#myself. alive though. i was reborn but i am still dead in a way

[tamaotomoe]

a (very) personal telling of feelings and thoughts i had the first time i saw this scene from the revue starlight movie.

before this scene i was. joyful? i felt mirth, excitement. i enjoyed and loved what i was watching, loved the little details and the grandiose presentation of it all. i consumed it. the flesh and blood and all the love that held together all this brilliance i was seeing, i sank my teeth deep and let myself ruminate on its taste. i could certainly feel the pure love that went into making this film. it was beautiful.

come “I don’t want to lose to you, Hikari!” and something within me just. it just went. whatever i had been thinking, it became nothing, i became nothing. that perfect little moment where i was just being. all i can remember is that it blinded me. something about me was bleeding but i did not feel pain. that brilliance blinded and pierced every bit of me. i think i died, in a sense. all i could see and hear and feel is that blinding brilliance and it killed something in me. i was shattered into pieces and stitched back together with the love in that flesh and blood i consumed.

i felt just as empty as karen did, in the scene after this. and when the whole movie ended, frankly. but it wasnt all bad. quite the opposite.

i suppose i too, was reborn.

[nvuy]

palingenesis — il capitano

summary. oh, to the gods, and to be reborn again from your rib.

notes. “nvuy do the corpse bride capitano fic” said about three people so i did it. is this actually corpse bride? no. do i care? also no. my halloween present that only certified freaks are allowed to read. capitano is geniunely not mentioned by his name or his status, so LOWKEY. you could read this as any male lead you want, i guess. but uh… it’s capitano. well. it’s supposed to be.

warnings. mentions of death. mentions of decay (but the khaenri’ah version of decay). capitano is literally a dead man walking. tangents about god and love. standard nvuy fic where everyone is miserable. angst if you squint.

“You used to love me for me, but I don’t even know what I am anymore.” 

There’s a small huff of laughter as you bring your knees to your chest. You wonder how he would react to you after all these years. You surely look different, and rot has set its teeth into your skin, and it morphs into his least favourite colour. 

You wonder briefly, if he would even remember you, was he to ever return. How childish.

You pick up a lone stick in the soil next to you and poke at the withered and abandoned white and yellow orchards surrounding the stone. 

His grave sits idly, silent. 

“I lost myself the day you died,” you admit. Your throat constricts for a moment and you struggle to breathe. “I had no idea what to do.” You lean against the tree stump, as you always do. “I still don’t.” 

His name is etched from many many centuries ago. Not by you, no. You hadn’t even attended the funeral, and to this day, you regretted it. Regret was a terrible ache that never quelled nor strayed too far from your heart. 

The flowers were dead now. You’d laid them here almost a hundred years ago. You hadn’t expected them to live, but the petals were now an ashy black, and the edges that used to be soft and rubbery were now crumbling like paper against your fingers. The petals fell to small pieces. 

The land was withering. Of course, the flowers would rot as well. 

“You’d hate what your home has become,” you tell him. “We’re all rotting. And it all hurts.” You grimace next, but almost playfully. “Everything is blue. You hate blue. You used to tell me it upset you.” You look down at your forearm, and the withering aches upon your skin. “Even I’m turning blue.” It’s more so black than it is blue, but whatever colour it may be, it scars and will never leave. It is your fate, as it is your people’s. 

The forest is quiet. 

His body was buried amongst his favourite orchard field, but those flowers are long gone now, and all that remains is the black and blue prickly grass that you sit in, and a stone with his name left in it. He is somewhere below the ground, his body long decayed and faded and given life to the soil that once grew the most beautiful greenery you’d ever seen. 

Not even that remained. 

“If you were alive, you’d… y’know…” You tilt your head. “You’d rot, too. And for that, I’m grateful you died with glory.” You stare out into the dead fields. “Though, I can’t help but be selfish. I think it would hurt less if you were here.” 

And there it is. 

You hum soundly. “Yeah… you made everything hurt less.” 

There’s a ring in your palm. It’s small, just large enough to slot nicely around the swell of your fourth finger, but the rot has dug into your flesh just enough that it doesn’t fit anymore. Not the way it used to. 

It’s beautiful, however. Silver with white and blue diamonds. He bestowed it to you one night, though it was significantly after his proposal. The proposal itself was… special. Not in a bad way — but in his way. He had been missing for several days after his army had been struck with an ambush. Only a few men had initially returned to seek refuge and aid from the city. 

It was only two months later, after the city had mourned the soldiers’ losses, that they had returned. Bloodied, battered, beaten, but they had returned. 

He’d spotted you that day when he’d ventured out alone to visit his favourite field of flowers. You were sitting amidst the orchards, because this was where he’d usually be. 

And by your wishes, he returned. 

“It’s you,” you heard him whisper. 

You’d never heard a more beautiful sound. 

You turned quickly and dropped the flower from your hands. The colour almost drained from your face before a newfound pleasantry blossomed across your cheeks. You smiled, and it’s the first time you’ve done so in months. “You’re alive.” 

You took a hesitant step forward, as if unsure if his body would crumble to dust the moment you touched him. 

You sobbed pathetically. You held his face, or what remained of it. “You’re here. I thought you–” 

“I am here.” 

You think it silly now, believing he was dead over and over again. Every time he departed he’d come after the expected arrival date, and even then you used to panic and flourish and do everything but accept he was really gone this time. 

And now. 

Now that he is gone, it only took you three-hundred and ninety-four years to accept it. The rest of those you were busy returning to his grave and retelling your day as if he was alive and listening. 

The few people that were left on this side of the city pitied you. Even the grand old Mage had whispered that you’d better off leaving the dead to sleep soundly before he’d left for Snezhnaya. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this, or what occurred afterward. 

You had asked the Mage, once, if necromancy was truly a thing possible. 

“I am sure, even if it was, living dead is worse than living alive,” he had told you one day. “The past is finished.” 

“Is it selfish to think this way?” 

He looked down at you, and there was pity in his glance. “Very.” You eyed the ring still captured around your finger. “But, love is selfish. To want one person for yourself. It is indulgent.” 

“I suppose,” you whispered. “But possession is beautiful.”

And it had been beautiful. 

Just you and him. 

It was hard to adapt. Still is, really. You forget him for days at a time, and then you remember, and then you return. You stop and stare at walls. You glance to where he would be standing if he was around; next to you, at the dinner table, on his side of the bed. You never truly made the bed your very own. It was his, once. 

Just as your heart was — you weren’t able to develop the courage to move onwards with your life, so you were trapped within purgatory; swindled in a void of pure blue, like his eyes. 

Because isn’t being someone’s everything so special? 

Especially someone like him. 

Someone so brave, and courteous, and gentle. 

You never deserved that, really. So it makes sense why he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared in your life. Unfairness. 

You look down at the ring again. 

“You would be mine?” he asked one day, laying beside you in the field. “If I asked?”

You stared up at the sky. “I already am.” 

That pulled a small puff of laughter from him, and he sat up. You followed shortly, facing him. “I have a ring. And a proposition.” 

Oh. You looked down on what he was offering you. 

“It is your burden to oblige, and it is your choice.” You couldn’t see his face clearly through his armour, but there was a flash of that awful treacherous blue he hated so much. “But, if you’ll have me, I will have you. In this life, you and I will be as one, and never apart again.” 

“That is a bold claim to make,” you told him. “There is no guarantee you will not die soon.” 

“To which I rephrase: even when I am gone and you still walk these plains, you will be mine, and I will be yours, and my love for you will blossom through the soil and bloom the flowers that you love so much.” 

You laugh gently. Such a stupid man. 

You want to crush the ring until it welds flat and unwearable. 

Marriage is a privilege to the blessed, and you’re far from it. You receive no watchful eye from the Gods; they don’t care. They killed everyone you ever knew, and loved, and shared this miserable life with. 

The jewel squeaks in its confines as you squeeze. 

Such a stupid ring. 

You breathe in shakily. Stupid, stupid fantasy. Stupid games. Stupid delusions and useless pining and all of this heartache was for nothing and–

How hard do you have to believe in love to love the same person for an eternity? How hard do you have to imagine a world where everything is perfect when what is foretold to be eternal dies with the soul and the flowers in the rot? 

How long do man and Gods have to continue fighting each other before they realise it is futile? Gods are not kind, man even less so. 

Beautiful rot and ruin. 

That’s the world. 

The crows that sing in the trees screech their awful song to mock you. 

So, you drop the ring. You abandon it right where he had abandoned you in the soil. The silver rolls along the stone until it comes to a stop on the cracks. 

And it sits. 

You consider picking it back up. 

You don’t. 

Instead, you stand and turn to leave. 

Fate is fickle, however. 

If you had picked the ring back up, perhaps none of this would’ve happened. 

The breeze hits hard behind you and it sends chills down your spine. 

You glance up. 

The crows are making awful noises again, and you grimace. Though the spindly trees are ugly, you find there’s nothing uglier than the sound of those birds. 

He rather liked them.  

You step away.

Something sharp scratches against your ankle and then twists, and you scream. 

It’s a branch of some sort, and it moves and wriggles like a worm when you free your foot from its grasp. It twitches as if it has not moved in years, as if the bones inside of it were finally coming to life. 

It retreats into the soil beside his grave. 

Then, nothing. 

Nothing moves. 

The crows still and quiet, and you feel as though you can’t find the energy or courage to breathe. Your ankle is covered in soil and scratches, and you’re sure from how weak it stands when you try to apply weight to it that it’s twisted at best and completely sprained at worst. 

The soil does not stir. 

Until it does.

A hand pops a hole through the ground, and it is as still as the branch was, twitching and writhing and feeling through the open air for leverage. 

A hand. A hand like yours—covered in rot and ruin, purple and blue, and the phalanges are swollen with wither and time.

You step back and bite your tongue. A wrist reveals itself next, consistent with blue and bruise, and it reaches until the bloodied terrible fingers squeeze the soil and begin to pull. The hand claws and claws and digs itself from the ground, fingernails dirtied and brown. 

You want to scream. 

Nobody would hear you all the way out here. 

An elbow. It climbs and climbs, revealing more rot and decay. It writhes as if in pain, and you don’t doubt it so. 

You swallow hard. 

A shoulder. Sides of the neck reveal itself through the soil, caked in mud and wear and tear. It’s other arm tears free from the ground. 

And then a face. 

A face unidentifiable and ruined. Sullied with rot and bruise and wear and fade and filth. Two horrific blue lights of sort cast through the pain and the shadow that shrouds its face, and it only prompts you to step back even further. 

To that, the creature leans forward as best it can to try and grab your ankle. It’s waist is stuck in the soil, and it tries to pull itself out, despite how weak it is. 

“It’s you…” the creature whispers. 

You can’t move. You don’t even blink. Your breathing only comes out in short pathetic bursts. 

You’re not sure what it is, but rot has completely disfigured it beyond recognition. It’s sickening to look at. It’s worse than anything you could ever comprehend, and you imagine one day that you will appear the same. 

It manages to free itself from the confines of the soil, though it cannot stand. It hasn’t done so in centuries, nd the feeling of moving limbs are foreign to it, being entrapped below the ground for so long. 

It tries again to reach for you. It’s fingers brush just shy of your foot.  

You swallow hard. “Who…” You feel as though you already know the answer. 

There’s a single eye that you barely recognise. Deep blue like violet satin robes. Darker than the dead blue spruce. Darker than the sky, and lighter than the depths of the ocean where the sun could not reach. 

You know him. 

You bite your tongue. 

Waves of black hair as deep as shadows drown you on both sides until the world has swallowed the two of you whole. 

“I’m yours,” he reminds. “Correct?” He raises the ring you let go of.

It is him. 

You fall to your knees in front of him despite the fear and nausea churning in your stomach. He almost leaps on top of you, but settles in front, hands reaching forward to rest on your legs. He has not felt the warmth of another person, or anything, for five-hundred years, and he only simply freezes at the feeling. 

You furrow your brows and try to control your breathing. You try to push him off to sit up, but he does not budge. 

“You kept my ring.”

Your fingers curl around what remains of his shoulders and he takes your hand. 

“It is you,” you whisper. “How’re you–” 

His old uniform he was buried in is caked in soil, and it’s covered you, as well. He does not bring himself off of the floor, but he leans back just enough to allow you to sit up. You feel you can’t turn to run just yet, and you’re not sure if you want to. 

You can’t steady your breathing. 

He cannot move his legs properly, and so while you freeze, he uses your corpse as leverage to climb further up and rest upon your shoulder. He is heavy, as heavy as a corpse is, but you find comfort in the weight, somewhere. 

“You look so different,” he comments. Rotten fingers come forth to graze the same textured remainders of true flesh across your cheek. “What has this world done to you?” 

“You died,” you say. His lips rest against your cheek and he hums. “I…” 

“I abandoned you.” 

“I grieved over you for five centuries,” you quickly finish. “You were alive this entire time in the ground?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I don’t think so. I feel as though time hasn’t moved at all. But it has.” He looks around, your face still in his hands. “This is the field.” 

You nod briskly. 

“Everything’s dead,” he comments. 

“It has been,” you reply. “For years.” You look elsewhere. “Everyone’s dead.” 

He holds you tight. “I left you in a world like this.” His hair is matted and disgusting, but you reach up and rest a hand on his crown. Guilt presses into his chest like a weight, and he wills himself to ignore it, despite how heavy it is. 

He is a corpse. A corpse. Like you. Like everyone that remains in this place. 

And he scares you. 

Despite how tight he holds you, you fear him. You feel for a moment you are hallucinating; this can’t be real. Your husband cannot spring from the soil and restate his love. Not like this. 

True death was incurable, and he had died many moons before the war in battle. He had sacrificed himself for victory and peace, only for it to end when the Archons set forth and destroyed your home. You still remember them, even if most of them were dead now. That Barbatos and Rex Lapis remained, despite everything, and you wanted them both dead in return. Dead and buried and never to return in the soil. 

“This isn’t real,” you whisper. 

“It is.” 

“No,” you try. “You died. You cannot reverse death.” 

“It is not reversed. I am still dead.” He wants to kiss you, but the fleeting warmth of your skin as you try to pull away and the soil and filth that rests upon his face shies you away with a flinch. “I can be yours again.” His fingers grace over the rot along your face. 

“It doesn’t make sense.” 

“I proposed that I would never part from you, and you I, even after death.” He holds the ring close to your face before he takes your hand. He rests it against your knuckles, perhaps admiring how the silver still shimmers against your skin. “It was a vow.” 

A vow, he says. Your face scrunches up in frustration. “I never married you.” 

“Marriage or not, the ring was a promise of my word, and you kept it all these years.” 

He takes your fingers gently before he parts them and slots the ring where it belongs. It nestles gently close to your knuckle and you swallow. Your finger felt strange without the piece, and wearing it again after only minutes satiated that discomfort. 

His face is… nothing you remember. 

His eyes are barely the same as they were before, and you turn away when he draws close again with a shaky breath.  

“Are you afraid of me?” He’d asked you that many years ago, many times. 

Even now, you feel the same. “Should I be?” You look out towards the dead fields, and you feel something cold bump against your cheek. 

His nose squishes against your skin when he kisses you close to your ear. “No.” 

It is only then through a gentle whisper and his lips do you muster the courage to look at him. He is so different. 

But, he’s still yours. 

“Are you the same man you were five-hundred years ago?” you ask him. 

He leans in as close as he can and his nose brushes against yours. His fingers lock tight around your hand and he squeezes; the silver ring imprints on your finger. 

He smiles, and you fall in love again. 

“I can be.” 

[perianth-nixie]

So... I've been thinking lately like I usually do. I usually try to stay on the rules of AU and many other stuff as closely as I can, to get 100% percent. I heard several times that I lack 'artistic freedom'.

This time I made a small decision to fck canon rules in D2 and go with my uncanon bullsh!t. Just... Keep going and less worry about rules.

I want more magic flower exo man. Thank you.

Small story (???) under keep reading.

I don’t remember much from this day.

Everything was wet. I was wet and NOT in this way. I was surrounded by water. When I emerged from this… pond, whatever this place was, I felt lost, disoriented.

However, in that place, in that pond, for a moment I felt safe, good with myself, even though I had no idea who I was or what I was. This ray of light. Some strange sign, I don't even know exactly what. It split the darkness, showing me the lush vegetation of this reservoir. It was a very nice place when I remember it. Unfortunately, I have no idea where it is.

If I had known what awaited me after leaving it, maybe I would have stayed in this place a little longer. Or forever.

You are reborn without your consent, you have to fit into the vision of others and be constantly under their judgment. Nobody cares about your opinion or will. Besides, what's the point of talking about your own opinion or will if you don't even know who you are. You have to live in this ugly world filled with pain and sadness. What is delicate and emotional is despised. All that matters is strength and having more and more of it. And for what purpose? To defend what is despised.

A strange paradox.

I still don't think I'm not fit to be a guardian. I still think it was some kind of mistake. Maybe my ghost made this mistake, maybe the Traveler. No one knows. Now I have to deal with the consequences of this choice myself.

Maybe everything would be easier if the dead me was still lying at the bottom of that pond.

But here I am. Alive. And I have to struggle with what this life has given me.

[endingboyhansel]

okay I have done something

concept for PJSekai x Evillious Second Collab

obviously all fanmade by me

may do lil card stories

UNITS

Hatsune Miku - Michaela

Card:

The Peasant of Green

“I wonder why humans are the way they are…”

Skill: The Call of the Forest

Conversations:

There is a girl I’ve met when I became a human. Her name is Clarith. And I cannot picture not being by her side anymore. She is truly one of the nicest people I have ever met.

There was a sorceress who turned me into a human. Before then I was a forest spirit. Even though I’ve spent time as a human, I still don’t understand many things…

I don’t believe you’ve met Master Freezis. He is a very welcoming man, and I’m glad to be in his employ. However his wife… I don’t understand her distrust of me.

Kagamine Rin - Rin Chan

Card:

The Princess-Like Diva

“Oh ho ho! Is that how it goes?”

Skill: Glance In A Mirror

Conversations:

My singing? Well I’ve always enjoyed singing, ever since I was at the orphanage. You should ignore those rumours about me lip synching. You know how people are.

Lemy… I heard he was adopted by the President. He must be having a life in luxury then. I wish I could say the same for myself. Well, if he’s happy, then I’m glad for him.

Oh ho ho ho! Now bow with me! No wait it was bow to me… getting the appearance of the infamous Daughter of Evil is difficult. Maybe I should ask Mr Corpa if I can buy a tea set for my performances.

Kagamine Len - Lemy Abelard

Card:

The Fifth Pierrot

“If only I hadn’t been reborn…”

Skill: Through a Ring of Fire

Conversations:

Haha! The jester strikes again! May the town feel fear at the hands of the Fifth Pierrot! Yes, I think that’s fearsome enough! Wait until I tell Miss Santa!

Some time ago, I was saved by the former Fifth Pierrot. He was wearing an extremely impressive clown suit. I wonder if I’ll be as famous as him one day!

Pére Noël is an organisation with less main members than the public would probably think. Only a few are used for any… real purpose. Like Sixth Venom for example. He only does chores.

MEIKO - Julia Abelard

Card:

The Bewitching Sorceress

“The world… it is full of mistakes.”

Skill: The Mother of Malice

Conversations:

Of course I can manage the next speech. I am after all the president of Elphegort. I have the draft written and I’d be happy to show it. Please, take a seat.

KAITO - Kaspar Blankenheim

Card:

The Doomed Marquis

“I barely remember any childhood promise.”

Skill: The Wooden Ring

Conversations:

My father abandoned my family when I was a baby. Good riddance to him, I say. I do not know if he is alive or dead, but he has not been seen since that fateful night.

Margarita? Ah, she is an interesting person. But the fact she cannot sleep is… it is so unusual. I would rather keep my distance, I only married her for my own reasons after all.

SONGS

Fifth Pierrot

Tree Maiden ~Millennium Wiegenlied

Gift From The Princess Who Brought Sleep

[ramblingsofamuskrat]

No context. NSFW

TITLE: Shooting your shot FEATURING THE CHARACTERS: sweetango, gala, granny smith WRITERS: anonymous, anonymous, anonymous, anonymous RATED ALL AGES Granny Smith stared at the two varmint to her left and right.

To her left was Gala, the most popular shooter in town. Smith knew Gala's secret though, her source of skill. So Gala wanted her dead.

And to her right was Sweetango, the deadliest man alive. He could shoot a tin can from 100 feet away.

The three eyed each other, watching for who would make the first move. Granny tickled the pistol in her holster, ready to pull it out on a moment's notice.

"You two whippersnappers have always been getting in my way! Thinking you're the best just because you're a deadly genetic modification" she shouts at SweeTango "and everyone just buys you because your basic" she yells as she turns to Gala. "Well, not anymore. TODAY WILL BE THE DAY THAT I DES--" A bang.

SweeTango and Gala both shoot Granny Smith.

"That kill was mine!!" SweeTango yells, turning his gun towards Gala.

"At least I'll be good as a baking component in death…" Granny Smith rolls over.

But they were all of them deceived, for a fourth fighter was there. Newton Pippin, the most hated outlaw worldwide was watching from the shadows, waiting for his chance to strike.

SweeTango and Gala, blissfully unaware of his presence, continued arguing.

"I have the most kills! not you!" shouted SweeTango. "And what's this about a genetic modification?? I should kill you and take it for myself!"

"I'd like to see you try, fucker!"

Two shots rang out. One body fell. "That's what I thought." SweeTango said. He took the device on Gala's body, which had "sphygmomanometer" written in faded writing, and turned away. But as he walked off, he thought he noticed something. Was Granny Smith's body twitching? He shot her a second time just to make sure she was down.

"That should do it."

Newton Pippin watched from the shadows, gleeful that SweeTango got "his kill." Newton Pippin couldn't help but stare at SweeTango as he walked away in glory. SweeTango was the best and deadliest apple to ever grace the world of Appleland. EVen though he never tried to harm Newton Pippin, Netwon Pippin knew that SweeTango had stolen his heart.

Newton Pippin followed SweeTango every day since he met him. He just couldn't get enought of his gorgeous flesh. He was perfectly dense, and was just the right amount of juicy and crispy. Netwon Pippin yearned for a taste of the illustrius SweeTango.

But, it never could be, could it?? Everyone hated Newton Pippin unless maybe he was in Cider. But he still only came in third…

Newton Pippin got up. Maybe he couldn't be with SweeTango, but someone else could… he grabbed his peeler. "Am I really doing this?" "It's for SweeTango. It's worth it."

He went outside, eyeing the others, til he spotted Envy. "Hey Envy!" "Ugh, what do YOU want?" "I just wanted to say you're so much better than me. In fact, you're so good we've actually made an award to give you, for being amazing! Just follow me!" "Fine."

Envy followed Newton Pippin for a while, til they were in a clearing. "So where's the award?" "Close your eyes, Envy, when you open them it'll be awesome!" As Envy closed their eyes, they wondered what this award could be. They couldn't wait to show it off to children and many friends. But Envy never got the chance.

Newton Pippin was reborn. He threw his old skin away. Now he could do whatever he wanted to. And the first thing on his agenda was SweeTango.

Newton Pippin rolled down the dusty roads of Applelandia's capital, Apple City and entered the saloon. He knew that this is where SweeTango often frequented. He walked right up to SweeTango with his newfound confidence and skin and said

"Hey baby, you're looking apple-solutely fabulous tonight, if I do say so myself." He winks at SweeTango.

SweeTango is taken aback. He always hated most of the other apples in town. None of them seemed particularly tasteful to him.

He responded by saying, "Well then Envy, let's take this outisde."

They depart together and Newton Pippin is so happy. "Oh SweeTango, you really know how to make an apple feel loved. You're so sweet that I can just start doing the Tango right now." He says this in a very Southern accent.

But SweeTango wasn't sweet.

"That's an interesting accent you've got there. Are you from out of town?" "Oh, what? No, no way!" "Damn, it'd be great to meet someone not from here. All these apples-- they're so boring, you know? Not willing to do anything interesting, like wield a peeler and whatnot." "Oh, yeah, yeah, totally, I get it SweeTango." "You look just as bland as the rest of these apples, and I'm afraid I don't care for them so… I'm afraid this ends here." SweeTango pulls out a steel peeler. "Wait, SweeTango, no!" SweeTango peels away Envy's skin, but… he's surprised by what he finds. This isn't a core, but, rather another skin. An orange-yellow skin, with an interesting texture. One that's kind of appealing. "Wait… you've been wearing another apple's skin? You've peeled someone! Just like me! We're both outlaws!" "I just wanted you to like me…" "I like you a hell of a lot more now! C'mon, let's go somewhere a bit more fun." "Wait what??? You don't hate me?" "Are you kidding me? You're way hotter now, not like those other apples, especially given what you were willing to do for me." SweeTango moves his face closer to Newton Pippin's and they stare at each other for what feels like eons.

Until, finally… They kiss.

Fanfic created with #FranticFanfic.

[beevean]

Fun fact: to explain to a friend why the Lenector plot makes me sick and why the real Hector wouldn't fall for Lenore, I subjected myself to some more clips.

(I guess I do have self harm tendencies :V)

And I haven't found a clip for the dialogue on the balcony, but here it is:

Lenore: Does it hurt? Hector: No. It just reminds me of the last time someone put a collar on me. Lenore: In Braila? Hector: When Carmilla almost killed me. Lenore: Well, she does have a temper. But she would never have meant to kill you. Hector: No. Because she needs me to be her forgemaster slave. Lenore: No, because if she'd meant to kill you, you would quite simply be dead. Hector: Hmph. Lenore: And if she'd meant to torture you, you would have arrived here carrying your guts in both hands with a spike up your arse. Hector: I suppose that's true. I mean, I can see her doing it. In nightmares and such. Lenore: She does have a temper, but she's logical. She never lets it run away with her to the point of, oh, I don't know, condemning the entire human race to death? Just a recent example of what being genuinely insane with murderous rage looks like. Hector: All right. Lenore: You may not have been treated like a boy king on your way here, but you did show up alive. Hector: Might have been nice, though. Lenore: Have you considered that you're only alive because you listened to Carmilla back in Dracula's castle? Hector: I hadn't. She tricked me. Lenore: I don't think she did. I think she made complete sense to you, and you felt guilty, understandably, about how it all played out. Hector: She made me betray Dracula. Lenore: No, she didn't. She showed you the old man was insane, and she saved you from the consequences. Nobody here wants to harm you. We just don't quite trust you yet. Hector: Trust me? Lenore: You did try to hurt me, Hector.

As an abuse apologist, Lenore is perfect. Look at how she keeps justifying Carmilla and the way she beat Hector nearly to death in S2, saying that "she has a temper" (which is a lie, Carmilla did it out of sadistic pleasure, not anger) and that Hector was still lucky that he was left alive. That is correctly terrifying. But also look at what she keeps saying: "dracula bad, we good". Which, incidentally, is the exact same thing Carmilla did in S2, one month prior.

This is not a manipulative woman pretending to love Hector enough so that he'll lower his guard. She's just insulting one guy. And I suppose throwing some flimsy compliments like "I like the sound of your voice" or "you're pretty".

I am trying, I really am, but I simply don't see how the story goes from "Lenore convinces Hector that Dracula was stupid" (something he had already considered with Carmilla, this isn't special) to "yes Hector would totally have sex with this random chick who was kind of flirty with him a few times". I can come up with all sorts of theories that go from "he was lonely and desperate and craved a comforting touch" to "he was tired of jerking off and preferred a warm (?) hole" lol, but that's me doing the writer's job.

I am trying to see this from the perspective of a man who knew nothing but abuse, but the writing isn't subtle enough! This is not how abuse works! Lenore doesn't actually do anything for Hector, and even when she promises him new shoes or gives him a bigger cell, she always remarks that it's in the name of diplomacy - so it's not personal!

Again. For comparison. Dracula was the first person in Hector's life who accepted him and gave him a place where he could live, who accepted his powers and gave significance to his life instead of seeing it as cursed. Rosaly saved his life without asking for anything in return, and gave him a chance to be reborn as a new man free from his sins and dark nature. That is why Hector trusts them completely (or almost, in the former case). I will die on the hill that Dracula was the perfect abusive figure for Hector, because he'd care about him, not this jailer he had known for a few weeks.

Even the prelude to the sex scene is stupid:

Lenore: I'm loyal to my sisters. To just fling open the door and say, "Fly, be free, pretty human boy"? That-- That would be a direct betrayal. [...] Lenore: You only have one advantage in this whole negotiation. I'm not sure it's an advantage. I like you. [...] Lenore: I'm loyal to my sisters… but what we're doing is wrong. We could just leave, Hector. If you want to be with me.

There is naive, and then there's "not noticing that Lenore literally contraddicts herself in the span of a minute". I have no trust in this show's writing, so it's easier to believe this is just yet another plot hole like many in this ill-thought out story.

I would have loved a story where Hector's canonical tendency to devote himself to people who grant him the most basic of decency gets twisted into something heartbreaking, but Lenore isn't a fake Rosaly. She's just Carmilla 2.0 + petplay. Her brand of manipulation doesn't make leverage on Hector's need for love and acceptance, which are supposedly why his show version keeps believing obviously suspicious women.

This is what infuriates me. The writing isn't just bad in the sense that it makes me ill. It's just low quality when you stop to think about it for more than three seconds. And what people get from this "huehuehue look at lenore playing hector like a fiddle, #queen"

still obsessed over N!Hector and the sheer unfairness of how he was treated, stuck between "fans" and critics who both reduce him to a pathetic dog to be saved from his own stupidity, because hurr durr he keeps getting manipulated by pretty women! it's just that one camp fetishizes him and the other mocks him

while I feel alone in my belief that Hector being starved for love and devoting himself to anyone who shows him basic decency is canon! It's canon! I can prove it! He did it with Dracula and most importantly with Rosaly! It's not him being "wimpified" it's the natural result of his trauma that was carried over in the show! Why do y'all think he went on a revenge quest after Rosaly was killed, why do you think he was ready to die afterwards? he LITERALLY planned to give his life for the one person who loved her! because that's what dracula taught him to do!!!

the difference is that the prequels did not turn that compelling weakness into fucking rape fetish fuel i hate everything so much i want to bite something to shreds

[ladyofvoss]

FFXIV Write 2022 Prompt #1: Cross

prefix - passing from side to side; transverse. re: crossroads - “a turning point, a moment of decision”

TW: Mentions of death and injury

Disclaimer: the author is still a Sprout who is just now completing A Realm Reborn, so please refrain from posting spoilers in tags or replies if you reblog. Thank you!

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

“I must admit I am curious, young Theodard. What drives you to draw sword and shield in your endeavors?”

“I fail to see how this information could be pertinent to a renowned scholar such as yourself”

“Humor an old man, my boy”

“...........I have a family. Nieces and nephews. I hope that my efforts might secure a brighter future for them”

“Truly?”

“Yes. Forgive me. I suppose it is not as altruistic as fighting ‘for the good of the realm’ “

“It is far more noble than you think. Such aspirations, if a man were to be honest with himself, are what he will remember should all else fail him.

“I shall endeavor to remember then, Master Louisoix”

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

Where was he?

Traders alive and Twelve forfend, where was he?

He felt neither warm nor cold. His skin prickled with the sensation, or rather the lack thereof. The feeling of weightlessness was equally alarming. He would have thought himself falling, but there was no feeling of air whistling past his ears, nor the drop in his gut that would come with plummeting towards one’s doom. No, it was almost as if he was.....floating.

Then there was the matter of the pitch blackness. He couldn’t see his own hand, let alone any of his surroundings.

He had to keep his wits about him, assess his circumstances, and plan his next course of action. But first he needed to figure out just where in the seven hells was he?

Think, Theodard, think, he chided himself. Think back to where you were last, to what was happening around you. Try to remember how you got here-

Cartenau.

The ringing of steel. The acrid smell of aether in the air. The blood red sky as Dalamund loomed ever closer-

Until it burst.

The moon. Burst. And what followed was a roar so loud and terrible it rivaled the thundering that came with the worst of Thanalan's summer storms.

Was he dead? Was that it? Had the flames that were devouring Cartenau finally claimed him? No, that couldn't be it. Surely he'd be standing before Nald'Thal and their grand scales, his life weighed under the Traders' watchful eyes. Surely he wouldn't feel quite so lucid, if he had departed his corporeal form.

Then what was he doing here? What force could have possibly pulled him into this strange world that felt devoid of both time and space?

That's when he heard it.

Help!

That voice. His blood ran cold with recognition.

Help me!

The panic he tried to stave off came crashing forward in full force as his memories came rushing back.

He was standing on the plains of Cartenau as the world burned around him, and that was when he heard it. Heard her. Gods be good, the girl couldn't have been foolish enough to follow him here when he gave her a strict directive not to?

"Thalia!" He called, relieved that at least his voice still worked in this strange purgatory. "Thalia!"

Whatever his original prerogative was would have to wait. He'd have to find her, and then, then they could find their way out.

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

Whatever he was expecting, the colossal, sentient crystal that often spoke to him in his dreams was not on his list.

Her voice wrapped around him like a caress, like a warm breeze in Thanalan’s twilight. 

“Thou art drawn elsewhere, Bringer of Light. Thy notice lies not on what has been laid before thee”

And she was correct in her assessment. Though he was always struck with a sense of awe, whenever he held the sheer magnitude of her size, and the ancient power that seemed to radiate from her, his unease monopolized his attention.

“Forgive me, Mother Crystal. I find myself greatly vexed. I know not where I am, nor how I came to be here”

“Thy once stood on the plains of Cartenau”, was her answer after a pause. “Engaged in conflict with thine Imperial counterparts. Twas then that the lesser moon completed its descent. The great dreadwrym rose from within, laying waste to all in his path”

Theodard swallowed his irritation as the Mother Crystal seemed to repeat what he already knew. Fighting the Empire, Bahamut’s rampage. The land around him being lit aflame. 

“So I am dead then” he surmised. Perhaps this was simply the fate of all of Hydaelyn's chosen, to spend eternity in her company.

“Nay”, came her response then, cutting through his thoughts, and Theodard could not hide his surprise. He wasn't dead? Then that left him right back where he started, pondering the banality of his circumstances.

As if sensing his confusion, Hydaelyn spoke again.

“Thy would have been lost amidst the flames, if not for the intervention of the great archmage. What power he had was summoned to propel thou and many others forward. With this action, he means to send you to an era beyond the dreadwrym's destruction”

Archmage? Louisoux then, Theodard deduced. Whatever miracle he had managed to pull off had saved him, as Hydaelyn had stated. But what could she have possibly meant with the rest of her explanation? An era beyond the dreadwrym’s destruction? Surely….it was impossible….

“Yet thy soul has been unable to complete this journey. For there is something that binds thee here. Thy desire is divided, a part of thy soul yearns to remain”

Yearns to remain. Twould be putting it mildly. Theodard could not very well ‘go beyond’ while still wondering at the fate of young Thalia.

“Mother Crystal, I wonder at the fate of my kin. I have reason to believe”, he swallowed, fearing what answer awaited him. “That she may be in peril”.

The silence that followed did little to assuage his dread. He wavered between yearning for Hydaelyn to give him his answer, and confirmed what he feared he already knew, and the desire to spare him and remain silent. 

It seemed that she chose the former.

The streams of aether surrounding the Mother Crystal bent and shimmered as it condensed into a small shape a few yalms before him. It glowed and stretched, assuming the familiar form of-

“Thalia!”

And there she was, lying prone in front of him. It was the lack of movement that had him immediately close the distance, dropping to his knees and gathering her in his arms.

His blood ran cold in alarm once he got a good look at her. There was no ruddiness to her brown skin. In fact, she was enveloped in a dim blue light, nearly gossamer in her appearance. Her body was light as a handful of feathers and he could barely feel the weight of her in his arms. Hydaelyn’s ethereal voice cut through his dismay.

“The destruction of Dalamund has claimed countless lives across the realm. Thy kin is among them, struck down near the southern shores. Her spirit shall soon depart the corporeal”

Theodard felt the bile rise in his throat. “She’s...” he choked out, “she’s dying?”

“With thy gift, thou hast felt the agony that weigheth heavy on her soul. In her suffering, her soul hast called out for relief, and with thy gift, thou seemed inclined to answer”

She was dying and, unknowingly, reached out for help, a sense of desperation evident in her soul to end whatever it was she was enduring. Drawing a shuddering breath, Theodard looked to the girl cradled in his arms. Eyes closed, the rise and fall of her chest so minute it was barely perceptible, and still. So impossibly still.

His heart ached for his poor niece. What could have possibly happened to her while he was away? He couldn't imagine the pain she was feeling, how terrified she must have been, for it to be so palpable that her soul called out to him for help?

 “Thy heart is heavy. Thy countenance grim. But fret not my child. Though she suffers now, soon, she will be at peace”

He couldn't help the surge of irrational anger that welled up within him. Fret not? Fret not? His family was dying, her fading soul lying limp in his arms, and there was nothing he could do about it. Thalia was barely 20 summers old, and he had to accept her future being so violently cut short? He had to take comfort in that? 

No. No he would not, could not, accept this.

“She cannot die. Not like this. Please, Hydaelyn”

“The seeds of discord, sown by the harbingers of chaos, give way to many tragedies. Many have been lost”

If he didn't know any better, he would think Her words born of cruel indifference.

“Is there truly nothing that can be done for her?”, Theodard pleaded, his voice rough with desperation. “You have brought her soul here for me to see. Can you not reunite it with her corporeal form, heal her beyond whatever ailment is threatening her life? Surely that is within your power.”

“What was within mine capabilities is no longer. As the eons have passed, my power waxeth and wanes. The light grows dim, and what thou hast stated, is beyond me”

No, he thought, his mind reeling with panic. This could not be it. He did not fight in one battle after another for well over twenty summers, only for one of the very things he was trying to protect to be lost to him.

He had been there when each and every one of his nieces and nephews were born. Held them in his arms and looked into their wide eyes as they took in the bright, new world around them. 

He greedily solicited their giggles, slayed the monsters that hid in the shadows under their beds and in the corners of their rooms, played the part of their accomplice when they wanted to hide away from the dreary slog of their lessons. He helped raise these children.

He had no desire to take a wife, nor sire children, yet he knew that seeing his nieces and nephews grow, taking joy in their happiness, was the closest thing he would experience to fatherhood.

It could not end like this. He wouldn't let it. He would give his own life if he had to-

Wait.

Perhaps….perhaps that was it.

“And what of my power? What of the gift I have? Can it not be passed to her? A life for a life. What grace has been granted to me, let it be hers. Please”

“Thy duty is not yet fulfilled, Bringer of Light. Even now, our adversaries continue to conspire. Through great power and sacrifice, thou hast been beckoned to continue on thy path.  The star ever has need of a champion and can ill afford to lose even one. If thou are to prevent further tragedy, prithee let her go, and choose the way forward.”

This time the anger came back stronger. What justice was there in that? His life would be spared, saved by a miracle, simply because the world had need of him? Yet his niece would be lost, her life unable to be traded for his simply because the world had no use for her?

He would not deny the depth of Louisoux's sacrifice, but his conscience gnawed at him, reeling at the thought of leaving Thalia behind.

How could he possibly face his sister again if he did? How could he look Seliene in the eye and tell him that he had the opportunity to save her daughter, only to let it slip through his fingers?

He had to try. Whatever it took.

And may the Twelve, and Thalia, forgive him for what he was about to do.

“What if she were to take my place?” A part of his mind screamed at the madness of it all, but he forced himself to continue. “What if she were to bear the Light in my stead? If Eorzea has need of a champion, then they shall have it. I have fought my battles for many summers. If this is to be my last then so be it”

He knew he was practically begging, the desperation in his voice bordering on hysterical. For all he knew Hydaelyn grew silent, retreating into herself and growing deaf to his pleas. But he could not stop now.

“You care for the future of this world, as I do. What future awaits us if we abandon those who will inherit it? What are we fighting for if not for those like her, the ones who will live beyond us? Grant her my power. I give you my life and more. I cannot abandon her to oblivion. Let her take up sword and shield for Eorzea in my stead. I only ask that you let her live.”

If she did not heed him. If she rejected this petition, he did not think he could bear it.

“I beg of you, hear my plea. A life for a life. My future for hers”

The silence that followed was agonizing. It pressed upon him, as if threatening to suffocate. Perhaps only moments passed, but it felt like bells, moons, eons. 

Let this be enough. Let his plea be heard. And even if it wasn't, he would spend an eternity in this strange purgatory, bending Hydaelyn's ear until she finally hearkened unto him.

But then, gods be praised, she spoke.

“Child of Light, if this is truly thy wish, then it shall be granted.” 

His heart nearly leapt from his throat at the words. Had she truly-?

“Thy spirits shall be bonded. Thy strength and gifts shall be hers. Thy light will be lent to her radiance. I have heard thy plea and shall grant unto thee this succor. Here thou mayest remain, forever bonded to her fate, a guiding hand as she walks her path. So shall be this boon I give you.”

The relief he felt was so poignant he could weep. She could be saved, she would be saved. 

“Thank you”, he breathed, and this time he was weeping. “Thank you”

The aether began to shimmer around them once more. Looking down, he could see the light surrounding Thalia grow brighter, and feel her grow more solid and heavy in his arms. Subsequently, his awareness of his own body became more and more muted. His skin tingled with the sensation, as if he were the gossamer strands of a spider web, slowly being pulled apart. 

It would have been alarming, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Thalia would live. That was all that mattered.

He cradled her close, though she was far too big for it, no longer the little girl that would eagerly cling to his leg at times.

“Give my love to your mother”, he murmured against the now warm skin of her forehead. “Give my love to our family…..and forgive me. I pray one day you'll understand, little cub”. He did not know if she could hear him, or if she was even aware of what was happening, but a part of him hoped she did. 

And as he knelt with her in his arms, his light fading as hers strengthened, Hydaelyn’s voice rang out once more:

“By my power. By thy will. By our hand. Let it be finished.”

[verytiredblob]

My reviews on Manhwas

Alright so, recently I've began to fall into the great Manhwa hell, as if I didn't have enough fandoms.

But I neither have friends to chat about this with, nor a Discord chat where I can fanby about it, so I just decided to throw it in here.

These are both Manhwas I recommend and my opinions on them. If there are any spoilers, They will be striked through and in blue for anyone that wishes to avoid them (if anyone even reads this lol).

1. The Villainess Reverses the Hourglass (악녀는 모래시계를 되돌린다)

Premise: Aria was a terrible person and was sentenced to dead by being beheaded. In her final moments, she discovers her step sister, Mielle, actually manipulated her during her entire life just so she could get Aria killed. She then is beheaded, and wakes up in the past, in her child body. So now, she must work to both survive and get her revenge on her sister.

Lovely story, and my first Manhwa. The art is simply stunning, and all the characters are very flashed out and developed. Aria (MC) is the pettiest person alive and I'm here for that.

Also, I noticed a trend where, even though the manhwa has "Villainess" in the title, the MC is usually a total angel. Well, not here. Aria is egotistical and a total Diva, she has her goals and one of them is her revenge and by all that is sacred she'll get it.

Mielle is a great villain, she has grown a lot in her own pettiness and tactics since she was a child, and I really like that. Also, watching her suffer for being a terrible person is delightful.

The Male Lead (Asher) is also really cool, I like how he's both witty and friendly, and how much he truly admires Aria and her achievements.

The side characters are also pretty good, and they get a lot of focus because of their interactions with the main cast.

Again, The art is S T U N N I N G. Look at this:

Literally all panels are drawn like this or better, I'm in love.

All in all, an awesome read, 10/10, I love this a lot.

2. The Monster Duchess And Contract Princess (괴물 공작가의 계약 공녀)

Premise: Leslie's life was terrible, and always centered on her big sister, Eli. After a failed attempt of her family to grant Eli her sister's skills and knowledge, Leslie searches for the feared "Monster Duchess" in an attempt to survive.

Another one with incredible art AND incredible characters. Leslie is an absolute angel, and seeing her grow as a person is awesome.

The gender envy I feel with the Duchess is unbearable, she's utterly perfect. And the entire family is so dotting and loving and sweet, my little grinch heart can't take it.

She's perfection, really.

The plot keeps getting more and more mysterious, and I'm here for it!

I love each of the main characters a lot, and even the villains are well done and fuel your hatred.

Also, Eli Sperado and her Dad can choke on those black flames for all eternity.

Another 10/10, although I must warn anyone that wishes to read this that the translations sometimes are very spotty and messy, so it can be a bit annoying.

3. I'll be the Matriarch in this Life (이번 생은 가주가 되겠습니)

Premise: Firentia was a girl that died in Korea in her past life, and was reborn into an influential family as the illegitimate daughter of the third son. Her life was pretty terrible, with in the end, her family ending up in poverty and disgrace because of her uncles and cousins, while she was exiled from the family. After another accident, she wakes up in her past, now with a goal: Become the Lombardi matriarch and stop the other family heirs from bringing it to ruin.

Awesome art and Awesome plot number 3! This is so good, genuinely. Firentia is such an awesome plotter, and her goals and actions are very well developed.

The Male Lead is my baby and I shall protect him, and the side characters? Utterly stunning.

The twins are the cutest fucking shit, seriously. Like, look at these two?? I'm dead. Although, all the children are very, veeery cute.

I like how Firentia subtly manipulates things around her to get what she wants. It's similar to Aria, but she's much more mature and knowledgeable, and has a much less petty goal.

Guess what? 10/10. Yeah, I know, I'm terrible at grading, sue me.

4. The Twins Siblings' New Life (쌍둥이 남매의 뉴라이프)

Premise: Arien and Arjen were a pair of twins that died in Korea, and were reborn again as twins and as the Emperor's illegitimate children. Now, with only each other to trust, they must do their best to survive.

My current obsession. I really like this one. The art is not on the same level of pure Awesome like the ones before, but it's pretty good nonetheless.

The plot is pretty nice, but I must warn you: DO NOT expect them to act like adults. Honestly, just forget they're meant to be reborn in this world. They're just normal children and that's it. They act like children, and they think like children. Honestly, I think the author just wanted to make this story about them as children and their producer went and said to make them reincarnates because that Isekai shit is popular nowadays (And to justify they having memories of their newborn days). Seriously, just ignore it, the experience reading will be much better.

Other than that, the story develops nicely. The characters are all very good and the plot is very mysterious. I am holding myself back to not spoil anything, aaaaa.

There is also only one another thing that disappoints me: Arien is very clearly the MC. The story is told by her eyes and we only know what Arjen thinks or feels when he says it 9 or by subtext). I really wish it was more balanced, because they're both different people and have different perspectives, and also I really like Arjen.

I have absolutely no idea where this plot is gonna go, and honestly? I like it. It's very rare when I don't know how things are gonna develop because of other stories, so it feels very fresh.

The brothers are freaking awesome. I was so scared they were going to hate the twins and be petty, because of other manhwas that are like that, but they're so loving and sweet?? All hail these idiots. Also, Daddy is the biggest dumbass of all, this poor clueless man.

An 8/10, because of the complaints above. Still a good read, and I really like it, even with it's defects.

4. I'm A Stepmother, But My Daughter Is Just Too Cute! (계모인데 딸이 너무 귀여워)

Premise: A seamstress dies of overwork in Korea, and wakes up in the body of Abigail, the vain Queen, and the evil stepmother to the princess Blanche. Yes, It's like she stepped into the world of Snow White, and she must now do her best to live and.. Dote on Blanche with toys and dresses as much as possible?

Again with the awesome art and nice plot. Why are there so many manga with awesome art?? I'm so envious.

May all hail this crispy, delicious art.

Abigail is a whole mood, and I enjoy how she is inserted into the life of someone who had already lived and had a reputation. Her actions baffle a lot of the characters, as do her motivations, and I'm here for it.

The King has also an amazing backstory that's very tragic and yikes. I enjoy it, really. Not something you see in men's backstories that much.

Also, I'm kinda saddened by the fact the MC and the king are bound to become an actual couple. They would be such good platonic friends stuck in a political marriage. I was robbed, y'all.

Abigail greatest ambition is to get to design a dress for Blanche and have her wear it, and you know what? Good for her! Sometimes, it's good to have an MC that is not plotting against world at large.

Also, her mirror? Verite is simply perfect, I love this guy. I non-jokingly ship him with Abigail more than her with the King.

Blanche is a sweetheart, she deserves to be in my "adopted children" wall.

For now it's more of a Slice of Life than anything? But I also don't know what happens in the novels, so I'm just going to wait.

For the current lack of a grater plot, this gets a 7/10. Still pretty good and entertaining, especially for when you just don't feel like trying to understand deep plots with lots of elements.

5. Beware of the Brothers! (그 오빠들을 조심해!)

Premise: Another one of those "I lived my life and then wake up in the past." Hari was adopted by this family after the death of their only daughter, and although her parents love her, her 3 older siblings very much don't. She lives a miserable life in their hands, and when it's the night before she is to get married and finally escape her brothers, she wakes up in the past, and has to deal with them all over again.

Another nice art one, and the background characters are very nice, as is the MC.

But for me, it has a big problem. And that problem is the main ship. It's Hari with her eldest brother, Eugene. Even though they are not related and yadda yadda yadda, they were raised as such, and thus it bothers me. Also, Eugene is as plain as white bread and just as generic when seen as the Male Lead.

I ship Hari with Johan, even though I know it's not gonna happen, Ugh, the pain..

For me, the main point in this is Hari's relationship with her other siblings and the other background characters. I'm here for that wholesome sibling interaction. Her relationship with Erich, specially, is awesome. I love these two so much

It also kinda lacks a plot? Other than the relationship development and their story as a family, but again, I have no idea how they will develop this.

Also, pet peeve? Why do they keep using Oppa instead of translating it properly as brother? I get honorifics and stuff, but it's so annoying.

I give it a 6/10. Good characters and good relationships outside of the bloody incest thing, and it's a good enough way to pass the time.

There are two more that I've read, buut it's like 4am and I'm sleepy as all hell, so I'll just add it in a reblog or attached post later, and I plan on doing this for other future manhwas as well.

Do you have any recommendations or comments or just wanna talk about any of these manhwas? Hit me up!

[lost-khione]

Until We Meet Again

TW: death

I finally managed to finish writing my first fanfic!! 😁

Only ARR made me write a fanfic arggg

This one is in Gaku’s POV and set in the future where Futaba is dead already. I hope I did Yura’s lines right...

I hope you guys tell me how you like it if you read it. 👉👈

Read under the cut. Enjoy~

Every morning, I have this habit of checking my neck. I wake up earlier than Brother so I can do this. I always check my contract emblem - the proof that we are always connected.

"Gaku, would thou also care to look at my neck?" Brother asks as he studies me with a teasing glint in his eyes.

"No. I only need to check mine," I reply as I hurry to fix my clothes.

"You are aware that the bell wands are safely tucked on the bookshelf, right?"

"Yes.”

My eyes automatically flit to the place on the bookshelf where we keep the bell wands with the journal that Futaba and I kept when she was alive.

There was another reason why I woke up early today. I wasn’t really able to sleep much last night because the day today is a special one.

“Gaku,” Brother’s voice breaks my reverie.

I turn to him and his eyes no longer have the teasing glint earlier which is now replaced with a serious look.

He asks, “How many years hath it been since then?”

Instead of saying the words outright, he simply poses this question. So I answer him, “120,” as I look at him blankly not quite seeing him but seeing her from my memories instead.

“Gaku,” Brother calls me again before I get lost completely in my own memories.

He carefully stands up and tugs at my hand.

“Let’s go,” he says while flashing me a sympathetic smile.

I try to smile at him as well because I know looking gloomy won’t bring her back and I know it will just make her sad.

After all these years, I tried to remember how I took her death on our first lives together. But I guess the fact that I took our relationship to the next level on our second life together made all the difference this time. I still can’t help the sadness that’s gnawing at my heart. Lost in my own thoughts, my feet continue to move on their own as Brother leads the way.

We get out of the shrine and find ourselves in front of her grave. Her father allowed us to bury her here. He said back then, “I entrust my daughter to you. I know that she will also rest peacfully knowing she’s buried here.” He was truly a wonderful person.

I look at her grave and just sat in front of it while feeling the gentle breeze. I didn’t notice when Brother left but he just got back with a watering can in hand and his flute on the other.

“We wouldn’t want them to wilt,” he says as he puts his flute down beside me.

He diligently waters the forget-me-nots that we planted there. Once that’s taken care of, he picks up his flute and starts playing a nostalgic song.

So on this day, I let my memories wander and think of her.

I can still remember our final moments together clearly.

She had been living with us at the shrine after catching an incurable disease which was rampant at the Capital. She got permission from her father to spend her final moments with me while getting some treatment from Brother; although, Brother can only ease her suffering since there is no known cure yet.

Brother and I picked her up from their house to help her with her things. She kept on insisting that she can walk but I didn’t let her because I know she was feeling weak. I managed to make her agree to be piggybacked while Brother carried her belongings.

When we got to the shrine, Brother left to give us some space saying that he’ll play with his furry friends. He said, “Gaku, my friends are waiting for me. My Lady, I do hope thou feel at ease here and enjoy the mountain breeze.”

She smiled at Brother and replied, “Thank you for letting me stay here, Yura.”

“Anything for thee my Lady. I shalt take my leave,” and he left after that exchange looking to me briefly to which I responded with a slight nod.

She got her things from Brother and took out a thick leather bound notebook.

I curiously asked, “What do you keep in there? Notes about Divine Arts?”

She smiled happily and replied, “No, silly. Try to guess again.”

I thought out loud, “I’m pretty sure you won’t bring a school notebook.” After giving it some thought, I tried to guess again, “Then, is it empty?”

“You really think my head is only either filled with Divine Arts or none at all, huh?” She looked down looking a bit dejected.

“I really can’t think of anything else that you’d write about and bring with you all the way out here,” I admitted to her.

She didn’t look dejected for long. I think she just feigned dejection at my words.

“Well, it can’t be helped. I’ll let you see what’s inside.”

With that, she handed me the notebook. When I looked at it closely, I saw that it’s not brand new and already used. I noticed that the edges of some pages had some creases that were smoothed out. When I opened it, I was surprised at the words on the first page. It says: Memories with Gaku

I felt my eyes go wide in surprise and I heard Futaba let out a small laugh.

“Was it that surprising?”

I looked at her and said, “I just didn’t expect this. Since when have you been keeping this?”

“I got it since you took me on a date and gave me forget-me-nots. I know that you are well aware that I am a different person from who I was a thousand years ago. And I also understand that you only keep bringing up our past because they hold so much memory for you and my past self. So I decided to keep a journal where I wrote about our treasured memories so that in the future, you will have something to remember me by. At the same time, when we meet again in my next life, you can show me this journal and tell me about our previous lives.”

I felt really touched with how much thought she put into this. I gingerly flipped the pages and found myself asking, “Why did you only show me this now?”

“Well, I wanted to surprise you with it, but I’m not sure when. I thought that I’d show it to you once I fill up this one notebook before I start a new one but then, here we are and it’s not even filled completely. There’s still about one-fourth left to fill. Now, I have decided that both of us will fill the rest of the notebook.

She didn’t need to finish her sentence for me to understand what she meant. She meant to say that she hopes to fill it until the end of her days.

I felt tears prick behind my eyes. Not wanting her to see me shed some tears, I hugged her frail form tightly so as to reassure myself that she was still with me. I felt her arms on my back as well. She rubbed my back soothingly like she understood what I was feeling. She probably did.

After a while, she spoke softly, “I promise I'll be reborn again and this time, I'll be the one to find you.” After a moment, she added, “I won’t forget you”

Her bold proclamation made me smile. I replied frankly, “Don't make promises you can't keep. Don't worry, I'll love you no matter who you might be in your next life.”

She pulled back from me and looked into my eyes. Her reply came almost instantly in a forceful tone, “No, I'll definitely remember. I swear. This is my wish. Before she died, my past self fervently wished to be reborn again and see all of you. I believe that's what enabled all of us again to meet in this era. But I guess I'll be a little selfish this time and wish to remember you when I get reincarnated. And maybe, I can add that I get to be reborn faster this time so you won't have to wait too long.”

She says resolutely that brooks no arguments while gripping my hands.

I could only look at her with loving eyes. And hope that her wish may actually be granted by the powers beyond.

“You know that I have waited for you a thousand years before already, right? I can handle another thousand years if that's what it takes.”

“And here I am wanting to see you as soon as possible but I guess it's only me.”

She was so cute when she pouts so instead of talking back, I just kissed her.

Despite what I said about being able to handle waiting a thousand more years, I continue to count each day and year that passes by.

I’ve kept my promise to you so I am hoping against hope that you actually kept your promise. My mind continues to unconsciously wander through our memories and now I’m remembering about my promise to her. She didn’t want me to promise that I’d find her since she said she’s the one who will find me in her next life. But instead, she wanted me to promise her something. She made me promise to keep a journal and write about myself as I wait for her so that she can read all about it when she’s back. It’s very like her and remembering that put a little smile on my lips.

I continue to sit there with my eyes closed as Brother continues to play his flute. I imagine her smiling in front of me and let my thoughts come out in a whisper, “I know I told you I can wait another thousand years for you. But I still can’t help but actually hope you’ll come back to me sooner this time just like you promised.”

I take a deep breath trying to get a whiff of the scent of the forget-me-nots in bloom even though I know they give off little scent during the day just like how I’m trying to desperately find a clue if she’s already reincarnated somewhere.

I open my eyes resolutely and fixed my gaze on her tombstone. I speak as if talking to her grave means that she can hear me, just like how I always do every year, “I hope your future self is ready to fall in love with me again because I’ll make sure that she does.”

I smile confidently and lift my head to look up at the sky just as dawn is breaking signaling the start of another day. I stand up to retrieve my hand drum and play alongside Brother with a burning hope in my heart that her wish was heard by the powers beyond.

[im-totally-not-an-alien]

Final Fantasy prompts no 52

1. Cloud getting swarmed by orphans who proceed to put make up on him, Tifa, and Yuffie.

When they are "revealed" to eachother, Cloud asks, "Am I pretty?" With a blank face and monotone voice.

2. Clouds reaction to different people saying, "I have a crush on you"

That exact phrase. No other wording or phrases.

3. #2 but its everyone in AVALANCHE saying this to Cloud one at a time, once a day.

Example: Yuffie on Tuesday, Tifa on Wednesday, Barret on Thursday, etc.

This is because they were trying a misguided attempt at making Vincent comfortable enough to actually confess.

When Vincent does confess, however, Cloud doesn't believe him. Oops.

4. Palmer was being a prick again. Ever since the "Incident" in the conference room when they discovered Sephiroths...relationship...with laser pointers, Palmer had been sneaking them in and teasing the poor man with them.

Scarlett had been the most recent victim, having the small red dot travel across her breasts without her knowledge. When she noticed the general staring at her cleavage, a whole host of questions flittered threw her mind, the most prominent being, "Am I about to get laid?"

By the time she noticed the dot it was too late. Catboy pounced.

Her last thought before she was squished by hard muscle and leather was "Oh, no."

Later, there was a mysterious surge in people writing fanfiction about Sephiroth pouncing on people...

5. Cloud chunking a ceramic vase full of catnip grass at Sephiroths head and yelling, "Happy birthday, asshole!"

6. Yuffie often observed how cat-like Cloud was, and just never questioned it.

Years later when Tifa says something about it, Yuffie was like, "You guys never noticed? He's always been like that."

Additionally, Vincent trailing his fingers through Clouds hair as the blond rests his head in the gunman lap. All was well and good until Cloud began purring in his sleep.

He wasn't sure what to do with this information.

7. Time traveler Cloud lands in the Shinra building and immediately gets spotted. He fights his way down with First Tsurugi until he's confronted by a familiar mop of spikey blond hair.

He has a blond moment of, "Oh, that's me. Oh- I'm shooting at myself. Lovely." He then proceeded to kidnap his younger self, much to Zacks dismay.

Now Cloud has Zack, Sephiroth, and two people he doesn't know hunting him like a wild animal.

It doesn't help that his past self is uncooperative

8. Zack as the hero instead of Cloud.

They made it to Midgar, but Cloud remained in a coma at 7th heaven. There was even a big rescue scene where he woke up and saved Marlene when the plate fell. Everyone thinks they're dead, but they find refuge with Elmira after AVALANCHE leaves Midgar.

Zack being referred to as "puppy" by Sephiroth in the same way Cloud is referred to as "puppet"

Also, Zack with green cat eyes

9. A group of scientists working under a mysterious organization managed to obtain samples of Clouds DNA, thus managing to revive the SOLDIER program.

But they made a mistake.

Cloud was made using large amounts of S and J-cells. Cells that mutated and changed him. He feels the new SOLDIERs as they change, as they are reborn. He feels them as they come alive with his cells, senses them like blinking lights on a sonar. The pull of REUNION has never been this strong before, but strangely, the blond didn't feel drawn anywhere.

When he first saw them he knew. He knew immediately what had happened and what the scientists had done, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he had babies and they needed him.

Needed their Mother

And so Gaia cries for another twisted hero

10. Someone from the Silver Elite writes romantic fanfiction of Sephiroth and Genesis and it starts a shipping war with people writing fanfiction about their favorite pairings.

A particularly...mature... piece of romantic high fantasy fanfiction involving himself and some blond named Cloud actually makes it to Sephiroth and he reads it.

He admittedly becomes curious of, "The pretty little fae" that has a solid hold on a significant amount of people in the Silver Elite.

Too bad the blond is avoiding him, like the plague and blushing as red as a beet the moment he sees him. He must have read something the fangirls made.

(Its funnier if you add time traveler AC Cloud but cuter if its CC Cloud. Idk which one I like better)

11. Angeal tries to teach CC Zack and Cloud how to build a bookshelf.

Cloud does pretty good, but Zack...actually, Angeal isn't sure what that is.

Zack called it art, so they were gonna go with that.

That's how they spent the rest of the evening, making wierd art that makes people stare in wonder and confusion.

12. Time travel shenanigans where Genesis's Jenova powers interfere with Clouds and now all the SOLDIERS that were in the Shinra tower with them when it happened have been turned into catboys.

It doesn't really change anything. It's still business as usual, just with a few extra appendages.

Angeal, who wasn't there at the time, has to muffle his laughter everytime he sees his friends.

It doesn't help that the company is pushing for Sephiroth to do a commercial showing off his new assets.

AC Cloud escaped and is on the run, but it's so much harder to blend in when you have cat ears on your head 24/7. Maybe he could wear a hat, but he wasn't sure what to do about the tail.

13. You remember that part in advent children where those monsters came out of the shadows that the remnants sent after Cloud?

Yeah, Cloud can do that. Not the, "summon eldrich monsters" thing, though he can probably do that too. I mean the "sinking into your own shadow to travel at high speeds/ through cracks in walls".

He finds this out by getting out of bed and falling into his shadow and slinking around like that until someone notices him.

He can't speak, so Barret and the others think the little shodow thing ate their blond friend or something.

Cloud is so frustrated and confused from being stuck in his shadow. Poor guy.

14. Gang leader Cloud x Mafia boss Sephiroth

15. Au where most things are the same, but Cloud and Sephiroth are both demons.

Sephiroth was raised in Shinra and frequently studies his dead race, believing he is the last of his kind and these books were all that were left of his people.

Then he found Cloud, who hated him on sight. As it turns out, Sephiroth is from the Cresent family. A clan of notoriously powerful and cruel demons with silver hair. What's worse is that the man was from the Strife clan, his family's enemy.

They had been at war for eons, with the Cresent family often becoming infatuated or obsessed with a Strife. They even had a phrase, which translated to, "Little song bird, you would look so pretty in a cage"

Needless to say the blond wanted nothing to do with him. So naturally, Sephiroth kidnapped him.

Demon Vincent is kind of there in the background, hiding himself like a smart person and watching over his blond friend and his deceased lover Lucricia's nephew. He allows most things, but ninjas his way in when he feels things are going too far.

[amethystpath-writes]

Okay so this isn’t my original idea but remember that one post where it was like one soulmate is killing their other soulmate to stay immortal but their soulmate keeps on being reborn or just doesn’t stay dead for long??

If that’s too confusing basically can you do a continuation of your own prompt there the villain is the immortal, not the hero. (Prompt 41?44? I don’t remember oops)

I don't think I know that post, but if you still want me to write it and you can find it, feel free to send another ask! For now, I'll just fill the prompt!

******

“But- but I killed you.” Hero swore he couldn’t breathe. Villain wasn’t supposed to be in front of him right now. He- he was supposed to be in the morgue or wherever they kept and processed dead bodies. He was supposed to be dead. This had to be some kind of trick. Maybe there was a part of Hero’s mind that felt guilty for killing Villain, and now he was hallucinating. “I watched you die. I- I checked your pulse. You’re dead.”

Villain huffed and rolled his eyes. “Why is this always such a surprise to everyone?” He took two steps forward, watching with boredom as Hero flinched back, shielding his eyes. “You need me to pinch you? Convince you I’m right in front of you?”

“Not real,” Hero muttered. “Not real, not real, not. real. It’s in my head. It’s just in my head.”

Tossing his head back, Villain sighed. “Most of your little crew in the past at least tried to swing at me, finish the job. Some of them actually achieved killing me for a second time. I was impressed! Much more exciting than what you’re doing right now.” Hero kept muttering. Villain asked, “You really think you’re imagining me still? What’s it gonna take? Do I need to jab you in the gut? Would that help?”

Maybe I’d deserve that, Hero thought, continuing to consider the concept of guilt. What Hero was really curious about right now was, How is this so real? He acknowledged it was all fake, but he didn’t think his brain was capable of creating such a realistic version of Villain. The look, the voice, the condescending tone, everything was drawn up to a T. It shouldn’t have been possible, especially after a whole week of Villain’s death.

“Alright, this is getting old. I want to try something new since I haven’t had this reaction before. You really shouldn’t be a hero if you go into shock this easily.”

The image in front of Hero was moving closer. Villain was pulling something out from behind him. Hero already knew what it would be; Villain always kept handheld weapons back there in case his powers- whatever those were, Hero never knew- were unsuccessful. Usually it was throwing knives. This time it- Hero swallowed.

“You remember this. Good.” Villain nodded. “I figured you would, given how you stabbed me with it- rude.”

Now Hero had the sense to stand from his seated and shaking position. As a change, he was now in a standing and shaking position. This was becoming real to him- too real.

“Okay. What I’m thinking is that I clean this blade- a very pretty one by the way; love the chromatic look…I’m going to go over to that sink, and I’m going to clean this.” Villain made his way to Hero’s kitchen, turning on the sink like he said he would. He began scrubbing with the pad of his thumb. “I have two reasons for this: one, there are other victims’ blood on it now- from the morgue; they were about to cremate me if you can believe it. Props to you; that was my first time ever being in one of those places. And, two, because I want this to play out for you as it did for me- it was clean before you stabbed me with it; it should be clean before I stab you with it.” Villain turned with the blade now clear of any blood.

Hero couldn’t move, but he didn’t need to, did he? Because this was all his imagination, all his guilty conscious. Nothing else.

“You aren’t going to do anything to protect yourself,” Villain observed aloud. “You’re just going to stand there shaking like a rotting leaf stuck in a tree during October. Fine, then. Might as well take this to my advantage.”

**

Unable to move or think for himself, Hero was easily taken by Villain. All the while, Hero continued to believe this was a hallucination. Villain absolutely could not be alive because that meant- that meant he could…No. Villain can’t- can’t come back to life.

Hero knew for a fact he killed Villain. When he bled out, Hero listened to the silence of his opponent’s chest, watched its stillness. He. Was. Dead. It was that solidity in Hero’s mind that made him deny the obvious fact in front of him. Because it was impossible to become…undead. It just wasn’t possible. And since it was impossible, the person standing in front of Hero, talking to someone or something else in the room was fake- was a ghost in Hero’s head.

“-tired of this game. It’s becoming boring, but I found some entertainment for myself, and I think it can become a lesson to you. See…”

A red light was in front of Hero’s face. He looked, blinking slowly, beyond the red light to Villain. Hero didn’t quite understand where he was, or what his mind was conjuring up at the moment. He felt so tired because of his current insanity, and so it didn’t matter much what his location was.

“I think this can serve as a lesson to you- not that I care to help you, but it gives me an excuse to torture a poor soul.”

Hero blinked again. The red light belonged to a camera, he realized. Villain- or Ghost Villain- was recording him and talking to whoever was watching on the camera. In all reality, Hero figured it was he who was recording himself. Maybe he was even talking- he didn’t know. He was likely telling his base leader about how he was losing his mind and thought he was in a cellar-like room with Villain.

“I’m going to screw this back on the tripod, and then, I’ll show you what happens when you guys keep sending your men to kill me. It doesn’t work, alright? And I’m tired of dying.”

The chromatic knife was lowered in front of Hero’s eyes. He didn’t startle at it, but, as it was lowered out of his vision and Villain’s amused grin replaced it, he felt worry. Worry turned to searing pain in Hero’s leg and he let out a blood-curdling scream, grasping at the cold ground, fingers curling into fists that grasped onto nothing. The same pain magnified again as the knife came into sight once again- this time half coloured with red.

It’s real, it dawned on Hero as he finally looked down to find a hole in his leg. “A-augh!” It was throbbing and he swore he could feel his blood pulsing out of the wound. His stomach twisted with his pain and he turned to his right as to not throw up on himself.

What made the pain in Hero’s leg worse was the fact that his muscles were clenched. He couldn’t relax them no matter how hard he tried and that only meant the throb was everlasting.

The knife made its strike again- this time down the arm opposite of Hero’s now-injured leg. He hollered again, writhing and crying in anguish. “Stop! Stop it!” Quieter, he repeated to himself, “It hurts. It hurts, it hurts.”

For once his body protested as he eyed Villain in front of him. His good leg twitched like it was ready to assist in springing on and tackling Villain to the ground. But the controlled side of Hero’s mind told him it’d only make him hurt worse. Not to mention, he might land on the blade and therefore kill himself. Wait. “You’re- you’re going t-to kill…kill me.”

Villain paused, tilting his head almost curiously at Hero. “That was the plan originally, but then you fell to cowardice, and that was boring.” As he spoke, Hero could feel his limbs jumping, spasming. “So, now we’re doing something else. Kinda like it, actually. Centuries have gone by, and I never actually took my time with any of you. For once, I am seeing the true and utter fear I felt when I died for my first time.” Villain continued, “I could have been such a great person, you know? I would have been a perfect good guy, unable to die and all. But instead of seeing that vision, I was seen as a threat to humanity. They began hunting me, trying to figure out how to put me down for good. I decided to fit their little role, though.”

What Villain did and said next shocked Hero. “Go on, try it.” Villain held the blade handle out to Hero on the ground. “Take it. I’ll let you kill me again, and then you can leave.”

“You’re lying. That’s- that’s a stupid th-thing to- to offer. Why would you l-let me kuh-kill you, then let- let me go?”

Villain shrugged. “Something new. I want to live something different this time. I told you many times that few have killed me twice- and the ones who did it were killed as soon as I could find them. I want to see how far you can go if I give you a month’s head start.”

“You- you want to hunt me.”

“I do. Seeing as you did it to me, I think it’s fair.” He jutted the handle out to Hero again as an offer. When Hero took it, Villain said, “I know I took out your dominant arm out, but- well, I have confidence you’ll do just fine if it means you get to kill me again.” Villain tapped at his chest, right where his heart was located. “Go on. I know you want to.”

Hero considered this for a moment, staring at the knife- at the knife with his blood on it now instead of Villain’s. Did he ever question why his organization was going after Villain? Not really. He just knew Villain murdered every single man Leader sent out. Maybe it was self-defence, in which case Hero shouldn’t have been going after Villain like he was, shouldn’t have killed him like he already did once and was being given the opportunity to once again.

But now was different. Now, Villain really was sadistic- assuming he wasn’t before. Villain, if he was any sort of a healthy and sane man, would have had Hero jailed for trying, and succeeding, in killing him. Or, if he was afraid of the authorities taking him in for being- ahem- unkillable, then he would have only kept Hero locked up. Villain wouldn’t have had Hero in a cellar room, stabbing and slashing at him while a camera recorded it all. If Villain ever was good, that morality was stripped from him now, and that meant Hero needed to take this chance at life. Maybe he could go back to his base and demand answers. Because based off what Villain told, they knew he was immortal, and they never told Hero- or Hero’s previous teammates, who were now ‘mysteriously’ dead.

Without another word, or even a warning glance, Hero weighed the knife in his left hand, gripped the handle, and slashed at Villain’s throat. As he laid dying, Hero searched for the key on Villain’s person, and left.

[holdinghandswithastatue]

my thoughts on the lorien legacies reborn series [spoilers]

i think it sucked

sorry

i loved most of the characters to bits and they all deserved better (in terms of characterisation, plot)

nigel. oh my god nigel i love him so much

ran takeda deserved SO MUCH BETTER im still mad

the way they hinted at a whole bunch of romances but only made the one i dont give a shit about canon

i really really hate white girl taylor cook

yes, having a white american girl as the main character IS diversity :))))))

isabela is cool as shit and i wish i was her

i love their fleshed out backstories but i wish i couldve heard more

THERE WAS LITERALLY NO DEVELOPMENT IN MOST OF THEM (personally i think the series was cut short bc they all had so much more room to grow)

(it gave off percy jackson movies energy)

it hurts me how the writing hinted that nigel would get his heroic moment but he literally never did 

and then nigel was left with what? his only best friend dead, his parents corrupt assholes and him still not having healed from his trauma- still the underdog

ALSO: NIGEL WAS THE ONLY CANONICALLY GAY CHARACTER (except for maybe daunphen but still that doesnt really count bc its only implied) but they just like. didnt give him a love interest. 

nic was literally right there- that homoerotic moment really hit me and i just read it over and over

ran’s death was really well done but also COMPLETELY PREVENTABLE

if isabela had just told einar to stfu and shoot lucas it wouldve all been over and ran and five would still be alive 

speaking of which, ran and five were a super cute couple/friendship i cant tell but i like their dynamic a lot

five saying that he “actually likes” ran is essentially a confession of love in his terms

caleb. i liked him. but he was so boring and straight. i think his development wouldve been great if they just DID SOMETHING WITH HIM

also idk whether to ship isabela with caleb or daunphen but personally i like to think of daunphen as trixic which is unrelated

caleb literally. had potential. troubled home life. not as bad as the others but he never really stopped being an uptight little bitch

if he had, i think he wouldve been great

I LOVED EINAR’S GROUP’S DYNAMIC

do they have a name? i feel like they do but i cant remember

like... what a mix of characters, i love how they work together

personally i think theyre just the gay friend group

on the topic of einar,

i KNOW i shouldnt love him the way i do but if you didnt want me to love him you SHOULDNT HAVE GIVEN HIM REDEEMING QUALITIES

(same with five)

literally einar’s final monologue hurt me so much even though he nearly did drown nigel in gen 1 but still

“will you- will you finally listen?” yea kill me now 

i really hated how they brought the villain in in the final book. the fuck. who even gives a shit about lucas. no one remembers him

also it feels slightly political to make the main villain a radical christian who wants to convert the earth garde by killing them

listen i could talk about einar all day

i think he and isabela were a great friendship... of sorts

i mean did einar ever really let anyone close enough to him to make friends

but hes just so... S O F T

no hes not 

but he is to me 

ew

kopano really deserved a better gf than taylor

god 

also i wanted to see more of miki

again i will reiterate i think nic and nigel wouldve made a great couple

i keep forgetting theyre all just teenagers and thats kinda painful

einar was just a kid bro 

SO MUCH NUANCE TO HIS CHARACTER THAT WAS NOT EXPLORED

so much potential

hmm am i forgetting anyone?

lets talk about john smith

that man has a hero complex and its really annoying and part of me is really glad he wasnt the one to save the day this time but also i didnt want ran to die so

i think it wouldve been fitting if einar just ended it all since he kinda started the whole fiasco

fuck bea barnaby and her homophobic (and also mass-murdering) ass

the john and marina thing shouldve been forgotten completely no one ships them pls 

they had their one true loves just let them be without an s/o thanks

ella deserved to have more screen (? its a book) time bc she was my favourite character in the original series

OH MY GOD I HAVENT TALKED ABOUT NINE YET

hes the loml

also the part where lucas (in the body of john) rips off his cybernetic arm really hurt me

i kinda wish taylor died instead of ran

kill off the heroic white girl instead: the fifth wave style

john is such a stupid selfish bastard honestly but having a hero complex a valid flaw but still. i cannot deal with his bullshit all the time

writing one line on john and nine reuniting was cruel when you know most of the fandom ships them

also i like einar’s softening up near the end, and treating the group like they were his actual friends 

i wish we couldve seen more of them

i love myself a found family ragtag group situation

even though 2 of them died 

and the other has an inhibitor in his head, gets shocked every 3 minutes and took the fall for everyone

AS HE SHOULD THOUGH, MOST OF IT IS HIS FAULT

but hes just a kid

my thoughts are so scattered

omg stop i think i relate to einar... no..... not the literal mass murderer “terrorist” psychopath

he’s uptight and always needing to be in control

but he feels the pressure of having to be perfect to everyone else, and thus falls apart on the inside

gosh i wish i didnt love einar the way i do

final thoughts (but i’ll probably add even more): ran :’( nigel :( taylor >:( caleb :| einar :’( isabela >:) daunphen :D john :|

i hope no one reads this

[embyrinitalics]

Calamiversary: Link’s POV I

So keep in mind when I wrote these scenes that Calamitous was still written in third, so flipping to first felt super edgy. 😂 I did read recently that using first with very flawed/troubled characters is more interesting, and I think that’s evident in these. Like, it’s way more interesting than listening to Zelda in the main fic lol.

Also, I wrote these before all the big revisions, so the scenes probably won’t line up in the dialogue the way they used to. STILL, these exercises helped me get to know Link better as a character, and hopefully you’ll get a kick out of them too (in all their unedited glory 🤦🏻‍♀️)!

There’s a lot of these scenes so I’m breaking it up into two posts. Below the cut is about 1.9k words worth. OK BAI.

  Awakening

I breathe deep of familiar air as I reform from the smoke and light pouring out of the fissure. It’s cold and sweet, carried down into the valley from distant plateaus. My blood pounds hotter at the recognition of it, and I steel myself to ignore the allure it holds. I know death will be my only release now.

My heightened senses register four incoming attacks with a thrill, and I regain my focus, choking out the desire to crush them with my bare hands. I rebuff their assaults one at a time, reining my power with some effort. Part of me revels in how easily I cast them aside, how breakable they are—the part of me that I must never feed, but that’s too dangerous to ignore entirely.

Then I see her: power ebbing off her in waves, her body emitting pulses of brilliant light. I want to bask in the splendor of her, so different and yet so familiar. I crush that longing, letting the monster in me react in case I’m not strong enough to do it alone. In an instant I’m facing her, holding her at bay with a power she was never meant to overcome. I can taste her fear as she registers my resistance, heady and intoxicating.

I reach for the source of her light and smother it.

  Applean Woods

I take her to Applean, knowing the others won’t be able to follow for some time, and wait for her to regain her strength. She’s spattered in firelight, her expression placid, and she looks so much like the Zelda I knew—too much like her. I know she isn’t the same woman, but I feel the same draw, the same devotion to her. I know I have to protect her no matter the cost to myself. It almost makes the thought of what’s coming bearable.

I stroke her cheek without thinking, and she surges to life, sending power and light flailing in all directions. The monster in me roars in response, so powerfully I nearly falter. I force myself to tame it first, afraid of what I might do to her if I don’t. She’s strong, but she’s also scared and disoriented. Overpowering her isn’t difficult.

“Don’t do that again,” I growl after I have her pinned to my chest. I can feel her pulse, rapid and bright, rushing beneath her skin, appealing to my two halves for two different reasons. I deny us both, dropping her to her hands and knees and moving to reignite the fire she put out.

“What do you want with me?” she demands, and she reminds me again of a woman who’s been dead for 10,000 years. “I won’t cooperate.”

Definitely too much like her.

“I’ll accomplish what I set out to do alone, if I must,” I insist, but I know the odds of plunging the Sword into my own chest and managing to contain and outlive the Calamity on my own are marginal at best. “Though it would be easier with a second set of hands.”

She’s confused, of course. She obviously has no idea what I am. In a way, that makes it easier; in a way, that makes it harder.

“I don’t—”

“Is the Sword in the Great Hyrule Forest?” I interrupt, suddenly in a hurry to get this over with.

“What?”

“The Sword,” I repeat, trying not to think of everything finding it will mean for me. “The Blade of Evil’s Bane. Does it still rest in the Lost Woods?”

“You wish to destroy it,” she accuses me quietly. Silly girl.

“I don’t know that such a thing is even possible,” I wonder aloud, intrigued by the idea. But that’s beside the point. It has to be in the Woods, because the hero’s spirit could hardly be reborn if it’s still alive in me. “It has no wielder.”

“No. You didn’t leave us a choice.”

I smirk in spite of myself. She’s right about that, more than she knows. “I suppose not.”

“You still haven’t answered me. I demand to know why you’ve brought me here.”

So, so much like her.

“You’re hardly in a position to be making demands, Your Highness,” I point out, and her cheeks flush a bit, betraying that streak of temper I know too well. I leave my seat by the fire and crouch near her, appealing to her love of her kingdom. It’s stronger in her than her love for anything else, as I am painfully aware. “If you do as I say, you will destroy me. With any luck, the pall of the Calamity will never fall over Hyrule again. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

She considers my proposal fleetingly, and even though I know the reply is coming, that it’s deserved, that it’s better this way, it still hurts to hear it out loud. “I can’t trust you.”

“I’m not asking for your trust,” I scoff. How could I ever ask for her trust, when I don’t trust myself? When a single lapse on her part or mine could cost us everything, including her own life? No. Trust is out of the question. “Only your obedience.”

That accursed stubbornness of hers rears its pretty little head, her lip turning down just a bit. “If I don’t trust you—”

I can’t allow her to even suggest that I can earn it, for either of our sakes. I reach out, brushing her soft lips, the smooth line of her jaw, the swell of her cheekbone, knowing what my touch, harboring the evil of the Calamity, must be doing to her. I’ve felt it myself once, countless lifetimes ago, as the Calamity entered my body. I know I feel like that now, because she feels so unnaturally warm on my sensitive fingertips, so full of life and light it nearly burns.

“Does this feel like the touch of someone you can trust?” I ask rhetorically, and I feel her tremble under my hands. “That icy, numbing sensation of evil, trapped in this skin, grating on your nerves and pulling the warmth from your body and putting knots in your stomach, that urge to recoil that you can’t quite obey—that is the warning from the gods.” I can taste her fear growing, tantalizing and seductive, as I sweep the pad of my thumb along her full bottom lip, and I know I’m doing the right thing. She needs to fear me, as I fear myself. “You cannot trust me.”

  The Lost Woods

I could feel the mist, uninhibited, stroking the skin at the nape of my neck, and I bristled. The hallucinations would be quick on its heels. She had already been feeling the effects; a small gasp or a sudden change in her pace betrayed the way the woods were starting to torment her. But it was going to get much worse, and there was nothing I could do to protect either of us.

I’d already seen her—a ghost of who she once was, untouchable, ethereal, drifting through the trees like a specter. She’d been alight in moonglow, wraithlike, hauntingly graceful. But not now. Now she was fleshly, a healthy flush of color in her cheeks, looking so real. So vulnerable. Her eyes met mine, and I saw the recognition in them. Then they widened with fear, and she was pulled away into a distant darkness before she could make a sound.

I closed my eyes, trying to still my galloping heart. I turned slowly to check on Zelda—the real Zelda, the one who was alive right now—but the mist had separated us, and I cursed under my breath.

I heard a scream, and I closed my eyes again reflexively, fear coiling in my throat. I swallowed, trying to wet it. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to look, to be plagued by whatever vision the woods had in store for me. I wanted to pray, I wanted to ask the Goddesses to spare me this. But they wouldn’t listen to a prayer from the Calamity.

I couldn’t just stand there with my eyes closed and hope that Zelda would stumble across me. She would lose herself here without me to guide her. So I opened my eyes.

Another scream tore out of her, and I recoiled from the grisly scene, blood and adrenaline pounding through me. The worst part was the way the monster in me reacted—that submerged, suppressed part of me that was enticed by it, that wanted to look closer. That smiled.

It was me. I was crouched over her, animalistic, tearing at the gaping wound I’d opened across her torso with my teeth, too numerous and sharpened to a hundred razor-sharp points.

I was eating her alive.

She screamed again as I ripped into her, her body lurching as I wrenched at the cavity. And she just wouldn’t die. Her clothes were drenched in so much crimson and torn to shreds, and her face was contorted in anguish and terror. I tore into her again and again, her broken figure jerking and lifting as I pulled at her.

My conflicted nature came to the fore. Part of me was in agony. Part of me was laughing. Like a dam, distressed and buckling under the weight of rising floodwaters, something in me broke open.

With a snarl, I let my power pour out of me, giving it free rein in a way that I was too fearful to before. In that moment I didn’t care if the woods burst into flames, or if I drowned Hyrule with my hate. I just reacted.

I was just lost.

The mist barreled away from me in a great dome, letting the sunlight in. The vision was gone. I could breathe. In the clarity that followed I felt for Zelda’s presence and sent my power cascading towards her, opening a canyon through the fog. She spotted me as the sunlight washed over her, and she ran towards me, her expression full of relief. She’s so stupid. So am I.

She fisted her hands in my tunic, catching her breath as the mist encircled us again. I wanted to pull her into my arms. I wanted to hold her close and protect her from this place. I wanted to tell her everything I’ve seen and everything I am and beg her to take pity on me and put an end to this because I just couldn’t go on anymore—Goddesses, I couldn’t do this anymore.

But I was barely in control. My power was still flying through my veins, threatening to burst out of me at any moment and do incomprehensible damage. My heart was still pounding. I cautiously put my hands on her shoulders, hoping the contact would calm me a little. It did; her warmth under my hands grounded me, helping me shunt reality into the forefront of my mind and block the visions out.

“I don’t have as much courage as I thought,” she whispered.

She had no idea what she was saying. She was so, so brave, so young but so capable, standing on the brink of her power with all the potential in the world. She was beautiful and wonderful, and she was going to be an amazing queen someday. She embodied everything I loved about my Zelda.

I almost told her. I was almost that weak. But then I swallowed it and told her the truth instead.

“Neither do I.”

[hvilested]

Yes, you can cure Maladaptive Daydreaming

Two years ago when I joined this community, I think I was more dead than alive. I've been waging quite a brutal war with maladaptive dreaming and the array of issues that underlie it ever since then and I'm on my way out of this prison. I wanted to do something for you guys so here is a little essay with insights on MD and what you can do to understand better and finally tame this beast. Hopefully, someone will find it useful.

The split and the life between two worlds

Do you think the vague feeling of being split in two and existing between two worlds but belonging to none is exclusive to maladaptive daydreamers?

“If you try to have a conversation with me, I can’t bring myself to listen to you. I pretend to listen and you really think I do but my mind is somewhere else, thinking about it. Every time I try to stop doing it, I genuinely feel as if a part of me has been torn off and a deep sense of personal loss ensues. I feel as if I’m not here but I’m not there either and I can’t shake off this feeling of being split in two.”

This is what a recovering heroin addict once told me. Heroin addict. But it’s also what a regular maladaptive daydreamer could have told you, isn’t it?

Maladaptive daydreaming is, among other things, a typical psychological addiction. Most of the negative issues associated with maladaptive daydreaming come from the fact that it is an addictive coping mechanism and not some unique disorder with specific symptoms just recently discovered. You have heard million times that addictions are encoded in the primitive part of the brain associated with survival – which means that if you don’t get your fix right now, you feel more dead than alive and you need your drug of choice to bring you back to life. Your brain is sending a false message to you – it is issuing an urge that is blown out of proportion, compelling you to constantly indulge in daydreams and making you think that if you don’t, the world will end and you will lose a part of yourself. Drugs usually invade your sense of self – they fuse with it and by giving up the drug, you feel as though you are giving up a dear part of yourself.

Addiction is addiction but different types of drugs and addictive behaviors tell you different things about their users. So what does fantasy reveal about you? MD is like a guardian angel that tries to protect you too much and eventually causes more harm than good. But it’s still your guardian angel that tried lifting a burden off your brittle shoulders. It’s destructive in its own way but it was originally born to protect you from something. To realize and accept what you are trying to run away from is your first step towards recovery. Maybe it’s depression, maybe it’s low self-esteem and loneliness or it’s anxiety or PTSD.

Fall of the self

Maladaptive daydreaming isn’t the act of random mind-wandering – it’s a highly immersive mental activity, where all attention is gathered and directed towards happenings of the fantasy. This would be parallel to a so-called flow state, which is characterized by immersing intensely in an activity to the point of losing the sense of self. Which means, whatever happens in fantasy, happens, but not to you. It is a selfless experience, never integrated into what you call yourself, into sense of identity, into what makes you you. It exists as a detached, ecstatic, fleeting moment that slips through the fingers the moment you try to make sense out of it and process it as your own experience. You witness traces of happiness but the happiness is never yours.

Fantasy is an egoless state of mind where we are not ourselves. And by temporarily cutting ties from your own ego, the conscious identity, you’re also cutting ties from all insecurities you have ever had, from all the problems that are currently bothering you and this is why daydreams feel so damn good. Everything bad is just cut off from your perception. The part of your brain that defines your sense of self, along with all the negative things and mental illnesses attached to it, is turned off.

As you venture into this egoless place that is MD, you make up imaginary people you sometimes end up loving dearly or even fall in love with or you conjure imaginary places you’re desperately drawn to, and then suddenly – you wake up from your dream and you’re violently pulled back to reality and to being yourself. And this is where the problem arises: all those things you’ve done in your dreamworld and all those made up people you’ve come to love have nothing – absolutely nothing – to do with real YOU. They are not attached to your conscious sense of self. All those dreams and false memories you made – you made them in an egoless state of mind. And it’s this that makes you feel split. It’s not the fact that you’re physically apart from the content of your fantasies. It is the fact that your subconscious feelings, fantasies and desires do not connect to your sense of self. Even if everything you’ve been daydreaming about came true, you’d still feel like garbage, empty and miserable. If your imaginary friend came to life to make you less lonely, you’d still be lonely – because MD isn’t about made up friends or lovers or getting a new life. It’s about you not wanting to be you. Everything else is irrelevant.

In other words, you’re not addicted to your fictional characters or your imaginary love or to a fantasy about being a famous singer or writer. You’re addicted to not being you. You’re addicted to this erratic state of consciousness that is MD – regardless of its content – that provides a temporal relief.

I’m not saying that you don’t genuinely care about the content of your daydreams (quite the opposite, more on that soon) – what I am saying is that it’s not your love towards whatever is the content of your fantasies that creates this ugly feeling of being split between two worlds. One thing I can assure you (and this comes from my own experience) is that the moment you feel comfortable being you, those two worlds will reconcile, they will merge into one, and you’ll finally feel at peace with yourself.

Will a part of you be taken away as you give up your daydreams?

Maybe the saddest question I have ever asked myself was ‘how much of myself will I lose when I give up the only thing that makes me happy?’ Here’s a glimmer of hope: you’re not supposed to give them up. To give up the feelings you experience in your daydreams is self-mutilation. As strange or silly as they are, they still represent a censored part of your subconscious; maybe they are an epitome of your loneliness or your sadness. They are a testament to how hard you’re struggling and how hard you’re trying not to be dead – and to give this up is a crime towards yourself. Maladaptive Daydreaming isn’t just about wishful thinking and getting your wounds licked. It is that one place where your life flame stillburns while you may be dead in all other planes of existence. That’s enough to know that this MD thing isn’t all that entirely wrong. Maybe your real life is all emptiness and void but what you do in your daydreams – you do it with passion. And that’s enough to know that you are still capable of loving and caring about something just like other people. So passion exists and don’t you dare ever doubt that. It exists in a wrong place but it exists nonetheless. What you have to do is find a way to redirect those emotions from daydreams to reality and, as stated before, this causally happens once you’re finally you. All the positive emotions from your daydreams will flow back into you and you’ll feel as though these two worlds between which you have lived for so long have at last coalesced into one.

So what you want to do is focus on healing the self. It’s a tough one but there’s no quick fix here. Now comes the irony which you’ve been waiting for: in order to heal yourself, you need to let go of your daydreams. But didn’t I just say that you aren’t supposed to give them up, you ask? Don’t give up the passion, don’t give up the love you have for the content of your daydreaming, don’t give up the feelings – because they are all, real or not, a reminder that you’re alive. What you do have to give up is the false sense of comfort your daydreams give you. Try giving up all those countless hours you spend stuck in your own head pacing back and forth because you’d rather be there than here. Try giving up the temporal fix when you feel miserable. If someone angers you, don’t impulsively lock yourself in your room and act out a revenge in your head; go kick a sofa or something, lash out at something external.

You have to wean yourself off of this strange dissociative painkiller that’s fantasy, then let yourself feel all the pain with every ounce of your being, let all the negative emotions resurface, let them swallow you alive, don’t resist, don’t run away, accept them, let them ravage you, and somewhere along this process, a part of the you will be reborn. Something will awake. Not all of you, maybe just a small part but that’s enough to gather what’s left of your strength and continue the struggle. If you feel the urge to daydream, this is okay – as long as it doesn’t censor the pain which you shouldn’t run away from anymore, it’s fine to give in and indulge for a while if you feel like you have to. Don’t ignore temptations, this sparks the fire of addiction even more. It’s a well known pattern: if you fight the urge to engage in an addictive behavior, it makes it stronger. If you acknowledge it, analyze it, this is what breaks the cycle of addiction. In other words, the imperative is not to block the pain and negative feelings. If a sudden sense of self-disgust or low self-esteem suddenly hits you, welcome it. Welcome it, analyze it, let it consume you, and you will realize it is just a false message your brain is sending to you because that’s what brains of depressed people do, after all. The more you let yourself feel and process the negative feelings without censorship, the more will the urge to daydream weaken and the less you will run away.

Who are you really?

Depression usually enters people’s lives like a tempest – yesterday you were an optimistic person enjoying simple pleasures of life and today you feel like a suicidal or apathetic piece of shit, and this is how it is for most people. Depression that underlies MD, however, takes a different route. It enters your life stealthily, slowly, so slowly you don’t even notice it, then it gradually robs you of emotions, ambitions, memories, motivation, identity, empathy, and you end up thinking: “I don’t remember a time when I wasn’tmiserable,” or “these bad feelings must be a part of my personality, they have always been here“. Because of this, most of us fail to realize where depression (or anxiety or any other kind of chronic mental illness) ends and where we begin. So if this illness isn’t you, then who are you?

Let me make a digression here. MD is usually born when you can’t express yourself properly because you’re anxious, depressed or sometimes simply shy or lonely. Mental illnesses are like lenses which distort your perception. Everything you see appears more tragic, senseless or uglier than it really is. And your both eyes are infected with these lenses. But here your subconscious decides to play a trick on your mental illness and tells you: ‘well, if your both eyes are infected and make things appear worse than they really are, then why don’t you just close them?’ You do and this is the beginning of the addiction to fantasy. You stop paying attention to the outside world and you turn it inwards and use your mind’s eye to create things inside you: your daydreams. This mind’s eye, which is fantasy, cannot get infected with depression and this is why MD is a safe haven. Depression doesn’t reach there. What your subconscious forgets to tell you before it’s too late is that if you close those two eyes used for perceiving outer world, for things outside of yourself, you’ll be completely cut off from reality. But none of this is your fault – this is a war between mental illness, the attacker, and your subconscious, which is your protector, and you are their battlefield. You don’t have a single choice, they are the ones who decide – you only observe. So if you ever blamed yourself for being too weak to make a decision to cease this addiction, stop it. It’s wasn’t your fault.

Back to my question, who are you then?

The daydream version of you isn’t the true you but it’s not a fake one either. It’s a highly filtered product of your subconscious that tried to protect you. Then we have this other real-life you imbued with low self-esteem and negative thoughts that seem to go on a loop forever. Well, that’s certainly not your true self either. Heck, if it’s any comfort for you, the daydream you is far closer to the true you than this real-life depressed version of yourself will ever be.

Can you remember the time when you didn’t have MD? Can you remember your sense of identity when you were a child free of MD? Try conjuring up all those times when you knew how to live in the present. It doesn’t matter if you were 6 years old the last time you were here. Just try to pinpoint all those moments and try to remember the feeling of being in the now. Here’s one pretty handy trick you can use. I always joke that music is a drug that takes you on a trip down a memory lane. It’s like an emotional psychedelic. It transports you emotionally back in time, to another place, another reality, to wherever you wish. It helps people with Alzheimer’s remember who they are and regain a sense of identity for a short while. Maladaptive daydreamers often use music to help them imagine an alternate setting – but what if you used music to transport yourself to the past when you had neither depression nor anxiety or MD or whatever is bothering you? If you can remember a forgotten song which you used to listen as a child who at the time hadn’t had MD yet, listen to it again, try to remember who you were, and if the song is meaningful to you, the old you and your sense of self, which you used to have back then, will come back to you for those few minutes while the song plays. You’ll feel the warmth of finally being you. You won’t quite be in the present – you’ll be in the past, but it’s your real past, it’s your true self. Try to capture this feeling and then try to reenact it. It’ll strengthen your identity in the long run.

I’ll give another example on what set me free from my own MD for a short while. You all know what fight or flight mode is. What you also probably know is that most people with PTSD or chronic anxiety are stuck in a constant state of fight or flight. Spending too much time in this state eventually leads to a burnout and is a sure ticket to depression since you go from fight and flight into freeze mode where all your functions are off and you feel like an emotionless zombie. You don’t care, you don’t live, you don’t get angry or sad or happy, you only exist on autopilot. In order to feel normal and alive again, you usually need a fix so strong which will set your body back on fire. Someone or something has to attack you so fiercely in order for you to rethink your existence and regain your instincts and the will to fight back. This is what happened to me. When one of my daydreams violently crumbled some time ago, I got so ridiculously pissed off that for the first time after several years spent in freeze mode, I felt genuinely alive. I was me. The anger acted like a stimulant and the state lasted for 15 minutes until the anger wore off. But hell, during those 15 minutes, I was me. I was so mad but I was also indescribably happy. I could feel. I could let go. I was defeated but I also won. The thirst, the cravings, the split, this strange nostalgia for my daydreams all dissolved. But instead of just disappearing, every positive feeling that was limited to the daydream world only, such as sense of purpose, motivation and normal self-esteem, flew back into me. I didn’t lose a single part of me – quite the opposite – I regained back that detached part of my soul that existed only in daydreams. What took for me to awake was extreme anger, being defeated, my world crumbing to pieces. The moment I genuinely accepted that my dream world crushed, the moment I let go of all attachments holding me back for years, I was reborn. The anger, which is a natural stimulant, made something in me click. But note: this feeling of finally being alive and the desire to fight back woke up in me once my daydreams were in danger, not me. It’s because we’re so displaced, because fantasy is where we had hidden the core of our souls.

In the long run, you’re destroying neither the daydream you nor the positive feelings that come with it, you’re not giving anything up – you’re just transferring it to reality, to where it should be. But for this change to occur, before you can be reborn and whole again, you have to self-destruct, you have to let go.

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 75

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. | Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 75: Exegol

You regained consciousness once more. Kylo’s masked face was in front of yours, blocking most of your vision. The red jagged lines a harsh contrast to your surroundings.

He was stern. “You will do as I say, I must protect you, but I can not hold you like this any longer. You will feel me release your mind and your body, but you must do as I say. It is the only way you leave here alive. Do you understand?” Something about this place was worrying him. Why was it so dangerous?

You watched as the knights shifted nervously around you. But he allowed you to speak. “Yes.” And your body and mind were released. You could still feel a protective Force bubble around you as you analyzed where you were at.

It was dark, you could see lighting strike all around you, as you followed Kylo into this weird monument. The knights surrounding you as Kylo took the lead, his saber ignited. He was on the hunt.

Even though there was no hold on your mind you could feel his presence there. ‘This place is filled with the dark side of the Force. Remember, you will do as I say and only as I say.’

You all stepped on to this hexagonal shape on the floor, it jolted as it lowered you down into some sort of dark abyss. You could see large menacing statues, hundreds of feet tall surrounding the chamber you were entering. The constant bombardment of lighting is the only true source of light other than a weird dull blue glow of mist. If he hadn’t already told you, you would have thought this place was haunted or something. The aura of the room making you on edge.

You could hear chanting in the distance as a loud chilling voice spoke. “Ah, I see you have heeded my instructions.” Something was off but you couldn’t explain it.

Kylo responded to the seemingly disembodied voice. “I have brought her as you requested.” He was talking about you. But why did he request you? Why were you important to all this?

“Good, good my boy. There is hope for you yet. Much more potential than your grandfather.” The voice had a body, or you at least assumed it did as you approached a figure attached to some sort of mechanical arm. “The First Order was just the beginning I will give you so much more.”

Kylo aimed his saber at the crippled looking man. “What could you give me?” You watched the knights take defensive stances around you, following their boss’s lead. You put your hand on your blaster, hoping that whatever will happen, that Phasma’s training would be enough.

His voice almost had a mocking tone to it as he spoke. “Everything. A new Empire. The might of the Final Order will soon be ready. It will be yours since you did as I asked. You killed the girl, ended the Jedi, and became what your grandfather Vader could not. You will rule all the galaxy as the new Emperor.”

“But beware she is not who you think she is.” one of his wrinkly deformed hands pointed to you. “She is your weakness. Break her and this will all be yours.” Who was this man?

‘Do as I say and you will walk out of here alive. Disobey me and he will kill you.’ Kylo’s voice spoke in your mind. You didn’t know if he was supposed to be reassuring you or scaring you more.

“Yes, master,” is what Kylo responded. He turned around to face you, the world around both of you dissipated into black mist. Master? Who was this man? What was Kylo going to do? And then you felt it, you felt the black tendrils squeezing at the last bit of life you had in you, the last bit of you. You didn’t understand.

Tears streaming down your face as you fell to your knees, not being able to bear the pain. “Why are you doing this? You were nice once, what happened?” You couldn’t see anything but him, a loud roaring sound in your ears.

Kylo’s distorted voice ripped through you “Nice? Nice was Ben Solo, who was weak. I am better than him.” You heard the old man laugh at your struggles through the deafening roar.

You were pleading with him. “What about right after our wedding? You were so sweet then.” You wanted to trust him, but this wasn’t the man you knew.  

You heard a chuckle through his mask, something that would haunt even the bravest of warriors. “Ah yes, that was the leftover residue of Ben Solo leaving my body, the accumulation of my mother’s and the scavenger’s powers. Something I couldn’t exactly control at the time. But now it’s just you and me Kitten. The beast, the monster is all you have now.” He brought his hand to his heart, showing you he was the beast.

“You said you wanted me to fix you, to mend your broken soul. I can’t do that like this.” The grip of the Force around you was too much, you watched as his hand turned next to your head. And pain shot through your mind.

‘Do as I say and you will walk out of here alive.’ The voice inside your head was his, but it was different than the one speaking out loud to you. “You already have Kitten. You gave me the motivation to end Ben Solo, to break the part of me that was weak. And now I am breaking the part of you that is weak too. We will be together as one fulfilling my grandfather’s legacy, ruling the galaxy together. Two souls that have mended each other, that have mended together.” He stepped closer to you, taking your jaw in his large gloved hand.

You wanted all of this to end. You said the words you never wanted to really say. The words you wished wouldn’t be true. “You’re a monster.”

His head snapped at the declaration. “I’ve always been a monster, it’s only taken you this long to see it.” If he didn’t have the mask on you could have sworn he would be foaming at the mouth with anger. This is not the man you once knew. He was different. He was terrifying.

“Let me go. I want myself back.” You wanted to go back to Earth, you wanted to wake up and for all of this to be a dream. A small, small part of you wished you had never met him, but something inside of you was fighting for him, something much bigger than you had initially thought.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t know if I want to let you have yourself back. Because you could still run away from me. And guess what? A new name has appeared on my wrist.” He showed the piece of bare skin to you. “Empress Ren. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?  Maybe if we keep this act up, she will be the one that lives, kitten. And she won’t leave me.” A new name replaced yours, he had already started the process of breaking you.

‘Do as I say and you will walk out of here alive.’ His voice in your head was full of emotion, he was crying.

“You’re breaking my heart,” you were screaming now, your voice breaking, your body hurting as you struggled against his grip on your life and body.

“It needs to be broken so I can mend it. Fix it, make it whole, make it mine.” For some reason, it felt as if he was saying this without the mask,  but he wasn’t. You could hear him break with you.

But that didn’t stop what little fight you had left in you. “You’re killing me.”

It felt as if he was whispering to you, “No, I am letting you live. I am giving you life, a new life with me.” It was all too much.

‘Do as I say and you will walk out of here alive.’

 But it wouldn’t be you. It would be someone else entirely. But you gave in. You felt the glass shatter, the black ink spilling in. The embers washed away. You were gone. Your body crumpled to the ground. As your head made impact with the ground, you saw it. You saw the throne from your dreams. You weren’t fully conscious but you could hear what was happening around you.

The old man, “The ritual begins.”

Weird demonic chanting erupted from the room in some sort of agreement.

“He will strike me down and pledge himself as a Sith. He will draw his weapon. He will come to me. He will take his revenge. And with the stroke of his saber, the Sith are reborn. The Jedi are dead.” Why would this man want to be killed? What purpose would this serve if Kylo killed him? Something was off but you couldn’t do anything about it.  

But Kylo was apparently hesitating as the old man became angry, “Do it. Make the sacrifice.”

“I don’t want to be Emperor.” He didn’t he wanted you to have control, or at least that’s what he said in the beginning but that seemed like a lifetime ago.

You felt yourself regain vision and mobility; you were awake now. Or at least whoever you were now.

The old man was furious now. “Don’t be a fool my boy. Of course, you do. It is your destiny.” There was definitely a reason behind him needing Kylo to kill him.

“No, being the Emperor is not my destiny, nor was it my grandfather’s. We both have the same weakness. We love one woman too much, she is the galaxy to me. I will give it to her.”

You watched as lighting erupted from the old man’s hands. Kylo using his strength and ability to fight him, using his saber to deflect it, drawing the old man away from you. The red guards who had been surrounding the edge of where you were now engaged in a battle against the knights.

‘I know you are awake. Shoot him. It is the only way this all ends.’

You saw what was happening now; you looked like you were still unconscious, and Kylo and his knights were a distraction. You watched as Kylo lured the old man away from you, so the old man’s back was to you. This was your one chance.

You struggled to get the blaster, your entire body feeling as if it was hit by a train, sore and muscles almost frozen. You eventually took hold of it and aimed. If you missed you would surely hit Kylo who as struggling against the old man’s powers. All you could do was hope that your shot rang true as you pulled the trigger. There was a blast of energy that shot out as your blaster bolt hit, causing you to black out. You were weak.

When you awoke this time you were laying awkwardly on something hard, your face was being cradled by a hand. When you opened your eyes you were met with a familiar face. Kylo’s. His eyes scanned your face, looking for something but eventually, he just held your gaze. Something was different now.

Your voice was groggy, “What happened?” You saw bodies littering the floor around the large chamber, all of them the red-robed guards of the old man.

“I’ve changed you. I’m sorry but it needed to happen.” His voice was sincere as he caressed your face, some of the gentleness that was stored in your memory returning.

“So, she’s gone?” The old you was gone. Or at least you suspected it.

He shifted a bit, seeming to be a bit uncomfortable at the outcome. “She is, but I am here for you. I will protect you, my Empress.”

“Empress.” The name rolled off your tongue as if it always belonged. As if it was always a part of you.

“Yes, Empress Ren, leader of the First Order and now, the Sith Eternal and the Final Order. We’ve won. You have control over everything, you have control over me.” He seemed genuine in his statements. You won against that old man. You now had control over everything, everyone.

None of this answered the important question. “Who was he? The one who wanted to make you Emperor?” You sat up, on the throne from your dreams, you were seated in your rightful position, Kylo kneeling at your feet.

Kylo shook his head. “He was the old Emperor. The one my grandfather worked for, his master. Palpatine.” Something about him kneeling before you did something to you, something familiar inside of you awoke. You stroked his beautiful soft raven hair.

You nodded, “Why did he want you to be Emperor? What did he have to gain by you slaying him? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Kylo shook his head, his face scrunched up in confusion, “I do not know why exactly, but I suspect it may have to do with some old Sith rituals. My grandfather encountered one that could take over someone’s body, but not like what I did to you, like a true host. The transferring of complete consciousness. His body was old, and decaying, I was, the perfect host for him to take over. Strong in the Force, strong in the body, but more importantly I am young. Well, much younger than him. I believe he wanted to use me to live on, to still rule as the Emperor, but we foiled his plans.” He leaned into your hand as you stroked his hair, reveling in the touch.

Your brain was working differently, more calculated, more exact, more resourceful. “And what of the Resistance? I am assuming they are still alive.”

“They are, but I am still your guard dog, Kitten. Send me after them, let me destroy them for us, for you. So all the galaxy is finally under your rule as Empress.” He placed his hands on your thighs eager to be sent as a weapon of destruction for you, his lust for violence showing through. Along with what appeared to be lust for you as he couldn’t help his hands stroking up your legs.

“I will, but I would like one night with my husband first. Last night wasn’t something I enjoyed. My guard dog needs to remember that I am supposed to be treated like an Empress. And he needs to show me that before I will let him be my weapon to destroy my enemies.” His pupils dilated, and he swallowed back need. You could see that you were hitting all the right buttons with your new authority. He wanted you as you did him. You were going to show him, just how an Empress should be treated.

A/N: Insert the Poe Dameron meme here: "And somehow Palpatine has returned." But my question is: did I do it better? Let me know!

[writerforfun]

Underwing Challenge Day 6 + Day 7

6. What does your portfolio look like? Talk about as many other WIPs as you’d like here.

I have to be honest here, I never understood portfolio. I mean u understand what it is and its purpose but I never understood how to make it for myself.

But either way I guess I do have certain things I worked on.

Starting of with Collection.

1. Collection: Story 1: Mirror Defect: (DONE) (Sorry no cover)

Not all is as it seems.

Not all can be explained and even when the truth is out not everything will make sense.

"I just lost my brother, I can't lose her."

What can you do when you lose trust in those around you? When grief holds you too close?

When lies are hidden all around you?

When nothing is real?

Can you trust your own eyes? When all goes wrong who can you trust?

"Experitment 1034, you are next"

Is anything real? Are you real?

**Warning: character death, graphic description of the deceased character.**

I SUCK AT SUMMARIES.

The story was originally done to scare my uncle. I was going to send him this other story, which R.L. Stine wibe to it but sadly I lost it.

So here we are. Now this story features Mark, who despite all that has occurred, is trying to fix his broken family, even if it means destrying himself but is this family real?

You can check it out here

2. So, A Deal?: (DONE)

Met with death she has no choice but to let death consume her.

"No, I can't leave like this! Not like this."

There is no other way, or is there? But is she ready?

"What do you want? Does your soul not fill with rage, anger and despair? Pushing you to the core of vengeance? Don't you feel like a ghost? Dreading you will disappear? You know you are nothing but a ghost, and eventually, you will have to fade."

"I have seen the face of affliction brought by my reality, I'm tortured by the future of things that cannot be, haunted by visions of yesterday."

Her sin is great, but her desire greater. Will she survive the burn?

This was something I did for my school wrok once. Although it is quite different than the original work. I'm quite happy with the last chapter. I honestly just posted it out as a test to see if others would like it.

It took quite an effort and I enjoyed doing the last bit of it. I really want to make a sequal to it, get it going, but not really sure if this is going to go well.

You can check it out here.

3. Solar Elements: (DONE)

Avatar: The last Airbender inspired.

A lot can happen during a lifetime, faultless rotating to flaws, heroes into villains, a lifetime of destruction smiling in your wakes.

A lot can be lost in a lifetime.

"Wolf is going overboard,"

"We do not have time to wait."

"Surrender now and we shall show you all mercy."

"No, we will never yield to you"

"Then so be it."

"You are not prohibited to address better yet conduct such disgrace." "We are still alive!"

"Love you, Son"

A lot can happen during a lifetime, faultless rotating to flaws, heroes into villains, a lifetime of destruction smiling in your wakes.

"And so she has finally awoken."

I had done this for a story contest once, sadly I was unable to win. But I have to behonest, if I had I would have been so annoyed, it was awful, so awful. I won't talk much on it, as I still don't like this too much.

This feature elemtnal magic and time twist you can say, where a character, reborn must choose to either repeat history or change it completely.

4. Pirates tale: (WIPs)

Had this in for a while, been working on it but didn't have a plot till now.

The ship has no name, no crew, nothing. But if you see it, it's already too late.

Legend says they're ghost, some say they are cursed, others....... others don't live to tell the tale.

It was inspired by a prompt I saw once. Hoping to make these pirates cured to be vampires, hidden from all and only visible at night. They are insearch of their first crew captain, the one who must break the cures. Problem is, Captian dies 30 years ago.

Guess, his hidden daughter must be placed instead.

This is dumb, so dumb, but hey, I'll work on it.

5. The Basement: (WIPs)

Another school work.

This one feartures students sneaking into their school's basement. Each with their own story on why the basement is forbbiden.

If only they had listened and not followed through, then maybe they would not have encountered, the hidden dark past of the school.

This has a gay couple, lol I actaully send it to my teacher but I don't think she noticed :(. It needs alot of work though, so this may take a while.

6. To find the Truth: (WIPs)

This one seems to be liked a lot by you guys. Many seem intrigued.

In the dystopian future, when the world government collapsed, when humans fell and the virus took hold, out rose a series of mutants. Their genes mutated by the virus released when a power plant went nuclear.

These mutants, blessed with powers beyond their control, have taken leadership. Smart, strong, powerful and undefeatable. They hold power over the weak like you and me. But I won't let them stop me. I won't let them come in the way.

They are sloppy, weak and useless. The world is filled with criminals, danger and people in need. This world needs justice, it needs help and they won't help, so I will.

"They'll take you away. They take people like them away"

"I won't let them"

I worked up a lot on this in the past few day and have actually most of the plot down. Well the main chracter's backstory at least, even how the virus started and why these mutants have taken over.

I just need to start it out and get it going. I have done that and I was thinking of adding bits and pieces on how the world is after every sub-story, like telling the tale as the story progress.

Was also hoping to give this story, a big reveal as to who these mutants are and how they came to be, why they take other's like them and how they find other's like them.

7. To Sacrifice or To Live? (WIPs)

Still working up on the name here, but the story goes like this.

Two wedding decades a part, each holding nothing but tale forgotten.

An evil entity hanting them both. A power over both familes, readdy to demolish them whole this time.

Will the scarifice work?

Ok, before you turn away, here me out here.

Two weddings, one in the 1900s and the other in 2000s. Both familes trapped in a curse long active, each must work to find a way to break the curse. One failed, made it worse, will the new bride make it? Or will she suffer worse?

8. Collection: Haunting Memories (WIPs)

Jenny doesn't know how she did it but she did. She didn't mean to. She really didn't. But Nina is dead now and it's her fault. She did it.

It's her fault.

Then why do they blame Jake? Jake is sweet, kind and caring. Sure he was the one with the blade, covered in blood and coming to kill Jenny next but it wasn't Jake. Because she saw.

Saw him kill her. Push the blade through Nina, watching as the girl fell. Her blood turning the ground crimson. She saw as the life left Nina's eyes. As the killer slumped to the ground, the control over him wearing off.

Jenny knows because she killed Nina. Then why does no one believe her? And why do her memories differ from Jake's?

“I am telling you what happened.”

“All you are doing is wasting our time.”

“Then be patient, this is all I have. Please just hear me out.”

“We are busy people here. We don’t have time for stupid tales, girl”

“This is not a stupid tale. If you could just listen.”

“We are listening. Listening to you for the past 10 minutes, all you have done so far is tell us useless things. We have things to do.”

“Everything I mention is important. One thing missed and you won’t understand. Please. I need your help.”

“You have 10-”

“15”

“Fine 15 minutes.”

This I hope to work and get done by at least in the next month. It need a lot of work and must be quite slow yet fast paced. I need to make the plot a bit more than just what I have written.

8. Trick? No, I'll take the Treat (WIPs)

Halloween themed. Done quite long ago.

What will you do when your Halloween turns into a nightmare?

I have nothing much on it at the moment, but will update this soon.

7. What kind of partnership are you looking for in this event? Friendship? Somebody to bounce ideas off of? Something else? What sorts of people are you hoping to meet and adopt?

Honeslty, I did a lot of research in the past few days and boy do I ned a lot of work done.

For starters, I need someone who can actually tell me how my work is going, just how kuch of an effort I have out in and how it seems to others.

I need harsh, quite harsh feed back so I know what I am doing wrong, what I should improve with and what interests the reader about the book.

I also say wish to meet and know other writers here. Would love to meet them and get to know them.