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allyvampirelass29 · 4 years

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Welcome to Christmasland, Victoria

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

Welcome to Christmasland, Victoria Welcome to The End And it's going to be glorious Dare I said, you belonged here with me And it's still true....... When I see your rended head Hanging from The Great Tree How fondly I'll think of you All the magical times we spent How we fought, how you bled Blood droplets like breadcrumbs Scarlet against the snow How I trapped you in my ice maze That look on your face Pleading for me to let her go I ALREADY HAVE YOU Stupid Girl How frivolous your sacrifice I'll strike her down Without thinking twice How many Wretched McQueens do I have to kill? For you to CARE what Wayne wants, how he feels? It's selfish to hold on To the child you love, only when he's gone. You'll die here, and so will the McQueen name Good riddance I say But fear not, My Dear I'll take good care of Wayne I'll give him a shiny new one Far more suited to this wondrous place Who do you want to be, Wayne? Say it with me Four letters, and it's done Why don't you spell it out for your Mom? Can you guess what comes next? Come boy, don't be shy........ I'll help you decide This isn't homework, this is fun! Something special between us That she can't wreck Welcome Home, My Son Wayne M-A-N-X

OH HOLY NIGHT!!!!! My ENTIRE body is humming, the dead heat of summer ALIVE with the magic of Christmas!!! Is there such a thing as a Christmasland Afterglow!? Because I have it, I feel....... RADIANT!!!! I've pranced around in a daze, in a December DREAM of bright coloured glisten, and a festive world, I ache to call my own, singing for anyone that will listen!!!! I never thought I'd say this, but shockingly, impossibly....... My beloved Sleigh House has been dethroned, and WELCOME TO CHRISTMASLAND has just been crowned my FAVOURITE episode of NOS4A2 of all time, beyond anything my own Creative desire could conjure!!! It's an unforgettable EXPERIENCE. It's a transcendent EVENT, bright shining, this night divine, the PERFECT date with Charlie Manx!!! Thrills become chills, dream becomes disaster, in this sleighcoaster ride of gripping emotion, dastardly duels, and devastating betrayal!!! The highest peaks, taking us up and up, ascending through the stars to the winking moon, the sharpest curves, the breathless rush of an exhilarating joyride through a surreal dream come true. in both eerily dazzling visual, and electrifying plot. Hold on, Creatives......... It's the ride of your life.

Christmasland. Like the shiniest, most beautifully wrapped gift beneath the tree, left unopened, has always presented the most intriguing mystery. Spoken about in hushed tones, in both reverence, and wonder, hatred, and horror to baffling extremes, it's NOS4A2's best kept secret. The missing piece, the final destination. For two seasons we've heard the tale about dashing Father Christmas, riding high in his ebony sleigh, all to save the children of the world, and give them Christmas every day...... But thus far, this winter wonderland has been kept firmly in the mystery box. A flash of colored shine here, a scrap of ribbon there, a quick jaunt in and out of the towering twin candy cane gates, special cargo in tow, and then we're off again. At times, it's been maddening, and I just ached to see it, SO badly!!! Now I can finally say, after two seasons of festive teases, it was everything Charlie promised, and so much more than I could have ever imagined, INFINITELY worth the wait, the hype, and the conflict!!! I am thankful too, that our esteemed writers were sly enough to hold back all this time, and then, having driven us mad with the waiting, swung wide the gates for the BIG reveal, letting the glowing enchantment and happy wonder of Christmasland overwhelm the senses all at once. You feel welcomed, you feel accepted, and once you've seen it, you'll never want leave........

Welcome to Christmasland, Creatives!!! You're very much in the moment, swept up in the full Christmasland experience, as the cheerful holiday music heralds your arrival!!! You even feel like you're there, in the backseat of the Wraith alongside Wayne, the shot in his perspective, as you go through the gates with Charlie at the wheel!!! I love it when NOS4A2 does this kind of immersive cinematography, putting us in the story, for being a Creative is all about making the fantasy a reality!!! For a boy that's never had a Christmas, who associates the holidays with his mother's depression, drinking herself to death, destroying any and all decoration, Christmasland is a FEAST for Wayne's eyes, a forbidden joy, and it shines on his face, mouth falling open, tongue sticking out, the cascade of coloured lights reflected off the Wraith's window. "Welcome to Christmasland, Wayne," Charlie chortles, as the wonderstruck lad, stars in his eyes, hops out of the car, greeted by a throng of eager vampire children. Charlie waves at them, his grin resplendent, and lovingly he calls to them as they surround him. "My Little Ones, how I've missed you all!!!"

It's a beaming joy for me to see Charlie like this, so in his element, so ALIVE, happy and playful, ready to share his world with the special little boy he has come to love like a son. As his other children clamber around Wayne, fighting over him, each urging him to play a different game, he smiles, hand raised to calm them, not wanting to overwhelm the dear little lad, and is the picture of fatherhood, as he says with gentle authority, "Now, now there will be plenty of time for all of it, after Millie gives him the grand tour. " Oddly enough, Christmasland's First Child neglects to welcome the boy her father has chased so tirelessly, braving all manner of wretched McQueens to procure, and while he veils it well, you can sense his disappointment. "Well then, it's your lucky day, Wayne. It's not every child that gets a private tour from Father Christmas, himself," He crows, deciding to shrug off Millie's slight...... for now. The vampire children oooh and ahhh, which I found just too adorable. He's magic to them, you can tell!!! "Let's go find you a more exciting costume!" Charlie coos with a sweet eyebrow raise, and I am DEAD as he lovingly tousles Wayne's hair!!!!

Can I just say, I love, love, LOVED this opener with all of my giddy, affectionate, Manx-loving heart!?!? I always thought the interactive Charlie Dream in, "Bruce Wayne McQueen," would forever be my favourite opener, but there is so much frolicking joy, and all kinds of warm fuzzies in this one, as Charlie dotes upon Wayne, charming as ever, helping him pick out his extra special Christmasland costume!!! I LOVED IT, my eyes welling up, as what I suspected all along to be true, couldn't be more adorably obvious. While it began as a revenge plot, taking Wayne, he has become so precious to Charlie, and the adoration that he has for this dear little boy is that of the proudest father, loving him, heart and soul, as his own son. In that moment I knew...... Charlie Manx would never let him go....... Oh my gosh, you guys, it's just all so CUTE, Charlie being patient and coaxing with Wayne, even though he's reluctant to give up his space pajamas, shyly informing Charlie that his mom got them for him for his birthday. Charlie sympathizes at first, and then explains that these are for bedtime, and there are no bedtimes in Christmasland, just staying up all night, playing games and riding rides. (Seriously, Baby, SIGN ME UP!!!!)

He knows Wayne so well, despite the short time they have spent together, he knows his greatest dreams, the things he loves the most, and he wants so badly to bring them to life for him, ever the attentive father. "At the peak of the sleighcoaster, you can almost reach out and touch the stars. The very moon, itself. You could be a real life astronaut......" He says dreamily with an encouraging elbow jab, making Wayne smile, and I swear I could feel my heart melting like snow. I especially loved all the little details in this scene!!! The way MANX on the astronaut costume is spelled out in NASA lettering, how the other patch even says, "Manx Moon Mission," because Charlie's likeness is beautifully illuminated in the Christmasland Moon. And the way Charlie even has an astronaut's helmet ready, presenting it to Wayne, with a flourish and a flip!!!. I found myself so in awe at the care, the devotion, he's put into these costumes, and I couldn't help but muse at all the possibilities, and which I would have chosen as an eight year old!!! I was, however, extremely nervous when he gave him the scissors, wrapped up nice in a bow, which I now see as some rather excellent, utterly chilling foreshadowing...... But luckily, this is eclipsed by something even more heart racing, in my favourite part of my favourite opener, in my favourite episode!!! (Seriously Charlie, did you write this whole episode just to dazzle me!?)

To be officially inducted into Christmasland, every child must write their name in the registry book. Wayne writes his first name in bright red ink, and then hesitates, pen paused mid-air, struggling with what to write next. "McQueen just...... doesn't feel right anymore, does it?" Charlie coos with sneaking revel. "This isn't homework, this is fun!" He persuades, enthused. "It's okay, I'll help you......" My heart quickens, chills skittering across my skin, already knowing what my sneaky boy is up to!!! "M-A-N-X," Charlie says coolly, eyebrow raised something sinister, and I can't breathe, the way he spells it out, with that exhilarated rasp, irresistibly lingering on the, "X!" Charlie takes such pleasure in naming this boy in particular, the son of his scathing arch rival, as his own. Wayne eagerly writes it out just as Charlie instructs him, the now miniature Manx, beaming at him with a toothy, vampire grin. "Manx, Wayne Manx!!!!"

All of the smug satisfaction he took in striking the name McQueen from the record, falls away at this happy declaration, and I really did cry, so touched, as Charlie gazes back at him, dark eyes glistening with vulnerable emotion, a tremble in his voice, as he says it. "Welcome home, My Son....." A slow pan back to the book reveals that all of them, every child in Christmasland, has taken their father's name, and the eerie music wants me to be chilled to the bone, but instead, I'm so ridiculously giddy. All the naysayers back in season one, who said Charlie doesn't care what happens to the children he takes, after he drains them of their youth, can be damned. Charlie LOVES his babies, and it's never been more evident than now, in this beautiful gesture, bestowing them with his last name. (Can I please have it too, Love?)

The happy, romping joy of Christmasland tears away as we are thrown back into the solemn silence of Chris' death scene. Okay...... I consider this episode iridescently perfect, my wildest dreams made real, but I do have one very furious complaint. I HATE the way the aftermath, or should I say, lack thereof, of Chris' death was handled!!!! Yes, I understand that time is of the essence here, that we've got to get to Christmasland post haste to save Wayne, that it's the number one priority right now. But GOD, Vic, your father just DIED, he was MURDERED right in front of you, SAY SOMETHING!!!!! Ughhhh it's just all so apathetic. And confusing. I cried for days, almost the entire week after Chris died, and here Vic is so..... okay? Apparently her father's death affected me, more than her!? What!? Even Lou, God love him, drapes his coat over Chris' body, without shedding a tear. Are you KIDDING me!? Lou, our sweet, sentimental, Teddy Bear Man, lovable, fluffy, deep-feeling Lou doesn't cry here!? I get that he'd only just met Chris, but then again, this is the father of the woman he loves. Maybe he's trying to be strong for her, but it just seemed oddly out of character for the both of them. I wanted a moment, however fleeting, where they said something nice about Chris, where Lou held her as she knelt by her father's body, spoke to him, and wept, and most importantly forgave him. She does mention something about not wanting to leave him out there alone, but it's so nonchalant, such an afterthought.

I did, however, absolutely ADORE the romance in this scene between Vic and Lou.

"Lou Carmody, you are the best man I have ever known, and I'm thankful every day that Wayne has your heart."

Lou and Vic's love has always been so warm, so comfortable, joking, laughing, like a warm sweater that hugs you, and I love that! But this, right here, was the first time that I felt that exquisite ache between them, that desperate longing, that spark that great loves are made of.

"Kiss me, just kiss me," Vic laughs breathlessly, and this kiss hits something powerful, between the danger that awaits and the love that's just been professed. Vic is not a super sentimental person, so it was really wonderful to see her, giddy like this, a woman in love as she looks over her shoulder on her bike, her smile indestructible.

I love Maggie here too, she's not taking no for an answer, and OMG was I the only one that FORGOT Mags was hunting the Wraith even before she met Vic!? Confounding to think there was a time when Vic and Charlie weren't a thing, battling across worlds!!!! That it was once just a fabulously eccentric librarian, asking her scrabble bag questions about a strange, black car.

"Forget the Wraith!!! We're going to blow up Christmasland!!!" Maggie cries triumphant, and there's something about seeing it, this impenetrable place, this frosty fortress, "CHRISTMASLAND," scrawled in that iconic green spray paint on the Shorter Way wall. She's really doing it. Vic's storming Christmasland, and hell's coming with her. Charlie Manx BEWARE.

There's so much to gush about in this episode, it really did feel like Christmas Morning, breathlessly tearing open surprise after surprise!!! Charlie not knowing about the ghost resurrection of Sleigh House was a SHOCK, a staggering TWIST of the most inspired BRILLIANCE!!! Where Christmasland is his dream, Sleigh House is his long repressed nightmare, lurking in the shadow of it, his own personal shop of horrors. I was STUNNED. I thought Charlie had recreated it himself, from memory, resurrecting his dead wife, but whether to have a piece of her, of it, some semblance of the wonderful life he'd lost, or to torture her, keeping her locked away inside, I couldn't decide!!! Charlie's face falls as he sees it, aghast, stumbling through the darkest remnants of his memories, and my heart panged for him, needing to console him, having never seen him so frightened, so tremulous, so...... vulnerable. He's terrified out of his mind. Shrinking back against the wall, his chest shuddering as his worst childhood trauma, Mr. Tim, calls out to him, haunting, and for a moment, he's that helpless little boy again, retreating back inside himself, begging the voice to stop. But even Mr. Tim cannot compare to the vengeful apparition waiting upstairs........

Cassie Manx, a ghastly vision, beautiful and terrible, in a white gown, with her mangled face, and fierce, glassy eyes, appears, and Charlie's heart stops, his lips trembling on her name as he falls back, horrified, against the closet.

"Come now, Charles. You know I've always been here...... nagging at you from the back of your mind, like a song you can't get out of your head......"

Cassie puts the needle down on the Victrola, and forcibly takes a dismayed Charles into her arms. "I'll lead this time," She hisses sardonically, and I can't help but notice the paralyzing parallels between this, and his dance with Jolene. He was so commanding, so haughty, seductive, dangerous, somehow both gentle and aggressive, as he forced her to dance with him. Here, it is Mrs. Manx that is the aggressor, not just in the way she yanks him about the room, erratic, threatening, but in the merciless accusations, that she wields like a knife. "You always were such a terrible dancer, Charles, my father paid for classes, but it didn't help. That's all you've ever done, spin us around in circles." I'm so torn, because Cassie is a blinding FORCE, a fearsome apparition, finding in death, the words, the voice, she didn't have in life, punishing and mesmerizing, making Charlie suffer, degrading him, each facing their demons in each other, in this dance with death. But again, my heart BLEEDS for my beautiful boy in his admonishment, called a failure of a man, a selfish husband, and careless father. (Also, I'm sorry, Cassie, but DAMN your ex husband CAN dance, I've seen it!!!!)

"You say that Christmasland is a safe haven for children, but really it's a place for you to escape yourself, a place where you are not a failure, where you are not a coward who devoured his own family, to FEED his insatiable ego."

Charlie's voice cracks, as he raises his protest, falling back against the wall, Cassie caressing his face with sinister intent, as he closes his stricken eyes. "That is why it will all turn to STATIC." I shiver with the frigid tension between them, and Charlie shivers too, beneath her fingernails, as she gets under his skin, both of us destroyed by these words, and all I want to do is run, pull him into my arms, soothe his trembling fear!!! And yet..... part of me is marveling at this terrifying creature, who could make even Charlie Manx afraid, leave him wrought with guilt, and in this moment, oddly enough, Cassie Manx has never been more ALIVE.

My favourite part of this scene, was how each of them were fighting to protect Millie from the other. An avenging ghost, and a Supernatural Strong Creative Vampire, and yet in this scene especially, we see them as what they are at the heart. Parents. In the midst of all the paranormal activity, there's something so human, so domestic about it, arguing what's best, who's best for their daughter. "How's that gonna happen, Cassie?" Charles snarls, the cast spell wearing off. "I'M IMMORTAL!!!" I loved that, his nostrils flaring, protectively pulling Millie to his side. This is beautiful writing and such a powerful scene, I was entranced.

There was one thing, however, that I thought was incredibly foolish of Cassie...... "Vic McQueen did...... She's already here." I wanted to scream. WHY Cassie!? WHY would you TELL Charlie that Vic had breeched the walls of Christmasland!? What MADNESS!!! I get that she wants to see his face when she reveals Vic, the woman he hates most, second only to his mother, has done the impossible, but the ONE thing Vic has going for her in the Christmasland strike, is the element of surprise. Now, even that's gone....... Instead, I would have had Cassie help Vic by distracting Charlie, delaying him in the house, and then have Charlie figure it out the longer it goes on, realize why she's been so desperate to keep his company!!! Now, THAT would have been AMAZING!!! I did love that last line however, as Charlie tears out of Sleigh House.

"Go, before Vic McQueen releases the white static that takes us all!!!!" Holy epic foreshadowing, Cass........ WOW!!!!

The scenes with Vic and Maggie storming Christmasland are incredible, and I LOVED how Maggie shouting, "Red Light!!!" a very human trick, worked perfectly on the vampire girl!!! Well DONE, NOS4A2!!!! I also loved how Vic KNEW Wayne was going to pick the astronaut costume, even though this little space man wasn't him!!! Thus far, between the lofty sleighcoaster, the thousands of glittering lights, and the gingerbread houses, covered in powder snow, Christmasland has been a luminous dream, a paradise for the lost. But all too quickly, as the girls near a looming pine, ominous in size and appearance, we are introduced to the first of the nightmare elements. My stomach churned, sickened, as I saw them, human heads hanging from The Great Tree like ornaments, shriveled with ghoulish expressions. What the HELL!? Maggie shares my horror, and as her hand flies to cover her mouth, gagging, I just know...... Joe. I felt the tears fall, horrified and angry that Charlie had done this to Joe, my heart sinking, staring into his empty, sad eyes. The rile in Charlie's cry, sounds the beginning of the end. "VICTORIA MCQUEEN, Welcome........ to Christmasland!!!!! The showdown is about to begin.

Charlie Manx, having shaken off the horrors of Sleigh House, now grins smugly, the coloured lights flickering behind him, catching his glossy hair in their glow, his black coal eyes, flashing mischief and danger, as he stands with them, his children, the New Family Manx. With the daughter that he's always loved on one side, and the son he's never had on the other, Charlie Manx has everything he's ever wanted, and now, as Vic McQueen stands defiant, his opposite, her promising death is just the topper on the Christmas Tree.

"Let's go, Wayne, c'mon," Vic calls out to her son, but the waver in her voice, proves that she already knows it's not going to be that easy.

"But he LIKES it here, at home with me, and all his new friends....... Charlie's voice begins light, and jovial, in a spectacularly good mood, and then hardens, accusingly. "Why would you SPOIL that!?"

"Don't listen to a word he says, Wayne, do you hear me?" Vic's anger and frustration starts to bleed through her voice, and the McQueen turned Manx, doesn't answer.

"Wayne McQueen!!!"

"That's NOT my name!!!" He shoots back with his mother's defiance. And here, I fall even more in LOVE with Charlie Manx, besotted, because he has the CUTEST freaking laugh, I have EVER heard in my life!!! It's pure music, that darling, boyish giggle, eyes widening, half surprised, half mad with adoration for his devoted son. Laughing in her face, eyes dancing, seeming to say, "Told you so," Charlie dismisses her charges of hurting him, being a monster, with an adorable, indignantly yelled RUBBISH!!! However, just as he's gained a son, he seems to be losing a daughter.......

"My bridge didn't get me here on its own, Charlie. Wayne, ask her. If she's so happy here, why does she want a ride out from me?"

Ooooh PLOT TWIST, Charlie!!! Charlie's laughing features, somber, intense with this revelation. Millie asking him to go with her to the real world, was one thing...... but asking VIC MCQUEEN for her aid, helping secret her inside, defying her own father, was the rebellious princess' act of treason against the Christmasland King.

Vic continues to appeal to Millie, pleading for her help, encouraging her to take back what her father's taken away from her, and while you can see the words' effect on Millie, her eyes sad, and emotional, she cannot speak against him, not yet. Charlie knows not to let Vic see him sweat, and he doesn't even bat an eye as he muses coolly.

"Why don't we let Wayne choose? Do you want to go with...... HER," he snarks disdainfully, trying not to roll his eyes, as Vic smiles hopeful at her son. "Or do you want to stay with me, in Christmasland.......?

All eyes on Wayne, and Charlie's smirking, because he already knows what his darling boy is going to say, although I, myself, was rather stunned at the way he said it........

"Why would we EVER leave? We JUST got here," He frowns, his tiny voice cruel, and condescending. Whoah, Wayne. That's cold.......

I LOVED this scene, the palpable tension, the scathing betrayals, in both the McQueen and Manx camps, as Charlie and Vic's kids switch sides, turning on their parents, moving across the board like chess pieces. I also noticed how Charlie stood closer to Wayne than Millie, as the scene went on, and I couldn't help but wonder...... as much as she aches to be her human self again, and grow up to go on adventures, perhaps it was also jealousy that fueled this drastic turn around. Something about what she said to him, earlier in the Ice Maze...... "I have ENOUGH friends," and how she went out of her way not to be there when Wayne arrived, and how Charlie said, "Why don't we let WAYNE, choose," dismissing her own professed desire to Vic, without a second address. Millie has been her father's sugar plum for centuries...... what will happen now that his son has become the apple of his eye?

"Scissors for the DRIFTER, everyone!!!!" Charlie yells to his little army, that delectable rile in his voice, as his fanged children descend on Vic and Maggie!!! Charlie's done playing, toying, teasing, he's kept one McQueen in, and it's time to go for the kill, win the game, and take the other McQueen OUT!!! Vic and Maggie dashing through the snow, dodging little vampires, setting bombs all the way, and the chase is ON!!! I was so THRILLED that horrid, appalling tree was the first thing to go, exploding into flames, victoriously felled!!!! Yes!!! THANK YOU, MAGGIE!!! This one's for JOE!!! I had NO idea though, that setting fire to Christmasland would hurt Charlie the same way damage done to the Wraith does, and somehow it seemed even WORSE!!! Charlie's nose bleeds and he coughs into his hand, staggering into the toy shop, and I don't know who I'm more afraid for........

Scissors for the Drifter rages on, Maggie and Vic sneaking their way through the vast, dazzling array of carnival games, and racing amusement rides, blanketed in fresh snow. The Red Light Girl from earlier, sidles up to Maggie, and all of us elicit a collective gasp, as she slips the scrabble bag from Maggie's coat pocket. "Give it back..... Red Light, Red Light," Maggie warns, trying not to panic, but you can see it in her eyes....... That bag is everything to her, and she doesn't know who she is without it.......... "New game!" The other girl exclaims with claws and a growl, and her and Mike play keep away with the bag, much to Maggie's frantic dismay. I was so relieved, and tremendously appreciated NOS4A2's approach to the Found Children of Christmasland, how fun and games were their first instinct, and maiming and murder were more of a side quest.

Meanwhile, Vic, having escaped the receding vampire throng with her life, unscathed, save one bite, isn't giving up. There's no WAY in HELL she's going anywhere without Wayne You'll-Never-Be-A-Manx McQueen. In the midst of the death defying chase, however, I was so hoping Vic would look up once, and see Charlie's face in the moon!!! Making a face of her own, mouth open in disgust, I can just hear her!!!! What the HELL-!? I would literally have given anything for her reaction to that!!! She spies Wayne, determined, coaxing him, and he looks at her maniacally, with his new father's malicious smirk, as he hurries away, making her chase him, fleeing into a vast, seemingly endless maze, made entirely of ice.

As we rise to the scintillating climax, we find the children's betrayal against their feuding parents has taken a defining, final turn. Charlie and Millie's scene in the toyshop was SENSATIONAL!!! Mattea Conforti plays Charlie's daughter with such conviction, and I am SO impressed by the emotional range, the rare talent and prowess of expression, she has at this young of an age!!! Charlie coaxes Millie in his sweet, fatherly way at first, trying to govern his anger, as he tells her about the demise of that horror show Christmas tree.

"The Great Tree........ We dreamt it up together, branch, by branch, and now it's gone."

Millie seems altogether unmoved, and if there was ever a moment that she is so over Christmasland, it's now. Charlie tries to reason with her, tries to accuse Vic for his daughter's crimes against him.

"You are not the first to be twisted into knots by Vic McQueen...... Don't you see? She's POISONED you and your mother against me, made you doubt your own FATHER!!!"

Millie begs him to let Wayne go, let Vic leave with her son, and asks him to stay with her, no more new kids in Christmasland. Charlie hesitates. "I have work to do. And that wouldn't be very fair to Wayne......" Charlie's not giving up his son, not even if it means losing his daughter, and Millie knows it......

"I'm not enough...... I never was. I begged you to leave with me, and you said no. Now, I ask you to stay, and you won't do that either?"

I teared up like crazy, she's so heartbroken, so emotionally wrought in this moment, and I saw a little girl, who would give up all of Christmasland's ornamental wonders, her birthday, and all of her friends, all of her dreams, just to have her father's sole attention.

Charlie's rage starts to take over, veiling his pain, trying to inspire Millie to action, win her back, promising her all will be forgiven, if she takes her sword, and hangs Vic's head from a new tree.

"You want to hang Vic's head on a tree? Go DO it yourself......... I'm LEAVING."

Charlie snaps, seizing her arm, nostrils flaring, the pain feeding his fury. "I am your FATHER!!! You will DO exactly as I SAY!!" A lot of people cried out against this action, of him forcibly taking her arm, but I saw it less as a show of patriarchal aggression, and much more as him desperately clinging to her, out of fear. She's his joy, his everything, and he doesn't want her to go, not now, not ever.

"You can't stop me...... unless........ you'd never raise a hand to a child, would you, Father?"

He lets her go at once, unnerved by her clever challenge, and watches heartbroken, as she takes her leave of him. Fuming, he snatches up the shiny, silver autopsy hammer off the table, his favourite toy in the shop, and leaves the store, just as the candy shop blows up in a splinter of wood and a burst of orange fire. He coughs, bent over, his hair pulling loose from his coif, his nose bleeding. Charlie and his dream world are unraveling fast.

"I want to play a game with you........"

Back in the ice maze, Wayne approaches his mother, and I have a BAD feeling, his voice eerie, and unkind........ Danger, Vic, Danger....... I whisper, the frosty air ripe with foreboding.

Vic smiles, fighting the tears, saying she'll play any game he wants, even his NBA basketball game, and she'll let him whoop her butt. Wayne resists, and I think his resentment starts to show, having never had a Christmas, having to always watch her leave him, no matter how good he's been.

"You know what Christmas every day means, don't you? No 4th of July, no friends, no sunshine, no summer, no swimming, no hotdogs, no fireworks. That was our favourite day in the whole wide world, remember? We would go to the lake with your dad, and watch the bright colours explode in the stars in the sky........ You always loved it."

I cried. Vic is so not a sentimental person, but here she is, so sweetly pouring her heart out to her son, and it is beautiful, and so moving, as she lets herself love him, be vulnerable in that love, and let that vulnerability make her strong. "Even though it's impossible, I'm here, fighting Charlie Manx because I made a promise to you, and I'm done breaking promises to you, Baby," Wayne's eyes soften, looking again like his human self, her words striking every chord, finally breaking Charlie's thrall, reaching him, and Vic cries, overwhelmed with the love she's let herself feel, pulling him in for hug, cradling the back of his head so tenderly. I don't think we could have ever prepared ourselves.......... for what came next. The music swells to its emotional height, and then deadens, a swift stab of metal scissors, and I feel their sharp pierce, leaving a sucking hole in my own chest, my breath strangled, as Wayne STABS his mother with the scissors, running off, laughing, with the cheerful exclaim of, "I win Scissors for the Drifter!!! Et tu, Bats!?!? It's a SHOCKING, tragic scene, that leaves you with a hollow fear. Is there any of Wayne left to save?

Ahhhhh but the BEST is yet to come, Kids!!! That scintillating climax, I promised you, the most chilling of all of Christmasland's thrills? It's here....... It's fire and ice, and all the sinister deliciousness you've been craving, and it's my FAVOURITE scene in an episode full of sparkling snow white perfection. Maggie, after chasing Red Light Girl into the Ice Maze, and taking her bag back, is saved by a staggering Vic, and our two dauntless heroines, navigate their way through Charlie's mind-bending, frozen labyrinth.

"You're bleeding......" Vic manages, out of breath, still clutching the stab wound on her side.

"YOU'RE bleeding......" Maggie counters cleverly, and it's a really sweet moment amidst all the screaming chaos, as the girls laugh together, Maggie supporting Vic, as they stumble and search for the exit. The feeling is mutual. It's time to get the HELL out of Christmasland.

Drops of blood, crimson stark against the blinding white, tall black leather boots, a supple leather glove reaching down to touch the blood, brushing the snow. Charlie.

The girls hurry as fast as their injuries will allow, crying for joy when they see the exit, both bitten and bruised, one brutally stabbed, chancing a glance over their shoulders when they hear a noise. But when they look back, the inviting exit is gone, and in its place, a looming wall of solid ice.

"I just saw it, it was there!!!" Maggie cries bewildered, holding Vic upright, desperately confused.

Charlie, nose bleeding, a devastatingly handsome dark figure, creeps up behind them, hammer in hand, so happy to explain.

"That's the beauty of an inscape. Everything here is a product of my........ imagination." He simpers sinisterly, and in a move that is straight up SYLAR, playfully brings the hammer to tap his forehead. "Not fluid, like water, but semi-solid...... like, say...... ICE," Charlie pounds the hammer into the ice once, teasing and deadly, the music shivering, as he advances on them, trapping them in a dead end.

"Ironic, isn't it, Vic...... When you had Wayne in your life, you were always looking for an exit, and now you're here, looking for him. Longing for forgiveness, which you'll never find, just the way your father never found it. It's a McQueen family tradition........ dying in dead ends!!!"

Another searing truth exposed in the midst of a good seethe, and Vic, rather than spitting curses, reining down on him full force, pleads with him instead, tears in her eyes, her voice tremulous. "Let her go, Manx!!! You can have me-"

Charlie Manx snarls, his eyes murderous with dark fury, thrusting the hammer at Vic, breathing hard, rasping.

"I ALREADY HAVE YOU!!!!!"

I can honestly say, that was the SEXIEST damn thing I've EVER seen in my entire life, my whole body went numb, quivering as I touched my heart, barely able to whisper, "Yes!!!! YES you do!!!!" How the HELL that ice maze didn't melt in the face of that kind of LETHAL heat, will forever be a Christmasland Mystery. There aren't even words, clumsy, coherent, or otherwise, for how HOT I was for Charlie Manx in this moment, melting in his thrall.

Without another word, he pulls back the hammer, and strikes Maggie with a deafening CRACK, and she goes down HARD, moaning in anguish. Charlie's spell shivers around me, as the fire just ignited, is introduced to the coldest fear. Not again...... No, no, no, Charlie, PLEASE GOD don't kill, Maggie!!!! I can't do it, not again, NOT HER, no, please, I'm still grieving Chris, Baby, STOP!!!" My heart on pause, and Charlie hesitates, before the bomb beneath the sleigh coater EXPLODES, setting off a chain reaction, bomb, after bomb, billowing smoke, hungry, licking flames, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little sad, the shining dream becoming an inferno nightmare, as Christmasland burns into a firestorm.

Charlie SCREAMS in excruciating agony, aging rapidly, hammer fumbling from his grasp, into the blanket of snow, crouching in anguish, and Vic doesn't hesitate to pluck up the hammer, and crack him HARD across the skull, knocking him out cold. With a grunt of frustration, seething hatred boiling up from her whole body, she smashes the hammer against Charlie's bloodied skull again, and again....... and again.

"Vic, you have to STOP! It won't do any good, you KNOW that!!! He's just an old bitch, that's all he ever was....."

Okay, seriously Mags, I love you, but can people just STOP calling Charlie a BITCH!? First Bing and now Maggie!? Ughhh, I HATEEE it so much! Second...... for the LOVE of GOD, Victoria McQueen, thank you for stopping that brutal smashing of my boy's skull, but, whatever you do...... DON'T DROP THAT FREAKING HAMMER!!!!! She does. She drops it. WHY does she drop it, why not take it with her!? Why leave Charlie's favourite toy behind for him to murder her with!?!?

While we're at it, I have another question!!! As Charlie searches frantically through the crowd of running scared vampire children, the park engulfed in flames, asking each one that passes, if they've seen Millie, WHY do they not answer him!? He's Charlie Freaking Manx, their famed Father Christmas!!! He's like a rock star, a saviour to them, whyyyyy won't they help him!? So Maddening. I was also surprised that Millie's ornament was her mother's golden cat brooch. After seeing the silver moon one, in "Gunbarrel," last year's season finale, that looked like Charlie, hanging on one of the trees outside the ruins of Sleigh House, I thought for SURE that it was hers!!! Who else's could it be!?

I CHERISHED the absolute MOM Moment Vic has at the end of this episode, where she's just so DONE!!!! She doesn't care that the world's on fire, doesn't care that her son is a soulless vampire that just stabbed her, she's freaking HAD it!!!

"BRUCE WAYNE MCQUEEN!!!!" She yells in unhinged reprimand, finding her Mom voice, as she charges him, wrests the scissors out of his hands, hurling them away, and hauls him up off the ground, even while he's kicking and screaming!!! He's surly in his protest, yelling out how much he'll hate her, and never forgive her, if she takes him away, calling out for Charlie to come save him!!! That was so freaking fantastic, again, such a raw, real human moment in the midst of the supernatural cacophony. The coloured lights flicker before they go dead, plunging Christmasland into complete darkness.

"Christmas is over, isn't it?"

"Yeah Bats..... It's over."

Or is it.......? I have it on good authority, from Father Christmas himself, no less that Christmasland is FOREVER......... Let's hope Charlie Manx and the Wraith are too, as our seductive villain's dreams go up in flames. Here's to the SERIES BEST EPISODE, and to our beloved supernatural fantasy, NOS4A2 getting renewed for SEASON 3!!!! Christmasland in flaming ruin, his son and daughter strewn, both forsaken, Charlie find the Wraith, and save your soul, else your winter reverie will be naught, but a smoking hole. You have to fight, you have to make it!!! Turn the key, Charlie, it's time........ to get CREATIVE!!!!

#nos4a2 review #nos4a2 #charlie manx #vic mcqueen #wayne mcqueen #millie manx #cassie manx #maggie leigh #welcome to christmasland

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amuseoffyre · 5 years

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Crossing Paths - 1421 - Heaven

I got to thinking that in all my previous chapters, Aziraphale flailed about being caught by their respective bosses, but he never really put any thought into what that could mean, because it’s simply not how he thinks. So, of course, I decided I needed to enlighten him :D

1421 - Heaven

Aziraphale discreetly rubbed his palms on his tunic, praying that the sweat didn’t leave stains.

No matter how many times they had got away with the… Arrangement in the past, he couldn’t help feeling anxious every time he was summoned to give his reports in person in Heaven. He half-expected to find himself in shackles every time.

“–were considered a great success,” Gabriel was saying, beaming. “Our numbers have never looked better.”

“I’m afraid rather a lot of people died,” Aziraphale said, then hastily bit his tongue.

“Mortals,” Gabriel patiently shook his head with a sigh. “That’s what they do, Aziraphale.”

The angel nodded, folding his hands in front of him again, lacing his fingers together. “I know. I just– I thought it might be considered a good thing for…” He coughed and nodded pointedly downwards. “I mean, they do like a body count.”

“What Hell does or doesn’t approve of is not our concern,” Michael murmured. They were dressed in embroidered robes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Cathedral. Dark haired spilled down over their shoulders, held back from their face by a diadem, as they tilted their head to study Aziraphale, as if he had somehow sinned and fallen short of their approval.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale agreed at once, heart pounding. Personally, he had tried to remain neutral, but it was hard to be neutral when the so-called “good guys” launched an assault that burned down a building full of women and children. He hesitated, then said, “The demon – Crowley – was there.”

“To be expected,” Gabriel nodded. “This was a major point of conflict and we won.”

Aziraphale forced his mouth to smile, although it was hard to consider anything a win when he and Crowley had been left standing in the ashes and rubble, the demon’s face tight with barely masked grief and rage. He couldn’t even be sure which of them had been offering the blessings or leading people into temptation in Žatec. It was too simple now, one or the other, sometimes within the same breath.

And sometimes, Crowley’s miracles were so infinitely beautiful that it was hard to remember that he was a demon at all.

He deserved not to be.

“I know I was only meant to be monitoring his activity,” he began, touching carefully as one does when searching for the source of pain. It was rare for Gabriel to be in such a good mood and the best time to try to take advantage of it. “But do you think– that is to say– wouldn’t it be a real coup d’etat for us, if we could win him back to our side?”

He didn’t know what was worse: the look of incredulity on Michael’s face or Gabriel laughing out loud.

“Win him to our side?” Michael said, disdain dripping from every word. “He’s Fallen, Aziraphale. Why in the name of the Almighty would we want him on our side?”

“Surely all creatures are worthy of the Almighty’s grace…” he faltered as the two archangels exchanged looks.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said with gentle condescension. “We understand your intentions are good, but he’s Fallen already. Why bother with someone who chose to reject us? To reject this?” He gestured around the glistening marble halls of Heaven. “Something like that isn’t worth saving. I doubt they would even consider him a significant loss. Would you waste your valuable time on something like that?”

Aziraphale tugged self-consciously at the edge of his tunic. “No. I suppose.” He forced himself to raise his eyes back to Gabriel’s. “But if I could only try–”

“If you want to see what Hell does to him, by all means,” Michael said mildly. “They don’t like traitors down there.”

“Tr-traitors?” Aziraphale blanched. “But–”

“If you even try to draw him back into the light,” Michael said with the tone of one speaking to a child, “they will see it as a betrayal.”

Draw him into the light. By, for example, performing miracles that an angel should, by rights, be performing.

“I– I see.” It felt like poking a sleeping lion, but he couldn’t help asking, “What on earth would they do to a disobedient demon anyway?” He forced an uncertain laugh. “Can you be cast out of Hell?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Nothing a little baptism wouldn’t take care of.”

“Baptism?” Aziraphale frowned. “That doesn’t sound so…” His heart dropped like a rock. “But baptisms are– that would mean–”

Michael gave him an impatient look. “Yes. Holy water. Demons are not as forgiving as we are.” They shot a glance at Gabriel, who nodded slightly. “That will be all, Principality.”

“But–” Aziraphale’s words died in his throat at the cool expressions on the archangels’ faces. He forced another brittle smile, bowing, his fists clenching around the edge of his tunic. “Of course. Thank you for your time.” He backed away, hurrying for the staircase that led back down to earth, trying to ignore the deafening thunder of his heart in his ears.

______________________________

1427 – Valais

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Aziraphale froze where he was, stooped over the poor shackled woman on the floor. There was little to be done for her but the small mercy of a peaceful death. He drew away the pain of her broken bones and soothed the terror and rage enough to let her rest in her last moments. When his wings unfurled, bright and brilliant, he felt her joy and relief, then the quiet as her soul slipped away.

“Angel.”

He didn’t – he couldn’t turn. “I don’t think it’s wise that we continue,” he forced out, knowing how much more difficult it would be to say those words to Crowley’s face. “With the Arrangement, I mean.”

There was a small explosive hiss of a breath from behind him. “And why’s that?”

He folded his wings in, taking comfort from the weight of them against his back. His hands were shaking unbearably. They had to stop. They had to. He had been so worried about his own fate that he hadn’t even thought about Crowley’s and now that he knew…

“It’s too dangerous.”

Crowley groaned. “Not this old chestnut again!”

Aziraphale’s hands twitched by his sides and he curled them into fists to keep them still. “You– you never told me the risk you were taking!”

The demon fell silent. “What are you on about?” he finally asked.

Aziraphale took a shuddering breath, then turned to face him. “You never told me what they would do to you, if you were caught.”

Crowley was still as a statue, the darkness of his tunic and cloak blending into the shadows of the cells. “And?” he finally said.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Is it true? That they would–” The word caught in his throat, hard and sharp and shocking him with how painful it was. “Would they really… kill you?”

The demon looked away from him with a shrug. “Maybe. Never asked.”

“But it’s a chance?”

“Could be.” He hooked his thumb through his belt. “Better not get caught, eh?”

Aziraphale stared at him, feeling as if the world had been tugged from beneath him. “No!” He felt sick with horror at the thought. Not simply because it was the death of a living creature, but the fact that it was Crowley. “I couldn’t bear it if– that you could be–” He shook his head. “We can’t! Not for the sake of saving time.”

He realised that the demon was looking at him again, a strange expression on his face. By the flickering torchlight, his lips twitched. “Aw, angel. You do care.”

Aziraphale flushed. “I don’t! I only– it’s just that–” He threw up his hands. “Why are you so insufferable?”

That made Crowley grin. “Because it’s fun?” He sauntered closer. “Anyway, you’ve got nothing to worry about. They don’t care what we do, do they? Four centuries we’ve been at it now and not so much as a sound out of them.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale had to agree. “But there could always be a first time.”

The demon was less than an arm’s length from him, still grinning. “Not if we’re careful. And I don’t know about you, angel, but I’m always careful.”

Aziraphale was mortified by how undignified his snort was. “Well, we both know that’s a lie.”

“Eh.” Crowley shrugged cheerfully. “Even if I’m not, I’m still very good at convincing them I’m damn good at what I do up here.” He tilted his head, his grin turning into a crooked smile. “Come on, angel. Can’t get cold feet on me now. You know this is good for both of us.”

“It is very dangerous,” he protested, but he could feel his resolve giving way.

“Everything’s dangerous to someone,” the demon pointed out reasonably. “That’s living, isn’t it?” He pulled down his glasses, peering over the rims. “What do you say? I’ll let you take Ronda, if you want? I was meant to be heading that way next week.”

Aziraphale almost whimpered aloud. The last time he’d visited Spain, they’d had some of the sweetest, most delicious oranges he had ever tasted. And it was orange season as well. “Maybe once more,” he said. “For old time’s sake.”

“One more.” Crowley beamed at him. “Course. That’s all.”

Much later, Aziraphale would wonder when he had become such a good liar.

#fic: crossing paths #good omens fic #good omens #Aziraphale #crowley

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lotornomiko · 5 years

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Triumph’s Tribulation Chapter Three (Sorta not safe for work?)

Putting a semi not safe for work warning just in case. There is no sex, but Lezard is giving off this VIBE that might be troubling to some. Trigger warnings for that same vibe, and the dubious nature of the whole thing, At least the Rufus Alicia scene balances out that darker side with some sweetness and what not...even if they are going to be angsting a fair bit in the story. ^^;;

Those eyes of his positively blazed with their emerald hue, the half elf looking so determined, and earnest, and above all ready. He seemed pumped and primed for the lengths needed, Rufus ready to endure just about any type of ordeal in his desire to be of help to her. Alicia might have never loved him more than she did now in this moment, the princess’ eyes welling with tears. That blinding moisture was a mix of her gratitude, and that of her sorrow, the young woman understanding that the man had just made the choice she had already settled upon that much infinitely harder to accept.

His smile was this beaming beacon of all teeth, the half elf ever so happy for her. So excited, and hopeful, and ever so relieved. Alicia hated the thought of dashing it all, of the frustration and sadness and most of all the confusion that would follow. Would she ever be able to make him understand? Would Rufus even make the attempt to try? She was unsure, despite loving him so, the princess understanding that there was an inherently selfish side to the green haired elf who had so permanent a place in her heart.

It was at direct odds with her own self sacrificing nature., Alicia this gentle soul who would gladly take a blow meant for another. She’d shoulder the world’s burdens, uproot the very heavens in an attempt to right a wrong, and yet this choice of hers was the one thing she could not protect Rufus from. Not now, maybe not ever, the information given her, too great a secret for Alicia to ever keep from him.

With those tears welling in her eyes, the young woman briefly closed them as though shutting away the sight of Rufus and his eager smile. It didn’t give her nearly enough strength, Alicia wanting to be swept away by the elf’s excitement and hope. It should, could have been so easy to, but then that was not the kind of woman Silmeria had helped shape her to be. The Valkyrie the voice in her head from before she could truly understand the words, the princess had gone above and beyond any royal duty, to champion this world and its people. Even at the many great costs to herself.

The curse was one of them. The loss of her family another. There was the destruction of the kingdom she had thought had turned its back to her. Even the betrayals at the hands of those she had called friend. She had not only lived through it all, she had survived, becoming a stronger, better person for it. That had all been the fire to forge her, Alicia brave, determined and bold. Doing what was needed, rather than what was always wanted. Selfless to a fault, the young woman had grown to become the kind of hero the Gods themselves would have clamored for.

She wasn’t one of their chosen though. Alicia wasn’t even guaranteed a place in paradise, given the enemies she and Silmeria had made. Both of them had never given much of a damn for their own personal gain, fighting instead to right Odin’s many wrongs. That that tyrant was no more, didn’t seem to much matter, little having changed under the new God’s rule. There was still a world that needed saving, and a villain that needed to be stopped. A sacrifice was again needed. HERS, Alicia snapping open her eyes with a bold determination that belied the gentle touch she did on the hand cupping her face.

Rufus didn’t immediately sense it, too lost in his own desire, that want that was both selfless and selfish, the half elf ready to screw over the world to help one single, solitary soul. That part of him endeared the man to her, even as it made the princess exasperated, a frustration pushing and pulling at her, for the elf had made things so much more difficult than they need be!

A sigh expelled out of her, Alicia leaning into the warmth of Rufus’ hand. It was so inviting, that heat, able to push back all of the cold that she felt. That look in his eyes was like it’s own sun, Alicia wanting nothing more than to bask in it’s radiance. He was everything to her, her rock, her foundation, her friend and her solace, yet also a source of worry, from the reaction she already anticipated, to the beat, beat, beat of his excited heart, the woman growing stiff with the realization that she could hear it, AND the blood coursing through his veins.

It should have been repugnant, should have sent her lurching away. Instead Alicia found herself stepping closer, almost as though she would press up against him. All to better listen to those sounds, to the hypnotic beat of his heart pumping that temptation through him. She then breathed in the scent of him, Alicia’s nostrils flaring, that coarse sandal wood and leather smell unable to disguise the vitality of him. The life and the strength, and what it could do for her.

It wasn’t his blood that she was smelling, but that of his soul’s essence. It was this intoxicating feel, something that Alicia could have easily gotten drunk off of, her eyes slitting half closed in a kind of ecstatic contemplation of how to best drink him down. He was oblivious to the danger, Rufus stroking a solid hand over the length of her honey hued hair. It wasn’t just his hands that were that tangible a presence, all of his flesh was, the elf’s very existence a marvel, the man made real through some miraculous force that even Alicia herself did not understand.

Her arms wound their way around him, Alicia pressing her cheek to his chest, to better listen to the sound of his heart. It beat as though he was still alive, as though he hadn’t been murdered, Rufus a ghost given solid flesh that was maintained through a remnant of Silmeria’s power. That same energy that gave Rufus and Arngrim flesh, was what allowed Alicia to sometimes cast crystals.

That power and the memories were all she had left of the Goddess, the sister that had been literally torn from inside her. She couldn’t abandon them any more than she could the Valkyrie, a deep seated understanding, that purpose, driving her, Silmeria out there somewhere, though in what shape and situation no one could say. Not even Brahms, the undead Lord knowledgeable about a great many things but only to a point, the future something that no one could know without having lived through it first.

She couldn’t help but grow dark, the future something that they were all fighting to still have. Tomorrow no longer guaranteed, there was no point in pressing forward to anything other than the chance that might save them all. No matter the personal cost, and Alicia had let this farce of happiness go on for too long! Abruptly, she pushed back, a pointed step taken away from Rufus. She couldn’t bear to watch his joy dashed by her hand, and yet there was nothing else she could do. No other choice to be made, Alicia bracing herself for the elf’s worst.

He comprehended the change in her immediately, acknowledging it with a question in those bright eyes. Her name was voiced with a desperate edge to the sound, Rufus making a move as though to follow her, and only her voice’s sharp insistence stopped the elf in his tracks.

“Don’t!”

It was both a command and a plea, a strained voiced entreaty that begged for so much. For his patience, for his tolerance and understanding, the princess not wanting to be bombarded further with the doubt and disbelief that was already making her decision hard enough. The bright color of his eyes growing dim, sank that hope with it, Alicia bracing herself against all of the elf’s desperation and anger, and even that of his love.

“Don’t make this any harder.”

His eyes narrowed at that, the green color of them so dark with his upset. “This is too important a decision to be anything but.” He countered. “Not when it’s your life, your very humanity, at stake here!”

“One person doesn’t out weigh the good of the many.” That point was one she firmly believed in, Alicia’s shaking her head with emphasis. “Be they God, human, or other...no one person is more important than that of the countless lives that could be saved.”

He seemed to flinch with that truth of hers, Rufus’ expression a grim glower that almost had the princess stepping back towards him. There was no amount of touch that would soothe him though, no words that could soften that expression, no promise that could be given save one. The one thing Alicia could not do, the young woman refusing to be selfish.

“You and I both know that.” She continued. Her tone was soft, but no less strong, Alicia trying to appeal to his empathy with the reminder. “We both had our entire lives nearly destroyed by the whims of ones who only cared about their own desires.” She had to fight to keep her own expression from darkening, thoughts of those ones, of Lezard and of Odin, springing to the forefront of her mind.

“I lost my entire kingdom, my family, because of one tyrant’s need to oppress all others with his rule.” continued Alicia. “Just as he tried to steal away your freedoms, your worth as a person, even ultimately your very life, all from his own cowardice and refusal to accept that the end comes to ALL.” Bitter was her smile then. “It’s just some of us get that fate meted out to us a lot SOONER than others.”

“Too soon for some.” Rufus grumbled, his expression near deadly with it’s seriousness. “And this is far too soon for YOU!”

“You don’t get to decide that. None of us do.” Alicia countered gently. “If it is my fate to die with this world, or to ultimately become a full fledged undead, so long as I do everything in my power that I am able, I can die secure in the knowledge that I had made every effort that I could to try and stave off the destruction of the nine realms.”

“What of peace?”

“That is one of my greatest wishes. For the people to be free and at peace….” She began, but Rufus interrupted her.

“It’s not that of the people I worry about, it’s YOURS.” Rufus’ eyes flashed with their angry intensity. “Are you able to say you’ll have peace should the worst really happen? Will you perish with a smile on your face with the knowledge you sacrificed everything to help a world that never gave a damn about you? About us?”

He had such a narrow view when it came to other people, the torture and abuse he had suffered at the hands of his eleven captors, coloring his world in such concise black and white. Rufus couldn’t see the gray areas, let alone the color all around them, so sure that people as a whole were either all good, or either all bad. The man tended to believe in the worst of everyone, his heart having been closed up for so long. It had taken time for his walls to come down, for him to stop being so cold and distrustful of others, and Rufus still had a great many steps to take before he could wholly believe the world with it’s all manner of people, worth saving.

“You can’t, can you?” Rufus’ question had made Alicia realize she had hesitated too long on her own private thoughts. “You won’t be at peace, and you won’t be happy...”

“Of course I won’t be!” Alicia snapped. “Few if any go to their deaths HAPPY about it.” Again she shook with her words. “I don’t need that level of happiness, that kind of peace, as long as I know that I TRIED!”

“Alicia!” He looked madder than ever, so frustrated by her heated response. “You...” He faltered as though the anger itself had stolen his voice.

“Rufus...” She still wouldn’t let him get any closer to her, Alicia needing the space to be able to think free of his pressure. “What kind of life do you think we are looking at here if we WERE to go after and actually get the cure?”

There was the rapid blink of his eyes, the question giving him pause. “A...”

“With the world as it is...with the rate of decay and no guarantee of any way to stop it...” She couldn’t finish that thought, closing her eyes briefly, then looking at him once more. “I do not want to spend what might be our last days fighting and angry with each other. Any more than I want to have to count down the time that is left to us of a fragile happiness that is ultimately FALSE! Even if cured, how can we possible live out the world’s last few days with such a delusion, with the people panicked, the land itself withering, Yggdrasil dying a slow death and taking ALL with it?”

Now she did step towards him, though it took every ounce of Alicia’s strength to guard against the effect his pain and misery had on HER. “We can’t.” She said, and moved as though to touch him. “There is NO future for us down this path...”

That look in his eyes gave way to a kind of helplessness, Rufus on some level acknowledging the truth of what the princess had said. “There...there’s no guarantee of a future down the other path either….”

“I know.” She couldn’t help sighing with that admission, that painful uncertainty its own undeniable truth. “There is some sliver of hope though….a chance of some kind, for the world and for US.”

He closed the distance between them, expression far too serious from what Alicia had grown accustomed to expecting from the man that she secretly loved. Gone was the mischievous twinkle, the slight curving of lips, the half elf cupping her cheek with a hand that was coarse and callous from an eternity spent working a bow. Rough though that touch felt, she still leaned into it, eager for the warmth and reverence conveyed in that caress.

“Us.” It was almost fierce, the way he repeated it, and there was a certainty to that as well. Her pulse beat with an excited hope all it’s own, Alicia daring to wonder if the elf had realized even half of what she had, when it came to the heart’s own soft emotions.

“Us...” A third saying to confirm it, Alicia almost shy as she peered up at him through thick lashes. “So long as I am capable of drawing breath….so long as my heart still beats...”

“And even after.” Rufus finished for her, and there it was. That teasing smile whose hint curved his lips upwards. “Arngrim and I are with you…”

She was grateful for the words, even as Alicia was confused by the mention of the warrior. “Arngrim?”

“He and I are the tangible proof that you don’t necessarily need a pulse or breath to try to change fate.”

“Ah….” She was otherwise silent at that explanation, but inside her thoughts were all a flutter at the reminder, none of her companions alive in the strictest sense of the word. They were the einherjar manifested, and there was the Lord of the Undead, and even Alicia soon wouldn’t be able to lay claim to life and humanity as she had known it. The princess was mostly at peace with that fate, but there existed a kernel of doubt inside her. The fear of what the full fledged change would do to her, the people it might make her hurt, and worst of all was the thought of becoming the kind of monster that Rufus might not accept.

Such a thought once borne, would worm its way deep inside her. The doubting voice that whispered in her head, a question she dare not ask out loud. Would Rufus still be able to love her, once Alicia’s transition was complete? And would there be any room inside HER for that soft emotion, for it and all of the good intentions she currently harbored? She didn’t know and that frightened her most of all, Alicia having seen both the good and the bad of the undead, and it was an unfortunate fact that most tended towards the latter. Would she be any different, or was her fate, her very nature already sealed? The princess just didn’t know, and the scared Alicia most of all.

His world continued it’s growth at a steady pace, the environs quick to adapt and evolve forth new challenges in it’s ever changing terrain. An extension of his will, of his whims and his desire, Lezard’s Creation put forth all it’s effort towards not only caging the quarry within, but pushing her to the absolute limits of strength and endurance. She wouldn’t stand a chance then, all hope of defiance lost, Lenneth giving in to the inevitable, to him, Lezard’s love and desire consuming her, setting them both ablaze with that mad passion that had motivated a great many impossibilities.

He had to bite back a laugh then, near giddy with the realization of it, with the power coursing through him, Lezard made God, the absolute ruler of it all. That strength inside him was a restless energy, tempered but not tamed by his world’s continuing evolution. He burned off the worst of it with that expenditure of strength, his creation coming alive as a direct manifestation of all that he desired, a time and a place that solely existed for love, stripped free of all burden and responsibilities of the outside world. This endless outcome a possibility made real through his own genius and manipulations, there was only one final conquest needed to cement his triumph firmly in place.

His world sought to deliver him just that, as though Creation itself was impatient for the joining together of their flesh. As new lands formed, and others shattered apart, those roads all inexplicably led Lenneth back to Lezard. With every step that his beloved Goddess took to distance herself from him, this newly made reality wrought only rounded it’s way back in on itself. So that even now he could hear her armored footfalls, that determined thump of her metal grieves slowing as though Lenneth too had realized the folly of her efforts.

His lips curved with his smile, Lezard having heard the exasperated sounding sigh that the Goddess had let out. The sound of her footsteps then stopped completely, as though Lenneth was contemplating what to do, on whether or not to press forward down the path this world prodded her towards. It was a sign of his patience, that Lezard waited just beyond reach, more curious than anything, over what her decision would settle on. That it took more than an hour for her to again resume moving, was telling, Lenneth ever this much closer to falling completely.

“I don’t mind that you continue to expend all your energy on this useless a pursuit.” He commented almost casually, the confidant cadence of his voice carrying easily to her. Those soft, uncertain footfalls, suddenly became angry, Lenneth doing an about turn, to come charging towards him. He stayed with his back to her, the newly made God counting down every step forward as just another minor victory on his part.

“You may run yourself ragged through the never ending course of my world, the outcome will always end the same.”

He sensed the movement behind him, felt all her tired anger and rage channeled into the swing of her arm. That blow went right through him, Lenneth stumbling forward only to be then caught by flesh that had gone solid. Locked into that embrace, the cobalt blue of her gaze, met the heated intensity of eyes that were colored an unusual shade of amethyst.

Such a dark myriad of emotion was in that gaze, all of his lust, his love and his desire made stronger with the need to dominate and to seduce, to coax forth her every response, willing or otherwise, Lezard ever so hungry for this and this woman alone. Lenneth the reason for his very being, the motivating force that had driven him to ever so new and inventive and ever so desperate lengths, she both empowered him and stripped Lezard of his self control.

He should step back to maintain some illusion of distance, to take back that fragile grip on restraint that had thus far kept the man from throwing the Goddess down. The lust inside him screamed otherwise, conflicting desires waging war at the right and wrong of that one step taken too far, Lezard still hoping, wanting that one bit of willingness given up freely from her. She wasn’t yet ready, he could see that by the anger of her expression, Lenneth tired but not broken, still ready to fight him to the last, bitter breath.

“How you torment me so.” The words practically moaned out of him, the Goddess fitfully struggling against him, only to go still with her disbelief.

“I torment YOU!?” She demanded with a snarled out hiss. “Am I not the one who as you so concisely put it, has been run ragged through this never ending obstacle course you call your twisted Creation!?”

“That all pales in comparison to a desire unrequited, a need gone unfulfilled.” He was maddeningly calm while she was so angry, Lezard casting a longing look at her. It encompassed her whole, touched upon her lips, stroked along her skin, and took note of the bedraggled state of her armor, the blue metal cracked and outright broken in some places, her skirt’s hem made frayed and tattered, the white of it splattered with dried blood and dirt. She was stunning all the same, perhaps made even lovelier with the marks left on her by the trials of his world.

“Then allow me to help put you out of your misery!” She had gotten an arm free of him, her hand slapping hard across his cheek. Powerful was that blow connecting on his skin, and so perverse was he, to have enjoyed it so, an excited moan escaping him, as Lezard urged her to do it again.

For one inexplicable second, the Goddess’ eyes had widened at that request. They then narrowed, his beloved downright haughty, as she refused him that satisfaction too. “Degenerate!”

“No, not that.” He corrected. “Just desperate for any touch of you, no matter how slight, or how angry, it may be.” The God didn’t imagine the fine shiver that went through her at that, no matter his beloved’s attempt to mask it with her fury, the Goddess was afraid. Made tired and vulnerable, and ever so wary, Lenneth a woman first and foremost, and one as prone to a female’s fear as any other.

That vulnerability the one thing all shared, be they mortal, Goddess, elf or any of the other hundred types of sentient beings out there, any woman would know to be on guard against a wolf so near. Especially one that had gone to the lengths that Lezard had, such extreme measures taken, the fantastical having happened, reality itself remade to accommodate his and only his desires.

Such absolute power, it and its undeniable nature, was a heady, potent mix, and made only more so when Lenneth was this near. His arms stayed at gripping her, the angry Goddess held fast against the solid length of him, and so exciting was this woman, with her flashing eyes and silver blue hair, that Lezard found himself moving to capture her lips with his.

For one split second, it seemed as though Lenneth would allow the kiss to happen. Her lips actually trembled, their mouths almost touching together in a most intimate of caress, and then her teeth were snapping at him, the woman ready to savage and bloody him for the attempt.

He just barely avoided the bite, Lezard lurching back. The process gave her leeway to struggle free, a metal booted foot slamming onto one of his, a hand that’s dainty appearance belied the strength contained within it, pushing at his chest. He grabbed at that hand’s wrist, use it to keep her from fleeing any further from him.

“There is a limit to even my patience.” He told her, his own eyes holding just a sliver of threat to them. He caught at her other hand, Lenneth again having tried to slap at the God, Lezard using his grip on her wrists to jerk her off balance against him. “Do tread carefully Lenneth, lest you learn that first hand...”

There it was, another fine tremor had went through her, regardless of the hate filled look that she gave him. It soothed the worst of his anger, Lezard wanting nothing more than to reach out and offer a comfort to her. To caress fingers over that smooth perfection that was her cheek, to feel the silken texture of her hair against his skin. Such things were sheer folly, an invitation to disaster of the worst kind, given how Lenneth was anything but receptive in the moment.

A deep breath expelled out of him, as though he was the one who had every reason to be exasperated here. Cobalt bright eyes glared at him in response, Lenneth so bothered by him and that sound. There was nothing Lezard could say, nor was there anything that he could try, that would make this easier on her. The God understood that, knew that she had to come to him on her own terms when it came to acceptance.

“I know you don’t want to hear it...” His tone was soft and gentle, the words like a whisper on the wind, this world gone quiet in an effort to hear them. “That doesn’t change the fact that I love you...or that everything I’ve done, EVERYTHING, has been for the sake of you.”

“Your idea of love is sick, you’ve twisted everything around, and for what? A woman who despises you? Who will spend the rest of our eternity hating you with her every breath?”

He refused to let Lenneth rile him up that way, Lezard instead giving a slow nod. “What is love, if not a sickness? An affliction of the heart? If my feelings really are an illness, then there is only one cure for this madness.”

“There is no hope for one such as you.” She retorted. “The only solace I can give a sinner like you, is the complete and utter destruction of your soul!”

“That you’ve done and more.” countered Lezard. “You’ve ruined me, Lenneth. From that first moment of awareness, to every encounter after, thoughts of you have consumed me, waking or dreaming, I have lived, breathed, even died for you.”

“Nonsense!”

“Is it? Is it really?” He challenged her. “You drive me, Lenneth. You are the fuel to the fire of the flames inside me, the motivating force that allowed me to achieve so much...I’ve a whole legacy created because of my obsession for you.”

“You’ve a legacy of corpses, whole worlds ruined in the name of your pursuit.” She shook her head almost violently so. “Do not try to pin your misdeeds on me!”

“If I am the miscreant, then you yourself are the very sin that led me down this path of blasphemy.” A crooked smile was then given, Lezard speaking with a certain finality to his thread of thought. “You are the embodiment of everything that has ever mattered...those feelings that you inspire, the very foundation of who I was meant to be. I LOVE you, Lenneth. I have from that first time, and I will throughout all of eternity.”

“No...”

“Yes.” Such a simple sounding word, but it was insistent. “It’s the truth that you don’t want to admit to knowing, the fact you can no more change than you can ultimately deny it. I love you, I’ve always loved you, and I always will…” His grip on her wrists had turned harsh, Lezard leaning in to breathe in her scent, that of her nerves and of the perspiration that had come from all of the Goddess’ endless efforts to escape him.

“You don’t love, you LUST!”

“Lust and love go hand in hand with what I feel for you. My lust may want you for my bed, but my love isn’t satisfied with that alone. I’ll have your body and I’ll have your heart, each and every last bit of you will belong to me as thoroughly as every part of me is YOURS!”

“Never!” She all but spat in his face, Lenneth shaking and jerking free of him. “Never do you hear me?! I’ll never belong to you! Nothing you can say, nothing you can do, will change that! No matter how much you violate me and the laws of nature...”

“What laws!? Odin’s? Yours!?” Lezard scoffed with a rude sound. “Those laws and the God who made them, are no more, the world and its rules rewritten. Those taboos no longer matter, no longer exist, the only will made possible that of the absolute entity, a new world born with a new power to rule it!”

He advanced on her with that, watching as Lenneth made angry but empty fists, that sword of hers having long been lost ages ago. “That strength is mine, this world and it’s creatures at my beck and call, I am the being who bends a knee to no one, NO ONE!”

His tirade had her hit against a marble column, Lenneth giving a startled sound to find the solid surface suddenly behind her, and it was yet another manifestation of HIS will, this world again trying to hand deliver Lenneth to him. It even went so far, as to start growing thick vines of green, the strands creeping steadily toward her, as though intent on binding her in place before him.

She didn’t make it easy. For it or for him, Lenneth kicking and thrashing out her legs and swinging her arms, the vines tearing in the process. Such violence only inspired more to grow, the vines coming faster and made even stronger, all in this world’s attempt to catch at her, until the Goddess was at last so thoroughly tangled up. Caught as she now was, there was little recourse left to her save to glare absolute murder at him.

“Lenneth.” He tried to stroke her cheek with his gloved fingers, but was bit for the attempt. She tore through the leather and the skin, might have bit down to the bone if Lezard hadn’t snatched his hand away.

The wound itself wasn’t of concern, the power contained within him accelerating with a burst of healing ether, the damage undone, not even a sliver of scar to hint at what Lenneth’s teeth had just done.

She was still bound up by the vines, and shaking violent with every squirming attempt to break free. Her eyes maintained the glare, though there was a speck of wary worry contained amid that hate, as though Lenneth herself realized her actions had been a step too far. No flimsy apologies, or feeble attempts at excuses were offered, the Goddess defiant and surely bracing herself for what she thought he’d do.

It was almost admirable, that bold way that she continued to challenge him. The remembered sting of her teeth tearing into his flesh made it less so, Lezard fighting a surge of anger. “It’s all right.” He said out loud, that reassurance as much for his sake as it was for hers. “It’s all right if you’re not ready. For now I can love enough for the both of us...”

To Be Continued….

Hmm….maybe I’ll add more to the end of this chapter. I don’t know. Having one of those moments where I ended on a line simply cause everything else that tried to follow it, didn’t feel right. Maybe it’s just cause I am sleepy at this point...I don’t know.

With thanks to Huntress for talking and giving me feedback on snippets and concerns, even though she hasn’t had time to read the existing chapters yet. You really helped hon, even if you try to deny it. The Rufus Alicia scene would still be stalled, if not for the talks we had about it!

Also special thanks to my friend Paige, who decided to read this, even though she’s never played the VP games. You gave me that extra push of motivation and excitement, to get back to work trying to finish my Rufus Alicia scene...so that I could get to the Lezard Lenneth one!

The RuAli scene mostly tripped me up on dialogue. Had the opening part with Alicia’s internal thoughts done, and then stalled a long while on how to write out the actual dialogue. Didn’t want them fighting too bad about what should be done. Ended up real happy with the scene...even if I sorta forgot Arngrim was trying to sleep during all this, sheepish Ooopsie!

----Michelle

#valkyrie profile #fanfiction #fanfic #Triumph's Tribulations #Rufus #princess alicia #lenneth valkyrie #lezard valeth

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justlurkingintheshadows · 5 years

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The true evil of RWBY

We all know Salem is meant to be the big bad and Ozpin (who we now know as Ozma but will be referred to as Oz to make like easier) is the one meant to be the good guy, tasked with destroying her, however I find him to be questionable, in fact volume 5 kept lowering my opinion of him ever further. My friend and I like to roleplay and make more of a character out of characters, you'd expect us to have Oz as a good guy and Salem as a bad guy but actually it's quite the opposite, Salem is generally our favourite character, she's a fierce beauty and we know barely anything about her (or at least before V6 we knew nothing but hooray for lore) we've come up with our own headcanons, we usually see her as a fair boss or loving mom, and Ozpin barely has a second thought, maybe sometimes we've thought of him as an ex love, or the opposite side to her but really we don't think about him much, reason being because we don't particularly like him, don't get me wrong he has a great character but like I said, I find him questionable and I'll tell you why in just a moment. Chapter 3 of Volume 6 showed us exactly what happened over a thousand years ago with the Gods of Light and Darkness and Salem and Ozma and answered a lot of our questions, but it got me thinking about who the real villian is, of course it's Salem but when you break down the four characters you begin to realise it's not all black and white...

The Gods

So we finally got to meet the brothers we've heard of only in stories by a campfire. The God of Light (GoL) and the God of Darkness (GoD) are two new interesting characters we had the misfortune of meeting, and yes it is misfortune. Good ol' GoL denied Salem of her love, refusing to bring him back, that's fair, and GoD brought him back but later destroyed him when he found out he was Salem's second choice after his brother, that's also fair, except he brought him back without question in the first place, likely appreciating that someone actually came to see him (but I won't get into the precious GoD headcanon). For her actions Salem was cursed by GoL with immortality, and told she must learn the importance of life, and this turned out to be the biggest mistake he ever made and you'll see why in a bit.

Upon Salem's betrayal GoD destroys THE ENTIRE planet, instead of simply taking away all magic (Salem's too), or condemning Salem to external purgatory, or literally anything else, instead he just decides to effectively Thanos snap the entire planet because one bitch did a thing, thousands of completely innocent lives, gallant warriors, and dutiful worshippers gone in a second, and GoL just let's it happen like yep this is completely acceptable. I understand the idea was to punish Salem with a failure so big that there is no possible way she would ever be able to undo it but they still kept Salem there... With hope that she could change and see the importance of life... But if there is no life how can she learn it's importance...

And then there's the fact they just up and abandoned that entire planet, then destroyed the moon as a f*** you, because there was no need for that really.

If you thought the world was a lost cause why not wipe the slate clean and start anew, why would you ever trust humans to set aside their differences and unite themselves, humans are incapable I mean look at our Earth for example, there will always be something they find to cause conflict, and everyone will never get along, it's impossible, and how can there be any good without the bad to balance it, there was likely conflict even with the Gods there so what hope is there without them... Well actually I believe that hope was Oz and Salem...

Salem

Now sure Salem was an arrogant demanding bitch when Ozma died and she called the Gods monsters for taking him away from her again and again even though they were probably just trying to keep the natural balance of life and death in check, and I know she kinda rallied the humans to try to take down the Gods but really... It's not that bad. I know that sounds insane but hear me out, her punishment could have been a lot worse, and she could have found another way, I mean she could certainly take her time to come up with a plan that's for sure. She got punished with eternal life, now for some that would be a blessing, getting to live forever, never having to fear death, and of course watching everyone you've ever loved fade away around you as their lives come to an end and yours keeps on going... doesn't sound too fun actually... But this was her punishment for betraying the Gods, and she had to learn her lesson, learn the importance of life, you'd think with eternal life that would be a synch... WRONG, the worst thing you could ask of an immortal being is to learn about the importance of life, what does life mean to someone who never dies? It means that no matter what mortals will come and go but you will stay forever as you are, you're guaranteed to outlive anyone and everyone you meet, losing people constantly, it makes you bitter, so you isolate yourself to avoid getting attached and losing them as you know you will again and again, and you become detached, mortal beings have no place in your life because they can never match you, especially when you have magic and they have nothing, why should you care about them when you are in every way superior, you even control their deepest fears (since Salem is basically Queen Grimm thanks to GoD's Grimm pits), and Ozma's own curse makes learning her lesson even worse, he's the only person she loved, and he is cursed to die and be reborn, into a different body, the only death she would care about is his, and if he keeps coming back even as a different person death eventually doesn't bother her, Oz will always come back, and that's a constant so why should mortal death matter when it's not the person she loves. On top of that she is definitely affected by the Grimm desire to destroy things, so she can never be 100% held accountable for her actions after she fell into the pit.

But the biggest point is - Salem was right.

Her suggestion that they forget about the Gods and become their own Gods was sound, sure the gods helped them but it's not like people knew of that now, the Gods abandoned them when their experiment failed and left the saving of the planet to the guy who knew the person to spark all this... Oz and Salem were beings of infinite potential, one can never die, the other will always be ressurected, and both have magic, a thing which no one possesses anymore, following them would be wise, they could have led the humans to a new kind of salvation. Now of course destroying those who don't comply is a little extreme but if Oz talked to her then he could have let her see that there was no need, why force people to follow you when they'll do so of their own accord, and if they don't believe then that's their loss, it's not like they could actually DO anything about it... They couldn't take the two out, they'd always exist, and they have superior power and displayed mastery over using their gifts to destroy Grimm, seriously why wouldn't you want to join their side!

I'm not excusing things she did I'm just saying she was right, and things would be incredibly different in the present had Ozma just talked to her, which brings me smoothly over to him...

Ozma

The glorious Oz, originally Ozma, we know him best as Ozpin, and now as Ozcar, but of course based off the wizard of Oz who was at the end of the story a big fat fraud... Huh... his roots don't seem to really work in his favour...

"Blessed" by the God of Light to experience death in every form and to join with another's soul to be reborn in a cycle that will last for eternity. Really it's more of a curse, dying over and over and over and over and over again doesn't seem too fun, but boy did he come to learn the importance of life because surprise if you have to experience death and live in another's shoes you really start to appreciate what it means to live. No wonder Salem will never learn her lesson, the Gods didn't do her any favours... the same Gods who abandoned their people because their "experiment" failed... and left the saving of the entirety of mankind to one guy just because he knew the person who basically "caused" everything... Whom the Gods created by providing eternal life... because he died and she wanted back but the Gods wouldn't allow it... and their solution was to have her live forever and eventually bring him back to her anyway and have him always be reborn... Seems they contradict themselves too...

Anyway point being Oz didn't seem to have things in his favour from the start, and it only got worse from there...

Turns out Oz has ALWAYS had that issue about not telling people things, it seems his most constant flaw that even thousands of years of dying and taking host of a new body couldn't fix, I mean I understand him to an extent but right at the beginning he didn't tell Salem about GoL's conversation with him straight away, and when he did he kinda just left it at that and didn't talk any more about it... And Salem didn't even seem to really mind (her eyes white showing she was in control and chill), that is she didn't mind until he tried to leave with their kids (eyes turned black with Grimm anger) and the fact he had to have his weapon didn't help him - I'm still not excusing what Salem did though, but they both killed their kids, caught in the crossfire, fatalities of the destruction they both caused.

Before I skip to Ozpin and Ozcar I have a gentle reminder here for you, this revelation came to me when I saw a post about how Ozpin has made more mistakes than everyone combined and one being the fact he had sex with Salem... A Grimm Salem... Multiple times (the exact wording being "Putting my dick in /that/ for starters") however that appendage wasn't his own, you forget at that point he had been shoved into a random guys body and immediately took over and controlled his every action, we know he had barely any care for his vessel or "host" (if we want to start the whole Oz is a virus rant) at the beginning because Jinn tells us that after his fight with Salem he EVENTUALLY learned to live in harmony with the soul who's body he shared... after ruining the lives of a countless many... we also know or rather assume he only suppresses the other soul rather than takes over completely as learned from Ozcar (and potentially Ozpin too), which means there was a suppressed and confused other soul wondering what was going on and being forced to take a back seat watching Ozma do whatever he wanted in a body that didn't belong to him, I can't imagine him actually being ok with this random and extreme series of events, this man watched as Oz made a family with Salem without even a fleeting thought for the man's own family that he no doubt had... And then Oz got this man killed in an unnecessary battle... what a glorious hero...

Anyway grazing over the numerous lives Oz ruined and all the other sh!t he no doubt did that brings us to Ozpin, though we know fairly little we know enough to say that he has a bad habit of doing things like playing the pronoun game, providing half truths, and of course not telling anyone what they actually need to know - "You have silver eyes" yes she does... What about them? (Hype for getting that answer this volume) - he fails to inform people of what matters, preferring to leave that until later when people have already died (including himself, so he is now Ozcar) and people are desperate... Except oh wait sorry he doesn't even tell you then, he holds back mostly everything with the excuse that you don't need to know, and even when he 'tells you everything' you STILL find out he was holding something back... Classic Oz I guess

Now we're on Ozcar and you see that he has a second bad habit of taking over control forcefully, he hasn't learned harmony with the other soul at all, this given how he's lived for the past thousand or so years shows that he hasn't changed, sure he may be 'better' than he was before but he still very much has not changed. Even when he and Oscar apparently talked about that he took over anyway in an attempt to prevent people learning about something he didn't tell them (shocker) except this time the vessel fought back (something I doubt many if any have done before)

All in all he is an extremely questionable character with even more questionable motives.

But as much as it may seem like I'm dragging him through the dirt I won't deny the achievements he HAS managed, the academies for one major thing, it really helped out the world and there'd be a lot more fear and chaos had he not intervened in such a major way, doesn't explain why he likes to throw kids off of cliffs or any of that but still, I'm sure he has his reasons, don't expect him to tell you them though.

He truly has made more mistakes than any man, woman, and child on the planet...

~~~~~~~~

When you really take a look at everything you begin to realise that the Gods kinda set them both up to fail, whether they knew it or not, imagine how different things would have been had a single thing gone differently, and how easily things could have changed

~~~~~~~~

And thus concludes this post, I hope I didn't miss anything (but if I did then oops)

Now I don't know about you but I would totally go up to Salem and tell her she was right, if Tyrian doesn't murder me the immediate second I show up, I've been leaning towards her side more and more since Oz pulled that sketchy move of controlling Oscar without permission (though I do realise death was a possibility it was still sketch) at least she doesn't build your hopes up only for you to discover they're lies, she seems like she'd tell you what's up. But that's just how I've committed think of her I suppose, she is an amazing and beautiful character, who we still don't know all too much about even with this lore... I really hope this means we get more backstories for more villians, I want to see a baby Tyrian.

But I digress.

#rwby #rwby volume 6 #salem #ozma #ozpin #ozcar #oscar #gods of light and darkness #rwby villians #rwby lore #please don't hate me

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desi-renity · 3 years

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As we experience a gloomy and stormy weather this month I decided to draw and create a short piece on something that is silently mutterring in my mind. Something that is being well kept by the humans under the hidden box for decades and something that we must open while the clock still ticking at its consciousness. And it is the mother earth or simply environment which we call our "own". Our own that is unfortunately stolen by our own action.

Having a great and greeny environment reflects our self identity, we act as we think we should but does our actions make a good justifiable move in the environment we claim as our home?

We already know what is the expected answer. As human there's an infinite need and wants that I think will always linger in our mind and the only one who can provide it is the environment we live on. And humans will always run in something that they want no matter what it may cost. Thus, it falls under the conscious act of being an "abuser". Exploiting, destroying, damaging, and abusing are the verbs that are still rampant in the environment . As we decide to act according on what we want to show towards the environment or in our mother nature it reflects how we truly are and how awful we are.

And I hope there are still days, years or even just a ticking time to change and rebuild our destroyed environment by starting in our selves, being responsible, gentle and kind towards the living and unliving things in the environment makes the gray shade green and even greener if we want. And I think self-improvement mirrored the ideology for a good and healthy environment that we truly desire. And that's how the definition of a truly human are.

________________________

Tears of the unspoken guardian of the forest.

-🌱-

When she began to lived, she adapted and survived in the environment she started to call "home". Majority of her basic survival needs came from the forest. As all of the human invested their time to list down the things that they needed, wanted and desired , the ambiance of the forest started to feel anxious and its spirit began to trembled. As the guardian of forest knows what are the real intentions of the human. Humans started to vandalised , destroyed and teared down the beauty of the forest. They were aware on what their hands had done yet they were merciless and blindness was voluntarily taped on their eyes as they continue to play an abuser in the green scenic. And as the guardian of the forest started to cry in despised and hatred against the human, the massive weight of tears began to fell under their roof, winds were unforgiveable as it forcefully slapped on each corner of their home. And waves splashed endlessly until they were trapped against the devastating atmosphere. The guardian felt the betrayal as she knew before human are warm, kind, and merciful and yet they choose to be someone they are trully not. Someone that are not humane.

______________________

Peace, light and hope were unknown as the tears of the guardian continue to flow under the merciless human.

And a question was asked.

Are you truly humane?

#self improvement #environment

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moonsandstar-s · 7 years

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The Final Warning - Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVII - Shackled to Silver

Summary: As the year draws to a close, peace has finally dawned. The time for unity has arrived. In the Vytal festival, it is time for heroes to rise, bringing glory to their kingdoms. But as autumn dies, the first winds of winter blow over Remnant, chilling the hearts of the people; breathing doubt into their souls. Long-buried secrets will triumph, and every action will have a consequence. Ruby must reconcile herself with her own fate. Weiss struggles to escape her legacy. Blake cannot erase memories. Yang’s search leads her into more peril than ever— but none of them can outrun fate. Shadows turn on shadows, and bonds shatter as they are tested to the limit. For in dividing them, they will fall and burn; at the eye of the storm, no peace lasts forever. In the end and beginning of time, there is a place where the sun never rises, and the dead delight to teach the living. A great danger is rising from the darkness. It’s time to take sides. The final warning is coming. The first chill of winter is the most deadly; it is the chill that kills more than any other. The first betrayal is the most damaging; it is the act that shatters bonds of love and trust, crushing even the strongest heart, tearing teams apart. AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7745314/chapters/22506284 Ruby

She was drifting alone in darkness, completely alone, save for the faintest golden light shimmering far, far ahead of her. She could remember nothing, not even her name, just that she was… here. Alone. Unbound. Wherever this was, this aimless place, in the peaceful, undulating dark that did not ask anything of her. She just existed, untethered and floating, allowing oblivion to rock her to peace.

But the golden light ahead of her beckoned suddenly, calling her name, forcing her to pause and put her thoughts into actual being. She wasn’t supposed to be here! She was needed elsewhere, and she knew it dimly. She was needed back in the world of light… no, that wasn’t right. She was needed awake. She had a name. She had a body. She was— she was—

The thought escaped her, leaving her frustrated and weak, and she sank back into the calming shadows. Who was she? Why did she need to leave her warm, sheltered darkness?

The light shimmered brighter, as if irritated at such a question. Urgency flooded her, pushing away the engulfing shadows. She knew she had go back, but… the call of the darkness was seductive, promising nothing but inky oblivion. That sounded like a welcome relief, after what had happened. She remembered pain, a pain so intense that it had nearly torn her body to shreds. And she could remember grief so great that it had shattered her heart. She didn’t want to feel that again. She didn’t want to risk that pain.

The faintest shadow of agony fell across her awareness as she looked at the golden light, making her recoil. She wasn’t willing to experience the grief that consciousness brought, and she knew that being in the light could bring hurt. Being awake and aware of yourself could hurt, because you opened yourself up to emotions, and those could be violent and agonizing. Inside and out, in the mind and on the body. She just wanted to succumb to this peaceful, warm blackness.

But it beckoned more insistently, refusing to take no for an answer. She had to go back to the light. Had to go back to being alive. I am Ruby Rose, she thought.

Shrinking inwardly, she reached for the light, bright whiteness enveloping her, her head pulsing with an agonizing pressure, and she

burst back into consciousness like shooting up from the depths of the ocean to the surface, light dazzling her eyes, a throbbing, dull pain spreading through her body as she blinked once, twice, and her surroundings swam into sharp focus.

Fairy lights. Scarlet pillows. Quilted sheets. Sunlight streaming through the window onto golden floorboards. Her head feeling as though someone had driven a railroad spike through it. A dusty mirror, reflecting a pale, wan girl with chunks of scarlet, dark hair going every which way. A messy bookshelf lined with Grimm figurines. A chair across from her with a figure, slumped over in fitful sleep. And her mouth, tasting as though something had crawled within it and died.

The latter was the thing to kick her back into full wakefulness, and she opened her mouth once or twice experimentally, grimacing at the taste. At the movement, the pain in her head became more insistent, pushing at the edges of her skull and making her eyes throb, vision going double for a moment. A bright pang of white— no, silver— crossed the edges of her vision, and she let out a tiny groan of pain. It was this that made the figure across from her, sleeping in the chair, jolt upright as if he had been touched with a taser.

“Dad?” she whispered.

“You’re awake!” he yelped, and she shrank back with a flinch.

“Not so loud, please…”

“Right, right, of course. I’m sorry.” He half-fell, half-jumped out of his chair, going to his knees by her side, and looking at her with wide, worried blue eyes. “I just… I can’t believe you’re awake. I was…” She noticed his eyes suddenly fill with tears. “I was so worried, Rubes. We all were.”

She smiled weakly as he gently pushed the hair out from her eyes, his hands infinitely gentle. “I’m okay, Dad.” She studied him, drinking in the unique comfort that only a parent’s presence could bring. The last time she’d seen Tai, he had been bringing them— her whole team— back from Patch, and they had been laughing and talking after leaving Summer’s grave. She’d never imagined reuniting under these circumstances, and tears welled in her eyes, brimming over and streaking silently down her cheeks.

He let out a choked laugh and wiped them away. “Only you would say you were okay after taking a brush with death. Scratch that— not a brush, you smacked right into death, punched it, and came out okay.”

“I know it.” She groaned and settled back against the mound of pillows propping her up. “I feel awful.”

“Anybody would,” he said, looking guarded all of a sudden, “after what happened to you.”

She blinked, casting back in her mind’s eye for the memories of the Fall of Beacon. She remembered watching Penny die, jumping off the side of the airship, hopping onto Torchwick’s, killing him and Neo, seeing how Fox and Neon had died, Yang lying unconscious in the courtyard, kissing Weiss, streaking up the side of the Tower, and then nothing at all, except a dull, static-sort of buzz.

One event stuck out in her mind more than the others, and she felt cold under all the sheets. She looked away from her father, hoping he attributed the sudden flush in her cheeks to fever, or something. She could think about Weiss, and what had happened, later. Another, far more urgent question, pressed on her mind. “Dad… is Yang… is she okay? Is she here?”

His gaze darkened. “She’s… back here, yes. One of your friends was with her on the airship— Sun, I think— and helped her back home, a couple hours after the battle ended. She’s… alive, and conscious, but in what mental state, I… I can’t say. I do know that she’s furious at… at everything, Ruby, and rightly so, with the whole ‘leaving-without-a-word’ thing, since that reopens some old wounds… but you know that already.” It was one of the first times Ruby could recall him voluntarily bringing up Raven, and she absorbed it in a silent, stunned state. They never talked about Yang’s mom. Their family was screwed-up in its own special way, but the family they had now— her, Yang, Tai, and Qrow— was what they held close, and they didn’t bring up the things that had happened in the past. Except, it seemed, now things were all different. Nothing was the same when the world had been spun on its axis, and her reality was twisted into pieces. “Ruby,” Taiyang coaxed, his tone soft with worry, “say something.”

“Why isn’t she in here?” Ruby wavered. “This is our room, we— we share it, and I… is she…?”

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of her bed. “She asked to be in the guest room,” he murmured. “She won’t talk to me… won’t talk to anyone about what happened to her. She hasn’t spoken in days.”

Ruby’s world spun, and she swayed, feeling her father reach over to steady her. “Oh no,” she mumbled. “Oh, Yang.”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Taiyang said. “She’s… it’s pretty bad. I’ve… I’ve never seen her like this before.”

“How is she?”

“Angry,” he said, a muscle flickering in his clenched jaw. She got the feeling he was angry— not at his daughters, but at the world itself, really. Angry that he hadn’t been able to save either of the women he loved, and now, he hadn’t been able to protect either of their daughters. “Closed-off. She won’t let anyone go near her. She’s been sitting alone in her room for the past three days.”

Ruby’s eyes bugged out. “I’ve been out that long?”

He nodded. “Three days in which I got absolutely no sleep, I’ll have you know. Not a wink of it.” He gave her a wavering smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But you’re awake now, which is… more than I’d hoped for, I’ll admit. I love you, Ruby. I was so scared you wouldn’t be the same when you woke, but I’m glad to see you’re fine.”

“And you said Sun brought Yang back here,” Ruby said, fighting off a wave of exhaustion that surged up inside of her. She was determined not to succumb to the seductive promise of rest until she knew what had happened while she was unconscious. “Where did he go?”

“He went back to explore the town around central Patch until they can get him an airship back to Mistral. He said he didn’t want to stay here, not if Yang didn’t want him to, and I don’t blame him. Things have been… tense around the house. It’s all just really— chaotic right now, Rubes. It’s the aftermath of one of the worst attacks in Remnant’s history, next to the Great War… things are going to be messy for a while.”

“Isn’t it always?”

Ruby and Taiyang both looked up as a rough voice broke into their silence. Her eyes widened, sending a fresh bolt of pain through her skull, as she saw that it was her uncle. He leaned against the doorframe, his face looking more haggard than ever, the bags under his eyes very starkly pronounced, the shadow of a beard all along his jawline. “They’re always messy,” he said again. “We should be used to it, shouldn’t we?

He was rolling something between his hands, almost absent-mindedly; Ruby doubted if he was even aware he was doing it. With a jolt of mild surprise, she realized it she recognized it: slender, silver, emblazoned with an curlicued pattern of budding leaves: Ozpin’s cane.

“Where did you—” She began, and then broke off as she saw Qrow and Taiyang exchange a glance that she was very familiar with, having grown up under her uncle’s tutelage and her father’s guidance. Tai and Qrow had both been her parents after Summer’s passing, really, and with Qrow in and out of the house so much, they had developed a nonverbal communication that she’d quickly picked up on. She recognized that look: it was the one that said, How much do we tell her?

“What?” she said, her voice sharp. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, tucking away the cane under his cape with a furrowed look of grief, and straightening up. “Tai, you ought to go check up on Yang. I passed her room. Make sure she eats something, doesn’t matter what, as long as you get something in her. She’s looking gaunt.”

“She hasn’t been eating in days,” Taiyang said, but he obliged, lumbering to his feet. “But I’ll try to feed her. I'll see if I can get her talking. Did you talk to her?"

"She's the last person I'd want to talk to," he replied, his voice heavy, "among some others."

"You're probably right about that." Taiyang's expression shadowed. "I'll go see her."

“Be gentle. Don't press her. She’s taking everything that happened hardest.” There was an undercurrent of despair in his voice, along with an unspoken something that she could see flash in his eyes when he said ‘everything that happened’. “I’ll… talk to Ruby.”

Taiyang flashed him another look— this one was an expression Ruby often saw them exchange, one that said: be careful— before he leaned down, dropping a kiss on the top of her hair before striding out. “I’m glad you’re okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, the relief stark in his voice.

Of course he’s relieved, a needling voice, in the back of her mind, whispered. After Summer, he would be worried.

“I am too,” she said hoarsely.

“I’ll make you some cookies and milk,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder, before exiting, gently swinging the door shut behind him.

“Hey, little rose,” Qrow murmured, drawing her attention back to him as he walked forward and brought Taiyang’s chair around, sitting in it backward, so that his folded arms rested on the arching back of it. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone backed over me with a Bullhead, reversed it, and backed over me again,” she croaked. “I ache all over.”

He let out a soft snort of amusement. “At least you haven’t changed after what you did,” he said, red gaze clouding over. “I was worried about that.”

“What?” she said. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He blinked at her, an expression of wariness abruptly erasing the relief on his face. “Do you… what do you remember, Ruby? Tell me everything you can recall from the Fall; don’t leave anything out.”

She shivered, suddenly cold despite the mound of blankets she was buried under. “I… I remember Penny dying in the arena.” A fresh wave of grief swept over her. “I remember killing Torchwick and Neo… and that Fox and Neon died… and Yang’s arm… and— I remember Ironwood’s ship crashing in flames—”

“I wouldn’t worry about him; Ironwood’s alright,” Qrow said with a half-smile that curled crookedly on his face, “if you can believe it. His thick skin saved him. Old Metalskull’s survived worse than a ship crash, and he’s safe— back in Atlas, with the remnants of his military intact there.”

Ruby felt a pang of relief. “I remember… fighting in the courtyard.” I remember Weiss telling me she loved me, she thought privately, but he didn’t really need to know that, did he? She could think about it later, sort out how, exactly, she felt after everything that had happened. “I remember going up the side of the Tower, and… and…”

With a sudden shock, the static-cloud of fuzziness that had engulfed her mind and blocked out her memories lifted, letting them come back into her mind’s eye in full color, full pain, full sight. They flashed through her mind in quick succession, and she sank back against her pillows, assaulted by what she had forgotten and what she knew she would never, never be able to forget from this point forwards. A mixture of shame, at having forgotten, and sheer misery, swirled through her.

Cinder, her amber eyes alight in triumph. Pyrrha, an arrow protruding from her chest. The world going whiter than a star into supernova…

“What happened, Uncle Qrow?” she demanded. “What happened to them after I—”

Qrow’s gaze lowered and slid away as he saw the look on her face, and that was all the answer Ruby needed. “They’re dead, Ruby,” he said roughly. “Both of them.”

Hot, angry tears welled up on the rims of her eyelids. “I was too late,” she snarled, more furious at herself than anything, but her fury, she knew, was just misery and guilt by another name. “Too late to save Pyrrha. If I had just been quicker, I could have—”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped. “Don’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done to make sure everything turned out perfectly. Life doesn’t work out that way. You damn near killed yourself with what you did, Ruby, and you killed Cinder with it. She would have wrought much more havoc if unleashed after she defeated Pyrrha; you kept that from happening, kept even more of your friends from dying if Cinder hadn’t been stopped. You saved Vale, you hear me? No sacrifices on that night were in vain, thanks to you. Not your peers who died, not Pyrrha,” and here let out a pained huff of breath, fingers running across the back of the chair, “and not Ozpin.”

“How?”

The lines on his face more strained and pronounced than ever in the pale winter sunlight, he looked up at her though his ragged hair. “You’ll have to be more specific. How ‘what’, exactly?”

“I remember seeing Cinder k—kill Pyrrha,” she said slowly, taking a shuddering breath, “but I… I can’t remember anything after that, just… the whole world going white, and my head hurting, like it was about to burst…”

“Ah,” he murmured, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “Ah, so you do remember… I was hoping…”

“Hoping what?”

Silver eyes met red, deep pain reflected in both. “It’s a long story, Ruby,” he replied wearily, “a long legend, in fact, and it’s definitely not a pretty little fairytale, once you look at its implications, even if it seems nice enough at first. It’s filled with pain, and uncertainty, and it is a story that connects to you in ways you don’t know yet, ways that have been determining your future since the moment you were born— and ultimately, it’s a story I should have told you a long, long time ago.

“This is the right time, I guess, where it’s all culminated into the unavoidable. It’s a tale that you’ve known bits and pieces of throughout the span of your life, things that have been hinted at to you, but I’ll try to fill in the gaps between those bits of knowledge so it all makes sense, like a puzzle finally being completed. If you want to hear them, that is.” He frowned. “I’ll warn you: once you hear it, your old life, your old worries… those will seem miniscule. You’ll be thrust onto a path that will seem dark, and shadowed, and terrifying… but you have light to get you through it, now. Ruby, you’re strong. Stronger than you give yourself credit before. But everything changed the night Beacon fell, and whether you like it or not, we’ve got to change with it, or we won’t survive.”

“Don’t treat me like a little baby.” She glared at him, annoyed at the grating pain in his voice. “If I lived, as Dad said, ‘smacking into death’, I think I can handle a little story.”

“I see you haven’t lost any of your acid wit,” he said, rising from his chair and meandering towards the window, “that’s good. But it’s not a little story at all. And it doesn’t have a happy ending, not really. The first is a story Ozpin told me, one from a very long time ago.”

“You and Ozpin were close, weren’t you?” she asked. “Did you— I’m sorry, Uncle Qrow. I wasn’t… I didn’t know him very well… but he reminded me of you. He reminded me of you a lot. He was kind, and he was smart. I’ll never forget him for how he encouraged me to succeed.”

“Yes,” Qrow said finally, his voice hoarse. “He wanted you to succeed, Ruby. He was proud of you, in some ways. I think he’d be proud of you now. But he died trying to stop Cinder. I don’t know when the end came for him. But I remember how he would fight like all of the Huntsmen in the world, for what he believed in. That’s how I’ll always remember him.” He stared out the window, his back to her, but she could faintly see his face in the glass, and his eyes closed in pain at her words, hands gripping the windowsill as if he were afraid to fall. Pity engulfed her at his expression. She had only ever seen Qrow look so wrecked, so torn apart by grief, one time many years ago. On the day he had brought back the news about Summer. “I was… close to him. As close as one could be to someone like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, uncertain of how to comfort him.

I’ve known— I knew,” he corrected himself, voice ragged, “I knew him a long, long time.” He paused, weighing his next words. “Longer than your parents, even.”

“That’s years and years you’ve known him… at least two decades, right? Is that why you have his cane? To remember?”

He turned to stare at her, his gaze hard— not quite menacing, but something in there let her know that further questions in that direction would not be welcome. “Remembering isn’t always easy,” Qrow said very quietly, “as you’ve just seen. It can be painful to remember. But we always have to learn from memories, you see, and with what’s happened… Ozpin is gone. He sacrificed himself to buy Vale time, just as your friend did. It seems we both have a responsibility: to make sure they aren’t forgotten, or that their sacrifices aren’t taken for granted.”

Ruby flinched. “Tell me the story,” she murmured.

He glanced at her thoughtfully. “When you first applied for Beacon— or rather, when you were ambushed by Torchwick and met Glynda— you met Ozpin, didn’t you? He took you and talked to you, and accepted you to Beacon. Even though you were only fifteen years old, and the strict age to enter was seventeen years old. Glynda was more dubious about it. But Ozpin was eager to let you in. So eager he overruled her immediately without a word of protest. He didn’t have a single qualm about breaking his rules like that, just for some random fifteen year old girl. Isn’t that all correct?”

“Hey, wait a second!” she burst out, sitting bolt upright and ignoring the spike of pain it induced in her head. “How could you possibly know that?”

He grinned broadly at that, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “If you had looked out the window of his office, you’d have seen a sharp-eyed crow listening in on your conversation that night. I heard everything, and I’m sure he knew I was there.”

“You used your semblance to eavesdrop on us,” she accused him, crossing her arms mutinously and sitting back. “That’s—”

“Eavesdrop is such an ugly word, don’t you think?” he mused. “I prefer gather potentially valuable information. That’s much better.”

“That’s four words, Uncle Qrow.”

“Doesn’t matter. In any case, it paid off. He knew I was there, so he laid off easy on you, and gave you entry to the school at fifteen— virtually unheard of around these parts.” He whisked around, cape swirling out behind him, and directed a piercing stare her way. “Regardless of the circumstances, do you truly believe Ozpin let you into the school— a prestigious academy; takes incredible skills to be granted entry— because you beat up a few half-trained goons with faulty guns, and ran off a cowardly thief who would have fled, regardless of whether you were there or not? Or that he let you in— you, a simple fifteen year old girl— simply because you were my niece, and I was listening in?”

“You know, I thought so at first,” she answered honestly, “but now that you’re asking me… no, I don’t think so.”

“You’re right.” He paused, running a hand over the bristles on his chin. “He wouldn’t have accepted you to Beacon, two years below the age-limit as you were, simply because you were somewhat talented with swinging around a scythe and you had a uncle who was pals with the headmaster. He’d have let you finish up at Signal, and then apply to Beacon, if that were the case. So what do you think it was?”

Deciding to let the comment about being somewhat talented slide, she narrowed her eyes in confusion at him. “I— I don’t— I don’t know why. That’s all there was that was noticeable about me, surely…?” There was a realization burning the back of her mind, malleable and unformed, and she did not want to reach for it, terrified of what it might reveal when it shaped into fully-realized form.

“The night you met him,” Qrow said darkly, “he told you something. The very first words, if you would. What were they?”

She frowned, suddenly feeling chilled, and cast back into her memory. Everything about that time was stark, tattooed in her mind forever, because it had been one of best nights of her life. She remembered the headmaster’s kindly face, Glynda looking disapproving, and then with a mild pang of satisfaction, she pulled the words out of memory’s clutch. “He said… he said I had silver eyes. I thought he… well, I don’t know. I guess he was just trying to make conversation.”

Qrow rolled his eyes. “Or because he thought you were odd-looking?”

“You have got to stop guessing my thoughts like that.”

He didn’t look amused. “He didn’t mention them for any trite reason, or because he wanted to make small talk,” Qrow informed her. “He was commenting on them to discreetly let me know that he knew who you were, and whose daughter you were, as well. Oz knew Summer Rose. She was a student there too, after all. He was also caught off-guard— now, that doesn’t happen often, let me tell you. Oz is— was— a hard man to surprise.” He swallowed, his eyes darkening with grief. “I am about to tell you a legend, Ruby, and you have to let me finish it through to its end, no matter how many questions you have. Above all, you have to believe it, every word of it. I swear by anything you hold sacred that nothing I say following these words is anything but the truth.”

“O— okay,” she stammered, startled by the sudden sharp edge of solemnity in his voice.

“You’re special, Ruby,” he said quietly, but his words sounded eerily loud in the silence that followed. “Not special in the ‘daddy-loves-his-little-angel’ sort of way. You’re special in the same way your mom was.”

She blinked at him, puzzled, but mostly— afraid. There was an expression on his face that she’d never seen before, one that mixed equal parts relief and anxiety, fear and grief.

Qrow continued, pacing the room. “Back in the dawn of Remnant, when the world was misty and half-formed, as you know, there was Dust. Man was born from Dust, which you’re also aware of. And out of this mist that covered Remnant, four things emerged, each with a different purpose to which they would work to achieve their means: to create, to destroy, to bring forth light, and to fight back the shadows which constantly threatened Remnant.

“These were four things brimming with the energy of life when Remnant was but an infant world. Can you guess what they were, Ruby?”

“Mankind,” she said slowly, turning the words over in her mouth before she spoke them, “and… and the Faunus also count with mankind, I guess… and Dust… and the Grimm. I don’t know what the fourth is, Uncle.”

“I don’t expect you to know.” He paused, the edge of his mouth curling down in a deep frown. His words had the ring of a tale told many, many times, and she had a striking vision of Ozpin telling him this same story. “So I’ll tell you. Mankind and the Faunus were born to create, with their self-awareness, ingenuity, and endurance. The Grimm were made to destroy everything mankind created, so that humanity would never become arrogant and presume what they made was meant to last forever, and so that they would know how fragile life truly was, and what a gift it was to be able to do what they were able to do. The Grimm also were made so Hunters could come about, but that’s another story for another day. And Dust was made to bring forth light to Remnant. This is why we return to Dust when we die, so our bodies may become part of an unending cycle to light the world.”

“You said there were four,” she said. “Mankind and Faunus were intended to create, Grimm to destroy, Dust to make light, and another— one to ‘fight back the shadows that threatened’. Who was meant to do that?”

“There was a special breed of warrior, different from everything around it— different from man, Grimm, and Dust,” he said softly. “This breed of warrior was different, you see, because it was alike everything else in some way. It owed its connections to the other three from which it had been born alongside. This special breed of warrior had the soul and mercy of mankind and Faunus— had the energy and light of Dust— and the strength and endurance of the Grimm. These warriors were the fourth thing made at the dawn of Remnant, intended to banish the shadows from the world. They were the perfect Hunter, designed to beat back the Grimm and protect that which was good.

“These warriors were all marked by one single, pointed trait: only they had them; only them, and no one else. Anybody with this trait was a warrior.” He looked at her fiercely.

She knew what he was going to say a second before he said it, and with an awful pang, she was not at all surprised as he looked directly at her, and said, “The one thing these warriors all had in common, Ruby, was that they had silver eyes.”

As if in answer, her eyes gave a pulse— not of pain, but of a sudden awareness, as if someone she loved, and had not seen in a very long time, had called her name. A warm glow suffused her body, and as if his words had unlocked something within her, she became sharply aware of several things pulsing inside of her: her soul, her mercy, her energy, her light, her strength, her endurance, and the capability she had to use it to whatever terms she wanted: to darkness, or to light.

“Oh,” she murmured, voice very quiet. "You mean... I... I'm not...?"

“It’s a lot to take in,” he said, “but it’s true. These warriors, you see, were made to kill the Grimm, as you can guess. Because Grimm were soulless creatures of malice, of darkness, drawn to negativity. The warriors were light, with souls, intended to protect mankind and the Faunus.”

“And you think I’m…?” She trailed off faintly, vaguely wiggling a hand to indicate the sheer scope of the thing, and he quirked a smile at her.

“Well, take a look in the mirror, and consider this… you killed a Grimm, larger than the likes of any regular beast, in one blow, and you shattered a woman who was able to kill two of the strongest warriors on Remnant— and you’re here, safe in bed, with the worst to happen to you being a mild headache and a three-day… well, a coma. But you’re alive.” He paused. “You’re alive, Ruby. You walked to the brink of death, and came back… and there are four other people who did not do the same. Were it not for your heritage, we would have lost you. You would be another casualty mark along with your other peers who were murdered, and we would not be having this conversation.”

“I remember it now, really,” she said. “I remember seeing what happened, and a pressure building inside my head, and then white light— it felt like fire, so cold it was hot— just bursting out of my eyes, and then I must have blacked out. I— I don’t remember anything at all after that.”

“Black out you did,” Qrow told her quietly. “I found you amid the rubble at the top of the Tower. Everything up there was shattered, and frost covered it all. The coldness of that light stopped the Grimm’s heart, and it was so devastating in itself that it killed Cinder the moment it touched her. Hell, you almost killed yourself with that blast. Unlocking the power expended so much of your energy that it exhausted all of it, and had to draw on the reserves of your spirit itself. If you’d unleashed even the slightest bit more of the power, you would be dead. I’m not telling you this to scare you, Ruby,” he added gently, forestalling her protestation as she opened her mouth, “but you have to know how big this is. And that you mustn’t underestimate it, or yourself.”

She gaped at him, the importance of his little speech finally clicking. “So I’ve got this power,” she said, her voice slowly increasing in volume, “a huge power, one you and Dad— don’t tell me he doesn’t know; you would’ve told him right off, because my mom had it too— knew about my entire life, and neither of you thought to tell me about it?”

“Ruby—”

“You lied to me my entire life,” she hissed. “My. Entire. Life. You made me think I was someone I wasn’t, and now you’ve only told me the truth when it’s unavoidable. Who does that? What kind of a parent hides that sort of secret from their own child?”

“You aren’t my child by blood,” he said levelly, “regardless of whether I’m a parental figure to you or not. I don’t morally owe you that sort of honesty. If you asked me to prioritize your feelings, or your safety, I would prioritize your safety every time. Believe me when I say this: knowing about your power would not have helped you, Ruby. In the long run, it would have caused you far more hurt than harm. You would have been isolated, separated by the unescapable knowledge that you were fundamentally different than everyone else.”

“You lied, Qrow,” she repeated, her voice cold. “Both you, and my dad.”

“We did,” he said steadily, and somehow that soothed her anger more than protestation or or explanations or excuses would have. “There’s no excuse for it. We lied. And I’m sorry for it, I’m sorry that that’s how things had to go, but they did, and nothing I say or do will change that. But you know now. You know what you are. There’s no other secrets. No other hidden truths. I’ve told you everything— everything I know, everything Tai knows, everything Ozpin told me.”

“Promise?” she whispered.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he replied, and the honesty flickering through his eyes made her believe him more than anything. Suddenly exhausted, she sank back against the pillows, before a sudden thought struck her so fast it felt like she had been brained with Magnhild.

“Where’s my team?”

“Your team,” he said hoarsely, turning around as if he’d been expecting it. An expression of guilt and sadness crossed his face as he inhaled a deep breath, cheeks hollowing out. “I… you shouldn’t worry about it right now. You need to rest, not learn more after everything I’ve just told you—”

“I’m their leader,” she said sharply. “I have a right to know. And it’s more than that. I care about them— so much, Uncle Qrow. Weiss is my partner, I— Yang’s my sister, and Blake’s one of my best friends in this whole world… I can’t not know. I need to know, whether it’s good or bad or—”

“It’s not good news, Ruby,” he whispered.

Her heart sinking, she blinked at him, and with a soft swear, he jammed his hands into his pockets and turned his back to her, unable to look her in the eye. “Vincent Schnee has legally sworn his daughter back into the manor at Atlas,” he said. “She’s gone. She can’t come back, not without breaking the law, and I don’t think that’s something she would dare to do.”

Forcing out the next words, though her heart was shattering in her chest, Ruby asked, “And Blake?”

“That Faunus boy, Sun… he says she vanished after the last of the airships took off from Beacon,” he said. “She disappeared into the wilderness beyond the Tower, and efforts to track her down have proved fruitless. No one’s seen her since.”

“But Yang,” Ruby said desperately, her voice very small, grasping at any shard of hope she could find, “Yang would have… she would have been able to track her down… their Bond… wouldn’t she? We could still…”

Qrow scrubbed his face with both hands, his tired voice emitting from between his fingers. “Yang,” he said quietly, “has shut down her Bond, and she refuses to speak to either me, or your father, about what happened to her three nights ago. Blake, for better or for worse, is gone, and unless she comes back voluntarily, I would advise you to… bid your goodbyes. Without the CCT, there’s no chance of tracking her down, and with the attitude in Vale right now, I’d say we had a better chance of flying to the moon then of reaching her.”

“How is Yang?” Ruby asked, afraid of the answer. “Dad said she’s… not okay. At all.”

“I won’t lie to you. That’s the understatement of the century.” He paused, raking a tired hand through his hair and disheveling it further. “Well, she’s finally reached her breaking point. The toll from being framed at the tournament, being abandoned by both her mother and her partner, losing her arm, losing her fighting style, losing her team, losing her whole world that she was used to all in one strike…” He shook her head. “Tai is losing sleep over it, but what can I say? It’s not unexpected. Everyone’s got a point where they just can’t bounce back. Everyone’s got a tipping point, when it’s too much, and you go over the edge. Nobody is unbreakable. Some of us just break a little more easily than others, that’s all. She’s endured so much— I’m just surprised that this is what it took to make her give up. You can try to talk to her if you want, but… be gentle. She’s not in a good state of mind right now.”

Ruby covered her face with her hands, complete despair and failure making her stomach sink. She felt desperate to return to the darkness of oblivion, where nothing troubled her— not missing teammates or injured sisters or latent powers, but she would never do so again. This was reality, and she had to face it.

She peered up at him through a haze of confusion, fear humming through her whole body. “Qrow…”

He blinked down at her. “Yeah?”

“I— what happens now?”

He looked bemused, and then bewildered, and then simply lost. “I don’t know, Ruby,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I… I really don’t know.”

“I want answers,” she forced out through gritted teeth. “Why Cinder attacked Beacon, why Roman did, why Pyrrha had to die— I need to know, or I’ll never make peace with it. I’ll never be able to make peace with what happened! Emerald and Cinder were my friends, and they betrayed me. I can’t be okay with that without answers and explanations, don’t you get it?”

He inclined his head. “Cinder and her crew— they claimed they were from Haven, if you remember,” he said. “I can’t hold you back anymore, you know, and I wouldn’t want to. You’ve grown. Perhaps, if it is answers you seek, that is where you might find them.” He nodded to her slightly before bowing out of the room, and his last words came in softly, just before the door clicked shut. “I’ll see you out there, Ruby.”

She laid there after he left, her entire body aching from the effects of what her incredible power had done, letting the icy chill run through her veins, numbing her from the inside out. The aftermath had finally sunken in, truly, and for all she had pretended to be okay when Taiyang and Qrow had been around, she wasn’t okay in any sense of the word. She abdicated her sense of calm, letting everything rush through her, all her pain and fear and confusion, relinquished the control and let it crash through her with the force of a tidal wave.

Two of her friends were gone, they were dead, they had been erased entirely, and part of her wished for the same. The entire Fall of Beacon and what had happened afterward had broken her down, bit by bit, piece by piece. Everything she knew was a lie. Her mother wasn’t just her mother, but the wielder of the same power that had almost destroyed Ruby atop the Tower; her sister was not the light sister she knew anymore, but someone calcified in regret; her friends were dead; her team was gone; and she had killed three people remorselessly. There was no such thing as happy endings, not even if you tried as hard as you could, not even if you made up for your wrongs, not even if you redeemed yourself. There was nothing but pain and betrayal and loss, in the end, whether it was caused by fate or destiny or some other power she could barely imagine. Everything she knew and believed had been wrong, had been shattered entirely, every attempt she had undertaken to save those she loved had been a failure seeped in lies, every choice she had made had caused things to grow worse.

There was nothing left to do. All her life, she had always had a path forward, even when things seemed terrible. When her mother had died, Ruby had seen her path as becoming a Huntress. When Yang had been framed, Ruby had known that she had to lead her team with confidence and certainty. When Beacon had begun to fall, Ruby knew she had to try and kill Torchwick. But now, she could see nothing, no options left, no path forward, nothing lying in wait except a deep, unending darkness that promised nothing but pain and fear.

There was nothing left for her here, or Beacon, or anywhere in the whole world. That was abundantly clear. Weiss was someplace Ruby could never reach her, Blake was missing entirely, and Yang was— mentally— somewhere more distant than the stars. Ruby lay there, and let memories overwhelm her, running over her head like waves, and she let the world fade away as she succumbed to the silver that had been coloring her life in ways she had never noticed before.

She creeps down the hallway on barefoot, sticky toes, the floorboards creaking slightly and bending with her weight. She flinches. It’s not far to the kitchen, and once she’s there, she can nab as many of her father’s snickerdoodle cookies as she wants, and abduct them to her and Yang’s room for them to share. Her sister won’t be mad; she’s sure of it. No one can say no to her dad’s baking. She’s just got to make it past the slightly ajar door of her parents’ bedroom—

“We won’t be able to hide it from her forever,” Taiyang’s voice says suddenly, floating out from the door. Ruby freezes in the shadows edging the hallway, pressing her back to the wall, and hopes that he won’t emerge from the room and spot her. “Summer, you know that we won’t. Qrow says it’s only a matter of time, but Ozpin says we’ve got to wait—”

“And since when, pray tell, have Qrow and Ozpin ever agreed on anything, hmm? They’re like an old married couple; they bicker all the time, and you know it. Except they lack the rings and the relationship.”

He sighs heavily, and Ruby leans forward, despite herself, curious as to what they’re talking about. She’s never heard her dad sound so tired— and, for all the world, defeated. He’s usually vibrant, always ready to play a game or tell them a story. “It’s not funny. I’ve never trusted him, but this is something I can’t help but worry about.”

“Him, or Qrow?”

“Either of them. Oz has always been… secretive, to say the least, and Qrow… sometimes I get the idea that he’s content to follow Ozpin’s lead in prioritizing ‘the greater good’ more than he is to look out for the best interests of his family and team.”

“Tai, they’re both good people, despite whatever they do. Remember that. I know you’re worried about her— believe me, I’ve been worried since the day she opened her eyes. I’ve never wanted her to endure what I have, with something she can’t help, that lures her intro trouble like moths to a flame… but really, there’s nothing we can do in the end.” Summer’s voice becomes fierce. “I won’t let my daughter’s memories be marred by us burdening her with what she can barely understand, do you hear me? She has the right to a normal childhood, just as much as Yang does, and I won’t let that be taken away from her, no matter what.”

Ruby surfaced from the memory, her heart beating loud in her chest, memories twining together and connecting and revealing her past in a new, frightening light. She had been marked out, outcast, from the moment she opened her eyes. From the moment she murdered three.

Alone, she thought. I am completely, absolutely alone now.

And so, alone in her room with the wavering winter sunlight striping across her childhood bed, Ruby finally allowed herself to cry.

#Ruby Rose #Summer Rose #Qrow Branwen #Taiyang Xiao Long #whiterose #white rose #Weiss Schnee #Bumbleby #Blake Belladonna #Yang Xiao Long #Cinder fall #Pyrrha Nikos #my writing #the final warning #RWBY #RWBY V3

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beverlyfdole · 6 years

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78 Inspiring Love Quotes

Today is Valentine’s Day.

So I would like to share thoughts about love from the people who have walked this earth before us (and from a few who are still here).

Timeless thoughts written down and spread throughout the decades, centuries and, yes, even millenniums.

Thoughts not only about happy, romantic love but also the love between friends and family. And about the love that is often neglected or pushed to the side: the love you have for yourself.

This is 78 of the most inspiring, touching, thought-provoking and helpful quotes on love.

“Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.” — James Baldwin

“Love yourself first and everything else falls into line. You really have to love yourself to get anything done in this world.” — Lucille Ball

“Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue, a wonderful living side by side can grow, if they succeed in loving the distance between them which makes it possible for each to see the other whole against the sky.” — Rainer Maria Rilke

“The most important thing in life is to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in.” — Morrie Schwartz

“Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.” — Lord Byron

“If I know what love is, it is because of you.” — Herman Hesse

“I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you.” — Roy Croft

“Love is a friendship set to music.” — Joseph Campbell

“We are shaped and fashioned by what we love.” — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“When we are in love we seem to ourselves quite different from what we were before.” — Blaise Pascal

“Love in its essence is spiritual fire.” — Seneca

“The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.” — Gilbert K. Chesterton

“It takes courage to love, but pain through love is the purifying fire which those who love generously know. We all know people who are so much afraid of pain that they shut themselves up like clams in a shell and, giving out nothing, receive nothing and therefore shrink until life is a mere living death.” — Eleanor Roosevelt

“Don’t brood. Get on with living and loving. You don’t have forever.” — Leo Buscaglia

“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.” — Maya Angelou

“There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved.” — George Sand

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” — Rumi

“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart and the senses.” — Lao Tzu

“You know it’s love when all you want is that person to be happy, even if you’re not part of their happiness.” — Julia Roberts

“At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.” — Plato

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you… I could walk through my garden forever.” — Alfred Tennyson

“When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive – to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.” — Marcus Aurelius

“The best and most beautiful things in this world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart.” — Helen Keller

“Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.” — Oscar Wilde

“The only thing we never get enough of is love; and the only thing we never give enough of is love.” — Henry Miller

“Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.” — Oprah Winfrey

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” – Buddha

“You know you’re in love when you don’t want to fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” — Dr. Seuss

“Life without love is like a tree without blossoms or fruit.” — Khalil Gibran

“’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” — Alfred Lord Tennyson

“Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well.” — Vincent Van Gogh

“The art of love is largely the art of persistence.” — Albert Ellis

“If you would be loved, love, and be loveable.” — Benjamin Franklin

“When you adopt the viewpoint that there is nothing that exists that is not part of you, that there is no one who exists who is not part of you, that any judgment you make is self-judgment, that any criticism you level is self-criticism, you will wisely extend to yourself an unconditional love that will be the light of the world.” – Harry Palmer

“Friends show their love in times of trouble, not in happiness.” — Euripides

“Love does not dominate; it cultivates.” — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused.” — Paulo Coelho

“I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.” — Martin Luther King, Jr.

“A healthy self-love means we have no compulsion to justify to ourselves or others why we take vacations, why we sleep late, why we buy new shoes, why we spoil ourselves from time to time. We feel comfortable doing things which add quality and beauty to life.” – Andrew Matthews

“We are most alive when we’re in love.” — John Updike

“The love we give away is the only love we keep.” — Elbert Hubbard

“The giving of love is an education in itself.” — Eleanor Roosevelt

“The more one judges, the less one loves.” — Honore de Balzac

“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.” — Pablo Neruda

“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity and an understanding of life that fills them with compassions, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.” – Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

“A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.” — Ingrid Bergman

“You’re always with yourself, so you might as well enjoy the company.” — Diane Von Furstenberg

“Immature love says: ‘I love you because I need you.’ Mature love says ‘I need you because I love you.’” — Erich Fromm

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” — Lao Tzu

“One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: That word is love.” — Sophocles

“The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see in truth that you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” — Kahlil Gibran

“Love is when you meet someone who tells you something new about yourself.” — Andre Breton

“Better to have lost and loved than never to have loved at all.” — Ernest Hemingway

“A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.” — Elbert Hubbard

“I found in my research that the biggest reason people aren’t more self-compassionate is that they are afraid they’ll become self-indulgent. They believe self-criticism is what keeps them in line. Most people have gotten it wrong because our culture says being hard on yourself is the way to be.” — Kristen Neff

“Love is a better teacher than duty.” — Albert Einstein

“True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked.” — Erich Segal

“If you aren’t good at loving yourself, you will have a difficult time loving anyone, since you’ll resent the time and energy you give another person that you aren’t even giving to yourself.” – Barbara De Angelis

“The greatest healing therapy is friendship and love.” — Hubert H. Humphrey

“Every person has to love at least one bad partner in their lives to be truly thankful for the right one.” — Unknown

“There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” – Anaïs Nin

“Love is what you’ve been through with somebody.” — James Thurber

“The best proof of love is trust.” — Joyce Brothers

“A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea.” — Honore de Balzac

“When I loved myself enough, I began leaving whatever wasn’t healthy. This meant people, jobs, my own beliefs and habits – anything that kept me small. My judgment called it disloyal. Now I see it as self-loving.” – Kim McMillen

“A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself.” — Josh Billings

“For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love.” — Carl Sagan

“Fortune and love favor the brave.” — Ovid

“To love is nothing. To be loved is something. But to love and be loved, that’s everything.” — T. Tolis

“Love is not only something you feel, it is something you do.” — David Wilkerson

“Loving people live in a loving world. Hostile people live in a hostile world. Same world.” — Wayne Dyer

“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.” — Anaïs Nin

“Where there is love there is life.” — Mahatma Gandhi

“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.” — Robert A. Heinlein

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” — Martin Luther King Jr.

“And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make.” — Paul McCartney

“If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.” — A. A. Milne

“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.” — Charles Schulz

What is your favorite quote on love? Feel free to share the best one(s) you have found in this article or in your own life in the comments section below.

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rebustein94-blog · 7 years

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Wanting to Believe

You know, nobody can really explain the Marfa lights. Nobody can tell for sure why they appear on the horizon almost every night or what they are. They remain, in fact, one of America’s last great unsolved mysteries. These flickering bursts of color against the dark. Orange, green, white, red. Just there, against the hills. And they’re so simple, you’d think somebody would have gotten it by now. But no. Quite the opposite, actually. Marfa revels in how vast and unexplained their night sky is.

Which maybe they should.

See, one night in 1883, a man was riding along outside what is now Marfa, Texas. He saw, up on the hill, strange lights flickering. He figured they were campfires, and when he later found out they weren’t, it blew his mind. He told someone else, and it blew their mind, too, I guess. That second guy told someone else, I assume, and on and on and now we’ve got this entire viewing platform a few miles outside Marfa, built exclusively for tourists to stand and watch the skies after the sun has set. In the hopes that they, too, will experience the unexplained.

And people have. People do. Thousands of people have reported seeing these lights.

When I walked up onto the platform last night, the thing was packed with people. The sun had just tucked itself under the horizon, leaving behind bright pink streaks above us. I was there for over an hour, and by the time I left, the pink had curled away into the night. A spiderweb of clouds remained, and large patches of stars blazed through them.

Did you know that all the stars we can see only make up, like, a single percentage of our galaxy? Which in turn only takes up a pinhead-drop amount of space in a wall-less room? Is just one of infinite galaxies, surrounding infinite stars? And that the universe is actually still expanding from the original Big Bang, meaning more pinheads are being created all the time, and that almost none of it has been discovered or explored?

Did you know that?

Anyway, there were the stars and me and a lot of other people, waiting for the UFOs or whatever to appear. A large group of elderly was off to my left, further down the platform. They were led by a hunched and waddling crow of a woman, who squawked and shouted every word she said.

“There they are!” she hollered, pointing off to our right.

Not about to miss anything, everyone on the platform followed her finger. Whether they were in her crew or not. Sure enough, four orange dots glimmered on the hill. A fifth blinked red next to them.

“Five of ‘em. Ya see?!” She moved between the members of her group, poking them and thrusting her claw at the hills. “Over there! One, two, three, four, five!”

For a minute, I was speechless. I mean, there they were. I’ll be damned.

But the red one blinked on, then off, then on again too regularly. And, kind of all at once, everyone on the platform realized it was just a radio tower. Except the Crow.

“I never in mah life,” she said. “You can’t say that’s not real.”

“Oh, sure,” said her companions. “I see ‘em. Of course.”

“Unbelievable!”

“Mmhm.”

“Little white and orange ones. Ya see? They ain’t campfires.”

“Wow, yes. Indeed. Mm.”

And, slowly but surely, it dawned on me that the orange and white lights were cars on a highway.

But the Crow continued to waddle around, shouting about the strange ghosts in the hills. Trying to take everyone’s breath away. After a while, a man who had been standing next to me, wearing a baseball cap and a thick mustache, looked at the ground. He rubbed the toes of his boots into the dirt. Sniffed. Calmly, he strode over to the woman. He approached her, cleared his throat

“Ma’am?” he drawled. “That’s a...highway over there. Those are cars.”

“But there wouldn’t have been a highway there in 1883,” she protested. “The man who saw the lights wouldn’t have seen that.”

“That’s...true.” The man scratched his head. “Um. But there is one now.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said quickly. He gave her a little nod, and sauntered off, head low.

She was quiet for some time. The lights kept dancing, miles away. Just as her group was leaving, she said softly, “But they ain’t moved. Cars’d be movin’. Those lights is still...”

Another group replaced the pack of elderly. They were all Texans except for a couple from Colorado, who had come to visit some relatives. The Colorado couple kept pointing to things and trying to believe them.

“I think I saw a flash of green,” the woman said.

“So hard to tell,” said the man, sounding sad.

By that time, the sun was really gone and everyone had abandoned the right side of the view, where the highway apparently was. Now, all eyes were pointed left where, if you looked fast enough, you could catch glimmers of green. I’ll admit, I saw a streak of white shooting down into the valley that I can’t explain. I’ll carry that with me, silently. But other than that...

“You know me,” some guy in the new group was saying. “I don’t believe in anything. Ghosts, creatures. UFOs. But I like to see ‘em. You know. See if--”

“There!” The Colorado woman shot up a hand. “I saw a little... Did you see it?”

They all leaned forward, hushed.

“Could have been a satellite,” someone whispered. “But I don’t know...”

“I didn’t see it,” said the guy who didn’t believe in anything. But there was a bend to his voice. Something in him that clearly gave in and made him squint into the darkness just as hard as everyone else.

Nobody said anything for a few moments. Just watching.

The nonbeliever broke the silence. “Y’all ready to go?”

And, with a collective sigh, they left.

Personally, I didn’t see anything. Except maybe a white streak.

You know, I was thinking about Santa Claus while I was out there on the platform. My mother tells me that, in third grade, I ruined Santa for one of my friends who didn’t Know. Whatever memory I had of this has burnt up and drifted away, so I just have to take her word for it. Third grade was the year I found out, so maybe I needed to shove my anger and betrayal onto someone else. Or maybe I felt superior. Or I just felt bad they didn’t Know.

Either way, even after I Knew, and everybody Knew, it didn’t really seem to matter. Because the next year, they did this complicated calculation on the news on Christmas Eve to figure out how long it takes Santa to travel around the whole world in a single night.

Why would they do that if they knew he wasn’t real?

***

The night after the lights, I was leaving from the train station in Alpine, which is about twenty miles east of Marfa. When I got there, I could hear mariachi music coming from somewhere around the back, by the tracks. As I rounded the corner, I came upon a large cluster of people, all milling about, listening to a three-person band and eating donuts.

“Well,” I thought, surprised.

Feeling oddly invisible and out of place, I wove my way through the crowd. I sat on the curb. Plopped my bags down next to me. And that was about the time I realized nobody else there had bags.

“Well,” I thought.

A woman standing nearby honed in on me. She leaned over. “Bet you’re glad you’re traveling today, huh?”

“What’s going on?” I asked. I felt like maybe I was about to be sacrificed to the train. Or swept up in a colony of traveling swingers. I don’t know.

“There’s a gallery inside,” the woman explained vaguely.

“Oh, cool,” I said, wanting our interaction to be over so that I could be confused by myself.

I didn’t see where the guy came from, which makes this story even better, I think. As far as I’m concerned, he strode up with sure feet and tall pride out of the very dust of the desert and a forgotten time. He was taller than I am. Wore khakis and cowboy boots and a bright blue Amtrak jacket. Brilliant green aviators hid his eyes. And he had this perfect, hypnotic Texas drawl.

In any case, he appeared next to me.

“Where you goin’ to?” he asked.

“El Paso.” I was still squatting on the curb, and staring up at him.

He nodded solemnly. “Good place.” He looked around at all the people. “I spose you’re wonderin’ what’s goin’ on here today?”

“You know, it crossed my mind.”

“Well.” He hitched up his pants. “You got three groups of people here. One is travelers. Two is people who work with Amtrak.”

He never explained the third.

“See, we’re trying to expand this line,” he continued. “You can get to anywhere from Alpine. People don’t realize that. It’s an important stop. You got New Orleans. Los Angel-ees. Chicago. We’re petitioning to get the line to come through here more often. So they just refinished the station here. As a kind of incentive. What they’re most proud of is the bathrooms.”

“So today’s the grand opening?”

“In a sense.” He licked his lips. Raised his eyebrows. “We got donuts inside.”

I figured it was probably time to stand up. So I did, and slapped the dust off my thighs. Talking up at him had been staring to make me feel off-balance and small.

“I heard,” I said, “that this new national budget proposal is getting rid of the long-distance lines. Is that just a whisper on the wind, or...?”

His face went blank. He gazed over my shoulder down the tracks.

“Yeah,” he said sadly. “They try this every five years or so. But our governor always stops it from happening. We’ve had tons of men from around here--in Alpine-- in DC. And they keep us alive. But...we’re not as strong as we used to be, you know. And now, we’ll be hanging on for dear life for the next few years.” His voice got very low at the end. He shrugged. Stared off into the distance for a moment. Just as I was about to say something, his aviators snapped back to me. “How long were you here for?”

“Just a few days. I saw the Marfa lights last night. Or...didn’t.”

He put his hands behind his back. Nodded thoughtfully.

“Have you seen them?” I asked.

“I think they’re an optical illusion,” he said confidentially. “I seen green and red flashes. Don’t know what it is. But I don’t think its aliens.”

“No?”

“Well, why the hell would they be hanging around Marfa, Texas for over a hundred years?!”

And he laughed a low, gentle laugh.

Just then, a new light came from down the tracks. Blinding against the mid-morning sun.

“Ahh,” he breathed. He turned to everyone standing around the station. Cupped his hands and called, “Train’s comin’!”

There was a rush of excitement. Everyone went up to the railing against the tracks and leaned over. I followed their gaze. That bright white spot was coming towards us, moving in quickly from the east.

“This never gets old,” the man murmured to me. His voice was wistful and faraway. “I feel like I’m in an MGM movie. With the music... Just beautiful.”

As the train thrummed into the station, everyone had their phones out. They snapped pictures and waved to the conductor. In the heat and wind of the engine, the man I had been talking to stood with one boot poised on the curb. His hands folded neatly, elbow resting against the railing. He smiled lightly, and looked, for all the world, filled with the ancient, instinctive grace of the frontier. Which was beautiful, and almost sad.

As I was getting onto the train, I looked for him among the beaming, pride-bursting Amtrak employees. But he was gone.

As we churned our way out of Alpine, I saw a massive, shining pile of car bumpers in someone’s backyard, right up along the tracks. As I watched, a long, lean man, smoking a cigarette, tossed another bumper onto the pile. A young boy stood next to him. The man clapped his hands together. He took the cigarette from his mouth and, slowly, held it out to the boy. The boy took it. The train moved on, and they vanished. Left behind in the debris and dirt of their life in Alpine.

I really don’t know why I would have told my friend about Santa Claus before he deserved to Know.

(El Paso, TX)

#marfa #ufo #tourism #alpine #texas #amtrak #magic #carl

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elesianne · 7 years

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A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter two

Chapter 2 summary: As times turn darker it becomes ever more difficult to see the good in one another.

Story summary: Curufinwë and his wife burn as one flame, but when darkness creeps in nothing is left but embers and then ashes. A study of the disintegration of one marriage among the downfall of the Noldor as a people.

Tag-type thingies (for the whole story): relationships: Curufin/Canonical wife, as well as various family relationships; some keywords: darkening of Valinor, flight of the Noldor, married couple, love, heartbreak, angst, hurt/comfort, then just hurt, sucks to be Celebrimbor

Warnings (for the whole story): Some sexual content, references to violence, emotional distress and cruelty, canonical major character death(s). Also: so much angst, excessive metaphors about fire and light. Rating: I rate this story as Mature to be on the safe side. I chose it because of the general dark mood of the story; sex and violence is very shortly described, nothing graphic.

(Also posted on AO3, DeviantArt and FF.net because I’m overly thorough.)

Chapter notes: This chapter turned out very long but then again, this period wasn't just a year or two, it lasted decades.

Another thing to keep in mind when reading this: while Tolkien kept changing his mind about whether or how the elves had weapons before they came to Valinor, it was clear in all his versions that they led a very peaceful life once they got there, and weapons and fighting (apart from hunting) were not a part of it before Melkor spoke to the Noldor.

Chapter II // Flickering flame

Disagreeing with her husband about the Valar is painful for Netyarë, but even harder is what follows those rebellious murmurings because it touches her more closely. The lack of love that Fëanáro has always had for his half-siblings and for Nolofinwë in particular becomes an enmity and a strife within the House of Finwë, the extended family she married into. Suspicions and jealousies are aroused in both Fëanáro and Nolofinwë, and cordial relations between others, too, become frayed.

The friendships between Maitimo and Findecáno, Tyelcormo and Irissë are sorely tried when their fathers become ever more bitter towards each other and all of Tirion is divided into factions. Nerdanel has always got along well with Indis, and Fëanáro has just about tolerated this; now this friendly relationship becomes yet another cause of argument between Fëanáro and Nerdanel, for she refuses to give it up for his sake.

For Netyarë, all interactions with her husband's family, which used to be easy and pleasant, become fraught with danger of missteps and outbursts.

And Curufinwë suffers terribly from the dissension between his parents, since he loves them both and does not want to choose, and now he feels he must. It is his deep love and loyalty for Fëanáro, and Fëanáro's inflexible nature, that makes him feel torn apart. It is difficult for him to be friendly with his mother when he knows that it vexes his father, and whenever Fëanáro forces his sons to take sides with one of their parents, Curufinwë always chooses his father. It surprises no one but pains him nonetheless.

Yet he speaks little of this pain to Netyarë. More and more he keeps his feelings inside, does not speak of them to her and sometimes even attempts to close off his mind. She would comfort him, in the matter of his parents' conflict at least, if he shared his distress with her; many times she has told him that revealing his fears and sorrows to those who love him is not a weakness, and she has heard Tyelcormo say the same, but Curufinwë seems to believe this less and less. Netyarë's own pride often keeps her from reaching out to him when it might be good if she did, because pleading with him to be honest with her when is reluctant to do so does not make her feel good about herself.

Nerdanel can see the cracks in her son's marriage, though they are still very small compared to the estrangement that seems inevitable between her and Fëanáro now that he ignores her opinions and advice, instead following his passions no matter how they hurt his family.

'Curufinwë and you are not Fëanáro and me; do not let our discord become yours', Nerdanel tells Netyarë one day on a visit. 'There is still much love between you two. Try to protect it from the tensions and unrest among our people.'

Netyarë tries. The silences she and her husband fall into to avoid talk of controversial topics she strives to fill by speaking of things which still unite them – art and craft, the few unproblematic family matters, their son. She tries to remember that Curufinwë is not his father, only similar to him; she tries to cherish the love she feels for her husband instead of resenting it for making things complicated.

You knew what he was like when you married him. It is hypocritical and stupid of you to fret over his flaws now, for you chose them along with choosing him as your own. You even chose his father's influence, though you did not know how extreme his ideas would become. This is what she repeats to herself in difficult moments.

Curufinwë tries too, in his own way. He brings her rich gifts even more often than he used to, breathtakingly beautiful things created by his own hand, so valuable and precious that she gasps when he puts them in her hands, and it is difficult to think of many occasions important enough to wear them.

'You do not need to shower me with gifts', she tells him gently one night in bed while he lays on her brown curls a delicate hairnet wrought of gold and silver and decorated with countless tiny, twinkling gemstones of every possible colour. He came home very late because he had wanted to finish it and give it to her on this night.

'What else would I do?' He speaks sharply but strokes the back of her neck as gently as she had spoken. 'How else would I show how much you mean to me?'

They had had ugly words two weeks ago, and many glacial silences since. It is unusual that Curufinwë is the one to first rekindle warmth, and Netyarë appreciates his effort.

'You just need to love me', she says and lays a hand on his.

Curufinwë takes her words very literally. He lifts the glittering hairnet off her head and sets it on the bedside table, and then kisses her with such infinite tenderness that it makes her want to cry. Instead, she answers his kiss with fire. But he does not allow her to escalate the gentle warmth to the raging flame they often become in bed; he lightly holds her arms down while he sweetly touches and kisses every inch of her body as if to show how dear all of her is to him, and for this night the silence between them is driven away by the soft noises she makes.

Curufinwë does not tell Netyarë when he begins with his father and brothers to hammer out weapons and shields instead of the beautiful useful and ornamental objects they used to make. Tyelcormo, believing that his younger brother has told his wife, lets it slip one day in a conversation between the three of them, and she is devastated.

That night they shout at each other as loud as they dare, trying not to wake Tyelperinquar but unable to keep their feelings inside. Netyarë, as hurt that he kept this a secret from her as she is horrified that he is creating instruments of killing, demands that he tell her what or who they intend to use these weapons against.

'We make swords so that we can defend ourselves against betrayal', Curufinwë says in a voice of cold steel.

'Betrayal like hiding things from your own wife?' she slashes back. 'That is the only kind of betrayal I see in our land.'

He flinches and says between ground teeth, 'I did not tell you because I knew you would be like this. You don't understand.'

'No, I do not! Make me understand, Curufinwë, if you can.'

He cannot, and this incident makes her no more receptive to the ideas espoused by Fëanáro and Curufinwë. And the knowledge that he lied to her stays with her, haunting her thoughts.

In fact, over time, all the things they thought they had left behind before they even fell in love come back to haunt them: the greatness of his family, the insignificance of hers, and the difference in between. His pride and superiority, her pride and conviction that in many ways that matter, his family is no more valuable than hers. His temper, its flames hidden but ever present; his father, and his unswerving loyalty.

And new causes of disagreement arise as well: her close friendship with his mother, which had before been a source of joy also for Curufinwë but is now a point of contention within the family, and her refusal to stop painting commissions for lords who don't support Fëanáro unquestioningly (there are few of those commissions, anyway, and eventually they stop entirely).

Once again, in order not to widen the gulf between them, they avoid talking about the things that cause them to quarrel: their differing opinions on the Valar, Nolofinwë and his house, the weapons.

Yet it is difficult to get along, and different from before. They are both different. Curufinwë tries to keep his temper in check, to speak coolly and act rationally even though his father's anger rages also in him. Some of the time he succeeds in controlling himself, but not nearly always. To Netyarë it seems that he is steel and quicksilver by turns, and she cannot keep up with him. She begins to grow tired of trying, and resentful with him for forcing her to accommodate his moods while she is unhappy herself.

There is a fire in him, this she has always known. But it has only ever warmed her or burnt her in the most pleasurable of ways before, never leaving marks she did not cherish. Now she grows afraid of being burnt; being truly afraid is a new sensation, and she discovers that she hates it.

Once when the two of them are leaving Finwë's palace and some of Nolofinwë's most fervent supporters corner them and strike up a conversation, she sees Curufinwë dig his fingernails into his palms as he attempts to rein in his temper, to speak in measured words rather than let out the furious shout that is already on the tip of his tongue. He presses his nails in so hard that after a few moments, she sees drops of blood swell up.

She makes up an excuse, something to do with herself, so that they can quickly leave the tense conversation. As they walk away both of them hold themselves straight and proud, her hand on his arm in a show of support, he fitting his longer strides to her shorter ones. This is all easy and instinctive, their public facade that became routine years ago.

Words are harder. Curufinwë says nothing, just stares ahead with his jaw drawn tight. Pity and irritation vie for control of Netyarë's tongue; pity wins out when she sees another crimson drop fall from his still-bleeding hand on to the skirts of her dress that thankfully is a dark pink shade, garnet-like, and does not show the blood very clearly.

'You can tell me', she says quietly. 'Whatever it is you wanted to say to them, you can tell me now. I will listen, and it might make you feel better.'

'It isn't anything that you want to hear.'

'I would still hear it if you would tell me.'

He does not. He says nothing and he conceals his feelings from her, and they walk home in fraught silence. Thankfully the bleeding stops before they get there.

Netyarë is sorry that once again he chose not to share a burden with her. She understands that he needs to hone his control over himself to keep his temper in check when tensions rise, but must he also keep her at arm's length? It happens more and more, him not accepting her offers of help, and it makes things harder for her, too.

That night in bed, when he finally turns to her in search of the comfort to be found in her arms, she tells him, 'You are too cold and too hot to me in turns.'

'But I love you.' He seems genuinely confused and upset, and a little desperate.

Is love enough after all? Afraid of the answer, she does not ask out loud.

Though they try to avoid speaking of their disagreements, the issues that cause strife between them and in their whole society inevitably keep coming up and as they grow ever more frustrated with each other, Curufinwë's arguments in particular become more personal and his words more direct and vicious.

'It is a grave betrayal indeed if the Valar truly brought us here so that we live in thraldom while they give the rest of the world to the second-comers', Netyarë concedes to him one day. 'But what proof do we have of them doing that?'

Instead of answering her question, he tells her harshly that she does not understand that she is a thrall of the Valar, and he does, for one simple reason: 'You are from the lower classes, and thus you are used to being ruled and have never imagined ruling a land of your own; you cannot imagine it. My family can.'

In their decades of marriage Curufinwë has never reminded her of her humbler background in a cruel way; in spite of his arrogance and pride, he has always treated her as his equal. If he had not, she thinks she would not have married him or indeed have been capable of loving him.

Now she sees that he regrets his words as soon as he says them, but he cannot take them back: they are between them now, another wall pushing them apart. She knows that he meant what he said, even if he wishes he had not said it out loud. And perhaps he is even right; she doesn't know if he is. But reminding her of her lower birth in that manner felt like cruelty, and it felt like the man she loves telling her that she is of less worth than he is. This she finds difficult to forgive even when he eventually apologises.

It becomes harder and harder for Netyarë to not act cold towards him at home, and to not let resentment usurp love's place in her heart. Supporting him in public is hard, too: standing silently by her man is against her nature, especially when what he says goes against what she believes. Yet she does it for a while, just stands there looking aloof or smiling, whichever is appropriate, thankful that she is better at pretending than many.

Then she begins to avoid all easily avoidable social events, and then the ones that are harder to skip, too, to avoid the pretence that is starting to make her feel sick to her stomach.

She throws herself into her work and into caring for Tyelperinquar; his father still spends a lot of time teaching him but Netyarë believes that far from giving their son all that he needs, Curufinwë's attention may well leave Tyelpë needing more of the gentler care that she can provide. Tyelpë may have already grown to be taller than his mother, but Netyarë thinks he still needs kind words and encouragement, not just Curufinwë and Fëanáro's strict tuition and high expectations. He may look eerily similar to them, but he is unlike his father and grandfather in temper.

Netyarë and Curufinwë have one of the worst fights so far, or at least the one that most greatly widens the rift between them though it is not as loud as some of the others, on a day he comes home with Tyelperinquar unexpectedly early. Their timing is not the only unexpected thing: to her horror, when she comes to greet them Netyarë sees that her son is swaying on his feet and being supported by Curufinwë, and Tyelpë's right arm is in a sling and his face covered in bruises, a particularly vivid one forming around one of his eyes.

'What happened?' she breathes in horror to Curufinwë as she hurries to help Tyelpë sit down in a comfortable chair.

Curufinwë looks like he is searching for words; her eyes narrow at him even as Tyelperinquar hastens to reassure his mother. 'Don't worry, mother, it was just –' He winces and touches his bruised jaw. 'It was just an accident. I will be fine.'

'He will be fine, really, Netyarë', adds his father. 'We already saw a healer, and it is only a broken elbow, the rest is just bruises –'

'What kind of an accident was this?' Her voice is low as she speaks to Curufinwë; it would be furious if she did not want to avoid upsetting Tyelpë. 'I though you two were going to work at the forge today. How did he come to be bruised, bones broken? It seems more like a hunting accident, yet he has never before come home from a hunting trip looking like this.' She gestures at their son's wretched state.

'We changed our plans.' Curufinwë moves his hands behind his back as if he has something to hide, but she has had enough time to see that his knuckles are bloody, too.

Tyelpë has been coming home with battered knuckles on many nights recently, Netyarë thinks, and moving stiffly as if after great exertion. And acting a little strangely with me.

'Are you training him to fight?' she asks her husband with deathly calm. 'Have you been hiding that you are teaching him to kill as you hid from me that you were forging weapons to kill with?'

'Mother, please –' says Tyelperinquar in a pained voice. He has always hated to see his parents quarrel, and this seems more serious and dangerous than most of their disagreements.

Netyarë tears her gaze off her husband's chilly and angry eyes, but she still feels his shame and anger in the connection between them as she turns to Tyelperinquar and speaks softly to him. 'Did the healer already give you something for the pain?'

'Yes, that's why I am a little dazed.' Tyelpë shakes his head as if to clear it.

She tells Curufinwë to help their son to his bed and herself goes to gather a few things to make him comfortable. When she comes to Tyelpë's room she tells her husband to leave and thankfully he departs without a word of protest, only telling Tyelpë that he will feel better soon.

'I am sure I will, father', Tyelpë says dreamily, already half-way to Lórien.

Netyarë stays until he falls asleep, and for a long time after. She can hear her blood pounding in her ears as she watches her sleeping son, dearer to her than anything else in the world. She had thought that Curufinwë felt the same way about Tyelpë, whatever his other faults. So how could he allow him to be hurt, even by accident?

Eventually she rises and goes to find her husband. To his credit, he has not run away to his own father but stayed at home. She finds him in his study pretending to work but really just staring at the ledger in front of him.

She sits in the chair in front of his desk, opposite him, on opposite sides of the table and the argument that they both know will begin as soon as she opens her mouth.

'Will you tell me about the fighting training you have been doing with him.' It is a command, not a question.

As tonelessly as if he were talking about something completely insignificant, Curufinwë recounts how he with his father and brothers had first began to practise martial skills amongst themselves and then, later, taught others, loyal followers of Fëanáro.

'And our son, whom you have made into a loyal follower of your father.' Netyarë is controlled in her anger as usual, but this time it is for her child being hurt, and her fury and grief infuse every seemingly calm word with power. The incandescence of it feels almost too much to bear.

'It is the custom for sons to be loyal to their fathers, as he is to me and I am to my father.'

She cannot believe that he is seeking defence in platitudes. 'As it is for husbands to be honest with their wives! Still, I should probably have grown accustomed to you lying to me by now. But this time you made him lie to me, too, and that I cannot forgive.'

'We have not lied to you about this, we have merely not spoken –'

'That is lying by omission and you know it very well, and so should Tyelpë! But then this has been a good opportunity for you to teach him deception and dissembling along with fighting, has it not? Since you have always thought him too forthright and open.'

'He is too open with his feelings and thoughts, Netyarë, and it is dangerous.' Curufinwë, too, seems desperate as well as angry.

'More dangerous than what made him come home today battered, barely on his feet? How did he come to be hurt so, if you were only training?'

'One cannot practise these things without risk. Tyelcormo misjudged his strength, and Tyelpë misjudged the distance –' Curufinwë stops speaking when he sees Netyarë biting her fist to keep calm, tears gathering in her eyes. 'I am so sorry that he got hurt, my love. I did not wish it.' Oddly, he never lays aside endearments even during their fights. Perhaps he considers them another weapon in his arsenal.

'Are you laying the blame on your brother?' She wipes away tears, unhappy that her anger is turning into sorrow so fast. She cannot afford to be soft, because her husband will never truly be.

'No, he was only sparring with Tyelpë because I asked him to. Because he is the best of us in this, and I want Tyelpë to learn from the best.' Curufinwë swallows. 'I misjudged too. I asked more of Tyelpë than he was ready for.'

'You keep doing that', she tells him, exhausted with this old argument. 'Why, Curvo? Why do you keep rushing his learning in the forge, and now in fighting?'

'Because he needs to learn these things.'

'But surely there is no such hurry, no need to risk hurting him or to drive him to exhaustion. There is time.'

Curufinwë looks like he wants to argue this point, and Netyarë wonders, Is there not? Why do you think so? What do you keep expecting to happen?

'Do not treat me like a child or a servant, Curufinwë', she warns him. 'I am your wife, and I have the right to know if you are planning something.'

Do you? he asks her, if only in his mind, and Netyarë knows that they are now searching for the limits of the roles of a man and a woman, of a wife and husband's relative rights. Their marriage has been more equal than many others, until now at least.

'Things may not always be as they are now. Times change', is all he says in the end.

'I know that.' To her pain, she does know it. She pauses, controls her temper to be able to drive her point across. 'But I still don't understand what it is that you need Tyelpë to learn to protect himself against.'

Once again, instead of an answer and understanding there is only silence.

'I am very sorry for lying to you', Tyelperinquar tells her the next day as they sit eating lunch together. Since his better hand is out of use, she cuts his food for him as she has not done for many decades.

'I know your father told you to do it or you would not have lied.' Tyelpë's freely given admission that he had indeed lied makes it even easier for her to forgive him. 'I understand your loyalty, but I also wish you know that you can tell me anything.'

'I know.' Tyelpë stabs at his food with his fork. 'Did father apologise too?'

She knows this is his way of asking if his parents have reconciled. 'In his own way, he did.'

Curufinwë had acted more decently than she had expected by saying that he was sorry that Tyelperinquar had been hurt and by admitting that he had made a mistake, and even though he had not actually apologised for lying, her treacherous heart has half-forgiven him. But she doubts she can ever wholly forgive putting Tyelpë in danger, and she certainly will not forget it.

'There will be no shouting between your father and me tonight', she assures her son. One night's peace is a pitiful promise, but she dares not promise more since she does not want to end up a liar too.

'I will keep training to fight better, once my arm heals', Tyelperinquar says after a while. 'I am sorry if it causes you grief, mother, but it is what men of our family do now. And I am almost grown up.'

'I know, my darling.' How could she not, when it feels like every day she has to look farther up to meet his gaze? She wishes he were still the bright-eyed little boy who found safety enough in her arms, but time marches on inexorably and he must find his own place in the world. It seems to be by his father's side, as little as she likes it.

'Your father is demanding with you, but he is proud of you, and he does love you too.' She hates herself for making apologies for Curufinwë, but even more she wants Tyelperinquar to be happy, and he needs to know that he is loved by the father he follows in all things.

'It's all right, mother. I know that he loves me.' Her son's grey eyes, the shape and colour of them exactly like hers, are filling again with light and warmth.

'I am glad to hear that.' She manages to give him a weak smile that seems to reassure him that she is all right – he is not as good at seeing though pretences as either of his parents, and sometimes even Netyarë worries about it. But he is otherwise smart and strong, and he has a generosity of heart that she cherishes even if Curufinwë thinks it a vulnerability, a weakness.

As they finish their meal in silence, an easy and comfortable one, Netyarë looks at Tyelperinquar with tenderness and thinks, Somehow you do always know that your father loves you, my dear boy. You remember it, but I think it has been a long time since he last told you so.

She is so proud of her bright, brave son, and as long as she has him she could never regret marrying Curufinwë.

Then one day, after countless days of growing tensions, Fëanáro strides into the King's council hall armoured and armed and threatens Nolofinwë with his sword. Curufinwë and his other sons go with him to the Ring of Doom when he is summoned to answer to the Valar for this deed, and for his words of rebellion.

Netyarë does not go. She had been at home with Tyelperinquar when her father-in-law committed his rash folly, and she has nothing to testify. The days she waits for news from Taniquetil are tense and filled with shadows that whisper questions at her.

The shadows ask her how she will bear it if the man who returns to her is even harder to love than he was before. What if, in this matter and during all years to come, he keeps siding with his father and disregarding her views and her happiness? How much longer can she tolerate being placed second in the affections of the one to whom she bound herself by supposedly eternal ties of love?

What will she do if things do not get better, only worse? The question echoes in the empty rooms of their big house. Could she ever yield, abase herself and accept whatever scraps of affection Curufinwë condescends to spare her, remaining loyal and loving in return for very little? Or will she be like Nerdanel, living in the same house with her husband but leading completely separate lives, their former devotion and intimacy only a painful memory? Perhaps she will try to drive him away from the house they lovingly made their shared home years ago, because at some point she can no longer stand the sight of him…

She does not know how to find a path back to happiness, but the thought of losing him tears at her heart. We have not had seven children and brought them to adulthood together, we have not had centuries of loving each other; I am not ready to give up on you yet.

When we chose each other you promised me a forever. It is turning out to be a very short time.

A/N: I tried to show in this long chapter that the disintegration of this marriage is not a straight descent from happiness to estrangement but a gradual process with better moments scattered amid the increasing alienation.

Fëanor is now well on his way to becoming 'terrible dad Fëanor' and Curufin's not doing too hot either, thus the 'Sucks to be Celebrimbor' tag. Netyarë's not perfect either, of course, but this is written from her POV so we perhaps see her flaws less clearly. And she is in a very difficult situation.

I do love feedback.

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