#and i wanted it to be about the circularity of life is in constant mourning of what has gone except for those who have actually gone

[anelegaicmind]

I need to stand in a river and feel the cold water flow through me.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Tuesday, 08:21

Song: Maggie Rogers - Dog Years

Sander is still rubbing at his eyes as he wanders into the kitchen, yawning loudly as he half-blindly makes his way towards the table. Before he can even get there, however, his mother is blocking his path and shoving a cake in his face and his dad is joining her to chorus, “Happy Birthday!”

“Uhm,” Sander blinks at them.

It’s strange to see that his mother is clearly wide awake, and that his father hasn’t left for work yet. Though he is already dressed in his police uniform, as one should always be when apparently preparing to have cake for breakfast. “Thanks. Don’t we usually do this in the evening, though?”

“Blow out your candles,” his mom orders. “Remember to make a wish!”

Twenty candles. The woman has twenty candles in a circular cake. (He’s sure, he counts them.) There’s already wax threatening to drip onto the icing, where the hastily piped ‘Happy Birthday Sander’ has holes pierced in it, the cake too small and the candles too numerous to avoid all of the writing.

Sander quickly blows out the candles.

“What did you wish for?” Léa asks, innocent and eager.

His dad, Ciel, makes a noise of protest and holds a hand up towards Sander. “If he tells you, it won’t come true.”

Sander points at him in agreement, and Léa huffs. It’s odd, that it’s odd to see his parents standing in front of him so early, interacting so casually, doing it all together. It’s not that they’re a distant couple, far from it. Sander’s father is just a busy man who sleeps and wakes early, and his mother is a not-quite-as-busy woman who has the luxury of being her own boss and rivals Sander’s own temperamental sleep schedule. They do not have breakfast as a family because they do not cross paths in the morning. They have dinner all together once or twice a week, if they get lucky. But there is certainly a bigger chance of their evenings coinciding.

So what is happening here?

“We’ll keep this for another time, I made actual breakfast,” his mother adds, gesturing at the table—with the cake still in her hands. Sander takes it from her quickly and sets it aside on the counter.

“Are we not having dinner, then?” he asks carefully.

They both give him bland looks. He curses both their heights—surely he should have earned an extra few inches from them. “We know you won’t be free for dinner,” Léa says.

Sander opens his mouth. Closes it again. Smiles sheepishly. “Oh.”

She huffs as she squeezes his shoulder. “But at least I can still be the first to wish my son happy birthday.” At his increasingly sheepish expression, she corrects, “In person. My god.”

It’s part of the reason he’s so sleepy still. He’d stayed up on a video call with Robbe until (well after) midnight, and the boy had wished him ‘happy birthday’ countless times, peppering kisses at the camera and apologising every time he’d started to nod off. It was possibly the cutest thing Sander has ever had the honour of witnessing. His lips twitch in a smile as he thinks about it again now.

He’d gotten a slew of other messages, all almost simultaneously at midnight. Gilles and Emilie and Thomas had all messaged almost at once into their small group chat, with varying styles and lengths and emoji usage. Adi and Lucas had both kept it sweet and simple. Milan had sent him a short video singing all of ‘Happy Birthday’ and blowing him a kiss. Jens had sent him one a few minutes late simply saying ‘happy bday. no I didn’t forget’, which Sander had blinked and then laughed at. He’d responded to them a while too late, after Robbe had eventually decided they both needed to sleep.

“Why couldn’t we just ask Robbe to join us for dinner?” Ciel asks. Not for the first time, Sander thinks that, for a policeman, his father is at times worryingly oblivious.

Léa clearly agrees, as she simply rolls her eyes in response. “I’m sure they’ll have their own private plans, of course he’ll want to spend his birthday with his boyfriend.”

“Uhm,” Sander says, again. “I still have class first though, so…”

“We should eat,” Ciel agrees, but glances at his wife. “Gifts now too, or in the evening?”

She considers it for a moment, then nods decisively. “We will do it before you two have to go. I’m not sure it’s too exciting, but you can make more use of it this way, maybe.” She offers Sander an apologetic smile.

He waves her off and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t be silly.”

She returns his gestures and then pulls him to the table, pressing him down into a chair and piling food in front of him. It doesn’t matter that he’s not quite hungry enough for it, not this soon after waking, and his stomach protests a little with each bite. He enjoys it. He sits and eats with a parent at either side of him and he doesn’t get the feeling of too much. He doesn’t think undeserved. He’s not worrying about another year gone and him still the same. He’s not hit by a wave of inexplicable loneliness, or fretting over his current painful mistake, or mourning another year of life gone in which he has failed to grow up.

It’s all there, lurking in the constant shadows, but it’s not there, at the same time. Instead it’s his parents’ light bickering, and the memory of Robbe’s ‘goodnight kiss’, and all those messages on his phone.

And it’s relief.

Another year. Twelve months. 52 weeks. 365 days. 8,760 hours. 525,600 minutes.

All that time, and nothing has really changed.

No intrinsic part of his life has altered, nothing’s gone. He’s still managing school (mostly), he still has the same friends, his parents are still fairly understanding, his unrelenting mental illness still hasn’t killed him, and he still has the man of his dreams across infinite universes (as said man claims).

He’s still here. Breathing, living. Thriving, his mind exalts.

“That’s a genuine little smile,” his father notes, returning it with one of his own. “It’s nice to see.”

Warmth spreads through Sander, cushioning his heart but also sneaking into his cheeks as he shakes his head and takes another overstuffed mouthful of food. Ciel’s smile just widens in understanding, and Sander feels a twinge for how often he turns the man away. It’s moments like these where he thinks it’s wrong to do so, that he should give him more of a chance on occasion, that maybe he really would be more helpful than Sander lets himself hope for.

But it doesn’t matter, today. Nothing like that needs to matter when they’re all happy to make it about his birthday.

They give him his gifts after breakfast, quickly. New clothes that he likes enough to go change into before he leaves, wearing the tee with subtle Bowie graphics with pride. There’s the usual restocking of art supplies as well, more expensive than he ever buys himself and which he gives his mother another kiss for. Then they pass him a card, which has sappy words in his mother’s handwriting and money tucked inside.

“Thank you,” he says, for the third or fourth time, squeezing them both in a quick hug as Ciel checks his watch and Léa smacks him on the arm for it. “Everything is perfect, really. And we can have some cake in the afternoon? I’ll come back for a while before I meet up with Robbe.”

His mother narrows her eyes and places a hand on her heart playfully. “So kind of you to include me in your busy day, the woman who brought you into this world.”

Ciel smiles at her, in a way that suggests he’s heard this particular speech before. “Yes, really a day to celebrate you, if we’re doing it right.”

“Of course,” Sander agrees, nodding sagely. “What was it? Seventeen hours of labour?”

“Followed by twenty years of tender and loving care,” she adds, and Sander laughs.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder and kisses the top of her head before leaning away to pick up his bag. “Truly the best,” he tells her.

“Save me some cake,” Ciel requests, also collecting his things by the door.

“But you weren’t involved in any of that credit,” Sander notes. “Hard to know if you should get to join in the best part of the celebration.”

“I cooked those croques this morning, and I’ll drive you to college.”

It’s a cheap bribe, considering Sander could drive himself if he so wished, but he still beams and pats his father’s shoulder, following him out. “A slice will be left in the fridge.”

~^~

previous/next

[star-spangledstud]

Like You

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (Female) Reader.

Word Count: 2800-ish.

Summary: Steve has a really shitty way of saying goodbye. 

A/N: My friend sent me the prompt: “If I knew then what I know now.”. I decided to play around with it and then this happened. 

Warnings: Angst at its finest. Such brief mentions of sex you hardly notice them. Heartbreak. 

You didn’t understand why he didn’t come back to you like he was supposed to. 

It wasn’t like the two of you didn’t have a solid relationship. You complemented each other when you walked into the room, the perfect blend of two different people that had come together as one. You hardly argued, barely even disagreed on matters that concerned the both of you and you never got sick of each other’s company. You were complete, whole when you were with him and he was with you. 

You ate together, trained together, slept together in the same bed night after night. Even as the world burned after the big Snap, you stayed together, thankful every day for the fact that the both of you had made it out alive. You mourned the loss of friends together, tried to overcome the holes in your hearts together. It was an obstacle in the road that paved the way for your lives and you faced it together. When everyone was brought back, you couldn’t have been more grateful, because five years of learning how to rebuild everything had made the two of you stronger, more aware of how much you needed each other to survive. Most importantly, it made you aware of how all you needed to survive was each other. 

A power couple, that’s what they called you. Sun and moon, yin and yang. The perfect balance of work and play, of fun and professionalism. You kept each other moving, kept one another going with words of encouragement and wisdom, forced each other out of bed after half the world had literally vanished in the blink of an eye. It hadn’t been easy, but you expected the strain on your relationship to have been much worse. You got off easy compared to many other people. 

When the two of you first caught wind of the possibility to bring everybody back, of course, you jumped on the bandwagon. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to see your best friends again, for things to go back to the way they were. You knew it would be hard because people had moved on, started new relationships, new careers and had moved house, but you had faith that humanity could overcome it.

You still got chills when you thought of the orange portals that signaled everyone’s return. The distant memory of seeing the people you thought you’d never see again in the flesh for the first time in five years still brought prickly tears to the corners of your eyes, as did the knowledge that Natasha and Tony had given their lives to make it happen. They sacrificed their lives so you could have yours.

You hardly had time to notice the sudden change in Steve’s behavior. You were so busy trying to reintegrate half the population into the current day, that the two of you spent less and less time together. You were in charge of bringing back the positions of SHIELD agents that had vanished and offered your help to them both professionally as well as privately. Some of them had lost their families because they’d moved on and it was very hard on them to realize that five years of life had simply passed them by. 

Steve had been talking about retirement for years. You knew he wanted to finally lay down the shield once and for all and the two of you had been talking about it more and more as time progressed. Finally, he decided to bring the team back to its former glory, to rebuild the facility and to find new possible recruits, before he’d finally call it quits forever. 

Before that could be done, the Infinity Stones had to be returned to their respective timelines. Of course, he was the one to suggest to do it. You’d honestly be surprised if he didn’t offer to do it himself. You told him it was okay because you trusted him and trusted his judgment and if he felt like he could complete the mission successfully, you would stand behind him and support him because that’s what good girlfriends did. 

You remembered the way he gently kissed you before stepping onto that godforsaken platform all too well, the way his hand caressed the side of your face and hair, the squeeze in your shoulder. It was a kiss unlike any of the ones you’d ever shared before, not even the ones he gave you after Tony’s funeral, filled with grief, sadness and need. No, this one was different. You didn’t know it at the time, but you did know it when looking back. 

He was telling you goodbye.

“No,” you cried, “no, no, no!” 

Your arms and legs flailed miserably, chest heaving rapidly up and down in irregular motions. Bucky cringed with how horribly upset and distraught you were, unsure of what the hell he should do about you crying beneath him.

He was sitting on the edge of your bed, rubbing your back in soft, circular motions while you hugged your pillow tight to your chest. Your face was red, tip of your nose glowing and your cheeks were so puffy you looked almost like a clown. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t think words could suffice or make you feel any better. He was probably right. 

“Why?” You choked out, “Why did he leave me?” 

You could hardly breathe without Steve. 

Bucky could hardly understand what you were saying. Every word came out in hiccups, forced to the surface by the tension in your lungs and contracting chest. For a long moment, you stopped breathing. Bucky panicked immediately. His pulse quickened and grip on you tightened. Then, you took a deep, panicked breath of air with a high pitched cry.

All you could think of was Steve, how he glanced at you from his spot in the dead center of the platform. How his lips tightened into a sad line, how his brow creased and his eyes closed just before he disappeared on you forever. You should have fucking known, but how could you? He was everything you ever wanted and you thought you were the same to him. He never even gave you the indication that he was unhappy, that he didn’t love you. That he was going to leave you for her. 

“Shh,” Bucky cooed, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sam showed up at the door, which stood slightly ajar. His head peaked in, eyes following your heaving body and Bucky’s slouched form before resting on his face. Bucky shook his head. Sam quietly left. There was nothing he could do to ease the pain one of his best friends had caused you.

“Get some sleep,” he told you quietly after your sobs had silenced.

“Don’t leave me,” you managed to whimper, grabbing hold of his flesh arm and pulling it down with you.

You needed human contact, couldn’t stand the thought of being alone after being left by the love of your life.  

“Of course,” he replied, biting the inside of his cheek, “I’m not going anywhere, sugar.” 

You slept with Bucky by your side that night, still dressed in the clothes you’d put on while Steve was still lounging in bed that morning. The make-up you’d put on while Steve was in the shower had mostly come off on your sheets and on Bucky’s left shoulder. You clutched his shirt while you dreamt of Steve in short bursts, the desperate need for comfort so dire that you refused to let the man leave when he tried. He was angry too, angry with his best friend for putting the woman he loved so much through such pain. 

You cried as soon as you woke up the next morning, hand sore from fisting Bucky’s shirt all night. Your head hurt terribly, a pressure had built up behind your eyes overnight and it worsened as the day continued. Bucky eventually managed to leave you alone so he could get changed and talked to Steve, who was now an old man instead of the man who’d taken you to Paris on your first anniversary. 

You became indifferent to the saying ‘time heals all wounds’, because it no matter how many days passed you by, it never seized to hurt. Every little thing that reminded you of Steve would send you in a downward spiral. People recognizing you on the street for once being the most beloved Avenger began to walk around you with a wide arch because even they could tell something was terribly wrong with you. Soon enough, they all knew what had happened.

You hardly slept, because images of Steve dancing with Peggy haunted you all night long. Images of him, telling you he’d chosen her instead of you would flood your mind, along with pictures of the two of you when you were happy. You began to question it, all of it and wondered often what would’ve happened if you had been the one to join Tony on his journey back to the 70s instead of him. You wondered if he’d still be here, sleeping soundly next to you with his arms engulfing you in warmth. Now, there was only cold. 

You didn’t have the energy to be productive anymore. Life without Steve was no life and the void of his existence had taken away the importance of everyday tasks for you. Literally, everything you came in contact with reminded you of him, from the cereal you used to eat together to the movies you would watch. You couldn’t go to your favorite coffee place anymore, because that’s where you went to get his morning cup on the weekends. You couldn’t even stand to look your fellow teammates in the eye. They’d become afraid to be around you, walking on eggshells when you ventured out of the depths of your room for food because they were scared of saying the wrong thing. It happened once when Bruce made a comment towards Sam’s shield. His shield. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said as he watched Bucky carry you back to your room, “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault,” Wanda assured him, “She’s in a lot of pain right now. It could’ve been any of us.”

“Can’t we do something?” Sam asked, hands on his head. 

Wanda shook her head, “We can support her, but she needs time to heal.”

You never knew heartbreak could cause physical pain, but the constant strain on your heart was exhausting. You went through entire boxes of Ibuprofen to ease the constantly looming headaches, but they did very little to ease the dull throbbing of the back of your head. Your eyes were red constantly and your skin didn’t glow anymore. Everything had dulled like Steve had taken your life light with him back to the past, engulfing you in complete darkness.

You’d never find someone like him again because nobody compared to him. 

You often reminisced the good times you experienced with him by your side. The fun you had while sparring in the gym room, climbing on his back as he tried to push you to the floor. You thought back to the many dates you had, fancy candlelit dinners inside of expensive restaurants that involved your favorite flowers at the beginning of the night and passionate sex at the end. You remembered holidays, Tony’s extravagant parties that were mostly just you and him eye-fucking each other in fancy clothing with champagne on your breaths until it was late enough for you to bail so you could fuck for real. 

It was holding his hand, kissing him hard and long on his beautiful mouth before he had to leave for missions that sometimes lasted far too long for both your liking. Placing fingers on his thigh while he was driving and toying with the soft fabric of his jeans higher and higher until he couldn’t take it anymore. It was walking on the beach early enough to see the sunrise and long drives back on the back of his motorcycle, safely hidden away from the world behind tinted helmets.

Now, there was nothing. No hand-holding, no joking around, no fucking each other in the storage closet because you couldn’t wait to get back to your room on the top floor. Nothing but emptiness, cold and dreadful and tiring like a weighted blanket made of snow that refused to thaw under your own body temperature. 

Even when you finally decided to become more active again did the emptiness not leave you. It followed you around like a ghost, always lingering in every corner of every room you entered. Bucky felt sympathy for you, but even he couldn’t help you. You had to pull yourself from the depths of the ocean by yourself, had to swim back to the surface without a life vest or oxygen tank strapped to your back and you constantly felt like you were going to drown. Maybe you already had and this was your purgatory. 

You couldn’t help but regret it sometimes. Getting together with him. It was when that looming darkness engulfed you that you allowed yourself to regret ever getting to meet him. You’d lay in bed at night and pray to the Gods to turn back time just once, allow yourself to make the choice that would’ve prevented you from getting to learn who Steve Rogers was because that choice ultimately led you to fall in love with him.  If only you knew then what you knew now.

You sat by the fireplace alone now, staring at the smoldering embers and the flames that licked slowly burning wood. You watched the trees move in the wind by yourself now, watched the rain drip against the window panes with your knees pulled up to your chest. How could loving Steve Rogers hurt so fucking bad?

“How you holding up, kiddo?” Bucky asked, taking a seat beside you on the couch that directly faced the window. 

“I’m alright,” you responded, voice raspy and dry. 

He offered you a glass of water, which you took gladly. At least someone cared about you despite your efforts to push everyone away.

“I talked to him this morning,” he said finally, “he misses you, I think. Might even regret his decision to leave.” 

Your eyes flicker to Bucky, then fall back on the fireplace, “I miss him too.”

“He asked how you were doing,” he said carefully.

“What did you say?”

Bucky exhaled, “I didn’t lie.”

A comfortable silence fell over you, allowing you to listen to the crackling of the fire and Bucky’s breathing beside you. Sometimes, no words needed to be said for them to be exchanged. You toyed with the shaggy blanket over your lap, twirling the fabric between your fingers. 

“I don’t think he has a lot of time left.” 

You scooted closer to him, allowing your head to rest on top of his torso. He patted your head and drew circles in your hair while you rested your eyes for a moment. You hardly slept the night before and were beginning to feel drowsy. You started napping frequently, finding sleep wherever and whenever you could because your bed was too empty and too large at night. 

“Will you come with me?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I will,” he said, nodding although you couldn’t see it, “I’ll come with you.”

“When?” 

Bucky’s shoulders rose, “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll make time.” 

Maybe you should’ve known that he’d go back to her if the opportunity arose. You’d heard stories, of course, Bucky had told you enough. Steve didn’t talk about her much, except for after her funeral, which he attended alone without telling you. You should’ve known it then with how messed up he was after her death. Should have known that he’d never been able to really get over her. You couldn’t even really blame him, either. She’d been ripped from him when he went into the ice and was already on her deathbed by the time he woke up. For her, a lifetime had gone by. To him, it felt like seconds. It’s how Bucky must’ve felt when he came back after the Snap.

Sitting with him on the couch, you weren’t sure if you would’ve changed things. You had a lot of good times with Steve, they largely overshadowed the bad. He’d made you a stronger person, made you appreciate your talents and weaknesses for what they were and he never made you feel less than your worth. He was a good man, you knew it deep down, but accepting that you might not have been good enough for him was a wound that would never heal, not even as you took your last breath.

Still, a small shimmer of hope began to grow somewhere deep within your chest like a seed had been planted. Laying with Bucky in silence, watching the rain pitter-patter against the window, made you think one thought before sleep engulfed you properly for the first time in months.

Maybe things were the way they were meant to be. 

[dornishsphinx]

Steps on the Bifrost

Merry Nagamas @andthenalittledash--here’s your @nagamas gift! Can I just say—thank you so much for mentioning you like Laslow/Azura, because it is one of my favourite Fates ships and you gave me the excuse to finally sit down and write about them! (This also got a lot longer than I expected it to, haha.) 

[AO3 Link]

The Nohrian army advances along the path to a hollow victory, and even those who know there is a greater enemy left unchallenged cannot help but by swept along by the tides of war, and the circumstances chosen for them. 

Anankos had barely stopped toying with Takumi’s shell when she fled the throne room, great slashes of sapphire already beginning to rip their way up her arms and crawl their way across her face. She should have realised that her beloved would follow her, but some part of her, deep and cold and chosen second too many times before, had presumed he’d stay at his lord’s side. It would have been a cruel parting to be sure, but no matter the hours she’d agonised over the comfort or kiss she might have given him, she still had not the words to say goodbye. 

Even so, it was his arms she found herself in when she toppled over, exhausted; a mockery of a dip, like this was just another evening of dance practice. His clothes soaked through where her body touched his, and when she peered up at him through eyes half-shut in pain, she saw that his face was horror-struck.

“Hey. Smile for me, won’t you?” she asked, before he could demand an explanation. Her own smile was bright as she could make it. “That’s what you always ask of me, isn’t it?”

His face was still desperate as he balanced her with one arm and started rummaging through his pockets like his life depended on it. Medicines were useless in the case of curses, as she’d been told when she was a child and had asked why she couldn’t let the water dance in a constant rhythm, but Azura couldn’t find the energy within her to make him stop, nor the heart.

“Smile for me. Please,” she said, with gentle insistence.

Inigo smiled, though his eyes were glimmering and it was clearly forced. A lot of his smiles were, and she mourned that she wouldn’t see a real one before it was all over, but it was better than nothing.

“That’s right. Lovely.”

***

“Did you ever think about what you’d name your children?”

The copse of trees muffled the sounds of camp around them, creating the illusion they were, if not alone, cut off from everyone else. Laslow paused, still bent over with the laces of his dancing slipper only half-tied.

“I never really considered such a thing,” he said. He finished the knot, flexed his feet, and, satisfied, straightened back up. “Though I suppose…”

He considered, for a long moment.

“Soleil.”

“Soleil?” The name was unfamiliar to her. “It’s pretty, but why that name?”

Laslow stood. He moved his right foot behind him and let his whole body lean back onto it, stretching his arms out to the sides and up, in a wide, circular arc. His hands, palms upwards, halted level with his head.

“The soleil is a movement from a certain school of dance back home.” He remained in the position for a moment longer before letting his arms drop and stepping back into a normal stance. “It symbolises being bathed in sunlight, or just the sun in general. I’ve always liked it.”  

Back home, again, with no name. The urge to ask him where his home was grabbed at her yet again, stronger this time, but she stopped herself. He couldn’t tell her about this mysterious back home, just as she couldn’t tell him about Valla, be it of old or be it of the ruin beneath their feet.

“It’s always a pleasure to see the sun rise again, after all. How about you?”

Azura ignored all the old family names that occurred to her and chose another: “Shigure.” It had always struck her as a good name.

“Shigure?”

She smiled. “A light shower of rain.”

“My, it seems we truly are fated. What do you say to Rainbow for our third?”

Even as she joined him in laughter, she couldn’t help but recall that there was a Vallite name that would have been perfect for such a theme: Iris, after one of Valla’s first queens.

“What’s with the sudden curiosity?” he asked. “Interested in starting a family?”

She sent him a coy smile. Laslow’s cheeks burnt red and he averted his gaze, but then a wistful look came over him.

“You know,” he said, voice melancholy, “I lost my true family when I was a child. I was able to find something resembling it, but it’s not the same.” His face, if still a little embarrassed, was soft when he looked back over at her. “It would be nice, to create one together.”

She considered telling him she’d lost her family too, but given that he was retainer to a man who called himself her brother, that path would have led to nothing but more questions she couldn’t answer.

“I never really felt as though I belonged with the Nohrians, nor the Hoshidans,” she said instead. It was a poor substitute, but true enough, in its own way. “Not like Corrin does. Having a family together would be nice, I think.”

Laslow smiled; she couldn’t help returning it. It fell off his face, though, and an odd expression replaced it.

“Did I ever tell you that I come from somewhere far away? Very far.” He hesitated, clearly formulating what he was going to say next carefully. “If I were to go back, I would never be able to return. Would you—would you want to go with me?”

It was an unexpected question; the surprise must have shown on her face, because his blush spread even further over his cheeks and he stammered as he quickly rushed to explain himself.

“You don’t have to, of course—it’s just that, since you told me you don’t really feel like you fit in Nohr and Hoshido, perhaps we could make a fresh start? You, me, however many Soleils or Shigures or Rainbows we’ll have. We could visit my parents—my other parents—they’d be there too, and I’m so sure you’d like them.”

The look on his face was so tentative that her heart ached. For a moment, she fantasised about what it could have been like in a world where she might have made the same offer—offered even more than he could. But becoming royalty of Valla, that ruin with little chance of restoration, was more a curse than anything else now.

The wind rippled through the trees.

“That sounds lovely,” she said.

Laslow breathed out beside her, but before he could speak again she started to hum an old Vallite tune all the talk of the weather had reminded her of; it had once been a thanksgiving to Anankos, so she skipped over the verses of praise and onto how the dragon’s tears had first met with the fires of creation to forge the first bridge to the world above. (The existence of Valla was implicit, something so fundamentally understood mentioning it by name was unnecessary; it was just here.)

Laslow began to sway with the rhythm, and a few bars in, he began to dance.

***

Azura had never been close to her Nohrian family, in the literal as well as metaphorical sense. As the campaign wore on, however, that which Azura had always believed, but hoped was inaccurate—that the Hoshidans had little regard for her either—became a certainty. Kindness, likely performed on Queen Mikoto’s behalf and out of some sense of charity, was not closeness. It helped to think that way anyway, now that she was fighting on the side that had killed Takumi and were likely to slay the others too.

Still, if there had been a distance with Queen Mikoto’s own children, the average Hoshidan soldier cared even less for her wellbeing; she was nothing but another Nohrian now that Corrin had defected, as had been made clear to her when they’d torn her from the castle at Shirasagi and tried leaving her corpse at Fort Dragonfall as a message. (They were the same in theory, the two of them, hostages to the light and the dark, but it was always going to be Corrin’s choices that mattered, not hers.)

The lance fighters bearing down on her, venom in their eyes and curses on their lips, were not the first Hoshidans to try and rip her apart, but it was looking more and more certain they’d be the last. She considered, briefly, sapping their will to fight through song. There may have been no time left to stop the momentum of their thrusts, even if she were to relax their hearts enough to stop beating, and it might have been yet another waste of the pendant’s power, but still, even knowing it was of no use, she curled around herself and the stone on her chest, and would have begun to sing—

But there was a thicket, now. She looked on in confusion, slowly unfolding out of her defensive stance. The branches twisted around the soldiers like tentacles of some great octopus. They shouted and struggled as it devoured them, tangled in the thorns.

“They’re going to get out,” said Laslow, behind her. She turned. His hands were rooted in the earth and his voice was urgent and low. “It won’t hold them much longer.”

She stared at him; she couldn’t help it. His eyes were downcast, his hands and body trembling, as though he was unused to using the veins. It had truly been a secret then, from everybody, not just from her.

She turned, in a daze, and with a swipe of her lance, the skirmish was over. (Corrin would likely not approve, but Corrin didn’t know what it was Jakob did in the aftermath of battle, nor that Laslow had the dragon’s blood, nor the true depth of Xander’s emotions, nor the woman her mother had truly been. This would be one thread of a wide web of secrets and lies and deceptions; nothing, really.)

Laslow gasped and let go. The thicket receded, slowly and at an ambling pace, like it was an animal that had lost interest in the humans playing with it. She moved to kneel beside him, the movement half a stumble in the rush to get over to him. She snatched up his right hand with her own red-stained ones. There was dirt under his fingernails—he hadn’t taken care when he’d plunged them into the ground, it seemed—and even now, his arms were shaking. He gently touched her face with his other hand, its faint tremors all the more obvious when they were against her skin. Their eyes met for a long moment.

“They were going to kill you,” he said, the response to an unasked question.

They looked at one another for a moment longer before she kissed him, fleeting but without haste, and left the matter at that, helping one another to their feet and moving onward to the rest of the enemies they’d been tasked with eliminating. She wasn’t one to pry. She’d have been the worst kind of hypocrite if she was.

Still, when the battle was done, after they’d both remained silent on the subject of Hoshidan combatants found dead with deep scratches all over their corpses and they lay tangled together themselves, Laslow asleep, she lay awake with thoughts darting around her head like shoals of fish, this way and that. Her eyes idly tracked the veins which ran blue down his wrists and into his freshly-scrubbed hands.

A dozen thoughts had occurred to her, though only one had stayed lodged in her mind all this time; the first, in fact, that had sprung to mind when she’d seen his hands buried in the soil.

He’d once told her that he wasn’t supposed to exist in her world, though he couldn’t tell her why he came to be there, or how. She’d told him she understood, and she indeed had done, since she was under a similar obligation.

Maybe—

She touched his wrist lightly, just over the blue veins, and felt him come awake.

***

Once, when she had been the most wretched child among dozens of wretched children imprisoned within the circular walls of the royal keep at Windmire, Azura had experienced the most curious dream. Figures dressed in Vallite robes of the purest white had crowded around her in a version of Valla that no longer existed, each and every one vowing, with all the zeal of a holy mission, to ensure her happiness. They had enveloped her with such kindness and good cheer that when she awoke, her chest had felt light for the first time in months.

Beneath the open sky in a world at war, it had been a surprise to experience the dream once again: she was older now, after all, and had thought herself to have shrugged off the childish need for false comfort. The old figures had appeared before her tiny form once more—she’d still been a child in this new dream; it had felt natural in the way everything in dreams comes naturally—and a man, young and handsome, had kissed her on the forehead and promised a lifetime of smiles before sweeping her into one of the dances she’d been taught before the devastation, the traditional choral accompaniment that could not possibly exist in a reality where there were barely enough uncorrupted Vallites to form a duet soaring so clear and strong that her dream-self knew they could hear it in the world above.

What she had shivered at in daylight, even as it had felt natural in the dream in the way everything in dreams feels natural, was that the figures surrounding them were as distant and illusory as the soldiers that haunted Valla’s remnants, and the song to which they’d danced had included those verses she had suppressed in her memory, praise of the great Anankos echoing all around them over and over and over.

***

“I’ve taken stranger leaps of faith,” was Laslow’s only response.

She held his hand in her own, her fingers entwined with his. The water was hers to command, for however much longer she had; it would have taken and protected Laslow quite ably had she asked it, but she knew her touch would soothe any fears of drowning he might have had.

She pulled them through the water easily. At first, they were boneless as turtles gliding along a jet stream, but then she pulled them through faster, and faster, until they were darting down and down with such speed and grace that she imagined a current in their wake.

When they emerged the other end, falling out of the water in the same manner one might have fallen into it in the world above, she took Laslow into her arms and stayed with him in the air for a few breaths longer than necessary; a moment of self-indulgence, the water holding them up there to hover with all the rubble of Valla like a pair of courting dragonflies. She then let the water slowly start to disperse, the two of them floating down to the ground as a bubble does, landing elegantly together on their feet.

It was an unnecessary use of the pendant’s power, of course. Still, she’d used it so many times now, for Nohr and for Hoshido and for Corrin; if it was too late for her to aid in the fight against Anankos, if that fight would ever come, what was a moment of unleashing the pendant’s magic for herself, to will the water to dance around them and see how it would turn her beloved’s face into something akin to a dazed mortal gazing upon her like an oceanic goddess, a creature of power and majesty?

Besides, those priestesses who’d lectured her about restraint were all dead, Anankos’ puppets, or both. What did they know?

“You make the water dance almost as beautifully as you,” said Laslow. There was a slight stagger to his movements, and he leant back against one of the few pieces of stonework still anchored to the ground.

“None dance as finely as you but the water, love,” she said, smile transforming into a full grin, the ecstasy of the power and the water obeying her making her feel buoyant. “I just thought to give you a suitable accompaniment.”

“So, you were the Nestrian dancer, then,” he said. “I thought it might be. The way she moved, the steps she used, they were too familiar.”

“You’re not going to turn me in for the assassination attempt of our king, then?”

Perhaps it was the power still coursing through her, or perhaps it was because she knew Laslow, and knew who he’d pick between that dastard and herself, but she stared at him, unflinching.

“It was dangerous. If they’d found you—”

“Nobody guessed it was me,” she said. “None but you have the same eye for footwork, it seems. Not even my hair gave the game away. I did consider a wig, but there was no time to find one, and I thought it would be fine as is.”

Gods, but it felt good to talk without second-guessing every word.

Laslow still looked concerned, so she changed topic. “This is Valla,” she said to someone else for the first time in years. “This is my home. This is where I grew up. This is the kingdom Anankos destroyed.”

“So, you are a Vallite, after all. That’s why you’ve not been able to talk freely.”

“Is it why you haven’t been able to talk freely?”

Laslow hesitated before nodding. “Yes. I’ve known of it for years, though I’m not a Vallite myself.” A wave of disappointment hit Azura, but she weathered it. Laslow was still hers, no matter from whence he came. Besides, that he knew of Valla at all, that they’d shared this knowledge and curse together, was more than she could have ever hoped.

“How can you use dragon veins?”

She would have begged the gods he’d not mention Anankos’ name, but she’d never taken any god but the Silent Dragon, and he was now the enemy.

“Anankos gave us his blood.”

Rage bit into her heart. So, he was with Anankos. After all that had happened, after knowing she would never face him herself and make him answer for what he’d done, he’d managed to steal something else; her family, her home, and her lover, all warped.

“Anankos,” she said. It came out in a hiss, the sibilance continuing on a moment too long, serpentine.

Laslow reached out to touch her, but stopped short when she straightened and fixed him with a righteous glare.

“Anankos killed my father, you know. They were friends, once, but then he went mad and killed him. He turned the Vallites into these things. He turned Valla into this. And still, you’ve taken his side?” She thrust an arm out; the water moved with her. “You’ve taken his side?”

Laslow wouldn’t meet her eyes, no matter how she tried to capture them.

“My mother and father were killed by a dragon too,” he said. His voice was slow, and quiet. “He wasn’t mad, I don’t think, but I don’t know why else he did what he did. He ravaged the land, killed everyone he came across. He killed my mother and father, though they were friends with him once as well, or at least with the man he was. The greatest of friends. Anankos gave them the graves we couldn’t. And he let the flowers grow in that world once again.”

One tear, then another rolled down Laslow’s cheeks. Azura thought about wiping them away, but before she could move, he’d already dashed them away himself.

“It’s not the mad dragon we’re working for,” he said, voice steadier now. He finally met her gaze. “It was the remnants of his sanity we met. He gave us his blood, and we were to find and protect his daughter in Hoshido, though in the end, she’d been taken to Nohr.”

He paused.

“And we never found…”

He stopped.

“You found her,” said Azura. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised.

Her anger had subsided, somewhat, his tears and tale of woe dampening it into faintly-crackling embers, but years of bitter resentment and enmity for all those who would traffic with the god who had made her an exile were hard to wash away. She lapsed into silence, and stared out across the lake.

“There’s something you should know, if you hate Anankos so,” said Laslow. “Laslow is the name he gave me; it was something of an entry fee into this world.”

“Then what is your true name?”

“Inigo,” he said. He almost seemed shy, a faint blush coming over his features. Inigo. Somehow it fit him far more nicely than Laslow ever had.

“Inigo,” she said, trying it out on her tongue. “Inigo. A lovely name.”

Inigo smiled, but then a shadow crossed over his face. “There’s a way to get down here,” he said. “If we could bring Prince Xander here, perhaps we could stop the war.”

“There’s no stopping the war.”

“Xander is a reasonable man. If we can just tell him about Anankos—”  

Tell them. Tell those under whose tender care she’d been left alone to rot in the dark, tormented, where if the Hoshidans hadn’t stolen her away, she would have met her death at another child’s blade, or by poison in a chalice; tell those for whom she was now trapped into fighting by Corrin’s decision (for Azura, who had lived her life among oaths and silent curses and prisons, had never been able to make a decision that mattered in her life.)

“It matters little if he’s reasonable,” she said. “Prince Takumi is dead. Queen Mikoto and King Sumeragi are dead. Nohrians are nothing but cutthroats and reprobates to the Hoshidans after all that has passed, and they’re far too stubborn to clasp hands with a nation of scoundrels, no matter who their common enemy might be. Garon would have Xander executed the moment he stepped out of line anyway. It’s too late. It’s too late.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Azura felt the cold bite of the pendant’s chain against her skin, and the faint but ever-present power that coursed through its core. No. No, I’m not.

“In my experience,” he said, a hard-won certainty on his face, “There’s always just a little more time left than you think.”

***

She closed her eyes, before feeling something smooth and round placed in her palm. She opened her eyes again, frowning. It was a small sphere, colours dancing around it like there was a rainbow trapped within.  

“The mad dragon’s host sacrificed himself,” Inigo said, his voice weak and hold uncertain, like he wasn’t quite sure if he needed to stop her bursting or flying away. If he didn’t dry off soon, she noted vaguely, somewhere in the back of her mind, he’d catch a cold. “No matter how Father begged him not to. And still he got to come back. My parents ought to have died, and still they got live. There are worlds where fates can be averted. There are worlds where Anan—”

He gasped in pain as a sombre cheer rose in the distance, the Nohrians acknowledging their hollow victory. She felt his fingertips begin to drip where they rested upon her skin. Alarm shot through her and she scrabbled for his fingers—now that he’d shut up about the Silent Dragon, they were fine, though the tips of his fingers were gone along with part of his nails, down past the quick, water dripping from them like a mockery of blood.

“Please,” said Inigo. He whispered short pleas into her shoulder, abandoning all argument in favour of begging. Even without looking at his face she knew he looked wretched, his shoulders slumped and tears already starting to streak down his cheeks.

She touched the orb, weakly. Its aura was strong, but secure and protective, like the stories of the kindly god upon which she’d been raised. She traced its surface with a finger, watching the tracks of water left behind, then curled her hand around it.

“Laslow?” came Prince Xander’s voice. She raised her head and saw him walk through the door, a few more furrows in his brow and concern lurking beneath his usual stern expression. “Are you with—”

The last thing Azura ever witnessed of either the world above or below was Xander’s eyes landing on the pair of them and widening, everything warping and spasming as the two last hopes for the worlds above and below disappeared from his life as suddenly as they had entered it.

[sanoiro]

Lucifer 3x24 - S3 Finale -  Meta: An Ending in Three Acts

*This was written after 3x24 and it prepares the path I’ll walk on for the S4 meta this week.” 

Each post will have a *Keep Reading* feature to protect you from S4 spoilers. 

As a short intro, I would like to say that I’m exhausted so I really hope the following meta makes sense. 3x24 was a very packed episode and no doubt I’ll probably come back one day once more to add something to my impression over certain scenes. But for today that’s what I have and it’s quite a lot. 

Mistakes have been made but this time I’ll not apologise for them. As you all know we are in a constant state of shock since the Cancellation. Many of us feel drained but refuse to give up and we will not give up. Still, that does not alter the fact that some of us, myself included, pushed themselves further than they are comfortable or willing in order to get out out the battlefield and fight. We will be back there on Monday to support the standalones and the #SaveLucifer campaign! 

Now do know this. The campaign caused some deep wounds that will leave some magnificent scars behind. We still bleed occasionally but we do not give up and so we begin...

Act 1: Dan And The Full Circle

This is not the last meta as we have two more episodes coming but it is a meta where the plot progress is concerned. 

So was this a good season overall? I believe so yes, although we had many plot holes which although I’ll not list I suppose they could have been handled a bit more masterfully for my taste. 

There are many different places to begin this post but I would like to start with Dan. 

Dan had an interesting character growth since S1. The problem though is that as I have said before, in S3 everyone came to terms with their identity and Dan was one of them. When Marcus’ hitman was caught and the team tries to extract his boss’ whereabouts, we see that Dan has come to a conclusion similar to the one Lucifer has. 

Marcus in 3x02 said that Lucifer was impulsive and an idiot. To a point he was correct. When Marcus met Dan, as the man himself laments. Marcus called him a corrupt cop. It takes one to see one I guess. In that scene, we realise that Dan will probably never go to Hell. Dan carries no guilt over the Palmetto case and certainly none over letting the Russian Mob find and kill Chloe’s father murderer… 

At that moment we see Dan accepting his faults but also we get a glimpse of his future and that he will probably see Charlotte one day. That’s good news I guess but the final flip of the coin as we saw at the end of the episode and S3 finale is as to where the coin will land not where it is currently positioned on the air. Why? Because even at the last moment there is a possibility of ending up either in Heaven or Hell is still not set in stone.

DB said that 3x24 brings us into a full cycle and he was correct. 

First, see the parallel between the end of S2 and S3 where Linda and Maze are concerned or the fact that Charlotte is free like Mum is free… Lucifer becomes the believer while Ella doubts her faith in him while she does make a leap of faith… Everyone's world is changing and they do realise that their identities are very fluid and they do need to come to terms with that. 

Finally, we can also see is that Lucifer is wearing a similar clothing arrangement with the second episode of S1 not to mention the “I don’t want to die” being uttered from Chloe at the end of the episode (See the Pilot). 

Act 2: Chloe and The Truth

In this episode, we don’t have the time to process fully whatever it was said in 3x23 but Eglisson makes an amazing job with the close-ups in 3x24. It’s almost the same way they were used in the Pilot.  At the alley, we have one of the most important scenes of the episode. 

As you remember in 2x18, Chloe said to Lucifer that although he tells the truth he doesn’t say the whole truth which for S2 standards is correct mainly because Lucifer was avoiding to reveal her everything concerning Mum, her miracle status and why he was avoiding her romantically. Now in S3 Chloe makes a different statement. No more metaphors. 

Metaphors are not just something that is not literal. Metaphors in Greek means “to be moved”. Meaning they are transferable in a way. At that alley, Chloe tells Lucifer that she does realise that the metaphors are real for him and the blame falls also to her as she encouraged him to carry on with them for so long. Again Chloe has unknowingly noticed what Lucifer has gone through in the entire S3. Lucifer’s conviction about his wings, the bad and evil in the world, his Devil face and finally his very identity. 

His Devil face during his discussion with Marcus is revealed to be a metaphor - A transference- of his emotional state to his body. Perhaps the writers decided here to play with the psychosomatic effect of an emotional state. 

In my fanfiction story Alis Grave Nil that’s how it is played out. -Shameless of me I know...- 

“Why do you like hide and seek so much?” She castigated puckering her lips in displeasure. 

Putting her whole weight on his belt, Lucifer had no choice but to scout at her level if he wanted to retain whatever was left of his dignity.

Mourning the loss of Chloe’s touch, he was startled when two hands touched his mottled and streaked scalp. The child’s was demanding in her attempt to scrub away his millennia-old appearance.

The Devil Face in that story is a self-inflicted punishment that Lucifer forced unknowingly on himself as he felt guilty after his Fall due the loss of his best friend. It is later discussed how Lucifer is playing games with his Devil face and that putting a facade to hide the fear, agony and pain is not a solution and so it washes away under Trixie’s touch. But back to the episode! 

The close-ups in the Alley scene are also important. We rarely had any of those in S3 and Egilsson is not usually playing with them. Egilsson has directed the episodes:

1x08 - At Tu Doctor? 2x06 - Monster  3x04 - What Would Lucifer Do? 3x16 - Infernal Guinea Pig 3x24 - A Devil of My Word

I believe you now have a better idea of his work. 

No the close-ups in 3x23, they highlight the identity under the words and what we try to be. They give out Chloe’s honesty and Lucifer’s acceptance before the ending robs him of the peace he had found through Chloe’s trust and acceptance. 

Now cue back at 2x01. Do you remember the “I need the Eggs��� joke at the end of the S2 first episode? I had written a beautiful - yes, I’m really proud about that meta piece-  meta which you can find in my blog and at the Alley we also see a hint of that joke coming back but with a twist. 

Chloe is no longer concerned about the eggs but is now more worried about the fact that the man is acting like a chicken. The eggs in that interpretation is the love and she is willing to jeopardise that in order to save the man she loves.  Perhaps she feels guilty as she says that she encouraged him with his Devil talk in order to get his partnership and be around him. At that point, she is willing to sacrifice a lot but she tries to find the answers by helping him. 

She does love him as he is but for Chloe Lucifer being honest with her is important so she tries to penetrate what she believes to be a false identity because she can no longer entertain the absurd thought of everything being actually real. 

It’s that 1% she wants to get rid from the back of her head and so she wants the man… Problem is that when all is revealed she has to deal with the 1% occupying more of Lucifer than she ever thought possible. 

The next scene is, of course, the one occurring in the circular room. We all have recognized the phrase “I don’t want to die” from the Pilot. It was delivered in the same way but this time Chloe is protecting Lucifer. Her next lines are cutting deeper than we think possible but most have brushed them away for the favour of the big finale. 

“I can’t. Not without stopping you.” 

This line was delivered not because Marcus was Sinnerman or because he had murdered Charlotte but because he had made clear that killing Lucifer was what he intended to do. So Chloe shields Lucifer. 

In 1x12 Chloe believed that Lucifer was a killer and still she hesitated. She fidgets and cries out when the newbie cop fires. Lucifer was correct. Chloe never loved Marcus, never cared enough in order to hesitate shooting him. 

In 3x23 Chloe was prepared to die for Lucifer. In my speculation, I had said that Chloe dying at the finale even for a little while, was vital in order for us to see how far she could go for Lucifer. Now we have seen it. Also in a way, we all believed she had been hit and was dying or was dead. That is the nature of supernatural series though that we know our leads will never die… At least not for a long-long time! 

I’ll dedicate more time into what happened next at that scene in the 3rd Act of this meta so let’s skip everything and go to the roof. 

The way Lucifer and Chloe are shown gets us back to the Pilot. The way that the camera is focusing on Chloe and then she wakes up and her vision unblurs on Lucifer looking at her in the hospital while he welcomes her back, gets us back to the very first episode of the series. Once again he has saved her and once again she was faced with the truth but does not remember it or in the case of 3x24 has not actually witnessed it. 

The most encouraging thing though is that Chloe does not run. Even with the possibility of the truth being well… The Truth! She goes back to a place rimmed with bullets in order to find Lucifer. Perhaps it shows how deep her emotions run about him to the point that she will risk everything to go back and protect Lucifer once again. 

The Devil or not Chloe did go back to save him because his life worths more than the realization who she was partnered with or that she loves the Devil. That instinct to see if the person she loved is well, personally fills me with hope. Sooner or later Chloe would have come into terms and fought beside Lucifer for L.A., The World and their rather unique relationship…

Yet… Does she step backwards? Yes, she does. 

Remember her reaction in 2x01 when Amenadiel shot himself and Chloe was almost faced with the possibility of Lucifer being the actual Devil? 

Yeah… She had stepped backwards then as well. But what we do know is that no matter what, Chloe even if she runs away physically or emotionally from Lucifer after 3x24, according to Henderson and Ildy she continued to work with him and tried at the same time to deal with two things. Working once again with Lucifer while knowing the truth and second that she was in love with a man who didn’t claim but was the actual Devil. 

Fingers Crossed we will see that in S4 that I have faith will be coming our way in 2019. 

Act 3: Lucifer - The Scars Run Deep & Still Hurt.

In this episode, we see a different Lucifer and Ellis plays the character on so many different levels.

First comes the murder’s crime scene to which Lucifer says that he will never see Charlotte again. It is a parallel with how Amenadiel will never see Mum again but it also gets us on two places where we weren’t expecting Lucifer to be in 3x24. They are not out of place but they are very important to the character development.

First of all, for the first time, Lucifer mourns the fact that he will never be at the Silver City again. This is a foreshadowing of the very finale. Lucifer still does not believe he is worthy although during the episode he does shift towards his more angelic qualities for once in the whole series. The problem here is not that he misses home but he fully acknowledges that immortality does make him lose people forever as for some weird reason he befriends the ones who end up in Heaven. Show me your friends and I’ll tell you who you are and the Devil is apparently a good guy...

The second level here is Chloe. Lucifer is fully aware that Chloe will leave him one day but he does not run away from the possible pain her mortality will eventually cause him. But Lucifer has come somewhat to terms with that. Remember his comment in 3x06, “Detective you just focus on getting older” before the elevator’s doors close and he goes with Ella to Vegas?

The above is one of the contrast we see with Marcus. Marcus believes he will go to Heaven and even then he chickens out. He claims to love Chloe but avoids her eventually in order to get his immortality back along with trying to kill Amenadiel. Lucifer is fully aware that Hell is waiting for him and that now he can be trapped behind a Door for all eternity and still endangers himself.

What I loved most at the Griffith Park scene was Chloe’s reassurance that she is there for him only for Lucifer to make almost a vow that he will also have her back as well. It is no accident that Lucifer asks how Dan is right afterwards. He has experienced the possibility of losing Chloe and has a very good idea what his favourite Douche is going through. Therefore yes, I truly enjoyed the 2x13 and 2x14 Easter Egg undertones of how the roles have been reversed.

Now what made me laugh was how the Easter Bunny became oh so real for Chloe to the point she hissed at Lucifer “I almost married him! Why didn’t you say anything!?”

Next comes Lucifer’s admission that Marcus wanting or actually attempting to kill Amenadiel infuriates him. We do know that Lucifer loves his brother very much but also that if Amenadiel had been shot and died as a mortal he would most probably have been back home although Amendiel always had some guilt issues so then again it was a gamble. A toss of a coin...

During his discussion with Marcus, Lucifer opens up more about the rebellion and the aftermath than he has ever done before. It’s actually of the four key moments for Lucifer in this episode. This is the second.

Lucifer says that everyone hated him, himself included. He felt like a monster but as we know that was not because of the rebellion. In 3x11 he does admit that he tried to be redeemed in a way by peacefully staying in Hell for very long periods of time when he didn’t get to Earth and shagged women and men alike that is.

Lucifer felt like a monster because he could not see any worth in himself. He was not a victor and had also Fallen out of grace. He had no one to tell him he worth something and through time he externalized his self-hate as himself admitted. 

Going a step further we can assume that the Devil-face was Lucifer’s own personal Hell-loop. One he came to live with and eventually accept and love in a very morbid way. His guilt and pain manifested in his reflection and as we saw at the end it never ended for him because he always returned to square one. Hence the loop. In S3 he had opened the door and then closed it again. In S3 we saw Lucifer have his eyes gleaming red 2 times. When he threatened Ella’s brother and then in 3x20. The answer is rather simple now I guess. 

You cannot escape what you have done and no action will ever justify your past or future actions. So it’s up to you to open your door and Lucifer in 3x24 just trapped himself once again behind one. His Devil face. 

What interests me more though is how does Lucifer believe he became a monster… Was it only his lack of self-worth? Perhaps it was because he was different and he could feel that so he also became something different as well. 

Lucifer was always an emotionally raw being and so his image mimicked him. His pain was externalized and so was his solitude and ostracism from his family…

At the end of the day Lucifer was like the odd one out so he psychosomatically self-harmed himself like he literally did in 3x11. 

If I had to talk more about his reoccurring lapses I would say that Lucifer is but an immortal with suicidal or self-harming tendencies who knows that the cannot die. He feels too much and cannot buffer that otherwise. Perhaps that is one of the reasons he stays with Chloe as well. 

Marcus story hits a bit too close to home. An immortal who cannot die but cannot enjoy internal life either but then he falls in love so he values life and wants to keep living. Yet for Lucifer, he knows that in the far future only Hell awaits him especially after Chloe is gone.

Right now Lucifer has a purpose and a home in L.A. and it is not structured around who he will sleep with or what drugs and alcohol he will consume. It’s experiencing mortality - if you remember 1x05 his talk with the then Lieutenant?- and is willing to risk his life outside Hell because for once he values something more than himself.

Still, this does not mean that Lucifer is emotionally stable or does not go over the top when he is with Chloe which makes him a bit like a mental health sufferer who wants or is forced emotionally and physically -chemically- to experience an adrenaline rush so he goes often into a state of mania.

When Lucifer talks about selflessness we can also see how this has worked for him in the past two seasons but do remember that he was also selfless with Delilah but that was not how he got vulnerable. So is Chloe’s miracle status still an important factor in this game? I would say yes. I still believe it was Chloe’s feelings that make him vulnerable but I’ll not take any more space to talk about that in this post.

Back on Marcus and when Lucifer taunts him that Chloe never loved his sorry behind… Obviously, Marcus does not like that explanation so he brushes it off. In the end, though we see that Chloe is ready to kill Marcus if that means that Lucifer will be safe. She actually aims and shoots him. So Marcus has his answer. She never loved him. She believed him but Lucifer came first, Marcus had failed to get rid of the cat.

What is also important to mention at this point is that Lucifer realises finally the gravity of our actions but also our beliefs. His talk with Ella is meaningful but for the first time perhaps he also feels free from his Dad. He has free will but is that really true? Never forget that some things are not as they appear and Lucifer still had/has a 4th season to explore.

Another groundbreaking realization is that at the alley Lucifer confesses that he no longer sees himself as the Devil that much as of late. He does know it’s because of Chloe. That gives way to an emotional growth sprout. 

Long gone are the episodes 3x04 and 3x08. He knows he is responsible for his actions and the gravity his own thoughts have on himself but also has a new point of reference. For the common public, God is supposed to be something pure and salvaging. For Lucifer that's Chloe. Perhaps that is also why the camera also plays with closed captions in that episode.

And so we get to the scene where Lucifer and Chloe confront Marcus. The shit does hit the fan and we do have a scene very much alike with 1x01 with one big difference. Lucifer is fully aware he is not invulnerable close to her. He has no idea if his wings will protect her but driven by instinct he takes them out and covers them both.

You may ask why did he stay for so long? Shock, panic the fact that bullets were still flying so he couldn’t take the chance to unfold his wings and fly away with Chloe. I’ll always believe that while he is in distress he calls out something between Dad and God but you can make your own assumption there.

On the roof, Lucifer finally understands what the false Sinnerman was saying to him. It has to be you. 

Marcus was ready to kill Chloe just in order to kill off Lucifer as well but for Lucifer, the resolution came when Chloe told him they had to find Pierce. Lucifer knows that the only way to keep her safe is to go back and get Marcus. Problem is that he has fallen once again in his Mania state, like he was in the episodes 3x09 and 3x10 with Sinnerman. The 101 Angel rule is forgotten when Maze’s dagger appears and Lucifer gives Marcus a sly smile.

You see no matter Marcus’ experience in combat Lucifer still possesses supernatural strength which makes Marcus’ fisted fingers crack and drives Maze’s dagger into Marcus’ heart. And right there starts our stroll of finding the meaning between the spoken lines. 

Marcus’ first words when he knows he is fatally wounded is to ask if Chloe is okay. That makes Lucifer flatter and look a bit dazed as if he has a waking moment before he falls asleep once more. Marcus was always a manipulator so yeah he cares about Chloe in a very odd way but he also aims to drag Lucifer down with him. 

Although Marcus insists that he will go to Heaven, Lucifer contradicts him and for the first time, Lucifer does something he has never done before. He tilts the scale of a soul’s judgement. Lucifer makes sure that Marcus is dying with a seed of doubt that before he takes his last breath will have bloomed into guilt. And guilt, as you all know, gets you to Hell.

As Marcus is laughing about going to Heaven, Lucifer knowing fully well what Hell does to you, he encourages the final moments of a human to look at the mirror and add some heavy stones of guilt. 

By doing that Lucifer makes sure for the first time in his existence to lure a soul into eternal damnation in Hell. In 3x07 he had tried to console Reese that perhaps he was not dying, that perhaps Hell was not the waiting for him but Reese was already too far gone. Marcus was not. Unfortunately, just for that, the change started.

The following words are actually spoken from Lucifer’s awareness of what he is doing but directs them to Marcus. A bit like what happened with Amenadiel in 3x04. Marcus, of course, sees Lucifer’s face burning and gleefully dies before telling Lucifer that neither of them can escape what they are.

You chose to kill her.

Oh Deep down, you know you're a monster.

And that you belong in Hell, where you will torture yourself with that truth for eternity.

'Cause no matter what you tell yourself, you can't outrun what you've done. What you truly are.

Therefore, Lucifer and Marcus did the exact same thing. In the end, Lucifer made sure that Marcus had enough guilt to go to Hell but Marcus made sure to ask about Chloe and also ruin Lucifer’s newfound breakthrough by dragging Lucifer back to a mental Hell which made his face resurface. Indeed a Sinnerman to the very end...

Both characters made sure that the other would go to their personal Hell.

Lucifer does try to get the knife perhaps in a moment of realisation of how his words apply to both of them but Marcus stops him and delivers his last grand manipulation. 

The bad news is that Lucifer is back into his own Hell loop meaning his Devil face but at the same time we do know that you can break the loop like it happened with Charlotte and that second chances do matter. 

 In a possible S4 we would explore the knowledge of who you are with the consequences of that as well as what kind of a future you can have when you deal with something as heavy as having committed the Angel 101 no-no. Additionally never forget that Lucifer will always feel guilty about Uriel.

And finally, the moment when Chloe sees his face and Ellis delivers one of the most magnificent “Detective?” I have ever heard him say.

That scene was like as if you have a child delivering that line.

Imagine a boy of around five years old who has no idea what he has done. You get into the room and you see the little boy cradling a knife whilst covered in blood and he calls you mommy and it's innocent, there is no evilness but true innocence and bewilderment. That’s Lucifer at the end of S3 which shows that despite his growth, in many ways he is still a very misguided child. 

So where does that leave us? Probably with a lot of fanfiction and if we are lucky enough a S4.

Until next time loves! And if you were wondering, this was a 4.498-word meta. I’m impressed you made it to the very end.

And remember

We Are Here! We Are A Legion! We Are LUCIFANS! 🔥😈🔥 #SaveLucifer 

[rogerblackwolf]

The Last Dragon

Estate of Elder Barnabus Jaeger

Bures, Suffolk, England

-2010-

The car ride was mostly silent as the family of three drove through the countryside. The father, a well-dressed man in his mid to late thirties with neatly combed dark hair and a trimmed beard, was driving while also following the directions on his smartphone. His wife, a beautiful woman equal to him in age dressed in a black dress and blazer, was simply taking in the countryside and occasionally checking on their son, a teen dressed similar to his father listening to his iPod. She had wondered where the years had gone, especially since they had just left a funeral. The service was for her husband’s father, a World War II veteran as well as former member of the SAS, Barnabus Jaeger, or “Barnie” as he was called by his mates and family. 

Barnabus loved his family as well, he always had something good to say and rarely raised his voice, and to his only grandson Henry he was a constant inspiration. Other than Barnabus’ military service, the wife knew that after the war he married young and went to college to study finance. He then went on to work for a successful corporation, which he later became CEO of, that helped him take care of his family, his wife Emily passed away only four years prior but Barnabus still managed his company. Sadly he took a turn health wise, he was mostly healthy but the loss of his wife took its toll. The wife took solace in knowing at least he would be reunited with his wife, hopefully filling the hole her loss left in his heart.

The car turned down a one way road and immediately into a driveway, they stopped in the driveway in front of a small mansion. It was only two stories tall, but the interior made it feel much larger, there were ten bedrooms, five baths, several offices, an attic, and a basement. The design was Victorian, which made it seem old but it was surprisingly well maintained, Barnabus did like making things last. As the family slowly drove, they noticed another car had already parked. 

“I reckon that’s the attorney.” The husband said, parking next to the black sedan.

“I reckon so. Henry, we’re here.” The wife added, before tapping her son on the knee.

The boy took out his earbuds then looked at his mother and father, they both managed to smile despite the reasons being at his grandfather’s home. 

“This won’t take long, promise.” The father said, patting his son’s head.

“You alright?” The mother asked her son.

The son only nodded, not feeling up to talk at the moment.

The family then got out of their sedan, stretching for a moment before walking to the front door, which opened suddenly, allowing them to be greeted by a familiar face. Before them stood a short but stout woman dressed in a Victorian style maid uniform, her auburn hair done up in a bun, and though she was mature in age she had a youthful attitude. Her freckled cheeks plumped up as she smiled warmly, doing a curtsy as she welcomed the family;

“Master Benjamin, Mistress Eveline, and young Master Henry, Welcome.”

“Hello Annette.” The parents said in unison, both sharing a chuckle how synchronized it was.

“Hi Annette.” Henry added, smirking for a moment before his frown returned.

Annette let the family in and took their coats before quickly returning.

“It’s good to see you again Annette, I wish it wasn’t on such terrible timing.” Eveline said.

“Oh think nothing of it, Master Barnabus was not one to be sad in such times. He always believed when he passed that we remember his life and not mourn his passing. If it’s not too bold of me to say.” Annette said.

“It’s alright, but I’m afraid we are also here on business. I assume the lawyer is here?” Benjamin asked Annette.

“Oh yes, they’re waiting in the office, right this way.” Annette answered, guiding them down the halls to a set of double doors, inside the sprawling office were three individuals, two men and one woman, the woman was the oldest of the trio in her mid forties while the two men seemed in their early twenties. The woman was holding a briefcase as the parents turned to Annette.

“Annette, why don’t you take Henry somewhere quiet, we shouldn’t be long.” Benjamin said.

“Be good Henry, listen to Annette.” Eveline said to Henry before he nodded and smiled warmly.

“Come along young Master, I’ll fix you something to turn that frown upside down.” Annette said with a smile. She then took Henry’s hand and led him away from the room. Benjamin and Eveline shook the woman’s hand before taking their seats as did the woman, the two men standing behind her on both sides.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger, my name is Bella Haleigh. I am the attorney provided by your father’s company and the Executor of his Will and Estate.” She spoke.

“Pleasure to meet you Ms. Haleigh.” Benjamin said.

“Yes, a pleasure.” Eveline replied.

“Before we start, let me just express my deepest condolences for your loss Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger.” Bella added.

“Thank you, Ms. Haleigh, it has been rough for all of us.” Benjamin said, with Eveline taking his hand in comfort.

“Your father was a great inspiration to us all. Forgive me for asking, but was that your son, Henry?” Bella asked.

“Yes, he was. I guess my father talked about him, huh?” Benjamin asked.

“Very fondly, he adored Henry. Forgive me for asking, but how old is he?” Bella asked.

“He just turned fifteen recently.” Eveline answered

“Oh fun age, your father had it in his mind that Henry would follow in his footsteps at the company.” Bella said.

“Well, he will make his decision in due time, then again he has it in his mind he wants to be an Art Curator.” Eveline added.

“Yes, we all have to make decisions in time, some tougher than others. I for one would be happy to have him in our company. The Financial district has very good benefits. But down to business I won't take too much of your time.” Bella said, opening her briefcase and retrieving the will.

As they tended to their business, Annette had treated Henry to some warm lavender tea, his favorite. It seemed to help for a time but Annette could sense he still had a dark cloud hanging over him. Suddenly Annette hatched an idea, she knew exactly what would cheer him up. 

"Young Master, why don't you go into your Grandfather's study while I see to my duties. I know your Grandfather left something in there for you." Annette said.

Henry smirked before walking through the halls passing portraits of medieval knights, suits of armor on stands with their swords and shields, the large portrait of his grandfather with the family, and the family flag of a red dragon holding a shield with its wings outstretched. Eventually Henry came to a room he remembered quite well, his grandfather’s study. The room was circular with several bookcases that went to the ceiling, on the far left side was a window that overlooked a pond in the garden where a gazebo was also set up. Henry walked over to the large desk where his grandfather would work and spend many nights in thought. He noticed a thick leather bound notebook on the desk with a note that said “for Henry” taped to its cover.

Henry gently removed the taped note and read it silently to himself;

“Dear Henry

Though my time in this world has come to an end, I have no regrets. My time was brief, and despite the horrors I have seen, my life was filled with so much wonder I can only thank God for how much I have been blessed. Especially for the joy you brought into my life. As a soldier I fought for my country and as a father I protected those who were dearest to me, my honor is assured.

This journal contains my memoirs and the truth of what I did, where I went, the things I encountered, and what I lost. Every word is true, no matter how fantastically absurd some of it may sound. As you grow older, I hope that you never lose your sense of wonder. Do not forget the things you enjoy and surround yourself with likeminded people, those people will always be your truest of friends. If I must have one regret, it is that I personally didn’t get to tell you of my adventures, I hope you can forgive me for that. 

Since it is Fate that we be separated on earth, I hope we’ll meet again in Heaven.

Remember me in your fondest memories.

Your Grandpa Barnie

Always.”

Henry sat in the chair as his hands trembled. A couple of his tears stained the bottom of the note so he sat it on the desk to avoid staining it more. After drying his face and calming himself he folded the note and placed it to the side before picking up the journal. It was an old leather bound style, the leather was aged and worn in some places, mostly around the edges. It smelled old as well, like aged ink and faint glue, and the binding was starting to come loose but it was still holding together. Taking a deep breath, he opened the journal.

The first page had a hand drawn portrait of a much younger Barnabus, Henry couldn’t help but see the similarities they shared. From the sparse stubble to the nose and even the curly hair, it all made him smile and even chuckle. The first few pages were of Barnabus’s being born in 1919, his childhood in post Great War Britain, his father was a veteran who struggled greatly until he was given the opportunity to work in construction. The next pages spoke of his family being German immigrants, which was the origin of their family name, “Jaeger’’ meaning “hunter”. Henry skipped ahead several pages, settling on the page that labeled his time in the army; at the start of World War II he readily joined the effort.

As he read further, Henry read a passage that was both disturbing and unbelievable;

“I was on night patrol with a couple of my mates along the coast just a couple hundred yards from our base camp, ours was one of many Anti-Aircraft Batteries along the coast to defend against bombing raids. We were part of a platoon, nearly fifty men, it had been quiet the previous couple nights so everyone was incredibly relaxed. We would regret not being prepared. The first time I heard it, I brushed it off as simply a gust of wind, a breeze from the ocean. The second time my squadmate, Joseph Makkey, turned to me and asked “you heard that, right?”, all three of us began looking to the sky. 

The moon was high but there was some overcast that obstructed any clear view. The sound was clearer now, a whoosh of wind followed by some kind of growl, but not the growl of an engine. No, this growl was too natural, no plane engine could imitate it. Suddenly the silence was broken by this haunting shouting voice, followed by several terrible roars. The world was ablaze as streams of fire rained onto our camp, the sounds of my comrades screaming filled the air as their bodies melted to ash, explosions of our ammunition and vehicles filled us with terror. 

Me and my squadmates ran to the camp, our training taking over, but before we could reach the outskirts, I saw them. Three large black shapes silhouetted against the moon as they got into formation to come around for another pass, I shouted to my mates as they reached the camp before me but it was too late as three pillars of flame descended from the sky. One moment my friends were in front of me, the next they were engulfed in flame, somehow I got a clear look as these creatures flew overhead. Each one was at little over thirty feet long with a wingspan of comparable length, scaled bodies, leathery wings like a demon, and from their mouths came fire. On their backs were men shouting and whooping in celebration as they saw their handiwork, the one leading them shouted something, and as quickly as they appeared they were gone.

As the fires died and morning came I silently sat surrounded by the ashes of my platoon, some of the bodies were barely even skeletons. At my feet was Joseph Makkey, his face was coated in ash, his torso was scorched of all flesh, and nothing but brittle blackened bones below his waist. His uniform had melted to his body, almost replacing his skin but what I will forever remember is the look in his eyes. How scared they looked, how much pain he was in, the raw agony of the fire. For so long I cursed God for leaving just me, why was I allowed to live and not more? Out of the fifty men in my camp, Why was I the only one who survived? They stayed forever young, and here I am still…”

Henry was a mix of sad and disbelief at how horrible his grandfather really felt, that under that chipper and loving exterior was a man who had been through Hell itself. Henry read the journal more, finding out that after the incident, which was labeled a surprise bombing, Barnabus was approached by a man who claimed to be part of the SAS. What stood out though was how knowledgeable this man was about the creatures that Barnabus saw, describing them as “Firedrakes”. He went into greater detail about them, adding that they were being used by the Germans as part of their Blitzkrieg, but also told Barnabus that the information would not be free. The other pages read about how Barnabus joined the man in a secret organization called The Order, the cost for surviving and knowing of their existence. 

As Henry read through the journal, back in the office downstairs the meeting was close to wrapping up with Ms. Haleigh set the will to the side and grabbed a final piece of paper.

“Now that we have the legal matters settled, it was the last request of your father that I read this to both of you.” She began, before reading the letter.

“Benjamin and Eveline 

While the mansion and estate have been my home in the twilight of my life, it barely felt like home since your mother, my Emily, passed away. Since it now belongs to you both, I will not fault you should you choose to sell it, all I ask is that my personal journal and my war chest be given to Henry. I know he has been interested in my adventures, and my one regret is I was unable to tell him everything. My hope is that even though my life has come to an end, I can continue to be part of his.

Your Father Barnabus” Ms. Haleigh finished.

Benjamin looked at Eveline and both agreed while they had their jobs in Cambridge it wouldn’t be too much of a change. If anything, moving into the mansion would mean adjusting for drive time since it was an hour from Cambridge to Suffolk. They could also agree that it couldn’t hurt for Henry to have some of his Grandfather’s things, it’s what Barnabus would’ve wanted anyway. And the country air would likely do them all some good, and the village people were all so nice. As the couple finished their business, Henry was still reading the passages in the journal.

He was barely a quarter through, learning Barnabus had joined a special battalion meant to hunt down and kill these dragons, they were aptly called The Dragonslayers. Several more pages described the Firedrakes used by the German’s Elite Air Division, most were thirty feet long from nose to tail, Barnabus did note that while he and his comrades brought down larger Firedrakes, the thirty footers were the most common. The Firedrakes only had four limbs, two wings, which folded to allow for walking on all fours, and two back legs and they could breath fire that could reach up to a thousand degrees fahrenheit. The Germans used hidden factories as breeding depots to churn out hundreds of these creatures in a matter of months and used strange devices that grew them to adults within only a couple months of hatching. There were detailed drawings of the creatures with lengths and wingspans, even descriptions of the saddles of the German riders along with their flight suits and equipment. 

Several pages later showed some new creatures that resembled the type of dragons he had seen in storybooks, four legs and a pair of wings, not to mention the depiction of them breathing fire. There was a chart labeling the sizes of the European dragon throughout their lifecycle;

“-Hatchling-Infant- around 20 inches long, 10 inches tall at the shoulder, wingspan comparable to body length, incapable of flight, unable to breath fire, scales are rough to the touch but not thick. Pupils are round and horns are nubby. After 6 weeks the hatchling is considered an infant and stays near its parent or nest. Susceptible to small arms fire.

-Wyrmling- around 40-50 years of age, 40 to 45 feet from nose to tail, standing 10 to 15 feet at the shoulder, pupils have constricted to a more vertical shape, horns have lengthened and sharpened to points, wingspan is same as body length, and scales have begun to grow dense. Scales have the same armor density as 25mm of steel, most small arms unable to penetrate. Heavy weapons or anti-tank weapons are advised.

-Adult- adulthood begins around 80 years of age, up 90 feet long from nose to tail, standing 30 feet tall at the shoulder, scale armor density equivalent to 90mm of steel, eyes have dim glow to them, horns show wear and tear, scales are bright and brilliant in color. Tank and air support is heavily advised.

-Great Wyrm- approximately 100 years of age, 140 feet long from nose to tail, 40 feet at the shoulder, scale armor density equivalent to 110mm of steel, eyes brightly glow, sometimes glossing over the pupil, horns beginning to splinter at the tips, wingspan same as body length, scales in some parts show signs of scale rot. Aside from breathing fire, one was observed to use lightning as a breath weapon and as an area of effect attack. Tank support, heavy artillery, and air support is required.

-Elder Wyrm- several centuries old, 280 to 300 feet long and 80 feet tall at the shoulder, scale armor density is near impenetrable except when worn down by continuous heavy weapon fire, scale rot has set in and is most visible around where the joints flex and bend. The body is covered in horn and spine growth, the wingspan is equivalent to the body length and capable of hurricane level gusts. The rarest of the dragon species, very little information, other than infield hunting, is known.``

Henry was confused by that last note, as he thought dragons were just fairytales. Yet why would his Grandfather have so much information on them? He turned the page to find several maps of France, Germany, Eastern Europe, Scandinavia, and even England itself, all maps had X’s along with a date and page number next to them, each one signifying where various dragons were killed during and after the war. He flipped through the journal some more, passing a page that made him go back. This one had a location and a date, “Southern Bavaria, 1950, Elder Wyrm, casualties 97 of 110”, steeling himself, Henry read the passage.

“It was a warm summer day, in the shadows of these mountains I’m pretty sure they were the Chiemgau Alps. There was this village we had arrived at situated in this peaceful valley, but there were wyrmling sightings in the area, we feared that meant an Adult was roaming around. The Order sent a hundred and ten of us to investigate, we had support from four Centurion tanks, each with a crew of four, a battery of these 5.5 inch guns, six whole guns with ten men on each one, and that left only thirty-four of us to engage the beast on foot. Well not on foot per say as we all had horses that we would be riding, like the knights of old. We waited into the night, we all sat and talked about the finer things, family back home, situations abroad, and other things. 

I remembered my time with the Dragon Slayers as we took the fight to the Germans, I remembered while the Firedrakes were used to take on our armed forces the Dragons themselves were reserved for more vile deeds. When Hitler’s final solution was enacted, they used dragon fire to extinguish the evidence of their fell deeds, burning hundreds of villages, taking the lives of countless innocents. For these crimes there was no forgiveness, our orders were to hunt down the beasts and end them. I didn’t question my orders, not once, for me it was as simple as avenging my comrades. Then all of a sudden, it happened.

The sky opened as a streak of fire rained on the village, the silence broken by the sound of rushing wind and the wails of the dying and panicked people. In the dead of night, it looked like day, like Hell itself, whether it was courage or our training we leapt into action. We spurred our horses onward as it came over again, setting the rest of the village on fire. There was a great rumble that made the earth tremble, then we saw him standing illuminated by his own fire. Crimson scales glowed in the light, his wings like great shadows stretched outward, his maw was like an open furnace and his eyes glowed bright, the size of him left us frozen, awestruck, frightened. 

From his mouth came death, flame so hot it turned buildings of stone to dust, our escape was cut off, our rearguard left incinerated. Our tanks and artillery fired on him, but those that hit barely grazed his armor, his impenetrable scales held even as we hit him with our anti-tank weapons. It didn’t faze him, what happened next shattered our hope. As he was assaulted by artillery, his body glowed red hot then took an orange color as sparks traveled up his spines, his neck, and wingtips, he faced the hillside where our tanks and artillery were and drew a deep breath. With a deafening roar, lightning spewed from his mouth, wingtips, and back, the hillside erupted in explosions, with one sway of his head the heavy guns were silent.

Our commander ordered us to hide as he went to distract the beast, we found a basement and took shelter as the beast continued his furious display. We dared not emerge until morning, we easily found the body of our commander, his body scorched from the chest down. Even when the dragon was gone, I couldn’t stop shaking. One hundred and ten men went to Bavaria and only thirteen came back.” 

Henry was shocked by the story, disbelieving if it could be real but he didn’t have time to think as the door was opened by his father.

“Henry, we've been looking all over for you. What have you got there?” His father asked in relief.

“It’s Granddad’s old journal, he left it to me, there was a note and everything.” Henry said, showing his dad the letter. 

It was then the rest of the mother and Annette came in. All three let out a sigh of relief before embracing Henry and his father. Ms Haleigh and her two companions also entered the room and, noticing the happy family, said her goodbyes before seeing herself out with her two escorts in tow. The family also decided it was time to head home as well, of course they took Barnabus’s war chest, a large trunk, with them before leaving. Once the family was back home they had dinner and discussed moving into the mansion, all agreeing it was a good idea, before turning in for the night. Henry however stayed awake to read more of his Grandfather’s journal, getting to the part where he fought the Elder Dragon a second time made him worry a little. 

Barnabus wrote that in the 1960s, he and the Dragonslayers returned to Bavaria, this time with more advanced artillery, in this case some experimental tanks we called Chieftains, three whole companies of them. Knowing that the same dragon they faced had roosted in the mountains, they were taking no chances this time around. Barnabus even mentioned they had help from a pair of magic users, which Henry questioned as dragons were one thing but people using magic was pushing the reality a little. He continued reading, getting to the part where the dragon appeared and as he breathed his fire, the magic users pushed it back at him. The Chieftain’s gun had been equipped with high penetration sabot rounds that were devastating to the once impenetrable armor of the dragon as every shot sent scales and blood flying. 

Though Henry was astonished by the passage, the following passage of the dragon’s lair left him in awe.

“…Deep in the cavern, among the blackened rocks and clawed trenches in the stone I found a central chamber with only one other occupant. Another dragon curled up in the back, its tail and wings covering most of its body minus it’s neck and front legs, the shorter horns and overall smaller size identified it as a female. Her scales were taken by the rot, once vibrant scales were now dull and brittle, her body was skinny and her limbs frail, her wings had barely enough leather for gliding let alone flight, but even in this state she could’ve still posed a threat. Seeing this female as she was made me feel something I thought I had lost, I felt sorry for her. I put down my rifle and sword before slowly approaching the female, her eyes burning holes in me not in rage but as if looking for something beneath my armor. 

Her voice startled me, so much it made my heart stop, she asked him a single question. “Why do you falter?” 

I replied that I didn't know, which was true. I had no idea why now I chose to take pity on her, just that for the first time in a while, I was unable to end her. She spoke again saying;

“Perhaps you finally know the gravity of your actions. The countless numbers of my kin you killed, and soon I shall join them.” 

“But why does it feel wrong now? Your kin burned countless people, erased villages, and for what?” I answered, my anger resurfacing but she kept her calm voice as she retorted.

“Me and my kin joined the humans of Germany because their leader promised us a return to our glory instead of living in the shadow of the new dawn. When we finally knew the cost of such promises, we were too late to oppose it and in truth many of us were blind to the consequences. We burned millions and for that alone your kind sought our extinction, but I must ask, was it worth it? When we are all gone, erased from your memories, does it absolve you of your own sins?”

Her words rang through me, in my own quest for revenge I had sullied my hands in the blood of countless dragons. I looked her in the eyes and told her how sorry I was. I even told her that, if it would bring her peace in her final moments, she could take my life. Instead she gave me a chance of redemption, she lifted her tail revealing a single egg laying against her body, covered in red scales and even had a faint glow to it. Tentatively I took it in my hands, it was heavy at least ten pounds and a little bigger than a soccer ball.

As I held the egg in my arms she revealed her name as Fyrasol, and with her last breath made me promise to care for her last hatchling. I vowed that day that the cycle of death ended with me and I would sooner end my own life before I broke it…”

Henry was speechless at the ending but decided that perhaps thinking about it would be best suited for the morning. He sat the journal on the nightstand and laid in his bed before drifting off to dreams of dragons.

-Ten years later-

Henry had finished looking over a report of a relocation project for an Adult dragon to one of the Shetland Isles. Seeing the team had successfully released the Dragon, he ordered them back to Headquarters as soon as they were able. As he relaxed he looked at the picture of him and his Grandfather when he was a kid, it made him think of how far he came after his Grandfather’s funeral. After he finished his secondary education, Henry was recruited by the Order, then further followed Barnabus’ footsteps in joining the Keepers, the former Dragonslayers who joined Barnabus’ dream to ensure the survival of the remaining dragons. As Henry sat in memory he suddenly got a call on his desk phone;

“Director Jaeger.” Henry greeted.

“Director, she’s ready for her afternoon flight.” A female voice answered.

“I'll be right down.” Henry said before hanging up.

Henry went to a closet and pressed a code on a keypad, revealing a black fitted flight suit, he got dressed in it before leaving his office and navigating the facility’s halls to a room overlooking a hanger bay. This hanger however wasn’t for aircraft, instead it had been turned into a lair for a rather exceptional female Wyrmling, she was born from the egg Barnabus saved all those years ago. Following her recovery, Barnabus returned to the Order where he and his fellow Dragonslayers vowed they would dedicate themselves to the preservation of Dragons. The newfound Keepers then began their efforts by locating and guarding the last remaining dragons in Europe, even coordinating with their comrades in the east, learning how to care for these creatures. Named after her mother, Fyra hatched in 1970 and was cared for by Barnabus until his passing in 2010, and less than a decade later she was placed under Henry’s care.

When Henry entered the room he noticed she was being tended to by several people attaching a saddle to her back and in front of her was a woman with glasses and a ponytail who waved at Henry as he came to greet them both. 

“Afternoon Director, I was just giving Fyra a weather update.” The woman said adjusting her glasses.

“I've flown in high winds before.” The dragon replied with a huff.

“Yes but our Director will be on your back, so I’m simply reminding you to be careful.” The woman says as Henry shakes his head, knowing all the regulations when he went out on such dangerous activities.

“Dr. Blume, I can assure you I will be just fine. Now I think Fyra has waited long enough, if everything is ready let’s get this ball rolling.” Henry said.

The men secured the saddle and joined Dr. Blume in the observation room as Henry put on his oxygen supply and a helmet to protect him from the high winds. He got onto Fyra’s saddle, secured a line to his harness, and gave the thumbs up for the hanger doors to open. Fyra stamped her feet excitedly, her wings extended slowly as a red light blinked slowly, once the doors were open fully the light turned green giving Fyra the go ahead. She started with a loping run before leaping out the hanger and taking to the sky, her excitement made evident when she let out a roar and a jet of fire into the air.

[rtell1]

Love is Courage

Rory Tell 

Professor Ward – Love and Film 

Love has to evolve 

Heartbreak is one of the toughest emotions humans can handle. In fact, it is not just happening in one’s head, as I learned over the course of the semester. In fact, there are legitimate ways in which your body feels weak when one’s heart is broken. But as with any other difficult point in life, it is how your respond to adversity that shows the character of a person. As cliché of a line as it is, it holds extreme truth, especially in regard to the principle of love. Heartbreak can drown a person in their own emotions, or it can teach someone an important lesson for future relationships. Since I first saw Chungking Express (1994), I have been obsessed with Wong Kar-wai and the freedom in which he juxtaposes narrative symmetry in his stories. When I think of the way in which humans process consciousness, I am actually much more in line with how Wong tells stories. His movies are not linear, rather they take on a circular nature. When I think about the human processing of feelings, we often tie these ideas not to the present, but instead correlate such events with tales of our past, or anticipation for what’s to come. Yet, what I struggle with, and what does not resonate with me in 2046 (2004) is Chow’s detachment to those who try to connect with him throughout the movie. I am more inclined to agree with the notion that our consciousness is using information from the past, present, and future, not to drown us in our fear of falling out of love, but rather to help us evolve in how we think about love. 

Though given the knowledge of its connection to In the Mood for Love (2000) there is almost an eternal sadness that hangs over the entirety of the film. It is interesting to compare Wong’s trilogy on love to Linklater’s Before Trilogy. While both deal with the concept of love, I would argue that Linklater focuses on the various stages of love while Wong is interested in the various forms that love holds over people. In 2046 love and longing play a dangerous role, clouding over every decision Chow makes. Chow’s almost unhealthy desire concerning a past relationship drives him to feel detached to those who try to relate to him in the present. Kar-Wai comments on this emotion in an interview noting that “I think love will not be lost until you forget about it…Otherwise it’s always in your memories. And if you have strong memories, it will be permanent.”  For his protagonist, Chow, it is clear that his character is enveloped by a connection with a former lover, and his almost unhealthy obsession for reckoning with that loss of affection. I think the reason I have always had a tough time loving this film, more on a theoretical level, than on a technical or a narrative level, is that I have a tough time with how Kar-wai reckons with how love works over time. While I would like to believe that one learns and grows from heartbreak, Wong focuses on the emotional scars it bears on all that love touches. I believe functionally when discussing the topic of love. As Charles Lindholm notes, “romantic love varies according to cultural constraints.”  I believe there is a cultural difference in what Wong Kar-wai, and I privilege about love. Kar-Wai’s protagonist is emotionally scarred and trapped in the thought of his past lovers, whereas I fundamentally believe as humans, in trying to understand love, we must come to grips with the fact that love is constantly evolving in time, and we must evolve with it. Lindholm himself goes on to reference this very notion as “human beings always want to exceed their concrete lives and be more than rational maximizers of valued cultural goals. The existential desire to escape the limits of the given is the source of the human yearning for the sacred. Romantic love is one modern form that this yearning takes, offering the experience of salvation in this world.” Lindholm is contributing to Badiou’s notion on the existential quest that is love, the idea that we can transcend the barriers that time and space have erected to reach such a beautiful form of love. This is where I separate from Wong Kar-wai’s principles on love. 

For Chow the separation of a former lover creates an innumerable pain that clouds him into missing the connections of his present life. Chow can barely even recognize the people he is talking too and the creative camera-work by cinematographer Christopher Doyle matches this aesthetic. Roger Ebert notes, “All of these relationships are seen in carefully composed shots that seem to be remembering the characters more than seeing them. One spectacular shot shows Jing from above and behind, smoking a cigarette and listening to an opera. Its composition is really the subject of the shot.”  I think this is an apt way of discussing how the camera focuses on Chow’s subjective experience of the world and how a lost love has deluded him into not processing other people as they are. In almost direct contrast to the reading at hand, Chow and Wong Kar-wai are effectively at odds with Freud’s ideas of sublimation as written by Gerasimos Santas. Santas explains sublimation as Freud’s understand of a widespread pattern of behavior in which an early harmful experience gives rise to precisely its opposite. Yet in 2046 time and space collapse in memory, in fact, memory collapses in memory. The trials of the present are projected onto the future and the past, as 2046 is a spectacular act of self-interrogation. Chow is stuck in his own memory, unwilling to evolve and see others at face value. Furthermore, Wong Kar-wai focuses heavily on Chow’s face filling the frame with almost entirely medium-to-close range shots, distilling a certain fatalistic and resigned appearance. Yet while Chow is in constant conversation with possible lovers, it is almost as if he is never seeing them eye-to-eye and Wong brilliantly translates this cinematically with the constant eyeline mismatching. Elegiac and mournful in tone, the film displays Chow’s emotional reaction to heartbreak and how he is unable to progress over time.

[vcllichors]

“I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.” “I’ll sleep under the sheets, you sleep on top of them.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” “Kiss me.” (kabir/gia)

under the cut!

“I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.”

Kabir freezes, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. This is perhaps the worst moment for him to react this way, with Gia in the car as he drives them away from one of their scheduled ‘PR’ dates. He won’t lie; there are days that he wishes that they weren’t for PR. He sometimes wishes that when she’s on his arm, or when she laughs it’s genuinely because he’s made her smile and not because the cameras are trained on them. He doesn’t like her; Kabir doesn’t do liking, or loving or anything those things that he’s known for in his films. Or when he does, he falls madly.

This shouldn’t even be a topic of conversation because he does not like Gia. She is just familiar. All those nights which she’s spent at her house, all those late night conversations on his couch over a glass or two of wine, all those times where they’d been forced to go on dates, all the faked kisses outside his house - they were all just familiar. Kabir has just grown used to her presence; he has grown accustomed to calling her his girlfriend. It does not mean that she actually is, nor does it mean that he wants her to be.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A roll of the eyes. “Kabir I’ve seen it.” Or has she? Has Gia constructed an entire relationship in her head with this man? A man she absolutely, positively cannot stand. Or at least she hadn’t been able to in the past. Except she’d seen a different side to him in these weeks; she’d seen a soft, sensitive side that she’d never expected the Kabir Oberoi to have. GIa had seen it in the way his eyes lit up whenever he was talking about his family, in the passion he’d expressed that one time he’d taken her to the cancer foundation he’d helped found. She’d seen it in the soft way he spoke to her, in the hesitancy he had portrayed around her that first night when she had to sleep over.

“You’re imagining things Raizada, we’re in a PR relationship. Agar tujhe nahin dekhoonga, yeh romeo wale looks nahin doonga then I wouldn’t be a very good PR boyfriend now would I?”

And there it was again, the unaffected air. The one that made Gia wonder how much of him was even real, or if Kabir Oberoi was just a facade.

“I’ll sleep under the sheets, you sleep on top of them.”

“First off that doesn’t even make sense,” Kabir explained once he was done doubling over in laughter; once he’d finally caught his breath, cheeks still flushed, eyes still squinted. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, smoothing down the satin sheets, and cursing his father for the fifteenth time.

The sheets were all crumpled now that she’d sat on them, and Kabir knew the meticulous precision that went into making them as flat as they were. He was in fact even annoyed that the maids had taken away the curtains surrounding the circular bed to be cleaned. Or how he genuinely did not want this arrangement to take place, for this girl to come and live in his home for the sake of a relationship that wasn’t by any means, real.

“And second of all, it’s fine. You take the bed, I’ll just go sleep in one of the guest bedrooms,” Kabir waved off her concerns, her protests - he wasn’t doing it as a favor to her. He was doing it as a favor to himself; the less time he spent with her behind closed doors, the better. Sometimes it was easy to forget that this was all for PR, and if he slept in the same bed as her - he was sure that he would end up making a move. After all, Kabir Oberoi never slept in the same bed as a woman and not make a move. “Besides, if I sleep on top of the sheets I’ll catch a cold aur phir shooting phirse delay ho jayegi.”

He tried his hardest not to glare daggers at the woman sitting on his bed at these words. It was after all her fault that they hadn’t been able to move on with the schedule, with her jetting off to some locale for some unknown reason. Now Kabir was known in his time to take impromptu trips but he’d never jeopardize his films in the process. It only made him wonder if all that crap she spouted about having to work harder than him, being a woman in the industry was that only. If anyone wanted to be taken seriously, they most certainly would not have done what Gia had.

It was only when Kabir was at the door that he heard her soft voice, “Thank you.”

Kabir’s fingers curled around the doorknob tightly before slamming the door shut behind him, not even wanting to acknowledge that this had happened in the first place.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know, Gia! You don’t even care.” The words he spat were harsh, and laced with venom as he sat in his trailer, refusing to look up at the girl who was situated near the door. “And frankly, I don’t give a damn about your stupid apology.” It wasn’t her fault; the closer they neared his mother’s death anniversary, the shorter fuse Kabir ran on. Yesterday, he’d blown up at Avni and it had taken a lot of coercing for him to remind her that the words he said weren’t what he meant at all.

He hadn’t meant to call her a whore’s daughter, a homewrecker and all those nasty things but then again she had provoked Kabir. His father knew not to disturb him at this time, preferring instead to let his son mourn in peace. That was what ached the most - the fact that his father seemed visibly unaffected by the death of the woman whom he’d once claimed to love. Kabir knew his mother had lived a full life, he just found it so unfair how quickly she had been taken away; how nobody had come to her funeral except her side of the family. Or even how his father only showed up to take him back to Mumbai.

A ten year old Kabir had been stern, holding onto his suitcase and looking his father right in the eye. With all his bravado, he’d mustered a loud No, although now it just sounded like a child throwing a tantrum and Kabir had. He’d thrown perhaps the biggest tantrum anybody would have ever seen. It was a grudge he’d held against his father for the upcoming two years. A grudge that had only been erased when Kabir had been thirteen and his first girlfriend had broken his heart (he’d found out she’d also been kissing another boy behind his back). It had been his father’s comfort then that made him realize, he couldn’t hold it against Raj Oberoi. He couldn’t hold it against his father’s new wife, and he certainly couldn’t hold it against his two little half-sisters.

The one person he could hold it against: Gia Raizada. The girl in his trailer, giving him pitiful looks while Kabir looked anywhere but her. He much preferred staring at the bottle of Blue Label in front of him. One he hadn’t even cracked open yet; he had been about to, when Gia had rudely interrupted wanting to clear her conscience. “Just get out Gia.”

“But–”

This time Kabir wasn’t so soft. “Get out,” he snarled, smiling in satisfaction when she shut the door behind her, leaving Kabir to bask in his own sadness.

“Kiss me.”

Kabir’s gaze immediately flew around them, knowing that GIa would not say such a thing if the cameras weren’t watching. They’d both been reamed out by the marketing team for not working hard enough to ‘sell’ their relationship. Kabir had wanted to tell them that he wasn’t an object that was meant to be sold, and if they really wanted for this to work - they should have chosen co-stars who could at least stand each other. Maybe then this stupid scheme of theirs would have worked out.

He hadn’t said any of that. Instead, he only gave a polite smile to the team while his fists clenched under the table. Even now, he stared at Gia; he didn’t want to do this; he wondered if he could pretend that he was confused. His fists were still clenched and from his periphery Kabir noticed the paparazzi growing more antsy by the second. God,he could see the headlines now. He could even imagine the constant phone calls he’d have to field from his manager, from the marketing team, from his own father and he knew it was for his own benefit that he sucked up whatever dislike he currently harbored and kissed this girl.

His hands remained in his pockets; he wouldn’t touch her. Touching her would make it more emotional, make it sensitive, make it something more than it was. And this was nothing but a fake relationship, one they were forced to endure for the benefit of their film, for the benefit of the fans. Kabir leaned in, pressing his lips gently to hers. What he hadn’t expected was her reaction.

Kabir had not expected her to wind around him the way a vine wound around a pillar; he didn’t expect her to lean towards him the way a sunflower did to sunlight. It took all of his restraint not to dip her, effectively deepening the kiss. He pulled away, clearing his throat and looking away. If they never talked about this ever again, Kabir would be much happier.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”