#i thought of Dante with the dragon and realized it needed to happen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greenninjagal-blog · 5 years

Note

15 Anxceit?

Y’all really out here asking for that angst, aren’t you. Do you guys know the last time I wrote Hurt/Comfort? It’s been Eons. I’m rusty.

Summary: Virgil gets kidnapped.

Words: 2604

Quick Taglist: @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @thenaiads @treasureofpriam

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist || Prompt page

Keep Breathing

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts, but you have to trust me, Okay?” The voice says over the phone. “You hear me, Love? Virgil?”

Virgil can hear him. He can hear him so clearly it hurts worse than the throbbing in the back of his head, or the bruising on his ribs, or the knife wound in his shoulder. Virgil can’t remember the last time words had cut so cleanly through the crackling air like a blade all on their own.

He shouldn’t have been surprised though. Given who was speaking. Dee always did have that way with languages, slipping his tongue around foreign syllables and phrases and lulling Virgil to sleep on restless nights with just his voice, a book, and fingers treading through his hair.

“I’m going to get you out of there,” Dee tells him, in perfect English. “I promise.”

Virgil exhales shakily, just one breath away from sobbing. There so many things he wants to say, but they all get caught up in the lump in his throat.

He wants to scream, but he knows where that will get him, knows what that would do to Dee. He wants to cry and beg and curl up in a ball where nothing can touch him, but the first two haven’t done anything in the past endless hours, and the last one has been made impossible by the way his arms were zip tied behind his back and around the pole. He squeezes his eyes closed and tries to pretend like the voice of Dee over the phone is him really just sitting next to Virgil on the bed talking him out of a panic induced spiral.

“Just breathe for me, Liebing,” Dee says. “Just breathe. I’ll get you out of there.”

Virgil inhales sharply. “I-- I know,” He manages with a wet laugh. “I kn-now you will. And I-- I’ll kill you m-myself for this.”

He thinks Dee nearly laughs, one of those wet, terrible laughs of his that only came out when he was nearing his breaking point, but the phone is pulled away from his ear at that moment. He strains after it in a panic, but his captor give him a sharp kick to the side and Virgil falls back against the pole, with his shoulder screaming in pain.

“There,” The criminal says, “Proof of Life, Mr. Ekans. Your lovely fiancee is still breathing, although if you don’t follow my orders exactly, he won’t be for much longer.”

Virgil thinks if he wasn’t so terrified out of his mind, he might have found that funny. Dee? Following someone else’s orders? Ever since Virgil had met him in Third grade Dee had avoided rules like the plague. When he had disappeared after highschool, Virgil had thought that Dee had gone off and died somewhere in a ditch, but he had returned just seven years later, with that same smirk and that spark in his eyes like he knew everything Virgil was thinking in any moment.

They hadn’t been friends, but they had been acquaintances. Once or twice they had been lab partners in Chemistry, and they had nodded to each other in the halls.

It was ridiculous that Virgil hadn’t even noticed how much he missed that normalcy, that routine, that quiet interaction, until the day before Graduation when Dee had invoked a Senior Skip Day and Virgil had ghosted between classes without seeing him at all. It was even more ridiculous that Virgil had turned that sad feeling over in his chest a billion times and realized somewhere north of 3:24 A.M. that he had had a crush on Dante Ethan Ekans for three years based just on nods in the hallways and that one time Dee had offered him part of a sandwich when the school lunch had looked particularly terrible.

Then Dee hadn’t shown up to Graduation. Or the last day of school.

Virgil had found out the week after from gossip in a friend group that Dee had packed up his bags and gone for a journey to find himself with no returning ETA.

And again, Virgil hadn’t been friends with him so it hadn’t made sense that he felt angry not to have been told this directly. But the weight of that realization had crushed his tentative heart where it was in his chest.

There had been other boys, because seven years is a long time and boys were pretty, but they had never worked out. They had asked too much of him, or expected something different, or loved too brashly. At the end of each relationship Virgil had found himself lying on his bed wondering what had happened to the brunette boy with the nearly yellow eyes who once helped him light a Bunsen Burner.

Virgil had gone to college. He had gotten a BA in Culinary Arts, with an emphasis on Baking and Pastries, which literally no one had seen coming, including himself. He had gotten a lease and opened up a bakery three counties from where he grew up and sent his mother danishes on the weekends when he couldn’t visit.

Then two months later, Dee had walked right into his bakery like he had never left. Virgil had nearly dropped a pan of muffins at the sight of him. That smile was the same, and those eyes, and habit of picking at his nails when he was nervous. But he had yellow highlights in his hair and a tattoo of a snake on his back and three scars over his knuckles.

“You might not remember me,” Dee had said as if Virgil had ever been able to forget him, “But we went to high school together and I...I’ve traveled all over the world and still think you are the most amazing thing in it.”

And Virgil had remembered why he had fallen for Dee in the first place all over again.

When Dee had asked Virgil to marry him four years later, he hadn’t hesitated to say yes.

Because it had been Dee, and Dee had chosen to stay in that town with Virgil, had chosen to pick up a business job, had chosen to to go on several dates with Virgil, had chosen to stay through every fit and fight and argument, had chosen to get down on one knee and offer Virgil that ring that was on a necklace around his neck right now.

Dee had also casually forgotten to mention that he was freaking loaded until the moment that Virgil had been walking out of his bakery nearly dead on his feet last night and someone had swung a crowbar directly into the back of his head.

“And I’m not sure I need to remind you what will happen if you call the police,” Virgil’s captor says airily, “But I will anyway--”

Without warning the man turns back to Virgil and swings his heel directly into Virgil’s wounded shoulder. Agony rips through Virgil’s entire being, drowning out all of his thoughts until all there was left was a burning, blazing pain and his own screams. Tears streamed down his face, choking him as he wrestled against the bindings in an attempt to curl around the injury. His vision turns white and black like TV static and his sobs echo throughout the empty warehouse like they were mocking him.

Faintly, he thinks he can hear Dee’s voice.

Faintly, he registers the captor over him, is delighting in Virgil’s pain.

Faintly, he recalls the price the man just put on Virgil’s life, and that Dee didn’t hesitate to agree to it.

The criminal over him ends the call with a click of a button, and Virgil whimpers. His shoulder feels like someone was holding an open flame to it, his wrists burn where the zip tie are latched far too tightly to his skin.

“Hmm,” the man says softly, “I can’t say I see what he sees in you.” He reaches down and holds Virgil by the jaw, turning his head from side to side to examine him, as if he’s a piece of meat for sale. Virgil’s skin burns coldly at the touch, like its frostbite threatening to take over his whole body and kill him on the spot.

“Liebing,” His captor says, teasingly. His free hand shifts to his pocket and he brings out that switchblade again-- Virgil tenses to get away from it, even with his shoulder weeping lava. With a shri-ckk the metallic knife slips out, still streaked with crimson where it had been lodged in Virgil’s shoulder earlier when he had talked back too much.

The man uses the blade to lift a piece of Virgil’s sweat matted hair from his face. It’s close, too close, and Virgil’s lungs beg for air he doesn’t dare give them.

“P-please,” He chokes.

“P-please,” The man mimics, with a cruel smile. “Your future husband seemed to be in an awful hurry to get you back. He has twenty hours; I wonder how much fun the two of us can have while we wait.”

Virgil squeezes his eyes closed, trying not to shake. The knife tip boops his nose and the man laughs releasing him easily. In another moment Virgil hears the sound of tape ripping and feels the sudden force of his mouth being covered.

“Shhhh,” The man says, using his thumb to rub away a stream of Virgil’s tears.

Virgil doesn’t dare open his eyes until he hears those footsteps retreat all the way across the warehouse and the door opens and closes as the man leaves him alone.

Virgil twists his wrists again, but it only succeeds in turning his hands into a sticky sweltering mess and his shoulder whines in pain again. He grunts through the duct tape hanging his head to his chest.

Dee promised him he’d be okay. Dee didn’t make empty promises. He lied sometimes, like he lied when he called in sick to work that time that Virgil took off and they spent the entire day cuddling and watching conspiracy theories on TV, or that time that Virgil’s baby cousin Ed’s hamster died and Dee had told him it had gone on a perilous journey to defeat a dragon that was too dangerous to take Ed with him, or that time that they had gone for dinner at Virgil’s parents and Dee had told his mother that the potatoes were the best that he had ever had while shoveling it into a napkin under the table.

Dee lied, but he did not make empty promises.

He promised Virgil he wasn’t going to leave again and then he got a job in office building; he promised Virgil to find that one brand of chocolate Virgil liked even though he had to go to eleven different stores to find it; he promised him that they would leave that business dinner party the second that Virgil got uncomfortable, even if that was only twenty three minutes in; he promised him that one day they were gonna get married on a beach with the sea salt dusting their tuxes as they said “I do”.

So if he said that Virgil is going to be okay, Virgil is going to be okay.

Virgil doesn’t know what to do if he doesn’t cling to that pathetic hope.

A flicker of shadow draws Virgil’s attention, and his head snaps up, preparing to...to...protect himself from whatever he could. Instead his breath stutters to a halt.

The shadow is a figure on the roof, someone who is slim but fit and easily opens the glass pane to lower themselves inside. The shadow is a figure who manages to slip from the catwalks to the warehouse floor in barely a minute.

The shadow is a man who kneels beside Virgil and peered at him behind square glasses, “My name is Logan Ackroyd. I’m here to escort you out of this situation, but first I must know where your captor went.” The shadow is a very real person and Virgil can’t tear his eyes from the yellow bold letters F.B.I. on his jacket.

“Mr. Storm,” Logan says sternly, like Virgil is back in school and one snarky comment away from getting detention again. “Please quietly look in the direction where your captor went.”

Virgil’s eyes flicker to the far door, his breath noticeably short and reckless and violent. With every inhale he feels like he’s getting less and less oxygen in his body.

“Prince,” The FBI agent says into a comm, “He’s at the North Entrance.” Then he swiftly moves around Virgil to his hands. Virgil can’t help but flinch at the motion, drawing a nauseating screech of pain from himself.

“Apologies,” Logan says, “I am going to cut you loose. Please refrain from moving unnecessarily. There’s a medical team on standby. I can see your shoulder wound, but are there any other locations that will require immediate attention?”

Virgil lets out another sob, a relieved sob as he shakes his head. Or possibly doesn’t. He doesn’t know if its even noticeable from how the rest of his body is vibrating like all his atoms are slowly pulling him apart.

“I’m going to do a breathing exercise, Mr. Storm. Can you please breathe with me while I count?” Logan says calmly again. Virgil’s head spins at how calm he is when there’s nothing calming about this situation. Still the counting is even and steady, flowing over Virgil like the sound of a timer while he’s working in the kitchen. When he closes his eyes, he can even pretend its Dee counting for him, whispering praises when he manages to hold his breath for that endless seven seconds.

“It’s going to be okay.” Logan says, as he cuts through the zip tie and picks his way under Virgil’s uninjured arm. He peels off the duct tap to make it easier to breathe and Virgil falls against him without meaning to.

He’s breathing. Like Dee told him to do. Just keep breathing.

The next thing he knows there are police and FBI all over the place. There’s a several medics that come rushing to them, who help guide Logan and him outside to a standing ambulance. The noise is loud and quiet at the same time: like a screaming match drowned out by the buzzing in Virgil’s head.

He tries to focus on Dee, what Dee said to him, what Dee has said before: all those times he asked Virgil what new language he should try on Duolingo , all those times Dee tried teaching Virgil new phrases over romantic TV dinners and store bought wine, all those times that Dee idly said how much he loved him in the middle of a conversation with no prompting.

Just keep breathing. Dee had said.

“Virgil!”

The voice is a strike of lightning in the swirling madness around him. Virgil hiccups a sob and suddenly Dee is right there in front of him, pushing Logan out of the way to get closer to him.

“Virgil,” Dee says again gently taking his face in both his hands. There are tears in his eyes and his mouth spouts out words like a waterfall, “Virgil, Liebing, Love, Angel, Darling, my Sun, my Soul,--”

Virgil lets out a wail and flings himself into Dee’s arms, completely ignoring the medics and the burning of his shoulder, because this was Dee and Dee was...

Dee was safety. He was everything.

“Its okay,” Dee sobs with one hand in Virgil’s hair and the other warped around his waist holding him as close as they can get.

And Virgil believes him.

#greengabs #sanders sides #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #logan sanders #kidnapping #being held for ransom #tumblr prompts #anxceit #god I am so weak polyglots #this was too much fun to write what the heck

470 notes · View notes

sainedeparam · 3 years

Note

okay so: one book and one song for 7 oc's your choice and why!!!

Flor i am so sorry because this took me forever to answer 😭😭😭 i really had to think about what fit best and i ended up changing the “one book” to “one quote from a book” since i struggled with that but here we go. Under the cut because it ended up being too long akshsjsksl

One Song

Tate Cerati • Believer by Imagine Dragons

First things first // I'ma say all the words inside my head // I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been, oh-ooh // The way that things have been, oh-ooh // Second thing second // Don't you tell me what you think that I could be // I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea, oh-ooh // The master of my sea, oh-ooh

No thoughts, just vibes with this song. I don’t really have a reason why I chose this for Tate other than vibes. It just felt so… him, if that makes sense.

Brynn Delvaux • Born Ready by Zayde Wølf

I don't believe in no devil // 'Cause I done raised this hell // Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh // I've been the last one standing // When all the giants fell // Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh // I won't shiver // I won't shake // I'm made of stone // I don't break // Start me up // Open my eyes // Turn me loose and you'll see why // I was born, born ready // I was born, born ready // Staring at the pressure now // I won't quit, not backing down // I was born, born ready // I was born, born ready

I like powerful women. The type of women that are feared by everyone. And this song best describes the kind of vibe I was going for when playing her route in WTNC.

Ryder Vesta • Centuries by Fall Out Boy

And I can't stop 'til the whole world knows my name // 'Cause I was only born inside my dreams // Until you die for me, as long as there's a light // My shadow's over you 'cause I am the opposite of amnesia // … // Some legends are told // Some turn to dust or to gold // But you will remember me // Remember me for centuries // And just one mistake // Is all it will take // We'll go down in history // Remember me for centuries // (Hey yeah, oh hey, hey yeah) // Remember me for centuries // We've been here forever // And here's the frozen proof // I could scream forever // We are the poisoned youth

In my head this is a Villain Theme Song and he’s cocky enough for this to fit him. And this is also to implement the fact that Ryder could never really become a Vigilante, let alone a Hero. Even if he’s dating a Hero, he will always will be a Villain and I love that for him.

Amaris Voight • Control by Halsey

I'm well acquainted with villains that live in my head // They beg me to write them so they'll never die when I'm dead // And I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head // They beg me to write them so I'll never die when I'm dead // I'm bigger than my body // I'm colder than this home // I'm meaner than my demons // I'm bigger than these bones // And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" // I can't help this awful energy // God damn right, you should be scared of me // Who is in control?

I was listening to this song while I was thinking about what I wanted to do for Amaris’ future. There is sort of a complexity of whether this means her talking to the citizens she’s meant to protect, her talking to Nathaniel + Areum or just her talking to herself. You can’t just have the amount of power she does while not being able to fully control it and not be wary of her.

Kavan Vekany • Stronger by The Score

Set me on fire // Set me on, set me on fire (whoa, whoa-oh) // I'm still alive // I'm still ali- I'm still alive (whoa) // Bet you didn't think that I'd come back to life // Higher, faster, everlasting // Bet you didn't think that I'd come back to life // Higher, faster, never-crashing // Bet you didn't think that I'd come back to life // Stronger // (Stronger, stronger, stronger, stronger) // Bet you didn't think that I'd come back to life // Stronger // (Stronger, stronger, stronger, stronger) // Bet you didn't think that I'd come back to life // I do this with conviction // I write truths and never fiction // My disease is what you fed // I can't stop with my ambition // Like a missile on a mission // I'm a force that you will dread-ead

If The Exile was a series or movie, I can envision this song being played while at the end of Chapter 3, or maybe Chapter 4 since that’s when we maybe talk to Syfin + Trystan + Our Family.

Benjamin Blackwood • My Demons by STARSET

Mayday, mayday // The ship is slowly sinking // They think I'm crazy but they don't know the feeling // They're all around me circling like vultures // They wanna break me and wash away my colors // Wash away my colors // Take me high and I'll sing // Oh, you make everything okay, okay, okay (okay, okay, okay) // We are one and the same // Oh, you take all of the pain away, away, away (away, away, away) // Save me if I become // My demons

This is just basically him asking for help, I just haven’t decided if I want this to be romantic or platonic in terms of he’s asking for help from.

Kai Morgenstern • Lovely by Billie Eilish & Khalid

Thought I found a way // Thought I found a way out (found) // But you never go away (never go away) // So I guess I gotta stay now // Oh, I hope some day I'll make it out of here // Even if it takes all night or a hundred years // Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near // Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear // Isn't it lovely, all alone // Heart made of glass, my mind of stone // Tear me to pieces, skin to bone // Hello, welcome home

Kai and her complicated one-sided relationship with the supernatural world. There’s a reason why she has a really high Resistance Stat.

One Quote

Tate Cerati • Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Saenz

“Another secret of the universe: Sometimes pain was like a storm that came out of nowhere. The clearest summer could end in a downpour. Could end in lightning and thunder.”

This ties to the moment he found out the truth about Daphne, and Alex. How everything just shattered for him in the blink of an eye. It also ties to other events, like finding out what happened to his mother and during the battle when Daphne dies trying to save him. It's just him not expecting an outcome that would destroy his life, in a sense. The kind of outcome where he has to live with that knowledge knowing there is nothing he could have done to change it.

Brynn Delvaux • They Both Die At The End by Adam Silvera

“Sometimes the truth is a secret you're keeping from yourself because living a lie is easier.”

I headcanon that she had her suspicions about what Hunters really were. I mean you can't really be that strong and still be human. But keeping it to herself and not investigating further was better than to face the truth because being just like the kind of creatures she was taught to hunt was too much for her to handle. Even after she learns the truth during the story she is still in a bit of denial.

Ryder Vesta • The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

“Usually we walk around constantly believing ourselves. 'I'm okay' we say. 'I'm alright'. But sometimes the truth arrives on you and you can't get it off. That's when you realize that sometimes it isn't even an answer--it's a question. Even now, I wonder how much of my life is convinced.”

I told you about what his childhood, and how he came to be working for the Phoenix Organization, so this fits into him questioning Phoenix and his upbringing. Trying to figure out whether what he was told about his parents abandoning him were true or not, and thinking about what he would do if it weren't. The slow process of finding the truth, thinking that he's okay until it hits the point where he realizes he's actually not okay and not knowing if he is actually strong enough to go against the person he was loyal to.

Amaris Voight • Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Saenz

“Sometimes, you do things and you do them not because you're thinking but because you're feeling. Because you're feeling too much. And you can't always control the things you do when you're feeling too much.”

Every decision she made after waking up were based on feelings so they are a bit questionable even if they're not exactly bad, like not reaching out to Nathaniel and Areum. But it also fits in terms of her abilities. She has sort of learned how to use her abilities and has trained in order to be able to control her powers but she still doesn’t know the extent to what she can do so sometimes when she’s feeling too much, she can’t really control her abilities and the outcome of that is not always pretty :(

Kavan Vekany • The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo, #3) by Rick Riordan

“Pain is an interesting thing. You think you have reached your limit and you can’t possibly feel more tortured. Then you discover there is still another level of agony. And another level after that.”

After reading the new update, this just fits him so much. Everything he had to go through after [redacted], especially whatever they did in order for him to not be able to fully transform anymore? He’s known pain like never before, and you know it’s bad when even i think it’s too much lmao.

Benjamin Blackwood • Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

“He was not happy. He was not happy. He said the words to himself. He recognized this as the true state of affairs. He wore his happiness like a mask and the girl had run off across the lawn with the mask and there was no way of going to knock on her door and ask for it back.”

He grew up thinking that there was only one way of doing things, his father’s way. It never really hit him until he got older. For the majority of his life he just kept on doing what he was told because he thought it was the right thing to do and because he wanted his father to be proud but he was never truly happy. He never stopped to think about that feeling until later on.

Kai Morgenstern • They Both Die At The End by Adam Silvera

“I've spent years living safely to secure a longer life, and look where that's gotten me. I'm at the finish line but I never ran the race.”

My favorite girl, who hates life in NMC and being a Keeper in general. She wasn’t exactly “safe” or “cautious” when doing things before the events of kotsam but her life was never in danger, she had everything she wanted. And then, in the form of one car crash and almost being killed, he future just went down the drain and in the span of 2 years (so far) she has had so many near death experiences. She’s just so tired at this point.

#i didn’t really give a big explanation for the songs and im sorry for that. i just didn’t know what to say since some were based on vibes #and i know Benjamin’s descriptions are confusing since i haven’t talked about him or his story to you so im sorry about that too akshsksks #also. after i finished writing this i realized it ended up being pretty sad and i guess it’s just on brand for me now 😔#i love them though. they do get sort of happy endings #my babies <3 #thank you love!!#misc: asks #tag: flor ✨

3 notes · View notes

zenithlux · 4 years

Text

Cadence - 30

Catch up on the story here!

Lost all my precious Rage ate me up Endless forlornness has made me numb I’d rather rise from here Or should I hold on to my past?

Ashes - Hiroyuki Sawano

------------------

When Vergil woke up in a field of flowers, he knew he was back in their mindscape.

He sat up slowly, wincing as his bones seemed to pop back into place. He felt her tugging on his mind, but it didn’t feel like she was trying to wake him up. Instead, it felt like a gentle, almost mindless tug. It was as if she wasn’t intending to pull at him at all. And when he found her on the edge of their mental garden, he knew she was lost. She stared at the broken statue of Kuro that still towered over her. Her arms were wrapped around her legs. Her head was tilted back. Vergil could feel the solemn sadness that had plagued her heart for the last few weeks. But there was something different this time. Some emotion that Vergil couldn’t quite describe. Longing? Possibly, though that didn’t feel quite right. Acceptance? No, not quite. “Roxy,” He said as he approached her, disheartened to see that her skin was a pale blue. “You’re frozen.”

To his surprise, she nodded. “This is where I used to rest during my stasis.”

Vergil sat down beside her, glancing up at Kuro’s half-broken face. “I didn’t think you would still freeze with me.”

“My father used to say that one’s heart is the source of their power,” She said as she pressed her hand to her chest. “And if I have his heart… then…” She sighed. “There’s a lot I don’t understand.”

“Something is on your mind.”

“How could Kuro have possibly survived losing his heart?”

“Familiars are different,” Vergil said. “They may have a preferred form, but they survive things we would deem impossible. Most would go into their own stasis…” He paused as the realization dawned on him. “You’ve been going into stasis in his place.”

“What?”

“That’s the only explanation,” Vergil said. “When the power sustaining him started to wane, the power holding onto your heart did too. He must have purposefully slowed it to make sure it didn’t stop.”

“But this is all conjecture.” She said miserably.

“There must be a way to find out.”

“If my father was still alive…” She paused. “My father must have done the procedure.”

“Why?” Vergil said. “Why would he risk your life like that?”

For a long moment, she said nothing, but memories flooded Vergil’s mind. Flashes of metal. The screeching of tires. Her sister’s scream as two cars collided. The pain of a pole shooting through her body, pinning her to the seat. Sirens ringing in her ears. Her last breath…

Her eyes widened. “He wasn’t risking my life.” She murmured. “He was saving it.” Her lips parted. Her mind raced in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that Vergil couldn’t hope to pull apart. “I… I died. He… he saved me…” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Why did he save me? Why didn’t he save her?”

“Dia would know,” Vergil said.

“But my sister…”

“Your father made his choice,” Vergil said. A choice I couldn’t imagine making. If it was Nero’s life on the line, Vergil knew now that he would do anything to save him. But if he had a second child, and he could only save one… How could anyone make that choice?

“Dia knows,” Roxy muttered. “She must know.”

“Did you know she and Kuro were related?”

“No,” Roxy said. “But I have a feeling I might have before.” She stood up slowly, eyes locked on Kuro. “Why did you lie to me?”

But the lifeless stone didn’t answer, and Vergil found himself falling as Roxy turned away.

-------------------

Vergil jerked awake in a panic, his chest heaving. He coughed, and the pain-wracked his body. He reached for his heart, smacking a hand on the way there. “Hold on, Verge,” Dante said, his voice echoing over the ringing in Vergil’s ears. “Here.” A cup of water appeared in front of him, and Vergil snatched it away, forcing himself to take a deep breath before taking a drink. He nearly choked, but managed to swallow before the coughing began again. A hand smacked his back and he nearly fell out of bed. “Whoops,” Dante said. “Forgot how… uhh…”

“Fragile I am?” Vergil said, his voice hoarse.

“Your words not mine.”

Vergil glared at him. “Where’s Roxy?”

“She’s fine,” Dante said. “Worry about yourself.”

“Where is she?”

“I told you she’s fine,” Dante huffed, crossing his arms with an indignant glare. “Would I ever lie to you?”

“Yes,” Vergil forced himself to his feet but stumbled the second they touched the ground. Dante reached for him, and it took everything Vergil had to not try pushing him away. His brother was nearly twice his size like this. He’d be lucky if he didn’t knock himself over in the process. “Curse this body,” He muttered, but he didn’t quite mean it.

“At least you’re not a cat.”

The cat’s marginally more useful, Vergil thought as he stood up. He was dressed in pajamas and one of his coats, but he was practically swimming in it. He’d forgotten how thin this form was. How fragile. One snap in the right place and he’d be nothing but a pile of bones. But it was something. A sign of power that he wouldn’t take for granted. And he could still feel his other forms hovering at the back of his mind. This was something new. A step in the right direction. “Is she frozen?” He asked.

“She was earlier,” Dante admitted. “But her skin is all warm now. She’ll probably wake up soon.”

“How did you find us?”

“I was in the area,” Dante shrugged. “The ice pyramid helped. How’d ya manage that?”

“I don’t know,” Vergil said. “And I don’t think it was me.” He stumbled out to the doorway, stopped, took a deep breath to find his footing, and followed his instincts. Vergil was certain she was awake, but only just. If it was like her last stasis, she would be groggy for at least half an hour before she could communicate with anyone, much less wander around. “How long have I been out?”

“You?” Dante said. “You appeared about thirty minutes ago. She’s been out for a week.”

A week? “And nothing’s happened?”

“A lot’s happened,” Dante said. “But nothing serious. The big man downstairs still hasn’t appeared, and Nero said nobody has made a grab for Yamato, so our dragon man’s been missing.”

“Anything from Dia?”

“She’s been working with Nico on some things,” Dante said. “But I’ve been too busy fighting all the demons.”

“Mundus has to be getting closer,” Vergil said.

“We still don’t know what he wants,” Dante said. “If it was Yamato, then what was the point of killing Kuro? Surely he knew his little dragon minion or whatever wasn’t going to get it back.”

“If they’re actually working together,” Vergil said as he finally made it to the doorway he was searching for.

“They have to be,” Dante said. “It’s all too convenient. And even Kuro worked for him in the past, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Vergil admitted. “Conscripted, just like his brother. But he said they both escaped.”

“Clearly he was wrong.”

Vergil said nothing as he knocked on the door. It snapped open, and he nearly fell over again. “She’s awake,” Dia said. Behind her, Roxy shivered as her head turned to look at him.

“What does Mundus want?” Vergil said.

“Vergil,” Roxy whispered.

“You know, don’t you?” He pressed.

Dia glared at him, but her gaze softened and she sighed. “Come in,” She stepped back to Roxy’s side, beckoning to the brothers. As Vergil found his spot on the bed, Dante kicked the door closed and leaned against it. Dia flinched before she spoke again. “His name is Raijin,” She began. “Kuro’s brother… My son. I believe that he has fallen back into Mundus’ service.”

“What does he want?” Vergil said.

“Roxy’s father.”

“My father is dead,” Roxy said weakly.

“Yes, he is,” Dia confirmed. “But the information he gathered isn’t.”

“Why would Mundus want that?” Vergil said.

“Control,” Dia said. “If a familiar were bound to him with a physical piece of itself, they could never escape.”

“That can’t be it,” Vergil said. “Mundus is more than capable of controlling those around him.” He felt Dante’s gaze harden on him, but he ignored it. “Unless his power has weakened that much.”

“Or…” Dante said slowly. “He thinks he can implant himself into someone else.”

Vergil stared at him. “What?”

“Think about it,” Dante said as he tapped his forehead. “What would Mundus need with more men? As far as we know, he’s raised a small army down there, and, as you said, he’s had no issues with controlling people in the past.” Vergil met his gaze for a moment before both broke it. “Clearly he wants to cross over to this side, right? What good is he doing in hell?”

“A strong enough familiar could take over his host,” Dia said.

Vergil paused, pondering. He honestly wasn’t certain that was the answer. There was a lot about familiars that he still didn’t know.”But then the familiar is still bound to the body. Mundus would never willingly chain himself to a human. It has to be something else.”

“The brain,” Roxy said softly.

Vergil froze. “What?”

“If you can implant a demon’s heart for their power,” She said. “Then would it be possible to move their brain too?”

“What would that do for him?” Vergil said. “A demon brain in a human skull is still handicapped by the potential of the host.”

“So find a stronger host.”

“Like what?”

“Like a half-demon who ate the Qliphoth fruit,” Dante said.

Vergil’s heart sank. “That’s why he’s trying to get to me.”

“And you were once…” Roxy paused. “In his service… right?”

“Yes.”

“So he knows how your powers work.”

“... Theoretically.”

Roxy sat up slowly, her muscles crackling as she moved. She flinched as some of the ice broke off, leaving behind bright red marks along her neck and arms. Dia moved to help, but Roxy stopped her. “I’m fine,” She said, her voice rough. Dia looked away. “If he is after you,” Roxy said slowly. “Then why kill Kuro?”

“Maybe he didn’t expect Verge to give himself up,” Dante said.

“Surely he considered it,” Vergil said.

“Why would he?” Dante countered. “Think about it. He knows who you were, Verge. Not who you are.”

“Remember what Raijin said?” Roxy looked to Vergil. “He said you had a choice; save me or your own power. Is it fair to think that Mundus expected you to abandon me?”

Vergil’s jaw locked as he stared at her. “He should have known better.”

“But the old you would have,” Dante said quietly. “And if you’d reclaimed Yamato after it killed Kuro…”

Roxy looked to Dia. “So Raijin knows that I have Kuro’s heart.”

“Of course he does,” She said bitterly. “He was there when Kuro gave it to you.”

A silence fell over the room. Roxy’s eyes widened. Vergil gently took her hand, but she didn’t look back. “He gave it to me?”

Dia sighed before she reached for Roxy’s forehead. “Remember,” She whispered. “Remember everything.”

The world vanished, replaced by a room Vergil didn’t recognize. It was nearly three times the size of his own and flooded with natural light from the wide-open windows. Boots were scattered in perfect piles in front of two empty bookcases. Beside that was a desk and computer that Vergil recognized from Roxy’s own apartment. The walls were painted bright orange and covered in various pieces of artwork ranging from flowers, animals, and a half-finished painting of a dragon. Kuro. The form was undeniable, and the painting itself was lying on the floor, surrounded by bottles of paint and numerous brushes.

The door behind him opened. “I told you not to look,” A young Roxy said, pouting in that fake way she did when she was pretending to be annoyed. She looked… different. Her skin was a few shades darker. Her hair was black. Her eyes were green. And as a second half-dragon boy walked in behind her, Vergil realized why.

“I just can’t help myself,” The human Kuro said, the scales along his neck glistening in the sunlight. The similarities to Raijin were uncanny. Only his hair and scales were different, and even those were fashioned in the same style as his brother. “I just hope you got my good side.”

Roxy rolled her eyes as she swatted at his shoulder. “I have a good memory.” She carefully navigated her way through the stacks and moved to the painting. “What do you think?”

Kuro paused, staring down at it with a look between shock and admiration. “It’s…”

“Amazing?” Roxy said with a grin. “I sure hope so. I’ve been working on it non-stop.”

“Beautiful,” Kuro murmured, but his eyes hadn’t left her. Roxy didn’t look up, reaching for the blue paint at his feet.

“You can watch for a bit if you want,” She said. “But don’t distract me.”

Kuro smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The scene shifted, and Vergil was in a new, much smaller room. This one he recognized as the living room in Dia’s cottage. All of the furniture had been removed, save for a single table in the center. On that was Roxy’s body, eerily still. Her skin was pale. Her eyes were glossy, and Vergil knew without moving that she was dead. Kuro stood beside her, face stained with tears. Dia appeared in the center of the room. “I told you not to get too attached,” She said. “Human lives are too fragile for demons like us.”

“It’s too soon,” Kuro whispered.

“Tragedies happen,” Dia said. “You’ve been alive long enough to know that.”

“But she… she’s different.”

“What are you getting at?”

“If her father gives her my heart,” Kuro said. “Then she’ll live, right?”

Dia gawked at him, but it was Raijin who spoke, his voice echoing around the room. “You would give your life to a human?”

“She deserves better than this.”

Raijin snorted, stepping up beside Vergil. “Love has made you a fool.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ll be forcing on her?” Dia said. “Her body is broken, Kuro.”

“But I can heal it.”

“And then what?” Dia clicked her tongue. “You cannot come back from this.”

“I’m not expecting to,” Kuro said as his eyes fell back to Roxy.

“And how will she feel, knowing that her life was spared while her sister was abandoned?”

“I can only save one,” Kuro snapped. “It’s my choice.”

Dia sighed. “I cared for her as you did, Kuro. But you…”

“No, you didn’t,” Kuro snapped. “You don’t understand.”

“But you have hundreds of other lives to live,” Dia continued. “More humans to meet, and more that will pass by you.”

Kuro’s hand tightened around hers. “She deserves better,” He repeated. “She deserves to live.”

Silence fell between them as tears streamed down Kuro’s cheeks. Finally, Raijin scoffed. “You’re a fool, brother. Always have been.”

“Jealousy is an ugly thing, brother,” Kuro shot back.

“I am not jealous of this lifeless body before me.”

“But you are jealous of me,” Kuro said, standing a bit straighter. His eyes darkened, shifting to slits. The scales on his body shifted upward, wrapping around his cheeks and under his eyes. “What you wouldn’t give to have someone you believe in like I do her.”

“Foolish,” Raijin repeated. “All of it.”

“It is Kuro’s choice,” Dia said softly. “But you must consider…”

“Wipe her memory,” Kuro said. “Of all of this. Of me. Of us. Pretend I’m simply a familiar that chose her. I’ll reveal myself as soon as I can.”

“That could take years,” Dia said, rubbing her temples.

“Then so be it.”

But Raijin wasn’t done, and his fury consumed the room. “You escaped Mundus for this?”

Kuro ignored him. “Go find her father,” He said to Dia. “Tell him the truth, and tell him its not his fault.”

After a long moment, Dia nodded. “There is no going back from this.”

Kuro nodded. “I won’t regret it.”

Vergil blinked and his room returned. Roxy stared at the bed, hands shaking as she clutched the blanket tighter than he thought possible. “Verge?” Dante said. “Is everything alright?”

“I…”

“He loved me?” Roxy said, her voice hollow.

“Of course he did,” Dia said. “Why else would a demon give up so much?”

Vergil could feel her desire to snap back. Why keep that from me? But she silently rose from the bed, grabbed a coat, and left the room.

“I think that’s your cue,” Dante said.

Perceptive as always, was what he wanted to say. Instead, he simply nodded and followed after her, his mind lost in what he could possibly say to make all of this right.

#zenni-writes #cadence #update #vergilxoc #vergilxroxy #dante #vergil #dmc #fan fiction

4 notes · View notes

moved--306389 · 6 years

Text

I have decided to keep the ace Nero headcanon

Sure, I recognize that there's no big asexual moment in this new game, unlike the 4th one, but hey, there's nothing proving against it either. Like I said before, bear with me here, I deserve to have my own headcanons. I deserve to see myself in some of my faves, it's not like it will hurt you or anything.

So yeah, if you’re open to reading this post, then take a seat and lemme tell you about how ace Nero still holds up in this new game. (Or if you wanna see my previous posts, just click on the "asexual nero meta" tag in the end of this one.)

What I’d say from this game, is that Nero is ace, but he’s not out to Nico. And I can understand why, because Nico’s dirty jokes are like, Her Brand when it comes to humour. Dante would love chating with her. Nero, however, does not.

I mean, a dirty joke was her first reaction when Nero tried to tell Kyrie he grew back a whole arm

(he’s tired)

Whenever innuendos happen in this game towards Nero, it’s been because of Nico. Look at what she wrote in her diary, when she gave Lady her clothes after Nero rescued her.

Even though Nero himself during that scene was focused on her wellbeing and asking about his friends, nothing else (...actually, in that scene V was the one who made the comment about Lady’s appearance. V, who is Vergil, and the only other time they ever met was when they were a bunch of teenagers trying to kill each other, and uh. That’s kind of awkward buddy but ok).

And since we brought this up, when Lady was rescued from inside of the Artemis demon, she was completely naked, but Nero?? Payed no attention to that?? He only looked at her face, and was mainly concerned with her safety and with the fact she was Dante’s friend, not about her body. She could have been fully clothed and there would be no difference.

It took Nico’s little comment for him to realize that “wait, she’s naked, wait, I have a girlfriend”, I mean. He goes “what?” and it takes him three full seconds to remember that, complete with a face journey:

Like, it’s just my humble opinion but if someone forgets that carrying a beautiful nude stranger in your arms miiight be kind of erotic, maybe sexuality just doesn’t occupy that person’s mind for most the time in the first place.

And holy shit, speaking of Kyrie, Nico seems rather interested in their sex life. She literally built an arm for Nero with the purpose to make sex more comfortable for them. And he did not ask her to build it, because she never tells him what she’s making beforehand, and by her comments it was supposed to be a surprise anyways. He ends up using it for healing.

(actually, I guess I also had my own ace moments along with Nero, because I thought Kyrie would like it because it was white and gold and all Fortuna-inspired. Yeah basically I thought she was talking about the colour of the thing)

Complete with that sexy joke she makes when Kyrie called him in the end, and the reaction she got, I conclude the following: yeah Nero is still ace as heck, he just decided coming out to her wasn’t worth his time. I get him, he doesn’t know her for that long, and I have that kind of friend too.

Now I just need to know one important thing. Is he team cake or team dragon?

(I have a post on ace nero on the 4th game, go to the "asexual nero meta" tag if you want to see it)

#devil may cry #dmc5 #nero sparda #devil may cry 5 #dmc 5 #sfw #asexual nero meta #asexual headcanons #ace headcanons #dragon vs cake discourse #ace discourse #meus posts

176 notes · View notes

rosesisupposes · 6 years

Text

Destined, part 21

aka You Were Amazing

Character Tags: Virgil/Anixety ; Patton/Creativity ; Patton/Morality ; Logan/Logic ; Remy/Sleep ; Dante/Deceit

Chapter Pairings: Prinxiety (like a LOT)

Chapter Warnings: Steven Universe spoilers (vague), graphic kissing, allusions to smut, swearing, overwhelming fluff

Reader Tags: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice @fellowthomassandersfander @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby @sparkly-rainbow-salt

Summary: After centuries of acting as an oracle to heroes, quest-seekers, and villains alike, Virgil just wants to live as a normal, modern human. For someone who can see infinite probabilities, you’d think he’d know better.

<<Chapter 20 | Masterlist | Chapter 22>>

read on ao3

Roman had barely made it through the door and shed his shoes before he’d collapsed happily onto Virgil’s couch. He was exhausted. But he was here with Virgil, and they were going to watch cartoons. That would be good.

Virgil eyed his friend. The bags under his eyes were starting to look familiar. “Hey, we don’t need to stay up if you’re too tired. Do you need to sleep? It’s been a bit of a day.”

“What? Who’s tired, I’m not tired. I am so awake,” Roman sputtered. “C’mon, Little Bo Sleep, let’s watch some gay space rocks. I’m…not even a little… tired,” he covered his mouth as he yawned.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Yeah okay. You fulfill one world-saving prophecy and now you’re immune to sleep, makes sense.” “It’s true,” Roman mumbled, snuggling into the couch, yawns still punctuating his speech. “I am invulnerable to the... weaknesses of man. I scoff at the petty needs of... the lesser beings around me. The Sandman has no… power here. Sleep is for the... weak...”

Virgil glanced over. Soft auburn hair fell over eyes that were now fully closed. Seconds later, he heard a light snore. He is so ridiculous, Virgil thought with a fond smile.

He slipped his arms underneath Roman’s sleeping form and picked him up, carrying him over to his bed and depositing him gently among the blankets. He pulled a star-bedecked comforter over the sleeping man, who made a small sound of contentment and pulled it closer to his chest. Virgil caressed the man’s cheek softly, then grabbed another blanket and went to go sleep on the couch.

After all, being a Sage with a heck of a crush didn’t mean he wasn’t still a gentleman.

Virgil didn’t really sleep that night, but then again, he didn’t need to. He’d texted Remy, though, telling him he really needed the day off if that was alright.

Remy had responded with a string of eyes, eggplants, and fingers pointing and doing the ‘OK’ symbol, all emojis without a written word to be found. Virgil was confused, but it seemed to be approval, and he decided to not question it.

He was up and puttering in the kitchen the next morning when a voice suddenly asked, “Why am I in your bed?”

He turned to see Roman sitting up, sleepy-eyed with very messy bedhead. He kept looking back and forth between couch and bed, confused.

“Because I wasn’t about to let you sleep on the couch after the day you’d had, ya goof. I moved you after you fell asleep. Right in the middle of telling me how you weren’t tired, I might add. I’m never letting you forget that.”

“Moved… you carried me? You can carry me?” Roman levered himself out of bed to come poke at Virgil’s arms. “How are these skinny things that strong? Is this part of the maaaaaaggicccc?”

Okay, so Roman was a little weird in the morning. Not to mention this was the most unkempt Virgil had ever seen him. It was… oh sweet stars, it was so endearing.

“I don’t think it’s magic. It’s definitely not anything I have to concentrate on. I just, I don’t know, picked you up.”

“Ohhh do it again I wanna see,” Roman said excitedly.

Virgil rolled his eyes, smiling. “If you insist-”

“I do!”

Without another word, he placed a hand on the taller man’s back and knelt to put his arm under his knees, sweeping him into his arms. Roman yelped and threw both arms around Virgil’s neck as the purple-haired man laughed at him for being so easily scared.

“See, Princey? Easy. I could do this all day,” Virgil said with a smile. That was when they both realized that Virgil was now carrying Roman princess-style and their faces were suddenly incredibly close together.

Virgil’s face immediately went red and he practically dropped him on the spot, but managed to set him down gently and quickly went back to making coffee.

“So yeah I can carry you and I. Um. Breakfast?” he asked, trying to calm himself enough to use the french press.

“Sorry, what?”

“Can I get you any breakfast? Coffee is breakfast, right? Are eggs? Or sandwiches? I haven’t really figured this part of humanity out yet, Patton has been feeding me pastries since my first day and I’ve been too intimidated to figure it out on my own. Breakfast is an enigma.”

Roman chuckled and hugged Virgil around the shoulders from behind, his face still a little pink. “Never fear, Dark & Stormy. I’ll help you in a minute. First, I have got to get a hairbrush. What even is my hair right now, right?”

“Don’t ask me, you always look good,” Virgil said. He was turned towards the counter, but still caught the blush on Roman’s cheeks as he retreated to the bathroom.

It had been a good day. The mystery of breakfast had been partially unlocked (Pancakes: yes. Coffee: yes, but not on its own. No Virgil, I don’t care what Remy tells you, coffee is not a meal. Eggs: yes, but not always. Sandwiches: yes, but they have to have eggs), and Roman had been very excited to finally start watching Steven Universe. And to watch Virgil’s reactions.

Hours later, they had binged through almost three seasons with only a short break for a lunch and a much longer one for processing that “Garnet was lesbians the whole time???!!”

Virgil was thoroughly enjoying himself, even through the sad and dramatic moments. He had not cried, at all, not at any point, he did not know what Roman was teasing him about.

As the day went on, though, he found himself gazing more and more at Roman, who was currently tearing up as Steven was saved from the depths of space by his family of Crystal Gems.

If I could begin to be Half of what you think of me I could do about anything I could even learn how to love

Virgil sighed and quickly looked away. As he did so, he missed the movement to his right as Roman looked gently back at him.

When I see the way you act Wondering when I’m coming back I could do about anything I could even learn to love like you

Roman tentatively reached out a hand to lay on Virgil’s, who looked up, shocked at the touch. Roman leaned over slowly and kissed his cheek. The violet-haired man blushed, and turned his head to return the cheek kiss.

Roman smiled into the shorter man’s eyes. “I don’t want to push, but I would really like to kiss you more. Is that okay?”

“We’d have to stop watching the show, though. I was promised a full binge-watch,” Virgil said with a slight smirk, badly attempting to conceal how he very much would like that, yes.

“Virge, you adorable emo dream, this may be the one time in my life I could not care less about any cartoon show,” Roman quipped back, and pulled Virgil into an embrace. He still moved gently, letting them both relax or pull back if they needed, before his lips found Virgil’s.

...oh.

If he hadn’t been blushing before, Virgil was definitely blushing now. He was acutely aware of every spot where Roman’s body was in contact with his. His upper torso, his arms, his back, and oh sweetness, his lips. Roman was so gentle as he held him, but under that softness was all firm muscle and steadiness. That steadiness calmed him like nothing he’d ever known, and made him feel so… safe . He wanted to stay here, wrapped up in Roman’s arms, forever.

Roman broke off the kiss at length, panting just the slightest bit. He was blushing, too. “I’ve been waiting to do that since the moment I met you,” he murmured. “Those beautiful eyes, and you looking at me like a deer in the headlights. But the reality…” he kissed Virgil’s nose, grinning, “the reality is so much better than I could have pictured.”

“Even with everything that’s happened? Scary nighttime showdowns and me being a secretly magical cougar?”

“Especially with you being a secretly magical cougar. What can I say, I like being flattered. Though, now that you mention it, I’m still a little… confused, I guess. About the magic.”

Virgil was tense. He understood the confusion, obviously, but was all too aware how insane his entire existence sounded to a human. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to know?” he asked.

“There’s… a lot, but the biggest is why was I surprised by this? Why have I never heard of there being real magic? Magic really exists, and has throughout history? Why doesn’t humanity know, or remember?” Roman didn’t appear angry, only curious, as he lightly ran his fingers through Virgil’s purple hair.

“Magical beings used to be a lot more prominent, but they started fading as the human population grew. So a lot of times, there were no humans around to remember them. Or so few that the recorded events morphed into folk stories and fairytales. And Sages like me were often in isolation or just acting as incorporeal beings from the ether, influencing without being physically present.”

“If fairytales are real, does that mean fairies are too?” Roman’s eyes were shining with curiosity. Virgil had been so nervous about sharing this information, but with Roman, it felt safe to.

“They were. I don’t think any are still alive, unfortunately. But there used to be all sorts of creatures, like fairies and dragons. Unicorns, too, but I only ever met one herd my entire life, when I was living in the highlands. There were also not-so-nice creatures, like ogres and specters and ghouls. Those, I don’t miss as much.”

“What about vampires? Is Dracula secretly a history book?”

“There definitely were vampires. I only ever met one, though, when I was very young and he… he was nothing like Dracula, to say the least. I met him at a drunken dance party, for one. And he didn’t prey on humans. From the future I saw for him, he never did, right up to his dying day.”

Roman sat back, contemplating this new information. “It’s funny, I always wanted there to be magic in the world, and adventures, and shining knights with glorious quests. Turns out all of that exists, I was just born a bit late for it. At least I had a quest of my own, in a way. Even if I was absolutely terrified the whole time.”

Virgil smiled, cupping Roman’s cheek. “Fun fact: so were all those shining knights. You ever heard that metaphor about swans? Gliding along, looking all stately and elegant above water, but below the surface it’s just frantic webbed feet churning as fast as possible? That’s how all heroes feel. But they make it through. Just like you did.”

“That actually does make me feel better. Guess I’m a swan now,” Roman said, laughing. “Fear me, evil ones, I will peck your eyes out. Honk honk, motherfucker.”

Virgil snorted, then laughed outright, particularly as he saw Roman’s expression, which was apparently his best impression of a fierce waterfowl. Grinning, he lay his head on Roman’s shoulder. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off. You really are the most amazing man I’ve ever met. No magic needed.”

Roman nuzzled his purple head. “And you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met. Magic or no.”

They both sat there, holding each other and basking in the warmth of their mutual affection when Virgil lifted his head. “Roman, I know it’s only been a week since I gave you my number, and this is probably really clingy and weird to ask so soon, and if you would rather not talk about this yet then that’s fine just please tell me I promise I won’t be hurt-”

“Virge, breathe. What do you want to ask?”

“Am I your… I mean, would you be my… I mean. Agh.” He took a deep breath and asked without opening his eyes, “Are we dating? As boyfriends?” About to continue explaining, or rather, babbling, he stopped himself, and opened his eyes.

To his delight, Roman looked absolutely touched. “I wanted to ask you first, but I didn’t want to move too quickly. I would be thrilled to call you my boyfriend, Virgil.”

“Oh, thank the stars. Google has been really unhelpful when it comes to this stuff. Almost everything is written for women dating men and it’s all about ‘what feels right,’ and I have nothing to compare to.”

“Virge - you looked up online advice on how to ask me to be your boyfriend?” Roman asked, looking sidelong at the smaller man.

“Oh no is that weird? I knew it would be weird-”

“Virgil, my sweet prince of the night, shut up,” Roman interrupted him, grinning. “It’s adorable. As a matter of fact,” he added, releasing his boyfriend (boyfriend!) and standing. “I hereby declare that I have The Cutest Boyfriend™ in this entire city!” He struck a triumphant pose.

Virgil couldn’t help it. He giggled until he laughed out loud, and laughed until he snorted. Roman looked for a second like he might decide to be offended at this reception to his grand declaration before giggling as well, falling back into the couch cushions.

They turned Steven Universe back on, but Virgil would be lying if he didn’t admit that he absorbed a lot less of the action as they progressed. It was still enjoyable, but Roman had taken to stroking a hand through his hair down to his neck and the effect on his thoughts was a puddle of melted goo and hearts.

But Roman stopped petting him for the last few episodes, insisting that Virgil not miss a minute until the final cliffhanger been revealed. Gay weddings were all well and good, but anything that made Virgil stop kissing his boyfriend (boyfriend!) was definitely homophobia and he needed to correct this personal offense as soon as possible.

Roman looked over to see Virgil’s glower as the last credits rolled and pulled him fully into his lap as their lips met once more. “Did you think I was ignoring you, stormcloud?” he murmured in between kisses.

“Roman, please, do me a favor and shut up,” Virgil responded with a breathless growl, leaning in further. Blood was pounding in his veins and cheeks and, well, other places. He wrapped his arms around the man underneath him, mouths locked in slick, wet kisses that sent shivers up and down his spine. Roman was doing something with his tongue that turned into biting Virgil’s lip and dragged an involuntary moan out of the Sage’s throat. His hands were scrabbling at the auburn-haired man’s back, trying to somehow get even closer as his slipped them under the man's t-shirt to make direct skin contact.

The sudden sensation made Roman jump slightly and break off their kiss. “Virge, did you want…?”

Underneath his purple bangs, Virgil’s eyes were dilated and dark, “Ro, yes, I want.”

“Fuck,” Roman half-moaned. “That’s… god, that is hot and I want nothing more than to say yes right now but I… we can’t. Or shouldn’t. Not tonight. Too much has happened and it was just yesterday that we were fighting that snake and I don’t… I want this, all of this, to be perfect. Not just endorphins and throwing caution out the window. Is… is that okay?”

Virgil dragged himself off his boyfriend, every inch of his body complaining at the sudden lack of heat. “Yes, of course, dear one. I… you’re right. Waiting would be healthier. And you’re worth it.”

Roman leaned in closed and dragged his teeth lightly down the curve of Virgil’s ear, startling a strangled gasp out of the other man. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t want all of you this minute, right now, right here,” he murmured, grinning evilly. “I just want to take my time with you.”

“Goddamn, Ro…”

“And on that note,” Roman said, sitting up with a self-satisfied smirk. “It’s getting late, and I really do need to head home.”

Virgil growled, panting lightly still. “You are a goddamn tease, and I hate you very much. Boyfriends for just a few short hours and you’re already leaving?”

“Hey, I’ve already spent the night before even kissing you. Clearly our sense of timing and order is a little off,” the auburn-haired man grinned back. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the bakafé. And in your dreams tonight.”

“You’re the worst possible flirt. Text me when you’re home safe?”

“It’s a fifteen-minute walk, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, but I worry. Me and possibilities, Princey. I’m always going to worry.”

Roman stood to leave, but leaned down to plant a chaste kiss on Virgil’s forehead. “For you then, my favorite worrywart, of course.”

A red-and-white-clad figure was walking down the street jauntily. Whistles to a cheerful song floated in the dusky air around him, occasionally bursting into snatches of a sung tune.

“Therrrre’s an awful lot of awful things we could be thinking of, but for just one day let’s only think about love!” he trilled, spinning on one foot as he walked.

He was clearly distracted and happy.

Good for him.

The ‘distracted’ part was all his silent shadow cared about.

author’s note: The working title of this chapter was “Netflix And Chill(s Down Your Spine)” Was anyone actually hoping for six chapters of fluff? Sorry not sorry

#destined #sanders sides #modern fantasy au #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #prinxiety #writing #mostly fluff #we're getting so close to the end? aghhhh #my smol future-seeing baby #i will never get tired of prinxiety #lil hint o' smut in here #but nothing too racy #just swearing

44 notes · View notes

douxreviews · 6 years

Text

Arrow - ‘Brothers and Sisters’ Review

“There’s two of you now?”

Wow! Everything about this became so unbelievably clear. Two sets of siblings attempt to forge connections after years spent apart. I get the answers to most of my niggling questions. And, we get an extra special guest star. **Squee**

Let start with our future siblings. It turns out that William’s departure to his grandparent’s home is permanent. There is not a second bequeathing of the hozen or second departure as I speculated. This is depressing since Jack Moore finally proved he could hold his own with the rest of the cast instead of just serving as the plot complication he normally did. It’s also disquieting. It means that someone, presumably Grandma and Grandpa Clayton, deliberately kept Oliver and Felicity from contacting William ever again.

Which is why he had no idea he had a sister. Mia was aware of William though it’s not clear what she believed happened to him. What is clear is Mia never knew her father. And while Felicity never stopped thinking of or referring to Oliver as a hero, in true daughter-like fashion, Mia didn’t believe her. It makes me wonder whose decision it was for Mia to use the last name Smoak.

Curiosity brings the brother and sister together regardless of their trust issues. William justified his parents’ absence with the belief they were trying to protect him but Mia’s existence gives him pause. Mia was convinced that her father’s actions caused the downfall of Star City (which may still be true) and despite Felicity’s claims, he was no hero. William can provide a second opinion. Their mutual desire to find Felicity and put together the puzzle pieces of their family lead not only to a cease-fire but a tentative agreement to work together. And now that they have a lead...

Which brings us to our current set of siblings. Oliver, as usual, has the best of intentions. Upon learning of Emiko’s mother’s murder he vows to help her find the killer. Unfortunately, Oliver, as usual, believes he knows best. Now that he is working within the confines of the law everyone else should too. He conveniently skips over the many times he equated vengeance with justice and meted out both. And, as Rene says, stubbornness runs in the family. Emiko is unwilling to take a back seat on her own mission. Which leads to yet another confrontation between Ollie and his sister and another breach of trust.

How strange is it that Wild Dog is now the voice of reason, pointing out Oliver’s hypocrisy, and reminding him Emiko needs a brother, not a protector or mentor. Luckily Oliver is not as stubborn (or as dense) as he once was. He goes back to Emiko with an apology and the information she seeks. Like their future counterparts, they arrive at an uneasy alliance if not a true understanding. The only question is whether Emiko can be trusted now that we finally learned where she picked up her mysterious fighting skills. Dante.

We are introduced to Dante and if you were anything like me it was worth the wait. According to the Joss Whedon school of storytelling when the resident badass is afraid of someone that person becomes scary by default. Diaz, destroyer of the Quadrant and established Big Bad, is afraid of Dante. Ergo Dante is the Bigger Bad. And if you weren’t sure, Diaz’s demise solidified it. And Dante was one scary dude. Virgil, his emissary, jumped out of a window rather than return in defeat. And when Diaz informed him of the setup, Dante killed the Princess and Deputy Director Bell on the suspicion they sold him out.

The icing was realizing Dante was none other than Adrian Paul. I know I’m dating myself but I’ve been a fan of his since Highlander premiered back in ‘92. I squealed in delight when he graced my screen and the grin did not leave my face till long after the episode ended. And for a man nearing 60, he can still move! What a perfect piece of casting.

Then there’s Felicity. Past and present, or rather present and future. Our current iteration has been going through her own crucible this season with this being her final test. Would she cross the line and become a killer or remain a hero? There was no foregone conclusion. Felicity has been on a pretty dark path for a while now. Though I must admit, after the multiple “I’ll back your play” speeches, I had my suspicions about which path she’d choose. And I was proved correct when Felicity allowed Diaz to be taken into custody rather than exacting vengeance.

Future Felicity remains an open question since the person who knows her best is neither objective nor trustworthy. Has the never-ending cycle of Big Bad after Big Bad made Felicity paranoid? Or did Oliver’s presumed death do that? Considering that everyone who knew about the plans to blow up Star City is dead or missing, should we even call it paranoia?

Felicity is not the only remaining question. I can understand why Roy didn’t know about Mia, but why didn’t Dinah? And why did Diggle? It’ll only be a few months before Felicity starts showing. So whatever is going to happen, it's going to happen soon. So when does Dig get around to adopting Connor? And if Connor is Diggle’s adopted son, what that hell happened to J.J.?

I enjoyed the hell out of this episode just as I’m enjoying the hell out of this season. However, if the future we’re witnessing comes to pass, Oliver ultimately failed in his mission to save his city and after everything he’s been through, he deserves better than for that to be his legacy.

4 out of 5 mini cassettes

Parting Thoughts:

If everything we heard is true, I wonder if William started his quest under false pretenses. I find it hard to believe it was Felicity that placed Lian Yu’s coordinates in the hozen. She would have needed far more future knowledge than she appears to have.

Felicity’s fears of not being able to protect herself and her family from Diaz may have been resolved but the paranoia that Mia speaks of may be well founded.

Speaking of Diaz, the irony of him going out in a blaze of glory did not go unnoticed. It was a fire that created the Dragon and it was a fire that destroyed him. Is this the new version of ashes to ashes?

Is it me or are Mia and Connor about to have a very pointed conversation about trust and lies?

Dante said Bell was one of the many installed at A.R.G.U.S. Do it detect a whiff of Hydra?

If Diggle takes the fall for Lyla, can he still work with Team Arrow at the SCPD?

Quotes:

Rene: “Listen, I’m not trying to get in the middle of any family drama.” Oliver: “Too late.”

Diggle: “You’re supposed to be training. Not trying to kill each other.” Cupid: “Aww. Why you got to ruin all the fun.”

William: “So where do we start?” Mia: “Yeah. I’m not looking for any kind of family reunion here, bro.” William: “Oh, I am sorry Sis. But I have come too far to get sidelined now.”

China White: “So our first mission is a meeting. That is way below our pay grade.” Cupid: “Wait, we’re getting paid?”

Laurel: “Trust me. I would be thrilled to see his head explode, but is it really worth the consequences?" Felicity: “Yes it is worth every consequence. I have to protect my family.” Laurel: “By family you mean you, Oliver, and your baby?” Felicity: “What, are you psychic now?”

Mia: “You guys are just junkies looking for a hero fix.”

Diaz: “Once Dante figures this all out, and he will, you all will be wishing for the mercy of a quick death.”

Laurel: (to Felicity) “I don’t know if you noticed but you’re kind of a badass.”

Oliver: “There’s a right way and a wrong way to do this.” Emiko: “The only thing I’ve done wrong, is to think that I could ever trust you.“

Felicity: “I thought Dante was the objective.” Diggle: “He is the objective. Just not the priority.”

Emiko: “I didn’t realize Oliver Queen did apologies.”

Shari loves sci-fi, fantasy, supernatural, and anything with a cape.

#Arrow #Green Arrow #Oliver Queen #Felicity Smoak #John Diggle #Arrowverse #DC Comics #Arrow Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

2 notes · View notes

starlightrevolution · 3 years

Text

The Glowing Eyes of the Medusa

“I’ll show you what happens when you anger the dragon!” Jeff declared, as he held his shield with one hand and prepared to attack with the other. “Rozan Ascending Dragon!”

Jeff threw a punch upwards, as a green dragon formed around his wrist and flew towards Algol, striking him directly in a large flash of light. Jeff smiled and looked up, before his eyes widened, as he realized his fist was pressed against Algol’s chest after hitting him directly, but was unable to even scratch the Silver Saint’s Surplice.

“You expected this to have any effect? You’d need to be at least a hundred times more powerful than this to harm me.” Algol declared, before he raised his shield and pointed it directly towards Jeff. The shield’s eyes opened to reveal the shining light, which Jeff swiftly blocked by covering his eyes with his dragon shield. “You let your guard down!”

Algol struck Jeff directly on the chest, which was now unprotected as Jeff had raised his shield to his face. Jeff spit blood, before Algol’s punch sent him flying several meters through the air, the Bronze Saint nearly falling down a large fissure on the ground, but managed to hold onto the edge, before climbing back up. Jeff looked over the large fissure for a second, seeing it was so deep that he couldn’t even see the bottom.

“That fissure was made by Cerberus Dante, whose strength is equal to my own.” Algol declared. “This is but a fraction of the power of a Silver Saint. Surrender now and I will make this painless.”

“Shut your mouth!” Jeff declared, his eyes showing an expression of purpose and slight anger, as he avoided staring directly towards Algol, and took a quick glance at Connie and Daniel’s statue. “If I don’t manage to save them today, they will be judging me from heaven for the rest of my life.”

Jeff got back up and got into battle position.

“If I defeat you, they will both come back to normal, won’t they?” Jeff demanded.

“They would if my shield were to be destroyed.” Algol declared, as he held up his shield, which featured the image of the Medusa’s head. “However, I don’t see this happening any time soon.”

“We’ll see about that! I’ll tear right through that shield with my dragon fangs!” Jeff declared, before he dashed towards Algol and threw a punch. Algol showed the eyes of the Medusa, Jeff looking away at the last second before the light could touch his eyes. “Rozan Ascending Dragon!”

Jeff felt himself striking something and heard the impact, before suddenly feeling fingers holding his fist. He looked back towards Algol, to see the Silver Saint had just stopped his raging dragon with his palm, and now held Jeff’s fist in his hand.

“What?” Jeff asked in surprise. “My great dragon that holds the power to make the great waterfall of Rozan flow backwards! He stopped it with one hand!”

“This strike was even weaker than the last.” Algol declared, as he crushed Jeff’s fist with his hand. Jeff screamed in pain, as the pressure created by Algol’s fingers broke right through the gauntlet of the Dragon Cloth, and Jeff heard the sound of his bones cracking as blood began flowing out. “You got distracted trying to avoid looking into the eyes of the Medusa. That prevented you from using all of your power.”

“Dammit!” Jeff thought as he struggled to free his fist from Algol’s hands. “If I continue being so defensive, I’ll never be able to beat him! But if I try to go for the attack, I’m going to be turned to stone!”

“Four of you Bronze Saints invaded this island. I already defeated those two, and I’m pretty sure I felt the Cosmo of the Cygnus Saint dissipating just a few minutes ago. After I defeat you, it will all be over.” Algol declared, as he suddenly tossed Jeff away, making large cracks appear all over Jeff’s Cloth. “I will finally get the eternal life that was promised to me by Lord Hades.”

“Hades?” Jeff whispered, as he remembered Steven’s calm face that night, not even reacting as Jeff attacked with his dragon fist. Jeff got back up after some struggle, managing to hold himself back up before once again getting into battle position. “Now that is one guy I’d really like to punch!”

“Why do you get back up, knowing you will just be knocked back down?” Algol asked.

Jeff did not answer, as he continued to stare at Algol. Algol raised his shield, as Jeff swiftly blocked his eyes with his own shield.

“I have to find a way to get past the Medusa… Ugh! Patricia would be better fighting this guy than me!” Jeff thought, as he looked up into the sky. “Did her Cosmo really disappear? I never thought she would perish in a place such as this…”

“If you won’t come to me, then I’ll go to you!” Algol declared, as he dashed towards Jeff and attacked with the light from his shield. Jeff used the Dragon Shield to cover his eyes, before Algol approached him and punched him right on the chest, making cracks appear on Jeff’s chest plate and knocking all of the air out of Jeff’s lungs, as the Bronze Saint fell to the ground and began grasping for air. “Your shield is truly an incredible defense, but if you use it to avoid the eyes of the Medusa, you will leave your body unprotected! I will shatter all of your bones, one by one!”

Jeff got back up, only for Algol to strike him with a flurry of kicks. Jeff screamed in pain as he flew away, cracks appearing all over his Cloth before he fell to the ground, blood coming out from the wounds that Algol had just made all over his body.

“Damn it… he really did break some bones with that last one…” Jeff whispered as he struggled to get back up, only to fall to his knees.

“Just accept it, Dragon.” Algol declared as he began walking towards Jeff. “It is impossible for you to defeat me.”

“Impossible?”

===============================================

Five Ancient Peaks of Rozan, China, Five years earlier:

“It’s impossible!” Jeff declared, as he looked up at his tiny master, who was calmly sitting down on a nearby hill in a meditation position, looking up at the massive waterfall. “You want me to reverse the flow of the waterfall? I came here to train and become a Saint, but now you’re asking me to break the laws of physics!”

“Jeff, how long have you been training with me?” Padparadscha asked in a calm voice.

“Three weeks.” Jeff declared.

“That’s the time it took for that baby bird to learn to fly.” Padparadscha declared with a small laugh, as she looked up to see a small bird flying over the waterfall. “I guess you still have a long way to go before you’re as skilled as that bird.”

“What is that supposed to men?” Jeff asked in surprise, before Padparadscha looked down upon him and smiled sarcastically. “What you are asking me to do is against the very laws of nature! No man can do this! I’d have to be a God to achieve such a feat!”

“A God, you say?” Padparadscha asked, before she once again looked at the flowing waterfall. “Who decided that the water must fall from the top to the bottom? Why must it not be the other way around? The so-called laws of nature are nothing but a name mankind came up for things it does not understand. Those laws are irrelevant to the universe around us.”

“What should I do?” Jeff asked as he looked up at his master.

“Try it.”

“What if I fail?”

“Try it again.” Padparadscha declared, before Jeff nodded.

Jeff leaped and landed near the bottom of the waterfall, before taking in a deep breath. Jeff stared at the waterfall, before looking down upon his fist, and throwing an upwards punch towards the waterfall, to no effect.

===============================================

“It’s been one month since the first time you struck this waterfall.” Padparadscha declared, as Jeff continued to throw several punches towards the waterfall, his fists simply going through the water. “This same waterfall has been flowing downwards for centuries.”

===============================================

“One year has passed since your first attempt.” Padparadscha declared, as Jeff struck the water with several powerful blows, which remained unnoticed by the great waterfall. “If you wish to become a Saint, you must reverse this waterfall. Make the water fly upwards.”

===============================================

“Three years have passed.” Padparadscha declared, as Jeff continued to strike upwards, his punches barely affecting the water in any way. “The Dragon cloth is waiting for you. If you want to become a Saint, you must make the water flow back up. Send it flying into the stars above us.”

===============================================

“Five years…” Padparadscha whispered.

Jeff held his fist up and took in a deep breath, as his green aura of Cosmo glowed around his body, Jeff opened his eyes, to reveal a confident expression, before he leaped and struck the waterfall.

“Rozan Ascending Dragon!” Jeff declared as he threw a punch, and the waterfall stopped flowing, before suddenly flying upwards and taking the shape of a gigantic green dragon of water, which roared as it flew towards the skies, revealing the Bronze Dragon Cloth, which was hidden underneath the waterfall.

“Congratulations, for you are a Saint.” Padparadscha declared in a calm voice. “Dragon Jeff.”

===============================================

Death Queen Island, Present day:

“I’ve done the impossible before!” Jeff declared as he got back to his feet. “For as long as I live, even if I lose everything else, my Cosmo will still burn… Burn past its limits, burn past you, burn past even the Gods themselves… Burn and make miracles!”

“You truly are an impressive Saint, aren’t you?” Algol commented.

Jeff held his shield over his eyes and began burning his Cosmo, as he once again took a quick glance at the two petrified Bronze Saints near him.

“Back in the Mythological Era, the great hero Perseus faced the snake monster, the Medusa.” Jeff thought. “Medusa would turn whatever looked into her eyes into stone, so Perseus borrowed Athena’s shield and used it as a mirror. He looked at the Medusa’s reflection and sliced her head off when she tried to attack him from behind.”

Jeff put down his shield.

“That’s it! I know how to defeat you!” Jeff declared as he pointed at Algol. Jeff turned around and held up his shield, as he saw Algol’s reflection on it. “I’m going to stop hiding and attack you, Perseus Algol!”

“You fool! Do you still not understand the difference between our power?” Algol asked.

Jeff dashed backwards, running towards Algol without looking directly at him. He saw Algol’s reflection standing still right behind him, only for the reflection to suddenly vanish without a trace.

“What?” Jeff asked in surprise, before he heard a voice coming from above him.

“Over here, Dragon!” Algol declared as he flew above Jeff’s head. Algol’s Cosmo burnt intensively, as several glowing snakes appeared around his body, and he struck Jeff’s head with a powerful downwards kick, breaking Jeff’s headpiece to shards, as Jeff’s head began bleeding and he fell to the ground. “The secret technique of Perseus! Ra's Al Ghul Gorgonio!”

“This speed and power… it’s incredible!” Jeff whispered from the ground, as Algol looked down upon him.

“Who do you think I am? I know the legend of Perseus and the Medusa!” Algol declared confidently. “Did you think the Saint protected by Perseus would fall for his’ own trick?”

“He’s right... I didn’t really think that one through…” Jeff whispered as he got back to his feet, the blood from the wound in his head hitting his eyes. Jeff quickly cleaned the blood off his eyes and managed to stand back up. “A trick this simple might have worked with a monster, but a Saint would never fall for it…”

“The only reason you survive that last strike was because of your headpiece.” Algol declared. “Had it not been for it, your head would have exploded like a water balloon.”

“If I can’t attack from behind…” Jeff whispered, as he reached for his shirt beneath his Dragon Cloth, and torn out a large piece of it. Jeff closed his eyes and tied the ripped piece of his shirt around his head to cover his eyes, using it as a blindfold. “I’ll just have to attack you head on!”

Jeff dashed towards Algol as his green Cosmo burnt around his body. His aura morphed into the shape of a dragon and flew towards Algol, as Jeff threw an upwards punch.

“Rozan Ascending Dragon!” Jeff declared as the furious dragon dashed towards the Silver Saint.

“You fool! Do you really want to die here!” Algol declared as he raised his Medusa Shield. The Medusa’s eyes opened, and a powerful blast of light flew towards Jeff. The light suddenly flew right through the blindfold, obliterating it, before forcefully opening Jeff’s eyes, as the Dragon Saint screamed, before falling to the ground and covering his eyes with his hands. “Did you really think it would be this easy?”

“W-what?” Jeff asked as he looked down upon his arm, to see his mighty Dragon Shield had just transformed into stone. “How is this possible? I even had my eyes closed under the folds!”

“Nothing can escape the Medusa’s gaze.” Algol declared, as he dashed towards Jeff and threw a punch. Jeff tried to block with his shield, only for the Dragon Shield to break to pieces, the force of Algol’s punch sending Jeff flying away, before Jeff fell head first onto the stone ground. “The evil force of the Medusa can tear its way through any sort of blindfold, and even force its way through your eyelids surpassing all defenses to reach your retina.”

Jeff struggled on the ground for a few seconds. The Bronze Saint tried to get back up, only to fall to the ground once again, and look down upon his broken shield.

“Unfortunately, doing so slightly decreases the power of the Medusa, so I was only able to turn your shield into stone, instead of your entire body.” Algol declared. “But that doesn’t matter. Without your Dragon shield to protect you, there is nothing you can do to defend yourself from the Medusa. The next attack will turn you to stone for sure.”

“Maybe… but we can never tell what is going to happen until the fight is over…” Jeff whispered, as he finally managed to get back up. He felt like his legs were about to give in at any moment, yet he still got into his combat position.

“Don’t even try.” Algol declared with a confident smile. “I already noticed the weakness of your technique.”

“What?” Jeff asked in surprise as his eyes widened with the shock.

===============================================

Five Ancient Peaks of Rozan, China, Two years earlier:

“After I master the Rozan Ascending Dragon, I’ll become unstoppable.” Jeff commented, as he sat at the dinner table in front of his master, one plate of soup in front of each.

“Not exactly.” Padparadscha commented, before she ate a spoon worth of her soup, and stared directly at Jeff. “Do you want to know why that dragon is on your back?”

“You mean that tattoo?” Jeff asked, as he looked over his shoulder. He had seen it in the mirror, a tattoo of a large dragon on his back. “I never asked anyone to tattoo that dragon on me. It just appeared after the first time I used my Cosmo. It felt like it had just come out of my skin.”

“That dragon is more than just a tattoo. It is part of your body. It appeared on your back to symbolize your destiny, but also to warn you of your weakness.” Padparadscha whispered. “There is one single flaw in your Rozan Rising Dragon. The right claw of the dragon.”

“The right claw?” Jeff asked in surprise.

“The right claw of the dragon on your back is positioned exactly on top of your heart. In order to use your Rozan Ascending Dragon, you must lower your left hand and strike with your right hand. This lasts only a fraction of a second, but it leaves your heart vulnerable. That is your weakness.” Padparadscha warned, before she ate another spoon worth of soup. “This is an incredibly small flaw, however, if any opponent you might face were to discover this weakness… you will die.”

===============================================

Death Queen Island, Present day:

“Has the day come?” Jeff thought as he stared at Algol in slight hesitation, before he took a quick glance at his petrified friends, and looked back at Algol with purpose in his eyes.

“So, what will it be, Dragon?” Algol asked. “Would you rather be turned into stone, or be killed by having your heart stopped?”

“If I’m going to die either way, then I guess…” Jeff whispered, before he looked up to the sky. It was cloudy and dark. Jeff would be happier if he got to see a beautiful blue sky at that moment. He took in a deep breath, before he turned around and looked away from Algol, his back turned to the Silver Saint.

“Hm?” Algol asked in slight surprise, as he saw the green aura forming around Jeff’s body, before Jeff suddenly blew up his Cosmo, and all of the pieces of his Cloth flew out of his body, before the shirt he worn underneath it burnt to ashes, revealing what seemed to be as the tattoo of a dragon covering Jeff’s entire back. “What is the meaning of this? Are you giving up and taking off your Cloth so I can kill you in one blow?”

“I’m about to lose a lot of blood… I will probably not be able to continue after I defeat him… If you can hear me, Pegasus and Andromeda… I will leave the rest to you!” Jeff declared, before taking in a deep breath. Jeff raised his hand, before raising his index and middle finger, He looked directly at them, before grinding his teeth and making a quick hand movement.

The sound of piercing echoed through the island, followed by darkness.

“How could you do something like this?” Algol asked in shock, taking a few steps back, as Jeff turned to him, blood still dripping from his closed eyes. “You just blinded yourself! Have you completely lost your mind!”

“If I’m not able to defeat you, then I’ll die either way. The dead do not need to see.” Jeff declared, as he turned around and once again got into battle position, his Cosmo burning intensively around his body. “Come, Perseus! I will defeat you with my dragon fist!”

“Shut your mouth! Do you really think you can win in this condition, Jeff?” Algol asked as he dashed towards the Bronze Saint. “How do you plan on winning if you can’t even see?”

“I might not be able to see, but I can sense you clearly!” Jeff declared, as his glowing aura suddenly expanded, and Algol stopped running.

“Impossible! His Cosmo is growing larger and larger! It won’t stop expanding!” Algol declared in surprise, as the massive aura around Jeff’s body began morphing, before taking the shape of a massive green dragon. “Twice as strong! Ten times stronger! Fifty times stronger! His Cosmo is a hundred times stronger than it was when this fight began!”

“I will never lose to someone who sold themselves to Hades such as you!” Jeff declared, as he dashed towards the Silver Saint, his massive aura concentrated entirely on his fist. “My Cosmo elevates by burning within my soul!”

“The right claw of the dragon! There it is!” Algol declared as he saw Jeff lowering his left hand. Algol dashed and threw a kick. “Ra's Al Ghul Gorgonio!”

Jeff’s aura suddenly began burning even more intensively, as the dragon around his fist suddenly expanded, the glowing green aura covering his entire body in the shape of a green dragon.

“This is not the Rozan Ascending Dragon!” Algol declared in surprise. “What is that?”

“Rozan Flying Dragon!” Jeff declared, as the massive flying dragon clashed against Algol’s feet. Large cracks suddenly appeared all over Algol’s Cloth, before the dragon broke right through his kick and struck the Medusa shield, shattering it to pieces, before the impact sent Algol flying away as the black Cloth around his body shattered to pieces.

“He blinded himself just to win… no… he did it so he could save those two… I’ve never faced an opponent like him…” Algol declared, before he fell to the ground. “This is… the rage of the dragon…”

Jeff stood victoriously for a few seconds, before falling face first to the ground in exhaustion, his eyes bleeding intensively into a large puddle. He heard the sound of breathing, followed by footsteps running towards him.

“Jeff!” He heard Connie’s voice yelling, before he felt two pairs of hands gently lifting him up from the ground, and placing him back down on his back.

“Jeff, what happened?” He heard Daniel’s voice asking in worry.

“Daniel…” He heard Connie’s voice whispering. “His eyes…”

“Andromeda… Pegasus…” Jeff whispered. “You have to keep going…”

“You’ll never be able to see again…” He heard Daniel’s voice, as Jeff slowly fainted. “You did this to save us…”

“Impressive.” They all heard, before Connie and Daniel looked around. They saw several multi-colored butterflies flying around the battlefield, before they all came together in a flash of light, to reveal Papillon Myu. “Unfortunately for him, his sacrifice will be meaningless.”

“You! You’re the Specter!” Connie declared, as she jumped up and prepared her fists.

“Do you really think you can match me with that broken down Cloth?” Myu asked as he pointed towards Connie, allowing her to see the long rosary tied around his arm.

“What the hell is that thing?” Connie demanded.

“It’s what we came here to get!” They heard, before a figure suddenly jumped up from the ground and grabbed Myu from behind.

“You are…” Daniel whispered in surprise. “Perseus Algol!”

“Andromeda! Pegasus! Kill the Specter, quick!” Algol declared. “There is no time to explain!”

“You mean…” Daniel whispered, as his eyes widened in realization. “You never joined Hades! It was all a trick so you could come back to life and recover that rosary!”

“I see…” Myu commented. “Haven’t you forgotten a little detail?”

Algol’s eyes widened, before a sharp pain took over his entire body, and he felt all of his strength leave him as his five senses began to slowly fade into nothingness. Algol fell to the ground as he heard the sound of an ukulele.

“Your new life was given to you by Lord Hades.” Myu declared, as he stepped onto Algol’s head. “God gives, and God takes away.”

“You were being watched!” Connie declared in surprise, as all of the horrible battles they had all been through that day flashed in her mind. “Steven was watching you the entire time! None of you Silver Saints ever wanted to hurt any of us! You just had to do it to keep the disguise! You were just waiting for Myu to reveal where the rosary was!”

“You were forced to fight your own allies to the death, and be cruel against your will! Through all of the battles, you were the ones suffering the most!” Daniel declared, as tears began flowing from her eyes. “Just what kind of life is that?”

“I’m sorry… for everything…” Algol whispered, as his body began disappearing. “It’s all up to you now…”

Algol’s body vanished, leaving nothing behind but dust beneath Myu’s feet.

“How pathetic.” Myu declared. “Lord Hades gave them a second chance at life, and they wasted it like that.”

“You are wrong!” Connie declared, as Myu turned to her, to see she was staring at him with a furious expression. “If it wasn’t for them, we would not have come to this island, and you would not be standing in front of us with this rosary in your hands!”

“We’re going to defeat you, and then we’ll take the rosary back to the Sanctuary!” Daniel declared as he prepared his chains. “The Silver Saint’s mission will be accomplished!”

“You are fools.” Myu declared. “Do you really think mere Bronze Saints like you stand a chance against me? Wearing those wasted Cloths on top of that?”

“Steven! I know you’re watching us! We promised that we would meet again all of those years ago, and so we did… so here’s another promise!” Connie declared, as she began burning her Cosmo. “I’m going to punch you right in the face!”

To be continued.

Status:

Pegasus Connie: Active.

Dragon Jeff: Inactive.

Cygnus Patricia: Dead.

Andromeda Daniel: Active.

Lizard Misty: Dead.

Cetus Moses: Dead.

Cerberus Dante: Dead.

Perseus Algol: Dead.

Worm Laimi: Dead. Awaiting resurrection.

Papillon Myu: Active.

Author’s note: Finally, all of the Silver Saints have been defeated. The Renegade Saints meet their tragic end, just as the great battle in Death Queen Island approaches its conclusion. Four Bronze Saints left the Sanctuary to go to that island, but how many of them are returning? Don’t miss the next chapters. The Holy War has just begun.

0 notes

ghost-chance · 6 years

Text

A New Lease on Life 1: Amber or Kimber?

This chapter dedicated to Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle, authors of "Inferno," a modern fictional tribute to Dante Alighieri's Inferno. That book's totally worth a read even if you're not a major nerd—like me—even though the sequel sucked.

Trigger warnings: Language, suggestive language, panic attacks, insensitive remarks.

Suggested Listening: The Rasmus, "No Fear"

---------------------------------------

1: Amber or Kimber?

---------------------------------------

New York City, January 27th, 2016

The first thing Amber noticed was cold; the second was muffled noises almost like speech, followed by a stabbing ache right above her eyes. After all, she'd received a blow to the head…hadn't she? Details weren't coming to her in that state halfway between sleep and wakefulness. As the throbbing in her head smoothed out, she scoured her memory for answers—answers she couldn't find in the blur that her past had become. Only one thing stood out among the blank space in her history….

She was dead. How she knew this, she wasn't completely sure, but as the headache faded away, fractured memories slowly filled its place. Willsdale—the storm of the century—the school where she'd worked, torn and trashed by EF-5 level winds. Her eyes flew open in fear, searching for any sign of light or life. Blinded by a sudden light, she cringed into the foul smelling heap she lay on. The voices around her grew louder and less muted, then suddenly ceased all together.

Where was she? What happened? How had she found herself in the situation she was in—what was the situation, even? She had no answers—not even the strength to lift her head. Out of the blue, she felt a presence beside her…warm, gentle arms drew her closer and wrapped her in a cocoon of scratchy warmth. This, she could get used to, she mused weakly as she turned to nuzzle into the warm shoulder propping her up.

But nothing good ever lasts…as though summoned by her comfort and calm, a demon she knew too well manifested with a grinding roar. The slow trickle of memories became a torrential downpour—horrifying images flooded her delirious mind. Somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming, screaming as though they were being slowly gutted. The world turned sideways and crossways as the warmth surrounding her fell away; again, she fell to the fetid ground wishing the screaming would stop, wishing the memories would cease. Someone shut it all off, she cried soundlessly, her vocal chords inexplicably stilled.

A pinprick pain sprang to life, quickly becoming a spreading fire. On the heels of the fire, murky fog rolled in, choking out the life replaying before her sightless eyes. She struggled to get her head above water, struggled to breathe. A soft, gentle touch brushed from her brow to her temple then trailed along the line of her cheekbone. Sometime between the beginning of the caress and the whispering that followed, Amber's distorted world was swallowed up by a black void.

New York City, April's loft, January 28th, 2016

"I'm not so sure of this, Casey," a soft voice murmured nearby. Amber twitched at the sound, disoriented and bewildered. She'd died—she remembered now, remembered being in another place—a place of endless nothing set to the sound of a clock's incessant ticking. Limbo, she wondered wearily? "We should've taken her to the hospital—she could be dangerously sick!"

"Hon, ya know we can't," a deeper voice replied. "If she wakes up an' starts jabberin' about giant turtles, it'll be trouble for da guys!"

'Giant turtles?' Amber thought groggily. 'Great, out'a the'afterlife an' into the nut house. At least it's warm, here…an' it smells nice, too.' She burrowed deeper under the scratchy knit afghan with a contented sigh, relishing the sweet fragrance of spiced cider. Later she'd question how she could be alive when she was sure she'd died but for now, she was too comfy to care, even with a splitting headache.

"Hey, she's waking up!" the first voice hissed; damn, no rest for the wicked. "Miss, you okay? You need anything?" Reluctantly, Amber pried open her eyes, fumbling blindly for her glasses; a blurry hand passed them to her and she affixed them to her face, working her way to a sitting position. A woman with dark curly hair hovered before her with a steaming mug of cider and a concerned expression. As Amber finally trudged the rest of the way to life, she reached to scratch her left knee…and found bare skin. Startled awake by the absent clothing, she glanced down at herself in dismay.

Not only were her surprisingly toned legs nearly bare, most of her was bare! The skirt she'd woken in barely qualified as 'mini,' the skimpy top was cut so low her suddenly larger and firmer breasts seemed about to pop out, she was clearly not wearing a bra, and the clunky black boots she wore seemed more for looks than use. The fact that she had somehow lost almost a quarter of her body weight was shoved firmly into a vacant corner of her mind to be dealt with when she wasn't practically naked. Her cheeks flamed bright red as she yanked the afghan up to cover herself up to the chin. "Miss?" April asked in confusion.

"Please tell me I'm not a hooker!" Amber blurted desperately.

"What?" Casey gaped. Undeterred, Amber rambled on in disgust and panic.

"This's so not me—I'm barin' more than I'm wearin'! There should not be a fuckin' draft there, an' I'd never be caught dead wearin' a screw-me skirt. Granted, I like the hoochie boots an' my boobs finally match my ass, but for the love of Mike I'm practic'ly naked!" When she finally realized everything she'd said, she cringed. "Eheh…Sorry…brain-to-mouth filter malfunction."

"I'll say," Casey grinned; April shot him a dirty look, but he just shrugged. "So what's ya name, Miss Not-a-hookuh?"

"Amber," she replied nervously. "Amber O'Brien. An' Y'all?" The other two blinked at the blatant twang in her voice. Was it really so odd, she wondered? The vast majority of her hometown spoke with a much thicker twang than she did, so how could they be so surprised by it?

"I'm April O'Neil," the other woman replied politely as she handed Amber the mug of cider. "This is my boyfriend, Casey Jones." It took a moment for the facts to sink in.

'You're kiddin' me, right?' Amber thought sarcastically. 'What're the odds that I'd die an' wake up in the middle of a movie set?' Instead of acknowledging the elephant in the room, she asked, "Train conductor or Grateful Dead?" Their response was a blank stare. "Sorry. So…uh…how'd I wind up here? Did y'all knock me out'a that jar in the vestibule—or were the jars in Limbo?" She frowned down at the cider searching her scattered memories.

"What jar?" April was at a loss. "Some…friends of ours found you in an abandoned subway station. You were freezing to death. Do you not remember that?" Amber searched her memories, then shook her head with a confused frown.

"No, my memory's…kinda blurry," she admitted. "I remember…a storm…a bad one, worse than I'd ever…" Unbeknownst to her, her words became more and more frantic and stammered, her eyes grew wild, and she started shaking violently. Amber never noticed any of it; next thing she knew, she found herself on the floor in the corner curled in a tiny ball with April petting her hair. "…Wha…What happened?" she asked groggily. The pity in April's eyes annoyed her, but she needed answers.

"Do you have a history of panic attacks?" the reporter asked gently.

"No…I've got a pretty bad phobia so I've had anxiety attacks, but it's never anythin' serious. Why?"

"Well, now you do. Come on, let's get you into something more…covering." As Amber hoisted herself to her feet, her top dipped lower than before, revealing a flash of purple and black. Startled by the sight, Amber never noticed the shocked gasps of her hosts; she was too busy staring in dismay at the coiled purple dragon tattoo nestled in her cleavage.

"We got here as soon as we could," Leo apologized as he climbed over the windowsill. Donatello followed right behind, silently hanging his trench coat on the rack next to Leo's overcoat. "Has she made any progress?" April's worried, tight-lipped frown concerned him, and Casey's frustrated pacing wasn't reassuring either.

"Ya know anythin' about dis chick?" Casey muttered, shooting a glare at April's bedroom door; not long after the tattoo's discovery April had ushered their stunned guest to bed with a mug of tea, a pair of sweats, and a teeshirt big enough to double as a dress.

"We told you everything we knew, Casey," Don replied. "Too little clothing, no sign of substance abuse, hypothermic and possibly homeless, and nearly had a heart attack right in front of us. Why?"

"She's a dragon!" Casey spat, slamming his fist into the nearest wall.

"Casey!" April scolded. "Cool it!" Even as he shook off flecks of dried paint, he growled under his breath.

"You brought us a fuckin' Purple Dragon, Leo, an' she's clearly off her rocker! She—"

"Wait, back up," Donnie interrupted. "Why do you think she's a Purple Dragon? We didn't see a tattoo!" April blushed and avoided his eyes.

"Ya didn't look down her shirt—it's between her jugs." Leo cringed.

"Y-You're joking, right?" he stammered hopefully. "Please tell me you're joking." Casey shook his head with a dark scowl. "Great. —Donnie, where're you going?" His brother was already trudging down the hall, medkit in hand and a determined pinch to his eyes.

"Gang or not, she needs help," he answered firmly. "We don't know her story and we don't know her, and until we do, I, for one, reserve judgment." Without another word, he slipped through the door. Light from the hallway guided him to the bed and the lump curled up on the very edge of the mattress. The hair strewn messily over April's lumpy pillow was red as fruit punch, but now that it was brushed out and down out of the ridiculous updo from before, warm brown roots shone through—it was definitely dyed, and from the looks of it, with Kool-Aid.

Donnie paused hesitantly in the doorway, studying the sleeping woman. She was curled up in a ball but he recalled her figure with striking clarity. So many women were obsessed with being thin, looking thin, and feeling thin, and hid their bodies under too-large clothing if they weren't thin enough for their liking. This woman wasn't thin—quite the contrary, she was voluptuous, with soft, wide hips, a well-rounded rear, a generous bust, and from the looks of it, some extra softness around her ribs, hips, and thighs. Popular culture would have deemed her weight and body type a flaw, but he'd always admired curves; to him, she was lovely. Lovely, he thought sadly, and very much out of reach. It didn't bear thinking about, he reminded himself; he had a job to do, and more likely than not she'd scream if she ever saw him. They always screamed, really.

Don was pleased to find she'd made progress. Her body temperature had risen to a healthy 98.4, her blood pressure and heart rate were normalized, and the color had returned to her skin. Better yet she was breathing normally and he couldn't detect any wheezing, so she probably hadn't developed pneumonia from the conditions she'd been found in. Confident that she'd make a full recovery he slid his goggles back up over his forehead and brushed her hair away from her neck to seek out her pulse.

A sudden spike in the pulse fluttering against his fingertips drew a concerned frown, then a soft gasp tore him from his thoughts. Slowly, warily, he met her eyes—moss green eyes wide open in astonishment and set off by a blindingly red blush. He swallowed noisily, counting down the seconds to her inevitable freak-out.

'Holy Mama Mary,' Amber thought as the tall turtle's hazel eyes met hers. 'If this is Heaven…' "—I must'a been a Sainte!" she finished under her breath.

"Pardon?" Don asked dubiously, releasing her neck. Amber flushed.

"S-Sorry. Brain-to-mouth filter malfunction, jus' ignore it." Pulling the comforter almost up to her chin she dragged her glasses back over her eyes, cautiously looking him over. "Am I…dead?"

"Nope; you gave it your best shot, though," he replied with a cheeky smile. "Unless something changes, you should make a full recovery. So, what's your name?" She blinked several times, scrunched up her eyes and squinted at him, sat up with the blanket pooling around her, then pinched herself on the cheek…hard.

"Ow!" she yelped, yanking her fingers away from the throbbing flesh. "Nope, not dreamin'. Ya mind…?" Donnie was completely nonplussed but shrugged; without another word, she reached one hand out and poked him squarely in the shoulder. He stared back, clearly questioning her sanity. "A'right, Willis," she announced to the room in general, searching every corner she could see. "Ya win. I won't post that video if ya call off yer buddy. Shame really, it was a hoot."

"Video?" Don asked dubiously. Amber smirked.

"Aaron got shite-faced on Scotch whisky an' tried to milk a bull; it disagreed. Now come on out, Willis, this's getting' annoyin'!"

"Of course," Casey grumbled from the doorway. "Now I recognize ya—dat fake accent threw me off. Donnie? Dis's Kimber Bryant; she hangs out with dat little dweeb Daron Williams."

"Daron Williams?! Kimber Bryant?!" she repeated shrilly. "My name's Amber! Amber O'Brien, an' I've always talked like this! The heck're you smokin'?"

"Quit wit' da lyin' a'ready!" Casey snapped. "Raph an' I busted yer ass 'nuff times fer me ta know ya, 'specially with dat tattoo'a yers!"

"Casey," Donatello warned lowly. "Back off, you're not helping." He turned to the green-eyed woman again, troubled by the confusion in her eyes. Poor thing...she really didn't know who she was? "Amnesia, maybe? What's the last thing you remember?"

She only got out one word—storms—before losing her grip on reality. Right before his eyes she paled and shrunk into herself; her eyes grew wide, her breath sped to gasps and pants, and an endless stream of garbled words fell from her lips. Realizing what was happening, Don dug a bottle of homemade smelling salts* from his kit and waved it under her nose, monitoring her pulse with his other hand. Finally, her glazed-over eyes focused fearfully on his, her voice stilled, and her breathing regulated. "I—"

"It's alright," he soothed as he drew back again. "Whatever happened isn't exactly ready to come to light, apparently. Maybe just some questions? Simple yes or no answers, perhaps?" Though she was only growing more and more confused, she nodded, following him to the living room again, the comforter draped around her like a fluffy yellow cloak. April put on the kettle for tea while the rest settled in the living room.

"Kimber Bryant?" Leo asked bluntly.

"No," she replied seriously. "Amber O'Brien. I was born to Douglas O'Brien and Ginny Devon in Willsdale, Missouri, I graduated Willsdale High in May '94, an' I spent the last several years workin' for the school district as a night janitor at Willsdale High. "

"Do you know where you are?" Donnie suddenly asked. "Do you know what city you're in?" Her face fell.

"They said I was found in a subway station, right?" she asked hesitantly. "The only subway I've ever been in served sandwiches, an' had a gas station attached. So clearly I'm somehow not in Willsdale anymore." A violent shiver wracked her shoulders and she burrowed further into the blanket. "Wherever I am now, it's pretty dang cold fer May even with 2011's freaky weather."

Leo and Donnie exchanged a wary glance. "Miss O'Brien?" Donnie said softly, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You're in New York City; it's January 27th, 2016."

NOTES

*Smelling salts CAN be used for panic attacks, but should be used VERY SPARINGLY and only in conjunction with other coping skills. If you just use salts—or other 'wake up' devices like sour candies or fireball jawbreakers, for example—and never get to the root of the problem, never work on what has given you panic attacks, they become a crutch and can eventually worsen your troubles. I've never used them myself, so I can't recommend salts. I CAN recommend breathing exercises, fireballs and Altoids, and meditation.

Panic attacks CAN be beaten, and you CAN get PTSD under control enough to live a fulfilling life. Don't give up—you're stronger than you give yourself credit for.

#tmnt #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #Ninja Turtles #Donatello #Raphael #Leonardo #Michelangelo #donnie/oc #Raph/OC #Leo/OC #Mikey/OC #Romantic Drama #Non-Sue OCs #A New Lease on Life #ANLoL #Here be plot twists

1 note · View note

dryad-of-the-dogwood · 4 years

Text

Hey, so, uh... It's been almost 2 years and I'm the worst but I finally wrote a thing again. A Thread of Fate chapter 30, all posted on AO3 and everything, in fact. Maybe 2020 really is the apocalypse. Please forgive me and I hope it isn't a major disappointment after so long. 🖤

Chapter 30: Best Laid Plans

By the time Nalissa returned there was no emotion left on her face, and she declined to say where she had gone other than that we would hear news soon. Meanwhile, Zevran had managed to get the letter open both without breaking the seal and without poisoning himself, which was a pretty impressive feat to watch, not that I’d ever tell him that. Inside were only six words.

Clever girl.

But it’s your choice.

Below that, a bloody thumbprint was stamped in place of a signature.

Nalissa hasn’t let her guard slip even a little since then. She refuses to actually talk about Teyrn Cousland, but I’ve caught her more than once gripping her signet ring so hard it leaves an imprint of the crest on her palm. All day she was as tense as a drawn bowstring, and last night she refused to sleep, alternating between pacing the room with her daggers in hand and scribbling madly at something on the writing desk she wouldn’t let me see. Watching her push herself to exhaustion only reminds me of Ilana saying that was what she had done when she was most afraid, and it’s a thought that burns like the Joining mixture down my throat.

So I haven’t told her about the second attempt Zevran thwarted the next day. I can’t make myself deliver more news that will frighten her more than she is already. She’s punishing herself more than enough as it is, and knowing they’ve twice in two days managed to sneak traps for her into the keep would do nothing for her state of mind.

Even Caron has noticed. Today, when Nalissa nearly nodded off on her feet in the dining hall, he ordered her to take a day off from training the Wardens and get some rest. She found it offensive, of course—a sign he thought her weak. I just hoped it would help, because she did finally give up and pass out on the bed about an hour before midnight. But when she jolts awake so hard the bed shifts against the wall, I realize that was probably too much to hope for.

It’s still the middle of the night, so dark I can barely make out her silhouette against the faint light from the window. She’s sitting straight up, her hands behind her for support, and panting like she’s sprinted to get there. I recognize the posture well by now and I know better than to touch and startle her, no matter how much I want to hold her when she’s afraid. To my surprise, it’s her hands that start searching the bed instead until one of them finds my side. Once she’s found me, she presses her palm flat against my chest, and I expect her to push me away. Instead, she pauses for a heartbeat and then lets out a long breath before falling onto her back again.

It was exactly the span of a heartbeat that she waited, I realize as she covers her face with her other hand. That’s what her palm over my heart is about. She’s making sure I still have one.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, covering the hand still clutching my nightshirt with my own.

Nalissa lets her other hand fall from her face and turns her head toward me. I can’t see her expression in the dark with the only light behind her, so I have no idea what she’s thinking until she says softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, I just… needed to make sure you were okay.”

“Of course I am. You know, over a dozen people in my life have told me I’m entirely too oblivious to know when to die anyway.”

She hums softly at that, sounding thoughtful. “On a completely unrelated note, are they all dead already, or…?”

I laugh and squeeze her hand, and she leans up on one elbow toward me. Her hair tickles my face but she doesn’t close the distance completely, just hovers over me as if she can see me in the dark. My eyes adjust a little more slowly, but with her hair blocking the light from the window, I can finally read the worry in the set of her lips and eyebrows.

“You don’t have to be afraid for me,” I tell her quietly for what must be the hundredth time.

“There are assassins, Alistair.”

“Didn’t you say yourself they wouldn’t kill me?”

“They would have if you had opened that letter instead of me, wouldn’t they?” Nalissa asks pointedly, and well, I can’t argue with that. She parts her lips to speak again, then hesitates and places her free hand against the side of my face, running her thumb back and forth on my cheek and the short beard I still haven’t grown used to. Her voice falters a little as she finally says, “My love, there are far worse things they could do to you than kill you.”

I swear my heart swells at the endearment, but the rest of it… well, it just makes me sad. I think of the stories she’s told me that still make me feel sick to consider. I think of the scars across her back, the better healed ones on her forearms that she had to pay that blighted mage with her own suffering to close, of the way she shut down completely in that closet. And I think how all of it is so much worse because it’s her, and I’m helpless to change it, and I think I understand.

“That’s what you were dreaming, wasn’t it?” I ask, and she doesn’t answer but her expression tightens, and I know I’m right. “Hey,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her waist to pull her closer. She settles onto my chest, but I can still feel the tension in her every muscle. “The only bad thing that’s going to happen to me is all the lectures I’m going to get from Eamon when we get back to Denerim.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s not funny, it’s true,” I counter, raising my eyebrows at her. “Have I been wrong yet? We’re both still here, safe and sound, just like I said. We’ve won every fight we’ve fought together, just like I said. You’ve fallen madly in love with me, just like I said…”

That gets a tiny laugh out of her, the first one I’ve heard since the letter arrived. Her smile isn’t as wide as it usually is, but at least it’s there as she asks, “You said that, did you? To whom, Dante?”

No objection to the madly part, I notice, and even though it was meant to make her smile, I think my plan might have backfired. I’m definitely smiling more. “Oh, yes. He’s my co-conspirator in that confusing, self-deprecating master plan I mentioned. I just didn’t tell you the whole plan.”

“Why, because you hadn’t thought of it all yet?”

“You know me too well,” I admit with a chuckle. She shakes her head and her smile starts to fade, but I’m not about to give up that easily. So I go on, “I think I’ve finally worked out the rest of it, though.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm,” I say, running my fingers through her hair absent-mindedly. “You see, first we’re going to take care of these Crows.”

“Eviscerate them, naturally,” Nalissa says firmly.

I find myself thinking about whether I would be holding her now if Wynne hadn’t been in Amaranthine. I pull her closer again and agree, “Naturally.” It takes a bit of effort to chase the thought away, but when I do, I keep talking. “Then we’re going back to Denerim, and I’m going to invite back that marquis who said you shouldn’t be queen—”

“This is a terrible plan unless it involves letting me dye all his hairpieces ridiculous colors while he’s distracted.”

“Better. I’m going to tell Isolde he insulted her dress. Just turn her loose and watch the silk and wigs fly.”

Nalissa really laughs this time, and she finally starts to relax against me as she teases, “Your cunning knows no ends! And that sounds like an especially fun way to be rid of both of them. I approve.”

“Good, because after that, we’re getting married before anyone else can try to stop us.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wonder where I got the nerve to say them. Somehow, even after it’s already been announced to all the realm for—Maker’s breath, nearly two months now, it still feels bold to say. A declaration that means more to me than the words, because it would mean she’s mine and I am hers in a way that no one could take away. And because I worry, and because her breath catches in her throat in a way that I hope isn’t fear, I add nervously, “That is, if that’s—if you still want to.”

Her smile softens, and her thumb tightens around my hand in a way that gives me courage. “An angry high dragon couldn’t keep me away.”

She really means it, I think, and the certainty with which she says it makes my face burn. So naturally, I spoil it with another joke because that’s what I do. “Also good, because I’ve promised Dante he can be the ring bearer. It’ll really make the wedding extra Fereldan, drive off all the snobby Orlesians.”

At that, Nalissa smothers her laughter into my shoulder to keep from waking the whole keep. And I kiss her hair and enjoy the moment of peace. I’m not foolish enough to think it will last—even I don’t have enough bad jokes to keep her distracted until this is over—but she’s been wound so tightly ever since she saw the Cousland seal on that letter, it puts me more at ease to watch her let it go for a few minutes.

When she raises her head again, she’s giving me that shy little smile that makes me feel like I’m the only thing in the world she’s thinking about. It makes my heart beat faster, and I’m sure she can feel it.

“I love you, Alistair,” she whispers, and now my heart all but leaps out of my chest and starts doing flips. You’d think by now that might have worn off, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever hear her say it and not feel like it’s the most important thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t think I’ll ever want to.

Before I can do anything more than most likely grin like a fool, the door swings open and I’m half blind. Dante’s claws click on the floor as he rises, presumably as used to surprise attacks as we are by now. Nalissa rolls toward her side of the bed and what is most likely a small armory’s worth of daggers hidden close by, and even though there’s no weapon within reach myself, I place myself firmly between her and the door.

I have just enough time to think that maybe I should have started keeping my shield under my pillow when Zevran’s voice calls out, “Hold your various projectiles, if you please!”

Nalissa lets out a short, frustrated sort of sigh. “Do you possess the capacity to actually announce yourself before you show up uninvited?”

Even with the light from the hall shadowing half his face, I can see Zevran’s smirk. “Am I interrupting? How rude of me! I can of course wait outside. How long would you like? Thirty minutes? Ten?”

I only manage to sputter in outrage, but Nalissa gets to her feet and hisses, “Oh for Andraste’s sake, light the blighted lamp and get out of the hallway before someone sees you!”

Zevran laughs but does as she says and shuts the door, sliding the latch back into place behind him. How he had even opened it without making enough noise to alert either of us is beyond me. Maybe we were too distracted, and that thought is… worrying. Sure, me being too distracted makes sense, but not Nalissa, especially not right now.

“There, happy?” Zevran asks, interrupting my train of thought with raised eyebrows. “Just the three of us. Now, if that was your plan, I must say I don’t object, but we’ll need much longer than thirty minutes…”

His eyes flicker toward Nalissa, pausing with interest where the hem of her tunic ends just above her knees, and I suddenly find that I haven’t wanted to kill him so badly since he ambushed me and Sereda. Okay, maybe not kill, he is still trying to help us. Maybe just lightly maim.

“Zevran,” I warn, and naturally, he laughs at me.

“I jest, I jest! Just when did you get so dour? Why, Alistair, it’s almost as if being king has made you serious.”

Nalissa lets out another, much deeper sigh. This time when I look in her direction, she has her arms crossed and looks just as tired as yesterday. “Can you please just skip the posturing and tell us why you’re burgling into the keep several hours before sunrise?”

“Of course,” Zevran agrees with a nod of his head, but still he pauses to grin at me and add, “See, at least she has manners,” as if he possesses anything of the kind himself.

The next moment, he produces a scroll from a pouch at his side and holds it out toward Nalissa. “I managed to find a copy of the original contract.”

“One of them was carrying it?” Nalissa asks as she takes it from his outstretched hand. “How thick can they get?”

“Of course not! Physical contracts are only held in the Archive and by the client, everyone knows that.”

“So you found out who it is?” I interject hopefully, but Zevran shakes his head.

“Only the original contract owner, I’m afraid. Four and a half years old by now, and as I said, everyone involved is very dead except your lovely friend here.”

The crinkling of parchment interrupts him when Nalissa’s hands close tightly on the edges of the contract. Her voice is dazed, like something has just knocked the wind out of her, as she reads the name aloud.

Zevran speaks, something about, “you gave me the idea,” with whatever follows completely drowned by the ringing in my ears. The signature itself is vague, just initials, but I recognize the spiky R. H. because I’ve seen the scrawl dozens of times, at the foot of every letter my father ever received from Amaranthine.

“Rendon Howe.”

---

Four and a half years, Zevran had said, and I look up at the date frantically, certain he’s wrong, that he just has two different attempts on my life confused. But there it is: 2nd Harvestmere, 9:28 Dragon. A week before the trip to Orlais I had blamed all this time, two solid years before the attack on Highever. I would have been just shy of seventeen, I realize, and that thought makes my head spin. What could I possibly have done that he wanted me dead?

Then it strikes me like a backhand across my face, and I can almost feel the bite of his ring behind it. He had turned my father’s words on me so many times, using them to get into my head more precisely than any physical wound he ever gave me, but the answer to all of this was in the first words he spoke to me in Fort Drakon.

I remember the shackles binding my wrists and ankles to the wall, holding me in place as he struck me. I remember the blood matted in my hair, half of it mine from the head wound that had knocked me unconscious, half of it Roderick’s where I had sobbed into his chest as he lay dying. And I remember the torches casting flickering light onto Rendon Howe’s face, how I had sworn he must be a demon because no mortal man could be just standing there and laughing.

“Bryce’s little spitfire, indeed,” he sneers from the memory, so close I can feel his breath on my face. “Bright, fierce, headstrong, he called you. Let us see how strong you really are.”

And finally, I make the connection I had missed, hear the words in my father’s voice with a laugh at the end, as he always did when he made excuses for me. As he did when I had refused a proposed betrothal to Thomas Howe, sometime in mid-August, four and a half years ago.

“Don’t touch her,” Alistair’s voice orders and I shake my head quickly. The motion is sluggish and my hands are unsteady, but I fill my lungs with as much breath as I can manage and then let it out slowly.

“I’m fine,” slips past my lips before I can think any better of it.

He chuckles, but it sounds nervous. “How is it someone as clever as you hasn’t come up with a better lie by now?”

“Let’s call it a bad habit,” I manage to answer, forcing my right hand to release its death grip on the contract so I no longer have to stare at the blighted thing. I switch my gaze to Alistair instead, and his eyes are dark and worried. Suddenly I feel even more exhausted than I did before I fell asleep, and when I rub my eyes, my hand is still shaking.

“Come sit down,” Alistair says quietly, and I let him lead me to the chair by the writing desk without argument. “Let me see,” he adds, and I realize I’m still clutching the contract in my left fist. When I release it, he takes it without a word. His expression only darkens as he reads.

“I must say, I’m rather surprised you’re so shocked,” Zevran says from where he still stands by the lamp. “Has this same man not tried to kill you more than once?”

I can only stare at him, because I don’t have an answer. I can’t quite explain why it somehow feels like a second betrayal to learn Rendon Howe had paid for my life and still broke bread at my family’s table. That even unknowingly, I had still considered him an uncle after he tried to have me killed just for telling him no makes me feel sick. Finally, I manage to ask, “How does it help? He’s dead. He can’t have been the one to reopen it now.”

“Who can do that?” Alistair chimes in, waving the contract in the air for emphasis. “She’s right, this can’t be useless. It must point to someone.”

Zevran nods. “It should help create a list of suspects shorter than ‘anyone that didn’t want her as queen,’ to be sure. Only someone with knowledge of the original contract could have paid to reopen it. A confidante? A wife? A child?”

Alistair tenses and shoots a look toward the door. “Nathaniel?”

“Where was it?” I interrupt, before he can go off on a witch hunt in the middle of the night.

“There is a trick panel on a display case in a downstairs storage room,” Zevran answers. “Quite well hidden, in fact. I am not at all surprised it was missed by anyone not looking for secrets.”

I grimace. “Let me guess: behind his medal from White River.”

Zevran raises his eyebrows at me and says in surprise, “Beneath it, but yes. In a tidy little compartment with a few other documents of little importance. How did you know?”

With a sigh, I shove myself to my feet. “Because all of this started at White River. We should see what there is to learn there before we start making guesses. Show me.”

Sneaking Zevran downstairs thankfully isn’t difficult, but rifling through the mess of paperwork in Rendon Howe’s secret hiding place is. It makes my stomach uneasy to read his writing, and even more so the contents of the “other documents of little importance.” Whatever Zevran had said, most of them are very relevant, at least to me. They’re a million little pieces of a story I hadn’t understood, still can’t understand, even looking at all the tokens of Howe’s hatred. They range from an official commendation bearing King Maric’s signature that congratulated him but still praised my father and Leonas Bryland for saving his life to an angrily crumpled letter from Lady Eliane to her brother full of pleas for him to make amends with her husband and stay his anger. That it’s here and not in South Reach tells me that it was intercepted before it could ever be sent.

Below that is a diagram of Castle Cousland. My breath catches in my throat as I flatten it out and trace the red X’s where someone has marked the guard posts, drag my fingertips over the lines drawn to indicate patrol routes. Three rooms in the back are circled. My parents’, my brother’s, and mine.

“Are you quite certain this is the best use of our time?” Zevran asks, and I look up to see him tapping his fingers rather impatiently on the cabinet. Even Alistair is frowning down at the commendation letter like it hasn’t given up enough secrets.

I clear my throat and shove the attack plan aside. Zevran is right, it will do me no good to focus on that now. “Perhaps not,” I admit, digging through what remains in the compartment. “I had hoped for some more recent insight, but most of this is…”

A phrase catches my eye, a footnote at the bottom of a report I had barely skimmed. Only the Wardens could save him now.

I unfold the page and read it more carefully. It’s a healer’s report, I realize, and it’s for Thomas Howe. The text confirms what his father had spat at me near the end, that the boy had been injured by darkspawn and the Blight had taken hold inside him. But he hadn’t died immediately.

“How long can someone live, if they’re blighted?” I wonder aloud.

“I’m not sure I would call it ‘living,’” Alistair says slowly, coming to look over my shoulder. “It varies by person, but the body always rots faster than the mind. They might have a few months at most before the corruption turned them mindless.”

“Then Thomas is definitely out,” I say with a sigh, passing the report off to him.

I’m about to admit that this was useless when Alistair realizes aloud, “This is why he drugged Riordan.”

I shake my head slowly. “I don’t follow. Who’s that?”

“The ‘Orlesian Warden sneaking into the city,’ that’s Riordan,” Alistair answers, tapping his finger against the page to indicate the passage he’s reading. “Though they’re wrong, he wasn’t actually Orlesian, just stationed there. He was one of the senior Wardens in the order. He sneaked into Fereldan during the Blight, and Howe tricked him and threw him in the dungeon. He must have thought he could tell him how to stop the corruption.”

“That’s true?” I ask, mostly because no book I’ve ever found on the subject has ever really given a straight answer. “The Wardens can actually save someone that’s been blighted?”

This time, Alistair doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flicker to Zevran before me, and when he finally does look in my direction, he seems to be speaking to someone standing just over my head.

“Whoever wrote this definitely believed so,” he says slowly. “It’s not quite that simple, but in—in a way.”

I had once joked that if Alistair ever tried to actually lie, he would be so bad at it that his face would give him away instantly. In this moment, Maker, I think it is. I feel my eyebrows start to tug lower and force them back to neutrality again, because I… don’t know if I want him to realize I see it.

“So are you saying he could still be alive?” I ask, half a beat too late.

Alistair continues to weigh his words very carefully. “No. The, er, necessary ingredients weren’t exactly available outside of a Warden keep or safehouse, and Riordan wouldn’t have told him anyway.”

I nod slowly, then conclude with a possibly overexaggerated grimace, “Well, I guess this really was all completely useless then. Sorry for dragging you down here again, Zevran.”

“My pleasure, of course,” Zevran answers, but his words sound less honeyed than usual. He’s still looking at Alistair too.

I don’t want to keep looking at this pile of things with Rendon Howe’s handwriting all over them, so I shove them back into a stack and drop them into the compartment they came from. The one that ends up at the top makes me shiver. It’s the contract for one Talverd Wainwright to work as a healer to Fort Drakon and the estate of the Arl of Denerim. Alistair hands over the healer’s report and I add it to the pile, face-down, so I don’t have to look at any of it as I shut the hidden latch. I want to light the whole blighted thing on fire.

I wish I had never suggested coming down here. Nothing we’ve found has made me feel any better, and neither has whatever Alistair isn’t telling me. It’s definitely about the Grey Wardens, and I want to believe that he just isn’t allowed to talk about it—bound by some sort of Warden statute of silence, perhaps. But Zevran isn’t a Warden either, and that look Alistair gave him seemed to say not to speak.

So exactly what is it that he so specifically doesn’t want to tell me?

#dragon age #dragon age origins #fanfic #my fanfic #writing #my writing #alistair theirin #nalissa cousland #alistair x cousland #a thread of fate #ao3

0 notes

cefstickles · 7 years

Text

The “Fun”dant Thief

Hello everyone! I’ve noticed that a lot of people have been down in the dumps lately. So I’ve wrote this light-hearted tickle fic of the sides that I’m hoping will lift your spirits. I certainly couldn’t stop grinning and giggling while writing this, and I hope you won’t either while reading it.

This was supposed to be a drabble, but it turned out to be longer than my 1,000 word limit, but still I hope you enjoy.

The “Fun”dant Thief

(Ships): None

Words ~ 1,971 ~

It was a very uplifting day in the mind palace. Virgil was in reality working one-on-one with Thomas to help sort some things out that he had been struggling with in the past, leaving the other three to tend to their own matters. Everyone had grown closer as friends because of their escapade in Virgil’s room and getting along much better than in the previous videos. But, this was the first time that only Virgil had left. What would become of the mind palace if the darker trait wasn’t there to balance things out? Well, for one thing, Patton had become much more giddy and daring.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For no reason in particular, Logan felt he needed to bake a cake. He had already mixed everything together with little to no mess, and the batter was now rising in the oven. He still didn’t understand why he was baking a cake or why at this moment he had a sweet tooth, but he ‘rolled’ with it.

Once the timer went off, he opened the drawer to look for the oven mitts, only to find they were all gone. His eyes widened slowly as he began to frantically search for pot holders. He was only able to find one, so he used some cloth rags for a second, make-shift potholder. Logan quickly grabbed the cake out, set it down gently, and turned the oven off. With a sigh of relief, he checked his masterpiece confirming that it had not been burnt.

The cake must have smelled good because the other two aspects slinked into the kitchen, trying to find the source of the wonderful aroma.

“You’re gonna share that right?”

Logan turned around to find both Roman and Patton staring, drooling at the cake.

“What makes you think I will?” Logan crossed his arms, looking defiantly at them.

“Sharing is caring.” Patton licked his lips as he began to sneak towards the unfrosted cake.

“No!” Roman held him back. “It’s not even decorated yet Patton! You can’t just dig into an undressed cake! While thats just savagery! At least give it decent protection first!!”

Patton pouted while Logan nodded, agreeing to Roman’s argument. “Then perhaps we can make a compromise. If you both aid me in decorating this cake, then you can each have a piece.”

“Two pieces?” Roman wiggled his eyebrows at him, getting a “don’t push it” look from Logan in return. “Bwahahaha!” Roman heartily laughed. “I’m just joking Mr. SmartyPants.”

Patton jumped up and down for joy. “YES DECORATING!!!!!” He ran to the pantry to grab out the frosting, sprinkles, and other items needed for the so called ‘dressing of the cake’. He came back, arms full, and set everything down on the table. He was about to open a can of frosting when it was snatched out of his hands by Roman.

“No Patton. We are NOT putting you in charge of the frosting again. Remember what happened last time?” Logan reminded the giggling aspect while the Fanciful trait passed the object of attention to him.

“This whole thing was gone. In less than five minutes.” Roman pointed to the can of frosting that Logan was now holding.

“And don’t let us catch you eating the decorating candies either or there will be no cake for you.” Logan opened the can and began spreading out the first layering of frosting.

“You can help me decorate, Patton!” Roman exclaimed excitedly. He handed him a bag of chocolate chips. Patton huffed slightly, annoyed that he wasn’t getting his way, but he had a sneaky plan in mind.

It had been a couple minutes into the Dressing of the Cake and everything was going smoothly. Roman was decorating away while Logan gave his input, mostly to have it shot down by the egotistical Prince. By complete accident, the two aspects had left the tubes of icing unattended giving Patton the opportunity to grab one of them. Of course he grabbed Roman’s favorite color: red. Whether he just wanted to stir up trouble, or he legit wasn’t afraid of anything, even Patton didn’t know the answer. What he did know, however, is he wanted that icing and he wanted it bad.

With the fondant in his hands, he carefully slinked away trying not to make a sound. He wasn’t as successful as he would have hoped.

“Patton?” The childish trait turned around and faced the two aspects who were currently staring at what he had in his hands. Foolishly, Patton had forgotten to hide his secret treat. Instantly, Patton put on an innocent face and hid it behind his back. Morality knew they had seen it, but he was having fun being troublesome.

“Oh hi! I was just leaving…” He pointed in the direction he was originally going and began to back away.

Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose while Roman began cracking his knuckles. The fanciful trait then leaned over and whispered into the other aspect’s ear. Logan turned his head back to Roman and nodded. “Yes. I suppose that can be arranged. Patton. In the words of Roman, you’re dead.”

Patton literally bolted. He ran like his life depended on it.

“Ill take left! You go right! We’ll meet in the middle.”

“Affirmative!”

The chase was on. While Roman ran after Patton, Logan took the other way around hoping to cut him off somehow, allowing the fanciful trait to catch him. And this is exactly what happened. Logan hid behind a corner as he heard Patton’s squeals make their way to his location. At the last second he jumped out, stopping the icing-stealing trait in his tracks. As he was stunned, this granted roman enough time to scoop the aspect up and throw him over his shoulder.

Logan swiftly grabbed the icing out of his hands and put it back on the kitchen counter where it belonged.

“Ohoho!! Thought you could get away didn’t ‘cha?” Roman teased as he walked to the living room with Logan close behind.

“Nooooooo!!!! Let me gooooooooo!!!” Patton was smiling, undoubtedly happy that he got caught, but he was afraid of what they were going to do to him.

“It is too late for that, Patton. If you didn’t want to be caught, then you don’t steal in the first place.” It seemed that Logan couldn’t hide a grin either, which made Patton very nervous.

The first thing Roman did when he got to the living room, was chuck Patton onto the couch, then proceeded to straddle his hips. Logan sat down on a different couch and decided to watch from afar.

“Rooommmaaaannn!!! Get offa me!!” Patton tried to push the fanciful trait off of him, but to no avail, couldn’t even budge him.

Roman chuckled and trapped Morality’s hands under his knees, preventing movement. “Uh-uh-uh. I was serious when I said that I would win at physical fighting. Perhaps, this will teach you not to toy with me. As I recall, ask the dragon witch, she knows the drill you’re screwed. Royally!”

Patton’s eyes widened as Roman wiggled his fingers teasingly over the captive trait, before diving his hands straight in to squeeze his sides.

Laughter instantly bubbled from the dad aspect’s mouth. Apparently his arms were not restricted enough, because they got free and tried to protect himself from Roman’s wiggling hands.

Roman grunted as Patton fought him off. “Oi! FitBit! Get over here and help!” Rolling his eyes, the logical aspect calmly got up and held Patton’s arms above him, giving more access to the current tickle monster.

“Logaahahahahahahahn!!! Nooohohohoho!!!”

“Aha!!! A window of opportunity!!” Roman retrieved his hold on Patton’s sides, squeezing up into his armpits and back down.

Poor Patton was already beside himself with laughter. He wiggled desperately trying to get away, but he was weakening by the second, and the fact that both aspects were hell bent on punishing him didn’t help either.

Pretty soon he felt both of his arms shift to being held by only one of Logan’s hands. Suddenly, Patton snorted as a third hand joined the tickling assault, scratching at the inside of his right armpit. Morality looked up to see Logan trying to suppress a smirk on his face.

“Keep it up Logan! I’ll go for his tummy next!”

“Noooooooohohohohoho!!! I dooohohohnttt wahahahahnt iiihihihit!!!”

“Too bad, so sad. I’m glad, you’re mad.” Roman didn’t hesitate as he scribbled his fingers over Patton’s shirt. Patton let a tiny squeal out before his higher pitched giggles began to escape.

“Awwww! That was so cute. For being the dad, Patton, you certainly could use a deeper voice.”

“You realize we all have the same voice right?”

“Shut up NVidia! No one asked you.” Roman’s hands then journeyed their way underneath Patton’s shirt and began grazing his ribs. Even worse, Logan’s elbows were holding down Patton’s hands with ease while his hands circled both of Morality’s armpits.

“Nohohohohohohohoh Fahahahahahir!!! Hehehehehehlp!!! Someoneeeeeeee!! EEEHheehehehehe!!!”

“Just face it Patton. No one will be coming. The knight in shining armor that would be saving you, is actually torturing you. Muahahahah!!!” Roman gave an evil laugh as he poked and pushed Patton’s belly button with one hand while reaching behind him and squeezing one of his knees with the other.

Patton was now shrieking instead of laughing. Both of the aspects had to stop tickling and cover their ears because Patton’s screams were so shrill.

A certain feeling suddenly circled the air. Thomas had heard Patton’s screams. Looks of panic were exchanged between the two ticklers.

“Oh shi-I mean. Roman! Finish it up and hurry!”

“On it!” Roman took a deep breath and blew right on Patton’s tummy causing one last squeal to escape his lips as the parental trait laid back breathless, seemingly endless giggles still pooling out of his mouth.

Roman jumped off of Patton and ran with Logan back to the kitchen. As soon as they arrived, Thomas and Virgil suddenly materialized in the kitchen.

“What the hell is going on!? Why was Patton screaming?!” Virgil was obviously in an angry state of confusion.

“Is he alright? What happened!?” Thomas was in a less angry, but more confused state than Virgil.

“It’s alright-

“He’s fine-

“We were just-”

“-Having a tickle fight!” All eyes turned to look at the figure who was leaning against the entrance of the kitchen, red in face, panting and breathless.

“Patton?” Virgil and Thomas asked together.

“Ohohoho no! There was no tickle fighting involved.” Roman stated. “It was two against one.”

Despite how tired he was, Patton giggled mischievously. “I know. There’s a reason why I said ‘“having” a tickle fight.’” He laughed evilly, raised his fingers up, and ran at his two prior torturers.

“You’re on your own, Motherboard!” Roman ran away first and was out of the kitchen faster than someone could say that super long word from Mary Poppins that not even the author knows how to spell correctly.

Logan instantly took out his vocabulary cards and threw them at Patton, eveloping the whole kitchen in a cloud of white temporarily stunning the parental trait. Logan grabbed the first card he could get his hands on and quickly followed Roman’s footsteps. “I am not dealing with this dipshit!”

Morality recovered and ran after him. “Language Logan!”

This left Virgil and Thomas in the kitchen as the shouting, laughing, squealing, and other weird noises reverberated all over the mind palace.

“How often does this happen?” Thomas turned to Virgil.

“Never…” Virgil mumbled, almost jealous of the bonding session the other traits were having without him. There was once again silence between Thomas and Anxiety, as various crashes from the others’ antics rang about, killing any ounce of peace and quiet that had previously rested in the mind palace.

Thomas shifted from side to side, slightly uncomfortable, but his nervousness changed into delight as he glanced to his left.

“Oooh! Cake!”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear friend,

You know who you are! I hope this cheered you up. <3

231 notes · View notes

jonryatrash · 7 years

Text

Aria, Arya, and ASOIAF

Recently in Jonrya chat I threw out a question about whether anyone had considered the association between Arya’s name and an aria, and the role that it might play in the title: A Song of Ice and Fire. It’s been something I’ve mulled over for a while now. After posing the question, @bloomray and I had a conversation about the possibilities. You can see her awesome meta on Arya/aria here.

I appreciate a lot in bloomray’s analysis, though I’m also interested in what it might mean for Jonrya as a couple. I figured I would offer a kind of “yes, and…” meta to go along with hers, and this is said meta broken into five topics. More than anything, this is a thought experiment. I’m just throwing ideas and evidence to support said ideas out there. I’m not really sure I have an investment in this other than for the enjoyment of it. It’s not a matter of proving anything to be true for me.

A Song of Ice and Fire

First, I want to talk about the title itself, and I think we need to deal with the title itself in two parts: (1) it’s appearance in the narrative, and (2) it’s source for inspiration. Here, I’ll deal with the title as it appears narratively in ASOIAF itself.

The phrase “song of ice and fire” only appears three times across all of GRRM’s published works. All instances occur in A Clash of Kings in Daenerys IV and V. Here’s the first:

“’He [baby Aegon] has a song,’ the man [Rhaegar] replied. ‘He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.’ He looked up when he said it as his eyes met Dany’s, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. ‘There must be one more,’ he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in bed she could not say. ‘The dragon has three heads.’”

The second instance isn’t of any real significance, just a reiteration of what Dany saw. The third instance—occurring during the same conversation as the second—we learn the following from Dany and Jorah:

“’What is the song of ice and fire?’”

“’It’s no song I’ve ever heard.’”

What do we get from this? For me, the most important thing is that we have no real answer in the text itself to the question of what the song is. It’s not an existing song that anyone would know well. So it must be a prophetic song then, and one that belongs to the prince that was promised and will tell his tale.

I hesitate to attribute a song of ice and fire to any of the other prophecies swarming about in ASOIAF. I do think it’s safe to say that a comet is somehow involved in the story of TPtwP/asoiaf because of Rhaeger’s reaction to the comet on the night Aegon was conceived. Other than that, I’m not touching these prophecies with a ten-foot pole. Things become far too unreliable and conflated when discussed by different characters.

At this point—looking over the evidence we have—I’m not entirely convinced that the ice and fire being spoken of is Jon. A lot of fans like to attribute the title to his story because his parents are Stark and Targaryen, ice and fire. I don’t think it’s necessarily wrong to associate him with it, but I don’t think it’s the best explanation.

Honestly, I think the ice and fire itself might refer to the coming Others/dragons, or the Long Night / Red Comet. I actually prefer the latter because of the Frost poem, which I’ll get to in a minute. But we might think of the Others/dragons as the military generals representing the ice/fire sides.

Frost

“Fire and Ice” by Robert Frost is meant to have inspired the title of ASOIAF. Basically, it’s an incredibly short poem about how the world might end—in ice or in fire. Ice also gets associated with hatred, and fire with desire. The end is rather anticlimactic; Frost says either works for him.

The backstory is a little more interesting. According to Wikipedia, Frost was inspired by a conversation with the preeminent astronomer of the time about how the world might end. The answer? Either the sun will explode and take out Earth, or Earth will escape the explosion only to slowly freeze to death. Immediately upon reading this backstory, I thought of the red comet that appears in ASOIAF. The characters seem to think it’s a sign of something to come, some part of a prophesy. Instead, I wonder if we might think of it as the sun/fire in the Frost poem—the fiery force threatening Terros/Earthos.

Others have argued that “Fire and Ice” is a hyper-compressed version of Dante’s Inferno. As someone who digs the Inferno, I’m here for this. Again, check out the Wikipedia for the poem article for more details. The take away from this is that fire becomes associated with the sensual—lust, taste, greed. And as we descend further into hell, it gets colder and the sins become sins of the mind—reason and thought, hatred.

The takeaway? I think we need to read the title on multiple levels, the first primarily with the threats to Terros/Earthos itself. Then we ought to look to a second layer—the magical representatives of either form of destruction. Then perhaps a third—the other, human players, and how these players might align with the parts of the title.

The Waterstones Letter

I bring up the Waterstones’ Letter only to show that the series was already titled A Song of Ice and Fire when the original plot was still in play. And in that original plot, Martin describes the following:

“Arya will be more forgiving [of Jon’s inability to help the Starks]…until she realizes, with terror, that she has fallen in love with Jon, who is not only her half-brother but a man of the Night’s Watch, sword to celibacy. Their passion will continue to torment Jon and Arya throughout the trilogy, until the secret of Jon’s true parentage is finally revealed in the last book.”

At this point, we might say that the original plot is no longer in play. Things have changed in significant ways, certainly. I think the broad strokes are still there, to be honest, and people have written compelling meta on whether the Waterstones letter still holds water, as it were. I can still see a lot of the major plot points in what we have published currently, and I do believe that Jonrya could very well still happen.

For my purposes here though, we only need to agree that at the time of the title’s creation the story was deeply involved with a Jon/Arya(/Tyrion) romance plot / love triangle. From here, I’d like to address the third level of the title’s possible meaning: the human players and their roles.

Jon

I think the one thing fandom can happily agree upon is that Jon’s birth is the merger of ice and fire. The house sigils and associations prove that much. If we think about the bit in “Fire and Ice” where fire becomes associated with the passions and senses, and ice with hatred and reason, we might see further parallels between Rhaegar and Lyanna’s union.

Confession: I don’t think Rhaegar/Lyanna happened because of mutual love, and there lies my bias. That being said, I don’t think my bias colors this reading too significantly. In the reason/passion framing of the Rhaegar/Lyanna narrative, Rhaeger represents sins of the mind—obsession with prophecy, for one. He knows he needs a third head of the dragon, and he knows that another child would surely kill Elia. For her part, I think Lyanna was probably in love with Rhaegar’s sad eyes and handsome looks. I don’t think she really thought through anything. Hell, if she hated Robert for his infidelity, why would she become the other woman to Rhaegar/Elia? That doesn’t make sense. I’ll be generous here and say that Lyanna ran away for what she thought was love, rather than being kidnapped. If you’re willing to buy what I’m selling here, I think the parallels play out quite well.

Personally, I’m more apt to associate Jon with ice and fire in this manner than some of the others. That, on this very human level it works out, makes the rest fall into place for me. In this sense, perhaps Jon really is the ice and fire represented in the title. (In the narrative’s song of ice and fire that belongs to TPtwP, it’s a little harder for me to figure out because we don’t know if he was born around salt and smoke for one thing).

Arya and Jonrya

As @bloomray describes in her post, Arya also functions as a balance in the narrative. I’d also add to bloomray’s post that Arya is the product of a union between North and South—a union made as part of the Southron Conspiracy. The conspiracy also puts some important events into play, much like the union of Rhaegar and Lyanna. In this sense, the timing is ripe for a prophetic moment.

One thing I love about Arya’s name and the play with aria is that it’s antithetical to her character; she’s not a lady and does not like songs. Ned tells her that she’ll marry a king, etc, but baby Arya is very much anti-ladyship at the start of the story. Maybe she will marry a king. (Curious, also, that Ned says a king when the only king around is Bobby B and the crown prince is promised to Sansa. What’s up with that GRRM?). The point is that it’s contrast, but perhaps indicative of the role she might come to occupy in the future.

Now in terms of Jonrya, Arya is Jon’s everything. Literally just read any book chapter from Jon’s perspective for evidence. This theme of Jon and Arya’s relationship has continued through ADWD, which is why I believe the original endgame for them might still be in play. One of the key points in the Jonrya narrative is when Jon begins to break his oaths and take part in a war because of his sister. He can’t bear the thought of Arya in Ramsey Bolton’s bed. And he dies for it. And that death is going to be important, far more important than the show adaption would have us believe. Jon died for Arya, a girl named after a type of song. That love—and if you want to call it brotherly-sisterly affection, whatever—but that love is what will set Jon on a path to save the world.

I don’t think it’s too extreme to think that Jonrya’s love is what truly allows the song of ice and fire to come to fruition in later books.

Will they live? Who knows.

But their love is life changing.

In the end, I don’t actually believe that every little thing I’ve written here is even realistic for GRRM to have thought of. That’s not really how writing works. But I do think there can be some truth to it in broad strokes, and half the fun of meta and theory building is working with the source material like this. If you made it this far, thanks for entertaining my ideas.

#suppleassin #jonrya #jonrya meta #arya stark meta #jon snow meta #bloomray #asoiaf meta #my asoiaf meta

86 notes · View notes

fanfic-from-a-67-impala · 7 years

Text

A Supernatural x Reader Story Chapter Eighteen: The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo, Part Two

Word count: 3292

(You can also read it on Wattpad here)

Master Post

Fifteen minutes later, you are peering through the window at Charlie, who sits in her cubicle, staring intently at her computer, the light flickering on her face with the changing screen. The entire time, you pace the small platform, running your fingers along your pendant as you wait for her to finish and get the hell out of the building.

In the corner of your eye, near the building's entrance, you see movement. When you glance down, you see a man in a suit with a cell phone to his ear and a familiar face you've only seen on screens striding toward the entrance.

Being in plain sight with nowhere to hide, you can only stay still, hoping not to draw Dick's attention. Thankfully, his wide eyes never deviate from the path straight ahead as he asks questions about a package at an airport.

As soon as he passes the threshold and you are no longer in his range of sight, you pull out your phone and dial Charlie's number.

"Miss me already?" she answers.

"Charlie," you plead. "Finish what you're doing and get out of there."

"What?" she asks. "Why?"

"Dick is here," you explain, "and I'm guessing finding out whatever's on that drive is the first thing on his to-do list."

"What do I do?" she asks, panic beginning to set into her voice.

"Breathe," you say, trying to keep the panic out of our own voice. "Listen to me – there's no time to run. You're going to take the drive, and you're going to hide until he leaves. Can you do that?"

"Uh... maybe? I –"

Her line goes silent and your heart beats so hard that you can hear it. "Charlie?"

"I think I heard something," she whispers before the line goes silent again, and then you hear the end call tone.

Slowly, you inch back toward the glass so you can see her, and nearly fall off the edge in shock when you see Dick already standing in front of her.

Words are exchanged between them, and she turns around to plug the drive back into her computer and show him what she found.

It is then that you hear the sweet sound of an old engine pulling into the parking lot. You begin to climb down the stories of the building. In your eagerness, your hand slips on the second floor before you can get a grip on the rope and the back of your head hits the pavement.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

You are snapped back into consciousness by the sound of glass crashing to the ground. You feel the impact of the fall everywhere, from the back of your head to your elbows to your heels. You lift your throbbing head and grip the back of it to find your hand covered in something sticky that you don't bother to check.

The shock keeps you on the ground for a moment before you realize you don't have time to be in shock. You rise to your feet, ignoring the pounding headache that you know will only get worse, and find that the crashing sound was the double doors of the building's entrance shattering and falling to the ground as the boys burst through them.

For a moment, there is no sound, then Charlie's panicked voice. "Dean, he's one of them!"

It is her cry that throws your legs into a sprint toward the door. By the time you reach them, two of the leviathans are on the ground, one unconscious and one screaming in pain, the burn from the Borax emitting a yellow smoke. Sam has scooped up a pained-looking Charlie in his arms.

"That would explain it," Dick says to Charlie. "You're hanging with the wrong crowd, kiddo."

The boys begin to step back as Dick steps forward until an invisible force flings him backward into a pillar, leaving the rest of you to stare in anticipation.

Bobby.

"All right, enough!" Dick yells, sitting upright. "Show yourself. Let's do this like real monsters."

It takes a while for you to register that the "monster" he is talking to is Bobby. You cannot fathom that he is now a ghost, a vengeful spirit. A thing to hunt.

"Come on," you distantly hear Sam call to you and Dean, but it is enough to snap you back to reality, and you follow the boys to the car.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

"Why didn't you kill him?" Charlie questions from the back seat of the boys' stolen car on the way to a hospital on the other side of the city. She sits with one arm wrapped around the other broken one, her red hair a tangled mess and her green eyes wide in distress.

You're hanging with the wrong crowd.

Dick's words echo through your thoughts. If you had heard that about the boys four years ago, you wouldn't have given it a second thought before disregarding it. But now, a considerable amount of doubt lingers for hours after. Sam and Dean have always been the "good guys." The ones who kept people safe and stopped "bad guys" like Dick. But the Sam and Dean you know wouldn't have dragged an innocent girl like Charlie into this mess. They wouldn't have sent her into the building full of leviathans to hack into an email account.

"We can't yet," Sam says. "But we will."

She lets out a sigh that only you can hear from the seat next to hers. "The really evil ones always need a special sword."

Dean shares a glance with you, then with Sam, before turning back to the road.

"Oh, okay," Charlie says faintly, her eyelids beginning to droop. "I'm going to pass out now."

You lift your hands as she adjusts her position to lay on her side with her head in your lap. You let one of your hands fall into hers, and you feel her lean into you.

Until you get to the hospital, this position shifts only briefly when Dean stops at the apartment so you can pack a few things. You walk back down to the car, a bag in each hand, and slide back into your seat, the weight of her head back on your lap.

With your free hand, you reach to the back of your head, which still aches from the fall, and gently press the area where you thought you felt blood. The unexpected jolt of pain makes you wince.

"(Y/N)?" Dean says, looking at you through the rearview mirror, as if asking what is wrong.

You drop your hand. "It was stupid," you try to brush it off. "I fell when I was trying to climb down."

"You should get it checked out when we get to the hospital," he says.

"It's nothing," you assure him, though you wouldn't trust your own voice. "I just need a shower."

You pull your eyes away from his, tying your hair back to hide the blood for good measure.

After an hour of uncomfortable silence and avoiding Dean's eyes, he pulls into the emergency room of an ancient-looking, white brick-lain medical center in eastern Chicago.

You and the boys end up in the otherwise empty waiting room, each with a weak Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand, as Charlie gets her arm in a cast.

"You going to tell us what happened?" Dean asks, breaking the silence.

You have been dreading this conversation from the moment they stepped out of your bathroom, not because it is any crazier than they are used to, but because you are not entirely sure how you are alive either. You have an idea, but the details are still foggy.

Still, you decide, you owe them an explanation.

Sighing, you drag your chair so that it's turned around to face the boys and sit down, leaning forward, placing your elbows on your knees for support. You don't realize until then how tired you are.

"A few months ago, I was pulled out of the pit," you begin.

"By who?"

"Crowley."

The shift in their attention is apparent at the mention of a name you know they recognize, and not favorably.

"He told me that he was going to send me back to earth," you continue, "and that I was to find you two, and kill you. Said I was the only one who could get close enough."

Sam furrows his brows and tilts his head slightly in confusion while Dean uncrosses his arms and leans forward, tensing as if he may need to defend himself. You don't have the energy to fight the instinct to lean back when he comes nearer, raising a different glance of suspicion from him.

"I told him he could take his deal and shove it up his ass," you say, trying to change the subject from the eye conversation you were having with Dean. "And he told me that it wasn't a deal, it was an order, and he sent me up anyway. It hurt like hell, worse than the first three Segments combined."

"'Segments'?" Dean asks.

You shoot him a questioning look, wondering how he could not know, then remembering. "Of Hell," you clarify. "The Rack is only the first Segment," you explain. "There are six."

"Like circles?" Sam asks, "in Dante's Inferno."

"Not so much," you say. "More like Hell is one big circle and each soul rotates through the pie slices of the circle, the Segments. Once they reach a sort of equivalent of death, a breaking point, they move onto the next Segment."

"What were they like?" Dean asks, and you can see the flashbacks running through his eyes. "The others?"

You almost tell him no and spare him the stories that will only cause him pain, but you know it would only leave him imagining the worst and decide to recount the memories anyway.

"The second section was the worst," you recollect, "for me, anyway. You're sent back to earth, but not really you, just your spirit, and you're forced to watch everyone you've left behind. The object is that you feel every terrible, gut-wrenching, broken feeling that everyone you love feels. Every scrape and bruise and loss, I felt it."

The gears in their brains turn as you imagine they try to figure out when it was that you were watching, feeling.

"The last thing I remember from that Segment, my breaking point," you try to fill in the blanks, "was the night you tried to kill Lucifer with the Colt. Ellen and Jo... That was real, wasn't it?"

Dean's eyes dart down but Sam's do not leave yours as he nods, giving you the answer you were dreading, but the one you needed, the one you knew.

"The next two segments are pretty biblical," you explain. "The Lake, the 'fiery lake of burning sulfur' – exactly what is sounds like. And the 'blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth' – that's where they sic the hellhounds on you."

Fire reflects underneath your eyelids, screams and low growls echo through your ears, and you use all of your strength to push it back, turning away for a second.

When you look back up at the boys, they are staring at you expectantly.

"Hmm?" you ask, obviously having missed something.

"What happens when you get through all of them?" Sam asks, not like a question, but like he knows the answer.

"You go around the circle again," you answer anyway. "Or at least that's what I've heard. I hadn't gotten past the Furnace yet."

When you glance over at him, Dean is still looking at you like something is on the tip of his tongue, but he can't quite grasp it.

"Anyway, I woke up in the middle of this small town in Illinois," you continue. "Hitchhiked to Chicago, got a job, met Charlie. Never looked back until I heard about a few disappearances in the area. Something about it just didn't seem routine, so I did some research. And now we've got an army of unkillable shape-shifting people-eating monsters trying to take over the world."

The boys both nod in agreement with your frustrated tone.

"Well, I'm going to get a refill," Dean says, coffee cup in hand as he stands. As he walks to the door, he gives you a pointed look, gesturing to Sam, whose head rests in his hands in exhaustion. Talk to him.

You give Dean the slightest of reluctant nods and he leaves, the air becoming thick with tension as soon as the door swings closed behind him.

"Sam," you find yourself saying aloud before you can stop and find that you are at a loss for words.

To your horror, he looks up at you, with tired, unreadable eyes, expecting you to say something.

How could you apologize for something so horrible, for not only leaving him, but for not giving him a fair warning over the course of a year? Would it even be worth it? Would he ever forgive you?

"I..." You take a second to swallow the lump in your throat and blink back the tears that prick your eyes. "You were dead. I did what I had to do – Dean and I both did. And if you died tomorrow, I'd sell my soul a thousand times over, and I won't apologize for it."

You look up at him now, into those eyes that seem to never end, that make you want to laugh and cry and disappear all at once, that know when there is something you need to say and are always there to listen.

"But it never should have gone down that way," you continue, eyes still locked with his. "I should have been straight with you, and we should have figured it out together. And for that, I am sorry."

For what seems like hours, you are left in suspense as you stare into his unreadable eyes, so serious that you can't tell if they are full of anger or understanding.

"Look, (Y/N)," Sam begins, "I was upset with you for a while. I'd thought that if Dean were going to die, at least... You were family – are family. I wasn't prepared to lose you both. But I get why you hid it from me. I would have killed myself trying to get you two out of that deal if I knew."

You cross the space you've made between you two and re-position yourself in the seat next to him.

"You're always going to be a big sister to me, (Y/N)," he continues, craning his neck to meet your eyes again, "and I know you were only doing what you always do, trying to protect me."

Relief washes over you in waves, each one stronger as you realize that his understanding, his forgiveness, is not a dream. Finally, exhausted with nothing more to say, you lean over and rest your still-aching head on his shoulder and feel him lean his head on yours, and you both get a few minutes of rest before Dean walks back through the doors, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand.

Soon after, the door of the exam room creaks open and reveals a tall man in a white lab coat and scrubs leading through the door a relieved-looking Charlie, her arm in a sling and exhaustion on her face.

"Let's get out of here," she says.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

The scent of exhaust fumes clouds the bus station air. Charlie wraps her unbroken arm around your waist while yours rests across her shoulders protectively as you walk to the bus you are both meant to take, the boys following close behind.

Only a few paces from the bus, you break away from each other.

"I left your dumb flask on the backseat, by the way," she calls to Dean. "Worst good-luck charm ever."

She turns around and he hands her her duffel bag.

"So, listen," Sam begins to tell her, "we can't thank you enough."

"Actually, you can," she says. "Never contact me again. Like, ever. Deal?"

She holds out her left hand to Sam, which he shakes, chuckling. "Deal."

"Keep your head down out there, okay?" Dean warns her.

"This ain't the first time I've disappeared," she shrugs. "You think my name is really Charlie Bradbury?"

She turns to you then, or so you see out of the corner of your eye because you haven't taken your eyes off the boys since you turned around. How could you leave them again, after everything you have been through with them? And how could you let them save the world alone again?

They look to you, eyes expectant, and you dart your own eyes down, knowing you've already made a decision. You look back up to your side.

"Charlie," you begin, hearing the guilt in your own voice.

She sighs, nods, and pulls you into a hug. "I know."

For the last precious seconds, you hang onto her, breathing in her orange-shampoo scent over the exhaust fumes.

"You going to be okay?" you ask as you pull away. You know she will be, but you can't tell her you will miss her without the tears that have formed in your eyes springing out and streaming down your cheeks.

They do anyway, when she tells you she loves you, and you can barely choke out the same because of the lump in your throat.

You see that she has tears in her eyes also before she leans in to press her lips to yours for a few short seconds, then pulls away.

"So," she says, turning to address the boys as well, "good luck saving to world. Peace out, bitches."

Your eyes follow her as she hands her bag to the operator and steps onto the bus. You squint to see her silhouette through the tinted windows, but lose her as soon as she turns to sit down.

"She's kind of like the little sister I never wanted," Dean comments.

Sam chuckles lightly, but it soon fades. "You okay, (Y/N)?" he asks.

"Fine," you say quickly, wiping the tears from your cheeks before turning back to them.

They look like they don't really believe you, but they both play along.

"Then, we have to talk," Sam says, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket as they always do when he has something difficult to say. "Bobby..."

"I know," you say, and he looks relieved, but sympathetic. "He's holding onto that flask, isn't he?"

They nod.

"What are we going to do about him?"

Sam sighs. "We can't let him stay like this," he speculates. "What happened in that lobby..."

"If I had a free shot," Dean argues, "I'd have bitch-slapped the hell out of Dick."

"Yeah," Sam says, "but, I mean, Charlie got her freaking arm broken."

"He didn't mean to do it," Dean insists.

"Exactly. He's not in control, not about Dick," Sam remarks. "That was vengeful spirit crap."

"I know," Dean concedes. "But it's still Bobby." He looks to you for support.

You have to clear your throat to get the words out. "Sam's right, Dean," you sigh. "You know I love him, but if we don't stop him, someone's going to get hurt, and some other hunter's going to come along and do it."

"I know," he repeats, trying to cover up the sadness in his eyes with focus. "Look, let's just figure out what that thing we stole is, and then we'll figure out what the hell to do with Bobby."

With that and a shrug, he brushes past you and Sam to the parking lot, leaving the two of you to give each other a look, and then to follow him to the car.

#Supernatural #SupernaturalxReader #Supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #A Supernatural x Reader Story #series #writing is hard #crimson and clover #wlw reader

4 notes · View notes

jam2289 · 5 years

Text

Ideas from the Last Few Months - Part 1 of ?

Ideas for narratives are always coming to me. Stories are the underlying structure of our psychologies and our societies. Sometimes I write these ideas down. Here are a few. (Get ready, it will seem fast and chaotic.)

I like the idea of human clay. I like the Creed songs about human clay, I like the myth of the golem formed from clay as presented in Terry Pratchett's book series "Discworld", I like the story of Prometheus forming man from clay. I think it could be tied into the Adam, Eve, and Lilith story too. I like when they used the idea in the tv show "Warehouse 13". It just seems like more could be done with it.

I like the idea of the sands of time. What if there was an epic quest or battle for the sands of time, but then the sands of time did nothing? That happens with goals and attainments a lot, they are hard to achieve and then they're a let down once achieved. I had that experience with mountain climbing years ago. Now, I always have some value that I'm pursuing in the future so that the feeling of an existential vacuum never encroaches on my psyche, but it's still an important human experience.

What if you have a failed hero that is resurrected? He seeks to redeem himself, but he fails again. That could be a great tragedy. Then, the failed hero is redeemed and possibly resurrected by a successful hero that his failed struggle inspired. Then it's a powerful story about repeated failure, the value of fighting the good fight even if you lose, and a story of redemption and triumph. It sounds epic.

The ancient Egyptian god Isis as a heroine that saves her husband.

What if dragon flames didn't burn heroes, what if the dragon flames shrunk people? A hero is shrunken and eaten by the dragon. Inside of the dragon's belly he finds a group of other heroes playing a game of cards on a shield. He rallies these failed heroes and leads them to a victory in which they are redeemed and resurrected. That seems like an epic children's story.

What about the heroes encounter with the hero?

The Humpty Dumpty problem. That's a tiny story that can be so powerful. I think I could expand on that in interesting ways.

Many authors like to start a story by drawing the map first. "Treasure Island" by Robert Louis Stevenson famously started that way. What about taking the "Atlas of World History" and using the maps as jumping off points for stories? You can make them set in our world, or completely change things for a fantasy setting.

There are old maps of the earth from the ancient world that are quite different than our modern ones. Those could be great settings for stories. I like the one where there are four rivers that emanate from one point in the south.

Moon cycles are interesting. What about a moon cycle curse connected to a bracelet or something?

I wrote a four word story once. There is an article on my blog about it. I could hold a photo, drawing, or painting contest and include the images in a book along with an essay about how closure works in narratives.

I created what I termed a Killer Pacman a couple of decades ago as a doodle on schoolwork. That creature has now morphed into the Butterfly Monster over the last two years of teaching English online to kids in China. I also created a Butterfly Fairy and an enchanted Butterfly Forest. I was even thinking about doing the pictures myself for some children's books. It would be cool to get a real artist to do the same pictures and juxtapose them with mine in a book.

What if there was a Time Capsule Society that was seeking to send a person into the future, a human time capsule? If you travel the speed of light you don't age, meaning you can essentially travel forward in time. Interesting.

What if we combine the Philip K. Dick story of Autofac with the DARPA Eatr bots? Autofac is an automated factory that doesn't need any humans to run, it does the entire process from finding natural resources to producing things and repairing itself. Eatr bots are military walking drones that are designed to eat biological energy sources to fuel themselves. Essentially, they could shoot and then eat people to keep going. A system like that could actually conquer the world. Classic science fiction dystopia, but better, because we actually have the technology.

A kid in middle school notices that socks are disappearing. It's becoming harder and harder to find a pair that match. Is there a monster behind this Sockpocalypse?

A funny of satire where there is a world of peace and prosperity and our minor problems are their major problems. Utopia World Problems.

Restorative justice is promising. It's about the injuring and injured parties agreeing to restitution through any reasonable means. These are stories of the fall, transformation, and redemption.

Would it be fun to tell the mythical story of dragons creating man from clay and fire? I think it would. Prometheus the dragon? Maybe. What if all of the Greek gods were dragons? And all of the Titans too? What if angels were dragons? Angles as dragons with ancient Titan names and myths? Interesting. I am intrigued by all of that.

Sometimes our motivations are just surface motivations. Sometimes our underlying motivations are hidden even from ourselves. Then, when you achieve what you were aiming at you realize that it wasn't what you really wanted. That theme is explored a bit in the show "Wayne".

Using a third person point of view to introduce another character through some specific incident, and then switching to the close third person point of view for the protagonist from there on is interesting. Ursula K. Le Guin did this in one of the "Earthsea Cycle" books.

Can I integrate the novel and the graphic novel? I saw this partially done by a girl named Lily that is about 10 years old and it was thought provoking.

What if a comet hit earth and created hell? Pushed up Antarctica as the mountain of purgatory with the four rivers of the world flowing from it. This is Dante's version of the world.

I like the idea of blood as ink. Maybe there is magical ink blood that when harvested can be used to make magical books.

In the ancient Greek afterlife the heroes went to Elysium, most people went to the grey fields of Asphodel, some people went to the fields of Punishment, and the worst beings went to the black depths of Tartarus. What if the heroes in Elysium were bored, recruited the wandering masses in Asphodel, freed the prisoners from the fields of Punishment, and attacked Tartarus. Could be epic.

Beowulf is an old and odd story about a Viking fighting a monster. A weird modern take on it is "The 13th Warrior" movie with Antonio Banderas, based on a book by Michael Crichton, "Eaters of the Dead". What if the monsters were actual Eatrs, the robot made by DARPA that can consume bodies to fuel itself on the battlefield?

What would have to happen to you for you to become a bad person? What about the reverse process? These are interesting thought experiments. Psychologist Jordan Peterson talks about how useful these can be. It's also an intriguing idea to explore in literary form.

Many stories have been told about self-fulfilling prophecies, where a prediction makes people act in a way that brings about the prediction. It's still a great idea.

Here's a note I left for myself that I don't fully understand: "once and future king, arthur, Community, my IQ, billionaires rise and fall and rise again". I understand it a bit. It's about the fact that so many stories are about being in a good state, losing that good state, and then the struggle to restore the previous good state. Because I have bones pressing on my brainstem I have experienced that struggle with my IQ, that's why that's in there. The tv show "Community" also follows that structure in a sitcom format. King Arthur is that story. A number of billionaires have lost everything, and then made it back again.

Resentment is the murderer's muse. What if we personify it as something like a muse sitting on the shoulder? Creepy!

What if Obscurity was a demon that followed people around and made sure that they weren't noticed?

In a general sense, everyone is seeking the promised land in life. That can take many forms. Sin is missing the mark. I don't know where I'm going with that, but it might be something.

The philosopher and professor Susan Wolf wrote a book titled "Meaning in Life and Why It Matters". I think she comes to some bad and dangerous conclusions in that book. I would like to write a commentary taking apart each piece of it.

One of my most liked articles and speeches ever is about great first lines in fiction. I thought it was an interesting topic, but people were more interested than I thought they would be. It might be fun to write a book going through a bunch of first lines from books that I like, and don't like, and analyzing them.

Since I write and speak about grief, I could probably explore grief in a narrative structure. That might not be fun to write though, so I might not do that.

What if the mark of Cain was like the lives in a video game, and Cain then was able to have seven lives and die seven times? This is for all of his descendants. There could be some odd adventures and psychologies there.

That's less than half of my most recent ideas. I'll cover more next time.

________________________________________________

You can find more of what I'm doing at http://www.JeffreyAlexanderMartin.com

0 notes

zenithlux · 4 years

Text

Cadence Update - CH 25

Catch up on the full story here!

One soul's cry, A passion dwelling within Sacrifice, A final plea to her kin Yet this bond of hope, by treachery was broke Scattering her words to the wind

Dragonsong - Final Fantasy 14

---------------

At first, Kuro’s lessons were simple and mundane, yet Vergil found that they weren’t altogether unpleasant. He had always enjoyed learning, even as a child. And, surprisingly, Kuro was very forthcoming. Every question Vergil asked was answered without hesitation or scorn. It was clear that the dragon wanted him to learn. He wanted Vergil to absorb as much information as possible, though Vergil still didn’t quite understand why.

That, however, was a question for another time.

“Your feelings toward her will change,” Kuro said after a rather lengthy conversation on the logistics of summoning oneself without stealing Roxy’s power. It was actually a simple concept; find a less powerful form that doesn’t tax her, and Vergil would be able to summon himself whenever he wanted. He assumed as long as he didn’t trigger, he’d be fine.

“How so?”

“A pact binds two souls into one entity,” Kuro said. “You will still be yourself, of course. And you will be able to break the pact once all of this is over. But as long as it is active, your biggest concern will be her.” The dragon sat back as his eyes drifted to the sky. “It’s difficult to explain without experience, but it is vastly different than the feelings humans have towards each other.”

“My human half may not feel it.”

“You will,” Kuro said. “Every familiar does.”

That did explain why his own familiars had been so willing to throw themselves in harm's way to protect him. Most demons were compelled to protect themselves at any cost. But Shadow in particular had always been there, manifesting in any way she could to ward off other demons. Vergil had assumed it was simply her nature. He hadn’t realized how close their bond actually was.

“Strong familiars have what Roxy and I call a ‘mindscape’”

Vergil blinked as his mind caught up to the change in conversation. “A mindscape?”

“It’s a place that familiars like us can retreat to. Because our souls are much stronger, we require actual space around our summoner’s soul. Other familiars like Aki simply go to sleep when they disappear. It won’t be that simple for you.”

“So I’ll have my own home within her mind?”

Kuro nodded. “Should you spend an extended time with her, you’ll learn how to bend it to your will without affecting her own consciousness. It’s a delicate balance of power between both souls. The better you control your mindscape, the better you control the flow of energy between you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“It will take time to undo the pact no matter what happens,” Kuro said. “Your presence alone will put extreme pressure on her soul, especially if you are sharing the space with myself.”

Vergil paused, carefully considering his next question. “Is there a chance the pact could kill her?”

Kuro was silent for so long that Vergil wondered if he’d even heard the question. But when the dragon did speak, it was the softest Vergil had ever heard him. “Your strength is remarkable, but the power of the Qliphoth fruit was never meant for a human. You tolerate it because of your lineage, but it could overwhelm her the moment your souls connect.”

Vergil’s heart fell as he glanced at the cottage. The thought of losing her… because of his foolish pursuit for power…

“She is strong, Vergil,” Kuro said. “And you hold no ill-will toward her. As long as you genuinely wish to protect her, your soul will intervene.”

“Can I heal her?”

Kuro paused again. This time, however, he looked genuinely perplexed, as if the question hadn’t even crossed his mind. Odd. Vergil assumed that would be one of the most important things for him to learn. “It will take time,” The dragon said slowly. “You will have to learn where to channel your energy, but with practice, I believe you can. However, you shouldn’t have to.”

“Prepare for the worst, right?”

“Indeed.” He raised his head. “It’s time.”

Vergil glanced over to see a small, blue portal snap open. His eyes widened as Nero was the one to step out first, followed by a stunned Nico and annoyed Dia. “Roxanna!” The demoness yelled. Roxy appeared at the front door almost immediately, and Vergil wondered how long she’d been listening to their conversation.

“Did you figure it out?”

Nico beamed as she held out a sheathed sword in Roxy’s direction. While it wouldn’t compare to Yamato (what would, honestly?), Vergil was rather impressed. The sheath was dark blue with swirls of a lighter blue that looked like ice wrapped around the blade. A ribbon hung near the hilt with two snowflakes dangling off the ends. The hilt itself was wrapped identically to Yamato, but with a mix of blues like the sheath itself. When Roxy gently drew the blade, Vergil could tell that the blade was as sharp as a human could make it. “It’s perfect,” Roxy said with a smile.

“I went with the ice theme since I figured you might want to use it after all of this is over.” Nico laughed as she glanced at Vergil. “Assuming V-man’s up to teach ya.”

Roxy blushed, and it only darkened when Vergil nodded. Dia snorted. “You can deal with that another time.”

“Right.” Roxy clicked the blade back into its place and moved to Vergil’s side. “Are you ready?”

After a deep breath, Vergil stood and reached for the blade. “I am.”

“Are we sure about this?” Nero said.

“We don’t have any other choice,” Vergil said. “Where’s Dante?”

“He stayed with Kyrie and the others,” Nero rubbed the back of his neck. “We weren’t letting Nico go alone,” he glanced at Dia. “No offense.” The demoness huffed, but didn’t say anything else. “I just… Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” Vergil said. “I can do this, Nero.”

“I’m not concerned about that.”

“Then what…?”

“What if you have to stay with her?” Nero said. “Are you… okay with that?”

“I was staying with her anyway.”

Nero scowled. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, Nero,” Vergil said. “I know what I’m getting into, and I’m ready to accept the possibility.” After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and rested his hand on Nero’s shoulder. The younger devil-hunter froze, eyes wide, but didn’t pull away. “This will work, Nero. I promise.”

Finally, Nero nodded. “Alright. Just be careful.”

Vergil nodded and moved back to Roxy’s side. Kuro moved toward them, his tail wrapping at Roxy’s feet. She looked up at him with a smile and patted his scales in encouragement. “Everything is going to be fine.”

He looked down at her with a reverence Vergil hadn’t seen before. “I know.” He leaned forward and breathed a soft breath of ice onto the sword. It glowed a bright blue, and the image of snowflakes remained on the blade as the dragon pulled away. “Take good care of it.”

Roxy grinned as she turned back to Vergil and held the sword out toward him. “Every pact begins with a promise,” She said “So, Vergil. What do you ask of me?”

Even though Kuro had prepared him for such a question, Vergil still took his time. If he did have to stay with her for an extended period, then this promise was the most important part. They needed this connection to work for as long as it took to erase Mundus’ hold on him. These promises had to mean something, and Vergil refused to waste it. ��Don’t let me fall to him,” he said. “No matter what happens, I entrust my soul to you.”

She intertwined their fingers and nodded. “And what do you promise me?”

After another quiet and purposeful pause, Vergil lowered his voice and said, “I promise to protect you.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb, earning a soft blush as her gaze remained on his. “No matter what dangers we face or what demons we have to fight, I will remain by your side.” Her lips parted in something akin to surprise, but it quickly shifted into a gentle smile.

“Thank you,” she said as she held Nico’s sword out between them. A flicker of blue light pulsed from the weapon. It slithered up her arm, reappearing as veins of blue along her cheeks. Her eyes turned a deep shade of blue for a brief moment, but it vanished when she blinked. The energy retreated, and Vergil wondered if he would get to see the marks their pact would give her. Would it be something unassuming to signify its temporary nature? Would it be as lavish as the ones his own familiars gave him? Something in between?

“With these promises,” She whispered. “Our pact is sealed.”

Vergil gasped in surprise as energy slammed against his chest. Electricity pulsed through every fiber of his being, seizing his muscles and locking him in place. The veins of blue light returned to Roxy’s skin as she closed her eyes. Vergil heard Nero’s voice somewhere over everything, but between whatever was happening and Dia’s loud ‘hush, child’, Vergil couldn’t guess what his son had said. Instead, his world was entirely focused on Roxy.

At that moment, he finally understood what Kuro had been trying to tell him. She was his everything. As long as this pact existed, his life didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her.

That should have scared him. It would have terrified a much younger him. But Vergil was relieved. This was finally the purpose he had been looking for. Something much stronger than a simple caretaking job. It didn’t matter how long their pact lasted; Vergil would not forget this feeling.

Then, everything snapped.

Roxy gasped in shock. Her eyes snapped open, and Vergil was startled at how blue they were. Then, he realized that Kuro was howling; a horrible screech that vibrated the world itself. Beside them, the dragon collapsed on his side, head slamming at Roxy’s feet. Vergil barely caught her before she dropped with a scream. Nero was by their side in an instant, but cursed as a spark of energy shocked him when he reached for Vergil. “What happened?” Vergil said as his gaze moved to Kuro. Roxy crumbled in Vergil’s arms.

No.

There, buried deep in Kuro’s chest, was Yamato.

Laughter erupted around them. Vergil’s eyes jerked to the trees where a man somewhere around his age stood, arms crossed as he stared down at them. Except Vergil knew immediately that this purple haired, dark skinned, and slightly scaled person was not a human at all. Archdemon. “My master was curious, Son of Sparda,”

“You did this.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “My brother has been a nuisance for far too long. Split him from his host and he has nothing left.” A blast of ice struck the tree, but the demon didn’t move. “Pitiful as usual.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Kuro hissed, his breaths heavy as he struggled and failed to stand.

“Of course,” He said. “I’ve forced Nelo here to make a choice.” He tilted his head with a wide, predatory grin. “Save the girl, or reclaim his power.”

What?

“Better hurry…”

Then, Roxy’s heart stopped.

Panic surged through Vergil as his gaze shot to hers. She wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing. Her eyes and mouth were wide open, but there was no life in them. Kuro’s head shifted beside them, but Vergil could see the pain in every move the dragon made. “Vergil,” He said. “Please,” His head flopped back to the side, shaking the ground. “Take my power… save her…” Blood pooled around them. Roxy’s face paled. Her heart was still silent. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” When his claw raised, Vergil understood.

Take his power and the sword, his own demon whispered. Abandon the girl… without her, you’ll be invincible.

V’s voice scoffed. If you need me to tell you what to do, then you’ve already failed.

Power is all you’ve ever wanted.

But now you’ve found something so much more.

“Her heart,” Vergil whispered. “You’re fueling her heart.”

“Her heart is my own,” Kuro said. “She needs a demon who can keep it beating… we’re running out of time.”

Without a second of hesitation, Vergil said, “Do it,”

He knew what was coming.

He knew it would hurt.

But even he wasn’t prepared for the agony he felt when Kuro’s claw plunged through his chest.

A terrible burning sensation ripped through his body and nearly overwhelmed him in an instant. After that was the agony from the stabbing itself. He felt his body tear. He felt it rush to try and heal even though there was no room to do so. He couldn't breathe. He could barely think. It felt like his body was disintegrating on the spot as its pieces were torn into another world entirely.

It was the most excruciating pain he’d ever felt, yet all he could think about was her.

“Hold on, Roxy,” He reached for her through the agony. “Hold on.”

Then, he plummeted into darkness.

#zenni-writes #cadence #update #dmc #fan fiction #vergil #nero #vergilxoc #vergilxroxy #familiars lore #post-DMC5

5 notes · View notes