#this feels more like a fragment than a full fanfic

[yetanotherfanficblog]

A New Dawn

Pact Commander Siggi Vilodsdottir woke up at her usual early morning time, but the light peeking through the flap of her tent was - different. Wait, of course. Sun's Refuge. The exhaustion of actually getting the damn place up, or just leftover grogginess from her first night of decent sleep in ages, had momentarily made her forget, to expect the sun outside her tent flap.

No, these were caves, and it would be cave living for a while. As they formulated a way to take care of Kralkatorrik, they had made the subterranian lair their home - The massive Elder Dragon could never dig this deep, and even his smaller minions would find themselves hard pressed to pass through the narrow redoubts and defeat the magical defenses left by Sunspears past - now reactivated in service of Sunspears present - so here they remained, for the moment. The light from the giant braziers, reflected off the crystals, natural and brand alike, embedded in the walls, certainly made for adequate light, but it wasn't quite the same as the wide, wild sun.

Still, If anyone knew how to live without the sun, it was the Norn.

Pulling on a Jerkin, Siggi stood and threw back the flap of her tent, eager to find something to break her fast - perhaps the foragers had found some good venison - when she nearly tripped over it. A wreath.

A wild grin broke across her face. That dork. He was really going to do this proper, wasnt he? She reached down, ready to pluck it off the ground, but about halfway there, she hesitated as something caught her attention, a quick movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked up. Yes. There, behind that rock column. Trying VERY hard, and failing nearly as hard, to look inconspicious, was Braham Eirrson himself.

She hesitated, not out of second thoughts, but just because the boy could probably stand to sweat a bit. Good for his humility. Wasn't right for a Norn to hold a grudge long as he did.

Then again, she was Norn too, huh? And there was another way to handle this...

Finally, she turned back into her tent - but only for a moment, snatching up her best travelling stein. As she exited again, she saw Braham, who had been hunched over, suddenly straight again, looking desperately, wildly at her.

She plunked the stein down in the center of the wreath, crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow at him. Braham coughed, nodded, and slunk off.

***

A few hours later, after she'd had a chance to eat and answer about 1000 different questions from various Pact Officers and Sunspears, help out a few Refugees, and discuss possible dragon tracking measures with Taimi and her boys, she finally came to the Vigil tents, where everyone had pooled what alcohol they had for a kind of tavern of sorts, a place to go to take a break, relax, and, if needed get just a bit drunk, to take the edge off. Braham was sitting at the end of one of the longer, less populated benches, and Siggi stopped at the the makeshift bar just long enough to grab their first round - Iron Legion Ale, Charr Beer. Almost as good as Ice Ale from the Wayfarer Foothills, in a pinch. As She walked up to Braham, Steins balanced in hand, he had just finished glaring down a poor Vigil soldier who looked like they were coming to sit across from him. Siggi chuckled, more at Braham's seriousness than the poor Soldier's misfortune, and easily slipped in across from the other Norn.

"Hey Kid. Shake off the Spiders yet?"

"What!? N- I mean Yes- I mean, it's fine why would I care about Spiders? We killed them all! Er, we did kill them all, right?"

Siggi couldn't help herself, breaking into an uproarius laugh at Braham's attempts to keep a slight panic under control, "I'm sorry Braham, I just teasing! If there's any spiders left, I'd imagine they're staying hidden for good, after the drubbing we gave their queen."

Braham nodded, blushing slightly with embarassment, "Oh. Yeah, It's fine. Spiders are gone."

Siggi pushed one of the steins toward Braham, "Iron Legion Ale. Not as good as a good Wayfarer Ice Brew, but beggars can't be choosers."

Braham took the Stein gratefully and took a huge gulp straight away. Siggi smirked again and followed suit.

As they set their mugs down, Braham cleared his throat, "So. How many mugs of these do you think we'll need to put this behind us?"

"Eh," Siggi waved a hand dismissively, "It's all snowmelt, far as I'm concerned. I forgave you a long time ago, just needed you to come around."

Poor Braham made a confused face, "Then Why not take the wreath in?"

"Listen," Siggi continued, with a small smile, "I gave you the Stein in the wreath for a couple reasons. One, I wanted an excuse to drink, and two, it's been way too long since we just sat down and TALKED, you know?"

"Oh. Yeah. I guess it has, huh?"

So they talked, avoiding the subject of their fight for the moment, speaking of Braham's adventures in the High Shiverpeaks, of Siggi's own adventures combating Balthazar - most of it he had heard second hand, but he wanted to hear it from Siggi. Ale after Ale appeared before them, and by the time conversation wound down, Siggi could confidently declare herself pleasantly tipsy, warm and buzzing down to her toes, and judging by Braham swaying on the bench across from her, he was somewhere in the same steading.

"Huh," he chuckled, "Imagine if I hadn't been such a Dolyak's ass. Could have helped you take down a human God. That would have been something to see."

Siggi chuckled, "Maybe. Then again, I did have to die to do it."

Braham frowned, "And maybe if I was there, I could have stopped him from killing you. I AM sorry, Commander..."

"Hey." Siggi set down her stein again for a moment, staring seriously across the table, "Already forgiven, remember? Wreath-sworn. Besides, Losing a parent affects a lot of us pretty badly."

"Hell. Losing my Mom probably affected you, huh?" Braham murmured, staring at the table, "I've been thinking about that, lately. She was your mentor. You two hunted together, built a legend together, she even sponsored you into the Pact."

Siggi nodded, "Yeah. She was... special, to me."

"And you kept on anyway."

"I did. I had a lot of people to save. If I had stopped to mourn her, how many more would have been lost?"

Braham took an especially long swig of ale after that, stared off into the middle distance.

"I... wonder if maybe the real problem was... I was jealous of you. You were closer to her than I was. Eir handpicked you as a champion of the great hunt. She recommended you to the orders, sheparded you until you were a force to defeat an elder dragon on your own. Hell, she was almost more of a Mom to you than she was to me."

Siggi raised an eyebrow, "C'mon, I'm not THAT much younger than her. Eir was more like..."

Siggi paused for a moment. Her mind flitted back, as it often did, to a certain night by a campfire, a night in while the bitter cold of the Shiverpeaks pierced even the hardy hides of the norn, and they found it prudent to share a bedroll for warmth. But then, prudency gave way to an awareness of bare skin touching skin, of a desire that no longer seemed worth hiding. No, Braham wasn't ready for that story. She wasn't sure she'd ever share that with anyone else anyway.

"...Let's just say, cool older sister?"

Braham chuckled, "Huh. yeah, that makes sense. And I guess I'd describe you the same way."

"That's me, cool older sister to thousands of squabbling pact children." Siggi raised her stein one last time and drained the current contents, a far-too-weak human brew. Really had to strengthen the supply lines here if they were already down to the human-brewed stuff, she thought absent-mindedly.

[cornykrameri]

Silco x OC

PS from the author: This is a fragment from the fanfic I'm writing. Full will be posted soon on AO3 TW: Knife Play

I watched his hands as took the cigar, lit it, and let the flame briefly illuminate his face before it died. The sharp, bitter aroma of tobacco filled the air around us. I swallowed a hard lump in my throat as I watched him take a long drag.

Looking back at me, he held out the cigar. Without hesitation, I took it. As I thought about how it had just touched his lips moments ago, I inhaled. The thick smoke hit hard, and I coughed—cigarettes were much easier than this heavy, bitter taste. My head spun almost instantly, and I handed the cigar back.

— I still regret that you gave me that knife. Maybe, without it, none of this would’ve happened, — I admitted, feeling the words grow heavier on my tongue.

Silco took a slow drag from his cigar, releasing a cloud of smoke that seemed to envelop us in an unseen veil. His face was obscured for a moment until he set the cigar down deliberately in the ashtray and said:

— Give me the knife.

His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. Obediently, I pulled the blade from its sheath and handed it to him by the hilt. His fingers curled around the blood-streaked steel, and his thumb traced the edge with a touch so light it felt almost reverent. His eyes flicked up to meet mine—a piercing gaze, sharp and unreadable.

— Hold out your hands.

I hesitated briefly but did as he asked, extending my palms. He placed the hilt back into my grasp and wrapped his hands over mine, steadying them.

Locking his hypnotic gaze on me, he guided my hands upward until the blade rested against the pale skin of his throat, just above the collar of his shirt. My insides coiled tight as a spring, but I couldn’t move—I was frozen in place, like a puppet held in invisible strings.

He released my hands, leaving the knife poised at his neck. One wrong move, one stray thought, and I could slit his throat. In my mind's eye, I saw it all: blood spilling down my fingers, his healthy eye dulling with death while the glassy implant froze in eternal stillness.

A strange cocktail of exhilaration and fear surged within me, and I wasn’t sure if I could resist it.

Silco smirked and leaned forward, pressing the blade more firmly against his neck. I went completely still, forgetting how to breathe.

What the hell is he doing? My gaze darted to his face, searching for some explanation. Did he really trust me this much?

— You see, — he murmured, his voice low and intimate. — The knife isn’t the issue. It’s just an object. You did what you did because you wanted to kill him. And I know you wouldn’t dare try that with me.

Forcing my trembling hands to move, I pulled the knife back from his neck and exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. But in the moment of hesitation, a wild, reckless thought streaked through my mind, sparking something primal and twisted deep inside me.

Without thinking, I shoved him, forcing his body down onto the couch. He didn’t resist; he yielded easily, allowing me to straddle him.

I hovered over him, my right hand still clutching the knife near his throat, while his thigh pressed firmly between my legs. His expression remained calm, curious even, as though he was indulging me in some sort of game.

Breathing heavily, I glanced between the blade and his eyes.

— Are you sure you trust me that much? — I asked at last. — What if I’m a born killer?

I traced the edge of the knife from his throat upward, skimming the curve of his jaw until it rested near his slightly parted lips.

— What if Muriel was just the beginning? — I continued, letting the blade’s tip follow the scar on his left cheek.

I wanted to see fear in his eyes, to watch him falter. Instead, he seemd intrigued, as though he was daring me to push further, to cross whatever boundary still remained in me.

His hand slid onto my knee, creeping under the hem of my long shirt and gliding upward along my thigh with maddening slowness and certainty.

My heart pounded, caught in a dangerous rhythm of desire and danger. I brought the knife back to his throat, leaning closer to his face.

— Then let it be the beginning, — he whispered, his breath brushing against my lips.

Desire flared in my chest like a wildfire, and just as I was about to give in and kiss him, he beat me to it.

His lips crushed against mine, demanding and unrelenting. I gasped, tightening my grip on the knife as his mouth devoured mine. His kiss was commanding, greedy, and when he bit my lower lip, a small moan escaped me, causing my hand to tremble.

His fingers gripped my thighs, pulling me down against him as the kiss deepened. Through the layers of fabric and skin, I could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, as though it matched my own chaotic pulse. His lips moved against mine with such perfect intensity that I couldn’t tear myself away.

My mind screamed that this was wrong, but my body refused to listen. It wanted him, and it was clear the feeling was mutual.

Without breaking the kiss, Silco shifted, lifting me slightly as he leaned forward. Now seated on his lap, I felt the unmistakable hardness between us. My grip on the knife slackened, and he seized the opportunity to snatch it from my hand with a sharp, fluid motion.

Fear flickered through me for a moment until his voice, rough and low, broke the tension.

— Don’t move.

He pressed his thumb against my lower lip, gently parting it. I obeyed without question.

— Don’t move, — he repeated, bringing the blade to my lips.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I watched the raw fascination in his eyes. Slowly, he slid the knife into my mouth, its edge resting against my tongue. This was madness—pure, unhinged madness—but I didn’t want it to stop.

The blade pressed lightly against the roof of my mouth, making it hard to breathe. One wrong move, one slip, and it would slice into the delicate skin of my lips or tongue.

His smirk was wicked, taunting, as he withdrew the blade slightly and tilted it to press against my tongue, pinning it down. With his free hand, he traced a finger down my chin, along my neck, and over the center of my chest, pausing just before it could venture lower.

It was agonizingly pleasurable. If not for the knife in my mouth, I might have begged him to keep going.

Finally, he pulled the blade free, and we both froze, caught in the weight of what had just transpired and what it meant for us now.

[0utpost-alpha]

Personal Thoughts On Red vs Blue: Restoration

Alright so, it’s been a few weeks since Red vs Blue Restoration hit the internet. I’ve had time to sit, think, cry and process RvB and Rooster Teeth as a whole ending. As I stated on a previous post, I got into RVB around 2015? I think Season 13 had ended then. So I haven’t really spent as much time with the Sims Troopers as many others have. But those 9 years were wonderful and I’m grateful for finding such an entertaining show and fandom. Any show that can make me laugh my ass off and also make me full on sob my eyes out is 10/10 in my book.

Anyway, moving on. I said I’d put out my own personal thoughts and feelings for Restoration in the form of a Pro’s and Con’s post; so here it is:

THE PROS

The AI Fragments: I LOVE them going back and focusing on the AI fragments again. I remember hearing that Miles was talking about how he was going to do something similar with them after the Chorus Trilogy but things happened and Jason ended up taking over after Season 14. I personally always adored the idea of the Reds and Blues each getting one of the AI fragments that suited their personal needs and would lead to more character development for them later on down the line.

Tucker and the AI’s: On the subject of AI’s, After Season 13, I remember reading a lot of fan theories and fanfics that often brought up what possible side effects Tucker could go through with Epsilon not only shattering but having all those fragments at once helping him power the Meta suit. And it looks like a lot of them weren’t far off! While we will never know what actually happened once those doors were opened, at some point either immediately or not long afterwards, the AI took control and ran off with poor Tucker.

Caboose’s Voice: While it was a little jarring at the beginning, being so used to Joel’s, Michael Malconian did a phenomenal job as Caboose’s voice. I feel like he got that child-like, not all there, but still ready to help out however he can personality down perfect. NGL, I think I actually prefer this voice to the old one. I’m just sad that we won’t get to hear more of this Caboose.

Speaking of Caboose: I love how they had Caboose have a big brain moment. Instead of bringing back Church, something he wanted more than anything, he knew Tex was their best chance against Meta!Tucker. Also, destroying the Memory Unit. Talk about huge character development for Cabooses character. (It’s also possible that this was what Church asked Caboose to do when he was whispering to him in the ship? I need to go back and rewatch it)

Simmons: I know there was already an image or video around showing Simmons with the robotic arm, but I kind of fell off the RvB bus after Zero came out so I missed a bit of content that was floating around on the internet. So me and @yourscientistfriend were tickled pink when we noticed his arm for the first time. It’s small, but nice to know that RT remembered that specific detail about Simmons.

Sarge’s Sacrifice: alright, this one is probably on a lot of peoples Con’s lists but I personally feel like, if any of them were gonna be killed off Sarge was the best because; he died doing what he loved. Fighting. He protected his boys and went down on his own terms. His farewell to Grif definitely hit the hardest. I think deep down we all knew Sarge cared about Grif, but actually hearing him say it was so satisfying.

Memory is the key: the boys sitting around the campfire reminiscing about everything they had been through together in the last 23 years was such a bitter sweet nostalgia blast. The fact that they also got BNL to do a song over it was kind of a nice surprise too.

THE CONS

A lot of characters didn’t really get a chance to shine. It mainly focused on Simmons, Grif, Tucker and Caboose for a majority of the movie. Donut was only there in a thought bubble for a gag, Carolina didn’t even show up till the very end, and Wash didn’t even get to fight, he honestly didn’t really even serve a purpose except to fall off a fucking cliff to get Carolina’s attention and I feel like that wasn’t even necessary. Hell, I think they even forgot about Lopez after that one scene at the beginning. I honestly feel for the Donut and Doc fans. They seriously got screwed over.

“Come With Me”: So. Grimmons didn’t become canon. I am, severely disappointed as I’m sure a majority of the fandom is. I wasn’t expecting a kiss or a make-out section or anything that extreme. But I feel after all these years of teasing us they could have given us SOMETHING.

Tucker Trauma: As I said in the Pro’s, I loved the set up they did with Tucker and the fragments. However, what I didn’t like was how they didn’t address the trauma Tucker went through with them controlling him. They forced him to kill innocent people, attack his friends and mentally tortured him in order to get him to cooperate or wear him down enough to take control. But after they remove the fragments, he’s just ok now? Back to his regular bow chika bow wow self? Don’t get me wrong, like with many of my other cons I realize that a lot of things had to be scrapped or cut because of time and that because Season 19 had to be turned into a movie instead of a full blown season they couldn’t properly address a lot that they probably wanted to. But I wish we could have at least got something along the lines of Wash taking Tucker back with him to get physically and mentally checked out.

Also, wtf is up with Grif just up and leaving. I know Season 15-17 was retconned (update: they weren’t retconned) but damn man, Grif really doesn’t care about any of them? Even after the whole reminiscing scene? It just feels out of character for him. I feel like after everything was said and done he would have taken those papers and shot them or something. Said something about how someone’s gotta give the new leader of the reds a hard time, said something about not leaving till he figure out why they were there!?  Anything than whatever the hell that was.

Thing’s I’m sad will never happen now that Red vs Blue is officially over:

More time with Locus’s character as well as character development and redemption (as well as possibly becoming one of the Reds and Blues)

Grimmons

Simmons’s getting an arc that better fleshes out his character and would give us more background into his history (I mean come on. From the bits and pieces we got over the seasons, it’s very clear Simmons’s had a shitty past. Yes, I’m still mad that his labyrinth was turned into a alien probing joke)

Never seeing an actual conclusion to the fight at the end of Season 13. (I get they wanted to let the fans play around with ideas on what happened but it still bugs me).

Wash and Simmons bonding during a knife training session

Wash and Tucker bonding over AI Trauma

Tucker and Junior bonding

Overall, it was an ending. And probably the most decent one we could have gotten considering everything that was going on. A lot of other shows didn’t even get that. So I honestly can’t complain too much. They also deliberately left the ending pretty open so the fandom could easily write their own ending if they wanted to which is awesome of them.  

[enihk-writes]

[when i was still the one you want]

based on lyrics from right where you left me by taylor swift

paring: various!hwasan characters x gn!reader

summary: it's breakup season (because everyone around me are ending their relationships so something's in the air)

characters: geumjon (pbss) // geumhyeop (mhdd) // tang bo // baek cheon // jin geumryong // namgung dowi // jang ilso // tang soso // yu iseol

author's note: so funny story,,,,,,, i saw that post about gaylors being less credible than jungkook as reincarnated princess diana truthers... went on a taylor binge, and had some fanfic thoughts,,, so now bone apple teeth for yall ig <333 i would have added tang gunak but me personally? i would NOT fumble a dilf like that ever.

GEUMJON thinks it was nice while it lasted, like a sparkler you play with on summer nights — a passionate romance that ignited and died out by the end of a season. he was the pinnacle of your youth, but everyone had to grow up someday. and when neither of you felt that same fluttering sensation in your stomachs. you both agreed that you should end things. there was no hard feelings from either side, that's just how life was. and he heard years later, through the grapevine, that you had gotten married. to which he raises his cup of wine to the full moon in your honour.

GEUMHYEOP was the type of guy to try and fail. he'd be the first to lose interest in a relationship, and he was honestly a little panicked by that revelation. it didn't make sense to him that this could happen. you hadn't done anything wrong, you didn't deserve that. how could he have let this happen to you? he would shift his attention more on you ever so subtly, trying his best to rekindle whatever feeling he used to have for you as you remained blissfully unaware. though he finally gives up, and can only hope that you would notice. you do. but only when he starts to avoid you more often, missing out on almost every milestone in your relationship. avoiding confrontation, making excuses so that he doesn't have to come face-to-face with the hurt and confusion all over your face. this back-and-forth wears you out, and things just die out without so much of a word.

TANG BO was only with you because amongst all the marriage candidates the elders of his family had him meet, you had been the most tolerable one. you were easily forgettable, and something about that intrigued him. he was sure that one day, he would come to love you the way you had with him. it didn't. and it never did for all those decades, and he always remained as your betrothed up until the very end. you had both grown old, and it became ever so obvious that things just weren't going to work out the way either of you had hoped. he feels guilty for wasting a good chunk of your life with so much will-we-won't-we, and tries to help you stand back on your feet when you finally leave the tang estate. somewhere along those lines you two became a little more then friends, definitely far from lovers, maybe you and him ended up a little bit like family, or the next closest thing to that. you passed not too old, not too young. and he made sure that he sent you off to the afterlife proper. not realising you had taken a fragment of his heart with you.

JANG ILSO is a fickle guy. his obsessions die out as quickly as they appear. in exchange for the luxurious life you were gifted as his lover, you were expected to be at his every beck and call. can't be too obvious about it, he hates clingy lovers. can't get too nonchalant, he loves a little chase, sure. but he hates having to lower himself to ask for attention. he wasn't a needy dog. it was commendable that you lasted as long as you did — a whole three years wasn't an easy feat. you were lucky he felt nice and had only kicked you out of his estate with your belongings. including the gold and jewels he had gifted you. there was nothing more you could have asked for, you never had to work another day in your life, and thank god it seems his new obsession was keeping him busy enough to have him forget about you.

NAMGUNG DOWI wonders if he had done something wrong for you to come up and tell him you wanted to break up with him. you both wanted something different in life, he never really seemed to be on the same page as you when it came to things you both wanted for the future. he was distraught, telling you he would change and please stay here — you would but you had dreams too, and he had his commitments he had to fulfil. maybe, someday in the future, you both might find each other again but right now, you bade him adieu with kisses on his tear-stained cheeks.

TANG SOSO, she kept you like a secret while you kept her like an oath. something, something about how it wouldn't end well for either of you if you were found out. her, the daughter of the tang patriarch and you a child from a branch family she had supposedly fallen for. you only realised she wasn't that serious about you when she eventually left home for mount hua. you had seen the way her eyes sparkled when that girl with amethyst eyes cut down a new path she never knew she could have taken in life. she left because you didn't have the cards to give her what she wanted. well, at least one of you was happy. at least one of you found something they wanted to do.

YU ISEOL hasn't been the most vocal person between the two of you. it was always you that had to pull the weight, always you that had to watch out for the other. you had fallen in love with her because of her deep passion for the blade, it was also this deep passion for the blade that had driven her further and further away from you. somewhere along the way, you realised that there was almost nothing you had in common with her anymore. you had cried yourself to sleep that night, only waking up the next morning to end things with her properly. she was the same as always, swinging her sword, retracing her steps ever so diligently. even as you poured your heart out, she never once faltered — that's good. because you know that if she had staggered for a single moment, you would know she still cared, and you would have taken back everything you'd said. she didn't lose focus, and that was what you used to love about her. you let her be, not once turning back.

JIN GEUMRYONG could only watch from the corner of his eye what your expression was like as the elders brought him to meet the guests. with how he had been pushed forward as the leader of the next generation, the elders — his father included, had been looking into suitable marriage candidates for him. what they all didn't know was that he was already seeing someone. that someone being you. and what you yourself didn't know was that the elders had been looking into potential matches for him, something he hadn't told you about up until the day of the marriage interviews. you'd believe he'll explain it to you, assure you that you were still the one he'd choose. but you should have known he was a man who was duty-bound, and he would have never picked you above what he believed was his duty to the sect. if this was how it was going to end anyways, why did he even bother to ask you to be his?

BAEK CHEON knows he's never been good enough to call himself your lover. not when there were so many others that could fill his spot. you could assure him all you want but it wasn't enough to convince him, he was always trying his best, and you had always been so happy with it. but it wasn't enough. nothing you did or said was ever enough to calm his paranoia. all these feelings bubbled over to a tipping point, an argument of no return and you decided enough was enough. he had never known what it was like to actually wake up without you by his side until then, and he knew it was too late to take back all that he'd said. how dare he have the audacity to break your heart and try to fix it? he did this to himself, and now he has to lie in the grave he dug out.

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday

voted most (when I closed voting in my head {i will get to 3rd place possibly}) was a Dragon Age WiP well GUESS what they dropped DA4 news and I was too bitter to acknowledge it, but it got into my brain anyways.

So here's a bit from the next chapter of that old fic (that I am still editing yes) When the World Fell, starring two idiots that doomed each other to godhood.

...

Ellana and Solas travelled the streets of Minrathous together the rest of that night.

Hands remained apart, hearts shuttered back to the private spaces, protected from the nighttime miasma of the city that grew more dangerous with each passing day.  Minds in sleep were twisted by the growing public perception of their presence to give even more pressure to force them into their roles.  Again, however, Ellana realized they weren’t evil roles.  Not precisely.

Adversarial, yes, but not evil.

But oh, how thin that thread was separating the two.

Solas became but a shadow, stalking her footsteps.  Occasionally he would emerge as a wolf, brushing against her thigh before returning to the swirling darkness between the magelights.  She did not begrudge him the escape.  It was difficult for her to keep moving, to not hunt after those small sparks of pain and suffering she felt in the air.  How difficult would it be for him to resist, twisted so harsh and cruel by their sleeping thoughts?

The world was full of traps, lures to drag them further into godhood and away from reality.

He had been gone too long.

“Come to me.”

She knew that he heard her.  A spike of annoyance lodged itself inside her mind when he failed to appear immediately.  Frustration made her voice all the sharper.

“Come to me.”

The Lady's steps stalled, pausing at a railing that overlooked a lower, dingier district.  He was there, in the maze hunting something, and she had a feeling if she did not distract him it might not go well.  It had been foolish for both of them to come here, but it was unthinkable for only one of them to be here.  This place was miserable, a pit of opinion and views that twisted them heartlessly into something they did not wish to be.

“Give it to them,” her shadow suggested.

As she glanced back to it, the blue-washed blot of darkness rose from the ground, its vague form gradually gaining sharpness.  The Wolf emerged from that darkness, stepping out of the shadows to join her at the railing.  His temptation was ignored.

His bad behavior was not.

“Return my shadow.”

“If you insist,” the wolf said amiably, a small opalescent orb appearing in his gloved palm with a flick of his fingers. Glints of icy reflection danced across its surface, picking up distant flickers of ruby, green, gold. Opalescent.

Almost too pretty to destroy.

A manipulation.

Irritated with him, she glanced from the sphere to his face, taking it from him in her fingertips.  It felt like glass, but far finer than any glass created by sand and hands.  It reminded her of the windows in Arlathan.  “Why do you do that?”  Frowning, she stared at the orb, turning it over in her fingers.

Her shadow was within, a blot of darkness in the center that shifted as she rotated it.

“I feel a need to wander, and wished to bring you in some fashion or another. You could give it back if you liked.”

“Why do you do it to other people?” she said, ignoring his deflection.

“It is harmless, if unnerving, and I find it satisfies the desire for mischief they seem insistent I should have.”

Well, when phrased in such a fashion, how could she find offense?  Sighing, she offered him the orb back.  “Then you may keep it.  I have little use for my shadow, unlike you, but I think people may find my lack of one unnerving as well.”

“Forgive me saying so, but people already find you quite unnerving.”

“True,” she acknowledged tiredly.

The orb shattered in her fingers, turning from fragments to a scattering shower of glittering dust. Her shadow slithered free of her fingers. It dripped like ink, pooling at her feet and then reforming away from the light.

"I know a better target for your mischief, Fen'harel," she said, turning her attention from the cries of suffering back to the heights, the source of it.

Why not?

They were leaving tomorrow for the Deep Roads.

"Then, my Lady, my I have this dance?"

[bookshelf-in-progress]

10, 11, 13

10. which character(s) turned out differently from what you had planned? how so?

Royston in "From the Other Side of the End of the World" was supposed to be dismayed at his war-torn world and in need of the hope that Rachel's future perspective provides. He was also supposed to have more of a sense of humor, maybe some cynical wit. In practice, I couldn't fit in his road trip or his arc. The story became more about Rachel's grief, so he had to be the voice of reason and comfort.

11. which scene was harder/easier to write than anticipated? why?

Harder to Write: The ending of "A Garden of Wishes" was so hard to write that a flash fiction I should have finished last year became a long short story that I posted this year. Part of the problem was that the characters and story became much more detailed than anticipated, so part of me wanted to revamp it so it wasn't in second-person and became a more fleshed-out retelling.

I finally decided to just commit to second-person and finish it, but the scene with Sonatina telling her sisters tripped me up for a long while--I wasn't sure exactly how I wanted Sonatina, her sisters, and Michael to react to different parts of the situation.

I finally figured out a path, so "A Garden of Wishes" became one of the only stories that I abandoned for a significant time, yet still managed to finish.

Easier to Write: Once I had the concept of "Heartsong", I found it was surprisingly easy to weave it into a story.

13. how did you change as a writer? did you learn anything new? started to plan instead of pants? share your wisdom!

I became more willing to see fragments and short scenes as short stories in their own right, rather than thinking of them as the beginnings of longer stories. This was a great way to prevent my pile of WIPs from reaching overwhelming levels--I can just have an idea, do something with it, and satisfy the storytelling urge without spending a lot of time on it--but it did lead to a bunch of stories that feel more like fanfic of an unwritten series rather than full stories.

I also learned that I'm much more of a discovery writer than I ever realized. While I need to plan a basic shape to the story, I also need to keep things loose. I often have a lot of possible things that could be included in the story, and I won't know which ones work until after I start writing it down. Writing concrete story details and putting things in chronological order can help me understand what does and doesn't make sense, and can give me more ideas. Letting the brainstorming happen while writing is a good way to keep me from being upset that my beautiful layered idea doesn't translate into words-on-page.

[throes-of-redemption]

"hey you": a submission to a departed blog

You'll never see this. You'll never post this. Unless they have Tumblr in whichever realm you exist in now.

I have regrets. The last time we spoke I was dismissive. I honestly didn't think it would be the last time we'd run into each other after a long absence. Well, it wasn't the first time either. But before then I was convinced I'd never hear or see you again. I was wrong twice. Fuck.

Anyway, since we last spoke I've felt like been an asshole. A selfish pervert with bad habits and boundary issues. It's disgusting.

At first, my decision to leave you alone was to protect my emotions.  We've already talked about it, but it was impossible to settle for just being friends. It was painful. You deserved better-so much better than me tbh. In retrospect, I wonder if you were trying to protect your friends from the heartache of your sudden loss. I suppose I felt justified in letting you go. I finally found someone to fill the void that you were never meant to fill (see, that already sounds dumb as hell cause people aren't responsible for filling each other's vacancies). Besides, reigniting our friendship might have caused unnecessary drama in my current relationship. Nonetheless, it felt right. 

Now that you're not here anymore it feels like I miss you a bit more all the time. I miss your new obsessions every month, and the way your eyes light up whenever you talk about some fictional character in some obscure piece of media only nerds like you know about. Shit, I logged back into Tumblr for the first time in like 6 years, and in less than 3 days I'm here scrolling through your blog checking out the last things you posted. I miss your queer fanfics and head canons. I miss the eloquent way you spoke when you read. I miss you tryna bake, even though I would sit there and eat them burnt cookies. I miss bickering about Star Wars v Harry Potter. I miss you teasing me about my cishet masculine insecurities. I miss the way you stood firmly against injustice and oppression, particularly your arch nemesis the fuckin patriarchy! I miss how you really didn't give a damn how anyone saw you or tried to squeeze you into their little box. I miss how you would drive people nuts just being yourself. I miss how loving you were even when you tried to hide it from the world sometimes. 

Remember that one time you spotted me on the bus all zoned out, and you sat right next to me and forced me to practice our lines for that play we were in? I was annoyed and happy at the same time lol. This year I did 4 plays. First one I did was HAIR up in Harrison, and you would've loved some of my cast mates. At one point we had a recasting...um..."crisis" to find a new Dionne. I couldn't think of anyone else but you. Except you'd already been gone for some eight months by then. That almost broke me. Oh! And one of them was this bizarre musical parody of Hamlet (I was hamlet btw). It made me think about hearing how you were such a talented Lady Macbeth in high school that the production was requested at Purchase Collage. So whenever I prepared to step on that stage, I thought to myself secretly "I hope she's watching and I hope she's proud." Honestly I felt that way for every show, but that's the one I wish you could've seen.

When you left it seemed like all of Mount Vernon came to see you go, probably a lot of people you didn't even like. But as each person got up to talk about their favorite memories of you, I realized as much as we talked and hung out, all I ever experienced of you was just a fragment of who you were. And I always knew you had heart issues, but I didn't realize just how sick you really were because you were so fiercely independent and full of life despite it all. As we left, my friend asked me how I thought I could honor your memory. I told him "By doing everything with as much passion and energy and purpose as she did." 

The problem is that when I had an opportunity to be friends again, I took you for granted. There was only one of you. Anybody similar to you by comparison was a bootleg with missing pieces. You were the genuine article: the Real Deal. I'll be processing the guilt of how things ended for quite a while longer than I should. I don't know if you were upset or indifferent, or if there's any slight that you held against me after we parted ways for the last time. But I hope, if it's okay with you, that I could take part of you with me in my journey through life.

You are missed, and you are loved.

Beloved (11/18/1993-6/21/2023)

[wordsandrobots]

Falling for a Fool: Afterword

A confession: I cannot get through episode 45 of Iron-Blooded Orphans, properly, without coming to the verge of tears. I have discovered that if I turn the sound off, I can make it about as far as the back half of episode 46 without that happening. Which made it a lot easier to take screenshots, but it still got me, in the end.

And that's exactly why I fell in love with this show.

It's trite, but I think everyone should have the chance to be moved by something, whatever it is and wherever it comes from. Stories, all artworks in fact, are there to make us feel something. To convey emotion and meaning, to play on the keyboard of our minds and allow us to hallucinate meaningful things in safety. A couple of years back, the thing that moved me was an anime about child soldiers in space, produced to sell model kits. It worked. I did buy a lot of model kits. I also got to have my emotions twisted to bits by a superbly crafted tragedy.

I can wax lyrical about the technicalities of that process. I can do the writerly bit, as I've said before, of pulling apart the mechanics of how this show works and why it hits me so hard. That doesn't change the fact it *does* hit me, hard, and that's why I've spent my time since first watching it writing so much about it. It was exactly what I needed to see, when I saw it, and the inspiration it has given me has been absolutely wonderful.

I guess the reason I decided to run back through the imagery of the series, and specifically that concerning Yamagi and Shino's relationship, is that I wanted to check my working. I'm nearly at the end of the huge story I developed off the back of my first fanfic for IBO, the culmination of two and a half years of work. When I post it, likely at the start of August 2024, I will have approaching 650,000 words worth of 'here's how I would do a follow-up' on Ao3. That's a lot. For me, it's a hitherto unheard-of amount of consistent work.

Yet it started, very simply, with this: how do you save Shino?

Because the end to his arc in the show is a moment of deliberate pointlessness. It's got to be, for the narrative to work. But I have a soft heart and more than that, I'd fixated on what precedes the failure of Shino's daring gambit. Those scenes between him and Yamagi throughout episode 45 and the fundamental, unintentional cruelty of asking someone who adores you to enable what is, however much it wasn't supposed to be, your suicide run.

There are any number of ways to save Shino, in the sense of imagining he wasn't actually dead when Flauros was blown off into space in the next episode. It's easy! But which option allows one to best drill into what he and Yamagi are to each other, in that moment where he finally demonstrates he isn't the totally oblivious himbo after all? What is the method that allows them to come together again, not as comet and tail, but something more equal? Something that, rather than just clicking one's fingers and declaring, 'all is well', admits to everything dire and disturbing about Tekkadan.

Because those things are the point. And to me, they are vital to my love of the original work.

So. My apologies for a couple of days of scab-picking on main. I needed it, I think, to look back and see that, yes. What I have done follows (in my own mind at least) from what's on-screen. As much as my fic is essentially a work of reconstruction -- of redeeming love from hopelessness -- the heart of it remains full of rust and sharp fragments, of blood and pain, and a bitter understanding that the world does not care about you in the slightest.

And that the point is to care anyway.

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

I saw requests are open was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing some NSFW head canon's for a soft dom Solomon x female master with dirty talk and foreplay. Also sorry if this is too many things but can you do NO penetrative sex please?

Hello anon, thanks for the request, that is perfectly okay! Sure, that's okay with me. So that's Solomon foreplay including dirty talk concept. I can do that. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for waiting for so long!! As for the Soft Dom part, that will focus on him giving a lot of praise and care to the master. I should warn you though, this may become full of angst, as well.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW Fanfic tagged as 'lemon fanfic'. Includes a lot of fluff and ANGST, soft dom(?) Solomon, FGO SPOILERS, dirty talk, fem! master character, outercourse and foreplay (no sex).

Solomon x Fem! Master NSFW (Foreplay, Soft Dom, Dirty Talk, A LOT OF ANGST!)

✰ Facing him at the apex of your journey; standing as two juxtaposing forces at the very precipice of the end, your meeting with Solomon is fraught with anticipation. With such a precious wreath of memories of his time fighting on behalf of the Chaldeas as Romani, to the lacerating pain that engulfed you with his final self-sacrifice.... to see him standing before you, right in the flesh- was like a dream.

✰ "I-is that really you...? Roma- Solomon?!" Rushing haphazardly through a mass of broken fragments floating lifelessly upon a realm that was unknown to either the world of man or gods- it stood an atelier that only you and he alone could access, cut off from the rest of the universe. Whether it was a dream, or possibly even a new reality was anybody's guess.

✰ As you gradually make your way towards him, crystallized tears frozen within the air; the solemn figure standing before you smiles wistfully as he turns to face you- his golden eyes burdened with a sense of suffering so deep and profound; carrying the truths of the world within their glistening depths.

✰ "...You've come a long way, to find me here; meeting me at the end of all realms of existence. If Romani was here, I'm sure he'd be glad." Within an instant, he materializes before you, his sun-kissed bronze hands lightly tracing themselves across your face, his expression taking on an unreadable hue. "Even if it was only for a short period of time, I was able to live as a human by your side. Thank you, Master of Chaldea."

✰ Bursting into tears at his words, you wrap your arms around him as your faces draw but a hair's breadth away from one another, breath misting upon another's faces as he gently wipes away your tears, kneeling down to support your fallen form. Though he reassures you that there's no need to cry, you can't help but wail, inconsolable gasps rippling through your body, as you press your forehead to his, desperate to rekindle any form of connection, to feel any sign of warmth.

✰ Romani, Solomon. You him, Mash and Da Vinci. The benevolent Doctor of Chaldea who had been a loveable goof, a massive Magi Mari simp and an invaluable ally to all... no, he was even more than just that to you. He was the one you held dear to your heart, committing every memory, every moment of his existence to mind. But now for you both to meet like this...it was certain that this was likely to be the last time you'd be able to hold onto him for a while.

✰ It seems as if Solomon is acutely aware of this as well. Despite seeming distant- as if the version of him you grew to love and adore in Chaldea is no more- his grip has yet to be loosened from your figure, his flowing locks of flaxen hair tickling your face. As his fingers absentmindedly rub circles into your cheeks, almost on instinct; his body recalling the movements of a part of him that may now possibly cease to exist.

✰ Taken aback by his familiar touch, and the nostalgia of having your chests pressed against one another; hearts beating in unison, you open your mouth to speak, to beg for him to return in some way, only for him to sadly shake his head.

✰ "My return isn't currently prophecies within the stars as of yet. However," He pauses, as his gleaming, ring-laden hands softly trace themselves over your lips, a tender hue entering his eyes, "If you are to oblige, then let me touch you. Let me feel you one last time, and embrace you like I did as when I was a human. Roman- no, I... I wish to commit how it felt to be with you to my mind, for one last final time." Although his words are resolute, his fingers tremble slightly, as his nonchalant mask finally begins to crumble.

✰ Lips locking in what feels like forever, the kiss is tender yet also bittersweet; the two of you savoring every moment, hungrily gasping for more as your form blossoms beneath him, kisses trailing down your neck, your eyes misting with a sense of longing. Oh how long it had been since the last time you had kissed! How deeply you craved for more!

✰ "You're beautiful. Sprawled before me with such need in your eyes... he surely must've felt blessed to have been by your side." Despite the indomitable nature of his words, his touch becomes even gentler; sinking down to fully embrace you as his robes flutter against the ground, spread out like a canopy of ancient paintings.

✰ Holding onto your waist for dear life, the two of you become entangled within a passionate cuddle; your limbs entwined between one another's as he begins to grind against you. As you whimper with bliss at how delectable it feels- and at how unfair it was to be delighting in a warmth that would soon be ripped from you, eventually to become naught but a fleeting memory; tears prickle at your eyes as you pull him back in to a passionate smooch, breaths quickening from the action.

✰ Mewling his name repeatedly- like a solemn prayer to the heavens- your body completely yields to his addictive touch, that tickles and rubs against your most vulnerable zones. You cared for him, yearned for him- so, so much. Desperately avoiding even spending a fraction of a second apart, your entire body clings onto his form as you warble words that bleed with love.

✰ "That's right. Hold on even tighter, so tightly that it becomes impossible to let go. Let me feel you in your entirety." He's also been entirely consumed by the moment, losing beneath tidal waves of passion, as well as ones of heart-wrenching melancholy.

✰ Continuing to rub his body against yours in a soothing circular motion, Solomon parts from by sucking onto your bottom lips as his gaze locks into yours- it's so deep and profound that it leaves you trapped, unable to look away.

✰ By this time, you're a sweaty mess- Chaldea uniform all crumpled, as your body fills with electrical tremors of desire, tingling with pleasure. To Solomon, such a sight is alluring- though a twinge of something so forlorn (that even he can't quite grasp it) lacerates his heart at seeing you so laid so emotionally bare before him.

✰ "...Despite overcoming numerous hurdles, you are still so precious, so fragile a human. Romani- I- no, I'm sorry that I was unable to see things through with you until the very end. I... I love... you." Sealing his hesitant vow with lips that softly regaled your forehead, your eyelids; every facet of your face, loose tears make their way down his face, his once steely golden eyes now a pool of melting amber.

What a sorrowful finale this was turning out to be.

[lil-melody-moon]

Hello darling! Finally Friday, huh? I bet you’ve been waiting for this day to come 🤭 Well, I’m bringing you two new fragments today, very creepy ones I must say 🤣

But first, I want to make the release day official. You’re going to get the first chapter of the fanfic in two weeks, starting on the 1st of November. I know you’re impatient, but I still need to finish the fic, correct the grammar, and also figure out how to publish it on AO3 🤣 That last part shouldn’t take long because I’ve got half of it sorted already.

Anyway, the chapters will be published daily, which means it’ll start on the 1st of November and end on the 5th of November. Is that alright with you? If not, please let me know when you’d prefer them, but it has to be in November.

Now, enjoy the first fragment of chapter three❤️

————————————————————————————

You needed to get out of the house, and fast. The encounter with Ernie at the pub had been playing on your mind ever since, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the thought of him. He lingered there, like a song you couldn’t quite get out of your head. And then there was the other thing. You still weren’t comfortable at home. Every time you were alone, it felt like someone else was there, watching. It wasn’t rational, you knew that. But it was a feeling you couldn’t ignore.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a bit late for your usual evening walk, the sun was already beginning to set, casting a soft golden glow over everything. But you needed the fresh air, needed to clear your head. Sitting inside much longer and you were sure you’d go mad.

It had been two days since you last spoke to Frank, and the worry was beginning to gnaw at you. It was a strange kind of worry, tangled up with so many other things. You were worried for him, yes. But there was also that creeping fear that he might come back. The very idea of Frank returning was enough to make your stomach twist, to make your eyes sting with the threat of tears. The guilt that came with that fear was like a shadow, always lurking.

Pulling on your coat, you stepped out into the cool evening air. You told yourself you’d walk just a little while, enough to clear the bad thoughts from your mind. The streets were quiet, mostly empty, save for the odd car passing by or a couple of people making their way home. You tried to focus on your surroundings, the familiar rows of terraced houses, the soft hum of distant traffic, but your thoughts kept drifting back. To Frank. To Ernie. To the uneasy feeling that had settled in your chest.

It wasn’t until you were on your way back home, the sky now fading from gold to deep blue, that you noticed something. A feeling, more than anything. Someone was behind you. At first, you brushed it off, telling yourself you were being paranoid. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. You picked up your pace, your heartbeat quickening, and turned your head slightly to glance over your shoulder. Sure enough, there he was. A man, walking right behind you. His face was obscured, and that made your stomach lurch.

You walked faster, hoping he’d lose interest, but no such luck. You could hear his footsteps quickening to match yours, and then, just as you were about to break into a full sprint, he spoke.

“Hey! you alright, love? Fancy a chat?”

His voice made your skin crawl. There was something off about it. It wasn’t just that he was too close, it was the way he spoke to you, as though he had a right to your time, your attention. You tried to ignore him, walking faster still, but he kept pace with you, getting closer.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he persisted, his hand reaching out, brushing against your arm. “I just wanna talk. What’s your name, eh?”

You flinched at his touch, feeling a surge of panic. You didn’t like this. Not one bit. His hand lingered on your arm, and before you could react, his grip tightened. But then, out of nowhere, came a voice you recognised all too well.

“Oi! Leave her alone, you bloody fucker.”

Ernie.

He was there, storming towards you with a look on his face that could’ve melted iron. Before you could even process what was happening, Ernie had grabbed the bloke by the collar of his shirt, almost lifting him off the ground. The other man’s eyes went wide, his cocky demeanour crumbling instantly.

“I’m sorry, mate, I’m sorry,” the man stammered, hands up in surrender. “I just wanted to talk to her, that’s all.”

Ernie’s grip on his collar tightened, and he leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “She’s my girl, yeah? You don’t talk to her. Now piss off before I make you.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stand there, stunned. His girl? The possessiveness in Ernie’s voice sent a strange warmth rushing to your cheeks. You could feel yourself blushing, even though you weren’t sure how you felt about the whole thing. Still, hearing him say it made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.

The man in Ernie’s grip was practically shaking now, his eyes darting to where Ernie’s hand had slipped into his coat pocket, as if reaching for something. The bloke must’ve thought he was going for a gun, because in the next second, he was scrambling backwards, muttering apologies as he bolted down the street.

“Bloody coward,” Ernie muttered, watching the man’s retreating form with a smirk. Then he turned to you, his expression softening. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. “No, I’m fine. Just… just shaken, I guess.”

Ernie took a step closer, his eyes scanning your face, checking for any signs of distress. “Good. If he’d laid a hand on you, I swear…”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though your voice was a little shaky. There were so many questions spinning around in your head now, and one of them was particularly loud. “Ernie, what are you doing here? You don’t even live around this area.”

His grin widened slightly, and he shrugged. “What, I’m not allowed to take a walk?” But then, more seriously, he added, “I had a feeling. Thought I’d come check on you.”

The way he said it, so casual, yet with something deeper underneath, left you speechless. There was something about Ernie that unsettled you, but in moments like this, when he was standing there, having just chased off a bloke who was making your skin crawl, you couldn’t deny the sense of safety he seemed to bring.

Hello, yes I was waiting and I thought I'll die in the process - Gosh, this is a torture! 😂

I'm very happy about the release dates and the AO3 instruction I've promised you will make its way to you, I swear! 😂

Now to the comments!

Sitting at home alone can drive one nuts and I love how you portrayed it there - with addition of one pervert occupying my mind. There's also a slight confusion on what I'm feeling inside, which is honest to God, very good. I'm torn inside and I'm starting to fear, literally fear Frank's coming back home. Everything that once was would come back and the guilty feeling would eat me inside. You've actually showed it very well in one paragraph 💜

That fragment of a random guy following me, it so reminds me of the creep I've met a few years ago. The same behaviour and truly, there's no way I would speak at that moment, my mind rushing to a way to escape this situation, but it's night already so that would be even more problematic. But then here comes someone who saves me!

The impact of Ernie's behaviour is huge, I'm actually left speechless - wonder if Frank ever did something like this. The possessiveness though

This was me inside at this moment when I read it, I'm not joking 😂

Love the last fragment when we have a conversation. Ernie seems to genuinely worry about me and I can see a bit of a difference in his character. I don't know if you've mentioned it in send fragments or you just told me, but there is that different atmosphere to him when we're alone, in such rare moments. Lovely 💜

And yeah, just on a walk, walk to my home to peep on me!

[chewbokachoi]

For both Cassan and Ryu!!

8. What are some internal obstacles that your character has to overcome?

18. Who/what comforts your character?

36. What are the things that make your character enter a full rage/cold mode? (Depends on their character.)

:O

CASSAN:

8. What are some internal obstacles that your character has to overcome?

Ohohoho--so many.

Her "thing" is quantum immortality gone awry. Rather than "waking up" in the 'what if you narrowly avoided getting hit by the bus' universe after getting hit by a bus, she'll wake up with a version of her that led a totally different life. She doesn't know why, but sometimes when a version of her in another world dies, it wakes up in her. Hence her awareness of the multiverse as well as her fear of it--she's terrified of what she could wake up with next. It's totally random--she can go for months without a 'fragment' (as she calls them) showing up. Other times weeks--but never a full year.

She's terrified of what she could become given what she's woken up with at times, and she always absorbs something from a fragment. Which she also can't choose or predict. This has resulted in her developing mod-severe OCD where she "has" to do a number of things to keep herself in check.

18. Who/what comforts your character?

Who: Avery, Max, and Ryu are the most reliable people for her. Avery's the one she goes to for a hug--he's huge and can pick her up like she's nothing. She goes to both Avery and Max when she wants to fangirl about something (or bitch about something). Ryu is her adopted father, so he's the one she goes to when scared about her fragments.

What: Reading or jigsaw puzzles with something on. She loves movies. And fanfiction. So much fanfic.

36. What are the things that make your character enter a full rage/cold mode? (Depends on their character)

Oh boy. When she was much younger and not good at understanding her mind reading, she had a tendency to bide her time and go after those who hurt the people she cared about. But that made her "the weird" kid and so very few friends stuck around. But ultimately, threatening her found family is a good way to think you have spiders crawling on your face for the rest of your life.

RYU

8. What are some internal obstacles that your character has to overcome?

Did he end up creating a new family on accident via taking in a bunch of wayward misfits and addicts trying to recover and did he really make their lives better? OR did he take advantage of equally broken and devastated people and is using them to avoid the pain of losing his own family?

The world will never know!

Hint: it's the former, Ryu.

18. Who/what comforts your character?

Who: Those who he has deemed to be part of his new family. Avery and Cassan are more or less his kids (there's a couple others, I think). So, they make him feel better by just being around and not dead--bonus points if they're having a light saber fight in the staff room with taped-together paper towel tubes. Max is like an obnoxious younger sister that keeps him on his toes. Marle, as Ryu describes their dynamic: "One of us is the left arm and the other's the right arm." To what, Ryu won't say.

What: Drinking barley tea at the base of his eldritch tree. Or sitting in the sun and photosynthesizing. It's unknown if he's serious or not when he says he goes outside to photosynthesize.

36. What are the things that make your character enter a full rage/cold mode? (Depends on their character)

A shocking amount of things. Ryu may or may not be living off of spite, love/hate, and barley tea. The top No-No list

-Threatening his new family, those in his community, his bookstore... -Telling him to forgive Liu Kang -Standing by and insisting nothing's your fault

Doing any of the threatening things (and we're talking actual threat--like Frost walking in and deciding she owns the place, not some idiot blowing hot air) and he won't regret taking a life in the slightest. Telling him to forgive Liu Kang will result in him kindly asking you to leave. If you don't, then he kicks you out--literally. Standing by and insisting there was nothing wrong with that results in him deciding that person is worthless of his time--and that's a big deal. Ryu thinks everyone should be forgiven.

Except Liu Kang, apparently.

[ferusaurelius]

Get to know your fanfic writer!

I was tagged by @callista-curations and actually got to the end of the week with a bit of energy for once, so... here we go. ;)

When did you post your first ever fanfic?

The first EVER was on ff.net probably around 2000-2004? For a friend, for an obscure show nobody's heard of. My first fic I posted for myself was 2020.

First Character(s) you wrote?

I actually wrote original characters in the Mass Effect fandom. My short thought experiment on machine translation.

Main Character(s) you’re currently writing?

Nihlus Kryik, David Anderson, Commander Rentola

Character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan to write about soon?

Nyreen Kandros, Ashley Williams. Though they might take a bit since I'm still kinda marinating on what I want to do there.

Fandom(s) you’re currently writing?

Mass Effect! Hyperfixation fandom, go! (I write meta posts for Our Flag Means Death, but do not intend to write fic.)

Platonic pairing(s) you’re currently writing?

Commander Rentola and Ashley Williams

Romantic pairing(s) you’re currently writing?

Nihlus Kryik/Saren Arterius, David Anderson/Saren Arterius (yep!).

Your top AO3 tags?

Romantic Comedy (LOL). Good job, barfics!

Current platform you use for posting?

AO3. I've read a bunch of fic for different fandoms over the years and I'm pleased to be able to contribute when I have the energy.

Snippet of the WIP you are currently working on?

So bar!fics are going to have a long!fic sequel. Keep in mind I AM A SLOW WRITER with multiple wips, to the point where the 'easy' one-shots get published first.

I'm not sure about POV or pacing, but it'll be in a different voice and tone than the originals and have actual mission-oriented plot and some developing relationship stuff.

If you don't want spoilers, I've put it below the cut. ;)

This is a Very Rough high-level outline of a fragment of the entire plot, because my 'other' current WIP is maybe gonna be a nano project. I have various wip possibilities dueling it out for my attention and will see you in December. xD

Normally I would tag a few people to play (and if you feel like playing and you are reading this, IT IS YOU WHO IS TAGGED xD), but specifics are beyond my brain tonight.

Outline time~

Saren entertains Nihlus with his own history and experience of the Skyllian Verge, as well as being a sort of guide to the full intelligence picture, as he understands it.

Nihlus (with a snap of intuition) puts together that something bigger and more urgent than Saren thinks is happening or likely to happen, and it makes him restless and want to investigate immediately, because what if his intuition is right?

Saren insists that Nihlus should go as soon as his ankle’s recovered. He has his own authority.

Nihlus declines to ‘rush’ into something and presents an alternative of walking Saren through his process and treats this as a getting-to-know you thought exercise to keep Saren distracted from how fucking miserable the detox process is.

Saren and Nihlus together, working the problem over food and no access to other sources of information beyond what they can recall, come up with a terrible plan.

Nihlus can infiltrate the merc group by having a public falling-out with Saren.

Saren can get sent to hunt down “Rogue Spectre” Nihlus in the Verge.

Nihlus treats this seriously and starts workshopping different options while Saren is getting increasingly agitated about the whole concept of the frame-up.

Saren: I can’t ask you to do this.

Nihlus: Fine, you’re not asking. I’m volunteering.

Saren: I don’t know if I can let you do this.

Nihlus: It’s my decision.

Saren: -can’t dispute this, even if he doesn’t like it-

Saren: -eventually agrees, though he doesn’t like it-

Saren: Alternatives.

They come up with others that have less advantage in discretion, timing, or access.

Saren is forced to admit that Nihlus’s idea about infiltrating a group directly is the best one, since it allows them the most flexibility in cover story and depth of access. Plus, Nihlus is marked.

Saren: I’ve never asked.

Nihlus: -tells him-

Nihlus: What are you going to need for your part to work?

Saren: You, eyes open, and no hesitation. Trust me to manage my end no matter what you hear or what happens.

Nihlus: -kinda loves this about Saren- With my life.

Saren: It may come to that.

Nihlus: We’ll worry about that when it happens.

It will happen.

Saren: A better medical regimen.

Nihlus: I’ve never asked.

Saren: -tells him-

... and that's all you get to see for now. xD Be intrigued! Be very intrigued. If you can guess what canon event this is gonna be AU for, you get bonus points. ;)

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

The Snake Who Lived: What if Harry made Slytherin? (Year 1)

(What started as a simple ask from one of my anons prior to the #InboxPurgeOf23, has now evolved into a full, multi-post AU. Proceed at your own risk.)

So the first question we need to ask ourselves is how this happens?

The "Out of Sorts" TLSQ in Hogwarts Mystery seems to confirm what fans have speculated for years: That Harry's canon Sorting wasn't a rarity or a fluke. The Hat sorts students based on what they want. Perhaps not always on what they directly ask for, as Neville begged for Hufflepuff - but I suspect he dreamed of being a daring Gryffindor hero, (especially if his parents went there) but felt as though he was unworthy and would never be brave enough. That he would never rise to the occasion. But the Hat could see into the deepest corners of his mind, and knew what he truly wanted - even if Neville himself wasn't conscious of it entirely. The Hat did the same thing when it came to the Sorting of Tulip Karasu.

Harry didn't particularly want to be a Gryffindor. All he asked of The Sorting Hat was not to place him in Slytherin. The Hat was on the fence about these two Houses, and it chose to respect a genuine wish on Harry’s part, especially since he was offered the chance at obtaining great power - which he immediately rejected. That, itself, is pretty non-Slytherin in the first place. But what led to this point of view? What caused Harry to feel this way? Mostly a combination of Draco being Sorted there, Hagrid and Ron warning him against them, and probably his finding out that Voldemort was a Slytherin as well. I'm not seeing how Harry could shake that instinct unless we just flat-out erase these events from the story, but that feels a bit cheap. So long as we're doing that, we could just as easily have Harry run into Lucius at King's Cross instead of Molly, y'know? (I’ve read the fanfics. I know how these things go.) 

Something we cannot forget is that Harry has two souls. I feel like that changes way more than we realize, but the bottom line is that there's no reason The Sorting Hat couldn't pick up on that second presence. "It's all here, in your head." We all know what Voldemort's Soul Fragment would have wished for if it was given a say, and why couldn’t it be?. If The Hat were to be thrown off, confused by the warring opinions that Harry himself isn’t even aware of...it could have come to another decision. So in our AU, that's exactly what happens. The Hat seemingly ignores Harry's pleading and Sorts him into Slytherin House.

So what happens next? Let’s take this book by book. 

Once they’re in the Dormitories, Draco reaches out to Harry once more, gloating that he was right, and he "knew" Harry was no blood traitor. He asks if Harry now intends to play nice. Harry, reminded of Dudley and still loyal to Ron, rebuffs him again. At which point, Harry likely begins sleeping in the Common Room, either by his own decision or because he's forced out by Draco’s gang. Or maybe it’s more ambiguous. 

Snape has no idea what to make of Harry. James Potter's son, his worst enemy’s doppelganger...but he has Lily's eyes, and he made Slytherin. So I think Snape reserves judgment until he has the chance to observe Harry. From Harry's perspective, even the Head of Slytherin is strangely distant and he doesn’t know why, but he definitely does not appreciate it.

Though he and Ron were friends prior to the Sorting, Ron is young and immature with an Anti-Slytherin bias. His opinion of Harry would change after this, even if he’d still see Harry as redeemable. The fact is, if he were to treat Harry any lesser for his Sorting, (and he would. I love Ron but he would.) I don’t think Harry would take it well. He wouldn’t be the bigger person. We know this because of how the two of them handle their fights in the canon ‘verse. Harry would try to reach out to Ron but at this point, I don't see it turning out well for either of them. Ron would make some kind of comment that Harry would snap back against, and they’d fight. They'd have a falling out.

I am pleased to say that Hagrid would likely not think any less of Harry, certainly not after a single conversation with him. He'd see how miserable Harry was, and offer up tea and rock cakes. He'd still refuse to reveal anything about Snape or the Gringott's break-in, but he's Hagrid, so Harry still gets the scent. Not that matters, as you’ll see, since Harry doesn’t wind up learning a lot of things in this book that he otherwise would have. 

The Midnight Duel doesn't happen the same way, if at all. Draco and Harry live together so he wouldn't be able to lure him out of bounds after dark. Meaning Harry never discovers Fluffy. Harry would still stand up to Draco in the first Flying lesson, and Ron would take notice of this. But I don't see Harry making the Quidditch team, at least not this year. McGonagall isn't really in a position to appoint him Slytherin Seeker, and why would she do that in the first place? Nonetheless, Harry's reputation in Slytherin plummets. But his reputation with the other Houses slowly improves.

Halloween on the other hand, that changes quite a lot. Ron never complains about Hermione to Harry, as they're not speaking right now. He probably complained about her to Seamus or Dean, but either way, it wasHarry in the original timeline, who spearheaded this adventure. He was the one to suggest they search for Hermione, and in this timeline, he doesn't even know she's missing. He barely knows she exists. So does Hermione just...die? The teachers could save her, but they don't know she's missing either. Harry and Ron got to her a lot sooner, and Hermione directly states that if they hadn’t..oh. Actually, yes. As horrible as it is to say, the troll kills Hermione. Well holy hopscotch Batman, we’re in real AU territory now. 

The school now collectively mourns the poor, brilliant first year, and Harry is appalled to see Draco and his cronies celebrating her death. (Sorry Draco fans, but we all know he would.) Meanwhile, Ron, of course, blames himself and sinks into a depression. The attempt on Harry's life during the Quidditch match doesn't happen, since he's not Seeker. Still, Quirrell would find some other way to try and kill him, whatever that might be. But the school is on high alert after Hermione's death and Snape has been watching Harry like a hawk. He stops the attempt, but Harry likely misunderstands and assumes Snape is trying to kill Quirrell. His scar also sears with pain for a second time when this happens, and he notices the correlation to Snape.

Harry now begins to suspect Snape of letting the Troll in, though Hagrid shoots this idea down. Meanwhile, Harry hasn't had nearly as much opportunity to be caught breaking the rules, so Snape has less excuse to proclaim him as Mini James. In fact, Harry sticking up for Neville against Draco would stand out. As a Slytherin who once failed to stand with his Gryffindor, Muggleborn friend...I think Snape would see in Harry what he should have been. Granted, it's Snape, so he still hates Harry for this, but it's a different kind of hatred. It’s complicated and confusing for him, but it’s also a strange kind of respect. And also envy. 

Harry never finds The Mirror because he never goes into the Restriction Section. Keep in mind, he only learned about Nicholas Flamel from Hagrid, and that only happened because he already knew about Fluffy. Which at this point, he doesn’t. Perhaps Quirrell might have tried to lure Harry to Fluffy in an attempt to kill him, but that’s veering into speculation. So I’m gonna say Harry doesn't know about The Mirror or Flamel.

Nonetheless, Dumbledore would summon Harry to his office at this point to check in on him. Harry, friend-starved as he is, vastly appreciates this. He likely admits how miserable he is in Slytherin, and perhaps even asks to try The Hat on again. Whether or not Dumbledore consents doesn't change anything because both he and The Hat would give Harry the same advice: That he belongs in The House he was placed in, but this will not stop him from making his own choices. Dumbledore gives cryptic advice about Harry needing to make his own decisions and figure out what he "truly desires." It's also at this point that Harry begins to sleep in the dormitory again, after Dumbledore promises to have a "talk" with his roommates.

Inspired by Dumbledore's life advice, Harry once more reaches out to Ron. While it's possible that Hermione's death would affect the Weasley's decision to visit Charlie, this is also his first year away from home, so let's say it still happens. After all, Arthur and Molly wouldn’t know about Ron’s “role” in her death unless he told them, which I doubt he did. Harry attempts to bond with Ron, to rekindle their friendship. Ron initially lashes out before breaking down and finally confessing to his indirect role in Hermione's death. Harry urges him not to blame himself. Ron now echoes Harry, having a death that traumatized him on Halloween, and Ron can point this out. For his part, Harry wouldn't have known until now that his parents died on Halloween. This may come up later. 

Next term sees Harry and Ron back to being tentative friends, but it's still not the same as the bond they had prior to the Sorting. Time heals all wounds, we’ll just have to see. Meanwhile, it's quite shocking to me how much doesn't happen, how little Harry knows compared to the Gryffindor timeline. But I think he would still learn about Norbert(a) since he could easily be visiting Hagrid without a plot related reason. This plotline would go largely the same way - Harry has bonded with Ron and now knows about Charlie, so that's still the answer. Ron still gets bitten, Draco still interferes and gets caught, though this time I assume it's Snape who catches him as he's been Harry's unseen bodyguard and Harry still gets detention.

Neville isn't there since he and Harry don't share a House, it's just Harry and Draco this time. Snape still punishes them harshly, or at least he does for Harry. This is the first time that, in his mind, Harry has shown James-like qualities, and in Snape's twisted psyche, that's as much a betrayal as it is anything else. He'd believed in the boy. He'd dared to open his mind, to consider the idea that the boy was more Lily than James… but as it turns out, Potter is just another arrogant rule-breaker like his father.

I don't see him taking House points from Slytherin, his favoritism is still too blatant. But the Forbidden Forest detention would still happen. Draco and Harry both go, as does Hagrid and - here's a surprise - Snape himself. I suppose Draco doesn’t have to go - as it’s Snape, he could probably talk his way out of this, but honestly it doesn’t much matter. Either way, Snape sneaks in after them. Suspecting Quirrell/Voldemort of being behind the Unicorn murders, and knowing that Harry is bound to lure him out. I honestly think this was Dumbledore's plan all along, and the reason Harry was sent into The Forest for his detention, even in the OG books. Whether or not Snape approved, he would continue to guard Harry from the shadows.

Which means that it's not Firenze who saves Harry, at least, not alone. Snape attacks Quirrell as well, and since he's carrying a wand, he has the means to subdue everyone's favorite stammering Death Eater. In other words, Quirrel is captured. Snape escorts Harry and Draco up to the school while Harry asks for answers. Why would Quirrell kill a Unicorn? How did Snape know it was him? Does this have something to do with Snape trying to kill Quirrell before? Snape refuses to comment, but returns the boys to the Slytherin Dungeons and warns them to say nothing. With no one else to talk to, Harry asks Draco for input, but having been in genuine danger, Draco is pale faced and quiet.

The next day at breakfast it is announced that Professor Quirrell has sadly passed away of some cause or other. Harry nearly swallows his fork - not daring to believe that Snape actually killed him. He wants to go see Dumbledore straight away, but Dumbledore already wanted to see him, and Draco, to set the record straight and make sure they're alright. He explains that Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort, who left his body after he was captured and that Quirrell subsequently died because of the possession. He sends Draco, who looks far too excited at the idea, to his classes. Dumbledore communicates further with Harry and reveals Snape's history with James - further revealing that James was a Gryffindor. Now Harry doesn't know what to think. He feels like a failure, as though he's let his father down. Here is also the first moment that he truly begins to dislike Snape, though we'll see if that sticks.

From here, things are quiet until the end of the school year. Harry doesn't know about Fluffy, the Trapdoor, The Mirror, or the Stone. He has no reason to go poking around the Corridor. What's more, Voldemort has left Quirrell's body. His disembodied spirit is now in the Forbidden Forest, which may be a game changer for later. On the other hand, he might simply go back to Albania, though I don't know why he would. He’d likely just possess various creatures in the forest, still sniffing about for information. Slytherin wins the House Cup. Apart from Hermione's death, not a lot changes. Except the Stone is never discovered and therefore it probably isn't destroyed.

So there we have it. The first year of Harry as a Slytherin. Future years coming soon!

[witchtwig]

More Fragments of Writing

Part of this I did use in a fanfic, but cut the end of it out because it didn't work for where I transposed it into. I wanted to explore Rio when she first met Agatha, under the idea that she has gained a lot of her humanity from Agatha. I wrote this probably around episode 6? Someday I'll come back and pick at the idea of weird, awkward Rio early days.

Again, not revised. Just rough writing tossed onto the page. But enjoy!

-

            She was young once.

            Hah, what a concept. Agatha Harkness young.

           A time before the bitter bile that filled her lungs and ribcage overflowed quite so much. Only half-full, easier to play pretend at a sardonic optimist then—like the world wasn’t out to get her (she had been out to get the world, instead, raw and fierce).

-

            The blue of her eyes is cut down to shards as lids lower, sharpening her vision to take in the spindly delicate creature swaying beside her. “What are you doing?”

            “Watching you.” Eyes like sockets stare back, the darkness of pupils and iris synonymous in the night’s shade. Arms are slung over her knees as she squats beside Agatha. Fingers wrap about one another, moving sometimes to readjust their lacing, always shuddering like a leaf hanging from a branch in a breeze.

            The young woman snorts. “Clearly, but why.”

            “So I can do it right.”

            Eyebrows twitch as Agatha pushes with her elbows to sit up further, to watch Rio’s face closer. “Do what right?”

            “The bones and the skin, the movements—how the eyes nerves grow roots, attach to the brain and roll just so, when the muscles along your jaw twitch. I want to do it like you—right.” A singular owlish blink follows as Rio’s fingers crawl up her own wrist like a spider to hold tight.

            A moment, a breath, and Agatha reaches up with her own young hands, still new to the world (metaphorical blood upon them, but still so new). Fingers slowly round about Rio’s wrist. “Maybe try breathing more than once every five minutes.”

            “The ribs expand and take it in, I know that one, I remember that one. It is how I know when they are starting to slip out, when the root system isn’t taking the oxygen to the heart and brain anymore, when the slow down begins—“

            “Rio.”

            Wide eyes turn and capture Agatha’s again.

            “I like you the way you are, even if you do not remember to breathe the right number of times a minute.” Fingers pulse about Rio’s wrist, press down and then release. “But how long have you walked amongst man and not learned how to play the part?”

            “I never had a reason to before you.”

            The laughter that roars from Agatha feels like fire in her chest, warming some part of her heart she had forgotten. “You are going to give me an ego.”

            Rio’s hand jump like a spider, grabbing ahold of Agatha’s. Blue meets the encompassing darkness of hers. Her teeth are white, and remind Agatha of a wolf as she opens her mouth. “Yes. You deserve it.”

-

            They are both young still, then. Decades young, but young in the grand scheme of everything to come.

-

            Rio grows into her role in the Grand Guignol of playing a person. The awkward ticks stay—her tongue always counting her teeth when she is still for too long, her need to move in swaying lines and feel the bones in her fingers each separately. But she moves with liquid now, and wears a grin that is a mirror match to Agatha’s own.

Agatha grows too, from gawky teenager into a woman, confidence garnered at every body emptied of essence. Every cajole escaping Rio’s lips encouraging her further. They grow into creatures with teeth and claws. Limbs that move with a smoothness now, a gait that foxes know and snakes manage without legs.

[osovereign]

˗ˏˋ birthday drabble ( fanfic ) for @iirvings *˖ ☆

this  house  had  become  like  his  home  as  the  afterthought  of  recent  events.  sylvarant  and  tethe’alla  where  no  longer  two  sides  of  the  same  coin ,  but  had  become  as  one  whole  again.  his  son  ,  hailed  a  hero  and  the  chosen  ,  no  longer  had to  live  an  existence  only  awaiting  her  death.  it  was  happy  ending  or  it  should’ve  been.  kratos  had  watched  as  lloyd  learned  another  lesson  of  life:  that  saving  the  world  was  more  than  having  red-worn  idealism  ,  cherished  companions  , or  wielding  a  blade  in  battle:  that  sometimes,  change  ( of  any kind ):  was  met  with  those  who  saw  nothing  incorrect  about  the  days  of  yesteryear.  it  was  hard  watching  ,  as  both  a  father  and  something  else  so  alien  to  his  own  flesh  and  blood  ,  as  he  had  to  navigate  a  reformed  world  that  was  dealing  with  the  intense  aftermath  of  atrocities  and  malfeasance  from  the  front  door  of  cruxis:  but  naturally  ,  the  general  public  would  never  know  of  such  truth.

a  lack  of  knowledge  bought  out  the  very  best  and  the  very  worst  in  people  ( the  negative  is  always  what  was  focused  on,  no  matter  how  good  or  positive  the  deed ):  a  populace  whom  ,  had  lloyd  not  wanted  to  see  a  world  where  one  was  not  sent  as  a  sacrificial  lamb  to  the  slaughter  for  thousands  , would  not  even  have  the  soul  to  feel  hate  ,  know  fear  ,  nor  have  bigotry  towards  the  new  reality  set  before  them.  so  perhaps  that  was  why  kratos  found  himself  in  a  setting  wreaking  of  deja  vu.  standing  before  a  familiar  resting  place  of  a  long  deceased  love.  another  year  and  yet  another  reminder  that  sometimes  a  version  of  happiness  wasn’t  meant  to  last  forever  ,  but  that  ,  like  dandelion  seeds  would  be  carried  on  the  wind  and  find  new  lands  to  take  root  and  grow  in.  even  if  the  seedlings  had  been  beaten  and  maltreated  along  the  way:  they’d  still  find  there  place  in  the  cycle  of  life.

having  spoke  to  dirk  earlier  in  the  week  ,  kratos  had  taken  all  manner  of  precaution  prior  to  today.  to  the  masses  it  was  just  another  monday  ,  but  to  kratos  it  was  so  much  more:  it  was  lloyd’s  ,  birthday  ,  his  eighteenth  birthday  to  be  exact.  the  former  key  to  origin  had  spent  the  past  fourteen  years  on  this  day  drowning  in  misery  and  despondency  but  no  longer  did  kratos  need  to  exist  in  such  a  state.  sure  ,  one  birthday  could  not  make  up  for  a  what  if  relationship  lost  to  time  of  years  past  but  it  was  a  start  ,  a  closer  attempt  ,  and kratos  would  make  due  with  whatever  fragments  lloyd  wanted to  give  him.  running  his  fingers  along  anna’s  gravesite  he  exhales  and  gives  a  silent  thought  to  beg  his  wife  , even  after  death  ,  for  courage  and  as  usual  , for  forgiveness.  sylph’s  winds  seemed  to  pick  up  speed  and  the  sighs  of  spring  where  in  full  swing.  all  manners  of  flora  and  fauna  had  life  and  home  amongst  iselia  forest  ( one  of  the  few  places  that  did  not  suffer  drastic  changes  from  the  rejoining  of  world’s ):  kratos  saw  it  as  a  tiny  blessing  amidst  everything  else  lloyd  had  experience  and  would  continue  too  do  so  in  the  foreseeable  future:  aselia  still  gave  him  a  sense  of  reprise  ,  a  sense  of  home.

before  long,  dusk  had  begun  to  settle  in  and  the  vernal  equinox  bestowed  a  crystal  clear  night  sky  and  kratos  reaped  the  benefits  as  not  soon  after  the  familiar  steps  of  one  lloyd  irving  and  noishe  appeared  outside  the  thick  woodlands.  ❝ lloyd. ❞  refraining  from  adding  the  long  begotten  and  silenced  ‘o’  at  the  end  of  his  son’s  name  ,  the  seraphim  conveys  so  much  emotion  with  just  the  single  word.

❝ hey ,  kratos. ❞

why  should  he  expect  to  be  called  anything  different.  lloyd  ,  had  a  father  and  a  far  more  adapt  at  the  job  than  he.  however  ,  it  is  a  shallow  kind  of  sting  that  hits  him  right  in  the  bones  ,  right  in  the  heart.  ❝ lloyd. ❞  kratos  simply  speaks  his  name  once  more  but  his  voice  is  more  low  ,  more tender  ( the  embodiment  of  regret  and  sorrow ):  he  watches  earnestly  as  lloyd  goes  to  sit  next  to  his  mother’s  grave  and  tilts  his  head  up  towards  the  sky  ,  muttering  his  daily  secrets and  intimate  words  only  for  his  mother  ,  yet  kratos  ,  with  all  his  enhanced  senses  heard  them  anyway  but  does  his  best  to  ignore  ,  out  of  respect  for  both  of  them.  perhaps  ,  the  day  of  his  birth  was  not  the  best  to  have  tried  to  do  this.  perhaps  ,  that  day  would  never  be  and  he’d  go  to  derris-kharlan  still  with  regret  of  things  he  did  not  do  (  emotions  that  he  did  not  convey  ):  perhaps     —     the  internal  soliloquy  is  broken  by  a  bittersweet  iselian  dialect.

❝ did  you  know  i  was  your  son  the  whole  time? ❞

noishe  whines  and  begins  to  kneel  on  all  fours  ,  curling  his  legs  inward  in so-much-like-a-canine-way beside  his  young  master  and  oh  ,  what  a  night.  while  ,  the  duo  where  long  overdue  for  this  conversation  ( it  having  been  put  on  indefinite  hiatus  until  the  saving  of  the  world  business  had  been  taken  care  of ):  but  that  had  been  months  ago  ,  when  winter  still  gave  its  chill  and  celsius  sought  to  cover  the  land  in  snow  instead  of  mother  nature’s  evergreens.  kratos  had  came  here  for  this  ,  had  had  dirk  make  ,  like  new,  to  a  treasured  trinket  that  had  rusted  due  to  misuse.  a  something  that  had  been  his sole  reason to  keep  edging  on  the  road  of  life  before  that  faithful  day  outside  martel’s  temple  ,  the  orders  from  mithos  notwithstanding.

kratos  hesitates  briefly,  right  hand  firmly  holding  onto  the  hilt of  his  blade  ( the  act  of  which  had  always  been  a  crutch  for  him,  even  now ):  it  gave  him  much  gallantry,  especially  during bygone  times  of  war.  ❝ i  realized  it  when  i  found  anna’s  grave  at  your  house. ❞  what  a  ambivalent  reunion  it  had  been  indeed.  to  have  been  given  both  death  and  rebirth  all  in mere  seconds.

❝ how  did  mom  die?  you  know ,  don’t  you? ❞

where  did  one  begin  ,  where  did  they  end  with  the  heaviness of  a  conversation  ,  the  weight  lay  heavy  onto  kratos  as  summer’s  humid  air.  ❝ like  presea  ,  anna  was  a  research  subject  of  the  angulus  project.  they  were  trying  to  create  a  cruxis  crystal  inside  her  body. ❞  his  eyes  half-lidden  as  the  remnants  of  a  memory  he’d  long  buried  began  rushing  to  the forefront  ,  as  adam’s  ale  finally  free  of  billabong  or  manmade restriction.

❝ i  still  don’t  get  it  ,  why  couldn’t  they  just  get  more  from  cruxis?  why  a  whole  separate  project  for  something  like  that  ,  they  already  had  the  ranches. ❞

ancient  hero  of  yore  just  looks  and  looks  at  his  child     —      no  the  man  before  him.  lloyd  was  all  grown  up  ,  he  had  no  use  of  kratos  as  a  father  ( that  duty  had  been  very  appreciably  passed  to  another ):  unyet  ,  on  this  spring  borne  night  ,  lloyd  still  treated  him  with  all  the  curiosity  of  asking  question  from  when  he  was  three  ,  some  habits  truly  never  died.  ❝ the  method  to  creating  cruxis  crystals  was  lost  during  the  era  of  the  great  kharlan  war.  what  cruxis  possessed  where  only  leftovers  from  that  conflict  and  by  all  standards  running  out.  the  angelus  project  served  as  a  way  to  find  new  methods  to  create  them.  but  ,  as  with  regular  exspheres  ,  they  require  a  living  host  to  develop. ❞

it  was  in  this  moment  that  the  pandora’s  box  of  what  he’d  unleashed  had finally  hit lloyd  so  to  speak  and  he  dropped  to  the  ground  ,  knees  pulled  close  to  his  chest  as  he  sat  beside the  ever  evolving  protozoan  dubbed  ‘dog’  ❝ when  i  learned  of  mithos’  plan  to  create  an age  of  lifeless  beings.  i  turned  against  him  and  descended  upon  sylvarant, ❞  another  pause  ,  another  brief  hesitation  ,  but  hadn’t  kratos  hesitated  enough?  hadn’t  he  hid  in  the  shadow  of  others  as  many  enormities  by  cruxis’  malfeasance.  even  if  it  brought  pain  ,  even  if  he  was  met  with  more  hatred  he had to  continue.  if  not  only  for  his  sake  ,  then  lloyd’s  as  well.  ❝ where  i  then  met anna. ❞

again,  so  much  like  when  he  was  a  toddler  and  when  they  where  a  family  lloyd  looks  up  at  his  biological  father  ,  his  eyes  wide  with  all  the  wonderment  like  the  women  he’d  been said  to  resemble  ( physically  ,  emotionally  ,  and  mentally ):  by  yuan  ,  mithos  ,  and  kratos     —     but  for  whom  he  could  never  remember  nor  truly  know.  ❝ so  mom  was  an  experimental  subject  just  like  presea … is  that  why  in  ozette  you  seemed  kinda  different? ❞

only  his  own  flesh  and  blood  could’ve  picked  up  on  the  silent change  in  his  mannerism  ,  the  tug  on  his  heart.  ❝ yes.  it  reminded  me so  much of  anna.  but  after  meeting  her  ,  i  realized  my  mistake  in  believing  that  accepting  mithos’  vision  would  be  the  fastest  route  to  reunite  the  worlds.  it  was  then  that  i  began  to  search  for  a  way  for  a  human  to  wield  the  eternal  sword. ❞

❝ so  even  back  then ,  even  back  then  kratos  you— ❞  like  a  poppy  blooming  within  the  first  glimmers  spring  warmth  ,  something  seemed  to  awaken  within  the  eternal  swordsmen.  kratos  , who  had  always  seemed  half-whole  ,  was finally  opening  up  to  him  after  all  this  time.  ❝ you  where  doing  all  you  could  to  stop  mithos.  so  you  could  unite  the  worlds  again. ❞

❝ indeed  ,  even  back  then  i  was.  aionis  and  cruxis  crystal  aside  ,  inside  me  still  flows  the  blood  of  a  mere  man.  however  ,  anna  and  i  where  pursued  ruthlessly  by  cruxis , ❞  a  bittersweet  smile  grows  on  his  features  ,  half  in  tears  ,  half in  laughter  ( those  where  the  best  years  of  his  life  ,  how  he  wanted  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  overextended  life ):  a  long  murdered  rage  crept  inside  kratos  once  more  but  he  pushed  it  down  ,  kvar  was  long  dead  by  his  bloodline’s  blades  anyhow.  ❝ we  traveled  from  place  to  place  ,  evading  cruxis  and  when  you  where  born  ,  with  you  as  well.  we  where  searching  for  the  only  dwarf  said  to  still  live  in  the  world  of sylverant  ,  so  he  could  craft  anna  a  key  crest.  so  neither  of  us  had  to  live  with  the what  if. ❞

ironic  ,  wasn’t  it.  how  everything  had  become  just  so.  his  child  ,  raised  by  the  very  dwarf  he’d  been  seeking  for  years  , his  wife  given  a  beautifully  maintained  resting  place  ,  and  the so  called  pinnacle  of  kvar’s  life  work  had  been  used  in  bringing  justice  to  the  world.  kratos  could  never  thank  dirk  enough  ,  would  never  be  able  to  do  so  ,  in  any  amount  of  word.  in  any  long  dead  ,  unused  ,  or  bygone  tongue. 

❝ …but ,  we  where  finally  caught  by  kvar. ❞

noishe  whines  again  ,  moving  to  lay  his  head  onto  kratos’  left  boot.  his  whines  get  louder  and  louder  as  his  younger  master  pets  him  ever  so  tenderly.  his  inhuman  noises  trying  to  relay  all  the hate  , fear  ,  and protest at  the  four  letter  name ,  what  ruined  the  arshis  little  found  family  too.  lloyd’s  voice  and  movement  is  half  hollow  ,  as  he  uses  the  petting  of  his  lifelong  pet  as  a  way  to  soothe  himself.  ❝ and  then  mom  was  turned  into  a  monster. ❞

❝ yes.  her  exsphere  removed  and  lacking  a  key  crest  ,  the  mana  in  her  body  went  out  of  control  and  she  was  turned  into  an  exbelua;  just  as  marble  and  dorr’s  wife. ❞  recalling  it was  just  as  bad.  having  lived  it  and  retelling  one  of  ,  if  not  thee  hardest  moments  of  kratos  aurion’s  foregone  life.  the  first  time  he’d  ever  seen  such  a  monstrosity  ( theories  and  hypothesis  did  not  do  the  terror  justice ):  but  even  now  ,  as  the  imagery  was  still  fresh  in  his  mind  ( would  always  be  ever  clear ):  kratos  could  no  more  view  that  visage  as  monster  than  blood  could  keep  its  warmth  upon  snow:  even  in  all  the  horror  and  blood-chilling  screams  ,  anna’s  eyes  had  still  looked  as  divine  and  steady  as  they’d  always  had  (  reaching  in  and  pulling  out  the  darkest  parts  of  kratos  ):  how  love  had  saved  him  and  how  loved  had  become  his  undoing.  time  and  time  again  everything  he  held  dear  was  stripped  and  taken  from  him.  how  this  topic  of  conversation  pained  him.

❝ when  it ( not  his  anna,  never  his  anna ): tried  to  devour  you , ❞  his  voice  wavers  ,  his  grip  on  his  blade  never  faltering  ,  the  skin  being  torn  as  droplets  of  blood  hit  the  ground  as  the  indomitable  strength  would’ve  long  since  shattered  the  hilt  to  pieces  had  it  not  have  been  forged  from the  strongest  of  material  for  this  hero  of  both  present  and  yesteryear.  ❝  noishe  protected  you  , as  he  always  had  ,  and  anna  regained  control  of  herself  momentarily. ❞

❝ noishe  saved  me? ❞  newly  fledged  adulthood  says  in  bewilderment.  noishe  ,  his  loyal  companion  and  friend  who  ran  in  fear  at  even  the  common  house  fly.  had  protected  him fiercely  from  something  as  horrific  as… that?

❝ that’s  probably  when  noishe  became  sensitive  to  monsters.  noishe  and  anna  were  both  gravely  wounded.  your mother  , ❞ dithering  and  a  sea  of  cunctation.  just  keep  pushing  he  prayed  but  falsified  goddess  or  fabricated  deity.  ❝ your  mother  begged  me  to kill  her. ❞

lloyd  jumps  to  his  feet  at  the  mention  of  murder  and  his  mother  in  the  same  sentence.  the  movement  startles  noishe  who  retreats  from  his  position  on  the  ground  to  move  to  stand  beside  kratos  who  begins  petting  his  head  with  such  an  ease  as  he’d  once  done  when  they’d  first  met  what  seemed  like  ,  millennia  ago.  ❝ i’ve  heard  enough. ❞  he  was  the  one  to  have  started  this  conversation  and  he  would  be  the  one  to  end  it.  however  ,  opening  the  floodgates  to  several  lived  lifetimes  of  regret  and  sorrow  could  not  be  shut  so  easily.

❝ anna  went  out  of  control  again  and  turned  on  you.  then  i— ❞  if  a  hell  even  more  than  niflheim  existed  then  kratos  was  already  there  ( maybe  had  always  been ):  and  he  had  fabricated  this  eternal  damnation  by  his  own  two  hands.  deserving  far  worse  than  the  symbolistic  snd  physically  binding  shackles  worn  by  regal.  transgression  and  sacrilegious action  far  beyond  the  foretold  promise  of  a  sweet  embrace  from  an  executional  style  duel.  how  pathetic  ,  for  a  man  who had  slain  and  took  life  from  so  many  ,  seek  that  which  was  far  out  extended  passed  average  means.

lloyd  spoke  even  louder  now.  had  he  not  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  iselia  ,  any  neighbors  he  might’ve  had  would  have  left  houses  in  curiosity  and  worry.  ❝ that’s  enough! ❞  he could  fill  in  the  blanks  ,  figure  out  the  missing  pieces.  his  heart  ached  so  much  for  something  his  soul  could  no  longer  recall  and  mayhaps  ,  that  was  what  hurt  the  worst.  yearning  for  something  that  was  immortalized  for  everyone  but  yourself  ,  the  living  embodiment  of  its  half  ,  never  being  made  whole.

❝ i  ,  ❞  if  the  recesses  of any angered  chosen  or  citizens  of  aselia  could  come  up  from  their  bygone  graves  and  send  kratos  into  the  world’s  depths  at  this  moment  ,  he  wouldn’t  fight  back  nor  refuse.  ❝ killed  her. ❞

❝ i said that’s  enough! ❞  and  his  anger  is  the  type  to  move  whole  nations  ,  whole  mountains.  a  steady  stream  of  tears  are  falling  from  lloyd’s  face  and  his  stance  is  one  of  defense  ,  but  not  from  sabers  nor  magicks  but from  words  , from  truth.

what  else  is  one  of  the  last  remaining  members  of  cruxis  to  do?  how  can  you  comfort  the  person  you  are  causing  the  pain  of?  how  could  he  rid  his  own  pain?  kratos  was  the  genesis  and  revelations  of  his  own  demise  ,  of  his  lackluster  undeserved  rebirth.  ❝ after  that , ❞  because  he  couldn’t  stop.  it  was  as  natural  as  birds  taking  flight  or  fish  swimming  in  the  ocean  ,  they  just  did  as  they  could.  ❝ kvar  attacked  again  ,  then  you  ,  anna  ,  and  noishe  fell  down  the  cliff  along  with  the  exsphere. i  fought  off  kvar  and  his  men  ,  then  descended  the  cliff. ❞

what  isn’t  being  said  is  the  seething  rage  kratos  had  during  that  conflict.  the  soulless  slaughter  towards  every  single  person  that  had  come  after his  family  ,  that  had  been  the  cause  of  him  being  forced  to  choose  between  his  beloved  and  their  love  filled  creation  ,  that  made  him  do  harm  to  the  one  women  he  had  sworn  to  protect  with  his  life.  kratos  had  slain  them  all  without  mercy  nor  regret  ( kvar  within  a  last  second  before  kratos  had  drove  flamberge  through  his  neck  managed  to  teleport  away  ,  the  only  reason  that  bitch  had  survived ):  but  everyone  else  had  become  for  daemon  and  monster  kind  ,  mere  numbers  in  his  extensive  and  unnamed  body  count.

❝ but  all  that  was  left  was  the  half-eaten  desian  corpses  by  monsters  and  just  one  single  shoe. ❞  it  was  in  this  moment  that  kratos  reached  into  an  inner  pocket  on  his  attire  ,  undoing  the  ( one  of  many ):  buckles  to  retrieve  the  object  inside  ,  the  second  most  important  item  that  had  kept  him  doing  all  these  years:  the  left  shoe  of  his  ,  then  ,  three-year-old  son.  it  was  all  worn  and  half  the  sole  had  fallen  off  over  the  years  but  he  looks  at  it  with  the  same  fondness  and  bittersweet  reminiscence  that  he  always  had.  a  smile  graces  kratos’  features  and  with  it  ,  tears  began  to  form  at  the  corner  of  eyes.  ❝ i  thought  there  was  no  way  you  could… still  be  alive. ❞

kratos  had  searched  aimlessly  and  had  never  stopped  searching  ,  even  when  he  saw  the  world  as  nothing  but  a  beauty  and  colorless  existence.  even  when  he  became  a  mere hollow  of  a  once  great  hero  of  kharlan  ,  the  companion  and  teacher  to  the  hero  mithos  of  four  thousand  years  ago.  he  never  gave  up  on  trying  to  find  a  piece  of  his  happiness  and  the  living  merging  of  love  between  a  mortal  and  a  sin  filled  angel.  but  ,  encountering  his  flesh  and  blood  again  ,  going  on  the  journey  of  regeneration  and  having  breathed  new  life  into  its  meaning  was  as  babylon  and  trumpets  shouting: try  again.  try  again.  repeat  and  do  it  again.  aurion  and  irving  where  both  filled  with  emotion  (  some  happy  ,  some  sad  ):  it was  as  christ  being  nailed  to  a  cross  but  then  rising  again.  ❝ is  that  when  you  returned  to  cruxis? ❞  lloyd  was  crossing  the  t’s  and  doting  the  i’s. 

❝ i  am  the  origin  seal  itself.  since  killing  me  would  break  the  seal  ,  yggdrasill ( again  ,  not  mithos.  the  cruelty  and  hate of  heart  hadn’t  been  his  mithos ): couldn’t  just  leave  me  be. ❞

❝ and  you  were  okay  with  that?  after  everything  he  did  to  you  ,  to  mom?  even  though  you  opposed everything he  was  doing? ❞

❝ everything  felt  meaningless. ❞  by  losing  anna  in  such  a  way  ,  kratos  had  truly  understood  where  mithos’  heartache  and  guilt  regarding  martel  stood.  kratos  had  no  choice  ,  he’d  already  betrayed  his  words  to  his  wife  and  child…  could  he  have  really  done  it  again  in  losing  one  of  the  only  two  people  he  truly  still  had  left  in  this  new  world  that  was  nothing  like  the  aselia  he  once  knew  or  would  ever  know  again?  ❝ mithos  said  he  would  reunite  the  worlds  as  soon  as  martel  was  revived. ❞  but  believing  in  that  idealism  had  been  is  downfall  once  and  had  been  it  again  and  again. now  it  is  kratos  who  shifts  his  stance,  moving  now  to  place  his  non  bloodied  hand  onto  lloyd’s  shoulder.  ❝ i  came  to  think  that  as  long  as  the  land  would  be  as  it  was  once  more  ,  that  would  be  enough.  that  was  ,  until  i  met  you. ❞

dumbfounded  ,  lloyd  looks  at  his  birth  father  in  earnest  ,  because  he  knew  lloyd  ,  sure  he’d  only  been  three  when  the  hand  of  fate  made  them  part  but  he’d  always  known  lloyd  and  maybe  he  always  would.  after  all  ,  what  was  lloyd  but  one  parts  anna  ,  one  parts  kratos  ,  and  two  parts  himself?  ❝ me?  why  me? ❞  sure  ,  there  was  something  entirely  lloyd  irving  and  raised  by  dirk  the  dwarf  in  there  too  but  within  there  was  no  nature  vs  nurture  argument  to  be  had.  instead  , there  was  only  eternal  love  and  the  upmost  tenderness  and  it was  bursting  ,  and  bursting  ,  and  bursting.

❝ you  reminded  me  of  mithos  , the  hero  of  kharlan not  as  he  had  become  as  lord  yggdrasil.  because  just  like  you  ,  mithos  was  desperately  trying  to  save  the  world  ,  even  when  most  of  the  world  around  him  spat  at  his  existence.  he  didn’t  give  up.  no  matter  how  much  he  was  oppressed.  he  was  hopeful, ❞  there  goes  that  bittersweet  tone  of  voice  again.  ❝ until  the  day  martel  was  killed  , by  a  human  no  less. ❞

the  young  man  shifts  and  kratos  lowers  his  arm.  he  looks  to  the  sky  seemingly  searching  for  something  ,  anything  otherworldly  to  ground  him  from  the  heaviness  of  the  title  he now  choose  to  bore  and  all  the  expectations  that  adorned  its crown.  ❝ a  hero.  that’s  what  people  called  him. ❞

❝ yes  ,  they  did.  many  still  do. ❞  seeing  the  change  in  lloyd’s  mannerism  ,  kratos  tries  to  recover  ,  he  needed  this  talk  to  go  well  and  maybe  it  shouldn’t  of  been  had  on  his  birthday of  all  days  ,  but  had  anything  in  his  life  exactly  gone as  planned?  ❝  but ,  there  is  a  clear  difference  between  you  and  mithos. ❞

❝ our  race? ❞  it  is  said  so  innocently  ,  no  malice  or  ill  intent by  hidden  meaning.  his  best  friend  and  professor  where  of  half  elf  descent  and  mithos  ,  the  person  he’d  grown  to  know  as  a  friend  ,  was  too. 

kratos  shakes  his  head  ,  cracking  a  small  laugh  in  response.  truly  ,  as  much  as  things  changed  something’s  would  ,  thankfully  ,  say  just  the  same.  ❝ no  ,  not  that.  you  realize  you  are  capable  of  making  mistakes.  or  rather  ,  if  you  make a  mistake  ,  you  are  capable  of  acknowledging  it. that  takes  courage. mithos  , as  well  as  i and  yuan  ,  were  unable  to  do  that. ❞

❝ the  courage  to  acknowledge  one’s  mistakes. ❞  a  saying  that  sounds  so  profound  coming  from  someone  like  him.  he  , in  vermilion  attire  lovingly  forged  by  a  dwarf. 

to  kratos  ,  those  words  fully  embody  everything  that  lloyd  had  and  that  he  ,  until  recently  ,  lacked.  ❝ we  were  incapable  of  correcting  our  flawed  path  ,  we  gave  up  on  correcting  our  atrocities  and  fell  more  into  them.  but  you  ,  lloyd. you  didn’t  give  up. ❞

❝ if  you  feel  that  way,  then  you  realized  it  by  now  that  mistakes  can  be  corrected  ,  even  one’s  like  the  one’s  made  by  cruxis.  but  ,  i  guess  that’s  why  you’ve  decided  to  leave  for  derris-kharlan. ❞  the  last  part  left  a  bittersweet  melody  off  the  young  hero's  tongue.

❝ yes.  giving  those  half-elves  left  behind  by  cruxis  is  the  next  step  in  correcting  my  flawed  path.  aiding  you  against  mithos  was  the  first  but  there  are  others. ❞  the  warmth  of  spring  has  bygone  in  the  few  hours  or  so  they’ve  spent  outside.  the  moon  ,  now  high  in  the  skies  gives  a  slight  chill  to  the  breeze  as  it  blows  ,  causing  the  flower  petals  atop  anna’s  grave  to  seemingly  dance.  the  petals  move  past  both  he  and  lloyd  ,  as  if  embracing  the  pair  from  beyond  the  reaches  of  life.  it  is  comforting  and  gives  the  pair  ( as  well  as  noishe  who  has  now  ceased  whining ):  a  bit  of  reprise  from  the  former  topic  at  hand.

❝ but  before  i  go.  there  is  something  i  still  have  to  do. ❞  kratos  places  the  shoe  he’d  carried  all  these  years  onto  anna’s  grave  ,  offering  silent  words  not  meant  to  be  shared  besides  with  his  love  who  now  dwelled  beyond  the  breath  of  life.  before  reaching  around  his  neck  to  reveal  two  pristine  lockets  ,  one  of  the  purest  silvers  and  the  other  ,  the  most  precious  of  white  golds.  it  is  then  that  he  reaches  for  the  silver  and  unclips  it  so.  ❝ happy  birthday  , lloydo. ❞  it  sounds so  foreign  on  his  tongue  ,  like  the  rebirth  of  a  creature  long  thought  extinct.  at  least  he  wasn’t  going  to  miss  a  fifteenth  birthday. 

happiness  was  the  only  feeling  lloyd  could  place  ,  if  not  a  bit of  bittersweetness  as  the  other  realization  hit:  that  he  could  of  had  this.  while  ,  eternally  blessed  and  grateful  that  dirk  had  found  and  choose  to  adopt  him  ,  raise  him  ,  loved  him  ( built  them  a  house  and  gave  them  both  a  home  ):  it  was  also  intensely  heart-wrenching  that  lloyd  could  of  had  a  life  with two parents  ( a  clearly  loving  ones  filled  of  boundless  affections ):  but  that  his own  mother  , own  father  ,  and himself had  been  made  as  victims  inside  the  countless  list  of  others.

his  hands  tremble  slightly,  as  he  takes  the  object  from  kratos’  outstretched  hands.  ❝ a  pendent?  what  is? ❞  he  questions  before  opening  it  ,  kratos’  eyes  never  leaving  the  sight  before  him.  inside  is  a  photograph  ,  worn  from  the  passage  of  years  but  still  visible  in  all  the  ways  that  counted.  ❝ its  you  and  mom?  then  that  baby— ❞

❝ is  you.  it  was  us  , as  a  family.  we  got  the  photos  taken  the  year  you  turned  one.  you  where  both  so  happy  ,  we  were so  happy.  ❞  how  fitting  that  the  first  and  last  present  kratos  would  ever  give  his  only  child  was  a  memento.  maybe  it  was  just  his  rotten  luck  that  things  had  turned  out  this  way  and  mayhaps  it  was  for  the  betterment.  it  had  been  said that  time  healed  all  wounds  but  kratos  had  learned  that  some  wounds  where  too  deep  and  deadly  to  repair.  in  time  ,  the  mind  simply  wished  to  protect  his  sanity  and  had  covered  all  the  memory  and  dread  with  scar  tissue  but  it  didn’t  make  the  ache  throb  any  less  ,  didn’t  make  the  memory  any  less  impactful.  but  like  this  ,  on  the  day  that  had  served  as  the  catalyst  that  changed  his  life  for  all  the  right  reasons,  in  front  of  his  love  ,  in  the  gaze  of  his  child.  kratos  was  on  the  right  pathway  to  redemption.  within tragedy and melancholy and facades the  real  person  within  kratos  could  finally  be  free  again.  not  much  time  was  left  until  he  would  leave  for  derris-kharlan  but  with  the  time  he  did  have  was  bound  to  no  one  nor  as  a  summon  spirit  key.  it  was  as  adam’s  ale  and  divine  given  retribution. 

and  just  maybe  in  their  own  way  the  aurion-irving  family  could  be  happy  once  more.

[edennill-archived]

Perhaps predictably, I want to hear about the Celebrimbor Fanfic. Also Aftermath of Partings and Decapitations is intriguing 👀

Thanks for the ask! ❤️

The Celebrimbor WIP is to be a longish fanfic (though keep in mind that my average word count would be at only several hundred words so my baseline for 'long' is probably skewed) following his life from his early days to -- here's the problem: I don't know. Logically it should be till his death but there's no chance of me finishing it that way; I write in fits and starts when I have the inspiration and if I don't finish a fic while I have it, I don't return to it until it comes again.

Boring answer, I know, so I'm attaching a fragment I already have to remediate:

Despite everything, Celebrimbor remembered well the golden-silver days before the Dark, his mother's soft voice; the puzzling, laughing speech of his father and uncles; the way he felt when his grandfather held him, as if he were suspended above a raging fire, exhilarated and terrified as if his grandfather might drop him in if he weren't careful, but he wouldn't, because Clebrimbor could trust them all back then. Back then, he was only supposed to be the first of many grandsons. There would be seven times seven, Fëanor joked, and people shook their heads and said that Valinor would implode if it had to deal with fourty-nine Fëanorions. And in the end, seven were enough. His father and grandfather argued good-naturedly over who was to teach him. They started him early - and even earlier than that, he already knew their workrooms and forges better than his own nursery, when one would hold him and explain and the other make. He could never remember a time before he could understand the workings of jewel and metal, of fire and song. His mother worried he was too young sometimes, but she also took part in it, she too taught him the names of her tools before he could speak full sentences. At four he presented her with his forst brooch, cold work, copper-gold wire and sapphire bead, imperfectly done, but she wore it regularly till the day they parted.

Aftermath of Partings... is about a Noldorin exile finding his one-time Telerin fiancée in the Halls of Mandos, cue: horror setting in etc. (The Noldo is Gelmir, brother of Gwindor fame, but that's more because I didn't feel like inventing an OC -- still, it fits with my headcanon that Gelmir was significantly older and born in Valinor, while Gwindor was not, and provides additional context that I like.)

It's not really progressing rn, I'm afraid -- I can't get the girl's characterisation right, and at the same time I don't think she's very original, being strongly inspired by a different character.

But, in a semi-morbid way, I'm very proud of the title.