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antihero-writings · 3 years

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If These Walls Could Talk (Ch7)

(^^ Art commissioned from Junki Sakuraba on instagram and deviantart!!)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too. The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Notes: Hey all! I am SO sorry this chapter took so long to come out. My perfectionism really got the best of me with this chapter. But I saw that S4 was on its way and that really lit a fire under my butt because I really do want to post my season 3 chapter before s4 comes out. I’m highly doubt I’ll accomplish it as it almost always takes me longer than I have to get a chapter out, let alone two, but I'll try, at least.

I really really hope you enjoy it!! If you enjoy this chapter, please please consider commenting. I assure you it’ll be more likely I’ll post the next chapter faster the more people comment on this showing you still enjoy this fic. Each comment is a little shot of energy and motivation for me.

Important! This chapter is meant to have aesthetic indentation in some places. So if you want to read it as-intended, please look it at on Archiveofourown at I_prefer_the_term_antihero on your computer or tablet!!

If you get here and are thinking “Wait, what was this fic about? What were the main themes?” then this would be a good time to reread/skim back through the earlier chapters. This is the climax of the fic and will (hopefully) be more impactful the more you remember about the rest of the fic and its many themes.

Chapter Summary:

"Go back whence you came! Trouble the soul of my Mother no more!" "How? How—How is it that I've been so defeated?" "You have been doomed ever since you lost the ability to love." "Ha—Ah... Sarcasm. 'For what profit is it to a man if he gains the world, and loses his own soul?' Matthew 16:26, I believe. "Tell me. What—What were Lisa's last words?" "She said 'Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, then at least do them no harm. For theirs is already a hard lot'. She also said to tell you that she would love you for all of eternity." "Lisa, forgive me. Farewell my son."

Chapter 7: “Heart”

Hey there, Sunshine, the Room adds with a smile.

The Room forgot the sweet tang of breath. How gentle, how vicious. Like honey, like relief, like a cozy blanket and a fireplace. It came in great, gulping gasps, and living was painful after such long breathlessness, but hurt far less than being half dead.

The Room rushes to Castlevania, shaking it, saying, Open your eyes! Open your eyes! It’s Adrian. It’s our boy. My master. My sunlight. And Castlevania limply flickers open its eyes, for it cannot help but obey.

Obey to see the golden man standing in its doorway.

And it feels a jolt of warmth in its broken chest.

Alucard has returned home. He arrives at the doorstep with resolve in his closed fists and a sword on his tongue. The threat to the war they all knew he would be, and the Room promised it would rear him to be.

But he isn’t alone this time.

There are two humans by his side. One with fire in her fists—quite literally—the other with a barbed tongue at his hip.

Castlevania recognizes a crest on the clothing of one of them, gold and proud: The Belmonts. The ones who came with whips and scourges to defeat its master long ago. The ones whom Dracula and his Castle were bound together against in their undead war. The ones whom Dracula trusted his Castle to protect him from. The owner of the hold now beneath Castlevania. He has come to defeat its master like the rest…but this time the boy is by his side, and for that reason, the Castlevania is unsure how this will end.

“I terrify them,” the Belmont explains the plan, “Sypha disorients them, Alucard goes over the top and we support him.”

“Yes.” The Speaker confirms.

Alucard holds his sword out horizontally in front of him, unsheathes it, and speaks:

“Begin.”

Alucard is with the Belmont.

And Castlevania knows when it sees them, the fire in their eyes, that they are the intent that brought it here. That they have indeed come to kill its master once and for all. It had wished when the boy returned, it would be with the promise of hope. But there is no promise of life and the sparing of it this time.

They bring death inside with them; the war room is filled with war, blood and burns on its floors, but it is different this time, because this is not an ambiance, a continuation, a fact of life, it is a swift and fatal kiss—the end they said he would bring, once. The blood is rotten on the floors, but it doesn’t itch or burn. And the boy uses those techniques his father taught him on brighter nights about turning into things with teeth, and the ones his mother once taught him on sunnier days about how to make metal listen.

They did not bring life inside this time, not life of the same kind at least. The war, the death, has followed and swallowed them too, but not in the same way it has its master. They are not bloodthirsty. The cold the dark and the death are merely clothes they wear, they have not reached the deepest parts of them; there are still light-starved Rooms in their hearts waiting to breathe.

There is a song at their heels as they dance in rings of fire, with the wind and the moon, upon the blood and water Castlevania isn’t sure will come out of the carpet. It is a song that is all too familiar. It has been played here before, when other, more, less, holy Belmonts barged in long ago. A song of blood and tears.

Bloody tears its master cried once, for his wife when he realized they had taken something that could not be borrowed, bartered, or souled.

They’re bringing an end to the strife, and all the undead lives that facilitated it, and vice versa. They are cutting the puppet strings, and not all puppets can live without them.

Isaac fights the nameless soldiers on the staircase for its master…until he sees someone who is far from nameless.

Isaac’s reddened eyes meet Alucard’s golden ones. Alucard’s sword aims at him, but it hits the deadened flesh of the nameless instead.

Isaac runs to tell its master—Dracula, busy ripping out the heart of a nameless—who’s here; that his sun has returned, and at his side is magic and might.

Dracula knows the prophecy.

He’s willing to die—Issac. He stands before Dracula, his form barely able to shield three-quarters of Dracula’s, willing to give his feeble human life for Dracula’s indefinite undead one. He believes knowledge and will are more important than the blood of a good man. He believes in love, and loyalty is love of a sort. And it is Castlevania’s understanding that when someone is willing to live for something, they are also willing to die for it. This is the noblest of causes.

“You are the greatest of your people, Isaac. You have a soul, I think.” As Dracula says the words, he raises his hand, and the mirror shards behind them begin to rise. “Perhaps that is more valuable to the world to come than a dusty collection of books and apparatus.”

Lisa looks on from the portrait, and Castlevania thinks it is a look of pride. She always did stand for saving human lives rather than destroying them. Isn’t it funny that in what will perhaps be the deciding battle of this war, the one where his goals should possess him stronger than ever, it is the human who he values more than himself?

“Or perhaps you simply deserve a better fate than to die instead of me.”

“I choose my death, as I chose my life.” The words are stronger than iron.

“Then I regret only that I have taken a choice for you.” A hand at his shoulder.

Dracula throws him halfway across the world, to the kind of place Isaac was born in, and the kind of place Isaac least wants to die in.

Isaac believes in love. And it is for this reason, this belief, that Vlad saves his life, Castlevania knows. Saves his life, by denying the choice he so desperately wanted to make—perhaps his whole life—and had no regrets or apprehensions about making, rather a lot more in being kept alive.

And when the mirror shatters and falls, his son is standing there, like he did a year ago, though this time he is not backed by sunlight. The only light in the room is the fire glinting in his eyes.

A pause. To remember the dead.

“Father.”

A word. To remember the living.

“Son.”

This should be a reunion, perhaps. Better people would think they should happily hug each other, and say they missed each other, and that they love each other all the same. Better people would say that the sunlight should plead with the dark to come back into its embrace. All the sinners know there was no chance of that the moment Dracula scrawled fate on his son’s skin with his own claws.

Instead, there is nothing but bitter, fighting words:

“Your war is over.”

Dracula tilts his head to the side. “Because you say so?”

“It ends.” Alucard looks at his sword, the one she taught him how to use. “In the name of my mother.”

Dracula looks at his son, the one she gave him. “It endures in the name of your mother.”

“I told you before I won’t let you do it.” Alucard’s voice is so soft, yet solid and unwavering. There is no anger, but he will not step aside. Not this time. Even when the claws come. “I grieve with you…but I won’t let you commit genocide.”

“You couldn’t stop me before.” Dark assurance in soft words.

Footsteps. A cue to the magic and the hunt behind the curtain, who step out on either side of him.

“I was alone before.”

And Castlevania understands. Understands that they are not here to talk things out. Understands that they are not here to save Dracula, to appeal to the good in him, as Lisa once had, and the Room once thought. Castlevania itself even hoped, when the boy returned, the song would be a bit more inspirational. But, beaten and broken and bloody, Castlevania understands now, if Alucard stands with the intent, if Alucard brought a Belmont—

Then they do not believe there is a chance. They are not here then, to talk him out of it. They are here to halt this war in its tracks, make it rear up, lose its balance, and fall.

—(And Castlevania knows, deep down, that to do this… they must end something else)—

Alucard is bringing back the sunlight. But there is only one way he can do that, and goodnight is not quiet.

And make no mistake he does intend to bring the full, the warm, the life, and the light back, just like Castlevania and the Room wanted. But there is too much cold, dark, death, and emptiness here to do this quietly. They are here to kill Dracula—the master now puppeteered by Death’s strings rather than his own soul.

The Speaker raises her fingers to her lips as if to say a prayer, or perhaps take a heavenly name in vain for the sake of a little silence. The Belmont’s whip clinks in his hand. Alucard’s sword sings as he raises it.

Alucard drives it towards his father: a bolt of golden lightning through the room, pinning him against the fireplace as books fall to the floor. Castlevania, wincing at the pain, knows that will bruise in the morning.

The picture of his mother cracks and falls, as if she has to close her eyes for this.

Alucard, growling with fierce resolve, pushing the sword into him with all his might. But Dracula has the sword in his hand, rather than his heart. He steps calmly forward, barely having to use any of his strength to combat so much of his son’s, as if he’s about to tell him to put the toy away.

A glint of golden eyes. Alucard pulls back the sword. A slash. Two. Three.

Dracula raises his arm as if to knock the sword from his shoulder.

Instead he bashes his son’s head into the fireplace—and Castlevania cries out at the feeling, feeling its stomach burn.

The Speaker and the Belmont ready for a fight. The floor splinters—(Castlevania grimaces, tasting blood)—as Dracula flashes through the room, and pins the Belmont into the hall, against the wall, sending his sword out of his hand. He keels over onto his hands to cough up blood, the puddle crawling on Castlevania’s skin.

Castlevania never had any qualms with the blood of Belmonts on its floors before, so this hurts less, but this is different, and Castlevania still wonders if Dracula could be a little gentler with his Castle.

A flash of light at his side. He raises his cloak as the Speaker sends tongues and teeth of fire at him.

“Speaker magician!” Its master realizes.

He rushes at her, knocking her hand out of position. She creates an ice shard before her with the other.

He scratches up with a claw, sending her flying with the broken pieces towards the ceiling, and angry gashes appear on her arm as she rolls along the floor.

“Sypha!” The Belmont calls.

He must love her in some way, because in a fit of some sort of emotion—instead of picking up his sword—the Belmont uses his fists. They probably haven’t failed him before. But this is Dracula, and his punches don’t cause the king to so much as flinch.

“You must be the Belmont.”

Castlevania laughs a little at the words; it too thought the method was rather common of his line.

It’s Dracula’s turn, and his punch doesn’t just cause the Belmont to flinch, the sound is as if he hit rock, sending him into the air with the force. He doesn’t give him a second to breathe, rather reaches his claw is around the human’s neck, holding him there.

He raises his other claw level—a blade, more trustworthy than any.

“The end of your line.”

Before he can make these words true, another blade stops him: his son’s, driving itself through both his arms.

While he is pinned the Speaker, knowing this is an opportunity she will not get again, rushes forward—still bleeding, mind—a bead of fire between her fingers. Dracula cannot move to protect himself, and the magician, knowing this, lets the fire loose to lick his face raw.

Dracula drops the Belmont, attempting to get away, deciding his own life takes precedence, but it is hard to get away when your hands are tied together with metal.

The Speaker, seeing that her fire is about to hit Alucard, falters. And in that moment Dracula wrenches his arm off of the blade and uses it to knock her down, before sending his other fist into his son, who goes flying along with his sword hitting the wall. This one may not be so hard as to bruise, but, with everything aching and breaking, the smallest tap hurts Castlevania.

The Belmont pulls a blade of bone from his back-belt, and as Dracula turns he drives it into his chest.

It’s not close enough to his heart, but red distaste fills Dracula’s eyes. He thought this was a game, but they have some amount of ability, and he may have underestimated them. As Alucard and the magician get up he attempts to grab at the Belmont in quick motions, but he has some skill in dodging.

The Speaker rips off her shirt and cauterizes her wound as the Belmont and Dracula dance in the hallway, neither weapon hitting flesh.

Dracula sees the Speaker’s intent over his shoulder, and as the Belmont lunges at him grabs his arm and throws him into her, stopping both their attacks. An effective move, if Castlevania does say so itself.

Alucard sees his opening and rushes forward, pinning his father to the wall, which shatters behind them with a painful lurch.

Dracula puts his hands together and brings them down over his son’s head with such force the floor cracks.

And Castlevania coughs blood.

Alucard pushes his arms away and slaps both sides of his face, getting a grunt this time. Dracula sends him back with such force it almost seems like a shockwave, creating wind and smoke curling around them all.

The Speaker roots him in place by sending ice spears into his leg. The Belmont clears the smoke by spinning his whip, before creating more by sending that whip—the one he fed the vampires that didn’t agree with their compositions—sizzling into Dracula’s chest. There’s an explosion to be sure—a rather big one—but after the smoke dissipates, and a wait with bated breath, Dracula is still standing just as he was before—as Castlevania knew he would—like all he threw at him were words.

…At least at first, to show he isn’t taken down so easily. He does fall to his hands thereafter.

“The Morningstar whip.” The words are scratches in the carpet. “Well played, Belmont. But I am no ordinary vampire to be killed by your human magics.” The words sizzle on his tongue. “I am Vlad Dracula Tepes,” he crosses his arms with purpose. “and I have had ENOUGH!”

His voice is a shockwave of its own across the sea of stone and bone. He sweeps his hands to the sides, his cloak rising like wings as he floats into the air, and creates a ball of magma: the cheat that will end the game. He was going easy on them until now.

It rumbles towards them, eating the carpet as it goes—and Castlevania can feel the burning in its chest. The Belmont’s eyes widen with fear at last. The Speaker rises to the occasion without hesitation, and holds out her hands to stop it with the force of her magic. It’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure: at first she succeeds, but, though it may be slowing, it isn’t stopping, and her feet are slipping. The Belmont puts his back to hers, as any good friend and comrade would. Alucard phases in front of them, the burning wind rushing against his face. He calls his sword, which sings as it reaches his hand, poises it, and drives the point into the magma ball.

They each fight with all their might, the Belmont and the speaker begins to grunt with the weight of it. The ball gives a falter their way, and Castlevania is sure even three cannot match Dracula’s strength, but the Speaker gives a final push, which gives Alucard just the right amount of momentum to drive it back toward his father, who is as caught off guard by the display as Castlevania is. He needs no sword or magic to stop it, however, and puts his hands out to hold it. Gold and red push against each other, until Alucard gives a deciding motion, then another, another, each chipping away at the ball until the sword goes flying and it’s just Alucard’s arm against Dracula’s throat, and their momentum creates a sizzling tunnel in the wall.

Castlevania may not know what guns are, but it knows what it feels like to be shot.

The two burst into the library, shattering the already shattered mirror.

It was so quiet in here. Must they sully the silence with the sound of strife? They read here, once. Sometimes alone, sometimes to each other. Whispered to each other of history and mystery.

Dracula lands on the floor and Alucard floats above him in the room in which he once stood on his level and told his father calmly he wouldn’t stand for genocide.

There’s anger in his eyes now.

Dracula hisses, then gives a war cry, and the two allow their hungry fists to attempt to devour each other as best they can in the air, red and gold flashing.

The Belmont picks up a sword in the other room and, deciding it’d be best not to follow them through the tunnel—(Castlevania is glad for that decision. The wound is still raw and would more than likely sting tremendously if they walked on it)—he and the Speaker run up the stairs to follow them.

They’re on the floor now and their punches fly like starlings—their duel reflected in the shards of mirror fluttering, jittering about, ever awaiting their command, as if attempting to tap their shoulders and ask what they should do, and why they are hurting each other—until they are hitting the bookshelves they once were gentle with—lest the pages rip and the silence tear—the ones they once smiled and discussed philosophy beside.

Castlevania’s head aches, nausea in the back of its throat.

A smiling boy and his father handing him another book, saying if he liked the first he’d like the second too, are all but gone now.

Dracula throws Alucard into the ceiling, and enters the room above with an unearthly sound, in an unearthly way: only his cloak is visible, moving like slime. As his hungry footsteps lick the floor behind him, Alucard is heaving on his side that same floor, his hair falling across his face. He turns around, fear coating the sound he makes as he, without his sword, grabs the nearest block of wood that happens to have a point on the end.

Dracula laughs, like they’re playing a game—(they did once, do they remember? Humans and monsters. Sometimes there were princes, and knights, or pirates. Even a princess or two. And the wolves and the bats were free in the night wind)—and stops.

“You mean to stake me?”

“You want me to.” Alucard murmurs, turning around with some difficulty.

“What?” Dracula chuckles, still with that put-the-toys-away intonation.

“You didn’t kill me before.” Alucard breathes. “You’re not going to kill me now. You want this to end as much as I do.” The look in his eyes is almost crazed.

“DO I?!” The tone is almost crazed in response, the nonchalant edge gone, the words resounding with power and grief.

Alucard scrambles away like an animal, causing Dracula to punch the floor instead of his head—Castlevania’s body lurches. It feels a gentle touch at its chin, someone trying to wipe the blood off perhaps.

“You died when my mother died. You know you did.” He reasons as Dracula’s breathing gains weight. “This entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.”

Castlevania jerks its head up, eyes wide at these words.

And Castlevania understands.

The cold, the dark, the empty, the death. They all make sense now.

Alucard rushes at him, Dracula knocks the stake out of Alucard’s hand with ease, but, in a moment of extreme dexterity, Alucard manages to grab it from the air and drive it into his chest still. The look in his eyes is almost pleading, like he’s going to ask “Daddy did I do a good job? Did I do it right? I’ve gotten better at fighting haven’t I?”

“Not quite close enough.” There is a gurgling quality to Dracula’s enunciation.

No more playing.

He shoves Alucard so hard its into the next room.

Castlevania keels over onto the floor, it’s stomach aching and prickling.

Dracula pulls the stake out and heaves before rushing after.

Floors below the magician and the Belmont can hear them, and are trying their best to catch up, to have a say in this fight.

But Castlevania isn’t sure they have much chance of that, as they are flashing through the halls now, Alucard, a foot off the ground, zig-zagging between the walls in the narrow hall as Dracula keeps punching bloodless stone—

—(The stone may be bloodless, but god this hurts)—

Until Alucard punches him back, sending them into a room, a bedroom—(but not that one)—and the room is a pile of rubble with just that. And Castlevania can feel the splinters. That furniture was nice.

Dracula grabs Alucard’s face and shoves him into the dining room, pinning him to the table like he’ll eat him too if they’re not careful, and those chairs were perfectly nice too—

And Castlevania sees a little boy waiting at the table for his birthday surprise, and his father pulling out a burned cake, and his mother laughing. There was no fear then. Though its master was a creature of blood it never thirsted for theirs, and they knew this full well. Can they see it too? Why would they destroy this room if they did? Why would they destroy each other if they did? Are they even the same creatures as those in the memory?

At this point Castlevania is pretty sure they broke a few of its ribs.

Alucard kicks his face and gets on the table on all fours, rushing him into the next room still.

Castlevania’s bleeding, broken heart skips a beat. Surely they must have broken a few ribs, for how else could they get into Castlevania’s heart? The control room, where its gears still lie dripping, glowing as orange as a brand, once beating organs now blazing stalactites.

They punch each other along the platform, Dracula’s cloak whipping about, like a cat’s fur trying to make him look bigger and scarier.

They are framed in the paneless window—those bones have been all but broken too now. The frame where the picture—that is to say, the die—no longer sits. For Castlevania’s heart didn’t just break, it was destroyed when they brought it to this place, the place where its enemies once lived, and still stand today.

—(So why can Castlevania still feel it beat?)—

In the frame now is moon drunk on blood, a night soaked in tears—and the wind whispers to their cloaks, bidding them to whip around them.

Dracula draws in a hissing breath.

Alucard stands tall, his eyes aglow, gold melting into something new in this forge, his hair whipping about him as he raises his fist yet again.

They are getting tired. Their snarls have a weakened quality to them now.

—Can they see the father and son in this room, the father teaching his son that his Castle is special?—

But instead of just punching him, Alucard teleports beside his father, hitting his shoulder, sending a gust of wind to his face, then teleports around the room to send his fist into him over and over, from every possible angle, and some of his kick-offs create cracks in the already breaking bindings of the room.

It feels like pins and needles, but it’s okay. It’s okay.

Why?

Dracula’s grits his teeth, sharp as ever, his eyes alight with bloody determination, his hair playing about this gaze. To end it, on the next hit he grabs his face, shoving him by it onto the stone platform. He shoves him once, twice, a third, the metal cracking, the metal creaking—

Castlevania’s gut lurches, and it can taste bile and iron at the back of its throat, and it’s hard to breathe.

Then its master raises Alucard back up, holds him by the face in the air a moment, and punches him with such force he is blown across the length of the platform and through the thick stone wall into the next room—

And Castlevania vomits blood.

Dracula bolts after him, the dust creating patterns in his wake—and Castlevania could gaze in the clouds if it weren’t for whoever’s trying to slap it awake.

Alucard coughs, and it sounded deep.

Its master is nothing human now. There’s a growl in his throat as he marches towards him, and another cough in Alucard’s as he struggles to stand.

Another punch, but this one is not fast like the rest, nor is it blocked. Alucard tries to stand up, to rush towards him, but he is getting tired, and Dracula hits him again. Another growl. Alucard takes a single step back, soft against the floors. An exhale. Another of both, and as Dracula raises his fist the murmur—plea?—on his son’s lips sounds a lot like “Father,” as if he’s reached his limit, and has to stop the game.

It’s too late to hit quit now.

The vampire king doesn’t grant the plea—or perhaps even hear it; with a belabored punch he sends him into the next Room, rolling this time, instead of flying, the contents of the Room staying in tact…all except the bed, which catches the boy.

The next Room. But this one is not like the rest. It is not just a room.

This one breathes.

A gasp, another growl, a scratch against the wall, and—

Castlevania burned today in this bloody fight, on this bloody night. Its skin, its legs. Even its heart broke.

Castlevania. The thing that Vlad Tepes brought to life with a little bit of lightning, several gears, and a few words. No magic words, just words: the ones he spoke on lonely nights to the walls about how he’d like to be something more than ruthless.

Castlevania did everything it could. It lies burned and broken and unable to fight now because of it.

But none of that burned half as much as those scratches on its walls.

There have been many stories told about Dracula, and there will one day be more stories told about Dracula, books written, enough that one could fill libraries with just the retellings of his story. And Castlevania has no doubt that one day these scratches will be on their covers. This growl, these scratches are the signet of a vampire, of a monster: the disfigurement of his Castle, bloody intent directed at his son. The dark, the death, and the emptiness have overtaken completely. That is all a monster is, really. That is all he is now.

He marches into the Room, his cloak flowing, dipping and twirling in the broken wind. The sound of Alucard’s breathing fills the Room as he heaves against the bed.

Or maybe the breath is the Room’s own.

The Room has seen all that happened, it has been watching Castlevania beaten bloody till it could barely breathe, or see through the blood dripping down its face, let alone move. Castlevania could barely feel the comforting hands on it, the attempts to bandage the wounds, or at least stop the bleeding that it knew could only belong to the Room. Castlevania could barely hear the Room’s frantic, desperate calls to action, to get up, or just ask if it was okay. And now the Room stands, fists clenched at its sides. The Room wants to fight back. It will fight back.

The Room is not violent. From the very beginning it stood against all the violence, the dark, the empty, and the death. That was what it was made for, after all. As much as it would like to, it does not wrap its hand around Dracula’s throat, claws digging until it draws blood, and demand “How does it feel?! How does it feel to be on the receiving end?!”

The Room’s footsteps are soft as it comes up beside Dracula. It puts its hands over the king’s eyes and whispers in his ear, gently as it can:

“Remember me?”

Then, quietly as it came, it removes them, as if playing peekaboo, revealing that it was there the whole time, his eyes were just covered for a while.

It may as well have been removing scales, because Dracula freezes, his eyes wide, as if he’s seeing, not just the Room, but the whole world for the first in a long time—And he is. The first time with living eyes. And one sees things very differently with living eyes. And Castlevania was his world and it hopes he sees the world differently, for Castlevania is not a thing for him to beat and break. Just when Castlevania thought there was nothing left…there is something more than anger in his eyes now.

Dracula’s angry cloak quiets, falling docile at his feet: a sign of reverence towards the Room, and all it stands for.

Alucard, after allowing his breath to regain itself, looks up, his eyes widening too at his father. His father. No anger, no fear, not even determination now. Not in this Room. This Room is different. He remembers now: in the hush that has fallen across the world like freshly fallen snow, this is his father.

The Room kneels at it’s boy’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder feeling nothing but life and love, so much so it extends to the creature that created the scars on its throat, and on its boy’s chest.

“It’s okay. You can go to him now.” The Room says.

And it knows what that means.

It knows that sometimes peace comes at the price of war.

Dracula curls his hand, the one with the claw that just made marks on the walls that are written in stone, and will never be undone. Within the glow of the window, his reddened eyes too are no longer angry. For so long those eyes sat dormant, empty, and glazed in his skull and at last they contain something. The Room’s words have gotten through the glaze, shattered the glass.

“It’s your Room.”

It’s more than just a statement. He made a promise when he made this Room. This Room was to be his son’s Room. There would be no violence, not in this Room. Not ever. Not today in as much as not ten years ago. He will not hurt this Room. He will not dare touch it, for fear those claws will mark more than just the walls; that all the memories will come crashing down.

The words are not angry. They are not dark. They are not empty. They are not dead. They may seem dry, and stated, but they are dripping with such longing and loss it might fill the whole Castle.

The desk where Vlad taught Adrian of letters, and of numbers, and of the borders of the world. The wardrobe where Lisa dressed him up in fine clothes, and casual ones depending on the occasion—Dracula had so few special occasions to celebrate alone, they were a lovely thing. The bookshelf full of all the knowledge of immortals, and the stories of mortals. The carpet where the boy sat and played with his toys. The nightstand, still with a potion bottle upon it, and the cards of a game they’ve no doubt forgotten how to play, right where they left it long ago. The shelf above it with another bottle, and a tiny satchel of even tinier precious things, and a little toy lamb. The bed upon which Vlad and Lisa once sat and told stories, and sang lullabies, or else lay curled up next to him when the nightmares got too vicious to bear alone.

—(How many did he have to face alone?)—

And Castlevania can see them all. The father teaching his son to count, and to write. The mother running after her naked toddler, trying to convince him clothes really aren’t so bad. The careful pouring of the potions so they change color, or explode just right, the father smiling proudly when he gets the questions correct. The pride of the mother when her son won the game, and the way her husband said “again” like if they just played another round he would win this time. The boy playing with the lamb and the wolf; they they got along in his stories.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart…was it?

Alucard stands—the motion fluid now—blue light caressing his face as he raises his eyes. Vlad too looks up. But they’re not looking at each other, or the Room, rather into the stars. Not the ones outside, the ones they painted—brushing paint upon each other’s noses, so long ago, and Castlevania can see that too—as if those stars hold all the bottled wishes of childhood. It always was crowning jewel of this Room.

Adrian’s eyes oscillate like perturbed waters, because he knows, he knows he’s about to lose it all. And yes, there’s a sort of childlike yearning in Adrian’s eyes, as if he’s wishing upon those stars that he didn’t have to do this, because he’d really rather find another way to spend this night.

The stars wipe the bloodstains off of Dracula’s eyes. The blood drains off the moon too, as if he is so powerful he can bid the sky to bleed.

His lips shake with long-forgotten words—(or maybe they were just buried, and not everything buried in a grave stays there)—and he holds his hands to his chest, if nothing else to stop them from hurting innocent boys and castles, and shuts his eyes.

“My boy.” The words are said like everything in him is breaking

And it is.

—(The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. Does that mean it never broke?)—

“I’m—I…” The word falls to the floor, so soft, like it’s the only apology he has to shed. “I’m… I’m killing my boy.” And the truth is so gentle and broken its almost more painful than all those punches to the walls.

He steps across the Room, and this time his footsteps are not foreboding, not marching nor stalking. They are soft. He is only walking. This boy is not his prey. Not in this Room.

He walks to the picture on the wall, the one called “Happy.”

Castlevania remembers the day they took it home. The painter really did do a good job, Lisa had said, and Castlevania agreed. Castlevania soon learned that even when they were not here, even when the boy was not small, even when they were not happy, that moment would still be captured upon the wall to return to any time they missed it. Long ago Dracula had no need of pictures and paintings. But those pictures have been everything to him, and everything left him, now that Lisa is gone. They are all the traces left of what they once were in this Castle. That picture—the one Dracula buried and tried to forget existed—that picture bottled happiness, and it gives Vlad back his happiness now. And it makes him so very sad.

“Lisa. I’m killing our boy.” Vlad says to the memory. “We painted this Room. We…made these toys.”

His eyes as they dart around the Room—to the books, to the basket with the wolf and the blocks—are glazed, but not in the same way as before, this time it is with memory, and that makes them more alive than ever, as are his words. And in that moment she is alive too, and he is Vlad, Lisa’s husband, and Adrian’s father.

“It’s our boy, Lisa.”

And then as he looks down his eyes are not glazed at all, rather they hold understanding. He understands what must be done.

Alucard’s foot pushes off the ground, bends the knee, stands, and, no, he is not Adrian, for there is a cracking, a cracking like lightning, a cracking like the world breaking.

And it is the most horrible sound either the Room or Castlevania have ever heard. More horrible than the squelching any heart Dracula ever ripped out. More horrible than the desperate pleas of his victims. More horrible than the cackles of his friends. More horrible than the crying of the child that Castlevania can still hear echoing through the Room.

—(The sound Castlevania hated so so long ago, and now longs for far more than anything else in the world, longs for that painting to swallow the universe and bring it to life again)—

Castlevania and the Room can both feel that sound like a thousand splinters and spider bites, like both of them shattering as if they were made of glass after all. Even the furniture here bleeds.

Vlad backs up, putting his hands over his face—Don’t hurt them, they don’t know what they’re doing—

—(Yet…he hurt them all. So much so he didn’t just disgrace her words, he tried to kill her gift, their son, her blood)—

“Your greatest gift to me. And I’m killing him.”

He lifts his hands from his face and looks into his son’s eyes, his own so alive, despite their glass, tilting his head to the side. Everything slow and gentle now. He is Vlad. He is Adrian’s father. Not the vampire king who put innocents on stakes. But they all know something happened to Vlad on the night Lisa died.

“I must already be dead.”

And Castlevania, burned and bleeding, understands. The final piece of the puzzle has been put into place. It has been dead too. It’s life, bound in red to its master, will break to the call of a stake. Because a reflection cannot exist without the thing it reflects.

Because…they are mortal.

That was the trade, all those years ago: immortality for mortality. Lisa would gain an immortal mind, and Dracula a mortal soul. He would teach Lisa the knowledge of immortals, the methods of healing that must be kept secret to live with a vampire like time held no grip on them. And she would teach him how to live as a man, how to travel as a man, how to care for his son, as a man, as a father. And in that moment his soul was bound to hers.

She brought the undeath in him to life, and Castlevania understands; only things that are alive can die.

It learned through Lisa, through Adrian, what it was to be alive. And it knew that undeath, while not death, is not life. Dracula was undead and his body could not die. But now that she brought him to life, he could die. His soul already died with her. He’s been rotting in an empty shell—no wonder Death could tie those puppet strings to him. That’s why the emptiness in him was so active; cold and dark and empty were only adjectives before, now they are nouns; he was emptiness, death, walking around. And that, too, is what Castlevania has become. It too is mortal. It didn’t die with her, but something in it ceased to tick when Dracula came back without a soul in his chest, and it knows, bruised and burned, broken, and bleeding that that stake in his son’s hand is calling them both.

You knew all along, didn’t you? Castlevania asks the Room, and there is no malice, no blame, there.

The Room jerks its head up to look at Castlevania, then its eyes soften and it grimaces. I hoped I was wrong. The Room replies softly. I…I hoped there was another way.

Alucard’s eyes hold some sympathy, some semblance of the boy they once knew, in fact rather too much, for both threaten to pour out of those eyes and stop all this. He doesn’t want to. But it’s too late for anything else.

Vlad eyes hold some semblance of the man they once knew, so much so they threaten to make him something more than ruthless, something that doesn’t deserve to die. He closes them tilting his head. He knows what must be done.

There is no anger in either of their eyes, no determination, not even resolve. Not anymore. Adrian wants to free his father in the only way he can.

A step forward, and this step has purpose, that stake is silently growling, drooling at his side as he stalks his prey. Another. Another. Like the beating of all their hearts, and the atmosphere is so silent that everything can only break.

And Dracula will not stop him, will not fight back. Not this time. Like all those times he let his son win, because even though he was more skilled at at the game, it was more satisfying to see Adrian smile.

He is not here to talk things out.

Alucard barely raises that stake—

A second horrible cracking, this one in flesh.

This time he aimed higher.

Dracula’s mouth fills with blood, it seeps through the cracks in his teeth. The blood from his chest drains down the stake—the broken piece of childhood—down his son’s arm, collecting on his elbow, and when it hits the carpet a burn begins to appear on the Room’s chest.

A grunt as Vlad leans forward, the blood dripping from his mouth to the floor—another angry gash upon the Room’s skin, and the Room is trying to pretend it’s okay, but it can’t hide the hurt in its eyes.

It knew what had to be done…but the violence goes against its nature.

His eyes fill with blood, but not from undead purpose. The moon is still clean. These are those bloody tears, the ones from the song earlier today. He is free, relieved…and he will never see his son again.

“Son.”

To remember the living, and those who will live on without him.

And the word is spoken very differently than it was earlier today. Then it was solid and hollow. Now it is ghostly, and so full it could hold all the world. Their world, at least.

This Room, this Castle, that word. They are their whole world.

And it is an honor to have been a world to such terrible, wonderful creatures.

“Father.”

To honor the dying, and what they once were while alive.

The word on Adrian’s tongue is the same, though more solid, more alive, and thus able to hold more pain. A faltering breath, a cracking forgiveness.

The word means something now, at the end, where before they were nothing more than titles. They are pleading with each other. They are bleeding with each other.

They don’t want to do this. They shouldn’t have to. It is far too cruel.

Mothers shouldn’t have to bury their daughters, and sons shouldn’t have to kill their fathers. It’s an unspoken rule of life.

But Alucard can’t stop there. He must finish this. The fire, the resolve regurgitates in his eyes, and he pushes harder, like with the magma ball, and, no, this cracking is worse, because Castlevania can feel it in its own chest now.

Castlevania can hear its master’s heartbeat, can feel it with the drops of blood dripping and sizzling on the floor, and it thinks it might just be its own heartbeat.

Alucard does not hate his father: there is pain on his face. But he cannot stop there.

He must end this war. And unlike those given with kisses to his forehead once, this goodnight is not gentle. Not this time.

He inhales,

closes his eyes,

and breaks his father’s chest.

That stake goes right through Castlevania, and something in it involuntary breaks.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. The destruction of the die was merely the amputation of both its legs, still bleeding out. This is a breaking, not of skin or bone, but of something deeper. It thinks this might just be what it feels like to cry.

And something happens in the breaking. A change of some sort. Castlevania isn’t quite sure what—pain and disorientation are the best of friends—all it knows is that the world is smaller now, and hurts less.

And as Castlevania’s heart breaks, the reflection in the painting shatters, the reflection of the bond between father and son severing with a stake.

The world is so much smaller now.

Dracula’s head jerks back and, eyes now seeing something other than this world.

Dracula is no ordinary vampire, so he does not die like an ordinary vampire. Rather than catching on fire, there’s just smoke and ash; his face drains, turning from ghostly pale to a charcoal, black without flame, before it really is ash, sliding off his face, his cloak like sludge.

There’s no orange, just the red stain, and the grey his life was marred of. Ash and smoke. The true undeath.

Alucard turns his face away, still holding the stake in place.

Dracula lifts up a hand, a skeleton hand, and Alucard turns to see the skin sloughing off around his ring. Though his spirit may have left, it seems his body won’t quite let go of this world; with mere bones Dracula reaches out, takes a step forward, as if to touch his face, to hold his son one last time, to catch the last embrace he was not afforded.

Adrian has shed that resolve, now he can do nothing but take slow and careful steps back away from the monster he has no sword or shield to fight. He the child again, the one who belonged in this Room, shying away. He is Adrian, the one who didn’t like the stories that were bloody. And in all the years the boy spent in this Room, the sheer fear in Adrian’s eyes as he looks up to see his father’s rotted face, with mouth agape, leaning bloodlessly towards him—an image that Castlevania fears will haunt him the rest of his days—is matchless.

Hurried footsteps at the door. The Speaker and the Belmont, at last, have made it to the show, though it seems they paid for only the final song. They step upon the threshold to see the rotting corpse of the king stepping towards his fearful, tearful price.

The Belmont draws his sword, and Dracula’s deflated head—the one that seemed so alive moments earlier—lies in a bloody pool on the floor. And as the neck bleeds and the Belmont watches the body fall to the floor, he isn’t sure if that was enough.

And Castlevania can’t feel its heartbeat anymore.

“Alucard. Step back.” Sypha’s voice is tempered. “Let me finish this.”

He does, the steps cautious and small, sorrow in his gaze. He holds the unbroken bedpost till his hand shakes.

Castlevania never liked children, the crying, the leaving, the guests, or being controlled.

But it did like Lisa. It did like Adrian. And—be it a sting—it did like the sunlight. And always and forever, it loved its master. A reflection cannot help but adore the thing it reflects. A creation cannot help but be a worshipper of its creator. A dream cannot help but revere its dreamer.

“You want me to.”

Smiling a little at how true the words were, in the end, Castlevania found it quite liked the relief.

Castlevania puts a hand on the Room’s cheek, smiling, and its mouth tastes less like blood now. It looks at the moon—bleeding no longer—and blue calm fills every part of it.

“What a wonderful night to have a curse.”

The Room stares at the castle, a little horrified by the sentiment.

“What…What should I do?” The Room stutters, fear and realization coating its words, for it knows what’s happening.

Castlevania smiles wider than ever, and its voice sounds softer; “The children.”

“What?”

“You should let them in. Any child who needs refuge. Along with as many guests as your master wants to welcome. And you should cry. Cry when you need to—and let your master cry too. Stay, but let him leave, if he must, knowing he will always come back. Let yourself be controlled at times, because sometimes that which feels the least right is the most right.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“Be warm. Let the light in every window. Be full, and most of all, live. Can you do that for me?”

The Room holds onto the Castle to keep it from falling, tears already descending its cheeks.

“I—I will try.”

The Speaker lets the flame loose to eat the pieces, to engulf its master’s body in the fire he stared at all along, as if yearning for its embrace, creating a spiral of flame upon the circle in the carpet.

They were right to assume it wasn’t over, at least, because there are shapes in the flames; from the smoke and ashes rises a tower of skulls, a legion of spirits, more than a one king’s soul should hold. They’re all crying havoc, war, blood and pain from a yesterday long forgotten. Their smoke snuffs out the flame, blight covering the Room, blocking out the stars that so enraptured them earlier. Sypha and the Belmont cover their faces, but Alucard is unsurprised and undaunted by the darkness lurking in his father’s chest, and faces it without looking away. This darkness bursts out the window like a flower bloom, flows like a river out into the hall—the one cracked and bruising—flying over the war Room where the war resides no longer, and escapes into the night, fluttering, spiraling around Castlevania’s parapets like butterflies.

On the charred floor, the only thing left of the king is his wedding ring.

Castlevania sees the vampire king as he once was; young and restless. The skeletons eating stakes. Castlevania remembers what it once was: lightning, books, gears, and a few lonely words. It sees the woman with the knife at the door. It watches them build the Room. It watches the boy grow up into this beautiful thing.

Castlevania always wondered if it could breathe. It was never quite sure. The Room always seemed to possess a kind of life it never had; a life that hid in the breath.

“Take good care of him for me,” Castlevania murmurs to the Room.

“Have I ever failed you before?” The Room tries to smile, wiping its eyes.

As the sun rises over the hills, a single ray filters in through Castlevania’s window, touching it, filling every part of it, and for once it doesn’t sting.

And with the last sigh of the last ghost circling the parapets, Castlevania exhales its last breath.

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talesofsonicasura · 3 years

Text

Stone Novas

Ch 4: Exposition

Astra's secret is revealed to Team Monkie Kid much to her dismay! A challenge is wagered, plots are formed and soon wills shall be tested. CH3 CH5

Megapolis' Docks, Secret Base

To say Astra was upset would be an understatement. She was thoroughly pissed off for one good reason. Sun Wukong, Monkey King and 'Great Sage Equal To Heaven' didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. And the feeling to flay him grew as Mei poked at the Frontier Brain.

All of them had hustled back to the Secret Base after MK had blurted out her otherworldly origins. Luckily, no one else was there to hear it. When the young man had accidentally sent himself flying out of the Weather Station, not only did Wukong appear to take away his invulnerability but also told him about her Battle Observatory.

He didn't mention Macaque oddly enough or her taking his clothes, no doubt to keep some of his pride. The reactions from Sandy, Pigsy, Tang and Mei were expected once they got back into the base after a silent ride. Dumbfounded disbelief from MK's boss, curiosity from Tang, awe and wonderment from Sandy, as for Mei…

"Are you human or is this a disguise?! Wouldn't that make Bao Chang, Lupe, Mars, and that giant bird Siegfried alien animals?! Are there any dragon Pokemon where you're from?" A thousand questions alongside her wild poking and prodding. Astra didn't mind someone being curious but this was aggravating.

Having enough with the mildly rude treatment, the redhead grabbed Mei's hand tightly. "I would love to talk if you stop scrutinizing me like a Noctowl pellet." Astra let the raven quickly scoot away, slightly embarrassed but still had that same vigor. The Frontier Brain massaged her head, carefully picking her next words before speaking.

"I am human but from an alternate Earth. Instead of demons, we have Pokemon that can be found everywhere whether it be land, sea, sky and even space itself. During my free time, I usually explore various worlds by traveling through Ultra Space but I am actually the Frontier Brain for the Battle Observatory."

Mk had heard about the facility Astra owned from the Monkey King although neither of them knew what it really meant. Picking up on the young man's confusion, the ginger continued her explanation. "Where I'm from we have something called Pokemon Battles."

Mars connected his tail into the base's computer, the screen switching to display a battle between two trainers and their respective Pokemon: a bipedal rhinoceros covered in orange stone plates and a smaller bipedal chinchilla with large white fur that curled like locks of hair.

"Trainers bring out their Pokemon to battle and give them instructions. When all Pokemon on the opponent's team is unable to battle, the Trainer whose team is left standing wins. No Pokemon are forced to battle without their consent and no killing is allowed." The chinchilla-like Pokemon took down the much larger opponent with a strong blow to the head, spirals appearing on the eyes of the knocked out rhinoceros Pokemon.

Mars then changed the screen to display six different buildings, one of them being the Battle Observatory. A picture of Astra stood in front of the observatory as a shadow silhouette stood at the other 5 facilities. "There are tournaments that test the mettle of both Trainers and their Pokemon, the Pokemon League but we'll be discussing my domain, the Battle Frontier."

Battle Frontier, just two words that sent a shiver down the spines of everyone in the room. MK, unlike the rest of his companions, had a look of determination but also hope in his eyes. Something that made the redhead smile brightly.

"Trainers have to face the Frontier Brains, powerful trainers and their Pokemon that can rival the strength of the Champion for each respective region. Those who defeat a Frontier Brain, earn a symbol of their success, a badge for that gym. If someone manages to collect 5 of these badges, then they can become a Frontier Brain for their own facility. This is my badge, the Nova Badge!"

Astra then took something out of her pocket. It was a metal badge that resembled a fiery meteor from the red flame locale surrounding the yellow star shape and the center was a gray X bearing sharpened edges similar to a stake.

"Only those with conviction to face the burning flames of tribulation and strife can earn this badge. One of the reasons many trainers call me the Battle Frontier's Shooting Star." The redhead didn't even flinch when MK and his companions had suddenly gotten into personal space.

"Woah! That is the coolest thing I have ever seen. It looks really well made too! I wish I had my own badge but I really don't like fighting." Sandy stated with mild disappointment. Astra patted the big aquatic demon on the side and gave him a kind grin. "I can make you a custom badge if you want, Sandy. Send me a design and I'll have it ready in a few days."

The redhead chuckled at the sudden bone crushing hug she had gotten from a very happy Sandy. Pigsy was a bit indifferent to the whole otherworld thing. "As long as you come in peace then I don't really care about your origins. Plus you have a good head on your shoulders considering what happened back at the Weather Station."

Every member of the Monkie Kid team knew where the restaurant owner was getting at. All of them would've been captured by Red Son after MK got taken out of the fight. They couldn't forget about the people that might have been hurt or worse without Astra's intervention.

Something that raised a question for a certain bandana wearing young man. "Hey Astra, can I talk with you outside for a moment?" The Frontier Brain gave MK a confused look before nodding. Mars could fill in any questions the rest of the group had anyway. Neither of them said a word until the two adults were back on the boat.

It was here that Astra saw the brunette's carefree attitude dissolve into disappointment and shame. She had a bad feeling about this. "Do you think I'm worthy enough to be the Monkie Kid?" Now the Frontier Brain really hated where this was going.

"Back at the Weather Station, I was practically useless during the whole thing. I hurt Sandy with the staff and nearly got everyone captured because of my invulnerability ego. I even flung myself out of the building with my own weapon! Sometimes I feel like being able to pick up the Monkey King's Staff was a huge fluke. I…"

MK didn't get to finish when Astra gently caressed his cheek, a warm motherly expression on her face. "It's ok to feel like this, MK. You are new to this whole experience but I know for damn sure that your achievements aren't fake! I read about you saving the city from that huge Demon Bull King fiasco some time ago."

She pulled him into a side hug and turned to the open ocean. "When I first started out as a trainer, sometimes I doubted if I could even become a Frontier Brain. There were times that I wanted to give up but my friends and my Pokemon gave me the courage to keep trying. Look at me now, I achieved my goal alongside my faithful partners. Remember that 'the strongest mountain started as a stone.'"

MK then felt something metallic in his hand and stared down in shock to see a colorless Nova Badge sitting on his open palm. "I want you to hold onto this badge, little Kubfu. When you have found and mastered your full potential, face my team to fully complete that badge. If the Monkey King's training isn't sufficient, I won't mind stepping in for some proper training."

Astra's grin sharpened, the sun making her apple green eyes glow like emeralds and her flaming red hair burn like fire. "I might not have magical powers but I definitely can teach you how to wield a staff. A lot of my Pokemon would also love to help you master your newfound magic. What do you say MK? Want to take your training to the next level?"

The young man looked at the Frontier Brain. His uncertainty became hardened determination. "Please teach me how to become stronger!" MK bowed his head in respect, a sign of a student ready to learn under their master. Astra's smile grew from the young man's response. Now she had a few things to do before she started training MK.

Flower Fruit Mountain, Water Curtain Cave

Siegfried let out a mighty caw as he soared through the air. The Frontier Brain was currently seated on the Raven's Pokemon back with her goggles keeping any volcanic ash away from her eyes. All of the monkeys who saw the large Steel/Flying Type quickly scattered or watched Siegfried fly through the curtain of a waterfall.

This particular waterfall was shielding a cavern that held a small wooden shack within its stone walls, Sun Wukong's home. Once Siegfried landed and was recalled to his Pokeball, Astra went over to the house. She had spotted a large ancient mural to the side depicting Wukong alongside three other people.

A pig demon, fish demon, and a human monk riding on the back of a horse as Wukong sat on top of his cloud with a fillet on his head. It was quite eerie but not for the soft golden glow that lined the characters. No, it was the fact that they looked too much like Pigsy, Sandy and Tang that unnerved the redhead.

Astra walked up to the door of the small home and gave it a hard knock. The door opened to show a disgruntled looking Monkey King who was probably asleep earlier from the yellow pjs decorated in peaches. The demon quickly straightened himself upon seeing those apple green eyes glare into his own ambers. "Fancy seeing you here, Astra. Want to come in?" Wukong nervously laughed, he knew he was in hot water.

"You told MK about my origins WITHOUT my permission, jackass! What in the absolute Distortion World were you thinking?!" The redhead harshly poked the monkey's chest, every word burning with rage. The Monkey King raised his hands innocently despite Astra looking ready to skin his hide.

"I can't keep such information from my successor! MK had the right to know and I trust the kid to keep a secret." Wukong took a step back when the Frontier Brain snarled and dragged him down by his pajama shirt so they were at eye level.

"You are an idiot of the highest caliber and a poor teacher! I read the story about MK fighting that giant bull demon and saw him recklessly using your staff back at the Weather Station. Have you even given him proper training at all?!" Astra hissed, glaring daggers into the demon's fiery amber eyes.

Wukong nervously smiled at the accusation which didn't help with what he said next. "The kid did defeat Demon Bull King and came out of both fights completely fine. We've been practicing some hand to hand combat too. MK just needs to believe in himself, even just a tiny smidge." The Monkey King's world turned upside down in seconds as he hit the ground.

Astra sat on top of him, her legs straddled between his so he couldn't move while she held him up to her face with an iron grip. "You are an incompetent fool that clearly doesn't know what he's doing! Did you know MK asked me if he was even worthy of being your successor? That he thought of his achievements as a mere fluke, you insufferable Stunfisk?!"

Wukong's smile dissolved into a shameful frown. Did he really make his student believe that he was a failure? The mere thought made his heart sink. "I'll be taking over MK's training from now on since it's clear you are ill suited for the task." He instantly froze. Did she really just…?

"What do you mean you're taking over?" A look of anger and shock crossed Sun Wukong from the Frontier Brain's words. Astra didn't seem to care about the Monkey King's growing temper. "You heard me. Unless you start taking MK's training seriously, then my Pokemon and I will do it instead. I may not have powers but I can teach him to wield a staff. My team can handle the magic part since you're shit for this job."

Rage boiled underneath the demon's skin. What gave this human the right to say he was an unsuitable teacher? It's his powers and his staff! Who did she think she was to say that to the Monkey King, Great Sage Equal To Heaven, Sun Wukong?!! He'd- The monkey demon immediately stamped that thought before it could continue and instead turned his head away.

This wasn't about him. It was about his student MK. Astra had a point, the young man wasn't ready at all and if a tougher opponent came along… The look of remorse on Wukong's face was enough for the redhead's rage to slowly simmer down.

"How about a compromise? If you are that serious about helping MK, then battle Bao Chang." Sun Wukong immediately looked at the human woman in surprise. "It is said that someone's true intentions can be revealed in the heat of battle. Clash with my darling Monferno at the Battle Observatory on the morning of next week and show me how far you will truly go for your disciple."

The redhead got off the Monkey King so he could get back onto his feet. He could see in those apple green eyes that Astra wasn't fooling around. His only chance. "Alright. I'll accept your challenge. Where do we meet up since we're going back to your world?" Wukong's question only got him a chuckle from the Frontier Brain.

"Ask your apprentice, he'll tell you." With that said, Astra walked away from his home leaving the Monkey King to his thoughts.

Megapolis, Astra's House

The sound of a hammer hitting steel echoed across the small forest. It was from Bao Chang who was fastening a brand new windowsill to the upper floor of the old house, a paintbrush wrapped around his tail too. Astra and some of her Pokemon decided to fix up their brand new home after returning from Flower Fruit Mountain.

Bao Chang worked on replacing the windows, Lupe disposed of any garbage he found, Mars scanned for any issues with the infrastructure and Siegfried helped transport any of the heavy goods such as furniture or any stuff that can be exchanged for extra cash. Aniani kept watch in case of an accident or intruder, as for Astra…

"Sticky Web, Arachne!" A large blob of webbing struck the worn pillar. The substance slipped it into the cracks with the wood, Astra then placed a large metal sheet onto the sticky goo. "El Dorado, melt that metal a bit with Incinerate!" Quickly stepping back as a stream of fire hit the steel plate.

The intense flame caused the alloy to slowly curl around the pillar's surface until it was fully enveloped. Another stream of fire went down where the two ends to the sheet metal converged, sealing it together. With a short inspection of the plating, Astra gave a thumbs up to the two Pokemon responsible.

One Pokemon was a shockingly large black spider around 12'3 in size, six long yellow legs with the bottom half black that had medium sized water bubbles on each joint, a big water bubble that encased their head, two large blue eyes bearing light blue horizontal wave shaped pupils with three smaller triangle blue eyes on the forehead, four large fangs at the bottom of the head, a vertical tannish brown streak with two horizontal ones on the top of the abdomen and a small yellow stinger on their rear.

The other one was a 1'3 dark gold gremlin, eyes were light gold diamonds cut in an hexagon shape, two fin like ears bearing two points on each side of their head, a small emerald on their chest alongside a small jade and light gold crystals on the back, three fingered claws, three fur like spikes on the elbows and three toed bearing sharp claws. On their left arm was a dark violet wristband that held a black, red and violet jewel inside.

"Looks pretty stable. Got a few more support pillars to go, think you can handle it Arachne and El Dorado?" Astra first looked at the large spider then to the small gremlin Pokemon. The large spider Pokemon named Arachne did a small nod while the little gremlin El Dorado gave a thumbs up.

The Frontier Brain shortly paused as a serious expression overtook her face. Her focus was on the corner of the room that was unnaturally darker than the others. "Arachne, Bubblebeam over there!" The large spider took a deep breath before letting loose a rapid stream of dark blue bubbles.

In seconds, a purple outlined shadow cudgel emerges and promptly bursts every single bubble with a single swing. Macaque took a step out of the shadows, clearly impressed from the fang filled grin on his face. Astra only sighed at the sight of the shadow demon.

"I guess you do have some decent senses to detect me. Nice improvement on this dumpster pile by the way." The Frontier Brain rolled her eyes at the intruding monkey, both Pokemon beside her had their guard up. A sight that made Macaque chuckle.

"Usually I am not that defensive unless near a potential threat. I just didn't know that you used to eat humans before we met." Astra spoke, her arms crossed and an offensive edge to her voice. Dismissing the shadow cudgel from his hands, the demon gave the redhead a mischievous look.

"I knew you overheard me and Sun Wukong the other night instead of going to your room. Had me surprised when you still treated my wounds while keeping calm from your steady heartbeat. Pretty brave and bold, Apple." Macaque walked closer until he was standing in front of the Frontier Brain.

The demon could still hear her heart remain steady despite their close proximity, a thought that made his tail wag happily. "What do you want, Macaque? Because I'm pretty sure spying on someone isn't a proper visit." Astra didn't feel like playing around at the moment. One demon had already gotten on her nerves, she didn't need two.

"Straight to the point I see! What I want is to train under your tutelage." Astra looked at the shadow demon like he was crazy. She let Macaque continue with his explanation. "My clash with the Monkey King proved my training methods are ineffective, training dummies can only do so much. What's a better sparring partner other than a Frontier Brain?"

The redhead kept her eyes on the monkey as he circled around her, Arachne and El Dorado stayed silent. Both Pokemon were waiting for any sign of a threat. "So how about a deal? I help around your observatory and you let me battle your Pokemon in exchange. I can even help fix up this rusty junk heap as a bonus." Macaque offered, a calm yet manic grin etched on his face.

Astra mulled over the proposition in her head. She wasn't stupid or naive. Macaque and Wukong had a nasty history paired with a mile wide grudge. There was also the chance of manipulation for the Frontier Brain since the monkey demon might have abandonment issues, inferiority complex and probably low esteem.

Taking his offer could lead to two scenarios. He'll end up taking revenge on Sun Wukong, possibly dragging anyone associated with the Monkey King into it. Or two, she could learn their history and might be able to help both demons before their sour relationship leads to a much bigger problem down the road.

Whatever the case, these two needed help. "Fine but you must listen to what I say and respect any rules that I make. By the way, if you try to use whatever you learn against some innocent soul…" Astra's eyes sharpened, her teeth on full display from the huge snarl and a dark aura came off the redhead in waves.

The sudden malice was enough for Macaque to take a step back in instinctual fright. "I won't hesitate to show you why I'm the most feared amongst my peers in the Battle Frontier. Angels, demons or gods, nothing will save you from my wrath. Got it, little Alolan Rattata?" The shadow demon quickly nodded at the Frontier Brain's threat.

In seconds the frightening aura quickly vanished as Astra clapped her hands happily. "Splendid. For now, you'll be helping El Dorado and Arachne with enforcing the support beams. Arachne is my dear Araquanid while El Dorado is my sweet Sableye." Both Pokemon waved a hand or leg in Arachne's case in greeting to the demon monkey.

Macaque was about to say something when the redhead threw two small cards at him. Quickly catching them, dark amber slightly widened to see they were Pokedex Entries for the two Pokemon before him. Although the one for El Dorado looked different since the Sableye in that picture was violet instead of gold.

"'Araquanid, the Water Bubble Pokemon. Bug/Water Type. The water bubble around Araquanid's head can be used to carry Pokemon they consider as friends to safety or drown potential prey. It has a habit of storing things it likes in its water bubble so their trainers have to be extra careful to not get dragged in. This Pokemon likes to savor its meal and can also launch the bubbles from its legs as another way to capture live prey.'" Macaque looked warily at the giant spider before reading the other card.

"'Sableye, the Darkness Pokemon. A Ghost/Dark Type-'" The demon monkey went silent for a few seconds. 'What in the absolute hell?' Macaque shoved the thought in the back of his head before continuing his low mutters.

"'-It digs up gems with its sharp claws then uses its sharp teeth to devour them in the deep darkness of caverns. This diet caused Sableye's eyes to become gemstones and some of that material to float to the surface of their bodies. It's feared for the misconception that these Pokemon can steal the souls of people when their eyes glow a sinister color in the dark.'"

The shadow demon paused to look at the card then the small Darkness Pokemon. He blinked a few times before pocketing the Pokedex entries into his jeans. Macaque had a feeling this won't be the only time Astra decides to make him feel uneasy. Shrugging his shoulders, the monkey resigned himself to his fate and got to work with the repairs.

Megapolis, Flaming Foundry

Deep underneath Megapolis, there laid a massive factory unknown to others. This facility was the Flaming Foundry, where every mechanical creation was manufactured to assist the Demon Bull Family. A family of three who seeked to rule the world in an age of darkness and fire: Princess Iron Fan, her husband Demon Bull King and their child Red Son.

Standing in front of a large screen was Red Son alongside two others. One was a huge minotaur type bull demon around 15 in size, powerful bulging muscles to red violet fur that seemed to almost synthetic, bottom jaw covered in a heavy steel plate with similar steel under burning yellow eyes, a gold bull nose ring, gear similar to that of a barbarian: steel pauldrons, multiple straps on the chest that held a gold furnace like slot at the center, dark grey pelt around the waist similar to a barbarian's, slightly long tail, sharp clawed fingers, large fangs and strong gray hooved feet.

The other was a woman about a ft taller than Red Son, soft tan complexion, two large black horns on both sides of her head, long raven hair, red lipstick on full lips, thin but buxom form hidden under a beautiful red traditional Chinese dress, and heeled sandals. They were Red Son's parents, Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King. Red Son seemed mostly healed from his encounter with Team Monkie Kid minus a few bandages.

All three of them were watching the large monitor, it was on the news which covered the Weather Station. The broadcast was about none other than two of Astra's Pokemon rescuing civilians who were trapped inside. "-No one knows what these strange creatures were but the families of those who were trapped inside are truly grateful for their assistance."

Red Son then changed the feed to camera footage from the Weather Station, most of the audio was fried courtesy of Mars' hacking the mainframe earlier. "I can see why your plan went asunder, my dear son. You said this woman's name was Astra?" PIF questioned, looking at her only child.

The red haired demon did a short nod before answering. "Yes from what Noodle Boy called her during our battle. All those creatures appear to follow her command; unlike Noodle Boy's group, she's very competent in both strategy and execution. The marks of a tactician."

DBK looked inquisitively at the footage. His attention darted from Bao Chang tearing apart their soldiers using various elements, to Lupe destroying his troops with powerful acid then blasting his son away in a giant laser, Mars stealthily hack into the Weather Station's mainframe and finally Astra's conversion of a broom handle into a weapon that melted through titanium steel. He's seen that type of cleverness before, it got him trapped underneath a mountain for 500 years.

"It appears the little thief has made a powerful and dangerous ally. Get as much information on this 'Shooting Star Astra' and 'Battle Frontier'. Even better if you somehow manage to capture her." DBK glared at the Frontier Brain's picture, a dark grimace on his face.

"This human woman could change everything."

And that's it! Sun Wukong has been challenged by Astra while Macaque and MK are accepted for training as things slowly begin to change in the background with some of the LMK villains.

Astra isn't someone who would beat around the bush when seeing a possible problem. Especially considering her status as a Frontier Brain and just how dangerous this new world is proving to be.

She is the type who wants to be prepared for the worst. To her, Sun Wukong and Macaque's 'relationship' is an issue just as bad as MK's current training routine.

Moving onto Astra's Pokemon, her team is the Pokemon she had caught during her journey to become a Frontier Brain, not exclusively just six Pokemon. Her Pokemon has two different movesets which is reserved for either exploration or gym battles. I'm bringing this up now to not only clear up any confusion but especially for upcoming chapters.

And for anyone questioning why Astra didn't do anything to Sandy for hugging her, it's because only touches with any romantic sort of sense are a trigger. Stuff like hugs don't bother Astra.

Next chapter is the battle with Sun Wukong! Before I go, I am currently working on a story for my Broken Toys AU! Someone asked if I was going to release all the information first before writing it.

The answer is actually no. I will be posting some stuff for the au like the monsters MK has and his relationship to them but the really juicy ones will be coming once a few chapters are posted.

Until next time folks, see you back in Megapolis.

New Pokemon added! El Dorado the Sableye and Arachne the Araquanid

Astra's team: Bao Chang (Monferno), Siegfried (Corviknight), Lupe (Garbodor), Aniani (Necrozma), Arachne (Araquanid), Mukasa (Zarude), El Dorado (Shiny!Sableye).

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ransomedrogue · 3 years

Text

Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

1.4

It was impossible to sit.

Jane suddenly realized that this must have been how Weller felt earlier that day, when they'd been stuck in the CDC lab during the lockdown.

There was something wrong; she could feel it in her gut.

"I still think one of us should have stayed with him," she muttered.

Reade rolled his eyes and glanced at Zapata, sharing a look with her before replying.

"Weller's fine, the doc brought him a suit. And he's the one that made us leave, remember?"

"Yeah, Weller can take care of himself," Zapata added.

However, neither comment toned down the anxiety coursing up and down Jane's spine. Nor did it help to tell herself that she was just overreacting to being separated from him. Her nerves remained taut, no matter what she tried.

So when Zapata's phone rang and it was Patterson, Jane didn't need to hear more than one line of the conversation before she was out of her seat and sprinting back into the cruise terminal, blatantly ignoring Reade, who was hollering at her to stop.

When she charged in, Weller was on the ground and the doctor was moving towards the bioweapon. Jane leapt over a set of seats and cut the doctor off, then easily took him down with a hard punch to elbow combo before finishing him off with a stomp to the head.

By that time Weller was back on his feet and staring at her. She couldn't quite read his expression through the plastic window of the hazmat suit, but he didn't seem entirely pleased as he approached to check that the doctor wasn't going anywhere.

As soon as he was sure the criminal was secure for the moment, Weller stood in front of her; and this time Jane could easily see that he was frowning as he began to spray out reprimands.

"What were you thinking? I told you to stay out of here. You aren't even in a suit! He could have already set off the device."

Jane sighed, willing herself not to roll her eyes. But her adrenaline was still firing from running onto the scene, full of fear for Weller. So it was hard not to yell back at him, especially since she'd likely just saved him from a horrible death.

"He was going to infect you with a deadly disease, Weller," she argued.

"Exactly. And you ran straight into it without protection!" he hollered, so heatedly that the mask of his hazmat suit steamed up.

Jane shook her head at his obstinate refusal to understand that he'd been the one in danger and she couldn't let anything bad happen to him. Losing Weller just after finding out who she was and her connection to him would be devastating to the extreme. Especially if it was due to one of her tattoos - if it was her fault.

Luckily, just then Reade and Zapata came running into the terminal with hazmat suits on and diverted Weller's attention, so he started yelling at them instead.

"At least you two had the sense to put suits on before coming in," he huffed. "How the hell did you let her come back in here on her own?"

Zapata flashed Reade a look and Jane could see that neither of them bothered to hide their nearly synchronized eye flips at their boss.

"Yeah, like she asked us before flying out the door?" Reade commented

"Sorry boss, she was gone before we even knew anything was up," Zapata added.

Weller was still steaming up his yellow suit but his agents didn't seem particularly concerned about his anger. Instead, they had obviously learned how to best avoid his ire by reminding him of the facts and then stepping aside as he raged.

"You want her to come out into the field, this is what you're going to get," Reade stated.

"She's a wildcard."

"And it looks like she was just in time," Zapata chimed in, eyeing how close the canister was from the unconscious doctor.

"So it's a good thing she didn't suit up first."

Weller scowled but refrained from shouting more, instead just telling Zapata and Reade to cuff the prisoner and secure the rest of the scene. Then he turned his attention back to Jane, just as a hazmat team arrived with more agents in tow.

Jane's heart was still pumping too fast but it wasn't because of adrenaline anymore. She hadn't thought Weller would be so mad at what she'd done and felt bad getting Reade and Zapata yelled at for her actions. Then again, she wouldn't hesitate to do the same thing again, despite the consequences.

Weller's blue eyes still flashed with intensity; even from behind the protective suit. Jane felt her shoulders tighten, sure she was about to get shouted at again.

But instead, he just stood there in front of her, silently studying her for a long moment while wearing a stern grimace. Jane's stomach began to curdle under his gaze and she prepared the only defense she had – whatever she'd done was worth it, because he was still alive.

When Weller finally spoke, his tone remained gruff but all the fire was gone.

"Thank you," he said, his voice tight with an emotion she couldn't quite identify.

"Now go get your bloodwork done. We'll talk about this later."

He was clearly still upset but at least he wasn't filled with fury anymore. Hopefully that meant he'd have a different perspective on her actions once he'd had a chance to cool off even more; because he was going to have to get used to it.

He might think of her as his to protect, but Jane knew the opposite was equally true. She'd only just found him. The boy next door, full of self blame. The guilt-ridden man who'd never given up, who'd searched his whole life for her. And she wasn't going to let anyone take him from her.

###

Weller left Patterson's lab with his heart and his head locked in battle.

What Patterson had just told him about Jane's tooth was impossible if she was really Taylor. Which they'd also proven without a doubt with the DNA test.

The contradictory pieces of information bounced around his head as Weller tried to think of some way both facts could be true. But there just wasn't any possible way that Jane was both Taylor and had also grown up in sub-Saharan Africa. So his brain kept saying that it was one or the other - that one of the tests had to be wrong. And it was crystal clear which one his heart wanted to be true, though he would never admit it, even to himself.

Weller found himself walking back past the room where Jane had been reading the article about Taylor's disappearance, even though he knew he should keep some distance while he figured out how Patterson's new information fit into everything. It was as if her presence was tugging at at him magnetically, despite the best intentions of his rational mind.

She was still there, studying another article from the same time period that probably contained the same few facts about the case. Weller thought about how he could tell her so much more than any of those articles could, then flashed back to what Borden had said that morning. He was supposed to talk to Jane about his memories of Taylor. So, his desire was even officially condoned, though Kurt knew his intent was not strictly investigative.

As his eyes settled over her, Weller felt flush with warmth. She had to be Taylor. He was just so sure of it. There was no other way to explain the way he felt when she was around, and it had been like that since before the DNA test had even confirmed her identity.

A tiny voice inside him tried to remind him of the basics of investigation; telling him that the isotope information indicating a childhood in Africa might spur some memories in Jane. But they'd only just confirmed that she was Taylor and she hadn't even had a chance to wrap her head around that idea. So Weller didn't want to throw such contrary evidence at her right away, when she finally had something firm to hold on to.

He missed his chance to slip by when Jane looked up from the computer screen and caught him staring. Or maybe he'd just been waiting for an excuse to go in.

"What did Patterson want?" Jane asked as he entered the room.

Dammit. He hadn't decided what to do on that issue yet and of course she'd brought it up right away. Jane was perceptive as hell too, which had both impressed him and caused him a lot of strife already. So Weller didn't want to lie, especially after already withholding information from her previously. But he also didn't want to introduce evidence contradicting the DNA test result until he was sure this isotope thing was as legitimate as Patterson had said. Especially when Jane was clearly clinging to the one concrete fact they'd been able to offer her.

"I'll tell you another time," Weller replied, with full intent to do so eventually - just not right then, when things were so fragile.

"It's late and you've already got a lot to think about."

Jane seemed skeptical as he approached and sat down next to her. But, surprisingly, she didn't argue, instead giving him with a long look that he couldn't read.

"Do you have any more questions?" he asked, mostly to break the intensity of the silence.

Jane narrowed her eyes at him, as if seriously considering what he'd asked. Then she raised her thumb to her mouth and chewed on her fingernail as her expression became somewhat timid.

"Yeah," she finally replied. "Are you okay?"

It was not at all what he'd expected and threw his heart for a complete loop.

There were so many sides to her, all of them equally captivating.

Weller flashed back to Jane leaping into the cruise terminal, risking exposure to a deadly disease in order to save him. That fierce force was now cautiously asking after his well-being, even though she was the one who'd had her entire life stolen away.

"I'm fine," he frowned. "What do you mean?"

She was gazing at him a bit longingly, in that way that made his insides seize right up; her green tinted eyes shining into him with a mix of innocence and empathy.

"I just don't want to be making things hard for you," she said.

Weller's frown deepened as he wondered what she could be talking about. Even though her case had been emotional for him, she was the one that had been thrust into a traumatic situation that just kept getting more complicated. He hoped he hadn't been putting his own feelings too far out there, even though it was hard to maintain his usual firm boundaries when Jane was around. After all, it was up to him to look out for her, not the other way around.

"Did Reade say something?" he asked, remembering how they were the last two to get their bloodwork done.

Jane hesitated and flashed her eyes away for a moment before looking back at him and responding.

"No, but I overheard you in the locker room this morning. And I think I keep asking you the wrong questions."

Not the wrong ones, he thought. Just the ones that hit deepest.

"Any issues Reade has with me has nothing to do with you. I know it might not seem like that but it's true. And anyways, today more than proved that you need to be with us in the field. You're integral to this investigation."

That was the easy part, the obvious truth as far as he was concerned.

The other part though, that was something he couldn't explain. The way she so easily touched on his hurts without meaning to, as if he hadn't been constructing a barrier all his life. His father, the self-blame that had followed him since he was a child. Nearly everything about her was still a complete unknown; yet she could see him so clearly.

"And um. I guess I'm just not used to talking about this all," Weller explained.

"Which obviously isn't your fault. But it's… a lot. I know it has to be hard for you too."

Jane's slightly nervous expression turned more hopeful, with a little uptick of her lip and a raise of her eyebrows as she nodded at his words.

"Yeah, I just don't understand any of it. What happened to me after I was taken?" she asked. "Where have I been for the last twenty-five years?"

"I just hope I remember something," she added. "What if I don't ever remember anything else?"

"Jane, it's okay. You're going to have more memories," Weller said, sensing that she was tipping over into her anxiety.

He found himself putting his hand between her shoulder blades, trying to ground her with his presence as Jane fought to reel her emotions in. So much had happened to her in such a short amount of time, it was no wonder she was so full of questions. In a way, her being Taylor only made things more complicated and added pressure to her situation.

For another second his mind went back to what Patterson had told him, and again Kurt told himself that he didn't want to take the one solid thing Jane had to hold onto at the moment. He would tell her about it later, not when she already had so much to adjust to.

Part of him recognized that he just didn't want to burst his own bubble, not when he was so goddamned happy to have her back. It was unbelievable to suddenly have the weight of lifetime come off his shoulders. And for her to be so gorgeous and compelling – well, it was nearly too perfect.

"Hey, do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?"

The question leapt out of his mouth without passing through his usual mental filter, then sat there between them as Jane gave him a puzzled look.

"No pressure, just say no if it's too soon. But I told Sarah about finding you and she really wanted to meet you. Sawyer will be there too. Maybe it'll help bring back some memories if we talk about when we were kids," he stammered, trying to make the whole thing sound less like date.

At least his impromptu offer had momentarily distracted Jane from her worries, as she was obviously trying to not grin at his awkward display. Her eyes even twinkled a little with amusement as she tested his patience and remained quiet for far too long before answering.

Weller was already trying to think of a way to backpedal his way out of his offer when Jane finally took pity on him and replied.

"That sounds great," she said, flashing him a small smile. "I'd like to meet them both."

Relief flooded over him in a way that made Kurt feel like a teenager again. He hadn't been that tense about anything in a long time, even though he kept reminding himself that it was definitely not a date.

Yet Weller couldn't deny that his heart did another flip when he thought about it again.

He'd found her and she was incredible. And she was coming over for dinner.

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #blindspot rewatch #s1fic #i wrote this

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rabid-heart · 3 years

Text

Good Bones

For @sefikuraweek Day 2 - Prompt: New Beginnings

Sephiroth asks Cloud to move in with him and Cloud says yes. But once the house hunting starts and Cloud rejects every possible suggestion, Sephiroth begins to doubt if Cloud’s heart is really in this relationship.

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Notes/Warnings: None really, other than one tiny brief mention of sex.

Inspired by the song "The Bones" by Maren Morris.

AU – Everybody Lives! Shina is no more, Sephiroth and Cloud have been dating for a few years, and now their biggest argument is about finding the right place to start this new chapter of their lives together.

(There is angst, because Sephiroth is just an angsty guy, but really the whole thing is just purely indulgent fluff.)

Read on Ao3 | See Previous Day

---

“No.”

Sephiroth sighs, exasperation, exhaustion, and annoyance evident from the crease in his brow. He moves his hand away from his face and points at the laptop screen, while turning to his very stubborn boyfriend. “What’s wrong with this one now?” he asks.

Cloud simply huffs, as if that sound were enough to explain everything, and then walks away to the kitchen, leaving Sephiroth once again a little more than frustrated. It is not as if the former General himself was perfect at vocalizing his own thoughts and needs, particularly after a lifetime of being forced to suppress them, but Cloud’s pointed lack of clarity around this whole escapade had long begun stressing Sephiroth’s discipline and patience.

He pushes his chair back away from the desk and leans to watch Cloud dig into the refrigerator and pull out one of the soft-drinks that the blond had stocked in Sephiroth’s apartment. Those drinks are one sign, but there are many others – pieces of Cloud everywhere in the two bedroom condominium he had bought with his Shinra savings years ago: a blanket strewn on the black leather couch; junk food on the kitchen island (Sephiroth was never allowed junk food in his former life, but even after obtaining freedom from Shinra and Hojo’s strict meal plan, he had yet to develop a taste for that stuff); a toothbrush in the bathroom; some clothes and underwear in one of his dresser drawers. Even beyond those facts, Cloud himself arguably spent most of his nights with Sephiroth here, instead of in his actual living quarters in the house he shared with Zack, Kunsel, Aerith and Tifa (a place that Genesis not-so-affectionally dubbed the frat house).

They had been dating for over two years, though they had known each other for longer. In the end, Cloud Strife had now become invariably and inextricably woven into the fabric of Sephiroth’s life and space. He would either wake up to the blond in his arms or to a text message from Cloud. Most dinners they shared together, holding hands huddled in a restaurant booth or making a game of distracting each other while cooking. When Genesis and Angeal sent their wedding invitations, Cloud and Sephiroth’s names were on the cards together, as one. So, while Sephiroth had, admittedly, little relationship experience before this, asking Cloud if he would like to start living together seemed like a natural progression of the dance.

He did, on the advice of Aerith and Tifa, try to make the actual asking a romantic affair. He bought Cloud’s favorite whiskey, lit candles in the apartment, asked Aerith for her best roses. Cloud had seemed thrilled at the prospect, the usually scowling face instead blushing brightly throughout the evening. When Cloud had said yes, it started such a swell in Sephiroth’s heart that he was sure there was nothing else he could ever be more grateful for in his life. He had carried Cloud to his bedroom and made sure that the blond knew just how much he loved him, well through the night and into the hazy hours of the morning.

Then, something changed. They had agreed to find a new place, something that would let them have a true fresh start, something that they could turn into forever. But every open house Sephiroth suggested, every listing he found online had gotten summarily shut down. That would not have bothered Sephiroth as much had the blond provided more thorough explanations for his rejections, or at least explanations that were not so contradictory. Too far away from everything. Too close to the city. Too traditional. Too modern. Not enough space. Too much space. I don’t like the carpeting. I don’t like the kitchen. I don’t like the bathrooms.

Sephiroth had studiously jotted down the curt notes that Cloud had offered and then tried to adjust, come up with new possibilities. And yet, nothing seemed to please Cloud, not in the slightest. It became bizarre. Cloud did not act picky about anything other than his motorbike or his hair. And it did not make a difference that Sephiroth offered to finance renovations on an existing property to make it perfect. Cloud would shake his head, say it was too troublesome, and then move on to something else.

Sephiroth had considered himself an intelligent man, but this behavior tore at the boundaries of his understanding. He had begun to think that he had done something wrong, something to cause Cloud to suddenly grow cold on the idea of living together. He wracked his photographic memory for something – an offhand comment or gesture, a sign, even discussed the possibility with Genesis and Angeal over their weekly lunches together (Genesis called him a paranoid shithead, and while Angeal was much nicer about it, he essentially hinted at the same idea) – but could not find anything suspicious.

It had then dawned on Sephiroth that perhaps what Cloud was getting cold to was not the concept of moving in together – that maybe it was him. When that thought arose, he had quickly tried to push it down, bury it with all the other dark parts of his mind that he worked very hard to control. But try as he might to ignore it, it continued to nag away in the corners of his mind.

Even now, as he watches the blond kick close the refrigerator and wander into the living room to sit in front of the television, Sephiroth cannot help but wonder. Did Cloud really love him? Sephiroth had said it first, had felt it really from the moment Zack introduced them, and he was stunned into silence by the brilliance of those sky-blue eyes. Back then, Cloud was shyer and sweeter, but he had a stubborn streak a mile wide that often clashed with Sephiroth’s arrogance and tactlessness. They had fought often in the beginning, stumbling over misunderstandings and insecurities. But after a few honest and true conversations, things began to blossom. Sephiroth found himself being less afraid of being truly known and more willing to be honest and emotionally open. And Cloud in turn became more confident, less doubtful of his worth. They began fitting perfectly into each other’s lives, like pieces of an unusual, but beautiful puzzle.

Or at least, that had been what Sephiroth thought.

He turns to the computer screen, opened on a lovely four bedroom home just at the edge of Midgar proper – close enough to enjoy the central city, but far enough for peace. It has the large master bath, hardwood floors and open concept kitchen that Cloud had requested, and the laundry room, gas-range stove and garage that Sephiroth desired. Sephiroth had thought he struck the right compromise and had been excited at the idea of showing Cloud this new listing. But when they finished dinner and Sephiroth had pulled open his laptop, Cloud was simply as dismissive as he had been before.

Resignation begins to creep on Sephiroth now, like spiders crawling up his back. Dread, too, starts to mount in his chest. The weeks of this, the stress, the wondering, the doubt, the fear – it is too much, like an itch under his skin that he could not scratch for relief. He had pushed this conversation out for so long, under the guise of his own paranoia, but now, enough had become enough.

Sephiroth stands and walks into the living room. He reaches down for the television remote and shuts the program off, turns to face a perplexed Cloud and says, “I believe we need to talk.”

Cloud pauses, soda halfway to his lips, before putting the can down on the coffee table (no coaster, Sephiroth notes with a mild hint of irritation). “I was watching that, you know,” he responds casually.

“Cloud, I am serious.”

“You always are.”

Sephiroth closes his eyes, wills himself to breath, to calm, to still. “Do you still want to do this?” he asks, looking down at the blond sitting cross legged on his couch.

“Do what? Move in together?”

For a moment, Sephiroth considers taking the out – letting Cloud admit that he is not ready to live with him and allowing them to just resume their relationship as if nothing had happened at all. But Sephiroth knows that would not be enough for him now. He loves Cloud, wants to spend the rest of his mornings and nights with this man, but if Cloud does not feel the same, if he wants his freedom, then maybe it is best to let the blond go. Even if it means breaking open his own heart.

Sephiroth decides to push forward. “No. I mean our relationship.”

Cloud’s eyes suddenly widen in shock. “What?”

“Do you wish to continue this relationship?”

"I heard you,” Cloud says, standing up now. His face looks flushed, with anger, with embarrassment. “What I don’t understand is why you are asking this. What happened?”

Sephiroth looks down, for he knows if gazes in those blue eyes, he could never gather the necessary strength. “For the last few weeks, you have shown disinterest in every option for a new home together. I have tried my best to listen to your comments, but nothing seems to be right. I thought perhaps the true issue is that you no longer desire a life with me. I simply— I just…”

The words become trapped now, blocked by the swelling sorrow and fear in his chest. Is this it? Is he going to lose Cloud? Will he never hear that bell-like laughter, watch those blue eyes glaze with love and pleasure, dance in his living room to imaginary music with that lithe body, kiss that beautiful neck and those happy lips ever again?

He does not notice that Cloud has stepped close to him, until he feels a warm hand on his chest. Cloud glances upward, and the eyes Sephiroth loves are tinged with fear. “You don’t want to end this, right? You don’t want—”

“Of course not,” Sephiroth insists suddenly, grasping onto that hand tightly. “I love you. I love you more than anything, more than life itself and I--”

Then, Sephiroth stops, because Cloud, inexplicably, strangely, starts laughing. The blond presses his face against Sephiroth’s chest, and he can feel the vibrations of Cloud’s amusement and relief running through his body. It leaves Sephiroth feeling all the more mystified for it, and in his confusion, he finds himself locked in place and unable to move.

Finally, Cloud pulls back and looks at Sephiroth with slightly misty eyes. “You scared me, for a moment. I thought that you…oh, Gaia, Sephiroth. I’d never leave you, not for anything in this world or the next. I just needed another few weeks, that’s all.”

Sephiroth blinks at him, tilts his head. “I do not understand.”

The blond pauses for a moment, biting his lip in the way that he does whenever he is considering something. Then, he reaches down and tugs on Sephiroth’s hand. “Go get your jacket.”

“I don’t—”

“You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Sephiroth’s mouth opens to protest, to question, but Cloud is already moving, shoving his feet into his boots and slipping into his coat. The blond fishes into the ceramic bowl on the table next to the front entrance of the apartment and takes Sephiroth’s keys in his fingers. “I’m driving,” Cloud explains. “Now, c’mon!”

There appears to be no other option. Though his mind is still reeling from the whiplash of the last few moments, Sephiroth takes his jacket from the coat closet and follows Cloud down the hall, into the elevator and into the parking garage. Cloud is at his car quickly, with a springing nervousness to his step that Sephiroth only sees whenever the blond is excited about something. That recognition only serves amplify Sephiroth’s bafflement.

But he goes along anyway, watches as Cloud hops into the driver’s side of his car and complains again about having to adjust the seat for Sephiroth’s “impossibly long legs.” They drive in relative silence, Cloud with one hand on the steering wheel and the other entangled in Sephiroth’s own. It only takes a few minutes (with Cloud’s borderline reckless speed) for them to reach the edge of the city proper, and another ten or fifteen to reach the outskirts. Sephiroth recognizes their route. Since the deconstruction of the plate, the reactors and the wall, more and more residential districts have cropped up on the land surrounding Midgar, especially now that the Planet had begun to heal, and the ground had begun to repopulate the grass and flowers that used to be so scarce.

Finally, Cloud pulls up in front of a plot of land, with an unfinished two-story house sitting atop it. Some of the roofing had yet to be completed, windows installed, and outside walls painted, but the construction appeared strong and in good progress. Attached to the house is a large garage, and there is an unpaved path winding from the front door to the street. Though it is far from finished, looking at it now, Sephiroth can image the quiet, peaceful beauty of the place – the flowers they could plant along the walkway, the welcoming double-doors of the entrance, the little mailbox they could stand at the end of the path to the street. The house is slightly larger than most of the ones Sephiroth had been considering, but it still seemed comfortable all the same.

Sephiroth turns to Cloud now, bewilderment on his face. It is his turn to ask, “What?”

Cloud glances at him quickly, skittishly, then releases his hand and jumps out of the car. “Now, I know it’s a mess, but you should see the sketches Genesis gave to the contractor.”

“Genesis?” questions Sephiroth, as he steps out of the car. His mind flickers briefly to the lunch he shared with his two oldest friends earlier in the week, to Genesis’s teasing of his suspicion. He almost wants to sigh in mortification.

Cloud takes Sephiroth’s hand again, begins leading him up the path. “Angeal, Tifa and Aerith helped too, with picking out designs of stuff, making sure it would be things you’d like. Zack was useless, though, said we could just use him to help us move in.”

Us? Move in? His mind craters on the verge of shutdown. He stops abruptly, halfway to the front door, and Cloud turns to him with worry on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Sephiroth begins. “I’m sorry.”

Cloud is in front of him now, his hands around Sephiroth’s shoulders. He leans forward on his toes and closes the distance, kissing him gently but insistently, as if trying to push back the doubt and the fear that had been spilling from Sephiroth these past few weeks. He keeps going, tugging on the lapel of the man’s jacket to bring him even closer.

Then Cloud breaks the kiss, almost too soon. “I love you, Sephiroth Crescent. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He then walks backward, and with a guilelessness that seems so at odds with the ferocity and skill of that kiss (but that was Cloud, that special contrast of sweetness and steel that made him so appealing, so seductive, so irresistible), he motions to the house behind him.

“So, I built you a house. Well, technically, it’s still in progress.”

Sephiroth tries to say something, but nothing comes out of his mouth. And yet, when the realization hits him, relief floods through his body like water over fire, and he can’t help but feel his cheeks tug into a wide smile. He pulls Cloud back into him, kisses him again and again, trailing his lips down that delicious jawline, the lobe of that ear, that wonderful neck. In between kisses, Cloud breathes out words in delight.

“It was an old building partially torn down and they said renovations would be done in six weeks, but they kept delaying things and finding issues and I was getting so nervous and I—”

“Mmhm,” Sephiroth hums, just kissing Cloud again. He can feel the blond laugh against his lips, but he merely takes the opening to explore the blond’s mouth, and almost rumbles in pure thrill at the way that Cloud’s laughter melts into a soft moan.

Then, the blond pushes him back, blushing red. “Stop, we’re in the middle of the street!”

The former General finally backs up, but can’t stop himself fully, can’t bring himself not to nip that adorable nose. “Alright.”

Cloud smiles but glances askew, apologetic. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to send you on a wild goose chase for a mystery home. I just wanted to surprise you, and I wanted to build something for us. For our new beginning.”

The two then turn to the building now, still empty and still incomplete. But with a bit of magic and imagination, Sephiroth could see it – the promises of comfort, of love, of peace, of a whole lifetime, held up by the good bones of this house. He could see the garden out front, Yule decorations hanging from the roof, the warm glow of fireplace light within. Most of all, Sephiroth could see himself happy here, for the rest of his life, with the man that he could hardly believe he had the good fortune to love.

Cloud squeezes his hand, softly, gently. “I can show you the sketches, if you’d like?”

“No need,” Sephiroth whispers, as he dips down to kiss him once more. “If it’s from you, I know it will be perfect.”

#sefikuraweek #sefikura #sephiroth x cloud #sephiroth #cloud strife #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #prompt: new beginnings #sfw

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jaxsteamblog · 3 years

Text

Her Royal Majesty Our Queen

Click here to read the entire fic on AO3

During the two day trip to the Foggy Swamp, Katara had to disconnect from her role as Thuy’s Master and step back into her work as Queen. This visit had nothing to do with the Avatar as she needed to meet with the Matriarch of the Swamp Tribe, and Thuy was simply going home. Toph, as her current instructor, was always going to come along but was herself interested in seeing the swamp.

For someone who invented metalbending, Toph was certainly very interested in mud.

The layover was, amusingly, in Haru’s hometown. With their arrival publicly announced, Haru’s parents sent a short letter to her hotel room, but there wasn’t any attempt to meet. Katara was only there for the night, and Haru was happily married in Republic City.

Still, it was nice to be thought of.

On the flight the next day, Thuy became more animated and even Mister Whiskers was showing more signs of life. The amphibious creature clearly missed her damp home.

“Did you hear that, Sugar Queen?” Toph asked loudly, making Katara turn from her laptop. “Thuy says they eat bugs.”

Katara blinked and shut her laptop slowly.

“And?” She asked.

“Doesn’t that weird you out?” Toph questioned.

“No?” Katara put a hand on top of her computer. “Some of us didn’t live in a manor for the entirety of the war.”

“Are you saying I’m soft?” Toph demanded, not sounding angry but leaning over the arm of her seat menacingly.

“Oh Toph, you’re as dense as a rock.” Katara replied sweetly.

Toph cackled, slapping the seat arm and sitting back.

“See Wet Wipe, you have to give as good as you get. Otherwise people will walk all over you.” She said to Thuy.

“I just don’t think it’s nice.” Thuy huffed, picking up her squirming catgator. Mister Whiskers had taken to chewing on the empty seats in front of them.

Katara did not like how many sharp teeth were in that wide mouth.

“Avatars don’t get anywhere by being nice.” Toph countered.

“Don’t I know it.” Thuy muttered.

Due to the unpredictable nature of the swamp, the plane landed at a small, private airfield next to the looming entity of the banyan grove.

As they disembarked, figures came out from the treeline and Thuy ran to meet them, Mister Whiskers loping cartoonishly after her.

One figure Katara recognized as the matriarch. Dong-Lee broke away from the group and walked leisurely toward Katara as she and Toph made their way to the trees.

“Welcome, our queen.” Dong-Lee said. A chorus of shouts raised from the group behind her and Katara felt her face start to warm.

“Please, Matriarch, Katara is perfectly fine.” She said, waving the comment away.

“You are bringing the other tribes back to our family, we are proud to call you our queen.” Dong-Lee replied.

Katara’s mouth twitched at the comment, but she ignored it.

“I appreciate the welcome, Matriarch.” She said.

“Is the Fire Lord still onboard?” Dong-Lee asked.

“Zuko?” Katara frowned in confusion. “He’s in Caldera.”

“He didn’t come?”

Dong-Lee sounded surprised and Katara did blush then.

“We’re not married yet, I wasn’t aware you were expecting him.” She explained.

“I apologize, Thuy had told me you were handfasted already.” Dong-Lee said.

“They are!” Thuy shouted indignantly. “They announced their coupling ages ago and then she accepted his pledge on my birthday!”

“That doesn’t mean we’re married!” Katara snapped anxiously.

“Sure it does.” Thuy said, sounding calm and unconcerned as she walked back over. “A wedding doesn’t make you married, a pledge does.”

“That’s not how it works in other places.” Katara said and sighed.

“That is how it works here, though.” Thuy said. “And we are your people too.”

Katara sighed again and rubbed her face.

“I’m sorry, Matriarch, Zuko isn’t coming.” She said.

“Like dragon spit he isn’t.” Thuy said. She pulled out her cellphone and Katara lunged. Thuy avoided her easily, pushing herself away with her bending.

“Zuko, Auntie said you’re not coming to the swamp even though I promised everyone.” Thuy started, continuing to move away as Katara made a strangled sound in exasperation.

“So,” Toph interjected as she strolled over. “I was told there were bugs?”

By dinner, Zuko was already in Republic City making further travel plans. At Thuy’s invitation, Sokka and Suki decided to tag along and the three of them would be in the swamp by the next evening.

Having her script so completely disrupted, Katara sulked and grumbled at her seat.

Toph had gone hunting with some of the tribe members, returning completely drenched in swamp mud but clutching the still writhing bodies of leopard eels. Apparently having an Earthbender made it much easier to catch the fish by hand, and an unsettling sack proved it.

The catch was gutted and cleaned at the docks, with Mister Whiskers getting her fill of offal. None of that bothered Katara, save for the blood that spilled onto their woven mats.

There hadn’t been much in the way of technological advancement in the swamp. Whatever spiritual energy shielded Thuy’s home, it was complete and fickle. The tribe used peat and water to make steam engine generators, but they didn’t power much outside of the few telephones, radios, computers, and satellite for reception. And that was certainly spotty, often requiring a shaman or Thuy herself to go into the swamp and yell about it.

Torches, bug nets, and rickety walkways were sprinkled over massive banyan roots and linked the various thatched huts or raised pavilions. Family groups lived in nodes and each node could communicate with the others via the root system and a shaman. So the technology they did have only came, Katara found, after Thuy was identified as the Avatar and her family knew she would need it.

Other things, like books, weapons, and clothing, trickled in at random times when an outsider was allowed access to the interior.

The swamp had protected Thuy and provided her with everything she needed.

It reminded Katara very much of the South Pole.

Which oddly did not help her mood.

“Is her royal majesty being snooty?” Toph asked, sitting down hard next to Katara.

“No. I’m just mad I didn’t know they expected Zuko to be here.” She replied.

“I’m surprised too, to be honest.” Toph said, putting her hands down behind her and reclining. “What do they want with the Fire Lord?”

“That’s a good question.” Katara replied.

The answer came after dinner had been cleared away.

A shaman, adorned with bright feathers and a carved wooden mask, stepped out onto the wide dock. Everyone quieted and turned; Katara looked expectantly at Thuy, but she was already focused on the shaman.

“We welcome the return of our kin, Thuy.” The shaman said and clapping filled the heavy air. Katara clapped slowly, still unsure of what was happening.

“Before we understood our world, we told stories to explain what we saw. The Avatar represented all of our questions; where did we come from? Why do we have Benders? Why are there four elements? And how are we to live with the spirits?

“The ancient stories tell us that the sun and the moon fought over the ocean. That one day, when the moon triumphed, the sun fell into the ocean and from it’s boiling, the lands were made. The bubbles made the air we breathe and pushed the sun back into the sky. So the elements were made, but as they came from strife, only one would ever inhabit a human at a time.

“We know of space now, of gravity, but we also still live among the spirits. We see how they alter the world around us, how they bestow gifts, and how they take things away at a whim.

“After the great and terrible war, the rest of the world is turning away from the spirits. It is why the Avatar has been born here, in this sacred grove, to remind us of what we are all still connected to.” The shaman paused but no one spoke or made a noise.

“The rest of the world is being reminded. Our spirits, not our adopted family of the Great Banyan Tree, but our spiritual parents Tui and La, have reconnected to our human world. The honorable princess Yue has ascended to the sky as the handmaiden of the moon. And here sits our awe-some protector, the Matriarch of All Waters, our queen!” The shaman continued and a roar went up around Katara.

Toph, unable to find a snarky comment, only sat up straight. A shiver ran through Katara and she gripped uselessly at the mat under her.

“The sun has fallen again into the ocean. We must prepare for what is to come.” The shaman said, raising his hands to quiet the people.

“Tomorrow, the queen and her husband will go out into the swamp. When they return, we will abide by whatever message they bring.” The shaman said and then turned his carved mask toward Katara.

“Long live La!” He called and the shout was quickly picked up by the others.

“Looks like someone has a new, terrible destiny.” Toph whispered.

“Alright Huu, get down and let the fiddlers start!” Someone yelled and laughter replaced the solemn calling.

The energy immediately shifted and Katara let out a breath, slumping onto the low table.

“I am so sick of destiny.” She muttered.

That night, Katara sat awkwardly tucked in a knot of a banyan tree. She had to climb higher than she liked to get a decent signal on her phone.

“Divination at dinner?” Zuko asked.

“It’s starting to feel like we never had a choice not to be together.” Katara grumbled.

“And that’s a bad thing?” He questioned haltingly.

“It makes it seem like it doesn’t matter what kind of person I am if you were fated to love me anyway.”

“I don’t know. Even if people say we were meant to be together, we still had to be the people we are to make that happen. And I do love you because of who you are.”

“But I don’t want to be this. Whatever this person is that everyone is making me out to be.”

“And what’s that?”

“Liu called me Oma, everyone here thinks I’m La, and Rohan is trying to make me think I’m the embodiment of yin.”

“What do you want to be?”

“Me! I just want to be me. And your wife.” Katara added, lowering her voice and wrapping her free arm over her chest. “I just want to be me with you.”

“The quiet, unassuming wife of the Fire Lord?” Zuko asked and she snorted.

“I could never just be a wife.” She said dryly.

“Which is why I wanted to ask you…” Zuko started and Katara sat up.

“What now?” She asked.

“I want you to become the Fire Lady.” He said.

That stilled her and Katara stared off into the darkness.

“You still there?” Zuko asked cautiously.

“Yeah, no, I’m still here.” Katara said. “Just, thinking.”

“I know it’s a big ask.”

“That’s two crowns, Zuko.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my queen too. You will be queen to my people. Our people.”

Katara went quiet again, and Zuko waited.

“You want children.” She said finally.

“Yes.” He was quick and honest. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know.” She said, just as honestly.

“I never wanted them before. But with you?” Zuko’s voice drifted and Katara felt her pulse quicken.

“If they’re really saying I’m the sun falling into the ocean-”

“Zuko.”

“-then maybe what they mean is how many little islands I can-”

“Zuko!”

“The allegory is right there Katara.”

Katara laughed and her anxiety left her.

“I’ll think about it.” She said finally.

“That’s all that I ask.” He replied.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She said.

“I am so excited for our field trip, you have no idea.” Zuko joked and Katara laughed again.

It was certainly enough to think about for one night.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53

#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #zutara month #modern au #the fic that prompts built

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dragon-kazansky · 4 years

Text

Nice to see you - Cloud Strife

It was strange to see him again. The last time you had seen him, it was a bad day. Everything was falling apart.

Now, here he was.

He was different now. You could see it in his eyes, past that make glow. He was closed off. Distant. Alone.

When you saw him again for the first time, something happened. It was as if it hurt him to remember you. Something flashed across his eyes, but when you had asked what was wrong, he dismissed it, telling you he was fine.

You knew better.

Once you got to know Cloud, you could see past every little lie. The only person who knows him better than you is Tifa. She would be able to back you up on any of his claims.

As you stand beside Barret and Jessie, waiting for Biggs to open the door, you look at the blond. He wasnt paying you any attention. Not that you expected him to.

The door opens and you thrn your attention back to the mission, following Barret and the gang into the reactor. You could think about the past later, for now, you had a job to do.

Things seemed to go pretty smoothly. The bomb was planted and everyone got out. Cloud was late to the train, however. You wondered if he was alright. He just have run into some trouble.

Just as the others were thinking they wouldn't see him again, the man of the hour swung in through the open door and landed with style.

Cloud was alive.

You smiled as his gaze met yours. He turned away, acting like his usual self, but you could see a hint of relief in him.

Once on the station, you watched as the others headed straight into sector 7. You turned to Cloud once Barret left.

"You were really cool out there today." You told him.

Cloud didnt say anything. He just looked at you.

Feeling awkward and not knowing what else to say, you stepped off the platform and began to head into sector 7 after the others.

Cloud fell into step beside you, keeping his pace with yours as he walked back with you.

"Do you think you'll stay?" You asked him, not meeting his eyes.

"No. This was a one time thing." He stated.

"Oh."

You tries to hide your disappointment, but you were sure he could tell. You could feel his eyes on you, but you refused to meet them.

Seventh Heaven was just up ahead. Tifa and Marlene were waiting patiently.

You smiled as you approached Tifa.

"How did it go?" She asked.

"We'll explain later. There may have been a slight hitch." You shuffled nervously, not knowing if it was a good time to go into detail about the explosion. At least everyone made it back alive.

Tifa turned to greet Cloud as you headed into the bar. You attended the meeting with the rest of Avalanche and watched as Cloud took hisboayment and left the bar.

You didn't see Cloud until the next day.

It was strange. There were these things surrounded the bar. Jessie and Barret were relying to keep them at bay with their guns. You grabbed yours ran further into town to try and stop them from coming it. Not that it was any use. They flew right over your heads.

Tifa had gone to get Cloud.

Jessie got hurt. Cloud carried her into the bar and the rest of you followed. She was hurt pretty bad, unable to stand on her own.

You looked at Cloud.

"We need you."

Barret sighed as he shifted on the spot and looked at the spiky blond. He knew you were right. There was no way Jessie could go on the mission now.

"Fine."

Barret caught everyone up with the plan. Just as you all left the bar to get going, you turned to Cloud.

"I'm glad you agreed to help. We could really use someone like you."

"It's work." He shrugs.

"Whatever it is to you, I'm glad you're staying. Tifa and I haven't seen you in so long. I'm glad to spend this time with you."

He looked a little caught off guard.

"You're welcome I suppose."

You smiled.

"Come on, let's go blow up private property and save the planet!" You chuckle as you hurry to catch up with the others.

Cloud sighed softly, but allowed the smallest of smiles to appear on his face as you rushed off.

He had missed you too.

-----

I'm making do with what I can on my phone. Some requests that have been sent might have to be re done, but shorter, so I can do it on my phone. I still can't sort out my computer.

#final fantasy vii remake #final fantasy vii #final fantasy #ff7 #cloud strife #cloud strife x reader

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thebibliomancer · 4 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #219: ... BY DIVINE RIGHT!

May, 1982

I can just tell that this is going to be a Moondragontastic issue. Call it a hunch. Call it the caption that reads “By divine right, MOONDRAGON commands!” Or call it her enormous cosmic head lurking mastermind like over the action scene.

Who are the Avengers even beating up? Guess I’ll find out.

So previously on Avengers! ... Uh. Well Hank Pym’s life imploded and he wound up in jail. Molecule Man was going to eat Earth and then Tigra told him not to sternly and he changed his mind. Tigra quit the team, alas. And there was that weird filler thing with the immortal child who pratfell into the Sun.

This time, we have a much delayed thing. Back during Shooter’s first run, he had unfinished plans for Moondragon which were supposed to happen sometime after the Korvac Saga. But he had to leave the book because trying to write a title and EIC wasn’t happening.

So now here he is, trying to write a title and EIC at the same time.

Uh. Second time’s the charm?

The story starts with Janet Van Dyne, divorced and Feeling Fine, getting a ‘ducky’ new haircut.

Yeah. It looks decent. Not much like a duck. But who can say why language does anything.

But just as she’s examining her new ‘do, Janet is struck by a sudden irresistible impulse to run out the salon! Run out and flyyyyyyyy!

So not really sure why, she runs out, shrinks down, and flies away.

Unfortunately, her clothes weren’t treated with unstable molecules and the compulsion is strong enough that she shrinks out of her clothes and flies off into the snow naked.

The awkward life of being Janet Van Dyne.

When we eventually establish that of course this is Moondragon, Moondragon is going to have a lot to answer for.

Meanwhile, in Atlantic City, Tony Stark is counting cards and loudly announcing that’s what he’s doing to his lady companion.

I guess when you’re rich as Tony and also have access to a ‘bodyguard’ in a walking weapons platform, casinos don’t get so kneebreaky with you.

But just as Tony bet $50,000 at blackjack, his Tony sense are tingling. Or he’s hit by the same weird compulsion as Wasp, which I’ve just noticed looks like generic store brand spider-sense in how its portrayed.

So Tony gets up and runs, telling his date that the money he has on the table and his cards are hers.

She sits down in his seat, hits on a thirteen, goes over 21 and shrugs “Easy come, easy go!”

Meanwhile, Tony flies out of the casino as Iron Man. He muses to himself that he barely resisted changing into his armor right in front of everyone.

Oh, so I see how it is (Moondragon)! Wasp is in such a hurry that she ditches her clothes but Tony gets to put some more on? I see where your butter is breaded.

Meanwhile again, Captain America is beating up some armed robbers. One of the armed robbers is actually a huge fan.

Armed robber Stu: “SPLIT UP, GUYS! RUN! HE CAN’T GET US ALL -- OOF!”

Armed robber Squid: “Stu, you jerk! He’s Captain America! Of course he can get us all! If I wasn’t a two-time loser, I wouldn’t even bother runnin’!”

But right when Cap is punching a guy, he too feels the SUDDEN COMPULSION!

He gets on his motorcycle and goes.

Leaving mixed feelings amongst the conscious armed robbers.

Armed Robber Eliot: “Hah! We scared him off, Squid!”

Armed Robber Squid: “I -- I can’t believe that! Nothin’ scares Captain America! Durin’ World War II, he took on a whole company of Nazis once and saved my dad’s platoon from an ambush!”

Eliot: “Big deal! That has-been’s runnin’ from us, isn’t he?”

Squid: “He ain’t runnin’! He probably has more important stuff to do, that’s all! And he ain’t a has-been!”

Eliot: “Right, Squid -- ! He’s a coward!” -punched- “OW!”

Squid: “SHADDUP, ELIOT!”

They’re so busy punching each other over whether or not Cap rocks or sucks that they forget to run and are punching each other when the police arrive.

Womp womp.

But hey, people get emotional debating their favorite superheroes. It is understandable.

Meanwhile again again, Jarvis is shoveling snow at Avengers Mansion and bitterly muttering to himself that he talked Tony out of purchasing a snowblower.

Jarvis: “I should have listened to Mr. Stark! I should have purchased a snow-blower as he asked! ‘Nonsense, sir!’ I said! ‘We Jarvises are a hardy breed,’ I said! ‘The expenditure is quite unnecessary,’ I said! Bah!”

Oh, Jarvis. Never talk Tony out of spending money. He has too much of it. He just lost $50,000 gambling like it was nothing.

Anyway, Thor shows up and clears all the snow by just twirling his hammer around super fast. He’s considerate like that.

With his afternoon cleared up, Jarvis invites Thor to join him watching the knickerbockers game on TV. Which is apparently ‘basketball.’

Since Thor’s afternoon is also open, he’s happy to watch sports with Jarvis.

It starts snowing again. Jarvis, not wanting work to pile up, asks Thor if he can control the weather.

And Thor is like ‘yeah but I don’t want to tamper with the natural order too much but hey just this once, I’ll do it for you buddy’ but then the STRANGE COMPULSION LINES ATTACK and Thor flies off, Jarvis wondering if his question offended the thunder god.

Hmm. We really did just have four full pages of the Avengers individually reacting to the same thing.

That’s one way to fill out a script.

I mean, it’s probably padding but the Avengers are all engaged in their own downtime thing, except Cap who is the only one who is punching things at the moment.

And I do like to see the Avengers doing non-action things.

Anyway, the Avengers all end up at a Brooklyn scrapyard where Moondragon’s ship is hovering in wait and finally the Avengers put together the dots.

AH of course! The person that keeps messing with our minds has once again messed with our minds! Is so obvious in hindsight!

Iron Man: “Obviously! Who else would have been so arrogant as to invade our minds and manipulate us like toys -- ? Who else but the self-appointed ‘goddess of the mind’? She ought to be made the 1982 Chutzpah Poster Child for this stunt!”

The spaceship shoots down an elevator beam, which is like a tractor beam but it sounds less rural.

I’m not sure how we all settled on tractor beam anyway. Was it Star Wars? Probably.

So Thor and Iron Man want to march up into that ship and give Moondragon a piece of their minds. Thor would fain confront her for this impudence.

Team Leader Janet Van Dyne says belay. Now that they’re not being STRANGE COMPULSIONED she wants to go home and get some clothes.

She managed to salvage a handkerchief from her purse and tie it around herself in a makeshift costume but you know what’s nice? Underwear, sometimes.

Although, it probably speaks to Janet’s fashion sense that Cap sees her handkerchief costume and sincerely wonders if its her new costume. You just can’t tell with her!

Anyway, it also speaks to how hard the Avengers are to lead because Thor and Iron Man and even Cap all ignore Wasp and march right into the elevator beam.

Its like herding cats!

No wonder Cap was happy to give up the job to her.

Wasp also points out that this is possibly a trap and one of them should have stayed outside and Cap is like ‘oh shit you’re right’ but it is too late for any kind of tactical thinking.

Inside the ship though they find no trap and no body. They poke around the ship but can’t find Moondragon or anybody else.

And then when Cap decides they should leave before the ship takes off, Iron Man discovers that the ship has already taken off.

Its a very smooth ride, they didn’t notice at all.

With the Avengers going off on a begrudging space adventure, a hologram recording of Drax the Destroyer comes on and starts narrating about his life.

How he was made to destroy Thanos and then when someone else destroyed Thanos, Drax was kind of left purposeless so he bummed around space aimlessly for a while before meeting up with his adult daughter who was raised on Titan.

Aka Moondragon.

Hey, I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned it on Drax or Moondragon’s previous appearances but they’re family!

Anyway, Drax recording talks about how with Moondragon’s mind powers she opened his mind and helped him find a purpose in life.

Apparently, uh, “seeking knowledge and the bliss of ultimacy.”

Fun family activities, no doubt.

The two of them came upon a war-torn planet where tens of thousands would die in a single battle.

Hologram Drax: “Move to pity, Moondragon sought to help these beings end their strife using the awesome might of her mind! She succeeded! Peace reigns -- yet, there is danger beyond imagining unfolding here! I realize now, that -- wait! I sense someone drawing near! I must end this quickly, lest I am discovered! Hear me! Only the Avengers can prevent the evil to come! Find them! Bring them to this ship! Quickly!”

And then the hologram cuts out. Creepily.

Huh.

So Drax sent the ship to bring the Avengers to help Moondragon. But Moondragon is the one who STRANGE COMPULSED the Avengers to find the ship.

Which is impressive that she can do that from across light years.

I’ll adjust my personal ranking of how impressive she might be next to Jean Gray.

So the situation is dire enough to send an empty ship but also not time consuming enough that Moondragon can take some time out of her schedule to make the Avengers ditch their activities and go on a spaceship ride.

Kinda mysterious.

Wasp even points out how weird this is.

Iron Man: “The computers were programmed to begin the return flight as soon as the ship’s sensors ascertained that we Avengers were aboard!”

Wasp: “But it doesn’t make sense... I mean, the message sounded like it was meant for anybody who happened to find the ship -- yet, Moondragon obviously made sure we’d find it first!”

By the by, I have a random prog rock playlist playing while I’m working on this post AND I’LL TELL YOU! Random prog rock over random Avengers space adventure really works well together.

Anyway, the Avengers only know that whatever the mysterious threat, it must be great to worry someone of Drax’s power.

The ship drops out of hyperspace above an alien world.

Wasp: “Guys, all this is just beginning to sink in for me! We’re zillions of miles from Earth -- ! A-and we’re about to set foot on an alien world -- and I don’t have a thing to wear! Literally! Except this old tarp I found!”

Being Janet is suffering.

I mean, I see spacesuits in the background of that panel.

And its weird that Moondragon doesn’t have a closet aboard her own ship. Although it’d all be capes and plunging necklines.

HEY WAIT speaking of capes, why doesn’t Thor lend his?

He’ll let some little shit of an immortal child wrap up in his cape but he won’t lend it to his good pal and team leader, Janet Van Wasp??

Grow you some manners, Thor!

Anyway, couture misadventures of Janet van Dyne aside. Time to disembark.

The Avengers take the de-elevator beam down, gazing in wonder at an alien world.

Well, Jan does. The others are kind of blase. Fie and poo on them.

Wasp: “It’s beautiful, b-but so strange! Almost terrifyingly strange! I feel the way I felt the first time I shrunk down to insect size -- my lord, this is a whole, new world!”

Cap: “New world or not, this looks pretty much like the town squares do back home!”

Dammit, Cap! Eat some poetry for your soul!

Iron Man comments that being beamed down from a spaceship in the middle of a shopping day is not a subtle entrance but Thor wouldn’t know subtle if it bit him on his cape.

Thor: “Fie! The god of thunder cares little for subtlety! Would that I’d summoned a raging tempest to herald our arrival! I like this not! Why is there no greeting for us? Are we but serfs, left to wend our own way to--”

Thankfully, Jan cuts off his weird monologue (Thor is being particularly goddish right now) and asks a random shopper to take them to her leader.

The alien starts responding in some alien language but partway through the Avengers can suddenly understand her.

She didn’t start speaking English. She kept speaking her native tongue but the Avengers could suddenly understand it like it were English, almost exactly as if the text in the speech bubbles became English.

Because it did. Its a nice little effect.

But its like someone (probably Moondragon) flipped a switch inside the Avengers’ heads to turn the subtitles on.

The alien shopper points the Avengers towards the “temple of the peace goddess” and they head off to there.

Thor comments that if Moondragon is fiddling with the language settings of their brains, then she must be aware of their arrival.

Moondragon, coming down the stairs and looking fab: “Of course, I am aware of your arrival, Thor! There is precious little in this universe of which the goddess of the mind is not aware! Welcome to Ba-Bani!”

Its actually a really good look for Moondragon. She’s still in green and cape and plunging neckline but the style has changed. Its more sexy priestess than sexy space swimsuit and opera cape.

It goes well with the new role she’s apparently taken on Ba-Bani.

She thanks the Avengers for coming which Thor and Iron Man are only too keen to point out that she didn’t leave them a whole lot of choice.

Wasp again tells them that she’ll handle this and tries to tell Moondragon that she’s the chairwoman of the Avengers now. But Moondragon cuts her off to tell her she already knows.

But also, that her thoughts have been with her in the trying times she’s had of late.

This is a kinder Moondragon compared to the one from #211. Wonder whither the change of heart.

Moondragon: “Sometimes, I wish it were not my lot to see most clearly that which is hidden, Janet! I could not help but be aware of your husband’s tragic downfall and the resultant turmoil in your soul, which you hide so well! I have shared your agony, and his! Greater, though, is my pain, for I see that the tragedy is deeper and more ironic than you yet realize -- and I fear it shall only worsen!”

... This is why people hate psychics.

Janet herself can only hurriedly change the subject in the face of this overly comprehensive sympathy.

Wasp: “Um... Drax’s message sounded urgent! Why don’t we discuss that?”

Hah.

So Moondragon turns on main screen to show a hostile army - consisting of the last of Ba-Bani’s warmongers, cutthroats, mercenaries and ravagers banded together - headed towards the capital city which is the city that they are currently in.

Wasp questions if Moondragon really just dragged them halfway across the universe to quell a local uprising.

Iron Man further points out that UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE moondragon the Avengers don’t make a habit to interfere in the political affairs of others. Plus, why can’t Drax handle this? Or why doesn’t Moondragon just mindzap the bad guys?

Iron Man: “Or do you reserve that treatment for those people you claim are your friends -- like us!”

Zing.

Moondragon takes exception to this. For one, she denies having set herself up as a queen or anything. The people of Ba-Bani rule themselves. She merely quelled the global war through a bit of careful psychic prodding and suggestion among world leaders.

Moondragon: “In a sense, I merely improved communications among the world leaders and removed the need for war!”

Drax: “She has saved countless millions of lives already, Avengers!”

For another thing, the peace is still fragile. She has to maintain a constant rapport with said world leaders and influential people to preserve it.

Even as it relies on a careful, selective touch, she says the effort is staggering and she can’t ALSO psychically smack the invading army.

And point the last, she’s only just convinced him that his purpose in life doesn’t have to be destroying and it would be shitty to throw him at violence again and reawaken his destructive nature.

Thus, the need for outside help.

If the Avengers can’t or won’t stop the army, the global bloodshed may reignite and Moondragon won’t be able to stop it again. MILLIONS WILL DIE!

So since Wasp is the chairperson, it falls to her to decide what to do.

And I can’t help but notice that when it comes time to decide whether to intervene in a very foreign extraterrestial conflict, Iron Man finally defers to her instead of her having to yank him back from whatever impulsive thing he wants to do.

Being leader of the Avengers has gotta suck.

Anyway, Wasp decides they’ll stop the immediate threat to the city but after that... well.... they’ll see.

But its a decision Wasp feels weird about because her head is all weird, like her mind is in a fog. She’s sure there were some follow-up questions she wanted to ask Moondragon that she can’t remember anymore.

I’m sure that forgetting what you wanted to ask a psychic is a coincidence and forebodes nothing.

She’s probably just tired.

Scene cut to the aggressive army of aggressors peering at the horizon going ‘hey are those missiles? Can’t be, the peace goddess told them to abandon weapons.’

SURPRISE, ITS THE AVENGERS

Surprise to them, anyway. If I paused long enough to let you guess, I’m sure you would have guessed the Avengers.

Anyway. I’m pretty sure Wasp is still wearing the handkerchief, although she has managed to tailor it to being less obviously makeshift.

I was about to complain that they didn’t stop and let her get some clothes but. I mean, what are the odds that the local shop contains either clothing her size or clothing that can change size?

Anyway, Wasp still feels weird about the decision to get involved.

Wasp: “I can’t stop wondering whether or not we’re doing the right thing! Moony says she isn’t ruling this planet, yet, she is controlling the destinies of these people! Isn’t that the same thing? I-I’m so confused!”

But since the army does have guns and they are out for blood, she doesn’t have any hesitation to beat them up a little.

Some decent Wasp action, too.

And it’s not just Wasp who has misgivings.

Iron Man also has his doubts, as he picks up a guy in each hand and slams them together.

Iron Man: “I can’t help feeling sorry for these guys! They’re the underdogs! Something’s eating at me about what we’re doing here, but for the life of me -- I can’t quite put my finger on it!”

Cap too. In a specifically Cap way.

Cap: “These rebels are fighting for freedom -- but what they want is the freedom to make war! We’ve got to stop them -- I know that! Still, for some reason, my instinct are screaming that we shouldn’t!”

The only Avenger who isn’t having doubts is (by process of elimination) Thor who is throwing tanks around and doing his best divine smack talk.

Thor: “Beware, base scoundrels -- lest the wrath of the thunder god destroy thee!”

Anyway, misgivings aside, the Avengers aren’t having much trouble actually beating up this army. For the last of the warmongers, they’re not much of a match for a super-soldier, a guy in power armor, an actual god of actual thunder, and Janet goddamn van Dyne.

Like Iron Man said, the evil invading army just feels like the underdogs here.

From a distance, Drax spectates the battle. And notices a pair of rebels closing on Cap from behind. They’re planning to shoot Cap in the back and hopefully that act will let them rally the army against the remaining Avengers.

Drax realizes he could stop them. Or warn Cap. But he feels a strange contentment to just watch.

This must be what being Uatu is like.

The two rebels shoot Cap off his sky-sled. He barely managed to get his shield up to protect himself.

While Iron Man catches Cap from a fateful plummet, Wasp goes after the two who attacked Cap.

Wasp: “Hey! You on the sled -- ! I’m an Avenger, and I don’t think what you did was nice or fair, so I’m avenging it! So there!”

Hey! The team name has a meaning! You did it, Wasp! You named the team Avengers because it sounded cool and then you finally did some avenging 218 (plus annuals and crossovers) later!

Proud of you.

Anyway, Thor catches the two rebels from their own fateful plummet, declaring that they don’t deserve the honor of death in combat.

Then while sort of waving the two like visual aids at the army, Thor demands they surrender.

Thor: “Hear me, armies of the rebellion! Your leaders are my captives! Your cause is doomed! Lay down your arms -- now! I will warn you but this once!”

Army Guy: “We are undone!”

Another Guy: “We surrender!”

Soon, the Avengers return to the capital city, Thor carrying the apparent rebel leaders on a random piece of debris.

Moondragon thanks the Avengers for what they did. She also asks that the Avengers turn the rebel ringleaders over to the city’s civil authority so that they may, in time, be rehabilitated.

She also mentions that Drax has alerted the city’s police to take the other rebels into custody and to destroy their surrendered weapons.

And then she tries to hurry the Avengers along.

Moondragon: “Then, truly, it is over! You have done a magnificent and noble labor this day, Avengers! Father, please make ready my ship! They must be anxious to return to Earth!”

Cap interjects saying that they’d prefer to stay a day or two to take in the sights.

Wasp grouses at Cap speaking for the Avengers. Dangit, she’s supposed to speak for the Avengers!

With but an ellipses of hesitation, Moondragon agrees that the world is new to the Avengers and there’s a lot of stuff for them to see. And says that they’ll leave tomorrow instead.

Nice try, Moondragon. There’s five pages of plot left. Can’t wrap up early.

So then we have a twelve hour timeskip so the Avengers can nap and shower and its off to explore an alien world! With tour guide Drax!

The first thing they learn is that its never nighttime on Ba-Bani! I don’t know if thats a multiple suns thing or an orbit thing but its always daytime.

Janet does not approve.

Anyway, Thor ditches the group because he’s seen a lot of worlds and it just doesn’t interest him. He’s going to find something else to do.

And then the Avengers split up.

Cap wants to mix with the people a bit and Wasp wants to not wear a tarp so they’re headed to the market.

Iron Man spotted some high tech factories and dangit if he doesn’t love industry so he’s going to have Drax take him through one.

And then we skip ahead another hour. Which is a fairly reasonable amount of time to shop, probably.

Janet has obtained Actual Clothes That Aren’t A Tarp.

And because her money is no good here, even if she had any on her, she told the tailor to bill it to Moondragon.

Which is funny for at least two reasons.

The first of which is that I always find it funny when anyone on the Avengers foists their bills on someone else. The second of which will make sense when I cover next issue.

Anyway, mentioning Moondragon makes Cap remember that he wanted to bring her up. His thoughts have been so muddled about it but that’s the real reason why he wanted to stay longer.

Wasp: “Because you suspect that she’s manipulating us -- ? Because you think things aren’t quite kosher here on Ba-Bani? I was a bit slower on the uptake than you, but... I agree! Let’s just nose around a little, shall we?”

She’s not. Unsuspicious.

Cap even has a good idea where to start looking and takes Wasp on the sky-sled to the site of the battle from earlier.

Some guards or police or something have the area blocked off and tell the Avengers that nobody is to enter the area. Especially not the outworlders.

But since these guards aren’t armed thanks to Moondragon’s sensible gun control policies, Wasp tells them to screw off and Cap just flies around them.

Cap hopes to find an escaped rebel and ask them about their cause or maybe examine their abandoned equipment.

It’d take a long, exhaustive investigation to piece things together that way but it’ll be worth doing.

But he doesn’t have to.

Because when Cap and Wasp arrive at the battlefield, they find that two of the workers working to clear up debris are the rebel leaders from earlier.

Convenient!

Wasp: “Pardon me, fellas, but, did you, um, by any chance lead a rebellion yesterday?”

Rebel Leader: “What? Oh, that! Yes! I can’t understand what got into me! I was tending my shop in the city, when suddenly I felt compelled to seize a weapon and come out here! Thousands of others were similarly, mysteriously compelled! Out of the blue, my friend, here, and I became obsessed with the idea of leading this impromptu army in an attack upon the city! Thank the goddess you stopped us!”

So. Yeah.

Where have we heard SUDDEN COMPULSION before as a thing that makes people do things?

I mean, this isn’t exactly subtle.

Moondragon forced an army to form and then had the Avengers beat them up.

The plot thickens.

Meanwhile, Drax takes Iron Man on a tour of a communications center. Ba-Bani has low-orbit anti-grav satellites in the sky for communications and for monitoring the city and its surrounding environs.

Every public event is recorded. For historical and legal matters, surely.

You ever see a villain somehow monitoring something and thought ‘wait how did they have a camera there?’ WELL BA-BANI HAS YOU COVERED!

THEY HAVE EVERYTHING MONITORED!

For example, Iron Man punches up a video of the battle from yesterday and specifically to the moment when Cap was ambushed.

Iron Man: “Say... I hadn’t realized how close you were to us, Drax! You were right on top of us! You must have seen the ambush developing! Why didn’t you do something -- or even just yell ‘look out!’”

Drax: “I -- I don’t know...”

Iron Man: “I can’t believe you just stood there watching while Cap was almost cut in half! Drax, we’ve been in scrapes together before -- that isn’t like you! What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Drax: “Nothing! Nothing! I am fine!”

The hallmark of someone truly fine, shouting that they are fine.

Or just saying that they are fine.

Does ‘I’m fine’ even mean what its definition meaning means anymore? Does anyone use it sincerely?

Anyway, Iron Man decides that ‘I’m fine’ means ‘I’m not fine’ and that Moondragon has been messing with his head.

And by ‘his’ I could mean either Drax or Iron Man. Because Iron Man has felt his thoughts muddled lately too.

Its a bit of a trend.

But Drax refuses to believe it. Shouting that its not true; his daughter wouldn’t do that.

While one of the people manning the communications center just kind of stares at this argument.

Because. It does sort of draw attention. Drax is making all kinds of dramatic poses and Iron Man marched over to grab him by the shoulders.

(I think communication console woman is wikipediaing Drax because pictures of him are showing up on all the consoles)

Iron Man: “You ‘know’ what she wants you to know! She controls thoughts! How can anyone really be certain whether he’s thinking what he wants -- or what she wants? She can make us think, say, or do anything, and we wouldn’t even realize it! Even this could be her manipulating us -- but I don’t think so! I know there’s a limit to her power! She can’t have her attention everywhere at once! Pray it’s mostly elsewhere for now and listen to me while we have a chance!”

So maybe Moondragon is distracted and that’s why Iron Man is coherent enough to have this conversation. But what could she be distracted by?

Well, scene change to the temple of Moondragon and Thor arriving at it.

Moondragon: “Thor! I had hoped you might come!”

Thor: “Spare me your guile, woman! You knew I would come -- for ‘twas you did plant this ‘whim’ in my mind, was it not?”

Moondragon: “Yes... it was!”

Thor: “You are less subtle than I’d imagined, woman!”

Moondragon: “Deliberately! You are a god, Thor! I need practice no subtlety upon you!”

Thor accuses her of having taken total control of this world and to Thor, Moondragon admits it.

But she has a good excuse.

Moondragon: “Behold, Thor! This city is alive -- ! Fresh with gardens and music and the laughter of children! When I came here it was a blood-soaked battleground! I brought peace to Ba-Bani! I made this! Have I done wrong?”

Its a tough question. Because psychic mind control isn’t really real and moral philosophy is also probably made up.

On some level, a society is going to put restrictions on people for their own good. Like seat belt laws or food safety standards. But on the other hand, Moondragon is controlling people’s thoughts.

Is it right to do that for a good cause?

(X-Men sure as hell hopes so with all the psychics running around in those books. Sheesh.)

But Drax did not think it was right.

Per the hologram recording and also Moondragon’s confession here, Drax sent the ship to get the Avengers. She wasn’t able to stop it so she expedited the Avengers finding it so it seemed like she was in on it.

Then she staged a fake revolution for the Avengers to crush so they could leave satisfied that they had done a thing.

She also put Drax under her strict control after he sent the ship.

Moondragon: “There! You know now the sum of my ‘guile,’ Thor! I’m relieved to be confessed, for gods should have no secrets between them! We should be closer... It is the role of gods to set aright the paths of lesser beings! ‘Twas ever thus! My labor is difficult... and lonely! I need your help... and your comforting touch...”

Thor: “Moondragon... it is not good to tamper overmuch with the natural course of things...”

Moondragon: “But this once -- ? For my sake...”

Thor: “For... your... sake...”

Moondragon: “Love me, son of Odin! Be thou mine!”

Thor: “Aye... thine...”

Dammit, Moondragon! If you’re using mind control to make Thor love you, don’t be doing that! It happens to him far too much!

Every damn enchantress on Asgard for one!

So on the one hand, Wasp, Cap, and Iron Man are wise to Moondragon’s shit now.

On the other hand, Thor seems to have been seduced to her corner.

And on the third, ambiguous hand, Drax who seems like maybe he’s on the fence. Maybe Iron Man just needs to shake him some more.

Next time sure is going to be some kind of WAR AGAINST THE GODS!

According to the big pink words, anyway.

Hey. Psst. There’s a SUDDEN COMPULSION to follow @essential-avengers and to like and reblog this post. Weird, huh? Maybe if you listen to that SUDDEN COMPULSION you’ll get to go on a space ride to space. No promises.

#Avengers #Moondragon #drax the destroyer #the Wasp #Iron Man #Captain America #Thor #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #SUDDEN COMPULSIONS #a free spaceship ride #Wasp has clothing mishaps #but makes do #moondragon has a new better look #the job market for former violent rebels is pretty good

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broadwaysymposium · 4 years

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A Stage Manager’s Top 10 New Year’s Resolutions

The beginning of the new year is a time for a fresh start and an opportunity for new beginnings. New Year’s resolutions can help us focus on what we want to do better and/or achieve over the next twelve months. With that in mind, below I’ve put together a top 10 list of New Year’s resolutions for stage managers to consider. These are things for us all to keep in mind throughout the year, ways we can continue to grow and work towards being the best stage managers, leaders and people we can be.

1. Be more proactive than reactive. Anticipate problems or issues and find solutions before they even become a concern. This is challenging, as we have so much on our plate to manage each day, it can be hard to see those few extra steps down the road. But if we spend a few minutes each day thinking farther along the process, any potential rough spots along the road from rehearsals through closing night can be smoothed out before anyone knows there was even a hint of an issue.

2. Be more compassionate. Try to see issues from the other person’s point of view. In this way, annoying complaints and seemingly petty concerns will be understood and solved easier and with less stress and strife. By simply understanding more, we create more trust and a better work environment.

3. Take care of yourself. We focus on taking care of others. Don’t forget to make time for yourself. Create some space to relax, spend time with friends, exercise… all of the things we usually sacrifice while working on a show. We matter too and the same way we invest in the welfare of the company, we can take care of ourselves.

4. Ask for help when you need it. You are not a super hero, as much as stage managers try to be. If you have to tape a complicated floor, ask for some extra hands. Need to change rehearsal studios, ask for help moving everything. Have a question or concern about a union issue, reach out and call. You are not alone. The theatre, producer and you have resources you can call on when needed. Even Superheros can’t always do it alone (see the Avengers or Justice League!).

5. Sleep. Of all the sacrifices we make, this is probably the worst. We need sleep to function at our best. It helps our brains and bodies. Instead of staying at the theater late to update all your paperwork or rewrite all those line notes, get some shut eye to recharge and refresh. You’ll be more efficient and effective because of it.

6. Use sick days. You are allowed to be sick too. You are human. And it’s better to take a sick day than get the cast infected too. There is also that little quirk in the AEA Production Contract where you can only get paid out 11 of your 13 sick days, so when you get that long run, you gotta take at least two sick days a year anyway! You can empower your assistants, find a sub and know that you will be covered. And if you are so valuable that you can't get sick or the show falls apart, maybe that's a good time to ask for a raise!

7. Learn a new hard skill. Those hard skills such as dance vocabulary, computer skills and reading music can be learned in a class, from a book or online. 2018 could be just the right time to add to your skill set by taking a CPR/First Aid class or learning Filemaker or First Draft. Not only is it fun, but it makes you a more valuable stage manager.

8. Cut down on the caffeine and sugary snacks. There are many of us that use coffee or diet coke for a boost or grab that snickers bar for a quick jolt of energy. However, too much can result in dehydration, headaches and more. When in tech for The Little Mermaid, Disney producer Thomas Schumacher kept nuts and dried fruit on his tech table so folks would have real energy snacks available. I’m not saying give up your go to beverage or snack, rather work towards a healthier balance. This will help us be better in the long term. And we all want long careers, right.

9. Be greener. Unfortunately, we use a lot of paper in our profession. Let’s try to find ways to cut back, reduce and/or reuse paper more. The Broadway Green Alliance has done great work on this front. See their website. One of the stage managers on Doctor Zhivago had a method for using “dirty paper.” Any paper that was printed on only one side was saved in a special pile and the daily in/out sheet was always printed on the back.

10. Remember why you love your job! It’s easy to get caught up in all the day to day minutiae of running a show. Everyone needs something and herding all those cats is challenging. If you step back a moment, you can really appreciate the wonderful and amazing job we are privileged to do. We get to work on PLAYS! No cubicles or time clocks, instead we get song and dance all day long! When working on An Evening with Patti LuPone and Mandy Patinkin, I had to pinch myself to realize that I was working with icons that I grew up admiring and dreaming about being in the theatre with.

11. BONUS CHALLENGE: Try to see a show and try NOT see the tech elements. This is a real tough one, but worth the effort. Can you get lost in a show enough to not picture calling it or timing the quick changes or re-organizing the scene shifts? Try to give yourself this gift and enjoy the theatre like you did before it was your vocation. I try and fail at this often, but when it works, it’s a very special night of theatre.

Whatever your personal resolutions are, we wish you all the best with them and wish everyone a very happy new year!

#smlife #smlove #smblr #techblr #stagemanager #stagemanagement #broadway #broadway stage management symposium #newyear #resolutions #ysm2020 #smproblems

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

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makin’ monet - jungkook

A/N: requested by @xilee-reaper. Jungkook’s interest is peaked when his roommate Taehyung has a collection of fake classic paintings. 2.2k words.

“O Week, baby!”

Jungkook ignores Tae’s cheer as he pokes around his room. Tae had only been in this student accommodation for three days, but his stuff was already all over the place.

Tae had always been a collector; no matter where he went, he was always picking up trinkets and memorabilia like he was a magnet for it.

Now, it seemed, his new obsession were these tiny little canvas squares, painted as miniature imitations of famous paintings. Jungkook picks one up, a mock-up of Monet’s Water Lilies that is accurate down to the smallest detail. There’s no name on the bottom, just a tiny black set of initials.

“God, where did I leave the slides?”

Tae has been rooting around his room for the better part of half an hour, getting ready for a campus party that only he wanted to go to, yet somehow was the one that was now an hour late for, and Jungkook was forced to endure the unpleasant experience of Tae going through every single clothing article to try and find the best outfit.

Jungkook was just in a white t-shirt and worn jeans, but that apparently was too minimalistic for Tae.

He puts down the Water Lilies and moves on. There are six of them on Tae’s bookshelf, and while they’re good, sure, it seems a little excessive. “Hey, Tae,” he calls out to the man who’s head over heels in his closet, waiting for a muffled ‘yeah?’ before continuing. “These little paintings, you made them?”

Tae emerges ass-first from the messy heap of clothes, triumphantly brandishing a pair of Gucci slides. “Nah, ‘course not, I bought them off Y/n.”

Jungkook frowns. The name’s not familiar. “Y/n? I didn’t know you had a girlfriend?”

Taehyung just scoffs, hopping around on one foot as he puts on his shoes. “I don’t, she’s just a friend. If I spot her at the party tonight, I’ll introduce you two.”

Well aware of Tae’s habit of saying things with no intention of actually doing them, Jungkook just hums in affirmation and leaves the paintings on the shelf, itching to finally go out.

The girl, Y/n, apparently wasn’t at the party. Maybe she was, but Taehyung just forgot to introduce her. Either way, the loose end was bothering Jungkook more than he expected. Why was he so curious about this girl? He tried to picture what she was like. Chances are she wasn’t that much like Tae. All of his friends always seemed way different from him, Jungkook included, as if he wanted to be the Regina George of his friend groups at all times.

That did leave a lot of possibility, though, and he found himself asking Tae more and more about this mystery girl, curiosity eating him alive.

She was studying engineering like Jungkook, apparently, so perhaps she was like those cold, logical, hard-ass women he had seen in his classes, but her paintings would suggest otherwise. Tae also mentioned he often hung out with at her place, and she had an impressive collection of videogames that ‘even you would be jealous of, Kook’. So perhaps she was an anti-social nerd that sat on the couch for hours with a controller and a bag of Cheetos, but then Tae never had any interest in hanging out with people that had no interest in hanging out with him.

The more he found out, the less he knew.

Now, Jungkook sits in his first computer lab of the semester. Engineering was a pretty massive discipline, no matter what university you were at, and the giant lecture halls were so packed that you couldn’t really make a lot of friends and get to know people, but there were so many timetable streams of computer labs that each one had broken down to about twenty-five people.

Next to him is a guy with boxy, unflattering glasses, the ones you could never imagine anyone actively choosing to wear, and he seems too plugged in to some anime with extremely endowed women to want to talk to Jungkook.

The seat next to him is vacant when the class starts, but ten minutes in, one of the doors opens and a girl slips in. At first Jungkook assumes she’s in the wrong room, because she looks nothing like the other hundred or so engineering students he had seen so far.

She’s so short she has to go on tiptoes to glance over the computer screens and find a spare seat, wide eyes lighting up on the space to Jungkook’s right.

“And why are you so tardy, madam?”

She pauses in her scurry towards his desk and stares at the lecturer, who is crossing his arms over in an unconvincing show of dominance. “Because I didn’t get here in time,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Jungkook can’t help but quirk his lips into a grin at that, but once she turns back to his direction, he quickly hides it behind his hand, coughing lightly.

The computer lab is hard, way more complicated than anything he had done in high school, and he’s so focused on putting in the right commands that it takes him another twenty or so minutes to look up from his monitor and notice the girl next to him.

He rubs the tiredness from his eyes and stretches back, glancing over at her screen. He pauses, arms still stretched out in the air behind him. “You’ve already finished?” he asks incredulously.

She looks up from where she’s scribbling absentmindedly on a piece of graph paper and stares at him. Once she processes what he said, her eyes widen in realization. “Oh, yeah, I checked it out last night and it was kinda easy, so I figured I’d just do it then.”

Ignoring the fact that he felt a little stupid for struggling so much, he sits up in his chair properly and swivels to face her. “Why are you here, then?”

She grins cheekily and cocks her head to the lecturer’s desk, where he’s overseeing the lab like a sergeant. “The general ambience, you know.”

Jungkook laughs, eyes glancing down for a moment. He blinks a couple times and realizes that her scribbles are actually quite good, and in fact familiar. “Café Terrace at Night?”

She cocks her head at the sudden change of topic. “Huh? Oh, right! How did you know?” She sighs. “I’ll be honest, I’m a little sad that I couldn’t pass it off as my own.”

Computer lab forgotten, he begins swaying back and forth on his chair lazily, bumping knees with her every swing. He notes with a little burst of happiness that she makes no attempt to move away from the contact. “I saw a Van Gogh recently. Not a real one, though,” he adds quickly upon seeing the impressed look on her face.

Wait a minute. He glances down at her half of the desk again and sees a haphazard pile of textbooks and refill she had brought in with her. On the spine of Introduction to Mechanical Engineering is the name Y/N, in sharpie-d all-caps.

His mouth falls open in a perfect o, and he points dumbly at the textbooks. “You’re Y/n!”

She bites on her lip, glancing back and forth between her books and him. “Yeah?”

“My friend, Taehyung, he’s got a bunch of your paintings in his dorm room.”

Her eyes brighten in realization. “Ah, Kimmy! Small world, huh.” She glances down at her drawing, eyes distant and unfocussed. She takes a deep breath and looks back up at him, twiddling her thumbs. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in buying one?”

Jungkook tips his head. “Buying one?”

She frowns, and Jungkook can’t help but stare at her delicate pout. “Well, I’m not giving them away for free! They take hours of hard work and I-”

“That’s- That’s not what I meant,” he clarifies hurriedly, “I just didn’t realize you were, like, selling them selling them.”

Her pout tips up into a soft smile, and she raises her eyebrows in good humor. “Well, this is the first time we’ve met, so it’s unsurprising that you don’t know everything about me.” She pauses. “In fact, I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh! Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

“Well it’s nice to finally meet the man Kimmy has never once mentioned,” she jokes. When Jungkook furrows his brows and looks a little put out, she laughs and pushes him a little on the shoulder. “I’m just messing with you, idiot! He talks about you all the time. Kookie, right?”

He flushes at the embarrassing nickname but nods in assent.

“Anyway, I used to just make the paintings as a hobby, but I’ve been in a little…financial strife recently, so I’m trying to use them as a little extra income.”

Jungkook sobers. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Y/n laughs again, and the joyous tone causes something to spark in Jungkook. “Oh, no, no, don’t be sorry. I’m just being dramatic, I guess. I let my bunny out of the hatch, and he chewed the cord of my roommate’s headphones. They were pretty expensive ones, so now Yoon’s taken mine hostage until I can save up enough to replace them.” Her gaze turns inward, and she sighs. “Although now I can’t game without him biting my head off about the volume.” She clears her throat and shrugs, cheering up again. “Anyway, if you don’t want to buy one, that’s all good, just thought I’d ask.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair slightly and tips his head back, shaking his hair out of his face. He’s pleased when he sees her swallow and stick her tongue out subconsciously to wet her lips. “No, I’ll buy one,” he counters, “anything to help out with a fellow gamer’s plight.”

Maybe the subtle plug wasn’t so subtle, but her face lights up nevertheless. Over the remaining fourteen minutes of the lab, Jungkook’s computer eventually goes to sleep, as they spend the whole time discussing which servers had the best graphics, and how many times it took them to beat a final boss.

Once the clock strikes ten to the hour, almost all of the students rush to log off and gather their stuff, but Jungkook is in no hurry. Y/n is hunched over his outstretched arm, writing her number on his hand with a pen.

The tickle of the pen sets his nerves alight, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth of her hand keeping his steady, and the wrist resting on his as she wrote. He laughs to try and distract himself from just how much his heart was racing from her close proximity. “I said Tae would put me in contact with you! Don’t you trust me?” he teases.

“I don’t trust Kimmy,” she counters immediately, not looking up until she underlines her number twice and puts an exclamation mark. She tucks her pen away in her pencil case and starts packing up her things. Although he has a class next and should probably hurry up, Jungkook just sits back in his chair and observes her. “You can tell him a million times and he’ll still forget, and I’m not putting my business on the line for his flaky ass.”

He chuckles, and absentmindedly his thumb rubs over the ink on the back of his hand. “You’re quite bossy, you know that?”

She grins at him, kicking him lightly in the shins. “And you’re a terrible flirter!”

“If you noticed I was flirting, then I must have been doing it right,” he counters. “Is it working?”

She kicks him again, but her cheeks heat up. “I gave you my number, didn’t I?” She glances at the clock and bites her lip. “Ah, I’m late for my physics nap. Dammit.”

“You’re what?”

She hoists her backpack on, and answers as he gets up hurriedly and stuffs his things away. “If you get to physics early enough, you can get a seat at the back, and Professor Namjoon can’t see you sleeping.”

He scoffs, finally picking up his bag and joining her as they left the classroom together. He doesn’t have the luxury of sleeping in class, and his is in the opposite direction to the way she’s leading him, but he doesn’t want to part ways just yet. Maybe he can skip, just this once, and get Jimin to give him his notes. “I apologize for keeping you up past your bedtime, chief.”

She snorts out her nose but manages to keep her face impassive. “At least you know your place, young grasshopper.”

“We’re the same age!”

“Kimmy’s older than me and he still knows I’m the boss.”

“Sorry, but you’re going to have to earn my sworn fealty. I’m not a loyal puppy like Tae.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re quite bossy, you know that?”

He laughs at his words from earlier being thrown back at him. “Only to pretty girls.”

She blushes but forces an unimpressed look on her face. “So, there are others, huh?”

Jungkook shakes his head in bemused disbelief, making a note to himself to thank Tae for buying the photos that started all this. He stares at her while she’s making a point of doggedly avoiding his gaze. They had only just met, sure, but there was something about her that made his heart beat faster, and he desperately wanted to explore that feeling. “Not if you don’t want there to be.”

Read the sequel!

#bts fic #jungkook x reader #bts au #bts imagine #bts x reader

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sesquipunzel · 5 years

Text

Act 2 (334-344)

There was blood on the saddle and blood all around, And a great big puddle of blood on the ground.

Page 334 - JOHN WHAT ARE YOU DOING. STOP DOING NOTHING.

Oh hello Vagabond — I know you seem to be an unsocialized wretch, and John IS in a sort of Vagabondage to you, but a little kindness would go a long way. Even if John does hear your accusatory demands as his own sort of Inner Critic.

334. John is acting out his story being "on hold" while we catch up with other characters, in his own world out of time, "a place where the present may be a concept of dubious merit," until a "forceful thought jolts him to attention." Him? Jolts HIM? Attention, a Third Person has joined the chat!

335. That looks...moist. It was too much to hope the Grimoire was about developing Rose's character by demonstrating more tentacley love, rather than giving us plot-relevant worldbuilding about potential dangers. But an Occamist says that John's glass house is half full of œily monsters named Hortongoth and the like.

336. Investigate by opening the door that just went bump in the night? Well, I guess John is ajarhead, because he charges on in, finding more midnight oil leading back to “your” room — we are back to second person.

337. Back to Dave swiveling from computer to sampler to give us the haunting refrain for which we have been shivering with antici-

338. Ooh, fully playable sampler! I’ll be back...

All right all right all right, that, I will admit, was a happy lil half hour slice o' phatness.

339-341. The readers want Dave to take a celebratory swig, cos they is sadists, and know it will go badly one way or another. Obviously Dave doesn't actually think there are monsters in his house (more dramatic irony, right John?) but you don't need literal piss in a bottle when a vision of blue evil (wait, with an oily spot on its jeans?!!?) can taint the mere thought of drinking it.

So re-captchaloguing the juice is...weird. Does he think he'll be more capable of drinking it without grimacing later? Or is he saving it on the off chance he'll get to offer it to John and watch him grimace in disgust (but enjoy the joke)? [I dunno where half my own innernet frenz live, much less whether John and Dave are capable of casually seeing each other in the flesh.]

Wait — the green cap is on the floor, did he just captcha an open bottle of juice? Later shenanigans ho — no, wait again, there's two caps now so either cartoon/photoshop typo, or surrealananigans to come.

342. Dave owns swords (don't we all?) and Dave is cool, therefore Dave had a Bladekind Strife Specibus as soon as he knew there was such a thing. Even before it was cool, probably.

343. Ah, nailed it again, easy-nanigans as they are to predict at this stage. If Dave is going to claim the superiority of his cryptic cryptography modus, he'd better get more polished at doing the math in his head. Cos really, potentially piss-tainted apple juice in the turntable? He might as well be bleating like a dorky goat!

344. Off to get his towel, in prep for leaving the planet, and we get introduced to the first and second of the Bro's EVIL FUCKING CREEPY PUPPETS. This is the only thing I remember about Dave & Bro from my first decade-ago read-through — Ironic Coolness, and the Puppet Fetish that Would Not Die.

So that's ten more pages (even though my numbering got off the neat tens at some point), so we'll come back to being creeped out another time. Cheers!

#homestuck #homestuck liveblog #sesquipunzel reads homestuck #hs act 2 #hs week 005

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therapist-solarist · 6 years

Text

Be Someone Other Then Yourself ==>

A Homestuck fan-fic I posted a long time ago on my archive account.

TAGS / WARNINGS: Character Death, Immortality, godtier!alpha, kidsgodtier!beta kids, Depression, Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Death from Old Age, Early Death, Death, Abuse, Past Abuse, Bullying, I got depressed for a few months and made this masterpiece, Sadstuck, implied anorexia, Anorexia, lowkey john / roxy not really mentioned till Jade's part, even then its like 3 lines

Summary: How the world before and after the game effects it players and none of the time in between. This is sadstuck and there is 4 major character deaths. Read at your own self depressing risk.

==》 Be John Egbert

Your name is John Egbert and you are about to enter your first class of a Monday morning freshly from homeroom. It’s your English class. You really do enjoy the talks about 1800’s literature and novels of the time. The masters such as Shakespeare and H.P Lovecraft and many others always draw your interest and make your day better even if you get tripped and beaten up every other day or as of lately everyday. The bill rings shrill and you bolt out of the room and step into the hallway sticking to the lockers like glue and weave your way through the growing crowds avoiding most people's eyes. Trying to avoid being beat up before first period and risk missing your favorite class over some more bruises on your ribs or the teasing that had been wearing away at your mind slowly. You still wore your shorts and shirt. Only difference was now days you had switched to bring a pair of spare clothing in the case you were beat up and got blood on your white shirt. You still avoid telling your father.

Your about 10 steps away when a voice calls out loud and clear to you, it’s obvious it's directed at you once the old nickname has left the mouth of your childhood tormentors.

"Hey Beaver teeth, how's the dam going?”

A group of boys laughter rings through the hall as they advance behind you. You keep your head down and avoid everyone's gazes as they surround you in a semi-circle backing you into a locker. You still refused to look up not giving them the satisfaction of seeing the fear in your eyes.

"Hey Beaver teeth. I know you heard me. I know you hear me~"

The boy keeps calling out to you trying to draw your head up. To make you look him in the eye. His friends are all laughing and joining in chanting the long overused nickname. The boys voices mix to others in the hall that want to see you with a bruise on your face. Girls and boys, from freshman to seniors are chanting now. Trying to get you to snap. To look up at the boy. Your sure a few teachers are watching. You're also sure none of them care. You close your eyes as the first punch flies to your gut.<p>

When it's all said and done you've been hit 17 times. You have 13 bruises and a cut on your hand and a bloody lip that is swelling by the minute.

After all that you still missed English class.

When you get home you tell your dad you tripped on the stairs today and that in your misfortune you scraped your hand on a pair of haphazardly placed scissors on top of someone's backpack.

You're surprised he still buys the lies.

You know he knows that something is wrong.

You head upstairs and the first thing you notice is a pesterchum message. You drop your bag on the floor and grab a sweatshirt, heading to the bathroom ignoring the messages for the moment. You walk into the room and close the door and lock it behind you. The mirror on the wall is good enough to check your body for the bruises and make sure it was only 13 this time. That it wasn't all 17 of the fists that left a mark on your now always purple stained skin.

You were right the first time. Only 13. This is good news to you seeing as any more then 13 and you'd start to wonder if your brain was damaged and could explain why you're failing math. You find that the pain from moving now days hurts you more mentally than physically. You decide to stop your train of thoughts there as not to dwell any more. That’s what 3 am exhaustion is for.

You throw your shirt to the side and just slip the sweatshirt over your head, enjoying the breathing room. You're sure one of these days you're going to get a broken rib from all the strifes you're involved in.

You leave the bathroom and make your way slowly into your bedroom. You notice your pesterlog has new messages in a memo that jade set out for everyone a while back.

You open it.

GardenGnostic [GG] opened memo [GG] hey! How was school :D EctoBiologist [EB] answered memo TentacleTherapist [TT] answered memo TurntechGodhead [TG] answered memo [EB] lots of fun [TT] Uneventful [TG] boring as hell [GG] aww! I wish I could go to public school with other kids!

You stop and stare at your computer. Just one more person you have added into your Web of lies about school. You're not sorry for doing it though, rather save everyone the pain of knowing and doing something stupid and ending you up in a world more of pain. Hoping that jade never goes to school and has this happen to her, hoping that Rose won't go into a protective mother like / psychiatrist mode on you fussing over your bruises and hurt body telling you it's not okay. And Dave trying to teach you threw skype how to fight.

You know they mean well but it wouldn't do you any good it would only cause your friends more stress. And you know that but you let it go anyway. You are also sure if you didn't accept those lessons from dave he would sneak down to Washington and beat the shit out of them. Not that you haven't thought about asking him too but you know you don't want that. They'll just come back and hit twice as hard once he’s gone.

You really hope no one notices.

Jade catches you shirtless in your room on the ship in the first few days when she went looking for you to come to talk to and get up to date with.She knows they aren't from fighting monsters. God tiers heal fast. She can't understand what they are from. You don't tell her despite her pleas to know.

When you acceded, you did not want the bruises to fade and kept them covering your body to remind you of your life before the game.

She still doesn't understand even after a half-drunk confession at 3 am on your next birthday. You tell her every lie you had told her, Rose, Dave and your dad. She still can't understand how people could be so cruel and why you hid it.

You never get the chance to tell Dave or Rose in the new universe.

They never knew and never would.

==》 Be Rose Lalonde

Your name is Rose Lalonde. You’re walking through the school hall between classes. Students part and move at least a foot away as you pass them. None of them dare to touch you. It’s a lonely existence but you don’t mind too much as they don’t understand most of the things you say to begin with. You keep your head down as you pass them. Pretending to read a book that is opened up on the binders you carry with you. You are all too aware of there eyes on you as you walk.

You spot someone sticking their foot out in a vain attempt to trip you but still trying to keep with the at least a foot away status quo. They wish to trip you. You know they are immature enough to try more then that you side step their foot anyway. You cause a low gasp and flow of murmurs to fill the hallway. A loud voice pierced the hall after a moment of hesitation.

“Better watch out or the big bad goth will put a spell on you!”

You ignore the voice keeping your head down as laughter erupted from the people around you. You cringe. You hate the sound of their laughter. You much prefer John’s stifled snorting laugh or Jade’s purely joyful giggle or dave's stoic smile / snort that cracks under a funny enough joke. The bell rings and people rush around you yet still, no one dares touches you after the little show you just put on for them.

In a weird way, you wish they would. A push, a shove, anything really. And if you're being honest with yourself you don't remember the last time someone even touched you or hugged you. You try not to think about it as you walk to math.

When you arrive home later that day you have little to no homework so you immediately head for your computer to talk to Jade, Dave, and John. You pull your laptop from your desk and dodge piles of clothing as you flop on your bed and sprawl out and click the small power button.

As you await your computer’s startup you fiddle with a half-finished knitting project for John and his upcoming birthday. You are thinking of scrapping the idea and buying him something instead.

You haven't decided yet.

Your computer pins about 5 minutes later letting you know that your friends are online. You pull up pesterchum and relax into the familiar rhythm of typing and chatting with your friends.

GardenGnostic [GG] opened memo

[GG] hey! How was school :D EctoBiologist [EB] answered memo TentacleTherapist [TT] answered memo TurntechGodhead [TG] answered memo [EB] lots of fun [TT] Uneventful [TG] boring as hell [GG] aww! I wish I could go to public school with other kids!

The first time someone touches you that you now remember is when you enter the game. When you go grimdark and die John kisses you back to life. When you came to, the touch was forgotten except for a light hold on your arm making sure you were okay.

The feeling is still exceptionally foreign to you, even now.

The next time someone touches you it is Dave. He hugs you after you both attain god tier. You do so privately in your room.

You both held on much longer than required.

The third time you are touched is by Kanaya. She holds your hand for the first time and this time the touch does not seem so scary.

When the game ends you sit down and explain to Kanaya why you sometimes still shy away from her touch after almost falling off a couch rather Ungracefully as she went to touch your shoulder.

She does not push you to hold hands or even kiss. You are thankful for her but you are sure she still does not grasp how big and drastic the change of no physical contact to small touched and brushes of the shoulder are to you. You hope she never has to understand that feeling in her lifetime. Or that you will one day have to go back to a time without those small reassuring touches. You never want to see that day.

You never do.

==》Be Dave Strider

Your name is now Dave Strider. You're sitting in your room desperately searching for a clean long sleeve shirt before your Bro walks in and drags you off to school.

The elastic of your jeans are painfully digging into your very boney hips and abdomen as your lean down and search your closet floor one more time before standing again and sighting as you grab yesterday's shirt and start to slip it over your head as your Bro walks in.

You yelp and jump behind your door.

“Knock next time!”

You think he shakes his head before leaving.

You're glad you grabbed that shirt in time or your day would not be spent at school.

You may have preferred it that way with the day you are about to experience.

You arrive at school 3 minutes before the first bell for class is meant to ring. You sprint to homeroom and your teacher begrudgingly marks you as here on the attendance sheet. Your shoulders sag and relax for all of 30 seconds before you mentally prepared yourself for the rest of the day as the bell rings for the first period of the day.

It’s 20 minutes into first period before the first of the whispers start to spread there the room. Soon after the first pieces of paper are thrown at the back of your head. You don't even flinch as they whiz past your head.

You know your teacher sees it.

When that class finally ends you scurry out of the room half sprinting across the building to your next class trying to act as if you're not running from the group of three boys on the school’s football team. You pass your locker and decide to skip your daily visit in exchange of getting to class early to be in the safe zone of not getting into a fight. You know bro will want to fight later today anyway and you don't need the extra bruises.

You make it through the growing crowds avoiding most people's outstretched elbows and feet meant to trip or nail you in the ribs before making it to the transition hallway. This one is much quieter and empty. Not the ideal place to be headed with now a 4th football player on your trail.

You attempt to sprint down the hallway and make it halfway before one boy pulls you back by your collar half choking you.

They drop you at there feet and the boy who pulled you back is laughing along with his cronies.

You wheeze for a few seconds before speaking.

“The fuck you want Andrew?”

He stops laughing and looks down at you.

“You know Dave, you aren't fooling anyone with those lame ass shades you freak.“

One of Andrew's cronies cackles with laughter and joins in.

“Yeah let's see those eyes of yours. Mabey even crush those retarded glasses while we're at it. “

You scramble back a few feet. ‘shit.’ has become a mantra in your head as you see the boys advance. You can not let your shades come off or get sent to the nurse's office. Neither would fare particularly well for you.

“Can we continue this after school? Wouldn't want to be stuck in another detention with Mr.Soyer. The guy smells like a walking drug shop. Am I the only one that feels that way?”

You scramble backwards a little more before getting far enough that you can stand. You watch as the small crowd of 4 boys look at one another and have a half-whispered conversation on what to do with you.

”Fine kid.” The venom in his voice is if nothing but a cold warning to stay away. “Afterschool. 4 VS 1. You're not out back by the old playground down the street were gonna make sure you regret it. Now scram.”

At the end of the day you receive 20 bruises, 3 cuts, and what you think is another broken rib after the beating. At least you got to class on time earlier.

When you enter the house you make a beeline for the bathroom and instantly start your patch up of your skin and start to layer up. You know as soon as you leave the bathroom the note will be sitting on the fridge held up by a flimsy magnet. You can already see the message in your head.

An hour later and you were not wrong. The note read what it always had and most likely always would.

“Bro. Roof. Now.”

You had gone.

And come back.

Only with more bruises on top of the previously earned ones.

You wondered if you needed to go to the hospital with all the damage you’ve taken today. Instead of saying anything and walking the 3 miles to the hospital you log onto your computer and open the pesterchum app client.

There all there waiting for you once you’ve logged in. GardenGnostic [GG] opened memo [GG] hey! How was school :D EctoBiologist [EB] answered memo TentacleTherapist [TT] answered memo TurntechGodhead [TG] answered memo [EB] lots of fun [TT] Uneventful [TG] boring as hell [GG] aww! I wish I could go to public school with other kids!

In the game there is a day where you and Karkat decided to lay in your bed together and cuddle. You were hot and absently decided to put on a tee shirt. The moment Karkat sees your arms and back he whispers your name and stands to hug you.

You are a god tier but becoming one didn't take the scars away. You think maybe the game doesn't remove self inflicted wounds. Or maybe somewhere in your head you still believe you deserved every scar that lays bare on your hips and wrists.

You never realized how much damage all those beatings did to your mental health as well as physical. Karkat and Rose show you this.

When the day came that you and Karkat had to part, you didn't. You stole your own infinite youth to be next to him.

You are still scared in death that Rose did the same.

==》Be Jade Harley

You wake up in the middle of your empty house in your room. Although you suppose the entire house is yours now day’s.

It's completely silent and you wish maybe you'd wake to the loud gunshots of target practice, or the clanging noise of pots in the kitchen. It's been years and you're not sure you remember ever hearing any of that in your own home or if they were just wishful thinking.

You go through the motions of the day, feeding Bec, making yourself food for breakfast and lunch, sleeping, going on Internet searches that lead you to earn new facts about the world and tending your garden. You do it all listening to music. There is never a second after you wake that you want to hear silence.

So you don't.

Then it's the time your friends get home from school and you log onto pesterchum and start a new memo just like every day.

You frown. You're too bubbly and optimistic even for yourself. But you also frown because it's true. They have the privilege to go to a place with noise and real people and not be isolated. You wish you had that.

The first voice you hear once the game starts is Rose. It's still not enough.

The first person you see and talk to face to face in years is John. He pulls you close and hugs you. You pretend not to notice how he winces when you press closer to him and wrap your arms around his waist.

You're only 13.

You're 16 when you hug Dave and Rose for the first time.

You're 53 when you hug Dave and Karkat last. Dave kisses your head and says goodbye in the most broken voice you had ever heard before and you close your eyes as he leaves to die. It's silent again as he floating-years time going far far away from their reality.

Your only 189 years old when Kanaya last hugs you and 190 when Rose leaves as well. Rose died of a broken heart and drunk herself to death before she decided it was too much. It was silent the next morning as you all gathered to bury her body next to the now one-year dead troll.

She never said goodbye.

John and the others slowly lose interest in living over time and you can't say you disagree. At the 912th anniversary of Dave and Karkat's deaths, Dirk and Jake leave as well. Jake hugs you and says “goodbye grandma” as he kisses you on the cheek. Dirk hugs you stiffly. He was never good at human contact as it was but even now almost a 1000 years later nothing changed there.

There buried next to one another. The cemetery is silent as you, Jane, John, Roxy and a small child clutched between the arms of the two stand there and watch the cold graves.

It's another 500 years before you're left with another uncontrollable silence. You wake up sprawled across the floor to see Jane and Roxy dead, next to you. John is standing shell-shocked with a devastated child at his side.

At 2413 John and your niece leave too. You're left with underwhelming silence all the time now.

At 4013 years old you decide it's finally time to leave too

#homestuck #john egbert #rose lalonde #dave strider #jade harley #karkat vantas #kanaya maryam #bro strider #jane crocker #roxy lalonde #dirk strider #jake english #MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH #imortaility #godtier!alpha kids #godtier!beta kids #sadstuck #my writing

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