#he can only touch her because she's the goddess of the concept of eternity so she cant really die like other things can | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bokettochild · 3 years ago

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The Worries and Woes of Heroic Hair

Y'all were busting out hair headcannons before I left, so I saved a few and wrote a fic for them.

Featuring:

Pre-maturely grey Twilight

Curly haired Legend

Long haired Four

(As well as a reference to long hair Sky)

Warriors had gained the unfortunate title of ‘pretty boy’.

In a group of beautiful men and boys that literally sent women swooning, no matter what world they were in, he��d somehow been labeled the “pretty” one. Never mind he was more mature looking than half of their number. Never mind that Legend and Hyrule looked like a pair of porcelain dolls hand painted by a master artist. Never mind that Wild literally had half of his world falling heels over head for him. No matter how many women in the War of Ages had gushed about the adult Hero of Time (much to Mask’s annoyance). And sure, let’s just forget that Wars had heard not one, but two princess’s complimenting Twilight’s ass.

Yeah, okay, he was the pretty boy, sure.

Maybe that was because he was the only one in the group that actually had any understanding of a little thing called personal hygiene! Honestly! Had no one introduced the vet to a bathtub when he was younger? Or Wild to a hairbrush? And Hyrule... oh Hyrule...

Honestly, it was a pain, trying to not say something to his brothers that might be taken as rude or offensive. At least his own two boys were a bit better. During the war he’d pounded some sense into their heads after scrubbing their ears clean enough that they could actually hear him when he spoke, and Time and Wind both showed some (although not much more than the others) level of personal grooming, even if it was the basic wash and brush that Wars had required of all of his soldiers.

The others though? He had been beginning to think they might be hopeless, but then he’d had a chance to do something about it.

“Wars?”

“Hmm?” Bright blue darted up from the journal Warriors had been writing in, meeting Wind’s pout with a soft chuckle at his baby-faced brother. One day, Wind would be as grizzled and scruffy as his grandfather (would be his grandfather) but for now he would take him time teasing the kid for his baby-face. After all, it wasn’t like he’d be getting another chance to get revenge on the man who’d teased him up to his wedding day for his “lack of masculine charm”.

“My hair is knotted. In the back.” Wind didn’t even bother waiting for a signal, instead just plopping down in the captain's lap and dropping a brush by his knee. And really, with how the war had gone, Warriors should have expected that.

Any injury that impeded movement meant Wars was helping his two boys with whatever was needed during the war, and near the top of that list had been brushing hair. Broken arm or sprained wrist or whatever Hyrule had diagnosed it as (he’d been a bit too wrapped up in helping hold Wild still so he and Legend could treat the kid’s crushed hand to hear the healer’s final word), he was always happy to help the younger hero sort out his problems.

At least Wind let him help, instead of sending him scandalized looks and rude signs at the mere mention of a bath, like Legend did, or simply darting away like Hyrule.

“Wind,” Sky frowned slightly. “You didn’t have to disturb Wars, any of us would have been willing to help.”

The sailor cocked a brow, leaning back into his touch as he worked over the knot with nimble fingers well accustomed to working through tangled golden curls. “Says the Hero of Eternal Bedhead.”

Crystal blue eyes darted up to messy bangs. “Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.” Sailor and captain deadpanned together, matching grins on their faces as they stared at the Skyloftian.

“Oh feathers.” Sky huffed, running his hands through his hair and looking at the two expectantly. “Is that better?”

Wind snorted. “Sky, you need a hairbrush for your bird’s nest.”

“But,” Sky cocked his head like a confused puppy. “I don’t have a bird’s nest?”

“He means that your hair is a mess.” He chuckled, pausing in his work to pat the ground at his side. “Here, I’ll do you next, ‘kay?” And bless Sky for being a patient and reasonable person, because at the very least the Skyloftian just sauntered over easily and sat hot-cross-buns on the ground beside him, watching lazily as he worked at the sailor’s messy hair.

“It’s not that bad,” The Sailor huffed. “You can’t honestly be taking this long.” The kid wasn’t fooling him though, Wind was leaning into the touch, almost slumped against his chest in a boneless pile of teenager.

“You’re dry as a desert.” He scolded softly in response, rubbing some of the bristly hair between his fingers. “I’ve told you salt water dries your hair out, you need to take care of it or it’ll never grow out properly.”

Wind shifted awkwardly. “I didn’t have time. I did try, I mean it! It just... We’re always so busy and...”

His hands were already reaching for his pack. “You’re lucky mine dries out too. I’ll need to get more in the next town, but I think this oil can last us both long enough to get you some again.”

“Oil?” Sky frowned thoughtfully. “What for?”

“Split ends and dry hair.” Came the practiced answer as he rubbed the substance in question over his hands and began to card it through the sailor’s parched curls. “I suppose you could say it’s like with birds. They have to oil their feathers to stay healthy, right?”

“Oh! Okay, yeah, that makes sense.” The Skyloftian mulled over the concept for a moment. “We need to do that to our hair?”

Long fingers stopped mid stroke, royal blue blinking slowly in the clueless sky child’s direction. “Oh, you poor, clueless bird-boy you, your hair must be parched!”

Wind’s giggles shook them both, but Sky simply looked hurt. “I try. How was I supposed to know?”

Fingers slick with hair oil curled to point at the other hero. “I am massaging this stuff into your thirsty scalp right now. Wind, move.”

The sailor tumbled, giggling from Wars’ lap, leaving Sky to stare down at the captain’s crossed legs. “I’m- Warriors I am not sitting in your lap.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Brush in one hand and bottle of hair oil in the other, Warriors moved to stand behind the Skyloftain. “Just stay right there and let me work, and I swear if someone else tells me to my face that they’re not taking care of themselves- Sky! Look at this!”

The Skyloftian shifted, trying to look for only a moment before huffing. “Warriors, I can’t see the top of my own-”

“When’s the last time you trimmed this?” Brittle tips crinkled under his fingers as he stared at the mess that was Sky’s hair. “Your split ends are horrible!”

“Crimson usually trims it for me.” Came the softly mumbled response, and Wars had to hold back an affronted squawk at the words.

“You’re entrusting the care of your hair to a bird? Sky, my lovely, my dear friend, my brother, what the actual Ladies?”

“He does a good job!”

“If you call this rat’s nest a good job! Honestly, it’s no wonder Legend finally agreed to let you cuddle him, he must feel right at home with this mess!”

“Ouch.” Sky huffed, crossing his arms loosely and pouting.

“That aside,” He began working the first knot out, fluffing Sky’s hair lightly in his fingers. “It’s a good color, nice volume too. Have you ever considered growing it out? Without the split ends?”

“Huh?”

Caramel hair parted easily in his hands, springy and soft despite the brittle ends. “You’d look fetching with long hair, Chosen One. My, imagine what Sun would say if she saw you!” Sky stiffened as the soldier ducked down, voice lowering and eyes glinting with mischief as he whispered in his friend’s ear. “If she wasn’t already swooning at seeing you again, she’d be dizzy at the sheer beauty.”

“Wars!” Long ears twitched, tellingly red as the Skyloftian battled a fierce blush.

But the captain was already lost in his rant, taking pleasure in making Wind continue to giggle as Sky whined softly in protest at his teasing. “I can see it now! You arrive fresh out of battle, sword in hand and hair whipping in the wind, cape swirling like the wings of the goddess herself! She sees you. Your eyes meet. You shoot her one of your dashing smiles and she stumbles back, breathless, and you have to dart forwards to catch her before she swoons away altogether, so bedazzled she is by your handsome visage!” He flourished with a smile, letting oiled locks fall over Sky’s eyes with a laugh as the Skyloftian blushed brighter, not bothering to shift his bangs and instead hiding behind them, trying and failing to hide a pleased smile.

Wind didn’t stop giggling until Sky had had to punch the captain in the leg to make him finally cease the teasing.

“Smithy,” Twilight’s laughter rung through camp as he brushed long bangs out of the smithy’s eyes, the younger hero still smushed against the rancher's side sleepily, headband askew and half hanging in his eyes. The boy’s hair curtained his face, falling back into place the moment Twilight lifted his hand again, producing rumbling laughter form the farm-hand. “Four, you- when in Ordonia’s name did you last trim your hair?”

“’s not that long.” Came the murmured reply as Four pressed his face further into Twilight’s side, nestling closer with an irritable huff. “Leave ‘lone, Twi.”

The smithy might have denied it but... his hair really had grown out.

It wasn’t really that apparent with the headband keeping it back, and Four was decent enough at keeping his hair out of his face. But headbands, no matter how trusty, didn’t stay up forever, and when one was as active as a Hero of Courage, it wasn’t uncommon to find one’s self with their hair swinging loose in battle. Not that most of them minded, Wild kept his hair tied carefully and Legend tucked all of his under a hat, meanwhile the others all had shorter locks that, other than the swishing of their bangs, mostly stayed out of their faces.

Four on the other hand...

Four’s headband had fallen loose into a mud puddle, and until he was able to clean it the smithy had been walking around like a sheepdog, bangs fluffing into his eyes and making the shortest hero huff in an annoyed manner as he kept swiping his bangs aside. Unfortunately, they weren’t long enough to tuck behind his ears, only to hang in his face and send him stumbling over and into all sorts of things with sharp yelps and soft swears as the hero closest to him would have to offer a hand or scoop up the small smithy again.

Wars didn’t say anything, but when Four finally approached him one evening, eyes flickering icy blue as he dashed his bangs out of the way and tugged at the scarf draped around the captain’s neck (the others’ favorite way of getting his attention he had found).

“Hey there, smithy, what’s up?”

“Cut them.” Four huffed, pushing the loose hair back again only to have them drift back over his glinting eyes, and then, as if an afterthought, he tacked on ‘Please?’.

Royal blue darted up to Sky, who smiled on the edge of the campfire, a knowing look in his eyes. “Did Sky tell you I could help?”

“No. I figured that out myself. He just... pushed me.”

Laughter bubbled up in his chest. “Ah.”

“So, can you help? Or do I need to wander around looking like a Mogma?” Sky could be heard muttering across the camp at that, and Four’s ears twitched as he huffed, clearly having taken offense at whatever had been said.

He nodded, a bit unsure why Four glared across the fire at Sky, but willing to help. Oh goddesses, was he willing to help; Four’s hair bugged him nearly as much as Wild’s did, and he had been dying to fix it for the smithy. He wasn’t sure what Sky had said, but he was thankful for the other knight’s willingness to aid him in his battle against poor hygiene, and if he could turn another hero with the power of a good haircut, well! “Anything you have in mind? Just what you had before, or...?”

“Bangs.” Four dropped down hot-cross-buns, just like Sky had the other day, in front of him, arms crossed and expectant as he huffed at his long bangs.

“Right.” His brush and scissors were already sitting at the ready as he reached out to gently push the hair out of his friend’s eyes. “You good?”

“Annoyed.” Four sulked. “I can’t see anything and Twilight has been called me a sheep-dog.” Accurate. “I just want my hair short again, but the last time I cut it, it looked like I was attacked by a cat.” The smithy shivered, clutching at his sleeves as he shook his head, hair falling back into his eyes as he did so. “I just let it grow after that, but the bangs bother me if I can’t push them back.”

“Noted.”

Four’s hair was a bit silkier than the others’, but similarly brittle, although that was likely due to the heat of the forge rather than sea salt and extended time in the sky. He didn’t even bother asking about oiling the locks as he worked, brushing out all of Four’s hair with care and sectioning out the bangs with the same amount of agonizing detail Legend put into his paintings or Wild put into his cooking.

“Hair cut?” Twilight called from across camp.

“You could use one too,” Four huffed, unmoving save for his eyes darted to glance over his shoulder. “Your hair is beginning to look like wolf ears, rancher. Wolfie might take offense that you’re stealing his look and come maul you.”

Chuckles sounded around the camp, Legend wheezing lightly while Time and Wild shared a look. Wars didn’t know what that was about, but he smiled as he worked, humming lightly under his breath as he clipped a bit here and a touch there, releasing the hair to stare at it, adjusting it a bit, taking another section in hand and snipping it, and repeating the whole process.

Four was still as a statue the whole time, occasionally humming along to whatever tune happened to be on Warriors’ mind at the moment, but otherwise as poised and picturesque as a statue as the captain worked over the smithy’s blond locks.

This close up, Warriors was beginning to wonder why they never met any lovely admirers of the smithy, Four was certainly not lacking in the looks department, and had the kid lived in his time he’d find himself having to beat off girls with a stick. Honestly, how was he the pretty boy here?

“Nearly done?” Came the patient hum, and he snapped himself back to reality as he brushed Four’s bangs back into place, trimmed and tidy, along with the rest of his short hair.

“Yep.” The scissors finally came to rest in his lap as he whisked away the cloak that he’d used to catch the trimmed hairs. “My, my, smithy, you almost look as if you were going courting! Legend, lend a man your shield for a tick, would you? Four needs to see his new cut.”

The veteran rolled his eyes, but the shield was offered readily enough when Four trotted his way over, and while the smithy looked a bit surprised that Wars had bothered to braid most of his hair out of the way during the cut, he didn’t look at all displeased.

Wars counted that as a win.

He’d run out of oil a few days ago, and already his hair was beginning to frizz in this thrice-forsaken heat.

Being born with curly hair was nothing of the blessing his mother had made it out to be, no matter how she liked playing with her ‘baby boy’s’ hair. Of course, his beloved liked it too, but he was going to chalk that up to being a woman thing, curls were a pain if they weren’t on kids, especially if they were eon him.

Thank Hylia that Lilith had taught him to straighten it all out, he would have been driven half out of his mind if he hadn’t been able to control it on his way through basic, and the teasing would have been so much worse than it actually had been.

As was, the captain was only too happy when they next came to his Castletown, and after he’d made sure the others were settled in the castle with his cousin, he’d gracefully made his exit and headed out to the town. Getting through the streets was a pain, his armor and scarf giving him away as the hero and practically inviting the whole market to start competing for his attention, along with the hundreds of shoppers who surged close with questions and thanks and admiration. Not for the first time, Warriors found himself thankful that he handled crowds better than many of his fellow soldiers, and even if all the attention was a bit much, he wasn’t overwhelmed like poor Wild would have been.

Oh heavens, the day they finally figured out how to explain the portals and heroes nonsense to the public to excuse the sudden aging of the Hyrulian Hero’s child, Wild was likely going to have to start wearing a hood or something when they went into town.

The dye shop was a way into the market, and it had taken quite the bit of fancy footwork to avoid stepping on anyone as he’d answered questions and received thanks from the enthusiastic, if not slightly push, people of Hyrule. If he closed the door of the shop after him with a sigh of relief though, that was between him and Gyssel, the shopkeeper.

“Back again, Link? Same materials as the last time?”

“If you please.” He nodded with a smile. “Though I might have a bit of a glance around, I’ve a friend in need of a few things.”

The old woman nodded with a chuckle. “Right then. Oh, and if you see those two lovely gents who popped in here earlier, would you be willing to lend ‘em a hand? Poor dears looked lost as two minish in a fairy pond when they stumbled in here, but I’ve been batting a thousand with the customers all day and haven’t had a chance to pop over and offer help. You know the shop same as I do, so, if you have a moment, could you check in on them while I wrap your things?”

“Of course.” He nodded, smiling his best as he moved towards the back wall.

The other voices in the shop were mostly those of tittering ladies and mischief making pranksters, all too young and too high to belong to the ‘lovely gents’ that Gyssel had been speaking of, and it wasn’t hard to trail the rumble of a man’s voice to the back of the store where the hair dyes were. He grinned as he rounded the corner, but froze when he found himself face to face with a startled, and maybe somewhat abashed rancher.

“Twilight?”

“Warriors?”

“Shit, Wars is here?”

Royal blue darted down to meet the snapping violet of the veteran. “Legend? What are the two of you doing in here of all places? Are you lost?”

“No.” Legend huffed, foot tapping agitatedly at the floor as he gnawed his bottom lip, a sure sign of awkwardness if one knew the vet.

“What are you doing- oh.” Twilight’s face faded from confusion to understanding. “You’re the city boy, of course you shop in joints like this.”

He cocked a brow, hands coming to rest on his hips as he stared down the two other heroes. “Says the guy who’s been wandering around looking for something long enough the owners worried. Honestly, what could the two of you even need?”

Midnight and violet glanced warily at each other, and to his surprise, twin flushed lighted his friend’s faces as Legend had crossed his arms and Twi had rubbed at his neck.

“Hair dye.” The rancher admitted softly.

“And shampoo.” Legend had tacked on.

Warriors let his eyes blow wide an overdramatic gasp sounding in the small corner of the shop as he rested a hand on his collar. “Why, vet, you don’t mean to tell me you’re planning on actually taking a bath, are you! My heavens, what next? Will Hyrule somehow produce a wedding cake in time for Time and Malon to announce they’re having a baby?”

“They’re what!?!” Twilight yelped, sounding, ridiculously, like a dog that has just been kicked.

“I’m teasing, rancher.” He chortled. “Trust me, if Time knew of such a thing, he wouldn’t have shut up about it. Miss Malon’s still trim and terrifying as last we saw her; I have little doubt.” At the rancher’s breath of relief, he shook his head. “Honestly though, soap? Vet, last I checked-”

“It’s hot.” Legend interrupted, avoiding meeting his gaze by rolling his eyes.

“And?”

“And in case you didn’t know, our resident vet is a-”

“Don’t say it!” Legend huffed, glaring at Twilight and tugging his blue cap tighter over his head.

Come to think of it, Legend hadn’t taken the baby-blue cap off in ages...

“Is a what?”

Twilight looked down warily at the seething veteran, face twisted up between a playful grin and a wary frown, as if he didn’t yet know whether he wanted to tease and face the vet’s wrath or hold his tongue and avoid making a scene.

“Look,” Warriors sighed, glancing between the two country boys with a sigh. “I won’t tease at all, alright? But the sooner you own up to whatever nonsense you did to yourself, the sooner we can find you what you need and get ourselves out of here.”

The flush on Legend’s face darkened, eyes darting down as the vet shuffled his feet, and Wars found himself being reminded that for all the vet’s snark and sass, he really was as much of a kid as Wild and Wind were, just more accustomed at having to act otherwise.

Thin fingers rubbed at the rings on the vet’s pale hands. “Well, you see- that is- augh!”

Something inside him blossomed with warmth, a smile stretching across his face. Golden Three, Legend really was just an awkward teenager, wasn’t he? He even stumbled over his words when he was embarrassed, just like Time used to. Of course, Time had been twelve and Legend was nineteen, but that was beside the point.

“So-” The vet was nearly pouting as he struggled with his words, fingers rubbing steadily at his rings as he avoided Wars’ gaze. “You know how Ravio has curly hair?”

“Yes.”

“And you know how Ravio and I are- uh, each other's- reflect-”

A laugh bubbled out of his throat unexpectedly as he reached out to ruffle what could be seen of the vet’s frizzy bangs. “You’re a curly top! Why didn’t you say sooner?” Legend glared at him with a huff, but violet didn’t shift to indigo, so he knew it was all just an act. “Wind and I are too, I was actually in here to get some things for the two of us, and Sky too. I can help you as well if you don’t mind, just let me-” He motioned to the blue cap that was pulled snig down to Legend’s ears.

The vet huffed, but reached up to finger the blue fabric. “You won’t laugh, right?” Stern eyes met his own.

“Of course.” He smiled reassuringly.

Legend’s gaze searched his face for a moment, wary, but open, and even if it made him uncomfortable (the odd glint of gold at the edges of the vet’s eyes was a bit unsettling) he withstood it until Legend nodded, seemingly to himself, and pulled off his cap.

Pink curls spilled down to the vet’s shoulders as a bright blush colored pale cheeks. Twilight didn’t make it any better by reaching over to ruffle the vet’s head, chuckling soft and warm and surprisingly fond as Legend hissed back at him.

“Can I- that is- do you mind if I touch? I can help you find what you want better if I know what you need.”

A stiff nod.

The pink hair was just like fairy-floss, but less sticky (still dirty though) and he had to remind himself what he was doing once he got his fingers in it. A quick check at the texture and ends of Legend’s hair, as long as a quick check of the scalp and roots told him all he needed.

“Whatever dye you used to do this messed you up, vet. Honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking, but you’re dry as a mulduga’s arse. Did you bleach your hair before dying it or something?” There was a murmur in reply, but not anything he could really make out. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said that’s me natural color.” Legend huffed, tensing under his hands. “I bleached it blonde a few months back, but no, I didn’t dye this shit, it just happened.”

Twilight, very unhelpfully, giggled.

Warriors blinked. “You have pink hair?”

“Yes.”

He fought the chuckle that built up in his chest, but it did little good as he ruffles the frizzy curls and let Legend replace his hat. “Alright then! Well, I’d avoid bleaching again if I was you. The pinks out and it’s healthier if you give it a rest between dyes. I have to admit though,” He settled his hands on his hips and looked between the two other heroes with a smirk. “I never took either of you two as the sort to dye your hair.”

“Throws off the guards.” Legend huffed, tugging his cap back over his hair and making Warriors wince. Ah yes, Legend’s Hyrule’s guards.

“Fair enough. I can find you something to help with the drying out and dye damage. Twi though...” He frowned, stroking his chin in thought. “Why do you even need hair dye? Trying something new?”

Now it was the rancher’s turn to look embarrassed, rubbing at his neck and ruffling his hair. “No, actually. I jist need- rather- want? I guess? I-”

Legend huffed, patting the rancher’s arm in a rare show of compassion. “He’s been greying early and it’s making him self-conscious. I told him we could look for a dye to hide it, since he didn’t want to go about stealing Time’s position as the resident Old Man.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “Right! Fair enough. So, you want your natural shade, yes?” At the rancher's nod he pressed on, clapping his hands as he listed what they needed. “So, hair oil, some dye, and shampoo for Legend, preferably meant for damaged and curly hair. Anything else?”

Even though the two shook their heads, they all walked out with a bit more than what Warriors had listed, but despite the fact that Legend complained about it all, no one seemed to mind too much when he pulled the three of them together after the others had gone to bed and helped show them had to use the various toiletries without making too very much of a mess. It cost a pretty penny to get them all sorted, but Legend was clean, Twilight was a brunette again (the silver streaks were rather fetching though, and he’d made sure to make sure Twilight knew that before they dyed it all away) and Wind and Sky had what they needed to prevent their hair drying out again.

And even if it made a sizable dent in his wallet, he’d refused to be paid back. It was worth it anyway, since now he and Legend both had straight hair again (and the vet had actually washed!).

He could see now why Wild and Hyrule liked playing with their respective mentors’ hair though, it was almost addictive.

Time took one look at the three youngest and groaned, and Warriors almost echoed the action.

“What were you three even doing?” His now-eldest huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh as he tried not to look at the three teens, all of which were covered in mud and grass stains, and only looking slightly remorseful, despite their horrid clothing and scraped faces.

Had it been anyone but Wild and Wind, Wars would have sat back and watched as karma paid her long overdue visit to the mischievous mask-loving hero, but since it was his kids that caught up in paying back the silver in his own hair, Wars had to stand with Time and try his very hardest not to chuckle at the sight before him.

It took no trouble at all to picture Mask sitting, unrepentant, amid the other youngsters, a challenging look on his face as he dared the captain to even try and ground him for running off again.

“We were exploring.” Hyrule grinned sheepishly, rubbing at the mud that had dried on the side of his neck. “We um-”

“We fell in a swamp.” Wild snorted, wrinkling his nose and shaking some gunk from his hands with a pout. “Even I think we stink.”

Time’s lips twitched, brows struggling to remain in a scowl as he answered, voice wavering with a hint of laughter that made Wars smile to himself. “Is that so, Cub?”

“We smell like boko guts.”

“Or boko crap!” Wind cackled, the only one not soaked in swamp goo but instead spattered with ordinary mud that came from likely tripping and falling in the dirt from laughing too hard.

“Bathe.” Time chuffed, shaking his head fondly. “All three of you. Rivers there and I’m sure Wars has soap aplenty to help.” Hang on, what? Time’s eye met his own, blinking- winking? with a bright and shit eating grin. “Have fun with you sons, dad.”

Oh Ladies, Karma messed up again, didn’t she?

“Mask, I swear-” He growled, glaring at his- was Time his eldest now? His middle child still? The youngest since he’d been the last to join the family?

“Don’t, you’ll set a bad example.” The overgrown forest gremlin chuckled, walking away with a condescending pat of the shoulder.

Some things really never changed, huh?

“Right then.” the captain turned to glare stillness back into the three youngsters, two of which were already trying to sneak away, and the third- of thank Hylia for Wind, the kid was standing at perfect attention with a smirk on his face that screamed ‘I’m the eldest and I’m about to watch my little brothers get scolded and I’m going to enjoy every second of it’, snotty little salt-bathed brat. “Jump in or I punt you.”

Hyrule and Wild exchanged a look, a sure sign of danger, and both sprinted in opposite directions.

He huffed a laugh. Amateurs. Mask and Wind had run him ragged during the war, but once you’ve fought to pre-teens on the daily, there's nothing a pair of teenagers can pull on you that will truly surprise you or throw you off. It was the work of moments to have Wild slung under one arm (wolf pups, honestly, Mask was the same way) and Hyrule by the back of his collar (Wind’s customary position).

“H-how?” Both boys stammered.

“Experience, mud moblins.”

“Do I weight anything to you?” Wild stammered, staring up at him with wide blue eyes.

The grin on his face was easier than usual in situations like these, but then again both teens had given up fighting against him sooner than the last two had ever done. “Hardly. You’ve always been a lightweight.” And with those words he promptly administered a light kick to Hyrule’s lower back, knocking the kid floundering into the stream, and following up with a well-practiced toss that send Wild rocketing in after.

Wind, already stripped down to his shorts and standing waist deep in the water, raised his hands with a shit eating grin. “Six out of Ten, Wild.” The little sea monster called to a spluttering Wild as the kid surfaced, only his face peeking above the surface as he treaded water with a pout. “You need to work on your form, but otherwise- ack!”

A wave splashed up from Hyrule’s direction and Wild sent an appreciative grin the other boy’s way while Wind’s grin melted into a playful one, eyes glinting dangerously.

“Oh, that’s it! You’re just asking for trouble now! Never start a water battle with a pirate, you two, you won’t like how it ends!”

Another, mischief filled, glance was exchanged and both feral heroes descended on the young sailor. It was like watching cucco’s descend on a bokoblin, and Warriors watched with laughter bubbling in his chest as he stripped off his gunk-stained tunic, courtesy of the mud-covered boys he’d wisely decided to pick up, and moved on to his chainmail. The sound of the three youngest heroes' shrieking and shouting sweet music to his ears as Time and the other older heroes made camp just off of the riverbank, teasing each other and generally messing around.

“Wars, why are you- are you joining us?” Wild cocked his dripping head with a curious look as he watched him.

The undershirt slipped off easily as he waded into the stream’s center. “Of course, you two got me muddy too after all, and it’s not like I trust y’all to actually clean up by-” At the slowly spreading grins on the faces of the three, the captain realizes his mistake. “I don’t trust you all to clean up properly, so I’m-”

“Warriors said ‘y’all’!” Wind chortled, eyes glinting madly as a grin stretched over his face. “Oh boy! Just wait ‘till I-”

“Slip of the tongue.” He clipped back, hands settling on his hips as he stared down the three teens. “You tell Twilight about this and I will personally wash your mouth out with soap.”

“You’re the one who said it!” Hyrule pointed out.

“And whoever tells the rancher is committing a verbal atrocity that will only lead to far more in the future.” He huffed. “No one tells, you hear me?”

Wild looked between the others, brows furrowed and lips pursed as he took in Wind’s triumphant grin and Warriors’ scowl. “What’s wrong with saying ‘y’all’?”

The captain staggered back dramatically, hand on his chest and a horrified expression on his face as he stared at his son. “No! Never say that word! That word is an abomination!”

“What word?” Hyrule cocked his head, eyes glinting knowingly, but the captain failed to recognize it in time.

“’Y’all’!” He spat with contempt. “We do not say ‘y’all’ in this house! ‘Y’all’ is a cursed word and the next person who says it is-” - ‘Is on Mask watching duty’ was his go to consequence, but that wouldn’t exactly work right now; Time was a bit old to actually need a supervisor- “is on clothes washing duty with Legend.” He settled on at last, choosing the chore that everyone except, surprisingly, the veteran minded.

“Say the man who just said it four times in a row.” Wind teased, darting out of his grasp with a wide grin.

“Wind! I was trying to see how many times I could make him say it!” Hyrule huffed, pouting at his brother adorably.

“I still don’t get it.” Wild grumbled. “It’s a word? There’s nothing wrong with it as far as I know, ‘y’a-” The captain’s hand was clamped around the kid’s mouth before he could finish his sentence.

“Let's just not.” Warriors huffed; he was beginning to mourn Twilight’s mentor position at the moment. Fortunately, Wild was willing enough to still in is hands and not push the topic, unlike the other two who just egged each other on with ever widening grins. “Right.” He rolled his eyes. “First one with a clean face gets the strawberry scented soap; go.”

Silence fell as nothing save splashing rang over the stream as faces ducked beneath the water, all three boys falling for his favorite trick of all time. Heck, even the old man would probably still cave to the offer of strawberry soap, even now that he was an adult, and Wars couldn’t blame him at all; strawberry scented bubbles were the best bubbles and Twilight and his goat-milk soap could go sniff a skunk if they wanted to contest that.

It took hardly any time at all for all three to emerge, fresh faces and glowing, three sets of eyes al sparkling up at him as a warm chuckle blossomed in his throat. Naturally, he gave the promised soap to all three, citing the ‘I can’t tell who finished first so you all win’ excuse that Grandfather had taught him ages ago.

Wind dutifully set about scrubbing himself clean, and in the meantime, he guided the less experienced duo. “Take so much,” He dolloped a generous potion into Hyrule’s cupped hands. “And rub your hands together, yes, just like that, work it up to a nice lather and just scrub it all over. Take care you get the smelliest bits first so you don’t run out of soap before you get there, yeah?” Both forest children nodded, dutifully following his instructions as he moved to help scrub the traveler’s sopping curls.

It was an easy pattern to fall into, scrubbing the two heads with especial care to remove any sticks and twigs he found along the way. Hyrule was the easier of the two, but Wild held still better while he worked, almost melting under his fingers as he messaged suds into his son’s long locks, a light smile playing over both their faces as he worked, content to sit in the cooling water of the stream as the sun began to set, hands buried in his kid’s long hair as he worked out mud and filth and who knows what else.

Rinsing the sweet-scented bubbles started out innocently enough, but Wars was given a front row seat to watching an accidental splash descend into a full-on war on the water as he scrubbed his own hair clean, and well, if he joined in once he was finished, well, someone had to show Wind that he wasn’t the only hero with some experience on the water.

Wars sighed as he watched Time stirring quietly on his bedroll.

Honestly, his middle kid (he’d finally settled on letting Wind retain his position on oldest, since there was no way Time could be the eldest brother with his gremlin behavior) was something of an idiot. Oh, he loved all three of his boys dearly, but Time was an ass and everyone who knew him well knew it (except maybe Twilight, but that guy was an ass too).

Time hadn’t been sleeping recently, and it was easy to see in the dark bags around his eyes and the almost drifting expression on his face at nights. It was for lack of trying either, the kid- man? - the hero would settle down on his bedroll every night same as the others, but even with sharp eyes shut tight and blanket pulled to his ears, the ‘Old Man’ couldn’t lie still for more than thirty minutes, constantly shifting and fidgeting on his bedroll even as the other heroes steadily dropped off to sleep.

It was just the two of them now, the captain on watch and their leader trying to pretend he was asleep with a scowl on his face.

He was scratching again.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” war clapped his hands against his knees and pushed himself p, staling over to stand over the largest of the bedrolls and staring down at the lump within. “What’s up, Sprout? You normally snore like a hinox all night long, what’s eating you?”

A single blue eye stared up at him wearily. “If I knew, I would have killed it by now.”

Oof, bad night then. “Do you have any idea what it could be?” He was already settling down next to the group leader’s head, hands reaching to grasp Time’s own and bring them down from where he was, likely unconsciously, clawing at the sides of his face.

“No.” Came the frustrated huff.

“Missing Miss Malon?” He suggested, running his fingers through short blonde hair thoughtfully, mind miles away in a two-story house at castle town as he fell into the all too familiar trap of playing with one of his boys’ hair.

“I thought so at first, and while I do, it doesn’t usually stop me from sleeping.” Time grumbled, staring up at the night sky with pursed lips. “It’s not nightmares or visions either, if anything my dreams have been normal for once.”

“Anxiety perhaps? Are you worrying about the others? Twilight, maybe? Wild?” At the questioning glance he received he shrugged. “Kept me up enough nights, even if you two were there. A bad thing happens once and you're not likely to forget it.”

“Hmm.” Time hummed, leaning unconsciously into his hands and settling on his bed-roll, shoulders falling lax as his single good eyes fluttered softly. “Maybe.”

Whatever it was, it wasn’t bad enough that War’s fingers didn’t put it to rest, and time was asleep in mere minutes, soft snores rumbling over the camp as the captain continued his ministrations, eyes and ears sharp and alert for any disturbance near in within the camp, but body relaxed as he kept the steady rhythm of his fingers through short and silky hair.

When his watch was over though, and it was time to wake the veteran to take his, Wars found himself stuck. Time's fingers were curled tightly in his blue scarf, the man’s head resting easy against his thigh, and any motion small of subtle, would likely send majestic blue fluttering open again with an exhausted air.

Ah well, time to be creative.

Legend grumbled, as usual, at being woken by having his feet touched, and the captain echoed his discomfort as he wrings is sore and likely sprained hand. Time was still asleep though, so there was that at least. Now just to figure out how best to position himself so he could sleep.

Soldier’s experience won over logic, and Wars was asleep in seconds, leaving the camp under Legend’s watch and Time snoozing blissfully at his side.

#lu warriors #dad warriors #warriors is wild's dad #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wind #lu sky #lu four #lu twilight #lu legend #lu wild #lu hyrule #lu time #curly haired legend #silver twilight #linked universe headcanons #long haired sky #fluffics

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scrawnytreedemon · 3 years ago

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Shit I’ve Been Winding Up For A Long Time Now But Am Very Aware Will Probably Hold No Relevance Should I Actually Go Into This More--

This is about Bhunivelze.

You know, when I was chilling out, on my bed, that evening on that half term in early June, deciding to check up on ClementJ64′s FF retrospective because-- Hey! It’s been awhile, I wonder if he’s got around to doing the final bit of the FFXIII saga --You know, I was there, chilling, just for a laff. Just a laff.

The rest of that week was spent spiralling into a hyperfixation I absolutely did not anticipate in any way, shape, or form, because the way they introduced that character was “wwhdhfjjhHJDFJKHKJHW H A T??”

That retrospective and a good amount of wiki-scrounging is all I have as a basis for this. This is not a coherent character analysis-- Though I might tag it as that for ease of access. This is not, by any means, the thoughts of someone deeply familiar with FFXIII on the whole beyond plot synopses and overarching themes.

I don’t think I’m brave enough for that.

Reading the vast yet surface-deep lore on those wiki pages on my birthday while in a delirious state of mind was enough to make me somewhat nauseous.

Do you think I’m going to go through all of that in real time?

(Someday, someday.)

Ugh, I don’t know how to begin, but let us, I guess. I’d recommend you read this church-mime-demiurge’s FF Wiki page if you want the same level of base-knowledge I had, and maybe the aformentioned retrospective if you want the experience, because I don’t think I have the wherewithal to get into all of that from the bottom-up.

I am also, so, so fucking sorry for any remaining FFXIII fans in advance. There is like, a good chance I may be butchering the characterisation completely, so bear with me here.

With that... we begin?

Where do we even start with this guy?

How on earth to you begin to explain the absolute monolith you’ve constructed from crumbs of a Guy, some material no doubt spliced in from the Pale King, Sephiroth, y o u r o w n G o d O C and other characters, and the mountains of religious trauma you carry around at all times that is probably the only reason you’ve been able to latch on as hard as you did?

I’m going to try.

What gets me, in summary, about Bhunivelze is how he’s a prime example of how love and concern can become deadly forces if in the wrong hands. His first acquainting with human emotion was by deceiving and possessing Hope, reverting his body to a teenage state, and planning to live among humanity through him. He sees human sorrow and suffering, and decides that, to End This(because it must be ended, you see) he’s going to destroy all the souls of the deceased that make up the Chaos that’s been eating this world for the past five-hundred years so they all forget and Are Happy. :).

Capital G God here hasn’t been present for the vast part of human history because he’s hidden himself away from Everything due to paranoia from killing his own mother and throwing her body into the Cosmic Basement, THEN creating the beings that would come to create humanity and OTHER beings because he didn’t have the keys to the cosmic basement. And also he believes death is a thing because she’d’ve somehow cursed all things to pass(including him) out of Spite.

Which explains why he’s so fucking averse to it and anything to do with it.

Bhunivelze, to put it lightly, is Shit at stepping into others’ shoes and Getting their experiences-- All the FalCie in FFXIII are, but him especially. It’s clear(again, in the f u c k i n g JP--) that he makes attempts to sympathise with them and does what he can to help, but it’s with such a loftiness and a complete inability to Understand why anyone would want grief, The Worst Fucking Experience In Existence, and even less why they’d be willing to Go Up Against Him And HisThe New Perfect World just for it-- And what would it matter, anyway, forgetting their loved ones. It’s not like you can grieve lost memories, right?

Right.

It reminds me of when at the end of the story of Job in the Bible, where, after putting this man through hell on earth, God rewards Job by giving him ten new children to make up for the ones that he lost. I. And that’s fucked! Nothing can replace the sheer uniqueness of each individual person you loved so dearly! But if you were a nigh-omnipotent deity high and mighty, with a cursory, almost mechanical knowledge on the functionings of the human psyche, that would seem adequete; enough.

Bhunivelze is doing that on a cosmic level.

I now want to get onto the romance: that being, his affections for Lightning. I don’t know how much I’m going to say, but it’ll probably be alot. It’s something that hits very close to home.

There is this... thing, within certain branches of Christianity, perhaps even in those of various Abrahamic faiths, where God’s love is posited to be the love-- The ultimate, most-fulfilling, all-encompassing love you could ever imagine --Because, well, he is love, so the story goes, and so often the best way to convey that is through the imagery of...

Marriage.

Giving up yourself so completely, to serve, to be the Bride; to be bound by him for all eternity; and for there to be no higher bliss than this.

This angle is pushed on young girls and women the most; from the mere parallels to the woman’s role in marriage, all the way down to downright-horrifying ultra-Evangelical purity pacts. With men, God is your dad, your best bud and confidant, your boss, your king, your this, your that, and the ‘marriage‘ as it were is relegated to a sort of half-thought; a metaphor.

For me, God was an attempt at all that, and my arranged groom.

(It was almost incestuous; was incestuous, that my own Divine Father would reach for my hand in marriage.)

Bhunivelze experiences Emotions™ for the first time through Hope, experiences Hope’s sheer overwhelming admiration for Lighting(whether there were any baby-crush feelings mixed in, I can’t say), and promptly falls into a nigh-romantic obsession with Lightning, deciding that she will be Etro(his all-but daughter)’s replacement, will be his Goddess of Death to-be-- He even calls her as such, before the final boss-battle--

...In the JP.

What happened in localisation, probably due to a number of factors, all the way back in early 2014, was that everything emotionally challenging about Bhunivelze was scraped off, like it was extra fat, and tossed aside, leaving us with the bland, clichéd shell of a foe-god we’ve seen time and time again. And I mean everything. I mean his very love for humanity; the fact his ploy was, in his eyes, to save them. Because if they’d left that all on, then it would raise the question of even if there was such a seemingly pure, all-knowing, loving being hell-bent on setting things “straight,“ would they truly be unquestionable? Would we have the right to fight for our humanity in the face of the Creator of the Universe?

To reject a love so personal?

That’s what gets me about FFXIII’s tackling of God, no matter how hackneyed and poorly-executed. It’s personal.

It’s from a feminine experience.

I know that terming is... vague, and problematic, but the way Christianity and much of the video game industry handle femininity itself is weird and problematic, so as it stands, I’ll have to simplify it. Apologies.

What sets FFXIII’s Let’s Kill God™ plot aside from most JRPG Let’s Kill God™ plots is that with our protagonist being a woman, and one who is very in touch with her femininity alongside her sheer strength; often, in these stories, God is reduced to Yet Another Foe, expected or unexpected, and you are tasked with taking him down unquestioningly for the Good of Mankind-- You will fight God, because you are right to, and you will go man-to-man-to-however-many-men you decide to bring along for the bloodbath.

And that just, doesn’t speak to me.

Even as an Extian.

Especially as an Extian. And an AFAB one with a deeply complicated experience with my gender, at that.

Leaving Christianity was painful. Questioning God was painful. Coming to terms with the fact that I had been mentally, emotionally, and spiritually traumatised under the guise of All-Encompassing Love was so, so fucking painful. I had been taught since I was five years old to devote myself to him, spent my life desperate to feel something, anything, to stay connected because I just, I never could Feel It on a deeper level, never could Give Up Myself, all I was, couldn’t Die A Spiritual Death And Be Reborn As His Eager Vessel, thus deeming myself to be worthless and a broken vessel for years and years on end... And for all that to have been... Nothing.

Lightning is hollowed out, the shards of her dead sister ripped from her in-stasis, leaving her emotionally numb for the majority of the game, Bhunivelze sweeps it under the rug, pretends he’ll perform a miracle and return Serah to life in exchange for her compliance, then sends her on her way to do his work, all the while knowing he’s going to pull said-rug from under her and elevate her such dizzying heights in the aftermath--

That he’ll deny her humanity.

Sand down all the rough edges that make her her, and polish her up afterwards, gild her as he is gilded, make her a Goddess.

And he’ll do it all because he loves her.

You can’t fight God like you can everything else. To fight It is the fight Existence Itself; FFXIII even conveys that by making Bhunivelze’s model part of the arena; it’s baked into the fabric of the game, no matter how minute.

While Lightning Returns is far from perfect in its execution of this concept, and that in itself makes me wince, not even taking into account the horribly botched excuse for a localisation Bhunivelze endured, it speaks to me more than anything else I’ve seen so far.

And it’s helped uncover some things within me. Helped me untangle them, just a little more.

So, yeah. I have alot of Thoughts on Bhunivelze, I want to share them, and I’m kinda really sad I have no one but my currently-absent friend Vee to share them with. I could get into alot more, like his very Fucked relationship with familial bonds, and how Lightning’s role as saviour so deeply parallels the overwhelming panic and never-ending guilt of Evangelical proselytisation, but I think I’ll leave those for another time.

In short, Bhunivelze is the epitome of Divine Love gone deeply wrong; on all fronts.

And if all of that isn’t enough to intrigue you, then, in Vee’s words, Lightning and Velze are literally canon endgame Sefikura lmaOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--

#ffxiii #lightning returns #bhunivelze #analysis #scrawny speaks #scrawny rambles #this was written on and off over the course of a couple months #i know this will only get two notes #if even that #but fuck it i love this guy and i'm going to puke words for his sake #religion mention

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yasmeensh · 5 years ago

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Zelda II: The Adventure of Link - The lore

I know this is an art blog but i can’t contain myself and I need to talk about zelda2 lore. Why? You all heard about the botw sequel being darker, much darker. And people made connections to Majora’s mask, because it was a dark sequel. But you know what? Zelda 2 was also a dark sequel. Nintendo are doing it for a THIRD time and I'm proud. Sit tight and maybe grab a snack because this will probably be a long passion essay. Here we go.

Most of you MIGHT be familiar with the storyline of Zelda2, but in summary, here is how it goes: Princess Zelda from an ancient time has been put to spell by a curse. Only the power of the full triforce touched by a pure heart can wake her. Finally after hundreds of years, the chosen one came along (Link). Link must place 6 crystals in 6 palaces to break the spell on the Great palace where the Triforce of courage is enclosed. Once there, he takes the triforce, completes it with the other two pieces, and wakes zelda up. The End.

And Here is the story in MORE detail (unless you are in a hurry , I recommend you read it. The top summary is just for people who have no clue what the story is:

The king of hyrule always passes down the power of the triforce to his son next-to-be-king. This time however, he wants to give it to his daughter, Zelda, because he believes she is wiser and more considerate than the son. The son was very upset about it and has summoned a wizard to scare the princess and give up the triforce to him. The wizard however, overcome with hatred towards zelda, uses all his magic to put her to an eternal sleep, and he dies (only recently in the hyrule historia has the identity of the wizard been revealed: he is a follower of Ganon, or an embodiment of ganon himself (sort of like ghost ganon in oot or blight ganons in botw. So in this case he might have not died but just extinguished all his powers)). The son, overcome with grief for his sister, promises that every girl born into the Royal family henceforth will be named Zelda. He locks the triforce of courage far away, so only those worthy of it will be able to access it, and leaving the remaining two in the castle, unable to use its full power.

Hundreds of years have passed by and no worthy hero came by, until now. On his 16th birthday, Link noticed that a mark resembling the triforce glowed on his left hand. Worried and Confused, he goes to seek information on it from Impa. She tells him that he is the hero chosen to save the sleeping princess Zelda. She gave Link a scroll written in ancient text that only the true hero can read to ensure that he is in fact the chosen one. Link was able to read it despite never seeing that language before. The Great Palace where the triforce of courage lies is locked with a spell. The spell comes from 6 different temples, and he must break part of the spell at each temple so he can open the gates of the Palace. To do that, A crystal must be placed in each, and that is exactly what he does.

While Link is going on his journey, the minions of Ganon are going after him, trying to capture him and use his blood to revive Ganon (It’s unclear if they want him alive or dead, or simply his blood. All we know is they want to use Link’s blood in a sacrifice to bring Ganon back from the dead). If Link dies, Ganon will be revived, so he must remain alive. At the end of the trial to the triforce of courage, Link was made to fight his own shadow by the triforce keeper. After defeating his shadow, he made the triforce whole again, wished for the curse on Princess Zelda to break, and she woke. The End.

Now that is my extensive summary on the official story. Obviously I will fill in now MY theories on some points. My biggest point is Link fighting his shadow. Why did Link have to fight his shadow? Why was Link not ready to touch the triforce? He already went through ALL the trials, so why this now? My theory is that Link’s heart was not pure. Only a pure heart must touch the triforce. A corrupted heart will corrupt the world when the triforce is touched, no matter what the wish is. Link was most likely the chosen hero, but he is not completely pure. I believe Link was made to fight his shadow as a final step to touching the triforce; to cleanse his heart from any evils that are in it. Why would Link be evil and corrupt? I don’t know, but that’s hella dark. Another point, that can be connected to BoTW, is Link’s death, and the revival of Ganon. If you played AoL before, then you are familiar with the red screen of death and Ganon’s evil laughter. Well, if Link dies, that means Ganon will return. That means Link should NEVER die. But he is not a god or eternal deity. He will die at some point during his journey after the events of the game or simply from old age, or whatever. He will die. At this point, if the people of Hyrule really want Ganon to remain dead, then Link should simply disappear once he dies. If he were to be buried, they have to hide his body somewhere the monsters will NEVER reach. I have no idea where that could be: the dungeons of hyrule castle? Something similar to the Great Palace? Maybe. The better option is to burn him, but I don’t know if people in Hyrule do that (they probably should in this case because yikes Ganon)

Where am I going with this? I’m not sure, but It vaguely reminded me of Ganon(dorf) coming back to life in the new BoTW trailer. Who was he even? A new ganondorf? Or one we already know?

Lets go back… what about AoL Link’s death? Another option for keeping Link out of the hands of Ganon’s minions is for him to never die. To be absolutely safe, protected, and strong enough to protect himself, and to live eternally. And I know the people of hyrule (at some point) will have that technology available, because BoTW Link was revived after his death. Link can probably die countless of times and still continue to live because of that shiekah tech. Now about the tech, AoL seems too middle ages, right? WELL… this is going to sound dumb but the temples in AoL have elevator thingies in them. Shiekah technology? Maybe. It could be a manual pulley system. Or pure magic. We don’t know, but we are a step closer at least.

BASICALLY i see a lot of similar points between these two games and idk if nintendo accidentally did that or took inspiration from aol but its cool that these two games share the concept of the kind of tragedy hyrule will go through if link dies and the idea of Ganom coming back to life. Why am I even getting into BoTW… let’s get back to AoL lore! If you played AoL, you might be familiar with the Link dolls. Dolls that save Link from death (i.e extra lives) those dolls are pretty creepy and they look like a tiny hunched over limb Link. They are scattered throughout all of hyrule, and you find them in random weird places, like at the beach, in a swamp, inside a temple, in a cave, near a graveyard, forest, etc. They are everywhere. Who put these dolls there? No one knows. But someone is totally trying to save Link from dying on his journey. If he dies, Hyrule is screwed. Could it be Goddess Hylia? The fairies? A magician? Link Dolls are extremely strange and Nintendo could have gone more in depth on them because they provide some super cool dark lore.

Also we can’t forget about Kasuto Town. All the inhabitants of the town went to camp in the forest because their town was destroyed. Why? No one knows, again (everything in this game is shrouded in mystery). There is only a single man living there in old Kasuto. Kasuto town is entirely destroyed, all the buildings are decaying and crumbling, the air looks nasty and the sky is purple. There are ghosts EVERYWHERE. And if Link didn’t acquire the cross before entering, he will not see the ghosts at all and will just die from being hit by what looks like air. Now the civilians! The civilians are hiding in the forest! In-game, you will never be able to find them unless you hit a random block of grass with the hammer, and then it will appear. They are well hidden. Something must have destroyed their town, something terrifying, and they are hiding from it. The entire population has gone to hide in the depths of the forest. Now I have a theory that these people COULD be related to the shiekah. Those people are magic experts. You learn something called The Spell in old kasuto. And in new kasuto, you use this spell to raise a small temple from the GROUND to get the key in it (idk man but reminds me of the shrines) You also receive the final magic container there. So, yeah, those people definitely have a magic obsession or *super powers*. (i’m hinting at it but these people could be the shiekah). Also one more thing, these people are begging Link to save hyrule. They are the only people who are begging him to do something. They know HE will save hyrule. In all other towns, it only seems like Link is asking for advice and they answer Link is a random nobody. However, the people of Kasuto are AWARE. (shiekah much? idk)

This is not too lore-y but it’s about how dark this game is: there is so much red in it. Game over screen is red. The lining of the triforce on Link’s hand is red. The windows in the temples are stained red (blood?). The Tinsuit sprites have fresh blood dripping down their swords. Also, sleeping Zelda’s dress is red. I can’t brush that off. Whenever I think of AoL I think of the colour red. There is so much to say about AoL... But what I want to say is that this game is HELLA dark. I hope Nintendo uses its lore in future games, and adds references, because it can totally work if they try to. This game has a lot of lore material to work with. Nintnedo should consider expanding on it (and botw was inspired by loz1, it would only make sense if the sequel will mirror the original loz sequel too :3)

PLEASe share your ideas! I’d love to hear what you all think! There are many ideas to go around so share your thoughts! And one last thing, AoL is very difficult. If you want to try it, be prepared to see the colour red a lot, cry a lot, and rage quit a lot.

Thank you for reading my very long post! Enjoy your day <3 <3 <3

#spent 3 hours of precious exam studying to writing this #loz #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #zeldaii #zelda2 #aol #adventure of Link #botw #breath of the wild #botw 2 #long post #text #essay much?#maybe #i had to let it out I'm sorry i love this game too much

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clansayeed · 5 years ago

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Bound by Choice ― III.ii. The Children of the Made-God

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ��

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

That's the problem; the world would rather judge them than seek to understand them. Their love was never about sacrifice. It has always been about survival.

[READ IT ON AO3]

The sun peeks through plumes of thicker smoke hot at his back. Hot as the gluttonous flames that devour the manor; ravenous and with enough awareness of mind to lick their plates clean.

All this heat and yet he is cold. A glacier unrelenting. Chipped away from the mainland and forced out to a sea of lava. Bubbling, boiling, blistering.

Broken.

He is the warrior but she has always been the stronger of Valdemaras’ children. She was born in carnage and supplication to a higher death; with the torn flesh of her enemies between bared teeth as they grew long and unyielding — he was born in the ecstasy of understanding, of being known and knowing in return and of finding a singular answer to all of the questions he never knew he needed to ask.

No one else knows this. No one but the one who brought them into this world so different, so unique… but with the same blood pumping rabid through their hearts.

No one else knows this. No one.

“Let me go!”

“You’re hysterical! Cease this madness!”

“Isseya I will burn you myself let. me. go!”

“I cannot lose you, too!”

The animal of howling anguish he has become — Cynbel stops to turn to her, only able to think of the words that dared poison his lips even if only for a moment. The thought never there, never — never.

But the fire continues to exist. Cares not whether their eyes of desperate mourning are upon it and continues on. A load-bearing column wavers and falls; kicks up a fresh cloud of glowing embers and smoke up to the sky and sends the husk of wall nearby with it.

He looks back in time for the embers to dig into his eyes like little claws. But the tears that come aren’t by their touch. Not at all.

“HH—He…” Words — what fucking useless things. Irrelevant, fucking impossible. They’re never full enough, strong enough… never just enough.

They would waste their lives for his. Oh they would. Their God’s first and final gift and they would soak the ground with it so wet so nothing could burn there ever again. Would build a temple befitting his honor towering so high in the sky it alone would block out the sun.

“I don’t…” she splutters wet with tears, they’re falling at a rate so fast he can’t wipe them fast enough, “Cyn—h-he can’t be—I…”

Imagine a world without him?

Neither can he.

Nothing could have survived such a blaze. That much is certain.

Though there are some that have never put much stock in certainty. The figure that emerges from the crumbling half-ruins of the front threshold being one of them.

They rally her name in a bolstering cry. “Sayeed! General Sayeed!” As though she is their savior. For some of them she perhaps is; the picture of the old goddess Hel wreathed in ruinous wreckage.

She is their savior, he thinks — and is made vengeful for it.

Something writhes in her arms but her grip is one of ages. Well-fed ages, too. She approaches and all gather to meet her. Some in praise, some in awe. Cynbel and Isseya — they are caught in a limbo of their own making and only follow because there is nothing else left.

Kamilah tosses her burden onto the grass gracelessly. The face that looks back up at the enclave of vampires is bloody and bruised; a gaping hole reeking of burning flesh where one eye was supposed to be.

The servant boy from the dinner cowers in fright. Because that is all mortals are good for in the end. Blood… and fear.

A boot comes down upon the child’s throat and everyone revels in the creak of youthful bones before they snap.

“All you have risked in their name… and they abandon you to die in their chaos.” Never in his life has Cynbel been glad to take in the towering sight of the Godmaker, nor is he now. But feeling anger is better than feeling a void.

Gaius’ burned features heal with every word hissed through clenched teeth. Angry, wrathful. “Your loyalty would have been far better rewarded had you made the smart decision not to cross me. But here we are.”

All around them — the faces of strangers. Of a Godmaker and Bloodqueen but none of them him.

Bravery is only brave without the fear that wracks through the feeble mortal. Ready to be ripped limb from limb for the barest scraps of blood and marrow by a starving pack of wolves. But to spit in the face of the Godmaker… that’s just stupidity.

And with Evil’s boot on his throat he intends for his last words to be damnable, perhaps. “Demons from Hell! Let God’s light and holy fire cast you away!”

So much hatred in such a small vessel.

Not that it was ever in doubt this was an attack orchestrated by the Order. But something so large scale…

There are jeers from all around to kill the whelp. To do things Cynbel has done, would do again if it brought him back to them… Distantly he notices a dark-figured silence in the form of Ambrose, watching not the satisfaction that curls in the smirk on the Godmaker’s lips but the way the creature seals his fate. The way he tries to squirm for freedom.

Snap. Technically he brings about his own demise. Writhes so hard in some deluded dream of freedom that all the Godmaker has to do is press down his littlest toe. The look that passes between King and Queen isn’t missed — yet still he reaches out and smooths the soot out of her furrowed brow.

The sight of it feels like dying.

“Where is he?”

Nothing but silence and the crackling of leftover fire. Cynbel swears he can hear his words echoing off the trees.

Augustine lets out a snorting breath. They know him too well — know something passes in his bright eyes hidden by blood-slicked hair before he pushes it back. “I don’t have time for your whining.”

“Make time!”

Not a step forward, then there’s a hand on his chest. Forceful and sure, but younger.

Kamilah’s eyes are long past burning. The storm gathers inside her, ready to douse the inferno. “Cynbel,” she hisses, “do not. You’re a fool if you even think you could.”

He bats her hand away. “Don’t you dare, girl, don’t you dare!”

But he’s too weak. Both of them are; it takes little effort for the Bloodqueen to force what’s left of the Trinity on their knees. Blood trickles from the corner of Isseya’s mouth — she would rather bleed out than cry out.

With her back turned from her Maker and King, Kamilah looks down at the pair of them with warning. Don’t do this, not here. But fuck — what else can they lose? What is it to be whole and lose the entirety of it?

That kind of love…

He shouts through Kamilah’s raised arm and meets the Godmaker’s eyes even from this place of weakness.

“Where is Valdemaras?!”

“You dare demand of me…”

“Bullshit—I refuse to believe you and your bitch —” he spits at her feet for good measure and the act earns him five deep wounds to the face, wounds that will heal in time but he almost wishes they would not, “— were the only survivors!”

He’s a spectacle of his own making. Both of them looked upon with younger eyes; ignorant. Ones who couldn’t possibly fathom the depth of their years, of the emotions threatening to tear him apart until he, too, is ash. They don’t know what we’ve done to get this far. They never will.

Except for perhaps Kamilah though she, too, is made less kind.

“They attacked at dawn. Knew the depths of the compound… of everything.” She speaks soft and all the while his blood drips from her fingertips. “Without warning there was… there was nothing that could be done.”

“Not that you would try.” Isseya hisses. They fumble blind in the growing light for one another’s hands.

Two thousand years up in smoke.

Gaius takes his sweet time approaching them. Revels in their grief, no doubt. All his parading about caring for his people yet they have always seen themselves as different, haven’t they?

He grabs Cynbel’s chin and forces him to look upward. It feels as though even the flames still around them. Not that it stops the Golden Son from trying again; even if it is in vain.

“How did you survive… and he…”

Because I am stronger. Because I am smarter. Because I am better. The Godmaker could say all of these things and more. Could behead them for their insolence and none, not even Sayeed, would raise a hand to stop him.

Cynbel braces himself for the onslaught… that never comes.

Gaius releases him, lets his hand fall down and because the Trinity know better they won’t call the look in his eyes remorseful so much as mockery.

“The man who stands upon your slumbering bedside with shackles does not intend to kill you. No, that is the man who holds the torch.”

He sees the grieving lovers, the words so ready to spill from their tongues, and stops them with a simple gesture. A finger over his own lips, a “ssshh…” that does not ask for silence but demands it. “Your lover, my ill-minded progeny — he refused my every attempt to feed him this night. ‘Not without them,’ he said—the fool. No doubt he was as starved as yourselves, as weak.

“Hunger can make easy prey of even the proudest of predators… as you well know.”

Isseya squeezes his hand. Were he to look over he’s sure he would see the same look reflected back at him.

Instead she’s fixated on Augustine. “The Order isn’t the type to take prisoners.” Prisoners are worth keeping. The Order would see them all burned.

It dawns on Cynbel, then. Spine rigid and eyes sweeping across the lawn, the road leading back to the heart of town and further; to the trees and their singed cover that would do them no good when the breeze decided to toy with their lives.

The Order would see them all burned… yet does not. They flee—cowards—back to where they think they are safe.

This revelation of Cynbel’s is something the Godmaker already knows.

“They took him.” Cynbel breathes.

Gaius nods. “Likely, else you must not have thought very much of him all these years—that you would survive and he would not. Valdemaras… he is as crafty as he is defiant.”

“You know where.”

“I have an inkling. Close enough for them to take advantage of such a window of opportunity.”

There are still so many questions. The ebb and flow of emotions on his weakened state has Cynbel in a fit, has him doubting every word he speaks, every one he hears. He is gone. The Devil wears so many faces…

And that his darling girl, his beloved Isseya chooses then to hold him tighter can’t be anything less than a sign.

Enough to bring Cynbel from his knees. To pull Isseya up beside him and hold her tight lest she, too, disappear from him on the fading smoke.

Gaius laughs at the sight of them. “I never understood his fascination with you two. But I’ll give him this — he knows how to make them loyal.”

All it takes is one glance to Sayeed behind him, the look in her eyes strange and foreign on her expression usually so calm and sure, for Cynbel to bite his tongue.

“Tell us,” only his darling could ever make a plea sound so strong, “please, Godmaker. We’ve done all that you asked —”

“And you will continue to do so. But I am… fond of Valdemaras. He should prove useful in the days to come.”

The Godmaker surveys them as a farmer might his stock. His next words almost an afterthought; “All of you should.”

It is an undertaking for them and them alone, the Trinity understands that. And though every moment spent breathing is one breath that may be their lover’s last to rush into it would be suicide. And he’ll be damned before he lets his death be at the hands of some worthless Order bastard playing soldier.

Charlottesville has finished burning. But the screams of her people last well into the night. They don’t stop for the setting sun or the moon and her stars. In fact they only get worse.

He drinks for strength and nothing more — unable to take enjoyment even in the way the young man’s body slumps to the ground, twitches like a fish out of a pond, and is still.

He’s barely had the time to wipe the remains of his meal from his chin when two pairs of boots come into his field of vision. Looks up just in time for Sayeed to toss a sheave of paper at his lap. He just barely catches it without letting the contents spill onto the blood-soaked dirt.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more foolish.”

Cynbel barks a laugh and directs his sneer to the pages rather than the woman herself. “Just you wait, little lotus. You’ve not seen the depths of my stupidity…”

The eyes that finally meet hers are red of hellfire, of blood and fury.

“Especially when it comes to my Lord and Light.”

Ambrose beside her looks as if to say something but thinks better of it and resigns himself to watching. They are an unusual pair, Cynbel knows. But how else does one describe two thousand years of finding middle ground on opposite sides?

Unusual is about the only word that could even breach the depth of them.

He sighs and holds up the folder, ash smearing over his skin at burned edges. “What is this?”

“A peace offering.”

“Peace, in times of war?” The weight on Cynbel’s heart is immediately lessened at the sound of Isseya’s voice — she approaches around the stocky build of their unwelcome voyeur and clings to her lover just as ardently. “Cut the shit.”

Kamilah’s teeth grind in her jaw.

“On this rare occasion, Trinity, you and I desire the same thing. With the safe return of your Maker you will, I hope, follow in the pattern you always have at the slightest sign of trouble.”

They raise eyebrows at her and Kamilah continues, convicted; “You will leave.”

“Virginia, oh yes.”

“No,” Kamilah shakes her head, “not just Virginia. In your hands you hold all that my King has gathered on the Order’s operations… I trust I don’t have to warn you they are likely to be more armed than the reports give.”

Isseya takes the papers and shuffles through them. Names of scouts, soldiers tabbed in Sayeed’s careful script along the edges. Cynbel stops at one marked ‘RAINES’ and pulls it free from the stack with one word holding him spellbound.

Shackles.

“The Godmaker mentioned shackles — did he mean this?”

There’s a grim moment where she almost looks as though she will not answer. “Perhaps,” she says finally.

The sketch is rudimentary but the notes around it are neat and tidy. It’s been ages since he’s actually read anything; something Cynbel hadn’t realized until just then.

What? He’s always been better with tongues than words.

But is Sayeed really only going to give them half of a gesture? Apparently his face is transparent; the sight of it deepens the furrow in the woman’s brow.

“I will tell you the rest.”

Isseya waves her off. “Yes yes, we know how this goes. ‘In exchange for,’ and all that. What do you want?”

“Your word.”

She asks for one but those two press down on their already so fucking heavy shoulders. Make the Trinity—a word that means three… are they even still such when only two remain?

Her lips on his neck don’t ease either of their burdens but, as always, her touch is enough. It isn’t hunger that makes him weak enough to grasp onto some—any—part of her… but sometimes weakness is just weakness.

“Your word,” Kamilah continues, “that you will tuck your tails and run the moment you are reunited.”

Which — he’s very much in favor for. But that isn’t Cynbel’s decision to make. “It was the Godmaker who sent for us. Who made us stay to fight his battles for him, payment for…”

He can’t seem to say the words. Lucky the Bloodqueen understands.

“And anyway — he will hunt us down if we break our word now.” Isseya raises a good point, yet Cynbel keeps his selfish protest inside his chest. If we break our word now everything will have meant nothing.

“Leave Gaius to me.”

“Mmm.”

“Enough of this. You want to leave and you are being given a free chance to do so. Why not take it?”

“Nothing with the Godmaker is ever free.”

Rather than continue to argue her rather her rather strange case Kamilah just extends a hand. Notices his reluctance only in that the last time they shook on anything Cynbel had been left with one less hand to hold. Ah, Columbia. Good times. Better than these.

But it’s always Valdas who makes these choices; who has a right to decide for the three of them. He is their God, their Maker, their guide. Who ferried them from one world into the next and… and he just isn’t that man. Could never be — he could never be…

And thanks to their beloved Valdemaras. For bringing Isseya into his life then so she could be here for him now. A decision made together to assuage the guilt.

Cynbel and Kamilah shake on it. He tries to contain his look of surprise when he pulls back the same number of fingers he’d offered.

He’ll hold up his end of the bargain. So she holds up hers.

“It wasn’t supposed to get this far. There wasn’t supposed to be a war.” And she’s right. He still remembers Valdas’ honeyed words that got him to agree to this shit in the first place. All of them resting on one thing.

This would be simple. It would be fun. It would take no time at all.

“And for a while things were in our favor. We had decades of resources, we had information, we even had the numbers. But they were like…” she shudders an exhale, “they were like dominoes. First the numbers fell. A fluke — luck to keep a cosmic balance. Turning to bolster our own worked in the beginning. But with each line branching off into the next the blood became… diluted.

“It was a risk worth taking. Until it wasn’t. Put a dozen soldiers in the ground and only two of them would wake up sound of mind. There was a small outbreak—an uncontrolled and unsanctioned Turning…”

Kamilah trails off, the stoic figure beside her takes up the mantle with astonishing gravitas. “My men and I put down just over twenty Ferals across Indiana. Countless more casualties in our wake, then the humans started blamin’ each other for the killin’s. We had to let it rest or the Order’s doctrine would become all but gospel.”

“Unless the next part of your story has anything to do with either one of you taking up blacksmithing, perhaps we should be moving on.” While Isseya glowers at the pair they’ve already lost Cynbel. His focus is back on the page in hand — trying to catch the whispers of a memory dredged up by a sigil traced at the corner.

Kamilah’s nostrils flare. Ambrose chooses to keep the peace. “Well — see — at the beginnin’ of the year it was quiet, a little too quiet. Found out then about a little excavation the Order had goin’ ‘round near old Salem.”

“Hypocritical bastard.”

Cynbel launches the folder carelessly and the papers within begin to scatter on the dead evening air. Isseya, knocked back by his outburst, looks ready to snap his neck for the trouble. But when she realizes it isn’t a tantrum, that true distress wracks through him violently, she just… holds on.

“What’s with you, beloved…?”

“A series of cursed objects were made for the trials that took place there. One man by the name of Corwin, the leader of the hunters and a member of the Order — we discovered this much later, too late perhaps. He led the witch hunts and needled out from the masses those with a true affinity for the craft.

“Corwin promised that should the witches create for him a series of tools and weapons for the Order’s crusade then they would be spared.”

She doesn’t have to say the rest. The implications are clear enough.

Isseya can’t help her disgust. “They preach of cleansing humanity in one breath and further themselves with witchcraft in another. Actually — can’t fathom why I’m even surprised.”

But despite what they now know their minds haven’t changed. Kamilah sees this and knows it to be true.

The surprised one between them is the New Blood, Ambrose. He looks between the vampires and though he’s come to understand the language of their silent gazes he can’t seem to believe his eyes.

“You still intend to go after your Maker?”

Foolish for him to even ask.

There’s a new rigidity to the man’s spine as he inhales — looks at Kamilah with all the respect of a soldier to his general. “Then allow me to accompany them — allow me to bring my men to fight at their backs.”

“We have no use for cannon fodder.”

Even Kamilah tries to stifle some aged amusement; a knowing the youngest among them does not yet covet. “Your intentions are noble, Ambrose, but you and your men are best served here. Should the Order attack again —”

“Will their mission not ensure there won’t be another attack?” And though he raises a fair point Cynbel still can’t believe his eyes when Sayeed actually considers his proposal.

His darling’s growls rumble deep in Cynbel’s bones. “Your pity will earn you no honor.”

“‘Tis not pity, milady,” dark eyes level on those of the Trinity open, honest; a strangeness neither of them are familiar with outside of their own covenant, “but another life lost to the Order — especially one so highly praised between Old Blood like yourselves — is another victory I will not abide. ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men should do nothing.’”

Isseya’s doubt and disregard claw at him, make his new skin still pinkish in its rawness itch uncomfortably. Wordlessly Cynbel reaches back and cards his fingers through her hair. Comfort found as much as it is given.

“Better to have cannon fodder than to be confronted without it, my beloved.”

He seals her protests with his lips; swallows them down greedy and reminds her with every twist of his tongue that they do this for something far more important than they. They do this for Him.

But he has the decency to wait until he feels the yield of her under his fingertips. Pressed-together foreheads and meals not shared but tasted against the familiarity of two thousand years.

Cynbel regards Ambrose… and nods.

Though her ‘peace offering’ has found its way across the packed earthen floor and in a few cases fluttering out glasses windows, Sayeed seems contented with the outcome. She rests a hand on Ambrose’s shoulder and finds the gesture returned. “On your own head be it.”

But, truly, no threat seems to deter him. “May the light of the First guide us.” So focused on his own altruism, he misses the recoiling shudder of the Trinity.

Kamilah takes her leave of them — one last look to Cynbel like fresh ink on a contract. She has upheld her end… and will ensure he does the same.

“Be ready come midnight, the absent will be left behind.” Already Cynbel allows the tension to ease out of him at Isseya’s touch. The way she clings to him — not desperately but with just as much intention in the matter.

“Of course.”

Cynbel makes sure to wait until the man is several strides gone before calling back. “Oh, and — Ambrose, was it?” Balancing the scales of power even now to make the man turn back to them. “Leave your First shit among your belongings here. Salvation does not come in those who pray on bended knee even as the sword comes down upon their necks. The only person who can give you precious salvation is you.”

An entire sermon goes unspoken across Ambrose’s hard-worn frown. “It was merely a prayer to faith.”

“We are of a different faith.”

“Which would that be?”

He doesn’t deign to answer. Dismisses the man instead by turning bodily from him and allowing himself to fully embrace her — to try and touch her as though she is not all he has left in the world. He can feel her struggling with the same mindset with every kiss, every caress.

As He delivered them from their mortal confines they, too, will deliver Him from the hands of the Order. And if they are too late…

No gods, martyrs, saints will keep them safe. Not the Order, not the Godmaker, not even Sayeed. And dear Ambrose will learn the hard way that his precious First will never come. No matter how hard he screams at the end.

The Order will expect retaliation to come when their enemies are safest. So they plan their strike for midday.

Three of the twelve men that make up Ambrose’s brigade back out before they can say another word. They look to their leader for permission but he stays silent — and fools that they are the men take silence as permission.

Cynbel and Isseya watch as, with an almost imperceptible nod, three of their brothers-in-arms take aim and fire on the mens’ backs at thirty paces. Thirty, he knows, because he counts each step they take before they are beheaded with their own sabers.

It makes the Golden Son look at the New Blood with different eyes. A sight Ambrose must notice even if he doesn’t look away from the ritual of execution. “There’s no place in my men for cowards,” is his only explanation. It’s more than enough.

One of the few humans left in town—who takes that he has not yet been devoured as a sign that some night he might join their ranks, the fool—agrees to drive their caravan. The winds taste of an early winter and have blown away the smoke up high in favor of a bleak, almost colorless day.

Isseya leans over and whispers in his ear; “Does the world really look like that, or is it that no beauty is worth finding without Him?” Whispered as though she’s afraid saying it will make her day-mares come true. He doesn’t answer with words — throws an arm over her shoulders and pulls her in tight so that she may feel the tremors that wrack him still.

So that she may know her fear is not a sole burden to bear.

If they had the tools, the resources, the time to prepare they would. This is not something they undertake lightly — this life that means more to them than their own shouldn’t be left up to chance. But they don’t. No time to scout, no time to strategize.

A thought that has Cynbel wheezing a laugh while hunched over the woefully barren map of where the Order might have based their operations.

The pair of boots at the edges of his vision shuffle, unwittingly drawing his attention up to Ambrose’s carefully-masked confusion.

“Indeed even in this slop I know my beauty is striking — but if it hasn’t yet dawned on you, New Blood, I am spoken for.”

Ambrose’s gall is quickly smothered at the sight of Cynbel’s lips; barely tugging at the edges. The only smile he will ever grace again, says that fear the Trinity shares, but he ignores it.

“Such a terrible tragedy, I’m sure. But you’re not exactly my type.”

“Men?” He scoffs. “Give it a century or two.”

“No, not men.”

He doesn’t respond until Cynbel meets his gaze fully. Impressive man… he’ll give credit where (and when) it is due. “Then…?”

“Self-servin’ and more than a tad off your rocker.”

Point the second for the New Blood. Fascinating. And not entirely wrong.

Cynbel goes back to his map. Ambrose leans back against the rattling caravan beam and closes his eyes.

“I was thinking of the risks involved here. And what he would say if he could see me here lamenting over a plan.” Outside they can hear the pacing a mile off — Cynbel would know the sounds of Isseya’s waif-play anywhere. Whatever it takes to get them food before they strike.

“I should be grateful for the opportunity to forgo the rigidities of war. All this officers and commanders and following orders horse-shit. I should be reveling in the chance to do this my way.”

“An’ what way would that be?”

“The way of the hunter. Knowing only what will ensure your survival. Passion in the kill… in the feed.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very informed way to go into battle.”

Perish the thought. “Battle used to be an intimate thing. Death must come by the might of your own hand or not at all. And my hands have caused so much death.” Cynbel’s damnable voice cracks against his permission. “Yet he always treated them with such care; such reverence. As though I was made of glass.”

He doesn’t know if the other man stays silent on purpose or not — but he appreciates it nonetheless. Under normal circumstances he would only allow Isseya to see him so vulnerable. Surely she will forgive him this trespass, for these are not normal circumstances.

The smell of fresh blood is much closer when the new blood finally speaks again.

“This Maker of yours must be somethin’ special to inspire that kind’a loyalty.” And it’s a testament to how far this war has made them fall, isn’t it.

He could hold courts, give lectures, preach to the craven masses over the divine beauty of his lover and God. He has done, actually. A long time ago and an ocean away… Why is it now that words fail him?

Must be the hunger.

“You never knew your Maker, did you Ambrose?” asks Cynbel, but such a statement is telling — he already knows the answer.

“No, I didn’t. Can’t even put a face to ‘em.”

“Such a shame.”

“Why’s that?”

His fingers drift absently to his shoulder. To where Isseya usually rests like a perch — to the skin under his touch where his devotion was burned into him with fire and brimstone.

“A shame that you will never know the fulfillment that comes with that bond. I mean no offense —” he smirks at Ambrose’s immediately skeptical furrowed brow, “— I know, I’m just as surprised as you. But I would say such to any of our kind orphaned from the start. Isseya, my darling, she was blessed to have our Divinity and myself as guides. Before her — I know with certainty I would not have survived this long had the hand that pulled me into life not been the same one that felled me.

“Look to Augustine and Sayeed. I may wish to smear the Godmaker’s ashes across the known world but even I will not deny the strength of their connection. It has kept them alive for all this time at the very least. The sigils our Makers give us bind our minds to our bodies, yes, but they also serve a higher purpose.”

Fascinating then; the way something close to captivation changes so quickly. Not even hidden — no trace of it left on the suddenly worn, suddenly tired lines that tell but a drop of Ambrose’s vast story.

“Call ‘em what they are, Old Blood. They’re brands. And no way was I spendin’ my new life the way I spent my old one.”

It’s enough to pique Cynbel’s interest further.

“You weren’t marked after you Turned?”

“No.”

“How long ago?”

“Goin’ on twenty five years,” he raises his chin with much-deserved pride, “I’d like to think I’m proof a good, strong will is enough to do it. To keep you sane.”

In the Golden Son’s chest stirs an unfamiliar emotion — the only comparison he can muster being that of the sight of his lovers victorious. Respect, perhaps?

“I…” he doesn’t need preternatural hearing to catch Isseya’s growls of ill-content approaching the caravan; how easily he could let his words die—let the feeling die with it… and how strange that he does not.

“I cannot say I would have shown the same strength.”

Not a moment later one of the woven flaps is pushed aside to reveal Isseya in the closest thing she will ever allow to be called shambles; hair usually so carefully tucked away hanging in inky strings in front of her eyes or plastered in sweat on her brow, the hunt burning outward from her soul in crimson eyes and the fresh kill on her breath.

She sits beside Cynbel and immediately Ambrose and the map are things forgotten in her presence. He pulls the cap from her and makes careful work of combing her hair with his nails. She appreciates the gesture, says so in her half-smile, but they both know there is so little time for these moments.

After all, they may very well have only those moments left if they are too late.

“Go,” she pushes him back by the chest; urges her lover to stand and take his turn, “the pickings were scarce — you’re lucky I was able to stop myself.” Then, because she knows he will ask, she holds up a hand to stop their company before Ambrose can even open his mouth.

“Better to share than to have nothing.”

“You learn to take what you can get in times like these.”

She hums. “Indeed… they’ll be along shortly. New Blood could hardly keep up.”

The lovers reach out together. Take hands together and lock eyes together. Find comfort in one another together.

Cynbel turns and departs the caravan alone.

Augustine’s scouts were only half-right. Much like the Shadow King and his occupied town of human-chattel to ensure things were kept neat and tidy—or seemingly so—to the governors at the capital, the Order too has kept up appearances of some form or another.

It’s a small farming community — much like the outskirts of Charlottesville in barns dotted on the midday horizon. The one closest to the tree line is burned down, Cynbel notes. The trial run for their surprise attack no doubt.

And perhaps a more skeptical man would assume the children that run over the roads to the love of their mother’s skirts were no mere innocents — that they, too, were a part of the Order of the Dawn’s grand scheme to rid America of their kind. That every hobbling crone and well-bred young man is there because they choose to be; because they believe in the cause.

But Cynbel knows them too well to give in to paranoia.

One of Ambrose’s men, one who played executioner on his blood brother, makes the mistake of questioning that knowledge.

“I come from a town like this myself,” he says, “I know how deep the roots of faith go in these kinds’a places. Maybe… I mean maybe you’re rushin’ into this.”

Isseya’s hand twitches just shy of her lover’s. He holds her back only in that he will demand understanding of the fool before she strikes.

He leans in close and whispers low — for a moment Ambrose looks as if to pull the young man back; suspicion for the Trinity and their intentions clear even in the caravan’s shadow.

But the look passes, gone as quickly as it came.

He could grow to like this one.

“Are you suggesting that their faith is stronger?”

The creature pales; begins to understand what he’s done — and that he only has himself to blame. “No—no I —”

“Correct.” Not even at their full strength and his beloved is still faster, still better. Rounds upon him with the same hands that forced pagans to weep blood, to behold their God until it killed them. “What have they, Cynbel, numbers?”

She smirks up at him and for a moment all this suffering is undone. They are back in the halls of Versailles, the temples of Jaipur, the battlefields of the Old Days.

“Perhaps,” he nods to answer.

Her nails dig through the thick wool of the vampire’s uniform. Blood begins to bloom through the dark grey fabric. “What have they, Cynbel, weapons?”

“Perhaps,” he repeats.

“What have they, Cynbel, conviction?” If the fool were to scream all would be lost — their position discovered and their plan ruined before it could even begin. Though he might find screaming properly a difficult task as he watches in horror—not Cynbel, no, his eyes shine nothing short of worshipful—while Isseya swallows the meat of his tongue.

Let not her pretty face deceive… Isseya of the Veneti is the creature that judges all souls at the end.

Isseya smiles bloodstained, vicious; victorious.

“Let them turn to their God — we were here first. The Made-God Valdemaras with dominion over death-into-rebirth had altars drowned in the blood of his supplicants.”

Cynbel raises his chin with pride. Pride at their Divinity, pride at her ferocity. “Blood we spilled — his progeny, his lovers.”

She takes his ear next. Fleshy and red but Cynbel swears he can hear the crunch when her teeth come together.

The remaining battalion witness in silent horror. This is how his Priestess should always be revered.

“We don’t need numbers — for each body is an army unto itself. Strong, swift, one mouth gorging on an army’s feast.” His other ear she takes too — spits it to the wagon base at his boots. “We don’t need weapons — we are the weapons!”

Don’t play with your food, Valdas used to tell her under harvest moons and cloudless skies with the entire universe laid bare as their bodies. He would guide her; show her to feed with grace. And when his back was turned Isseya would continue to tear and mutilate with those bright eyes staring right at Cynbel. Daring him to keep her secret. Something only they could share.

He did. He has… all this time.

Going for the throat is the end of the game for their kind; same as the heart. The moment her righteous hand plunges through the front of him, palm open as a red flower blossoming, he has only moments until… poof.

“As for conviction…” The priestess’ voice softens. She watches her fingers drip blood as if in a trance… as if she doesn’t quite know the hand belongs to her. “We have two thousand years’ worth of conviction. Fuck their Almighty, and fuck your First Vampire. I choose to believe in a God who walks beside me. Who will answer when I call.”

The cloud of ash that follows her words plumes against the floorboards. Sticks to her wet hand and turns that beautiful flower into the gore that it truly is. Isseya holds them all under her thrall as she brings two fingers to her lips and sucks the fallen from them. But she only has eyes for Cynbel.

Valdas must be alive, he’s sure of it. Hell could not stand to suffer her wrath if it were otherwise.

“Anyone else hesitant?” Cynbel asks when he finally recovers himself. And all around him come varied degrees of submissiveness. Well… all but from Ambrose — but he will take the compliance in inaction.

Had they the time he would praise her, exalt her even. But there will be time for that later. There must be.

The smart thing to do would have been to wait until the night. But fortune lies with them as clouds gather overhead — not enough to blacken the sun but enough to burn, not kill.

Their driver gets them as close as he can. Cynbel pays him a broken neck as thanks.

He demands a handful of Ambrose’s men to go first. They look to their leader for guidance but he has remained uncharacteristically silent. But they have seen the lengths the Trinity will go to now and make the smart decision not to earn their ire.

Ambrose moves as if to join them. Cynbel darts a hand out against his chest — holds him back for reasons his mind has yet to even tell his body.

Luckily Isseya knows his body better than any. “Noble for an officer to join his underlings in battle. But there is no need for it here.” The blade she draws is, like her mistress, stained with the blood of their enemies.

“They’re my men. How can I expect them to go where I would not lead?”

“Cannon fodder goes first.” There’s a glee to her words that leaves Ambrose paling even as the rest pour out to spread their wrath. He glares at Cynbel with eyes of red wrath. The Golden Son backhands him for good measure.

“You’re sending them out there without any artillery!”

The Trinity exchange amused looks. Cynbel reaches out — cares little for how the other man flinches at even the possibility of his touch — and pats his cheek like a scolded babe.

“Have you ever seen what really happens to us in the sunlight?”

“Come, come!” Isseya cackles, delighted, and rushes out in a blur of motion to witness carnage on both sides.

Admittedly he’s a little disappointed the first one combusts before they clear the caravan. But just as he shoves Ambrose into the day—following close behind—a second catches flame right before their very eyes. Cannon fodder, indeed.

If the soldier has any thoughts of arguing they’re dashed as soon as he sees the satisfaction in Cynbel’s eyes. “You insisted,” he reminds Ambrose, and of course he had taken advantage of the only weapons available to him.

His satisfaction is short-lived as the sun takes its hold on him. Smoke hissing along his skin, a thousand daggers as he turns his head up to bask in the glory of it.

Panic has taken hold of the disposable soldiers. The thing about catching fire is it fucking hurts and tends to inspire irrational acts. Why else would they have kept it from them? They scatter across the wooden cabins on every side and run as blurs of burning flesh to the fields of wheat and cotton around. An endlessly burning sea.

See how it feels. This is but a day in the century of suffering he will inflict upon each and every soul. There are no innocents here.

“Rrragh!” A man comes running out from around a burning cabin with a gardening scythe above his head and a death wish written all over his fearful face. Cynbel spares him little effort; grasps his scrawny face in a single wide palm and twists it backwards so he doesn’t have to look at it.

Two burning vampires fall upon a woman before her crossbow can take proper aim. All these years later and the Order still sticks to the classics. It’s almost nostalgic.

Then her hand is in his — fascinating, really, the numbing quality of a lover’s touch. She cannot take his pain away, as he cannot take hers. But together it is easier to endure. That’s love though, isn’t it.

Every place the Order has hidden has one constant; the one thing Cynbel was sure of even when all else remained uncertain.

The church is a tiny thing, but well-maintained. Where every else building was falling to disrepair this chapel smells of fresh paint; the garden lining the entrance well-cared for and loved.

How terribly predictable the faithful were.

The lovers rest their free hands on either door; turn to look at one another in the light and she, too, holds back tears in her eyes. Tears of loss, of love, of the pain that is no longer content to prick at them and now seeks to peel their flesh from their bones.

They rip the doors from their hinges and enter.

The bulk of the Order’s soldiers stand before them. Weapons drawn, faces grim, determined; resolute. Back in the old days armor was worn in place of silly cloth uniforms — but Cynbel will admit he rather enjoys that the fools haven’t found a suitable replacement for helmets. He enjoys watching their faces while they scream.

His gaze sweeps across the enemy fierce and takes in the now-familiar symbol that rests like a false guardian over their breasts. The embroidered fleur-de-lis as persistent as those who wear it. But beside the golden threads he comes to recognize with no small amount of surprise the patchwork they create as a united front. A quilt of officers, commanders; those who have taken it upon themselves to stitch a count of their kills on arms and collars. The Order’s finest all gathered in one place.

Yet they must be, too, the Order’s most foolish. For they face their enemy as one and turn their backs to the true evil they hold captive at the pulpit.

The very sight of Valdas again is a relief that cannot be put into words. His head hangs weak, gaping wounds across his bared flesh trying desperately to close themselves — but he’s too drained. He’s just left there, bound in a wooden chair with rusted shackles, looking like his skin is alive and breathing.

The relief passes and the void left is quickly filled with rage, ferocity. Isseya’s hand clenches his hard enough to break bone and may very well do so but nothing so simple as his own agony would stop them now.

“See,” barks one with a collar littered in crimson thread, “told you some’d be fools enough to come!”

Around them come murmurs of agreement, the clicking of wooden bolts being pulled back into place on crossbow springs, sabers drawn and the smell of gunpowder freshly packed.

Cynbel inhales it deeply. Doesn’t scent nearly enough fear in the air but give it time… give it time.

“The only fools I see are the mortals who court death so readily.”

Valdas’ head snaps up at the sound of Isseya’s voice; seeks them across the room with the fire that claimed him trapped in his eyes. “You should not be here,” he growls — struggles against the shackles that bind him to a simple wooden chair seemingly in vain.

But his lovers know better — know their Lord and Light does nothing without divine intention. The smell of his burning flesh assaults Cynbel’s nose but the more they know in these few precious moments of stillness the better.

“What, not having any fun?” Cynbel calls with a half-hearted chuckle; knows he will pay for it later — when they are far from this place.

“You know I have always preferred to inflict the pain, beloved.”

When Isseya steps forward the Order spurs into action with raised weapons and fingers poised on triggers. “Patience is a virtue, Valdas.”

His laugh is weak, more a wheezing exhale than anything else, but it’s enough for them. “Not one of mine…”

Outside their attack rages on but in here the stillness is almost fateful. It clings to the human’s necks in sweat and growing agitation and keeps the Trinity divided. But it is so very brittle. So easily broken.

All it takes is finding the weakest link — a trembling figure near his back, a brave lamb who thinks to prove herself worthy. Her shuffled footsteps are deafening.

She fires her pistol before Cynbel can even turn his head. And lodges itself wetly in the belly of an Order member across the room.

And really he should be considered gracious that he gives the lamb the chance to see her mistake, to watch the man cry out and clutch his bleeding side as he falls to his knees — they are in a church after all. She should know the risks that come with crossing them; crossing him.

“Now look what you’ve done…” Cynbel’s hands fall on her shoulders and hold her still just long enough; to watch the tears horror that pales into sour fear on her face that he sacrifices seeing for the thrill of the hunt.

He snaps her neck and all hell breaks loose.

It is the violence Cynbel has been denied since the beginning. Long years of agony tasting of carnage and destruction but not given the chance to really revel in his actions — not before they were called to move onward. The humans are on the precipice of their own war, said to him once, but it must come in its own time.

He feels the sting of a bolt in the meat of his arm; cries out a raging behemoth and swipes the offender’s head clean from his shoulders.

Across the aisle Isseya rips her blade across a man’s belly and opens him from the inside out. His organs made a bloody procession for which she steps on.

Blood splatters the walls, the pews. The certainty of seeing their God driving the lovers forward in the destruction of this gathering of butchers. They don’t know the meaning of the word — but they will now.

In his mind’s eye Cynbel remembers the map on Augustine’s wall and undoes the threads of it in every movement. Battles unwon in every man torn limb from limb, the tides of war changed as they grow stronger with every feed. They carve themselves a path to their Maker and, with it, rip the victory the Order had so foolishly thought they could claim from their feeble and mortal hands.

It’s a kind of bloodlust he hadn’t felt in over a thousand years. Beautiful, bright; blinding.

Just enough for him to miss the half-faceless man who charges towards the altar with a war cry on his missing lips and a splintered railing of wood clutched in his fist.

“DIE! FOR THE OR—!”

The Children of the Made-God would have been too late. A knowledge they carry like a burden; a stain on their souls for what short time they would have remained in the world of the living together… before they sought to join him in whatever comes after death.

Cynbel drops the heart wrenched from a general’s chest. Doesn’t even look as it beats it’s last inches from the owner’s face. Isseya, too, with her mouth shoved into a wayward throat pulls back and in doing so shreds it to ribbons. The bloody mask she wears twisted wretched beyond compare. Her terror, his desperation.

They witness — as they have done everything since the moment Valdas left their side — together that the human falls to his knees; silenced by his own hand.

No, not his.

Valdas licks at the blood speckled fresh on his starving lips. The clarity is gives him is immediate; the color rushing to his cheeks. He looks to meet the eyes of his lovers but instead finds them fixated on something — someone — at his back.

His anger was the only thing holding the Golden Son on two feet; a fact he comes to terms with as his knees buckle and he collapses on all fours. There’s a wailing echoing ghastly from rafter to rafter overhead and he realizes quickly the voice is his own but it isn’t enough to make him stop.

And it is with the same uncertainty as before that Ambrose looks upon the Order’s congregation and slaughter. His blistering skin is made new in the church’s shadow, so little blood staining his coat that it could only have come from the dead soldier at their feet.

There’s nothing else Valdas can do but take in his lovers and their weakness. The ache it brings to his heart only matched by the physical pain that comes when unfamiliar hands grasp at the manacles that hold him victim.

Ambrose grunts with the effort but finally wrenches one free; holds his wounded palms close to his chest but it is more than enough.

At once they are upon him. Cynbel at his ankles and Isseya on his other hand, both of them weathering the pain because they cannot imagine doing otherwise.

When he is finally freed Valdas stands over them. Wavering, but alive. Made whole in the mere presence of one another.

Then there’s a soft thud and the noise forces open eyes Cynbel hadn’t realized he closed. No longer above them, Valdas too rests on his knees to look at them not on high… but as an equal.

Isseya reaches out first. Touches the edges of a gaping wound on Valdas’ cheekbone with trembling reverence. It’s a movement he mirrors on her, then upon them both. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Unable to find—or manage—the words that may not yet exist.

His gaze says enough.

I thought I’d lost you.

What is he supposed to say to that? Cynbel finds himself looking to Isseya for answers but she’s just as lost. Just as vulnerable and a breath, a touch away from crumbling to dust.

Two thousand years. One hundred and thirty seven fights. Eight months altogether spent apart and too many acts of love to count. Five excruciating times he nearly lost them — now six.

And in a rare first Cynbel looks into the eyes of what is by all accounts a complete stranger and whispers “Thank you.”

#bloodbound #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #kamilah sayeed #gaius augustine #oc: cynbel #oc: isseya #oc: valdas #oc: ambrose #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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sapphiremirror · 6 years ago

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kravitz week day 1: past/old family

warnings for vague character death (it’s kravitz, he’s kinda-sorta still alive lmao)

kravitz had dreams, once. he recalls them at night, lying beside taako, fleeting snippets of wants and hopes and memories from centuries ago. things that make his heart pound to think about, make tears well in his eyes if he thinks too hard.

he had a mother, a real one, not a goddess’s love filling the void of his heart and the form of his body and the shape of his magic. she was beautiful, he recalls. she could sing; she taught him how to play—what did she teach him? what instruments did he learn? the answer comes to him through forgotten, now-remembered strings of old memories. flute, and cello, and piano.

did he have a father? he cannot remember. perhaps he died. perhaps he left. perhaps he was just… distant. unmemorable. kravitz has no feelings toward him. why is that?

he had a sister, younger than him, bright-eyed and loud-voiced and lovely in every way. “ali,” she would call him when she was very small, and then later, when he changed his name, “kravvy.” always the sweetest nicknames for him, names that, when he thinks too long about them, make him weep silently for the little life he can no longer touch.

kravitz knows he died, of course, knows that he was killed, knows how he was killed, and knows who killed him. his sister was… not yet a teenager. eight? ten? he can’t recall. and he was… mid-twenties? probably? he has long since stopped paying attention to his age. he is centuries old.

but he recalls every single detail of that day, of that afternoon, of that night. the nightmares still plague him if he tries to sleep, which is why he tries to not do that, no matter how much taako insists that it is a “nice feeling.” death still fears the images of his past, and he will not sleep to see them.

he doesn’t have to—every moment is ingrained into his mind like the intricate carvings on the headboard of the bed magnus crafted for them. he remembers waking up, the sun streaming through the window, closing his eyes against the golden rays, stretching. feeling refreshed. he remembers bathing extra-long for the occasion—an audition, a job interview. he remembers gathering up folders upon folders of sheet music, of compositions, of masterpieces he created, and eating half an apple before the nerves got the better of him and he was almost sick in the sink. he remembers kissing his sister’s forehead and saying, “i’ll see you next week,” he remembers waving good-bye to his mother as he got on his horse and set about making his way towards the city through the forest.

he remembers never making it to the city, because he made the stupid mistake of forgetting his flute, his source of magic, at home, and he remembers his horse being shot out from under him and his arms being grabbed by strange hooded people and a muttered spell that forced him stiff and still. he remembers the inside of the house, quaint enough, well-decorated, and the dreadful and horrifying cellar beneath.

he remembers the smell of his own blood, the shrieking of his nerves, the darkness and the coldness of death gripping at his heart and his lungs.

he remembers his last thought as a living man being that he would never again get to see his sister.

he remembers waking, small and cold and trembling and weak, formless, in a bleak black throne room before a massive, feathered, masked woman with talons for nails and a deep husky voice. he remembers being offered a job to kill those who killed him and his family.

he remembers that being revealed to him, and he remembers how his bodiless soul flickered as he screamed out his grief. he remembers the goddess calmly walking him through the facts of the matter—after he was killed, the dreadful cultists realized they needed more sacrifices, and so they found the home where kravitz’s mother and sister were waiting for him to return and they captured them and they slaughtered them, just as they did to kravitz.

he remembers the goddess offering him a job, offering him revenge for his dead family, and he remembers, in a blind rage, without considering the concept of eternity, agreeing to her offer. he remembers how she took his soul in her hands and formed him and molded him into a body, an echo of who he was before, clothed in black and red and raven’s feathers, a scythe gripped in a trembling hand.

he remembers the cold, disconnected wrath with which he destroyed those who had killed his beautiful mother and innocent sister. he remembers the blood on his cloak and the tears on his fabricated cheeks when he broke down once more in the basement of that awful house.

he remembers the two centuries he spent cold, emotionless, barely a being outside of his work as an emissary.

he remembers, two hundred and thirty-seven years later, finally seeing himself in a reflection and pausing. he remembers the months and years he spent agonizing over his image when he was alive. he remembers the bandages and the corsets and the endless layers he would wear to try to appear as he so desperately wanted to. he realizes, suddenly, in this moment, staring at himself in the mirror inside an old, decrepit, ghoul-infested manor, that he looks the way he always wished he could have looked.

he remembers crying for the first time in almost two and a half centuries.

he remembers more things since that moment of self-awareness. he remembers collecting instruments, and shiny things, and treasures, and soft things, and worthless trinkets, and priceless collectibles, and storing them in an empty construct of a room that soon turned into a living space. he remembers the first time he saw a record player, that he picked it up with a whole collection of records and toted them all back to his room and sat on the floor just listening to the music.

he remembers falling in love a few times, only for them to become afraid once they learned who he really was.

he remembers no longer trying to find someone.

he remembers, not too long ago, comparatively, that time when he wasn’t looking that someone found him, and invited him to a pottery class, and snatched his unbeating heart from his chest and never gave it back.

he turns over in bed and wraps his arms securely around his husband and kisses his sleep-warm freckled face and whispers declarations of love until he runs out of synthesized breath, until the sun rises, until the big green eyes are revealed from under their closed lids and the small lines at the corners crease up with a drowsy smile.

memories are saved for the dark. in the morning, it is now.

#kravitzweek2019 #taz kravitz #taz #kravitz #the adventure zone #taakitz #fic #cc writes #kravitz week #kravitzweek

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eternityunicorn · 6 years ago

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Elijah’s Eternity: New Orleans Part Twenty Four - Finale

Author: eternityunicorn

Genre: Romance/Drama/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Violance, Mentions of Smut (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: Sequel to the AU Elijah’s Eternity - Ten years have passed, a mournful Elijah has finally started to move on without his lady. In that time, he has gained a reunited family and has also found a new lady love. Yet, all is not well as danger comes for the smallest member of the Mikaelson family: Hope, and it prompts Niklaus to call upon the white goddess, drawing her back into Elijah’s life. As they reunite, can Elijah really say he’s truly moved on?

NOTE: OC and original elements are from my up and coming novel series!

AUTHOR’S COMMENTARY: This is it! This is the final chapter for Elijah’s Eternity: New Orleans! Thank you so much for reading, both present readers and future ones! I appreciate your readership. Look for to the next installment: Elijah’s Eternity: Cosmic Reset coming soon!

———————————————————————————————————

Three years passed by quickly.

Even after all that time since their wedding, Elijah continued to find himself in marital bliss with Eternity by his side. Not that it would be anything less. Thinking back to his ten years of misery, he would have never thought himself capable of such bliss ever again. To go from that dark, empty place to this one of the purest light was a blessing unto him, a change of fate that he didn’t know what he did to deserve.

After they had returned to New Orleans, every day had been filled with love and joy between he and his bride. Knowing that they were going to be together forever gave the married couple a high like no other. This pleasure was only increased by the fact that they could now have a family. He could have children with the woman he loved, thanks to the ritual Eternity had performed the night of their wedding.

The higher order ritual had been a quick affair, just a bit of blood from each Mikealson mixed with Eternity’s which was then consumed by Elijah and his siblings. It turned out that her blood was the agent that changed the dark magic of which created the Originals so that they were not only stronger, faster, more impervious, but so that they could have families of their own if they so chose. The ethereal woman’s blood also changed the genetic makeup of the non-immortals of his family to make them stronger, more invulnerable - not quite immortal, but certainly longer lived.

Training commenced for all of them by the well equipped superhuman soldiers from the Underground Agency, except for Elijah whom was taught how to use and control his stronger abilities by his beautiful wife. It had been tough at first, especially with the intense martial arts training where they sparred,but not because he had trouble mastering his newfound powers. No, it was their mutual intense attraction to his bride that made things difficult.

Sometimes he would end up pinning Eternity to the floor or she would pin him and they would end up forgetting that they were training completely, giving into their carnal needs. It actually grew out of control for a while on both their parts in these sensual distractions.

So, a rewards system was devised by his lady to give Elijah motivation to maintain control of his desires for Eternity while they were in teacher-student mode. If he managed to achieve whatever training goals she set for the day, then she’d reward him with her body. It worked wonderfully, especially whenever his wife reminded him of the fact that they could conceive. Not that he could forget.

Speaking of conceiving, Elijah had hoped that they would do so quickly after marrying as he wanted a child with Eternity more than anything. However, three years into their marriage and Eternity had yet to fall pregnant. He was disappointed that it was taking so long, but also understood that these things did take time, and he did enjoy the endless attempts at conception with his bride. So he tried to be patient, knowing that his wishes would be granted eventually.

In the meantime, to combat his baby fever, he took enjoyment of helping out his sister Rebekah, whom had conceived her first child, little Elle, with Marcel quickly, after Eternity had performed the higher order ritual. And then there was Hope as well, of whom he loved to spend time with. He was certainly an attentive uncle, practice for when he finally became a father himself.

Then one day, Elijah returned to the loft in Algiers, where he had made his home with his lady, having come from the Mikaelson compound after taking the ten year old Hope out to ice cream, and found Eternity waiting for him at the top of the entryway stairs. She was absolutely glowing and had a mysterious smile stretched across her pink rose lips,as she watched him ascend the steps toward her.

“Welcome back, my love,” she grinned widely, as if she were excited about something or other.

Curious, he approached her quickly, coming to stand before her on the last stair. He had his hopes, of course, as to the meaning behind her strange behavior, but didn’t want to jump on the bandwagon, in case it was something else that had her excited.

“Good afternoon, Sweetheart,” Elijah greeted her with a smile. “To what do I owe this front door greeting?”

Eternity reached out and cupped the sides of his face lovingly, before bending forward to kiss him briefly.

Elijah could hear her quickened heart beat and her hands were trembling slightly too as they held his face. These observations made the Original even more curious as to what was going on. His hopes lifting higher.

He quickly found out the big mystery as his wife pulled away and beamed at him, “Elijah, a most wonderful thing has happened,” she said as she took one of his hands and put it against her abdomen.

Elijah looked at his hand and immediately realized what she meant. His wishes had been granted! His gaze lifted to hers again with a wide eyed look of realization. He tried to speak, but found himself temporarily speechless.

“We are going to have a baby,” Eternity told him joyously, knowing he’d be excited by the news.

As if suddenly brought to life, he instantaneously had his wife swept up into his arms and spun her around the room in happiness, while he laughed in a way that he didn’t think he ever had. Then he set the giggling woman down on her feet and kissed her all over her face, lastly upon her lips.

Finally, he thought. At last, he was going to be a father!

“I love you so much,” he whispered emotionally against Eternity’s lips, before pulling back to gaze into her eyes. “You have brought such light into my dark existence and that of my family. You’ve given us, in part, a new lease on life. I never thought that I would have a wife or be a father, but here I am, both. Even Niklaus had found new purpose, a better one, thanks to you.”

“Aye, it does seem like I have a new ally in your brother,” replied Eternity. “Ever since his stay with the agents of the Underground, he has become something of an enemy turned hero. He has found a new purpose as a one of them in these recent years, going on missions with his new, stronger abilities, to aid them. Quite the change.”

Elijah nodded, grasping the sides of her face tenderly between his hands, “Everything is different now, for the better, and I hope that none of us ever return to the darkness of before.”

“I hope for the same. I’ve grown fond of the Mikaelson clan,” she smiled. “I look forward to our child having a close knit family of aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, in an environment that isn’t completely dysfunctional.”

“As do I, but more so, I cannot wait to raise this child and any others we might have, together,” he beamed. “Raising a family with you is a joy I never thought I’d have, but one I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I love you. God, I love you!”

He kissed her again. This time, it was more passionately. The joyous moment carried him away as he lifted Eternity into his arms again and carried her to the bed, where he promptly proceeded to make love to her in celebration.

Three months after receiving that wonderful news and Elijah was a doting father-to-be in caring for his pregnant wife and checking the condition of their unborn child. He was always touching her rounded belly, feeling the baby move around inside with such pride. He made sure Eternity wanted for nothing, doing everything in his power to ensure she was well cared for in her delicate condition. This was especially true when it came to her food intake.

After he had caught her trying to eat a half gallon tub of ice cream for breakfast one day, of which he had swiftly stopped Eternity from doing, he had made it his mission to make sure she ate nutritiously. He cooked for her all the time, making her favorite meals, or if she was having a particular craving, he’d make her that.

Eternity seemed to appreciate his efforts to look after her, finding it attractive instead of annoying. It actually made her rather amorous and he often found himself at the mercy of an incredibly turned on pregnant immortal as a result. He swore she was going to kill him with how often she sought his attentions, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He gave her all the intimacy she craved and then some.

Yes, Elijah had been living in complete bliss, but then as all happy moments seemed to, things took a turn.

It had begun when one afternoon, he received a visit from a new apparition while he was out in the Quarter, getting a special treat for Eternity. This came after not receiving such strange visitations since right before his marriage to his lady. Because of a lack of occurrences, he had forgotten about the odd happenings in his blissful new life.

This new apparition has appeared in the form of Katherine Pierce aka Katerina Petrova, one of his ancient loves. He had heard years ago of her death and had grieved for her momentarily, but it had been overshadowed by his adventures with Niklaus in New Orleans and he never mourner properly as a result.

When she appeared, it had been beside him while he was doing business with a street vendor. “Hello, Elijah,” Katherine had greeted him with a cool, unpleasant smile.

Surprised, he had turned to stare at her, before he relaxed and returned her unfriendly smile with one of his own. “Why, if it isn’t Katherine Pierce. Come to warn me of the word your new ally are going to unleash upon me?” He mockingly said. “Seems like your new boss is all talk and no action, as they say.”

“Oh, the woes and misery promised are still coming, Elijah,” she responded cheerily, “but it’s just that there’s been a change of plans. I am actually here to warn you that my ‘ally’ as you call him is actually coming back from the dead and I am coming with him. Once we do, the real fun shall begin as we take great enjoyment in tearing down everything that you have built for yourself and for your family. Enjoy your happy new life now, because soon it will be turned to ash.”

Before Elijah could even respond to Katherine’s threat, she vanished with her cruel laugh echoing on the wind.

He did his best not to let it bother him, but he remained vigilant in the days that passed afterward, ready for whatever might come. He made sure his family and Eternity were ready as well, knowing that the threat was upon all of them.

Then halfway through the fourth month of his wife’s pregnancy, a different foe decided to come crawling out of the shadows to make a move against them finally. The fiendish Bruno had come to collect on the prize he sought, after being quiet for years.

It had happened when the madman showed up at the Mikaelson compound out of nowhere, without warning, which prompted Rebekah to call Elijah and tell him to get over there. He had been at home with Eternity and once his wife had learned of what was going on, she insisted on going, despite his protests to keep her safe at the loft.

“You need to trust that I will keep the baby safe,” his wife told him. “I won’t let anything terrible happen to either of us. I promise!”

Though he retained his reservations, Elijah relented and together, they went to the compound to face their foe.

By the time they arrived, Eternity’s mad brother had Hope in his grasp and the Mikaelson clan stood around him, held at bay by the threat he posed to the child. They already looked as if they had gone into battle with the insane immortal. Each member of Elijah’s family were battered, so they probably attempted to use their new abilities to defeat Bruno, but found he was still too much for them to handle, yet still managed to hold their own with their greater strengths.

Eternity took the lead immediately as the queen she was, stepping into the proverbial ring with her older brother. “Let the child go, Bruno,” she beckoned him with authority. “If you do not, then I’ll have no choice but to end you. Stand down and perhaps we can seek a better solution instead of this...nonsense.”

Bruno grinned manically as Hope struggled in his grasp and looking pleadingly at Eternity. Then without a word, the bastard began to drain the young girl of her powers. The red headed child began to glow bright blue and she screamed in agony as he did.

“He’s going to kill her!” Hayley shrieked from the sidelines,being held back by an equally panicked Niklaus.

Elijah watched worriedly, knowing that his wife would never allow that, but was deeply concern with what she planned on doing. She had said that she’d protect their unborn child and herself, but he didn’t understand just how she was going to do that without taking up her sword.

It was then that the answer came as he watched her shift forms, becoming the Universal Queen.

In blinding white light did this rarely seen version of his lady appear. Eternity shone brilliantly in her white gown and sparkling diamonds and amethysts. Her white starburst birthmark centered upon her forehead glowed as her unicorn horn did and hummed the same as well. The sight was familiar to him, but he remained wary, especially faced with this rare sight.

It was then that Elijah noticed a difference that he hadn’t seen the last time he had witnessed the Universal Queen. Queen Eternity held her hands as if she were holding a medium sized ball, but between them hovered a glowing starburst shaped object that Elijah concluded was the mysterious Unicorn Crystal, the greatest power source in two universes.

He also recalled what it could do to Eternity, if she used it.

Elijah was alarmed. She couldn’t!

As he panicked, his wife looked back at him and sent a telepathic message to him. Her words echoed through his mind, saying, “Elijah, listen carefully. I have to use the power of the crystal to defeat Bruno. I have no other choice. I can not erase him from our lives as I had the Hollow, for he is a different breed of monster, not so easily subdued. However with a bit of the crystal’s might, I can do so.

“This means that you’re going to have to look after us, the baby and myself. I’m not going to remember anything for a while. Therefore, it is up to you to be our guardian; to love and protect us with everything you have. Never forget that I love you, no matter what, always and forever. See you soon, my love.”

It felt more like a goodbye than anything and that had Elijah distraught to no end. Yet, he could do nothing to stop his powerful lady. He could only trust that she knew what she was doing, something he was struggling to do. He didn’t want her to go, didn’t want her to forget him.

As he watched on, the ethereal woman turned back to her opponent.

“I am the Universal Queen, Queen Eternity,” shouted Eternity as a blustery surge of energy kicked up from the power she was wielding. “I sentence you to a fate of nonexistence for the malicious murders you have committed while in this mortal world and the attempted murder committed here today! Be gone, evil one, and never plague this existence ever again!”

The end happened quickly. A large burst of white energy engulfed Bruno, Hope, and Eternity, blocking them from the sight of the Mikaelson clan that held onto their breaths in worry. Panic ensued as none of them knew what was happening, not even Elijah. He could not see or sense their family members lost in consuming energy. They were simply gone.

Hayley could be heard weeping, along with Kol and Freya, as the thought of losing their loved ones started to become a very possible reality for them.

Elijah immediately felt the terror set in that something had gone terribly wrong. He wanted to break down and weep for what he was sure the great loss of his niece, his wife, and his unborn child. However, this only lasted a moment as he began to sense two life forces, One was small, but strong, while the other was weak, yet steady.

The blinding light vanished suddenly, revealing an unharmed Hope and Eternity reverted to her non-queenly self. There wasn’t any sign of Bruno and Elijah concluded that he had been obliterated by the formidable power of his lady, much in the same way the Hollow had been upon the pale beauty’s return to his life.

Except that this was different from then, he soon discovered.

As he rushed over to Eternity, to ensure that she was alright, while the others tended to Hope, he immediately realized that something wasn’t right. She stared at him with uncertainty, almost as if she didn’t recognize him as he neared. She shied away as Elijah reached to touch her and bowed her head defensively as if she had her horn to warn him off with. Immediately did he back off, unsure of what to do.

“Who are you?” Eternity demanded, looking around her wildly. “Who am I? Where?”

It was then that he recognized what was going on. Eternity had entered a reboot, as she had once called it, from using the Unicorn Crystal. However, what didn’t make sense to him was why she hadn’t reverted to her basest self - the unicorn? She had told him that if she used too much of the crystal’s power, she returned to her unicorn roots and forgot herself completely. It seemed the latter had taken hold, but not the former. Elijah didn’t know what that meant, but he did know he needed to help her.

“It’s alright,” he told her gently. “You don’t need fear me or anyone here. We’re family.”

Eternity gazed curiously at him, still wildly uncertain of anything. One of her hands reached to touch her forehead in confusion as she tried to figure out what was happening, while the other grazed her round pregnant belly. Her eyes widened in surprise and then horror as they fell upon the protrusion, then up at him.

“What sorcery is this?” She said trembling, panic taking hold. “What is going on? What has happened to me?

Sighing deeply, Elijah carefully approached her, placing a hand over hers that instinctively cradled her rounded belly. “I’m your husband, Elijah,” he cooed to her, smiling softly, “and you are my wife, Eternity. We’re going to have a baby together soon, you and I.”

His lady shrank back, shaking her head as if she didn’t believe him as she backed away.

It stung for her to do so, but Elijah was patient and understanding, knowing that she was suffering a crisis. Yet, he began to panic as instinct screamed at him that Eternity was about to run. It was obvious in the taunt way age held herself. It was clear in her wide, frightened eyes. Like before when she had used the crystal, he felt helpless to stop her, even with his upgrades in power and speed.

Then before Elijah could even get the words out to appeal to her, to keep her there, she vanished without a trace.

“Eternity!”

His desperate voice reverberated, but was met with silence.

Eternity was gone....

The End

***See you in the sequel, Elijah’s Eternity: Cosmic Reset coming soon! Again, thanks for reading!

———————————————————————————————————

Tag List: @elejah-wonderland @rissyrapp20 @mikaelson-trash @dendrite-lover @inmylifeilovedthemall @elejahforever @xanderling @hawaiianohana15 @missnmikealson @phoenix-potter-bailey @lolelijahishot @x-memi12 @iamaquarius2 @echosnowflake666 @scarlettsky0998 @zillahvathek @elijahandkollover @mikaelsonwetdreams

#elijah mikaelson #daniel gillies #original character #elijah x eternity #klaus mikaelson #kol mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #finn mikaelson #freya mikaelson #hope mikaelson #hayley marshall #klaus x hayley #romance #drama #alternate universe #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction

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definitely-not-an-alb · 6 years ago

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I did A Meta on Berverley, Lady Ty, and Gender

Again: Inspired by this post here and also general fandom discussion post-Lies Sleeping

I don’t think we are thinking about the Rivers quite right yet, and that’s why this conversation is confusing. This isn’t really a headcanon but more me-using-a-queer-concept/queer-reading-to-explain-confusing-metaphysics.

My Hot Take: All the Rivers are trans, actually.

And we keep talking about them in cis-terms, and as cis-people, and that’s why Bev and Beverley are so confusing, because they fundamentally do not fit in that concept.

0. Preamble (because this got long wtf)

This is from the lyrics of Laura Jane Grace’s ‘The Ocean’, which she wrote while she was questioning her gender and before she publicly transitioned, and I’m going to quote it here because it’s a) FANTASTIC and also b) an eternal Bev and Lady Ty Mood (and I hope you’ll agree or at least understand why I read them like this by the end of this):

‘If I could have chosen where god would hide his heaven,

I’d wish for it to be in the sound and smell of the ocean,

(...)

And if I could have chosen, I would have been born a woman

my mother once told me she would have named me Laura

I’d grow up to be strong and beautiful like her,

One day I’d find an honest man to make my husband.

(…)

There is an Ocean

in my soul

where the waters

do not curve.

(...)’

1. How Peter thinks the Rivers work and what they actually work like in-universe (presumably)

In RoL, we are introduced throught Peter’s eyes to Beverley Brook and Tyburn as women who have magical powers and who are also, in some nebulous ways, magically connected to a specific river each. But Peter Is An Unreliable Narrator, and never more so then when it comes to the rivers. Beverley has to correct him almost immediately (orishas, not goddesses) but he never quiet catches on.

And I think the problem is that Beverley and Tyburn aren’t women connected to rivers, they are Rivers. They are their River first, and then they are magical beings, and only then are they also manifested as women.

You know that post that goes around sometimes, about Jesus being Gods ‘humansona’?

I think that’s pretty much exactly what’s happening here. Hilariously.

There’s a river, first, a geological feature, and a River, secondly, a magical being tied to that geological feature. And under specific conditions these Rivers create Personas, most (but not all, remember King of Rats) of them vaguely human-shaped, and some of them, presumably, vaguely (cis-)woman shaped. So saying that Bev and Tyburn are woman who are also Rivers is … like really, really going at this the wrong way around.

2. Interlude: cis and trans are kinda dumb concepts to apply to non-human people, actually, so let’s talk about that

But when we read RoL we default to reading them as cis, because they are women who have, presumably, conventionally female bodies, and our society always defaults to cis-ness. So obviously, when there was no further elaboration, we defaulted, as a fandom, to reading the Rivers in the context of cis-ness.

But the Cis-Trans-Dichtomy presumes that Identity follows Body. You have a Body, and you cannot choose it – you can change it, but not pre-select it, and there comes a pre-selected societal identity with it, and you can reject that thrust-upon-you identity, and you can change that body, but you cannot pre-choose your body to fit your actual gender identity from the beginning, and you cannot pre-choose your actual identity, either. But your Identity in a Cis-Trans-Dichtomy context always follows Body, because whether you are sorted as trans or cis by society depends on whether our actual gender identity matches societies presumed identity. Does this make sense? I don’t know if this makes sense.

But along come’s THT, and we learn something incredibly important about the Rivers, from Lady Ty: They’re Personas change based on their self perception. Lady Ty felt younger, so she became younger. And she did this subconsciously. And then she didn’t want that (was, even, disturbed and distressed by that) so she changed back, but not all the way/in all ways.

Thus, for Rivers, BODY follows IDENTITY.

They literally cannot be cis.

Like, the Rivers’ Personas weren’t born. The Rivers created a body for themselves. ‘If I could have chosen’ - they can. They did. And apparently, that body follows identity. Assuming that Lady Ty and Bev are woman right now, and thus their Rivers picked bodies that would be percived as ‘woman’ by society is textually more logical then to assume that all these shape shifting river-ladies just happen to be ‘cis’ by human standards.

(Bodies aren’t gendered. They are gendered by society, and they are gendered (or de-gendered, in some cases) by their ‘inhabitants’. I don’t know where to put that, so I’m putting it here)

This isn’t the best explanation I can give of this, and I’m sure there are other concepts or models to explain the same thing, but it boils down to this: If a Being exists that can mold it’s body based on it’s identity, and that identity changes over the course of it’s life, and that, presumably, can pre-select it’s body, and can pre-select it’s body multiple times throughout it’s life, applying a Cis-Trans-Dychtomy model to it is useless.

But we don’t have a different model at the moment, and a lot of the rivers experiences map onto Trans-Experiences the second we stop thinking of transness only in relationship to cisness (as in, ‘cis as default’ and ‘trans as devination from default’, ‘trans as not cis’, which is exactly what we have been doing until now.) and start thinking about transness as a thing itself (as in ‘transness is all the things where ‘I have a body and then society decided that body was such-and-such gender and I went with it because they were right’ doesn’t cut it’).

4. Tyburn is confusing so we all just pretended there were actually two of them

Lady Ty and Sir Tyburn are not the same person, we said, because how could they. Except the Tyburn used to be Sir Tyburn, and now she is Lady Ty. Sir Tyburn isn’t a different person, but a previous version of the same entity. She doesn’t like to be reminded of that. She doesn’t want to be called Tyburn or be confused with or compared to Sir Tyburn. They have gendered titles. I genuinely don’t understand how I only caught this now, but, as tumblr likes to say, there’s nothing cis about this.

Tyburn reads honestly … like a kinda bad binary-trans-metaphor written by a clueless cis guy from here. But hold on! I’ve got more hot takes! Non-binary spectrum here we coooooome.

Hot Take Two: The Rivers don’t fit into our concepts of gender, but the closest equivalent is that they are all Genderfluid.

Let’s talk about Beverley Brook the River.

Beverley Brook, on the other hand, didn’t change her name when she came back, and unlike Lady Ty doesn’t have a clear cut-off between her Identities, as it seems. Peter meets Guy!Bev in the past and Guy!Bev is dtkiss and calls him babes. Admittedly we had very little pagetime for Guy!Bev, but from what we can see, there’s no big difference between their core identity traits. They share memories and relationships. Almost as if they are actually the same person (It’s because they are. They are the same person.).

And like. That’s not how genderfluid humans work, but also like. Eldritch-River-Partner.

Coda

Bonus: Peter is Very Definitley Bi.

(Implicitly this would also mean they changed their race, ------- which I’m not gonna touch with a ten-foot-pole and a hazmat-suit tbh. Let’s sort this under ‘unfortunate coding because the author Did Definitely Not Think Of This’)

(This is extremely Death-of-the-Author)

(Laura is great go listen to her shit.)

I am confused. Like, pls weight in on this. I don’t know what I’m doing here, most of the time, and I’m not good at explaining these things, especially not in a second language. So this is also low-key the appeal; If any of this is atrocious, wording wise, or you just plain don’t understand what I mean, hmu and I might be able to explain differently. But I think shifting the discussion from ‘How are these two people metaphysically interacting’ to ‘this is the same entity in two subsequent bodies with two different genders’ has some value as a technique and as a theory. Plus, ‘the Rivers are all fluid’ is a terrific pun.

#rivers of london #rol #Beverley Brook #Old!Bev #Lady Ty #Sir Tyburn #Tyburn #meta #send halp #ridiculously long and then jsut stops kinda #haaaaaaalp I don't know what I am doing #bi!Peter #trans*#I am very nervous about this #and also kind of on the fence #pls be nice everyone #lies sleeping #Lies Sleeping Spoilers #gem don't look

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thetygre · 6 years ago

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30 Day Monster Challenge - Day #20: Favorite Song/Musical Monster

1. The Phantom of the Paradise

Phantom of the Opera has spawned plenty of spin-offs and parodies, but none are weirder and cooler than The Phantom of the Paradise. Born in that stage-musical wasteland between the sinking of Hello Dolly and the rise of Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Paradise was a bizarre rock-opera that was a mixture between the Phantom of the Opera, Faust, and The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Our Phantom this time around is named Winslow; he didn’t start off deformed, but got that way through prison experiments and a record press accident. Winslow just looks and sounds awesome; his teeth are made of iron, and he talks through a voicebox that sounds like a ghost screaming through a CB radio. The entire movie has a bird theme to its characters, so Winslow’s helmet winds up looking like a hawk. In fact, a lot of people probably only know about this musical through the comparison between Winslow and Griffith from Berserk. It doesn’t help that their stories are kind of similar; locked in prison, mutilated, deal with the forces of evil. It’s probably just a coincidence, but I’m not gonna’ lie and say it wouldn’t be a cool reference if it wasn’t. Still, people should give this movie a chance on its own merits, just because of what campy fun it is.

2. Lilith Immaculate

Cradle of Filth is a symphonic black metal band with a distinct gothic horror bent to their albums. They’ve done several concept albums, including one based around Gille de Rais and another on Elizabeth Bathory, but Darkly Darkly Venus Aversa was an original story. At the center of the album’s story is the monstrous goddess Lilith, trapped by the Knights Templar during the crusades and now possessing a girl sent to a nunnery. It’s all so incredibly gothic; sins of the past, sexual frustration, religious oppression, graveyards, doomed love.

I might not be the best judge of character, but Lilith here hits the nail with the hammer as far as gothic monsters go, reminding me a little of The Great God Pan or Gormenghast. Part of Lilith’s appeal is that, for all intents and purposes, she wins; the album ends with her former lover realizing that he has unleashed something he could never control, and now the world is doomed. Lilith heralds the dawning of a darker age, the antithesis of everything Victorian values holds dear. You can’t help but cheer for her as she readies to make war on the world.

3. Stanton Cree

Ghoultown is a gothabilly band, which means that it’s like rockabilly but with some Southern rock and it’s about ghosts and vampires and werewolves. Needless to say, they’re pretty great. Their best known song is probably Drink with the Living Dead, which tells the story of a cowboy forced into a drinking match with an undead gunslinger. The ghoul, Stanton Cree, shot a man for his beer and can’t rest until someone beats him in either drinks him under the table or beats him in a duel.

I love ‘Weird West’ songs, and Ghoultown is the epitome of that. Stanton Cree has gone insane from eternal life and is determined to find somebody to beat him, but he won’t go easy on his opponent. It’s the kind of story that belongs in Deadlands or some other cowboy horror setting. It lacks the morality tale aspect of Ghost Riders, but that’s a deliberate decision to emphasize just how bizarre the story is. It’s a perfect mood piece for a dark night out on the Wastes.

4. The Erlking

Schubert’s Erlking is an old-fashioned fairy, the dangerous and wild kind that need to be feared. As a father rides through the forest at night, his son sees the Elf King trying to seduce him to come away with him. It’s always nice to be reminded that fairies and elves aren’t nice, that they can be as dangerous as any monster or demon. But it needs to be done with a certain degree of subtlety, at least for a while, a delicate touch before the other shoe drops.

The Erlking is of course also a metaphor for death, and the father believe his son is only hallucinating as he dies in his father’s arms. It reminds me of the old medieval stories about how Fairyland was sometimes just a trap made by Hell, or how fairies would appear in afterlife narratives for children. Whether death, fairy, hallucination, or all three, the Erlking is still a chilling figure.

5. The Phantom of the Opera

I don’t claim to be in the Phandom, I only have a surface knowledge of it, but I feel like the Phantom is still an important monster/horror icon, even before becoming a musical star. The Phantom’s story, even from the beginning, has been about toxic people and learning to grow up. Born deformed, the Phantom embittered himself against the world, becoming a genius at music, engineering, and just about everything else, but a child socially. The lesson he learns is about putting another person’s wants and needs before your own, and that’s still a vital lesson that is incredibly painful to learn. Naturally, I don’t care about that; I just enjoy making fun of Love Never Dies and deciding which Phantom is the best based on grodiness of deformity. Obviously, that’s up to objective taste, but it’s Ramin Karimloo. Karimloo has the most extreme deformities, and is prone to fits of ACTING, so Karimloo takes top spot for musical Phantom. The best non-Musical Phantom is, of course, Lon Chaney, followed by Charles Dance, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise. Again I’m… I totally don’t care about this musical. I swear.

6. Mefistofele

I would argue that Boito’s Mephistopheles is the definitive version of the character, even more than Goethe’s. If nothing else, Boito’s Mefistofele defined the look of Mephistopheles, casting him in his famous red cavalier’s outfit. Mephistopheles here is also much more analogous to the Devil than his own separate entity here, since the opera begins with Mephistopheles challenging God to a bet over Faust’s soul. While Mefistofele might not be where the devil started enjoying his work, it’s definitely a far cry from Marlowe’s Mephistopheles urging Faust not to give up Heaven.

Still, despite the loss of complexity, Boito’s Mephistopheles is more personable, more charming, even a bit more human. There are situations he can’t control, and his relationship with Heaven is more casual. In the end, when Faust repents, you get the feeling that Boito’s Mephistopheles was enjoying the ride, and is almost as upset about not being able to have fun anymore as he is about losing his bet with God.

7. The Water God

Anything by Dethklok kind of feels like cheating, since they were explicitly made to be a parody band of death metal. At the same time, though, I’m not going to sit here and pretend that the entire underwater setting where sea monsters have race wars with mermaids isn’t the dopest shit. And then one of these sea monsters finds a deep sea oracle and they turn into some dark ocean god and it’s all so freaking cool. It is unnecessarily cool for a joke band meant to shill for an Adult Swim show. But the entire epic of the water god here is genuinely more compelling to me than a decent chunk of the fantasy characters I have read about. Maybe I need to read better fantasy stories, or maybe everyone else just needs to get with the program and starting writing Metal epics about killer tritons.

8. Ghost Riders in the Sky

Now this is the original Weird West song. Demon bulls, undead cowboys, nightmare horses; this song has got it all. And of course, this all goes without saying about how the song is also the unofficial theme song for Ghost Rider, one of my favorite superheroes. The song has that same ‘weird tale’ feel that Drink with the Living Dead has, which is probably because it’s based on an actual Texas folk tale. The image of a special Hell for cowboys is interesting, but I’m more fascinated by the prospect that Satan has livestock. Are all the Devil’s farm animals Metal like his steer? What about his chickens? Does Satan live on a giant dude ranch? Now I want some kind of Western/dark fantasy story where the Devil is a cattle baron all dressed in black and red.

9. Red

All Dogs Go to Heaven 2 was… God, I’m really putting this on the same list as Mefistofele good lord, but All Dogs Go to Heaven 2 was, well All Dogs go to Heaven 2. I mean it wasn’t the worst direct-to-video cartoon sequel of anything ever, it kind of just drifts there around the middle, but like many DTV cartoon sequels it has, unfortunately, a really great villain with a really great villain song. Designated antagonist Red is a demonic cat who’s after the angel Gabriel’s horn. His design is actually pretty good, and I appreciate the implication that if all dogs are heavenly, then all cats are therefore demonic minions. This is of course a known truth to anybody who has ever had to clean a litterbox, but it’s always nice to be reassured.

However, that alone would not let Red make the list; it takes more than being the redeeming feature of a DTV cartoon sequel to get here. What clenches it is Red’s pedigree; Red is voiced by Broadway musical veteran George Hearn, who has been in everything from Camelot to Wicked, but is most famous for being Sweeney Todd during the musical’s performance in 1970, and stayed with the production through its national tour and its Emmy-winning TV performance. In short, this man was the definitive Sweeney Todd, at least until Johnny Depp. All Dogs 2 even acknowledges it by having an entire sequence set in a demonic barber shop and theater. And I’m just a sucker for that kind of reference, so the evil red cat edges his way in.

10. The Beast of Pirate’s Bay

There are plenty of Voltaire songs I could have picked, but it figures I would pick the one about a sea monster. A variety of leviathans are conjured up to describe the Beast, without any actual answers given. It figures that like any good tall tale, the Beast changes from teller to teller. The truth is, though, that I find this to be one of Voltaire’s more sympathetic songs, and I can’t help but identify with the ending. Once upon a time there was a little me who loved sea life more than anything else too. The song takes a lower spot because of the actual nature of the monster, but the feeling still shines through.

#30 Day Monster Challenge 2 #30 Day Monster Challenge #Phantom of the Paradise #Cradle of Filth #opera #musical #Phantom of the Opera #long post

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mystiquewanderlust · 3 years ago

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Hey! Long time no write for me! So what's happening to me nowadays that makes me super occupied, aside from watching K-Dramas (ever since) and kpop (duh) ?

Watching CHINESE Dramas, of course! Lol.

Oh yesss! Now I am kinda taking a break from Korean dramas and are so engrossed with Chinese dramas from modern/romcom to (now my cup of coffee) historical/fantasy dramas. And when I say historical drama--those with extreme plots and major productions (seriously). And so without any further ado, here are the list of C-Dramas I was so thrilled to watch (like I binge-watched them for several days non-stop) and am sooo excited to recommend to you guys:

CHINESE DRAMAS MUST WATCH

(Part 1)

�� THE UNTAMED

Genre: Fantasy Wuxia Historical

Rating: 1000/10 ♡ (yeah it broke my scale lol)

OMGGG Like the best Chinese Drama ever!!! For now.. lol. Like seriously, up til now, I still haven't recovered from the hype and giddiness I experienced from watching this drama. I am super overwhelmed not only because of the well-rounded casts (I am so in-love with the main casts btw!!!), but because of the story line/ strong plot, the production, cinematography and makeup/costumes as well--everything! Like it was so different from any of the dramas I've watched so far--I was so hooked from the start to the end (and I even so want moreeee!!!).

So basically, the story revolves around the brotherhood of the two main leads (it was soo touching huhu) and the world of cultivators with all the mysteries and their tragic adventures. Wei Wuxian has more of a loud and happy-go-lucky personality who finds it hard to stick to the rules--which is actually the opposite of Lan Wangji's who are more of a quiet/serious and righteous kind. So yes, it was so fun watching the two of them as they slowly clicked and their amazing friendship bloomed after the personality clash. Wei Wuxian--having no choice--had to lean on the dark and demonic arts to survive. And so therefore Lan Wangji--being his best friend--tried his best to help him this time (after he resurrected) in the best he can even if it means turning his back to his so-called 'loyalty' to the rules and the 'righteousness' that the people around him keeps on pressing unto him. It was really heart-breaking, I cried. Seriously!!

And in terms of world-wide ratings.. well obviously, IT RANKED #1! It was really unforgettable that's why so far, this is the BEST Chinese Drama for me. I am so gonna cry.. again! 😭💖 Might watch it again very soon.. hihi!

🌸 ETERNAL LOVE

Genre: Fantasy Romance Wuxia

Rating: 10/10

Another top Chinese drama that is binge-watch worthy! Not only did this drama broke my heart a million times, it also made it errupt with joy after the two being united in the end. Oops! Spolier? Lol. What more can I say? This drama was everything! From the plot to the characters--I was entirely hooked from beginning to end.

The story took place in the celestial world of god and goddesses. Like they live for thousands of years and they oversee the four or more realms including mortal world. I super love the two main couples (such a strong set of actors btw) and their journey of love. The heroine of this drama made it impossible for me to forget her. Like this was the first time for me to actually watch her in a drama and she already made an impression that made me look up all of her other dramas and watch them next right away. Seriously! So expect more of her dramas on the list (and they are all SOOO GOOD too btw, like A-list kind of dramas too and I am not exaggerating!).

Well that is all for me to say. Just watch it so you would know what I mean. ^^

🖤 ASHES OF LOVE

Genre: Fantasy Romance Wuxia

Rating: 9.5/10

This drama basically has the same concept as the Eternal love--celestial world and gods and goddesses. It's just that I watched this before the Eternal Love (and actually my very first ever fantasy drama) so I remember having that 'awed' moments while watching this. But thinking back now, I was more hooked in Eternal Love than this one. But it doesn't mean this is a downgrade--if you know what I mean. Just not a big fan of the heroine. I love the male lead though, he's one of my top 5 fave male actors. I even remembered gushing over him because he was sooo handsome.. haha! A must-watch drama indeed!

♣️ LEGEND OF FEI

Genre: Wuxia Romance Historical

Rating: 9.5/10

I love this drama! After watching loads of fantasy ones, I was like thrown into another world--a world of martial arts that is full of action and adventure--no boring moments on the fighting scenes, just agitations sometimes..lol! Honestly, the main reason why I found this drama is because of my crush from my top 1 drama 'The Untamed'--Wang Yibo. Like I looked for his dramas (like duh I always do that haha) and voila! XD A letdown for me is the heroine--like she was pretty and all, she fits the role.. but I just find her a bit lacking in terms of emotions and stuff. From episode 1, I was already hoping that she would eventually evolve into a more emotional kind of a character.. only to disappoint myself in the end. She kinda bores me here, sorry! Good thing the handsome male lead made me stick to the end as well as the plot and the production. This is a high-budgeted film anyways. Speaking of the male lead, I was taken aback seeing him with this kind of a bubbly personality here when he was soooo serious in the 'The Untamed'! He's so charming nonetheless. And oh! I like the whole mechanism thing in this film and the school where it originated (forgot what it was called). Kudos! ♡

[Continued to Part 2..]

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forksofwisdom · 7 years ago

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What do you think witches and mermaids would have been like in the Twiverse? Do you think SM should have included other species?

Despite being a very pragmatic person, I am obsessed with mythologies of any kind, and I loved this idea so much that I took the time to do some research! And BOY did it get out of hands!

Note that I’m not a professional and most of my knowledge comes from scouring the internet, which is fraught with misinformation and I barely scratch the surface for the sake of brevity. I do mention things from my own culture - Icelandic folklore to be exact - but I encourage you to tag onto this post if you have something to add or want to make a correction! :D

I think SM kept a very narrow scope because she never intended Twilight to be anything more than a teenage romance between Bella and Edward. I for one am happy that she didn’t branch out beyond vampires, wolf-shifters, and the Children of the Moon because she was already on thin ice with her appropriation of the Quileute Tribe’s creation story.

I also think that including more too many species and characters would have overwhelmed SM. Her side characters have spotty backstories, and I have a feeling that she wrote most of their history as an afterthought. Why else would SM have only mentioned Esme’s past in the Official Guide and not included the crucial information that Esme met Carlisle while she was STILL human in the story?

If I’m honest, I would have loved to see different ending for New Moon and have SM do more character development in Eclipse. Bella’s quick recovery from her crippling depression was unrealistic in my opinion and her desperation to spend the rest of eternity with the Cullens seemed so shallow considering the fact she knew next to nothing about them and their past.

That being said, I still have some headcanons now that you got me thinking about this. I’m fascinated with the idea that some myths and legends around the world were born from encounters with real supernatural beings.

Shapeshifters

Based on SM’s idea about the Quileute spirit warriors, there should be more types of shifters in the Twiverse since the Quileutes weren’t the only ones who founded their belief on having descended from wolves.

Therianthropy is the mythological ability of human beings changing into animals via shapeshifting. This concept has been around for centuries, dating back so far that there are cave paintings that depict the transformation of men into animals. (x)

One of the most popular types of shapeshifting seems to be changing into wolves, and subsequently, there are a LOT of werewolf myths or The Children of the Moon as SM refers to them. (I’ve already written an entire post dedicated to them so I won’t talk about them here.)

I won’t go much farther into Origin Stories than I have above since it’ll take over the entire post. There are so fricking many different tales, especially about randy gods - seriously, it’s wild - that it’s difficult to decide what would lead to becoming a Shifter and what would be considered fables in the Twiverse.

For the sake of clarity, I have made a short list below which includes a few types of shapeshifters from different cultures that people may be familiar with:

· In Chinese Mythology, it is believed that all things are capable of acquiring human forms through shapeshifting. There are the Huli Jing, which is a nine-tailed fox spirit, from which the Japanese derived their Kitsune (any fellow Naruto fan here???) and the Korean Kumiho.

· Selkies are a favorite of mine (Please watch Song of the Sea - I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried during that movie) since they sometimes feature in Icelandic myths. Selkies are primarily thought to be women who live in the sea as seals but shed their coats and turn into humans on land. They aren’t able to shapeshift without their coats. Most of the tales aren’t happy and are about men who steal the selkie’s coats and hide them to coerce the woman into marriage.

· Nāga from Indian religions are thought to sometimes shapeshift from snakes, most often King Cobras, into humans.

Witchcraft

Witchcraft is tied to many religions, but as an atheist, I only have a layman’s knowledge of the practices that are still in use today. I’m highly skeptical when it comes to spiritual healing in real life, and I’m not at all a fan of the cult cultures that frequently surround religion.

Here’s a brief history lesson:

Witches were the women who served the goddesses in the earliest centuries of human civilization and were revered throughout their communities. In the ancient civilizations of the Middle East, priestesses trained in the sacred arts and partook in the holiest of rituals. They were seen as benevolent, and wise women who helped deliver babies, and saw to people’s health.

What’s interesting about them is that they are so clearly understood to be positive figures in their society. No king could be without their counsel, no army could recover from a defeat without their ritual activity, no baby could be born without their presence. (x)

The fear of witches stems from the deep-seated misogyny born from male-centric and monotheistic religions such as Christianity and Judaism. The panic spread to Europe and spiked to a level of hysteria with the outbreaks of plagues. (x) Witch-hunts, especially in Central Europe, resulted in the trial, torture, and execution of tens of thousands of victims. About three-quarters of whom were women. (x)

Witch-hunts still claim thousands of lives every year, especially in developing countries that have an inadequate education system. (x) I recommend watching this documentary if you’re interested in learning about a Tanzanian witch-hunt that happened in 2017.

Keeping this gruesom history in mind, I think there would be hidden communities of witches and warlocks in the Twiverse. I’m not here to dictate what sort of magic they would use - I’ll leave the world building up to the writers!

Here are just a couple of examples of witchcraft:

· Shamanism is a practice that involves a practitioner reaching altered states of consciousness to perceive and interact with a spirit world and channel these transcendental energies into this world. (x)(x)

· Druidism is a spiritual or religious movement that generally promotes harmony, connection, and reverence for the natural world. (x) You can learn more about modern Druidry here: (x)

· Wicca is contemporary witchcraft and is one of the fastest-growing religions in the Western world today. (x) Wicca spirituality is earth-based enlightenment. Note that not all Witches are Wiccans. (x) I’m not a practitioner myself, but I quite like the idea of being more in tune with yourself and nature. You can take a test here if you’re curious to see whether Wicca would work for you.

In Iceland, we had what we called Völva (seiðkonur or seiðkarl, depending on the gender) who were seers. Most of their practices were based on herbalism and the use of runes.

For those of you who are curious about Norse Mythology which hasn’t been altered by the likes of Marvel and Hollywood, I recommend reading Völuspá, which literally translates to Prophecy of Völva. It’s the fundamental source for the study of Norse Mythology because it tells the story of the creation of the world to Ragnarök (end of the world). You’ll also have the chance to learn some freaky shit about Loki - like that time he gave birth to a eight-legged horse - and see that he wasn’t really that much of a dick compared to the other gods *cough* Óðinn *cough* - also Þór once gatecrashed a wedding by dressing up as the bride.

Mermaids

· Mermaids are sometimes associated with perilous events such as floods, storms, shipwrecks, and drownings. In other folk traditions, they can be benevolent or beneficent, bestowing boons or falling in love with humans.

The Little Mermaid (the H.C Andersen version) happened in the Twiverse and that is a fact!

· Sirens! (You thought I could go through an entire post without mentioning Greek Mythology??? Think again!) They were beautiful but dangerous creatures that lured the sailors with their beautiful voices to their doom, causing the ships to crash on the reefs near their island.(x) This connection to the sea is why many confuse them with mermaids when instead they were believed to be a combination of women and birds.(x)

I can totally see them chilling on Greek islands singing their songs and luring horny sailors to their demise.

Miscellaneous

· Huldufólk (hidden people) played a crucial part in Icelandic folklore. They were the spirits of the land and shouldn’t be confused with fairies. Huldufólk wore normal Icelandic clothing and used the power of words to cast spells on people - either blessing or a curse, depending on how they judge the person’s behavior. They lived inside the stones. To prevent any naughty behavior, it’s said that Huldufólk would kidnap infants and replace them with wizened old elves that pretended to be normal children. They would behave like wild brats, kicking and screaming, and nothing but a good beating could bring back the human child.

These oral tales were used to prevent many children from wandering away from human habitations and instilled fear and respect for the harsh powers of nature. (x)(x)

Contrary to popular belief, Icelanders don’t actually believe in the existence of elves, or anything tbh, we just like to mess with foreigners. So if you’re a tourist then “YES, I am a believer in elves. HoW DarE yOU qUeSTioN my FAith! You dare sit on our precious boulders? Tainting the sacred houses of our elves by touching them with your filthy behind!”

· Tröllskessur (mountain trolls) are usually female, hence skessur. Trolls turn into stone if the sunlight hits them and their tales were used to explain the natural phenomena in Icelandic nature, f.ex. a stone caught between two pillars or the outlines of a face on the side of mountains. (x)

Tröllskessur are extinct in my headcanon but I just think it’s nifty if these stories were true in the Twiverse.

· DRAGONS!

Don’t fight me on this!! I have no idea how they would be kept hidden in the Twiverse but they’re out there!

· Spirits (as in the soul) and Yōkai

I’ve watched Spirited Away too many times to leave them out of the Twiverse. They’re probably out there chilling somewhere in a Supernatural Spa Resort…

This was a fun question to answer, anon! Thank you for sticking with me to the end of this post! The sleep deprivation got to me in the end… ಥ∀ಥ

#THIS TOOK ME WEEKS I AM SO SORRY!#anon #ask #the twilight saga #my headcanon #mythology #my answer

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fyeahwonderbat · 7 years ago

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Can you write a fic on how you think batman#39 should've progressed. And love your fics and I truly am excitedly looking forward this WonderBat week.

WonderBat Week 2018: Theme #2 - Elseworld

Title: Take On Me

Author: MaidenOfTheWorld

Universe: DC Rebirth (Comics)

Rating: Teen / PG-13

Word Count: 1,973 words

DISCLAIMER: I fully respect Tom King’s run of Batman, including issues #39 and #40, despite not being a fan of the series personally. Given the theme for today, I have chosen this prompt as it suits the concept of ‘Elseworld’, meaning alternate universe. Thank you.

We shouldn’t have come here.

I know that now, and we’ve been damned for not realizing the error to our naturally heroic ways sooner. This place is full of monsters that stalk us in this perpetual night, but nothing could be more threatening to my sanity than the relentless gravitation there is between Diana and I.

It’s been years since I’ve seen Gotham, or my family, or my fiancee. Everything I ever knew is lost to me while I am trapped in Gehanna except for Diana, Wonder Woman, the beacon of all things righteous and true. She is the pillar of strength that keeps me fighting fit when the hordes refuse to be silenced, and by doing so, she forces a roar of temptation to bombinate inside me the longer we remain here together.

There have been many occasions in which the ravenous surge of energy after a monstrous battle dares me to grab hold of her and steal her lips with my own, celebrate what we have vanquished, revere her might and accomplishments. Anyone who knows Diana cannot help themselves from admiring her but to see her destroy demon after demon with such refined eradication can be an aphrodisiac that is unparalleled to anything I have ever known before her.

But I have my city, my family, my fiancee to think of, and those memories weigh down my desires when nothing else will.

After all, I’ve chosen my partner and… it wasn’t her.

The flickering of the campfire on Diana’s face tries to hypnotize me into thinking otherwise, but I’ve trained myself for most of my life to squash such enticement, having perfected the skill many times with her specifically.

Why that is, I can’t say I remember as soundly anymore.

Nevertheless, I look away from her bewitching face and dig into my own meal of the charred critter we captured and focus on satisfying a different hunger all together.

Then, she calls to me, and my resistance falters. “Bruce?”

“Yes?” I answer her immediately.

Taking a bite, I await her to continue her thought but she doesn’t maintain the pace of the conversation she started. It is worrying to wonder if Wonder Woman has weakened in her resolve, especially considering she is the immortal warrior addressing a mere mortal vigilante. I lift my gaze to find hers and her blue eyes are awaiting me.

There, behind such a vibrant cerulean hue, is the true Diana. The vulnerability she isn’t scared to reveal but fearful of giving into glimmers at me, catching the weary flame before us secretively. Seeing her pull down her own walls in order to address me makes me anxious, because I know that my need to save her from such frightful thoughts could compel me to reach out to her.

Easily, and yet while uttering a much more complicated question than another I can remember, she asks, “How long do you think we have been here for now?”

I pause to think, but choose not to meditate on it for too long. “Ten years.”

“Ten years?” She repeats back to me, quieter than I spoke. Beneath the tree that sat at her back, she radiates the aura of an ethereal being that wants more from this cursed fate she cannot break free from and I am reminded of her sister in arms, wondering if we are also destined to suffer for doing nothing empirically wrong.

“At least.” Is how I choose to comfort her, despite how fruitless it truly is to try.

She sits with my answer for the time span of the blink of an eye. Then, she strikes a pose in which I cannot tell if she means to merely stretch or if she is miming her intention to threaten The Gentleman who trapped us here. “We have tried… We must concede.”

No, I beg her internally not to say such things.

“We cannot open the gate without him.”

She speaks nothing but the truth, and yet…

“And he does not come.”

“Yeah.” I reply blandly, for I can concur with fact. We released the man whom we once promised to offer salvation to and he has not returned to give us the same. For all we know, he never plans to exonerate us from this hell, and Diana and I are confined to a fate of endless battles waged against the Hordes of Gehanna by each other’s side for all of this realm’s eternity.

“So then,” Diana lets her words drag on as she bows her head. It’s almost as if she’s become nervous as she speaks. “Perhaps this is everlasting. All of life, our life.”

Her voicing of my very thoughts is an easy task, however, it ropes me into her. I bow my head too as if I need time to comprehend what she is saying to me. “The hordes are… everlasting.”

Then, she dares to state the truth I had been fearing myself. “And all we have, forever, is you and me.”

The most infuriating and tantalizing words that have ever been spoken to me.

We teased, we taunted, we hinted at one another in the past and never dove into anything serious for reasons neither of us truly understand. Perhaps it was because we could lose ourselves to one another? Or perhaps our differences in mortality while living the lives that we do carries a heavy load on the possibility of a future? Or maybe it all comes down to the fact that her time would be best spent with someone who can enjoy life with her, not dampen her illustriousness with the darkness that swallows me?

The possibility of having her now was nothing if not…

If not…

“Yeah.” I foolishly answer again, carrying on this asinine conversation. What are we doing, discussing this as if there is a chance we could be something more? As if Gehanna was the place to make the planets align or cosmically bring us together?

Just as I am growing infuriated with our situation, Diana giggles. Softly, only momentarily, but she laughs before me. The tension gripping me slackens it hold and I gawk at her from under my brows as she says, “You know, even without the pointy ears, you do not look so bad.”

Such a swift change in conversation, I can’t help but to pause before I answer. It is almost sacrilegious for her to compliment my appearance as my eyes rake over her body while it is highlighted and shadowed by the campfire’s glow. The goddess before me, in whatever backhanded way she chooses to speak, tells me that she enjoys the way I look.

To ignore her beauty would be a crime, one I have committed for far too long considering my role as a man who seeks justice.

Dumbfounded and animalistic, I lean towards her, muttering for a third time the most unattractive word, “Yeah.” But I do lean in, I seek her out and she leans towards me. The heat that pools in my blood courses throughout my tired body and rejuvenates me with a promise of what is about to happen between us. Decades of working together plus the one we endured in this realm have led up to this moment, where our noses nearly touch.

I can hear her breathing deeply, and feel my chest lift and sink with the very same tempo. Rise and fall, just like my ability to resist Diana over the years. Having her sit before me now in our own perpetual corner of the realm feels like the opportune moment to stop wondering, stop fighting and let things happen.

“Bruce,” she calls to me again, making my insides churn painfully, desperately.

And it is with that awareness of desperation that my survival instincts reemerge from their restless sleep to stop me from making a catastrophic mistake.

Less than an inch away from her gorgeous lips, the words spill out of my mouth reflexively, without any sort of control. “We can’t…”

Diana stills and it instantly breaks my heart to refuse her for the umpteenth time. All those years of yearning reaching their climactic moment, now suddenly feeling wasted to know we can never be.

“No,” she too fires out words of discouragement in the hopes of appearing sane. “We can’t. Ever.”

Hearing her speak of finality strikes a chord with me, however. To recognize the insanity of our attraction is one thing, but to have Diana agree after offering herself to me is both saddening and infuriating. Why is our future never a possibility?

Why could I propose to one woman and never to this one, when I have admired her, cherished her, and loved her endlessly?

Why did I think it could never be Diana?

In that moment, I refused to let the madness of the answers sink their teeth into my desire and tear it away from me once again. For a moment, I would live in desperation for something that existed in front of me for too long. Inside of me.

Always with me.

As Diana begins to laugh again, I take it as a personal challenge to silence her, so I steal that kiss that I had been craving long before we entered Gehanna. Our lips crash and so do the worlds we keep separate from one another. She feels like the most exquisite sanctuary for a soul as worn as mine, a sob urging to spring free in my throat that I quickly stamp down. Kissing her fills me with an awareness of coming home after a lifelong war even whilst we are still trying to survive the ongoing battle against the demons around us.

It takes everything I have to await her response before I notice that her hand has found my cheek, cradling it softly. The gesture alone calms my nervousness, then unseals all of the battle-induced excitement, the ages-long resistance, the indisputable greed to have her body be with mine. I know now that I need us to be so much more than a fever dream when I grab her waist and drag her into me. “Diana.” I growl her name, daring her to pull away now that we have willfully let go.

“Mmm.” Her moan sends a shiver stomping along my spine and reminds me that our clothes are the last remaining barriers to realizing our profoundly anticipated passions.

At least, physically, in this world.

“I know,” I whisper, hoping to say more. I am aware of the lives we had been clinging to in this realm, the ones we know and want to return to. I remember what the past ten years have been like as we reminisced about what we had waiting for us if and when we make our way back to Earth.

We reminisced together, though.

About what we had before being spirited away to this god awful place.

And in both of our recollections, the constant we shared was this: each other.

“Yeah.” She whispers cheekily as her long legs carry her into my lap. The fire fueling every move that she makes is just as nervous as I am, as its flame burns too quickly in the hopes that she can savour every moment before it fizzles out. I want that as well - to pin her down or have her straddle me and feast on one another like we were always too scared to imagine. With claw-like hands, I wrap my arms around her and hold her against my body so that she can shield me from any other world that isn’t Gehanna.

Neither one of us can stop this now.

Neither one of us wants to.

I can no longer say I haven’t tasted the fruit of temptation, as her name is Diana, and all I want is for her to be by my side forever more.

#wonderbatweek2018 #wonderbat #maiden writes #Wonder Woman #batman

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herstarburststories · 7 years ago

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Can cancer kill an angel? ✘ Dark!Barry | Savitar Imagine ✘

✘ A/N: I want to make a parte 2 for it, actually, I believe I’ll, then we can see Savitar helping reader and she thinking that she’s crazy.

Thanks for my beta as always, @lyss-91

✘ Request: Hi can u pls do a savitar!barry x reader where he has a soft spot for her due to the fact in the future shes the only one who care for him while the team didnt accept him? They eventually become lover but she died. So in the past he cant help but want to be close by with reader n secretly help her. He want to change her future too. Make it angst pls. Thanks.

She moved away from his cold yet soft lips, her apology on the tip of her tongue like a sentence that it had been a mistake, the judge was her mouth, and she was about to declare that lie so true in her mind by his lack of reaction.

Instead, he approached her and captured her lips in his, offering sweet freedom to the kiss.

It was the first time that Barry Allen’s time remnant felt pure in what seemed like an eternity of filth. As if the speed in his veins was asleep and woke up to the adrenaline alarm that only she could provide.

True love, no matter how clichéd it sounded, was more efficient than any V9.

(Y/N) helped him arrange something inside himself, without even noticing, at that moment. In fact, she never left Barry alone, preventing his sadness from becoming routine and not letting life run out of him. But (Y/N) did not bring him back.

She never let him go.

Savitar woke up sweaty, and typically alone in his lair. He ran his hands through his hair falling into his functional eye, his heavy breathing evidenced his turbulent mind. Those dreams with (Y/N) were like a bittersweet tragedy: remembering pleasure and pain at the same time as love itself.

Fortunately, soon Savitar would not need to sleep, because Gods don’t need something so trivial. And his dreamy memories would not bother him anymore, because you would really be by his side. This time, he would save you. Nothing, not even death, could stand in his way to be with you. Gods do not fear death, they are not crushed by it; they manipulate it. Shaking his head, Savitar ignored the onset of the anxiety attack as he remembered the circumstances of your end, it was no time for that, this reality would be only a nightmare soon.

Tried, tried and tried to have the luxury of sleep for a few more hours, but it was impossible. He looked around, Killer Frost was nowhere to be seen, probably too busy with her own dilemmas in the middle of the night.

Savitar knew that on nights like this, awakened too early by the salt which his own subconscious insisted to playing on his open wounds, he wouldn’t be able to sleep without calming down. Being sober looked like a private punishment, and maybe it was. Savitar could not get drunk with alcohol, like the little ants affectionately called humans, but he could get drunk with something far more destructive and pleasurable than a bottle of inlaid chemicals.

In less than 10 seconds, Allen was inside your apartment, watching you sleep peacefully.

How could an angel like you be so defective inside and no one notice? But it was okay now, gods take care of their angels. And he would take care of you.

“He looks at her sleeping, that’s creepy!” You rolled your eyes as crossed your arms, and Barry giggled in answer to your little revolt. “What? If you ever do that, I’ll kill you, Bartholomew.”

Savitar laughed humorlessly as he embraced that old recurring memory as a son embracing his abusive father. He wondered if your opinion would change due to the circumstances or if you would just kick him out.

He touched your arm carefully, and finally felt his skin against yours, even in such a simple gesture, was a painful relief. Like a person picking up a beautiful rose full of thorns; the pain was worth the feel of the touch without gloves, without protection against any kind of intensity.

Just like he remembered, your eyes opened sleepily, but soon they were clever and your features became red alert. You moved away from his touch with surprising agility, he didn’t remember this particular detail: when you were afraid, you act on impulse.

“I didn’t come to hurt you.” Savitar declared his unchanging truth, the only concept that would never change, a dogma that he would insist on preaching until the end of time.

“Says the psychopath who invaded my house in the middle of the night and wants to kill my friend. Got it.” Irony had always been your favorite weapon anyway, even those not-so-intentional stabs he had missed.

“I’ll save you, my goddess. I promise.” Savitar swore to himself, though the words were addressed to you. It almost seemed like you were making a pact with the devil. And as fast as it had come, the god of speed was gone. Leaving only the sensation of a kiss on your forehead and your mind in confusion.

Save you from what? Why did he care about you? Why didn’t he hurt you?

Your eyes widened in sudden clarity, you whole body grew colder than Killer Frost’s with this foreboding conclusion.

Did he know you had cancer and wanted to save you from it?

Why?

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my-pocket-universe · 7 years ago

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1, 6, 23, 24, and 30 for wondertrev please!!!!!!!

Wondertrev headcanons!

Omg @justpond–eringtheuniverse thank you so much for doing this OTP question meme with me. You have no idea how stoked I am. I love Wondertrev so much my heart could implode and I have so much to say about them! Please bear with me as this is going to be one hell of a long post and I apologise in advance for the overwhelming length.The following answers are based on my head-canon, in which Steve somehow was resurrected and returned to Diana as an immortal (perhaps as a gift from the powers that be), soon after the explosion and defeat of Ares in 1918, and they have been living blissfully ever after.I must emphasise the fact that I love fanfics that have Steve resurrected and become immortal in the 21st century as much as the next Wondertrev shipper, given the interesting role reversal and the fish-out-of-water situations that have Steve attempt to adjust to modern technology, but my heart aches whenever I try to imagine how excruciating and disheartening it must have been for Diana to live through a century without Steve. Alas, here we go:

1. Who is the most affectionate?They are both passionate about each other but their upbringings make them manifest their love and passion very differently. She may seem reserved to others (with the exception of her original friends like Etta and the guys) but Diana is never one to hide her emotions and perpetually deep affection for Steve, in private or in public - she speaks her mind and put her words and thoughts into action, praising, complimenting, kissing, hugging, caressing and touching him whenever possible. Canonically speaking, in the movie, Diana was the one to hold his hand first and she made it clear that she wanted him to stay in her room in the inn in Veld and she even initiated the kiss. She is unfazed by the societal expectations, norms, customs and traditions of Man’s world which were holding Steve back occasionally. I like to think he is just as affectionate (and he certainly loves her as much) but he was also brought up as a gentleman and born in 1880s after all. At first he wasn’t too accustomed to public display of affection beyond hand holding, cupping Diana’s face, touching her hair and light kisses on her forehead or cheeks but eventually he became bolder and more relaxed in public with her, as they cherished every opportunity to be affectionate to their other half, especially after almost losing each other forever that night in the airfield in Belgium in 1918 and the societal standards changed gradually over the century they have been living in as a couple. It also had something to do with how Diana was rubbing off on him with her Amazonian ways. Steve is also the one to shower Diana with surprises whenever possible and mostly something non-materialistic as he knows well enough the preferences of his goddess. At home or in private they are very on par and in sync in terms of affection, although Diana would be more verbal about everything and Steve tries his best to catch up. They just love each other with every fiber of their being.

6. What is their favourite feature of their partner’s?Diana’s favourite feature(s) of Steve would definitely be his mesmerising and bright cerulean eyes which remind her of the tranquillising blue waters of Themyscira. A close second would be his ash blonde hair (and he’s been keeping the same haircut from 1918 to 2018, as it never goes out of style), followed by his physique. She is just so pleased with his well above-average overall physical appearance and vigour and there is nothing she would find undesirable. To Steve, Diana is his angel (and actual goddess and salvation) and his love for her is a combination of utmost respect, devotion, admiration, affection, adoration and romantic attraction, thus to him she is simply perfect in every sense and it may be hard to pinpoint a feature but if one must ask he would say her eyes can reach one’s soul and her lips hold all the truths in the universe and he would never get tired of savouring her ethereal beauty.

23. Who comes up with cheesy pickup lines?Gotta hand this one to Steve. His dry and sometimes cheesy humour is incredibly endearing to Diana and when the pickup lines are embarrassing he blushes so hard and Diana would first chuckle and then kiss him. Every now and then she turns the table on him and be the one to say them and for him it is always part hilarious and part enticing. Both of them can be goofy at times and they always end up laughing at the lines together lightheartedly.

24. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?Both, although Diana instigated this. In the beginning, she didn’t even realise these things and circumstances are inappropriate because they seemed normal on Themyscira. It certainly had him very flustered and made it difficult for him to keep his composure when she first did that. Eventually Steve was emboldened and she knew he could handle this and they frequently do this to each other.

30. One headcanon about this OTP that mends itThis is by far the best question and I could talk about it all day. And if I were a better writer I would turn this into a fic (I actually tried and am still too ashamed to publish it, seeing there are so many brilliant pieces already, or perhaps I will, when I finally have mustered up enough courage to do so). Humour me, yeah?

Essentially, the major headcanon - shortly after blowing up the German bomber plane with himself in it, in Belgium, 1918, Steve was resurrected and returned to Diana as an immortal and they have been living blissfully ever after - encapsulates numerous minor headcanons:

1918 to 1940s:

a month into their reunion, Steve proposed to Diana and she immediately said yes; marriage might have been a foreign concept to her at first but after having been through so much in terms of life and death, they couldn’t and wouldn’t be separated again, and matrimony became very justified ; they wanted to hold, cherish and love each other more than anything and they intended to spend the rest of their eternal(!) lives together

Diana and Steve had a simple yet blissful wedding ceremony at the City Hall, attended by Steve’s only and elder sister Tracy, Etta, Charlie, Sameer and the Chief and their family members (Steve’s parents passed away before he joined the US Army)

Steve was in his US Army military uniform and he was stunned by the breathtaking sight of Diana when she entered the room, escorted by Etta and Tracy; she wore an airy sleeveless and low-cut white silk wedding gown that made her resemble the Greek marble statues and he was lovesick and his eyes glistened with joyful tears and he grinned so hard his cheeks stiffened, meanwhile she was blushing and smiling like he was the most precious being in the universe

They were now Steve and Diana Prince-Trevor; Diana thought she liked the sound of Mrs Trevor, there was a nice ring to it, however, out of respect, Steve said it was up to her to keep the surname he crafted for her, and they decided on hyphenating them

British Intelligence learnt of Steve’s immortality and his profile became top secret; due to his physical advantage over other officers and criminals, he was assigned special ops and high-risk rescue missions, much to Diana’s dismay (”Steve, you are not invincible, you could still get hurt,” sighed Diana), but Steve wanted to help more people, so he assured her that he would take proper care of himself and if she wanted to help him he was more than content to have her by his side; British Intelligence obviously knew about Diana and her identity as Wonder Woman by now and they condoned this

Diana received a degree in ancient art history and archeology from Oxford, completing the courses in less than 3 years, which wasn’t surprising to Steve at all; she speaks hundreds of languages and has an eidetic memory, for starters, and she went on to become a curator of the British Museum

1940s to 1970s:

They fought side by side during WWII and helped the allies tremendously in liberating concentration camps, pushing the frontlines and gathering strategic intel

After the war, Steve resumed his secret missions for British Intelligence and Diana also joined SIS, as her colleagues at the British Museum began to show concern for, if not suspect, her apparent lack of aging; the SIS continued to provide them with identifications that could avoid suspicion pertaining to their condition

They visited Tracy and her family every now and then; she kept the questions about his peculiarly youthful appearance to herself and Steve was more than grateful for her understanding and she passed on at the age of 70; her children were curious about their uncle’s secret too but knew better not to ask

They maintained their close friendships with Etta, Sameer, Charlie and the Chief over the years, up until their passing, either due to old age or illness; afterwards, Diana and Steve had a sabbatical and travelled the world for several years, their wealth accumulated over the years kept them comfortable

1980s to present:

After their sabbatical, they parted with British Intelligence to relocate to the US, and there they joined the CIA (the Agency knew about Steve and Diana and their work from top-secret joint missions with the SIS); they were living in the States only every now and then as their operations required frequent worldwide travels; a decade or so later Steve requested a transfer to a command and strategic position based in the US as Diana became a curator for the Smithsonian Institution

Another decade later, Justice League was formed, and Steve has been leading US government’s ARGUS since; Diana is Head of Antiquities at Louvre when she isn’t busy saving the world as Wonder Woman

100 years later Diana and Steve are still living happily ever after and saving the world together

Throughout the years:

They tried out various flavours and types of ice cream in countries they visited but Diana’s favourite is always the homemade ones Steve concocts for her

So is breakfast, they certainly sampled numerous and miscellaneous kinds during their globetrotting travels, yet she always favours the Trevor special, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrown, baked beans and toast always all cooked just right and impeccable, prepared before she wakes up and served in a tray to be enjoyed in bed, and always followed by cuddling

Steve’s missions always require him to pilot airplanes; despite knowing he is immortal, Diana still gets worried (but she doesn’t make a fuss about it and Steve really appreciates that)

Diana and Steve didn’t always just work for the government, they make their best effort to save people outside of the bureaus’ jurisdictions whenever possible

Steve’s father’s watch is kept in a safe for preservation; Steve and Diana have been wearing matching watches (besides always wearing matching couple outfits, much to the amusement of their friends and acquaintances)

They rarely argue, let alone fight, and if they did they reconcile soon after (Steve is always patient and understanding and Diana is very compassionate and caring)

Diana is amused when she realised Steve actually needs glasses (despite his excellent marksmanship) and she chose pairs of them for him; although Steve started wearing contact lens once they were commercialised, he still wears glasses from time to time (think Chris Pine wearing glasses, *wink wink*)

Steve is polylingual (English, French, German, Dutch, Danish and Swedish) and Diana is always there to teach him other languages, either for professional or personal/recreational purposes

They always make time for vacation

They visit Themyscira every 3 years (except during WWII)

When they are at home they always find time to sway to some slow and soothing music

#Wondertrev #wondertrevnetwork #steve trevor #diana prince #wonder woman

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