timesaken

[timesaken]

sorry for the sudden disappearance, folks! i got caught up with another muse. the community sort of took a dive into the drama pits though, so i’m taking a break from them for now. marc jumped @ me the moment that happened so here i am again lmao! i have an exam tomorrow so i won’t be writing until after that. thank you for your patience, lovelies <3

[timesaken]

haha marc meeting kanna for the first time and immediately adopting them as his baby sib. because that’s what they are. a baby. a tiny baby in a big war and wow haha he has some Words to say to kamui like what are you doing letting this nine-year-old join you on the battlefield???

(he doesn’t actually say anything but it’s certainly one of the only times he’s truly questioned the merit of kamui’s choices.)

[timesaken]

izana: hey so i---

linfan: what the heck did you do now who do i have to say sorry to

[timesaken]

@sunflowrd nudged that heart.

          he doesn’t expect the odd resemblance: powerful in the way it sparks recognition from a face he’s never seen before. he doesn’t expect the keen familiarity: unsettling in the way it kindles fidelity to a person he’s never met before. he doesn’t expect the sudden longing: violent in the way it floods his soul, heavy in the way it snares his heart, profound in the way it seeps into his core --- like a summer’s heat after the touch of winter’s cold, like an impending deluge bore by bloated clouds, like an implacable giddiness wrought from pure, unadulterated joy.

          ( he doesn’t expect the desperate grief: shameful in the way it coaxes mother from stranger. )

          for several long, painful moments, linfan forgets how to breathe. oh, the air is trawled in ( shallow and quick, frayed and rough, one-and-two-and-one-and-two ), but it doesn’t come out quite as successfully, if at all. the breaths languish in his lungs, held back by a wall of confused dread, and he finds that with each sliver he inhales the wall thickens and thickens and thickens until---

          a blink of glazed eyes snaps the world back into place. the clarity is overwhelming and almost swallows him whole, but years of practice have bolstered his frame and he stands tall beneath its weight. carefully, he smooths out the alarm that undoubtedly wrinkles his face. deconstructs the barrier in his lungs and takes a full, slow breath. collects all of the heartache, yearning, and uncertainty within himself and shoves it into a box with all his other repressed feelings ( which is then locked and subsequently sat on for good measure ). that can be dealt with later. for now, he has a princex to thank.

                    ❝ your highness. ❞ the accent that marks his voice is patently foreign,                       and he can’t stop the wry, embarrassed smile that rises to his lips. his                       next words are issued a bit slower. a bit more evenly. ❝ i must thank                       you for your services in aiding my lord izana. my absence is what                       allowed this all to happen in the first place and for that, i am sorry. ❞

[timesaken]

@holytoem tapped that heart.

          do the einherjar need sleep? can the einherjar sleep? they might be weird spirit-phantom-things contained in weird spirit-phantom-cards ( or so he’s been told ), but they’re still weird spirit-phantom-things of people, aren’t they? clearly, they possess some sort of consciousness, some sort of awareness that lets them breathe and laugh and talk as uniquely as any other living person. but they aren’t bound by the laws of mortality either ( he still distinctly remembers the first time he saw one transform into a card instead of, you know, dying from a lethal hit ) and it’s all so very perplexing. not the fun type of perplexing, too — he’s all for being baffled by something so long as he gets to ask questions and consequently learn about it, but he can’t exactly walk up to an einherjar and ask them if they have the ability to sleep, can he?

          …can he?

          well. nothing’s really stopping him from doing that. nothing but what little is left of his tact anyway, and has that ever truly held him back? it’s with this sentiment in mind that marc approaches the einherjar sitting all by her lonesome beneath the canopy of a nearby tree, steps slow and deliberately loud.

                    ❝ good evening, milady! ❞ he can’t quite remember this one’s name,                       so he hopes the honorific will suffice for now. hands placed steady                       by his sides and weight rocking back and forth from the balls to the                       heels of his feet, he ponders over the best way to sate his curiosity                       without being completely flagrant obvious about his intentions. ❝ a                       bit late to be awake, isn’t it? can you…not sleep? ❞ perfect!

[timesaken]

y’all ever think about marc’s never-ending faith in his mother? about the ludicrous amount of confidence he has in his mother’s abilities and choices? about how goddang much her loves her, and how he idolises her even more?? y’all ever think about the implications of that unbelievable belief in the context of what little lore awakening’s dlc gave us? (see quotes at the bottom of this post for references.)

y’all ever think about how marc most likely originated from a future where grima “[manipulated his] sympathies” (which i take to mean straight up messed with his memories) to foster an incredibly profound loyalty to grima (his ‘mother’)?? y’all ever think about how those false memories and that consequent sense of complete, genuine devotion to his mother might have been the only things that stuck with marc when he travelled to the past? y’all ever think about how everything marc remembers “so [crisply and clearly]” might just be lies fed to him by grima? lies that evoke positive emotion, sure, but lies nonetheless? y’all ever think about how marc might not ever know who he and his mother really were even if ‘his’ memories return??

y’all ever think about how marc canonically does not remember anything more than his mother and one (1) glimpse of his father yet still “[doesn’t] seem to miss [his memory] much”? about how this kid has every right to be engrossed in his past but decides to look forward to the future anyway?? about how for every time marc is shown to be distressed by his lack of memories, there’s two more times he’s shown to make the best of it? (again, see the bottom of this post for references.)

y’all ever think about what a hecking trooper this kid is because i think about it all the time folks and let me tell you now i am so emo

quotes regarding marc’s faith in + love for robin:

when asked about how he can be so sure of their victory: “because my mother’s that certain.”

“she's amazing, my mother...my life's dream is to follow in her footsteps, actually. anyway, as long as she's on the problem, we're all in good hands. i don't know many things about this time or this world, but i know i have faith in mom.”

during the final battle: “mother! you mean everything to me! i can’t lose you again!”

literally every other quote (in)directly relating to robin because this kid is so desperate for her validation.

case in point, when he is stolen from in the golden gaffe: “how could you steal from me? i was going to buy more books, and...and...and knock mother's socks off when she saw how much i'd learned! how dare you interfere with my ploys to get attention!”

quotes implying marc came from the timeline observed in the future past dlc:

when approached and given robin’s tactical book in the future past dlc: "i already have this book. you gave it to me long ago. the notes and dog-ears are all exactly the same.”

when he accidentally ruins a tactical book filled with his mother’s notes (and therefore probably given to him by his mother) in hot-springs scramble: “oh, it's all right, actually! i have a spare—an exact copy.”

in heroes (which technically isn’t canon but shut the heck your mouth i’ll take it), as an idle thought: "huh, how'd i wind up with two copies of this strategy book?"

quotes regarding marc’s distress over his amnesia:

when attempting to remember his forgotten father in their support: “step one — figure how we're going to trigger some flashbacks. i've already tried banging my head against a post, but nothing. i mean, it made me dizzy and nauseated, but it didn't unearth any hidden memories. what do you think, father? perhaps a stone wall would work better?”

when he consistently fails to remember his father: “no luck today, either...i'm going crazy trying to remember you. i feel so useless! i'm just so...*sniff* why can't i...*sob*”

and again: “b-but i know i must have loved you just as much as i loved mother. i bet we had a million memories together, and the thought of having lost them...i feel like i failed you. like i...like i...*sob*“

when asked about his memories and what he’s done to try to get them back in hot-springs scramble: “more than i probably ought to have! i've tried falling from great heights, hitting my head against walls, you name it. still no memories, and probably a few hairline fractures for my trouble...”

quotes regarding marc’s optimism about his amnesia:

when asked about his feelings on his lack of memories: “ehh, it's not so bad as you might think. true, it can leave you feeling a bit...untethered, maybe? afloat? but that's just another word for free. every experience is brand new! the smell of the air, the colour of those flowers — it's all so fresh and intense!”

when asked how he can act so cheery all the time: “it's not an act. i just do whatever comes naturally. and it's like i said before — when you can't remember anything, everything's brand new! there's so much out there to discover, i don't have time to get depressed!”

when asked how having no memories can make him happier (which he himself stated): “i don’t have any grand fate or dark past to weigh me down. no heritage to carry on. i can just be me.”

[timesaken]

daffodil.

  “mmmmarrrc, marc, marc  —–”  fingers comb through the young boy’s hair, ruffling it affectionately  ( almost obnoxiously )  before patting at his head to the tune of how he says the name that spills from his tongue with ease. it’s hard not to bother someone sitting alone, and ether is a professional at being a nuisance. whether or not that was welcomed or not, depended on the person.   “what are you doing sitting here alone, hm? care to share?”

          a burst of bright, surprised laughter springs forth from curling lips, and the gentle affection is reciprocated with equally playful swats of a gloved hand. for marc ( ‘hopelessly hopeful’ title-holder, clandestine hand-wringer, over-thinker extraordinaire ), distractions from his thoughts are always a welcome thing. distractions in the form of his father? oh, even more so.

                    ❝ ---daaaad, dad, dad! ❞ the tune continues, rising and falling as                       easily as his shoulders do in the face of his sunny mirth. he makes                       a move to stand, hands planted on the ground and torso leaning                       forward, before another light tap comes to his head and he decides                       he’d rather stay seated to receive all of these great pats instead.                       a spike of shame spears through his gut at the otherwise benign                       questions, but his tone as he answers is nothing but even. ❝ not                       really, no! ❞

          ( well. at least he’s being truthful. )

[timesaken]

          a screech peals from above just as you strike down another risen. the sound resonates endlessly within your chest --- jars your lungs free and throws your heart down into the pits of your stomach. it burrows deep inside your bones, etches itself into the linings of your soul, crushes your mind beneath its weightless heft --- it’s otherworldly in the way the surreal is, pervasive in the way a soured thought is. it’s ancient. worn. inexplicably livid.

          it’s also very, very terrified.

          the fear is perhaps what makes you all still. what makes you all start to turn. a profane god who took everything and more from everyone and more; a fallen dragon whose mere breath can ruin worlds upon worlds upon worlds; grima, wings of despair, the end of the world --- terrified? but then you’re all snapping back to position: tomes afloat, staves aglow, bowstrings pulled, and blades poised. the risen have not stopped and neither can you, but you know everyone wants to turn around. you know everyone wants to see what kind of miracle your mother has pulled for the dragon to sound so fearful.

          the moment comes when lucina steps in front of you, felling a risen your magic was intended for. she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a subtle motion that could suggest anything, but you know what she means.

          you know what she’s offering.

          you cast one last spell and turn around.

          something’s wrong.

          the puppet is gone. fell off, perhaps, or simply disintegrated into ashes like the risen do. the dragon is sinking. slower than you expected it to, but it’s sinking. grima has been routed.

          so why does lucina’s father look so betrayed?

          there’s shocked heartbreak in his face. a hopeless disbelief that makes you more uneasy than grima ever could. you think he’s saying something to your mother, because his lips are moving and mother’s shoulders are held taut like she’s hearing something she doesn’t want to be hearing, and you sort of want to pull away from the battlefield to see what’s going on but then---

          mother is disappearing.

          she isn’t actually --- visually, she’s still there, just a bit fuzzy ‘round the edges and oozing a smoke you’re not even sure is really coming from her, but somehow, for some reason, you know what this means.

          you know what she’s done.

          you run.

          you hear your friends call out from behind you. their voices chase after you for a moment, confused and a bit outraged because the battle isn’t over yet marc, we still need you here marc, where are you going marc, why are you leaving marc? ( they’re cut off by sharp gasps a second later. )

          mother is disappearing.

          you call out to her. both she and chrom turn at your cry and their faces, already puckered full with conflicting regrets, crumple a little further. mother closes her eyes like she can’t stand looking at you. chrom closes his eyes like he can barely look at anything else.

          mother is disappearing.

          you reach her before she can fully vanish, fingers desperately twisting in her robes. the tears that clog your throat and spill from stinging eyes are burning against your skin. we had a plan, you scream at her. the lump in your throat turns into several lumps in your chest and your next words are scarcely coherent sobs. we had a plan! mother, we had a plan!

          and she smiles. all gentle, all soft: like you’re the one fading from existence for what is possibly an eternity. like you’re the one whose short life is about to end. it makes you sob all the harder.

          plans change, she says. her robes slip past your fingers. she pushes your hair back with a faint hand, places a kiss on your sweaty forehead, wraps translucent arms ‘round your shoulders. you don’t feel them. you can’t feel them. your throat throbs from all the strain, but you can’t stop screaming. plans change, marc, and a good tactician is always willing and able to adapt.

          you tell her you don’t want to adapt. you tell her her plan was perfect the way it was. you tell her you can’t lose her again.

          her smile wilts. she cups your cheeks with hands that aren’t there, presses a forehead that isn’t there against yours. she’s crying, too, you belatedly realise. she’s crying, too.

          i’m sorry, marc, she whispers. whispers, then huffs a watery laugh. marc. love of my life. strapping young lad and all that.

          mother disappears.

          ( you hear someone keen in the distance. you think it might be you. )

[timesaken]

          you cast a spell. a risen falls. another rises to take its place.

          you cast another spell. a risen falls. another rises to take its place.

          it’s cold up here in the clouds. cold in a way you are sorely unprepared for, cold in a way you almost don’t believe is real --- how is it that the sun is so warm yet its skies so gelid? --- but you suppose it is only fitting for a war that started in violent heat to end in a harsher cold. it is only fitting for your final battle to be your most difficult one yet. it is only fitting for all of your struggles, all of your labours, all of your griefs, and all of your pains; for all that you lost, all that you remember, all that you came for, and all that you gained; for all that you’ve lived for, all that you do live for, and all that you will continue to live for so long as your heart still beats---

          you suppose it is only fitting for everything to come to a head atop the end of the world.

          you cast a spell. a risen falls. another rises to take its place.

          your throat tingles with an itch you know means you will wake up tomorrow with no voice. your muscles tremble with a fatigue you know means you will wake up tomorrow with no limbs. the dragon lurches and you lurch with it --- weight shifting wildly and boots scrambling for gods-damned purchase. lucina thrusts her sword betwixt the scales beneath you and holds out a hand. you take it and cast a spell. ( a risen falls. another rises to take its place. )

          we’re nearly there, she breathes. wipes off her chin. takes her blade out of rotting scales so she can drive it into rotting flesh. we’re nearly there, everyone.

          someone to your left shouts a war cry. you think it might be noire. you think it might be kjelle. someone else responds in kind; then someone else, and someone else, and before you know it, you’re answering the hollers with a strained call of your own. lucina is the last to retort, as she always is when it comes to these group rallies, but her roar of today is different from her roar of yesterday’s. it has always been must with her --- we must change fate, i must not fail, we must not let this world fall to darkness again --- but now her must is a will. we will change fate. i will not fail. we will not let this world fall to darkness again.

          it’s this hope that makes you let go of her. it’s this hope that makes you cast another spell. it’s this hope that makes you smile even as your tomes drain you dry, because you’ve been holding that hope for a while now and to see it reflected in someone who is arguably your foil brings you a joy that lightens and warms your soul. you will change fate. you will not fail. you will not let this world fall to darkness again, because you have everything you need to win this war, everything you need to rewrite fate, and an infallible strategy concocted by your very own mother.

          lucina looks at you. smiles, gives you a resolute nod. we’re nearly there, she repeats. we’re nearly there.

          somewhere behind you, your mother and her father are proving her right. they are the ones who’re battling against grima himself --- the only ones who can battle against grima himself. you can’t see them, nor can you hear them, but you can feel the rumbles of a dragon in swelling vexation, and you know everything is going according to plan.

          you cast a spell. a risen falls. another rises to take its place.

[timesaken]

@valcyrja​ smashed that heart.

          there is no sun here in this astral plane. light --- yes, but what few scant rays that pierce through the ever-looming darkness are not from a sun. not from a star. the radiance ( however close it might be ) is not quite the same, nor is the heat quite as deep-seated. it’s there but not there; exists but doesn’t exist --- the light is little more than a wild spark, burning with a desire to do but lacking in knowledge of what to do, and linfan oft wonders if chasing after this light ( this faux-sun, this faux-star, this faux-mother ) was the right choice.

          it’s what he finds himself doing now in the dead of a sleepless night: fingers tracing across words he’s read a thousand times over, eyes strained wide with a fear that haunts his every step, mind flayed numb from horrific visions of the past and future. the skies are beautiful tonight, nary a single cloud in sight, yet the stars twinkle like they have lost a battle they've only just started and linfan wonders --- was he right? was he right in joining another war corrin’s cause?

          gentle footsteps from behind cleave through his reverie and he stands, book snapping shut and heart in his mouth. he contemplates running away for a second, if only because he’s not exactly keen on social interaction when he’s at what is possibly his most vulnerable, but that would be insanely rude and mother certainly raised a braver better child than that. so he turns, throat tight with barely contained nerves and lips stretched in a smile he hopes looks more convincing than it feels.

                    ❝ ---oh. ❞ his lungs release a relieved sigh he doesn’t have the                       energy to hold back when he realises it’s not corrin who                       approaches him. he doesn’t think he can look at her right now                       without immediately bursting into longing, homesick tears. ❝ it’s                       just you. ❞

          ( perhaps it speaks something of his bone-deep exhaustion that the insolence of his words only hits him moments later. )

                    ❝ oh! i mean--- lady camilla. your, uh, your highness. your---                       royal highness. ❞ he winces. tries to play the wince off as a                       shrug. ❝ sorry. i’m--- i’m tired from all the...sleep. studying. one                       of those things. it's just, uh. one of those nights, you know? ❞

[timesaken]

starter call!

[timesaken]

                       HOPE is the thing with feathers                        that perches in the soul,                        and sings the tune without the words,                        and never stops at all,

                                                and sweetest in the gale is HEARD;                                                 and sore must be the storm                                                 that could abash the little bird                                                 that kept so many WARM.

                                                                             heralded by stingray.