#to feel more empowered by his own actions and not because of his royal blood

[thelien-art]

Tyelkormo, Morifinwe & Curufinwe

Nelyafinwe & Kanafinwe

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 230: League of Thots

Previously on BnHA: We learned all about Twice’s past, which was a lot like Oliver Twist, if you’re like me and you never actually read Oliver Twist and only have extremely vague memories of watching one of the movie versions as a kid and seeing some poor wretched child asking for more oatmeal and falling in with some lovable scalawags. Although I’m pretty sure Oliver Twist never hit a dude with a motorcycle and made a bunch of clones of himself because he was lonely and then the clones all tried to kill each other. But like, other than that, I still kinda got that vibe, idk. Anyway so Twice is great and we all love him and feel sorry for him, and the Metahuman Liberation Army ripped his mask off because they’re dicks, and then they broke his arms because see re: the part where they’re dicks. But once his arms were broken, Twice, who’d been having an ongoing identity crisis due to not being sure whether he was one of his own clones, realized he couldn’t be a clone since he was still alive and hadn’t melted into a big blob after taking all that damage. So then he got all empowered, and he made like a dozen fresh new clones of himself, and now they’re gonna fuck up the MLA’s shit hopefully, and good riddance.

Today on BnHA: The League of Twices surges forth to do battle with the forces of evil and it’s my favorite thing ever. What started out as a dozen quickly multiplies exponentially -- we’re talking literal exponential growth here -- until Re-Destro’s Army of 116,000 people actually find themselves outnumbered. Up in his tower, Re-Destro is all “gee Skeptic you sure did fuck up spectacularly :)” and Skeptic quickly makes himself scarce, leaving Giran all on his own to antagonize RD about how royally screwed he is. Back in the thick of things, Dabi continues to attack The Night King, but it turns out he’s able to create new ice from just about any water source, so that complicates things a bit. Meanwhile Dabi is apparently starting to roast himself with his own quirk, which is very interesting and a huge clue as to how he came to be where he is, all scarred up and presumably Presumed Dead, and it’s all very intriguing. But before we can ponder that much, we cut to Ujiko, who’s getting tired of watching the League kick ass so effortlessly and decides to throw a Gigantomachia-shaped wrench into the mix just for the hell of it, waking the big guy early so he can join in on the fun. Well you won’t see me complaining omg.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added a couple of ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

oh my god

first of all, y’all know I love it when Horikoshi really gets into the nitty-gritty of how someone’s quirk works and hammers out all the little stipulations and provisions about what they can and can’t do, etc. but then to do it with this adorable little chibi Twice sketch is almost too much. we’re only on the first panel here; if this is an indicator of what the rest of the chapter is gonna be like, fair warning that I will probably have a number of little fangirling breakdowns

anyhoo, so this definitely clears some things up. the translation could be a little clearer, but I’m gonna take this to mean that he has a two-clone limit, period, and can’t make more than two of any person or object until the existing clones disappear. meaning that this can’t actually be used to create entire armies, which is a smart move on Horikoshi’s part in terms of keeping him from getting too op. this is especially important because we know his clones can use the same quirks as the original. so yeah, that could potentially get out of hand real fast without a few limiters in place

but! there is one exception to the “only two” rule, which we’re now seeing in action! a quirk hack, if you will. which is that if he clones himself, each of those clones is then capable of using the same Doubling quirk under the same rules. so each clone can make an additional two clones. which is dope. like, past a certain point, you actually have to start using math to keep up with him. and that part is in fact pretty motherflippin’ powerful, even if each duplicate is weaker than the last. it’s definitely not something you want to fuck with. I would sure hate to be a person, or army of people, who have done just that and are now going to have to feel his wrath. oh man

so because this is a Flashback Arc we are now cutting to another flashback, but this time a more recent one involving the Shigaraki Squad all hanging out in the ol’ Villain Shack

-- holy shit

okay but this is so fucking smart, though. these guys keep thinking of things that would never, ever occur to me because try as I might, I just can’t get on the same level of thinking outside the box that they’re at. obviously they’re a good deal more primed to think of creative applications of their own quirks, having lived with said quirks for most of their lives. but still

anyways, look at me, I’m practically beside myself being impressed even though Twice wasn’t actually able to do anything lol. but just, even the fact that they tried is impressive to me. leave no avenue unexplored. god this manga is so good

anyway so now we’re cutting back to the present, and Twice is thinking that he wants to repay his friends for accepting him. “that’s all I ever think about!”

weekly reminder that Twice is in fact the nicest guy in the series. and it’s all the more impressive since he lacked any kind of good influence when he was growing up. dude is a fucking saint if you think of it like that

lol. well no one ever said saints couldn’t be violent sometimes

so now the MLA goons who were formerly watching on the sidelines are all “oh shit” and they’re rushing in to try to help contain the situation

only to be confronted with this

you see?? math. Twice to the nth power. holy shit

also the title/attack name Sad Man’s Parade is so good and evocative that I assumed it must be a reference to something, but when I googled it just now all I got was links to articles and reviews of this very chapter. but I still think it must be a reference though. we’ve had a lot of them recently, including last week’s title, which as @herongale pointed out to me was a reference to The Killing Joke. so if any smart person can figure this one out, please let me know. it sounds like a song or something maybe

anyway I just clicked to the next page and it’s the most badass thing I’ve ever seen so let me just share that with y’all

things I like:

Twice’s face

that last panel. just. that

Twice holding Toga all protectively fffsdfasd

and did I mention that face though. holy hecking fuck my lovable lil LoV mascot is suddenly all grown up and making me feel things. going after all of my weak spots at once! protecting his friends: check. all scuffed up and covered in blood all sexy-like: double check. and last but not least, that look of utter, fearless determination: checkcheckmotherfuckincheck

jesus christ. first Giran and now you. more like League of Thirst, fml. what was that he was saying in the previous chapter about his scary looks?? you know what Twice, you can fuck right off with that noise. I can’t believe you were holding out on us this entire time

anyway so now here’s Re-Destro to chill me out before I completely lose my shit

ah, nothing like that arrogant pointy mug to bring me back down to reality right quick. really can’t wait until someone knocks this guy down off his high horse

and now he’s turning and casually remarking to Skeptic that it’s rare to see him fail. and holy shit though, there’s something about this scene that just sent a chill down my spine

and why did I get flashbacks to that poor lil dead mouse guy just now, though. the thing about Re-Destro is he’s the kind of guy who can and will be all smiles right up to and including the point where he happily snaps your neck for having displeased him. and that is scary as fuck. just look how quickly Skeptic noped the fuck out of there

look at him omg

he sure got the message right away, didn’t he? better go fix things right the fuck now if you enjoy being alive, dude

holy shit. he is genuinely scary. that one panel there may actually be scarier than anything AFO ever did. I suddenly had a rush of appreciation for Overhaul of all people, yes you heard me right, because at least he was just unabashedly Straight Up Evil. none of this pretending to be all nice with this cold dead look in your eyes bullshit

just, I really don’t like how it just seems like he could snap at any time and you’re never quite sure what the final trigger might actually be. it’s terrifying. but I guess that’s the kind of vibe you’ve got to have if you’re looking to be a villain so bad that the actual villains are fighting against you lol

now Giran is straight up not giving a fuck again, and acting like he’s not tied to a chair with one remaining hand and trapped in a room with this profoundly unsettling man, and as usual I love it

you just keep on being insolent and sarcastic you sexy piece of shit. you’re doing great

lol now Re-Destro says they’ll overcome quantity with quality, and wow. that may just be the most delusional thing this asshole has said thus far. have we even been reading the same arc?? are you really trying to say that your Metahuman Army of Jackasses is in any way even in the same league as Tomura’s merry band of ragtag prodigies? just go ahead and admit that they’re wiping the floor with you

and as if to prove my point

tbh I’m genuinely starting to feel like any one member of the League could singlehandedly take out Re-Destro’s entire force. and they haven’t even introduced you to Gigantomachia yet!! my god. RD’s horribly discomforting general vibe aside, this arc is like watching a horror movie play out where none of the victims realizes how screwed they are until it’s too late. and also you’re rooting for the killers because they’re likable and sexy

I do have to hand it to Parka here though because he’s somehow not dead yet in spite of all that, which is legitimately impressive

Dabi even says that his ice is almost gone. you’re living on borrowed time Baskin Robbins

ooh now we’re getting a quick panel of Compress doing his thing while Dabi carries on

Compress are we getting your flashbacks next. I can only begin to imagine what kind of tragic and relatable things you’ve been through and how hot you probably are too underneath that mask. how long until you’re my new favorite character. I’m onto this arc and its games by this point, Horikoshi. you and your motherfucking League of Thots ffff

Dabi is all “why do I have to help you?” lol. classic Dabi

eh what’s this

before I click to the next page, I’m just going to assume he’s talking about the twelve million Twices headed their way

yep

new favorite panel alert

oh my god. this is amazing. more of him to love

LMAO

FUCK YOU AND YOUR CAREFREE SELF-AWARE MANGA HORIKOSHI KOUHEI. I CAN’T LEGALLY MARRY A SHOUNEN MANGA SERIES SO WHY ARE YOU TORTURING ME LIKE THIS

and Compress is all “wow that sounds like something from a hero story,” and then we’re cutting to another Twice panel so that we can’t see him turning and winking at the audience

Twice says that the League are his only friends in the world and that they’re all precious to him. actually, he didn’t say it so much as he straight up yelled it. nicest guy in the fucking world I’m telling you. what a good egg. what a chaotic good little boy scout

lmao now he’s drunk on power and ambition

lmao go for it. THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER

(ETA: also I just realized what I said before about him not being able to make an army is clearly blatantly untrue, since even though he has the two-clone limit, that hardly matters if there are like 17,000 of him and each of them can clone two other people. he truly is a beast.)

oh my god

are you telling me that you guys are kicking so much ass that it’s actually backfiring on you. “that was such a good plan that we had, but unfortunately we didn’t take into account that we’re straight up gangstas who kick ass and take names”

hell, if the Army’s all gone by the time G-Man gets here, you can just sic all the clones on him and see if it finally gets you somewhere! I’m past the point of putting anything past you guys now. I’m pretty sure you can do anything. I’m glad you’re on our side. oh shit wait

anyway so Compress is checking his dandy pocket watch and says Giganto should be there in one hour and five minutes

are they taking travel time into account?? or wait, I guess Ujiko can just warp him over to their location once he finally wakes up. right

Twice is telling them all that Toga’s in trouble and needs help! yessss help her. I got so caught up in your tremendous badassery that I almost forgot

HEY WHAT THE

RUDE. WHO DID THIS

oh go figure

you know it really is incredible how quickly Horikoshi can get me back on that “so are we going to get any Dabi flashbacks” train though lol. I really should know better by this point. quash those hopes. this manga is not a charity; we don’t give out flashbacks for free just like that

and yet. my brain says no but my heart says “pleasepleaseplease”

so now Ben & Jerry’s is saying that he can also control the temperature of the ice. um, what? it’s already ice; how much colder can it possibly get? unless you’re talking about making it warmer, in which case I hate to break it to you but then it’s water and not ice, and you obviously can’t control water so

oh wait he just means that he can use his ice to freeze other stuff and make More Ice. oh

RIGHT, DABI??

and now Klondike here is launching into some kind of speech, oh joy

hoohhhhh boy

[sidles up to Dabi] hey there boy. that last part sound like anything you’ve heard before? jog any memories for you there bud? provoke any thoughts? spark any reveries??

Dabi you’re really one hell of a closed book, you know that? fuck my life

(ETA: but also! so the real colors of the MLA finally come out, huh. for all their talk of freeing people from oppression, they’re no different from the people they want to overthrow; it’s just that they want to oppress the people who don’t have quirks, or whose quirks are “weak.” no doubt the original Destro had a similar philosophy. can’t imagine quirkless people making out too well in this brave new world of theirs. in fact I wouldn’t be surprised if there was eventually a mass genocide of anyone quirkless. it would get real dark real fast.)

oh shit

everybody sHUT UP, WE’RE GETTING DETAILS ABOUT DABI’S QUIRK AND ABOUT HIS SCARS AHSLDFJASLK

okay first of all, !!!@KLK!L!!!LK!”!!!GGKK

and second, Horikoshi continues the trend of putting the brakes on the League’s powers getting out of control, even as he shows how much they can still kick ass when unleashed to their fullest potential. that’s a hell of a balance to strike

and third, !LJ!L!!!!”!”“!DSFLSDIW for reals though because this is the first we’ve ever gotten as far as actual details regarding those scars and their possible origins, and holy shit but I can’t. finally some more info on the mysterious house elf

and meanwhile Compress is sitting in a mess of melted and frozen Twices, and thinking that it would be great if they could have Haagen-Dazs face off against Gigantomachia. but like, the way he says that kind of implies that he doesn’t think he’s gonna last that long lol. which I’m in agreement with. Dabi you can go ahead and take this popsicle fucker out now

-- !!?!!

okay Horikoshi you can’t just CUT TO UJIKO LIKE THAT WITHOUT WARNING you ass. give me a sec to brace myself first would ya

and poor little John standing there in the corner. John-kun ;_; god that’s so fucked up to just draw him chilling there all but forgotten until he’s actually needed

and what do you mean “if you were to die here.” underestimating them much? but if you want to toss them a bone though sure go ahead

so does this mean he’s going to unleash another High End?? because I’m all out of puns for those, so I’ll have to come up with a new shtick and I can’t just do that off the cuff you know

oh, nope. even better!

yooooooo things about to get lit up in the club omgggggggg

YESSSSSSS

okay first of all is he literally uprooting fucking trees just by waking up from his nap slkjdlfffff how many more ways can Horikoshi come up with to show us how much of a fucking beast this guy is. holy fuck

and second, YESSSSSSSSS. THAT’S RIGHT YOU ARMY MOTHERFUCKERS! PREPARE TO TASTE SOME PAIN. JUST LOOK AT THAT. HE’S GONNA STIR UP SOME CALAMITIES AND SHIT. ALL YOU FUCKERS GONNA DIE, AND I’LL BE RIGHT HERE, WATCHING CONTENTEDLY AND CAPSLOCKING ABOUT IT

hahaha this arc is making me want to be a villain. I can’t help it. they make it look like so much fun. shit

[ganymedesclock]

Just a lil idea I had: you know how the black bayard looks different when Zarkon uses it (like with those spiky parts, very edgy™️) than when Shiro or Keith use it (rounded and stuff)? And you know how when Zarkon died it returned to its “original” form (in a “he’s free” kinda metaphorical situation)? Why do you think that when lotor uses the black bayard it looks like Zarkon’s vampire version? Is he possessed by the rift creatures the way his parents (probably) were? Maybe not as much?

Interestingly enough, in a recent interview they likened Zarkon and Haggar to vampires and referred to Lotor as a “daywalker” (as in, something like a dhampir/ half-vampire)

This is pretty noticeable as compared to his parents, Lotor looks pretty alive. He still has irises and pupils, for one, while Zarkon went from his young look to a much more sunken-featured, blank-eyed one. Zarkon gives off a hell of a dracula vibe, in short- and Haggar for her part has been designed in this continuity to heavily resemble a ghost.

Lotor- well, he’s purple, he’s a little pointy, but all things considered if he looks like a vampire he looks like a teen romance vampire- the kind that’s designed to seem very relatable and human. Which is quite a difference to people like Zarkon and Haggar who are very Gothic Horror. Zarkon and Haggar toe a line between “empowered person” and “horror movie monster” when they fight, Haggar especially- but Lotor at his scariest and most threatening still just reads like a person with superpowers. 

Hell, his preoccupation with finding a sustainable way to harvest quintessence, which the empire needs, without hurting involved people- taking only as much as can be replenished and finding ways to harvest it from sources that don’t hurt people- is a very stereotypical trait of a sympathetic “vegetarian” vampire who’s honestly sort of embarrassed by their own appetite and the damage it can do.

Comparing the cruiser to the imperial central command, Lotor’s spaceship looks like a spaceship- in form it even resembles the center fuselage of the castleship. Central Command is Dracula’s Castle, reimaigned for space. Zarkon literally sustains and restores his own health by consuming liquid “life energy” that especially in s5e2 was equated visually with blood.

Not to mention both of the injuries that have taken him out of action involved the visual of being impaled through the chest- that is to say first Voltron, then Lotor, defeated Zarkon by staking him.

Zarkon is basically flat-out space Dracula. Furthermore, the features of the galra in general resemble a mix of predatory animals and bats, when vampire lore tends to associate them with such.

This isn’t new to VLD, either- GoLion literally depicted the galra regularly drinking blood from goblets and at one point Haggar hissed and drew back from a holy symbol.

Going back to stuff I’ve said about life and death (and heavenly/hellish themes in the show), plus how the show seems to be structuring itself over the concept of order versus entropy, with cyan representing order and purple representing entropy… it stands that the “signature” color associated with Lotor is royal blue, mixing those two together.

Lotor’s not, fundamentally, an entropic being like his parents. This is why I don’t like insinuations that tie him directly and personally to the rift entity- because that’s Zarkon and Haggar. They’re the people who’ve tapped the fundamental wellspring of entropy in this setting and come back as full undead.

Lotor? Lotor was in an odd position where when Zarkon and Honerva were killed and revived he wasn’t really living himself yet. Without official confirmation we wouldn’t have known Honerva was pregnant when she was sick in the rift- she didn’t have a noticeable baby bump at that point. Meaning… Lotor didn’t really exist yet, honestly. There was a lump of cells fully dependent on Honerva’s systems that would eventually become Lotor and that’s not really… a life to take or a life to give, yet. It’s also not clear how long Honerva was dead, and clearly her undead state is close enough to life that she was able to bear her child to term, albeit with a lot of complications.

So Lotor didn’t really die because he wasn’t really alive yet, and it’s not clear if he really needs to “partake” of the energy he’s so interested in gathering to stay alive. (I’d guess either not at all or very rarely, because otherwise I’d expect his father’s exile or being stuck in the paladins’ punishment jar to have starved him out)

But he’s still, in a sense, touched by undeath- he has that shiny, unnaturally-even-by-altean-standards white hair, the electric blue eyes; he ages incredibly slowly. But he’s still a very different kind of being from his parents- and noticeably, Oriande, which is almost definitely some kind of holy land, takes no offense to his presence and only rejects him on account of failing the ultimate test, not because of any “tainted blood” born of his parents fucking with the Substance Of Life.

In that sense, the black bayard changing shapes could entirely be because of that undeathly quality. Allura does say in s5e3 that the bayard amplifies its bearer’s life force- so it makes sense Lotor, as a figurative creature of the night, has a very different life force from Shiro, who is very alive.

That said, it is interesting that, could be just me, but I feel like the black bayard glows more of an indigo when Lotor’s using it as opposed to the vivid magenta it takes in Zarkon’s hands.

It’s also interesting, because it means that now we’ll know if any bayard-wielding character is mortal or undead based on whether or not the bayard goes all pointy when they pick it up.

[crowleyellestair]

Leonard Snart- Profiler

AN/ This is a sort of Criminal Minds- Flash crossover. 

Masterlist

Summary: You worked for the BAU and you were the top profiler, and you met the flash by figuring it out. Now you’re on team flash, and you are now the person to make or break the team.

“Okay. Thank you Spencer. I miss you guys! Bye.” You put the phone down, and look at the rest of the team. The new team. Team Flash.

“What is it Sherlock?” You smile at Cisco’s nickname for you, and shake your head. 

“They won’t be able to make it out here for us, but Spence is always okay with me calling him for advice. We’re on our own for this one.” 

Harry walks over and clasps his hand on my shoulder,

“You’re all the help we need.” I give a respectful, curt nod. I was apart of the team, but at the same time, I was fairly new and I didn’t feel ‘in’ yet. I have helped out alot, but I can’t do too much. I could figure out how to find the people, or know who they are based on the crime scene, but other than that not much. I’m only on this team because I transferred to CCPD, figured out it was Barry, and asked him. 

Cisco ripping open a new bag of twizzlers catches my attention. We make eye contact, and he smiles while throwing me two. I smile back and plop into my spinning chair. I start to spin, and push of the desk, propelling me back, away from the desk, and into someone. I stand when the chair stops, and I come chest to chest with one of the most handsome men I have ever met.

“Careful sweetcheeks. People get hurt when they’re this close.” He softly, slowly blinks, his piercing eyes looking back at me. His smirk not fully reaching his eyes. 

I sit back down into the chair, and slide back to the desk.

“Snart. What are you doing here?” Barry’s body showed defensive actions, but I could tell it was somewhat for show. 

“I need you to take someone in for me.” Cisco, Harry, and Barry looked very confused. He rolls his eyes, “This guy named ‘Double Down’. He showed up at my place last night, and said he had Lisa.”

“Then why didn’t you stop him?”

“Because his body is made of cards, and did magic or something to disappear.”

“Actually, if his name was Double Down, it could be referring to gambling. And you must be Leonard Snart, so it’s someone that knows you. Otherwise he wouldn’t have really known that Lisa is an obvious pressure point of yours. So we’re looking for a gambling un-sub, who is seeking vengeance. Kidnappers only show up to the family in someway if they want a ransom, or some form of payment. And in this case, I think he might want your life. Do you know of anyone who sounds like that, that you know?” 

Everyone was quiet.

“Who the hell is she?” Leonard looked mildly impressed, yet offended. 

“A former BAU agent. She’s the CCPD’s first profiler.” Cisco sounded excited, but I keep eye contact with Snart. He was so beautiful. 

“Charming.” I smile, but he doesn’t return it, “It sounds like Jeremy Tell. So how do we get him?” 

“This is a terrible idea.” Len’s hand is cold against the small of my back. His hand was pressed against my bare back. The dress I was wearing made me slightly uncomfortable, and his touches weren’t helping. Nor was his attitude. 

“Barry’s leg is severely injured, and I have bagged over one-hundred serial killers. I think we’ll be okay. But the lack of confidence in me is kind of messing me up right now, so if you don’t mind,” I stop and look him dead in the,”Shut up.” We keep walking till I spot our target. I stop Len again, “You seem like a cool guy, but you seem like your emotions will get the better of you, so let me do the talking.” 

He shakes his head,

“No. That’s my sister-”

“Exactly. And I will save her. I didn’t mean to, but I may have slightly psychoanalysed you. I know you love her more than your own life, and because of that, you’re prepared to do something stupid. Let me do the talking.” He still has a hard exterior, “Please?”

He sighs and nods, but his eyes are threatening. I nod, understanding that if Lisa get’s hurt, so do I.

We both fall into our persona’s, acting like a gambling couple, but him being the support, and I the gambler. 

We make our way over to the table, sitting across from Jeremy who’s holding Lisa close to his side. She looks to Leonard, them exchanging eye contact before she breaks it off, and looks at me. I nod respectfully, and she doesn’t look confident in me, probably because she think’s he’ll trade me for her. And that was an option Len came up with, but the team shot it down. 

She’s dress in a beautiful gold gown. Jeremy has a ‘Phantom of the Opera’ thing going on, with a nice suit and A white mask. Leonard is dressed in his best. A double breasted, dark blue suit. I had on a black dress that fit snug against my curves, but had an opening down my back and a slit on my right leg through the floor length flow of the skirt. 

Len was to the right of me, and I could feel his clenched hand on my bare thigh. I push his hand with my leg, and he looks at me. His face tries to soften, and it does a little. I try and tell him to calm down just by body language, and it seems like ha got the memo. 

We’ve only met three days ago, but I think we make a pretty good team. I know he’s the enemy, but damn, I love being around him. 

“Are you ready to pay, Leonard?”

“We’re actually at an impasse, Mr.Tell.” Both Lisa and Jeremy look at me with confusion.

“Who the hell are you?!”

“I am the middle man.”

“Snarts a man. He can face me himself.” Time to do what profilers do best. I lean forward a little, and look him dead in the eyes.

“You like to be in control, don’t you, Mr.Tell? That’s why you’ve dragged us into this galla you threw as a cover for Leonard’s and maybe Lisa’s death, am I correct? It’s your venue, your rules, your kidnapping. But you’ve made a mistake. You don’t control Leonard’s thoughts or actions.You wanted the satisfaction of revenge do much that you didn’t think it all the way through.”

Tell tightened his grip on Lisa, and a small gasp came out of her. Leonard was about to stand, but 

i put a gentle hand on his thigh. 

“What are you talking about?!”

“If he says no, you don’t get the satisfaction.”

“Then I’ll kill her!”

“But then you have nothing to hold against him, and he would have the right to kill you.”

“He wronged me first!”

“But not by blood! You’re obviously mad because he won in a card game and took a lot of money or a jewel from you.” He loosens his grip on Lisa.

“So what are you suggesting?”

“A rematch. If he wins, he gets Lisa. If you win- well. Then you get Leonard.”

He smiles, and sits quiet for a minute. He nods, and pulls out a deck of cards, and starts to deal. I pinch Leonards leg, and stare at the cards. 

“I want to play with house cards.” Yes! He got what I was trying to say! Seriously, we need to team up after this.

“No.”

“Why not?” Leonard’s voice is dripping with venom. I interject.

“Are those your cursed cards?” Jeremy looked surprised, “Word is, is that they merged with your body. I’m assuming they can be taken off. That’s an unfair advantage if you have cards in your favor.” Lisa speaks up,

“How would you know that it’s those cards?”

“Because his mask is white. It’s plastic, but it has fabric to soften his edges. He wants to be in control, but he also wants to impress, or feel needed by ladies. That’s why he took you instead of his well known partner- Not that you’re not well known. I’m not going to lie, I’m actually a fan of the ‘Golden Gilder’. You’re pretty empowering.” She smiles, and nods.

We call over a waiter, and get a house worker. 

I deal the cards. Both sides agree to me dealing, since it’s very hard to cheat as the house. But I went to magic camp for two years, and I need to use those tricks for my job.

I trust Leonard to an extent, but it’s his and his sister’s life on the line, so I cheat. Using some tricks from magic camp, I slip him a king and a queen under the table, passing it off to the others as me just being ‘handsy’. He has a jack and a ten- all cards are the suit of hearts.

Tell smirks, and puts his cards face up on the table. Lisa looks worried.

“Straight flush. Looks like I win.” I look worried as a facade. Try and show the target that you don’t really know what’s going on to limit suspicion. 

Leonard puts his hand down, showing a royal flush- which is the best hand in the game. 

The next few hours were blurry. I remember his cursed cards flying towards Leonard, and me jumping in front of him.

“Seriously screw that guy man. I didn’t even get to keep the cards.” Len chuckles,

“But they’re cursed.”

“So?!” I slowly roll the tank top over my torso, the ten card cuts scattered over my torso making it hard.  Snart looks guilty, seeing me struggle. He walks over and helps pull the shirt the rest of the way down.

“In my line of duty, I’ve been shot, kidnapped, fought, and disabled bombs. These ten marks just at to the conglomerate of scars I already have. Plus, I don’t see scars as a bad thing. I’ve gotten these scars from something evil, like a murderer, bomber or rapist. But I get them because I try and stop them from hurting others. I get the scars so somebody else doesn’t have to. So don’t beat yourself up. I saved you so you and Lisa can be together. That’s the whole reason we were there in the first place.”

Leonard nods and smiles, going quiet for a minute,

“Thank you.” I smile,

“I mean, if you’re really feeling bad about it, you can repay me. You. Me. Dinner. Doesn’t have to be fancy or anything, but I’d like to see you again.” Len smirks and starts to walk away. 

He’s about to walk out of the door, when he pulls his parkas hood up. He stops for a split second, not looking back. His voice like velvet in my ears,

“Tomorrow at eight. Wear something just as beautiful as you did tonight.”

And with that, he walks off.

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Elorcan Werewolf AU part 7

Sometimes following your heart means losing your mind 

Elorcan Werewolf 7

Lorcan saw red.

He felt his body tear from him as he lost all control. He felt raw power course through his veins as his wolf’s side raged and snapped the reins. He felt pure wrath and hatred, violence roaring through every cell and pore.

His bones and muscles shifted, the female on top of him screaming. Lorcan had been called a great many things in his life, many of them along the lines of the Executioner, Death’s Right Hand, or the Devil’s Mind. But the most known moniker of them all was the Great Silencer.

And that was exactly what he did to Essar. His wolf’s claws tore through the female’s neck without a second thought, blood spraying over his black sheets. Her shrieks of protests died at her lips, and Lorcan watched in satisfaction as her body collapsed, limp and cold. His wolf nudged the woman off the bed, and snarled in content as the remains of her skin hit the floor with a thud.

She had tested him, and Lorcan had given her his answer.

If years of turning down her offers was to be ignored, then she had every right to expect this foreseeable action in which her blood no longer circulated. It didn’t matter if the female was a Lycan with royalty spinning in her veins, a kind blush always smoothed over those pale features for him.

It didn’t matter as long as Essar wasn’t his mate, the enchanting creature that was Elide Lochan.

Essar had tried to encourage the notion of love when he had desired nothing more than meaningless sex to satisfy his wolf. Essar had been the one female the royal courts had chosen to pair him with in case all went wrong with his mate. Essar had tried to tame him, a beast who breathed in death and destruction.

Yet, now that Lorcan had found his mate, Essar had approached him, weeping tears of sadness his heart had not flinched at. The doe-eyed female had attempted to part with goodbyes that involved physical intimacy, snapping his wolf into action. At this point, his wolf and him could only agree on one thing: only their mate could touch Lorcan. Only their mate could love him. Only their mate could accept him.

It was only Elide. It was all Elide. Elide, Elide, Elide.

His Lycan thrashed, eyes narrowing and nose twitching. The scent of Elide was right under his nose, and a hint of pink fabric hung loosely around his neck. Lorcan vigorously shook his head and watched the collar fly across the room. He would not rest until his mate was in his arms. A piece of her was not enough. He needed all of her, whether as a wolf or human.

His Lycan burst through the door, and loosed a howl as a half-Lycan mutt and an Alpha bitch stood in the halfway, swords drawn. The mutt’s sword cleaved through the air at a vertical arc, and his wolf easily slipped through the blow with years, centuries, and eons of experience. His teeth tore through the other female’s arm, clamping down on the hard flesh. He easily tossed the Alpha’s body against her Beta’s, not bothering to watch as they slammed against the wall, weapons clanging noisily to the floor.

His wolf picked up speed as he raced down the hallways, Elide’s scent still hanging in the air. Lest he claim his mate, his own Alpha that was Rowan Whitethorn emerged from another hallway, gripping a handful of wolfsbane, magical gloves protecting his hand.

Did rutting-Rowan-Whitethorn think a few stalks of wolfsbane could keep him from his mate?

“Lorcan,” Rowan warned, his voice cut with hardened wind. “Control. Elide would not want to see you like this.”

Lorcan’s wolf did not like Rowan’s tone, and leapt towards him. Only Elide could decide what she wanted him to do and see after centuries of waging bloodied, pointless wars that would have blinded a lesser man.

Rowan swore and agility dodged his first swipe.

“Don’t make me do this,” his Alpha growled, holding up a strand of wolfsbane in front of him, thinking it would be enough.

Lorcan summoned the darkness, and before his ages-old friend could blink, he slammed his power that was old as time itself onto the Prince of Lycans.

His wolf loosed another howl, demanding that his mate return the call.

Only silence persisted in the hallways as Lorcan chased the scent of his mate out into the gardens. The moon taunted him as he wove through the trees, into the woods, his darkness ebbing out, demanding the presence of his sweet Elide Lochan.

His mate.

His.

A whimper that did not belong among the dropping trees that casted demented shadows and creeping insects that swarmed the woods had his pace slowing down drastically. Lorcan crept through the branches, his eyes narrowing into a small, white figure in a grassy clearing, bordering the little river than ran through Lycan property.

The scent of his mate empowered his nose, and his wolf barreled through the trees to his mate. The white wolf lifted her head in response, her almond-shaped eyes widening in surprise. Her own ankle was bent at an odd ankle, and Lorcan bounded around his mate, encircling her small frame.

Elide’s wolf peeled back her lips and gave him a snarl that had his own wolf snapping in response. Rejection spun in those beautiful eyes, and his wolf pawed at the grass, bending its head in silent submission. His mate curled into a smaller ball, tail flicking over her paws in defense. Never before had shame flooded Lorcan as he watched the white wolf turn her head away from him, those ears flicking back as a means to dismiss.

Lorcan was having none of it. He slowly crept forward, and when he was directly in front of his mate, he huffed. Elide turned her head to stare at him, her nose twitching in disdain. His midnight wolf bent his snout down to the nape of his mate’s neck, and took a gentle lick of her soft fur. The white wolf let out a strangled noise as he continued licking around her neck and down her back, smoothing the ruffles in her fur.

As soon as his mate let out a hiss, telling him to back off, Lorcan sat on top of Elide, covering her small, quivering body with his large, muscular one. A small part of him revelled in their differences, of yin and yang. He could stay like this forever, his mate in his embrace. However unwilling.

He rested his snout along the top of her head, a deep growl etching itself from his throat. Mine.

Elide shook her head, attempting to move his head, but Lorcan did not budge. He gently stroked the mating bond that shone clear between them at their close proximity. His mate bristled in response, shoving away the bond from her. Lorcan snarled in response, gently nipping her ear. Centuries and eons of waiting for a chance to prove that he had a heart—to prove the regret at each body that laid at his feet because of him—to prove that he was not Death’s right hand, but a creature of life and listener to the Moon Goddess.

Elide let out a little noise and he rubbed his head against her cheek. This creature was his and he was not going to let go of her, no matter how far she ran nor how well she hid.

His wolf rearranged himself into a more comfortable position to make sure he wasn’t completely squashing his mate. Elide immediately tried to bolt off, but Lorcan merely caught her tail between his teeth. His little mate immediately twisted around, snapping her canines at his head. Her stance was purely aggressive, and she was even leaning on that ruined ankle of hers. Lorcan immediately loosed her tail, and leaned down, licking her ankle. The darkness enveloped around the marred skin, bracing and fixing. To mend.

Elide promptly collapsed against the Earth, her beautiful face contorted into a pained expression. Lorcan immediately knew what he was going to do as he started to wriggle himself under her body. He carefully slid himself fully under his mate, a noise of distress slipping from her throat. When her body was completely shouldered over him, Lorcan lifted himself onto his hind legs. His own veins buzzed with fire and flame at contact with his mate, and he could feel Elide’s own body strumming with heat. The darkness has no longer clouded mind, and Lorcan felt calm, content—for once.

No longer did his magic probe and demolish the surroundings where sections of grass lay yellow and dead, trees de-rooted, branches bent and protruding against other figments of nature. No longer did his magic spin to destroy. Instead, his magic choose to cocoon around Elide, pasting itself to her ankle and stroking slivers of gentle strokes behind her ears. His magic whirled in great streams around them, protecting and serving the small body on top of him, and masking their scent.

His magic soothed and bent in worship at the warm presence on his back.

Even Lorcan’s wolf knows that he cannot break the Pack Covenant by returning Elide back to her house with his body in full Lycan form. He cannot return back to his own damned house where other males and females will want to take his mate away from him. So he carries his mate to the one place where no one will dare find him.

Where no one will disturb him. Where no one except him knows.

Elide does not complain as the darkness bends over her, worshipping her presence, stroking her fur gently, sliding over her as a warm blanket. His own wolf cannot wait to touch her, and to hear sounds of sweetness escape from her throat.

Lorcan knew that Elide had fallen asleep when she stopped twitching in small movements he found endearing. Gentle puffs of air escaped from her snout, fueling his magic’s power to serve something worth more than his entire life. Lorcan can feel his own power surging as the night descended upon them, the darkness thriving in the sheer cover of the moonshine, an element considered his to own and slave to his will.

His wolf stalked through the forest at a brisk pace until they reached the very middle of the wilderness, a large, looming cave beckoning them under a cover of darkness. The crickets no longer chirped their harmonious melody, and the soft patter of dew no longer dared to journey to the grasses.

Not where a killer has made his asylum.

Here, Lorcan’s beast had taken refuge, seeking company in isolation and silence. Here, the echo of his loneliness reflected his pain of regret lining every second of his heartbeat. Here, he sat in stony monotony, memorizing the outline of his mate’s face and breathing in the remains of her scent.  

His wolf strode through the cave, ignoring the crunching of bones underneath his paws, and then gently lowered his mate onto a soft bed of leaves and flowers that grew only in the pure, utter darkness. The nature here grew and spurred into creation from Lorcan’s magic of ruination; because demolishment meant the development of dark beauty.

He was not full royalty like Prince Rowan Whitethorn.

He was the King of Death, and Elide would be the queen of decay.

If she would have him.

Lorcan circled around his mate’s body, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Elide slightly stirred when he sniffed her ankle, spotting marrings of a weapon he knew all too well: chains. Lycans would often be strapped to walls during their first couple shifts, their wolf side unable to be reasoned with.

But Elide was not a Lycan.

Meaning someone had intentionally tried, and successfully hurt her.

A calm, thunderous rage pulsed around him. His canines slipped out, needing to somehow to protect the fragile white wolf in front of him.

Lorcan situated himself over his mate, soaking in the warmth her body offered while offering his own. They were destined by fate, and for once, Lorcan finds himself not minding simply belonging to another. Slowly, he licked her face, needing to see those sweet eyes.

Her eyes flickered open, filled with emotions Lorcan would wish on an enemy, reserved for a foe. Those shining orbs gleam with hatred and disgust, causing him to recoil. The very look sent a sharp jab to his heart, a more fatal blow than any silver blade. He immediately scrambled away from his mate, staring at the wall. As his hind legs bend underneath him, his skin prickled, knowing that the white wolf is staring intently at him. Judging him.

His ear twitched at the sound of his mate shuffling in the makeshift bed that had become his sanctuary in the darkest nights.

His dark wolf rifled through the corners of the cave walls, pulling a long T-shirt into his mouth. He trotted back to his mate, who is still gauging him with an unreadable expression, head slightly cocked.

Lorcan decided that he couldn’t have his mate simply continuing to stare at him with that look. Biting down on her behind as gently as he can afford, a teasing affection only reserved for her, and her only, Lorcan loosed a small howl, demanding Elide return his call.

Elide loosed a yelp, and instead crawled away from him. His wolf whined in protest, lowering his head, and followed her across the cave floor, dragging the fabric dangling from his mouth.

The lovely white wolf hauled herself onto her hind legs and lifted her head, as if she were a queen and he were nothing more than a peasant. Quick as lightning, she snagged the shirt away from him, holding it in front of her like a barrier. The popping of joints and cracking of shifting limbs filled the solemn air, and in a flash, Elide tossed the shirt over her pale body.

Lorcan can only stare at her exposed skin, his tongue falling out of his mouth. The curve of her collarbone, and the long, pale legs that run from underneath her waist the shirt barely covered—

Elide ran a hand through her hair, fingering out the knots. He watched, utterly transfixed.

After a second of staring at him with accusations flooding her orbs, she finally said, “Hello, Lory.”

He dipped his head in shame, Elide crossing her arms.

Lorcan walked to the corner of the cave, his tail between his hind legs. Weaving through other pairs of clothes, he shifted, and quickly pulled the cotton material over his body. By the time he rose from the corners of the cave’s darkness, Elide sat with her legs crossed over the bed, staring intently at the cave’s top. From his angle, she looked like a fallen angel, and Lorcan knew at that instant, he would follow her anywhere—even into Heaven, a place not meant for him.

But he would bring down those golden gates just to leave amongst his mate.

“I—” he started, voice rugged and low, but Elide’s voice abruptly ripped him apart, having him swallow his own sentence. Her eyes cut through him, colder than any temperature and worse than any death.

No amount of time could have him braced for the words that spilled from that cruel, rose-bud mouth of hers. No amount of morphine nor drugs could have numbed him. No amount of preparation or pain would have him ready for her sickened words.

Elide stared at him, and opened her mouth without missing a beat.

“I, Elide Lochan, reject you, Lorcan Salvaterre, as my mate.”

There’s a burning sensation filling every part of him as he falls to the ground, the darkness shattering around him. Air clogs through his throat, and he feels the true abyss of loneliness beckoning him, sucking him in. Pain—this was pain and agony like no other roaring through him.

He thought he knew anguish and anguish knew him.

But this was different.

His wolf is howling and his legs no longer work and he wished that she would have shoved a silver dagger through his heart instead.

The pain peaks, and darkness consumes his vision.

And all is still.

She would not have him.

Elide broke the silence by blowing her nose loudly. For once, Manon deigned to not tap her iron nails against the tables, with Aelin rubbing her arms solemnly and staring at the floor, a despondent look of despair plastered over her face.

The Pack House had still been full of merriment from last night’s activities, and Aelin hadn’t had the heart to shut down the after-party as the Sun broke through the clouds. Instead, the Alpha, Beta, and the apprentice Pack Healer had locked themselves back into Aelin’s room, Elide tending their injuries.

Aelin had not let a single sound escape from her as Elide set her broken elbow. Manon had not scowled.

Elide slid a finger over the mangly flesh that was her ankle, and inhaled sharply. Walking had, for the first time in years, not bothered her. For the first time, she could walk without leaning on her other leg, and run freely and fully.

But for the first time, her heart truly hurt and felt as if an iron brand was wrenching itself onto her.

Because her mate had given her the gift of pain-free. Her mate had healed her, had given her the ability to live a normal life. Her mate had taken away the scars of the chains.

And she had broken him.

Manon stared at Elide, an internal debate playing out in her face. Finally, she said, “The arousal was not the Lycan’s. It was the female’s.” As if it pained her to add, she finally bit out, “Your Lycan had threatened the female’s life. Which is why she was crying.”

She stared at Elide. He did nothing wrong. He rejected every female every since he met you. You were his miracle.

Lorcan. 

No one had dared to say his name. No one had uttered those two syllables as his body had been lowered onto a hospital bed, whisked away into the Lycan infirmary where regular wolves would never be admitted to.

Aelin looked up with ghastly eyes. “The female is dead. Princess Lycan Essar is dead. The female who was with him that night.”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact she was allowed on top of him.” How could she compare to royalty? Do their dishes for them, and fold their laundry?

“All I hear is jealousy,” Manon snapped. “That boy has degraded himself for you. That boy has turned away his darkness for something good, just for you. That boy risked his health for you, just to make you happy. He tried to war a battle against his nature for you. And this is what you give him? Rejection?”

Manon’s eyes misted to ice, an expression meant for the enemy on the battlefield. Elide found herself paralyzed against the floor as her Beta relentlessly forged on.

“He learned himself to be a monster, but changed for you. He regretted every single action in his life because of you. You were his hope and his redemption. But you even took that away from him.”

His eyes—Lorcan’s eyes had glassed over as his body had collapsed, and his will has left his body.

The Great Silencer had fallen. The Devil’s Mind, Death’s Right Hand, the Executioner. He had fallen.

Aelin tried to hold up a hand, her face tired, but Manon snarled in her direction, and stared down Elide again.

“If you kill and break a monster, Elide, what does that make you?”

Elide stood up, clenching her fists. “Stop.” Her voice cracked. Guilt poured through her, but she couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to. She had hurt her mate, when she was supposed to bring him up, uplift him, help him. She had failed her other half when he so desperately needed her.

She glanced at no one in particular, brushing invisible off her jeans. “Do you think they would let me into the hospital?”

Manon laughed bitterly. “You have no connection to him now. You cannot go in because you are not his mate, and not a Lycan.”

Aelin dragged a blade through the couch, tearing apart the sewing. “But we can distract the guards long enough for Elide to get in.”

Her Alpha looked at Elide with those uniquely ringed eyes, full of burning fire. Hope surged through her, and she smiled at Aelin, the Alpha who would always fight for righteousness.

It was time she did the same. Because she had spent her time here as a healer, only to break her mate. The healer’s creed was to listen, to repair, to understand.

She had done none of those things.

“I’m going to fight for him.” She stood up, testing her ankle, which did not fail her. She had failed Lorcan. Her duty was to appease him, to calm his wolf side. Instead she had severed the mate bond that had tethered him to this world as his one chance of love.

Lycans had to be calmed by physical contact.

The way Lorcan had closed his eyes in delight when she’d touched his cheek the one night—

A lump formed in her throat, and she looked out the window, wishing that the midnight wolf would appear from the crook of the trees. She imagined her fingers stroking Lory’s soft fur, and how she let jealousy and rancor overtake her.

Aelin clasped her hands. “You forgive him for his faults, Elide. But never, ever forget.”

Elide looked at the window one last time, and nodded in Aelin’s direction. She set foot for the door, determination flooding her.

“I’m going to fight for you, Lorcan Salvaterre.”

Breaking in was a lot more simple than Elide thought. Once Aelin showed up in front of the gates, sobbing in front of the guards and demanding the presence of her mate, those doors had quickly swung open.

Elide and Manon had flanked their Alpha, feeding the royals and courtesans with feeble and concerned glances. Apparently Aelin’s anguish worked too well, with the Prince Rowan Whitethorn breaking the castle doors and rushing for his mate with wide eyes and concern etched across his face.

The Lycan didn’t spare them a second glance as he swooped his mate into his arms bridal style. Within mere seconds, they had disappeared within the palace, Manon watching the encounter with distaste.

Elide had hurried after them, not wanting to lose access to the grounds, but apparently Rowan had given them permission to loiter until Aelin had passed his inspections and decided to leave.

Her Alpha had sent a message to them down the pack link, instructing Elide and Manon to search for Lorcan—and that she would not clear herself of the premises until Elide found her mate.

Manon grabbed Elide’s arm, hauling her into the grand palace. Once, she would have admired the towering dome and intricacy of the details tracing every curve of the palace.

Once, she would have been in her mate’s arms.

Manon cast her a sharp look. “Your mate’s probably in the infirmary wing. Just say you’re learning to become a Pack Healer and want to see the medicines here with your own eyes.”

Lying.

Elide swallowed. How her mate was already changing her without him knowing. But if this was the cost just to plead and have the opportunity to see Lorcan again, then she would lie for the rest of her life, shattering her reputation repeatedly.

“They must have changed the rules around here, if they just let anybody enter,” a high voiced sniffed in disdain.

Elide turned around, her eyes widening at the sight of the female in front of her. The flowing, draping gown that swirled around her feet, displaying diamonds encrusted onto the high heels—

“You do not have permission to make eye contact with me,” Princess Lycan Remelle, first consort to Prince Rowan Whitethorn, snapped. She flicked her wrist at them in dismissal, and wrinkled her nose in Manon’s direction. “Half-breed mutt.”

Manon merely went for Wind Cleaver, staring down the Princess. “What did you say, bitch?”

The Princess softly gasped, placing a delicate hand over her heart. Then the beauteous narrowed her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. “You’d best watch your mouth. Your presence is already unworthy in these halls.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, pointing her nose down at Elide. “And you—you reek of rejection. It’s only fair you got what you deserved. Poor, poor little weakling—who would want an abused runt?”

A cold smile wrapped around Remelle’s face like a viper readying to strike. And she did, sneering down at Elide.

“Tell me, how was Morath, Elide Lochan?”

Elie didn’t have the chance to utter a word as Manon slashed Wind Cleaver through the air. Remelle barely missed the blade by a centimeter as she scrambled backwards, her gown slashed through the seams.

“Guards!” she screamed, fleeing down the corridors. Her cry echoed down the hall.

Manon growled, and leaped after the Princess of Lycans. After a moment’s thought, she shouted at Elide to find her the gods-damned rutting Salvaterre.

Elide obeyed, running down the opposite direction as a large stream of guards followed Manon’s direction. She sniffed the air, following the scent of Eucalyptus and salves, silently praying to the Moon Goddess that she’d find her mate.

It didn’t matter if she rejected him. She would fight for him back and rip the throats of any female who dared to challenge her spot. She would reclaim what was rightfully hers, just as her mate had tried to claim her.

Lory had wooed her. Lorcan had quashed his wolf’s demands.

Lory had soothed her. Lorcan had denied Essar’s affections.

Lory had given her happiness. Lorcan had taken her to his sanctuary.

Her mate had trusted her with his heart.

Elide had broken the mate bond halfway.

She had shattered her mate’s chance at redemption and love. She had not trusted him when she’d seem him with the other female. She had jumped to conclusions.

Never before had she felt so simply petty. Never before had she felt like a human girl. Never before had she been so determined.

Elide wandered down a series of hallways until she came across a path that no longer lay woven of gold and glass diamonds, but smooth stones. The air turned heavy, the atmosphere thickening.

The scent of Lorcan and blood and grime filled her nose. Elide walked forward, as if she were in a trance. The scent should have brought her comfort, but instead, hesitance filled her veins. She almost wished that her ankle would have failed her now so she’d have the pathetic excuse to crawl back.

But Elide Lochan was going to fight for her mate. Win him back. Give him a second chance and hope he’d do the same as well. So they could learn and grow together—as true mates.

The tang of her mate’s scent was nearly visible in the air with thralling shadows of gallant darkness swooping in the air. Beckoning her.

Elide stopped at the last door, and pressed her palm against the cold stone. She shuddered.

This wasn’t the infirmary. This was a place to waste away.

To decay.

She pushed the door open, wincing at the creaks and wobbling hinges.

A dark figure laid on a bed of stone and bone. The air had accumulated to an almost suffocating layer. Quiet lapped at her, solemn silence filling every crevice.

“Lorcan,” she said.

The figure did not stir, but Elide knew that he was listening. Awake.

She clutched the doorframe as if it would dissipate in her grasp. She ignored the message someone was trying to send her down the pack link. She stared at the sprawling figure, a living longing to touch and comfort him washing over her.

But he would not have her. Not now.

His voice rasped through the darkness. “I hurt everyone. Everyone and anyone who came close to me. Even you.”

Elide blinked away the phantom of tears. “I forgive you.” Always.

“I loved you,” Lorcan said, suddenly and abruptly. Livid passion and raw anger seared in those dark, fathomless eyes.

Elide slowly shook her head, her mate’s eyes tracking each movement. “You loved the idea of me. Not me. There’s a difference.”

“I could have. I could have learned to love. But you didn’t give me the chance.”

Elide stared at the prone figure in front of her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

The granite-hewn face did not relax, and instead black eyes regarded her coolly. “For what?”

Elide swallowed, reaching a hand for him. “For everything.”

Lorcan looked away.

Elide realized what Manon was trying to tell her through the link. Realized the warning too late. She cursed herself, and slowly turned around.

The tsunami of sound thundered in her ears as a sea of armor swarmed towards her. Cold metal lining their bodies tainted the air. Elide felt her knees waver, and she cast her mate a betrayed glance.

Lorcan watched as the guards rounded the corner, and struck a silver blade horizontally across Elide’s back. He did not flinch as her scream resounded across the walls, and as they dragged her down the hallways, her nails scratching against the floor, leaving no marks or dents. He did not blink as she screamed his name, nor as the guards clasped silver handcuffs around her tiny wrists.

Elide’s eyes found his, even through the darkness.

He gave her a smirk, the last piece of hardened piece of him.

“You did not give me a chance, Elide. So I will not give you a second one.”

Lorcan turned away, and waved the door shut as the guards wretched her around the corner. His wolf did not call for her anymore, and he leaned back against the cold bed, closing his eyes.

Silence.

The cell was cold and damp.

Once upon a time, if someone asked her if she believed in love, she would have wholeheartedly agreed. She would have cooed and fawned over the mere notion. She would have smiled in pure eagerness and elation.

Elide knew better now.

Love was a figment of the imagination.

I loved you.

I

Loved

You,

Her mate had said.

Loved.

She thought she could have been the sunshine in Lorcan’s darkness. She thought the stars in her eyes would have been the universe for Lorcan. She thought the passion in her heart would have pulsed for him.

Her body sagged against the chains, her mind a sorrowful mess. Her mate didn’t want her. She had pushed him beyond breaking point. He would not give her a second chance. He did not want to fight for her.

Lorcan had taught her that silence was beautiful.

But as she drowned in this silence, in the coldness of the cell, she knew that the only thing that silence meant was anticipation for the future in what the Lycans would do to her.

For breaking the Gamma Lorcan Salvaterre, for placing him in the death bed, for snapping his chance at love. For reducing a Lycan into a sickly stance in which his wolf was isolated without a chance at redemption.

But if he wanted love, he wouldn’t have shut her away in this dark, dark cell. He would not have chained her up, a thicker chain wrapped around her once-mangled ankle, mocking and taunting her.

Down here in this deep cell, bolstered by silver linings, her pack link did not work. She was shut out in sheer loneliness, in forever silence. She was left alone to the poison that seeped through her thoughts, plaguing every syllable and sound.

Elide Lochan turned down the inkling of love. She fully embraced the pain as the mate bond snapped in half, as a piece of her soul was torn away from her. She did not cry as she felt her inner wolf weep and howl in agony.

Elide flinched as the bars to her prison shuddered and slid to the side.

Fear splintered through every bone in her body as she regarded the face of her nightmares grin manically, revealing those pristine, chipped teeth that had regularly sneered at her.

The wolf who had killed her father, and taken away the rightful position of Alpha from her and her bloodline. The faint memory had her ankle throbbing.

“Hello, Elide,” the Alpha of the Morath Pack leered, snapping on gloves oozing magical wards to defend the user from the touch of silver and wolfsbane.

Elide struggled in the chains as she regarded the final piece of her childhood swinging in her Uncle Vernon’s hands, dragged from the outside and into her chilling cell.

No, no no no.

He could not—

The rusted chain, thick and tinged with hints of wolfsbane and silver.

The bars slammed into position, and clicked with a whirring lock.

Elide trembled and jerked in her restraints as he unhooked the coarse chain around her ankle, and gripped her bone firmly in place, no matter how hard she thrashed. A nail dug into her skin, holding her in position.

He leaned in directly in front of her face, the smell of rotten things clouding her face. That monstrous smile that had fueled her nightmares.

“What an adventure you’ve had, Elide,” he breathed onto her face, and snapped the all-too familiar chain over her ankle.

Elide cried out as her ankle bent back into that demented shape, the silver digging into her skin, and the chain marring her skin once again.

Elide Lochan screamed as her Uncle Vernon ripped the fabric of her blouse off her body, a lecherous, triumphant smile on his face.

“Now that your mate has rejected you, you are up for taking.” A bony hand wrapped around her throat. “And I think you will make a fine plaything, Elide Lochan.”

[ikkinthekitsune]

Myth VERSUS Real -- Sacrifice and Suffering in FFXV

Sometime back in the Versus XIII era, so long ago that it's no longer possible to find a primary source, then-writer Kazushige Nojima explained the concept behind the game as "Myth VERSUS Real."

Amazingly enough, this concept appears to have remained intact for a decade.  The interplay between mythic indifference towards individual humans and the emotional reality of said humans is critical to the story Final Fantasy XV sought to tell.

See, director Hajime Tabata might have something of a reputation for depicting the value of human life by showing how vulnerable and fragile people can be, but FFXV goes beyond that, even if Noctis is still consistently shown in positions of vulnerability.  FFXV is a game about sacrifice -- not the modern lay-down-one's-life-for-a-friend sort but the mythic pay-the-ultimate-price-for-the-salvation-of-the-world sort -- and the human cost it imposes.

At the center of this, of course, is Noctis himself.  He was chosen to fulfill a mythic destiny at a very young age, but the way he and the people around him handle that destiny is as human as it gets.

Noctis' own reaction is particularly interesting, because his knowledge prior to Bahamut's revelation is left up to interpretation.  Once his inevitable fate is revealed, however, the way he acted throughout the second half of the game seems to take on a different meaning, because, while he was clearly kept in the dark about what would happen to him, there's no way he wouldn't have at least suspected it.

A conversation outside the throne room, for instance, reveals that Noctis was aware that the paintings portraying the prophecy of the Chosen King made his father very sad.  Noctis knew that he was the Chosen King who would use the Crystal's power to purge the Starscourge, and the Brotherhood anime made it clear that he knew that the use of the Crystal's power to summon the Wall was killing his father.  It’d be pretty easy to put two and two together and realize that purging the Starscourge could end very badly for him.

While Noctis would never acknowledge it, it's likely that his desire to avoid anything that reminded him of his royal blood derived not only from his fear of losing his father but also his subconscious recognition that his own life would inevitably be demanded of him.  His reaction to the Ring of the Lucii, in particular, is better understood as reluctance to take on a burden that he expects to kill him than as a simple aversion to an object that he associates with the deaths of loved ones.  The most telling line might be when he tells Lunafreya, "It's so hard... Guess it was hard for you, too," because that explicitly connects her fate with his.

It's also interesting to note that Noctis never actually denies Bahamut's claim that he must die.  He looks shocked and horrified, yes, but one would expect more resistance from someone who's life had been demanded unexpectedly.  If he'd merely been avoiding the confirmation of a fate that he'd suspected all along, however, his reaction is entirely natural.

In some ways, Noctis’ very existence as a character is designed in direct contrast with the more mythic elements of FFXV, but no scene does quite as much to define that contrast as the final campfire scene during the game’s credits.  It’s set between Noctis’ triumph over Ardyn and the new dawn that he purchased with his life, but it demands that players recognize the human cost of such victories.  His face, his posture, and his voice all speak of almost unbearable pain; not only is he forced suffer physical agony at the hands of the Lucii, but he is devastated emotionally as well.  (For what it’s worth, this scene reminds me of nothing quite so much as the Biblical story of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane -- while there are a lot of Christ figures in fiction, it’s rare for that part to be included in such a striking fashion.)

The first to learn of Noctis' fate is Regis, who is split between his role as faithful servant of the divine will and his desire to be a good father.  He never attempts to defy destiny outright; while he is unable to hide his sorrow from his son when surrounded by paintings of the prophecy, he leaves them in their place of honor on the Citadel walls.  Until the time comes for that prophecy to be fulfilled, however, he seeks to spare Noctis from the knowledge of it, whether that means allowing him to flee the Citadel and live like a commoner or even lying to him about the nature of his journey.

Regis' own destiny is particularly horrifying because, apart from his own life being forfeit, he's called to sacrifice the lives of thousands (if not millions) of his own people and slaughter his own son.  He's understandably hesitant about all of it; unfortunately, his hesitation only draws out Noctis' suffering in the end.  

The moment when Noctis offers his life to the Lucii provides a particularly poignant contrast between "myth" and "real," actually, because of the way the fantastic imagery of the Lucii's assault is offset by shots depicting Noctis' own failing strength and his father's refusal to bear witness to his agony.  It's painful to hear Noctis beg "Dad, trust in me" in his final moments, because it's obvious that he took Regis' averted gaze as a lack of faith.  And even after Regis takes up his sword, the way he pauses until Noctis starts to look up gives the impression that he still can't bear to look his dying son in the eyes.

Lunafreya, like Regis, is both aware of Noctis' fate and bound by a cruel destiny of her own.  Unlike the two of them, however, unfailing faith was cultivated in her from childhood, to the point that she all but extinguished her individuality in service to it.  Dying for the greater good was inevitable for her, so she refused to let herself fear it.

It's easy to see how this attitude could allow her to comfort Regis.  Regis had already accepted the inevitability of Noctis' death; Lunafreya's assurance that obedience would pay off is the only real comfort anyone could provide.  On the other hand, there's something unsettling about a child who's essentially been raised to die, so it's also easy to see why Regis would seek her assistance in concealing Noctis' fate.

Unfortunately, being asked to lead another child to his death seems to have made Noctis something of a soft spot for Lunafreya.  She's never afraid of her own death, but she can't bear the thought of dying before she gets to see him one last time as equals.  And, while she refuses to let herself distract herself from her fate the way Regis and Noctis do, it's clear that she suffers greatly for her calling.  Her inevitable death isn't quick or painless; forging Covenants destroys her body from the inside, Leviathan assaults her for doing her duty, Ardyn stabs her in the gut and leaves her to bleed out, and she spends the last of her strength to empower, heal, and protect Noctis before being lost beneath the waves.

In other words, while Lunafreya is as close to the perfect martyr as FFXV's worldview can provide, the game never lets its players forget that what happened was hard for her, too.

One final character whose story reflects a human response to another person’s mythic destiny is Ravus.  His arc is sort of jumbled due to the game’s refusal to fit it into any meaningful chronology, but once his letters and cutscene appearances are put in their proper order, it becomes clear that he’s the game’s example of someone who actually did attempt to defy destiny.

The most visible example of this, of course, is his attempt to use the Ring of the Lucii.  Given his constant concern for Lunafreya in the game proper, this seems best interpreted as an attempt to take Noctis’ place as the Chosen King.  This works out as badly as one might expect given FFXV’s worldview, and he loses his arm because of it.

Even so, he still refuses to accept that his sister must die for the prophecy to be fulfilled.  He sends her multiple letters trying to convince her that Noctis isn’t worth dying for.  He confronts her directly in Tenebrae, but is rebuffed.  He even considers killing Noctis in an attempt to change fate.

It’s all for naught.  Lunafreya’s mind is made up and her actions take her past the point of no return.  It’d be easy for Ravus to blame the gods and their Chosen, to lash out against the world for the fate of his sister... but, in the end, he loves Lunafreya, and if she insists on giving her life for a cause, he’s willing to accept that.

This is absolutely against type, of course, but (ignoring some inconsistencies with Kingsglaive) it actually seems like a more realistic arc than losing himself in his grief and risking the destruction of everything his sister fought for.  And, while the loss of a potential rival might be frustrating in terms of gameplay, his arc (once recognized) certainly makes his eventual fate even more horrific than it would have been had he fallen willingly.

As a whole, FFXV provides a uniquely personal take on a usually-impersonal mythic structure.  While the game’s execution isn’t always ideal, I feel like it ought to be given credit for what it does manage to accomplish with these themes.