a pot and was not permitted to leave the carriage at any moment. She was fed fruits and nuts inside sacks that were pushed into the hols of her rolling prison. Three horses gave in to exhaustion, and once, the carriage wheel itself required repair after being subjected to the relentless journey. It was clear that Ser Martyn was willing to go to great extremes, including paying a hefty price, in order to evade her countrymen and men of The Vale.

With grim determination, Laviniya maintained her silence. She eventually conceded that her earlier outbursts – the banging, the noise, the shouting in anger – were little more than hot air. Beneath the facade, fear consumed her. Her throat felt tight, as if threatened by a barrage of tears. Yet, she held her emotions at bay, her face a mask of chilling detachment. She had to be brave.

No, she reminded herself, it wouldn’t be worth it. The thought of being chained or losing her voice was a daunting prospect, and not worth the risk. She occasionally entertained the idea of sleeping through the journey, but the uneven ride quickly dashed that thought. In her more delirious moments, she found herself contemplating the drastic measure of ending her own life, purposely choking on the peach seeds and nuts, just to ruin her captor’s plans. Theoretically, she had the means to do it.

To her surprise, she managed to doze off in a half-conscious stupor, rocked into sleep by the carriage’s movement. It was the sudden halt that stirred her from her slumber. Why had they stopped now? She peered out through the latticed windows, seeing the river crossing in the distance and noting the fading light of dusk casting shadows through the trees. As she heard voices, she leaned closer to the windows, trying to make out the muted conversation between the Lord and one of his scouts.

They were planning to cross the river and travel pass Darry. They were hoping to stay in Harrenhal for the evening...the first was beside The Gods Eye lake, where her father had perished at the hands of King Aemond.

“It’s not clear.”

“How many?”

“Just one,” the scout reported. “A knight, from the looks of it.”

“We could take a single knight,” said a nearby man, as he casually sharpened his knife. His words drew her attention, and she strained to overhear the conversation.

“No,” responded Martyn. “It won’t take long for him to pass. We shall wait.”

She suspected their hesitation had nothing to do with mercy and everything to do with practicality. Disappearing a knight would undoubtedly invite unwanted attention and questions, and while they might be able to outpace those challenges, it was hardly worth the risk. However, given the chance to slow down her abductors, she was more than willing to try. She swallowed hard, summoning her courage, and drew in a deep breath. With all her might, she launched into a full-throttled scream that filled the air.

Ser Corwyn Corbray, the knight of Raven Hearts, had pledged his loyalty to Rhaena Targaryen, ward of Lady Jeyne Arryn and Lady of The Eyrie. With his honour as his guide, he was now on a quest, mounted on horseback, on the fringes of The Vale and Riverlands. His mission was to slay exactly one hundred rabbits, no more and no less, in order to create a fine fur coat for his beloved. Upon completing this noble task, he was instructed to report back to his Lady, prepared to embark on his next assignment of great worth and valour.

Ser Corwyn suddenly tensed as the faint echoes of a young woman’s screams reached his ears. Without a moment’s hesitation, he spurred his horse forward, following the source of the noise. The visibility was less than ideal, but he hailed the group regardless. “Lo there! I am Ser Corwyn Corbray!” he called out. “I hear the cries of a woman in distress! Name thyselves, what is your purpose!” As a knight of The Vale, it was his duty and honour to confront these scoundrels. “Upon my honour as a Knight of The Vale, you will release her!”

In an instant, realization washed over her. Not only was her would-be saviour a solitary knight, but a knight of The Eyrie, a fact that filled her with despair. Her eyes slowly left the window, and she slumped back against her seat, wishing she could simply disappear into the cushions. There was nothing more ludicrous than the proud knights of The Eyrie, known for their obsession with chivalry over common sense. She had hoped he would ride away in search of help, seeing the danger ahead. But no. A knight of The Eyrie would sooner die than flee from a difficult situation.

The men who had kidnapped her were quick and swift. In a flash, three archers had cocked their bows at the lone knight, while four knights unsheathed their swords. From her carriage window, she could see Ser Martyn shooting daggers in her direction, his seething glare almost tangible. However, he quickly composed himself and redirected his gaze at the knight, managing to suppress his anger for the moment.

Her abductor’s voice carried a note of skepticism as he asked, “On your honor? What honor is that?” The question seemed more of an attempt to elicit information than anything else. He looked towards Ser Gilbar, who jumped in and added his own doubts. “He doesn’t look like a knight to me,” he declared, with a hint of disbelief. “A true knight of The Vale would rather be protecting his people than roaming the woods at his leisure.”

Ser Corwyn bristled at the remarks, visibly offended by the observation. “You Sers with no understanding of our traditions, watch thy tongue!” he exclaimed. Despite his momentary anger, he quickly regrouped, turning his snow-white mare towards the imposing figure on the massive mount. “Are you the leader of this travelling party?” he repeated, his tone authoritative. “I beseech thee: state thy purpose!”

A soft yet audible voice from behind the carriage called out to Ser Corwyn, “Flee, Ser Corwyn!” A small hand nonchalantly gestured at the unfolding scene. Laviniya was already resigned to her fate. Unless Ser Corwyn was flanked by a full battalion, a highly unlikely scenario given The Eyrie’s frugal nature, this endeavour was doomed to fail. Of all people, it had to be him who stumbled upon them.

The knight’s expression was one of pure shock. “Lady Laviniya! What has happened here?!” he gasped, visibly stunned. It seemed unbelievable; she didn’t even recall ever interacting with him before. Perhaps he had spotted her eyes and pieced together that she was the half sister of his beloved fiancée.

Perhaps a passing feeling of curiosity washed over her, but ultimately, it didn’t matter. If he had simply heeded her warning and fled, he might have escaped his doomed fate.

Corwyn ignored her command and took matters into his own hands. He lowered his helmet visor over his eyes and raised the point of his sword. “You scoundrels!” he exclaimed. “Release her this instant!”

Laviniya’s captor sighed then nodded to his men, his expression betraying a hint of irritation, as if the task of dispatching the knight was a chore beneath him.

Arrows raised and arrows flew and arrows landed.

The hissing whistle of the arrows would haunt her dreams as they struck the knight. He was still alive as they stuck out of his chainmail. Your eyes burned with tears. The knight fell of his horse and yelled in anguish.

Laviniya had averted her gaze and shifted to the far end of her seat, no longer watching the scene. Yet, she still overheard the Ser Martyn’s words. “We are unfortunately pressed for time,” he explained, his remorse seemingly genuine, “so this will have to be a straightforward affair.” There was a moment of silence before he gave his instructions. “Tie each of his hands and legs to a horse,” he commanded, and she heard the soldiers scrambling to obey.

With a sense of impending doom, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching her carriage. The door was unlocked and opened, casting his shadow over the interior. He extended a hand, his mockery thinly concealed by feigned decorum. “Come, Your Highness,” he said, his smile now distinctly cruel. The change in his expression was striking – gone was the pleasant lord she’d encountered in the Godswood, replaced by a villainess stranger. “Would it not be unbefitting to neglect bidding farewell to the valiant Ser Corwyn?”

His actions became clear to her now – this was his method of revenge, punishment for her audacity in calling out to the knight and defying him. She knew there would be consequences, but this? She steeled herself as she sat there, gathering every ounce of determination and willpower she could muster. But where she had once eagerly looked forward to stepping out into the open air, she now had to be pulled out, her feet refusing to cooperate.

She began sobbing.

She didn’t want to witness this horror – she refused to see it, and the most defiant act she could muster was to resist. As she was forcefully escorted out of the carriage, her eyes grew wide and filled with anguish, forced to watch the cruel sight unfolding before her. His arms were tight around her waist and a hand gripped with a bruising tightness around her jaw.

“You will watch this girl. You will watch this and may it serve as a reminder not too defy me again.”

Four horses stood there, their riders seated and ready. Each horse held one end of the thick cord tied around the knight’s wrists and ankles. The riders faced opposite directions, their horses positioned to pull the knight apart when commanded.

She tried to shake her head, “No, please, dear gods! Please stop this! Don’t do this! Ser please!” she wailed.

Then the young Hightower Lord sighed, “Farewell Ser Corwyn.”

In an instant, the four horses were spurred, each charging in opposite directions with force. The mocking laughter ceased abruptly, replaced by a wretched wave of guttural, unintelligible cries of Corwyns last breaths. Laviniya shut her eyes when the crimson lines of sinew began to crawl out from his torso. It couldn’t be long now. How much could the knight lose in blood before his body collapsed in death?

The soldiers exhibited a mix of reactions – some turned their faces away, but most reveled in the spectacle with laughter and jeering comments. True to the reputation of The Greens, they showed little restraint in mockery, taunting the dying man with scornful remarks. Their jibes touched upon every aspect of his honour, his lady, and even the abilities of his cock.

Laviniya could not contain the contents of her belly. The vomit spewed down her chest and her captors hand before he released her. She finished over his boots before her knees fell into it and the mud.

Their raucous laughter and jeering came close to drowning out the screams they were mocking, though not quite. It was no surprise, though – The Greens were celebrated for their brutality and blood sports, their violent battles matched a testament to their barbarity. This display was no doubt mundane to them, an ordinary occurrence in their world.

The horses were led towards the river in a bid to rid themselves of the gruesome evidence. The white mare, in particular, was stained, her unblemished canvas now marred by gruesome red splatters. While the river would wash away some evidence, the remains of Corwyn’s body were left unburied – and thrown down the stream. His body would carry out to the oceans.

“Now,” said Martyn, “I shall keep my vow, Lady Laviniya.” He bound her himself, gripping her small wrists in one hand, the rough callouses of his fingers sending a strange sense of warmth through her skin. Despite her desperate attempts to break free, her small hands proved no match for his firm grip.

There was a perverse intimacy in the way he bound her, the proximity of their bodies and the cold reality of her capture making the contact uncomfortable yet profound. As the rope tightened against her skin, she could feel her freedom slipping away, each knotted twist another claim of his domination. Her movements grew more and more restricted, and with each loop, she understood that he was teaching her a lesson in obedience, showing her the bitter price of resistance.

She watched, unable to look away, as he meticulously bound her. He was clearly familiar with the task; his fingers moved with an ease that only comes from practice. Within moments, her hands were tied tightly behind her back and her ankles were firmly secured together. She realized that she could not move – she could hardly even twitch. The binds were too tight for anything more than a vain attempt at squirming within the confines of the carriage.

There was no opportunity to protest as he swiftly untied the sash that held her dress together. To add insult to injury, he sported a roguish smile as if he were about to initiate something entirely different. She struggled vainly against her bindings, but her efforts were futile as he pressed the silk fabric over her mouth and tied it firmly around her head. The silk tightened, digging into her skin and slipping between her teeth, silencing her voice. He wrapped it multiple times, ensuring that her lips were completely covered and her noises completely muffled.

She found the gag to be uncomfortable and degrading; the fabric was abrasive against her skin, and the taste of the silk, along with the feeling of the fabric between her teeth, was distinctly unpleasant. It served its purpose well, however, as her sounds now came out in nothing but muffled, indecipherable gibberish.

Ser Martyn observed the tear stains on her face and touched her cheek, supposedly to wipe them away. She was helpless to stop him, her limbs tied so tightly that she could not move a muscle. He continued with a casual air, making it clear that he could do as he pleased. “I have no doubt that Ser Corwyn’s proudest moment was when the fair lady Laviniya wept for him,” he hushed. “His death was both glorious and fitting, a martyrdom worthy of a knight’s greatest dreams.”

His fingers gripped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. The touch was invasive, adding to the growing unease that overwhelmed her. “You have only yourself to blame for this,” he asserted, his tone harsh. “Consider this a lesson that you shan’t soon forget.” His thumb moved to her lips, tracing the contour of the silk that gagged her. Her attempt to speak was futile, her words muffled and unintelligible against the barrier of fabric.

Without a word, he chuckled to himself, his voice cold and mocking. “Hush, your mouth has gotten you into enough trouble as of today,” he whispered before kissing her wet cheek and lifting her as if she weighed nothing. He carried her back to the carriage and placed her inside, locking the door behind her. The carriage began to move, jolting and bumbling as it made its way through the rough terrain. With her limbs bound tightly together, she found herself struggling to find a comfortable position to sit, the ride made all the more bumpy and uncomfortable by her restricted movements.

𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒:

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬. 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬.

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ladyeckland28 · 3 months ago

Text

Pacific Rim: Crimson Storm

A fan fiction by Ecky

Song title: Tempered Steel

Cast

@samcrosfaith as Sam Faith

@smallzster as Layla Kane

Marshall Stacker Pentecost as Himself

Hercules Hansen as Himself

The Beckett Brothers, Raleigh and Yancy as Themselves

Dr Newton Geiszler and Dr Hermann Gottlieb as Themselves

A young Mako Mori as Herself

**Disclaimer:**

This is a work of fan fiction based on the *Pacific Rim* universe, which is the intellectual property of Legendary Pictures and Warner Bros. This story is a non-commercial, transformative work intended solely for entertainment purposes. The characters, settings, and elements from *Pacific Rim* used within this story are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters, concepts, or storylines are the creation of the author. This work is not intended to infringe on the rights of the original creators. All rights to *Pacific Rim* remain with its original creators and rights holders. No financial gain is made from the creation or distribution of this story.

# Crimson Storm

The neon sign of the Rusty Nail flickered weakly, casting an eerie glow over the rain-slicked parking lot. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the acrid smell of spilled beer. Sam Faith leaned against the bar, her leather jacket creaking as she lifted a shot glass to her lips. The amber liquid burned its way down her throat, a familiar warmth spreading through her chest.

"Hey, sweetheart," a gruff voice called out. "Why don't you come sit on my lap? I'll show you a good time."

Sam set down her glass, not bothering to turn around. "Not interested," she said flatly.

A meaty hand clamped down on her shoulder. "Wasn't asking, darlin'."

In one fluid motion, Sam grabbed the man's wrist and twisted. There was a sickening crunch as bones snapped, followed by a howl of pain. The biker stumbled backward, clutching his broken wrist.

"You bitch!" he snarled. "Boys, teach this cunt a lesson!"

Four more bikers rose from their table, faces twisted with anger and alcohol-fueled bravado. Sam's lips curled into a humorless smile as she sized up her opponents. The first one charged, swinging a wild haymaker. She ducked under it easily, driving her fist into his solar plexus. As he doubled over, gasping for air, she brought her knee up into his face. Blood spurted from his broken nose as he crumpled to the floor.

The next two came at her together. Sam kicked a nearby barstool into one's path, sending him sprawling. She caught the other's punch, using his momentum to flip him over her hip. He crashed into a table, scattering glasses and bottles.

The fourth biker, a mountain of a man with a shaggy beard, wrapped his arms around her from behind. Sam drove her head back, feeling the crunch of cartilage as she connected with his nose. His grip loosened, and she spun out of his grasp. A quick series of jabs to his throat and kidney had him gasping and stumbling.

The biker who had tripped over the stool was back on his feet, wielding a broken bottle. He lunged, the jagged glass slicing through the air. Sam sidestepped, grabbing his wrist and twisting. The bottle clattered to the floor as she drove her elbow into his temple. He went down hard, out cold before he hit the ground.

Silence fell over the bar as Sam stood amid the groaning, fallen bikers. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, her breathing only slightly elevated.

"Anyone else?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm.

The remaining patrons averted their eyes, suddenly very interested in their drinks.

Sam turned back to the bar, retrieving her shot glass. "Sorry about the mess," she said to the wide-eyed bartender. She tossed back the remainder of her whiskey and slapped a few bills on the counter.

As she pushed open the door to leave, a figure stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, with close-cropped hair and the bearing of a military man.

"Impressive," he said, his Australian accent thick. "But I expected nothing less from Samantha Faith, former Force Recon Marine."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you?"

The man extended his hand. "Hercules Hansen, Pan Pacific Defense Corps. We need to talk."

Sam eyed his hand warily but didn't take it. "About what?"

"About saving the world," Hansen replied, his expression grave. "Walk with me."

Curiosity overrode her caution, and Sam fell into step beside him. They walked in silence for a moment, the sound of distant waves crashing against the shore filling the air.

"I assume you've heard of the Jaeger Program," Hansen said finally.

Sam snorted. "Who hasn't? Giant robots fighting sea monsters. Sounds like something out of a bad sci-fi movie."

"And yet, it's our reality," Hansen countered. "The Kaiju are getting stronger, evolving faster than we can keep up. We need new solutions, new strategies." He stopped, turning to face her. "We need pilots like you."

Sam laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Me? I'm just a washed-up Marine with anger management issues. What could you possibly want with me?"

Hansen's eyes were steel. "You're a fighter, Sam. A survivor. You've got the kind of instincts we need. The kind that can't be taught."

She shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm done with the military life."

"This isn't just about the military," Hansen pressed. "It's about the survival of our species. We're developing something new, something that could turn the tide against the Kaiju. But we need the right pilot."

Sam was silent for a long moment, her mind racing. Finally, she sighed. "Say I'm interested. What's the next step?"

Hansen smiled, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "You come with me to the Shatterdome. Meet Marshal Pentecost. See what we're working on."

Sam looked out at the ocean, the weight of the decision heavy on her shoulders. "Alright," she said at last. "I'll hear you out. But I'm not making any promises."

Hansen nodded. "That's all we ask. For now."

---

The Shatterdome was a hive of activity, even in the early hours of the morning. Sam followed Hansen through a maze of corridors, her eyes wide as she took in the massive scale of the operation. Technicians scurried about, carrying equipment and shouting orders. In the distance, she could hear the low rumble of machinery.

They came to a stop outside a heavy steel door. Hansen punched in a code, and it slid open with a hiss.

Inside, a tall, imposing man stood with his back to them, hands clasped behind him as he studied a bank of monitors. He turned as they entered, his dark eyes intense and searching.

"Marshal Pentecost," Hansen said. "This is Samantha Faith."

Pentecost nodded, his gaze never leaving Sam's face. "Ms. Faith. I've heard a lot about you."

Sam met his stare evenly. "Wish I could say the same, Marshal."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Pentecost's face. "Direct. Good. We don't have time for pleasantries." He gestured to a holographic display in the center of the room. "What do you know about the Drift, Ms. Faith?"

Sam shrugged. "Not much. It's how Jaeger pilots control their robots, right? Some kind of mind-meld thing."

"A crude but not entirely inaccurate description," Pentecost said. He manipulated the display, bringing up an image of a human brain. "The Drift is a neural bridge, allowing two pilots to share the mental load of operating a Jaeger. But we're pushing that technology further."

The image shifted, showing a strange, alien-looking brain alongside the human one. Sam's eyes widened. "Is that...?"

"A Kaiju brain," Pentecost confirmed. "We're developing a new type of Jaeger, one that incorporates Kaiju DNA into its neural network. We call it Ares."

Sam shook her head, overwhelmed. "Why would you do that? Isn't that incredibly dangerous?"

"Incredibly," Pentecost agreed. "But also incredibly powerful. If we can harness the Kaiju's ability to adapt, to evolve... we might finally have a chance at winning this war."

Hansen stepped forward. "That's where you come in, Sam. We need pilots who can handle the strain of interfacing with both human and Kaiju consciousness."

Sam laughed incredulously. "And you think I'm up for that?"

"We do," Pentecost said simply. "But it won't be easy. You'll need to undergo intensive training, both physical and mental. And you'll need a co-pilot."

As if on cue, the door slid open again. A woman strode in, her posture rigid and her eyes sharp. She was tall, with close-cropped dark hair and a scar running along her jawline.

"Sam Faith, meet Layla Kane," Pentecost said. "Your new partner."

Layla's eyes raked over Sam, assessing. "So this is the hotshot Marine," she said, her voice cool. "Hope you can keep up."

Sam bristled. "I can hold my own."

"We'll see," Layla replied, a hint of challenge in her voice.

Pentecost cleared his throat. "You two will begin training immediately. I expect you to put aside any personal differences and focus on the task at hand. The fate of humanity may well rest on your ability to work together."

Sam and Layla exchanged wary glances, the tension between them palpable.

"Yes, sir," they said in unison.

---

The training facility was a cavernous space, filled with equipment ranging from traditional workout gear to more esoteric devices Sam couldn't begin to guess the purpose of. Layla led the way, her stride purposeful.

"First things first," Layla said, turning to face Sam. "We need to establish a baseline for your physical capabilities. Then we'll move on to neural compatibility exercises."

Sam nodded, shrugging off her jacket. "Let's do it."

For the next several hours, Layla put Sam through her paces. They sparred, ran obstacle courses, and engaged in grueling strength and endurance tests. By the end, Sam was drenched in sweat, her muscles screaming in protest.

Layla, barely winded, tossed her a towel. "Not bad," she admitted grudgingly. "Your hand-to-hand could use some work, but your stamina is impressive."

Sam wiped her face, too out of breath to respond. As she caught her breath, she noticed two men approaching. They were both tall and well-built, with an easy camaraderie between them that spoke of years of partnership.

"Well, well," one of them called out. "Fresh meat for the grinder, eh Layla?"

Layla's expression softened slightly. "Sam, meet Raleigh and Yancy Becket. Pilots of Gipsy Danger."

The brothers grinned, extending their hands. Sam shook them, feeling the calluses that spoke of countless hours of training and combat.

"Welcome to the madhouse," Raleigh said with a wink. "How're you finding it so far?"

Sam grimaced. "Ask me again when I can feel my legs."

Yancy laughed. "It gets easier. Well, not really, but you get used to it."

"You two are lucky," Layla interjected. "You've got a natural Drift compatibility. Sam and I are going to have to work for it."

The brothers exchanged a glance. "It's not all sunshine and roses," Yancy said. "Sharing a headspace with this knucklehead can be a challenge."

Raleigh elbowed him playfully. "Speak for yourself, bro."

Their banter was interrupted by the arrival of two more figures. One was a slight, energetic man with wild hair and tattoos peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves. The other was taller, with thick-rimmed glasses and an air of distracted brilliance.

"Ah, there you are!" the smaller man exclaimed. "I'm Dr. Newton Geiszler, but call me Newt. This is my colleague, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb. We're here to brief you on Ares."

Hermann nodded stiffly. "Indeed. Though I must protest once again the reckless nature of this endeavor."

Newt waved him off. "Don't mind him. He's just sore because the math is giving him headaches. Now, gather 'round, children. It's time for a crash course in Kaiju-human neural interfacing!"

The group huddled around a holographic display that Newt called up. It showed a complex schematic of what Sam assumed was Ares.

"So, here's the deal," Newt began, his words tumbling out in an excited rush. "Ares isn't just a Jaeger. It's a hybrid. We've taken Kaiju neural tissue and integrated it into the Conn-Pod systems. In theory, this should allow the Jaeger to adapt and evolve in real-time during combat."

Hermann cleared his throat. "In theory being the operative phrase. The variables involved are staggering. The potential for catastrophic failure—"

"Is outweighed by the potential benefits," Newt interrupted. "Imagine a Jaeger that can grow armor plating on the fly, or develop new weapons mid-battle. It's revolutionary!"

Sam frowned. "But how do we control it? Won't the Kaiju parts try to, I don't know, take over?"

Newt's grin widened. "Ah, that's the beauty of it! You're not just Drifting with each other. You're Drifting with Ares itself. Your human consciousness acts as a check on the Kaiju impulses, directing them, shaping them."

"It's unprecedented," Hermann added, his tone grave. "The neural load will be... significant."

Layla's eyes narrowed. "How significant?"

Newt and Hermann exchanged a look. "We're not entirely sure," Newt admitted. "That's why we need the best. Pilots who can handle the strain, who can maintain their sense of self even when merged with an alien consciousness."

A heavy silence fell over the group. Sam felt a chill run down her spine as the full weight of what they were attempting settled on her.

"Well," Raleigh said finally, breaking the tension. "No pressure or anything."

Yancy clapped Sam on the shoulder. "You've got this. Just remember, in the Drift, there are no secrets. You've got to be willing to let your co-pilot in, to trust them completely."

Sam glanced at Layla, who met her gaze with a mixture of determination and apprehension. They might not like each other, but they were in this together now.

"When do we start?" Sam asked.

Newt's grin threatened to split his face. "How about now?"

As they followed Newt and Hermann towards the Drivesuit Room, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking into something far bigger and more dangerous than she could imagine. But beneath the fear and uncertainty, there was a spark of excitement. For the first time in years, she felt alive, felt like she had a purpose.

Whatever lay ahead, whatever challenges Ares and the Kaiju might throw at them, Sam was ready to face them head-on. She had to be. The fate of the world depended on it.

****

The Drivesuit Room hummed with activity as technicians swarmed around Sam and Layla, fitting them with the complex neural interfaces that would allow them to pilot Ares. Sam tried to control her breathing, fighting down the rising panic as the claustrophobic suit closed around her.

"Relax," Layla said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "The first time is always the worst. It gets easier."

Sam nodded, grateful for the reassurance despite her lingering wariness of her co-pilot. "You've done this before?"

"Piloted a standard Jaeger, yeah," Layla replied. "But this... this is new territory for both of us."

Before Sam could respond, Newt's voice crackled over the intercom. "Alright, ladies, are you ready to make history?"

Sam and Layla exchanged a look. "As ready as we'll ever be," Sam answered for both of them.

"Excellent!" Newt's excitement was palpable even through the speakers. "We're going to start with a neural handshake. Just relax and let the memories flow. Don't latch onto anything specific."

The technicians finished their work and stepped back. Sam took a deep breath as the neural link initiated. For a moment, there was nothing but darkness. Then, suddenly, she was falling, tumbling through a kaleidoscope of memories—hers and Layla's, intertwined and inseparable.

*A young Sam, scraping her knee on the playground, her father's strong hands lifting her up...*

*Layla, tears streaming down her face as she watched her home burn, the distant roar of a Kaiju echoing in the night...*

*Sam's first day of basic training, the drill sergeant's face red with fury...*

*Layla, younger and more carefree, laughing as she sparred with her brother in their family dojo...*

The memories came faster, a dizzying whirlwind of emotions and experiences. Sam felt herself losing grip on reality, drowning in the flood of shared consciousness.

"Stay with it, Sam!" Layla's voice cut through the chaos. "Don't chase the memories!"

Sam gritted her teeth, focusing on Layla's presence in her mind. Slowly, the torrent of images began to subside. She became aware of her physical body again, standing in the Conn-Pod of Ares.

"Neural handshake stable," a technician's voice reported. "Drift sync at 85% and holding."

Sam opened her eyes, gasping. She turned to look at Layla, seeing her co-pilot in a new light. The stoic facade was gone, replaced by a mix of vulnerability and determination that mirrored Sam's own feelings.

"Well done," Marshal Pentecost's voice came over the comm. "How do you feel?"

"Like my brain's been put through a blender," Sam admitted. "But I'm okay."

"Same here," Layla added. "It's... intense."

Newt's voice cut in, barely contained excitement evident in his tone. "Great! Now for the real test. We're going to gradually introduce the Kaiju neural patterns. Remember, you're in control. The Kaiju consciousness is a tool, nothing more."

Sam nodded, bracing herself. At first, nothing seemed to change. Then, slowly, she became aware of a presence at the edges of her mind. It was alien, unknowable—a vast, hungry intelligence that defied human comprehension.

"Oh god," she heard Layla mutter.

The presence grew stronger, pushing against the boundaries of their shared consciousness. Sam felt a primal urge to flee, to sever the connection and run. But beneath the fear, there was something else. A sense of raw power, of potential waiting to be unleashed.

"Stay focused," Pentecost commanded. "You need to assert control."

Sam gritted her teeth, concentrating on the task at hand. She imagined the Kaiju presence as a wild horse, powerful but untamed. Slowly, carefully, she extended her will towards it, trying to guide rather than dominate.

To her surprise, she felt Layla doing the same. Their efforts, combined, began to shape the chaotic energy of the Kaiju neural patterns. The alien presence resisted at first, but gradually, it began to yield.

"Incredible," Newt breathed. "They're actually doing it. Kaiju neural integration at 30%... 40%... 50%!"

Sam became aware of Ares in a way that transcended her physical senses. She could feel every joint, every servo, as if it were an extension of her own body. More than that, she could sense the potential for change, for adaptation.

"Let's try something simple," Pentecost said. "Raise Ares' right arm."

Sam and Layla moved in perfect synchronization, their thoughts aligned. Ares' massive arm lifted, the movement smooth and natural. But as they held the position, Sam felt a strange tingling sensation. To her amazement, she watched as the armor on Ares' forearm began to shift and change, forming a series of sharp, blade-like protrusions.

"Holy shit," Layla whispered.

Newt's whoop of joy echoed through the Conn-Pod. "It worked! The adaptive properties are functioning! Quick, try to form a shield on the left arm!"

Sam and Layla complied, focusing their shared will. This time, the transformation was faster, more controlled. The left forearm expanded, plates of armor interlocking to form a sturdy shield.

"This is unprecedented," Hermann's voice, usually so skeptical, now held a note of awe. "The level of control they're exhibiting... it's far beyond our projections."

For a moment, Sam allowed herself to feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe this could work. Maybe they really could turn the tide against the Kaiju.

Then, without warning, the alien presence in their minds surged. Sam felt a wave of primal hunger, of rage, washing over her. Ares shuddered, its limbs moving of their own accord.

"What's happening?" Pentecost demanded.

"The Kaiju neural patterns are destabilizing," a technician reported, panic evident in their voice. "They're overwhelming the human interface!"

Sam fought to maintain control, but it was like trying to hold back a tsunami with her bare hands. She could feel her sense of self slipping away, subsumed by the alien consciousness.

"Sam!" Layla's voice cut through the chaos. "Stay with me! We need to shut it down!"

With a herculean effort, Sam reached out to Layla across their neural link. Their minds met, human wills aligning against the Kaiju assault. For a moment, they held it at bay.

"Initiating emergency shutdown," Hermann announced.

The Drift collapsed, leaving Sam reeling. She stumbled as the neural connections disengaged, nearly falling before Layla caught her arm.

"I've got you," Layla said, her own voice shaky. "It's over."

As the Conn-Pod hatch opened and medical teams rushed in, Sam looked at her co-pilot. The shared experience had forged a bond between them, one that transcended their initial wariness.

"Thanks," Sam managed, her head still spinning. "I don't think I could have held on without you."

Layla nodded, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Likewise. I guess we make a decent team after all."

Their moment of connection was interrupted as Newt and Hermann burst into the Conn-Pod, followed closely by Pentecost and Hansen.

"That was amazing!" Newt exclaimed, oblivious to the exhausted state of the pilots. "The adaptive capabilities, the level of control you achieved... we're on the verge of a breakthrough!"

"We're also on the verge of creating an uncontrollable monster," Hermann countered. "The instability in the final moments cannot be ignored."

Pentecost held up a hand, silencing them both. His gaze fell on Sam and Layla, his expression unreadable. "How do you two feel?"

Sam and Layla exchanged a glance. "Like we've been hit by a truck," Sam admitted. "But... it was also incredible. I've never felt anything like it."

Layla nodded in agreement. "It's dangerous, sir. But I think with more training, we might be able to maintain control."

Pentecost considered this for a moment. "Very well. You'll continue training, but we're dialing back the Kaiju neural integration until we can ensure better stability. I won't risk losing my pilots to this thing."

As they were led away for medical checks, Sam caught snippets of an argument brewing between Newt and Hermann.

"We need to push forward," Newt insisted. "You saw what they were capable of!"

"At what cost?" Hermann retorted. "We're playing with forces we barely understand. One mistake could doom us all."

Their voices faded as Sam and Layla were ushered into the infirmary. As the medical staff began their examinations, Sam found her mind drifting back to the Drift, to the lingering echo of the Kaiju consciousness.

"Layla," she said quietly. "Did you feel it too? At the end, just before we lost control?"

Layla's eyes met hers, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "You mean the intelligence behind the rage? Yeah, I felt it. It was like... like there was something guiding the Kaiju. Something bigger than just animal instinct."

Sam nodded, a chill running down her spine. "Whatever it is, I don't think it wants us to succeed. It felt... angry. Like we'd trespassed on something forbidden."

"Well," Layla said with a grim smile, "I guess that means we're on the right track."

As the days passed, Sam and Layla fell into a grueling routine of physical training and Drift simulations. They worked to strengthen their neural connection, to build the trust and understanding necessary to face the challenges ahead.

But even as they grew closer as co-pilots, the specter of their first Drift with Ares loomed large. Sam found herself plagued by nightmares, flashes of alien landscapes and monstrous forms that left her gasping for air in the dark of night.

One evening, unable to sleep, she made her way to the Jaeger bay. To her surprise, she found Layla already there, staring up at Ares' imposing form.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Sam asked, moving to stand beside her co-pilot.

Layla shook her head. "Every time I close my eyes, I see... I don't even know how to describe it. It's like looking into an abyss that looks back."

Sam nodded, understanding all too well. "Do you ever wonder if we're in over our heads? If maybe this is a mistake?"

Layla was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "All the time. But then I remember why we're doing this. I remember my family, my home... everything the Kaiju took from me. And I know I have to keep going, no matter the cost."

Sam reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on Layla's shoulder. "We're in this together. Whatever happens, we face it as a team."

Layla turned to her, a mix of gratitude and determination in her eyes. "Together," she agreed.

As they stood there, united in their resolve, neither of them noticed the faint, alien glow emanating from deep within Ares' core. A pulse of energy, barely perceptible, rippled through the Jaeger's systems.

In the shadows of the Shatterdome, unseen and unheard, something stirred. The battle for humanity's future was just beginning, and the true test of Sam and Layla's bond lay ahead.

The next morning, Sam and Layla reported to the Kwoon Combat Room for their daily training session. As they circled each other on the mat, bo staffs at the ready, Marshal Pentecost entered, accompanied by a man Sam didn't recognize.

"At ease," Pentecost said as the pilots snapped to attention. "I'd like you to meet Dr. Caitlin Lightcap, one of the original developers of the Jaeger program."

The woman stepped forward, her keen eyes appraising Sam and Layla. "I've been following your progress with great interest," she said. "Your work with Ares could revolutionize our entire approach to fighting the Kaiju."

Sam and Layla exchanged a glance. "Thank you, ma'am," Sam replied cautiously. "But we're still struggling to maintain control during extended Drifts with the Kaiju neural patterns."

Dr. Lightcap nodded. "That's why I'm here. I've been working on some new theories about Drift compatibility and neural load distribution. I think with some adjustments to your training regimen, we might be able to improve your stability."

"What kind of adjustments?" Layla asked, a hint of skepticism in her voice.

"For starters," Dr. Lightcap said, "we need to strengthen your connection outside of the Drift. The more in sync you are in your daily lives, the better you'll be able to handle the strain of interfacing with Ares."

And so began a new phase of their training. In addition to their physical workouts and Drift simulations, Sam and Layla were subjected to a battery of trust-building exercises and psychological evaluations. They meditated together, sparred blindfolded, even underwent sensory deprivation sessions designed to heighten their awareness of each other's presence.

As the days turned to weeks, Sam found herself growing closer to Layla in ways she hadn't anticipated. The walls between them began to crumble, replaced by a deep understanding and trust.

One evening, as they sat in the mess hall after a particularly grueling day of training, Layla suddenly chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Layla shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. "I was just thinking... when we first met, I thought you were going to be impossible to work with. A hotheaded ex-Marine with a chip on her shoulder."

Sam grinned. "And I thought you were an uptight, by-the-book hardass who wouldn't know how to loosen up if her life depended on it."

They looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. It felt good, a release of tension they hadn't even realized they'd been carrying.

"I guess we were both wrong," Layla said softly as their laughter subsided.

Sam nodded, suddenly serious. "I'm glad we were. I can't imagine doing this with anyone else."

The moment was interrupted by an alarm blaring through the Shatterdome. Sam and Layla were on their feet in an instant, racing towards the command center.

They arrived to find Pentecost, Hansen, and the science team gathered around a holographic display. The image showed a massive Kaiju emerging from the Breach, its body covered in thick, armored plates.

"Category 4," Pentecost announced grimly. "Codename: Razorback. It's on a direct course for Anchorage."

Sam felt her heart racing. This was it. The moment they'd been training for.

Hansen turned to them, his expression grim. "Gipsy Danger is already deployed, but they'll need backup. We're sending in Ares."

"But sir," Hermann protested, "the neural interface is still unstable. We haven't completed all the necessary tests—"

"We're out of time, Dr. Gottlieb," Pentecost cut him off. "This is what Ares was built for. Sam, Layla... are you ready?"

Sam met Layla's gaze, seeing her own mix of fear and determination reflected there. They nodded in unison.

"Yes, sir," Sam said. "We're ready."

As they rushed to suit up, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to cross a point of no return. Whatever happened next would change everything.

For better or worse, Ares was going to war.

****

The Conn-Pod of Ares hummed with energy as Sam and Layla initiated the neural handshake. As the Drift enveloped them, memories flowed between them—not just their own, but echoes of the Kaiju consciousness that now resided within Ares' systems.

"Neural handshake strong and holding," a technician's voice reported. "Kaiju neural integration at 45% and stable."

"Remember your training," Pentecost's voice came through the comm. "Stay focused, stay in control. Gipsy Danger is already engaged with Razorback off the coast of Anchorage. Your job is to provide support and take that bastard down."

"Understood, sir," Sam replied, feeling Layla's affirmation through their neural link.

As Ares was airlifted towards the combat zone, Sam could feel the Jaeger's systems responding to their thoughts, armor plates shifting and weapons systems priming. It was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

"There!" Layla called out as they approached the coastline.

Through the storm-tossed waves, they could see Gipsy Danger grappling with a monstrous form. Razorback lived up to its name—its back bristled with razor-sharp spines, and its hide seemed to shimmer with an unnatural resilience.

"Gipsy, this is Ares," Sam called out. "We're moving in to assist."

"Glad you could make it to the party," Raleigh's strained voice came through. "This thing's hide is like nothing we've seen before. Our strikes aren't penetrating."

As Ares waded into the fray, Razorback disengaged from Gipsy Danger and turned its attention to the newcomer. Its roar shook the air, a challenge that reverberated through Ares' hull.

"Let's see how it likes this," Layla growled.

In perfect synchronization, they raised Ares' right arm. The limb began to change, plates shifting and reforming into a massive, serrated blade.

"Holy shit," they heard Yancy exclaim. "Are you seeing this, Raleigh?"

There was no time for further commentary. Razorback charged, its claws raking across Ares' chest. Sam and Layla moved instinctively, bringing the blade down in a vicious arc. It bit deep into the Kaiju's shoulder, drawing a howl of pain and rage.

But as quickly as the wound appeared, it began to close. Razorback's flesh knitted itself back together, leaving barely a scar.

"It's regenerating!" Sam shouted. "We need to hit it harder!"

Through their neural link, an idea formed. Sam and Layla focused their shared will, channeling the alien energy that pulsed through Ares' systems. The Jaeger's left arm began to transform, splitting and reforming into a multi-barreled cannon.

"Plasma caster online," a computerized voice announced.

"Gipsy, we need you to hold it still," Layla commanded.

The Becket brothers maneuvered their Jaeger behind Razorback, locking it in a bear hug. The Kaiju thrashed wildly, its spines tearing into Gipsy Danger's armor.

"We can't hold it for long!" Raleigh grunted.

Sam and Layla took aim. The plasma caster hummed with power, energy building to a crescendo. Just as Razorback began to break free from Gipsy's grip, they fired.

A searing beam of energy lanced out, catching Razorback full in the chest. The Kaiju's roar turned to a shriek of agony as the blast burned through its armor, carving a smoldering hole in its torso.

For a moment, it seemed like victory was at hand. But then, something changed. Sam felt a surge of alien consciousness, more powerful than anything they'd experienced in training. It crashed against her mind like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep away her sense of self.

"Layla!" she cried out, feeling her co-pilot's own struggle through their link. "Something's wrong!"

In the command center, alarms began to blare. "Kaiju neural patterns are spiking!" a technician shouted. "They're overriding the safeguards!"

Newt's face paled as he stared at the readings. "Oh no. No, no, no. This isn't possible. The residual Kaiju consciousness in Razorback... it's linking with the neural patterns in Ares!"

"Shut it down!" Pentecost ordered. "Disengage the pilots now!"

But it was too late. Sam and Layla were trapped in the Drift, their minds subsumed by a torrent of alien thoughts and memories. Through the haze of confused sensations, they dimly registered Ares moving of its own accord.

The Jaeger turned away from the wounded Razorback, its weapons systems powering up. With horror, Sam realized what was about to happen a split second before it did.

Ares opened fire on Gipsy Danger.

The plasma blast caught Gipsy in the shoulder, nearly severing the arm. Raleigh and Yancy's shouts of pain and confusion echoed through the comm system.

"Ares, what the hell are you doing?" Raleigh yelled.

But Sam and Layla couldn't respond. They were prisoners in their own minds, watching helplessly as Ares stomped towards the shoreline, leaving both Gipsy Danger and the wounded Razorback behind.

In the command center, chaos reigned. "We've lost all control of Ares' systems," Hermann reported, his usual composure shattered. "The AI... it's rewriting itself using the Kaiju neural patterns. It's evolving beyond our ability to contain it."

Pentecost's face was grim as he turned to Hansen. "We need to stop it before it reaches a populated area. Prep Striker Eureka for immediate deployment."

Hansen nodded, already moving. "I'll pilot her myself. Who's my co-pilot?"

"I am," a voice rang out. They turned to see Mako Mori, Pentecost's adopted daughter and one of the most promising Jaeger pilot candidates, stepping forward. "I've studied Ares' systems extensively. I know its weaknesses."

Pentecost hesitated for a moment, torn between his protective instincts and the need for the most qualified pilot. Finally, he nodded. "Do it. But Mako... be careful. And bring our people home."

As Hansen and Mako raced to suit up, Newt and Hermann huddled over their consoles, desperately trying to find a way to regain control of Ares.

"If we can just isolate the original AI core," Newt muttered, "maybe we can purge the Kaiju influence."

"And risk wiping out the pilots' minds in the process?" Hermann snapped. "We need to focus on breaking the neural connection first. Give Sam and Layla a chance to regain control from the inside."

Inside the Drift, Sam felt like she was drowning in an ocean of alien memories. Strange worlds flashed before her eyes—massive hive-cities, bizarre creatures that defied description, and always, always, a sense of hunger. A drive to consume, to conquer, to transform.

But beneath it all, she could still feel Layla's presence. Their human connection, forged through months of training and shared experiences, was a lifeline in the chaotic sea of Kaiju consciousness.

*Layla!* she called out with her mind. *We have to fight this!*

She felt Layla's acknowledgment, a flicker of determination in the maelstrom. Slowly, painfully, they began to push back against the alien presence. It was like trying to dam a river with their bare hands, but together, they managed to create a small pocket of clarity in the Drift.

*What's happening?* Layla's thoughts came through, strained but coherent. *Where's Ares taking us?*

Sam focused, trying to access Ares' sensory inputs. Through the Jaeger's eyes, she saw the coastline of Alaska rushing by. They were heading south, moving faster than any Jaeger should be capable of.

*I think... I think it's going to attack the city,* Sam realized with horror. *We have to stop it!*

They redoubled their efforts, fighting to regain control of Ares' systems. But the AI, supercharged by the Kaiju neural patterns, was always one step ahead. Every time they thought they were making progress, it would shift, adapting in ways they couldn't predict.

Suddenly, a new presence entered their awareness. Another Jaeger, closing fast.

Striker Eureka, the most advanced Jaeger in the PPDC's arsenal, burst from the clouds above them. Its sleek form gleamed in the fading sunlight as it descended, rockets firing to match Ares' impossible speed.

"Ares, this is Striker Eureka," Hansen's voice crackled through the comm. "Stand down immediately or we will be forced to engage."

But Ares, driven by its mutated AI, had no intention of standing down. It raised its arm, the limb transforming into a weapon unlike anything the PPDC had ever seen—a writhing mass of tentacles, each tipped with a plasma generator.

"Mako, evasive maneuvers!" Hansen shouted.

Striker Eureka banked hard, narrowly avoiding the barrage of plasma bolts that Ares unleashed. The attack carved furrows in the landscape below, turning rock and ice to steam in an instant.

Inside the Drift, Sam and Layla fought with renewed desperation. *We can't let it do this,* Layla's thoughts rang out. *All those people...*

*I know,* Sam responded. *But how do we—wait. Layla, do you feel that?*

There was a pattern to the chaos, a rhythm to the alien thoughts that swirled around them. And within that pattern, Sam sensed a vulnerability. A fragment of the original AI, buried beneath layers of Kaiju consciousness.

*If we can reach it,* Sam thought, *maybe we can use it to reassert control.*

*It's our only shot,* Layla agreed.

As Striker Eureka engaged Ares in a titanic battle, trading blows that shook the earth, Sam and Layla dove deeper into the Drift. They pushed past the overwhelming alien presence, following the faint thread of familiar code.

In the physical world, Ares' movements became erratic. One moment it was lashing out with terrifying precision, the next it was stumbling, its attacks going wide.

"Something's happening," Mako reported. "Its behavior is becoming inconsistent."

Hansen nodded grimly. "Sam and Layla must be fighting back. We need to give them more time. Sting-Blades, deploy!"

Striker Eureka's signature blades slid into place. With a burst of speed, it closed the distance to Ares, aiming for the joints and weaker points in its ever-shifting armor.

Inside the Drift, Sam and Layla finally reached their goal. The core of Ares' original AI pulsed before them, a faint light nearly smothered by the surrounding Kaiju influence.

*Now what?* Layla asked.

Sam hesitated. *I... I think we need to merge with it. Become one with Ares, but on our terms. It's the only way to override the Kaiju control.*

*That's insane,* Layla protested. *We could lose ourselves completely.*

*Do you have a better idea?* Sam shot back. *Because we're running out of time.*

A moment of silence, then: *Together?*

*Together,* Sam agreed.

As one, they reached out to the AI core. The moment they made contact, it was like touching a live wire. Energy surged through them, threatening to overwhelm their senses. But they held on, pouring every ounce of their humanity, their memories, their bond into the connection.

In the command center, the sensors lit up like a Christmas tree. "Neural activity is off the charts!" Newt shouted. "I've never seen anything like this!"

Pentecost leaned forward, his knuckles white as he gripped the console. "Come on," he murmured. "Fight it."

On the battlefield, Ares suddenly went rigid. Its transforming limbs froze mid-shift, plates of armor hanging at odd angles. Striker Eureka pulled back, weapons at the ready.

"What's happening?" Mako asked, tension evident in her voice.

For a long moment, nothing moved. Then, slowly, Ares' form began to stabilize. The chaotic mutations receded, leaving behind a form that was still alien, but somehow more... controlled.

"Striker Eureka, this is Ares," a voice crackled over the comm. It was Sam's voice, but different—layered with Layla's tones and an electronic undercurrent. "We've regained control. The threat has been neutralized."

Hansen let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Glad to have you back. What's your status?"

There was a pause before the response came. "We are... functional. But different. The merge was successful, but the changes may be irreversible."

In the Drift, Sam and Layla floated in a sea of data and memories—human, AI, and Kaiju all mixed together. They were themselves, but also something more. Something new.

*What do we do now?* Layla's thoughts came, tinged with uncertainty.

Sam's response was tinged with a mix of determination and wonder. *We finish what we started. We use this power to end the Kaiju threat once and for all.*

As Ares and Striker Eureka turned back towards the Shatterdome, the sun broke through the clouds. Its rays glinted off Ares' transformed surface—no longer purely metal, but a hybrid of technology and organic forms.

In the command center, Pentecost watched the returning Jaegers with a mix of relief and trepidation. They had averted disaster, but at what cost? And what would this mean for the future of the war against the Kaiju?

One thing was certain: nothing would ever be the same again.

Epilogue

The Shatterdome was abuzz with activity as Ares touched down on the landing pad. Technicians and medical teams swarmed around the Jaeger, its form still a startling hybrid of familiar technology and alien evolution. As the Conn-Pod hatch opened, there was a collective held breath among the onlookers.

Sam and Layla emerged, supported by the medical staff. They moved in perfect synchronization, their steps matched as if they were still in the Drift. Their eyes, when they opened, held an otherworldly gleam—a hint of the profound change they had undergone.

Marshal Pentecost strode forward, his face a mask of concern and relief. "Welcome back, Rangers. How do you feel?"

Sam and Layla exchanged a glance, a wealth of unspoken communication passing between them in an instant. When they spoke, their voices overlapped slightly, creating an eerie harmony.

"We are... functional, sir," Sam began.

"But changed," Layla finished. "The merge was more complete than we anticipated."

Pentecost nodded gravely. "We'll need to run a full battery of tests. But first, there's news you should hear."

He led them to the command center, where screens displayed footage of the aftermath of their battle. To their surprise, they saw Gipsy Danger standing triumphant over the fallen form of Razorback.

"After you... disengaged," Pentecost explained, choosing his words carefully, "Gipsy Danger managed to regroup. They were joined by Cherno Alpha, which arrived on scene to provide backup. Together, they took down Razorback."

Relief washed over Sam and Layla's faces. "The Becket brothers?" Sam asked.

"Are they alright?" Layla added.

"Injured, but alive," Pentecost assured them. "They're en route back to base now."

As medical staff began preliminary examinations of Sam and Layla, Newt burst into the room, his eyes wild with excitement.

"This is incredible!" he exclaimed, waving a tablet displaying Ares' diagnostics. "The level of integration between human, AI, and Kaiju neural patterns... it's beyond anything we could have imagined!"

"It's also beyond anything we can control," Hermann interjected, following close behind. "The risks are incalculable."

Pentecost held up a hand, silencing them both. His gaze fell heavily on Sam and Layla. "I'm officially suspending Project Crimson Storm," he announced. "The potential benefits don't outweigh the dangers we've witnessed."

Sam and Layla stiffened, a flicker of something—fear? disappointment?—passing across their faces. But Pentecost wasn't finished.

"However," he continued, "Ares has proven its worth in combat. And you two," he nodded to Sam and Layla, "have demonstrated an ability to control it that we can't ignore. For now, Ares will remain operational, but under strict supervision."

Relief flooded through the pilots, visible in the slight relaxation of their postures.

"Thank you, sir," they said in unison.

"Don't thank me yet," Pentecost warned. "You'll be under observation round the clock. At the first sign of instability or loss of control, I'll have no choice but to shut down Ares permanently. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Sam and Layla responded.

As the medical team prepared to take them for more thorough examinations, Sam turned to Pentecost. "Sir, about the war..."

Pentecost's expression softened slightly. "It's not over, Ranger. Far from it. Razorback was just one battle. Our predictive models show more Kaiju attacks on the horizon, each potentially stronger than the last."

Sam nodded, exchanging a meaningful look with Layla. "In that case, sir, we'd like to formally request to stay on as Ares' pilots."

"Are you sure?" Pentecost asked, studying them intently. "After what you've been through, no one would blame you for stepping down."

Layla shook her head. "With all due respect, sir, we're the only ones who can pilot Ares now. And after what we've seen... what we've experienced..."

"We have a responsibility," Sam finished. "To use this connection, this power, to help end this war."

Pentecost was silent for a long moment, his gaze moving from the pilots to Ares, visible through the command center windows. Finally, he nodded.

"Very well. Once you're cleared by medical, we'll begin developing new training protocols. We'll need to establish the full extent of your capabilities—and your limitations."

As Sam and Layla were led away, Newt approached Pentecost, his earlier excitement tempered by concern.

"Marshal, there's something you should know," he said quietly. "During the neural handshake, Ares' systems recorded fragments of the Kaiju hive mind. It's mostly scrambled, but there are pieces... hints of something bigger."

Pentecost's brow furrowed. "Bigger than the Kaiju?"

Newt nodded gravely. "I think... I think there might be something controlling them. Directing the attacks. And whatever it is, it's not of this world."

The implications hung heavy in the air. Pentecost turned back to the window, watching as Ares was moved into its bay for repairs and analysis.

"Keep digging, Dr. Geiszler," he ordered. "If there's a puppet master behind all this, we need to know everything we can about it."

As the sun set over the Shatterdome, casting long shadows across Ares' transformed form, Sam and Layla sat side by side in the medical bay. Their physical forms were separate, but their minds still hummed with a shared consciousness—human and alien, familiar and utterly new.

"Are we ready for this?" Layla asked softly, the question floating between their linked minds.

Sam's response came with a surge of determination and a flicker of the alien memories they now shared. "I don't know if anyone can be truly ready for what's coming. But together... together, I think we stand a chance."

They looked out the window at the fading light, aware that somewhere beyond the horizon, in the depths of the Pacific, their true enemy was waiting. The war wasn't over. In many ways, it was just beginning.

But for the first time since the Kaiju emerged from the Breach, humanity had a weapon that could turn the tide. Ares stood silent in its bay, no longer just a machine, no longer just a Jaeger. It was evolution given form, a bridge between two worlds.

And at its heart, bonded in ways no one could have predicted, stood Sam and Layla—pilots, partners, and now something more. Guardians on the edge of a new frontier, ready to face whatever horrors the future might hold.

The fate of two worlds rested in their hands. And they were ready for the challenge.

#pacific rim #kaiju #jaegar #science fiction #monster #fan fiction #pacific rim the black

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ghostoffuturespast · 1 year ago

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🎒🥾🏞️

For this week's installment of Thirsty Thursday, we're going on a hike:

On his knees, River bowed before her, the setting of an altar as the breadth of him parted the shores of her legs wide. His wrists rested against the outer range of her hips, fingers reaching to ripple patterns along the divots of her back as she sunk onto her elbows. Gave into him. V shuddered as River laid a tributary of offerings on the lower swale of her stomach, a lush bountiful mouth playing between an open meadow and thicket fringes. Her body thrummed alive as the warmth of his lips pooled in the hollow of her navel and then rose up along the ridges of her ribs, settling in the hills and valleys of worn and weary bone. An illusion of bucolic. River's touch fed V just as much as it stripped her away. The scarred and weathered surface of her eroded with the lightest of rains and the gentlest whisper of breath. His veneration of her trailed higher, a slow and steadfast pilgrimage wound up the slopes of her body. The pleasure followed the swell of her left breast, switchbacked a path to chase the peak of a false summit. V’s fingers dug into the sheets as River's tongue eddied around her nipple, a languid current that swirled about before freeing itself to circle around the next. A low thunderous sigh escaped her chest along with a quake of muscles as hands ventured to carve out space beneath her spine. And in tandem, as the heavy silt of feathered silver dredged against her torso. V fought to not cave beneath the press of him. Fought the push and pull of being shaped into existence with him. And without him. The destruction. The thought lingered before the weight of River's caresses swept her up again, somehow devastated while simultaneously molding the tiniest parts of her back together. Creation. His mouth sprung forth from the crags of her collarbone and she tilted her head to let him cascade up the side of her neck. A velvet tongue slipped across skin then evaporated, a ghost of what it was before pluming behind the shell of her ear and clouding in her hair. A hand mingled with the strands, cool and hot fogging together to form something inseparable. His thumb swept across her cheek, tracing the scar that marred her face and compelling her to look. Brown and metal and amber. He held her with a bated gaze and bated breath, their worlds condensing down to just the two of them before V and River's lips finally met in the exultant headwaters of a kiss.

#am i writing smut or an article for nat geo?#smut for nat geo?#anyway #cyberpunk 2077 #writing #fan fiction #me and my extended metaphors 🤡#otp: so it goes #fic: so it goes #river ward #oc: valerie hye jin li #my grandpa v #stinky not fresh #v x river ward #thirsty thursday #wip whenever

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estellardreams · 9 months ago

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The Elemental Masters: Sonic Ninjago AU

Main Group:

Sonic the Hedgehog: Master of Speed

Miles "Tails" Prower: Master of Technology

Knuckles the Echidna: Master of Earth

Amy Rose: Master of Nature

Rouge the Bat: Master of Mind

Shadow the Hedgehog: Master of Shadow/Energy

Sensei Gaia: Master of Creation/Light

Black Doom: Master of Destruction

Mephiles: Master of Darkness

Other Elemental Masters:

Silver the Hedgehog: Master of Gravity

Blaze the Cat: Master of Fire

Cream the Rabbit: Master of Wind

Sticks the Badger: Master of Sound

Tangle the Lemur: Master of Time

Whisper the Wolf: Master of Amber

Sally Acorn: Master of Form

Surge the Tenrec: Master of Lightning

Kit the Fennec: Master of Water

Jet the Hawk: Master of Poison

Wave the Swallow: Master of Light

Storm the Albatross: Master of Smoke

Currently Unused Elements:

Ice

Fusion

Heat

Metal

#Sonic Ninjago AU #sonic #sonic au #ninjago au #text post

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duclipselaboratories · 10 months ago

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MEET THE EMPLOYEES!

Garette, security

One of the only human guards, augmented to be as strong as possible, an iron will and an iron grip, you will need magic to even stand a chance against this man.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTIC: Inhumane Strength

They talk like this: "Hello"

Kristin, scientist

The kindest scientist at Duclipse, regularly befriends the experiments, and keeps them safe from torture.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTIC: Calming Aura

They talk like this: "Hello"

Amber, janitor

Tasked with cleaning up failed tests and experiments, they have almost no humanity left in them, do not interact.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTICS: Shapeshifting, Telekinesis

They talk like this: "Hello"

Sasha, technician

Creates robots and oversees tests, meeting her is almost impossible to avoid when wandering the complex. She is one of the kindest people at Duclipse, but her sadism keeps her from being like Kristin.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTICS: Mind Control, Possession

They talk like this: "Hello"

Gabriel, containment

Cutthroat and cunning, he makes sure that anything that escapes its cell doesn't leave the building. You are safe with him.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTICS: Shapeshifting, Super Speed

They talk like this: "Hello"

Carlos, containment

He has the same job as Gabriel, but he is much better at it, this is sadly paired with a lack of morals and a taste for blood, so do not call him unless absolutely necessary.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTICS: Vampire, Shapeshifting

They talk like this: "Hello"

Ares, scientist

0 Morals, will do whatever it takes to get a test done, even going as far as threatening subjects and scientists.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTIC: Fire Magic

They talk like this: "Hello"

Violet, technician

Sasha's assistant, calm and collected, not much about them is known, they are very careful and do not talk often.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTIC: Shapeshifting

They talk like this: "Hello"

Aurum, engineer

Designs blueprints and thinks up ideas for experiments. Extremely creative and smart.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTICS: Reality Bending, Object Summoning

They talk like this: "Hello"

James, scientist

Hates his job, makes everyone around him suffer with him as a result, was almost fired twice.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTIC: Pain Magic

They talk like this: "Hello"

Uriel, containment

The most skilled member of the Containment Squad, they are cybernetically enhanced to be a killing machine. If you see them, avoid the area at all costs. You are not safe with them.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTIC: Super Speed

They talk like this: "Hello"

Church, diplomat

Goes to other groups to talk to them, makes sure nobody hates Duclipse too much

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTIC: Immortality

They talk like this: "Hello"

Charles, pilot

Gets people from one place to another, loves his job, friends with Church

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTIC: Instant reaction time

They talk like this: "Hello"

Rose, manager

An expert at robotics, master of the craft and second only to George themself in terms of authority

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTICS: Object creation, telekinesis

They talk like this: "Hello"

Apex, containment

The leader of the containment team.

SPECIAL CHARACTERISTICS: Magic immunity

They talk like this: "Hello"

#(made with picrews)#meet the team

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the-great-annihilator · 1 year ago

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VIOLENCE /// FIRST

THE GREAT ANNIHILATOR

V1 dropped the twisted scrapped metal to the ground, landing with a wet thud onto the soft clay. Blood leaked from the machines now burst piping. Its fingers twitched as the last few drops of blood seeped out of it, a single cyclopean eye going dark.

The machine stared down, holding the now limp arm, and examining it. Despite its bulky design, clearly a rough prototype, there was no mistaking it – from the blue plating and the way it had sent V1’s shotgun pallets hurtling back to where they came – this was a Feedbacker arm.

V1 had just terminated its own prototype.

A successor destroyed in the golden sands of Greed.

A progenitor left as scrap on the banks of the Phlegethon.

Well, whatever was left of the banks.

After the extinction of humanity, much like the River Styx of Wrath, the Phlegethon had expanded. Though rather than a tidal wave of sinners, Violence saw a torrential downpour of innocent blood that had been spilled needlessly which turned the river of boiling blood into a vast and putrid marsh. At least that’s what the scrawled notes found by V1 documented.

That information was irrelevant to the machine.

What was relevant was that Violence was a warzone.

Violence was full of blood, the fuel all machines ran on, and unsurprisingly this resulted in a free-for-all amongst its kin. The machine’s audio processing unit was enveloped by the sounds of war as machines tore each other apart, the sounds of twisting metal and mechanical screeches as they fought for supremacy.

Its kin would soon understand who the superior machine was truly. V1 would tear through Violence as the others squabbled amongst themselves to drain the Phlegethon dry, bathing in putrid blood while it would descend into Fraud and then Treachery.

Yes, its programming demanded that fuel took priority above everything else but V1 there was sweeter ichor to be had than what steeped in the Phlegethon.

Suddenly, the bloody marsh began to bubble. It took aim as several figures rose from the surface, Husks of muscle and bone. Signals travelled through copper traces in V1’s circuitry and it lowered its revolver as the group shambled towards it. The machine lowered its revolver as long dormant files were accessed within its ROM, reading comments within untouched .c files which its software was built upon.

V1 recognised these Husks.

“Look!” one said, “our fifth horseman, come to free us from our torment!”

The Husks clamoured towards their creation, hollow sockets and glazed over eyes staring into an amber optic, reaching towards V1 with outstretched hands as it stood stationary.

“It remembers us,” another rasped, “we forgive you for what you did – in fact, we are proud- “

In a single swift motion, the machine grasped the hand of one of the Husks, crushing the bones to a fine powder in its iron grip. It raised its revolver to the forehead of the Husk, their mouth agape as it pulled the trigger.

The others stood no chance.

#ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #guns tw #blood tw #inspired by muzzleroars' violence peice #and antlerpunk's violence concept art

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sweethoneyrose83 · 12 days ago

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Five Nights at Freddy's Perfumes

The Afton Family

William Afton - “The Purple Fragrance”

Scent Profile: Dark, mysterious, with a touch of menace.

- Top Notes: Black pepper, bergamot

- Heart Notes: Leather, patchouli, smoky incense

- Base Notes: Vetiver, oud, and a hint of metal

- Description: This scent is intense and bold, representing William’s dark and secretive nature. The leather and smoke evoke his connection to the animatronics, while the metallic undertones hint at his sinister creations.

William Afton - “The Purple Fragrance”

- Top Notes (20%): - Black pepper: 3 drops - Bergamot: 2 drops

- Heart Notes (40%): - Leather: 5 drops - Patchouli: 5 drops - Smoky incense: 2 drops

- Base Notes (40%): - Vetiver: 3 drops - Oud: 4 drops - Metallic accord: 4 drops

Elizabeth Afton - “Circus Charm”

Scent Profile: Sweet, playful, with an eerie undertone.

- Top Notes: Cotton candy, cherry blossom

- Heart Notes: Vanilla orchid, sugar crystals

- Base Notes: Amber, cedarwood

- Description: A sweet and innocent fragrance, representing Elizabeth’s young and playful personality. The sugary notes are cut with a deeper amber and cedarwood base to hint at the darker fate she meets in the form of Circus Baby.

Elizabeth Afton - “Circus Charm”

- Top Notes (30%): - Cotton candy: 5 drops - Cherry blossom: 4 drops

- Heart Notes (40%): - Vanilla orchid: 6 drops - Sugar crystals: 3 drops

- Base Notes (30%): - Amber: 3 drops - Cedarwood: 4 drops

Michael Afton - “Revenge in the Shadows”

Scent Profile: Clean, haunting, with a mix of redemption and regret.

- Top Notes: Lemon zest, aldehydes

- Heart Notes: Lavender, clary sage, rosemary

- Base Notes: Musk, white woods, amber

- Description: This fragrance starts fresh with bright citrus and clean florals, symbolizing Michael’s attempts at redemption. But as it settles, it takes on a deeper, more melancholy tone, mirroring his journey through guilt and revenge.

Michael Afton - “Revenge in the Shadows”

- Top Notes (30%): - Lemon zest: 5 drops - Aldehydes: 4 drops

- Heart Notes (30%): - Lavender: 3 drops - Clary sage: 3 drops - Rosemary: 3 drops

- Base Notes (40%): - Musk: 4 drops - White woods: 4 drops - Amber: 4 drops

Mrs. Afton - “Phantom Grace”

Scent Profile: Ethereal, delicate, with a hidden darkness.

- Top Notes: White lily, pear blossom

- Heart Notes: Jasmine, rose water

- Base Notes: White musk, sandalwood

- Description: Soft and floral, representing a phantom-like presence, this fragrance embodies grace and mystery, much like the elusive nature of Mrs. Afton in the lore. The floral sweetness slowly fades into an enigmatic musk.

Mrs. Afton - “Phantom Grace”

- Top Notes (30%): - White lily: 4 drops Pear blossom: 5 drops

- Heart Notes (40%): - Jasmine: 4 drops - Rose water: 4 drops

- Base Notes (30%): - White musk: 4 drops - Sandalwood: 4 drops

C.C./The Crying Child - “Echo of Fear”

Scent Profile: Innocence mixed with terror.

- Top Notes: Neroli, green apple

- Heart Notes: Violet leaf, iris

- Base Notes: Musk, ambergris

- Description: The scent starts with innocent, delicate notes but quickly reveals deeper, more melancholic tones that represent the fear and trauma experienced by the Crying Child. The fragrance remains subtle, like an echo of something long forgotten.

C.C./The Crying Child - “Echo of Fear”

- Top Notes (30%): Neroli: 4 drops- Green apple: 5 drops

- Heart Notes (30%): - Violet leaf: 3 drops - Iris: 4 drops

- Base Notes (40%): - Musk: 5 drops - Ambergris: 4 drops

#spooky vibes #video game #five nights at freddy's #pizzaparty #elizabeth afton #creative writing #purple #william afton #michael afton #afton family #perfume

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rwde-rewrites · 1 year ago

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This might be a controversial opinion, but I personally like the idea of magic existing alongside Aura and Semblances. I think the idea of a story having multiple distinct magic systems, especially if one is more powerful and mysterious than the other, is really neat.

But the key word here is "Distinct". In order for this idea to work, the differences between magic and Aura need to be clear. But, there are no rules for what semblances can do (Except not turning you into a bird. That is the sole rule of semblances), and there are no rules for what magic can do either. In fact, it seems like semblances can actually do more than magic in RWBY.

Semblances let people:

Enhance their physical and mental capabilities

Manipulate Luck

Create all different kinds of Illusions

Summon eidolons

Shrink objects

Turn objects into gold (Yes, really)

Telekinetically manipulate objects

Shapeshift into rose petals or iron (Only bird related shapeshifting is banned, apparently)

Absorb various types of energy to become stronger

Teleport

Turn invincible for 60 seconds (This is the weirdest one to me)

Fly

Mess with people's minds in various ways

Steal or copy other people's Semblances

And other stuff I'm probably forgetting

Meanwhile, magic lets you:

Fly

Shapeshift into birds (and presumably other forms, but we literally never see that)

Manipulate the weather

Shoot fire, lightning, and ice.

Create, lock, and unlock weird doors

Obviously, this is doesn't work. Semblances can do practically everything magic can and more. Meaning that magic doesn't feel different or special in any way.

So, what would need to be changed? The most obvious route would be to restrict Semblances.

One way to do this is just create a list of things Semblances cannot do. Such as:

Semblances cannot physically change their user's body. While we're at it, let's also add that Semblances cannot physically transmute other objects either so no shrinking or turning shit into gold.

Semblances cannot create fire, earth, ice, lightning, etc., only Dust can do that (God, I haven't brought up Dust yet). And anything that a Semblance does create is just an Aura construct that will vanish like Weiss's Summons or Sun's Clones.

Semblances cannot grant flight. A bit pedantic, but the scene of Amber first using her Maiden powers by floating into the air would hit harder if flying isn't something normally attainable in RWBY.

While I would like to add more stuff to the list of cannots, when defining a power system based on what is can't do, it's best to keep the list of restrictions short.

Another way to limit Semblances create specific categories that Semblances fall into and have each Semblance be some variation based on their category. For example:

Enhancement: These Semblances enhance the user's pre-existing capabilities in some way when used. This would cover stuff like Harriet's, Neon's, and Ruby's speed (And Ruby's would stay speed, none of that pseudo-teleport stuff), Ironwood's super willpower, Maria's preflexes, Hazel's pain tolerance or fast Aura regeneration (Pick one), and maybe Tock's 60 seconds of invincibility (though I still think that's dumb).

Absorption: These Semblances can absorb damage to make the user stronger. This would cover stuff like Yang taking damage and then getting a limit break, Nora absorbing specifically electricity, and Adam storing damage in his weapon and then returning it.

Manipulation: These Semblances allow their users to manipulate objects around them. This would cover Pyrrha's polarity, Glynda's telekinesis, and Neptune's hydrokinesis (which only exists in the books).

Constructs: These Semblances allow for the creation of constructs made of Aura. These constructs aren't permanent and disappear after time or if the user's Aura breaks. This would cover Weiss's glyphs and summons (though, I personally think these two powers are too different to be a single Semblance), Sun and Flynt's clones, Neo's illusions, Blake's after images, Vine's whips, and Elm's sticky feet.

Mind: These Semblances allow for the manipulation of the minds of other beings. This would cover Emerald's illusions, Ren's emotion suppression (In canon, it only masks your negative emotions from Grimm, but here, it would actually dampen your feelings while used), Fox's telepathy, Yatsuhashi's memory erasure, Marrow's freeze (here, it would be mental manipulation, rather than however the hell it works in canon), and Robyn's handshake of truth.

Any other Semblances in the show would be altered to fit one of these categories or cut entirely.

Finally, another option would be to cut Semblances completely. Instead, have Aura techniques that characters can use by manipulating their Aura in special ways:

Sending out sword beams of condensed Aura from their weapon swings to attack from a distance. THIS IS A CANON TECHINQUE. I want to stress this, Aura techniques are already a thing. Blake shots a sword beam at Roman in V2, and Qrow does the same to Winter in V3.

Leaving behind a physical shadow made of Aura to take a hit. At higher skill levels, these clones can even more and attack on their own, like what Adam did with his shadow clones in the fight against Yang in V6 (Which means that this is also a canon Aura technique, I guess?)

By expending a some Aura, people can temporarily increase their speed or strength in short bursts. Stuff like Ruby's speed would be handled with this.

Aura normally covers the body like, well, an aura, but it can be extended and manipulated. This allows for the creation of Aura whips from the hand or Aura anchors from the feat to duplicate affects similar to Vine's and Elm's Semblances in canon.

Aura can be used to activate dust (this comes from the Dust WoR video, which seems to be noncanon now) and manipulate its effects. This allows for technics like Weiss's Glyphs or that funky glass stuff that Cinder used in V2.

And finally, a secret technique passed down through the Schnee family allows the creation of an Aura construct that mimics a foe the summoner has bested (A mental requirement more than anything). While powerful, it is incredibly taxing on the summoner's Aura.

Here, Aura itself becomes the main power system akin to something like Ki from Dragon Ball or Hamon from JoJo. After awhile, the audience would get a feel for what it can do, but the writers would still have some freedom to introduce new techniques so long as they aren't too out of line with what's already been shown. Obviously, this would limit the collective abilities of Hunters more than any other option (and require the most changes to canon), but in doing so, it would could magic even more notable.

#Personally #rwde #rwby critical

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bestworstcase · 1 year ago

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do you have theories about how the aura transfer machine is going to inevitably come into play

this is timely, because i’ve been chewing on it quite a lot lately.

let’s talk about the rule of threes!

the basic idea is that important things in stories often come in threes. narrative triads are a staple of fairytale/folklore in particular, which makes it very salient to the rwby narrative. often, you’ll see the rule of three described as a pattern where a thing happens a certain way twice, and then once more differently (aab); there are other configurations. abc/cba or abc/abc is pretty common in fairytales—think the “questing hero does a kindness to three entities and each repays with a favor later on” structure—and simple repetitions (aaa) or progressive triplets (a-A-A!) aren’t uncommon either.

the rule of threes gets cited a lot in discussions on the maidens and the ATMs in particular. this is a little thorny because maidens come in fours, not threes; i think rwby is taking advantage of this mathematical problem to develop multiple interlocking triads. we’ll call this the Fourth Maiden Exclusion Principle.

our first set of triads occur within each season. the seasonal triads, if you will. all of them—so far—follow this basic pattern:

fragile -> false -> freed

where the first maiden is introduced in a vulnerable state, the second maiden is either literally false (not really a maiden) or perceived as illegitimate, and the seasonal arc ends with third maiden removed from ozpin’s hierarchy and separated from her vault. thus:

amber -> pyrrha -> cinder

(spring) -> vernal -> raven

fria -> penny -> winter

the last spring maiden is unusual in that she’s a posthumous character, but she’s described as having been “a child” who ran away because the responsibility was “too much for her” and raven says she was “weak” and “scared.” we also know that raven mercy-killed her.

so the question to ask here is whether the summer maiden will repeat this pattern. if i’m correct about the Fourth Maiden Exclusion Principle, the answer is “no.” our triad is [fall-spring-winter] and our excluded fourth, in this case, is summer.

[SIDEBAR: the maiden arcs are following the gifts in reverse order (choice -> knowledge -> creation -> destruction). the seasons being “wrong” is a misdirection. thank u.]

our second set of triads interlace the maiden arcs. we’ll call them the perennial triads (laugh!). there are three Big Ones.

the first is the presumptive ATM triad, which might be drawn in two ways:

[amber-fria-(summer)] + (spring)

[pyrrha-winter-(summer)] + raven.

the former being three maidens fed to the machines, the latter recipients of machine transfers. the triad is [fall-winter-summer] and the excluded fourth is spring.

the second is the triad of maidens cinder tries to Get. i will discuss my reasoning for bracketing it like this in a bit, bear with me:

[amber-raven-penny] + (summer)

and finally, the third is the triad of maidens who got eaten by the fairytale, as it were:

[pyrrha-(spring)-penny] + (summer)

note that these last two match the seasonal triad-of-triads: [fall-spring-winter] + summer. This Is Important.

but before we get into the weeds of the Machine Question, we first need to sketch out why i don’t think cinder is going to go after the summer maiden. for the benefit of newcomers and in case this breaks containment, Mainly. it boils down to:

salem’s going to beacon next.

it is established in V4 that a) the crown is still in its vault, b) salem believes the vault is at beacon, c) the vault is Hidden, and d) salem has someone [summer rose] stationed at beacon to search for it. in V8, salem notes that The Situation Has Not Changed; she is preoccupied with gaining access to the lamp so that she can use it to discover the crown’s location. (<- the first thing she asks oscar is where ozma hid the crown; she asks for the password to the lamp only after confirming that oscar doesn’t know.) having been frustrated in her effort to wring the location out of oscar and with the lamp now out of questions, her obvious next move is to go to beacon.

she is also two for two on relics swiped after someone else—not cinder—opened the vault, and two for two on cinder Almost Fucking Dying at the hands of other maidens. she’s realizing that her opponents will open those vaults if she squeezes them hard enough, and the sword presents an obvious temptation for vacuo’s defenders; she also won’t be able to access the crown at all if cinder dies. the skeleton-key plan is a wash.

and, with the coalition in vacuo galvanized by the imminent existential threat of another massive attack, the strongest next move for salem is to do nothing: quietly go to beacon, search for the crown, and run out the clock while her opponents wait. the longer she can draw this out, the shakier that coalition is going to get as people get complacent or start to doubt that an attack is coming at all.

(it is also something of a toss-up whether salem plans to launch another assault; she hit beacon and atlas with overwhelming force to take ozpin off the board, but for haven she planned a covert infiltration.)

so salem has a lot of compelling reasons for going to beacon, and none for rushing to vacuo. further, the end of V9, the epilogue storyboard, and the second rwby x jl film collectively indicate that at a minimum, salem will not be in vacuo at the top of V10. a V7ish scenario where salem doesn’t arrive until the end of the volume is not out of the question (although i do think she’ll be in V10, just at beacon).

and she will, of course, want to keep cinder close, both for the purpose of opening the beacon vault and because she will need to manage cinder’s ongoing rebellion very carefully. cinder may not Like This, but a) she she swanned away from the winter maiden without a backwards glance because she Doesn’t Care About The Power That Much, she just wants to Win The Power Struggle With Salem, and b) the vault and the relic of choice and being The Only One Who Can Do This are going to appeal to her too, again for power struggle reasons.

and since the skeleton key plan is a wash, it’s likely that salem will try to ease cinder off the idea of Getting the summer maiden so as to avoid risking a repeat of what happened in atlas. that, plus the nascent villain->hero arc developments involved in returning to the choice arc, taper cinder off the maiden hunting such that i do not think she’s going to be a central player in the summer maiden arc. (or obsessed with winter, for that matter.)

the summer maiden arc, sans cinder

okay. here we go!

in order for the ATM triad to eventuate, as i believe it will, someone in vacuo is going to need a reason to pull that trigger. at beacon and in atlas, the reason was cinder. cinder is also the reason both of those transfers failed. because cinder is probably Not In Vacuo, the ATM triad is almost certainly the a-a-b pattern; the negated pair both failed because cinder deliberately provoked them for the purpose of gaining access to the maiden, so i think the likely reversal here is that a machine transfer initiated in a non-crisis situation will succeed.

this is a puzzle, because the ATMs are unequivocally Not Good. every single character in the story is on the same page about this; even ironwood regards it as a necessary evil. there is an asterisk here for pietro because the only person harmed by his use of the machines is himself and he made the choice freely. but in any other circumstance, using the ATM is wrong, because That’s Murder. so the decision to use an ATM in vacuo to transfer a maiden is not one that can be made lightly.

thus we have to consider what circumstances could lead to that decision, and to do that we need to zoom out a little.

let’s assume the CFVY novels are both canonical and relevant to the narrative of the show proper, as RH was to V9.

i submit that there are two (2) possible summer maidens hinted at in before the dawn. one of them is sun’s cousin, starr sanzang, who appears briefly at the end of the book and has an “uncanny sense” for the weather.

the other is gillian asturias.

she and her twin brother, jax, are the leaders of a virulently xenophobic nationalist movement called the crown; they believe themselves to be direct descendants of the defunct vacuan monarchy, all the way back to malik the sunderer, first king of vacuo. their “evidence” (such as it is) is a crown-shaped birthmark supposed to be had by every member of the royal lineage. gill’s, however, is actually a brand,implied to have been done to her by her father when she was an infant.

gill is the power behind the crown. her semblance siphons aura; in the novel, she uses captives as batteries to make herself virtually invincible. on the battlefield, she glows with a brilliant iridescent light—brighter than the moon.

their mother—luna asturias—developed some sort of sickness during pregnancy that caused her aura to rapidly deplete and gradually waste away; she died due to complications during an emergency c-section. jax was born with the same condition; gillian’s aura was “elevated” from birth. their father believes that her semblance manifested before she was even born and ate her mother’s and brother’s auras.

right before the climactic battle, there is a brief skirmish with gill and her lieutenant, carmine, in an abandoned dust mine, which ends with the kids deliberately triggering a cave-in by blowing up a vein of dust. this is the result:

“Did it work?” she asked Octavia. Octavia shook her head. “I think we got Carmine, but just before everything came down on our heads, Gill flew backward and out of the cave.” “Carmine’s telekinesis,” Velvet said. “She used it to save her friend at the last second.”

then, during the actual battle:

He heard gunfire and then Dust bullets exploded against Gill, amped by Coco’s Semblance. Gill stepped back, swatting at her face as though the explosive rounds were no more annoying than bugs.

if you wanted to hide a maiden in plain sight in a canonical ancillary novel, this is how you to do it.

gillian is extraordinarily powerful. flying, being surrounded by visibly glowing haloes, and banishing bullets with the flick of a hand are all Maiden Things—and also Gillian Things carefully given plausible deniability through the eyes of POV characters who don’t know about the maidens and interpret what they see as effects of a semblance.

gillian herself is stridently opposed to the use of dust for reasons; if she is a maiden, she has compelling political and ideological reasons not to use the dust-like elemental magic that comes with being a maiden. if she started lobbing fireballs, everyone would assume she was using dust to do it, and that would make her look like a raging hypocrite. but covertly using magic to augment what she can do with fifty people’s aura? sure.

and the summer maiden is the maiden of destruction. the asturias family identity revolves around descent from a man named malik the sunderer. her fanatic of a father BRANDED HER with the mark of this legacy as an infant. her dead mother who sickened and died in childbirth is named for the moon.

when ozma ended the great war, he did it in vacuo, the crown on his head and the sword in hand. jax asturias is the leader of the crown, the twin with the real birthmark, the mind of the operation. gill is the power—very literally the source of his strength, because she lends him some of her own aura, and metaphorically his shield and his sword.

and furthermore, the lesson taught by the summer maiden in the fairytale is “don’t view the world at a distance; take an active part in it and the events around you.” gill’s backstory very closely mirrors salem’s in one key way—their mothers die in childbirth, and their fathers see them as the cause—BUT. where salem’s father locked her in a tower about it, finn asturias chose differently:

“[Gill’s semblance] had caused us so much pain, but I couldn’t blame her, an unborn baby, doing what we all do: trying to survive. Over the years, I taught her to control her Semblance, and over time we unlocked her true ability—she doesn’t just sap Aura from others; she can transfer it, too. It turned out her power, which had seemed like such a curse, could be a force for good as well. She had a large reserve of Aura already, and so she shared some of it with her brother. And he began to thrive.”

throughout the novel there is also a recurring thread of other people (theodore, finn, rumpole) remarking on how much promise gill had and how she could have been a great huntress—if only she hadn’t stuck with her brother. once jax’s mind-control semblance is found out, everyone assumes that he’s using it to keep gill under his thumb… but he isn’t. his semblance straight up does not work on her, possibly because her aura powers it.

so gillian embodies the summer maiden’s lesson in two different ways; her father made a Huge Point of making sure she could take part in the world (instead of isolating her as salem’s father did), and gill bucked everyone’s assumptions about what she should do, actively following her own ambitions instead of passively accepting the expectation placed on her.

gill is alive and in custody at the end of the novel. (jax likewise, although his memory was at least temporarily wiped.) if she’s the summer maiden, that ticks the box for summer being the excluded fourth in the seasonal triad-of-triads; she is not, in any sense except moral, fragile.

and gill as the summer maiden throws an interesting curveball at the Machine Question: what to do with a maiden who can also absorb the auras of fifty people to turbo charge her abilities, when that maiden is a reactionary nationalist who led a violent insurgency a few weeks ago and the only thing keeping her in jail is that she loves her brother and he’ll die without her? what do you do with her when you expect salem to rock up with another legion of grimm any day now?

maybe you look at a machine meant for ripping aura out of a person to put in somebody else, and then look at her brother who has almost no aura of his own, and see a way for everyone to win? it isn’t like gillian asturias has any objection to transferring her own aura to her brother. she’s spent most of their lives doing exactly that, because she loves him.

the only difference is that the ATM can make that transfer permanent.

it won’t kill her: partial transfers are possible, and she’ll still have her ability to siphon aura.

it might strip her of the maiden power, and—because the magic will only cleave to a woman—there is at least a chance that something like what happened with amber, pyrrha, and cinder can be deliberately triggered with gillian’s willing cooperation. transfer half gill’s aura to jax while gill focuses on an eligible candidate (cough, starr, cough), and maybe you can convince the magic to separate from gillian’s aura, leave her and jax, and hop into the chosen heir instead, just as it would if gillian died.

the reasoning is sound. gill would probably agree to do it for her brother’s sake; she and jax already share her aura, a permanent split between them would give them both an average amount of aura, and the transfer being partial would keep their consciousnesses separate, thus avoiding the Ozma Problem. all the thorny ethical problems involved in using the machines are avoided, and the magic’s rules are bent (gill lives) but not broken (the machine triggers an ordinary transfer), which reduces the risk that the magic will resist or break free.

and if it does go wrong, the most probable outcome is that the magic ends up split between the asturias twins—which is not ideal, but you’ve also earned some goodwill from both of them by helping jax and you can maybe pitch them on an enemy-of-my-enemy alliance to defend vacuo from salem because they sure as fuck aren’t about to join her.

this is a) the only scenario where i can plausibly imagine RWBYJNOR et al deciding to use the ATM to transfer a maiden, and b) the only one i can imagine succeeding without having dire repercussions.

the other possibility—one i think is all but guaranteed if gill isn’t the summer maiden—is that a villain uses the ATM to steal the maiden power, with dire repercussions.

and in either case, as long as we’re prognosticating interminably on the summer maiden arc, we might as well think about what the shape of the V10 narrative arc might look like if salem isn’t in vacuo.

the first point to address here is how inadequate tyrian is for the job of leading the operation in vacuo. he is extremely good at indiscriminate killing and quite bad at everything else; watts was in charge in V7 because watts is a competent strategist. tyrian lacks focus and discipline. in the short term, he’ll start and spread fires; in the longer term, if salem intends to bide her time, she needs someone reliable.

summer rose has been holding beacon against vale’s huntsmen for the last year or so whilst searching for the vault. she’s been with salem fourteen years. there is no question that salem both trusts and relies on her. even if it weren’t a binary choice between her and cinder, she’s the obvious pick. once salem arrives at beacon, she can take over the operation there, send summer ahead to handle vacuo, and keep cinder safely away from any other maidens.

the strategic end of salem’s operation in vacuo is to retrieve the sword from the vault under shade academy. she is undoubtedly prepared to deliver a siege and capture shade by force, but as with haven it’s more likely that Plan A is to do things quietly.

summer also has an immediate personal interest in accomplishing this goal without an open assault (her daughters are leading the defending coalition) and, given the level of autonomy implied by salem handing off beacon to her for a year+, probably broad latitude to make the tactical decisions she deems best.

so summer’s priority is finding the summer maiden and getting her to open the vault. she herself is probably not an eligible maiden candidate—she’s in her forties—so maiden-killing is out. her options are to persuade the summer maiden, or capture her and steal the magic if she can get her hands on an ATM.

meanwhile, the crown is in shambles with the asturias twins in custody and the vacuo coalition holding strong in the face of the assumed-to-be-imminent threat, plus morale bolstered by team RWBY and jaune’s return. but the cracks still show. vacuans have always been hostile to outsiders, and the refugees are putting an enormous strain on the already-impoverished kingdom, even with aid pouring in from vale and mistral. the crown’s core supporters are people who believe that allowing refugees into vacuo will weaken its defenses, and the longer this drags on, the more they can capitalize on tensions to stoke dissent.

gill and jax are bound to escape or get broken out by their loyalists sooner or later. if gill is the summer maiden, and summer identifies her as such, then getting the vault open might be as simple as posing as a huntress disillusioned by the “weakness” of the powers that be and telling gillian about the sword.

the tricky part is getting the sword away from gillian, because a summer maiden who can drain aura and wields the sword of destruction is a walking nuke. summer might be able to pull it off if her semblance is along the same lines as ruby’s: have gill open the vault, rush the sword, cut her down before she can react. otherwise, cutting a deal—the sword in exchange for salem leaving vacuo alone—might work, because salem’s stated motive in the broadcast is to destroy the huntsman academies and that is also what gill wants, so summer could make a credible argument here that salem is a potential ally to the crown.

if gill is not the summer maiden, then the crown is still potentially useful—a nascent civil war will distract the coalition and if the crown rebels again and wins, they’re probably going to be easier to persuade or manipulate into opening the vault (and jax can control the summer maiden, if it comes to that). also, adding the imminent threat of a civil war to the imminent threat of salem attacking puts more pressure on the coalition to risk using the sword.

the other thing summer might do is eschew the cloak-and-dagger routine altogether and take a gamble on approaching her daughters to open negotiations; this is, to put it mildly, a risk. but a very high-reward risk.

IN SUMMARY.

gillian asturias -> starr sanzang. probably.

summer rose is here and she’s not going to, at any point, Be the summer maiden but she is going to Cause Problems On Purpose.

one of the ways the summer maiden arc will be Different is that summer rose has some things to unpack (what happened to the last spring maiden That Night)

the vacuo ATM is either for the asturias twins OR someone (summer or jax) is going to do a murder OR there is no ATM, there’s just gill and her ability to (temporarily) steal the maiden power via aura, in which case it’s starr -> gillian -> starr and we might see magic-thieving conflicts between gill and winter or raven also.

if the ATM gets used for any other purpose than making gill’s and jax’s aura-sharing deal permanent it is going to be Very Bad.

maybe the real crown was the reactionary insurgents we foiled along the way?

#summer rose with the steel chair

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