#still cannot believe all of that buildup in this chapter was for NOTHING.

[nayruwu]

perhaps i'm alone in this, but the wording of this translation has always confused me.

i read it as "if i say it something bad will happen to everyone in this room", which didn't make sense to me, cause huh? only guren, kureto and shinya are in that room, the rest of guren's squad is off doing who knows what somewhere else, so wouldn't 'something bad' only happen to shinya? so i tought it'd have to be 'someone in this room', not 'everyone'.

turns out what guren's saying is not that something would happen to all of them, but that whatever happens would have a negative effect on all of them, which in hindsight seems really obvious but somehow i only understood it once i looked at the raw chapter. and it does make a lot more sense.

guren spilling the beans would be harmful to shinya because he'd literally fucking explode (allegedly), harmful to guren because well we've seen what happens when shinya is taken away from him, and harmful to kureto because he needs shinya for... something.

honestly a really really nice page, showing him standing behind guren as he says that. i miss it

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 8,506

Chapter Warnings: swearing, blood, major injury, seizure, character death

Chapter Summary: In which the sun rises.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Twenty-One: morning sun

He has a lot of thoughts on poetry. Poetry, he often finds, is just music without the tune. The rhythm is there already, and the words can be their own melody, if they’re written right, with a shape and a contour and a buildup and a decrescendo. He knows poetry. And poetry can tell stories, too, can tell whole narratives, can show a hero’s journey from the beginning to the bitter, bitter end, because something he noted a long time ago is that in the old stories, the old poems, in the meter and rhyme, there are few heroes who get happy endings. There are few stories that end with the hero growing old and finding peace. The heroes in the stories he was drawn to, the stories that Technoblade told him as they grew from children to lanky teenagers to adults, the heroes in those stories come to tragic ends.

So, he knows poetry.

Is there poetry in death?

Once, he would have said yes. Once, he would have said that death, perhaps, after a long fight, after a struggle lost, after all the world goes caving in and the hero stands alone knowing how far he has fallen, knowing there is only so much further to go, knowing that every cliff has its bottom and every sea its floor, after all of that—once, he might have said that death, after all of that, was the most poetic thing of all.

But he thinks he knows better now. He thinks that death is not poetry at all. He thinks that death is pain and suffering and hurting those who were left behind, and death is an ending that cannot

(is usually not, and perhaps he needs to examine that, too, needs to start considering himself lucky for the second chance that no one else ever gets, because he gasped back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes and there has been so much pain since then but there has been beauty and now revelation)

be revised once the pen has left the paper, and all the best stories are edited before they are consumed.

But life is not a story, and he is a person, not a role, even if that thought turns everything upside-down, forces him to consider everything he thought he knew about the axis on which the world spins.

And dying cannot be poetry, because he thinks he is dying, and there is nothing lovely about it at all. Not now.

(and not then, either, though you were not ready to know it)

“Shut up, you’re not fucking dying,” Tommy says, and with the words come a wash of cold clarity, focus that he clings to desperately. It might be a mistake, because the pain comes back to the forefront, too, sharp and everywhere and overwhelming and he wants to retreat from it, and he thinks he’s going to retreat from it, if it keeps on like this, so it’s a matter of how long he can manage to hold on.

He’s only just recovered his footing. He’s not going to let himself slip away. Not when he’s only just figured out he wants to keep standing.

And then his heart spasms, sending a burst of hot pain ricocheting in his chest, and he is reminded that he might not have a choice in the matter. He tries to draw in breath, and finds his airways blocked. He tastes iron on his tongue. He tries to draw in breath, and he can’t, and his lungs are burning, burning—

“Turn his head,” Tubbo says sharply, “turn it, he’s choking—”

Someone wrenches his head to the side. He coughs, once, twice, and then he’s wracked with them, curling in on himself as best he can, hands coming up to clutch at his chest, his throat, and he can feel the blood spilling from his mouth, pooling in his cheek and splattering on his lips. Blood. It waters the vines, the vines that are turning to dust. The blood vines are watered, and nothing at all happens, because the vines are dead.

The vines are dead, and he is dying, because he’s pretty sure that his internal organs are all giving out.

“He’s coughing up blood,” Fundy says, near hysterically, “why is he coughing up blood, what’s wrong with him—?”

“The Egg hurts you when you hurt it,” Tommy answers, matching his tone, his high pitch, his fear. “The Egg—and I fucking forgot, oh my god, why did I let him do it, we should’ve figured this would happen—”

“Does anyone have pots?” Tubbo demands. “Does anyone have pots, because I don’t.”

“I didn’t grab any,” Fundy says, “it all happened so fast, I didn’t think to grab any—”

“Wait, shit, I’ve got one,” Tommy says. “Here, c’mon.”

He feels hands on him, gently pushing him out of the position he’s folded himself into. And then, he’s leveraged to sit more upright, and he groans, something in his abdomen screaming in protest at the shift. He doesn’t have the strength to keep his head up, so he lets it fall back, and it hits someone’s chest. He’s propped up against someone, and as his vision clears, just a bit, he sees Fundy crouched to one side, hands hovering over him, and Tommy kneeling right by him, tugging on the cork of a potion, so it’s Tubbo that he’s leaning against.

“Here, Wilbur, just,” Tommy starts, and then the glass is being held to his lips. He parts his lips compliantly, and he feels the liquid slide across his tongue, but there’s too much blood in his throat for it to go down smoothly, and in the next second, he’s coughing again, sputtering, trying to suck air into a throat that’s too clogged and lungs that won’t quite inflate. He jerks, and Tubbo’s arms come up from behind him, grabbing his shoulders and holding him steady even as his body tries to escape the inescapable.

“C’mon, Wil, please,” Tommy says, and his eyes are wide and so very blue, and there’s a sheen across them. Tears. He’s making Tommy cry. “Please, you’ve got to swallow.”

He can’t get in a good enough breath to be able to tell him that he’s trying, that he would very much like to swallow, it’s only that absolutely nothing seems to be cooperating with him at the moment. But surely Tommy knows that, knows that he would if he could, and he’ll keep trying, even though—even though everything hurts, and really, there’s no other way to put it than that. Everything hurts, every inch of him, like his skin is being stretched too tight and he’s boiling from the inside out.

(but then again, Tommy doesn’t know the realization he’s just come to, he just sees his brother limp on the ground and fading away before his eyes and coughing up the potion he’s given him, coughing up what might be the best chance they have to save him, and that is what Tommy sees, so is there any wonder that he automatically assumes that)

No. No, he needs Tommy to know. He needs all of them to know that he doesn’t want this, that he doesn’t want to go, that he’s not giving up.

Tommy presses the potion to his lips again, desperate, insistent. He parts them again, and this time, some of it goes down. A bit goes down the wrong pipe, in fact, setting him to coughing again, but that burn is nothing compared to everything else. He can feel the magic begin to take effect right away, racing inside of him, trying to repair what has been broken and torn apart, and because he can feel it at work, he can feel exactly what’s wrong, can feel it try to patch holes inside of him that the Egg’s death throes ripped open, can feel it surrounding his heart, trying to encourage it to beat in a steady rhythm again, can feel it in his lungs, trying to reopen one that has half-collapsed. He can feel it all, and he knows that even if he managed to down the whole flask, it wouldn’t be enough. Not for this.

Because magic can only do so much. Because magic only goes so far.

Despair pools in his chest along with the fire, but he bucks against it, because he doesn’t want

(he doesn’t want to die and it took him so long to decide as much to understand himself enough to realize it and he doesn’t want to die but his body is giving out even as he fights to stay and this cannot be how it ends, it cannot be, because the world is cruel and the world is unfair but he cannot believe that it would be so unjust as this, so unjust as to take away what he has only just realized he wants to keep)

(but then again, the world does not often listen, does not often care for what is good and what is fair, because the world simply is, and that was a lesson he learned long ago, chased from the podium, the arrow in his back, betrayal and desperation playing a counterpoint melody, and it would never have happened if fairness was something the world at large took into consideration)

(but then again, does the universe not listen, when it well and truly counts? though to say as much would be to imply that it never counted before, when it did, did and still does, still does, because perhaps he can heal if given the chance but he will not forget and neither will anyone else)

to die. He doesn’t want to die. And if ever there was a moment to fight against despair, to fight against despair and win, for once, it is now. It is now.

“I’m trying,” he gasps out, and then immediately has to stop, has to struggle for air again, his chest heaving. He’s shaking, his bones trying to flee his skin.

“I know,” Tommy says. “I know, just come on—” The potion is back, and it’s the last of it, and he manages to force down some more. His vision sharpens, his breathing becoming just ever so slightly easier, but it’s not going to be enough. His heart falters, skips several beats, sends deep pangs shooting through his ribcage, and he knows it’s not going to be enough.

“I am trying,” he insists, as soon as he has enough air for it, “I am, I don’t—I don’t want to go—”

He coughs. Something inside him shifts, grating against other things, and fuck but that hurts, and there’s blood dribbling down his lips again. Hot and sticky. Damning.

“Okay, okay, that’s good, you’re not going anywhere,” Tommy says, “you’re not, we’re not gonna let that happen—”

“Comms are still down,” Fundy says. “I’m not getting through to anyone. Should I—should I go and get someone? I’m a fast runner, I can make it there and back.”

No.

No, no, he—it makes sense, what Fundy is suggesting, but he doesn’t want his son to leave him, because what if he leaves and he—he never gets to tell him all the things he wants to say, all the things he should have said a long, long time ago, what if he leaves and the last that Wilbur sees of him is his retreating back and that’s all, that’s all there is for either of them, what if he dies here and now and he never gets to—

(a scene, imagined: the sun setting over the water, a warm, lazy breeze rustling his hair, and they are sitting side by side, quiet and companionable, and they are fishing, their lures bobbing together in the lake, and all is not fixed and all is not forgotten but there is peace and forgiveness and an opportunity to repair the once-burnt bridge and he wants that he wants he wants)

He moves his arm. The first time, it flops back down uselessly, but he tries again, expends far more effort than he should, and he hooks his fingers into Fundy’s sleeve. Fundy stills, and Wilbur looks at him. Really looks. Meets his eyes and keeps his gaze there. And he doesn’t know what he looks like, doesn’t know how bad he must appear at the moment, but though there is worry on his son’s face, there is something else there, too, something more complicated.

“Wil?” Fundy says softly.

He might not get another chance for this.

“I love you,” he says, and he can feel the words sliding into each other even as they leave his mouth, but he hopes he’s comprehensible. He prays, because he needs Fundy to know this. “I love you, and—I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry. I wanted to be better this ti—”

His heart squeezes, like it’s doing its level best to collapse in on itself, and he breaks off with a strangled squawking sort of noise. And Fundy makes an odd noise of his own.

“Shut up,” he says. “You’re not—you’re going to be fine. Stop talking like you’re going to—you can’t leave again, okay, you can’t do this to me again, you can’t—”

He’s hurting his son. Hurting his son just like he has all along, and he’s powerless to stop it, powerless once again. And there is some measure of gladness in it, in knowing that Fundy does not want him dead, but he is hurting him, hurting him when he never wanted to do so again. When all he really wanted was a chance to make things better, if he could. If he would be allowed.

He tightens his grip on Fundy’s sleeve. Fundy’s face shutters, and then he reaches over with his other hand and pries his fingers off, and Wilbur thinks that actually he might die right here and now.

Except then, Fundy takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, clutching them tightly. He tries to squeeze back and only manages a flutter, but it’s enough.

(because all is not well between you and perhaps it never will be, but know this, know that your son still loves you)

“I’m so sorry,” Tubbo says suddenly, and he can’t crane his neck to look at him, so he has to settle for listening to the words. “If I hadn’t used the totem, maybe—”

“Oh my god, don’t fucking say that,” Tommy snaps, and Wilbur quite agrees, because if Tubbo hadn’t used the totem, then perhaps this would feel very different, and perhaps he would not be terrified of the sensation of his life slipping away from him, because he would have death’s most effective preventative measure resting in his hand, waiting for his heart to still in order to repair the damage. But if Tubbo hadn’t used the totem—and he didn’t see exactly what happened, occupied as he was, but he can guess well enough from the still-present echoes of terror on Tommy’s face—then Tubbo would be dead. And that is not an acceptable loss.

“It’s the truth,” Tubbo insists.

“No,” he forces out, “no, that wouldn’t—that wouldn’t be any better—”

And then, his muscles seize. His back arches, and he hears himself cry aloud, and then the world goes away for a bit.

When it all returns, it crashes in on him at once, and he feels disoriented, exhausted, like his brain is seeking anything recognizable, anything to help make sense of what’s happening, and coming up with nothing. It takes a moment for him to remember where he is, what’s just happened, and even then, he feels dazed, almost outside of himself. He still hurts, but it’s distant. Like it’s happening to someone else.

He’s lying fully on the ground. There’s something soft under his head. A jacket? There is no one holding his hand, and a low keen rips itself from his throat. But no one’s listening—sound filters back in, and it takes effort to parse the voices from each other, speaking over themselves as they are.

“—going,” Fundy is saying, and Fundy, Fundy, he’d like Fundy to come back and be next to him, but he forces his head to flop to the side and sees that Fundy is standing now, standing with the rest of them. “I’m going, we need help, he’s—he’s literally dying right now—”

“He’s not fucking dying,” Tommy says, “would you stop saying that, he’s not—”

“If you’re gonna go get help, then go and hurry up up about it,” Tubbo is saying at the same time, and—

That’s right. He’s dying. He might have just had a seizure. That’s probably what that was. Caused by—seizures can be caused by traumatic brain things, right? Injuries? Having the Egg fucking around in there probably counts, and even beside that, he felt it die, felt it as the power of the universe flowed through the sword in its hand and tore it apart, even as it took him down with it.

(and there are some things that a mortal mind is not meant for, and surely, surely, the universe in its glory and its infinity is one of them and yet it is in your head always humming always there and it will not leave even when you do not pay it heed)

So that’s that. He’s just had a seizure, and he thinks his body’s gotten to the point where it’s given up on trying to fix anything, because the pain is fading, fading back into numbness, as if all his nerves have collectively decided that this situation is a little too fucked up and there’s nothing they can do, no point in working on it anymore. No point in signaling that anything’s wrong when nothing’s being fixed.

He’s dying.

(he doesn’t want to go)

“No way he gets back in time,” someone says. “You’ve got minutes at most.”

He’s not sure who spoke, but he agrees. Short of a miracle, he’s—he’s dying, and he wants to cry, because he doesn’t want to go. His surroundings blur.

He’s alone. Why isn’t anyone next to him? They’re standing, around him but not with him, talking to each other, voices so frantic and scared, and they’re just kids, and it’s so unfair that any of this is being put on them at all, and he doesn’t blame them for it, of course, but he thinks that if anyone was going to go for help, it should have been done right away. Not now. It’s not going to do any good now.

If he’s going to die, he doesn’t want to be alone.

(he intended to die alone, at the end of it all. he intended for himself to be the only one to be hurt. that’s one of the only reasons why he didn’t blow it all to hell sooner, because people were there, people talked him down, people like Quackity, people like Tommy, and they didn’t talk him out of wanting to do it but their presence reminded him that he didn’t want them to be hurt, he only wanted himself to hurt, because that was what was fair and that was what was right)

(but he didn’t die alone, at the end of it all. Phil held him, and he felt a little less afraid under all that relief, and the last thing he remembers from that day is warmth overwhelming, and if he’s going to die again, he doesn’t want to be cold, alone, alone)

He tries to talk, to say something, but he really is having trouble breathing now. His chest rises and falls in quick, short pants, too shallow to supply enough oxygen, too little to support his voice. He tries to move to get their attention, but his limbs don’t respond to his commands.

And then, Fundy’s taking off, running for the entrance, and no, no, no—

He finally manages to meet Tommy’s gaze. Tommy’s crouched by him again in an instant, and Tubbo is, too, grabbing his hand, and he’s glad of it, glad for the contact, but—

“It’s okay,” Tommy tells him. “You’re gonna be fine, Wilbur, Fundy’s gonna go get someone, and they’ll bring more pots, and, and another totem, too—”

His vision is darkening. He wants Fundy to come back. His heartbeats are growing more erratic, slower, weaker.

“Tommy,” Tubbo says, voice small, and stops. Tommy goes silent for a moment.

“No,” he says, then, and his voice is a sob. Wilbur wants to comfort him. He can’t move. “No, no, this isn’t fair—”

He knows. He knows, and he can’t do a thing about it.

“I—” he manages, pushing the word out with what little air is circulating through his lungs. “I don’t want—”

He can’t finish.

“I know you don’t want to go,” Tommy says, “I know, so, so you won’t, you won’t, you’re going to be fine—”

“We’re here, Wilbur,” Tubbo says. “We’re right here.”

He’s glad. He wants to stay with them.

“Jesus, Wilbur.” There’s that voice again. Not Tommy’s, not Tubbo’s. Soft and exasperated, and perhaps a little bit concerned, but he’s not sure. His ability to think, to reason, is slipping from his grasp, and one some level, that terrifies him, but on another, he can no longer care. “You giving up?”

The peculiar combination of derision and amusement is familiar. He opens his eyes; he hadn’t realized he’d closed them. Above him, a face hovers, upside-down from his vantage point. Dark hair, scruff, chipped horns, a blue sweater. Schlatt.

How long has he been here?

“Is this how you’re gonna go out?” Schlatt asks him. “Taken out by a—whatever the hell this was? You know, I’m still not clear on that. None of you assholes ever explained it to me. Some kind of demon bullshit. But you’re just gonna let this happen?”

Somehow, his voice cuts through the haze that’s filled his mind, cuts through even where Tommy and Tubbo’s voices have blended together, becoming one with the background. Perhaps it’s the sudden burst of annoyance, an energy he thought he no longer had; of course he’s not letting this happen. There’s just not a whole lot he can do to fight against acute organ failure. Does he look as if he planned this?

“You don’t want to go, though,” Schlatt says. “I heard that. Good on you, I guess. Deciding that life’s worth something after all. I’m real proud.”

He tries to glare at him. He has no idea whether his face is doing anything or not. If it is, he hopes that the boys don’t think he’s mad at them.

“Okay,” Schlatt says. “Okay, you know what? Let’s give this a try. You’re a real jackass, though, you know that? I want to make sure you know that. I need you to remember that to the end of your days. I want you to put it on your tombstone when you do finally kick it. Here lies Wilbur Soot, he was a real jackass.”

He doesn’t understand what Schlatt is trying to say. He’s rambling, as if to himself. And the world is sliding away again.

(he’s trying to hold on but there’s only so much he can do if the entire cliff face gives way there’s only so much he can do to fight against it there’s only so much)

But then, he feels it. The tether. The rope that binds them. The trailing connection. It opens up, pulling like gravity on his heart, and there’s that familiar sensation, energy leaving him, flowing down the line, except this is energy that he truly doesn’t have to spare, and the last embers of his panic flare up again, because surely Schlatt can feel it, can feel that he has nothing to give, that this is only going to kill him quicker, within seconds if he keeps this up and he may not have much of a chance here but he doesn’t need Schlatt making it worse—

“Holy shit!” he hears Tubbo say, backed up by, “What the fuck are you doing?” from Tommy an instant later. He can’t see them. He can’t see anything. Their voices are far away, and he’s trying to reach them, but he’s falling, and he can’t stop it, can’t stop himself, and the void is close.

(and he’s scared)

“Hey Tubbo,” he hears Schlatt say. Distantly, from a long way away, and getting quieter. Everything is dim. He’s floating. “You deserved better than me, kid, you really did.” A pause. “Tell Fundy the same thing, would you?”

His heart beats. Once. Twice. And then does not beat again. He’d be in pain if he could still feel it. But it’s all gone. All falling away, and the void is close, the void is reaching out to him, and he is—

And then, the tether reverses.

Energy flows back into him. What Schlatt took, and somehow, inextricably—more.

He slams back into himself all at once, gasping for air, back arching off the ground as he is hit with—everything. Sensation, in his fingers, in his toes. Pain, in every inch of him, every atom. Lungs that inflate, barely at first and then more fully. Ruptured places repairing themselves. A heart that starts again, and beats, beats, beats.

“C’mon,” Schlatt is muttering, over and over, and though Tommy and Tubbo are still talking, it’s the only voice he can latch onto. “C’mon, c’mon.” His hand is splayed across Wilbur’s chest, firm and solid, pressing down. “C’mon.”

He has sight again. Schlatt is still there, is still leaning over him, strain written on every line of his face, and Wilbur doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand what he’s doing, doesn’t understand where this energy is coming from, doesn’t understand how it’s—healing him. It’s healing him. Though—Schlatt is a ghost, is usually intangible, has to rely on Wilbur’s lifeforce if he wants to do anything, but perhaps that doesn’t mean Schlatt has none of his own. Perhaps it’s just not enough to sustain him. Perhaps it’s not enough to form him a body, not enough to create life from death.

But perhaps it’s enough for this.

Just as he works through it, Schlatt loses his solidity. His hand slips down, passing through Wilbur’s chest, and he shudders at the sensation, tingling and cold. But Schlatt doesn’t pull away, and the energy keeps flowing, and then, Schlatt starts to flicker, his form wavering in and out of reality.

And finally, Wilbur thinks he understands.

(reciprocity is something they both know well, and a connection once opened can flow both ways)

“You’re giving too much,” he says, though he’s practically mouthing the words, so thin is his voice.

“Yeah, well,” Schlatt says, his voice echoing and distant and staticky. Like a snowfall. “Maybe I want you to prove me wrong.”

Prove him wrong?

(a sunny day, flowers twisted absently in his hands, blue flowers to match the blue sweater, blue sky above, and Schlatt’s voice saying, people like us don’t change, and he once believed that, believed that his role was set and there was no going back, and he believed that for Schlatt as well, believed that for the both of them there could be no redemption, but now he isn’t so sure, and he looks into Schlatt’s eyes and he thinks that perhaps)

“Schlatt,” he whispers, and Schlatt gives him a long look. Hard, but not cruel, measured, but not mocking, considering, not dismissive. And perhaps, just perhaps, there is a little bit of regret there, too.

(regret for the boys they once were, full of life and ideas and hope, tongues sharp and minds sharper, and what good friends they used to be, in the days of their youths when they were free and unburdened and war was a tale from the past and politics a distant future and betrayal a joke and a game, when they were young, when they were young)

“Prove me wrong, Wilbur,” Schlatt says, and then, he is gone. He winks out of existence, and there is no shimmer of blue in the air, no feeling of being watched, of eyes on him, and the tether breaks, snaps apart, and he lets out a soundless shout as the backlash hits him, like a rubber band snapping back into place. The energy stops, and there is nothing in its place, and he reaches out, instinctively, searching, and finds nothing. Where the ghost was, there is blank space. Only the world, and no hum of the stars.

(the hum of the stars is in your mind and your mind only and you are alone inside of it and there is no other not anymore)

And he is alive.

“What the fuck,” Tommy is saying. His hands paw at his neck, pressing up to find his pulse, and Wilbur can feel it. The touch is warm. “What the hell did he do to you, that fucker—Wilbur? Wilbur, c’mon, answer me, man, are you still—”

“Here,” he says, and Tommy falls silent. “I’m here.”

He is here. He is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and the vines are still turning to dust above him. He is here, and he hurts, still, deeply and acutely, every inch of him aching, but his heart beats steadily, his lungs expand when he breathes, and there is no catch in his throat, no urge to cough, no churning in his stomach, no convulsions wracking him, and his vision is clear.

“Wilbur?” Tubbo asks. His voice shakes.

“I’m here,” he says again. “I’m not going. I’m still here.”

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, and then, Tommy’s all but on top of him, lying on his chest, wrapping his arms around him, knocking the breath right out of him, and Tubbo follows a short second behind, taking up all of the space that Tommy isn’t. He wheezes, but it’s a good sort of wheeze, even if it hurts. It definitely hurts. But he’s hardly about to get them to stop.

They pile on him, grabbing onto him like their lives depend upon it,

(or like his life depends upon it)

and he feels warm, and present, and here. Still here.

(safe)

(alive)

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. That’s about all the volume he can manage; his throat feels shredded. “I’m so sorry I scared you.”

“You’d better be sorry,” Tommy chokes out. “I thought you were gonna die.”

“I thought I was too,” he says. “But I didn’t want to. I fought it, I swear. I don’t want to go. I mean that.” They’re on top of his arms, pinning them. He gives them a nudge, experimentally, but they don’t give an inch, so he’s going to have to settle for not hugging them, apparently. “I’m staying right here. I don’t want to die.”

The words are novel. He thinks he’d like to say them over and over again, just to test them out, to feel the truth in them. He doesn’t want to die, and more than that, he rather thinks he wants to live. What a revolutionary thing it is, to want to live.

“You dickhead,” Tommy mutters, and buries his face in his shirt, which becomes damp in short order. He won’t call him on it.

“Please don’t do that again, though,” Tubbo says. “That was actively terrifying.”

He manages a laugh. The sound of it surprises him. “I’m not planning on it,” he says.

Despite the heavy weight of two teenage boys resting on him, he feels lighter than he has in weeks. Since he woke up in that forest, rain falling on his face, and turned to the arctic, to the snow and the tundra and the promise of family that he didn’t know how to feel about, the promise of a family that was scattered and broken into too many pieces. Since seeing his brother again a scarce day later, standing in the rain, the notes of the guitar fading in the air. Since the Egg, since the prison, since arguments and tentative reconciliations and everything that’s happened between now and then. And the thoughts still lurk. He can sense them in the shadows of his mind, ready to swell forth again, ready to tell him all about what he deserves and how he will be betrayed and how everyone hates him and he hates himself but for now—

For now, in this moment, he wants to live, and he wants to live well, and he pushes aside the whispers of what he deserves and lets himself be, and lets himself love.

(and lets himself be loved)

And then: footsteps. Several pairs, rushing down the corridor. He can’t get a good look, and the boys don’t seem inclined to take much notice, either. But he has a feeling as to who it is, and his suspicion is confirmed a moment later, as Fundy’s voice floats toward him, saying, “—bad, I mean, it’s really bad, I really think he’s literally dying, and I don’t, I just don’t—” He sounds as though he’s been keeping up this litany for some time, perhaps more as something to say than anything else, something to focus on, something to distract him a bit. His voice gets closer, and then stops. “Oh my god, is he dead?” His voice pitches upward, and overlaps with a sharp inhalation—Phil’s, he recognizes.

So there’s only one thing to do.

“Help,” he rasps, “I’m being crushed.”

There is a long moment of silence, and he almost wishes that Tommy and Tubbo would get up so that he could see the looks on their faces. Almost, but not quite. He’s content to stay like this for a good while longer.

“Oh my god, he’s alive,” Fundy says, and there is a sharp exhalation, also from Phil.

“You fucks,” Phil says, relief audible. “Do you know how scared I was?”

“I wasn’t,” Techno says. “I wasn’t worried at all.”

Finally, Tommy stirs, lifting his face from his chest and glaring off in the direction of the entrance. He also lifts a hand and flips them off.

“Fuck off,” he says. “We’ve just had a traumatic experience, we have. Are you going to stand there and be—and be twats, or did you bring anything useful? Like—” He stops, looking back down at him. His face is vaguely tear-stained, though Wilbur’s pretty sure that most of it is in his shirt. “Do you still need some pots? Or did—what the hell did he even do, anyway? How did that—you were definitely dying, and then he was there, all, all like that, and then he disappeared and you were better. What did he do?”

“Changed, I think,” he murmurs, and judging from the expression on Tommy’s face, he doesn’t get it. But that’s alright.

“Okay,” Phil says, and then he’s sweeping toward them and kneeling. His wings are on full display, he notes, no effort at all put toward hiding them, and maybe it doesn’t really mean anything, but he can’t help but feel glad. Phil should never have to hide his wings, no matter what condition they’re in. “Alright—here, Tubbo, could you move over a bit?”

Tubbo shifts off of him, too, his breathing unsteady. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed to match Tommy’s. He doesn’t say anything, just shuffles to the side so that he’s sitting next to Tommy. Phil shoots a quick smile at him, one that’s probably supposed to be reassuring but comes off as strained, and then, his hands are on Wilbur’s shoulders.

“You think you can sit up, Wil?” he asks, and Wilbur tries. He tries, but immediately gives it up as a lost cause as all his core muscles cry out in immediate protest.

“Sitting up ability is currently on strike, I believe,” he says, and Phil’s brow furrows in concern, but he takes it in stride. Behind him, Fundy and Techno are both hovering—though Fundy’s far more obvious about it. It is a bit funny how they’re both doing it, though, and the contrast between them, Techno’s bulk and general everything next to Fundy’s fidgeting. Fundy keeps casting glances at Techno, too, nervous ones.

Phil pulls him into an upright position, and he moans, his head swimming for a second before the lightheadedness abates. He hunches forward, letting gravity pull him back down a little; he thinks he’d flop over like a ragdoll if it weren’t for Phil steadying him.

“Where are you hurt the worst?” Phil asks, voice quiet. “Fundy said you were coughing up blood. And that you had a seizure, I’m guessing, judging from what he told us.”

He can still taste it on his tongue. Sharp iron. And his limbs are all very sore.

“A bit everywhere,” he admits. “I’m pretty sure all my organs were giving out on me at once, so I don’t think there’s one specific area that needs attention.” Phil’s expression widens into open dismay at that, and something very much like fear, and perhaps he shouldn’t have phrased it quite like that. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so blasé about his imminent death in front of the man who he begged to take his third life and definitely emotionally scarred in the process. But he’s still a bit wrapped up in the fact that he’s alive at all, alive and glad to be so.

“Okay,” Phil says, in a way that implies he definitely does not think that it’s okay, but he’s trying to keep it together. “Okay. That’s—okay. Do you think you could get down a regen?”

He pulls a face, but nods. Regen potions have never been his favorite; their magic is rough, unsubtle, far more concerned with function over comfort. But he likely needs one, or two, or several, or as many as his body can keep down, because he is alive, but probably far from alright, still; the continuing ache is evidence enough of that, and he’s fairly certain that if he tried to stand, he would tip over immediately. Phil has no reservations, bringing out a pot from his inventory and holding it up to him, a mirror of Tommy’s actions a minute before. Only this time, he brings up a shaking hand to help support the glass, even if he can’t hold its full weight, and he swallows all of it without coughing.

It gets to work. He winces, and then decides that he’s been on the ground long enough. The energy from the pot is more than enough for him to attempt to get up.

“Whoa,” Phil says, “wait, Wilbur—”

He’s up. His vision blacks out for a second, but when it clears, he’s still up, if woozy. He imagines he might need help to walk any significant distance, but he won’t need to be carried, at least. Which is nice. Being carried is undignified.

“You should absolutely not be standing up,” Tommy snaps, and he raises an eyebrow.

“And yet,” he says, spreading his arms. Once again, he gets the impression that he’s being far more casual about all of this than he should be. He imagines that it will hit him later, the horror of it, seeing Niki’s face twisted in rage, letting the Egg inside his mind once again, almost being unable to pull himself out, almost dying right after he figured out that he didn’t want to. It will all his him, he’s sure, but for now, he would like to walk out of here under his own power, his family by his side, everyone alive and unharmed, the trouble dealt with at last. “I’m alright. I actually mean that. I’m not going to keel over.”

He inhales. Wrinkles his nose. Actually, it doesn’t smell very nice in here.

“Is the rest handled?” he asks, glancing at Phil. Phil is standing very close to him, wings flared, likely ready to catch him if he needs it. He won’t, though he appreciates the gesture.

“We felt the Egg go,” Phil says. “It was like—like the world itself distorted for a second, and then patched itself back up. We were already on our way here when Fundy came to get us. In a nutshell, yes, it’s handled. Dream was still up when we left, but the rest of the Egg people just sort of—stopped. And nobody on our side went down hard. Eret and Puffy got the worst of it, but they’ll both be fine, last I saw.”

“But Dream was still up,” he says. Beside him, Tommy’s shoulders hunch.

“Not for long,” Techno says. His gaze is fixed behind them, on the Egg. “We would’ve stayed if we weren’t sure of it.” His eyes drift to Tommy’s for a second. “The others are handlin’ it. But we can go see.” And then, to Tubbo: “The totem came in handy.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes,” Tubbo says, expression inscrutable. “It did. Thank you, Technoblade.”

Techno shrugs. “I gave it to be used,” he says dryly. “Let’s not make a habit of it.” And that is a Techno way of saying you’re welcome, of burying the hatchet as much as he is able, and it’s not nearly enough, but it’s a first step. And then, Techno literally steps forward, and Wilbur is a little too concerned with the way that Tubbo stiffens to notice exactly what his intent is, which is why it takes him by surprise when Techno takes his head in his hands and presses their foreheads together.

Just for a second. But it’s an old gesture, a familiar gesture, and not one that he ever expected to receive again. His breath catches.

(you were kids the first time he did this, the first time he butted his head against yours, impossibly gentle, tender in a way you hadn’t realized Techno knew how to be, and it wasn’t until later that Phil explained it to you, explained piglin instincts and the concept of a sounder and how Techno always, always feels far more than he lets on, and always, always cares, perhaps too much, and he still does, despite everything, he still does)

And then, Techno walks forward, past them, to the husk of the Egg that lies behind, and the moment is over. But it was there. It was there, when it didn’t have to be, when Techno would still be well within his rights to hold back from them, from him, to keep his distance. But here he is, displaying open affection, and he’s not naive enough to think that means it’s all fixed, but—

Hope is a dangerous thing, but he feels in the mood to indulge. And beside him, Tubbo relaxes, and Tommy, just for a second, wears an expression that suggests a bit of hope of his own.

He turns to watch Techno as he roots through the dust, a crumbling, greyed-out monument that barely holds any shape. A reminder, and nothing more. An empty shell, and that, too, will disintegrate soon enough, leaving a room of dust and lava pools, and statues long abandoned.

Techno huffs. Reaches down. And from the middle of the Egg, he pulls out—

“Is that fucking Skeppy,” Tommy states, flat as a fucking pancake.

He blinks. Because it—is. Somehow. Fucking Skeppy. Though he looks different; parts of him are the same blue, but many patches are discolored, greyish white, and as Techno hoists him up, Wilbur thinks he sees red slipping off of him, like runny paint.

“Oh my god,” Tubbo says. “Was the Egg Skeppy this whole time?”

“I was wonderin’ where this guy got off to,” Techno says, and throws Skeppy across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, apparently unconcerned. “He hadn’t been by to bother me in a while. And BadBoyHalo kind of just sat down and started cryin’ about him, which, I won’t lie, I had no idea how to handle, not my area, but I thought he might be here. Are we leavin’ these two here, or takin’ them?”

Niki and Jack. Both on the ground, chests rising and falling. Free of the Egg, now, but he’s not sure where that leaves them. Though it would likely be—

“Leave ‘em,” Tommy says, startlingly vehement. “Just, we’ll come back, leave ‘em here for now.”

“I don’t think he meant to,” Tubbo says quietly. “I think it just happened really fast.”

“Don’t care,” Tommy says. “Leave ‘em.”

He looks back and forth between them. Gold still dances across Tubbo’s skin. And he wasn’t turned around, didn’t see what happened, but he thinks he can guess, based on everything, based on Niki’s sword at Tommy’s throat and Jack pinning Tubbo to the ground, based on their desperate, misdirected need for vengeance and the way Jack shouted and a boy who would do just about anything to ensure Tommy’s safety. Hears I don’t think he meant to, and thinks about other times, darker times,

(and meaning does not always matter, because intent is washed away in impact, and he never meant to hurt them)

and he decides not to ask. Not now. Not yet. Though it should be addressed. A lot of things should be addressed, a lot of things that they have not, yet, because there has been no time, because everything has been moving at a breakneck pace, but the pace will be slower now. The pace will be slower, and they will have time.

He looks to Fundy. Fundy stares back, not saying anything at all. His eyes are wet.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Fundy murmurs. Quiet enough that he doesn’t think anyone else hears it.

“Me too,” he says. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

A start. A first step. There are so many of those that still need to be taken. For now, Fundy’s lips curl into what might be the ghost of a smile.

They will have time.

***

The scene they return to is this: some are standing, some are sitting, all gathered in the courtyard of the castle. The gates lie wide open. The vines are gone. The sun is rising.

There is Eret, standing tall, though blood still runs down from a wound on their shoulder and another long gash on their arm. Their crown is blood splattered, their glasses still perched on their nose, though slipping down, and Wilbur glances away before he can take in something he’s not meant to see. There is Puffy, kneeling, her blood on the grass around her; it is her leg that is wounded, though it is difficult to tell how badly. There is Sam, shifting, uncertain, a lost look in his eyes as his fingers flex around his trident. There is Purpled, on the outskirts, on guard but perhaps an ally, though he has no reason to be. There is BadBoyHalo, sitting, curled into himself, tears running down his face, which is less ashen. The other members of the Eggpire cluster around him, seemingly in various states of shock. None of them move. They are mostly ignored.

There is Ranboo, also sitting. His eyes are wide. Tears are streaming down his face, too, and a bit of steam rises from his skin. He pays no mind. He’s trembling, occasionally gasping for breath through a sob.

There is Quackity, still standing, hands clutched around an axe like it’s the best protection he knows how to have. He wonders if there’s any truth to that; Quackity has never been one for fighting, though he tries.

(he wonders if Schlatt wanted to say anything to him, too. wonders if it would have done more harm than good)

And then there is Dream, lying on the ground. There is George, crouched by his side. There is Sapnap, kneeling, all his weight on the sword piercing Dream’s chest. Dream’s chest rises and falls, shallow and slow, and nobody moves. Sapnap’s face is flushed, tears in his eyes, and whether they are from anger or grief, he can’t tell.

Dark smoke puffs out from under Dream’s mask and dissipates in the air. Tommy makes a small sound, and Wilbur fits his hand into his. Tommy doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look away from the sight in front of them, but his fingers curl around his.

Sapnap moves as if to draw the sword out. Dream’s hand comes up and wraps around the hilt, stopping him.

“No,” Dream says, voice a reedy whisper, free of shadow. “You need to be sure it’s gone.”

And so they stay. The only sound is crying, and Sapnap’s harsh breaths, hitched and desperate. Both angry and grieving at once. George’s hands inch forward until they’re curled into Dream’s hoodie. It’s like a painting, the three of them. The sun crests the walls of the castle, and the rays fall on them like a caress, and the smoke stops appearing. The sigils carved into the sword dim.

Dream stops breathing. Quietly, and without fanfare. Like a sigh.

As one, more than a dozen communicators chime.

Tommy exhales shakily.

(is this closure? is this what he wanted? he doesn’t know, but there is no going back, no going back to the old days, when they were all still friends and the war was a game)

(and after everything that Dream did perhaps it feels wrong that this should end so abruptly or that he should not shove the sword in his chest himself for what he did to Tommy or that Tommy should have no say in his fate but at the same time perhaps it is right and perhaps this is the way the circle breaks at last)

Techno sighs, walks over to where Bad sits, and dumps Skeppy in front of him. As if a spell has been broken, Tubbo moves, too, crossing to Ranboo and crouching before him, speaking to him in low tones. Several others start moving, like the world was on pause and has only just resumed. Sapnap draws the sword from Dream’s chest, but he remains there, kneeling by the body.

Dream looks peaceful. Though with his mask still on, it’s impossible to tell. No one motions to remove it.

Tommy presses close to him. On the other side, Fundy steps closer. Against his back, he feels one of Phil’s wings brush against all of them, a promise of shelter, of safety. Perhaps this time, it will be kept.

Just like that, it is over. Can it be over?

(is it ever truly over?)

(but in every ending there is a beginning, and the world still spins, and the grass still grows, and the sky is still blue, and finally there is more reason to look forward than back)

The sun rises. Is rising, has risen, will rise again and again and again. And he’s lived to see it.

[gwynpool]

it’s 2AM and i just finished Rule of Wolves (spoilers definitely up ahead)

first, to inform everyone, i read the spoilers when it got leaked in twitter cuz i can’t help myself. (it’s a sickness, i know) i think this is important since it definitely influenced my perspective upon reading the book. also, this is my first time being early in a party so yay me! going in ROW was easy for me because i started King of Scars the day before book 2’s actual release date so everything’s fresh.

secondly, this is really long so i’m sorry. i just have a lot of feelings and need to write it all down. on with the rant.

King of Scars was wonderful to me since it gave me my favorite Shadow and Bone character and the girl who i used to hate for being a mean girl but who I now admire with every ounce of my being. It also introduced a new ship that I am now obsessed with and is ruling besides my love for Jude&Cardan. Not to mention, it gave us Nina, whom though i’m not entirely a fan of due to all my love focusing on Kaz and Inej, allowed the connection between Shadow&Bone with SixofCrows.

Moving on, ROW was a ride and whirlwind of emotions. unfortunately, it wasn’t always the best kind.

I love the fantasy elements of it (tho it was a huge leap especially with the saints power thingy) and the politics because i am a sucker for scheming and stealing thrones.

the zoyalai teasing and angst was painful but in the best way since slowburn is what keeps me going.

nina finding comfort (and attraction, apparently) from hanne made my heart flutter because i haven’t gotten over matthias but this allowed a sort of closure and next chapter for our waffle-loving queen.

the promised wedding by leigh wasn’t what i expected but i’m not complaining since david&genya deserved nothing but happiness.

almost everything seems going well (aside from the fact that aleksander was ressurected apparently)and then everything crashes and burns and i just have to wonder why?

so the promised funeral alongside the wedding one, immediately comes after two? three? chapters as they were attacked during the afterparty of the wedding. and guess what? leigh killed the fcking groom.

the thing is i already knew he was going to die (with the spoilers and all) but i did not expect it to come immediately after the freaking wedding. not even halfway through the book!

being spoiled, i think, took most of the pain from the event but it doesn’t lessen the fact that it was completely unnecessary??? like though the characters grieved, nothing much was affected from his death? also, don’t talk to me about the character development for the survivors from this tragic event because there. was. absolutely. NONE.

and then we have the fricking darling ressurected. i love him in the first book of the grishaverse though i knew he was still a villain, don’t get me wrong. and my heart ached but was also relieved with his death in the third. he also inspired one of my all-time favorite fantasy villain(antihero?) in the form of Adelina Amouteru in the Young Elites series.

Ceased to be a Darklina fan and am now shipping Aleksander with Adelina because their power tho? like clings to like and they are both imbued with unfathomable darkness. somebody write fics please.

but bringing him back was what for exactly? leigh bardugo preached on how toxic the darkling character was and how we really shouldn’t like him in terms of agreeing with his ideals and yada yada. and yet she brings him back because apparently, he’s the only one paying her bills.

his conversation with alina tho had me expecting some darklina crumbs with fan service on the side since the stans were all raving about it on twitter *vomiting noises from toxicity* but i was surprised since it just further reminded us of how he truly is a villain in his very core and would do anything to get what he wants. so all in all it wasn’t entirely awful and it actually made me like Mal a bit. (never was a fan of him but that’s my issue, not the character’s)

setting aside the darkling issue a bit, the POV from Mayu was skippable. i mean obviously it still needs to be read for the Shu politics and the khergud existence but it just made me want to go to the next pov. Same goes for the “the monk’s” POV since you all know how i feel about him and the cult with it’s assembly and shit ended up also being unnecessary towards the end. honestly, i could do without the journey of the starless saint and his cult.

i truly enjoyed the fjerdan plot to my surprise and i like how nina kind of went through the last of us 2 circle of hate journey. it was definitely difficult knowing her pain and all that she went through and still choosing to be the better person. and yet, i can’t help but be more proud of her development. also, the supposed death of hanne got me going for a second and was actually ready to storm leigh’s home to fix her mistake. thank god it was plot twist. that’s all i have to say on the nina POV because i don’t wanna ruin my good feeling on this.

the crows cameo gave us a mini heist and it just made me miss reading their adventures. also the suli scene tugged at my heart.

imma skip zoya’s transformation but it utterly made me feel amazing and i have never been more glad that she’s kind of overpowered. she deserves it so fck all them haters. you can choke.

nikolai’s revelation and decision for the ravkan throne was not all that surprising, even without my knowledge of the spoilers. i honestly had a feeling that he was always his best self when he was strumhond and he only chose to fulfill the duties of the king because at that time, there was no other choice. so him giving up the throne to his beloved soldier, summoner and saint was a quite satisfying choice of route. there has been some others who would contest nikolai’s decision to step down as something unnecessary in the grand scheme of things but i would stand by my belief that nikolai made the best choice for ravka and for himself. not to say that i didn’t want to see both the queen and king side by side ruling but what are fanfictions for?

zoyalai is canon and endgame. finally. i can die now.

now the last two chapters was a toss up. for the first one was the darkling’s sacrifice. okay, so i was also spoiled by this from twitter but when i was reading the book, i keep expecting it to be brought up and it wasn’t. so i honestly thought that maybe that spoiler was a prank. lo and behold it was not and it wasn’t until the very last end. so the buildup was goddamn awful. the whole concept of the thorn wood and sort of atlas moment was just no. like you’re just springing this up now? when we’re supposed to be tying up loose ends but making sure it had history and buildup to well, back it up.

also leigh outright writing genya saying it was not a redemption for the darkling and him being unapologetic about his crimes (basically being a truly evil asshole) doesn’t remove the fact that it still comes off as a redemption arc especially with what is now the synopsis of SOC 3 but ill get to that. he still was the one who did a heroic deed and that fucks me up because it was just devastating to me after making peace with his end in ruin and rising. not because i was hurt that he died yet again boohoo but because it kind of invalidates everything that alina, genya, zoya and countless other victims went through.

on a side note, the darling stans on twitter who keeps defending his actions, i would really advise you to reflect on your decisions cuz it is honestly unhealthy. also, you lot talking smack about nikolai and zoya refusing to sacrifice their lives? stop twisting the story to suit your toxic admiration, nikolai was even first to offer up his life and would do so if it was actually possible. so just go hide in your darkling cocoon and stop hating on other characters to justify your favored aleksander.

the very last chapter aka coronation was good because it gave us inej ghafa cameo as captain of her ship and bonding with our resident privateer and also genya, alina and zoya bonding. but it was bad because apparently the darkling chronicles is still not over and now we’re supposed to grant him death like that’s going to make everything okay? i know forgiveness and breaking the circle of hate and revenge is a huge theme in this duology but honestly, this is just too extreme. with nina it was understandable and the people she hated were born of twisted mindset and circumstances but the darkling? hahahah no. he is a literal immortal who was delusional so now that he’s paying for his crimes, you want to allow him death because you have nightmares? zoya, goddamit no! same to you genya and alina. and so this will be the plot for the third six of crows? why can’t we just stop making this about him. now he gunna steal kaz’s thunder? over my dead body.

in the end, i gave this book 4 stars in goodreads because if i ignore the darkling plot, it was a really good use of politics and fantasy merging in a storyline. i can’t fault leigh for choosing to do this since it’s still her book so i definitely don’t have a right to dictate what i expected from this. also, i have a half a mind to believe that she fell in love with ben barnes and had him in mind writing this so i really cannot blame her because i have been under that man’s charms since prince caspian came out. the spoilers i read made me more open in reading this (backwards thinking but eh that’s how i roll) so i’m not at all crushed by what transpired. it was just weird and was lackluster in its attempt to give ravka some sort of peace. frankly, i just want to read the third six of crows book to maybe find some sort of calm in all this craziness and also delve in some zoyalai fanfiction because it was a long time coming.

shameless promotion but if you guys want to check out my nikolai duology spotify playlist, here’s the link:

[puttingfingerstokeys]

heart and fire

I had to fuck with italics on this thing ‘cause holy shit are they important. 

Thermodynamic equilibrium (subscorp), uh, post-aftermath on the fucked up timeline. I want nice things so I’m going to give Kuai Liang nice things....... sort of! Gay ninja ahead (and prolly behind, too, lbr they’re ninja)

For @sxvethelastdance, my Heart

Bonus “chapter” here.

Broken Timeline

It has been two months, my Fire, since I returned to Netherrealm to recover your body. We sought to reclaim the fallen from both our clans, with limited success. Your younger counterpart showed me the place where D’vorah stole you from me. I swear vengeance upon her, should she ever have the misfortune of crossing my path.

Frost was among those we were able to locate and she is recovering at Arctika, though she will not speak to anyone. She threatened to throw herself into the Sea of Blood upon discovery, but that fate was not worthy of a Lin Kuei—even a traitor. I should have written sooner, but my duties have taken me from the pen and solitude.

You will be pleased to know that Takeda Takahashi has resigned his post with Special Forces to assume interim leadership of the Shirai-Ryu. The boy is well-trained and wise; he does not fill your boots, but he is humble and willing to learn. No member of the Shirai-Ryu can best him. You have taught him well.

He has married Jacqueline Briggs—it was a quiet ceremony soon after we returned from the assault on Kronika’s keep—and they are now expecting a child. . Takeda came to me recently and asked if I thought it appropriate to call the boy Hanzo, assuming it is a boy. I think it is only right that someone carries your name. I will always carry it in my heart, but it will be good to hear aloud.

I miss you.

“Takeda, thank you for meeting me.” The two ninja stood outside the Fire Gardens, just beyond the gate, Kuai Liang looking in, but making no move to enter.

“It’s always a pleasure, Grandmaster Sub-Zero,” said the younger man, putting a flat, open hand over his fist and bowing. “What brings you here?” He glanced up and down at the Lin Kuei Grandmaster and, noting the envelope in one hand, he gestured toward it, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“This—you’ve seen through me—is for… if you might place it at Grandmaster Hasashi’s resting place, I would be—”

“I will not,” came the quick reply. It wasn’t sharp, but it was firm. “You will.”

“But I am—”

“Welcome in the Fire Gardens, Grandmaster, as are your students; it is a step Grandmaster Hasashi would have taken and I… I am only interim instructor, but I will honor his legacy, no matter what.” He saluted the Lin Kuei once more, this time bowing deeply and gesturing toward the entrance. “I’ll show you where he’s… where we’ve got a marker.”

There was, of course, no body to bury, but that would have been the way of the Shirai-Ryu anyway. It was to Sub-Zero’s shame that he had brought them no corpse, and his own eternal agony that he did not at least have one last chance to… I never told him, not really, not properly. Leaves fell all around them, red and gold, perpetually in motion, making the place resemble its name. It is cold without you.

“It’s in a quiet corner,” Takeda said, trying to fill the pregnant silence between them. His fellow Shirai-Ryu were all around, if unseen. None of them raised a hand or weapon to Grandmaster Kuai Liang, however. They, for the most part, were in favor of uniting once more with their ancestral brethren. Those who were not, kept it to themselves and would rather not have begun a spat with Sub-Zero. “Near a koi pond… I think you’ll like it.”

Sub-Zero made no move to answer as the path twisted once more to the left and opened to a beautiful grotto. There was, indeed, a pond, but Takeda had neglected to mention the green foliage, bright red and orange flowers, and the waterfall, babbling over several layers of stones before emptying into the pond. The fish swam this way and that, utterly unaware of the world around them. Kuai Liang envied them.

To one side was a pillar, an obelisk that looked like it was made of volcanic glass. Atop it was a small brazier and in that, a flame danced this way and that, an ethereal quality to its rhythm. There was an inscription upon the pillar itself, but Sub-Zero’s gaze was lost in the flame almost immediately, arresting every bit of his attention.

“Yeah, I get that too when I come here… Liu Kang—err… Lord Liu Kang lit that sucker and… well, it’s god fire, so it’s not goin’ out.” Takeda was receding from the grotto. “I’ll just… leave you two, yeah?” He did not wait for an answer before melting into the fire-colored foliage of the Gardens.

Kuai Liang clutched the envelope, hard, wrinkling it in his effort to bite back tears and swallow down the choking lump that was rising in his throat. His heart twisted and ached as he dropped to one knee before the pillar. The inscription was simple: Grandmaster Hanzo Hasashi, eternal flame of the Shirai-Ryu; you will never be forgotten. There was so much more about him that Kuai Liang wanted to add, but there was not enough obsidian in the world for that.

He settled himself presently, then, closing his eyes and focusing inward, clearing his mind, breathing softly, deeply. Reaching out, he laid one hand upon the small obelisk, feeling where each word was carved, imagining he could also feel heat coming from it. That was silly, of course, but it comforted him. He stayed that way for a while, before opening his eyes once more and standing, still holding the envelope.

The grandmaster’s sharp gaze fell upon that fire and slowly, reverently, he lifted the envelope and letter to it. The fire licked up and around it, consuming the paper with little effort until there was nothing but ash. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the sentiment behind them which counted for the ears of the dead.

He left silently and with dignity, letting not a single, chilly tear fall until he returned to Arctika and his private quarters.

My fire. It has been one year since my last letter. Forgive my waiting so long. It was difficult to find time and then, to begin. The snow here seems deeper than it ever has and harder to move through; it no longer feels a part of me and I am cold. But you need not suffer the chill with me.

Hanzo Briggs-Takahashi is a robust boy even at one year old. There seems to be some debate over his education, but for now, he lives happily with his mother and father among the Shirai-Ryu. They have determined this to be the best course of action until everything has settled to an acceptable level of disorder.

I neglected to mention in my last letter that Liu Kang has, with the aid of Lord Raiden, ascended to divinity. He is a worthy young man and I feel confident in his abilities to guide the shifting of the sands of time. I wish you had been there to see him lead the armies of Outworld and Earthrealm against Kronika. But maybe those memories are with you now that your past self has been sent back to his proper time.

I will never stop missing you, but writing eases the pain a little.

 The letters continued, as frequently as he could manage, for years. It felt like centuries. His favorite time to write was when despair was upon him, because writing to his lost love reminded him that he was not simply living for himself, but for Hanzo’s dream and memory. He did not remember all the words he had written, and no one else would ever read them, but they were not for anyone else, so it did not matter.

You will be pleased, my Fire, to know that the Takahashi family has expanded once more, by one. Their daughter, Sonya, was born yesterday morning, healthy and squalling like a storm. I think her name is appropriate. Johnny and Cassie Cage will be arriving at the Fire Gardens later this week, I am told, to greet the child and spend some time with Jacqueline and Takeda. I will deliver this letter then.

I cannot believe it has been four years since I last laid eyes and lips upon you. I miss your taste, your warmth. My heart aches daily for you, but the ache eases when I write and remember you as you were, vibrant and powerful, the light of my life, and the warmth. Worry not. The warmth has not utterly deserted me. I see in Takeda’s boy much of your spirit, and I visit the Fire Gardens often, with Takeda’s gracious permission.

We are moving forward, slowly, with the integration training. Twice per year, we stay at the other’s residence, with all our students, working together. Frost is still a tough case, but I think her loss to Takeda recently might have tempered her cold fire. Defeat does not settle well upon the shoulders of any Lin Kuei, but taking it with grace is a learned art. She has not learned this; I must educate her.

I love you with all my heart and soul.

 This one, he did indeed deliver when he visited the Fire Gardens to see the new baby. Sonya was even prettier than her brother had been and he was delighted to hold her in his great, chilly arms. Dark eyes stared up at him with a depth of understanding he could not have predicted from an infant. Gripping his finger with one tiny hand, she squealed with delight and flailed her limbs as he looked on with aching fondness.

“Isn’t she perfect?” Takeda asked Sub-Zero as he handed the little creature back to her mother. Jacqui was glowing and Kuai Liang was not clear if he meant the child or the mother. Instead, he nodded. He did not stay long, but it was refreshing to his soul to see the people of this ruined timeline picking themselves back up and making the best of their situation.

My Fire, you will scarcely believe the strangeness which has happened here at Arctika. Our hot springs have begun to run far too hot to bathe in, or even to touch! The minerals are beginning to build up on the walls in the grotto and I must send students out, daily, to address this. They are hard at work, “building character”, Frost included. She seems to set about the task with the most vigor, as if the buildup offends her. Perhaps it does. Arctika, this place she fought so hard to be in, has recently been invaded by your Shirai-Ryu and they too have set about the task—of cleaning the grotto, not offending Frost; she does that well enough on her own.

I would like, more than anything, to once more share tea and to bathe with you. That intimacy is long gone from my flesh and I often crave it—not as you did, of course. I find myself almost blushing at the thought. Almost. I miss your eyes, so dark and intense, it was always as if you were looking into me, boring in deep and searching… for what, I cannot guess, but I wish you would do it again.

Yours forever, Grandmaster Hasashi, forever and a day and then forever again.

Even a skilled kryomancer stood no chance against the heat of the springs, and so it, too, became a training ground for the combined forces of the Lin Kuei and Shirai-Ryu. Takeda and Grandmaster Kuai Liang often went out to the springs to breathe in the healing steam and to speak. They talked of much—of history and the future—and deepened their understanding of each other.

“He would have wanted you to take his place,” Sub-Zero said, “once you’d proven yourself, of course.”

Takeda’s eyes flew wide. “Never in a million years, Grandmaster; are you kidding me?” His cheeks were flushed with exhilaration at the weight of the compliment he’d just been paid by the Lin Kuei’s leader. “I don’t… I’m not ready for that.”

“And that is why you are. A good Grandmaster knows his limitations.” Kuai Liang did not look at Takeda, an envelope clutched in his hand.

“Will you be joining us on the journey back to the Fire Gardens tomorrow, Grandmaster?”

“I will, with your permission, Takeda,” replied Sub-Zero, contemplating the boiling water. Of course, Takeda would not refuse, so the question was more of a formality than anything else. There were certain parts of tradition to which Takeda had noticed the Lin Kuei Grandmaster held strictly, and others he had thrown utterly out the window. The first one was, of course, his adoration of Grandmaster Hasashi, which Takeda had long ago suspected was more than academic friendship or alliance. It was a suspicion he would, naturally, never pursue.

The two men stood, side by side, arms folded, considering everything they had done in the past five years, all the progress they had made. The Shirai-Ryu were really and truly restored, standing upon the shoulders of Scorpion’s hard work. The Lin Kuei were even recovering and their number had increased, though they were still a shell of what they had been. Only a few of the cyber assassins had been recoverable at the Sea of Blood and of those, even fewer had retained their sanity after they had been reset—such was their grief at the injustice they had wrought on Frost’s behalf.

Kuai Liang was not sure she would ever show appropriate remorse, but he decided she was not a lost cause. He would keep working on her, like a glacier carves a lake. The movement was slow but inexorable. Eventually, she would see and she would learn. Even one so stubborn as she could be taught, he was certain. His resolve would not be broken by one such as Frost.

“…does it seem hotter, Grandmaster?” Takeda’s voice was muffled, suddenly, by the amount of steam suddenly filling the air of the grotto. Sub-Zero’s eyes narrowed as he peered through the haze, as if doing so could discern the source of the disturbance.

“It is,” he confirmed, “but… why?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Takeda growled, reaching out toward Sub-Zero. “Go,” he grunted, “grab some of your students—the cyber Lin Kuei should be able to see through this fog!”

Sub-Zero could not deny the logic of this, but he disliked leaving Takeda. There was an ill-omened heaviness in the air all of a sudden he was not entirely sure was the steam or the mineral smells which came with it. There was a loud, violent hiss and a jet of water, then, from the center of the springs and both men would have been pelted with stinging droplets had it not been for Kuai Liang’s hastily built ice wall and the quick thinking to tug Takeda behind it.

Neither kombatant was expecting something wickedly sharp and hot to pierce the center of the wall directly between their heads. The heat of it caused the rest of the structure to begin cracking and both men dived to either side to avoid its collapse. The familiar, discordant song of a retracting chain rang out in the steamy half-gloom, the light of torches now obscured and throwing strange shadows, diffused through the steam.

Quan-Chi.

Both minds settled upon this conclusion simultaneously, though without having spoken it. Takeda jumped to his feat and readied himself. Whatever Neatherrealm incursion this was, it would be met with extreme prejudice. Neither knew precisely where Quan-Chi might have fallen in the scheme of things. He had met his end by Scorpion’s hand, but that did not mean some shift in the mythical sands of time had not restored him—utterly by accident, of course, but it was a mistake which would require swift correction.

Of course, as far as they knew, only Hanzo Hasashi had ever mastered the chain and spear to that extent, so Quan-Chi himself could not possibly have been on the other end of it. Kuai Liang’s mind was racing. Was that why he had not found his lover’s body? Could Quan-Chi have been accidentally restored and had begun his machinations, once more, to hold the throne of Netherrealm for his infernal (decapitated) master?

The very idea of a wraith bearing his Fire’s face settled deep in the pit of Kuai Liang’s guts, twisting into a dragon of rage, ripping at his insides and gripping his heart violently. He was as close to burning with rage as a Lin Kuei could be.

“Takeda,” he snarled, “go. I will deal with this abomination.”

For once, Takeda Takahashi did not argue. He did not resolve to stay gone, however. He raced toward the grotto’s exit, intent on making his way swiftly down the side of the mountain to the Arctika complex and alerting every ninja in its walls that they were under attack. Takeda had almost reached the divide between grotto and open mountain face when the horrific echo of clear words rang out seemingly from everywhere.

“GET OVER HERE!” The chain sang through the air and Takeda whirled, moving to block or to face his demise. Only Sub-Zero’s swift motion stopped it hitting home as the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei caught the barb in an icy grip and crushed it, shaking the remains free from his hand as if it were a mere inconvenience.

“Go,” he repeated and stalked toward the springs. All around him, steam turned to ice and fell to the ground like heavy sleet. As his rage built, the temperature dropped and soon there was an aura of cold surrounding him, combatting the steam. Diamond tears fell from eyes which had hardened to flinty slits as he stepped past the edge of the springs, into—no, onto—the water, which was freezing solid under each step.

“Why don’t you get over here for a change,” snarled Sub-Zero, “and show me that face you’re wearing—the face you have not earned, Revenant!”

“Revenant?” The voice was a raspy bark. Following the word was laughter. Sub-Zero concentrated on solidifying the water particles around him to create a solid barrier that would be just a little more difficult for his assailant to pierce. He had not forgotten that, in later years, Scorpion had begun to carry—and proficiently use—two spear chains. The latter would come soon enough.

“You are a puppet of Quan-Chi, unworthy of the body you inhabit. Come, face me, and see the truth of your fallibility!” Kuai Liang drew himself up and stood tall, continuing. “Yours is the fire of hell, not of his heart, a thing so great you could not begin to comprehend it, much less mimic—but again, I invite you to come and allow me to demonstrate. It will be a pleasure.”

Sub-Zero had anticipated the spear.

He had not counted on Hellport, which Scorpion used with impunity.

Suddenly, the heat behind him was unbearable and there was a piercing agony ripping into his senses, starting at his shoulder, between the joint and the scapula. He could feel it digging deep, feel the lukewarm sensation of his own blood flowing down his back. He had to act.

Kuai Liang whirled on the revenant, ice axe at the ready. He would cleave the beast’s head from its shoulders, no matter how twisted the visage was. Red eyes would meet his a moment, before falling from broad, strong shoulders Sub-Zero knew all to well.

Except that they were not.

They eyes were white. With the turn, Scorpion’s hand and arm had been yanked—refusing to let go, oh, that old tenacity was strong—around Kuai Liang’s back and had, in that motion, drawn his body closer until they were flush, touching, pressed together. Sub-Zero’s arm was falling, axe in hand and, though he would have stopped it, Scorpion’s grip upon his wrist halted the descent entirely.

The fingers upon Sub-Zero’s wrist were burning, as with a fever, and they eyes he met were ablaze with madness and fury. The brow knitted together at the bridge of the man’s nose was familiar, however, the grimace on his blood-soaked, lacerated face not unknown to Kuai Liang, either. Inches apart, this could have been a lover’s embrace, but for the spearhead embedded in his shoulder and the fiery grip locked upon his arm.

Vaporizing with a hiss, Kuai Liang’s faithful ice axe bowed out of the fight and he was left with no weapon—no external weapon, anyway. He leveraged his height advantage against Scorpion and drove him back twisting his arm to reverse the grip and grab him instead, forcing him yet closer. The ice under their feet was slick and filling the frozen dome with steam. Sub-Zero began to feel lightheaded.

He would have to end this quickly, or Scorpion would gut him and the water of the hot springs would run red with the Grandmaster’s blood. That he was not facing a revenant was secondary in his mind to survival. He knew all of Scorpion’s movements, every trick and feint. Unfortunately, Scorpion also knew his, intimately. If they broke apart, the brawl might draw itself out and in this heat, Sub-Zero was already feeling sluggish.

Wrapping both arms tightly around Scorpion’s body, then, forcing the arm he had trapped up behind the shorter mans’ back, he began to squeeze, dropping his temperature with as much rapidity as he could muster. His mind was racing, thoughts flowing as if down the choppy, white waters of a sub-arctic stream just after thaw and just as insubstantial, uncatchable. He had to stop the man’s movement.

Scorpion fought hard against the grip, snapping at Sub-Zero with his teeth. He would have landed a successful headbutt were it not for their difference in height and Kuai Liang tucking his head into the crook of Scorpion’s neck. Scorpion tensed, ceasing his thrashing for the briefest of interludes as Sub-Zero’s chilly, gentle lips pressed downward on scorched flesh. Rather than the bite the enraged wraith had been expecting, he only felt the sensual, gentle touch of the man’s mouth.

“I know what you are,” whispered Kuai Liang against his lover’s flesh, gripping him tight and slowing the descent of the temperature. Scorpion’s thrashing had all but ceased as he was literally cooled down from his agitated state. Beneath them, the water which had been upon the ice solidified as Scorpion finally went limp, succumbing to the cold. 

“A wraith once more.” The whisper was barely audible. Only Sub-Zero could hear these words, spoken so softly. He was bent over Scorpion, who had gone nearly boneless in his embrace, barely clinging to consciousness, but doing so with such tenacity it might have, under other circumstances, been frightening. 

“No,” said Sub-Zero, standing, straightening, and lifting Scorpion bodily into his arms. The naked wraith leaned against his chest, closing those unsettling, white eyes as the temperature began to stabilize and Kuai Liang stepped gracefully off the ice and onto solid ground. Steam rose once more from the Lin Kuei hot springs, but they did not boil. “You are my Fire, and you have come back to me.”

“Amusing,” grunted Hanzo Hasashi weakly, reaching up to swat the side of Kuai Liang’s bearded face, “that you thought death would free you of me, my Heart.”

Upon the warm water, an envelope floated, forgotten, soaking, ink running.  

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 61: The Thousand Year Buildup to a Single Moment

Chapters: 61/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Death mentions, Snap flashback Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor(Marvel), Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Stephan Strange Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Communication Is Still Not Their Family’s Forte, Look Historically Vikings Really Got Around, The Descendant Of A Viking Could Come From Anywhere

Summary:  You spill the beans about your dreams, and Loki learns about your ancestors.

You munched apprehensively on a granola bar while the entire roster of Avengers watched quietly. They'd wanted to talk to you about something, though Loki protested. Apparently, a decision had been made over breakfast, which you'd missed, and even Thor didn't seem too happy about it.

It was definitely time to worry, when a god-king seemed put out by his friends.

“All right.” You said once you'd swallowed the last of your granola. “What kind of trouble am I in?”

“No trouble.” Steve said. “Just some questions we need to ask.”

“Does the name Thanos mean anything to you?” Tony asked.

You blinked at the directness, but said nothing.

“It's okay. You can tell us.” Steve encouraged.

“Well...cats out of the bag, huh?” You sighed. “Yeah, I remember. Everything that happened in that whole year. But to be specific, I don't actually know anything about Thanos except for what Thor, Loki, and Mynos have told me. All I know about was the result, what it was like living in that world, and then it suddenly being reversed, and no explanation for any of it. I really thought I was super crazy, you know? People disappearing, the whole world thrown into chaos for a whole year, and then it never happened? No one remembered? No I definitely thought there was something really wrong with me.”

“And there are more like you?” Banner asked. “More people who remember?”

“Yeah, but I can't tell you who they are.”

“Why not?” Steve asked.

“It was all online. I don't know any of their names. We never met each other, we're scattered out, all over the world We only really found each other by accident.”

“Are you willing to talk about it?”

“Well...”

Tara had stopped talking, stopped laughing, an odd expression on her face. It was almost midnight, the two of you had come home from a movie. It was all so sudden, the quiet, the confused whisper, the soft rustling of dust as she disintegrated in front of you, pouring through your hands.

Slamming door and running footsteps on the grass. Hyperventilating in the car, the engine roar loud. Screeching, honking, cars run off the road on either side.

Trees fell across the road, snapping, splintering cracks, blocking your path just long enough for them to decay into dust. People rushing out of their houses, out onto suddenly barren lawns, screaming muffled by the car windows, the growling engine.

It was dark, the land had changed. You almost got lost int the swirling clouds of dust, and empty cars, but you found your father's home.

Momo meowing frantically, scraping at the door. The television on, sitcom reruns, and a pile of dust in the kitchen.

Retching echoing in the tiny bathroom, flushing water swirling, swirling like clouds of dust in the wind.

People in the streets, coughing and choking on their neighbors and loved ones.

The corn was gone.

You spent the next week alternating between hysterics and numbness. You spent the week after that burying those who couldn't go on. You never actually stopped doing that, throughout the following year.

You numbers shrank and shrank, as social services failed; power and water, garbage pick up and deliveries, medicine and perishable items, all dwindling away. Your little town had been forgotten. Or maybe there really was no one else left. After the loss of electricity, there was no more news from outside.

Most people came together, but there were always those who didn't understand how to work together, or who had broken during it all, or were broken beforehand. People who couldn't put their prejudices behind them, or tried to seize control over others.

There were violent acts. Assaults. Murders.

You were a murderer.

You hadn't ceased to be a murderer, because you had never ceased to be. You had never started over like everyone else had. The weight of all of it rested on your shoulders like a great and festering tumor.

You had come now to realize that this burden would never be lifted.

The people who cared for you would do what they could. They would build braces for your legs. They would spread soothing balm. But nothing, not the Avengers support, nor your father's acceptance, nor Loki's affection could ever remove this from you. It was part of you. All anyone could offer was a little relief.

You shrugged. “I don't suppose my story is any different from anyone else. Shit sucked.”

“Fair.” Tony agreed. “So, who's Mynos?”

“Yes,” Thor asked. “Who is Mynos?”

“Uh...” Whoops. “Um. He's an alien. That I've seen in my dreams. He's one of whatever Thanos was. Big purple guy.”

Tony and Peter shared a quick glance. Thor was staring at Loki, who managed somehow to look both defiant and contrite simultaneously.

“Um...Titans are extinct.” Tony said slowly. “I was...there. I saw their world; what had happened to it. There's none left now.”

“You said this is a dream you've had?” Strange asked. “You've dreamed of Titan? Can you tell us what it looked like?”

“Yeah. It's...orange, mostly. Dry. Dusty. But I can breathe there, so there's air. There's clouds in the sky, and dust storms. The people there are trying to set back the clock on a major ecological disaster. I guess they poisoned the land and water with pollution, and now they're trying to figure out how to get plants to grow again. Mynos is the only Titan I've ever seen, I never even saw a picture of Thanos. But in my dreams, I can talk to him, and he told me some things.”

“Dreams, plural?” Strange asked. Thor was looking at Loki with open worry on his face.

“Yeah, it's sorta...” You glanced at Loki, who was squirming. “You didn't tell anybody?”

“Yeah Jafar, you didn't tell anybody?” Tony accused. “What didn't he tell?”

You stared at Loki, trying to discern what he wanted you to do. You didn't want to lie to your heroes. But Loki might have a good reason for keeping this to himself. You didn't want to throw him under the bus, but you'd already started talking about it.

He caught your eyes, saw the confusion there, and sighed heavily, dropping his gaze.

“_____ and I have been sharing dreams since the day we met.” He admitted. “For the most part, they are normal dreams, as odd and unfathomable as any other. But in others...”

“We kind of go traveling.” You finished. “We fly through space, and visit places. We've been to Titan twice. It has the potential to be beautiful, and they're trying hard. I wish we could help. But Mynos seems to be the only one who remembers what happened. He's the only one who even remembers Thanos. According to him, even people who worked for Thanos don't even remember him.”

“But these are just dreams.” Sam said. “Why take them seriously?”

“They might be kinda real.” You said. “Like I said, I had never seen a Titan before this; Loki didn't even describe them or show me a picture. And Loki hadn't been to Titan.”

“The description is accurate enough.” Tony said. “I was there. Me and the kid. It was orange, dry and dusty.”

“And there was definitely a civilization there once.” Peter added quietly. “There were ruins everywhere.”

“But no Titans. They were all gone by that time.” Strange cut in.

“Mynos told us that he remembered Thanos killing them all. Not directly, exactly, but he blew a bunch of them up, and made it so that the rest couldn't get what they needed to live. So I guess they went extinct.”

“We believe these dreams to be at least quasi-real due to the fact that, every time it happens, we bring something back with us. Planetary dust and a leaf, to be precise. These samples both reside with our scientists right now.”

Thor looked momentarily outraged, but got a handle on it almost instantly.

“Why was I not notified about this, Loki?” He growled.

“Because it is firmly within the realm of magic, which is my realm, not yours.” Loki said with sharp imperiousness. “What would you have done about it, besides fret?”

“Still think you should have mentioned it.” Thor mumbled.

“Do you mind if we look at these samples?” Dr. Banner asked.

“You can look, but you cannot take them. As you might surmise, these are very rare materials.”

“Which you got from a dream. Because magic.”

“Well, my magic is teleportation, so that's the only thing I can think that makes sense. We were kinda sorta there, and I teleported them out with us.” You added.

“Do you think it would be possible for you to take someone else with you?” Strange asked. “Into your dream escapades?”

Loki frowned and very conspicuously took your hand, cradling it in both of his. “I don't think that's necessary. We do just fine on our own.”

Strange sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, lovely couple, blah blah blah. But for the sake of what we discussed earlier, do you think you could at least record these dreams from now on? Not every single dream you have; there's plenty that no doubt goes on in your brain that I want no part in. Just these possibly real dreams?”

Loki scoffed, but you shrugged. “Nothing wrong with just writing them down, is there?”

“No, but magic, especially as ephemeral as dream magic, cannot be solved by a think tank! It requires insight, meditation, the mind of a seer-”

“Or the ability to see multiple timelines?” Strange suggested.

“Braggart.” Loki scoffed again.

“Or, like, if we're still debating whether Titans exist again, we could just ask Heimdall, right?” You asked. “Right?”

“Well...” Loki said.

“Yes, we certainly could.” Thor answered. “We can get to the bottom of this. Just write them down as they happen. No doubt you phones have a journal app that you can use. Right?” He asked Bruce, who nodded.

“Yeah, that's a thing phones can do.”

That settled, the group moved on to other subjects, the settlement of Trolerkaerhalla, Tony's missing shipment of Chitauri artifacts, the possibility that they were now on the black market, and the fact that one had shown up just outside of Asgard...

But also about funding Asgardian building projects, integrating Starktech into their computer systems, and donating those very computers so that Asgardians could get training in Earth technology. Of finding the materials for Asgard to continue rebuilding its own technology, of trying to integrate the two.

Of an Asgardian space program.

Thor wanted to mine asteroids for resources, so that they didn't put extra pressure on Earth. Tony was all the way behind this idea, but Steve had reservations. Who owned what in the solar system? Was everything going to be a free for all? Would mining other celestial bodies help ease pressure on the planet, or would it be a race between Asgardians and humans as to who could get the most stuff? Would there be space battles? Would Asgards obvious head start in space travel garner them the lion's share of the systems extraterrestrial materials, and would that foment even more human resentment against them?

Although you loved the cosmos, space jurisdiction was way over your head. You dropped out of the conversation to talk to Peter, a precious boy with boundless energy, who you still thought should be in school instead of super-heroing, but it seemed like he was trying to do both. You briefly wondered if Avenging counted as an extra-curricular.

Between the two of you, you came up with an idea to help with the funding of Asgard. You would record videos and podcasts about Asgardian life and custom. Peter helped you set up a patreon, and you ruminated over ideas. You couldn't wait to get Saldis in on this.

Natasha was the first to leave. She just said she had something else to do in Iceland, and saw herself out. The majority of the others left with Tony, on his private jet. Strange went last; all he had to do to get home was open up a portal of orange sparks and walk through. Loki took him aside and spoke quietly with him for a few moments, getting a long answer from the wizard, and obviously pleased with what he was hearing.

He kept that buzz of excitement all through dinner, while Thor seemed to be caught up in the satisfied silence after a pleasant time with friends. He didn't really seem to notice when Loki took your desserts- cubes of goat cheese and grapes drizzled in honey-and whisked you away to his favorite spot to be with you: The black sheepskin rug in front of his fireplace.

There you ate your desserts with the fancy, tiny ram horn forks provided, and he clutched you close so you could feel the solidity of his body, see the firelight sparking in his eyes.

“I found out something interesting today.” He said.

“Did it have something to do with what you were talking to Strange about?”

“Yes, it did. Do you know what I learned?”

You nodded.

“I learned that, a thousand years ago, an object once called the Tesseract  was abandoned on earth by my father. There was a great deal of devastation around it, caused by people who tried to wield its power, but the humans of the area finally came to the understanding that they could not safely use it, and built a place of secret worship around it. An order of priests rose around it, claiming their sacred duty was to safeguard the artifact until Odin returned to reclaim it.

Now, I'm sure it's been mentioned that it was actually the Space stone within the Tesseract, and these humans being in constant proximity to it...Well, it changed them, over the generations. Each of these priests was allowed to have one child; and that child was to become a priest or priestess to replace those lost to old age.

Well, one of those children decided to do something else. He ran away, and never stopped running, fearing that he was being chased, and would be dragged back to that life he didn't want. He traveled far and wide, eventually married another traveler, and his descendants also traveled. They went everywhere; deep into Africa, to the farthest reaches of Asia, into India, and all through the Mediterranean. They married in those areas, and their descendants also took to exploring the world. And their descendants, and theirs, reaching Australia, and South, Central, and North America, each generation eventually leaving the place and people they were born into, and settling down somewhere far away. Each generation having the influence of the Tesseract in their background, and never knowing it.

And so, your grandmother left her family in the Yukon, and moved far to the south, gave birth to a son who travels endlessly for a living, and gave rise to you; the first in generations to access the power of your far-flung ancestor.

My darling.” He kissed the top of your head. “My darling, we were always meant to meet.”

He took your marked hand in his, pressing the runes together briefly, only long enough to trigger the buzz. “We were always meant to be connected.”

“So, my ancestors were from Scandinavia?” You asked, caught up in his story.

“They were from everywhere, potentially.” He answered. “Stephen followed all of them on their journeys, but he did not tell me exactly which branch led to you. He did find out where your grandmother came from, and that you have many, many distant relations, all over the planet. All ultimately descended from this one man.”

“Wow. I...it goes so far back. And all because your dad left a shiny thing behind, and of course humans loved it.”

“You are the result of devout worship, and of a galactic force older than existence itself. So unique, my little space sorceress. My precious Seidkona.”

“Loki...” You leaned into him, drawn to is earnest gaze. Was this what he meant when he had said that the Norns supposedly wove peoples lives like threads? Had all these relatives down the line spread out across the tapestry, bringing your thread close to his, until they twined together?

As your lips met, you hoped that those threads would not separate, but stay wrapped around each other indefinitely, creating a beautiful new color together.

[ohnohetaliasues]

Stones to Abbigale {Ch. 7}

(Kat)

Okay, so I read ahead and found out that this chapter depicts a school shooting. Now, school shootings are something that utterly terrify me, but this book has done nothing but annoy me, so I doubt I’ll be all that scared.

But, if you have troubles reading or hearing about school shootings, or things regarding gun violence, feel free to wait until I review the next chapter to read on. I’ll write a short summary in the introduction there for anyone who is uncomfortable with continuing.

If that’s so, I’ll see you next chapter.

But if not, read on and we will continue together.

Let’s get into it.

I found myself fallen, somewhere deep in a conscious state of unconsciousness, some place I can’t remember. It may sound strange, even ridiculous, but I felt like I opened my eyes while I was asleep, and saw only black. Not as if I were blind, but as if the rest of existence had simply disappeared and I was just, alone. It wasn’t long before I woke to find my- self submerged in reality once more.

Good to start off with more word salad.

Thoughts of Abbi quickly greeted me as I adjusted to the experience of my physical surroundings. For a week now I had been constantly reminding myself how lucky I was to have a relationship that actually made sense.

Are you two even dating? This has not been established.

Abbi never did anything that I felt betrayed me or exceeded the bounds of reason. Davis was sitting next to me on the bus, he was talking about his Lego collection and how he loved matching colors in a sequence within the structures he assembled. He said it made him feel like there was some balance and order to his life in a weird way.

I suppose I can empathize with that. The Davis thing, not the nonsense James is talking about.

While I listened to Davis my thoughts partially remained on Abbi. She continued to fill my mind with hope no matter where I was or what I was doing.

We arrived at school on, you guessed it, another cloudy day. I know it was unreasonable to assume, but I often felt like our school was the darkest place in the city.

It was as if every morning the clouds would execute a biased agenda against our school all for the sake of depressing every poor soul who attended it. The wind was blowing. Looking back, I felt like everything about that morning was screaming at me to wake up and see what was really going on. But I couldn’t see it; I don’t know how I could have.

This is meaningless drivel, but what else is new?

Dramatic events have a way of sneaking up on us, leaving us only with feelings of remorse and thoughts of what could have been. Davis got off the bus behind me tripping a little. A normal kid would have gotten upset, but Davis, as usual, found a way to turn it into something positive, he even laughed as he stumbled.

I mean, I also laugh at myself when I screw up.

I turned to check on Davis to make sure he was ok when I heard a loud popping sound ring off towards the school.

Okay, let me note something here.

This is not how you write events.

You do not write something out of the fucking blue with no buildup. Your main character should not just exist like a cardboard cutout until the plot demands he does something.

The main character should be doing interesting things in between the major events of the story. Not fucking this.

My immediate assumption was that a car in the back parking lot had just backfired. There were a lot of crappy second-hand cars at our school so it wasn’t unreasonable, but still, I assumed wrong. Davis and I heard screams immediately after, in a way the wind seemed to turn the screams what sounded like a chorus, one familiar to the haunting dream I had about Abbi now many days past.

Oh, don’t give me that bullshit, your nonsense dream is not connected to this.

Hearing more popping sounds and screams in the wind I instinctually

Instinctively.*

I grabbed Davis’ jacket pushing him back towards the bus. Students who weren’t aware of what was going on due to the heavy wind and competing noise from the bus engines reacted as if we were being inconsiderate jerks.

I believe you’d be able to hear actual fucking gunshots over the wind.

To shake everyone into reality I screamed, “There’s a shooting! Get back on the bus!”

A sudden panic took over everyone within the vicinity. The bus driver who was already looking around, suspicious of the faint sounds he heard, reacted as well, “Get on the goddamn bus!” he screamed.

I could hear some students begin to cry out of panic as we all rushed to duck down behind the bus seats. The bus driver slammed the door shut leaving behind a few students who had already walked too far away from the bus.

NO. YOU DICKWAD GO GET THOSE STUDENTS.

The driver, despite being a grown man, was freaking out like everyone else and, as a result, found himself crashing our bus into the one parked immediately ahead of him. As the bus’s collided our bodies smacked into the seats ahead of us. One student wasn’t even hiding behind the seats yet and flew forward to land face down in the aisle.

Get the fuck out of there.

The bus driver, quickly recovering from his mistake, backed up to maneuver out of the drop off area. The window by my seat fell off the side of the bus and shattered on the ground while the front windows also began to detach after being impacted by the earlier collision.

No it didn’t.

You mean to tell me they just dislodged themselves from the frame?

Bullshit.

A thunderous gust of wind burst through the void left by the fallen windows. With the wind came the sounds of even louder gunshots and screaming as if the shooter was closer to the front of the school.

I was too scared to look but someone else had locked their eyes on the front door of the school and screamed “Seth!”

A sense of absolute horror overtook my body and tears began to flow from my eyes. If Seth was really shooting up the school I knew that meant he would be looking for Abbi.

All fear left my body. Thinking only of only her I leapt up and screamed, “You have to let me off right now!”

Bitch no. You wanna get shot?

The bus driver ignored me initially; he was too concerned with getting away from the school. He probably didn’t even hear me with everything that was going on.

If he gets off the bus I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.

The inconsistent and forceful acceleration forced me to fall back in my seat, countless thoughts pounded through my head and yet every other word screamed Abbi’s name.

My mind was numb; the wind surged through my hair. Everyone around acted almost like magnets, helplessly nailed to the dirty floor.

That doesn’t make me think of magnets, Onion. Find a better simile.

I was the only one sitting in a seat, completely lost in thought. My eyes staring off a thousand yards, my skin pulsating with heat, I felt like I was a bomb only minutes away from detonation. I remained silent, still, waiting for my numbers to fall in sync.

The fuck does ‘numbers fall in sync’ mean? It barely even goes with the bomb thing.

Waiting for my mind to green light an act that would change my life forever.

This is an incomplete sentence. What you could do is join this sentence with the last one by using a comma.

I had a moment of abnormally intense clarity. Seth had irreversibly lost his mind, I could only suspect he would likely blame his broken state on Abbi after their last encounter.

This is not Abbi’s fault.

She could not have known this would happen, and I find it concerning that James is not even mentioning that he’s worried about Abbi blaming herself for something she’s innocent of or how that will effect her.

No, just that Seth is crazy because of Abbi breaking up with him.

God, I’ve never wanted to deck someone more than I want to deck Onion as I type this.

I couldn’t take thinking about it for more than a few seconds. I sprinted up to the driver and screamed, “If you don’t let me off, I’ll jump off!”

Through what? The door is closed. Through a broken window?

You will break your ankles, you dumbass.

The bus driver plunged the bus into the side of the road violently, as a result I stumbled falling hands first onto the bus dashboard.

You are actually insane. Also, this sentence is structured weird.

The driver yelled, “You got a death wish, that’s your choice but I’m getting everyone else to safety!” He opened the door and aggressively motioned for me to get off.

YOU GODDAMN IDIOT WHY ARE YOU ENDANGERING STUDENT LIVES? DO NOT LET THIS ASSHOLE OUT DURING AN ACTIVE SHOOTING. THIS IS SO UNREALISTIC I CANNOT.

By the first wave of his backhand I had already bolted out. I violently ripped my backpack open and tried to put on my skates while maintaining my speed towards the school.

YOU MEAN TO TELL ME JAMES STOPPED WHILE PEOPLE ARE GETTING SHOT AT TO PUT HIS FUCKING ROLLER BLADES ON?

JUST NO.

After only a few seconds I was skating at full speed. I could already hear the first of many sirens to come far off in the distance as the gunshots continued to ring in the heavy air.

This entire situation is complete and utter bullshit.

My whole body felt like it was jumping out of my skin. Tears continued to pour from my face from both the wind hitting my eyes and the war raging in my mind.

I’m sorry, never in my life have I ever read the phrase ‘the war raging in my mind.’

It’s just terrible.

As I approached the school, I could see freshly fallen bodies by the door exactly where Seth had walked out as our bus left. I could’ve sworn they were all still moving but my eyes were blurred from tears and I knew many if not all of the shots were fatal.

Okay, I may have said in the intro that it wouldn’t scare me because of the quality of the writing, but I didn’t say it wouldn’t make me sad.

But in the mix of that, I’m mad.

Because Onion is taking an issue that is still a giant problem as I type this and romanticizing it in his shitty book. It’s not okay and he should feel scummy about it.

Seeing your friends die like that would be terrible and traumatic and scarring. Survivors develop PTSD because of the things that happen to them.

I cannot say I know what it’s like since the most I’ve experienced is a lock down drill because of a gun threat, but I was afraid for my life as I watched police sweep my school, while the teachers didn’t tell the students what was happening. Nobody should ever have to be scared in a place of learning.

I was scared. But I was nowhere near as scared as students who died or were injured or where witnesses in actual deadly shootings like Stoneman Douglass or Columbine or all the others, not by a long shot.

This just feels like Onision is taking a controversial topic which makes teenagers like me feel unsafe in their own schools and using it to cause relationship drama between his protagonists, using it as a plot point when the plot could have gone in many different directions. I’ve seen books which are about school shootings, but they’re respectful of victims of actual massacres.

This.

This isn’t one of them. This is romanticizing and in poor taste. And it pisses me the hell off.

Okay, rant over, let’s keep going.

I didn’t know much of anything about human anatomy, but through the blur I could tell Seth was shooting people mostly in the neck and head, leaving little for medics to work with.

I reiterate. This is disgusting.

I fell to my knees at the entrance whipping my legs around while simultaneously straining to take off my skates. The floor was too slippery with blood to move anywhere on those tiny wheels.

You’re a fucking idiot for putting them on in the first place.

My pants already had bloodstains from the bodies near by.

Is the floor just slick with blood?

That’s kind of bullshit.

I had no time to focus on what was happening, I had no time to consider anything but Abbi’s safety. I ran off in my socks, one barely even on my foot, leaving everything at the entrance, I felt I was running entirely on an autopilot function I didn’t even know I had.

All of this is just so disrespectful and insensitive.


In only seconds I saw more blood than I had seen, let alone imagined, in my entire life. The inside of the school was soaked with the sounds of sobbing students 


Do not ever say something is soaked with sounds. It makes no sense.

Part of me hopes Onion sees this review before he goes to prison. If he makes a video about me, I will laugh my absolute ass off. And he can die mad about it.


who weren’t shot but too scared to move or even function. One student, clearly in shock was just crawling down the hall wailing and shaking. 


I-

Why?

That just makes me think of a cheap haunted house and that isn’t a good visual to have when you’re writing about a school shooting.

The thought of Abbi shook me out of the sorrow I felt for that student. The first place I could think to look for Abbi was her locker and I was already half way there.

Why the hell would Abbi be near her locker during all of this?

Is she completely brain dead?

I approached and found nothing,

Yeah, unsurprising since you’d have to be a moron to stand out in the open.

Like James since he’s literally running out in the open.

no one was even shot in the area of her locker, and I had to look elsewhere. As I returned to the entrance area of the school I crouched next to a table and froze in place to listen for any sign of where Seth was; it felt like minutes, but I imagine it was only seconds.

My state of mind likely altered my perception of time, every survival based operation functioning to its maximum ability aside from my flight instinct that demanded I run and hide like the rest.

Yeah, I would advise that, dipshit. Get the hell out of there.

Another gunshot had finally violently shattered the sound of whimpers and lungs desperately choking for air as they filled with blood.

I cannot with this description. All I can ask is: what the hell is wrong with you?

The gunshot sound was distant as if it went off outside, on the other end of school.

Okay so someone said they saw Seth outside the school or near the front less than a few minutes ago. Did he just teleport to the other end of the school? That is the only explanation for how he would get over there so fast.

Sprinting off in the direction of what I had already accepted as potentially my final destination, Abbi remained at the forefront of my mind.

I would appreciate if you’d tell me where the fuck that is.

Bursting out the side doors of Lakewood High I crouched and froze in place again. My senses once more ignited.

I immediately heard a voice scream out “I will not let you do this you psychopath!” It was an old woman, the only old woman I ever knew to go anywhere near the trailer classrooms just ahead.

It had to be Mrs. Stanley. I shot forward like a cannonball being fired on a long awaited enemy.

If you ever use that simile again it’ll be too soon.

Even the wind felt like it had stepped aside to let me pass without resistance.

Oh, no it didn’t.

As the art trailer came into view I could see Mrs. Stanley approaching Seth, she stood tall without any indication of fear. Seth was dressed in a long white coat with a pure white outfit underneath. This was all clearly premeditated; like he wanted to proclaim how much blood he had shed, not just around him, but on his body as well. He got what he wanted; he was drenched from collar to shoe in the blood of his fellow students.

Is that supposed to be poetic or something?

It’s just deeply disturbing.

Despite Mrs. Stanley's aggressive stance, Seth barely paid attention to her and limped by her trailer as if she didn’t even exist. I assumed his crippled posture was the result of the unfathomable reality he had found himself faced with.

I’m sorry, what?

He’s limping when he isn’t injured? That makes no sense and it isn’t poetic or deep. It’s just meaningless word salad.

What he was subjecting everyone to, the mortifying level of terror and suffering was like nothing he had likely imagined. Going back wasn’t an option on any level; Seth was already dead to the world for what he had done.

Okay, I don’t care how poetic this all is, this is just disturbing.

He had to have known there was no peace in life left for him in life. No place to hide or chance of ever feeling safe from judgment or persecution again.

I mean, it’s not wrong.

He’s 100% going to prison forever if he doesn’t kill himself before being caught.

Mrs. Stanley screamed at him again, “You are an embarrassment! A disgrace! How dare you, you scum!” Upon hearing her verbal condemnation without hesitation Seth whipped his gun toward her like a sword being unsheathed, time again felt like it had drastically slowed as his weakened arm struggled to steady his aim.

My eyes are glazing over.

I ran at Seth as he screamed in pain just from the weight of lifting his gun towards her. Mrs. Stanley tried to step to the side of the shaking muzzle but maintained her advance on him clearly hoping to disarm him.

Please do not tell me I’m about to read about an old woman getting shot.

Because if I am, I’m fucking done.

I was just about to reach Seth to attempt disarming him when out of nowhere his gun flew in the air and Seth yelped as the air left his lungs. I screeched to a halt in my blood soaked socks trying to process what was happening.

I have no words, I just don’t.

My watery eyes and adrenaline was clouding my perception, possibly even more now than before, but I was able to process that another student had tackled Seth. I almost immediately identified the student as Jason from his size and clothing type alone.

The very same boy who had chipped my tooth and pummeled my face was now beating Seth senseless.

You’re telling me Jason is here to beat up the shooter?

Excuse me, the fuck? It’s been ten days? He’s back at school? did onion just forget he suspended Jason?

Does Jason just appear whenever punching needs to happen?

In such a strange way I could sense within myself a glimmer of deep satisfaction, not only from the realization that Jason had single-handedly cut the head off this otherwise ongoing tragedy in our lives, but instead that he had without a doubt clearly held back when he was fighting me. This time I could see Jason was letting out every ounce of brutal rage he had within him and unleashed it all on a desperately defeated Seth.

That was described so weirdly that I cannot picture this happening.

Mrs. Stanley turned her back on Seth, still being dominated by Jason’s fists, leaving him for dead to go help other students. I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air as I heard Seth’s face being repeatedly impacted by the fists and elbows of a justifiably enraged Jason.

“How could you do that to my family? To all of us! Do you think you accomplished anything you bastard? You sick freak!” Jason screamed at the now unconscious bloodied face of Seth while showing no intention of letting up.

I’m just mentally exhausted by this.

Also his family? Were they at the school? What?

Is he referring to his friends? The football team?

As I calmed my breathing, not forgetting my priority for even a moment, I quickly began running through Abbi’s daily routine at school. Her class just before art was Human Anatomy, which wasn’t far from where I was. Running back inside the school I leapt over fallen chairs and abandoned possessions only to find Abbi’s class completely empty.

I am yet again alarmed that I am apathetic in regards to this.

She was nowhere to be seen. I immediately reminded myself she was normally early, which made me begin to feel she had escaped safely as there was only one door out, a door that to my knowledge had no bodies near it. I ran taking the path of least resistance out the front entrance to see students gathering near the school property line. They were bundled in a tight-knit group behind the trees immediately outside the bus drop off zone.

Where in the literal fuck are the police?

Despite my aching feet and intense stress I reached the group in little time, now missing a sock and my feet littered with broken glass gathered throughout my search for Abbi.

Most all of the girls were crying while many of the boys were giving a thousand yard stare, their eyes locked on the school.

I would think that maybe they’d be crying too.

Pushing myself through the group I could see Abbi sitting on the ground in the upright fetal position.

So she’s just sitting with her knees tucked to her chest?

The fetal position is laying on your side curled into a ball.

An overwhelming sense of relief consumed me as I fell forward to wrap myself around her.

She was shaking and whimpering uncontrollably.

As anyone would be.

I immediately said, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” She lurched up only then realizing I had found her.

She grabbed me with a strength beyond any embrace we had had before, I never imagined she was so strong. Abbi was unable to say anything over her crying, as a wave of emotion continued to overtake me I had nothing I could say either, we remained speechless together.

I feel something, but it’s not deep, it’s very on the surface. Which is concerning.

Through the group of students’ legs I could barely see the lights from police cars pulling up to our school.

WHERE WERE THESE ASSHOLES DURING THE ACTUAL SHOOTING?

Everything seemed like it happened over a period of 40 minutes but it was in fact a small fraction of that. Soon after I witnessed unmarked cars, ambulances, and SWAT had all responded with a similar level of urgency as well.

Unmarked cars?

Also am I dumb or is this sentence not written correctly?

We could only sit and wait as the police sorted out everything that had happened over the next few hours. After some time I was able to report on what I saw as I sat on a curb while a medic pulled glass out of my feet.

Not in an ambulance?

They were all out of ambulances and stretchers so I was grateful just to have someone to help me get patched up since the adrenaline was no longer distracting me from the pain.

You stepped in glass, cry me a fucking river. You were lucky you were relatively uninjured compared to your classmates.

We were given blankets as we waited outside, Abbi refused to be more than a foot away from me for a single moment. We were both so incredibly relieved to still have each other, as if we were vital parts of the same system, one not being able to maintain their stability without the ensured safety of the other.

This romance has no build and no fucking reason for me to be invested in it.

Off in the distance, I could see a large amount of empty body bags being delivered. The entire area was swarmed with every emergency response service you could imagine.

Wouldn’t they have to dispatch a bomb squad?

Not far behind stood a group of reporters, significantly expanding in size every passing hour. Not too long after my feet were bandaged and I had given the police all the information they asked for, I was able to leave with Abbi. As we headed towards the cordon I saw my mom waving her arms just outside the police-establish barrier. Upon seeing her, the immediate sad reality sank in both our minds that Abbi’s dad didn’t even bother to show.

That’s a huge ass yikes.

Knowing what I was thinking Abbi tried to reassure me and likely herself in the process. She began saying her father probably didn’t even know there was an emergency

Did he hear the sirens? The helicopters from news crews? He’d have to be completely deaf not to know what’s going on.

but pointed out that he was probably still recovering from being drunk the night before.

So he just doesn’t care that his daughter could have been shot?

Okay, sure, fine, whatever.

Ugh.

As I walked into my mom’s arms she became the second woman that day to show me a strength I never imagined they had. Her hug, while painful, offered me an unforgettable sense of comfort. As she embraced me she revealed to my surprise that she had already been briefed on how close I was to everything that went down.

I- what?

This was closely followed?

I don’t know how this could have worked.

??????

Continuing to hold me in one of the longest hugs I had ever experienced, she told me how mad at me she was while also expressing how simultaneously proud she was of me for running into danger when so many people ran away.

Why not just say a simple ‘I’m glad you’re okay.’

Hm?

I imagined she assumed it was to help everyone in the school but the truth is, I could only feel selfish knowing I wasn’t doing anything for anyone but Abbi. I was ashamed and somewhat terrified by how little I seemed to care about most everyone else outside her.

Yeah, that should concern you.

The love and compassion being expressed towards me continued to leave me speechless. I felt Abbi rubbing my back as my mom continued to lock her arms around me.

Abbi is probably traumatized too. James isn’t the only one important here.

Abbi’s physical act of affection triggered a thought causing me to jolt upright. I quickly asked my mom if Abbi could stay with us that night and she responded positively. Her one stipulation was that we had to stop by her Dad’s house to first get his consent.

I’m sorry, but this just seems like a ploy to get the main characters in a bed together.

And that, my friends, is gross as hell.

We all got in my mom’s car and drove to Abbi’s house. My mom approached the entrance of their home by herself knowing we were basically unable to do anything outside repeatedly revisiting what had happened earlier that day.

You mean like ten minutes ago?

She knocked on the door multiple times and got no answer. She then walked back to the car and said “Hey Abbi seems no one is home want me to get your things for you?”

This quotation is devoid of commas and that upsets me.

Abbi replied, “No it’s ok I’ll get them myself, my Dad’s kind of crazy about intruders, wouldn’t want anyone...”

Abbi stopped speaking and simplified things “Be right back.”

That isn’t simplifying things.

My mom opened the car door for Abbi and she hopped out to quickly raid her room for the essentials. Before I knew it she was outside again with a bag full of her things. She was so quick to pack that it occurred to me leaving her place on the fly might’ve been more familiar to her than I knew.

Wonderful.

Remembering her brief comments earlier, I imagined there were many times where her home had become such an emotionally hostile environment that she was rendered unable to stay causing her to seek most any way out, even if it meant she was leaving one sinking ship just to climb aboard another.

My mom began talking about how happy she was that my sister had skipped school that day.

Um. Okay.

She said, “Who would have thought her rebellious attitude and disregard for her future might have saved her life?”

Had we not been through everything that day, we would have given at least a slight laugh but found ourselves all sitting in an awkward silence.

I have no valid reaction to this.

After cleaning ourselves up, Abbi and I walked into my room leaving the door open as a comfort to my mom. This was short lived, the end specifically occurring after my mom had walked into her room and closed the door. Our door closed with hers.

What? Our door?

Does this mean James’s door?

Initially I had offered Abbi the bed implying I would take the floor, but she sat down on the mattress and expressed almost exactly what I was feeling “After everything we went through today you lying next to me is the only way I’ll feel any comfort tonight” she said softly.

I was relieved and laid behind her through that night and a few nights to follow. She called her dad at home repeatedly in the days after to let him know what had happened, but he still didn’t answer.

I am appalled by that.

As was expected school had been canceled for a couple weeks.

No shit.

This reality left us to consume our time with the news, talking about the people we recognized in the photos they showed and checking in on various people we talked to at school over the phone, including Davis who had no problem getting upset at me for the first time in a long while for abandoning him on the bus as I did.

That is one of the first valid human reactions in this entire book.

Fortunately in natural Davis fashion, his frustration was quickly followed by jokes and words of encouragement.

Never mind.

Abbi and I didn’t know how to feel about so much of what happened. Through our time away from school we shared many moments of sadness, reflecting on the faces we would never see again, hearing the sad speeches of those left behind by the fallen, but most of all, our expressions of sorrow erupted from our own experiences. The images and screams still echoed in our minds.

This is so glorifying and it makes me sick.

Aside from sadness I felt an almost equally intense sensation of numbness. After a short time I found the only comfort that consistently broke through my shaken state was the warmth of Abbi pressed against me night after night. She was my sanctuary.

And you’ve been talking to her for a week or so, but whatever.

This chapter has been the complete worst by far. I’ve ranted about the reasons why, so I really don’t have any more energy to continue.

What I can say is that this is disrespectful as hell to trauma victims and it portrays Abbi in a damsel in distress light that makes my stomach twist. I could say more, but then I’d write a goddamn essay, so we’ll leave it at that.

This book is gross. I’ll see you later.

~Kat

[noeliareads]

Penpals? Chapter 2

Chapter 2: 

November, 2017 

After about 2 weeks of preparation (waiting for a paycheck) Arizona had almost everything ready for her box. All she had to do was write the letter. 

*Dear Jinho, I don’t have words to express how grateful I am for everything you sent me. I actually feel bad because I don’t send as much. But here are a few of my favorite things from America. I really hope you like them. The SNSD mug? I use it everyday for my morning coffee. (she printed out a photo of the mug on her side table) The tea is incredible! Jinho, everything is incredible and I can’t thank you enough! 

By the way, how are you? How is South Korea? I hope you’re doing ok as well as your friends. I am ok, just a little bit stressed with school. Our final exams are in about a month and believe me I am not ready. Oh! I haven’t introduced myself. As you already know my name is Arizona, I am 20 years old and I am a music major in college. That’s something we have in common, music. I wanted to become a music major because I would love to be a music teacher in a university. I feel like my acquired skills would be exploited there. I really don’t know what to say about myself. My favorite colors are moss green and beige. I cannot write with normal ballpoint pens. I know. It’s weird. Fountain pens are a blessing and they are the best thing in the world.*

***

Bang Chan was in his room working on some mixtapes when he heard Jisung yell. 

“YA! We got a package for Bang Jinho. Who is Bang Jinho?”

Bang Chan threw his laptop on his bed and almost slipped on the wood floor, running to where Jisung was.   

“Nae goesida!” It’s mine! He said. He yanked the… box? A box? And ran to his room, locking the door behind him, leaning on it as if one of his band mates were to break it down. It has happened before... 

He clutched his chest regaining his breath. He took a seat on the floor and curiously examined the box, it had the typical shipping label. He didn’t spare a minute so he opened the box with his bare hands. Inside the box were a variety of American sweets. He found a mug with the american flag on it, post-its of the american flag… There were a lot of things with the american flag. Very.. touristy. Still, he thought it was cute. He saw a light blue envelope and grabbed it. It was time to read what she said. 

Dear Jinho…

.

.

*I have no siblings, sadly. I am an only child so I grew up alone sometimes. But that’s ok. I don’t mind being alone sometimes. I find comfort in being alone. Oh! I listened to the songs you sent me. Ok, let me gather my thoughts. 

Likey: It’s so catchy and I watched the video as well and now I can’t stop doing the hand movements from the beginning! My best friend Nick, laughs and teases me because I will do it without realizing it. I will have to check out more of Twice’s music, they seem very promising. 

You Are by Got7: I have heard of them but never got into their music yet. This was until you told me to listen to this song. I like this song. It’s has a beautiful melody. I like how it builds up and I didn’t expect the chorus to sound like that! I know kpop involves a lot of rapping but that “IT’S A BEAUTIFUL SKYYY” Dude. That buildup. Wow. 

Matryoshka: I don’t even know where to begin. Who are these people?? I mean, I downloaded Soundcloud because you mentioned it and I was blown away. They are amazing! The first rapper has such a chill flow. It’s like he’s not trying but it sounds good either way! The second one? He’s good, too good. And the third one? Oh Lord. I really hate you right now. Who the hell has that type of voice? I figured it was him who accentuated the MAAAAAAAATRYOSHKA. And wow, just wow. Thank you for showing me these amazing rappers. I have to look into them more! 

Lastly, Be Lazy. I have like 2 things to say. THE BASS. THE BASS. Thank you. I like them so much. THE BASS.*

The letter was two pages long and Chan enjoyed reading all of it. She seemed like a very animated person. She seemed to be happy about the simplest things and that weirdly made him smile. 

FAST FORWARD TO DEBUT ERA. Chan and Arizona have exchanged a few letters (shipping time and Chan’s schedule). But they became great friends in the short amount of time they’ve corresponded to each other. They kept trading on songs, Chan loved or dislikes the ones she sent and same went for her. In future v-lives, he would play some of the songs he told her to listen to. But, one thing was for sure. Chan converted Arizona into a newer generation K-pop lover. Chan told her that 3racha were actually part of a survival show that basically consisted of working hard to be able to debut together. He also never told her that he was Bang Chan. But, he did tell her that he was working hard in order to get a job as a backup dancer for idol groups.  

March:  Chan to Arizona (They just debuted)

*Zo, I am so happy! I GOT THE JOB! I wish I could tell you all about it but I can’t!*

Arizona to Chan

*No way! Jinho that is amazing! I am so happy for you! I know how much you worked for this! Whenever you get to dance on stage let me know so I can watch you.* Chan sighed as he read her response. She will see him, but she won’t know who he is.  

Fastforward

Months go by and Stray Kids have won multiple rookie awards. Thanks to Chan, Arizona has gone head over heels for them. She will rant about them in her letters and fangirl with him.

*Jinho… I know I sent you your letter and you probably received it yesterday or a few days ago but this is an emergency. SKZ DROPPED ANOTHER VIDEO!  BTW, You have to see the street version of  Insomnia. THEY WERE IN THE US I MEAN WHAT THE HELL! This is why I hate being a college student. No money. And, 10 days later they release the street version of Question? Do they want to kill me. Changbin and Hyunjin body rolling killed me! They all killed me. I really can’t thank you enough for introducing me to them. #PROUDSTAY*

For the release of their album I Am Who, Chan sent her an album. He wanted it to be autographed but he couldn’t explain how he made that possible. Either way she has his handwriting in paper so that counts? The boys knew about her, not much but they did know he was corresponding with a girl from America. Either way, she has his handwriting. Arizona in return, sent him an ASAP Rocky album! That made Chan very very happy. 

Life suddenly was brighter for Arizona. She always had a hard time seeing the bright side in life and being positive was extra effort. But corresponding with Chan helped her breathe with ease. He was her escape room. She could tell him everything and she knew that he wouldn’t judge her. He would always offer words of comfort and advice. There were times where she would vent about how hard her classes were or how her  mental health deteriorates day by day.  Chan wasn’t bothered by this. He wished for her to be happy and free in her own mind. He would occasionally send her various letters in the span of a few days or less. He knew she wasn’t expecting it and he hoped it made her smile, which it did. 

They were so used to corresponding to each other that friendship slowly and silently became something else. Arizona once debated about it but she brushed it off. It can’t be possible and it won’t be. Letters were romantic and that is the stigma that is around it and that’s all. There is nothing more to it. Chan thought of her constantly when he wasn’t busy with producing, practicing or anything related to the group. He knew he liked her, did he have the opportunity to ask for a picture? He did. But he didn’t ask. He would feel obliged to send her one of himself and he couldn’t do that. It was enough with lying about his job. 

FEBRUARY - 2019 

“I am soooooooo tired.” Arizona complained as she walked into the same coffee shop she frequented with Nick over the course of their college years. Both were seniors now, graduating in May! 

“All nighter?” Nick asked? She just nodded and smiled at the barista giving her their order. 

“You’re a master procrastinator. What were you doing?”

“Working on my senior project and portfolio.” She mumbles taking a seat and resting her head on the table. Nick didn’t miss how she avoided his eyes. 

“And probably writing J’s letter right?” Arizona looked up at her best friend and smiled. It was true, she was working on less than 2 hours of sleep, writing the letter and working on her project. “Zozo, you like him don’t you.” It wasn’t a question. It was an affirmation. 

“Nick, stop.” She wasn’t ready to face this topic yet. Like him? Pff. She’s never seen him before. “We’ve never met and probably never will. Ok? Drop it.”

“You don’t have to like or love his looks.” Arizona knew that and she knew what danger she was in of falling harder and faster for Jihno. She just wasn’t ready for it. 

Arizona arrived home after her evening lessons and collapsed on the couch. She was just dozing off when her mom threw some papers on her stomach. “You have mail” She said. The sleepy girl sat up and flipped through the envelopes. Phone bill, student loan information, a postcard?  

“Australia? I don’t know anyone in Australia.” She turned the postcard around and smiled when she recognized the handwriting. 

*Hey Zo, sorry this is going to be short. But, I am in aussie visiting family. I won’t be able to read any of your letters until I get home but I will write! Just make sure to send your responses  to my normal address. I am so happy to see my family again, I actually came with a few of my friends and we are just touring around. I also heard Stray Kids are going to be here! I’ll see if I can go to their concert or spot them at the touristy sites. If I do, I’ll send photos. Take care. 

Jinho.*

Her heart fluttered. He knew how much she loved Stray Kids that he would even look for them for her! The days flew by and she received an envelope. It contained a post-it and multiple photos. The note said, ‘Found them.’ The photos were of Stray Kids near the Sydney Opera House. Wait, he found them? The photos seemed to be taken from afar and the boys were with cameras? Filming a video? Arizona died right there. He went all the way to find them, take their picture, develop them and send them to her. 

Chan’s Perspective

Chan asked his manager to take photographs of them as they filmed and as if they were fans who spotted them. Manager Kim (let’s say that’s his name) agreed without asking for a reason. Chan quickly developed them and sent them before going back to South Korea. He was dying to tell her who he was. After all, he was her bias. Not that it made any difference. Sadly he still couldn’t, Stray Kids were going to be extremely busy in the next month and he feared not to have time to write so he made sure he had conversations planned out so she wouldn’t feel lonely. He also had the feeling that this comeback was going to be important for their careers. 

His last letter ended with; ‘Zo, I won’t be able to write as much because I will be dancing for a group for their comeback so we will be very busy practicing. But, I will try to write as much as possible. Don’t miss me.” 

.

.

.

Hey guys this was more of a filler chapter. I hope you get an idea of how the story is going to go.  There will hopefully be two more chapters, I still don’t know how I will space them out. Next chapter is going to be about the Miroh and Yellow Wood era. Arizona also graduates college and there is a big surprise that will lead to the last chapter. 

Playlist?

Adios - Everglow

Teeth - 5 Seconds of Summer

Wanna Go Back - Day6 

Mirror - Stray Kids

These are the pictures Chan sends to Arizona.

[ghostplantss]

Brickclub 1.1.1 - 2 + Introduction

Hello! I’m Alice she/her/hers, trying to catch up to brick club, not the sharpest pencil in the drawer, knows near nothing, so this’ll be something of a miscellaneous collection of rambles just for myself and hopefully it’ll work out!

1.1.1

M. Myriel! I adore you and I’ve missed you terribly

Footnotes and app “common knowledge” say that the inspiration for M. Myriel is de Miollis, bishop of Digne from 1806 to 1838, emigrated to Rome during the revolution, anti-napoleon, bought back church land confiscated by the frev.

Mgr Myriel dans les miserables

According to this article, which I cannot understand since it is in French, jvj was based on pierre Morin, released after 5 years in prison for stealing bread for his sister’s starving family, couldn’t find a job or shelter, was taken in by the aforementioned bishop and died in the battle of Waterloo - does this have anything to do w the pontmercy? 

de miollis was born 19 june, 1753 instead of? 1815 - 75 = 1740? I couldn’t find anything remotely interesting that happened in 1740 except marquis de sade’s birth and hopefully that was an unfortunate coincidence. 

he had 15 siblings, 7 of whom died young, 4 brothers, 4 sisters. of whom one brother took on the family business of conseiller, two (i think) were generals under napoleon - family dinners must’ve been difficult - and the last was a prefect. Hugo says Myriel had 2 brothers, a prefect and a general, which is close enough. de Moillis does not have a sister baptistine, but he does have a sister named anne magdeleine de moillis, married to a marquis, with a servant named genevieve. the article says perhaps hugo thought the name genevieve too noble for a servant, which i find silly bc magloire’s a perfectly lovely name. so i went in looking for his relationship with baptistine and felt terribly cheated to realize hugo had fabricated the sister almost entirely which i suppose is fair.

I think the article says that de Moillis was given the position bc his brother was a general under napoleon. and that the hospital thing fabricated as well but! i’m sloth and articles are so entirely dull. 

A 17th century precursor to Mgr Myriel

This article posits that the creation M. Myriel was influenced by Lancelot’s 17th century novel relation d'un voyage d'aleth which sounds terribly interesting and i must look into it aaaand i’m terribly off topic

SO ANYHOW: 

Myriel emigrated to Italy just as the revolution began and when Napoleon left Italy for France, one by fortune and the other by choice. And he said he was a good man while Napoleon was a great man - I promised myself I’d get throw the next book to call Napoleon a great man at the wall, but alas, I’m reading this digitally - so they’re somewhat opposites! 

Myriel was in an arranged marriage and indulged in affairs, which his later parishioners v consciously forgot, which? I suppose? Shows his love for them is more unconditional than theirs for him? And could? Well? Parallel how ppl were so reluctant to look into the past of Madeleine and how easily they forsook poor jvj as soon as the v ancient news reemerged

Young myriel sounds like such a riot! A bit like? Courfeyrac aka the nicer tholomyès aw imagine if he were cosette’s father instead? I’m sure he wouldn’t abandon her Oh no I’m off topic but I suppose Hugo here’s either saying? Affairs aren’t virtuous and so ppl are capable of change - which would be hypocritical of him - or affairs are ok as long as you take responsibility and such which? i suppose I can get behind. Of course, with the ease of getting divorces nowadays, hopefully people wouldn’t stay in loveless arranged marriages. I remember, when I first read the book, being rather discomfited by the way Myriel seems to ignore how his actions affect women who depend on him? Such as the voluntary scarcity he not only devoted himself to but also foisted upon his sister and sweet Magloire. And? now the way he cheated on his wife, who probably wished no part in this relationship either, but has less freedom than he does in this marriage but ah now I’m terribly off topic and bumming myself out.

I wish there were more said on the 30 years they were married, on their exile to italy, i want to know it all! “Nobody knows” says the omniscient narrator oh come on Hugo spill the beans on myriel! I am the brainless gossiping mob tell me everything

I love magloire and baptistine’s descriptions I love them both! Hugo says a lady needs to be a mother to be venerable but i think that’s just you Hugo you have this odd thing for feral saintly mothers and who can blame you. Mlle. baps is an aspiration! mme. Magloire too! She’s so hard working despite being ill, and it just isn’t right she should be the only one to be so busy when she has asthma

I know I shouldn’t ship them but reason escapes me

1740: born

1758- 1760: 18-20 arranged marriage

1790ish: 50ish emigrated to Italy - wife died of? consumption?

1806: 66 become bishop

1815: 75 current

Cool quotes:

“La révolution survint, les événements se précipitèrent, les familles parlementaires décimées, chassées, traquées, se dispersèrent.” - it flows so nicely!

“M. Myriel devait subir le sort de tout nouveau venu dans une petite ville où il y a beaucoup de bouches qui parlent et fort peu de têtes qui pensent.” - such a burn and this is me! little brain and much tongue

on Mme. Baps: “et cette diaphanéité laissait voir l'ange… Sa personne semblait faite d'ombre … un peu de matière contenant une lueur ; de grands yeux toujours baissés ; un prétexte pour qu'une âme reste sur la terre.” aaa i adore this so much! to imagine her angelic, respectable, and made of shadows! 

1.1.2

Onto chapter 2! So um I know this is terribly off topic, but nap the bonbon said that an archbishop would have a stipend of 15000 francs while a bishop would be given 10000 francs, and this book published after les mis still cited the same numbers as well so it’s odd that Myriel has an annual stipend of 15000 francs? AHHh also! bonbon said that rectors - one class of them at least - would be paid 1500 francs annually, and i’m not entirely sure, but isn’t a curé a rector? as hugo said, myriel never really took more money than he needed. BUT he allocated 1000 francs instead of 1500 for his personal stipend and so I’m! very! confused! i feel like i’m v earnestly explaining how a triangle has four sides. i swear i’ll move on.  

(adding on oh god i just realized?? baps gets 500 a year? i really hope myriel isn’t counting her pension as part of his own personal expenses... though itt does say that “Avec ces quinze cents francs, ces deux vieilles femmes et ce vieillard vivaient.” but that would be rather despicable)

I love the part where he converts the palace to a hospital! hugo started off by describing the extravagance and grandeur of it all, and then juxtaposing it to? the hospital and myriel’s decision to swap houses and there’s something terribly satisfying about the layout. just. how it ends with “Il y a erreur, je vous dis. Vous avez mon logis, et j'ai le vôtre. Rendez-moi ma maison. C'est ici chez vous.” it all wraps so nicely!

The book reiterates how Myriel’s family was ruined by the frev - to what extent, for both of his brothers are employed by the napoleonic government. To that end, it almost appears as a sort of denouncement of violent social change. However, that isn’t quite what myriel believes, it seems, at least according to his budget? since he allocates more to the People as opposed to family, so i’m very confused. Perhaps Hugo is saying that the sacrifices of a few good men who benefit from an unjust system is necessary. 

Myriel took the transportation fee! it was hilarious. of course, i do have mixed feelings because M. Préameneau was right, it’s ridiculous for someone in such a small parish to apply for a carriage fee, which was at least partially why Myriel ultimately chose the donkey. and i’m supposing this most likely sets a terrible precedent for the next bishop of digne who might not have similar philanthropist sentiments. so Hugo’s saying we’re allowed to take advantage of a broken system as long as our own ends are good? how machiavellian! and the buildup was hilarious even if we all knew myriel would never pocket the money himself. poor Mme. Magloire though, it sounded like the household really could have used the money. I think the way she said? that he began by being kind with other people, and now he will end with us? it’s almost rather tragic. that he should’ve neglected the feelings of the people closest to him. 

Hugo seems to have? Baps represent the spirit and Magloire the body, or at least more worldly worries, which seems rather classist of him . I suppose it might be a necessary evil of liking symbols so much - you inevitably fall into stereotypes - and i do love them both, but it makes me uncomfortable. 

Posts from other ppl I want to keep: 

pilf: 

- “il y a toujours encore plus de misère en bas que de fraternité en haut, tout était donné, pour ainsi dire, avant d'être reçu” + charity

- that baps “venerates” her brother, and that he lists all their monetary needs as his own personal expenses, despite the fact that they are the ones managing the household and the money and that they are living off the money same as him, and?? baps only gets 500 yearly, half of what her brother considers a meagre sum

- and aaaa i love how pilf said that it isn’t an admirable move to force those around you to live according to your own morals. just. yes. baps and magloire don’t esp have a choice. and?? magloire and baps really did carry the brunt of the burden. Myriel was able to stay afloat “grâce à la sévère économie de madame Magloire et à l'intelligente administration de mademoiselle Baptistine.” 

akallabeth: 

- how the specificness of the itemized list shows intent and research into the most underserved individuals + causes in his parish: 1. soup for hospital 2. debtors w families

- “And he calls the almsgiving his household expenses. The young man asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” The bishop responds, “The poor are my family.”” (i couldn’t find this quote! but it is amazing!)

- pfff his swanky, company-provided house. i love it

- 15000 francs approx 3 mil usd or 58 workers’ annual wages, which means?? bap’s pension is worth? two adult male workers’ wages? wow

- Myriel uses vous for Magloire

[nctsukashii-archive-blog]

Most disliked arc (chapter)? Why?

The saltiest cracker you know is me, Bepsi!10. Most disliked arc (in this case, chapter)? Why? 

I bet you saw this shit comin a mile away huh?

Chapter 2.

Now, it might surprise you, but Hoshi dying isn’t even the worst part of the chapter for me. That’s more emotionally gut punching me and my hopes and dreams that joke characters can live past chapter 3. Actually, Hoshi is without a doubt the BEST part of Chapter 2 even with his death, just because of how amazingly he’s written. 

Sadly, even Hoshi cannot save this chapter from showing just how RUSHED and UNPOLISHED it is. Because holy jeEZ THERE’S A LOT WRONG (albeit it’s personal opinion for the most part). So while you may know them, or may learn something new from my opinion, that’s all cool! Under the cut as Chapter 2 is dissected and torn into to learn why it is sadly, my least fav of V3.

- RUSHED.

Now, this is really easy to see, and I’m sure many others have noticed it as well, but it bears a lot of repeating because it’s a problem. Chapter 2 was rushed to high heavens, in the sense that it mainly serves to push the plot along and nothing more. Things happen too quickly in the story at that point, and while the rest of the game is better off for it, this is the ONLY chapter that REALLY does it so blatantly, and it feels very choking as a result of it.- Tenko’s attachment to Himiko needed to happen, absolutely, but I feel like more should have been done in Chapter 1 to show Tenko trying to talk to her more? Maybe, “OOO maybe himiko wants to be my friend??” and more interactions that show that Tenko isn’t just attaching herself to Himiko b/c she’s “the creepy gay” character. - Toujou becoming the fucking supermaid. This one is the most obvious, but mmm. Everyone relying on her suddenly feels super forced, as characters like Shinguuji and Hoshi and even Maki herself, all ask Toujou to do something for them. It feels out of character for them, and the fact that THAT interaction is the MOST she gets in Chapter 2 before the trial is fucking trash and I’ll explain why in a later point, but you can just TELL that they needed SOMETHING to give her ANY story relevance, and it hurts her character a LOT. - Kaito suddenly wanting to help Maki’s super fucking weird. Maybe if it showed Kaito like “sorry Shuichi maybe later, I wanna try talking to Maki” more in this Chapter to really see that he wants to help her, or even just him going more like “hey Shuichi wanna include Maki in our training? I feel like she could use it.” or ANYTHING that mentions Kaito reaching out to Maki more. Because as it is now, it feels like he’s suddenly placing an all or nothing bet and it makes him, p unlikable at that point b/c Shuichi just goes with it for seemingly no reason because “yeah I guess i gotta progress the plot”. - Those are the main points. Maki is done surprisingly well, actually, she’s really good here. Being sus like that and actually not letting you do FTE’s was cool, and i liked it a lot. Angie’s slow buildup was also pretty good as well, but I think they coulda put Tsumugi in w/ Himiko at some point so it’s not ‘suddenly everyone’s brainwashed!’ in chapter 3, as a slower buildup would do it good! Or at least, more buildup, I should say.

- CLUNKY.

This one is a bit harder to explain, and it goes in hand with the pacing issue, but lemme try. Some of the events and dialogue in Chapter 2 just feel, really clunky? Like, Shuichi’s an emotional guy and I totally understand that, but I don’t think he’d just spill his feelings to the guy that punched him for showing weakness not even 2 days ago? I dunno, maybe it’s just me. It feels like a lot of Chapter 2 was glued into the story as requirements rather than actually to tell a story. It comes in a lot of ways, as previously mentioned a lot of relationships are just ‘suddenly there’ rather than actually built up, IE Kaito and Maki, Tenko and Himiko, etc... and it makes the entire Chapter feel like it’s meshed together with ideas that Kodaka REALLY wanted to be in the game or knew would happen later on, but just couldn’t fit them in, so he shoved them in an early chapter and hoped for the best.

- TOUJOU’S ABILITY TO DO JACK DIDDLY SHIT IN TERMS OF STORY.

Somehow, they managed to make one of the stars of this chapter barely active in it. Can you fucking believe that? Like, no really, if you work off of fan translations I want you to open the translation you have, hit CONTROL+F and search for Toujou and see like, the 30 lines she has before the trial. It’s so MINIMAL, it’s so BASIC, and in those 30 sentences she’s treated like a PLOT DEVICE rather than a CHARACTER. I’m sure a bit of the reason as to why Toujou isn’t as popular as most of the other girls is just how hard the Chapter hits her in terms of not giving her any character development (even in the bonus interaction she’s just “i do this for my job” for fucc sake). Like, even if it was played for a laugh that she’s just so constantly work-focused, or the writing took it as a bit of a punchline for some dry humor (”hey toujou what’re ya doin?” “working.” and just have awkward eye contact and the ‘WOW this is awkward’ thought in Shuichi’s head after a few “...” between the both of them as it happens. easy comedy. see???) it at least would make her seem somewhat important compared to the cast. Honestly, it’s like the Tsumugi Effect but in 2 chapters instead of 6. By doing nothing in terms of plot, she basically puts on this huge fucking sign that says “HEY GUYS IM NOT STORY RELEVANT BECAUSE NOTHING IS HAPPENING TO ME SO I WILL PROBABLY DIE AS A KILLER OR VICTIM” Her trial behavior is really hit or miss as well, because some might find her ruthlessness to be really cool and makes her actually fucking interesting at any point in the story, while others might find it unlikable, excessively cruel, or just out of character for Toujou no matter how desperate she may be. Let alone that her US demographic prolly tanked quite a lot w/ her story focusing on POLITICS of all things (one of the three no-no’s in any conversation), making her very very hard to like, besides on an aesthetic level. Let alone her FTE’s are the worst in the game, as you still barely learn anything about her outside of “im a maid and im good at my job” or other points that the main story already tells you (besides that she once coddled a man so hard he became dependent and that her only weakness is not cutting konjac right ever). It just makes her feel like a barren and incomplete character.

- TOUJOU’S ABILITY TO DO EVERYTHING SO WELL SHE CAN EVEN FUCK HERSELF OVER AMAZINGLY.

Everyone has heard me go on and on about this, but if it doesn’t get said no one will know it so I keep repeating it until the end of time.By making her plan so complex, she basically fucks herself. By making a crime that only someone as competent as her could accomplish, it fucks her because only she can do it. XD. Literally, who do you think would have been able to do all that shit in one night? Saihara’s too weak to drown Hoshi. Don’t fight me on this, because if you seriously believe the detective in training with little self defense training (he worked on infidelity and missing pet/kid cases for fuck sake, his life isn’t really on the line all that often so he prolly wouldn’t know or have to train all that much to protect himself) can take the tennis player that killed over 200 people and has been playing tennis basically all his life (enough to go INTERNATIONAL in MIDDLE SCHOOL) in a fight, we’re gunna need to have a talk.Gonta’s too heavy to use the ropeway.Kiibo’s too heavy to use the ropeway and too weak to carry Hoshi’s body.Himiko’s too weak to drown someone and attempt to shove them in the staircase (which I will touch on real soon here on why even attempting to frame her the way Toujou tried to was dumb as shit).Angie’s... lbr here, prolly missing a few too many tools in her toolbox to really think of a ropeway to kill Hoshi with.Shinguuji’s too weak (and before I get arguments on this, if u think this underweight twig of a man can take out Hoshi when Hoshi’s prolly faster than him and could just run ur wrong)Maki who was the Child Caregiver at the time would be seen as too weak to do anything to Hoshi too (even if she lifts kids, again, Hoshi is fucking rIPPED and has killer legs)Ouma’s too weak (i mean he’s underweight and looks like a twig)Kaito’s a fucking moron when it comes to master plans and wouldn’t have been able to plain something like a ropeway murder (let alone his idol complex wouldn’t have let him kill Hoshi most likely... unless it was a Mondo situation but that’s a later talk)Tenko’s also a fucking moron when it comes to long term planning let alone she wouldn’t touch a man unless to flip him to death, which makes the ropeway seem almost pointlessTsumugi’s too weak to (i mean... rlly. u rlly think she could take him down? under the assumption she isn’t the mastermind ofc at this point in the story, but even then sneak murdering all the kills seems kinda.... eh? too hard for her to do.) Miu’s also a fucking moron that wouldn’t think of using a ropeway (actually, she prolly woulda done the smarter option and just pushed Hoshi’s body out his fucking window since a ropeway would be too much effort)By process of COMMON SENSE, only Toujou would make something so NEEDLESSLY COMPLICATED in an attempt to murder a guy. 

- THE DUMBEST PLAN ON EARTH AND HOW YOU COULD PLAN A SIMILAR MURDER AND GET AWAY WITH IT EASY. 

Toujou’s plan is fucking dumb when you can think of SO many other ways to get Hoshi killed with more leeway as to who coulda done it. So I bring up the window in his lab, because literally you could just push him out of it and the fall would prolly splatter that midget cunt on the ground no problem. Hell, even handcuff him. Nearly anyone could have pushed Hoshi out of the window, meaning there’s a possibility that Maki or Kaito could have done it w/o that stupid fucking ropeway let alone anyone at night (or hell even during the DAY since time of death was obscured), and it wouldn’t LEAVE THE FUCKING GLOVE.MMMM OKAY RANT HERE REAL QUICK I MEAN IT THAT FUCKING TRASH BAG GLOVE IRRITATES ME. Like, hhh I know Kodaka wanted to make a case where something like the glove gets the killer caught, but HOLY SHIT was it poor to use in a case like this. It not only feels like it’s out of place for her not to just get it in the morning, but why the fuck would she use her gloves anyways?? Why not use Hoshi’s hat? Anyone could use Hoshi’s hat as hand protection down the moronic ropeway and since it’s a beanie it’s prolly made of more strong material than I guess whatever her shit gloves are made of, since they tore like fuckin trash when she went down the ropeway. As someone that wears cut and heat protection gloves because of my job, the gloves she uses are HORRIBLY inefficient (let alone if she’s cleaning before touching food w/ them on... like please don’t that can cause so many health problems) to try and stop ropeburn. She could have also just poisoned everyone, or killed them all in their sleep, to make her job easier on herself. Can’t have a trial if no one’s there after all right? No one would suspect Toujou working on her fuckin job to come and snap their necks during the night or w/e, or poison their food before the show. But also framing Himiko is really fucking dumb. Like, she expects me to believe that Himiko, who is only 2 more pounds than Hoshi mind you, managed to drown him and stuff him in that staircase, and pull him out during the show in under a minute. LOL no. Hoshi looks like he can break her arms like fucking toothpicks without even trying?? Let alone her laziness makes it look REALLY hard for her to have planned a fucking murder. The fact that like, the first hour of the trial wants me to believe Himiko could be the killer is asinine, just because of how basically fucking illogical it is.What Toujou could have done instead, was leave his body drowned in the sink. Yeah, it’d be harder because not everyone can drown Hoshi (ie. Himiko and Ouma and prolly a few others that are considered sticks or weak), but there are a lot of people who could, and drowning someone is a lot easier than the stupid ropeway piranha bullshit. OR PUSH HIM OUT HIS WINDOW. JUST KILL EVERYONE THAT WAY COME ON.Actually, she coulda killed two people easy. Just have someone gullible like Saihara come to meet her at night in the lab after she’s already pushed Hoshi out the window (or even just come running to his room with a bullshit excuse that she saw a shadow ‘running away’ and saw that something happened in the tennis lab) and push him out the window too. Boom, makes it look like a murder gone wrong, and the only alibi that’d be able to testify about the events is hers. Easy win, everyone else gets executed.I get it, in the end, it needs to be a solvable mystery in a mystery game, but it ends up making Toujou look like a complete moron as a result of it, which is unfortunate.

- MOTIVE VIDEOS ARE RIGGED AS SHIT.

Upon learning what hers and Hoshi’s are, it seems almost rigged that they would have to be the killer and victim respectively. Hoshi’s telling him to ‘kys’ and Toujou’s saying ‘lol go kill someone’ makes it like... even if everyone else saw theirs that they’d be like.. the only two to really act on theirs besides MAYBE Miu or POSSIBLY Angie. And then we also see Ouma’s?? And his is just actively “lol u don’t kill bitch but u should do it anyways” making it seem almost counter productive. Like, bitch it just said Ouma made a rule that no killing was a thing and u genuinely expect his ass to break that? ha. The odds were stacked against the two of them, which makes it only seem more forced in the long run. Which is great from a meta standpoint, but a story can be meta while still being fun, enjoyable, and flowing functionally and logically. Which this chapter isn’t really.

- THE SADLY NOT REDEEMING BUT STILL SUPER GOOD HOSHI FACTOR.

Now, the one thing that I can praise this chapter for really well despite all its shortcomings is Hoshi’s characterization and his story. For one chapter he really makes a hard hit at the time, and it’s easy to become engrossed in his little background story about him wanting to find a reason to live. The real cherry on top is his writing and his interactions with the few people he interacts with. with Kaito, it really shows the disposition that Kaito has against him and just how Hoshi is so understanding of others and like... nice. Even when he wants a goal that goes against everyone, he still respects them. “I won’t do something reckless to endanger everyone.”, and acknowledging that it’s an entirely selfish reason why he wants to find the videos and will still not hurt anyone to do it. He may have threatened to show Maki’s video to everyone in exchange for his own from her, but he never hits her or directly harms / threatens her w/ violence or anything extremely dirty. It’s respectable. Ohhh, and Saihara’s dynamic with him is just so sPOT ON HERE. Between the great advice and compliments in general he has for Saihara such as “the world can be bright for someone that’s looked down for so long, be careful” and “you’re confident compared to before, like a weight is lifted off your back. it’s a good look for you” and other such flattery, to Hoshi being a bit more open to Saihara about his feelings (feeling jealous about everyone else having a reason to live, wanting to find one himself, openly admitting he feels he has no purpose in his life and wants to find a reason to be happy like everyone else, etc.). But this dynamic goes both ways, as Saihara also can read Hoshi super fucking well. Like, seeing the Tennis Lab is a great example of it. When Hoshi states the past is behind him, Saihara thinks to himself ‘but then why are you looking at the court with such sad eyes Hoshi-kun?’ and it’s like, just really nice that Saihara’s not dense? Like, Hoshi expresses himself pretty poetically, with the way he talks and whatnot, acting like a wise sage type w/ endless wisdom all the time, so Saihara being able to read past all the flowery language to just hear “god i miss tennis” or “im depressed” is really REALLY refreshing, and a nice balance to see. If you do Hoshi’s FTE’s it personally makes it even better, but that’s not a requirement so moving on. Even just Saihara asking him things like “are you doing well?” or “Is this what you want?” or “or just the small but surprisingly deep talks they just seem to have with one another are tiny details that really complete the dynamic that they can both read each other and can react to one another super well. It feels balanced between the both of them, even in Chapter 1, and it’s a shame Hoshi had to die because I would have LOVED to see how far it could go and how much it could have been expanded on in the later chapters. 

Sadly however, no matter how great Hoshi is, it can’t save Chappie 2 from it’s endless faults and gripes that I have with it, that ultimately make the story less entertaining as a result.

[incomplete-nano-stash]

Princess Eighteen Wheeler - Chapter 3

           “This is dire, sir.” The general stood at the foot of a great wooden table, his voice echoing through the huge chamber, off the hewn stone walls and back toward his companion. “Empirial forces are pursuing us in every corner of the Realm. We are running low on men to confront the danger.”

           At the head of the table, a young prince stroked his chin, nodding at every word. “I see. Can we re-shuffle our forces to meet the buildups around these areas?” He pointed at two corners of the map, covered with small wooden chips to represent the enemy.

           “I’m afraid not, sir, not without compromising our current defenses. If you would allow me to conscript more forces, we could …”

           “Absolutely not!” The prince stood up. “I will not force my people to fight this menace. If they fight, they do so out of their own voluntary action, not because their lord commands them to.”

           “As you wish, sir, but I warn you that at the rate we are losing our forces, we will have no forces left within a fortnight. We must find a solution.”

           The prince narrowed his eyes at the general. “Then find it. Is that not why I placed you in command? Defend your homeland, general.”

           The general stiffened. “I apologize, my prince, I did not mean …”

           “Of course not. Dismissed, general.”

           The general curtly bowed, turning on his heel and striding quickly out of the hall. As he left, a young woman walked in, making a beeline for the table.

           “Ed, what did you say to the general? He looks like someone forced him to drink water from the Jari Swamp at low tide.”

           The prince, relaxing in the presence of the woman, put his hand on his chin. “I wish I had better things to tell him, but he wants to run conscriptions through the Realm, and I absolutely cannot allow that.”

           The woman smirked. “Well, you know, it might help.”

           The prince groaned. “How are you my sister again, Makeli?”

           She came around the table to place a hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Same way you’re my brother, Ed.” She looked over the map the general had left behind, the markers still remaining in the places he had said the enemy was stationed. “We’re really surrounded, aren’t we?”

           Ed sighed and nodded. “He says we’ll have no army in two weeks. Should I believe him? What’s your assessment?”

           Makeli stood upright and crossed her arms. “Well, he’s not far off. The soldiers we have left are the best we’ve got, but it’s limited to five companies of Rangers, a couple of cavalry patrols, and our full complement of guerrillas.” She leaned against the table. “It’s not enough to mount a defense against this many.”

           Ed’s eyes darkened. “I miss Dad. He would know how to do this, he wouldn’t second-guess himself as much as I do myself.”

           “I miss him too,” Makeli offered. “But you’re running things in his place. You need to show strength.”

           Ed looked up at his sister. “Will you help me?”

           “Anything.”

           Ed stood up, and on his feet he towered over his sister by a foot. “Can you take direct command of the Ranger companies? I think they could use a steady hand at the helm.”

           Makeli smiled. “You got it, Ed. I’ll go ahead and …”

           “Your Highnesses!” A guard burst into the room, panting. “Your Highnesses, we have a situation outside.”

           Ed turned toward the messenger, as Makeli fell in behind him. “What is it?”

           “Ranger squad eleven is returning, and they come accompanied by a strange beast of smoke and thunder. Ranger Silv’s adjutant has just reported in that the prophecy may have been fulfilled.”

           Ed and Makeli looked at each other. “The Queen of Peace?” Ed’s voice quavered.

           “No way, that prophecy’s just superstitious garbage.”

           The messenger, clearly a believer, pointed to the ceiling. “Your Highness, what of the silver sun? The adjutant also says there is a woman with them bearing the marks of dominance!”

           This gained Ed’s full attention. “Very well, we must investigate this. Summon Mage MakModeille, and have him await the squad’s return. He will vet this potential Queen of Peace, then we shall make our introductions to her.”

           The messenger nodded. “Yes, Your Highness, right away.” He turned and left.

           “You can’t be serious,” Makeli groaned. “How long are you going to put faith into that stupid scrawl?”

           “As long as it takes until it is fulfilled, sister.” Ed’s voice took on a cool, noble tone. “Now come, we have preparations to make, Rangers to command, and a potential Queen to greet.”

           Logistical problems were quickly showing why it would be difficult to drive an eighteen wheeler through a medieval setting; the road Anita’s escorts led her rig down was only wide enough for either the horses or the truck to traverse, but not both at once. After a brief conference, it was decided that half of the mounted soldiers (or Rangers, as Anita learned they were called) would ride ahead of the truck, while half would ride behind it. She almost apologized for the stench of the trailer, but stopped herself when she considered that these mounted forces probably hung around horse crap all the time, and might be desensitized to bad smells.

           She was mildly surprised when one of her doors opened, a Ranger standing on her running board. “May I board your beast, milady?”

           Anita sighed. “Sure, come on up.” She motioned to him, and started chuckling as the Ranger struggled to climb up, his armor weighing him down so much he could not lift his weight. She clicked on the cruise control and reached over with both hands. “Here, let me help.” She yanked the Ranger up by his shoulders, from which position he was finally able to get in the seat.

           “What a magnificent creature this is.” The Ranger looked around in wonder, the climate controls creating a more perfect temperature than he may have ever been used to.

           “Ahh, it’s nothing, it’s a few years old. Give it about two years, then I’ll be in the market for a new one.” Anita sighed. “Damn it, this load was supposed to pay it off, too …”

           The Ranger flashed an expression of confusion. “’Pay it off?’”

           Anita grumbled. “You won’t understand. I don’t think I do sometimes.” She rolled her eyes. “Banking stuff.”

           The Ranger made an understanding grunt, although his eyes belied the fact that he didn’t understand any of it. He turned his attention to the landscape.

           “Here’s a question I’d like to know,” Anita began. “What exactly are you guys doing out there in all the armor?”

           The Ranger looked uncomfortable. “It’s war, milady. We’re at war with an enemy that threatens the Realm, that’s all we need to know.”

           “Good little soldier, huh?”

           The Ranger sighed. “We must be. It is the only existence we have known, the only way we can earn our keep in this land. Our lives are sworn to our lord and king.”

           “And I suppose the lord and king is why you’re bringing me home? Is he single?” The last question chilled Anita’s blood.

           “What? Oh, no, no, he has a queen already. What we don’t have is a savior, and …”

           “Tacom, that’s enough!” The gruff voice of the Ranger commander filled the cab, from where he was barking up from the door, which Tacom had left open. “Return to your mount, go to the back, stay at your position.”

           Tacom looked downcast. “Yes, Ranger Silv.” He drooped his head, sliding slowly out of the seat and down all the way to the ground, where his armored boots made a loud clanking noise, before he continued pacing the rig.

           “You don’t have to be so harsh, you know.” Anita gave the words a more annoyed tone than she intended. Silv glared at her, his hand on his weapon.

           “If I’m not harsh with the men, they don’t obey. If they don’t obey the Realm is lost. It’s a simple thing.” He growled softly at Anita. “I don’t buy that you are the Queen of Peace, woman. I don’t care what those stupid slangs think, until someone proves to me that you are who they say … or you do … then I will not buy into it. I’m watching you, girl. Always.”

           The scarred face narrowed his eyes as Silv lowered himself back down, pushing the door shut. Anita shivered at the interaction. “What a wonderful guy,” she muttered as she returned her efforts to the drive. The castle came into view shortly afterward, which took Anita’s breath away. Her eyes traveled up the side of the great structure, the stonework rising high against the silver-blue sky.

           “Oh shit …” The reality of the situation finally sank in. For the first time, Anita had the sinking feeling she wouldn’t be going back to the freeway.

           “Lower the bridge, Rangers ahoy!” Silv’s voice boomed through the air, echoing against the stone walls of the castle. Anita noted the horsemen ahead of her slowing, and matched their pace, coming to a halt behind the front group.

A higher pitched male voice called in response. “Rangers of the Realm, welcome home. Stand ready to cross!”

           Slowly, the castle’s drawbridge clacked down into position, pivoting on its hinge and lowering into position, bridging the man-made creek that surrounded the structure. The front group of Rangers kicked their steeds into action, moving slowly across the bridge. Anita locked her rig into the lowest possible gear, pressing down on the accelerator and slowly creeping the rig across.

           The drawbridge was clearly not built to handle a loaded tractor-trailer. Loud, ugly creaking met the truck’s effort, as the drawbridge strained to hold the rig’s weight. At alternating intervals, Anita swore she felt her Peterbilt begin to drop, afraid that the bridge was giving way. The front wheels hitting solid ground was the only point in the adventure of crossing the bridge that Anita finally allowed herself to relax. Once she felt the rear tires grip land rather than bridge, she accelerated slightly, to make sure the trailer didn’t drop.

           Silv jumped up to the driver’s window. Anita rolled the window down. “Bring your beast toward the stable.” He narrowed his eyes toward the destination. “Looks like someone has been expecting you.”

           Anita looked in the same direction and spotted an older, skinny man, dressed in what appeared to be a short-sleeved bathrobe. His hands were held out at his sides, palms down, parallel with the ground. His eyes’ focus was unbreakable and unblinking as he stared down the rig, awaiting the arrival. The intensity was palpable.

           “Mage MakModeille is apparently going to talk to you.” Silv placed a hand on Anita’s shoulder suddenly. “Good luck, girl, you’ll need it.” Silv dropped down off of the rig’s running board.

           “Thanks,” Anita’s voice dripped sarcasm. She brought the rig up as close as she dared to the stable, slowing and finally stopping her trek. She shut down the cab, removing her keys from the ignition and opening the door.

           “Watch her!” Silv commanded his men. “Make sure she does not leave your sight!” He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes never leaving the woman. Anita recoiled under the threatening scrutiny, but dutifully exited the cab, approaching the unusual man who had yet to put his hands down at his sides. He took a deep breath and approached the woman cautiously, his fingers weaving through nonexistent tendrils as he walked.

           “What is your name, woman?” His voice boomed more than Anita was expecting.

           “Anita Jimenez.” She cleared her throat nervously. “If you don’t mind, there was a problem with my … er, ‘beast,’ and I need to check on it for a second. Is that okay?”

           The older man scanned Anita with his eyes, then came to her side. “I must come with you, Anita Jimenez. I must investigate your beast, it is my duty.”

           “Okay, I guess. So what do I call you …?”

           The older man bowed deeply. “Milady, you may refer to me as Mage MakModeille. I am the court mage of the Court of the Realm.”

           The bow caught Anita unprepared, and she had to stifle a giggle. “All right then. Come with me, let me show you around the rig.” She motioned for MakModeille to follow her. He was instantly back upright, walking alongside her, the palms of his hands still maneuvered to be constantly facing the ground.

           “Something the matter, milady?” MakModeille finally asked after noticing Anita’s stare.

           “Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just … um … what’s the deal with your hands?” She pointed down at the extended fingers, the full hands held at the awkward perpendicular position to his arms.

           “Oh this … many laypersons do not understand, but mages need to absorb our power at all times. The palms of our hands do this, drawing strength and magic from the very land of the Realm.”

           “Oh … kay … so your hands are kind of like solar collectors?”

           MakModeille smirked. “I suppose that would be an accurate description, would that I knew what this ‘solar collector’ thing was.”

           “Right. My bad.” Anita cleared her throat, motioning to the rig as they approached. “Well, you were curious, and here you go. It’s a 2001 Peterbilt 387, 470 horsepower diesel powerplant, aero package with raised-roof sleeper, about 287,000 miles …” She bent over slightly, squinting. “… aaaaaand one flat tire. Crap.”

           MakModeille raised an eyebrow. “Is your beast injured?”

           Anita smirked. This was going to take some getting used to. “In a sense. Let me show you.” She put a hand on MakModeille’s shoulder, helping him bend down to the level she was at. “You see through there? The rear wheels, they have two coverings on them that we call ‘tires.’ They get filled with air, but one of them looks like it’s got a puncture in it.” She pointed toward the problem tire, on the cab’s third axle inbound position.

           MakModeille felt himself shaking. Why was this woman touching him, and what was this effect she was having? His heart was palpitating, more out of nerves than anything. He wrung his hands gently. “May I be of assistance to you, milady?”

           Anita sighed, standing up. “Well … only if you can fix a puncture in a tire and fill it back up with air with magic.”

           MakModeille smirked this time. “It is simplicity itself, milady. Allow me.” He stood up to his full height, raising his hands over his head. A gentle glow swirled around the mage’s body, his lips moving wordlessly as he began his incantation. Those fingers that had never stopped moving, never stopped absorbing the magic of the Realm, now stood perfectly still on his hands, aiming the power where he needed it.

           He had nearly built up the whole spell, but for the entry of a man in an everyday wear Ranger uniform, who clapped MakModeille on the back. “What’s happening, friend?”

           MakModeille yelped. The spell released, blasting toward the rig. Anita ran over to the side with the punctured tire, watching raptly as the tire regained its shape, inflating to full size. The brake hose, hanging listlessly from the rig’s back end, found its way to the trailer’s hookup.

           Then the engine started. Anita’s face dropped. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her key. “What the hell?!”

           Before she could do anything else, the truck shifted into gear and began to drive off. By itself.

[linkspooky]

Linkspooky, how do you think Kaneki will be punished for eating the Oggai ?

I’ve mentioned this vaguely before but let’s compile this all together in one post for my favorite follower amon 15. Anyway let’s talk about Amon for a second instead of Kaneki. 

Amon’s arc is primarily about orphans, or specifically those who are orphaned by the current state of the world. Amon himself is an orphan even before ghouls came into contact with his life, he spent a great deal of time living at an orphanage, and even that small amount of peace came to an end because his caretaker turned out to be a ghoul who specifically victimized other orphans. (That’s Hajime up there for those who still don’t know, more under the cut). 

Amon has always had strong feelings about orphans, and he blames himself for allowing more orphans to die by Donato’s hands because his want for having a family made him believe and play along with Donato’s idea of playing house until it became patently obvious what was really happening to the children of Donato’s orphanage. Then, even after that time, Amon chose to continue participating in the lie and cooperated with Donato to some extent. Of course neither of these things are Amon’s fault, especially since he was a child who would have had to stand against an SS ranked ghoul at the time. However, what’s important is Amon’s perception of these things, he has a clear sense of survivor’s guilt and feels there must be a reason that he survived. The fact that Amon’s so desperate in looking for a reason to move so often as I elaborated on in a previous post can be traced back to this, that he feels he needs to repent for his sins that as a child he really was not responsible for at the time. 

Amon really can’t accept the reality that some part of him loved Donato, and Donato spared him most likely because he loved him in return, and because of that he’s instead constantly crafting narratives like this. That the cross is a symbol of repentance for ignorance, that Donato must have had some reason for letting him live that tied into him being a ghoul.  

Amon has strong feelings though, that’s undeniable. At least in Tokyo Ghoul he was driven strongly first by his own ignorance in the situation when he was young, but also by the idea of orphans, and a world that created so many lost and drifting orphans. This is why he empathized so much with the Yasuhisas upon recognizing them instantly as one eyed ghouls, because he knew from the academy days they were orphans just like him. The point I am leading up to is Amon describes himself as empty right now because he has lost a singular reason to motivate himself behind. As I established above, Amon likes to have reasons to justify his own continued survival. He needs to craft narratives around his experiences to handle them in a way that’s similar to Kaneki. Even when he felt empty, apparently he was still doing something by ‘feeling emptiness’ in his own words. 

The point is though that Amon cannot be empty, because before this point he’s always been extremely emotional. He thinks he is empty for the same reason that Akira does, because he represses his emotions. We know this because Amon has attempted to use his kagune twice in the series, something that ends up heavily tied to emotion in some ghouls, and both times he exploded into a screaming kakuja giant. Not only that but Amon has not really faced the thing which rendered him empty, he has not accepted himself as a ghoul in any way. If anything he’s surrounded himself by humans and returned to his old place of being.

My point being those emotions are still there, Amon is simply living in denial of them. It’s almost like he’s... ignorant. Which makes sense as he threw the cross that was the symbol of him recognizing that he lived in ignorance once to Seidou. Amazingly after the fact, Seidou who had been delusional almost the entirety of Tokyo Ghoul Re: instead became a much more self aware character cognizant of who he was, and Amon in his place began clinging to the past instead. Unlike Seidou though who was denied physically by the plot his ability to cling to the past (showing up to save Houji and Akira at last moment did nothing to help his hero fantasy), Amon’s so far has been tolerated.

Seidou was even denied his chance to give back the cross to Amon. Which might indicate that Seidou might never give the cross back (which could be a good thing as, as I established above the cross is also a sign of Amon’s survivor’s guilt for things that could not have possibly been is fault as a child, and stepping down and accepting this might help Amon more than continuing to live in guilt). Which means we have buildup of three significant factors, one Amon’s original feelings towards orphaned and lost children, two Amon’s current feelings of repression and emptiness, and three Amon’s ignorance of the situation. 

There’s an elpehant in the room that none of the aces seem to want to discuss at the moment. That the person they’re trying to save is someone who himself, made the choice to eat all those children. While it makes sense why Touka might not as she viewed them only as attackers trying to slaughter the defensless members of Goat, it’s important to remember that those children were too, defenseless and taken advantage of, and left to the wayside by adults in their life. Hajime was only 12 years old. If Amon is not responsible for being unable to stop the murders that Donato committed because he was a child, then Hajime should not be held responsible for himself either. 

There has to be a plot reason that it was Hajime, the exact same kid from 200 chapters ago that Amon saw right before the daughter arc, as the one who Kaneki first ate in order to become dragon. That connection would be completely superfluous unless it was meant to develop something later, as we’ve seen before Ishida has no problem introducing late game characters.

So we see Amon, right at this moment agreeing to help Kaneki without knowing the full picture. As everybody present seems to have forgotten conveniently the moral dilemna that the Oggai presented, and that nobody responsible tried to be accountable, or even to save them. However, the manga would not bring that up if it did not intend to resolve it. 

So we have Amon who knew Hajime Hazuki by name, wanted to become somebody who could change the world in order to protect orphans, and also is a walking kakuja ticking time bomb entering this fight. Specifically enterting because both Hide and Akira assume most likely that he would be a more stable person to fight than Seidou. However, there is a ton of foreshadowing that Amon could become a dragon in his own regard, and Hajime just might serve as the trigger to this. As somebody has to hold Kaneki accountable for what he decided was acceptable to do to 100 children. Just to clarify, it’s fine that characters do bad things in a narrative, but they have to be held accountable by that same narrative. I’m not talking moralistically this is just basic rules of fiction. 

Capsule marked :Re, three capsules Total. It’s now confirmed in manga that the one eyed king also became a dragon. If Amon turns dragon, that means three one eyes turning into three dragons. 

The rest will be borrowed from @floppyamon​‘s dragon and phoenix theory, which should show you how this dragon thing has been building up around Amon for a long time. Amon is pictured delbierately with a dragon in the calendar.

A japanese dragon is known specifically for having three claws (look at the dragon in the picture above).

The name Amon Koutarou  (亜門 鋼太朗) means “subdivision” or “gate” and  “clear thick steel”. Dragons in Japanese lore are meant to be the guardians of mountains (subdivisions and gates across the land) and are known for making intense, impenetrable, sudden flooding with their control over rivers (clear thick steel).

Remember, that this koi design on Furuta’s katana was early foreshadowing that Furuta himself was going to make a ritual to create a dragon. There’s a japanese legend that Koi swim upstream through a gate in order to become dragons. 

Amon wearing the Arata armor has been compared in the past to the image that accompanied the famous “magicians controlling dragons” line. The veteran detective thing also mentioned in the same panel can be read as a reference to one of Amon’s novel stories where he literally teams up with a detective to chase down a human serial killer who cooperates with ghouls.

(This detective actually).

Also narratively, Amon has always served as a device to come into conflict with Kaneki and through that remind Kaneki of his humanity. 

We were deliberately reminded of this pattern, but instead of resolving it given a situation where Kaneki chose not to conflict with Amon. Which makes the whole arc between them seem unresolved, or intentionally left as a loose end for an even greater resolution later.

There you have it, I believe it’s most likely Amon who will serve as karma to kagune, because once he realizes Hajime has been victimzed by Kaneki he’ll remember his original reason for fighting, and then make the situation between Kaneki and the CCG a whole lot more complicated. 

[sparda3g]

Attack on Titan Chapter 103 Review

Wow. I mean wow. Now that’s what I call an explosive chapter. It’s not just an action-packed one; it’s a hell of an adrenaline rush that had me on the edge of my seat. It’s not an expression, I really was. With many cards place on the table and few surprises, it was as intense as it can get, and it’s not over yet. 

First of all, the good news is that Falco and Reiner are alive with a really good save. Reiner just saved him in a nick of time before Eren transforms. Armored Titan’s hands were displayed like a flower shape, which is disturbingly nice. It’s as if the one who was protected is too gentle for this world. Long behold, he’s now in a midst of a total warfare. I absolutely love that shot of Falco overwhelmed by the chaos. After rising back up, he happened to see an all-out war with titans and humans. It’s a massacre.

One of the effectiveness of long buildup is the deep foundation created within these characters. Falco was practically the underdog of the group and he was trying to make things better for himself after pressurized by Reiner and others. Krueger was his only shining light that motivated him to keep it up. Now, he’s watching his once-beloved friend terrorizing his hometown. Not only that, but can’t fathom on the sight of warfare. Everything is happening too fast for his mind to comprehend.

The saddest part to me is how Falco finds out about Reiner’s true feelings. Reiner did well to disguise his problems in front of the kids, but you can’t hide it when you’re in Titan’s stage. Reiner has a heart to care for the future generation, but nothing for himself. When he wasn’t responding, Falco picks up and gets a clear understanding about him. He has no will to live. 

He’s so broken apart. It’s painful to even think about it. Isayama cleverly use his downhill spiral as a tool to prevent himself to get involved with the battle. It’s relevant to the character and the ongoing battle. Although the aftermath may be a disaster, but what difference would that make? He meant what he said. He meant to put an end to his misery.

From there on, it’s a thrilling ride with so many chaotic moments that keeps rising the tension. The teamwork from both fronts is well coordinated and damn impressive in their own ways. Ape Titan is still devastating as ever with his long arms swing demolishing buildings like nothing. That said the strengths of the current Survey Corps clearly have evolved significantly from the last bout with its new gadgets and experiences.

They’re going all maneuvers against him, but the cooperation from other titans like Cart Titan won’t allow anyone to get close. It’s rather cool for Cart to be a carrier for armed men, like a tank; truly fits the name perfectly. Right before it was about to get thunder spear, Jaw Titan comes out of nowhere and smack the hell out of him. Ouch! Even though they overcame that small skirmish, Porco insist that they’re at disadvantage with Ackerman lurking around. So who is the underdog again? Seriously, it showcase that everyone is in the same length and that’s what makes it engaging.

This chapter has plenty of great suspenseful moments that had me gasping. To begin with, Eren actually tries to eat War Hammer Titan user, even when she is crystallized. He will do anything to win, so chow down and everyone froze. The problem is the crystal is absolutely amazing that it cannot break at all. It freaking breaks his mouth like someone slashed his upper lip off. Even the thunder spear didn’t penetrate. Lady Tybur can glare all day and nothing would change.

I would assume that it would mean that Annie hasn’t broken free yet or perhaps Eren is unaware of the status. I’m not saying to give up your hope on her but it is a suggestive idea that could translate to that. Eren has improved wonderfully by leaving and entering Titan after three times and not a moment of slowing down. It’s amazing when the anime resume, we’re going to see his novice days of struggling; in the manga, he’s professional and clever. I don’t know what his plan is but he got to make it quick.

The difference between Porco and Pieck in terms of handling the warfare is clear as day. Porco comes off as a pure rookie and can’t control his temper or emotional distress. Pieck however is thoughtful; if it wasn’t for her, Porco would probably have a panic attack in midst of combat. He already feared of the Survey Corps taking him on like a normal soldier, so her thought-provoking statement does help out. I can see why she is fans’ favorite, though I do like her as well. It’s a necessary moment for us to believe that Marley has the upper hand; it’s only a matter of when they will come out. On the other hand, it is Isayama’s ploy to believe otherwise when “that” moment happens.

It’s amazing how the shift of emotional focus goes to Falco and other Marley soldiers; as if we followed the villains since chapter 1, now finally shifting to the heroes. I do have a bad feeling about the way how the reunion of these soldiers came together at a bad time. Falco is asking for anyone to help Reiner and Gabi arrives in time to hear the news. It would only add fuel for her anger that may come in play in the next chapter. It’s crushing to see them in an ongoing process of changing persona with Falco looking tore and Gabi seeking vengeance.

Recall on what I just said about Pieck mentioning that they have soldiers all prepared and can take out Paradis Island men. I believe Isayama lured the fans to believe that, only for a response come in play. Finally, we got to see Armin, but no Colossal Titan. It’s just a tease for another day to see the debut design.

It’s kind of distressing to see him transforming on the boat along with battleship, mainly due to his reaction. It’s a look of not wanting to do it but it has to be done; polar opposite from Eren who does it and go with it. It could create a new character arc of which a user doesn’t want to use a Titan but because he’s chosen to wield it, he is left with no choice. The wrong man gets the destructive power. It’s on Isayama’s call in the end.

I really adored the atmosphere and the bone-chilling vibe of the destruction. The Colossal Titan’s transformation has proven to be an incredible explosive, almost like a nuke size, so it happened here again. From afar, it creates a massive shock wave that practically caused a powerful wind gust. After they feel like they may start getting some advantage over the Survey Corps, this happens. From here on, it begins a new chapter of the battlefield: the Fall of Marley.

If you look back before finishing the chapter, you would notice that the first half is like a false hope for Marley to win. While the War Hammer Titan is safe for now, it won’t be long before Eren does something insane to claim the power. Porco was held back from doing anything irrational; however, the Colossal Titan reminds him of his old friend, Bertholdt and that what it takes to cause him to rage. I am glad that someone remembers an old friend being killed by the “devils” and this does takes the cake. The problem is his action is going to cost his team severely. How bad? Ape Titan gets taken out. That bad.

The silent holy shit moment is so good. It’s pretty surreal to see the Ape Titan to be taken out in a matter of a second. The expressions from everyone made this moment extraordinary. You can grasp the tension of a massive shock. Hell, I was even shocked with my jaws open. Levi is a real monster out of the two in that one great double page shot. It’s also telling that Isayama creates the sensation of Marley being the victim. We know they are the enemy, no doubt, but it doesn’t force you to react the same way I did. If you think, “Good riddance,” then that’s good. If you think, “Oh this is torture,” then that’s good as well. Levi goes for good measure by dropping a grenade inside and Zeke is now dead.

Right?

Honestly, I believe something is strange with Zeke ever since the festival began, or even earlier. After calming my mind, the one moment I skipped here is how he told Eren that he is not his enemy today, but someone or something else. The most questionable moment is when he told Levi that time is running out and he holds a clock for something. I would assume it has to do with what Jean mentioned here as well, but I am not so sure.

The execution is convincing to be a ploy from him since it did come out of nowhere and he took his time to let everything happened in Survey Corps’ advantage. If he and Levi are working together somehow, why? What would convince them to work together, especially how much damage they caused towards each other? In short, I don’t think Zeke is dead, but part of a ploy that we may be on to something or just our imagination. Either way, it didn’t take away the breathtaking moment. It was fantastic. What’s not fantastic is what happens next to Pieck.

As much as I like the action here, the part that happens to Pieck is pretty damn brutal, I mean Good God almighty. Just when I was talking about her being a fan favorite. It becomes a slaughterhouse or more like a slaughter-cart (I’ll stop now…) when Sasha aims for a headshot and bang, right between the eyes. Sasha got even sharper at her shots; how many potatoes was she offered. Jean was getting his payback on Cart Titan and he wasn’t going to let any second missed. The call to attack it leads to some brutality display of wreckage.

It’s like watching a mobile suit series, seeing the men inside getting blown up as the carrier inside slowly breaks apart. Pieck may not have died instantly but those brute forces of thunder spears have to be deadly enough for her to spill massive blood while as a titan. It’s pretty much overkill; she has to be out of combat for a long time. That said damn, who am I rooting for again?

The cliffhanger leaves a great suspense that is going to give you a headache from many possibilities. It stops right when Jean is about to shoot Pieck to secure the kill, but Falco gets in the way to prevent him from firing. This could go to many ends, including an outcome that has someone to die. Will Jean die by say Gabi (if she still holds the rifle)? I hope not. Will Falco gets killed here? Will everything go normally as in no one dies and just let Pieck live? I don’t know but I’m really worried for the next chapter, which is oddly a good thing.

What a chapter this was. It was explosive from start to finish. There are plenty of moments that will you get amped up like Levi taking out Ape Titan, despite the mystery behind it, or emotional with Reiner letting his life to dust metaphorically speaking. The action is tensed and brutal with a lot of clashes and destruction. The artwork is solid with great panel shots of the landscape and dark tone atmosphere. There are plenty of suspenseful moments that the chapter even ends with a suspense that could result a horrible outcome. I am seriously scared to read the next chapter.

[hisazuki]

Yona ch.144 spoilers

Akatsuki no Yona chapter 144 “Wrath” summary

Please don’t repost/reuse my scans and translations without permission. Tumblr reblog is fine.

Following right after last chapter with arrows flying towards Kouren, Voldo appears and pushes the princess to the ground to protect her, asking her to stay down. Argila then spots another assassin on the roof ready to shoot a new arrow, and throws a brick at him ^^;

Voldo wants to escort Kouren to safety, but she says she wants nothing to do with the anti-war faction and that he should protect Tao instead. He replies he’s a Shin citizen before being an anti-war partisan. If something happens to Kouren, Shin won’t be able to recover from that. Since he’s also one of the 5 Stars, he’ll become Kouren’s shield in place of Neguro. Then he asks her to keep on ruling Shin country together with Princess Tao.

Kouren replies it’s her very own people (Gobi) targeting her right now. Voldo cannot believe it: the priest is an advocate of peace, he’d never use such underhanded ways... then Kouren says he’s too pure to understand XD Voldo was a cinnamon roll all along!

In any case, Tao isn’t their target. The youngest sister suggests going to Gobi herself to try and reason with him. Kouren explains she’d be playing right into his hands and he’d be able to attack whomever he wanted if she did that. She adds the outcome of this all may already be decided: the war is about to break out and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Yona says she won’t let her die. They have to focus on surviving for now. Gobi is at the campsite and that’s where they’ll go. Hak wants to know what became of Yoon and the 4 dragons. Before Kouren can answer, new arrows fly at them and both Argila and Voldo jump to the ground to protect Kouren and Tao. They agree to leave first and then they’ll talk about the dragons.

Hak is in pain because of the two arrows he took last chapter. Yona is worried, she suggests he hides somewhere.

Hak: You’re joking! This is no time to be resting or dying. More importantly, stay close to me. It’s too worrisome.

Argila kicks a lantern and it’s the signal for all of them to run away. Kouren has one last look at Neguro, still standing unmoving in the courtyard.

Shortly after, Mizari rushes in, sees what’s become of Neguro, then asks him what he’s doing here and where Lady Kouren is. Suddenly Neguro takes his hand and just flings him away as one last arrow flies at his neck and pierces it. Neguro falls to the ground. Mizari understands his friend is dead. Another arrow grazes Mizari’s left cheek, and the assassin appears, saying it’s useless to resist.

Mizari: Neguro-senpai... I’ll kill him... It’s alright, isn’t it? You were always angry at me, but... this time, I’ll be useful, okay? Please watch closely the youngest of the 5 Stars!

He manages to dodge two arrows and jump at the assassin. He holds him down, and we can see the man’s scared look as Mizari drives an arrow through his eye. Ouch. And eww.

In the meantime, our group is fleeing in the city streets. More arrows come at them.

Author notes: I’ll be having a signing event in Osaka on August, 26th. It’ll be my first time in Osaka! I’m counting on you~

Argila complains he can’t hit the assassins if they’re hiding on the roofs. Hak thinks it’s the first time he’s envious of Droopy-Eyes’ power (aka Jae-Ha). Kouren picks up an arrow on the ground and fires it at the assassin with Yona’s bow. But there’s more of them on the roof. Yona sees a table lying around and kicks it up to shield them, looking quite badass but also quite angry ^^;

Kouren: What kind of education did you receive?

Yona: Right back at you.

Hak: *This is all because of Droopy-Eyes’ bad influence*.

Kouren always thought she’d die on the battlefield. Neguro was probably mortified too. But she refuses to believe this is a fated death. Even if she’s all dirty and muddy, even if a miraculous light never reaches her, she’ll keep going.

Suddenly knives rain down on the assassins from the sky. Jae-Ha is here! He says he was tired of playing the captive prince and escaped from - *he falls dizzy on the ground mid-sentence*. Yona asks him where the others are, and Jae-Ha says they’re on their way. Kouren is shocked by what she saw: is this the power of the dragons?

Someone screams and Shin-Ah arrives, terrifying dark aura and all. He’s even scarier than usual when he uses his powers of illusion to make the assassins believe a dragon bit off their heads. They fall on the ground.

Kouren is about to hit this monster with an arrow when Yona stops her. She only has to say his name and crazed Shin-Ah turns back to normal.

Kouren: Is this... what the four dragons of Kouka are...? They have god-like powers... And this girl can control them...?!

Hisa’s thoughts on the chapter: 

Wow I didn’t think Neguro was still (barely) alive after all that. He gave the last of his strength to save Mizari, and Mizari will repay him by rushing to save Kouren. As we can see, the dragons are still hurt and after Shin-Ah’s display of power, I doubt only his arm will be paralyzed this time. I suppose Yoon and Zeno are a few blocks behind helping Kija walk to Yona.

I expect when they reach the campsite, Soo-Won will already be there with his troops. I don’t see Tao and Kouren solving the matter with Gobi quickly then quietly waiting for Soo-Won to arrive in front of the campsite gates. I think we’ll have another of those high-tension chapters, and I’d like it if it had the same sense of urgency we had when Hak and Soo-Won teamed up to save Lili. With the buildup the Shin arc was given, it definitely can’t end all quietly!

[johobi]

(1/6? I think?) I cannot stop thinking about ‘When You Least Expect It’. The storyline is good as it is but somehow you’ve made a very well-written about idea/theme as appealing as it can be. I’m honestly in awe. I love this story so much and I go back and reread the chapters whenever I can. I know you have a tendency to be hard on yourself and I know you w previously talked about how you don’t like some of the previous chapters and how you wish you could’ve edited them or written them

(2/6) and from your point of view as a writer, I can understand that but I also want you to understand that as a reader, this story is overwhelmingly amazing. It’s something I just want to read, constantly. The characterizarion is amazing and the development is even more awe-striking. I can’t gwt over how well you’ve portrayed every character Even the ones that don’t have bigger parts such as Hoseok or Yoongi’s characters are exceedingly great and I love the development between those two as well 

(3/6) as the depth and perspective of each and every character you’ve placed in the novel. Even Jimin’s short-lived appearance was significant and I appreciated every bit of it. For some on the main characters, I can’t stress enough how well you’ve written them out. I feel that your idea and representation of these characters are not just one dimensional and one sided but rather they are so deep and rich with personalities and every action they take reflects that. It feels so refreshing

(4/6) to read a story where the characterization is drawn out and not jumbled together as if put together in a rush. I know a lot of people are team Jungkook right now, and I can see where they’re coming from but I’m also curious to see how things will play out with Y/N and Tae. It broke my heart reading some of the previous asks about the fact that although they’ve been yearning after eachother for a while, if they get together in reality they might not groove well together.

(5/6) I guess although I like Jungkook, I’m ultimately Team Tae because I love their history and dynamic so much!! I love the slow burn aspect so I hope that whatever this long drawn out pain and angst leads to is some good! But knowing you, Jo, it will be!! I really really just can’t get over this story. The things left unsaid between Y/N and Taehyung really mess with my emotions but the buildup is great and this story is just so fucking good??? I don’t know I really wish there were more

(6/6) things for me to say and better words to describe your story other than ‘so. fucking. good’ but there isn’t so I’ll leave it at that. Thank you so much for this amazing fic. I can’t wait to read more & see where it goes. 

First of all, thank you so much for sending such a long, wonderful read. I absolutely thrive off of feedback, especially when you highlight the things you enjoyed that I’ve tried really hard to get across. Every time I lost confidence in what I was doing with chapter 9, I came back and read this. So thank you, you provided me with some much-needed encouragement and fuel when I really needed it. I so appreciate the time you put into sending this to me.It’s really comforting to me that you didn’t notice any glaring tonal or lingual discrepencies between chapters. As you say, I’m a bit insecure of what I’m doing as a writer at the moment, having only really just found my feet. I’m so glad you can enjoy the story without having the immersion broken by the way my language use is evolving. Seriously. Nevertheless, I’ll probably go back and re-edit the chapters to a standard I’m satisfied with, but only when I’m finished with the series. Because I’m hopeless, lol. It’s one of the highest compliments to be paid when someone tells you that they re-read your writing, like aowidnoawinw. It makes my heart flutter with excitement. I thought, for sure, it would be too angsty a ride for people to enjoy re-reading, but there are some of you and– gAH. Thank you, so much.

I really planned this fic out, and (most) of the characterisation. I’m not used to such writing ethic, but I’ll definitely be using it for future series (and a lot more in-depth), because when you come to writing each chapter, it just makes it so much easier to tackle when you know exactly how it should start, middle and end. I really wanted these characters to feel like real, believable people (tho ofc, stuck in some juicy fanfic tropes, bc c’MON it’s the best), and I’m thrilled that you’ve become so invested in them. 

A Team Tae-er, hmm? I think you’re in the (very slight) minority after 08, but I’m so happy he still has people rooting for him, despite his mistake. It’s really up to the reader’s discretion whether they can find his misstep forgivable or not. After all, up until this point he’s done nothing but love and support Y/N, and yet… that was a big no-no. His motivations behind the kiss, too, would greatly influence how people perceive him now, of course, but I’m not going to divulge that, because it’s far more fun to guess. You’re also stuck in the same shoes as Y/N, this way. >:) I might do some alternative POV drabbles eventually, but only after the series is finished.

But again, I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful series of asks. You’re ever writer’s dream reader. I hope the next instalment is to your liking!!

[loisinherlane]

2 and 34!

2. one of your favorite comments/reviews on this chapter/verse?

Not sure which verse you mean, so I’ll just do my favorite of all time. Which is... surprisingly hard. I guess I’ll just do some of my favorites. Which means it’s time to hide this.

About curses:

Ouch, ouch, ouch. I love this. I have a thing for reincarnation stories (... that end in tragedy), and the combination of this, the focus on Minako's duty (and not managing to fulfill it), and just Minako herself made this amazing. I am particularly taken with iv, the buildup and culmination of all that came before, Minako's thought that Kunzite had never loved her - not even in the Silver Millenium - and that she had loved him even so was what led to her doom... it's gorgeous and powerful.

About opportunities:

YES. I have a soft spot for Iris/Phoenix, personally, but I like Mia's and Edgeworth's sections the best. That line about Mia - he looks at her thinking of lost chances. He's never sure if they're his chances or hers. - is my favourite of the series, because... that's Phoenix. He is extraordinarily good at moving on from his tragedies, but not from those he loved. And with Edgeworth, there's still this open possibility here that I love.

About i have not heard the queen speak:

Oh my gooooooood, this is heartbreaking and stunning, and yes, there was always a dark mirror possibility of what growing never growing old actually means - growing distant, growing sad, ugh.

And, I just, this part:

Serenity stares distantly. "He asked that I tell him I love him before he left. I granted his last request. Now he sleeps forevermore."

SHE NEVER SPOKE BECAUSE SHE WANTED HIM TO STAY. C R Y I N G. And crying that Kunzite, supposedly so close to the king, doesn't understand that. Aaaaaaaah!

(and yours of course)

Yes this is a good thing.Wow this is an amazing thing.First of all, even though you already told me the plot of the story, it was still really, really well done! I loved the characters and the fact that they all interact as old friends who drifted apart even though they've been together for hundreds of years. It puts a really interesting spin on their relationships and makes it just so much more heartbreaking, as if the bonds that hold them together are fragile, like they're made of glass (or perhaps, crystal).And second, your writing style made this PERFECT. Literally. I know you said you wanted to make Mercury more anxious to save Endymion, but I feel like that general bland worry and acceptance she had was more fitting. And I adore Kunzite's voice in his journal entries. They're short and to the point and oh so very painfully poignant, too.Awesome story! :D :D :D

34. a scene/paragraph you wrote that you’re proud of

Oh my god, it’s so hard to choose. I’m actually flipping through my writing notebook because I think I wrote something recently that I haven’t published yet, but ugh I can’t find it.

But honestly, I’m proud of the entirety of i have not heard the queen speak and then there’s this scene from curses. It’s long, but I think it turned out well.

You cannot find her, and you do not know what to do.  You find only one person at all, and soon you decide you must use that to your advantage.

You take Kunzite as your lover.

You are told that there is a point at which you keep your enemies too close, but this is the only way, you are sure.  When he kisses you, you remember days when you thought his lips were kissing with love.  You remember learning that his affair with you was simply a ploy to earn your trust and learn more about the moon.  You remember being told that at least you were desirable enough for an affair.  You think it very strange that lips feel the same whether you believe they kiss out of love or desire.

He kisses you again and pulls you down onto the sheets.  Your hair sprawls about the bed, and he says it's a pretty golden color, and you tell him you always thought it seemed a little orange.  He smiles and pulls you close, and you give him all your love, trying to tell yourself that everything you do to him is feigned and you feel nothing.  When at last you are both exhausted, he rolls to the other side of the bed, and you stay still, taking a moment to close your eyes and regain yourself.

When you open them, you see your lover holding a knife above your breast.  You catch his hand and withdraw the knife, turning it on him instead.  He does not seem surprised.  He says you were always very skilled, even without training.

He calls you Venus.

You tighten your grip on the knife in your hand, but with the knife poised to strike, you find you cannot move.

He questions your decision to make him your lover when you had full memory of your history.  You cannot find it in you to explain; perhaps it is that you worry the truth will come out if you speak.  You remain silent, eyes locked on his. He takes this opportunity to tell you of his longing for your embrace, to hold you in his arms, and, oh, how he loves you.  The words are beautiful, but you cannot believe him, and you tell him so.  You steel your face so no expression could give him any indication of what you really feel.  He ignores your dismissal and asks you to join him.  He tells you that your princess has you fooled, just as she did Endymion.  He tells you he can save you.  He tells you that they killed her many years ago.

You need no savior, and you tell him so.  You slam the knife into his chest and push him off the bed to the ground.  He does not attempt to move from his position on the floor, simply staring at you in a way that unnerves you more than anything before.

You turn your back to him and slide off the bed.  He pulls the knife off himself and hurls it at your back.  It lands in the same scar you have every life.  Another mistake, you think, as you feel the blood drip down your skin.  Never turn your back on him, for he will always stab it.  You curse him weakly and crawl back into bed to die.

[all-the-kings-archers]

Ok Arden inspired me to relisten to Speak Now the album deluxe edition (cause I’m sad and I love speak now) so I’m just gonna type thoughts as I listen. Warning(s) beforehand, they probably do not make any sense. This is getting really long, sorry if you don’t want to read this. If you’re on the computer you can hit “J” and it should take you to the next post. Mobile users, I am SO sorry.

Those first notes of Mine felt like coming home. I love how I can hear her smile in her voice. Also I forgot how much I love her country accent, wow. “said I’ll never leave you alone” aka something I need to hear right now.

Ugh, Sparks Fly has the best intro. I don’t actually have the energy to do this properly, but this is one of my favorite songs on the album. “kiss me on the sidewalk take away the pain” reminds me of a weird dream I had this week. in a good way, obviously. Sparks Fly is so much sexier than we give it credit for.

I can’t handle Back to December right now. This is NOT fair. She sounds so small. “but this is me swallowing my pride standing in front of you saying i’m sorry for that night“ this hits so hard “it turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you”. I legitimately cannot handle this right now, not today. It’s giving me chills, I can feel my body temperature dropping from this.

Stupid turbotax ad. I hate this stupid ad. Not all people are tax people, leave me alone. I am also not interested in stupid horror movies. I do not want to watch the invisible man. leave me alone. also neutrogena, stop. i have that face wash, and it made my skin peel.

Speak Now, hello lovely. The imagery in this is WONDERFUL, and it’s so snarky, and can you believe Taylor Swift wrote this herself? I feel like James Madison discovering the comma, sorry. “don’t you” you can tell she’s smirking. I’m a sucker for happy endings.

Dear John, you do NOT get to make an appearance now. “and I lived in your chess game but you change the rules every day” my entire life feels like this right now. It’s not your optimism to blame, please don’t blame yourself. Yeah, 19 is too young to be played with. Am I calling college John? Abso-freaking-lutely. Good for you Taylor. Go be your own fireworks. I believe in you. Wow, I am really delirious right now. “i should’ve known” to “you should’ve known” is a glow-up. do we still say glow-up? I don’t care. I still say glow-up.

Mean, hi, I need you right now. Screw you college, I don’t need the major I wanted from you! Taylor is right, someday I will be living in a big city, and all you’re ever gonna be is mean and wishing I was one of your alumni. Also stop pointing out how stupid I am, I know I have flaws. I bet they are just sitting somewhere being miserable. Every single time saying “Taylor Swift has peaked, her next album is gonna flop” and every. Single. Time. Being proven wrong. I’m so proud of her.

I hate ads. I hate ads. I hate ads. Neutrogena needs to stop bothering me. The horror movie is back. I hate horror movies. this is why I don’t listen to Spotify before bed anymore. Old Navy, finally a change of pace. Still a waste of time, but a NEW waste of time.

The Story of Us is a BOP. Oh, wait, no sad for a second. Stop making me feel things Swift, I’m using you to assist in my escapism. AND WE’RE NOT SPEAKING AND I’M DYING TO KNOW IF IT’S KILLING YOU LIKE IT’S KILLING ME YET. Next chapter is iconic. “but you held your pride like you should’ve held me” and, like, the entire bridge (which I would quote if I could type that fast) are sooooooo good. THE END?! Already?!

Never Grow Up is... a lot of feelings for right now. It’s so soft, but it’s also kind of exactly what I’m feeling right now. Like, this is me to younger me, but also for my little siblings. The fear underlying this is hitting really hard, why exactly did I pick Speak Now? The point of this was to get out of my head, not further into it. It’s always colder than you think it will be on your own. I wish I hadn’t grown up either. Stupid introspectiveness, let me enjoy this beautiful, sad, soft song.

Enchanted, how wonderful to see you. I’m just gonna let this one wrap around me like a blanket. This was my first stan song of Taylor’s. So I’m just gonna let myself feel comforted by this. “wonderstruck” is a beautiful word. Look at this desperate pining, but also simple joy and excitement, and there is so much emotional range in this song. “Please don’t be in love with someone else, please don’t have somebody waiting on you” is what made me fall in love with her music. I just love Enchanted so much.

ADS. STOP THE HORROR MOVIE ADS. Can I sue for repetitive or badly targeted ads? I wouldn’t, cause that’s a waste of money and time, but I REALLY want to know that I can if they ever push me over the edge. Honey (ad), go away.

Better Than Revenge. I can’t help but love this song. Except for the mattress line, that’s kinda... uncomfy to hear. It’s full of such smart insults, except for that one low blow (which is unfortunately the one that’s repeated). It’s still such a fun song, though. “You might have him, but I always get the last word” 

Oh, Innocent. You’re so sweet and sad, but you don’t make me sad cause you’re so hopeful and heartfelt. And so soothing too. “I hope you remember today is never too late to be brand new”

Hey Haunted. It’s kinda jarring to not have it acoustic, but it’s still so GOOD. The instrumentation is ugh, and her voice is just so beautiful, and I can’t stand explaining how this makes me feel cause I can’t find words, and it’s just wonderful.

Last Kiss, aka the home of one of the best bridges of all time. ”All that I know is that I don’t know how to be something you miss” is so heartbreaking. also this is taking me several hours longer than Speak Now (deluxe edition or otherwise) is cause I need periodical breaks. The build-up before the bridge is so good. And the bridge itself I think I’ve already addressed. “just like our last...” ugh she’s so SMART

Long Live, I can tell you’re gonna make me cry and that’s not allowed. This is so nostalgic. Just, this is something that belongs on a playlist on the ride home from a tournament in 8th grade. Everyone singing (and poking fun of the one guy who was always so monotone). “for a moment a band of thieves in ripped up jeans got to rule the world” is everything that I felt back then. The energy in this song is so beautiful. “we will be remembered”

Ok, we’re on to Ours. I’m gonna be honest and say I’ve never really clicked with Ours. It’s cute, and in a way I usually enjoy, but it’s not a favorite. “people throw rocks at things that shine” is a nice line. and I like the positive message that the entire song has. The little things she loves about him are adorable to hear listed.

Is it gonna be ads? Yes it is. Great. CVS, that’s new. And now Spotify promoting itself AND Google Home.

If This Was a Movie. A song I unfortunately forget about far too often. “if this was a movie you’d be here by now” hits so hard. Just the entire feeling where you lose someone and you just want them back but it doesn’t... it just doesn’t work. yeah, that’s a feeling. “I thought you’d be here by now”

Superman... Not a favorite. But, once again, cute. “He’s complicated, irrational” I do not remember her mentioning flaws before, maybe I just need this one to grow on me. “I loved you from the very first day” is such a nice resolution to the “I loved you forever” thing from earlier (in this same song).

Back to December... but now acoustic. The first time screwed me up enough, I’m nervous. This feels somehow slower? Maybe it’s the instrumentation change, or maybe she really is going slower, but I have absolutely no complaints. It’s beautifully aching like this. It feels like they’re pulling on heartstrings, not just the strings on their instruments. Have I mentioned how much I ADORE strings instruments when played well? And all the lyrics in this song? The way everything goes super quiet for a second? I think I might like this version better than the original.

Haunted... also acoustic. I’m fairly certain that I do like this version better than the original. The heavy piano, and the violin, that’s just so nice. It’s just slightly jarring, and it makes you feel everything that this song conveys so wonderfully. Hello violins, I love you for this. Is that a piano solo? It does not get the recognition it deserves. that last “break”

Mine but pop? I’ll give it a shot. This is making it pop-y? I guess I don’t mind as much as I thought I would. And there’s something to be said for starting and ending an album with the same song (even if the second is technically a different genre) Ok, this is enjoyable. Yeah, I like this. The buildup feels a bit weird at times, but it works, and I like.

Ok. That’s it. That’s the album. Taylor deserves more awards than she has for this album. Acoustic anything deserves separate, individual awards. I think that’s all I’ve got to say about the album as a whole. This was definitely something that I needed, and I hope someone else finds it fun to read.