#this is the life i always wanted he says as he dies to lahabrea. this is the life i

[ktisisphos]

realized today mhati's premise is, boiled down, just "this is the life i always wanted but now i have it, i realize i was never made for it". oh my cringefail catboy son. i really fucked you up huh

[ofdragonsdeep]

20: Petrichor

The wound only heals once you've pulled out the knife.

(HW spoilers, implied m!WoLxThancred and m!WoLxHaurchefant)

Soft snow tumbled down from the grey clouds above, a thin layer of fragile white settling on the shoulders of Ar’telan’s armour as he sat on the wall at Falcon’s Nest and stared out into the Highlands beyond. The stiff breeze brought a numbing cold, not that it made much impact on his statue-still vigil, his face stoic and his mind churning with regrets.

The peace conference had gone poorly, if one was being kind. Instead of the usual assault by heretics that Ishgard was used to, this time it was the victims of war rising up in anger. He could not even blame them for their anger, knowing intimately the wellspring from which it drew, but this?

He should not have accepted the drink. He should have known better. But it stung more than the cold that they thought he did not understand the way they suffered.

“I wondered if I might find you out here. Still hurts, does it?”

Thancred, solid and steady as always. He hopped up on to the wall beside him with customary grace, sitting easily upon the parapet and following Ar’telan’s gaze, as though there were anything of interest to be found at the end of it.

“I don’t need your pity,” Ar’telan said, and Thancred sighed, shaking his head.

“No, you don’t,” he agreed. “Maybe that was indelicate of me. Apologies.” Ar’telan made a muted noise of acknowledgement, looking away until he felt the touch of fingers brush the snow from his shoulders. A fleeting part of him yearned for what was gone - Haurchefant and the knights teaching him the proper way to dry snow-stained gear, coming in from training covered in sleet and mud, Thancred’s touch on the edge of his robe - but it quickly warped and distorted. A hole in a shield, a wound in his heart, Lahabrea muting his voice with a grip on his wrists. He stiffened, and Thancred withdrew.

“...Sorry,” Ar’telan managed, and Thancred made a wearied noise.

“I should think we’ve moved past that part of things,” he said. “How are you holding up? Beside the obvious, I mean.”

“You should not have hit him,” Ar’telan said, which made Thancred start in surprise. “He made poor choices, but so did all of us, at one point or another. He is small, and scared, and alone. It wasn’t needed.”

“You’re the only person who’s said that,” Thancred said, though he did not seem offended by the statement. “Maybe you’re right. You know them better than I do.” Ar’telan shook his head.

“Barely. Just- Just…” He cut himself off, a sharp inhalation of breath reminding him that he had been sat out here for a long time, and he was cold. ”I don’t want to think about it. How long before the Grand Melee?” Thancred shifted his position, resting one arm on a raised knee, considering the questions both asked and unasked, as he was wont to do.

“It will be some time before the Alliance gets themselves into gear, despite the initial offer,” he replied. “A few weeks at worst, a few days at best. What do you want the time to do?” Ar’telan made a noncommittal noise.

“I don’t know. It all feels like it’s too much,” he said. “It was horrible, what happened at the banquet, but at least it felt easier in Ishgard. Simpler, maybe. And then even that fell to pieces, and I… I feel like I break all that I touch.”

“Lahabrea was not your fault,” Thancred said, and Ar’telan flinched as though he was the one who had been struck, and not Emmanellain.

“No. I know that. But… Sometimes I wonder what the point of it is. The people, they… they see me as a hero. Here and in greater Eorzea. But what good is a bulwark if everything around it falls to pieces?”

Thancred was quiet for a while, an unusual state for him. Ar’telan looked over, saw the frown of thought on his face, the clouds in his aether-bleached eyes. It was easy to remember what had happened after the chaos at the Praetorium, the uncertainty and the anger of Thancred’s recovery - of his own. The wounds were undeniable, in both of them. But the way that the Flow had pulled them apart, even if Thancred himself had only tumbled out a few moons ago, gave them just enough distance for it to feel… distant, somehow. Less keen.

“Well, I can’t imagine that travelling on foot will be particularly fun for you, but I’ve a proposal, if you’ll hear it,” Thancred said eventually. Ar’telan nodded, keeping cautious distance. “It’s only a day’s ride by carriage to Thanalan, if you’ll come with me. Put a few malms between yourself and the pain, for a little while.” Ar’telan wasn’t sure there was anywhere on Eorzea that didn’t hold some poor memory, but it was far away from this pain, this betrayal, and he supposed it would do the job.

“Alright. You’re paying for it, though.”

---

Eastern Thanalan sat on the edge of the vast desert, where the Shroud gave way to high heat and cracked ground. The town around the aetheryte sat in a shaded dip just off the main road, which meant that when it rained - as it often did after the Calamity, and as it was when Ar’telan and Thancred arrived - the rain poured down the entry slopes and pooled on every available surface, leaving the townsfolk to slosh through it in despair.

“Not quite the weather I had in mind,” Thancred remarked as they took shelter in the tavern, Ar’telan shaking the water from his armour with a look of dismay writ on his face.

“I don’t even own an umbrella,” Ar’telan grumbled. Thancred chuckled, gesturing to a table with one hand before going over to the bar. Ar’telan watched with careful eyes, but he only ordered one drink, and did not try to pass it over.

“I think you’ve had quite enough liquid for one day,” Thancred said, though it was still obvious to Ar’telan that he had noticed his concern. He held in his embarrassment with the determination of a man who had killed gods.

“If you have not dragged me out here to watch you drink yourself under the table, why are we here?” he asked, trying not to let the bitterness show through in his voice. A look of annoyance passed over Thancred’s face, but it seemed he was being as coy with his emotions as Ar’telan was trying to be.

“Well, the idea was better before the weather turned, I’ll admit,” he said. “I thought it would be… nice, I suppose. Well, you’ve been collecting all of those seeds, haven’t you?” Ar’telan stiffened at the question, staring down at the table and feeling the fingers of his hands slowly curl against the wood. “There’s a clearing near the chasm here. Maybe you know it. Giant goobbue corpse, nothing too unusual - but it’s covered in odd flowers. They say it came down from the mountains before it died.” Ar’telan swallowed back the well of feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Do you know why I…” he tried, his hand movements jerky and uncertain. Thancred took a long drink from his flagon, waiting in vain for Ar’telan to have the chance to finish, before sighing to himself.

“I’ve my suspicious, yes,” he answered. “If only because I’ve never seen anything else tether you so tightly. It’s for your elezen, right?” It was strange to hear it said without judgement, when they had all but ruined what remained of their friendship over his relationship with Haurchefant. When it had become clear that they would not, could not work again in the wounds that Lahabrea had left behind, the ascian’s spite tearing holes in them even after his forcible discorporation. He was dead now, truly dead, as Ar’telan understood it, but his shadow lingered yet.

“Yes,” he said, pulling his hands in close to his chest as he said it, the closest to a quiet word he could manage it.

“I said some things I regret back then, before all of this Ishgardian nonsense kicked off,” Thancred said, his tone light, but the admission was a serious one. “About you. About him. About a lot of things, if we’re being honest.” He glanced at the window, noting the rain hammering down on it, and shrugged. “I suppose we have time to be honest. I’m sorry.”

“You were not the only one who did things they regret,” Ar’telan replied, hands muted, head still bowed. “I don’t know if… if we could have made it work. If there was a solution for us after what the ascians did. But I did not help matters.” Thancred laughed at that, leaning back in his chair with a creak of old, sun-baked wood.

“Best not to spend too long dwelling on it, I think,” he said. “The ifs and the whys and the maybes - none of them matter in the now. Too many moons between them.” He tilted the flagon towards Ar’telan, who shook his head in refusal. “What matters is where we go. How we move forward. But on that, I would give the floor to you.”

“To me?” Ar’telan repeated, surprised. “Thancred, I… I don’t know. Finding a direction for myself is hard enough, never mind for two.” Thancred’s mouth creased up into a smile.

“It’s not a no,” he decided, draining the flagon. Ar’telan found the embarrassment on his face, the twist of his stomach, was not entirely fear or shame. The distance of moons indeed.

“It is not a yes, either,” he said, a stern look on his face. Thancred sighed.

“Yes, yes,” he said, a hand waving through the air as if to dismiss the concern. The look on his face was kind, though, as he brought his arms to the table to rest his head upon his hands. “I jest. Whatever life decides to throw at us, I will respect your distance. And I won’t ruin a friendship for a snuffed candle this time.” Ar’telan sighed.

“As long as you promise not to die, it is a start,” he decided.

“Well, on that front I can only promise my best.”

--

The sparse grass of the eastern reaches of Thanalan sparkled with collected rain, the ground still soft underfoot even though the clouds had cleared to make way for the stars of night. Ar’telan was knelt by the old goobbue’s grave, carefully collecting what few seeds the rain-soaked plants would offer him, Thancred leaning back against the swell of the ground and watching him work. It was a far cry from their first visit to eastern Thanalan, camped out by the little oasis in borrowed rags and a makeshift tent. It would not end the same, either, though Ar’telan noted the appreciative eyes on the taller man as he got to his feet. Not now. Not soon. But, perhaps, eventually. A bridge built between them by their suffering, instead of tearing out the planks in a misguided attempt to heal. The moon twinkled in the sky above them, a quiet witness to their sadness, and it felt a little like the storm had stopped.

If the clouds would abate, only time would tell.

[takethistoyourstardust]

A Slightly Longer Talk [ 5.55 SPOILERS , mild canon divergence ]

“... I thought it would’ve crumbled with you. So...”

“Why does it still stand, Emet-Selch? Even after I’ve felled you and Elidibus? Even after I have destroyed all the unsundered?”

“A monument to a city I’ve never heard of, but once lived in... Once practically ruled in, even. Alongside you.. though, even seeing it with my own eyes, even seeing, even knowing I was once Azem!...”

“I don’t know if I fully believe it or not.”

“I know, I know, you’d think I was being ridiculous, and maybe I am. I saw the crystal you had made for her. I felt her power when I was fighting Elidibus. There’s no doubt, I share her soul, just as I did with Ardbert. But... I am not Azem. Maybe our souls look the same to you, but she and I are two different people. We didn’t live the same life, we didn’t know the same people, hells, did we even look the same?”

“Maybe the reason I still don’t believe you fully is that you never truly told me what Azem was like. Who was she to you, Emet-Selch? You seemed to care about her, but how? Did you love her? Was she closer than a friend? Were you two together, or was she more like me now, someone who never will want a relationship of that nature? Did she wear war paint like I do? How old was she? Gods, I hope she was older than Elidibus... or the same age I was when I first fought Lahabrea. I don’t know anything about her!”

“I’m... going to be honest. I’m not sure you could ever accept that Azem’s soul, as you knew her, is effectively gone.”

“Sure, you eventually accepted that I was not Azem, and then promptly decided you wanted me dead. But... did you do that in hopes that her soul could be brought back when the Rejoining happened? When you recreated Aumorat, did you hope everything would go back to as it was before you had to summon Zodiark? You told me you were effectively tempered by Zodiark, and yet you only seemed to act out of a wildly misguided love for your lost family, lost friends...”

“Would it be out of place to say a misguided love for me as well? Not me, but Azem.”

“You know, there was also someone else who had passed... someone else who loved an idea of me, and never truly knew me. You two are nothing alike, and yet...”

“He... was a kind man. A kind stranger. He thought we were as close as we could be, while I was struggling to recall his last name in casual conversation. But he was the first person who’s loss felt like a loss. A father lost his son, a friend lost a friend... and I lost a man who was in love with the idea of me. That’s the greatest tradgedy, I believe; he was so convinced he already knew me, that he didn’t once stop to consider that maybe I didn’t. And I don’t fully blame him; he was a man who was always moving forward, never looking back...”

“He didn’t know my age. He thought I was the same age as him, maybe older, because I had mentioned my nameday was soon when I was traveling with him. He died never knowing I had only seen seventeen summers. I didn’t know until I was already looking down at his grave.”

“When he had died, I blamed myself. Truthfully, I still do. There was more than enough time to save him, and he wouldn’t have been a senseless casualty in a war he was never a part of. And in a way... maybe you were, too. We found a way to stop the sin eater transformation... we found a cure for tempering. I can’t help but wonder, could we have saved you? Would you have even wanted to be saved?”

“... Oh what’s the godsdamned point, I can muse all I want about how you were a poor victim in all of this but that doesn’t change the fact that you decided I was better off dead.”

“I want to be crystal clear; I will never forgive you. Not after everything you had done, not after everything you had tried to do, and not after you tried to kill me. I will not forgive you, and I will not waste another single godsforaken breath mourning you. And yet...”

“... I won’t forget you, either. I had told you, right before you had disappeared, right before you died, I would make sure I’d die being the last person to speak your name. I thought all you Ascians were just liars, and your plea was one last show. But now that I know Elidibus was a child... I don’t think it’s right for me to keep that up now. You weren’t right, you never were, and I’ll be honest, I still hate you. And yet I feel as if I understand your plea now.”

“I’m not sure what I’m trying to accomplish telling you all this. Maybe I just wanted my own form of closure? A proper one, not filled with spite and burning hatred, ready to drive my chakrams into the throat of the next person who touched me. All I can say is this, Hades...”

“I promise to remember you, and I hope the seven hells are treating you well.”

[theprincesslibrary]

#4: Baleful - Close your eyes

Warning: violence, past trauma, mention of abuse, mention of rape, domestic abuse, blood, torture 

He’s waking up. 

He doesn’t remember much. He was coming home after a night out, drunk and alone, the girls weren’t receptive to his charms. And then nothing. Just darkness and a violent pain at the back of his skull. He’s fully awake now, though his reality looks like a nightmare. His reflection is staring at him from the ceiling, eyes wide from fear. He is strapped to an operating table, naked, unable to move. He doesn't understand why he's here. 

I’d feel bad for him if I didn’t know any better. But I do.

I know what he did to his wife, to his previous girlfriends. I know what type of monster he is. But I’m worse. The saw in my hand is itching to cut, but I can’t start yet. Everything must be done to perfection. So I step out of the shadows and move closer, tape his eyelids open, so he can't close his eyes. Putting that mirror on the ceiling was a real pain in the ass, it’d be a shame if all that work went to waste. I wouldn’t want him to miss the show.

*****

When Thancred reaches the scene everything looks like it did for the previous murders: they still don't have the crime scene, just the dumping area. A godforsaken place where nobody cares what you do or say: welcome to Ul'dah's low town, where the jewel city doesn't shine so brightly. Here only the rule of the three wise monkeys applies: see nothing, hear nothing, and above all shut the fuck up. The perfect place to get rid of a body.

These corpses are not your typical murder victim though: no crime of passion, no hit-and-run. Everything is clean. It’s the third case of the type to end up on his desk, and it's a fucking nightmare. Let’s be clear, the modus operandi is dirty as fuck: shallow cuts all over the body, severed limbs, head cut off… all of that ante mortem, a fucking slaughter. But the scene is fucking spotless, perfectly ordered like a freaking Mog Station warehouse. They don't really have a corpse, more of a human puzzle: the organs and the head sit in separate jars, the limbs are all wrapped up mummy style, personal belongings in a cardboard box... And the cherry on top: not a single witness.  

That’s when Thacred's expertise comes to play. See, a regular cop would harass the lab, call them every 5 minutes, pressure them day and night… be a pain in the as. But not detective Thancred Waters. Nah. He has his way of doing things. He lets the lab rats alone, especially with a scene like that which is as much of a nightmare for them as it is for him. If puzzle number 3 is like its friends, CSI can’t do much for him right now, they need to unpack all that shit, literally. So he leaves them the fuck alone, they’re happy, and when they have something conclusive they call their favorite detective: how far one can go by not being an asshole is astonishing.  

Instead, Thancred likes to interrogate people. Relatives, of course, that’s police work 101, but he pays extra attention to the little monkeys on the streets: the guy no one notices sitting in the corner, the drug dealer in his vintage car, the homeless lady who sleeps here at night. He just knows how to make them talk. It must be his lucky day because he saw his favorite monkey when he arrived at the scene. It would be rude not to check on his old friend, although “friend” might be a bit of a stretch. He met Theodric in Limsa Lominsa, back when he was still a street urchin, stealing purses from unsuspecting passersby. They were in the same band of petty thieves, followed the same path, except one day Thancred targeted Louisoix Leveilleur. Instead of turning him in, the man saw his potential, and took him under his wing. His life changed that day. Theodric wasn’t so lucky. He got involved with the wrong crowd, took the wrong drug, and ended up here, in one of Ul’dah’s worst neighborhoods where not even the refugees dare to come. 

Yeah, not really friends, and considering what he's about to do to him, it's better that way.

 *****

Thancred’s fists hurt from punching Theodric’s ugly face, he needs a break from all that “friendly catching up”. He reaches for a cig and lights it up. Gods, how he loves the taste of tar… finally some stale air to help him breathe. He spares a look to the little monkey slouched against the tainted wall of a shabby restaurant. His face is covered in blood, but he’s not talking. He hates when they stay quiet, he’ll just have to be more explicit. 

“You know Theo, I can call you Theo, right? You know… it’s the weekend for me too. As you can imagine that I have other things to do besides fucking up your hideous face. I'm not asking you to share every tiny detail of your sad existence, I’m not your therapist. I’m not even asking for the name of your dealer. Just tell me who the fuck threw away the mummy. That would make me incredibly happy, I’d be able to go home, have a nice bath, you know, normal people shit.”

Thancred takes another puff from his cigarette and looks down at the man who was once his partner in crime. It’s almost like staring at a twisted version of himself, at the man he would have become without Louisoix. Six months ago, he might have gone easy on Theodric, might have tried to help him out. Six months ago, he would have been the man Louisoix wanted him to be, but that guy died in Lahabrea’s basement. All those months of sequestration and torture did a number on him, fucked him up so bad, his soul died back there. Now he's just this empty shell, pretending to be alive out of spite. Just to say “look at me now, I’m still there”. But he's not, not really.

He draws the last puff from his cigarette and crouches next to Theodric, his face on the same level as the junkie's. The little monkey has one open eye, just one, the other is too fucked up. There’s fear in that one eye, but he’s still not talking. Thancred gets his cig close to Theodric’s good eye, so he can understand what’s going to happen next. He likes to let people understand the rest on their own, it stimulates communication. 

“You might think I hate you Theo, but I don’t. I don’t give two flying fucks about you. But you see, my shrink told me I had to externalize my rage. When you don't talk to me, it pisses me off, so I have to externalize. On your face. You’re not a bad guy, a little drug here, a little dealing there, it’s not that bad. I’m a whiskey guy myself so really who am I to judge? Just tell me who threw this corpse, so I can calm the fuck down. I don’t need to externalize as much and we both go on our merry ways.” 

Thancred punctuates his question by crushing his cigarette's butt on Theo’s arm. His screams echo in the empty street so loudly dogs start to howl, not that anyone cares. Noone would come to his aid, not in this part of town, not when a cop is the one making him scream like a pig. The wise monkey rule reigns supreme. But now he’s in enough pain for Thancred to believe whatever he’s gonna say next. 

“Fuck Waters, I swear I don't know anything. You know me, I'm not that brave, if I knew anything I’d be singing like a fucking canary right now. Please let me go, I promise if I hear something I'll tell you. I swear Waters.”

*****

Theodric looks sincere.

It pisses him off, cause now he’s gonna have to resort to a more classic approach and act like a regular cop: talk to the wife and relatives. He hates to act like a regular cop, hates to talk to the wives. He doesn’t know how to deal with crying people. He used to be good at people skills, he’s not anymore.

He needs a drink. 

He ends up at the Quicksand like always. It’s a second house for all sorts of human trash: bikers, dealers, pimps, him...  

Thancred likes the atmosphere, and the barmaid, Lya. Lya is good. It sounds dumb, but she is. She smiles all the time and listens to everyone’s bullshit without judging. She’s pretty too, beautiful even. When she smiles it's a bit like a breeze blowing over a field of poppy, it shakes him to the core. It shakes up any guy. They all want to throw themselves in her arms and let her lull them to sleep as a mother would. She could turn the most vicious wolf into an obedient little lamb with just one smile. All the guys here come for her: the alcohol tastes like piss, the food is barely decent when it’s not expired, and the walls grow mold. But she's here. They all want her, but no one touches her. She’s broken, they all know that. They might be a bunch of heartless assholes, but they have principles. And Lya is off-limits. Her last boyfriend used to beat her up to a pulp, she still has a scar running down the side of her face. It doesn't take away from her beauty, but it drives him mad with rage.  

One night he was taking a piss behind the bar – mind you the alley’s hygiene is better than the loo inside – he saw the guy slap her, and felt the irrepressible urge to externalize his rage on the asshole’s face, so he did. Repeatedly, until he was the one lying on the ground, pissing himself. They’ve been friends ever since. She listens to his stupid jokes, gives him the best food, stops pouring drinks when she thinks he’s too drunk and smiles at him. She smiles so brightly he feels like a little boy in a candy store, hopeful and fearless.  

She looks out of place in this dirty joint full of heartless assholes, like a porcelain doll forgotten in a construction site, but she’s one of them: damaged. They don’t want to break her, they can all see the cracks in her porcelain skin, so no one touches her. They just pretend, pretend they have a chance, pretend they’re good enough for her. They even play this game where the last guy standing can ask her out. They drink until they either pass out or leave, and only one guy is left. The winner never asks her out, but still, they come every night to drink and dream. 

***** 

I always start with small incisions, quick and superficial. It stings just a little, but not too much. The most important thing is not the pain or the screaming, it’s the fear, the anticipation. It’s a wholesome experience: he gets to feel, see, and smell all of it. People often forget to mention the smell, iron and urea, blood and piss. The mix elicits a primal reaction: run, it says, run. But he can’t. 

*****

It’s Monday and Thancred has an appointment with the third victim’s wife. She looks vaguely familiar, must be from the file or the guy’s belongings. The murderer never bothered to hide his victim's identity. Hell, they even leave a special box for passports and other personal stuff. So yeah, she looks familiar, but he’s been in Ul’dah for a while, so it’s not a surprise. What he can’t stand is the way she's fidgeting on her chair. 

Thancred doesn’t like when the witness fidgets because a regular cop would think ‘hum, that’s suspicious'. Thancred tried being a regular cop once, wasn’t for him, so he stopped, started being an asshole instead with some instinct sprinkled on top, it was a wholesale price. Still, the fidgeting is annoying. And she still looks familiar, more than she should from just a file picture. Thancred can’t put his finger on it. Maybe he fucked her once. He was kind of a womanizer before his life went to shit, before Lahabrea. It doesn’t explain why she’s so nervous, or why she keeps nervously rubbing her arms. Nor does it explain the five layers of clothes. It’s at least 35° out, and she’s out in the sun with a freaking turtleneck. The outrageous makeup has to be the icing on the cake. 

And that’s when it hits him. He knows her, but not from the file, or a one-night stand. She’s from Lya’s support group for battered women. That’s why she’s nervous. Not because he’s her former lover, not even because he’s a cop, but because he’s a man. That’s why number 3’s dead: he was trash like the rest.

"Excuse me for a few minutes."

Thancred gets up and exits the room, leaving the widow alone. He spots Minfilia across the room and strides towards her.

"Hey Min, I'm gonna need you to take this one."

"Why?", she teases, "finally found a widow impervious to your charms?"

"Pretty sure our so-called victim wasn't the loving husband he owed to be."

Understanding flashes on her face, she drops the file she was reading on her desk and follows him to the interrogation room. Relief washes over the widow’s face when she sees Minfilia.

“This is my colleague, Detective Warde. She’s going to take it from here.”

Then he’s out again, leaving the two women alone. He goes to his desk while Min does her thing, and looks for the victim’s name in the database. He doesn’t need to watch Min do her work, he trusts her to get the answers they need. The petite blonde has great people skills, and she’s one of the good ones. She's so good, it's hard not to hate her. He doesn't though, never did, never will. 

She’s one of the few friends he has left, one of the few people to put up with his bullshit after Lahabrea's "incident". He loves her like the little sister he never had, and more than anything he respects her. She's a good friend and a good cop, something this city sorely lacks. Rhabdan runs a tight ship as chief of police, but there's always a few bad apples in the bunch, not Min though. She's one of the good ones, not some disillusioned asshole like him. It's hard to be hopeful in a city like Ul'dah where being rich means one can escape any form of responsibility. Like number 3 here. His wife's medical record is a testament to his behavior: bruised face, broken ribs, even lacerations. It's a miracle the woman is still alive. But her in-laws are rich, and influential: Lolorito's people. That's why Thancred is not so sure he wants to catch the killer, not when they're doing what he's not free to do himself.

When Minfilia is done with the interrogation, she motions for him to join her in the break room. She confirms what Thancred already knows: the guy was an asshole.

He needs a fucking drink. 

*****

First I remove his dick, not like he’s gonna need it anymore. I do this slowly, very slowly. I want him to suffer. This is also what the mirror on the ceiling is for, and the tape on the eyelids, no escape. He must see everything and especially hear everything, the slightest tear of his flesh, the sound of his blood dripping on the sanitized tiles, the scalpel cutting his flesh, my slow breathing. The shock of emasculation makes him pass out. It’s okay, we have all the time. I cauterize his wound, I don't want him to bleed out and die. Not yet.  

*****

Another corpse: emasculated, dismembered, and wrapped up like his buddies. 

Thancred lights another cigarette and crouches down in front of the jar containing the head. He knows this face, he broke that nose: Lya's ex. Suddenly the crime scene doesn't seem ugly anymore, it shines with glitter and shit. It makes him happy to see that stupid face in a jar, means he won't be a problem for Lya anymore. He's also the second "victim" who likes to take out his anger on women, there has to be something there. Thancred needs to take another look at the first three victims, they can't be all that clean.  

He ponders whether he should tell Lya about this. Would that make her happy? It might make her feel better, safer. "By the way, the asshole who used to beat you up is dead, a serial killer took care of it." 

Yeah. Maybe he needed to work on his speech. 

It’s just him and the old Bernie now, playing that secret game of theirs. The old man sends him a dirty look before finally getting up. Thancred wins tonight, and he plans on taking her out for real, not just in his head. It's a lucky day after all, maybe she'll say yes.   

The bar is empty that time around. ‘Good’ he thinks, 'Her smiles will all be mine.'

She’s smiling more than usual, she looks happy even, so he decides not to say anything. She smiles, but she’s seldom happy, no point in ruining the mood. The asshole will be just as dead tomorrow. So he sits at the bar to be closer to her, and drinks while he tells her stupid nonsense. One drink, then a second, and finally a whole bottle.

*****

He waking up again, and we’re back in business. Killing a man isn’t easy work, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. My mom used to tell me: “When things get hard, just put them in different boxes and deal with them one at a time.” So I do just that: I cut him into small pieces, wrap them up, put them in nice little jars.

First his right arm, the one he used to slap his women. I cut just below the elbow, he screams like a piglet being bled out. Then his left arm, all the way up to the shoulder, his legs, and finally his head. 

*****

He wakes up to an empty room. Of course, she’s not here, why would she? She’s in his fantasy, not in his reality. It was such a vivid dream, it left him hard and wanting. He buries his face in the sheets, and he can almost smell her. As if dreams could leave a scent behind. Fucking morning wood. He needs release and a shower, but first, he wants a smoke.

He dreams of Lya that night.

She's riding him like a fierce amazon, her breasts moving to the rhythm of their bodies. Everything about her is erotic, her hungry gaze, her mischievous smile. That smile excites him as much as it soothes him. Fuck, he doesn't want to get out of this dream, but his alarm rings, and the dream is gone.

He walks to the kitchen naked, he lives alone and doesn’t give a fuck about flashing his neighbors. She’s standing in his kitchen, a coffee mug in hand. She’s wearing one of his shirts; it’s a bit too big for her, but too short to be decent. She’s so fucking beautiful wearing his clothes, if he wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now. And then he remembers everything.

She kissed him outside the restaurant, he wouldn’t have dared, but she kissed him. They ended up at his place. They made love on his couch, in the shower, in his bed. He didn’t fuck her, no, he worshiped her: kissed every inch of her skin, licked every freckle. He prayed to her body like a mad man, as much as he could, as much as she let him.

She said yes.

All the alcohol made his brain soft and mushy, but he remembers now. He helped her close the bar, and they went to that new place near his precinct. The one that stays open until 3 am. They talked, he told her he was a cop, she said she knew. It was written in the way he moved, in the way others moved around him. They talked all night long, and she smiled. Gods, that freaking smile got him good. They talked so much, they got kicked out. 

He must look like a fucking idiot now, with that surprised look on his face and his hard cock because she bursts out laughing. A laugh that explodes like fireworks and ricochets against the walls of his apartment, leaving notes of bright colors everywhere. It's crazy how beautiful she is when she laughs. He wants her, needs her.

He strides towards her, lifts her off the floor, and drops her off her gently on the kitchen table. He doesn’t want to break her, doesn’t want to worsen the cracks in her porcelain skin. Then he makes love to her, in the middle of his kitchen, with the blinds open for the world to see. Because he can, because she wants him as much as he wants her. 

***** 

His instinct about the victims being trash was right. 

After some heavy digging in the first two victims’ past, he finds what he needs. Victim number one’s a serial rapist: used to slip roofies in women’s drink, raped them, and filmed the whole thing, threatening to release the tapes if they tried to report him. Not that they would, the guy was filthy rich, another one of Ul’dah’s “cream of the crop”, these women knew they didn’t have a chance to see justice. If it wasn’t for his “barely legal” deep dive in the guy’s personal belongings - he might have stolen his computer after breaking into his parents’ house - Thancred wouldn’t even know about it.

Victim number 2 was no better, he had a long history of domestic violence and child abuse, but no open case, not even a complaint. Now adding number 3 and Lya’s ex to the list… these guys all deserved to die like pigs. He should say it, should even think like that, but he does. He doesn’t even want to catch the culprit, for all he cares they should be free to rid the city of these predators. Should even get paid for doing public service.

Looking at the so-called victim’s file drives him mad with rage. He wants to drink, but more than anything he needs to see Lya; He can even pretend to do police work while he’s at it. She knows at least one of the women, she’s a victim herself, maybe she knows more. 

The Quicksand is packed. He has to share her smile and his time, it annoys him, but it's okay. Tonight she will be his, and his alone. He sits at the bar, she smiles at him, and he’s not mad anymore. He orders whiskey, then another, and another. After the third glass, the rush finally dies down, and they can talk. He tells her about his investigation, and tells her about her ex. She's a little shaken up, but it's okay, she is strong. 

He shows her pictures of the victims, not the one from the autopsy, he’s not that stupid, pretty pictures with happy smiles and perfect lives. Moments of happiness he knows to be fake. He asks her if she knows the victims or their wives, through her support group, or by word of mouth. She nods. She knows the wives of 2 and 3, she talks to them often. She recognizes the last victim, of course, he was her monster. 

Thancred’s curious to know what she thinks about all this, that’s the cop in him, but he’s also worried about how it’ll affect her.

“I don't know… well I do. I know I shouldn't be happy, but I am,” she admits. “I'm a little less afraid.”

He hates that she feels guilty.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” he states, hoping she’ll feel relieved that those words are coming from him. “Now, I know he won’t  prowl you around anymore.”

She smiles softly, and he has the urge to make love to her on the bar, in front of everyone. But he won’t, Lya is a goddess, not a girl who gets fucked in a bar. He’s going to buy her flowers, and maybe a nice bottle of wine. He might even light some candles to set the mood, then he’s gonna make love to her, again and again until they both pass out in blissful exhaustion.

*****

I dispose of his body in one of the city’s garbage dumps. It’s the perfect place to get rid of a body. And this open sky trash dump is perfect for me: exactly what this trash deserves. The people who live here all look dead, the only thing that sets them apart from my guy is the steady movement of their hearts. That, and the fact that they’re all in one piece, for the most part.

*****

Reports come back on Lya’s ex.

Toxicology’s clean, no head trauma either, he wasn’t drugged or incapacitated like the others. He might have known his assailant. The rest of the report looks similar at first glance, cuts all over the body, severed limbs, emasculation, beheading. It’s the same MO but somehow it feels messier: the body shows hesitation marks, the cuts are deeper, meant to hurt... it feels more personal, like an act of revenge. 

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

*****

He opens up his flat’s door and practically runs towards the kitchen. He needs a drink before seeing Lya. It can’t be her, when she smiles the ground shakes, she turns wolves into lambs. She’s so small, with soft porcelain skin, tiny hands… It can’t be her, yet his guts tell him otherwise.

He’s halfway in the kitchen when he spots her. She’s waiting for him, his backup gun in those tiny hands of hers. When he dreamt of coming home to her that’s not what he had in mind.

 She’s smiling at him, a sad little smile because she doesn’t want to kill him, not really. He might be an asshole but he doesn’t hurt women. Maybe she likes him too. She’s crying now, tears rolling down her beautiful face. It’s stupid but he still wants to throw himself in her arms. It’s stupid because she’s going to kill him. 

She’s gonna try anyway. 

*****

Gunshots echo in the room, followed by the loud thud of a lifeless body hitting the ground.

[starrysnowdrop]

Stories I Want to Write

Tagged By: @ancientechos, @windup-dragoon, and @meepsthemiqo!!! Thank you all so much for the tags!!! It means a lot that you thought of me. 🥰💖

Tagging: Anyone that wants to do this! Yes, you reading this now! You have been tagged! Just say I tagged you, okay? 😉

((Will reblog to @emetspersephone because I’m combining the lists for both of my ships, since I’m too lazy to do this twice.))

Yume x Cid

1. Love Confession - The first thing above everything else for these two is that I need to finish writing the love confession. It’s going to be dramatic, it’s going to be romantic, it’s going to be fluffy, and I hope to god to get it right! Smooches on the Enterprise, what can be better?

2. Angsty Love Triangle - Yes, you read that right! I got the idea in the car earlier. I thought, what if G’raha gets a crush on Yume while they explore the Crystal Tower, but G’raha doesn’t know that Yume is already with Cid? Ohhhhh poor G’raha’s heart will break... but I gotta give my love to Cid, okay?

3. Cid to the Rescue - I thought about all the times that Cid comes to rescue the WoL, and I want to explore what Cid’s thoughts are when he’s trying to come and rescue Yume. I want to delve into all of his worry and also Yume’s heart lifting when she sees him coming to her rescue. Cid is absolutely her hero.

4. Backstory Revealed - This one will be when Yume finally tells Cid everything about her past. She is so filled with shame that she was always afraid to tell him. But after they are officially a couple, Yume feels she needs to be honest with him. In this one, I hope to not only go into detail about Yume’s backstory, but also show Cid’s comforting side.

5. Eighth Umbral Calamity Tragedy - My thoughts were that Yume would find out about what happens in G’raha’s future timeline during her time in the First. She finds out what happened to Cid, and she gets super pissed and ready to take it out on Emet for helping cause the calamity.

6. Wedding Proposal - I have always wanted to write a proposal scene, and I think I have a good one in mind for Yume x Cid. I also have ideas for screens of their actual wedding as well, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

7. Love Rival - You know the scene where it’s heavily hinted at that Mikoto has a crush on Cid but he’s oblivious to her feelings and walks away from her in Gangos?? Well, what if Yume sees it all go down and gets really mad that Mikoto is trying to make the moves on her man? Ohhhhh get ready for some Yume rage!!

8. Goddess AU - I am really missing the goddess AU that @whitherliliesbloom started, and I was thinking of writing about it with Cid in place of Aymeric, of course. Not sure how to do it yet, but it’s one I hope to do in the future.

Emet/Hades x Persephone

1. Events During ShB - I am in the process of writing a multi-chapter fic that showcases events that took place in the first during 5.0. It will show Emet and Persie’s dynamic, how they interact with each other, Persie questions why she’s so fascinated and attracted to an Ascian, and then she surprises herself when she mourns his death, questioning why she feels so guilty.

2. Memories of Amaurot - To follow-up from the last one, I also want to write at least a oneshot, perhaps a multi-chapter fic, where Persie goes and talks to Hythlodaeus asking him why she’s remembering events from Amaurot, and why she keeps dreaming of Hades. She cries that she wants to remember everything but she can’t. Hythlodaeus ends up giving her something very important that will help her to remember once and for all.

3. Welcome Back - This one will detail how Hades is resurrected and comes back to life, and he returns to his one true love, his Persephone. Shoebill antics, angst, and fluffiness all ensue. Also be ready for the tears to flow!

4. Hades Visits the Steppe - Persephone takes Hades to the Azim Steppe, her birthplace, to see where she grew up and to officially meet her family. She also brings him to her father’s grave, and she tells him of how her father died. Lots of feels to be had!

5. Life in Amaurot - I am absolutely loving all of the craziness that is happening amongst @meepsthemiqo’s Fae, Elidibus, @themadchemist’s Anais, Lahabrea, and of course Hades and Persephone. I adore all of our Amaurot headcanons and I NEED more!!! BTW, I’m writing a response as soon as I finish this list, lol!

6. Disney World AU - Oh yes, you read that right. I had the idea of a kind of Modern AU where Persephone takes Hades and the rest of the family to Disney World! I imagine Persie and @meepsthemiqo’s Fae’a dragging Hades onto Its a Small World and Hades ready to kill himself from all the gods damned singing dolls!

I’m sure I’m leaving something out, but that’s all I can remember right now. 😊

[candideangel]

Outside Witnesses

Chrono, a worker in timepieces and spellwork, and Artemis watch as their superiors start from embarrassing moments to all out prank wars.

featuring moments from @meepsthemiqo​‘s @emetspersephone​‘s & @themadchemist​‘s pieces which gave me a constant joy. Sorry if they were brief mentions or if something seemed off!

The small office was quiet, one of the window panels open and wafting in a breeze that brushed strands of red hair into a young man’s face as his green eyes with a hue of blue mixed in was silently sitting at a work desk, his tools lightly clicking and clinking against metals of the project in front of him. It was supposedly a simple project, something he was making for himself, but Chrono knew that it was for someone else completely. As his hand picked up a small set of clamps he used them to pick up a delicate piece of inner clockwork to set into its new discus shaped home.

Then came the knock on his door, making the master of time as he often been teased with looked up, reaching over to lightly push away a magnifying circular glass aside. “Enter.” his voice called calmly, and at first while he kept a straight face, absently reaching over for the white mask that was across on his desk, not sure if it was a mere guest looking for his opinion or someone he trusted. However, it was relief that washed over his features as a young woman opened the door with a soft creek of hinges, his heart doing a little jump, usually hooded features were free, a very pale gold head that could have been mistaken for white or even silver, of hair wound up in in intricate bun with a few added braids with a few feathers dangling off the ties, and piercing bright blue eyes glittered like gemstones when her gaze met Chrono’s.

“Artemis, what...what brings you in here?” the young man asked, cursing himself for the slight issue with his string of words he couldn’t quite seem to form.

“Oh, I figured you would like something to drink.” Artemis replied as Chrono’s eyes finally noticed the tray she had laden in her cloaked arm. It was a simple silver tray, but with a curious white pot that seemed to shine, painted with long branches with pink flowers with a matching set of cups nested on their saucers. A steam rose from the spout of the pot in an unrecognizable aroma, but it put his tense muscles relax a little even as the door shut. Walking over with a soft click of heels she would set the tray down on the side of his desk.

“It’s a rather cute pot if I must say.” Chrono muttered, being mindful and rolling up the set of tools to make sure he didn’t knock anything over while Artemis held the pot and would carefully pour a steaming stream of a clear yet bright red liquid would start filling the delicate white workings.

“Ah, thank you. It was...a design I’ve been fiddling around with. I hope it’ll keep the tea hot for a while longer.” She replied, pale cheeks dusting with a shade of pink that matched the flowers painted on the pot.

“Well, you certainly have always had an eye for aesthetics and color.” Chrono couldn’t help but tease, being someone who worked in the offices, they didn’t work in the seats, but they often helped with designs and prototypes. When Artemis offered him the cup of tea he would take hold and took a small sip, letting the flavor put him at ease; floral, slightly sweet, a hint of fruit dancing on his tongue until the after taste was slightly tart. “Mm, delicious…” he breathed relaxing in the chair with a soft creak of the wood under him.

“Heh, rosehip tea does wonders.” Artemis chuckled and poured herself a cup that was still on the tray before the pot was set down, she would go to a small metal can and went to the various flora that had been potted around Chrono’s office. It never used to be filled with greenery, just shelves and a mess of books and ruined prototypes...at least not until Artemis arrived into his life. One who could have looked so naive as an assistant, turned out to become a great friend and confidant...he often found himself happier, able to focus a little better without the clutter, but most importantly always felt his heart leap into his throat at her presence every time. 

Chrono glanced over his shoulder a little and in the faint light of the sun that was streaming through it practically haloed the woman in his office while she watered the flowering plant in his window, the aroma coming in on the breeze. Even as he set the cup down into the saucer with a soft clink so he could go back to work, it all felt peaceful.

At least it HAD been peaceful, the foyer doors banged open as if by a nasty wind, reverberating into Chrono’s office, making the delicate work he had been working on break, and the tea in the cups ripple. “Earthquake?” Artemis muttered as she set the water can down into a stand made of thick wired material to walk to the door, Chrono in the meantime staring down at some of the parts that had broken free from his project...making it clear he would have to start over again with the inner workings. Just as Artemis reached the door however, they both froze, a set of heels clacking against the floor with utmost determination even though one of the other workers were obviously trying to get whoever it was to stop because of a meeting.

Slowly Artemis opened the door to peer outside curiously in time to see a sweeping motion of dark hair, a few pink flowers poking out, and eyes set most determined, and as she looked out more watched as she marched with purpose towards the meeting chamber for the Fourteen.

“It...seems that Lady Fae is on the warpath.” She spoke softly once the door clicked shut quietly. 

“Oh...dear…” Chrono muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and suddenly he startled when there was another equally loud bang that echoed again further down the hall.

“HAAAADEEEES!!!!” Fae’s voice echoed before there was a third and final bang as the doors slammed shut and silence fell hard and heavy between Chrono and Artemis. They stared at each other for a long moment, but it only took one of them to softly start chuckling, then they fell into soft gales of laughter, faintly hearing the voices carry their way. Little did they know it was only just the beginning.

---

Then the “prank war” began. Artemis had been carrying a stack of papers with Chrono’s help, though were brought to pause when they watched the pink haired Persephone walked by carrying a rather curious green colored creature in her arms and humming a delightful tune to Lady Fae’s office. When they had dropped off the work to where they needed to be, finishing off from Hades’ office Fae had just been...oddly coming from Lahabrea’s office, speaking to Elidibus.

“What do you think that was about?” Artemis asked curiously while glancing back over her shoulder at the pair. It was a little strange that Fae was acting rather dodgy around her bonded’s questions.

“Not sure.” Chrono muttered as his fingers were dancing a gemstone between them, a spark of golden dust pouring from it. “Lady Fae hasn’t always been in Lahabrea’s good graces, but perhaps she was just simply seeking him out.” Though the first part had always contained proof as the Speaker’s voice shouted from down the hall and almost as fast as she had come, Fae had disappeared into the shadows without warning. Leaving the two rather confused.

Artemis though as they went back to Chrono’s office, couldn’t help a wry smile. “I bet for a day off that Lady Fae has some kind of ulterior motive. It did seem rather odd that Miss Persephone had come in carrying a small creature and suddenly Lady Fae is coming out of Lahabrea’s office.” It was obviously broken logic, at best to be a jest as they leaned against the door just under the frame.

“Oh, what would you do if you won the bet?” Chrono was grinning a little bit and would lean against the door a bit, Artemis gave him a smile that made his heart practically rattle like a bird trying to break free from its cage.

“For a day off? I think...if I’d gotten the day off, it would be walking through that tree park. Maybe with some company…” her voice trailed off and her breath caught a little in her throat as Chrono, practically hypnotized by her words, her voice, his feelings were overrunning. But he stopped and they both jumped when there was a very loud, and very agonized scream come from down the corridor and they both looked over, but Chrono did the smart thing and pushed them both into his office just as Lahabrea was storming by, covered in NEEDLES and his robes looking rather holed, spitting venom as he looked for Lady Fae.

“P-Probably best we stay here for a bit.” Chrono muttered once he shut the door, Lahabrea had shot them a look that could whither all the blooms in his office. “At least until the storm dies down.” But his lips trembled a little bit and he couldn’t help a slightly nervous chuckle that escaped his lips as he slumped to the ground, knees weak as even Artemis was on her knees by his desk. “Looks like you won…” he breathed and gave the light haired woman a lopsided grin, “When do you want to go?”

---

The next few days that came were at relative peace, Elidibus and Fae were gone for a little while, but when the two had come back, it had been both Fae and Persephone who had become the targets for the next bout of revenge pranks. Artemis and Chrono had made playful banter that perhaps it would be one of them, this time placing a few coin bets for who would be next in line for either a tongue lashing or a prank in return. Chrono had been the one to place on Fae and Persephone perhaps both, at the time, just due to the logic after the curious Cactus creature had been talked about through the hall and had the earmarks of Miss Persephone’s design work.

While it had been a harmless one, the two women breaking out in rashes, sneezing like they had colds, and watery eyes. It was obvious they were having some kind of allergic reaction to something, but in their wake had been a very, very strong scent of roses. It was very possible that the harmless prank had come from Miss Anais, the alchemist and even a medic of the city. It...did make some logical form of sense.

Artemis sighed as she would hand over a bag of coin to Chrono, who pocketed into the sleeve of his robes and gave her another wry smile, his hand reaching over to gently tug her by the waist to pull her close.

“So, who do you think will be next?” he asked curiously, they had started to find this as some type of entertainment and a way for them to bond. And in a way bonding they did! Even if everything was trying to be subtle gestures.

Artemis still looked as if she were pouting from the loss of her money, but let Chrono lightly pull her to his side. “...I think Miss Anais will be up next possibly. I know Miss Persephone and Lady Fae won’t take this little though harmless prank lying down. Or maybe there will be some bonded prank wars with Hades and Persephone.” she chuckled in a hushed voice as they walked down the streets as Chrono who was often a reserved person before was offering to purchase Artemis dinner, waiting for their next little revenge show.

[starcunning]

3. Lost

Why should you worship her? Her you surpass

For @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast‘s FFXIVWrite 2019. [Title] [AO3 mirror]

There was a city once—a jewel amongst jewels, every facet gleaming. It was made lovely by order and shone with promise, and though all the cities of the world were beautiful, this one, at the world’s heart, was fairer still.

It had a name, of course, though none used it in those times. After all, what other city could you mean?

Men lived in peace in those days—in the days before need, before suffering, they were happy. They spent their time exploring the potential of ideas—giving them form or voice, exchanging concepts freely that all might benefit from wisdom and discovery. There was disagreement, of course; only from differentiation could new growth come forth. But even those that disagreed with one another enjoyed a mutual respect—for even in that ageless time where time meant nothing, who had a moment to waste on disdain?

At the heart of the city at the heart of the world there were ten and four luminaries, and it was they who were responsible for guiding the people. They were shepherds of the city, and of the world, and of the very star upon which they dwelt. Their offices were not hereditary, nor granted at a whim like some tyrant parcels out scraps of power to legitimize the retention of his own rule. Instead their appointments were a recognition of certain talents, granted to those who were most capable with the arts of creation, that their wills might be yoked to the purpose of serving their people. It was a pleasure and an honor to serve, and their servitude did not go unrecognized. Such was the esteem they were held in that soon the titles of their office served to identify them better than their names.

They were called the Convocation of Fourteen, as only befitted their number and their purpose.

Though there was no higher calling than to serve on that illustrious council, those so appointed did not usually stay for life. They offered up the best of themselves and their talents, and then when the time came would cede the office to another best equipped for the strictures of its duties. There was sorrow in this, but more than that there was joy, for all knew that the council member that was leaving them had done their utmost, and the one they would appoint in their place would honor that legacy even as they brought a fresh perspective. But always there were fourteen, and always did they meet as equals.

When the Emissary returned from the cities across the sea with dire news, the city spoke of nothing else. There were those who felt aid must be sent—but the people of the world were the same in all the world, and there were few tools to be granted that they did not already have. Horrors begat horrors, and men learned to fear. Fear begat pain, and men learned to suffer. It was whispered that beneath the earth were hells full of beasts and violence and that this was the source of the trouble, while the sky could only look on in sorrow.

Hells opened; heavens wept. The Convocation debated. What else could we do?

This was not the way of the world—the laws of the star should not have permitted this, but there was little to be gained by staring death in the face and declaring it an impossibility. The city was safe, but it would not always be so.

A multitude of plans were put forth. In the end, it was Lahabrea’s support that decided matters—a master of creation and a skilled orator besides, it was he that urged us to create an entity capable of enforcing the strictures of reality. For all we had created and all we had built, we had never conceived of anything greater than ourselves. We had seen no need. But Lahabrea’s impassioned speeches and meticulous concepts inculcated the idea, and soon we came to quorum: we would pool our powers with those of the people and give voice to creation itself. We would create a Keeper of Precepts, who, when he spoke to Death, would make it listen. On this we were nearly all agreed. Nearly, I say, for as news of beasts and horrors crept into the city, nearer with each passing day, there was one who yet protested. So strident were their convictions that they announced that, should we put this plan into action, they would abdicate their office.

It was unthinkable. None of the Convocation had ever left with matters unsettled; with work undone. Certainly none had vacated their duties while a crisis loomed. We pled—I pled—with them to stay, and they pled with me to reconsider. But they had no plan so complete as Lahabrea’s. Had they, I would have thrown the weight of my support behind it.

Then Doom came to the city.

We were not ready for it. How could we ever be ready for it? We were not agreed; we were not prepared. In purpose and action were we resolved, however, and the fourteen of us went forth in defense of the city we loved. But we, who had never conceived of anything greater than ourselves, found ourselves outmatched. Fire rained from the skies, and the gleaming streets became abattoirs of blood and ash. Those we could save, we saved; those we could shelter, we sheltered. But even when the beasts laid still and our beloved city was a charnel ruin, we knew no peace. We had gone out fourteen, and come back thirteen.

Thus, before the world was sundered, we were broken.

There was no time to find a replacement. They had made no suggestions on the subject—they had intended to leave their office vacant, and though we did not wish it, we ceded to that demand out of need. The sun blazed over the land, scorching earth and burning seas. Discord rang throughout the city. Time was not with us. We had but one plan—the one my friend had rejected.

You know what happens next, of course. Your Mother will have told you.

Has She told you what it cost us? Perhaps She thinks that because we did not pay with our own lives, we counted our salvation cheap. We were the architects of this plan, but we were not its agents—we had to live, to see the work done. We had the ability, and the cost to us was to demand the lives of those we served—and to survive them; to know them as lost to us as all those that the Doom had claimed.

Thus it was that we created Zodiark, and thus it was we became His servants. He did all that we asked of Him—he rewrote the laws of the star itself to save those that still dwelt in it. He could not undo the damage already wrought; not how we had made Him. But the denizens of our dying world came forth unto us and offered themselves up to restore the grass upon the earth; the fish of the seas; the breeze in the air. It was perverse; it was contradictory to the order of things we had clung to all our lives. But the precepts had changed, in their keeping, and we accepted. But it was not right. It was not just. Suffering was ash and blood in our mouths, and we developed no taste for it. I do not recall who it was who proposed the third plan. Perhaps it was Fandaniel, wracked with guilt over her failure to protect her people. Perhaps it was Deudalaphon, who had loved the city more than his own life. Whatever the case, we all knew it was not meet that we should live without those who died in our place. When the star came into its full again, we decided, we would offer up a portion of the life upon it. In return, Zodiark would restore to us all those we had lost. I would be glad to see my friend again, and they would see that we had done the right thing—that we had saved the star, and the people, and them.

There were those who did not agree with me. Not about the plan, and not about my friend. They rallied to their name—not their title but their very name—and opposed us. It was what my friend would want, these people claimed. It was the first time in years that anyone but myself had spoken that name. They called them Hero.

It was the first time we had ever fought in such a way. They would not give way to our plans; they would not give the future over to this star to those who had once been its shepherds. Were they any better than us? We have been called peddlers of chaos, but one must have chaos in his heart to give birth to a dancing star.

Them as much as us. Your Mother was their creation, did you know? She was born after Zodiark to contain Him, and though He should have prevailed, She was created with one purpose and thereby was granted the power to enervate Him. Her blinding light reigned over the star, and the conflict between what should be and what must be splintered reality itself.

The world, and every life on it, fractured, and its pieces were set adrift.

The sundering of the star was not gentle; beyond those who gave their lives for Hydaelyn, countless more died. Ten of our number were among them, and we three that yet lived despaired. Zodiark, in His weakened state, could not undo what had been wrought in Hero’s name—a final Doom that they would never have wanted.

We held onto hope that some scrap of our colleagues’ souls had survived. Perhaps on some dim reflection …

And so we went in search, to find them and restore them to their office. It was a lonely time, when there were but three of us and fourteen worlds between, the lights of mens’ lives on each dim and fading. I was alone. I was impatient. The star would need to be made whole first, and then we would have to tend it with the selfsame care that absent Halmarult had once tended his gardens. For the first time I knew need—and I did what we had always done when faced with a need. I created something to meet it. Perhaps none could have done it but me; with all my art and half my soul I gave myself the one thing Zodiark could not grant me.

I gave myself my friend back.

That the cost was half of me is only meet. Half of me had been missing in any case, and at least this sacrifice was mine to make. I kept it from the others—though perhaps they knew, when I returned with you walking at my side, remembering nothing.

You never do remember.

Not until you do. Not until it destroys you. But the work is half done now, and with every quake and every flood and every falling star I exult, because the hand of the infernal clock ticks backward. Because among these shattered shards there awaits a world made whole. An I made whole. A you made whole.

We have done this half a dozen times, Hero. Must we do it a half-dozen more? I have told you all—I swear upon the duties of my office, which have always been to speak the truth. Do you understand now? Do you remember?

Will you survive?

I am waiting, Hero.

[houseisekai]

House Isekai: Shadowbringers -Interlude 3

House Isekai Shadowbringers AU Masterlist Here

—

Interlude: School-Living Club

Yuki was the only one remaining at Megumi’s makeshift grave. It was a blessing and a curse that there was nothing left to bury.

The grave had a somewhat crude design of a cross sticking out of the ground, since no one had time to make a proper grave. Not to mention the other casualties.

It had only been a day since the attack. Everyone else was trying to rest up and help any survivors before they had to leave.

Yuuri watched Yuki stare blankly at the grave, not sure what to say.

Now that Megumi had gone, their memories came back, clear as day.

They were driving away from the school to find somewhere else to hold out when they were transported to Fodlan. And that’s when they found Megumi again.

Only for her to be taken away once more.

(Yuuri) “...”

(Byleth) “Yuuri?”

She turned around and saw Byleth, Sitri, and the other School-Living Club members.

(Kurumi) “How’s she doing?”

(Yuuri) “About as well as you’d expect.”

(Sitri) “...Megumi told me that this wasn’t her first time dying.”

(Yuuri) “She’s always protected us...Even on that day.”

(Kurumi) “Yuki refused to accept her death and just...talked to Megumi as if nothing happened. When you saw her during the Academy, that’s how she was for a long time...”

(Miki) “She did snap out of it. Until we came to Fodlan, anyway. It seems like we all reverted to our past memories, except for Megumi somehow.”

(Sitri) “Guess that will have to add onto the questions for Lahabrea. But that comes later, what should we say to Yuki?”

(Yuuri) “...I don’t know.”

Sitri remained silent for a moment before her head began pounding. She reached for it while wincing in pain, catching everyone’s attention.

(Byleth) “What’s wro-...!!!”

Byleth had the exact reaction and was brought down to his knee.

(Miki) “Sitri, Byleth!”

(Kurumi) “Are you two okay?!”

The two didn’t respond as they were barraged by several voices speaking at once.

Their voices.

Byleth and Sitri heard laughter, crying, screaming and their conversations, which almost drove them straight into the floor.

Yuki turned around and saw what was happening, which she rushed over from Megumi’s grave and to their side.

She put her hands on their shoulders.

(Yuki) “What’s happening, are you hurt?!”

The moment she made contact, the memories of the School-Living Club instantly stopped.

Byleth and Sitri looked up in confusion.

(Sitri) “Byleth...did you see?”

He nodded. Byleth said nothing at first, but his fist clenched up.

(Byleth) “What the hell was that? How did we see that-No, how did you see that?!”

It had just hit her. When she spoke to Kazuma’s group, she was able to hear their voices. Their memories. Why could she? The only thing that happened to her was coming back from the dead.

Now that she thought on it more, Lahabrea never did say why.

(Byleth) “I want answers, now.”

He stomped off before anyone could stop him.

(Sitri) “We’ll follow him soon. Yuki, are you alright? You’ve...been there for a while.”

Yuki at first said nothing. She sighed and nodded.

(Yuki) “Now that I remember...yes.”

She looked away as she took off her hat.

(Yuki) “Why...Why was she brought back to us, only for her to get taken away again?!

(Yuuri) “Yuki-chan...”

(Yuki) “If I had paid attention more to our surroundings, then maybe-”

(Sitri) “Don’t speak like that.”

Everyone turned to her.

(Sitri) “I...I don’t have all the context to it, but I can at least hazard a guess from what I saw. She died protecting you all the first time, right?”

(Kurumi) “You saw...? Er, yes...She did.”

(Sitri) “And from what I’ve seen, she would do it again, and again, and again if it meant you all were safe by the time all of this comes to an end. You know that.”

(Everyone) “...”

(Sitri) “And...That promise you made Megumi, Yuki. Do you remember it?”

Yuki was taken aback. As far as she knew, she was the only one aware of that promise, but regardless...

(Yuki) “I do.”

(Sitri) “And remember what you said before. It’s okay to feel sad, you don’t always have to be happy. If you keep looking to the past, you won’t be able to protect those you care about in the present.”

Sitri got up and put a hand on Yuki’s head.

(Sitri) “I can only imagine what pain you all are going through, losing someone you care for. But I know this at the very least: Megumi would want you to move on. Just as you have before.”

(Yuki) “...Yeah.”

Yuki wiped away tears that were forming on her face, which Yuuri went to hug her. It was then followed by Kurumi and Miki.

(Yuuri) “Thank you, Sitri. When the time is right, we’ll be sure to thank Byleth and the other staff as well. They’ve been with her since the start after all.”

Sitri nodded and smiled.

(Sitri) “Of course. You were here for my son, so I will be here for you.”

(Miki) “S-Sorry to cut this moment short, but we should probably follow Byleth.”

(Kurumi) “You’re right, let’s go.”

Everyone nodded and went to follow him, though Yuki was last to follow.

She went back to Megumi’s grave and left her hat on it, nodding in satisfaction.

It wouldn’t feel right, not doing what she did in her world after all.

She quickly left to follow the others. Now more than anything, House Isekai needed them.

...

Minato watched Yuki run back to the others into the capital building. It wasn’t his or Minako’s intention to eavesdrop, but they heard the entire conversation.

(Minako) “So, our memories got all scrambled when we came into Fodlan. Makes sense, considering what we’ve been hearing.”

(Minato) “Yeah.”

(Minako) “...How much of S.E.E.S knows about it, do you think?”

(Minato) “If Megu-nee was any indication to go off of, they won’t remember until it’s too late.”

Minako sighed.

(Minako) “Makes it a bit easier on us, I guess.”

(Minato) “Aigis will take care of them. But like Sitri said, we focus on the present so we can protect everyone.”

She nodded in agreement.

(Minako) “We should go round up everyone, huh?”

(Minato) “Probably.”

Minato was about to walk off, until Minako brought up a fist to him. He raised an eyebrow as she smiled.

[This Beautiful Cruel World - Attack On Titan OST]

(Minako) “Let’s make sure we go out with a bang this time, yeah?”

For the first time in a very long time, he smiled back.

(Minato) “You bet.”

He fist-bumped her and they walked to the capital building, knowing what fate had in store for them...

Your dream is where your heart is

It’s something more fragile than life itself

No matter how many times you throw it away, you still find it

So rest in peace now

Your wish is violated by your pulsing urge

and as much as you forget about it, you recall it again

In this beautiful and cruel world

We only ask “why” we’re still alive…

Ah, what are we going to protect

with our strength and weakness? If reason no longer exists

TO BE CONTINUED IN: