#but i have accepted my fate. i alone am cursed with the gift of prophecy and being cool and sexy and right all the time

[moretheta]

Honestly at this point i'm pronouncing "hxh has no noteworthy female characters" to be an ice cold, bottom of the barrel take. 

Come on a journey with me. 

Anyone who knows me in real life (which is hopefully almost no one on here) knows how insane I am when it comes to female characters getting shafted in media- and in shonen manga specifically. No doubt a side effects of being a girl who's favorite character was sakura in the 2015 naruto fandom- but that's another story. The point is I'm not coming at this from a "boo hoo why so woke" standpoint, or an "it's really not the deep" mentality. I care about this shit- truly i do. which is exactly why the way people talk about this issue bothers me so much. 

I distinctly remover being 13 or so when I saw HxH pop up on netflix (or some other streaming service, i don't remember) and looking at the title card with Gon, Killua, Kurapika, and Leorio and thinking "huh. no women?" bc damn, even nart had women (they were written misogynistically, shafted from the narrative, and treated like fucking pariahs by fans... but they were there), and at the time i had a disease where I couldn't dedicate time towards watching something unless it had a prominent female character for me to latch on to. that disease is called ~being tired of misogyny~ and i'm still a carrier to this day. so this past version of me wanted to do some research, so i looked up something like "does HxH have female characters." I saw one of two responses: 1) sadly no. and 2. no, shut up snowflake.

I honestly don't remember what finally pushed me over the edge to start watching it, but i'm so so glad i did. had several queer awakenings. a very formative time for me, etc. aaaaaallll that is to say: I get it. I’ve been there. i don't withhold criticism from a show just because i like it. 

Because it's true that HxH had no female characters... in 1998, when it's started it's serialization. like there were a few background women and also Mito, but that's it, that's all we got. and for a while that's what we would continue to get: every female character introduced seemed to exist as a cog in the wheel of one of the main male characters' storylines. even characters who i love very much and think have a lot of potential, like Canary, only seemed to show up briefly to supplement Killua's narrative and then leave. all of this is true. 

But the thing people need to realize about Hunter x Hunter is that it has been going on for a long time.  The chimera ant arc concluded it's serialization in 2012. and with the hiatuses that became necessary due to Togashi's health, it meant publishing continued really slowly. this current arc of the manga- the succession war- has been going on since 2017- (arguably longer, if you count the expedition arc as a prelude which i personally kinda do), but either way we have over half a decade of real time years that have passed. and one of the things i really admire about Togashi is his ability to grow as an author- to take in feedback and improve where he needed to improve. We can see it, for instance, in his history of writing queer characters- trans characters in particular. See this great video for a further breakdown.

There’s more to be said on this topic but that’s for another day. This isn’t an “in defense of Togashi” post, he’ll be ok. It’s the female characters themselves that I must rise up and defend. I fight an endless war on an empty battlefield, population Me, and this is my life’s purpose.

What I am trying to say is this: HxH is not the same series it was in 1998. It’s not the same series as it was in 2011. And what we have seen as the series progressed, was the introduction and elevation of more and more interesting female characters. This has culminated in what very well might be my favorite arc in the series -unfinished as it is- the succession war. and, without giving away any spoilers, I just have to say……

THERE ARE SO MANY WONDERFUL WOMEN. DO YOU SEE THEM?!!? DO YOU SEE MY BEAUTIFUL WIVES?!? MY LARGE AUTOMOBILES MY-

I cannot fathom how anyone who is caught up with the manga continues to parrot this take. Why would you say that. Why would you do this to our women. There are soosososo sososoooo many fantastic female characters, old and new, and more are added literally every chapter because togashi loves it when I (me specifically) have to make more flashcards. There are female protagonists, antagonists, supporting characters, antiheroes, etc. women with all different kinds of personalities and motivations that don’t feel like a copy-pasted trope. Women who (gasp!) come in different shapes and sizes!?!? Women who don’t fit the traditional standards of beauty are just as important and just as beloved as those who do. and because I’m a crazy person I have gone around and calculated “screen time” (page time?) as well as ratios of male to female characters and folks the numbers are looking good. There was a point in time when I tried to memorize the names and faces of every single female character on the wiki (see above note on flashcards) because again, I’m a crazy person, and it just made me realize how incredible this ensemble cast is looking right now and how excited I am to see more of them. I am the succession war’s biggest glazer so yes, obviously I come with a bias; but here me when I tell you this: you want more well-written, prominently featured, multidimensional female characters in your little shonens (bad place to look, but unfortunately I am the biggest offender of this) please for god’s sake. For god’s sake read the manga.  

So yeah. Sick and fucking tired of seeing people say “HxH has no women” They’re there babe!!!! They’re there!!! You wanna say some shit like that, at least put a caveat of *up until the end of the anime so that people know that information is eight years out of date. yeah watch me be petty. It just astounds me that someone could look me in the eyes and tell me that Melody, Bisky, Theta, Morena, Oito, Woble, Kacho, Fugetsu, Camilla, Machi, Pakunoda, Alluka, Komugi, Kite(yes welcome), Cheadle, Canary, and now Longhi have no importance in the narrative.

It’s true that there is always a time and a place for criticism…  but why does it seem like there’s only five of us trapped in here in this room who are excited to talk about the potential for Theta x Vorksen work situationship... on the ethics of Morena's class war, or an Oito Phantom Troupe connection, or the thematic implications of the madonna being juxtaposed with the antichrist and also maybe satan. Yeah so we're trapped in this room and it's great but occasionally I'll hear shouting from the outside and it's some horrible take or the same unfunny, super gross joke, or some guy who thinks netero setting off a nuke was "peak aura" or smth. And we're still in here, beckoning, offering shelter from the storm.

All you gotta do is open the doors and start taking notes.

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 12

Prompt: “Who are you?” 

Read on AO3

One Last Lesson

The afterlife was getting quite dull. There is only so much to do after being returned to the Force. It's given Qui-Gon a lot of time to relax, meditate, and go back to revisit some of the parts of his life he wished to further reflect on. Though time is not a real thing in here, it already feels as though it's been millennia since the Sith Lord's saber was thrust through his stomach and he watched the tearful face of his padawan fade away with his consciousness.

But what the Jedi didn't realize that day is that Qui-Gon didn't accept his fate to return to the Force. After much deliberation on the subject as he lay there dying, the Maverick master decided to pull one last stunt of going against the grain-- he denied to fully return, and instead willed his soul to stay close to the world he physically left behind. The Force allowed his request, and he has remained in limbo ever since.

It's strange being a bystander to the living. Sometimes terrifying. Qui-Gon won't ever forget the surreal feeling of watching his own body burn on the pyre. His greatest quest is to figure out how to bridge the gap between his spirit world and the living. He knows it to be possible, he just needs to find the right balance.

It's taken years, but he finally believes he has the technique down. He stands on the very edge of the spirit world. One push big enough, and he can manifest himself back into the living as a ghost of himself. When considering how he was to test such an ability, Qui-Gon knew exactly who his first visit would be to.

He sees Obi-Wan now, sitting alone in the living room of their old apartment. Same youthful eyes and toothy smile, but now he seems to have grown out a significant amount of facial hair to mask his child-like features. He looks older, definitely feeling the effects of having an apprentice running amuck. His padawan cut has vanished completely into a well-groomed flow that licks at his collar-- Qui-Gon recalls humorously growing his own hair out in a similar style as soon as Dooku cut off his braid.

Obi-Wan is a well-respected knight, a good master to Anakin, and better than Qui-Gon could have ever imagined. He always knew Obi-Wan would be far wiser than him, and having watched him grow since his untimely death, he is prouder than he thought possible.

Which is why he must see him. Speak to him. Try to find some way to make up for the years of pain he has inadvertently caused.

The moment the Jedi Master realized the damage he had done was the impromptu knighting of his dear padawan. It was not in the Temple with the council honoring him with a lightsaber salute. Qui-Gon was not there to welcome him, bring him before Master Yoda, and be the first to present his student as a Knight of the Order. There was no party afterward, in which his friends and teachers would flood in to congratulate him. Instead, Obi-Wan knelt before Master Yoda and Master Windu, tears falling silently down his face, but they weren't of happiness for his accomplishment. Neither of the Jedi Masters really knew what to do with the new knight who said his vows through mournful sniffles. There was no party, and in the end, Qui-Gon watched as he threw the waist-length braid into the flames of his funeral pyre.

Though Obi-Wan had no idea, he was there for the sleepless nights where he dragged his comforter out to the couch because sleeping in Qui-Gon's old bed was a little too much for the first few months. He was there when Anakin lashed out, wishing in vain that "Master Jinn were here". He was also there when Obi-Wan broke down as soon as he had a moment long enough, saying to nobody in particular that he too wished he were still around.

But I am, padawan. I am here. Qui-Gon would want to say, but he wasn't yet strong enough to manage such a communication.

But now he is. And now, he will finally be able to say the words he should have said as his dying breath. I am proud of you, padawan mine. You have done marvelously.

Obi-Wan is making a cup of tea as Qui-Gon gathers the Force around him. He concentrates on his physical form, trying to manifest the body Obi-Wan formerly knew as his Master. It's taxing, and he has a sinking feeling he won't be able to hold it for long, but he doesn't need long. He just wants him to know he is still watching over him.

Though, what Qui-Gon didn't anticipate, was the severed bond between them to spark up with life, and to feel a burst of panic and confusion flowing openly through it.

The mug that was in Obi-Wan's hand a moment ago drops, shattering upon impact with the floor. Qui-Gon immediately withdraws as he sees the knight's wide eyes looking frantically around the apartment.

"Hello?" Obi-Wan calls, his hand resting on his lightsaber hilt. "Who's there?"

So I have his attention at least... time to try again. Qui-Gon repeats the process from earlier, this time being more careful of his shielding-- he hasn't had to worry about such a thing in years. The Force surrounds him, bolstering his spiritual self and pushing him slowly into the living world. Qui-Gon can feel his spirit pushing through, but as he looks down at himself his visual form isn't quite strong enough. It'll have to do.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon says, immediately disappointed with the distant echo of his voice. He isn't as near as he thought himself to be, and now he has only succeeded in making Obi-Wan draw his lightsaber in panic, waving it around at nothing.

"Hello? Who are you? Show yourself!"

He must be able to feel my presence, but not see or hear me clearly... Qui-Gon pushes down his sorrow, watching helplessly as Obi-Wan continues to look aimlessly through the apartment. He thinks back to their bond that sprung open. Maybe...

Qui-Gon strums against it ever so carefully, trying hard not to scare the poor boy, but not succeeding in the slightest. Obi-Wan staggers in confusion, pressing his palm against his temple in confusion.

"Master?" he whispers, before shaking his head. "No... that's impossible."

"It's not impossible, padawan," Qui-Gon says, cursing when Obi-Wan only looks over his shoulder and doesn't seem to register his actual words. He pushes through their bond once more. It's not impossible.

But their bond isn't what it once was. When Qui-Gon was slain on Naboo, their training bond was severed. Forcefully and painfully. Now he is doing nothing but reopening old scars. He realizes this as Obi-Wan's knees buckle and he cries out in pain. The dead Master recoils immediately, guilt coursing through him at the pain he's caused. He didn't expect Obi-Wan to feel his presence and panic. Nor did he expect their bond to begin bleeding again, leaving his padawan lying writhing on the floor. If his soul had the capacity to cry he probably would.

Qui-Gon kneels down beside the young knight, laying a hand he will never feel on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, my padawan. I'm so sorry."

The front door opens, and in runs a teenage Anakin, tall and gawky. His eyes are wide as he spots his master lying on the ground, and in an instant Qui-Gon's place of comfort is stolen by the young padawan.

"Master!" Anakin cries out. "I felt you in pain, what's going on?"

A bond of their own. A life of their own. Qui-Gon stands back, watching as Obi-Wan tries to assure him he is fine and it is only a headache, while Anakin begins the ever-tedious lecture on going to the Healers. Though he feels shameful for his powers failing and causing such strife, he can't help but smile seeing the boys together. They care for one another deeply, he can feel it. They are two pieces to the puzzle of balance that holds the galaxy together.

That's what Qui-Gon never really got to explain to his padawan or the Council. Though he felt a special connection with Anakin when he found him on Tatooine, the discovery of the slave boy also unlocked a new feeling in the Force that centered around Obi-Wan. His Force presence felt as though it was cloaked in light, a new shatter point that hadn't previously been there. Qui-Gon kept it to himself until he had more time to explore the strange feeling--and then he ran out of that precious time. It's why he couldn't return fully to the Force. Nobody else seems to have discovered the significance of Obi-Wan Kenobi yet, and he won't let his importance be buried by a prophecy that Qui-Gon himself brought to light. A prophecy that nearly ruined their relationship and gave no allowance for the Jedi Master to try to mend it.

Though he still knows not what their roles are in the Universe, Qui-Gon does know they are meant to work together through it all.

Anakin manages to hoist Obi-Wan to his feet and help him to the couch. They talk quietly to one another, Anakin eyeing the broken mug but not saying a word about it. Obi-Wan asking for pain killers, which is more than he usually would request.

And Qui-Gon steps away. He will let his grand-padawan pick up the pieces that he broke yet again. He will practice his ability to manifest as a Force ghost on people he hasn't damaged so deeply. One day, he will be able to show himself to Obi-Wan fully without sending him into a fit. Maybe he will even get to pass on such a gift at that time. One final lesson for his padawan.

[secret-engima]

Last one! - the future’s blurry (but the past is a trap)

Time-Travel fic!!!!! Hmmmm- what fandom what fandom so many lovely choices....

FFXV. Because that’s my mood right now (as ever).

COR.

Cor Time-Travel fic. Cor who lives to see the end of the Long Night, Cor who HOPES and dreams of helping Noctis rebuild the kingdom after he restores the dawn, Cor who is Noctis’s godfather, Cor who PROMISED Regis the first time he held the tiny sleeping infant that is now a brave and wise king that he would PROTECT Regis’s son-.

Cor who stumbles into the throne room to see three brothers sobbing over the lifeless body of their fourth and king.

And Cor ... Cor breaks. He hides in some random, rundown apartment in the empty city and drinks and drinks-

“So this is how you’re going to accept fate? By drowning yourself in a bottle?” Scorns a voice he’s only heard one time in his life but still sends him scrambling for his sword. He whirls, heart in his mouth, blade in hand and sees not a towering suit of armor with glittering eyes, but a ghostly version of a fire-eyed twenty-something adult. A towering man of nearly seven feet, board shouldered and scarred on one side of his face, dark brown hair and piercing amber eyes that mark the Amicitia line, “I had hoped for better.”

“Gilgamesh,” Cor rasps and wonders if he’s lost his mind in his grief, “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” says the man with a sneer, “I should be moving on to the afterlife. I have been freed from my prison after all. The Prophecy is fulfilled.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

A pause, and the sneer, the confidence, fades away and leaves behind someone very tired and wrung out, “Because I have regrets, and you are the only one still alive for me to speak of them to. The Last Shield will not listen, he is lost in his grief and surrounded by the living. You are alone and you are open to my voice.”

Cor doesn’t like the sound of that at all, “You are not allowed to possess me.”

Gilgamesh laughs, short and sharp but oddly genuine, more animated than he ever was as a murderous suit of armor, “No. I have no desire for that.” Burning gold eyes lock with his, “I wanted to know if you still meant what you said that day.”

It takes Cor a minute to remember. Even if he knows what “that day” Gilgamesh means, it was years ago and he was an idiot at the time. Then Cor remembers, and his already broken mood sours, “I did. For whatever good it did. I’ve failed. They’re dead. Both of them.” Cor laughs and the sound is poison even to his own ears, “You were right. I am no Shield.”

“No. You are a Sword,” Gilgamesh corrects, “and you should have been treated as such. Instead you were sheltered and lied to, and those lies dulled your edge until you were useless to stop the death of those you cherished.”

Cor throws the bottle at the ghost’s head, listens to the shatter of glass as the ghost lets it phase right through him without a blink, “What do you want?” He roars at the ghost, fragments of his wild temper from his youth coming back to his bones.

“What my brother’s dear Shield is trying to say,” purrs another ghost that Cor hates even more, who also doesn’t blink when Cor draws his blade and tries to behead him, “is that we both feel terribly guilty. More than that, the rest of those who once were in the Ring feel guilty, and angry. We’ve also got a very spiteful and a very remorseful Astral respectively on our side in the matter, now all we need is a living human member of the conspiracy.” Ardyn Lucis Caelum, blue eyed and purified and just as dangerously mischievous as ever, grins at Cor as the human forms of Shiva and Ifrit manifest in his apartment, alongside far too many royal ghosts for Cor’s comfort (he firmly does not look at the ghost of Regis, sagging tiredly in a corner, the only one he recognizes other than Mors now that they are all human looking rather than giant statues with face masks).

“So,” The ghost of Ardyn purrs with a rueful smile, “what do you say to saving the world and your precious kings in one fell swoop and maybe spiting the Draconian along the way?”

And it’s a stupid idea. Cor probably isn’t even seeing any of this. He’s probably lying in the apartment, dying of alcohol poisoning and grief right now, hallucinating all of this as he goes. But if he isn’t.

If he isn’t...

“What do you need me to do?”

Their plan is simple on their end, and painful on Cor’s. They grab him and throw him back through time, drag him with them as one by one they use up the last of their magic and finally vanish, because for all Cor calls them ghosts, they are not. Living souls do not linger after they die, but memories can. Memories given shape and form by magic, and when that magic was used up and given away, the memories are shattered, turned back into the formless nothing they really were.

They carve open Cor’s being and pour their magic into it, Gilgamesh at the fore, leading the way through the howling abyss while each king and queen carves Cor open a little more and pours in the magic keeping him alive and sane as he plummets through time. Regis’s touch lingers longer than the others, a breath of apology on his brow before that memory too, shatters and falls away.

Mors’ fingers wrap around his wrist and Cor struggles for the first time as his blood burns under the king’s touch in a way the others had not, “Hold still,” snarls the man coolly, “I do this as a favor for my son and grandson alone. Hold still and let me work or you will die the moment you reach our destination.” Cor stills and his blood burns until Mors too shatters.

Then it is only Gilgamesh, Cor ... and Ardyn.

“Free me,” he whispers as he presses something into Cor’s hands (or maybe into Cor’s soul, it’s hard to tell where reality ended and magic began in this place), “Find my past self and free me, then give me this.” A chuckle, “Let’s see the Empire grow so strong without it’s Accursed to feed from.”

“What about Prompto?” Cor asks desperately, because he is here to save those he cares about, not condemn the man who was like a son to him to nonexistence.

“Have a little faith,” laughs the former Chancellor, “a King needs his Heart, and Noctis will have his. Now,” hands on his shoulders, a final yank from Gilgamesh, “Go.”

Cor wakes up.

He promptly rolls over and vomits onto the stone.

Gilgamesh, a towering suit of armor once more, watches him gasp and wheeze and shake under the too-sharp sensation of magic living in his veins and reality existing again after so much time falling through time and void without comment. When Cor is done and has staggered upright, Gilgamesh hands him a sword.

Cor leaves the Tempering Grounds unbothered by the things that lurk there and makes straight for the Rock of Ravatogh. He gains the waiting Infernian’s Blessing, then collapses in a caravan for the night after several days and nights spent walking without pause and sleeping on cold Havens without so much as a blanket.

After waking up and showering, he spends a good twenty minutes the next day cursing at a mirror.

He’s fifteen again. He’s fifteen years old when in the original timeline he would have been six (is six, somewhere out there the original Cor Leonis still lives and grows, unaware of an altered future counterpart).

He’s also not Cor anymore. His eyes are the same, icy blue and angry, his face shape is very similar-. His hair is not. His hair is black and thick and wavy, and under his skin, magic coils, deep and effortless and his, not a gift from another.

Those blasted ghosts turned him into a Lucis Caelum.

He thinks of Mors’ cold fingers on his wrist and burning in his blood, Mors’ angry demand he stay still if he wanted to “survive the destination” and swears louder.

Then he picks up his sword and disappears into the wilderness again. Let Shiva come find him. She had a talent for finding Lucis Caelums anyway.

She finds him in the Quay, as Cor steals a boat to make for Angelgard, she Blesses him and disappears, and in her wake is a winter mist that shields Cor’s journey to the isle from prying eyes.

He cracks open the prison with the magic he now has in excess, falters at the sight before him.

Ardyn looks a lot less like evil incarnate and more like a shivering, frightened, half-starved cat this way.

Also who hung up their prisoners on MEATHOOKS like some kind of slasher from a horror film?

Overdramatic Lucis Caelums, that’s who.

Cor hauls Ardyn down from his chains and carries the weak, disorientated Accursed outside. He can hear Ramuh stirring in the clouds as he takes the nameless Thing that Ardyn of the future gave him (magic, pure magic, an orb of it as bright as gold and the dawn) and crushes it against this Ardyn’s chest like he would a potion.

He sidesteps the black bile Ardyn heaves up like a drowning man ejecting water from his lungs, writhing and whimpering on the stone as Scourge smoke recoils off his body like it’s trying to escape, only to be burned clear by golden magic. Well. That was convenient. Pity he doesn’t have enough of those to cure the whole planet.

Ardyn stays silent, dazed and wide-eyed as Cor hauls him back to the mainland, steals some proper clothes and then bundles him in a caravan for the night. The man out of time flinches at every modern amenity, stares at the soup Cor roughly puts in front of him with confused eyes. Finally, tentatively, as if afraid of being struck (and that shouldn’t make Cor angry, it shouldn’t, this man killed both Cor’s kings and threw the world into darkness. He deserved whatever fear he felt, yet looking at him now Cor can feel nothing but pity and anger on the man’s behalf) he speaks, “Who ... who are you? You ... you healed me. I ... do not understand.”

And Cor pauses, because he ... isn’t Cor now is he? There is already a young Cor Leonis out there somewhere, and no one can know that Cor is one and the same person as that youth.

In the end he shrugs, “I don’t have a name.”

“...What?”

“I don’t have a name. I gave it up. It was the price for healing you.”

“Then why,” Ardyn asks incredulously, “did you heal me? I am a stranger to you, a monster.”

Cor scoffed. The Chancellor of his time was a monster. This man? This man was about as monstrous as a starving kitten, “Not anymore you’re not, so stop that.” At the sight of Ardyn’s frown, Cor rolls his eyes and says gruffly, “If it bothers you so much, give me a new one.”

Ardyn gapes, “You ... want me to name you. Just like that.”

“Is that a problem?”

The redhead stays speechless for a while and Cor busies himself polishing his sword and ignoring the fact that he’s now distantly RELATED to this man (and also, if he doesn’t miss his timeline, OLDER than Regis by several years. Thanks a lot Kings of Yore).

“Glaucus.” Cor twitched and looked up sharply, Ardyn shrank in his seat a little, “You don’t like it?”

It sounds too much like Glauca. But he couldn’t say that, and it was better than lots of other names Ardyn could have come up with. Even if he had no idea where Ardyn had come up with that name. Cor forced his shoulders to relax and went back to caring for his blade, “Do as you please.”

“Glaucus,” repeated Ardyn softly and Cor- Glaucus, resigned himself to having a name very similar to that of a traitor and imperial experiment.

Kind of fitting, considering the company he was keeping.

Glaucus set his sword aside and gestured toward the bed, “If you’re done eating, go get some proper sleep. We’ll be leaving once you wake up.”

“Where will we be going?”

Glaucus smirked and knew it was not a nice expression, “A place called the Tempering Grounds. There’s someone who owes you an apology.”

(anyway hi yes I have a new AU to keep. In it “Glaucus” is now an LC, specifically and according to blood test MORS’ kid and he’s about 4 years older than Regis. I shall expand on this new AU another time. Tagging @sparklecryptid @hamelin-born @a-world-in-grey @ean-sovukau @ertrunkenerwassergeist behold my newest insanity).

[markedmoirai-blog]

❊#ProphecyGirl ❊

"Tomorrow night Buffy will face the Master, and she will die." [[It was one of those things where you hear the words, but you don't also hear them. You [know] that they have been said, and you heard them as crystal clear as they could be, but you wish to god that maybe, just maybe, you heard wrong and that just this once, being human failed you. But Lady Luck had never been a friend of mine. So, what does the body do when met with news it didn't want to hear? It tried coping. I felt a laugh pull from my body, one I didn't seem to have control of anymore, almost as if I were experiencing some sort of out of body experience while staying very much in my body. I was going to die. I always knew that this day was going to come, but I had pushed it to the very back of my mind because that way, it would seem like a problem that would be dealt with from a time that was a long, long time from now. Except, it had now pushed its way from all the "no entry" zones and thrust itself forward, breaking through every barricade and making itself a very harsh reality. Every Slayer came with an expiry date... and mine was tomorrow. I didn't know if knowing was a gift or a curse — having some idea of what my deadline was... or having it come at me when I least expected. They both seemed like really shitty sides of a ride I did not want to be on.]] So that's it, huh? I remember the drill. One Slayer dies, next ones called. Wonder who she is. Will you train her? Or will they send someone else? [[I could see the hesitation on Giles' face, as if he were facing a ticking time bomb, trying his best not to defuse the force before him.]] "B-buffy... I..." [[I didn't give him time to finish his sentence, not when I was being cut short of mine.]] Does it say how he's gonna kill me? Do you think it'll hurt? [[I didn't bother trying to hold back the trembling in my words, not anymore. That was my worst fear — to feel it. For it to be slow and agonizing, for me to [feel] my actual life force slowly disappear from within me all while being in excruciating pain and knowing that this was it. That my last few moments were going to be choking over my own breath and struggling to find any air. Just like in my dreams... dreams that were apparently a soon to be reality. I saw Angel come forward, always the gallant one, but I pulled myself away. This wasn't something that could be soothed by a pair of arms and a false sense of security. I looked at Giles, feeling something that closely resembled betrayal.]] Were you even going to tell me? [[My voice was small, even to my own hearing, as if I could barely get the words out.]] "I was hoping that I wouldn't have to. T-that t-there was some way around it." I've got a way around it. I quit. I resign. I'm fired. You can find someone else to stop the Master from taking over. "I'm not sure anyone else can. The signs indicate—" The signs? [[I was in disbelief. Was he actually saying this to me — my own watcher, the one who was supposed to look out for me, to teach me, to TRAIN me in preparation was indicating that this was it. I felt a nerve flare, white hot anger running through me as I grab ahold of the books that were strewn across the table, throwing them in his direction without much aim. The same damn books that apparently held my destiny inside of them. Imagine that. My death was written in a freaking book like I was some character in a story I did not ask to be apart of. My fate had already been decided from the moment I was born and there was nothing I could do to erase those words from becoming a prophecy. Ink stained. Apparently I was supposed to accept it and give Death the old "Hey, buddy" and spend the rest of eternity with it. Over my dead body.]] Read me the signs. [[Another book slamming above Giles head.]] Tell me my fortune! You're so useful sitting here with all of your books. You're really a lot of help. "I don't suppose I am." [[He wasn't even looking at me, glasses off. Another voice breaking through, blurry eyes going towards Angel's cautionary tone.]] "I know this is hard." [[Hah. An immortal, someone who was never going to die telling me that everything was going to be okay. Sure, for him. I'd be six feet under decayed and rotting and he would still look like he does at the moment even a century from now. There was nothing gentle in my voice now, everything was slipping.]] What do you know about this!? You're never gonna die. "Do you think I want anything to happen to you? Do you think I can stand it? We just gotta figure out a way—" I already did. I quit, remember? Pay attention. "Buffy, if the master rises—" I DON'T CARE! [[Shutting down Giles words with the complete vexation of my own, ripping the delicate necklace from my neck; it felt more like a chokehold at this point, a cross bearing every single one of problems. Why did this have to be [my] problem? Why was this all on me? I was just a girl. I barely survived day to day high school let alone this entire end all, be all evil with a vampyr with a suffocating ego. I just wanted normal, god, was that so much to ask? I wanted to go to school, date, graduate, go to college and marry the love of my life and live until I was grey haired and wrinkly. I wanted to LIVE. Was that too much to ask for? I promised I would stay out of trouble, I'd do anything if it meant that I would have a shot. Anything. I could feel the tears roll down my cheeks, feeling warm to my skin and leaving a salty taste along my lips. The following words came even quieter, void of any previous emotion — just empty.]] I don't care. [[Chin trembling, looking up at my watcher through a glossy gaze, someone who taught the Slayer but didn't experience what the Slayer went through, someone who would get to live a life that was full — even if it was spent with his nose between the pages of dusty books. He would still get to live. He wouldn't be the one whose throat would get ripped into, the one who wouldn't even get to experience love and heartbreak and all that messy stuff that came with life. He would get to drink tea for another fifty odd years without much thought to the blonde girl he used to know because he would have another girl to prepare for Death. I could feel my entire body trembling, everything that the Slayer was, I was not in that moment. Voice hushed and sounding like a frightened child.]] Giles, I'm sixteen years old. I don't wanna die. [[Desperation was seeping through the broken cracks of my voice, throwing the necklace down onto the floor, not caring if it broke. No one else cared if I did (it was DESTINY) I was expected to — I didn't need a weapon because I was a born a weapon. Turning on my heel, and storming out of the library before I turned into an even bigger mess than I already was, not bothering to look back and hoping that Giles and Angel would give me my space. They could at least respect a dying girl's wishes. Well, I guess I was a destined disappointment because destiny could kiss my ass, and this stupid prophecy could write a different ending — because I wouldn't be apart of this. Not anymore. I was done being the Slayer.]] ❊#ProphecyGirl ❊