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unpopularwiththepopulace · 3 years ago

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Don’t I Get a Dream for Myself ? – Bernadette Peters and the 'Gypsy' Saga

Gypsy. It’s perhaps the most daunting of all of the projects related to Bernadette Peters to try to grapple with and discuss. It’s also perhaps the most significant.

For someone notoriously guarded of her privacy and personal life, careful with her words, and selective of the questions she answers, the narrative around this show provides some of the most meaningful insights it is possible to derive in relation to Bernadette herself. The show’s ability to do this is unique, through the way it eerily parallels her own life and spans a large range in time from both Bernadette Peters the Broadway Legend, right back to where it all began with Bernadette Lazzara, the young Italian girl put into showbusiness by her mother.

The most logical place to start is at the very beginning – it is a very good place to start, after all.

(Though no one tell Gypsy this, if the fierce two-way battle with The Sound of Music at the 1960 Tony Awards is anything to be remembered. Anyway, I digress…)

Gypsy: A Musical Fable with music by Jule Styne, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, and book by Arthur Laurents, burst into the world and onto the New York stage in May of 1959. After closing on Broadway in March 1961, Ethel Merman as the world’s original Mama Rose herself led the first national tour off almost immediately around the country. Just a few months later, a second national touring company was formed, starring Mitzi Green and then Mary McCarty as Rose, to cover more cities than the original. It is here that Bernadette comes in.

A 13-year-old Bernadette Peters found herself part of this show in her “first professional” on-the-road production, travelling across the country with her older sister, “Donna (who was also in the show), and their mother (who wasn’t)”.

The tour played through cities like Philadelphia, Chicago, New Haven, Baltimore and Las Vegas before closing in Ohio in 1962. Somewhat uncannily, its September 1961 opening night in Detroit’s Schubert Theatre even returns matters full circle to the 2003 revival and New York’s own Schubert Theatre.

Indeed this bus-and-truck tour was somewhat of a turning point for Bernadette. She’d later remember, “I mostly thought of performing as a hobby until I went on the road with Gypsy”.

But while this production seminally marked a notable moment for the young actress as well as the point where her long and consequential involvement with Gypsy begins, it’s important to recognise she was very much not yet the star of the show and then only a small part of a larger whole.

Bernadette was with the troupe as a member of the ensemble. She took on different positions in the company through the period of nearly a year that the show ran for, including billing as ‘Thelma’ (one of the Hollywood Blondes), ‘Hawaiian Girl’, and additional understudy credits for Agnes and Dainty June.

The above photo shows Bernadette (left) with another member of the ensemble (Sharon McCartin) backstage at the Chicago Opera House as one of the stops along the tour. Her comment on the stage of the Chicago theatre – “I’d never seen anything so big in my life!” – undeniably conveys how her experiences were new and appreciably daunting.

Along the tour, she assumed centre-stage once or twice as the understudy for Dainty June, but playing the young star was not her main role. Unlike what more dominant memory of the story seems to purport.

Main credits of June went instead to Susie Martin – a name and a tale of truth-bending that’s now well-known from Bernadette’s concert anecdotes. While performing her solo shows as an adult and singing from Gypsy, Bernadette has often been known to take a moment to penitently atone for historical indiscretions of identity theft or erasure where her mother long ago conveniently left out the “understudy” descriptive when putting down Dainty June on her resumé, in an effort to add weight to the teenager’s list of credits.

Whatever happened to Susie Martin? – many have wondered. Well, she soon left the theatre. But not before appearing in two more regional productions of Gypsy and a 1963 Off-Broadway revival of Best Foot Forward with Liza Minnelli and Christopher Walken.

Bernadette too went on to other regional productions of Gypsy. She spent the summer of 1962 in various summer stock stagings with The Kenley Players, like in Pennsylvania and Ohio, and this time she did indeed get to play June.

Above shows photos from different programmes for these productions. While some may have featured odd forms of photo editing, they at least also bring to attention Rose here being played by none other than Betty Hutton.

The two women couldn’t have been in more different positions when they coalesced in these rough-around-the-edges, small-scale productions. A young Bernadette was broaching summer stock in starting to take on bigger roles in the ascendency to her bright and long career. Meanwhile, Betty found herself there while navigating the descent that followed her sharp but fickle rise to Hollywood fame in the ‘40s and early ‘50s. Top billing Monday, Tuesday you really are touring in stock after all.

While details aren’t plentiful for these productions, it was recounted Betty apparently struggled in performing the role. And understandably so. Following the recent traumatic death of her mother in a house fire, and the birth of her third child shortly before the shows began, it’s not hard to see why her mind might have been elsewhere. Still, she was apparently impressed enough by the younger actress who turned in one of the show’s “creditable performances” to make comment that she would’ve liked Bernadette to play her if a movie were made about her life.

Bernadette might not have done this exactly, but she did go on to revitalise Betty’s best-known movie role, when stepping into Annie Oakley’s shoes in the 1999 Annie Get Your Gun revival. With Bernadette’s first Ethel Merman show under her belt, the ball was soon rolling on her second.

The 2003 production of Gypsy was imminently beckoning as her next successive Broadway musical and it was Arthur Laurents who lit the match to spark Bernadette’s involvement. Laurents, as the show’s original librettist, drove the revival by saying he “didn’t want to see the same Rose” he’d seen before. Going back to June Havoc’s description of her mother as “small” and a “mankiller”, and Arthur’s take that Bernadette sung the part “with more nuance for the lyrics and the character than the others”, the choice of Bernadette was justified. Moreover, “Laurents – whose idea it was to hire her – [said] going against type is exactly the point,” and Sam Mendes, as director, qualified “the tradition of battle axes in that role has been explored”.

So Bernadette also had her own baseline of innate physical similarity to the original Rose Hovick, in addition to her own first-hand memories of the women she’d acted alongside as Rose in her youth to bring into her characterisation of the infamous stage mother.

But there was a third factor beyond those as well to be considered in the personal material she had access to draw from for her characterisation. Namely, her own real life stage mother.

Marguerite Lazzara did share traits with the character of Rose. She too helped herself to silverware from restaurants, and put her daughters in showbusiness for the vicarious thrill. Marguerite had “always wanted to become an actress herself”, but had long been denied her desire by her own mother, who likened actresses to being as “close to a whore as you could be without, you know, getting on your back”.

In that case, to “escape a housewife’s dreary fate in Ozone Park”, Marguerite channelled her latent dream through her pair of young daughters instead, shepherding them out along the road. Thus was produced a trio of the two children ushered around the theatre circuit by the driven mother, forming an undeniable parallelism and a mirror image of both Bernadette’s reality and Gypsy’s core itself. Bernadette didn’t see some of these familial parallels at the time when she was a child, considering “maybe I didn’t want to see” – “didn’t want to see a mother doing that to her daughter”.

It was coming back to the show as an adult that helped Bernadette resolve who her mother was and some of the motivations that had propelled her when Bernadette was still a child. She realised, “I think she thought she was going to die very young”, as her own father died young. So “she was rushing around to get as much of her life as she could in there”.

When she herself returned to the production in playing Rose, Bernadette conceded to sometimes bringing elements of her mother and her driven energy into her portrayal, and admitted too she looked “like her a lot in the role”. You can assess any familial resemblances for yourself, from the images below that show a young Marguerite next to Bernadette in costume as Rose, and then with the pair backstage in 1961 in a dressing room on the tour.

Marguerite was ambitious. From her own personal position and with the restrictions imposed upon her, it was ambition that materialised through her children. Irrevocably, she altered them. She placed Bernadette on TV as a very young child (“I was four when my mother put me in the business”); changed her daughter’s surname (“She told me my real name was too long for the marquees,” or really – “too Italian”); doctored her resumé (“Somehow the word ‘understudy’ vanished. ‘No one will know,’ said Marguerite”); and lightened her hair (“She’d say, ‘Oh, I’m just putting a little conditioner on it.’ But slowly my hair got blonder and blonder!”). All in the hope of giving her child a more favourable chance at the life she’d always wanted for herself.

On paper, a classic stage mother. “When I was a kid, she fulfilled herself through me,” Bernadette would say. “She put me into show business so she could get a taste of the life herself.”

But it’s important to consider Bernadette often qualifies that her mother wasn’t as brutal as Rose, nor was she herself as traumatised as June.

Bernadette didn’t begrudge her mother for her choices – at least by the time she was an adult, she’d rationalised them, explaining “naturally it was more exciting [for her] to go on the road with me than staying home and keeping house”.

As a child, Bernadette hadn’t necessarily wanted to be on stage, but there was a sense of ambivalence – not resentful belligerence – as she “didn’t care one way or the other” when she found herself there.

Like June, Bernadette may have been entered into and coaxed around a path she hadn’t voluntarily chosen. But unlike June, Bernadette had a deal with her mother that “she had only to say the word”, and she could leave.

Most crucially, she never did.

But that’s not to say Bernadette was enamoured with acting from the beginning.

She seemed to feel ‘outside’ of that world and those in it. And others saw it too.

It was in 1961 in Gypsy that Bernadette first met Marvin Laird – her long-time accompanist, conductor and arranger. The way he put it, he “noticed this one young girl, very close with her mother” who, during breaks, “didn’t mix much with the other girls”.

Beneath the effervescent stage persona, there’s a quieter and more reserved reality, and a sense of separation and solitary division.

When asked by Jesse Green in 2003 for the extensive profile in The New York Times if she thought her experiences on the road in Gypsy were good for her at that age, she gives a curious, somewhat abstract, predominantly dark, potentially macabre, response. He wrote:

She doesn’t answer at first but seems to scan an image bank just behind her eyes for something to lock onto. Eventually she comes out with a seeming non sequitur. “I didn’t know how to swim. I remember, in Las Vegas, I fell in, once, and they thought I was flailing, but I felt like: ‘It’s pretty down here!’ I might have been dying and I was thinking: ‘Look at the pretty color!’ And suddenly my fear of water was gone, and I could have stayed in forever.” After a while, I realize she’s answered my question. Then she dismisses the image: “But I had to get my hair dry for the show that day, so up I came.”

I’m still not entirely sure I know what she’s trying to convey here. My interpretation of this anecdote changes as I have re-visited and re-examined it on multiple occasions at different time points. It’s arguably multiply polysemic.

Was she simply swept up in a moment of childlike distraction, lost in the temporary respite alone away from the usual noise and clamour? Was she indicating comprehension that her feelings and perspectives came secondary to any practical necessities and inevitable responsibilities? Was she using the water to depict a muffling and fishbowl-like detachment from others her age who got to live more ‘ordinary’ lives in the ‘normal’ world above that she felt separate from? Was she referencing the pretty colours she saw as a metaphor for show business and how she became bewitched by them even despite potential dangers? Was she trying to legitimately drown herself, or at least exhibiting an ambivalence again as to whether she lived or died, because of what the highly pressurised demands on her felt like?

The underlying sentiment through her response in answer to Green’s primary question was that, in essence – no. Being a child actor was not “over all, a good experience for a youngster”.

Acting might have been something she fell in love with over time, but not all at once, not right from the beginning, and not without noting its perils.

It was a matter of accidental circumstance that landed Bernadette in the show business world to begin with at such a young age in the first place – “I just found myself here,” she would offer.

Her mother, who was “always crazy about the stage”, “insisted” that her sister, Donna take lessons in singing, dancing and acting.

A further point of interest to note is that, although it was Bernadette with her new surname who would grow up to be the famous actress, look to the cast lists from the 1961 touring production of Gypsy that featured both sisters in the company (see photo below) and you’ll find no ‘Lazzara’ in sight. Donna too, appearing under the novel moniker of “Donna Forbes”, had also already become stagified (nay, ethnically neutralised?) by her mother. As such it is clearly demonstrated that Marguerite’s intention at that point was to make stars of both her daughters. Correspondingly so, when her sister returned from her performance lessons some years before, “Donna would come home and teach me what she had learned,” Bernadette remembered. She may have gotten her “training second hand”, but the key element was that she got it.

For Bernadette, it was a short jump from emulating magpied tricks from her sister as well as routines from Golden Age Busby Berkeley musicals on the ‘Million Dollar Movie’ in front of the TV screen, to her mother getting her on the other side of the screen and actually performing on TV itself – belting out Sophie Tucker impressions aged five for all the nation to see.

The photos below show Bernadette in performative situations at a young age (look for criss-crossed laces in the second for identification).

“At first, as a toddler, Bernadette enjoyed performing; it came naturally, a form of play that people inexplicably liked to watch.” It was “just a hobby” and she “wanted to do it”.

But while she may not have detested it, she didn’t entirely comprehend what was going on either. “I didn’t even know I was on TV,” she said. “I didn’t know that those big gadgets pointed at me were cameras and that they had anything to do with what people saw on the television set.”

When she started gaining more of an awareness of how “such play [was being] co-opted for commercial purposes”, she grew less enthralled. “She didn’t care for the bizarre children, accompanied by desperate mothers, she began to see at auditions: ‘They spent their whole time smiling for no reason, you know?’”

Being a child who had become sentient of being a child performer began to grow wearisome and grating to the young girl who had her equity card, a professional (and strange, new) stage name, and an increasingly long list of expectations by the time she was nine. There’s a keen sense she did not enjoy being in such a position: “I wouldn’t want to be a child again. When you’re a child, you have thoughts, but nobody listens to you. Nobody has any respect for you”.

Gypsy did indeed mark a turning point for Bernadette as mentioned above – but not just in the way that seems obvious. Looking back at it now, it does appear the monumental turning point at which she started appearing in significant and reputable productions, beginning what would be the foundation to her ‘professional’ career. However it was also the turning point after which she nearly quit the business altogether.

When she returned from performing in Gypsy, Bernadette felt like she’d had enough. One way of putting it was that she “then retired from the business to attend high school”, wanting to have some semblance of a normal scholastic experience “without the interruptions”. But whatever dissatisfaction she was feeling as an early adolescent on stage, she didn’t resolve at school – going as far as saying that while at Quintano’s School for Young Professionals, “she was in pain”.

“When you’re a teenager you’re too aware of yourself,” she recalled. Being a teen and trying to come to terms with of the expectation of the ‘60s that “you are supposed to look like Twiggy, and you don’t, you feel everything is wrong about you”. Everything “was all about tall, skinny, no chest…[and] hair straight”. Little Bernadette with her “mass of [curly] hair and distracting bosom”, as Alex Witchel put it, was never going to fit that mould. “That was not me,” she stated. “At all.”

Her self-consciousness grew to the point that it became overwhelming and asphyxiating. “I was trying desperately to blend in and be normal, but that doesn’t allow creativity to come out,” Bernadette said. “I knew I was acting terrible. The words were sticking in my mouth and all I could think about was how I looked”. It was hard enough just to look at herself (“I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror”), let alone to have other people gawk at her on stage. So she stopped trying. She “didn’t work much from age 13 to 17” in the slightest. Bernadette would later reflect in 1981 in an atypically open and vulnerable interview, “I was very insecure. Insecurity is poison. It’s like wearing chains”.

It was a combination of factors that helped her overcome these feelings of such toxic and weighty burden to draw her back into the public world of performing and the stage. “The two people who helped her most, she says, were David LeGrant, her first acting teacher, and her vocal coach, Jim Gregory.” Jim helped with ��[opening] a whole creative world for [her] with singing”; and it was David who’d give her the now infamous and often (mis)quoted line about individuality and being yourself.

Having these kinds of lessons, she reasoned, was “really a wonderful emotional outlet for a kid of 17”. The process of it all was beneficial for her therapeutically – “you have a lot of emotions at that time in your life, and it was great to go to an acting class and use them up”. And Bernadette felt freer on stage than she did out on her own in the ‘real world’, saying “[up there] I don’t have to worry about what I’m doing or saying because I’m doing and saying what I’m supposed to be doing and saying”.

Finally then and with considerable bolstering and support, she grew comfortable with the notion of being visible on stage and in public, and realised she was never going to blend in as part of the chorus so it was simply better to let go of such a futile pursuit.

David LeGrant’s guiding advice to Bernadette (“You’ve got to be original, because if you’re like everyone else, what do they need you for?”) wasn’t just a trite aphorism. For her, it was a life raft. It was the key mental framing device that allowed her to comprehend for the first time that she might actually have intrinsic value as herself. And that it was imperative she let herself use it.

She had always stuck out, yes, but she had to learn how to want to be seen – talking of it as a conscious “choice” she had to make when realising she did “have something to offer”.

Thus soon after Bernadette graduated, she stepped back into productions like in summer stock and then Off-Broadway as she made her debut at that next theatrical level at 18. It wasn’t long before she was discovered in what’s seen as her big break in the unexpected smash hit, Dames at Sea. And so Bernadette Peters, the actress, was back. And she was back with impact and force.

Besides, as she’s also said, she couldn’t do anything else – “if I ever had to do something else to earn a living, I’d be at a total loss”. An aptitude test as a teenager told her so apparently, when she “got minus zero in everything except Theater Arts”. So that was that. Her answer for what she would’ve done if she’d never found acting is both paradoxically exultant and macabre – “I don’t know, probably shot myself!”

Flippant? Maybe. Trivial? No.

Acting is thus undoubtedly related highly to Bernadette’s sense of purpose and self-worth. This is what makes it even more apparent that a show with such personal and historical connections for her, as in Gypsy, was going to be so consequential and impactful to be a part of again as an adult and perform on a public stage.

She’s called inhabiting the role of Rose in the 2003 revival many things: “deeply personal”, “life changing”, “like going through therapy” – to name a few.

In interviews regarding Gypsy and playing the main character, when asked what she had learnt, Bernadette would frequently say something like, “It taught me a lot”. Pressed further about specifics, her answers often hem close to vague platitudes as she maintains her normal tendency of endeavouring to keep her privacy close to her chest.

On one occasion, she actually elaborated somewhat on what she’d learnt, giving a fuller answer than the question is normally afforded anyhow. Beyond all it revealed to her about her mother, she extended to admitting “my capacity for love and my capacity for anger” as aspects in her that the show had permanently altered. Moreover, Rose to her was undoubtedly the “most rewarding and fulfilling acting experience” she had ever had.

But while such deep, personal and emotional depths and memories were being stirred up beneath the surface in private, she was getting vilified in public singularly and repeatedly by New York Post columnist, Michael Riedel.

Even before she’d set foot on stage, Riedel set forth in motion early in the 2003 season a campaign of vocal and opinionated defamation against Bernadette as Rose that she was miscast, insufficiently talented, and would be incapable of executing the role.

Too small, too delicate, too weak, too many curves (and too much knowledge of how to use them). Not bold enough, not loud enough – not Merman enough. Chatter and speculative dissent begun to grow in and around the Broadway theatres.

For such a prestigious and historic musical theatre role, it was always going to be hard to erase the large shadow of an original Merman mould. Ethel was woven into the very fabric of the show, with the rights to Gypsy Rose Lee’s memoirs being obtained at her behest in the first place, and the idiosyncrasies of her voice having been written into the songs themselves by their very authors.

To step out from such a domineering legacy would be a marked challenge at the best of times. Let alone when battling a respiratory infection.

Matters of public perception were certainly not helped when Bernadette then got ill as the show started its preview period and she started missing early performances.

Nor did it help with critical perception that the Tony voting period coincided so synchronously with Gypsy’s first opening months – giving Bernadette no time to recover, find her feet, and settle more healthily into the show for the rest of the run before the all important decisions were made by that omnipotent committee.

The tale of her illness is actually undercut by a more innocent and unsuspecting origin than you’d expect from all the drama and trouble it engendered. Bernadette decided nearing the show’s opening to treat herself to a manicure. In the salon, she was next to a woman very close to her with a frightful sounding cough. Who could’ve known then that this anonymous and inconspicuous lady through a fateful cause-and-event chain would go on to play such a part in what is among the biggest and most enduring Tony Awards “She was robbed!” discourses? Or even more broadly – in also arguably playing a hand in the closure and financial failure of an $8.5 million Broadway show after its disappointing performance at the Tony Awards that ominously “[spelled] trouble at the box office” and led to its premature demise?

Bernadette did not win the Best Actress in a Musical Tony that night on June 6th 2004. The award went instead (not un-controversially) to newcomer Marissa Jaret Winokur for Hairspray.

She did however give one of the most indelibly resonant and frequently re-referenced solo performances at the awards show just before she lost – defying detractors to comprehend how she could be unworthy of the accolade with a rendition of ‘Rose’s Turn’ that has apocryphally earned one of the longest standing ovations seen after such a performance even to date.

Even further and even more apocryphally, she reportedly did so while still under the weather as legend as circulated by musical theatre fans goes – performing “against doctor’s orders” with stories that have her being “afflicted with anything from a 103-degree fever, to pneumonia, to a collapsed lung”.

Seeing then as unfortunately there is no Tony Award speech to draw on here, matter shall be retrieved fittingly from that which she gave just a few years earlier in 1999 for her first win and previous Ethel Merman role in Annie Get Your Gun to wrap all of this together.

As has been illustrated, there are many arguably scary or alarming aspects in Bernadette’s Gypsy narrative. There’s undeniably much darkness and an ardent clamouring for meaning and self-realisation along the road that tracks her journey parallel to the show. But unlike Rose’s hopeless decries of “Why did I do it?” and “What did it get me?”, there was a point for Bernadette.

As her emotional tribute in 1999 went: “I want to thank my mother, who 48 years ago put me in showbusiness. And I want to finally, officially, say to her – thank you. For giving me this wonderful experience and this journey.”

Whatever all of this was, maybe it was worth it after all.

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monchikyun · 4 years ago

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XVI. another place, another time

(everyone’s favourite flash-back episode... tw-suicidal thinking)

March 2039

It’s been three days since the terrible accident. Three days and no sign of the walking toaster. Gavin doesn’t like to make baseless assumptions,though there is some chance the android might have been sent for deactivation for fatally endangering the life of his partner. This possibility would have filled him with joy just a few months ago, but now, it has managed to do the exact opposite.

He is deathly afraid of never seeing Connor again, of never arguing with the smartass about stupid things that don’t matter in the end, because they really only serve as an excuse for initiating some interaction. It’s not like he likes the tin can. Not like he’s developed a very inconvenient crush.

They’re not even officially friends yet, despite his semi-earnest apology for being an asshole to him before he deviated, and so Gavin has no valid excuse to go out of his way and seek his whereabouts. And even if did he have one, he wouldn’t know where to begin.

He drives by the late lieutenant’s house at least twice a day, always inconspicuously slowing down to check for any signs of life. But it always seems empty, devoid of any life. The lights are never on, the old car that used to decorate the front porch long gone. And yes, he could try asking, but he would have to be much more desperate than that to do something this humiliating. Everyone thinks he hates the human-shaped computer, and that’s a reputation he’s not willing to lose. Not yet, anyway. If he were to admit to his current outlook on the whole Connor situation, he would certainly appear weak. No one needs to know just how fragile he really is, that there is a heart that yearns underneath the steel armour of his.

Maybe he shouldn’t skip the funereal after all, the android might dare to attend. Though he has promised himself to steer clear of all mourning related places, perhaps it’s time to try and overcome his past trauma, if it increases the odds of seeing Connor alive once more.

Gavin slams the front door behind himself in frustration as he runs to his bedroom to see if he has something suitable to wear for the grim event. It will begin in a couple of hours, which is an optimal time to start reconsidering his decision. His hand can’t stop shaking as he raids his closet for something at least remotely formal, not having any luck finding what he’s looking for. That’s what happens when one leaves everything to the last possible moment, something he’s guilty of more often than not.

He’s about to give up when his phone rings, startling him silly. He’s been so focused on his racing thoughts that any reminder of the outside world would go unnoticed, were it not this annoyingly loud.

The set of numbers on screen runs a knife through his stomach. It’s him, the person he’s been thinking about non-stop this past week. He swallows the knot in his throat which was set on making him speechless and swipes his trembling finger over the green button, not giving himself any time to change his mind.

“Hello.” One simple word that took all the courage out of him.

“It’s Connor. I have a favour to ask of you.”

Meet me at the abandoned factory near Concord street.

Gavin’s body carries him to the car while his mind is busy shortcircuiting from the overload of all the possible things Connor might ask of him. None of them good.

He couldn’t read anything from his voice, other than it was perfectly stoic, machine-like even. Cold sweat drips down his forehead as he imagines the state the android might be in. What if he’s hurt himself in some way, thinking it was only justified. Gavin may not know all the details about what really happened that day, but still, he doesn’t blame Connor for the tragedy. He never would.

The car’s speed has reached an illegal territory about five minutes ago, and he figures not even death would stop him now, not till he reaches the stupid tin can. Till he makes sure he’s safe.

The place he parks in could result in his car getting towed away, a problem for his future self to deal with. Now he has to concentrate on locating the android, which means furiously running about the premises after he has clumsily snuck in inside the restricted area.

He opens his mouth to shout Connor’s name when he finally spots him as his sight aims up, standing near the edge of the roof, posture ominously straight, which might explain why doesn’t even notice Gavin.

“For phck’s sake,” he mutter to himself in vain and climbs up to him as fast as his human vessel allows him to.

“Connor!” Not really a scream, more of a subdued whine at this point. He’s out of breath and not only due to the view in front of him.

“I- I can’t do it.” The android turns to face Gavin, face all wet from crying, presumably. It’s not the Connor he’s got to know at work. This one is all dishevelled, looking like he’s seconds from breaking. It makes his heart weep.

“Of course not, you idiot.” He ventures three steps closer, but not near enough to reach.

“I thought that maybe you could, being the one person who hates me the most.” The way Connor says it squeezes his insides, making him want to yell at him for very different reasons this time.

Gavin doesn’t though, he only raises his voice slightly to let the tin can realise how utterly stupid he’s being right now.

“Wow, you really are dumb, aren’t you. So much for having the most advanced computer brain or whatever. What a pile of crap.”

“I- … no one else would do it. But I have to- I can’t keep being here after-”

“No one blames you for it, Connor.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

Maybe. He’d say anything to make him snap out of it though.

“Come here, then.”

Or do.

Connor walks to him sheepishly, like a misbehaving child about to receive a severe punishment. He can’t help but feel sorry for him.

As soon as he’s close enough Gavin pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around him ever so gently, fearing he might crumble to pieces under the unexpected act of kindness. And Connor too.

“First of all, I don’t hate you, not anymore. Not for a long time. Secondly… if you want to atone or something like that… ending your life or hurting yourself won’t sure as hell do it. That’s the easy road out. You gotta… continue using your skills to …. maybe prevent others from meeting the old man’s fate.”

Connor doesn’t reciprocate the touch, but his huge mechanical body is becoming limp and he can’t support it for much longer.

“Whoa, okay.” They’re on the ground in an instant, just barely sitting up. The android’s head is leaning into his chest, making it wet with tears Gavin thought were impossible until today.

“Hey, it’s okay. I- I’ll help you figure this out… if you let me.”

The small nod gets engraved into his skin, making him let out the breath that lodged itself somewhere between his lungs and throat, yet still managing to wreak havoc in his mind.

He uses the temporary wave of relief to use his shaking hands to soothe, drawing shapeless patterns into the crying man’s back.

Connor doesn’t hug him back, but that’s okay. As long as they’re both alive, there will always be another chance.

A̶n̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶c̶h̶a̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶c̶r̶e̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶u̶p̶.̶

@a-convin-new-year

#aconvinnewyear #convin #low-temperature burn #this one might be riddle with mistakes my brain needs a restart :D #so this is how their relationship started ooo T.T #i had no idea until I wrote it xD

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stupidsexyfandom · 4 years ago

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Atonement

@helsa-summer-event

Rated M: Mature themes, SFW // Angst

CONTENT WARNING: Major Character Death, Suicide

Twenty-five years later, a body washes up in Arendelle.

Written for Prompt #4 of Helsa Summer: Gorgeously tan.

The morning after the storm dawned cool and gray. Queen Elsa rose even earlier than usual after a night plagued by insomnia. She stood on her balcony, watching as the city began to stir. The sea lay still as glass, slate blue and impenetrable. She wished she could stand staring at it forever. Her mind had been greatly troubled, and today, she did not feel like speaking to anyone.

Unfortunately, she reminded herself, being queen left no room for fits of pique. She would have to go downstairs to tend to her duties eventually, as she had every day for the past twenty-five years. Casting a last longing look at the gray sea, she steeled herself to face the world.

Breakfast with Anna, Kristoff, and the children could always lift her spirits, even on such a dour day as this. Elsa supposed she should no longer think of them as children en masse. The oldest, Isolde, would be twenty-one in the spring. Watching her niece, Elsa could hardly believe she had become queen at that age. She seemed so young. Surely she herself had not been such a child when she had taken the throne? But perhaps she had been so young once. In any case, it was her prerogative as a doting aunt to remember all her nieces and nephews as babes in arms no matter how old they got.

After breakfast, she reviewed her itinerary for the day. The bulk of her time was occupied by a foray into the city to assess storm damage. The high winds and heavy rains of the previous night had wrought havoc on structures private and public alike. Beyond the usual cleanup, Elsa had to decide where to allocate funds for repairs and assistance.

She was accompanied on her inspection tour by the castle’s steward, Kai. He had worked in the castle since her father had been crowned. Although his hair was now white, he seemed to grow shrewder with each passing year. Elsa valued his opinion more than those of most of the diplomats and aristocrats on her advisory council.

Together they walked through the streets of the city. Elsa was pleasantly surprised. All told, Arendelle had weathered the storm much better than she had feared. She knew her people were strong, but the wind and rain had been particularly fierce. When the pair reached a damaged building, Kai would make note of it in his little book, and Elsa would do her best to help. Where shingles had blown off the baker’s roof, she created a patch of ice to keep the rain out. Where the upper story of a tenement sagged, she created an icy scaffolding to support it until repairs could be made. All throughout the city, she did what she could. It was times like these when she was thankful for her powers, and she could tell that her people were, too. Every snowflake was an atonement for what had happened so many years ago.

There was a small crowd gathering at the top of the cliffs overlooking the sea. They appeared to be looking at something caught on the rocks below. Elsa thought the wind must have blown something over something over the edge in the night, perhaps a signboard or even a cart. Perhaps she would be able to get it back for them with her powers. She and Kai joined the townsfolk in peering over the edge. At first, Elsa could see nothing. Then she caught sight of a flash of red and felt suddenly sick. There, where the waves were lapping at the rocks, lay a body.

She immediately conjured a staircase to the foot of the cliff, careful to give the treads an anti-slip texture. Kai was the first down it, moving nimbly despite his advanced age. Elsa followed. When they reached the bottom, they had to pick their steps carefully along the slippery rock. The body lay face down. Its hair had been the red that caught her eye from the clifftop. Kai knelt to check its pulse, although they both knew it was a vain gesture. Sighing, Elsa created a broad platform of ice beneath the three of them. She raised it into a pillar until they were even with the head of the cliff. Two fishermen rushed forward to carry the body onto solid ground.

They lay the dead man face up on a patch of grass. For the first time, Elsa could see his face. A chill of recognition ran through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself instinctively. When she looked down, she was shocked to see spirals of frost covering her cloak. She had not lost control of her powers like that in decades.

“Is something wrong?” She could feel Kai’s keen eyes upon her. With anyone else, she might have been able to pass it off as the shock of seeing a dead body so close. But Kai had known her for too long. He had seen the recognition in her eyes.

“I know this man,” she said haltingly.

“Oh?” Elsa had to think fast. She couldn’t let anyone know what she knew, not even Kai.

“I saw him yesterday. He told me the last time he was in Arendelle was for my coronation, and he wanted to pay his respects after twenty-five years.” This was not exactly a lie, although it was far from the whole truth.

“Did he tell you his name?”

“I believe he said it was Anderson. Hans Anderson.”

She had seen him in the town square. All around, the city of Arendelle was bustling with preparations for the oncoming storm. He was standing at a produce stall, examining the varieties of fruit. She might not have recognized him if not for his eyes. He wore the garb of a simple sailor, and his face was tanned and weather-beaten. But she would know those eyes anywhere.

She paused for a moment, uncertain of whether to approach him. Part of her wanted to ask why he had come here, or how he dared to show his face here at all. The other part of her wanted to turn away and forget she had even seen him. She had learned long ago the value of letting sleeping dogs lie. But soon enough the choice was made for her. He had seen her.

“You haven’t changed,” he said by way of greeting, and Elsa hated that he was right. Age had taken its toll on her, but its price had been lighter for her than for most. Her hair had always been white, and her time indoors had kept her skin smooth. He could not see the achy joints and stiff muscles that lay beneath the surface. Nor could he see how she had grown, no longer fearful and isolated. She had learned to be strong for her people, to make difficult decisions and navigate stormy seas.

“You have,” she told him, although she was not sure that it was true. He dressed coarsely and had clearly spent the last twenty years working under the sun, his red hair streaked with gray. He still carried with him a certain air of refinement, but his face held an open simplicity she had not seen before. Still, she was wary. He was an expert pretender, and it was likely the same frozen heart lay beneath this roughhewn exterior.

“I need to speak with you.”

“Then speak.” Her tone was chilly.

“Not here. Somewhere private.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“You only have to listen.” Elsa wanted to dismiss him out of hand, to tell him that she didn’t have to do anything. But there was something in his eyes that was both dangerous and desperate. She found herself assenting. He tried to give her his name and current ship, but she brushed them away. They would meet on her terms.

Sitting at her dressing table that evening, Elsa mulled over her choice. She was not going to allow herself to regret it. So much of her life had been stolen away by fear and regret. As she had grown older, she had learned not to let them dominate her thoughts and actions. But that evening, those emotions threw her back to the day she became queen. What’s done is done, she thought. And although she could not eliminate her regret, she could keep moving forward.

Lost in thought, she removed the pins from her updo and began brushing her hair. As she braided it for sleep, she realized the actions were pointless. She would be going out again anyway. But seeing the braid over her left shoulder gave her an idea. Standing, she replicated the first ice dress she had ever made. She had not worn one like it in many years, finding it too daring to be taken seriously at court. Now, she remembered the power she had felt when she first created it. Perfect, she thought. It was the same dress she had worn that day on the fjord. She wanted him to remember what he had done.

The wind whistled as she stole down to the side entrance. Elsa could see the backs of the leaves, but no rain yet fell. When she opened the garden door, she was surprised to find him already waiting.

“Did the guards see you?” The last thing Elsa needed was for anyone to know about their secret assignation.

“I climbed over the wall,” he said, gesturing behind him. Elsa could barely make out a patch of ivy growing over the stonework, and she made a mental note to have it cut back later. But tonight, it had been her ally.

She led him to the chapel. None of the lamps were lit, so the only illumination came from the moonlight streaming in through the windows. She set the lantern she carried on the dais. The flame cast weird shadows across the flagstones.

She whirled to face him and said, “Why did you come here?”

“You don’t know? I came to beg for your forgiveness.” A cold wind blew through the chapel, extinguishing the lantern. Elsa swore under her breath, any cutting response forgotten. She knelt to fumble with the wick, realizing she didn’t have any matches. That was the biggest problem with this ice dress: no pockets.

He was beside her in an instant, proffering a matchbook from his waistcoat pocket. As she reached out to take it, their hands brushed, and Elsa realized neither of them wore gloves. She wondered if it had been as long for him as it had for her. She struggled to light a match, finding the striking pad slick with ice. When a flame erupted at last, it fizzled just as quickly in her cold hands.

“Here, let me,” he said, gently taking back the book of matches. She watched silently as his tanned, agile hands lit the wick. They sat side by side on the edge of the dais, staring into the shadowy corners of the chapel.

Suddenly he said, “I hear the princess is married.”

“Yes,” said Elsa, “Happily married for more than twenty years now.”

“To the iceman?”

“Yes, to the iceman, Kristoff. They have several lovely children.” Elsa was stalling, not eager to return to the subject that had brought them there.

“Children? Will you tell me about them?” It occurred to Elsa that Anna probably would not want her to. Anna probably would be upset that she was speaking to him at all. She was ready to ask him what business the children were of his when he held up a hand.

“Please. Let me hear about the children that could have, in another life, been mine.” His words stung Elsa, especially because she often thought the same thing. She loved her nieces and nephews as though they were her sons and daughters. But sometimes, she imagined an alternate path, where she had loved and married and had children of her own. So she told him. She started with Isolde, who would be queen one day, and worked her way down. He listened with rapt attention, but his eyes held a sadness she knew too well.

When she had finished (with Wilhelm, age nine, avid collector of frogs and turtles), he asked, “And you? You have never married?”

“No. I discovered long ago that it was better to keep power for myself than to trust too easily and share it with anyone whose motives were uncertain. You taught me that. I suppose I never found anyone whom I could trust.” He barked a dry laugh and leaned back on his arms. Elsa studied his face among the harsh lamplight shadows, and she could see his expression soften.

“It is a shame, your Majesty, all that we have missed in life.” She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that she had missed nothing. But instead she just sighed. They sat in silence for a while.

“You’ve never married either?” asked Elsa. She felt suddenly ridiculous. Here she was, making polite conversation with the man who had once tried to kill her. She wasn’t even sure what to call him. ‘Prince Hans’ seemed out of the question, for she was fairly sure he had been stripped of his title. Just ‘Hans’ seemed too familiar, implying a closer relationship. What else was left? The false name he had given her? But ‘Mr. Anderson’ seemed stiffly formal, like she was addressing a stranger. And whatever their relationship was, they were certainly not strangers. His voice interrupted her reverie.

“No. I’ve been at sea for many years, you know. No time for a wife.” Something in his tone told Elsa there was more to it.

“Many sailors marry.”

“Perhaps I was always too obsessed with what happened in Arendelle. I dreamed of it every night. Even in my waking hours, I could never be free of it. Each wave crashing against the hull seemed to call me to repent. Eventually, I could bear it no longer. I thought it might drive me mad. Perhaps there was a kind of madness in my coming here. But I knew that I could not rest until I saw you again. I could not go on without asking for your forgiveness.”

Elsa stood slowly, feeling stiff from sitting so low to the ground. She almost pitied him. Despite what she knew of him, he seemed genuinely repentant. Perhaps he had learned something in the past twenty-five years. That was what made this so hard.

“Do not ask for my forgiveness.”

“What?” He froze midway through standing up.

“Any wrongs you have committed against me pale in comparison to what you did to my sister. It is her forgiveness you must seek, not mine.”

“Then let me speak to her tomorrow. I won’t expect anything to come of it, so long as I have the opportunity.” His expression was tinged with eagerness verging on desperation. Elsa steeled herself. She had to protect her sister. She had been unable to do so twenty-five years ago when they had first met Prince Hans, and Anna had suffered for it. Now, Elsa finally had the chance to atone for that failure. She would not fail again.

“Princess Anna is happy now. She has a life and family of her own. The last thing she need is for you to dredge up the past.”

“But—”

“I sympathize. Do you think I don’t understand self-recrimination? She has finally managed to heal from what we’ve done to her. I won’t let you disrupt her life.”

Her words proved to be too much for him. He knelt before her, pleading desperately. She thought there was a touch of madness in his eyes.

“Please, I beg of you! If you will not let me see your sister, at least consider my plea for yourself. I don’t know how I can go on otherwise. I cannot live this haunted life.”

“I cannot help you. You must seek absolution elsewhere.” Elsa wished that things could be different. But she of all people did not have the right to grant forgiveness for what had happened at the coronation. Not when she herself had played such a large part in her sister’s suffering.

He threw himself at her feet like a child. She felt his hand on her leg, grasping at it like a lifeline. He buried his face in her skirts, and Elsa felt overwhelmed by his emotion. She noticed snowflakes drifting slowly downward and waved them away with her hand. Perhaps she was being selfish, letting her final act of atonement block his only chance at the same. But Anna’s happiness had to come first.

“Get up,” she said softly, pushing at his graying hair, “Hans. Get up.” He looked up at her, eyes moist but unwavering. Slowly he disentangled himself from her skirts.

“I can’t give you what was never mine to give. The most I can do is let you leave here in peace. I will not alert the Southern Isles, nor will I alert Arendelle’s guard. I have left you with your life. You must be content with that.” Her tone was kind, but she spoke with a sense of finality.

“A cursed life such as mine hardly qualifies. You have left me with nothing at all.” His eyes looked hollow, as if there were nothing behind them.

“Give us your best account of what happened last night, Captain,” said Kai. The body was laid out in the castle’s chapel. Because the dead man had no local family, Elsa had volunteered to take charge of the remains. Now a small group had formed there to try to figure out the cause of death. Elsa and Kai, her eternal shadow, stood on one side. The doctor and the bishop stood on the other. The captain of the St. Winifred, who had been found based on Elsa’s information, was the final member of their party. Elsa had worried that they might realize Hans’ true identity, but her secret seemed safe for the moment.

“The night watchman says Anderson returned around midnight, just about when the rain started. He didn’t go below decks right away, saying he wanted some fresh air. By the time of the one o’clock patrol, he was gone. The watchman say he thought Anderson went below deck, but the storm was getting intense by that point, so he wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Do you think he could have fallen overboard? Or could a wave have washed him away?” asked Kai. The captain considered for a moment.

“I would say either of those were possible, if not likely. Anderson was a competent sailor and very cautious. I doubt he slipped and fell. But in a storm like that one, anything may have happened.”

“Was he well liked among the crew?” Elsa could tell Kai was trying to be diplomatic.

“Yes, he got along with everybody. He was quiet and kept himself to himself. But he was always willing to pick up the slack, and that made him popular. I had offered him a promotion several times, but he always turned me down. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm him.”

Elsa was finding it difficult to keep her mind on the proceedings. She found herself staring at the corpse several times, fixated on how it compared to the Hans of her memory. Beneath its suntanned skin lay the pallor of death. Its eyes were closed, but she knew they must hold the same hollow look she had seen the night before. She longed to reach out and touch it. Would it be cold as ice? Would she even be able to tell? The bishop was speaking for the first time, and Elsa tried to give him her attention.

“What we must know is this: could he have done this to himself? We cannot move forward with the burial until we know whether he is worthy of consecrated ground.” The other three men looked distinctly uncomfortable. Elsa got the feeling this was a possibility they would all have gladly ignored.

The doctor spoke first: “All I can tell you is that he drowned. There were some abrasions from the rocks, but they were clearly postmortem. His body can give us no evidence aside from that.”

“I wouldn’t believe it for a moment,” said the captain with a bit of added bluster, “He just wasn’t the sort. Sure, he had his troubles, but so do we all. Doesn’t mean he’d do something so drastic.”

“Queen Elsa,” said Kai, “you spoke to him the most recently out of all of us. Can you shed any light on his state of mind?” Elsa had only a split second to decide what to say. She knew her evidence would be damning if she answered truthfully.

“It was only for a few minutes. He just told me how little I had changed since my coronation. He seemed in good spirits, but of course I didn’t know him.” She hoped her lie would be convincing. It was the least she could do for him.

The investigation was over. They had reached a consensus that it had been an accidental death. Elsa was glad to be finished with it. At least she had spared Hans the final indignity of an unconsecrated grave. Despite the bishop’s protestations, she had insisted that he be buried in the royal plot. She was not sure what lay beyond the grave, but she hoped his spirit would be able to find some peace.

Now, she walked along the beach, looking out over the slate-colored sea. She turned, hearing footsteps behind her. It was Kai.

“May I join you?”

“Of course.” They walked together in silence for a while.

“You went to a lot of trouble to arrange a burial for that man,” said Kai. He was dangling the bait in front of her. She wondered how much he knew.

“A queen’s duty is to take care of her people. Besides, I feel partially responsible for his death. He only came to Arendelle because of me.”

“Queen Elsa, listen to me,” Kai stopped walking and turned to face her, “this was not your fault. If it was not an accident, he made his own choice. I suspect he made his choice many years ago. You don’t need to hold yourself responsible.”

Elsa appreciated Kai’s kind words and common sense. She hoped that this time she would be able to follow his advice. After so many years, perhaps she did not need another reason to atone.

***

Author’s Note: This fic is brought to you by the letter C. C for Cadfael, an endless source of inspiration for me. C for Culturally Catholic, which bleeds through into my writing sometimes. C for Content warning, which is not something I usually need for my fics. Oh yeah, and C for Completely missing the spirit of the prompt, sorry guys.

I had to rewrite the entire middle portion because I thought Hans was coming across as too mentally well-compensated. Tomorrow I begin my apology tour. Thanks so much for reading! <3

#helsa #helsasummerevent #helsasummerevent2020 #frozen #hans #elsa #mentions of kristanna #suicide cw #fanfic

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mimiplaysgames · 5 years ago

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A Powerful Enough Dream (Ch. 7)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua (eventually) Rating: T Word Count: 5,632

Summary: Terra hid Aqua’s Keyblade somewhere. She starts looking for it in Radiant Garden, which holds more secrets than she realizes.

Read on AO3

A/N: I said last chapter that I had two more and here is one of them! Thank you so much for the responses from the last chapter. I’m really pushing through these fast, so I apologize that their quality is not up to my to my standard, but I hope they’re fun nonetheless! I’ve really missed playing with different characters, I don’t get the opportunity in my other fics.

~*~*~*~*~

Stones, pt. 1

Radiant Garden relies on surgical intervention to remain standing: pipes on pipes on pipes, holding the foundations together and distributing water, electricity, and steam to individual homes, both the rebuilt and the not-quite-there-yet.

If Aqua paints a vivid memory of what it used to look like in her mind, she can vaguely see the similarities. She spared Terra here, of all places, and look what happened to it: another on her list of casualties.

Does it make me terrible that I don’t regret letting him live?

Is it even possible to regret only the consequences and not the cause?

It’s not the time to wallow, she tells herself. Radiant Garden is massive and Terra’s crumbs could be anywhere. She instructs Riku to land his Gummiship on the same terrace she last saw her Keyblade, right in sight of Ansem the Wise’s castle, which is worse for wear and will probably never earn back that former glory.

She finds Ansem awaiting her arrival on the ground. Kairi is excited, wanting to see how things in the city have improved, grabbing Riku by the elbow and demanding him to take her to the Marketplace while pulling on Sora’s shirt and asking him to let her visit Merlin. Donald grumbles about wasted time, and Goofy rides along with it. Aqua is more than happy to stay with Ansem for now.

“I’ve locked myself in my home for days,” he grins when she meets him. “There’s a miracle in seeing a familiar face.”

Two large bodyguards, dressed in decorative suits, flank Ansem. By his side is a short, lanky young man in a white coat. Definitely not a soldier: no one who allows that much hair to cover his face would be serious about going to combat. He smiles (not too much, but not too timid), and introduces himself as Ienzo.

“We should continue the pleasantries inside if we want to avoid any trouble,” Ienzo says, adjusting his collar three times but never getting it straight.

“Yet trouble comes without our consent,” Ansem says, his gaze glowering beyond the Gummiship when a group of people, dressed in handmade uniforms, approach. He gives Aqua a wink. “They have knocked on my door every day since my return. Might as well use the opportunity at hand.”

Leading the group of oncomers are two people with the most severe faces Aqua has ever seen on anyone. They stride with such determined cohesion that she realizes they’ve been idling around, waiting for a chance to corner Ansem.

One of them is a tall man with brown hair and a single scar scraped over his nose. His blue eyes swallow her into a deep, cold well. He observes everything with a distance, his skin so unmoved that Aqua wonders if he’s ever had the pleasure of laughing. He dresses like he’s casual: leather jacket with a fur trim and too many belts to sit comfortably, but he doesn’t wear the impression that he’s good with people.

The other is a woman with a permanent glare on her face. It’s a hard expression against the soft curls of her rose-colored hair. But she’s nothing elegant - if anything, this woman is power in short stature, a red cape hanging off one shoulder and a sheathed weapon prepared on the other. Aqua’s impressed by her presence - she wishes she could carry herself the same one day, and hopes she only caught her in a bad mood.

“Leon, Lightning,” Ansem greets, “I see you waste no time.”

Aqua hitches her breath. Noctis and Garnet are so gentle by comparison, it’s difficult to see how they can sing praise for these two.

“I’m usually not the betting kind, Ansem,” Leon says, hands at his hips. Aqua never expected such a comforting voice to come out of his mouth. “But you’ve made me a different man. I’ve wagered you dug your tomb in there.”

Lightning makes nothing subtle when she rolls her eyes.

“I may already have,” Ansem says, his fists tense under his sleeves, but he keeps pleasant. His bodyguards are on alert, and Ienzo throws glances, not looking at anyone in the eye. “Never leaving my chair, however, wreaks havoc on my old joints.”

Lightning crosses her arms and tosses a disgusted look. “We gave you a set of conditions on your stay,” she snaps.

Leon holds a hand up. “Lightning-”

“No one wants you here.” She’s so much shorter than Ansem’s bodyguards, who are ready to pounce, but there’s no way she’d lose to them. “So what’s it going to be?”

Aqua expects Ansem to retort to such an unnecessary comment, but he doesn’t. The way his eyes cast downward acknowledges some uninvited truth. Instead of running to his defense, Aqua hesitates: his silent admission makes her wonder if there’s justification to all this.

“You’ve given me little of a choice.”

“The hard or the easy way. It’s more than you deserve when his Restoration Committee has done everything you should have claimed responsibility for.” Lightning points to Leon, who hides half his face behind his hand before realizing there’s no point to his modesty.

“I suppose I cannot offer a token of peace,” Ansem says, not really a question. “An olive branch. A new Keyblade wielder for the cause.”

Aqua inhales sharply. Under no circumstances is it appropriate for her to meddle into world affairs by inserting herself directly into their politics, especially as a bargaining chip.

Ansem introduces her, “Keyblade Master Aqua. Competent, strong, a formidable survivor and a dear friend.”

She wants to bite back. She bites her tongue.

Lightning’s eyes are as light as a distant sky that they’re almost silver, and they glint at the recognition of her name. Solemnly (shockingly), she says, “You’re Terra’s wielder.”

But Leon scrutinizes. “Is he not around?”

“Not right now...” It’s far enough from the truth that it’s not a complete lie. Aqua’s always been terrible about that.

A muscle twitches in Lightning’s jaw. “I’m so sorry.”

Leon recognizes what she’s trying to say, losing the stiff nerve he had moments earlier as his eyes find a moment of silence in the horizon.

You’re Terra’s wielder. They expected him and Aqua would be inseparable.

Leon joins his partner by crossing his own arms, all the threads that grieved tying up again. “Aqua, welcome to Radiant Garden. We still have some growing pains to deal with.” He shoots an icy look towards Ansem that is so solid, it’s almost metal. “The conditions stay the same. You have until tomorrow to decide.”

As they turn away, their proclamations made, Lightning gives Aqua one more compassionate glance - at least as much as this woman is capable of making.

“That wasn’t appropriate,” Aqua murmurs to Ansem. It’s a sickly feeling to be used that way, a sour taste in her mouth. She wants to forget it ever happened.

Ansem studies the cobblestone beneath them. “There’s much in my life I will have to atone for, things I should have done instead of underestimating their importance. Things I should not have committed when I was blinded by them. I will start with your forgiveness on this matter.”

“Is it true that no one wants you here?”

“Aqua,” he breathes, “would you believe me if I told you that I was single handedly responsible for the destruction of two children’s lives?”

“...Children?”

“Two unique children.” He says it so assuredly that it sounds absurd. “Two unnatural children, unlike you and me, and I’ve reminded them as such. Would you say they have a right to exist?”

“Of course they do.”

“I wasn’t as kind.”

Aqua swallows bile.

Ienzo steps forward, his eagerness ready to scream. “We’re doing all we can to repent for this, and are already on our way with our plans.” Softly, he says, “I’m glad Sora is here. We can officially start our experiments today.”

“Then what shall I do for you, Aqua?” Ansem asks. I will start with your forgiveness on this matter.

“I need to find my Keyblade.”

He chuckles. “Does it resemble you?”

Aqua blushes. A Keyblade is meant to reflect the person, but it’s such a vain thought. “You could say that.”

“Then my castle is the best place to start.”

At the entrance awaiting them is none other than Lea, leaning on the wall like he owns the place. From where he stands, high atop a staircase that makes up for a hill, he had a good look over the action that transpired below.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks. Does he even have a right to know? Aqua has to wonder.

Ansem ignores him. Ienzo looks down on him as though he’s the one who’s taller. Lea brushes them aside with gusto.

“They’ve never been fun to talk to, anyway,” he tells Aqua when the bodyguards only give him so much of a passing glance.

She smirks. “Do you even belong here?”

“Please, I have better taste than this bunch. Zexion knows why I’m here and he hates me for it.”

“Who?”

“Oh right, he calls himself I-en-zo now.” He smacks his lips, the flavor unpleasant. “Doesn’t roll off the tongue.”

“Why would he hate you?”

“Over a dumb little thing.” He swats with his hands before hiding them in his pockets. “Dying’s not a relevant topic for Nobodies.”

“Did you kill someone he cared about?”

“Do I look like a savage to you?” Lea shrugs. “I actually targeted him - but look. He’s fine.”

Lea leads her inside. This place desperately needs a maid. Pipes line the walls, pummeling through holes and leaving dust and debris in crumbles on the floor. The castle itself is loud with overlapping voices in spitting debates about what procedures to follow next, with exhaust and machine whirring, with computer speakers flatly informing their users. Everything trails down the hallways, accepting the reality that it will be eavesdropped. It’s ugly compared to the Land of Departure, but Aqua figures that’s an unfair judgment.

She wants to be taken to where Terra’s body had slept for years during his apprenticeship. She doesn’t ask.

“What was Ansem’s choice?” Lea asks. “Leon and Lightning have been pestering him for an answer.”

“He still hasn’t given them one.”

Lea scoffs. “He’s delaying the inevitable.”

“What were the conditions?”

“He either gives them free reign to enter the castle and use its services as they need it, or they kick him out.”

Aqua stops, but Lea keeps his stride. “They would take his home either way.”

And he gestures for her to follow. “Do you blame them?”

“It’s not right.”

Now he stops. “This world didn’t exactly fall into the Realm of Darkness, but it made little difference. Heartless everywhere. Halls without voices. Sora’s a bright and lucky guy, a shining star, and he gave it back to the people. They madeshift an army out of no one, and brought their home back to life. Ansem did nothing.”

“You think it’s a just punishment.” Aqua shifts her weight. “I know about the experimentation that happened here. But that was all Xehanort.”

“Sure, but that makes Ansem a weak leader.” Lea steps close enough for her to get a good look into his eyes: a fiery emerald that is too polished, intense and nothing like she’s seen in other people. His pupils flicker something black, engorged with something vengeful. “For what he’s done to some vulnerable people, he doesn’t deserve the sympathy.”

Some. So it’s personal.

“I grew up here,” Lea continues. “There’s been witness accounts of moans and cries coming from the dungeon here. We all heard it. Yeah, that was Xehanort’s doing, but Ansem’s not deaf.”

He turns over his shoulder, leaving her stranded in a long, humid hallway where the steam leaks out. The castle struggles to breathe as though the pipes serve as its ventilators.

The Aqua before the Realm of Darkness would have turned her nose up to such scum.

The Aqua now believes she still would but… they both survived the Realm of Darkness together. They talked about memories of the sunset, of their favorite desserts that they’d enjoy if they ever went free…

And Ansem constantly repeated how much he deserved to watch the moon freeze in orbit for the rest of his life. It sounded so overdramatic at the time.

I will start with your forgiveness on this matter.

That’s a fate he’ll have to walk on his own. Right now, he’s somewhere in a room hashing away for whatever experiment they’re preparing for. Aqua doesn’t want to know a single detail.

She follows the last of Lea’s steps, taking the only hallway down until it lets her into an office, where it greets her with the face of a ghost.

A painted portrait hangs high on the wall opposite the entrance. Slashed just above the nose, the bottom limps and curls over. Terra looks good with brown eyes, but she doesn’t have to see the entire thing to know that his expression is ugly.

Lea rummages through books (if they’re in good enough condition). The office in general has seen better days, what with the singed furniture and ashy pools of dust littering the shelves. The walls have the scientific scribbles from someone hypnotized and the battle scars from someone flailing weapons and fire about.

Hypnotized, Aqua stands before the painting, gently rolling up the crumpled canvas to bring the face whole. White hair and with a faraway look in his eyes, Terra is a warm embrace and a creepy stranger all at once. She traces her fingertips at his taut jawline, the flat bumps of painstrokes unyielding and cold. This Terra will not and would never smile at her.

The pages of Lea’s books continue to sputter, but he’s only reading her. Aqua lets go and looks away.

Brisk footsteps stutter into the room. Ienzo rolls his eyes but doesn’t have to warrant a hello for Lea to ask: “Is this all of it?”

“The rest is in your imagination.” Now, Ienzo is confident, straightening his wrist cuffs with impeccable accuracy.

Lea’s usual bemused expression freezes. “I don’t like working too hard, Zex. You know that.”

The air between these two is electric. It needs to be redirected before it cracks a skull open.

“What are you looking for?” Aqua asks.

“All of Xehanort’s notes and diaries regarding his experiments,” Lea says like he’s looking for candy. Not batting an eyelash. Not hesitating, nor embarrassed. He’s turned into a different person in the blink of a moment.

“W- Why?”

“Old Ansem’s going to destroy them all. Isn’t he, Zex?”

Ienzo teeths. “Of course doing the right thing would be beneath you, Axel.”

“We shouldn’t be keeping any of it,” Aqua says. “Darkness like that in the wrong hands-”

“You’d be dooming us all,” Lea says, one hand on a hip. “We could find new ways to protect ourselves from the darkness if we knew more about it. We could make stronger barriers, or help those step away from the wrong path. How are we supposed to prevent people from repeating Xehanort’s mistakes if we forget they ever happened?”

“Those experiments were disgusting,” Ienzo says in broken murmurs.

“You’re going to tell me,” Lea says, only to Aqua, “that you’d parade about Keyblade wielders fighting the darkness without truly understanding it? Is that what a good teacher does?”

No…

“We have teachings we rely on,” is the best she could say.

“If it’s the same garbage Yen Sid rambles about.” Lea snatches a book from up high on the shelf, one of the few that was spared from whatever chaos ensued here, dust fibers hanging on for dear life on the edge of pages. Lea reads the cover. “Affairs of the Heart by the Master of Masters. Funny stuff.”

As much as she hates that book, he can’t possibly consider that ancient Keyblade texts are inferior to Xehanort’s self-obsessed, cock-bulleted disorders.

“How can you say that about something so important?”

“Thou shalt strut your holiness and scream at spiders because they look scary. Remember children, darkness is bad for you,” Lea mimics. “I’d be surprised if the Master ever spoke like this in real life.”

“He was a pioneer.”

“He was a quack.” Lea tosses the book on its back. “None of it is relevant anymore. I want to help Sora. I can’t do that on outdated superstitions you’re desperate to call science.”

“We are helping Sora,” Ienzo says. “The way we’re doing it will have nothing to do with darkness.”

“It better not.” Lea takes a breath to calm down. “But don’t act righteous with me when we both know your current methods are based on what Xehanort started.”

Aqua hasn’t known Lea for long, and yet seeing him unravel like this raises the hair on her skin. He’s otherwise so composed every second. She can’t imagine Ienzo hurting someone Lea cares about, and maybe that’s nowhere close to the truth.

“What kind of experiments are we talking about, here?” she asks Ienzo.

“The kind that rights our wrongs,” he says with worship in his voice. “The kind that gives our friends,” he glances at Lea, “the life they deserve. A chance to bring them back and make amends.”

“Xehanort’s not capable of giving anyone the tools to do good,” Aqua quips. They stare at her, and a destructive wave of shame washes over Ienzo’s face. Yet, nothing he’s promising sounds so bad. Why is it so difficult to accept?

“Burning Xehanort’s books will make sure we will never repeat his particular methods.”

“It won’t,” Lea stresses. “It would only lead you blind. You need them as a reference.”.

“Please do not worry, Master Aqua,” Ienzo says as though Lea isn’t in the room with them. “We would never endanger anyone.”

Lea snorts. “With Vexen heading the work?”

“Even is smarter than I am,” says Ienzo.

“He has little boundaries.”

“I will no longer bore the Keyblade Master with such trivial disagreements that have nothing to do with her matters.” Ienzo irons the creases on his sleeve with his hand. “Master Ansem has mentioned you were in need of help. You were looking for your Keyblade?” he asks Aqua.

Suddenly, she wants to leave this place behind.

“Is it blue and skinny?” Lea asks, flipping through pages. “It was way too small for Terra.”

“I seem to recall something like that in Xehanort’s possession,” Ienzo says, his chin dug into his fingers. “Or rather, Terra’s.”

“Terra found it downstairs.” Lea’s cynical gaze on Ienzo suggests some hidden language only they understand. “In the Superior’s chamber of all places.”

“How-”

“He had help.”

“We’ve set up security measures to prevent anyone from going back.”

Lea scoffs. “You didn’t notice it the first time.”

Aqua holds a hand to her chest. “Would he have returned it there?”

“The dungeons were where Xehanort conducted his work,” Ienzo says.

“And Terra doesn’t strike me as the masochist type to put himself through that hell twice,” Lea goats until his confidence wavers. “But if I think about it… he loves punishing himself.”

That depends on the what and the why.

“So it’s a possibility,” she says.

“If he went down there again, I would have noticed it,” Ienzo says.

“Whatever you say,” Lea says. “Repeat it enough times, and I’ll believe it, too.”

The wall where the painting proudly stands serves as the way through - a secret passageway to an armory of giant vials. Ienzo says they all used to carry hearts. When Aqua asks what happened to them, Ienzo replies with the hope that they found their way back to where they belong. Wherever that is.

At the computer terminal, Ienzo says he will not escort them.

Lea doesn’t think it’s a problem.

Aqua doesn’t know what difference it would make.

The way down is a stupidly long spiral staircase hidden underneath a trap door. The trap door itself is a terrible defense mechanism, but anyone with right minds would simply give up halfway down. Despite being so fit, Aqua is gasping for breath by the time she reaches the bottom, and Lea doesn’t fare much better.

“That bastard knew what we were getting ourselves into and never said anything,” Lea pants when they approach the door that opened up to a single, bleached hallway.

The air changes immediately when they enter, and the breath Aqua desperately needs turns sour. Weakness sinks heavy and creeps up her legs, shaking them into noodles. An airiness sits at the top of her crown, but she wills herself to stay standing.

This place sweats darkness. The walls cry, the floor drools, and the locked doors they pass writhe for a breath of fresh air. There’s been a lot of agony and screaming in these rooms. Aqua can’t hear them, but nothing in the Realm of Darkness - so primal, so omniscient, so ancient - compares to the sins that happened here. The Master always said that darkness is evil. Here is the proof, and here is her answer.

“Terra would never come back here,” she says, her stomach hurling sideways.

Lea acts like he’s taking a normal stroll. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“It’s torture. You don’t feel that?”

“Eh, I’m not convinced of poltergeists if that’s what you’re asking.” He snorts. “Are you old-fashioned Keyblade wielders always this sensitive?”

“I’m going to be sick.”

“As long as it’s not on my shoes, do it wherever you like.” He points down the hallway. “Come on, it’s just at the end.”

An open chamber awaits them. The room in here isn’t sickly - if anything, it’s dead. It isn’t witness to anything sinful; it’s just nothing.

But the layout of this place...

Aqua forgets she’s nauseous. “Who built this room?” she commands, storming inside.

It’s near identical to the throne room she left Ven in. Corrupted and sterilized, but still home. Whoever did it had to have known. The chair is a mirror image, as though Ven could easily nap here.

“Xemnas,” Lea says casually, arms crossed and leaning on the door frame. “Guess it’s his thinking room or… whatever he used it for. Censored reasons? I don’t wanna know.”

“That can’t be. That-” She grits her teeth. That means Xemnas was looking for Ven when he found me. That was all I was worth.

She wants to slap herself. The moment she learned he was Xehanort’s Nobody should have been the moment she stopped caring about his companionship. She doesn’t care. She’s just an idiot who should have known better of a voice living in the darkness.

At least Ven is safe.

Lea chortles. “I swear I can see the steam coming out of your ears.”

Aqua realizes she’s balled her hands into fists. “When I see Xehanort, I’ll make him regret he’s ever met Ven. I’ll make him mortified of the memory.”

“You mean Xemnas.”

“Why does that matter? I’m killing him. Anyone with Xehanort’s face.”

Lea gapes. “But not anyone with Terra’s face?”

She glares at him, and he holds his arms up to defend himself. “Forget I asked.”

“There’s nothing here,” she spits. “We’re wasting our time.”

Her fury gives her immunity from the hallway’s ailments, which is now still and quiet, except for the stomping of her feet all the way out. She’s blind, running through thoughts in her mind that don’t finish, clammy from the heat. She only sees where she’s going when she halts at the bottom of the stairwell, cursing her terrible luck that she’ll have to climb the entire way back up for nothing.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” she hears Lea say from behind her, his arms crossed.

“Excuse me?”

“For befriending Xemnas.”

Aqua draws a long, agonizing inhale. “Don’t mention his name again.”

Lea gawks, a mocking smirk spread on his lips. “Or what? You’ll spit bubbles at me?”

“I can make them hurt.”

Hands on hips, Lea leans forward and wags his face. “Xemnas, Xemnas, Xemnas.”

She snaps out of it, hiding her face behind her hand. Deadly bubbles sounded stupid as soon as the words left her mouth. Foolish.

Lea bursts out in laughter. “Terra must find your temper really amusing.”

Temperamental is not a description she’s proud to wear. Surviving the Realm of Darkness should have made her stronger than ever, not explode at every whim or thought.

“I wouldn’t have befriended Xemnas,” she murmurs, “in my right frame of mind. If he succeeded, then Ven...” She exhales, but it doesn’t cool her down.

Lea considers her, all his mischief flying away from his eyes. “Xemnas was really good with very desperate people.”

She stays quiet.

“You and Terra share that in common.”

“Hmm?”

“Self-flagellation.”

“I’m not…” Aqua brings her hand to her chest. Her heart thumps loudly, more sluggish than it should. She always relied on Terra to step around the corner and banish her awful mood. It’s hard to imagine him being this pathetic.

“He’s more whiny about it.” Lea breaks out a grin.

Then again, did Terra depend on me to do the same for him? If I’m not around, who does he turn to? Is that the reason why he went to Xehanort?

How much of his absence played a role in welcoming Xemnas into my life?

“Is it always that simple?” she asks. “Being deceived?”

Lea softens. “I find it hard to believe you’re easily tricked. If I say Knock, knock, you’d say, There’s no door.”

Aqua has to admit she cracked a smile.

“But it isn’t you, it’s Xemnas,” he continues. “Come to anyone who has nothing, who is Nothing, with promises of a better life and a reason to live - of course you’d eat the sweets out of his hands. He had twelve followers in the original Organization, after all.”

“I wish Terra believed in himself.”

Lea frowns: a boggy sight, something that slowly rolled over his face where he can’t find the smile again. “I had a best friend growing up. He joined the Organization with me. Smarter than me, one rank higher. Xemnas learned to confide in him really closely.”

She sighs. “That can’t have been comfortable for you.”

“Ha.” Lea flexes his shoulders. “Whatever purpose he found in that role completely changed him… but I guess the possibility was always there. He schemed long cons like they were children’s puzzle pieces - give him one clue and he’ll figure out who done it. He stepped ahead of every drawback that I swore he had psychic vision once. If you needed to get out of a tight situation, he was your man. There’s no one better.

“But he needed to be in absolute control, and eventually his genius ideas lost their brilliance and his visions lost their point. The moment he forgot who I was to him, he forgot us. That grass-eating bastard.”

“You’re hoping he’ll bounce back.”

“I have to hope, the same way you do.” He shrugs. “If Terra can make it, then Isa can make it. I’ll buy out every green vegetable that exists in this multiverse if it means I can hear him terrorize me with the way he chews his celery one more time.”

“Chews his celery?”

“Like a damn rabbit.”

She bubbles first, a warm turn in her chest before it spills out of her mouth. Then she can’t stop herself. It takes several seconds for her to recognize that laughing is familiar. Lea doesn’t join her, running a hand through his hair.

“I needed that,” she gasps. “Thank you, Lea.”

“You’ll be back at throwing empty threats when you remember what we got to do.” He nudges his head upward, toward the spiral staircase that’s too tall for them to see the top. “You really should work on those if you want to seem intimidating.”

“I shouldn’t make threats at all.” She takes the first step up.

“Sure. You’re too innocent for that.”

“It’s not dignified.”

“Well excuse me, Master Distinguished.” He huffs and puffs. They’ve barely climbed up ten steps. “Do you have any idea where Terra might have hidden your Keyblade if not here?”

“Home.” That’s the quick answer, but it would have been true if he had the chance. “Somewhere he felt secure.”

“He might as well have shoved it in his pants,” Lea groans. “The dungeon was the most secure place in the castle.”

~*~*~*~*~

Outside the city limits is nothing but badlands where the forests had been, darkening as the sun dips closer to the horizon. But as Aqua walks down the steps that lead her back to the town square, the badlands fade from her view, engulfed by rooftops with missing tiles and hurdles of white and yellow flowers here and there, doing a poor job at framing the steaming pipes.

Lea left her to commit to his work: How will I get the rest? Easy. I’ll tell Ienzo that if he doesn’t cough up all the reports, I’ll rip his heart out myself and find the first Heartless to feed it to. He’ll really believe I’ll do it… Don’t look at me like that, you know he deserves it.

A long way down to a dead end. Terra would have not wanted it to be this hard. With him, it never was, at least not until Aqua passed the Mark of Mastery with perfect scores.

Every step she’s been on since coming back was a stone, lodged on the surface of an ocean that stretched forever. Terra’s stepping stones, tracing his history from one clue to the next, and eventually she assumed she’d reach solid ground.

Now she’s on her last stone, with nowhere to go but to drown, as if he vanished before he was able to finish his path.

Aqua bumps shoulders with another woman, thinking of nothing but deep, black water.

“I’m sorry,” Aqua breathes. The woman has flowers tucked into a weave basket, some of them knocked over to the ground. “I’ll pick them up for you.”

“You’re new,” she says as Aqua scrambles. She’s feminine, eyes as dense as grass, her long brown hair beautifully arranged in a braid with a pink bow. “The new Keyblade wielder?”

Word travels too fast for Aqua’s liking. “Yes.” She hands the bouquet of flowers over, trying not to crush the petals together. “I’m Aqua.”

The woman gasps loudly enough for passersby to lurch over their shoulders. She leans in close enough for Aqua to only see green irises around dark pupils. “You look like an Aqua.”

Is ‘Thank you’ a proper response to that?

“I’m Aerith.” She looks over Aqua’s shoulders. “Is Terra with you?”

“He’ll come by later.” Aqua is relieved at how assured she sounds.

“Good. I won’t forgive him if he forgets me.” Aerith’s smile widens as she studies Aqua’s hair and her outfit. “You’re lovelier than I imagined. Have you met Lightning and Squall?”

“Squall?”

“Oops.” Aerith shakes her head at herself. “I meant Leon. Sorry, it’s so hard to call him that.” She clears her throat. “Leon won’t take back his birth name until Radiant Garden is sparkling again. But nothing’s ever good enough.” She pouts, jutting her bottom lip out. “Do you think it’s ugly?”

Behind Aerith is a wagon with more flowers. She’s the one planting them throughout the city in a feeble attempt to hide the rusty pipes.

“It’s charming.”

Aerith claps her hands. “You should tell him that. He’s such an oaf.”

Aqua thinks of Leon’s iron wall for eyes. “He’s certainly professional.”

“Oh,” Aerith murmurs, “did he scare you?” She snaps her fingers. “I bet Lightning did worse. They’re both idiots. Trust me, they’re mostly harmless.”

“Really?”

“Mostly. They’re thick.” Aerith tends to her basket, a memory brightening up her face. “Squall- I mean, Leon was my neighbor. We grew up together. He used to lock himself up in his room and I threw rocks at his window to get his attention. He’s still the same.

“Lightning went to the same school as us. A boy there - I think his name was Tseng - used to yank at my braid all morning before class. He had the biggest crush on me and I didn’t want to say anything… but I admit it hurt. Anyway, it drove her crazy, and when she had enough, she slammed his face onto his desk, breaking his nose. She met Leon at detention later that day. I don’t remember why, he was always in detention for talking back at teachers.

“Ever since then, the three of us have been inseparable.” Aerith giggles. “Terra reminds me a lot of Leon: sensitive and to themselves.”

“Terra’s not that mean,” Aqua says before she could stop herself, blushing behind her hand.

But Aerith is loving it. “That’s because he’s too smart for that.” She pauses. “You should see Tifa. Terra stayed with her and she’d love to meet you. She’s not far.” She points down an alleyway. “Just five blocks down and then you’d have to take the street to the left. Once you get close to the outskirts, you’ll see a sign for Seventh Heaven. You can’t miss it.”

“Oh, I-” It’s the polite thing to do. But Ven. “I have a lot of work to do.”

“I won’t forgive you if you don’t see her.” Aeirth winks, then adds for compensation: “It would make Terra smile. I believe it, deep within my heart.”

Maybe it’s the use of the word “heart” that makes it sound like a prophecy.

“Ah.” Aqua inhales. “I guess a short trip won’t be too bad.”

Aerith squirms - she’s restraining a knowing laugh.

“What?”

“It’s easy to get you or Terra to do anything if I hold one of you against the other.” She shrugs her shoulders as a way to hug herself since her arms are busy with the flowers. “That’s your secret weakness. All the heroes have one.”

#terraqua #aqua #lea #ienzo #lightning farron #squall leonhart #aerith gainsborough #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfic #i'm trying to finish the next chapter as fast as i can #my fic

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brownielocksstuff · 6 years ago

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EMMA REALLY IS SELFISH. (RAY TOO BUT HE'S MORE SUBTLE)

At least, when it comes to Norman. Mainly, anyway.

Because darn it these parallels are here again wrecking havoc in my mind and showing, emphasizing what we may have missed before.

I didn't see it before. But this. This is really really selfish.

In this scene Emma was willing to throw away everything. She was risking every single thing they have planned for for months to escape.

It wasn't a heroic moment. It wasn't a moment where the main character was upright and courageous, doing the right thing for the greater good. Because it wasn't the right thing to do. Norman's shipment was the way to go. (Even Ray who loves Norman maybe as much as Emma did had accepted this) Emma's plan of letting him escape in front of mama wasn't.

It was a pure act of selfishness. She didn't want to lose him. And she was losing him. He was going to die and whatshouldshedo?

Emma is a smart girl. She knows what she was doing. She knew the consequences if she succeeded. And even then, she did it anyway.

She had been willing to expose the very device everybody needed to escape. Her leg, that was very much important if she ever hoped to make it out of GF. Ray's six years of planning.

All of it was negligible compared to Norman's life. She was willing to sacrifice it all: Her chances of survival, Ray's six years, Everybody's means for escape.

It was selfish. Stupidly selfish that even Norman snapped at her for what she tried to do.

She didn't succeed here. Norman was shipped out. And she believed he was dead.

I might be bias because I love Norman and everything, but reading the arc after the escape, I think a part of Emma died with Norman.

Even after finding out about Connie's, and those who were shipped out before death, Emma still managed to be herself. She was genuinely happy and hopeful and simply a burst of sunshine and kindness. All of them were going to escape. They would all make it out of there alive.

She was Emma. She was awake to the reality of this harsh world, but she was whole. Complete. She was strong. With him by her side, they would all make it out of GF.

They had lost many but they would move on. Move forward.

But his death hit her hard. Connie's and their other siblings' death couldn't compare. Norman was different. He always had been. It was like she lost a part of her. Maybe she did.

With Norman, the brain, the man with the plans, the stronghold, gone, they needed someone else to be their torch to guide them. While very tactical and independent, Ray was never a leader. He was a supporter. He was the ace. He was an important key but he was never the one to open the door. So, Emma had to step up to fill up Norman's role.

She had to fill Norman's shoes. Had to be strong. Had to be the family's new guide to this unknown world. But... was she still whole?

In GF, it was like she was looking at a future. A future for all of them to live on. To live happily with everyone.

But after his death, she was moving forward for the mere sake of her family. To keep them alive. It wasn't very optimistic anymore. It was selfless. She devoted her life for the sake of her family. For their survival. Maybe even for keeping her last promise to Norman. Not for her future happiness anymore.

Emma had to grow out of naiveity. Learned how to hunt. To gather neccesities. To kill. Because she loved her family. And they needed her.

Even in Goldy Pond, she knew she couldn't die. Her family was waiting for her. She had things to do. Cattle children to liberate. A future that would keep them all safe. A promise to uphold.

Time was good to the family. To Emma. Maybe sewed up wounds of the past. She moved on. With Ray, her family and his memory, she moved forward. But we never really see Emma catch her breath, do we? Never really do anything for herself anymore. Never act like her age and make cute little gestures we all loved back at GF. It was always for survival. And it's kind of understandable given the situation. But even then, we see the other kids being really happy, genuinely happy and living.

Even as a leader, she was entitled to do so. Back at GF, she did but now, it was all about plans and actions for Emma.

I think maybe it's because she never really had time to properly grieve him. Between planning for escape and surviving outside, there's little room to hurt. And with all these little kids looking up to her as a pillar of support, she can't manage to show her pain. It's always bottled up; her pain for losing him.

But that changes.

We see in chapter 119 the sweet relief, the explosion of emotion from our sweet little girl who had to mother all her siblings. A throwback to her old self. (We even see her clothes and shoes change back to her past. Can't put it here coz of 10 pic limit.)

The moment she sees him, something clicks. Something breaks and something goes back to place.

For a moment, she forgets. All her plans. Her family. Survival.

Everything. She drops the very pen that kept them alive for years. And rushes forward. Because suddenly, she was whole again. There he is. The part she was missing. Her ultimate regret. Right in front of her. Breathing, smiling, saying her name as he did in her dreams.

For the first time in so long. Emma finally feels. And she feelsfeelsFEELS.

And for a moment, she was herself. Whole, happy and carefree. He was there. And finally, she was given a second chance.

But then... she sees something else.

Something that binds him.

Something that reminds her of how she lost him in the first place.

There was a familiar tug holding him down again. A weight on his shoulders familiar to her own responsibilities but also so collossal in its difference to hers.

She sees him there, the same gentle person he was before, but he was buried in this obligation and desire to build a new and better world for every cattle children.

He was the same but he was so far away. He was here but he wasn't free. It was shipment day all over again. The entire cattle children's fate on his hands.

And she sees. Sees how probable it is for her to lose him again. Yeah. There's this fact that genocide is evil and there are other ways (pipe dreams) to liberate cattle children but in this scene...

Emma just doesn't want him to go away again.

And she may have to lose him again. For good this time. May it be his life or humanity there's a really big chance that she's losing him in exchange of complete liberty.(I've discussed this on my post about Norman's 0 love for himself).

She's a smart girl. She knows the consequences of her deliberately opposing Norman's plans.

Knows how little their chance of survival in her plans compared to his. But her plans doesn't include mass murder.

Her plans doesn't include him sacrificing himself.

To put it roughly, her plans saves cattle children less and Norman more and demons most haha.

Because, noone would lose anything in Norman's plan. There is only gain for their growing family. And everybody else approves. Ecstatic, even. Only Norman has to bear this weight. And he was willing to do so.

But Emma (and Ray) wasn't. She can't.

So Emma decides. She's selfish again. Wants for her happiness again. She risks everything again. For this pipe dream of hers.

Because she can't lose him for a second time. Can't sacrifice this newfound wholesome.

In chapter 130, she finally admits. She was finally able to be honest and carefree to show her family her feelings about GF escape. How it wasn't a success. Because he wasn't there.

Here, Emma was finally herself again. Her bottled up feelings are all out in the open. We see a different Emma. It's not just for survival anymore.

She sees a future again. Where Norman is there. She hopes not only for lives saved. But for smiles too. She's hopeful again.

That's why she leaves. She bears a little of his weight he carries because his freedom means hers as well.

Norman brought back Emma's sense of self again. It's more than just her family now. Because he's alive. The chain of regret she's carried for so long is cut down. And there's something to look forward to again.

And she's selfish enough not to let him give himself for the sake of cattle children.

She's selfish enough to fight for her desire to keep him. Selfish enough to fight even him to save him from himself.

Because Emma isn't having this. She's not losing him. Never again.

Emma is selfish. If it meant him returning to her with no new series of burdens and decisions to atone for, then she's willing to drag everybody and gauge this pipe dreams of her into reality.

And she repeatedly admits it.

This stubborn, bull-headed girl we love isn't gonna lose him. Not this time. Never again. So look out Norman.

I applaud this girl for giving much love to the boi who needs it as much as he deprives himself of it. (And that Ray loves both Norman and Emma to support her in this.)

#tpn #tpn norman #a promised neverland #the promised neverland #tpn spoilers #yakusoku no neverland #norman #yyn #tpn emma #norman and emma #writing #tpn ch 128 #tpn ch 129 #tpn ray #ray #emma #normanxemma #noremma #tpn analysis

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fullmetalscullyy · 5 years ago

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the last dance - chapter 1

summary: "Congratulations on your wedding, sir," she smiled widely. "You're one step closer to becoming Fuhrer." Post-Canon. Roy Mustang marries a Drachman Princess to secure Amestris' ties with the country, while also furthering his political career. Riza Hawkeye works behind the scenes to make sure he reaches the top, however once he does, where does she go next? He's hit his goal of becoming Fuhrer because he got married, so what is Riza's purpose now? Will she finally atone for her sins, like she'd planned?

rated: m | read on: ao3 + ffnet

this fic is dedicated to @caesurables because its her birthday!! happy birthday mica 💖 i know you enjoy the angst as much as i do (angst buddies!!) so hopefully this one hits the mark : )

a few people were asking about me possibly continuing this micro-fic i had written before christmas, and i was more than happy to! i just didn't have the full idea yet. well, it hit me like a tonne of bricks so i'm diving in head first and what better way to do it than write it as a birthday gift to one of my dearest friends! this will be angst city central so buckle up my dudes and enjoy the ride!

A lone figure stood on the balcony outside the ballroom for a brief escape from the heat, the noise, and the people.

Today had been one of the toughest days of her life. Riza's time in Ishval took the cake with that title, however this was just as hard emotionally. Tears sprang to her eyes and she closed them briefly. They fell down her cheeks, but Riza didn't care. She wasn't wearing makeup anyway.

She'd been so strong all day but now she needed to let go.

The team had shot her concerned looks throughout it, while shooting scalding looks at the reason for her upset. However, there was nothing they could do about it. What was done was done. They knew this day was coming, had done for a year. They all had to learn to deal with it and keep moving forward.

The door behind her opened quietly and Riza just knew who it would be. The one person she really didn't want to see right now.

"You okay?" Roy murmured. He couldn't talk to her like that. Not now, and not anymore.

Like a lover.

"Havoc told me to come out and see you."

"Perfectly fine, sir," she replied, straightening her spine and turning to face him. It was unfair, how good he looked. "Just needed some air." Her voice was calm, collected, and strong. Her brief moment of release was over, time to get back to the party. Knowing that she had to keep up this front in his presence for the rest of her life made the task seem daunting, but she'd hid her feelings for him for twenty years already. What was another five, or ten?

"Congratulations on your wedding, sir," she smiled widely. "You're one step closer to becoming Fuhrer."

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #emma writes #the last dance #caesurables #birthday gift

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tekka-dan · 6 years ago

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I was informed of some disturbing news today regarding my best favorite boy Sasuke Uchiha and what his ultimate outcome will be in Borutrash.

Tumblr deleted my first initial rant, so I had to sit down and write it again. Not to fret though, re-writing has given me some clarity and all of you are going to witness my first hand unresolved, but subsiding, rage with the way Borutrash has handled Sasuke Uchiha’s character.

For anyone that’s new to my blog, content, posts: I am heavily against Boruto [as a character, manga, story, concept, anime] so if you’re a fan person of this series and you don’t like disputes or negative opinions your cue to dip is here.

You’ve been warned. Moving on.

Starting off, those of us who remember Sasuke Uchiha from the older days of Naruto [part 1] can easily summarize his character in one word: avenger. As the storyline progressed Sasuke became more than a so-called avenger and he started to gain some heavy handed, much needed, development. If you can recall that much, you would also recall that Sasuke was the “oppositional” character in the earlier days of Naruto. Meaning, Sasuke was the character that didn’t abide by rules, he did whatever he needed to advance but it was for his own sake and decision. He joined the academy to avenge his clan and become stronger to defeat his brother. When he meets Orochimaru that opportunity [to become stronger] arose and he took the bait (eventually—lets forget the part where he was kidnapped against his will, tortured and then kidnapped again).

So with all of that being addressed for his character, Sasuke choosing to follow under Orichimaru’s footsteps, this made Sasuke enter the “antagonistic” role. The reason this role was important for Sasuke [as a character] is because we are given context for his motives outside of the sunshine protagonist. Sasuke knew what his goals and ambitions were from the very beginning and also from the beginning he was being overshadowed by a bumbling fool that couldn’t even throw out milk on time. Sasuke didn’t have time for that, so he fucking bounced like the cool kid he absolutely was. Being on the “dark side” gave depth to this shallow story because once Itachi Uchiha made his appearance, and his role in the black ops and being a double agent was revealed — suddenly this sunshine village with its sunshine protagonist isn’t all sunshine.

Sasuke leaving the village was the best thing he ever did in this series and he is one of the four main characters that had a vision that he never got to achieve and questions he never got answers to. When Sasuke left the village, we are only in the mindset of him as a person and what he’s trying to achieve. We aren’t in Konoha village where the Will of Fire exists, where “I don’t believe in letting comrades die” comes into play — no, fuck all of that, we are simply inside Sasuke Uchiha’s mind and all Sasuke Uchiha thinks about is murdering Itachi for killing his clan and wanting to understand why Itachi would murder his clan in the first place. These are concerns far more prevalent than doing stupid ninja tasks or whatever the fuck Konoha participated in since all they seem to do is evoke war, genocide and havoc. Nothing seemingly important happened in this village up until Sasuke departed and suddenly everyone gives a fuck about saving the last Uchiha.

I seriously wonder what the Third Hokage was thinking. He (and Danzō) coaxed an actual child/teenager (Itachi) to slaughter his own clan in order to silence their people and then they are surprised when the surviving member of that clan flees the village.

Like Konoha is full of fucking dumbasses I swear. So that’s why I’m glad Sasuke did leave and it was eventually at his own free will. That also ties into my next point.

Sasuke represented oppression. His entire clan represented oppression. Them standing up against the Konoha System represented oppression. And it isn’t enough that every single member of them dies, it’s last member flees the village, and he goes on to save the same village that oppressed him to then become fodder and succumbing to pointless death in the continuation series?

Let me repeat that: Sasuke represented oppression. Now they are silencing him - and everyone that came before or after him - forever. Eternity. They expect Sarada to carry on the Uchiha genes but we aren’t remembering that she’s only half. We are forgetting that she [somehow] learned about the massacre from books in a library. She hasn’t learned anything from Sasuke or Sakura themselves. Why is that? Because they are trying to silence it forever.

This entire series feels like some massive “fuck you” propaganda because it doesn’t sit well to me. The character that represented oppression, stands up against the system as the last remaining member who can do so, he’s beat down without given a single answer to the questions he poses and then he’s forced to atone for sins he didn’t commit / shouldn’t be apologizing for to then go on to have an offspring he wasn’t ready for to then be killed off?

Is it not enough to just admit you wanted Sasuke Uchiha around for shipping bait and to ensure his uchiha bloodline succeeds him? Because that’s what it is.

They don’t give a single shit about his character and if Naruto didn’t spend 400 of 500+ episodes chasing him to reiterate Sasukes importance than guess where Sasuke would’ve died?

The same place Itachi would have.

Sasuke Uchiha and Itachi Uchiha would’ve both fought to the death, not a single brother would’ve walked away from that. And you know what? This would’ve been an honor to him as a person and as a character. Because up until he faces Itachi his only goal was to defeat his brother and learn why he did what he did. Itachi told him (albeit on his death bed) but I assure you they would’ve wrapped Sasuke Uchiha’s character up then and there and let him perish along with Itachi.

But they didn’t. Why? Because they needed Naruto to beat him into submission. They needed Naruto to remind the audience why Sasuke was considered an antagonist and why leaving the village is forbidden. They needed Naruto to brag about becoming hokage to preach about saving everyone, except the “everyone” excludes every single slaughtered and slain / deceased member of the Uchiha Clan, you know, the only people that ever truly mattered to Sasuke. Nah but it’s alright, sunshine protagonist Naruto needs Sasuke around to remind Sasuke that “he knows how he feels” and “believing in his word can make everything better”.

What makes matters worse about them killing Sasuke who represented oppression after they killed and degraded his character is that other characters who opposed the system were killed off long before their characters could be succeeded or milked.

Example 1: Yahiko / Pein.

Everyone knows what became of Pein and everyone is aware of the Yahiko that existed before the Pein. Everyone knows that Yahiko was the Naruto of his village, wanting to make a difference and have the world be a better place. Except, when the poor young sap tried to achieve this goal, he was killed tragically during an incident that was incredible miscommunication. Dying at the hands of his friend is what was supposed to make that moment less painful but it only sparked the rage in what became the Pein we all knew that destroyed Konoha.

Pein / Yahiko was the embodiment of oppression.

Everyone knows how that played out, I don’t need to repeat the entire chapter and how the questions Pein asked Naruto were never answered, rather he was given a mediocre bullshit half ass speech that made him surrender and sacrifice himself.

Example 2: Neji Hyuuga

Before Naruto’s dreams were drilled over and over into our heads, there was Neji who represented oppression in a literal sense, preaching it to his cousin during their battle and then to Naruto during theirs.

When Neji was killed off, people were upset because his character died for nothing without atoning for a single damn thing. Neji was born a slave and died a slave and we are supposed to believe (and be happy) that during death he was free.

Is this what people expect for these characters? That only in death can they find peace, freedom or happiness? What a pathetic and crippling message that presents.

You see the picture I am painting here? It’s not looking too good, is it? There’s a fucking pattern to it, that’s why. The only difference with Sasuke Uchiha is that his bloodline was extinct so they needed someone to carry it on. Pein (who was Nagato) is an Uzumaki so his bloodline continued. Neji is a Hyuuga and his bloodline continued. Sasuke is the only one who hadn’t and they couldn’t do away with his character until they had a certain someone he could procreate with, regardless if they had a lick of chemistry.

I’m not saying you can’t kill off characters from stories, sometimes characters do need to die, eventually they will anyway. However there are better ways to kill your characters and writing stories that don’t disregard their pasts or completely ravage their futures.

Sasuke’s entire history is being erased and everyone else who represents the same thing were also erased.

When Hinata speaks about Neji (if she does?) does she talk about the hierarchy and what it did to him and his father to her kids? No, because they want to forget about it, they are ashamed of it so they hide these facts.

When Naruto speaks to Boruto (if he does?) does he mention Nagato or even Jiraiya? Does he talk about his former sensei enduring a war, taking on an orphaned group of three and then having to return to their village being slain? Does he talk about the brutal systems the other villages carry on? Again, no. Because these are things they are ashamed of, they want to never have be mentioned or brought up again.

Those who don’t know their history are bound to repeat it, as the old saying goes.

What makes this worse for Sasukes character after death is that his reunion with his “family” feels cheap and downplayed. The only character trait they knew how to write for his character is to be distant and/or absent. Because of that Sasuke never “grew” on Sarada. I think that’s unfair as fuck to do to him, they already robbed him of everything else and even prior to death he can’t just simply be a fucking father.

How goddamn sad is that?

I gritted my teeth at Sasukes end in Naruto 699 but hearing the news about the current predictions / fate of his character has left me with unresolved despise for this series all over again.

It’s not enough that they keep taking everything from him, now he gets to die the same way he feels: empty..

First they killed his dream, then they killed his spirit and now they are killing his character.

#naruto #sasuke #sasuke uchiha #anti boruto

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plumoh · 5 years ago

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[CQL] 陈情未绝 — the humming goes on

Word count: 699

Summary: post ep33; jiang cheng is looking for a body that is no longer here.

Note: text in lowercase. cql destroyed me faster than the donghua..... part 2

jiang cheng goes back alone to the nightless city. he doesn’t bring any disciples and doesn’t tell anyone from the other sects where he is headed—it’s no one’s business what he does in his spare time, after all, and they’re all busy celebrating anyway.

the wind howls and the pebbles under his feet rumble. the road is empty, exacerbating noises and the silent voices of those who had been; it’s not safe, people would say, but there is no more threat to the world after their victory against the one that caused so much grief to anyone who so much as made eye contact with him.

(jiang cheng thinks he hears a laugh, bright and carefree, but when he turns around he only sees blood and despair twisting a smiling face.)

the battlefield has been cleaned and the corpses of the cultivators who fell brought back to their sects. jiang cheng’s steps are heavy, each one of them increasing the dread that’s pooling in his stomach. he wants to forget, but he can’t forgive.

the scars left by the sunshot campaign remain rooted in this cursed city. bones and swords are scattered on the ground, among weeds and sand and blood stains that feed the soil. jiang cheng ignores it all, eyes searching for only one thing, and the more he looks, the less willing he is to continue. right or left, front or behind, all he can see is remains and bones that have been lying there for days or months—the nasty smell is choking him and almost too much for him to handle, but he keeps going because he has to. he has to keep going for peace of his own mind, to cut ties with everything that’s happened.

there are only white bones on endless land that is spitting fire and mockery. jiang cheng doesn’t find a body. there is no body to retrieve, like the earth swallowed it whole and didn’t let him decide what to do with it—like he didn’t even deserve to take care of the shell of the one he was in the right to have at his mercy. jiang cheng’s blood boils, red fury overwhelming him and wrapping him in a layer of a feeling of hot injustice. everything burns—his eyes that quickly blink, his hands that tighten around sandu, his mouth that roars, his heart that aches.

he screams and screams and screams, hitting with his sword every surface he comes across, kicking every bone in his way, lifting anything that could cover something.

and there, he uncovers a black dizi, glowing with rancor and madness, humming softly as the wind knocks on it. jiang cheng doesn’t move; his fingers hover above it, an irrational fear gripping him as he stares at the accursed tassel that is somehow still intact. how dare he—how dare he carry on him the symbol of a place (of a home) he rejected, that he destroyed and never atoned for? jiang cheng never saw the damn dizi up close before; nothing about it feels right, from its unnatural deep color to the pulse it’s emitting despite the lack of player to bring it to life.

there is no body to retrieve.

it’s the last remnant of wei wuxian in this world, the last item he had on him before his demise. a tool that instilled dread and brought havoc.

the stark contrast of the black flute among the white bones is almost a joke, as if jiang cheng was meant to find this weapon instead of a corpse. so be it. even if there was a body, its ashes wouldn’t have been put in the lotus pier’s ancestral hall (wei wuxian defected from yunmengjiang, after all).

jiang cheng picks up chenqing with the utmost care, though his fingers wrap around it in a death grip. he can’t play the dizi, not like how wei wuxian did. nevertheless, ghost sounds are curling around him like a misty veil, whispering words he can’t hear as he marches out of the nightless city.

chenqing keeps singing, even if there is nothing to control and nothing to protect anymore. jiang cheng becomes deaf to its prayer, but doesn’t forget.

#cql #the untamed #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #my fanfic #drabble

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lightneverfades · 6 years ago

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Emerge (Frostiron AU ficlet) / Post-Avengers End Game

Warning: Major Spoilers for Avengers: End Game! Do NOT read further if you haven’t watched the movie yet!

Summary: What if...

Summary: ... when Tony dies in his timeline, he wakes up in an alternate reality of himself where he had just defeated Loki and his Chitauri army in 2012? In the process, he realizes that he has another chance with the god he thought he lost five years ago? What will he do, knowing his choices may alter a fixed timeline that will ultimately save or bring about Loki’s untimely demise?

Note: This fic was inspired by The OA (if you haven’t watched it, I won’t spoil the premise here! Just watch, it’s a brilliant show!)! Not too sure if I’ll continue this, considering I have a limited amount of time these days, but I had to write down this muse after it occurred to me yesterday. You can tell I’m still a little in denial, haha! Anyways, hope you like it!

P.S. - Since Tony was in a long relationship with Loki, he isn’t with Pepper and therefore Morgan, unfortunately, doesn’t exist in this fic. Was very tempted to put them in here, but I just want Tony to be with Loki in this one, lol.

Music: Genesis and The Other Side by Ruelle

“ They say the end is the beginning. Well, that’s exactly what happened.

I was given another lifetime, a different timeline. Another chance… to save him.

To save Loki. From himself. From death.

From Thanos.”

Tony gasped as he felt the breath he had lost only moment ago rush back into him again, like a jolt of lightning bursting through his body, within his lungs, forcing him awake and bringing him back from the depths of darkness. He opened his eyes, the world a white blur of light.

Was he… dead?

But then Tony can feel the wind on his face, taste ash on his tongue. His vision started to focus and he was staring up at… blue skies? His body wasn’t numb… broken… unlike his last moments with his team, watching over him with tears in their eyes. The power he had felt when he held those stones and snapped his fingers. It had torn him apart…

Where am I…? Tony thought with confusion. He blinked a little more, his eyes starting to focus on familiar faces that looked down at him. Steve. Thor. Banner…? But they looked different… younger. Less wrought by time.

He tried to speak, but his throat burned with the effort, feeling as if he had inhaled fire. And now his body can actually feel pain, an indication that he was very much alive. Actually, it ached like hell, as if he had just fallen from a great height.

Wait.

“Year…?” Tony managed to rasp out, and Steve’s face, so young and full of relief now, furrowed a little in confusion.

“It’s 2012. Tony, we gotta get you to the medic. You just barely got out alive.”

2012! Tony’s eyes widened in shock. What happened? Why was he alive? He was dead, or he thought he was. How could he possibly be alive?

And then it occurred to him.

That final wish that crossed his mind before the final task.

Tony had wanted to destroy Thanos and his army… That had been his main goal for stealing those stones from Thanos, before history was close to repeating itself. Doctor Strange’s single glance indicating that this was the only possible solution for everyone’s survival made it clear.

But more than anything, Tony had hoped he would be with Loki after he was dead. His Loki...

The god he lost in the war to the mad Titan.

Tony could still remember the day vividly when Thor told him how his brother had died, knowing full well that Tony had been Loki’s lover. Well, the whole team knew. They’ve known for years since Loki actually saved the Avengers numerous times (from Ultron, or from himself, really) and tolerated his presence after they found out the truth about why Loki had come to wreak havoc on Earth. Of course, Loki hadn’t really informed the team that he was in Midgard to atone for his crimes (although Tony was the only one he knew).

“My brother… Loki… He is dead.”

He hadn’t been able to sleep well since that day. Those five years since Thanos had won had been absolute torture. No matter how many years passed, he couldn’t move on. The what if’s and missed moments came to haunt him, reminding him of a life that he could have had with Loki. It isolated him.

In a way, Tony understood how Clint felt when his whole family had been turned to dust.

When Tony had held that gauntlet, that final chance at making Thanos pay for what he had done, he did it with fury coursing through him. His sorrow of Loki’s death, the lost moments he could never get back with the god, brewed as a maelstrom of emotion within him. He knew that if he did the deed, he would die. But knowing that had almost given him a sense of peace in a way.

What was the point of living if he didn’t have anyone left to care for? He had no family except the team, which he cared for deeply. They were the ones he had to keep alive, and if that meant his impending death was going to end all suffering and undo all the hurt that Thanos had caused, then he would gladly do it. The satisfaction of seeing Thanos die by his hand had been enough for him to finally pass on in peace. That, and the hope that he’d be able to see Loki again.

And now here he was… alive and back in 2012, where it all began.

Loki, also alive and well, oblivious of the impending future.

But why 2012?

“Stark, I love you… No one else.”

“You and me both, Lokes.”

“Tony… Tony! Are you okay?”

Tony felt himself being shaken awake again, and he realized he was falling asleep a little. His body felt so exhausted suddenly as if this new state he was in and the knowledge of the future he had was sapping him of energy.

He nodded groggily. Tony felt Steve wrapping an arm around his chest so that he was standing supported by the Captain. He wasn’t really focused as much as he blindly followed out of the rubble of New York City. He heard the blaring sound of the ambulance and the smoke that rose from the destruction that the Chitauri, and inevitably the Avengers, had caused.

“We’re getting you some help, alright? The medics will be here, and we’ll take care of Loki. You get some rest—“

As soon as Tony heard the god’s name, he struggled, “No! I have to come with you. I’m fine, really. See!”

Tony tore away from Steve, to prove he could stand on his own. He managed, barely, willing himself not to fall. Steve looked at him with concern, a small frown emerging and Thor raised his eyebrow a little as well. But then the thunder god wrapped his arm around Tony’s shoulder, stabilizing the man’s wavering footing with an encouraging laugh.

“The Man of Iron wants to see this through to the end! Let us go then, I will take you!” Thor boomed, eager to help. Tony couldn’t help but smile; it’s been a while since he’s seen Thor so stable and happy, unlike the one he knew in his future. The thought of seeing Thor lose everything, of knowing what was going to pass, pained him.

“Thor, wait- Tony, I get it, you want to be the one to see Loki get put away in chains. But I don’t think now’s the right time-,” Steven started but Tony shook his head, determined to get his way.

“I need-“ Tony paused, catching his breath, “-this.”

Steve looked at Tony for a while, studying him, before finally nodding. “Alright. But then you’re getting checked out by a doctor.”

Tony let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Cap.”

He got a nod as Tony felt Thor wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him upward. Then they were rushing through the air. It was exhilarating, the same way he always felt when he was defying gravity in his Iron Man suit. It always made him invincible, even when he knew he wasn’t. Tony saw his old Stark tower closing in. Loki is in that building now... The thought of seeing Loki alive made his heart beat faster in his chest.

Thor landed them abruptly on top of the Stark tower balcony. Tony wavered, and the thunder god caught him quickly.

“Come. Our angry, green friend has caught my brother.”

Tony nodded, and he hoped the god didn’t catch onto any of his nervousness now. I can’t mess with the time. Who knows what will happen if I do? I might be altering my past as well. Or… am I actually here now, hiding in the background? Is Scott here too, with Cap?

The thought of seeing his team members, the ones that actually know his past, warmed his heart a little, but at the same time, he wasn’t too sure if he could bear seeing not just Steve and Scott but himself. He had an inkling he was here now, which was ironic considering he was now from the future.

Mess with time, and it messes back at you, Tony thought warily as he stepped into his old living room. He saw a large, green shape - Banner, no Hulk… that was fast, he’d been downstairs only a minute or two ago - hovering over an unconscious body on the ground.

Loki… Tony saw the shape of the mischief god and he felt his body shiver and his heart skip a beat, his throat feeling drier than it already was. He wanted to tear away from Thor’s supportive arm, pound his fists into Loki and shake him awake. More than ever, he wanted - like he had wanted when he first went through the time heist to get the infinity stone - to embrace Loki. Of course, he would kick the god’s ass for leaving him, of course, but the pain of those five years would mend quickly, knowing he had Loki back. But he couldn’t… not yet anyway. Not when he knew he would draw too much attention here.

“Puny god,” Hulk grumbled, glaring at the unconscious god and continued to grunt with a growl on the tip of his tongue. There was a sound from the elevator area, and Tony saw how quickly Steve and the rest of his team came up to capture Loki and stabilize the situation.

Nat… Tony thought softly to himself as he saw Natasha come towards him with Loki’s scepter. She looked just as young and beautiful as he had seen her before their last moments at the time machine. He caught her sharp gaze and hoped he wasn’t giving anything away that made him look suspicious. But then again… they probably wouldn’t suspect he was a future self trapped in his former body, reliving the past. If anything, Nat would probably laugh.

“You’re looking a little pale. Maybe you should sit this one out,” Natasha remarks, narrowing her eyes as she glanced over Tony’s appearance.

“No, no, I’m fine.”

Natasha didn’t say a word after, although her stare lingered longer than Tony would have liked. Of course, she senses something amiss… Tony thought, feeling a small sense of pride for Natasha. She turned her back on him now, her attention focusing primarily on the unconscious Loki.

Probably distracted by the fact that she was holding a weapon that could cause chaos in the wrong hands, Tony thought as he watched the weapon glow ominously, still exuding power. It was a powerful tool of deadly persuasion, which Tony knew only too well from Loki.

Tony walked closer, and he saw the god of mischief. He was cut and bruised, knocked out cold by a rather strong blow brought on by the Hulk. In spite of all this, Tony couldn’t help but notice how peaceful Loki looked.

It reminded him of the face he used to watch after they had made love and the god had fallen asleep beside him. They used to embrace underneath the sheets, willing themselves to forget the pain and darkness that kept coming their way. Of course, we took them on like every other day…

No matter what happened in their lives, those stolen moments had been one of the best memories of his life.

That was until Thanos took Loki away from him.

Tony saw Loki stir, shards of glass and pieces of rubble falling off of his armor. Then he saw the god’s eyes open slowly. He had to suppress a hitched breath at the sight of them. What once had been overtaken by an icy cold blue were gone, the lush emerald hue of Loki’s original eye color taking over again. They looked upwards at them, at him, and Tony felt his insides twist in a knot as he saw Loki’s face contort in confusion, anger and then amusement - a defence Tony knew Loki used to his advantage every time something went wrong.

“If it’s all the same to you… I’ll have that drink now,” Loki drawled and this time, the god looked at Tony with a small smile, as if he were sharing an inner joke. Which he was, although Tony was the only one who knew.

“Not gonna happen,” Clint snaps viciously as he took out a suitcase, which Tony knew carried the chains given by Thor to prevent Loki from escaping. Of course, that was theoretical, since Loki had later confided in Tony a few years later that if he had wanted to escape, he could have easily done so, but instead, the god had gone along with the charade of playing the captive…

“Huh… Why? You just said you could’ve taken them off. Why did you let us take you away like that?” Tony asked, genuinely curious now as he handed Loki a glass of whiskey. They were sitting a good length away from each other, but close enough to hear each other speaking. The room was lit by a single light on the other end of the living room slash bar (cause really, it was the best of both worlds).

The god raised his eyebrows, looked at the brown liquid for a moment and Tony could see the god was contemplating whether or not he should he drink it.

Maybe he thinks I poisoned it, Tony thought with an inner chuckle.

“I do owe you that drink, don’t I?”

Loki shrugged, and then he brought the glass to his lips and sipped cautiously.

Tony laughed then, even though they weren’t still exactly friends.

He was only letting Loki stay a little to recuperate that day, esp. after the god had come to save the Avengers from his own creation, Ultron. Vision had been the hero that day, sure, but without Loki’s help, millions more of Sokovia’s citizens would have died. It had been so unexpected, considering Thor had told the Avengers that Loki had died in battle in their own world. No one still knew how he ‘survived’, or if he was dead at all.

“Boredom, perhaps?” Loki answered with a question mark added on the end, a mischievous grin spreading on his lips. Tony raised his eyebrows in response.

“I thought you had a reputation for being the God of Lies, Reindeer Games,” Tony responded back, clearly seeing through Loki’s facade.

“Mmm, it seems you see right through me, Stark.”

Tony felt Loki set the glass down on the nearby table, walking a little closer towards him. As soon as he took those first steps, Tony was already up and calling on his suit. But in reality, he didn’t really need to. Loki wasn’t smiling or looking anything like his devilish self; if anything, he just looked genuinely sombre.

“Then perhaps… it is guilt.”

The repulsor hand Tony had raised in Loki’s direction as a warning quickly lowered then. Maybe he had judged Loki way too quickly? Looking at Loki’s expression now, something clicked.

“You never wanted to attack New York, did you? It was the scepter that made you do it, wasn’t it?”

Loki didn’t reply, but his eyes told a story and Tony could tell he was right.

“Why didn’t you tell your brother? Thor told me you didn’t protest when they locked you up.”

Tony almost expected the god to snap at him or attack him then and avert his attention away from that question. Maybe in Loki’s shoes, he might’ve if he didn’t want to explain himself. Tony couldn’t quite tell if Loki was going to continue this conversation, but for the first time he saw something in the god that he recognized, and it was weariness. He could see the god’s eyes filled with a sense of sorrow that even he probably hadn’t felt in his lifetime.

“I deserved to be shut away. My time with the mad Titan has shown me many horrors, and he wrought that misery and pain using me as his vessel.”

Loki took the glass of whiskey again, and this time he drank it all up.

“But you couldn’t have controlled it. Barton couldn’t. Anyone that gets near that thing… it distorts everyone’s mentality for the worst,” Tony heard himself saying, and he wondered - not for the first time- why he was feeling sorry for the god or felt the urge to protect him. Maybe he knew a little something about betrayal in the acutest form. Maybe… reading that file about Loki, hearing Thor’s further conversation about the Odinson family history made him a little soft for the god that stood before him now.

Loki chuckled, and it was bitter now, “There are no excuses, no consolations, for what I have done in the Titan’s name. After my fall, I killed thousands. I wanted, more than ever, to quench my thirst for power and blood was what I needed, regardless whose it may be. The death of your people meant nothing if I could eliminate Thanos’s enemies and execute his plans for genocide. That is how much I had fallen!”

“That wasn’t you, he was controlling you, right? With that scepter of yours-“

“No, it was me!” Loki snarled now, and Tony could see anger burn in those green eyes, hatred fuming at the edges. “The scepter does make you do its bidding, yes. But all of the devastation I caused was from me. Nothing else!”

Tony watched as Loki tried to calm himself, and he could see the god’s hands were trembling from the effort. “Why are you back then?”

“I…” Loki faltered, hesitation clear in his voice, “I wish to atone. I wish… to join your team.”

Tony’s eyes widened a little. “Join the Avengers?”

“Yes, that is what I said, did I not?” Loki spoke and there was an inkling of amusement in the god’s eyes. Tony can see himself reflected in them.

He probably looked stunned. He really hadn’t expected that.

But then again he was Loki’s brother.

“Huh.”

“I have surprised you.”

“I’m thinking you were aiming for that effect,” Tony responded back.

Loki smiled and the mischief in his expression was evident. “Oh yes, I was…”

For the first time, a genuine laugh escaped Tony. In that moment, he felt a certain companionship for the god, the jaded history of their meeting diluted and become replaced with a better memory. That and, oh, the fact that he could tease Loki with ideas of a silly heroes’ costume.

We’ll have that moment soon, Tony thinks, but he knows it’s not as quick as he would have liked. After all, it was in 2015 that he finally got a chance to understand Loki and really connect with him. History needed to repeat itself in order for him to be with the Loki he fell in love with… but time was a cruel mistress.

“Get up!” Thor orders and he forces Loki to his feet, taking the overly sized bronze shackles and clamping them over Loki’s wrists. The god winces a little as the mechanism of the Asgardian chains wrap around his wrists tightly, the gears moving of its own accord. Tony couldn’t help but turn away at that; not being able to do anything and seeing Loki in pain hurt like hell.

Natasha had the scepter trained on Loki as a warning, and Tony shied away from the glow. He had been fortunate enough to be absolutely unaffected by the stone before, but Tony didn’t want to take any chances, now that he was here.

Which made Tony wonder… if he was here, then where was his 2012 self? Was he… gone? Had he erased that other self from existence forever? Did this mean he was going to have to live through his own past again?

Is that so bad? A small part of him spoke softly. Tony really didn’t know what was better.

“Let’s get him out of here,” Tony heard Steve speaking in the background.

He turned as he heard the elevator doors open again and he saw S.H.I.E.L.D agents - no, HYDRA - come up. The soldiers followed the agent in the front line, who held a long suitcase, without question. Tony felt the same distaste as when he’d learned about HYDRA’s existence. He really wanted, more than anything, to tell his team here and now that these men were enemies, that those weren’t really allies of S.H.I.E.L.D. But of course, he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep everything balanced.

I’d mess up everything, Tony thought with frustration as he watched Natasha give the scepter to the agent with the suitcase. Cap… he needs those stones to defeat Thanos. It has to be this way…

He watched, a bystander of time, as the HYDRA team left with the large suitcase holding Loki’s scepter. Tony’s hands had balled into fists.

“Tony, you hold the Tesseract,” Steve spoke as he handed Tony a suitcase. Tony nodded, although he wondered why the Captain was asking him to hold onto the Tesseract, knowing how Tony wasn’t in the best shape. But then he didn’t really question it. His future self had everything planned out to take it away from him - it’d be better if he was holding it, then Steve, since his next plan involved a little electrocution.

Not a fun thought… Tony mused at the thought as he remembered that moment when he saw himself writhing in pain on the floor near the reception desk. Nope, not fun at all.

“I’ll go ahead to secure the premises and make sure there isn’t any other threats we’ve missed,” Steve announced.

Oh boy, need to stall him…

“Wait, Captain, you gotta come with us. Loki’s still uh, dangerous fugitive and we need all eyes that we can get,” Tony started, trying to stir Steve away from the door that led to the stairs.

“No can do, Stark. I’ll see you soon.”

Tony followed the rest of the team as Thor dragged Loki away and into the elevator, where he too stepped inside. He purposefully stayed a few inches away from the god, forcing himself not to look in Loki’s direction. Tony was a little amused when Hulk had a bit of a tantrum for not being allowed into the elevator, but other than that, his heart couldn’t stop beating so hard. It was ridiculous just how lovesick he felt as if he were some character from a romcom. But then maybe that was what love did to you.

The ride down was filled with silence, especially after the muzzle was put on Loki. And yet, in spite f the silence, Tony could feel a tension in the air. The team was clearly still on alert. There was another thing where he could feel that particular someone watching him from the other side of the elevator. Tony ignored the intense stare as much as possible.

What was he going to do now though? Was he going to have to let the sequence of events take hold? Tony knew he messed up the first time when he and Scott went after the stone. That plan hadn’t really worked, and he had ended up going back in time to his father’s timeline… Should he let all of that unfold? Or did he have a choice? Could he make it easier for his former self?

Or more importantly…

Could he change time so Loki lived?

Tony could still feel a presence staring at him, and he couldn’t bear to ignore it anymore. He turned to look.

Loki was watching him, silently observing him from the corner of his eye. But it was enough to see that the god was intrigued by something, which Tony tried desperately to hide. He tried to keep his composure as much as possible, yet this time he couldn’t stop looking into Loki’s eyes.

And then he heard it.

Why is your heart beating so fast, Anthony Stark?

Loki’s voice slid through his mind like a serpent, nestling comfortably. Tony felt his body shiver at the magical contact. He wanted to embrace it, but another part of him was panicking. Shit, shit, shit.

Blasphemy does not suit you. But I commend you for winning this time, mortal. I do believe you and I are not so different when it comes to our morals, Loki’s silky voice spoke. So tell me… what are you hiding?

I’m not hiding anything!

I could easily break you apart, here and now, right in front of your comrades. You avoid my glance, your heart rate speeds up when you see me. You are afraid. If I were to take a guess, I daresay you may very well be in love, but that is close to impossible, all things considered.

Of course not, Tony thought quickly, maybe a bit too fast. He heard the elevator chime and saw the floor was close to stopping. He eyed the numbers, descending excruciatingly slow. Meanwhile, he could hear Loki’s amused chuckle.

Mmm, you are not a very good liar.

Tony felt Loki’s presence subside, and he let out a breath of relief. He broke his eye contact with Loki when Thor pushed his brother out of the elevator, and into the large hallway.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Clint stated as they stepped out of the elevator. Tony was in front, with Clint, Thor and Natasha training all their weapons on Loki. Even from the corner of his eye, Tony can feel the god watching him, can almost imagine the trademark grin spreading on the god’s lips.

He turned a fraction and saw a man wearing the suit of special forces near the reception desk, lingering a little too long for a normal soldier. Yup, that was him.

Tony saw the HYDRA team again now, and this time it was Alexander Pierce himself and his merry gang.

Great, just what I needed… Tony thought distastefully but he smiled brightly on the outside, showing off his pearly whites. He hoped the son of a bitch wouldn’t notice the disgust in his eyes.

“May I ask you where you’re going?” Pierce spoke.

“A bit of lunch and then Asgard. I’m sorry, you are?” Thor questioned.

Tony went through his script, or at least he improvised, pretty stealthily. He was probably a pretty good actor, all things considered. Maybe he should have gone into the Hollywood business. Oh, that would have made Loki laugh… Tony thought for a split second before he focused on reenacting his past. After all, Scott was probably going to zap him any minute now. In nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two… one.

The shock was to be expected, but Tony felt the jolt of pain all the same. It knocked him off his feet, shook him apart. It wasn’t as bad as his last moments when his whole body was scorched from the effects of the stone, sure, but it still hurt. A lot.

“Stark?” Pierce’s voice echoed ever so faintly as Tony let go of the grip on his suitcase. He forced himself to look before he fell, saw the suitcase slide over to the his other self, that waited for the case to come into his hands. Ingenious as it was, Tony almost wanted to hate that other guy who let his past self go through this pain. And yet, a part of him was also a little relieved.

Everything is going as it should be…

Like I said, Stark. You are a very terrible liar, a familiar voice pierced through his haze of pain and before Tony could even think to reply, he knew he had made his first mistake: letting Loki in.

Through the surprised cries, most likely created from the commotion the Hulk had made after bursting through the long stairwell, Tony felt a hand on his shoulder. The pain immediately dissipated. He gasped and blinked, expecting to see Thor’s face. Instead, he was staring into the face of the mischief god, who smiled broadly, the muzzle now gone.

“Loki! No!” Tony heard Thor’s angry roar and he flinched, feeling his exhausted body being hoisted up. He thought he could hear a crackle of thunder, but he knew he was probably acting as Loki’s human shield now. From the corner of his eye, he could see a blue glow and realized that Loki was now free of the Asgardian chains as well, the other hand gripping the Tesseract tightly.

“Goodbye, brother,” Loki nonchalantly.

Wait, I can’t! Tony thought, but it was too late. The whole room disappeared before his eyes, and he was now standing in a dark room of some sort. Loki let him go as soon as they were away from the past he knew.

“Oh no,” Tony heard himself whisper. He tried to get up, but the effects of the shock he’d gotten still rendered him a little weak on the knees. And second, he couldn’t see a thing except for the glow of the Tesseract in Loki’s hand.

He heard a snap and the lights came on, revealing a luxury suite of some kind. The designs were the same as Earth though, thankfully enough.

“I do need to thank you, Man of Iron. Without your help, I really wouldn’t have seen quite the error of my ways. You didn’t think a mere muzzle and some chains could hold my magic, now, did you?” Loki drawled and smiled, the glimmer of mischief evident in his eyes.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. Loki, we have to go back! You’re not supposed to-“ Tony started, trying to get up. It was a painstaking process - he should have anticipated this.

“No doubt it wasn’t quite what you planned… Yet it is what it is, no?” Loki spoke, and Tony watched as the god squeezed the Tesseract cube in his grip. It splintered and broke until finally, the sound of glass breaking sounded. Tony had to close his eyes for a moment before he saw Loki with the stone, the blue Space stone floating in Loki’s palm.

“What are you doing?”

Fear crept up in Tony now, and he knew it wasn’t for him now. It was for Loki. Of course, the fear of messing with the timeline was there, but more than anything, he wanted to keep the god safe from himself.

“Loki, whatever you’re planning, don’t do it. You’re better than this.”

“And how do you know this, Stark?” Loki snaps back at Tony, and this time he realizes that he’d once again judged Loki wrong. He thought he had seen glee in those eyes, but it was an illusion. Behind the grand facade, the god’s smile was a desperate attempt to hide his despair.

I know you’re hurting. That pain isn’t going to go away. You won’t be able to get over it anytime soon. But don’t run away from it. That stone isn’t going to save you.

“Why are you acting so wise, all of a sudden?” The god snarled. “A moment ago, you were happy to see me fall, like the rest of your silly group. I am the villain in this story, am I not? I will be called the monster that devastated your short. Pathetic. Lives!”

Loki struck out and Tony, without his suit, was hit full with the power of Loki’s magic. He felt his body bang into the wall, making a good dent of it. The glass around them broke a little, and he saw that he was still in New York. Loki hadn’t travelled far, and of all places, the god had decided to get a room with a good view. Figures.

He got up as fast as he could, but it still wasn’t fast enough. One minute, he was dragging himself up, leaning heavily on the wall behind him, and the next he was pressed right into it, Loki’s free hand (the one not holding the stone) pushing his aching back to the wall.

“You’re not a monster.”

“Such conviction. And yet you know nothing!” Loki hissed, eyes filled with anger. Tony flinched as he felt the energy of the stone permeating from it. Somehow though, seeing it so close again, Tony wasn’t afraid. This time, the threat of death seemed almost pointless, considering he had died once before.

“I’ll prove it,” Tony said, staring up at Loki with determination.

“You canno- NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DON’T!”

Tony had reached out his free hand quickly to grasp the floating Space Stone, knowing full well that touching it will most likely kill him. Again. But his life wasn’t as important now. He’d lived all the lives he was meant to. Getting this second chance… he needed to use it not just for himself, but for the god he loved.

Tony was pushed aside so quickly, he hadn’t even noticed until he was on the ground, his hand still intact. Loki, on the other hand, looked as flustered as ever.

He smiled up at Loki with a knowing grin, “See?”

“You fool! The stone would have destroyed you!”

“Mmm, I was counting on it.”

Loki looked at Tony in disbelief. “Why would you be so reckless? How could you stake your life on a petty gamble such as this?”

Think of the timeline… Tony thought then, and he felt all the agony of loneliness, self-loathing and sadness he had felt the past five years come back to haunt him now. Seeing Loki now, alive and breathing, was a gift. But the future was a curse, something he wished he could change from the bottom of his heart. Was there no other way? Could he not trick time into letting Loki live?

A gamble, eh? Maybe I’ll have to take that chance.

“For you, I’d do anything,” Tony spoke, his voice coming off softly. He could see the anger and disbelief dissipate, replaced with confusion.

“Why!? What are you hiding, Stark?” Loki demanded.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Tony said with a small smirk. “I’m from the future.”

#frostiron #my fic #i couldnt resist the temptation of that scene #i can almost say that different alternate timeline kind of gives me life right now #my frostiron #im still a learning writer lol so i might be repeating some words #excuse any errors

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thedyingmoon · 5 years ago

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💜 This I Promise 💜

***

XLII. Honestly

***

Elvis Shunerman waited for the door to open, patiently, yet nervously carrying the fruits basket for (F/N).

He was very anxious because of what happened the other day that he finally decided to visit her, despite knowing the fact that the Dawk family might hate him for starting that stupid race with Erwin.

Still, he waited for that large wooden door to open.

And when it did, he was greeted by none other than Rosemarie Dawk, herself.

At first she was frowning, clearly not amazed and unhappy by his very sudden visit. But, the moment he announced his intentions of visiting (F/N), she sighed, shrugged her pretty head, and finally let him enter.

"Miss Dawk?" he began. Rosemarie just stopped walking, but didn't look at him. "Has,... has Commander Smith visited, yet?"

"Yes. Just yesterday."

Yes. Of course, he would.

"Who was it, dear?" Marie, who just came from the kitchen, said, and was surprised to see Elvis in the entryway.

"Madam," Elvis uttered and gave a slight bow, not once forgetting his current role as honorary noble.

Marie nodded, acknowledging his presence. "I assume you're here to visit her."

Elvis' eyes slightly widened, then immediately went back to normal. He just nodded in response.

"Well, then. This way, my Lord." Marie said, gesturing to him to come with her towards the living quarters in the second floor, leaving Rosemarie behind.

The way towards (F/N)'s room was very awkward. Elvis suddenly remembered Jacqueline's advice to be more sociable towards other people, so he mustered all his courage to start a conversation with the older, yet, stunning woman.

"H-how is she, madam?" he stuttered, uncertain whether he was doing good on the conversation or not.

"She's doing good. Well, she still has a fever, as of the moment." Marie announced, not once looking at him as she treaded on the wide stairs of the mansion.

"Fever?!" he exclaimed, the slightly high pitch of his surprised voice purely unintentional and unheard of.

But, Marie, staying calm as always, just gave him a slight glance.

"Yes. She's sleeping. But, I guess it won't hurt to see her without waking her up."

Elvis gave a relieved sigh. "Thank you, madam."

The two of them turned to the right and stopped on the second door.

"This is her room." She said, about to open the door,...

... when she suddenly took Elvis' arm and led him to another room to the left.

"Madam?!" Elvis retorted, clearly surprised and worried of the married woman's sudden, unwifely action.

Marie just ignored him and opened the door, hastily shoving Elvis inside then entering afterwards.

Elvis looked around the room and realized, to his vast relief, that it was not the master's bedroom, but an empty nursery that was, once, occupied by all three of Marie's children. He was also relieved that the fruits from the basket he was holding did not come tumbling down on his feet with the sudden movement. He turned behind him, facing the woman who brought him there.

Marie didn't say anything. Instead, she just went closer, and closer to him. Elvis took little steps further away from her, beginning to get scared of the woman.

"M-madam?" Elvis stuttered once more, deciding whether to knock the woman unconscious or not.

She stopped going towards him and sighed.

"Please, Mr. Levi. Stop pretending and just reveal yourself." She said dejectedly.

Levi's eyes widened until his pupils dwarfed in comparison to his sclera. It took him a while to process what Marie just said, and when it finally hit him like a bullet straight to the head, he sighed heavily, brought the fruits basket down on a nearby table that was ridiculously ornamented with Ivanna's colorful doodles, and carefully removed his blonde wig, revealing his raven - colored hair, confirming Marie's words.

Levi placed his wig down beside the basket and faced Marie.

She just smiled at him, throwing him off - guard.

"Does Nile know?" Levi asked her.

"No."

"How,... did you find out?"

"Instinct." Marie said, smiling at him, and gesturing at the nearest chair beside the table. "I just want to have a word. Please, have a seat."

Levi did so. Marie situated herself on the opposite chair, placed her hands primly on her lap, and faced Levi once more.

"I'm sure you have questions. Fire away." She offered.

Levi gasped, unable to control his emotions any further.

"Why did you agree with this?" he said to her in a pleadingly, heart - wrenching way. "Why?"

Marie's smile vanished to be replaced with the most regretful frown he had ever seen.

"I agreed because Erwin's intentions towards her seemed to be honest enough. He wants to marry her and give her the best of everything he could offer her. He wants her to be happy."

"And you agreed by altering her identity and taking advantage of her condition?!" Levi was actually on the verge of tears. A phenomenon that was rarely seen by anyone, let alone a woman he barely even knew of. "Is that it?!"

"No! That is not my intention." Marie sincerely felt the pain in Levi's heart, seeing that he truly loved (F/N). "Please, do not assume that I' am badmouthing Erwin. He wants her to forget her feelings for you, by making her fall in love with him. And now with her memories gone with a slight chance of returning, it seems that he has the upper hand. But, that is not working, isn't it?"

Levi remained silent, unable to deny her assumption.

"Are you doing this because you felt sorry for him?" Levi asked, knowing very well what he was talking about.

Marie seemed to fidget on her seat, looking uncomfortable with what he said.

"Marie, what is the story you heard from him about us? About (F/N) and me?"

The blonde looked at him, her resolve not breaking even a bit, despite her tears on the verge of falling.

"You've hurt her and caused her a lot of suffering. She got involved with an accident by saving you, and it nearly killed her."

Levi raised an eyebrow. "And what is this accident?"

"I,... don't know." Marie whispered. "I'm telling the truth."

He observed her for a bit, searching for any sign that could tell him that she's just lying. But, there was none.

Of course, with the cult - related killings, Erwin wouldn't want her to know. He wouldn't want her family, or just her, alone, to get involved with the mess.

Wait -

"So, is it,..." he hesitated, but finally decided to let it out, since his whole disguise was blown by her, anyway. "... is it Erwin's plan to fill the hole you made in his heart by bringing (F/N) to his own life?"

Marie was startled at what she just heard from him.

"What?! No! No,..." if Marie wasn't lying a while ago, she definitely looked lying right now.

"You said it. You told me that he seemed honest with his intentions towards (F/N). Was it because of that?" Levi said, cornering Marie with her own words.

Finally, tears came falling down her face.

"You love her, don't you?" she suddenly said to him. "Prove it. Win her. Win (F/N) back. It doesn't matter what Erwin would think after this. This is all a lie. You must atone whatever sin you did to her. You must get her memories back. You must get her back!"

"Y-yes." Levi agreed, not sure how to exactly respond to her request.

"Promise me!" Marie sure was acting like (F/N)'s mother, or aunt, in this case.

"I promise." Levi gave his solemn oath.

I promise I will before Erwin wreaks havoc here in Wall Sina by revealing the nature of the true murderers.

That was what he really wanted to say, but couldn't. He doesn't want the people who took care of (F/N) to get involved with it. They're good people who took her under their wing without even knowing how dangerous it was to even talk to (F/N).

"And we'll do anything to take her away from here. Hange and I, I mean."

"Oh. Jacqueline, was it?" Marie's smile was back upon hearing Levi's honest response.

He nodded and stood, picking his wig and carefully putting it back on top of his head.

"When did you realize?"

"When you and Erwin raced."

"Oh."

"Where's Hange? I mean, Jacqueline?"

"She went back to the Legion to take care of something." Marie said, also standing up. She was about to open the door when she found out that it was already ajar.

Was it open before? Thought Marie, pushing it on the back of her mind as she accompanied Elvis back to (F/N)'s room.

Levi, on the other hand, was glad that he had gained her trust.

Other than that, he was so worried of (F/N),...

Marie, thinking what he was exactly thinking, allowed him to have privacy with her.

Even for just an hour,...

***

Rosemarie was startled when her little sister Ivanna suddenly invaded her room.

"Go play in your room." She said without looking up from the paper she's examining.

Ivanna ignored her and just stared at her. Rosemarie felt the eyes of the child boring into her like a drill. She put down her paper for a while to look at the girl.

"What is it?"

The little girl put her doll down and went to her elder sister. Rosemarie, anticipating what her sister was about to say, leaned towards her,...

... only for her hair to be pulled painfully by the mischievous child.

"Ouch!" Rosemarie pulled her hair away from the little one's tight grasp. "What the heck was that for? That is not very funny!"

Unfortunately, Ivanna doesn't look like she was making fun of her.

In fact, she remained to stare at her,...

... with that very serious look on her face.

"Okay, tell me what just happened to you." Rosemarie told her, crossing her arms and trying to understand the child.

Ivanna just shrugged her shoulders and went back to the floor to play with her dolly.

"Mister Shining Man pulled his hair." She simply said.

Wait,...

What?!

"What do you mean by that, Ivanna?"

Ivanna started combing the hopelessly tangled hair of her play thing. "Mister Shining Man pulled his hair! And there's another hair, but not yellow! It's black!" the little girl looked back at her elder sister. "Why can't you do the same?"

What in the world - ? Rosemarie thought.

Elvis Shunerman,...

... was wearing a wig?!

That would only mean one thing,...

.... That he's not really Elvis Shunerman!

***

Levi looked up from the document he was working on in time to see the new recruit Petra Ral closing the door of his office.

The girl seemed surprise with the look he gave her that she almost dropped the teacup she's holding.

"Careful, Cadette." He said to her.

Petra apologized and giggled like a giddy school - girl.

Levi smiled. It's not like everyday he sees girls like her,...

... knowing the fact that most of the young recruits die on their first expeditions.

"I brought you tea, Captain Levi." She announced while saluting him.

He nodded and just gestured for her to put the tea on his desk. The girl did as she was ordered.

It was then that he realized something upon observing the girl. That ginger - head -

It really was her!

"Wait, were you the one who assisted the Elites during the last expedition?" he carefully asked her, trying very hard not to intimidate her.

Petra's eyes widened, looking as if she wasn't really expecting him to notice, at all.

"Yes, Captain Levi." She said to him.

Slowly, but surely, he cracked a simple smile for her, which made her heart lurch in all directions with total bliss.

"Good job, Cadette." He told her. "See you on combat training tomorrow."

Petra saluted once more, a big smile plastered on her face.

"Yes, sir! Gladly!"

It wasn't the only time they met. They met many more times after that combat training. Soon after, they started eating together, working together, and training together.

For the both of them, it was the start of a blooming, personal relationship between them.

It had been one of the biggest mistakes he had ever made.

For it was because of it that the real person who loved him got hurt.

If he could blame anyone for her memory loss,...

... it would be him,...

... and only him.

***

~ @levi4mikasa , @yepps , @nerdyphantomlady , @shewolfofficial , @unhappysap , @super-peace-fangirl , @fangurl-ontgeside , and @emilyackerman78 . 💜

***

💜💜💜

***

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levi ackerman #captain levi #this i promise #levi x reader #levi x you #chapter 42 #honestly

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sundaynightnovels · 6 years ago

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15 Questions Tag Game

i’ve been tagged by @somuchtowrite ! i’ve done this before for Zhen & Lu here so .. hmm.. i find it easiest to write when characters are interacting with one another, so i guess i’ll do this Ren, Jia & Jun -- just because they are the sort of ‘love triangle’ thing going on in my wip and also the three of them are kinda... pretty important towards the ending, so yea. (there is no romance in my wip but yknow, it’s a drama for teng & shou to watch so...) also because i can’t really answer the first three questions, i’m going to skip them and go straight to question 4! rules: answer 15 questions as either yourself or one of your OCs, then tag 15 people. 1. What is your full name? Jun: ... Jia: ... Ren: ... 2. What does your full name mean? 3. What are your nicknames/aliases/epithets/other names? 4. What is your gender? Jun: what a stupid question Ren: it’s not meant to be stupid, it’s meant to be clarification Jun: yeah? what is there to even clarify? my gender?? dead. just like the skin on my face, or the bones in my body Jia: i’m a she. and a house. i figured since everyone’s making jokes on that, i should jump on board as well Ren: i’m male, and so is jun Jun: don’t answer for me, i am dead! 5. What is your sexuality? Jun: what an even stupider question Ren: don’t be rude Jun: isn’t it rude for them to poke around such sensitive matters? you know what’s my sexuality? Dea-- Jia: don’t reuse your old jokes. that’s shameful, even for you. Ren: i’m gay. unfortunately, i also don’t have taste, because somehow i’ve had the poor sight to yknow, be attracted to Jun at one point in time. Jun: hey, did you know that when the two of your names are put together, it means family? Like, jia ren (家人) means family? Jia: i’m straight, but it’s also like, what’s the point? i ended up with jun at some point in time anyway. whether you’re gay or straight, there’s no escape Jun: isn’t that funny. can you even imagine the two of you being a family . huh, ren can’t even -- Ren: let’s move on 6. Where are you from? Jun: i -- am -- deaaaaa Jia: when we are born we are born with nothing and when we leave we leave with nothing Ren: i have nothing to do with any of this 7. When were you born? Jun: i was born when the stars wept and the oceans roared with the fury of those who have lost -- Jia: -- his mind Ren: sometimes we wonder if it’s best to never be born at all Jia: Ren! why are you joining in this! i thought you are the one meant to keep us in line Ren: there is no line to be had when the line has already been crossed 8. How old are you? Jun: i’m young. those two are old. they’re right on the brink of death. huh... wait a minute... Ren: i’m about 24 - 25 Jia: ‘bout the same. that guy who has death clinging onto his back is around 21. 9. Where do you live? Jun: well.... (looks at Jia) Jia: what? that joke has already been made like, more than five times. better than living in a testosterone-infested apartment Jun: at least i’m not living under the shelter of Yu’s misplaced concern. speaking of which... ren, where do you live? Ren: ... i have no idea. am i also homeless? there’s only one person who knows the answer (that one person doesn’t know the answer)

10. What are your quirks? Jun: that is so rude, i demand a lawyer Ren: you have literally stolen candy from a young girl’s hands. multiple times. and presumably attempted to rob teng. no lawyer can atone for your sins Jia: if a lawyer comes for you now, it’s to drag you to the 18 levels of hell. in fact, why aren’t you already there? Jun: you guys are so mean. i want teng back. teng? teeeeeennnggggg~~ !!! 11. Who are your family members? Jia: apparently i’m now family with Ren, isn’t it? Ren: i don’t fancy it either. you seem like you’d be a havoc to live with Jun: aw, look at the two of you. how sweet, my two exes! Jia: yeah. says a lot about a person when both your exes are homeless, huh? Jun: don’t fight over my affections now! and are you insulting yourself?? you’ve basically just insulted yourself! Ren: what does it matter, being together with you has already made us a joke to society. 12. Who are your pets? Jia: (looks at Jun) Jun: (looks at Ren) Ren: ... go to hell 13. What do you look like? Jun: you know my name? yea. i’m that. i’m absolutely beautiful Ren: it’s so frustrating that i can’t even fight back against that Jia: but you know who’s more beautiful? that’s right, that’s me Ren: it’s even worse when i still can’t argue against that Jun: aw don’t worry Ren, you’re adorable too Jia: yea. it’s like, yknow, the residue light around us will fall on you too Ren: it’s not like i even care that much about looks, but it’s hard to not care when two devils are chiming compliments at one another from either side of my ears 14. Who’s your hero? Jun: what are heroes? there is nothing in the world but yourself and your own morals Ren: what does that even mean? Jia: you pave your own destiny. you fight for your own path. heroes are nothing but an illusion you have to strive to achieve for yourself Jun: heroes are excuses for sitting on your ass at home and waiting for someone to do something for you Ren: so since you have no hero, you have no excuse for sitting on your ass at home all the time and making teng do your dishes and yu wash your laundry Jun: yes, i’m humble and self-conscious enough to own up to my own laziness without leaning on the backing of a ‘hero’ as an excuse Jia: you know, sometimes what he says make sense Ren: they don’t!!!!! 15. What’s your moral alignment? Ren: the two of them have no morals. really. they are literal devils. how many times have i already said that? Jun: ren is right on that account. morals are useless and they hold you back from doing things. i mean, if i had morals, would i have all these candies in my pocket right now?? (dumps a bunch of candies onto the ground) who has more candy around here? me. so look at what all your morals have gotten you -- now you’re just a loser with no candies Jia: i mean, morals are just guidelines, yknow. i won’t bend my morals just for some candy like Jun does -- i mean, that’s just stupid. but like, do i have qualms about bending some guidelines just to get something done? none whatsoever! guidelines are just there as a compass, yknow, but if you already have a direction in mind, you don’t need it. it’s just trash, basically. why carry around something you don’t need? Ren: you see what i mean? Jun: admit it, you like your partners bad Ren: ... i don’t know if that’s true but i really really hope not

ANYWAY what jia said about “ when we are born we are born with nothing and when we leave we leave with nothing ” is literally translated from an actual chinese saying that means the same thing (生不带来死不带去) which someone had actually said to me once and it really stuck with me. just thought it was pretty interesting. also, to the uninitiated: jia is homeless. and her name means ‘house’, or ‘home. yeah. alright!! i’ve done this before and i’ve tagged a bunch of people before, so let me just tag a few others @kaigods @bookenders @minny-king @neptune-writes hope yall enjoyed this!!

#like all things out of season #character tag #jia #jun #ren #writeblr #my wip #my OCs #my writing #writing tag #writers on tumblr #15 questions tag game #interview #character interview

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elfpen · 6 years ago

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Imperfect Affection

Don't worry, the next chapter of Reprise is in the words, but I needed a brain break from Star Wars, so here, have a mushy snippet from my newest obsession:

Sleep became a mystery to anyone who thought about it for any amount of time. Alphonse Elric had had five years to think about it, but would not let the mystery keep him from diving in head-first.

He'd been in the hospital for just half a day, and he'd slept most of it away. It'd been bizarre - he'd forgotten what it was like to miss whole chunks of life because of sleep. The nurses told him his body was too exhausted to do much else, which made sense. They'd made him as comfortable as he could be to just lie down and rest a while: they'd helped him drink a few sips of water, cut his fingernails and trimmed and washed his hair.

They'd encouraged him to take a bath, too, but hadn't forced him to. Of all the senses, touch was the most overwhelming, and even the fact that he had skin would take some time to accept. Still, Alphonse had taken them up on their offer and fallen asleep in a soapy tub of warm water, only to wake up later fully dressed in bed with an IV in his arm.

"They had to have dried me off, dressed me," Alphonse had agonized to Ed later, red-faced and mortified. "They saw me naked."

"Aw come on," Ed had elbowed him - gently, of course. "Some guys would kill for an opportunity like that. They were pretty cute, weren't they?"

"Brother!" His whole body turned red.

Edward had cackled, and then started coughing up blood again, because he was an idiot.

They'd wheeled Edward away for surgery in the afternoon to remove the bolts in his right shoulder, remove bits of rebar from his left arm, and see what they could do for his broken ribs. He'd be spending the night in a post-op suite, which left Al alone in his darkened hospital room to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

...and wake up again to a pitch-black room and the ghost of another presence in the room with him. It should have panicked him, but it didn't. A hand brushed softly against his temple through the short spikes of his hair.

His eyelids felt like lead weights, and his eyes refused to focus, but he could hear the rustling of clothes and see twin glimmers of glass, a smudge of blond hair.

"Dad?" he said, quiet and groggy. Above the bed, the figure froze, and relaxed again.

"Alphonse," came Hohenheim's voice, just above a whisper. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Al told him drowsily. "Are you hurt, too?" in his brain, this question made sense. But now out in the open, it made Hohenheim laugh. Alphonse liked the sound of his father laughing. He couldn't remember having ever heard it before.

"I'm fine. Major Armstrong told me he brought you boys here - looks like they're taking good care of you."

His eyes were trying harder to focus now, and he could see that his father was smiling. Inexplicably, he longed for older times, for impossible times, when he and his brother and mother and father could've all been smiling together. But if the last five years had taught him anything, it had taught him that longing for the lost was a fool's errand.

"I'm glad you're here," Al said, and reached out his hand. His father caught it in both of his and squeezed. After a thick silence, Hohenheim choked and said,

"I am too." He ran a thumb over the edges of Alphonse's fingernails, filed short and tidy, and then reached out to brush a hand over his hair, which was still damp from his bath. "It suits you," he said. Alphonse's eyelids fluttered. He remembered falling asleep like this as a child, with his mother brushing her fingers through his hair. "I'm so proud of you, Alphonse." It made him smile, even as his eyes drifted shut. "Take care of your brother for me."

That struck a flat note. Alphonse wrenched his eyes open again, and found the strength to lift his head. "You're leaving?"

"Just for a bit," Hohenheim put out an apologetic hand. "I'm doing no good here. I'm not injured, they need all the space they can get for those who are."

"But… your philosopher's stone," Al made the connections groggily, "can't you help…?"

"No, not anymore."

"Oh."

"They've cut off all communications in and out of Central," Hohenheim told him. "Pinako and Miss Rockbell will be sick with worry for you boys. I'm going to Resembool, to tell them you're both alright."

"Oh." Alphonse wished he could come up with something better to say. "It'll be good to see them smile again," he mused wistfully, and Hohenheim smiled himself.

"Yes, it will."

"Thank you, dad." His eyes were pulling themselves shut again, that mysterious, luxurious pool pulling him offshore to float away.

"Go to sleep, son. I'll see you at home." Alphonse could never be completely sure, but as he fell asleep, he thought he felt his father kiss him on the forehead.

They rested. They mended. After six days, they let Alphonse eat real food. After ten, they let him eat twice a day. And after three weeks, they let him eat whatever he wanted - within reason, anyway.

"Chicken pot pie, pork dumplings, strawberry strudel, tea, sausages, eggs, and bacon?" Ed read off his brother's order with rising incredulity. "What kind of breakfast is… and milk? I know you're starving, Al, but this is too far!"

Alphonse only laughed. In the end, they didn't grant all of his requests, but he got a hefty plate of eggs and bacon and and an early dessert of strudel. They also brought him a pot of tea and a whole pint of milk to drink at his leisure.

"Do you want some, brother?" Alphonse raised the milk jug with a pristine innocence that only younger siblings can manage. Edward's whole body seemed to grow spikes.

"Are you insane?"

"That's okay," Alphonse drank deeply and came away with a white mustache. "It's not like I have any catching up to do - I'm already taller than you."

Edward screeched, and Alphonse finished eating with a smile on his face.

By the time they headed back home, the Elric brothers were in high spirits. Saying goodbye to Central and all of their comrades and friends had been hard, but seeing Lieutenant Havoc and Colonel Mustang healed had been a massive boost.

Teacher had even cried when she hugged them goodbye, and then threatened to kill them if they said anything about it. Sig, weeping openly and silently at her side, gave Alphonse a bundle of home-cooked bacon to eat on the train home.

It was a long train ride, and a longer walk home, but then they were home, and Winry tackled them to the dirt and it was like nothing but everything had changed. Den barked and ran circles around them until they were all the way inside. Winry started crying nearly every time she looked at Alphonse. But then, Edward began to gloat,

"I told you they'd be tears of joy!" And suddenly Winry was no longer crying, and was throwing wrenches instead.

Alphonse peeled and cored apples for the pie Winry had already started preparing, and Granny cut out cold pats of butter for the crust. Amid the din of Winry and Edward's shouting, Alphonse became aware of an absence in the house he hadn't registered until that very moment. When the arguing died down and the house went quiet, Alphonse turned to Granny and asked,

"Where's dad?" The house seemed to slow to a halt. Alphonse looked between Granny and Winry, who'd both gone suddenly still. "He said he'd meet us here."

Pinako put down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron. She drew in a shaky breath. "Maybe you boys had better come with me."

"He didn't even make it to the house," Granny had kept her explanation short because of her own tears. "He came straight here. I think he knew he didn't have much time left. I didn't even get to say goodbye." She sniffed, a terrifying display of emotion for both boys. "I'm very sorry."

She left them to their thoughts, and the brothers sat in front of their parents' headstones for a long time.

"That bastard," Ed said after a long time, even though his eyes were shining with unshed tears, "of course he would leave just to kick the bucket. What a coward. What a," he wiped furiously at his eyes. "Damn rotten father."

Alphonse didn't say anything. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest and stared at the name on the stone. He remembered the man in the hospital who'd said he was proud of him. "I'll see you at home." Surely he wouldn't have lied. Surely he hadn't meant for it to be like this.

"Ed, Al," it was Granny. The boys turned to her, and backlit by the setting sun, she was holding out two letters. "When I… found him, these were in his pocket. They're addressed to you."

Alphonse took his, and with more hesitation, Edward his. Granny left them alone. Edward and Alphonse glanced at each other, and then opened their letters and read silently each to himself.

Dear Edward,

Dear Alphonse,

I am writing this on the train from Central to Resembool. I did not want to have to write this – I wanted to be able to tell you all of this myself, in person, as I should have years ago. But I realize now that I do not have enough life in me to manage even that.

It was my blood that created the homunculus, all those years ago, and since the fall of Xerxes our lives have been intertwined as one. Now the homunculus has died, and I am living on borrowed time. I may not look it, but as I write, I am just shy of my four hundred and fifty-first birthday. It's absurd, isn't it? That I can be so ancient and only just now as I'm dying do I find a reason to keep on living.

I realize that I am not the father you deserve. In my determination to thwart the homunculus' plans, I abandoned you and your mother and I know I can never atone for that. I can only hope that you believe me when I tell you that your mother and you boys were all I ever wanted. You gave me all I could have ever needed. I am so proud of you.

...I have never seen a more noble sacrifice than your sacrifice for Alphonse. You are a far better man today than I have been in four and a half centuries. Trisha would be beside herself with pride if she could see the man you've become.

...You grow stronger each day, and each day, I see in you a man I wish I could have known better. You are wise beyond your years, and carry your mother's caring spirit into a world that needs it desperately. She would be so proud to see you now.

...I realize you want to hate me,

...I realize you wish you'd known me,

...And I understand why you feel that way, and do not blame you if you never stop,

...And I can assure you I wish I could have known you better all your life,

And I know that nothing I do will change my role in the pain you've suffered these past long years. But I hope, if nothing else, you can accept that in my profound imperfections, I loved you more than I could ever hope to tell you.

In deepest affection,

...Van Hohenheim

...Your Father

When Alphonse looked up, Edward was crying, too. Edward crumpled up his letter, shoved it in his pocket, and stomped off. Alphonse stayed with his parents.

"It's okay," he told his dad, trying to rub out the tears that had stained his own letter. "He's always like this."

Later, Alphonse went to Edward's room and knocked before letting himself in. He noticed their father's letter, wrinkled and torn, smoothed out on the desk and flattened under the only book they'd saved from their father's library.

"Winry's pie is almost ready to eat," Al told his brother quietly. Edward was sitting on his bed, staring out the window. In the distance, the green swell of the graveyard was just visible.

"Do you think he even knew how long he was gone?" Ed asked. Alphonse was taken aback.

"What?"

"If Hohenheim was as old as he said, do you think he even knew how many years had passed before he came back, to find mom dead, us without bodies?"

Alphonse hadn't ever thought of it. He sat down next to Edward on the bed and stared out the window.

"I don't know. Maybe." It was not quite dark out, and the countryside was awash in a dusky blue. Past the cemetery, a string of lights and smoke traced the path of the 7:00 train. Alphonse watched the smoke become clouds and fade into the atmosphere. "I think he loved mom. A lot." It was somehow uncomfortable to say so, but it soothed something deep in Alphonse's gut. "I think he loved us, too. I really think he did. He just…" he shrugged. "Didn't really know how. In his shoes, I'm not sure I would either."

"Hmm," was all Edward said. The two boys watched the sunlight disappear to reveal a world full of stars. Eventually, Edward glanced past Alphonse to see the clock, and his eyes stuck on his brother's hair.

"Your hair's growing out already," he gave it a rough tousle, and Alphonse complained. "You'll have to get it trimmed again soon."

"Better than leave it long," Alphonse combed his hair back into place, miffed. "I don't know how you stand it, brother."

"What can I say?" Edward shrugged, holier-than-thou, "it takes a certain stature to pull this off."

Alphonse rolled his eyes and was about to say something cruel about Ed's height, when Winry shouted across the house to announce,

"Apple pie is ready!"

Alphonse picked up his cane and zipped to the door in an instant. The stairs thumped and groaned as he practically fell into the kitchen, offering to whip cream and put out plates, and anything else that would help him get the pie to his mouth sooner rather than later.

Edward lagged behind and laughed. The night had transformed his window into a mirror, and he caught sight of his reflection as he stood to his feet. He resented the red rims on his eyes, the crusty tear tracks on his cheeks. He scrubbed them away. Then, he picked at the frayed mess of his hair, which was coming undone in all directions. He undid the hair tie and combed at it with his hands.

"We have the same look," Hohenheim had said, when they met at his mother's grave. Edward had braided his hair so fast, it'd been matted for days. He looked again at his reflection, and began to divide his hair into thirds.

"Edward! Do you want pie or not? Better come and get some before Al eats it all!"

"Hey!"

Edward hesitated before gathering his hair into a single, familiar ponytail.

"I'm coming!"

He closed the curtains on his reflection and joined his family downstairs.

#fma #fmab #fanfiction #edward elric #alphonse elric #van hohenheim #hohenheim #winry rockbell #pinako rockbell #my writing #my fanfic

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dat-town · 7 years ago

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love black, lips red

Characters: Hades!Yoongi & Persephone!You

Setting: greek mythology au

Genre: angsty

Warnings: implied sexual content (+ one line about animal sacrifices)

Summary: “I wanted darkness… I wanted him.” sequel to bed warm, hearts cold

Words: 2k

I couldn’t resist because I live for the angst. Also I’m blown away by the love bwhc got. I hope the sequel doesn’t disappoint. Happy birthday to our lovely genius, Min Yoongi! ♥

To this very day, you still remember the pain when you were ripped out of Yoongi’s loving arms. You remember your father’s rage, you remember it all too well. You still ache, heart bleeding black love as you stare out of the marble window. The Sun, shining blindingly bright and delightful, hurts your half-lidded eyes so you look away because there are no blinds or curtains that can shield you now, no salvation from this torture, a prison you know too well. You miss the vast darkness of calamity dearly, the calmness and the silence. You miss the way the stone floor felt cold under your bare feet, the silk of the sheets and you miss, oh you long for the heart made of anger and solitude that only beats for you.

"Shush, my child, it's for your own good," Demeter tells you in a light voice, fake smile blemishing his motherly features. She comes every morning to see you in a suite of a diamond palace you can't escape. Brushing your hair, she tells you stories of misguided innocent souls. Then she braids your soft locks and tucks flowers behind your ear. She doesn't care that it hurts, that your heart is breaking into smaller and smaller pieces with every inhale you take outside of the kingdom of death.

It is supposed to hurt. They claim it happens like this, that it’s a sign that you are healing, transforming back into the obedient daughter you were meant to be in the first place. They keep telling you the distance is the cure to get rid of your false thoughts. They believe that the God of Underneath brainwashed and manipulated you but they are wrong, so wrong. They knew nothing about you. Yet they call you Kore fondly like you were a child and you loathe its implications, the pet name of a maiden. So every night, before sleep claims you and sprinkles bittersweet dreams over your eyelids, you close your eyes and remember.

You remember the softness of his touches on your delicate skin that treated you like glass and porcelain. The hands that gripped you firmly like you were his, the sharp white teeth that marked you, the kisses that left bloodstains behind and you never loved anything more than being under his control and knowing that you had the same disarming effect on him. The glint in his eyes was pride as you sat on your throne beside him. It was made of dried roses, tendrils curling around the metal and it smelled like nothing on Earth. Just like Yoongi who was made of blood and bones and something dark that you loved deeply, madly. No matter how many sunsets passed he was engraved in your skin and that immortal, still-beating heart you had.

No matter how much your parents tried, how much they threatened or begged, they couldn’t erase the other god’s touch off you. Never, you swore because it was the mercy in eternity: you had all the time in the world and for Yoongi you would have waited centuries.

“Please forgive her. She didn’t know what she was doing…” Demeter murmurs, shedding the blood of innocent animals on an altar built for the God of Thunder. You scoff.

She of the Grain, the loving, worrying mother you once knew is now your prison’s guard, always keeping an eye on you and praying for your impure soul. Like you were somebody who should be saved from doom.

However, you wanted nothing more than those black cells, the burn of iron on your touch and the screams echoing in your ears. The power you found and had there, in that damned place itself, might have intoxicated you but you wanted it back. You wanted the life you chose over the one that was assigned to you.

“I don’t need your prayers,” you snapped at your mother grabbing at your dark clothes you refused to change to the colour of rebirth. Yoongi had gotten these gilded robes only for you and called you Queen, called you love when the night black dress matching your souls fit perfectly on your curves. His touch burnt through the layers but you enjoyed its warmth, bathed in the flames itching closer as his cool lips touched your throat.

“Zeus won’t forgive this disobedience if you don’t beg for it,” your mother warns you harshly, teeth gritting and you launch yourself onto the small altar of the room shoving its decorations away.

“I don’t care,” you cried frustrated, fingers crashing a rose in your fist until nothing but damaged petals paint your skin red. Lighting strikes outside, flashing angry white over your skin, shaking the walls, signalling that Zeus was indeed listening. “What’s the worst he could do? Kill me? Death sounds a lot better than this prison. Or will he exile me? Then why did he bring me back in the first place? Don’t you see, ma? I don’t belong here.”

Ever since you were a little child, growing up among gods and goddesses of harvest and prosperity, you knew you were different. You were the error in the perfect system, the mistake of an unwavering structure, the flap of the butterfly’s wing that could cause a hurricane on the other hemisphere of Earth. Oh, Chaos, the father of everything, would have been so proud of you. You craved finality of things instead of this boring infinity. You fancied destroying more than creating and that, that made you feel sick. Because what was wrong with you?

“Nothing,” Yoongi would have whispered into the seam of your lips. Loving and kind, sweet like death is for the tortured souls. “There's nothing wrong with you.”

And beside him, you really didn’t have to pretend nothing at all. You could be yourself, you could be angry, you could be at your worst and Yoongi loved then too. He loved your flaws, your mundane needs and naive wishes.

But Goddess of Harvest is relentless. Despite your resistance, she still thinks you aren’t a lost cause but you are, at least for her and the purposes she wants, you are beyond help. It isn’t until the cherry trees bloom that she has to realize that every action had a consequence. Just because she is a goddess and Zeus is the head of gods, they are not allowed to do anything without atonement. Nobody can go against the sacred rules of the world. One cannot just claim something that belongs to the Underworld because the darkness will reclaim it back. And Yoongi wanted you back.

It starts with blackouts, disgust of food and then you can’t make the flowers bloom anymore. Greenery dies under your footsteps and Demeter, she is horrified. She keeps you hidden in your room fearing the havoc your downfall might bring but this act angers the people even more. The farmers think their corns lose their value because you aren’t there to relive them. They have no idea of your new powers of destruction, the way you suck life out of any living thing you touch. It should terrify you yet you only laugh because the humans whom your mother tried so hard to please now despise her and do not make more ritual offerings for her altar. She blames you and pleads to Zeus to do something, anything but they are both helpless. Ancient laws like this can't be played out.

It takes a while for them to understand that you aren’t from around here anymore, that they can’t keep you here, can't make you bring spring for them. Your heart and soul, they draw you back to the Underworld, to your king.

"The leaves are falling and the nature is dying," Demeter watches the colourful leaves swirling around in the wind and the grief in her voice is familiar. It's regret and surrender, the recognition that she lost.

"Don't worry, mother. I will come back when it's time. But I will come on my two feet and I will be welcomed like a queen and not a kidnapped daughter," you tell her standing up and this time, the doorknob doesn't resist. The door's wings part in front of you and you follow the darkest ray of sunshine to the edge of mortal world.

You greet the Styx like you greet a lover, lips touching the surface of the deadly water and murmuring confessions. However, before you could cross the river, hands from your dreams grab on your waist pulling you back. You fit perfectly onto the wide chest you lean against and gasp at the sensation of chapped lips pressed to the underside of your jaw. It takes your breath away, suffocating you in the best way possible.

“Little bird… you came back,” a raw sigh escapes Yoongi, its exhale fanning over your neck dressing you in goosebumps as you relish in the feeling of his arms caressing your middle keeping you close like he never wanted to let you go. Not ever again.

“I will always come back to you,” the promise slips your mouth like the light always finds its way in the darkest tunnels and the waves crash onto the rocky shore. It almost hurts how true these words are, how unalterable they are. It may have been the seeds of pomegranate, the taste of Underworld that overpowered the will of higher deities and brought you back. It might have been for the unwritten rules nobody could break yet you would have crawl your way back here anyway.

“Have you been searching for me?” you turn around in Yoongi's embrace to face him and the yearning so clear in his onyx eyes catches you off guard.

“I looked everywhere. I turned the world upside down. I wanted to break down the walls of Olympus to get to you but they didn’t let me. They kept you locked away from me,” he admits and your heart shares his misery.

“I'm here now,” you whisper like a secret and standing on your tiptoes you kiss the God of Dead on the mouth. It feels like the first gulp of water after thirst or the first inhale of fresh oxygen after drowning, it tastes sweet like spring and bitter like the blood that rushes in your veins. It’s everything you’ve missed and more so you let yourself get lost in him.

You may spend half the year up on the surface, watching as the first snowdrops peep out of the frozen ground and heat scorches through the fields on hot summer days. But you are back in the realm of darkness during wine harvest and when the temperature drops below zero. You take spring with you and give it to Yoongi as you make love. You breathe life in him and plant love into the scratches on his back that your nails leave. You bring new hopes and kiss him like it's a first, eager and hungry. With swollen and split lips you swear you can taste his devotion on your tongue.

“I missed you,” he groans into the juncture of your throat every single time and draws colourful flowers all over your body with his mouth, tongue lapping over the bruises and marks you wear proudly as accessories adorning the canvas of your figure. And you will remember it, his whispered words, how it felt murmured into your skin, the pleasure and pain, all of it when eventually you will have to leave again. So that you will never forget.

And after six lunar months spent missing him, when you come back and he traces a finger on your naked waist as you lie naked on his bed, your bed, in his arms, you finally, finally feel at home.

#bangtan bookclub #angstykpopnet #sfwbangtan #bts writing squad #btswriters #hades!yoongi #hades and persephone #mythology au #stories #okay so inspiration stroke me 2 days ago #i was like let's post this on yoongi's bday #i wanted it to be fluffy but well this au was like LOL nope you thought #so yeah #sorry? but i hope you like it #bts angst #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios

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