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burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

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i’d like to preface this with this is my opinion and only my opinion. you are free to agree and disagree with what I say and point out my idiot takes too. I also do very much love uraraka though, she’s a cutie.

uraraka ochako is an interesting character. she’s definitely not one of a kind, never seen or done before, but if hori is taking her character in the direction where im assuming it’s going, I think it’ll be fucking sick as hell. after all, I don’t want female characters who are physically strong — that’s easy to write and easier to write off — I want emotionally and internally complex female characters and this added element is definitely a way to get her there.

her biggest character complexes are revealed and can stem off of a single relationship of hers. that with himiko toga.

there are a lot of parallels between uraraka and toga. from the get go, the most obvious one being their feelings towards izuku. their crush, their obsession with him.

I do apologize now about the frantic scatteredness of this because I am no meta writer, but im trying to piece this together in a logical way.

himiko toga’s background was revealed to us in the war between the LOV and the MLA. she was someone who, most likely due to the influence of her quirk, lusted over the blood of people she liked. now, through the horrors and need to be normal, togas family forced her to be “normal,” to hide her true self and feelings from the rest of the world because it wasn’t accepted. she does not hesitate to speak about how she hated having to keep her true feelings in, how she was deceived by the world into being someone she’s not. so now, she gives into her crushes, her obsessions, her wants, and her needs. himiko toga’s most memorable traits is her admittance to wanting to become the person she loves the most.

how does this parallel to uraraka???

easy.

who does uraraka want to become :)

upon uraraka’s initial introduction she was brought as a character who held nothing back, someone who was to become a hero because of the paycheck, not because she wanted to save people. she didn’t care so much as other people, she cared more about her family.

now, there’s nothing wrong with this of course! shes 16 -- 15 then -- years old, and possesses the ability to do as she pleases. no one in bnha is quite as ambitious and self-sacrificing and heroic as izuku is (which is a whole other problem but thats for another time), and that’s okay. you’re not supposed to have the integrity to throw your life away for strangers at 15, it’s okay to be selfish.

however, where things start taking the twist with uraraka is the simple question brought forward by aoyama. a simple question if she likes him.

its interesting already that he asks her this, especially given what uraraka is thinking when asked. at this moment, she’s trapped and is thinking of what izuku would do in this situation. this occurs right after the sports festival arc where uraraka denied izuku’s help in facing off bakugou, where she watched izuku break his entire body to save shouto, and where she began to develop some sort of feelings and emotions for izuku during the calvary battle.

now, why does this matter? well, the turn down of izuku’s help and her ability to perform soundly against bakugou tells me that she probably didn’t ever need to wonder just what izuku would do against her battle with thirteen. the beginning of her feelings (whether they are true feelings or just straight up obsession) towards izuku gives her that tie with toga, and just for lols, toga enjoys seeing a beat up, busted izuku and well, uraraka got to see him busted up post shouto fight.

so when aoyama asks his simple question, suddenly uraraka is vividly aware of her feelings towards izuku and loses her concentration and flies straight towards thirteen and etc. while I don’t mean to be like,,,, there’s only one way to do things, but I find it hard to believe a 15/16 yo girl couldn’t tell that her feelings for izuku were romantic at that point... so yeah lol.

I did say true feelings or obsession in a previous paragraph, and I will now dive into them.

as uraraka continues to progress as a character she also changes the reason why she’s a hero. it becomes identical to that of izuku who becomes a hero to save everyone, and similarly, uraraka says the same. but, in order to do so, she must suppress her emotions/feelings/obsession for izuku in the time being because shes not an idiot and knows she doesn’t have time for that relationship and midoriya ‘I-have-a-death-wish’ izuku doesn’t either.

we see from togas experience that suppressing and hiding your true self/form only does you wrong in the end too.

interestingly, uraraka also changes a bit of her hero costume to imitate that of izuku. again, there’s nothing wrong with imitation because izuku’s entire career is based on imitation and making others original moves his own, but uraraka’s is always focal to that of izuku.

izuku this. izuku that. what about izuku.

he’s a common name to her thoughts, which can be normal to that of a highschool girl with a crush, her suppression of her feelings and desire and clouded judgment for izuku is her undoing, and her crazy parallel to toga.

toga used to suppress her blood lust for the sake of appearing and being normal.

uraraka suppresses her crush on izuku for the sake of appearing and being normal.

toga loves to imitate, replicate, and become her crush.

uraraka imitates, replicates, and wants to be like her crush.

togas use of imitation is seen as a bad thing.

urarakas use of imitation is seen as a good thing.

toga is no longer trying to be someone she’s not (minus her use of her quirk).

uraraka is trying to be someone she’s not (her want to be like izuku).

in chapter 289 we see their interactions, how toga dances and weaves around uraraka as we try to get an answer about why uraraka believes in the things that she does, and while she’s honestly not wrong in her explanations (again she’s 16 and by no means should be perfect. toga’s overall convoluted approach on her entire question wouldve confused me too) she’s emulating and mimicking midoriya izuku.

urakaka has grown complacent, she has become someone she isn’t and in her daze to be something she’s not, she’s suppressed and frantic. she’s become a character that people are questioning because where on earth did the girl we once knew go?

I can’t say much about her true feelings and whether or not how she feels for izuku are real, but I firmly believe that if hori is doing what im thinking, there’s going to be a lot of self-reflection and possible realizations that uraraka might not truly have a one-sided crush on izuku and for the meantime become someone she wants to be, much like toga is finally someone she wants to be too.

but thats just me lol.

twitter thread I read. I don’t agree with all of it, but most of it!!!!

i do apologize if none of this made sense, i’m not quite good at explaining my rationale ;-;

#lyssa doesnt shut up #bnha spoilers

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onestowatch · 4 years ago

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little luna’s “shift & go” Is a Mesmerizing Debut

Here we are at last, gifted with the beautifully mesmerizing debut single “shift & go” from new Alt-pop artist, little luna. Inspired by her poetry, little luna has put the intense complexity of personal growth into words. It’s not easy finding your passion, but the true challenge is following your passion once found. little luna illustrates a conflict between feeling internally free and outwardly trapped; “freed little child on the inside, crying where have you been?”

little luna released a lyric video, coinciding with the original music video, that we were given the opportunity to premiere. The lyric video created for “shift & go” is anything but predictable. The text displaying the lyrics was not added in post-production, but rather projected onto the floor and walls throughout the video as a unique stylistic choice. The lyrical element of the song and story are very important to little luna. She wants the viewer to deeply feel and absorb what is being said and presented. The lyrics are far from an afterthought and that is apparent through the beautifully crafted video below. We are eagerly waiting to see what else little luna has in store for us. In the meantime, read our full Q&A to learn more about her.

Ones to Watch: Congrats on the release of your debut single, “shift & go”! For those who don’t know, who is little luna?

little luna: thanks so much! OTW is one of the few music outlets i look to for new music, so i’m over the moon about this interview – thank you for having me. little luna is rachael kathryn bell & rachael kathryn bell is little luna. for a long time i felt like they were separate parts of my personality; combining the doc marten-loving songwriting LL with the yoga-loving actress rkb. throughout making this music though, i’ve realized not only that i can be all of it at once... but i already am all of it at once. the exploration of music was what i needed to realize a) i am allowed to change & b) i’m going to continue to change.

“shift & go” was inspired by a poem you wrote. Would you say that poetry is a part of your writing process or is ‘shift & go’ unique in that way?

poetry is a huge part of my process; a majority of my songs are based off of poems i’ve written, some poems dating back to first moving to LA almost ten years ago. one day i’ll put them all in a book of sorts, but for now i just keep turning them into songs. whether my session has a co-writer, or i’m just working solo with a producer, i’ll normally take in a few lines from poems / melody ideas i’m vibing with that day and see if the other writer / producer vibes with any of them. everything is a collaboration.

What do you want your listeners to take away from the story of this song?

honestly music is so personal, so i’m not going to try & control the listener’s narrative. half the time i’ll listen to a song on repeat & have no idea what the lyrics are but the instrumentation alone tells me a story / makes me feel a type of way. with that being said, of course my hope is that upon listening to “shift & go” you’d feel like you are allowed to change. no matter how long you’ve fit into the label that has been put on you, or that maybe even was you for a period of time, that doesn’t have to be forever. take time to reconnect to your inner child & make decisions for yourself out of that place. making this music has been & continues to be my sonic journey through re- discovering my truest self, giving you sounds & words to support you as you do the same.

The visuals and music video are beautifully haunting, can you speak to the inspiration behind the imagery?

thank you! my visuals are created by myself & Jade Ehlers. actually, the lineage of our working relationship is amazing & a story for another day. Jade has helped me bring LL to life & really is a huge part of my journey. considering i grew up acting / studying film, for me the visuals within little luna needed to be on point to help tell the story. marrying sounds with visuals is one of my favorite things to do... like... i’m that person geeking out watching a film when the music supervisor has placed a song at THE perfect moment. any time i’m in-motion (driving, walking, on a train/scooter, etc) i feel like i’m in my own movie, blasting the soundtrack. the visuals to “shift & go” just tie into my love for cinematic expression in general.

What made you shift your path from acting into music? Are you still pursuing acting?

i discovered my love for acting & singing at the same time... a sixth-grade musical ha. it just so happens that acting was what i focused on first & then dove fully into from the age of thirteen to like, two years ago. i got to a point where i just wasn’t passionate about the pursuit of acting & would rather spend my days grinding in sessions than at auditions. there’s no bad blood & if a dream role came up tomorrow i’d love nothing more than to be on set, but i had & this unquenchable thirst to allow myself the time to give 100% into music, so here we are.

Can we expect more songs (possibly an EP) in the near future?

i’m sitting on so much music right now that i cannot wait to share with the world. my little (no pun intended) but mighty team & i wanted to give “shift & go” proper space to live & breathe. so, something could always change, but as of now we’re planning for back to back singles dropping in 2021 followed by my first EP.

What or who would you say has been the biggest influence on your music?

i have answers for both as they are both equally important to me. “what” has been the biggest influence on my music is lush forests, museums & the connection to my truest-self which i first started finding through practice of mediation & yoga. “who” is Bon Iver, James Blake, Etta James, & Stevie Nicks. my parents always had music playing in the house growing up, so my list could go on but i’d say these four have had the greatest impact.

Who are your Ones to Watch?

my Ones to Watch are YEИDRY, EVAN GIIA, & Lous and the Yakuza

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A post shared by rachael kathryn bell (@littleluna) on Oct 2, 2020 at 1:26pm PDT

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#little luna #pop #shift & go #Q&A

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dogbearinggifts · 6 years ago

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“Dad Sent Me to the Moon” vs. “Because Dad Made Me”

How Luther and Vanya Talk About Trauma, Part Six

This is Part Six of my series analyzing how Luther and Vanya both address their own trauma and respond to the trauma of others. I’m almost finished with the episodes, although I still have a lot to say that will probably wind up in a quote-free final thoughts piece, so stick around for that.

If you missed previous installments of this series, or would like to read over them again, you can find them here:

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

They can also be found under the tag “how luther and vanya talk about trauma.”

Episode Seven: The Day That Was (aka CHRIST ON A CRACKER, GET KLAUS A HUG ALREADY)

Vanya brings up her exclusion twice either prior or adjacent to the following conversations. They seem to remain more or less the same as they were in the prior episode, so I’m not going to analyze them. I’m just mentioning that they happen to keep my trauma counts straight.

**********

Our next trauma mention comes from Luther, shortly after Vanya and Leonard leave.

Luther: Yeah, you guys go. I’m gonna stay behind and look through Dad’s files. I still think this has something to do with why he sent me to the Moon. Diego: Seriously? Now you want to make the end of the world about you and Dad? Luther: No. “Watch for threats.” That’s what he told me. You think that’s a coincidence? This all has to be connected somehow.

I’m not going to spend a lot of time analyzing this, since I already did so in my analysis of the previous episode, but I would like to note that Luther’s mention of his time on the Moon here is still nothing more than speculation that he learned something that might help them save the world. Diego is the one who accuses him of “making it about him and Dad”; it’s an assumption that has little to do with what was actually said and more to do with Diego’s resentment toward Luther’s position as the parental favorite.

***********

Soon after, Klaus approaches Luther with a length of rope over his shoulder.

Klaus: Luther! Luther, you need to tie me up so I can…Are you drinking? Holy shi…holy shit, your’e drunk! And you busted into Dad’s liquor cabinet! He’s gonna be so pissed! Luther: Get him. Dad. Do it now. Klaus: I…I told you already, I can’t! Luther lifts Klaus by the throat and shoves him against the wall. Luther: Little shit! Klaus: Please… After a moment, Luther lets go, and Klaus crumples to the floor, coughing. Klaus: Jesus Christ. Luther! Of course I’ve tried! God knows I’ve tried! But he is as he was in life, he’s a stubborn prick! Luther: He needs to answer to me for what he did. For sending me up there. I sacrificed everything for him, my entire life. I never left this house. I never had friends. And for what? For nothing. Klaus: Hey, no no no. Just…just relax. I could try again. I can’t promise I’m clean enough. Luther takes another long sip of alcohol. Klaus: Hey, that…that’s enough of that. Enough of that. Come on. Come on. Chin up there, big guy. Luther: It’s okay. Just go. Klaus: Hey, why—why don’t we find the others? I’m sure Allison— Luther: I don’t want her. I don’t want them to see me like this. Besides, I—you know I’d just hold them back. What they’re doing is too important. Klaus: What’re you talking about? You’re our Number One! Remember? O Captain, my Captain? Remember? Yeah? Right? Luther laughs, then breaks down in a sob. Luther: You know, Diego was right. Dad sent me to the Moon because he couldn’t stand the sight of this. Of what…of what he did to me. Of what I’ve become. Klaus: No, no, no. That’s…that’s not….It…Damn it, Dad was such an asshole, right to the end. Look, if there’s anything…anything else I can do…. Luther: I wanna be like you. I want to do whatever it is that you— Klaus: No, no no no. You don’t. Absolutely not. Luther: Yeah. I do. Yeah. You just, you always seem so carefree, and I need that. I wanna be Number Four. Klaus: Trust me. Trust me. You don’t want that. You don’t want that.

I’m sure by now that everyone is familiar with the criticism Luther receives for this scene, and I’m not going to try to defend his behavior. Yes, he’s drunk, and yes, this seems to be the first time he’s ever been under the influence, but being under the influence is not an acceptable excuse to lash out in violence toward your loved ones—or anyone, for that matter. Pushing Klaus up against the wall, choking him and calling him a “little shit” for not doing something he, at that point, cannot do, tossing him across the floor—this is reprehensible and I’m not going to pretend it’s anything but.

However, much is made of the fact that, aside from being incredibly noisy during his hangover the following morning, Klaus doesn’t hold Luther’s behavior against him. A popular consensus seems to be that Klaus is simply such a loving and accepting person that he will not hesitate to forgive the unforgivable, but that is not my take. Honestly, I think Klaus has been where Luther is. Lost to substances, crazed with pain, lashing out at his family for withholding the one thing he thinks can bring relief? For a man who hasn’t been completely or willingly sober since he was thirteen, this is probably familiar territory. Klaus’ ready exoneration of Luther’s behavior is not, to me, evidence of his capacity to forgive the unforgivable, but evidence of just how deeply he understands Luther needs to be dissuaded from the same path he walked. In this scene, I doubt Klaus is thinking “Oh, Luther’s my brother, he doesn’t mean it,”; he’s probably thinking “Oh shit. Not you, too.”

As for Luther’s behavior in this scene, two things must be taken into consideration.

First off, Luther spent the most time of any of the siblings in that house, directly under Reginald’s authority. As we see from flashbacks and Klaus’ talk with him later in this episode, Reginald was easily angered, emotionally distant, and emotionally unavailable. He held his kids to an impossibly high standard, and was often openly cruel to his children (as we see both with Klaus in the mausoleum and when he later refuses to let Vanya join in the family photo). To survive in such an environment, repressing emotion isn’t just a coping mechanism—it’s a necessity. When we hear Luther address his trauma with statements like “I felt like I was meant to be there [on the Moon]” or “He had a difficult decision to make and he made it,” we can see that this is exactly what Luther did. He repressed all negative emotions toward his dad, refused to let himself get angry, and was grateful for whatever shreds of approval or affection happened to come his way.

The thing about repressed emotion, though, is that those negative emotions don’t go away. They just stay bottled up inside, getting worse and worse until they finally explode out all at once. If you’ve ever moved into a house that’s stood vacant for a few weeks and watched as the taps ran brown, you’ve got a pretty good visual for what’s happening with Luther here. He’s kept the faucets off for too long, and the water is running brown. That’s part of why he shifts so dramatically and so quickly from anger to despair: Everything is pouring out at once.

The other factor that must be considered: It has been a known fact, since the beginning of human history, that getting drunk is not a good way to remain calm, cool, and collected. From Klaus’ disbelief and Luther’s lack of self-control, it seems safe to say that this is Luther’s first time ever getting drunk, which means he wouldn’t have known his limit or when to stop. Since his goal was getting wasted enough to numb the pain, he would have just kept drinking and drinking, possibly passing the legal limit before the liquor even fully hit him.

There’s a distinct difference between Luther’s reaction here and his reaction in the previous episode, and I think it can be chalked up to two things: who finds him, and how quickly that happens.

In the previous episode, Allison seems to find Luther just a few minutes after he discovers the packets. He hasn’t had time to process what he’s found; he’s only had time to calm down a bit. But I think it’s the fact Allison is the one to find him that has the greatest impact on his behavior: It’s Allison. He wants to put on a brave face for her, appear strong and capable. He doesn’t want to scare her, either, so when she pops in, he tamps down the anger he’s feeling, doesn’t give in to despair. Her successful attempt to distract him from the pain further pushes these emotions down.

Here, though, Klaus had time to consider his plan, go upstairs to wherever he found the rope, maybe exchange a few words with Ben, and come back downstairs to ask Luther to tie him up—all while suffering withdrawals. Not only does the Academy comprise an entire city block with multiple staircases and long hallways, but in his weakened state, Klaus would have taken longer to get what he needed and return. He might have even stopped to rest, started to crave drugs, realized he had to enact his plan immediately, and gone to find Luther.

All of this is to say, Luther had time to think about what he’d found. He had time to get angry, to wonder why Reginald would do something like that. And he had enough time to wander past the bar, possibly do a few shots to try and stop his thoughts from chasing each other in circles, realize it wasn’t working, do a few more….you get the idea. Although having time to process trauma is definitely a good thing—and an essential one—in a case like Luther’s, where he just received news that shattered his worldview, time alone would have been his enemy. He needed someone to talk to, and he only had his own thoughts. I don’t condone his using alcohol to cope (this scene demonstrates why it was a terrible idea) but I can sympathize with what drove him to it.

Now, I would like to address something that Luther receives a lot of criticism for: his attitude toward Klaus’ substance abuse.

Many people within this fandom mock Luther for that line—“You always seem so carefree, and I need that. I wanna be Number Four.” He’s roundly condemned for not understanding addiction and unhealthy coping mechanisms, to which I say….well, yeah. Of course he doesn’t. In this very scene, Luther says that he never left the Academy, he never had friends, he always stayed close to Reginald out of misplaced loyalty and a belief that the world needed him at the Academy. I doubt Reginald would have invested a lot of time or effort into programs about the dangers of substance abuse, so everything Luther knows about drug addiction would have been gleaned from his interactions with Klaus.

The thing to remember about Klaus, though, is that he underwent a drastic shift between the end of Episode 4 and his next appearance in Episode 5. He had ten months of offscreen character development, and while his time in Vietnam left him with even more trauma and baggage than he had before, it’s clear that falling in love with Dave, and remaining with him as long as he did, brought out the best in him. He’s more openly empathetic. He’s more protective of his siblings. He flushes his stash down the toilet.

But one thing I’ve noticed in this fandom is a tendency to retroactively apply Klaus’ positive character development in Episodes 5-10 to Klaus in Episodes 1-4. I don’t think this is done intentionally, but I think it does happen. Part of it is that this shift is done so well that Post-Vietnam Klaus and Pre-Vietnam Klaus don’t feel like separate characters. Pre-Vietnam Klaus was very flippant; Post-Vietnam Klaus takes life more seriously while still tossing off flippant remarks (“To save the world.” “Oh, is that all?”). Pre-Vietnam Klaus laughed at everything; Post-Vietnam Klaus still laughs during solemn moments, but his laughs are sadder, harsher, betraying more of the emotion they once concealed.

I could go on at length about Klaus’ character development, but because my analysis of this scene is already nearly as long as some essays in this series, I’ll leave it at this: The Klaus who comforts Luther is not the same Klaus from whom Luther learned about drug addiction. This Klaus is the one who told Diego about Dave, betraying the full depth of his love for him with just the word “Beautiful”; the one who later pushes past his own bitter disappointment and the fact he just died to confront Reginald about how he treated all his children, not just him. The Klaus whose actions taught Luther about addiction is the Klaus who laughed and joked when Luther asked him to conjure Reginald, who responded to Five’s hurtful “Does it matter? It’s Klaus” remark by cheerfully robbing a convenience store.

The Klaus who comforts Luther in this scene spent ten months learning to be vulnerable for a man who would eventually die in his arms.

The Klaus whose actions taught Luther about addiction treated life as a joke.

We the audience know Klaus’ addiction to be a means of self-medication for childhood trauma. We know his humor is an attempt to keep his hurt hidden from the world, and we can surmise he doesn’t even enjoy being high, if his “You guys are worse than the drugs” remark is any indication. Luther has seen precisely none of that. All he’s ever seen is a brother who does a lot of drugs and always seems to be in a good mood.

This is not Luther’s fault for not understanding something that was never properly explained to him. It’s not Klaus’ fault for layering a flawed coping mechanism on top of a dangerous one. It’s just sad.

***********

Our next trauma mention is somewhat oblique, and it comes from Leonard.

Leonard: You spend your whole life trying to get over what happened to you as a kid, but the second you step back in, you feel just as insignificant. Vanya: Yeah. I know.

There isn't too much to analyze here, as it’s a fairly short mention that lacks any details of Leonard’s childhood trauma (most likely by design). But it is the first time we get an inkling of just how deep Leonard’s trauma might go. Previously, he’d kept mentions of his dad short and fairly casual—”I still don’t think my dad ever forgave me for being born” hints at something darker, but it’s delivered so quickly and lightly that it can easily be brushed off as a humorous remark about his family.

One thing I’d like to point out, though, is that Vanya doesn’t ask for more information. Maybe she’s trying to respect his privacy, but given her openness toward her own childhood trauma, and her reputation within fandom for kindness and caring, it seems she might at least ask if he wants to talk about it, and respect his wishes if he says no.

Now, there’s the chance she already did ask at some point offscreen and Leonard declined. It seems a likely possibility, and we can’t know for sure. All we know is that in this scene, when Leonard hints at childhood trauma, Vanya responds by hinting at her own.

*******

The next one comes beside the lake, when Leonard is trying to get Vanya to learn to master her powers.

Leonard: Vanya, you’ve seen what people with power can do. They can stand up for people who can’t defend themselves. Vanya: Yeah, and at what cost? I watched everything my bothers and sister could do ruin their lives.

This exchange, though brief, raises a lot of interesting questions regarding Vanya and her attitude toward her siblings.

It has been well established prior to this that Vanya does not think highly of her siblings. Perhaps the most obvious remark of hers (which is, coincidentally, the one providing the clearest contrast to this scene) comes when she is ranting about her siblings on her way out of the Academy: “Nothing is ever good enough next to their holier-than-thou, weight-of-the-world bullshit!”

Taking a minute to dissect that remark, she almost seems to be dismissing their trauma. I wouldn’t quite say she is, since she doesn’t address their trauma specifically and doesn’t explicitly dismiss their pain, but she does reveal a very negative attitude toward the emotional baggage their superhero days left them with, dismissing it as “holier-than-thou, weight-of-the-world bullshit.” Rather than identifying it as the result of Reginald’s forced compliance with his vision of a crime-fighting dream team, Vanya views it as one more instance of her siblings believing themselves superior because of their powers.

Here, though, she doesn’t treat their baggage as a moral failing, but as a result of the powers they had. “I watched everything my brothers and sister could do ruin their lives.” They don’t ruin their lives because of their powers; their powers are the guilty party. She removes the blame from her siblings and places it upon something over which they had no control.

I see two very different ways to view this shift.

Now that Vanya has realized she is like her siblings, she is able to see that their poor decisions and worse outcomes were not entirely due to their own weaknesses, but to powers they didn’t ask for that came with unintended effects. Her own struggle in controlling her newfound powers has made her more willing to empathize with them.

Vanya is only willing to admit her siblings’ failures and frailties might have been a result of their powers because it allows her a means to escape responsibility for her own failures and frailties. She’s not inclined to let them off the hook for anything, but if it means she has a scapegoat for any mistakes she might make, she’ll allow it.

I think there’s evidence for both interpretations here, with room in between for grey-area views. It’s also possible something else is going on—i.e., she has always harbored sympathy for her siblings, but was simply angry when she left the Academy and wasn't inclined to show it. My take on this line is simply that it is evidence of a changed attitude, although the reason for that change is not entirely clear.

*********

Running count of trauma mentions (cumulative of all episodes thus far)

Own Trauma: Vanya 8, Luther 9

Trauma of Others: Vanya 5, Luther 3

Read on to Part Seven

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leigh-kelly · 6 years ago

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If the Fates Allow: Part 12/13

Thirteen part Christmas fic loosely based on Life As We Know It. After Santana and Brittany’s best friends die, leaving their two kids behind, the ex-girlfriends are forced to move in together and raise their godchildren.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

November:

It took a week for Santana to find a place to live, but she kept her word and moved out, taking Daisy with her. It was really hard to explain to Ava that they were going to be moving the kids around between two places, but Santana really believed that it was for the best. Feelings had gotten too entangled with Brittany and the longer they lived together, the more complicated things were going to get. The house she found was only a short term rental, but it would give her enough time to find something else, a more permanent place where the kids could settle in during the half time that she had them. Something with a yard maybe, a pool, as if things in her house could fill the emptiness she felt in her chest every time she thought about the fact that she didn’t live with Brittany anymore.

The day she moved out, it hurt. It felt like her and Brittany were breaking up again, but this time, there were kids involved. She promised Ava that she’d pick her and JJ up the next day, that they’d love the new house, that they would still do things together, but all of it felt hollow. The way Brittany looked at her just made her feel awful, but deep down, she felt like she was doing the right thing, she felt like it was the only way to keep everyone from getting hurt. The fight they’d had the morning after she’d spent the night at Wendy’s had just dredged up too much for her, just made her feel completely awful and out of control and had reminded her of all the reasons why she couldn’t even try to make it work with Brittany.

For the kids’ sake, Santana and Brittany agreed to take the kids to the mall to see Santa together the morning after Thanksgiving. Brittany had had them for the morning the day before and then Santana had them in the evening and overnight, so she let Ava get dressed in her red and white dress and put JJ in khakis and a bow tie and then she drove over to the house to pick up Brittany. They didn’t say anything to each other in the car, they both just responded to Ava when she talked to them. It felt like the first birthday party that they were at after they’d broken up, where they had no choice but to share the same space, but neither of them really wanted it.

“Aunt Santana, am I sleeping in the little house tonight?” Ava asked from the backseat. “Or at my house?”

“You’re going to sleep at your house tonight. After we see Santa, I’m going to drop you off with Aunt Brittany.”

“Can you have a sleepover there with me?”

“I wish I could, kiddo, but I have to go back to my house.”

“I don’t like it.” She pouted. “I don’t like it at all.”

“I know you don’t, but it’s just how it has to be.”

“I don’t think that’s fair. You didn’t ask me if I wanted you to go live in the dumb little house and now Aunt Brittany is grumpy and you live far away and I can’t come in your bed every morning.”

“Why don’t you go into Aunt Brittany’s bed when you’re there?”

“Because I always go into your bed. That’s the rules.”

“Ava.” Santana sighed and Brittany was silent.

“This is worse than when you were shrinky and Aunt Brittany made faces. At least then you still both read me bedtime stories and had breakfast with me.”

“I know, kiddo. It sucks for me too.”

“Then come back! Do you not like me?”

“Honey, of course I love you. But remember how we talked about how Aunt Brittany and I aren’t girlfriends? Sometimes it’s hard for grownups to live with someone who isn’t their girlfriend.”

“I think that’s dumb. Is Wendy going to move into your house with you?”

“No, Wendy isn’t going to move into my house. I promise this has nothing to do with Wendy and it has nothing to do with you.”

They got to the mall and the line for Santa was impossibly long. JJ was crying halfway through and Ava was so antsy that she couldn’t stand still. It seemed like every kid was freaking out, but since they had committed to this, Santana figured they had to see it through. She pulled snacks for the kids out of her bag and Brittany took out a coloring book for Ava. At least when it came to the kids, they were on the same page and Santana was grateful for that. She wondered if this was what divorced parents felt like, if coming together for the kids was at least some kind of common bond that kept them from killing each other. She looked down at Ava who colored contentedly on the floor under her feet and she took a sharp breath.

“This sucks.”

“It’s the day after Thanksgiving, everyone is suddenly in the Christmas spirit.” Brittany shrugged. “What did you expect?”

“I didn’t exactly expect a crying kid on line to see Santa. I just want this to be a good experience for them.”

“JJ’s fine now.”

“Yeah, I know, but still. Anyway, how have you been?”

“Fine.”

“That’s it?”

“Honestly, Santana, I think we should just keep our conversation to the kids.”

“Is that how it’s going to be?”

“I thought that was how you wanted it.”

“Brittany—”

Before Santana could say anything else, Brittany turned away from her. Was that what she wanted? Santana just couldn’t decide. She guessed that if she was going to wish for anything, she’d wish she could go back in time three years. She would have actually talked to Brittany after the accusations came. She would have told her how hurt she was. She would have tried to fix things. She would have told Cass and John never to get in the car they day they did. She would have just fixed everything so she could have been happily living with Brittany in their apartment, visiting John and Cass and the kids, probably having a kid of their own. But wishes weren’t real, she knew that more than anyone and there was just no point in wishing for anything that couldn’t come true.

Another hour passed and Santana had gotten to the point where she was sure they couldn’t possibly wait any longer. Brittany had already taken JJ into the bathroom to change his diaper, Ava was whining and the sound of kids screaming made Santana want to tear her hair out. She had no idea why she thought this was going to be fun, why she’d been the one to even suggest doing it in the first place, but she decided then and there that next year, they were going to pull the kids out of school and take them on a day where no one else was around. But then, they were next and all of Ava’s whining stopped when she finally got a view of Santa Claus.

“Am I on Santa’s nice list this year?” Ava asked, hopping between feet.

“I definitely think you are, sweetheart.” Brittany smiled at her and adjusted one of her braids. “You’ve been a really good girl.”

“Last year, he didn’t bring me what I wanted to for Christmas.” She reminded Santana, who sighed sadly. Santana felt a pang in her chest but she breathed through it, not letting Ava see her sadness.

“Let’s hope this year you’re wishing for something that’s possible for Santa to give. Do you still want that American Girl doll?”

“That’s not what I want the mostest.”

“What do you—?” Santana was cut off by the woman dressed as an elf telling them that it was their turn and Ava squealed with delight.

“Santa! Santa!” She cried, rushing into his arms while JJ eyed the bearded man warily before Brittany handed him over.

“What did she want last year?” Brittany murmured and Santana knew that she was thinking that they must have disappointed her on her first Christmas with them.

“Same thing we all wished for, for Cass and John to come back. I just don’t want her to be disappointed for the second year in a row.”

“If we could have given her that, we would have.”

“I know.” Santana shook her head.

She watched as Ava climbed up on Santana’s lap and she smiled. If nothing else had happened throughout the year, at least Ava was much happier. She and Brittany might have had their issues but she thought that they’d probably been exactly the kind of influence that John and Cass had wanted for their kids. They made Ava smile. They made JJ feel safe and loved. Christmas was going to be difficult for Santana because she wasn’t going to spend Christmas Eve in the house with the kids, but it was a consolation knowing that it would be good for the kids.

“I’m Ava.” Ava announced to Santa, pointing to herself. “I’m six.”

“And who’s this little guy?”

“That’s my brother JJ. And that’s my Aunt Brittany and that’s my Aunt Santana. They live in different houses now even though they used to live together in my house. My Mommy and Daddy are dead.”

“Looks like you’re still pretty lucky to have so many people who love you.” Santa chuckled awkwardly and Santana wondered what he could ever possibly say to some kind of confession like that. “And what is it you want me to bring you for Christmas this year.”

“Sometimes you’re not very good at bringing me what I want.” She told him authoritatively, furrowing her brow at him. “So I don’t know if you’re going to bring me my bestest present this year.”

“Well I sure can try. Give it a shot.”

“I want Aunt Santana to not live in the little house anymore. I want her to come back home and sleep in her regular room so I can get in her bed every day and not just when I sleep in the little house.”

“You know Ava, that’s not something I can make in my toy shop.” Santa looked between the two adults.

“You said that last year too, when I wanted you to bring my Mommy and Daddy back to me. Everyone says Santa is magic but I don’t think you’re very good at Christmas.”

Santana felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her. How could she, in any sort of good conscience, allow Ava to be sad on Christmas for a second year in a row? But she’d made her decision. Living with Brittany wasn’t good for her, especially when they still had so much unresolved between them. She took a deep breath, trying to get air into her lungs, and she cast a sideways glance and Brittany who just looked sad. They were seeing Santa, it was supposed to be a happy day, so she tried her best to paint on a smile. Ava looked pointedly at her and she cracked her back, trying not to let her see in her eyes that she was going to have to let her be disappointed again.

After the pictures were taken of the kids with Santa, they left the mall and Santana listened as Ava was quiet in the backseat. Brittany, unsurprisingly, hadn’t said anything since Ava’s revelation and when they got back to the house, she got out of the car with just a quick goodbye. Santana went around back and got JJ out, before helping Ava get unbuckled and Ava looked her straight in the eye.

“Aunt Santana, why can Santa never give me what I want?”

“I think…kiddo, that Santa is much better at giving things than people.”

“I don’t think that Santa is very good at being Santa.”

“He tries really hard, Aves. But like I told you last year, his magic can only go so far.”

#brittana #if the fates allow #itfa

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ravenwritesstuff · 6 years ago

Text

Wandering Hearts (24/?)

Fandom: Frozen AU. Set after shipwreck but before coronation day. 17th Century. Pairing: Kristanna (Kristoff/Anna) Rating: M (this part is not too bad, but this fic as a whole is a wasteland of landmines) A/N: Wrote most of this under the influence. Not proud of it but being honest. So anyway fuck this noise here are some words.

I KNOW YOU DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS BUT HERE IT IS

[ part one] [ part two ] [ part three ] [ part four ] [ part five ] [ part six ] [ part seven ] [ part eight ] [ part nine ] [ part ten ] [ part eleven ] [ part twelve ] [ part thirteen ] [ part fourteen ] [ part fifteen ] [ part sixteen ] [ part seventeen ] [ part eighteen ] [ part nineteen ] [ part twenty ] [ part twenty-one ] [ part twenty-one ] [ part twenty-two ][part twenty-three ] [ part twenty-four ] [ part twenty-five ]

She hadn’t known what to expect, but the moment the words escape her mouth she knows nothing will be the same. The wild thing in his eyes does not lessen but instead shifts, coils. His gaze runs over her face as if he is waiting for her to saying something else - to further her question into accusation - to retreat or explain - but she does none of these. She has no more words.

“What did they say?” His voice is rough and drawn, a tightrope fraying beneath the weight of his words. “What did they tell you?”

A strange prickle runs down her spine, not quite fear for herself but perhaps fear for whom she may indite. She has seen the measure he will take to protect what he claims as his - even in memory. She stutters.

“Th - they said nothing.” Her voice trembles and she tries to steady it. “Only that I should ask.”

He snorts and releases his hold on her. They remain seated, pressed together on the side and she can see his bruised knuckles whitening where they fist in his lap.

“Cowards.”

He shoves up to stand but sways. He turns to brace on the table.

She wants to help, to make him sit, to have him rest, but she knows there is no use. She stays still and silent and watches - too stunned by his rage to push further.

“Who spoke of her?” His jaw clenches. “Tell me so I may cut the tongue from their mouth.”

She looks at his large hands on the table, remembers the times she has seen him fight, and does not doubt his ability to follow through though his words are harder and crueler than anything she had imagined he could say. His arms shake as he braces himself and the fire in his eyes is not meant for her but it burns her regardless.

“Who was it?” He pulls up to his full height only swaying slightly but she can tell his energy is flagging. “Who spoke of things that were not theirs to tell?”

She realizes then they both are trembling: he from rage, she from anticipation of where this rage may lead. She does not fear for herself - no never that - but for anyone he pins his anger to. She trembles in fear of what he may do if she speaks a name. She fears what she has seen him do with the strength of his body to protect what is his and she knows any threat he makes is not hollow. She fears he will make himself that much worse and this time there will be no recovery.

“No one spoke a word. Not one word was spoken to me of your mother.” She thinks too of his well being, of just what may happen if he challenged his abilities now. Whatever healing that had occurred may have pulled him back from death but it has not left him whole.

“Was it Nadir?” He pushes. “Ketil?”

He looms, but she is not afraid. Instead she sees a specter from the past, what he might have been as a boy: scared and alone.

His lip trembles. “Tell me!”

“Nothing was said,” she stands, does not cower and meets his anger and fear with urgent kindness. “No one spoke of her.”

She reaches for his arm with tentative fingers, as if she could smooth his hackles. He does not move away but she can feel she can feel his tension beneath her touch.

“Yet you ask. You ask of my mother.” His face is torn, tormented. ”Magni was the one - wasn’t he? Here when I could not protect you?”

The rage that had come on so quickly now fades just as precipitously into blistering pain.

“No. It was not him.” She does not have to lie. Magni had only asked of her dagger on that wretched day that had nearly taken him from her. That day that left him hobbled and weak still, and had led to a night that she still cannot fathom.

She inches closer to him, troubled by the memory, his pain. She wishes she could go back in time and take back her questions, but she dismisses that thought. If she could turn back time she knows that that is not the first thing she would amend, the last thing. If she could turn back time...

“I never spoke of my mother after she died because I had no one to listen. I wished…” Her throat burns. “I wished with all my whole heart that someday I would be able to talk to someone - anyone. That I would be allowed to remember her.”

The words tumble out one after the other and she cannot stop them. Her walls shuddering, trembling, cracking against the flood of things she wants to say - that she wants him to hear. He stays frozen, entire body rigid as if he is afraid to move. She looks up at him to see her watching her with a pain so curious that she catches her breath. All the anger has melted into an expression that sparks a realization in her mind.

He is afraid.

Of all the things she thought she would find in this moment that is the one she had never imagined. It looks so strange and out of place on his broad, rough features, but it is a feeling she knows well. She could recognize it anywhere, but she does not understand why. She tightens her fingers on his arm. If he is afraid then perhaps what he must say `is too awful, too terrible, and she should not hear it - should stop and step away and forget, but it is too late for that. They both know it.

“Would it be so awful then to speak of her? To speak of your mother?”

He releases a shuddering breath.

“There is too much…” He shakes his head and looks at where her small fingers grip is arm, face pale. “Logi. I know I have given my word that I would never ask you for what you could not give, but there are things here…” He says and she reaches to steady him but he steps out of her grasp as if he cannot bear her touch. He instead braces himself a few paces away against one of the cabin’s supporting beams, body shaking.

She wants to go to him. At one point she would have stopped herself, but today she doesn’t. A frantic energy mounts in her breast at what he is saying, what he could say. She steps around in front of him, his face and body half hidden by the column, and stands there with her heart in her hands knowing that anything he says or doesn’t say in this moment will change the very fabric of her reality.

“Say it. Whatever it is. Please.” She doesn’t ask. She begs. He looks at her with a funny piqued expression that sets off warning bells in her mind.

She is not the only one with questions.

“I…” his face has gone white, lips colorless, pushed too far again. “I have to keep you safe.”

“You have. I’m safe.” She lifts a hand but he stumbles back from her touch, eyes wide and glassy as they try to focus on her. His arms search for support but find nothing.

“No. No.” He shakes his head in disagreement but also in what seems to be an attempt to clear it, but failing. “No I - I haven’t.”

It is all he manages before his eyes roll back once against and he crumbles to the ground.

…

She could be counting her blessings at the moment that he chose to pass out this time in a relatively convenient spot, or that he had not fallen into the fire, or broken open his head afresh on the table. She could be glad that though inconvenient at least this time she is certain he will wake again. Whatever she had witnessed in the woods, whatever that hideous, strange creature had done, had brought him back from death but had not restored him fully

She goes to him and straightens him out as best she can. They are near his makeshift bed but she does not think she has the strength left to move him. Her energy is just as spent as his, body singing with jangled nerves, unused adrenaline, and wounds not quite healed. Her heart hammers at the idea of him waking, speaking, perhaps asking.

She still have no answers for him, none that will suffice, still feels her tongue tie around the shape of her name and her origin. He does not know what he is asking, but then again did she? After what she has seen she cannot be certain of anything.

No.

That is untrue.

She is sure of him.

She sits on the straw and pulls his head onto her lap. It is heavy, unwieldy as his neck slacks but she manages. She holds it there, cradles it across her thighs, and makes considerations.

Clever fingertips find the spot where his skin had been opened at his temple.The gash had been deep and jagged just yesterday but today… even by the glow of the fire she can see that all that is left is a scar. There is not even a scab and she knows that if she searches the back of his head where Nadir’s rock had landed she will find the same thing.

Her head throbs from attempting to rationalize, to understand, the mystery in terms she recognizes. Her heart aches with the words still left unspoken between them, for the words that will never be said. Her mind tries to unriddle all she has seen, been shown, into the matrix of her upbringing, but fails.

She shakes her head.

It is all too much.

It does her no good to circle around in the dark and she knows it, still….

She looks again to the place where there should be a wound, just left of his eyebrow, and traces the pink, silvery skin. She lets her fingers drift to his hair, long and tangled from his ordeals, and begins to pull apart the knots she finds there one thread at a time. It is a calming action, a focused one, and as she works through his locks she realized she very much needs to be calmed. Her heart, it seems, has been racing for days but now…

She looks at him.

He could be sleeping. His face is so peaceful, breath deep and low, unlike yesterday’s shallow gasps. The fear that had etched his features just moments before is vanished. His eyelashes lay as a gold fan across his cheek. The prominent curve of his nose, the wide slope of his scruffy jaw, they are growing more familiar than her own face. They have no mirrors. The last time she had properly seen her reflection had been before she left the palace.

The memory of Arendelle sends a new jolt through her system as she realizes that this moment is a perfect opportunity to run, but instead of it being at the forefront of her mind she can hardly find a trace of it. If she is honest with herself she has not thought of running in any level of seriousness since their binding.

If she really wants to leave she will. She has. She should. She won’t.

She knows that about herself, has proven it, but she does not know how to stay with the precedent she has set between them. For all his preoccupation with her safety she is just as concerned for his. She does not know how to reconcile the need to tell him what he wants to know and the need to keep him from the potential danger of that same knowledge. She does not know how to stay with him, to love him, to be his wife -

She tugs on a particularly stubborn tangle in his locks and his eyelids flutter, brow creases. She hadn’t meant to pull so hard, but she glad she did, the meditation of her thoughts too tumultuous to be calming anymore and his awakening is a welcome detour.

He groans and he blinks up at her bewildered.

“You were gone a moment.” She strokes his hair back from his forehead. “You are not yet well.”

He blinks, the fear that been in his eyes before now back in full force. His hand scrubs over his face before he pushes up to sit on a grunt. A sharp pang goes through her chest as her hands fall to her empty lap so quickly. She wishes he would have stayed close and rested longer but she knows there is no coddling him. She wrings her hands. She wishes this to be simple. She wishes there could be an easy way to love him.

“Before…” She starts and stops, his back is to her and she thinks to move to where she can see his face, but this anonymity has its benefits too so she continues. “Before you - well - before. Do you recall what you said to me? What you were saying?”

He is perfectly still. She thinks he may not even be breathing. Perhaps he has not yet fully come through to waking. Her scarred palms itch with sweat.

“I remember, Logi…” He does not face her, voice low and rough. “I gave my word to protect you, to keep you safe from all that would to harm you. I have made vows to shield you at the cost of my own body, at the cost of -” He takes a stuttered breath. “Do you know what was said at our binding? Do you know the meaning of the words we spoke?”

She blinks, momentarily stunned at the turn in conversation. The pit of her stomach drops out. Her mind scrambles, frantic to remember any part of the foreign words - to understand why he is asking her this now -

“No.” She shakes her head even though he cannot see her, tries to recall anything that may have been said... “No I - no.”

He sighs and she feels it.

She feels each shift in his mood now, each nuance of his shape, and yet this is unexpected, unprecedented. They had never spoken of that day, the ceremony, or its significance. Like all other things between them it had existed, festered and infected the air they breathed, but now he cut it wide open.

He turns his body, but does not look at her. She watches the lines of his profile with frantic eyes as he begins to speak.

“Now you will know no rain, for I will be your shelter. You will feel no cold for together we shall keep warm. No bread nor meat shall pass my lips before you know your share. Your load is mine to carry and mine yours.” He pauses, voice catching, and she holds her breath as if somehow her stillness will create action in him. As if stillness will help her remember and absorb each thing he says. He takes a fortifying breath before continuing: “You are flesh of my flesh, heart of my heart, bone of my bone and any hand raised against you will fall on my head for I am yours and you are mine. May ravens clean my bones if ever I forget these vows.”

Her entire body heats and now she is doubly glad for the distance, for the absence of his gaze. Near two weeks has passed since she had repeated the foreign phrases, made guesses at what the words could mean, amidst a sea of strangers and never had the chance to consider just what she had vowed. Between the pain and panic of the moment she had missed nearly everything, but now in the still silence of this space she feels each word in its fullness. She swallows once, twice, a third time to try to unstick her voice and respond. Every inch of her tingles and burns.

“Is that all?” She hardly recognizes the sound of her own voice, fingers clenching her skirt.

His face turns now, gaze meeting hers, and she feels the ripple of it cascade down her spine. His eyes, whiskey warm and blazing, give her no choice but to meet them as he speaks.

“I bind my heart to thine until the day I die.” His voice low and tight.

A sudden hysteria builds in her chest at his directness, at her rapidly crumbling defenses, at how much she needs him, but still her mind fights it. Why now? Why recite these impossible things in this moment? Why but to tell her something he cannot bear to say - she cannot bear to hear?

“Yes,” she chokes out. “I remember that part.”

He almost laughs, lips quirking, and she almost joins him but he speaks:

“I have no riches. I have nothing for you but my words, my oath. You have my life if you but want it - but if you are to have the answer you seek - if you must know - then first you must answer me this,” he pauses and her heart accelerates. If he asks her name - if he asks what she dare no speak - will she - “Knowing now the words you spoke, we spoke, in the hollow - could you have meant any of it? Could you have meant an oath you did not understand? Could you mean it now?”

It catches her off guard. Of all the questions she had expected this was not one. Her mouth drops open as if to speak, but clamps shut again. The steel rod of her spine is so rigid she fears it may snap if she breathes. The thrum of blood in her ears is so loud she can scarce hear herself think.

“I don’t understand. I spoke the words.” She shakes her head to clear it, body nearly shattering at the motion, and tastes the diversion on her tongue. She knows just what he is asking.

“I knew just what was said in the hollow that day, volunteered myself to it, but you -” he looks at the ground, scowling. “I’m bound fully to you, Logi. I knew the terms. I took them on for your protection. No matter what else has passed between us, what may come, I am bound to you. I need to know if it is the same for you.”

A log in the fire breaks and sends sparks swirling into the air with a crack but she does not flinch, does not take her eyes off of him. She thinks this must be a dream. She must have never woken from the night before. Her mind must be playing tricks to think he could be admitting what her heart screams he is - what her heart wants him to be saying, asking.

Her tongue trips around the matching of his profession with her own confession.

“And how is this fair?” She watches her hands as she wrings them, heart in her throat. “That you should be held to vows we made any differently than I?” Her legs twitch beneath her with the need to stand, run, before he answers.

He gives her no chance. His words are ready and available. “Because I knew just what were to happen. I am no stranger here, but you…” She hears him shift in the straw, knows he watches her with that strange, unnerving, wild thing behind his eyes. “There’s something in me that thinks you’ve never so much as heard tell of a binding such as ours. So how can I hold you to it if it not what you desire? Do you see?”

She knows of marriage, had read and been taught of royal wedding protocol and of ceremonies, but he was right. The binding she had experienced was unlike anything she had been taught. It had been as foreign to her as all else has been since she found her way to this place. Still -

She knows what he is asking.

She swallows hard, mouth dry, and manages somehow to not run or scream or cry but also cannot reply beyond a nod. His mouth quirks a rueful smile at her speechlessness.

“Then surely you can see how I may figure the vows you spoke not even understanding the words would weigh less than mine.” His words are soft, reassuring, but his voice tight like each syllable may snap him in two. Like each word pained him to speak. “I will not have a wife that does not want me, did not chose me. Can you see that? Do you understand, Logi?”

So many questions and she realizes now that she does not shy away. She realizes it has never been the questions that have kept her from speaking but her own fear of the answers. The idea, young and infantile, takes root as she tries to understand it now and her heart slams into her mind. She understands what he is saying, what he is asking, but even so she scrambles against it. She knows what this means and she has been loved before. It has never ended well.

She looks over the edge of a cliff she has thrown herself off of time and time again and is presented with a wasteland of jagged disappointment. The results have been consistently unchanging. To expect otherwise is folly and yet -

“I can see. I can see that.” She steps the edge. “What I did not understand - what I didn’t quite know - well I still knew. In my heart I knew.” She looks at the pain promised if she follows this path a thousand feet below. “I knew then. I knew, but now I understand.” She breathes and looks more intently at her hands, sees the scar on her palm, and experiences a lifetime in a moment.

Then: she jumps.

“My vows weigh just the same as yours.”

It is a strange light that flickers through the small cabin as she flashes her eyes to his. She has seen it a hundred times before but today it is different. Today it shows things she never would have imagined. He turns just enough that he can meet her eyes evenly and she cannot look away. She thinks that this time, today, he may catch her.

“Your name,” he hesitates. “Must it always stay hidden?”

She feels the difference in this question and somehow it feels more like safety than anything else he has offered her. Somehow it feels like being caught before hitting the hard earth and shattering.

“It is how I keep you safe.” The reality in the room snaps at her words, breaks and splinters until there is nothing left but the way he looks at her.

His tongue darts out to wet unusually chapped lips. His entire face still needs a thorough cleaning but that is for another day. That is for a day when she can think beyond the rhythm of her heart, the method of her breathing.

“Then you lied to me.” He says and it is enough to startle her already racing mind into picking up speed. She hadn’t… “You said your name was not horrible, but if it is so bad that I need seek safety from it well then…” He drops off, a strange, sad smile on his mouth and she realized his teasing and how he uses it as permission to not speak on the matter.

She welcomes it.

A strangled bubble of laughter escapes her throat and perhaps they could go on like this, strange partners in their own way, and never step into the uncharted waters of her past. Perhaps if she hadn’t seen the thing in the woods, had never found the sword in the snow. Perhaps if he hadn’t seen the guards face on the road before she stabbed his horse. Perhaps if she had never fallen in love…

Perhaps.

Perhaps if they had known each other in another time, place, life. Perhaps if she had been raised in these woods alongside him - had learned all the strange ways and knew the answers she sought from birth. Perhaps if she had not been born a princess - the word as foreign to her now as his customs - but she realizes now that she has spent spent her whole life waiting and wondering and living in the ‘perhaps’ and she will not wonder any longer.

She will not be her own lady in waiting.

She stands, legs trembling, and breaks his gaze to stagger to his chest. The strangeness of this all gives her a power she had yet to have - the hope of proving herself wrong and the night previous had all been a dream. It all starts when she opens the lid. She expects him to stop her, to demand she leave his things be, but he does not. She expects him to stop her undoing of all they have built, but he stays still and she begins her deconstruction.

Piece by piece, item by item, she undoes what she had replaced the night before. She dismantles his holdings piece by piece.

First go the maps followed by a leather satchel where his hunting knives are nested. There are a few larger items wrapped in skins and ropes and left un-investigated that she has no time to consider. There is yardage of fabric unlike that from their previous market journey. There are unaccounted bags and things that she has no use to remove or sort as she finds the jars at the bottom of the crate. If they are anything like the jars in the shed they are filled with crushed herbs and she withdraws them one by one. They are all sealed with clay much likes those in the shed but these also are bound with twine and she could ask but that is not the most important question. That is not the idea that burns her tongue.

He does not move as she reaching down with shaking hands and finds the base of the chest. He stays still as a statue as she bends awkward arms to reach and search blindly for her goal. When her finger slips into a tell tale notch her breath catches. She hadn’t dreamed it. It is real. She does not know if this is cause for excitement or pain, but she does not pause to think. She slips a nail into the ridge and pulls. The panel comes loose and she hears him shift, the crunch of straw a sign that he knows just what she is after - that he wants her to find it.

She gives him a chance to stop her, but only one. He doesn’t and then… she reaches past the bag of crystals she had thrown into this hatch and grasps the item she desires.

It feels slick and cool in her damp palms. She brings it out and cradles it in her lap, body tingling in anticipation of what she must say. She takes a breath, two, and then turns towards him as she keeps her eyes on the figurine as she extends it, odd angles jutting from scarred palms and:

“Will you keep me safe from this?”

The grotesque figure stands between them as a strange offering. She had not understood it when she first found it, had only the strangest of dreams whispering in her ears, but now… she hardly dares to look at him, at it, to know the truth, to push this hard on the walls they both have so carefully maintained, to know that he can push back just as hard.

“There is no need.” His voice riddled with gravel. “They will not harm you as long as you are with me.”

Her arm sinks under the weight of his confession, figurine nearly toppling from her trembling hand, as she acknowledges just what his words mean. She had not been dreaming. What she had seen is real and the confirmation sends her heart to her throat. She was never taught, never instructed in the palace, about what to do when impossibility occurred. She was never taught about strange beasts and brilliant light and yet here is a man she, in many ways, hardly knows telling her the impossible. Here is a man who has fought and bled and cared for her in ways no one in the palace ever had telling her that monsters are real and she has no choice but to believe him.

Her spirits simultaneously soar and shatter at the revelation. The weight of this reality is crushing. Her shoulders fold under it. If she had not already been seated her legs would have crumbled beneath her. Her breath comes light and quick in her chest and the world narrows on the edges.

“And if I am not with you?” She recalls all of the times he had advised her to stay close, to not go too far, to warn him if she left and she thinks now that she understands. “What then?”

He shakes his head.

“They will do you no harm for you are part of me. You are mine. Your blood is my blood.”

The vows he had translated runs through her mind even as a chill runs down her spine at the word ‘mine’. His statement again brings as many questions as it answers. She doesn’t know ice like he does, but she knows that she is standing on thin ground as she inches out further and asks:

“And what are they?” The figurine though nearly weightless feels like ten tons on her lap.

He swallows and shrugs, eyes falling to the straw by her skirts.

“Trolls, mostly.”

She nods, dumbly, unsure what else to do.

He is not lying. She knows, but somehow that is worse. Somehow this is more difficult than silence. Somehow this is more difficult than not knowing, and she knows that more questions will only begat more inexplicable things.

The hysterical bubble that had started in her chest moments before grows and erupts on a choked laugh. She thinks this must be a dream. Any moment she will wake and be in her down filled bed with thick wool sheets in the palace. She will wake and rub her eyes and chase the unraveling threads of this strange dream, grasping and trying to weave them together to make sense of it all. She will wake and by the time Gerda brings her breakfast tray it will al be nonsense. She will wake because this place, these things, these words he speaks are impossible.

Yet she is still here.

Her strange laughter chokes as soon as it is born. Her eyes will his to look at her and in that moment she knows this is no dream. She is not near clever enough to create this strange word and the intensity of his gaze when it meets hers.

Instead she looks at him with a strength she did not know she had and trades him truth for truth.

“My mother drowned.” She has never spoken it so simply before and a new chill spooks through her. “How did your mother die?”

Eons pass.

His eyes are dark and jaw tense, but he holds her tremulous gaze all the same. He swallows hard.

“She didn’t.”

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#wandering hearts

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sammy-writes-stuff · 7 years ago

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Traits, Trials and Truth, Ch 13

Chapter Thirteen: Roman’s Folly

Start. Previous.

Trigger Warning (But also a massive SPOILER:): There's blood at the end of this chapter, and a death.

Roman had called it a 'War Meeting', and Logan had called him dramatic. Nevertheless, the five sides sat at the kitchen table the next morning, and held counsel.

Virgil was still deathly pale, even without his signature makeup applied. He was slurping at the broth that Patton had concocted for him for brunch, and he was determined to keep it down. Virgil hated being a problem the others had to solve, and today he was literally half the agenda.

Logan and Roman were arguing passionately over how to tackle the two issues: the dead meadow and the sick Virgil. Roman was in favour of splitting up: having himself, Patton, and Logan go investigate the dreamscape, while Tristan took care of Virgil.

Virgil hated this idea.

Logan, on the other hand, didn't like the idea of splitting up: either they all went to the dreamscape, or none of them did.

Virgil hated both prospects of this idea too.

"- would be simply cruel to drag Virgil around the dreamscape which is already being influenced negatively - no offence, Virgil - when he is ill and weak!"

"- we may need all of us around to take care of Virgil, and we have no idea what the others would be walking into - "

"We cannot delay any further, the situation is worsening as we speak and I don't even know where to start!"

"-but-"

"Please stop." Virgil put down his spoon in his bowl and a little bit of broth splashed onto the table. "We should all go."

Roman raised an eyebrow.

"Walk to the living room and back without keeling over or painting a bucket with broth." It wasn't an unkind tone, but Virgil still let out a moody sigh. "I will not put you in danger, Virgil! We don't know what could be lurking - "

"Let's vote on it." Tristan suggested.

"We don't usually vote on stuff." Roman frowned.

"You had even numbers so it didn't always work." Tristan pointed out. "You now have a tie-breaker."

Roman squinted his eyes slightly in thought, but nodded.

"All in favour of splitting up..." Logan called authoritatively. Roman and Patton raised their hands. "All in favour of sticking together...that's three against two. We're sticking together."

"Fine." Roman pouted. "But in the dreamscape, I am in charge. You don't know it like I do."

To his surprise, no one argued.

"Be ready to go in five." Roman said, tone a little softer.

The five sides stumbled a little as they materialised in the dreamscape. They appeared on the top of a hill, from which they could see the dreamscape stretching away, far into every direction. Roman's castle could be seen in the distance to the north, the great lake to the west. They were surrounded by a sea of trees, but their eyes were invariably drawn southward...

"Merlins Beard..." Roman said, taking a step forward and gaping slightly.

The white dome of magic that he had created the day before looked completely different. Instead of a shiny, smooth outer shell, it looked like a glass bowl had been dropped.

"Are those...cracks?" Logan asked nervously. Large black cracks splintered the dome, making it look like it would cave at any second...

Roman grit his teeth and raised his arm, but Patton grabbed it.

"No! The effort last time literally killed you."

Roman frustradedly ripped his arm from Patton's grip. Virgil quietly explained to Tristan the different physics of the realm around death and injury, in responce to his alarmed look.

"Fine." Roman said finally. "We'll go closer and see the damage on the ground."

Virgil sucked in his breath as they teleported again, and sat down rather quickly when they appeared at the new location: right beside the dome. Tristan looked concerned, and sat down next to him in solidarity.

Inside the dome, they could only see a massive swirling cloud of dust.

"Fascinating..." Logan muttered, puling out a little pad and taking a note.

Patton gripped Romans shoulder.

Virgil tensed from his spot on the ground. He had thought he had heard something...

Sensing Virgil's unease, Tristan looked around wearily.

"ROMAN." He warned, clocking eyes on the source of the disturbance.

Roman spun around and practically breathed fire. His temper, which had been bubbling close to bursting point for far too long, finally let loose.

Roman bellowed and charged over to the spying troll, dragging him out of the nearby bushes and throwing him onto the ground in the middle of the group. It was the same beast who Roman had lost on the first day the meadow had died.

The troll didn't even put up a fight, but allowed Roman to drag him over to the others. He grinned at the sword pointed squarely at his throat.

"Why are you here?" Roman practically hissed.

"I - I have a message for you." The troll spluttered, but had an air of confidence that kept them all on edge.

"From who?" Roman said through gritted teeth.

"He wants to thank you all for playing your parts so perfectly...and one for completely going above and beyond..."

"I WILL NOT PLAY THE PRONOUN GAME WITH YOU." The Prince seethed. Logan took a step back in surprise. The air was thick with tension.

The troll just smirked and looked Roman in the eye. He gently grabbed the Prince's sword and batted it away.

"There's a big storm coming." He slowly rose to his feet. "I'm not afraid of you." He folded his arms. "He won't stop until you're all just shadows of the things you need to be." The troll turned and started walking away. Roman looked floored. No one ignored Prince Roman like that.

"YOU CAN'T WALK AWAY FROM ME!" He roared, finding his voice. The troll spun back around to face them.

"Yes, I can. Your power is already weak, you're all living on borrowed time. And Thomas? Poor sweet Thomas...I wonder how fast he'll fall when he moves into the next stage of his plans..." The troll didn't get to finish. Threatening Thomas was the last straw.

With a mighty roar, Roman threw his sword at the foul being, where it lodged in his stomach. Roman closed his eyes, panting sharply. A horrirfied gasp from Patton made him reopen them.

The five sides gaped in shock. The troll hadn't dematerialised yet. He stood there, now starting to scream, and dropped to his knees. Where the sword had penetrated, was a growing patch of red.

"No..." Roman choked, running over and pulling the sword out of the troll, recoiling at the blood that started to flow freely from the wound. He tried to put pressure on it, but someone pulled him away. Logan and Patton set to work on the troll, trying to stem the bleeding.

Tristan held Virgil's hand, the anxious side having put his headphones in and squeezed his eyes shut to try and avoid another panic attack.

Roman just stood there, bloody sword hanging loosely from his hand at his side. He was pale, which made the horrifying blood stains on his usually impeccable white suit pop even more prominently.

The troll managed one more laugh, coughed up some more blood, then shuddered and lay still.

His body didn't even dematarialise away.

Next.

Tag list: @callboxkat

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders

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cataclysmicrp · 8 years ago

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ZEPHYR DAMASK | 58TH HUNGER GAMES VICTOR | TAKEN

TRAITS:

+ Compassionate, Helpful, Charming - Shy, Reclusive, Fidgety

BIOGRAPHY:

TW: Death

Zephyr was born as a fraternal twin to two factory workers in District 8. While his mother worked the weavers and his father moved crates and product in the warehouses. However, Zephyr never had a chance to meet his mother due to her perishing during his and his sister’s births. Zephyr was born eleven minutes before his sister, Zeraphina (Zera for short). While his father had grieved for the loss of his wife, he stood strong and raised his kids with pride and dignity, hoping for a better life.

However, everyone knew that it was a farce. After all, Panem didn’t allow for happiness and riches and a better life. Not unless you were from the Capitol and you were under President Snow’s thumb like even the closest of his colleagues were. Zephyr understood that train of thought even as a young child. His father was heavily in support of the downfall of the Capitol even if he didn’t voice it in public. It was simply something he taught his children to be skeptical of, but also be wary of. Looking back on his childhood, Zephyr would’ve said that his father had been the influence of his rebellious nature, and in some instances, the influence of Zephyr’s empathy.

Zera had been his confidant through the harder times. Like when his father would get injured and they’d have to find ways to help him while trying not to cry from how hungry they were. They depended on each other just as much as they depended on their father to keep them alive, but somehow, the small, broken family had persevered through everything. As they turned twelve, however, everything seemed to change for them. Their names were now in the Reaping Bowl and his father was more quiet than ever during those times. He remembered the few times a year that his father would pull them both aside and teach them how to build a fire, or handle a knife or tie a rope. Zephyr had no idea how much those skills would pay off later in his life.

When he turned fifteen, it was his worst nightmare come to life. As the girls were Reaped, Zephyr was once again, thankful it wasn’t his sister. However, as the boys were drawn, Zephyr became the male tribute for the 58th Annual Hunger Games. All at once, he heard his sister’s scream and his father’s cry for mercy. There was nothing to be done as Zephyr walked onto the stage to join the 58th Hunger Games.

Little did he know that he would make a friend from District Seven. She was one of the more kinder girls that he had met in his life. The girl was strong, but the more he talked to her, the more he realized how sad she really was. He found out that she had volunteered for the position, wanting the Games to take her life due to the fact that Peacekeepers had taken everybody that she loved from her. Despite Zephyr talking to Hensley about her life had to mean more, she was adamant on dying in the arena and finding relief in the afterlife. Never before had Zephyr been more thankful for someone’s willingness to escape the life they had been given in order to give his life more meaning.

When he arrived in his arena, it shook him to his core to find that it had been in the thick wilderness. Almost like a rain forest terrain. As they launched in the middle of a muddy clearing and bolted for the Cornucopia, Zephyr had done the thing that every mentor instructed him not to do: run for a pack. When he got in, the Careers were slaughtering everybody who came close. However, he slid around the corner, snatched a pack from the closest right corner and took off. He didn’t know what was in it, but before he could reach the tree line, he could hear the screams of kids dying in the wilderness.

As he ran the other way to get into a more open clearing into a pathway, canons started going off left and right – until he ran into something he never thought he’d see in his life.

A baby dinosaur stood in his path.

He couldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t been in a Hunger Games arena, but he took off down the path and finally met up with Hensley. As they continued the next few days hiding from not just tributes, but from flesh eating lizards, they were in a constant state of running. By the fourth day, Zephyr was almost delirious from lack of sleep, but he was managing through adrenaline.

On day five, Zephyr and Hensley ended up running into a pack of raptors. They were in the final six at that point. Once they were running through the woods and into a bigger area, Hensley ended up using a machete she had found while Zephyr used a long sword he had gotten off of a dead District 2 career. Then, after they had gotten it down to the final raptor, the beast had bitten badly into Zephyr’s upper leg. Before it had a chance to kill Zephyr, Hensley had desperately jumped on the raptor, causing it to turn and start biting at her flesh. As she gargled her last screams of him to run, Zephyr hesitated for a brief moment before doing just that. Behind him, he heard her canon boom.

His leg was gnarled, but he managed to get down to the wire with the girl from District 11. Thirteen years old. She was covered in blood and shaken. He had no idea how they were the last two to fall. But the arena had been hard with dinosaurs becoming more of the threat than the people. Before long, the girl broke into tears and screamed for her mother. The pangs of guilt that Zephyr felt nearly caused him to lay the knife to his throat before a horrid looking flying dinosaur swooped up and grabbed the girl, carrying her into the sky, screaming. A flock of them were soaring overhead as it happened. Within seconds, the final canon boomed and Zephyr was crowned the victor of the 58th Hunger Games despite only having killed two tributes with his own hands.

After that, he returned home sobered. He wasn’t energetic or hopeful anymore. He didn’t feel that strong sense of rebelliousness as he used to. His father and sister relished in him coming home, but more than anything, he depended on the mentorship of Callie Dressel, his mentor. While the woman wasn’t mentally stable, she provided him enough gifts to get through the arena and keep him alive despite the raptor attack. The injury had caused the tendons and bones to become damaged in his left leg so now it has moments of weakness and he walks with a limp. A brace or a cane is used sometimes for him to get around. Other than that, it took time for him to start to regain faith in life again and get his life back in order.

He stayed with his family in Victor’s Village, silent and observant, for many years as Callie helped him get his life back together while she was raising a little girl of her own. Paisley became a natural part of his life after a while, and in a way, the young girl had helped him get back on track. It all changed, however, during the 75th Hunger Games after Katniss Everdeen had raised such a fuss across the nation. When it was announced that Victors would be going in, Zephyr had spent most of the night in the bathroom, nauseous and crying in his panic. It caused his sister to have to stay back in his mansion despite her moving in with a boyfriend of her own at the time. His father, however, was more than quiet about the situation. Eerily quiet for a man in his late-fifties.

When the Third Quarter Quell was interrupted by District Thirteen, he quickly found out how his father had been adamantly involved. After being pulled into District Thirteen to help with the Rebellion, Zephyr became engaged despite Zera’s insistence that he stayed out of it. But he couldn’t. So he became a messenger for the rebels to the ground teams. His father worked for the hovercrafts. Unfortunately, a few months into the rebellion, his father’s hovercraft was shot down and he was immediately killed in the wreckage. That immediately put a damper on Zephyr’s will to fight in the war. They stayed safe in District Thirteen until it was finally won with the death of Katniss Everdeen in the explosion in the Capitol and the execution of President Snow himself.

However, the utopia he thought he would be involved in soon became a horror. When President Coin ordered the Hunger Games to kill the Capitol children, and then announced her Second Victor Purge, everything came crashing down for him. While he wasn’t Reaped, he had to watch as his mentor, Callie, got Reaped instead with a sixteen-year-old daughter still in need of her survival. So Zephyr threw himself into everything to try to save her, only to come up short. Because of Callie’s death, he vowed over her grave to watch over Paisley, to which he allowed her to live in his new home in the New Victor’s Village in the Capitol.

To this day, he remains a mentor for the Games. With Paisley living with him and she had started to grow into a more beautiful woman in the recent years, he had found himself having immoral thoughts for her. While they had some conversations about how they had felt about each other, they tried to mask it between each other public due to the age gap between them and how Zephyr thought it was immoral. Zera remains in District 8 with her recently married husband and her year old daughter, who Zephyr was excited to find was healthy despite his sister’s age.

Overall, Zephyr is still trying to show his optimism and rebellious nature, but there had been enough to cause him to be reluctant to show any resistance. While he desperately wants to, he knows he must protect Paisley at all costs. He interacts with his fellow Victors in a friendly manner, but if they have proven that they mean him no harm, he is usually friendlier and more talkative toward those that do not and show him that they pose a threat more than anything. Zephyr prefers to think of himself as an optimist, but sometimes his outward appearance doesn’t reflect how he thinks. His main focus is to his sister and Paisley and in some cases, the people who are willing to stand by him when things get harsher.

Faceclaim: Luke Evans

#luke evans #luke evans fc #hunger games roleplay #au rp #tw: death #takenm

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