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ckret2 · 3 years

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Alright let’s talk GVK spoilers!!!

My reactions as best I can remember them!

- love how Kong is humanized from the very first scene, like every time he shows up he’s humanized so much more than other titans are. If that was at the expense of other titans being made likable I wouldn’t enjoy it so much, but like, Godzilla is made pretty lovable over the course of Monsterverse, Mothra is too, and all the titans featured for long are given recognizable emotions that let us see them as more intelligent and feeling than “just” animals; so all of them are made understandable/likable/sympathetic. But of them all, Kong is the only one really humanized. Which makes sense, because like, big monkey! Basically our distant cousin!

- And they kept playing, like, normal songs for him, which cracked me up.

- I really appreciated how you could SEE the titans in this movie. After all the weather effects to hide the titans in KOTM, there was such a clear difference in this one from the very start. Kong in the daylight! Godzilla makes his first attack at night, and even then you can see him much more clearly than you can for most of KOTM! Nice!

- after the Iwi were portrayed as silent stoic witnesses in Skull Island, I really appreciated that they took an Iwi character, made her a main character, and gave her dialogue and a real role to play in the story while also keeping her deaf/mute. I think that was a good way to improve on the way that the Iwi got got sidelined in the last movie while still maintaining the worldbuilding!

- I didn’t appreciate so much that, y’know, they murdered the rest of her people off-screen in order to do it. Couldn’t they have gone “her parents died so she got adopted by a Monarch agent that was close to her family, but like, the rest of her tribe is fine”? Or at the very least “their island got fucked up so they had to be evacuated but like they’re settling in somewhere else”? “They’re living under this island dome with Kong and they know what’s up and Monarch’s keeping them in the loop and they decided they’re chill with their new dome home, but this one girl likes to go on adventures with Monarch”? Something? Did we have to kill them all off? Y’all make up an entire fictional indigenous culture and then murder them off-screen when you don’t need them? Just let them live.

- a few minutes in I was like “hold on, we’ve got two characters that speak sign language, we’ve got a giant gorilla, gorillas learn sign language, is there any reason they can’t teach Kong?” and then later I was like “OOOOOH!!” Humans and titans learning how to communicate with each other has been one of my favorite themes to explore in Monsterverse fanfic so I was absolutely tickled to see it getting explored in canon, too.

- That said I think it’s hilarious that the girl managed to teach Kong to sign without, like... anybody seeing. Kong’s hands are above the tree line and there are cameras everywhere, how did NOBODY with Monarch see him signing.

- Bernie’s weaponized being an annoying coworker to such a degree it can only be called an art, and I really appreciated it.

- Godzilla’s extra chonky in this movie and I dig it. Roomie noted he was extra crocodilian and I dig that too.

- “There’s been no confirmed titan sightings in three years” I don’t buy that for a minute. They’re BIG. Rodan NESTS IN VOLCANOES. They found a MOTHRA EGG. Humans have A SCARILY WELL-FUNDED ORGANIZATION DEDICATED SOLELY TO FOLLOWING TITANS AROUND. Like, most of the lore in GVK that I don’t personally like, I can be like “eh... I can tweak it just a little bit with headcanons to make it work for me...” but NO confirmed titan sightings? You expect me to believe ALL of them moved underground when we’d previously seen them all prefer to live above ground? You expect me to believe that now that they’re all AWAKE, they learned how to HIDE?? Uh-uh. And at the end of KOTM there was stuff in the credits about using titan droppings as biofuel, obviously they’re still walking around up top! Can’t take that from me. Nope.

- Who the FUCK is Ren Serizawa and how is he related to Ishiro Serizawa? IS he related? Maybe they just dropped the surname as another “yeah this is a Godzilla movie for Godzilla fans” easter egg but I have a hard time believing that he can’t be somehow related to the other character with the Very Important Last Name who was so important in the last two Godzilla movies. If he is related I’m sure it’s been explained in a tie-in comic or the novelization or something, I’ll look it up later.

- I had to look up how much weight huge battleships can carry while writing a KOTM fic where Ghidorah hitches a ride on one, and y’all, I had to pull weird gravity-negating magic to get him to ride on that boat. Godzilla and Kong woulda sunk that boat like a rock. All I could think during that scene is “this wouldn’t work and I know that because I DID THE RESEARCH and I wasn’t even getting PAID.” I’ll choose to believe that Monarch gets special heavy duty ships designed to carry titans but nobody mentioned it because it wasn’t relevant to Kong’s journey.

- The bit where they could see where Godzilla was swimming because he’d got half a ship hooked to him that was bobbing around on the surface, didn’t Jaws do something like that with a buoy? It’s been ages since I’ve seen Jaws. Anyway good reference.

- Insert “they’re gonna need a bigger boat” joke

- I LOVED the part where they shut down all the ships to get Godzilla to leave. Both because, one, it’s a spectacular callback to KOTM’s “turn off all the guns so he knows we’re not a threat” that makes it seem like now that’s just what Monarch knows what to do to get G to chill out, and two... we know that Godzilla backs off either when he’s killed his enemy or when his enemy has yielded to him. At the end of KOTM—and the end of GVK—the act of yielding is presented as very ceremonial and uniform across species: everyone lowers anything they’ve got that could be dangerous (claws, fangs, beaks, axes) and bows to show Godzilla they’re not gonna fight. Battleships, obviously, can’t bow, but even without being inducted into whatever secret titan cultural intricacies might be going on, humans have figured out their own way to “bow” to Godzilla: cut all the power, so their ships can’t move and can’t use weapons. I know the movie presented it as “playing dead,” but c’mon, if Godzilla could hear MechaG power up from halfway around the planet then he could hear that Kong’s heart was still beating, and he’s been around enough boats to know humans can turn them off and on when they want. The humans bowed to Godzilla. He accepted that they yielded and left.

- Mark Russell looked like such a dad in this movie, like he’s retired 100% from being a rugged action hero and now he’s just Pure Dad. I like him better when he’s a dad, it’s a good development for him. He got like 3 lines and I’m like “I appreciate this character development.”

- Despite all my qualms about how conspiracy theories and extremist groups are handled in Monsterverse (and WHICH conspiracy theories they decide to reference), I really love Madison and Bernie’s dynamic. The adult man who’s the excitable wide-eyed believer in every BS conspiracy you can possibly imagine; and then the serious, severe Teenage Girl On A Mission who’s hypercompetent because she was raised for five years by a friggin doomsday cult militia; and despite having wildly different personalities they’re just, in total agreement about everything. Handled just a BIT differently (like, leaving out the more gross IRL conspiracies) they would be a wildly fun comedic duo—especially with Josh the Only Sane Man coming along as the hapless sidekick. And they all play off of each other so well! Both in a comedic sense, and in more serious moments—when Bernie talked about his wife, there was a real moment of empathy between him and Madison with very little said. I’d watch an entire movie just about the three of them. I’d watch a TV show.

- On the one hand I wasn’t too much of a fan of KOTM’s “all titans... are inherently In Tune With Nature... nature has a Balance, because that’s a Real Thing and not an anthropocentric concept to describe how we like nature to act, and they automatically restore it... because they’re like, some kinda borderline divinities or something... we should probably be worshipping them...” thing; but, now that it was totally absent in GVK, I sorta miss it. Like I feel like there needs to be a balance, a few humans who are like “i lowkey worship these dudes?” and a few others who are like “they’re cool but like, that’s a lil extreme” and that neither side be presented as Right in how they regard titans’ relationship with nature.

- “All titans come from THE HOLLOW EARTH” nah I don’t buy that it’s silly. Basically, what I object to is the idea that all titans have some sort of intrinsic similarity (they all come from the same hitherto-unknown location; they all are part of the same pack that has the same alpha; they all are fueled/fed by the same energy source; etc) rather than letting them be SEPARATE species whose only unifying traits are “they’re all big enough to fuck everything up everywhere they go” and “they’re big enough that the typically-insurmountable barriers between different biomes (mountain ranges, valleys, long distances with terrible weather) aren’t insurmountable for them, so even if they’re specialized in different environments they still all have to deal with each other pretty often.” I’ll make some exceptions for convergent evolution (i.e., claiming multiple titans developed similar traits that are relatively easy to spontaneously evolve and a prerequisite for a creature to survive at such a large size). But I can’t buy “this big gorilla has more biologically in common with this big crocodile-iguana than he does with, say, gorillas,” or most of the other “all these titans have THIS IN COMMON” claims that Monsterverse makes, including “everyone’s from hollow earth.” So I’m tossing that out the window and substituting my own headcanons. Some might’ve evolved there but some evolved on the surface. Maybe a majority of them like ducking in and out of the hollow earth like some kind of titan shortcut system. Kong’s species, I can buy, IS native to hollow earth, considering that they built a whole-ass society down there with tools and architecture.

- I’m SO curious about the little underground Kong home, the Godzilla motif in the floor, and the axe that appeared to be made with a Godzilla scute. What’s the story there??? We know Godzilla’s species and Kong’s species are ancient rivals. Is it because Kong’s species hunted Godzilla’s to steal their scutes to make weapons, seeing them as a valuable resource the way, like, early humans considered woolly mammoths a valuable resource—thus making that Godzilla on the floor equivalent to cave art of mammoths made by people who hunted them—until the Godzillas got pissed and started fighting back en masse? Or were Godzillas and Kongs already enemies when Kongs decided to start making weapons out of their corpses? Did they use to be allies, fighting together, with Godzillas voluntarily offering shed scutes and/or bones of their deceased members to Kongs, and that place used to be a shared home until they started fighting?

- What about that power source, is it something that was already there that both Kongs and Godzillas started to deliberately harvest for technology/atomic breath? Or did Godzillas automatically channel that stuff and Kongs exploited/borrowed/traded with Godzillas to utilize it too? Or is the power from Godzillas who collaboratively poured a bunch of power into the place thus that Kongs were able to use it too? I doubt Godzilla’s species CREATED all that weird energy but the question remains of whether, like, they channel it FROM underground, or naturally produce the same thing in their own bodies, or what.

- Godzilla using his atomic breath to dig a hole STRAIGHT TO KONG just to KICK HIS ASS is hilarious. How lucky that Hong Kong just HAPPENS to be straight over Kong’s house! Were all the tunnels to the hollow earth made by pissed off Godzillas who wanted to kick monkey ass??

- I loved the aesthetic of the battle scene in Hong Kong, with the brightly colored neon building outlines, VERY cool look. The choreography of the battle scene was great too, especially

- we literally broke into applause when Kong shoved the axe handle in Godzilla’s mouth. Love it, perfect callback, that was the ONE thing from the original King Kong Vs Godzilla I was hoping to see referenced and there it was.

- You could really see a difference in how Kong and Godzilla fought—Kong doing a better job at using tools and the environment, Godzilla fighting more like a reptile. They seemed to emphasize Godzilla’s more animalistic behaviors in this movie to accomplish that contrast—he was down on all fours and moving like a crocodile more often, he was clawing at Kong’s chest—but even though it seemed a bit different of a combat technique it also didn’t seem out of place compared to how he fought in prior movies. And we’ve already seen that if Godzilla’s involved in a fight and one of the combatants knows how to use the environment, it’s typically not gonna be Godzilla. (See: Ghidorah using the reflection in a building’s windows to see what’s behind him, and recognizing a nearby power source and biting it to juice himself up.)

- So many of Godzilla’s enemies seem to have specialized in negating his atomic breath in order to combat him! The MUTOs directly suppress his ability to use it—and it makes sense that that’s an inborn ability they have, since they evolved to use Godzilla’s species as prey. Kong has a weapon that both acts as a shield to absorb the breath and turn it back against Godzilla’s species—they didn’t evolve to counter Godzilla, but they developed tools once a rivalry happened. Ghidorah’s the exception—which makes sense, since he came from space—but even at that we see him using tactics specifically to take into account Godzilla’s most powerful weapon (such as keeping one head on lookout for when he starts glowing so that they know when they need to dodge).

- LOVED the reveal that MechaG was based off of Ghidorah’s brain, it has vibes of both the Kiryu Saga and the way that Heisei MechaG is based off of Mecha-King Ghidorah. Not the most surprising plot twist, since we’d theorized that they might use San to make MechaG, but I wasn’t 100% sure they were gonna go with it until they finally did. Even when I was going “huh, the mecha pilot’s chamber looks weirdly organic” I didn’t make the connection to WHY until the reveal, lol.

- “Ghidorah’s necks are so long that the heads have to communicate with each other telepathically” that’s COMPLETELY WILD but I love it, it follows very well from their prior portrayal as telepathic empaths in Heisei, it lines up with their emphasis on electricity (because BRAINWAVES AND ELECTRICITY, hey ho movie monster pseudo science!), and it very much compliments my own private headcanon that they’ve got some psychic/mind control abilities.

- The movie ended with both “Godzilla won, technically” but also “since they teamed up as equals, the ending doesn’t FEEL like ‘Godzilla wins, Kong loses’ but rather ‘they both won against a common foe’” and since I’m on both Team Godzilla and Team They Should Be Friends, I’m happy with this outcome. Plus since the last time they fought, the Japanese movie company graciously let the American monster win, so it’s only polite that the American movie company graciously let the Japanese monster win.

- There were just a few too many humans in this movie. I was intrigued by Ren but we didn’t get much out of him, but like I guess somebody had to be in the pilot’s seat other than the Apex CEO. Didn’t care for the author of the hollow earth book, I feel like his role was superfluous. Didn’t need the Apex CEO’s daughter there at all, coulda done without her. How about this, combine all three roles. Instead of having a whole-ass author who knows about the hollow earth, just casually reference that Rick from KOTM wrote a book about it since he was the expert, and (since he wasn’t in this movie) say that he tragically died going to explore the hollow earth himself, and that way we’ve got the book with the “titans are from there” theory AND an excuse to share the “humans die when they go underground” info. Now, have Ren be working for Apex as a pilot for Mechagodzilla, but have him be MechaG’s pilot because he’s also a good pilot in general, and can fly those HEAV things. Have Apex send him to Monarch to be like “hey, you guys trust me right, since I’m Ishiro Serizawa’s relative? We at Apex have heard all about your failed hollow earth expedition, and due to Ishiro I’ve got some past ties to Monarch so I’ve got high clearance with y’all, so I could bring over this useful Apex tech that’d let you go underground and use what I know about hollow earth from my past time at Monarch to help guide things.” Once they’ve got the little chunk of energy stuff and go topside, he hustles it straight to Apex and straps into his seat to run MechaG. Bam, you’ve combined “person who knows enough about hollow earth to help the expedition,” “person who represents Apex’s interests and gets the energy,” and “person who pilots MechaG” into one character, in a way that takes three flat/underdeveloped characters and turns them into a single interesting character with a lot going on and some intriguing ties to the rest of the cast.

I think that’s everything?? Hoo.

#gvk #godzilla vs kong #gvk spoilers #godzilla vs kong spoilers #godzilla #meta

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queer-as-used-by-tolkien · 3 years

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Storyline Study: Order Mentor

When you joined your Order at level thirty and met your mentor at level forty, each of the three was instantly revealed to be a different person altogether from the other two.

Tybalt Leftpaw, Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers, was on his first-ever field mission. He was very blatantly calling for you in a sort of undercover way, and simultaneously panicking when you tried to mention the full name of the Order. Your supposed mentor was as new to this as you, had a (sometimes very human-teenager) sense of humor, and had a rather sad backstory balanced by his good nature. You knew he liked apples.

Sieran, Magister of the Durmand Priory, was full of reckless abandon, disregard for authority, boundless curiosity and a heart for the little things. She was confident in her role and her ability, and unhesitatingly took you into dangerous places for the sake of exploration and adventure while brushing off rebuke like a tree sheds sap - even when it was heartily deserved. You learned to be rather frightened for her.

Forgal Kernsson, Warmaster of the Vigil, was an archetypal gruff, stern old mentor whose every drop of praise spoke volumes. But he also carried a sort of wildness to him, that rough edge from growing up a hunter in the Shiverpeaks, coupled with every willingness to say it like it was if it was true. He could be surprised, he could observe calmly when something was new, he could snark like the rest of them and even say things he didn't mean from time to time.

They all fought the dragons - they each more or less took it seriously. But Tybalt was a partner and friend, you were keeping Sieran in check, not the other way around, and Forgal trained you mercilessly.

You all grew together - they had each changed for the better by the time they died. Tybalt had learned that he was worth something, Sieran had learned friendship was worth everything, and Forgal had learned... well. He'd found a student to be proud of, a partner to fight with, a friend to trust... a child to carry on his legacy. But I'm not sure, exactly, what Forgal learned - what the point of his story was.

Sieran was more-or-less well suited to her role in the story; she symbolized innocence and cheer and optimism and the beauty of the world - so you could recognize what was being lost by the dragon's onslaught. Tybalt's story was one extremely well-suited to his character; he taught you that working together was vital to survival, even when neither of you knew exactly what you were doing - a valuable lesson as the story progressed. Both of their stories fit well enough into the three-mission story sequence concluding in their death.

But Forgal was different. He was the mentor who dies partway through. He was the one who trained you and taught you all he could, who died imparting one last gem of wisdom. Or, he should have.

I am not attacking Forgal. I am attacking ArenaNet. We had too little time with Forgal for the story Anet was trying to tell with him. He was like Obi-Wan but without showing up again as a ghost, without the prequels, without being able to send Luke to Yoda - without, most significantly, being able to explain why he'd said Luke's father was dead.

We don't know Forgal. We don't understand him. We only know his family died to Icebrood... but why is he with the Vigil, specifically? Why is he a good friend of Almorra's - allowed to butt in and insult a diplomatic ambassador with barely a reprimand? Forgal is the character that tells me the Vigil has been around decades, not a mere five years. Was he in another military? Forgal was over a hundred years old. You don't join a military at that age and, five years later, are a highly self-disciplined warrior such as he was. Maybe he was Lionguard? Hear this: Forgal is actually older than Lion's Arch. If he'd survived, he would have been old enough to bear witness to all three incarnations of that city. But, apart from being able to recognize the Orrian Scout on sight, this is only a trivial piece of lore.

After he judged us worthy, we should have had long training sessions with him - sparring matches wherein he would easily fend off our blows while simultaneously teaching us about the world, all the wisdom he'd gathered, expounding just a bit on the history of the Elder Dragons (perhaps customized for player's race!) - and then we go off and have a real Vigil mission. Perhaps remove the racial sympathy 'choice' and have all five! A sparring match before each one, with a different lesson (the racial sympathy missions were awfully short anyway). And if you want to keep the idea implied by the term 'racial sympathy,' you could change the tone of some of them, make the player more reluctant and Forgal more impatient, have a middle-of-mission lecture on why it's important to work with everyone - this way you joining an Order feels less 'oh you've always been sympathetic to other races' and more 'wait who are these people.' But you know the real kicker? These training sessions would have made us actually feel like we were a treasured part of his life, the kid he never had, that he takes the effort to train us and takes the time to correct us when we're wrong, that he shares his history with us.

And then, at Claw Island, he would place a hand on our shoulder and tell us - hey - don't worry. You did good. You tell my tale and you take my lessons and put them to good use, you hear me? Listen to Trahearne over there - I've told you a bit about him - he's a good kid, he's smart and he knows what he's doing. And - partner? Partner, I need you to put me down if that blasted dragon raises me.

And we're in tears and Trahearne standing there also puts up a fight and tells him not to go, but Forgal goes anyway, roaring his defiance at the dragon - and his famous line, "you may win the battle, dragon, but you will never defeat our spirit!" And maybe he adds - "you may defeat me, but I will be avenged!" like some cartoon villain only you know - you know that means you.

That is the storyline Forgal deserved. (I selfishly also fixed it just a bit with regards to Trahearne, but...) I don't care if we add an extra ten or twenty levels to the game to account for the four extra racial sympathy story chapters.

And see, now you'll argue that that's biased in favor of Forgal, to do all that with him but not the other two - and that's part of the idea.

Forgal isn't like the other two. He shouldn't be compared to the other two. The storyline we have is good for the other two. Extending their stories would feel... false. Yes, there are supposed to be parallels between the three Orders, but... in that case, ArenaNet should have done something entirely different with Forgal.

How about this: Almorra assigns us to someone else for a mentor, but we show such epic promise she switches us to Laranthir. His storyline? It's right in his idle dialogue at the Vigil Keep - he's always sought love. This puts his storyline on par with Sieran and Tybalt. What about Forgal? He's a Lionguard that all three Order mentors know well. We do racial sympathy with Forgal plus our Order mentor (doing those with only one ally is kind of absurd anyway). This can help set-up and foreshadow the tactical significance of Claw Island, too - and hey, maybe Forgal can even survive that! Or maybe he doesn't survive it but our Order mentor does! (Yeah, that fits better, since Laranthir is important in HoT.) And then, once the Pact is formed, their stories end more naturally without regard for the Order parallels, which would keep the story unique - where your choice of Order still matters even when it doesn't anymore. Tybalt didn't have to die - in fact, it's kind of absurd that he did since his story was about finding his own heroism, and then he dies. He can die later, perhaps, after he's thoroughly proved himself. (And hey, throw in an encounter with his old warband! Bonus lore points!) And Sieran 0 maybe Sieran could go through a heartbreaking transformation in Orr, the land of the dead - you see something far more heartbreaking than her death as she loses her spirit, and you and Trahearne both resolve that even if you're super-busy with the Pact, you can still cleanse Orr together to save Sieran. (This makes cleansing Orr a personal thing for you as well as Trahearne!) And Laranthir - well, I don't know what he was doing originally. Maybe he stayed back at the Vigil Keep to manage things, but you still see him now and then and he gives good advice and (since his storyline was about falling in love or something) you get to tease him about whatever's going on in his life, and then later he shows up again in HoT.

I'm going to stop - I already just presented a rough outline of a whole rewrite of core PS, I'm not going to step into HoT territory. (But since his storyline was about falling in love - ? Anything could happen really. Maybe his love died in the crash (we don't actually know of any characters who died in the actual crash. Awful shame) and that's why he takes the lead against Mordremoth. That would give him a cool motive.)

Anet I want this now.

I only wanted to say how unfair Forgal's story was to him, and then I came up with this whole thing - ? Some of it included a few helpful fixes for the Trahearne hate - this isn't something I can write out into a whole fic since I have a main fic and while this is a significant AU it's not quite enough for a whole fic but also far too much for just a headcanon - maybe I'll invent a new Commander.

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judediangelo75 · 3 years

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Claws To Wings

Welcome one and all~

I did say I was going to be working on the Talith lore, so here’s another installment of that. So I did some tweaking to the storyline that Jam City had. So the first Valentine’s Day happened in 4th year instead of 5th (because you can unlock I think both Valentine’s Day TLSQs in the same year and it didn’t make too much sense to me).

Plus there are future true events that happen in 6th year, if you’re already familiar with the Without You/The Man Behind the Necklace series than you already know. During that time, Judith and Talbott are together and have been for quite some time. But before that, they have been pining after each other for years.

In my first story, “The Scent of Love to the Heart of a Loner Poet”, Talbott is coming to realizing how deep his feelings were for Judith (whose been crushing on him since 3rd year). Between then and now, those feelings have grown and they’ve been dancing around each other.

There’s gonna be some details here that are definitely gonna be new (because it’s part of a super old character reference I created for her when I first started posting about HPHM content here).

Anyway, enough rambling. On with the story! Enjoy! 💛

MC friend: David Willows ( @that-scouse-wizard )

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Talbott stood before his mirror, readjusting his tie for probably the fifth time.

He was trying to soothe his nerves. Why you may ask?

Because of the Ball.

The Valentine’s Day Ball.

In his right mind, he would avoid such social gatherings like the plague. But it’s fair to say he hasn’t been much of his right mind ever since he met her.

Judith Harris.

A Hufflepuff witch with pale gold eyes and a heart of gold to match.

He met her alongside her best friend, David Willows, early third year. When they came to him seeking help on becoming Animagi. He was quick to shut both of them down. While David glared and protested, Judith eased the bullheaded Hufflepuff and gave him a shy sad expression along with an apology for disturbing him.

At the time, he wasn’t sure why he suddenly changed his mind to help the two. But as he got older, he did realize it was because of her.

Something about Judith was familiar. And…

He didn’t like the sad look into those bright eyes…

After the two achieved their forms and helped him find his feather necklace, Judith and Talbott became closer. Even to the point where he followed her out to the cemetery and learned about her dead father, Kendrick, on the anniversary of his death.

That’s when he learned that she was a part of his past.

That single day of his childhood where he made a friend. And developed a bond on a girl who he thought was unique with her long pretty locs and Caribbean accent.

With it being their 5th year, Talbott has gone on two dates with her. Their very first date out by the Black Lake and last year on Valentine’s Day when he learned that he has deeper feelings for her outside of a friendship.

He can still remember the sweet blush on her face after he shyly gave her a kiss on the cheek after gifting her with a heart statue.

Giving her a physical representation of his heart.

He fiddled with the ring she gifted him that day. He always remembers seeing it on a black chain around her neck on occasion. Judith was a person who cares about sentimental value so it’s very likely she gifted him something that has a level importance to her. But he was so stunned when she slipped it onto his finger, and that it fitted perfectly, while announcing that it was her Valentine’s Day gift to him that he forgot to ask…

Maybe today he will. After all, after the Ball, he had a special surprise for her.

Of course, there had to be some last minute changes when he realized a certain Slytherin witch ALSO planned on using the Library and two fairies also got into a squabble. He had at least a day to make the arrangement work and the “Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts” actually might of done him a favor.

It would be nice to revisit where their tale began.

Talbott sighed, looking over his appearance once more before turning on his heel and leaving his room.

‘I hope she likes what I planned. She’s the only who deserves to see this side of me,’ he thought as he made his way to the Great Hall.

——————

“C’mon Little Tigress! We’re gonna be late,” David huffed, knocking insistently on his best mate’s door.

“I look ridiculous! I’m not going anymore!” Came the stubborn reply from the other side. David rolled his eyes at Judith’s behavior.

They’ve been busting their asses to save the Valentine’s Day Ball from a lonely Madam Pince by using a pining Mr. Filch. However, due to all the planning and finally asking out Merula and Talbott (after Judith finally got over her initial shyness), they didn’t have time to style an outfit for themselves. So they went to the resident Style Wizard for help.

David’s pick was easy.

Judith however… not so much.

It was fair to say that Judith was more than disgruntled as she looked in the reflection for the suit Andre put together.

“You lost your damn mind Egwu if you think I’m going to the Ball like this. I look like a mom in her mid-30s looking to speak to your manager to file a complaint.”

David was on the floor in tears when he saw the offended look on the Ravenclaw wizard’s face. To be fair, the suit plus the pixie cut that Andre magically put together wasn’t doing his best mate any favors.

However, she didn’t step out to show the dress to them. She tried it on, switch back into her normal clothes, and left without much of another word.

Now David was curious to what could be wrong with Andre’s design for her to believe she looked “ridiculous”.

“C’mon Judith. What’s wrong with it? Surely it can’t be as bad as that suit Andre design,” David coaxed.

“…It’s… a lot…” David wasn’t sure what to make of that and they’re gonna be late if Judith kept this up.

“Judith, it’s either you open the door willingly to show me what you’re talking about or I break into your room to see for myself. We don’t have time for this right now,” David huffed. He didn’t want to late with for his dance with Merula.

Silence ensued and David was half considering going through with his threat when the tell tale sound of the door unlocking hit his eyes. David turned the knob and walked in.

He paused when he took in the sight of his little friend.

Judith was wearing a short black dress decorated with pink and red roses. A small slit can be found on her right leg. White 3-inch open toe heels were on her feet. Her usual ear accessories and earrings were present. A familiar dark red lipstick, dark eyeshadow, and black eyeliner made an appearance on her face. Her hair was out from its normal twists, curls and coils tumbling down her back and a bang swept over her right eye.

“David,” Judith mumbled awkwardly as her friend stared at her. That seemed to have broke the spell on the wizard as he shook his head to recollect himself.

“Well I’ll be damned… you look far from ridiculous, Judith. You look beautiful,” David said with a smile. Judith blushed and rubbed the back of her neck.

“You sure? It’s kind of revealing, don’t you think,” she asked. David cocked his head to the side, rescanning the girl from head to toe.

He could see her point, but it wasn’t as bad she probably thought it was.

The dress fitted her like glove, revealing the curves she was developing as a young woman. While the dress did show quite a bit of skin, it was still respectable.

“No, not really. To Bill and Orion, possibly but they’re big brothers who naturally want to keep every perverted wizard away from you. Hell, I may end up breaking someone’s teeth in if they think they can disrespect you like that. But you look beautiful Little Tigress, don’t think otherwise. Talbott would definitely agree with me,” David stated, watching his fellow Hufflepuff blushed at the name of the boy she’s been crushing on since third year.

David has been watching the two dance around each other since Judith admitted that she fancied the Ravenclaw wizard in the Charms classroom when practicing the Memory Charm. He was waiting for the two to finally get together already.

“If you’re done worrying, we still have a Ball to get to,” David said with a raised brow.

“But-EEP!” David already saw the protest in her eyes was quick to walk across the room and throw Judith over his shoulder. He only resorted to such measures when she was be difficult, and she was definitely being difficult.

“C’mon Little Tigress, your bird boy is waiting for you,” he said as he made his way out of her room. Judith spluttered over her words, mainly out of embarrassment at both what he said and the unnecessary position David has put her in.

“DAVID! Put me down, you brute! I’m in a dress for Merlin’s sake,” she protested loudly, wriggling in David’s unforgiving grip.

‘Damn demon lineage...’ she thought with a grimace.

“I'm well aware, we can clean you up when we're there with a spell, I not missing my chance to dance with Merula,” David said breezily. Judith gave up, allowing herself to be carried off like a sack of potatoes.

“Bloody sap... stupid dance,” she grumbled under her breath. David chuckled at her disgruntled mood.

“You’ll thank me for it by the end of the night, trust me,” he said. Judith pouted.

‘Assuming I don’t hide in a dark corner somewhere first...’

“Do that and I'm casting Lumos Maxima so there's nowhere for you to hide,” David said suddenly, nearly scaring the girl half to death. Judith mentally slapped her forehead out of exasperation.

She should know better not to think aloud around David, seeing how they’re both Legilmens.

Damn it...

“Fine,” she huffed. Luckily for her, they finally arrived near the entrance of the Great Hall. David finally set her down, and casting a spell that made her look presentable again.

David offered his arm to her.

“Shall we, Little Tigress?” Judith felt her cheeks heating up at the thought of the person waiting on her inside the Great Hall before letting out a sigh. She took her best mate’s arm.

“I guess we shall...”

-----------------------

Talbott was chatting alongside with Merula, twirling a red rose between his hands when he heard a whistle. Both turned to make out the figures of their dates not too far from them.

David separated himself from his fellow Hufflepuff to walk up to the two. David gave Talbott a smirk and nodded over in Judith’s direction before stealing Merula away.

Talbott only raised a brow at the Hufflepuff wizard’s behavior before walking up to his date for the night. As he stood in front of her, any words that he was going to say to her, died at the tip of his tongue.

Talbott stared at his date, heart racing with a blush on the high points of his cheekbones as he looked at her from her curls to her high heeled shoes. The silence was starting to unnerve the Hufflepuff witch as her long time love interest stared at her without saying anything.

“Y-you clean up quite nicely, Talbott,” she blurted. She mentally smack herself immediately afterwards.

‘When did I become this awkward, goodness…’

However, seem to have done the trick and snapped Talbott back to reality.

“S-sorry, little bird. I-I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I-It’s just that…” Talbott shook his head, trying to focus.

“It’s just that,” Judith echoed slowly, biting her bottom lip. She was worried that David might’ve been wrong and she looked like a fool in front of the boy she had feelings for.

Talbott stepped closer to her, tilting her head up by her chin so she could look at him. He offered a shy smile.

“You look beautiful, Judith. More lovely and temperate than a summer’s day,” He said softly, placing the rose he had behind her left ear. Judith blushed as she felt her heart race at his barely there touch.

“I-I… thank you, Talbott…” The Ravenclaw wizard smiled at the shy response. Behind them the instruments started seemed to be warming up to play the first song.

“May I have this dance,” Talbott asked, mock bowing to the girl. Judith giggled behind a red manicured hand.

“You may…” Taking her hand Talbott led Judith close to the center of the dance floor, with David and Merula standing not too far from them. The fairies that were lighting up the room swirled around the students, leaving them in awe at the magical moment. In the midst of this, David gave his friend a wink, who in turned returned it with an unimpressed glare. Judith returned her attention back to her date once she felt him take one of her hands

“I’m not usually one who likes public displays, but… I quite like this one… almost as much as I like you,” Talbott quietly admitted as he looked into pale gold eyes.

‘Is it possibly to pass out from blushing so much? Because I think I’m close…’ Judith thought as she ducked her head with a smile. Talbott was being so sweet and kind to her, she wanted to be wrapped up in his arms and dance the night away.

Judith looked back up at him with a teasing grin.

“I hope you like dancing too, because it’s our time to shine…”

————————

Talbott was smiling at the laughing girl in his arms as he spun her around. The two have been in their own little bubble ever since the dance started.

Their shy exteriors melted away leaving behind something much warmer and intimate. Anyone with eyes can see that they were clearly smitten with each other. Which were plenty watching them on occasion.

Red eyes darted around the Great Hall, finding the person he was looking for. He gave the Headmaster a subtle nod which he returned with a knowing smile. Talbott stepped back from Judith to clear his throat with a smile.

“All this dancing is making me thirsty, I think I’m gonna get a refreshment,” he said. Judith smiled at him, making his heart stutter in a lovestruck sigh.

“A refreshment sounds great, actually! I’ll go with you-”

“N-no need! I-I’ll get one for you! Just... stay right there,” Talbott stuttered before taking off. Judith’s brows furrowed in confused as she watch Talbott disappear in the darkness.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she saw the cheery smile of David.

“Cheers, Little Tigress! I see that I was right about you enjoying yourself,” he said with a grin. Judith glared and punched his arm.

“Cheeky bastard,” she growled. David laughed good naturedly while rubbing his arm.

“I’m surprised you’re not with Synde. Seeing how eager you were to get here and be with her,” she retorted. David shrugged.

“Mer said she going to get refreshments for the both of us. She actually suggest I go find you to see how your night was so far,” David replied. Gold eyes narrow out of suspicion.

“That’s a little odd. Talbott just let to do the same thing...”

“Was it? I found it very typical of Miss Synde and Mr. Winger,” a third voice said. David and Judith turned to see the amused face of their Headmaster.

The pair chatted with Professor Dumbledore for a while when Judith noticed something was amiss.

“It’s bit awhile since Merula and Talbott went to get refreshments. Surely it can’t take that long,” Judith pondered out loud. Dumbledore smiled.

“Clever eye, Miss Harris. That’s because they’re no longer here and they personally asked me to distract you,” he chuckled. David and Judith glanced at each other before looking back up at Dumbledore.

“Professor,” David asked warily. Dumbledore chuckled.

“Mr. Willows, you can head to the library. Miss Harris... while Mr. Winger wasn’t explicit with the location for you to go to, he did say ‘Remember our first date’ as a clue. Enjoy the rest of your storybook fairytale night, you two. You deserve it,” Professor Dumbledore informed the pair with a knowing smile.

Judith blushed walking out of the Great Hall with David. The two said their goodbyes as Judith made her way outside. Transforming into her Black Sparrowhawk, she couldn’t help but wonder what Talbott had planned at the Black Lake...

-----------------

Judith landed on the shore and transformed back, only to be surprised to find who was waiting for her.

“Lily,” she asked as the little fairy flew around her, buzzing out of excitement.

What was her little friend doing all the way out here?

The magical creature took ahold of her hand, tugging her to the Boat house.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Just slow down, I am wearing heels after all,” she laughed gently. Judith followed the excited fairy inside only to freeze at the door way.

Standing inside was Talbott. The place looked to have been cleaned out. Numerous fairies including her own lit up the Boathouse in a soft glow. Rose petals scattered the floor, along with some candles. A large heart made up of different colored roses was hung up behind the Ravenclaw wizard. A small table with some chairs of some of the food and drinks form the Ball sat in a corner. Somewhere in the background, there was soft music playing as well.

Talbott walked up to the stunned Hufflepuff witch and took her hand.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, little bird,” he spoke softly. Judith shook her head out of disbelief.

“W-what is all this, Talbott,” she asked. The young man bit his lip.

“I-I... I may have been planning this while I was at the Owlery... I wanted to surprise you. While I did originally plan to do this in the Library, someone else had the same idea... So I’d figured the Black Lake was the next best thing. I did have some help putting this together,” Talbott admitted.

Lily buzzed, as if she was giggling at the two. Judith rose a brow at her Fairy’s cheeky behavior before chuckling.

“I just thought that... after everything you’ve done for Hogwarts, for me, you deserved a storybook romance,” Talbott said. Judith rescanned the room before offering a smile.

“I had no idea that you could be such a romantic, Talbott. But clearly you are.” Talbott blushed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I guess all that poetry paid off...”

--------

The pair sat and ate, chatting in between. Talbott giving going as far to feed Judith a bit of a cupcake. He ended blushing when he felt her lips touch his fingers tips as she let out a pleased moan.

Currently they were slow dancing in the middle of the room, listening to the music softly playing in the background.

“This is really amazing, Talbott,” Judith spoke up, daring to look up at red eyes that reminded her of rubies.

“You’re the amazing one, Judith. I was simply following my heart,” Talbott replied, squeezing her closer. That foreign yet familiar scent that clung onto the Hufflepuff filled his nose.

“O-Oh stop it. I am not,” Judith insisted with a nervous laugh. Having Talbott so close to her was causing her heart to beat faster than normal. Talbott stopped dancing in favor of holding her hands. His gaze was unwavering.

“I mean it, little bird. You made this Valentine’s Day perfect for everyone, even Flich and Pince... And especially for me,” Talbott confessed. Pearly whites flashed at him.

“All I wanted was a magical Valentine’s Day with my date,” Judith started, glancing down for a quick moment to gather herself before looking back up at Talbott through her lashes.

“...And... And I’m so happy that date is you...” And she was. Truly.

Talbott was the picture perfect gentleman. And the fact he went through great lengths to make Valentine’s Day memorable for her reminded her of happier times from her childhood. Except now it was with someone who likes her for her.

She hasn’t felt this special in years...

Talbott urged his heart to calm down as he reached for his wand.

“I feel the same way, Judith. And I... made something for you...” Stepping back, Talbott casted a spell, causing a book to appear. Judith blinked out of surprise at the book that hovered between them. Carefully reaching for it, she opened it to a random page somewhere in the beginning.

“...The loner poet listened to the Howler professed the words he wasn’t aware that lived in his heart. Speaking of a deep longing for a girl with otherworldly pale gold eyes. To never leave him because when he looks into her unique irises, he can see future. A future where he would wake up to them every morning. A future where he would look at child with the same eyes as her. A future that would lead to forever together.

He felt his heart stall in his chest, itching to cast a spell to light the Howler ablaze to prevent its words being heard by unwanted ears. It was then he smelled her before he heard her.

A hint of sea breeze that made him feel like he was standing so close the never-ending ocean. Chocolate that reminded him of her skin tone. A variety of fainter sweet scents, most he couldn’t name but the one he could pick out was honey.

Her melodious low voice sung to his eardrums:

“Hey, what did your Valentine Howler say?” He swiftly turned to find pale gold eyes curiously looking up at him. He could feel his heart speed up when he connected the dots.

It was her.

She was the one his heart longed for.

Everything that has transpired that day and this revelation became too much for the loner poet to take. He was quick to deny that his Howler hasn’t said anything, using the opportunity their teacher has created to leave the classroom.

He needed time. Time to think of what to do next...”

Judith was so engrossed in words written on the page that she didn’t realize that Talbott was now standing behind her.

“It’s not finished, more so of a... work in progress for an ongoing story...” Judith jumped a little when she felt his breath ghost over her visible ear.

“This is about you,” she whispered, releasing the book to float again. She turned to find Talbott staring down at her with half lid eyes.

“It’s about you and me, little bird,” he whispered, cupping one of her cheeks. Judith closed her eyes, leaning into his warm touch.

There was a shift in the air and she nervous but secretly excited to where this could lead...

Talbott withdrew for a moment forcing Judith to open her eyes again. She notice a heart shaped key necklace in his hand.

“What’s that,” she asked quietly.

“This is the key that unlocks the book. I made it be this way so you can wear it like a necklace. So our story would always be with you,” Talbott answered, carefully placing the it around her neck. A full body shiver raked Judith’s body when she felt the tips of his finger ghost over the sensitive skin.

“I... I never had someone put this much effort for me. To bare your feelings like this, Talbott... I... I don’t know what to say,” Judith confessed quietly. She could barely hear her own voice over the roar of blood rushing to her face combined with the sound of her heartbeat pounding against her eardrums.

Talbott caressed her cheek again.

“I don’t expect an answer from you right away little bird. I’m more than happy to do this for you. You’re the only one who deserves to see this side of me...” Talbott leaned closer aiming to place a kiss on her cheek. Much like he did last year.

What Judith did next surprised both of them.

Turning her head ever so slightly, she caught Talbott’s lips with her own. This stunned the pair, both remaining motionlessly for a few moments. Just as the Ravenclaw wizard was about to pull back, Judith held him there by his tie, pressing against him. Her painted lips moved against his unresponsive ones slowly, testing the waters and his resolve.

After a moment of deliberation, Talbott gave in and returned the unexpected kiss. With one hand cupping her face, its twin finding refuge on her lower back, pushing her closer still. Judith released his tie in favor of wrapping her arms around his neck, melting in his embrace. Both of them were placed under a cloudy haze as their lips continued to move against one another.

The pair broke apart for air, foreheads resting against one another. Talbott silently licked his lips, picking up the taste of vanilla.

‘She tastes just as sweet as she looks. Good Gods help me...’ came the helpless thought as he found himself at the end of Judith’s sultry stare.

‘What are you doing to me, Talbott? Why do I feel this way towards you...’

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Talbott,” Judith whispered, placing a soft kiss against the corner of his lips. Talbott shivered at the sound of her voice, which has dipped down an octave. Her accent came out, loud and clear. His hands, which has migrated to her waist, squeezed down on the curve for a few seconds.

He could listen to her speak to him like this for hours...

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Judith... Thank you for being my valentine...” Judith let out soft chuckle, pulling him in for another kiss.

In the midst of this an involuntary thought passed through her mind. One which would shatter the Hufflepuff witch later on.

‘I love you, Talbott...’

-------------------

Some time has passed since the Valentine’s Day Ball. Judith more or less went back to her life as per usual.

With occasional outing with Talbott when classes and working for Rakepick became too much for her.

It was late at night and she was at the shore of the Black Lake, practicing her spellwork. She always wanted to remain sharp on her skills and it was a way for her to prepare for the upcoming O.W.L.S., which was approaching fast.

She decided to practice the Patronus Charm, seeing how she hasn’t casted it in awhile.

“Expecto Patronum!”

What came out of the tip of her wand shocked her.

Instead of her usual Siberian Tiger was a-

“G-Golden E-Eagle?!” Her eyes watched as the avian predator flew above her before disappearing.

She shocked her head, not believing what she just saw.

Over and over again, she casted the spell, waiting to see her beloved tiger. Only to watch the animal that came out soar its wings above her.

Her legs gave out from beneath her.

“No, no, no! How can this be happening?! Patronuses don’t change,” she panicked. A vague memory came resurfaced in her mind.

“Though I have heard of Patronuses changing forms after falling in love...” Judith’s eyes widen.

That voice belonged to Tonks when they were dealing with the Dementor threat from last year.

Another memory surfaced, however, much older...

“Gift this ring to the one your heart desires above all others. It will only fit and accept that one person, anyone else, it’ll reject and return to you...” Tears ran down her cheeks. When she realized what memory it was.

“Gran-Gran...” came the broken whisper. Her grandmother gifted her a magical blue and silver ring before she died. The same ring she gave to Talbott just a year prior. She didn’t remember her dear grandmother’s words when she gave it to him.

Now that she thought about it, the ring never returned to her. And it was on Talbott’s left ring finger the night of the Ball.

Even as she kissed him, those three words that haunted her since childhood has crossed her flowery dazed mind.

She couldn’t do anything but face the truth. To speak the words that haunted her in form of a Boggart from third year.

“I love Talbott Winger...”

And she was secretly terrified.

Because she knew if he were to confess the same, she was done for.

Her heart would be his.

And risk breaking if he were to ever leave...

17 notes · View notes

passable-talent · 3 years

Note

So then a part 3 pretty please? I would love to see Obi-Wan and others in this story too :))

| part 1 | part 2 |

hmm. lore is getting deeper here ladies and gents

Shmi, as it turned out, had once called Anakin’s cavern her home. She had raised him here, and when she had gotten too old to protect it, had left the cave to Anakin for an easier life among the humans.

She very seldom came to visit her son in the forest, as it would be seen as suspicious for an elderly woman to wander off in the direction of the dragon’s lair. But when she had heard that Council Head Palpatine was sending his army of golems, she had hurried toward the mountain with as much haste as she could.

Councilman Gunray was long gone into the woods when you decided it was safe to turn your back on where he’d been. You picked through the crumbled golems that had fallen into the grass, reaching the stone ledge that lead into Anakin’s cave. It was a foot or so taller than you, but had plenty of footholds, so like always, you scaled it without a problem.

Anakin was sitting up now, his skin cleaned of blood and wounds treated nicely. Shmi was sitting beside him, and both seemed anxious for your return. Both stared as you climbed up, presumably because they were worried you’d been hurt.

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” you said, lifting the hilt of your quieted saber to place it back on your waistband, but as you did, you noticed something about your arm.

On the outside of your forearm, there was a patch of grey-ish brown scales. Your fingernails were a shade darker, hardened and lengthened into claws. You checked- and the same was true for the other arm.

“What-” you started, breathing beginning to speed up, a slight bit of panic invading your body. “What is this?” Anakin practically jumped to his feet, and you watched him with worry in your eyes as he cupped your face, rubbing his thumbs over your cheekbones. He didn’t have his horns, nor slitted eyes, and his arms were free of scales while he rubbed his thumbs over your cheekbones. You almost pulled away from him- there was something weird about the way you felt his touch, like he was touching scar tissue, but you knew you had no scars under your eyes.

“It’s alright,” Anakin breathed, his blue eyes full of affection. “You look beautiful.” You reached up to hold his arms, but the sight of your new claws only startled you further.

“Anakin, I-” He interrupted you by bringing his hand down to your shoulders, flipping his dragon’s skin cloak from your shoulders. As he did, you felt a change- and looked down in bewilderment as your fingernails slowly shortened and returned to normal, the scales on your arms disappearing back into your skin.

“It’s okay,” he said, throwing the cloak around himself again. “It’s a dragon’s cloak.” Your eyes were drawn to him as he spoke, and scales emerged on his cheekbones, horns sprouted from his hair, his pupils narrowed into the slits you’d grown so used to seeing.

The cloak- it was magic. Now, you cursed yourself for not figuring out earlier.

“Whoever wears it gets a bit of a dragon’s look. I can’t change forms unless I’m wearing it.”

“So I could’ve changed into a dragon?” You asked, running your fingers down the cloak, its inside smooth, exterior scaled.

“No,” he said, “Only I can do that, since it’s mine.” He raised his hands to your face again, and let one thumb roll over your lower lip. “But you made a beautiful dragon.” You blushed, lowering your head, and only then did you remember that Shmi was still there. You trusted her, and she was Anakin’s mother after all, but that made it more embarrassing to have a blatantly romantic moment in front of her. You cleared your throat, slipping from his grip and turning toward her.

“Coruscant- what’s it look like, now?” You asked her, and she gave you a small smile.

“I know how you worried for us, dear,” Shmi said, her whole body just radiating kindness. “Most of the homes are untouched, especially the lower class.” Relief you hadn’t known you were waiting for flooded your body. Coruscant, even with its leaders turning their backs on you, was a town full of people like any other in the kingdom, and you had never wanted to hurt the townspeople. “The sacrificial stage is gone, as is the council’s meeting hall, and many other buildings in the middle of town, such as Palpatine’s home.”

“His house burnt down?” You asked, letting regret flash across your face. Shmi reached out to take your hand, pulling you down to sit beside her.

“No, don’t worry,” she said, holding your hand with both of hers. “Palpatine is a deplorable, evil man. You should know better than anyone. He deserves what he’s gotten.” You offered her a small smile, hoping to convince yourself of it, too. You’d meant to make Coruscant better, but by falling for Anakin, it seemed like you’d made everyone’s life worse.

“Mom, I don’t think you should be going back to Coruscant,” Anakin suggested, standing at the top of the stairs to his loft.

“I agree,” Shmi said, gathering herself to her feet. “Luckily, my dear, I believe you still have a spare bed?” Anakin looked first at Shmi, then to you, before turning a slightly surprised gaze toward his mother.

“I do, my old room, but don’t you... where is (Y/N) going to sleep?” With the expression of a mother who knows her son too well, Shmi shook her head, giving you a knowing look before following a tunnel away from the loft and into the mountain.

Anakin turned toward you, confused, and you only smiled. Maybe he’d figure that puzzle out himself.

“Got any more of that soup?” You asked, looking briefly toward his firepit. This morning he’d given you a rabbit soup, made with bone broth from his last few meals. “I’m starved.”

~~~

Three days passed in peace. And yes, he had figured it out, and you slept curled up against his chest.

You were nervous with every noise that passed the cave’s mouth, assuming that another Jedi knight had been sent to kill Anakin, or a curious passer-by was ready to expose your secret. You knew Anakin shared the same fears. It seemed only to be Shmi who was completely comfortable, happy to once again be home with her son, and you, who she had practically adopted as her own.

On the fourth day, you were leaning against the mouth of the cave, Anakin helping his mother prepare the evening meal behind you, when you saw something that confused and terrified you.

Appearing over the treetops was the form of a dragon.

“Uh, Anakin?” you called, realizing that this dragon was flying straight toward you, and so Anakin’s cavern. The only two dragons you knew where here with you, so- who was this?

You heard both Anakin and Shmi approach you, but you didn’t turn, your gaze still stuck with the dragon. You didn’t turn, at least, until you heard Shmi speak.

“Maul?”

Your gaze snapped to her, and an unsettling wave of fear came over you.

“No, Maul is-”

“Dead,” Shmi finished for you. “I know.” As the dragon grew closer, you began to recognize the red and black patterns that Maul had been described with, but you noticed a distinct lack of the deadly, yellow spikes that were said to cover the dragon’s face.

“It can’t be-” Shmi said, and Anakin stepped in front of her. You, sensing the same danger Anakin did, found and clutched your saber, readying to ignite it. As the dragon approached, you realized that between its wings was a human girl, which puzzled you even further.

The dragon landed just inside the treeline, far enough away that you didn’t yet feel threatened. From its neck slid the woman, and you narrowed your eyes, because you thought you might recognize her. But no, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be-

The dragon shifted into its human form, as you’d seen Anakin do, and though your heart had never stopped, in this moment, it felt like it restarted.

“Obi-Wan!” you shouted, without a second thought jumping from the ledge. You caught yourself and stumbled forward, rolling your momentum into a run, slamming into Obi-Wan and giving him a tight hug. He’d been your mentor, once- and now, beside him, was a close friend of yours, his new apprentice, Ahsoka Tano.

“It’s good to see you again, (Y/N),” Obi-Wan said, letting you break from his embrace to catch Ahsoka in yours. “I hear you’ve been getting yourself in quite a bit of trouble.”

“Yeah, well,” you said with a bit of a shrug, “it seems like I learned from the best.” From his bright hair were two horns, black and red, and similar colored scales covered his cheekbones, shoulders, arms. Somehow, he’d become a dragon.

“Kenobi?” said Shmi, and you turned toward where she and Anakin still stood at the mouth of the cave. Anakin looked scared- but in a way that only you would notice it. To anyone else, he would look furious.

“Forgive me, milady,” Obi-Wan said to her, stepping in front of you. “I’m sure your kind must not take kindly to seeing me. If you permit me, I come in peace- and to offer an explanation.”

“No,” Anakin said, and you lifted your gaze to him.

“Anakin,” Shmi said, seemingly to soothe him, and she said something to him that you couldn’t quite catch.

“Come inside,” Shmi called down, “We’ll have tea. It seems we have much to talk about.” Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were brought up to the cavern, where they sat on the floor, respectful to Shmi and Anakin’s home, the way a Jedi knight was trained to be.

“When I killed Maul,” Obi-Wan began, and you felt Anakin bristle beside you, “I didn’t know dragons were anything more than beasts. But he became human as he died, and he asked me to take his dragon’s cloak.” Obi-Wan, who wore the red and black cloak, pulled it tighter around his shoulder. “I’ve been honoring his wishes. I didn’t realize that when he died, it took on a new master, and I’ve become a dragon myself.” Shmi brought her hand to her chin, considering.

“I’ve heard rumors that such a thing was possible,” she said, “but I’ve never seen it myself.”

“Now you have,” Ahsoka offered, a brightness to her snark, as always.

“But that isn’t why we came,” Obi-Wan continued, “We believe that this family is very important to something happening in the kingdom.”

“So this is Jedi business,” you said, almost saddened.

“Not fully,” Obi-Wan said, “(Y/N), since you left the temple, there has been revealed a plot to kill the King. We’ve been trying to investigate who would try such a thing, and the Order has discovered no one.” He leaned forward, as though sharing a secret. “But I believe it’s Palpatine.”

“Unsurprising,” Shmi said with a small hiss to her words.

“Why would he do that?” Anakin asked, not truly invested into the politics of the kingdom.

“I believe that he wants the throne,” Obi-Wan answered, his voice even, and you recognized the tone. This was how Obi-Wan spoke when he was trying to break news gently. Why was he so afraid to tell this to you?

“And how would killing the king give him the throne?” You prodded, “The Senate would vote on an Interim until Princess Padme is old enough to be queen.”

“Because Palpatine has always been a political mentor to the princess,” Ahsoka said, “So he thinks he’ll be voted as Interum.” Obi-Wan waved her silent.

“That,” Obi-Wan said, “and that he already has the support of many senators. I thought that that would be enough, but when I heard of everything that had happened in Coruscant...” Obi-Wan brought his gaze to yours, his eyes full of sorrow.

“I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, (Y/N), but it seems he’s been using you. I believe that he allowed you to escape your execution, allowed Vader here to go free, allowed you to defeat the golems, because he wanted to build you into a bigger threat. I think he intends to wage a war against you, so that he can prove to the Senate that he is a good leader. Then he’ll kill the king, and take the throne.”

You’d known that you had made things worse for everyone, by making the choices you had. But to find out you were an unknowing participant in a coup...

You lowered your head, pressing your palms to your forehead.

“The thought that anyone would want to kill King Sio Bibble,” Shmi said, righteously angry, “is deplorable. He is a wise and fair ruler.”

“Virtues mean nothing to a man who craves power, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan said, taking a sip of his tea.

You’d thought that you were smart, that you were secretive. You’d thought that you were one of the best knights ever to leave the Jedi Temple, and yet- and yet, Sheev Palpatine, the Council Head of Coruscant, who you’d never met before in your life, could predict your decisions with enough accuracy to incite a war.

“What to you suggest we do, master?” You asked, not lifting your head to look at Obi-Wan.

“It is my suggestion that you leave,” Obi-Was said, “Flee to less populated land. If you prove yourself not a threat, then he will have no grounds for an attack, and the Jedi Knights’ only worries will be protecting the King and Princess.”

“I’m not leaving my home,” Anakin snapped, and you once again cursed yourself for being the source of problems not only for your master, not only for the man you loved, but for the entire kingdom.

“You’re willing to face an army to protect it?”

“Yes!”

“Anakin,” Shmi said softly, reaching over to take his hand gently. “Obi-Wan, thank you for telling us. It seems we have much to talk about.”

You hated everything that was going to happen- whether Anakin was forced to abandon his childhood home, or war came to the kingdom. You hated every alternative, and so searched for a single substitute, one pathway that would diverge and protect everyone, let things return to the way they used to be.

And suddenly, you had one. Not one that you were proud of, but one that you would accept, to protect the people you cared about, to protect the kingdom.

“What if we just kill Palpatine?” you suggested, quietly, lifting your head slowly.

“(Y/N), Jedi knights are not meant to meddle in politics,” Obi-Wan reminded you.

“No, but we are meant to serve the king.” You felt determination wiggle into your soul, more and more certain that not only would you do this, but that it would be right. “Would destroying his usurper not be considered serving him?” Obi-Wan looked sideways to Ahsoka for a moment, then back to you.

“Suppose I agreed with your reasoning,” he said, cheekily taking a sip of his tea, “What would you have in mind?”

-🦌 Roe

| part 4 |

#reader insert #angst #anakin x reader insert #star wars anakin #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #star wars #dragon x knight reader #dragon!anakin #dragon!anakin au #dragon x knight au #dragon au #dragon #knight reader #knight reader au #fics

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

The Offspring of a Dream

Fandom: Bloodborne

Fic Summary: Why does the Doll call you “good”?

Notes:

Obviously the lore in this game is very hidden and up for interpretation, so this fic in part has to do with my personal interpretation of things, so please keep that in mind! I know there's a theory about the Doll being a Great One/Avatar out there (haven't read up about it much through), but currently I find there's something rather beautiful about the Doll truly just being a doll, who is genuinely kind, and just trying to help us out, because the game has little to no other characters like that. I also know whether or not we are "good" is definitely up for great debate, but I'm the kind of person who likes to see/read redemption into everything, so this is just my rather optimistic interpretation of events.

Also, I don't necessarily ship the Hunter and the Doll, but I do think it's a cute ship and enjoy content for it...So you're free to interpret the internal monologue as platonic or romantic, whichever you prefer.

This is one of the only times I've used second person, so go easy on me...I chose second person because I didn't find third or first nearly as compelling for it.

I'd really really appreciate it if you could leave a comment!! They seriously do make my week, and give me the motivation to keep writing!!

I also have another Bloodborne fic about Vicar Amelia's transformation, I'd love it if you could check that out too!! Links in a reblog!!

The Offspring of a Dream:

“New Hunter”

“Mister Hunter”

“Hunter”

“A Hunter!”

“Moon-Scented Hunter”

“Miss Hunter!”

“Good Hunter of the Church,

"have you seen the thread of light?”

“Welcome home,

Good Hunter.

What is it you desire?”—

No name.

Not a greeting, nor title.

No adjectives or addendums like ‘holy’ or ‘accursed,’ ‘beast,’ or ‘man.’ Not a crow, or a wolf, or an avenger, or a knight. Nor a roar of what you hunted.

A lonely hunter without a name, or a word.

Just a hunter, who may or may not be good.

And it was a doll, a doll who had a dreamer, but was equally lonely—

Is this all in my mind? Did I dream her up?

It was this Doll who said you were good, every time you arrived in the dream, always ready to turn your desires, the echoes of a scourge, into strength.

She said it faithfully, and it was not easy to recognize when she said it, it wasn’t a greeting, or a title.

It was a prayer.

Because she had watched a thousand “good hunters” walk through the dream, and a thousand fall. A thousand keep her company, a thousand ask for her to make them stronger with the echoes of their killing. A thousand become drunk with blood, trapped in a very different dream, that some might call nightmare. And a thousand become something other than a hunter…something other than good.

A thousand graves.

Graves for the ones who woke up.

So with a title she prayed to the moon that this one—this one—would be good.

That’s all she needed. That’s all any of them ever needed; one good man.

The title ‘hunter’ was meant to be synonymous with good. A force of holiness to purge the impurity. …But their name became equivalent with evil. Or maybe it was from the very start.

The spreading corruption burned.

Before the blood parched their lips and ravaged their bones. After. At the end of the day, we’re all human. At the end of the day, we’re all beasts.

Born of the blood… undone by the blood…

So she—inhuman, human—she prayed that one day there would be a hunter who could fight the monsters and not become one. That the blood wouldn’t burn and coil and wrap its tendrils around them, twist them inside out, and make them something more than just a “good hunter”…and so much less. She cast goodness over you, as if reminding you not to give in to the beast. Not to give in to your humanity. Reminding you that though you were a hunter, though you were drenched in blood, with heart full of holes, and brain full of eyes, you could still be good.

She put her hands together and she prayed. She prayed, and she helped you on your journey, she channeled death into strength, she whispered, and she tended to frail, living flowers, and feeble, dying, old men, and she cried.

Any god-fearing man, not burdened with an overabundance of naiveté, would know that dolls don’t whisper. They don’t ask if you love them. They don’t move. They can’t help. They don’t pray. And they definitely don’t cry.

Dolls sit lifeless on the floors of children’s nurseries, and the abandoned workshops of bitter, maniacal, old men.

Is this just a dream? Will I know you when I wake?

What’s waking worth without you?

If the gods don’t love me I still promise to love you.

You watched human hands twist into claws, skin into fur, faces into tentacles, tongues into snakes, and eyes into eyes, and wondered if perhaps this doll, with her porcelain skin and hair, with her tears and prayer, if she was more human than the rest. This doll—who asked about gods and love, who cared for you, who hoped even the worst hunters might be worth something in another, better world—was more human than the offspring of an old, forgotten town. More human than we, who are born and die by the blood.

How was she born, and how would she die? What caused her to breathe, to come alive? Was it just our minds, some ill-gotten, internal eyes? Was something so primitive as hope or love? Or was it the twisted will of some faceless moon without a man in it?

Is it just me?

Is it my mind?

Tell me she’s more than children’s toys, and old men’s dreams.

Tell me she’s real.

Could something made of metal and mechanics, and the puppet strings of our own minds die?

Do dreams die when we wake up?

Or, in the end when men are all either monsters or gods, would she stand in the wreckage, the only real, awake thing left…the only thing left that’s still human?

When men become gods, do our creations become human?

She watched them fall. She watched them reach for bare threads of guiding moonlight with human hands, and howl at the same moon with a wolf’s cry, and she still had enough hope left in her to call you “good hunter.” To believe that you would be different.

Did she say this to everyone? Did she hope every time? Or was it just you? And which meant more? If she hoped despite just how many had failed, or if she saw something different within you alone?

Here you stood, steeped in the blood of beasts. Ugly thing. Killer. Cold and merciless.

And she called you good.

Did that mean she saw the blood, and the murder, and thought it was good? Or that she looked past all that and saw the good still?

How could she, a doll, an echo herself, know what it meant to be good?

Perhaps she was made by someone who had seen a world with good left in it. Or a world which was evil, but in which there was someone like her, who encompassed all the good in the world to him.

Perhaps that’s what she was to you too. The good. The human left. Without her you may never keep fighting. You had no one else, after all. Your friends were either mad, or intoxicated, or destined to die, or destined for…worse.

Is she just a trick of the moonlight?

She was the embodiment of hope.

You tried to be good. For her. For the world. They all did. But most became drunk on blood, or knowledge, and lost themselves along the way.

What is it you desire?

It always starts good. Goals, on paper, always seem so noble. In practice, so bloodthirsty.

Laurence made a church. A force of holiness and healing. And he turned the city into a madhouse, a cage for monsters.

Wilhelm made a school. A place of mindfulness and learning. And he dabbled in rituals to hide the moon.

The old hunters thought stealing a child wouldn’t incite the wrath of its mother.

They all thought the world could be saved, that the plague could end through quarantine or amputation.

When they cut off the diseased heads the blood only spread. When they stayed in their houses they went insane instead.

The world needed more than a simple fix to return to being “good.”

The hunters thought they were fighting for a noble cause. They thought they were all good…and they turned into the very beasts they fought, awaiting another hunter to spill their blood, and start the cycle again.

The hunters only did what they could; keep killing. That was all they knew to do to get rid of the the beasts in this brick forest.

They needed a hunter who would break the cycle. Do more than just kill and give in to the call of the blood. Who would seek the paleblood, and end this dreadful night.

Transcend the hunt.

But how to eclipse the chase when evolution without courage is the name of ruin?

A hunter who would look beyond today’s night, today’s hunt, today’s beasts. Beyond the blood. Resist its seduction. A hunter who could learn where all this started, find it. And do what hunters do best:

Kill it.

—(For sometimes death is freedom, at least when it’s a dream)—

Seek the paleblood. Hunt the great ones.

—(And sometimes waking up is far worse.)

The formless blood wanted to have a child. Perhaps he thought he was giving those he chose a gift of a sort. Only horror followed.

Every great one loses its child.

One particular woman, long ago, held the name of this broken town. Perhaps it was only fitting that the child of blood and name was born in voice alone.

This child’s formless cries echoed through more than the nightmare; through the waking world—(if you had enough eyes, at least)—calling you to comfort it, to silence it.

Could everyone in the town hear it? Is that what drove them mad? Listening to a child’s endless cries, with no hope of comforting it?

Many had tried to contact it. Some tried to become gods…and misplaced their minds in the process. But you found it. Knowing it was not to be exalted, but destroyed.

You were a hunter after all.

So you killed the only thing keeping it alive, the thing desperately trying to play a lullaby and sing it to sleep.

You yourself played a tiny music box for it, from the beginning of it all—that belonged to a family ravaged by the blood, the hunt, which held a song about love and loss—just to hear it laugh, before the nightmare let out it last.

Cords of thirds. Cords of three.

One from the child of voice. One from the child of night. One from the child stolen long ago, sitting in an old, abandoned workshop.

A workshop alive now only in hunters’ dreams.

You could have left your own nightmare long ago. You could have woken from this dream and believed the world was not so dark, not so strange, not so fascinating.

But this wasn’t the only nightmare you had to liberate.

There was another, another for which all not-so-good hunters were destined—(and thus you too if the Doll’s prayers were in vain). They sent you there with a piece of a drunken man before you yourself became, inevitably, intoxicated, in this bloody bar, so that you could, perhaps navigate sleeping minds with your sanity in tact.

We, the offspring of an old, forgotten secret. Destined and bound by the chase.

So our forefathers sinned?

Ludwig thought he was holy, fighting for a noble cause, and he stood, accursed, in a bath of the blood he spilled, trampling the ghosts of those he killed.

Is it possible there exist moonlight in even the darkest nights?

When we reach for the thread of light, none of us ever want to know what it truly is. Hope can be so vicious that way.

The church turned their eyes from their hands.

All too often, when men try to become gods—or something akin—they become monsters. There's a reason the moon is out of our reach.

Laurence thought the blood would heal. That the gods wouldn’t mind a little thievery. He thought they could keep their humanity in tact, as long as they prayed hard enough.

And he watched the world burn. Watched his hope turn his universe into a waking, walking nightmare. And he burned in his own broken Neverland, ever searching for his own lost, rotted humanity.

Maria, beloved apprentice Maria—

…Is that you, my dear Doll?

Who was there from the beginning. Who vowed to forsake the blood—including her own. Maria, so sickened by her actions, who threw the hunt down a well. Who vowed to in death to be the hunt’s secret keeper, and sat, alone, a lonely princess at the top of the clock tower, alive by the puppet strings of a nightmare—

She sacrificed herself, her values, to purge you from the plague of wild curiosity.

A corpse should be left well enough alone.

And at last, behind time, was a quaint, sad, little village, that lay dripping with secrets, ransacked for its eyes.

A quaint little village where it all started. Where the sky wept, and sun collapsed in on itself, and the great lake held too soft and depraved a secret.

Every great one loses its child…but this one lost his mother.

A quaint little village where a sympathetic mother fell from the stars. Where her child was ripped from her, dissected for parts, by the very people you once thought were good.

The wrath of an angry god is to be feared. But the wrath of a sympathetic god is far worse.

And the wrath of a mother is a lasting curse.

Death is freedom, at least in a dream. But when waking up is far worse, we rewrite the past within our dreams.

This was an orphans dream, pulling the hunt into a nightmare, as he waited to be freed from reality, as he waited for a hunter to rewrite the sins of their ancestors.

As he waited for a good man.

And the spirit thanked you. And the hunt thanked you.

And the Doll thanked you, for a shackle she never even knew was there had been lifted. She thanked you on behalf of the first hunter, for he slept a little sounder.

But there was one last dream that needed slaying:

Your own.

You could have woken long ago. You could have forsaken it all for the sunrise, and left someone else to find the answers, left someone else to be good.

It would have been nice to believe the world made sense.

It would have been nice to believe the dark side of the moon wasn’t made of blood and bones, haunting a poor, old man.

Few dreams offer you the choice to die before the bad part starts—(or perhaps simply to put an end to all the ‘bad parts’ you’ve gone through, to negate the possibility of more). But you would not bow to a happy, false reality.

Neither would you allow yourself to be taken captive by the nameless presence of the moon, made to perpetuate this hunt endlessly.

You understood the word “hunter” was never synonymous with good. They lost that title before the hunt even started. They lost that title when a little orphan was stolen from his mother.

You understood at last. It was her. Maria. The one who threw her weapon down the well in protest. She—(or at least, a version of her)—stood by your side, trying to guide you back all this time. Trying to guide you back to the beginning, where perhaps her sins could be atoned for. Where perhaps there could be good still.

So in a lonely field full of flowers, it was not you who were released from the dream.

You had enough eyes to see and slay the presence of the moon, who had orchestrated this all.

We’re all just puppets of the moon.

…But a cord of three strands is not so easily broken.

So in the end you neither woke nor dreamed, but saw the world as it was—though through newborn eyes. A child of the hunt. A child of the dream. Not destined to create a nightmare…but perhaps a better reality.

When the Doll picked up your small body, she smiled at last. She knew you’d succeeded, for this was unlike any hunter’s death, or transformation, she knew. She knew you’d atoned for the sins of your predecessors. She knew you’d freed the children, the nightmares, and the men.

And she called you “good hunter” still. For she knew the gods listened to her prayers after all. She knew that though you were a hunter no more—

You were certainly good.

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rpmemesbyarat · 3 years

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RP Meme from "Chapter One: Caliah (Lore)" in the Bastet breedbook from "Werewolf: The Apocalypse"

Once there was a cat who dreamed he was a man.

Like the morning mist, she appeared from nowhere, or so it seemed.

The winds have spoken of your dilemma and I have come to show you the way home.

Why do you call me brother?

We are family.

We have different parents but share the same blood.

You need to meet your people

You are my sister

I have no other family. Don’t leave me!

We all have family

What are the dreams of a cat?

Let us welcome each other and speak of hidden things.

If they come in peace, we welcome them.

I’m just a mutt.

Listen up and listen close, ‘cause this isn’t stuff you’ll hear from any old place.

I’ve got friends with friends, if y’know what I mean, and this is good stuff.

They don’t get along, y’know.

A good lorespeaker tells different stories every time, and she makes ‘em as cool as possible.

Sound like anyone we know? Nah! Couldn’t be!

So how do you trade secrets, anyway? After all, isn’t a secret shared a secret lost?

If you don’t play the game, you don’t learn a thing.

Each element of the message becomes a metaphor, and the message becomes a story.

Florid? Hell yeah! But ya gotta admit it’s more graceful — and exposes a hell of a lot less — than blurting out the truth.

You might say, “I heard a story about so-and-so” but you’d never say “I did so-and-so.” If your audience has a clue, they’ll catch on.

Everything’s told in metaphors.

A good obtuse metaphor makes you look imaginative if someone gets it, really stupid otherwise.

Everything is larger than life. People don’t just cry, they “explode in showers like the sea.” Folks don’t just get mad, they “turn into coals that burn through the floor.”

If what you’re saying is important, bigger is better.

Simple? Not if you don’t get the lingo.

A wounded cat can surrender without disgrace.

Not enough to go around.

Hey, don’t let on you know what I told you, huh?

It was a time before life, a longing when the dream of birth was yet to be.

This marked the end of peace and the beginning of struggle.

Such promises are soon broken.

Why does even the skin of my daughter flee from my hands?

Why must I always be alone?

Master, what would you have of us?

Nothing exists for him but annihilation.

Go across the world

Let that which is pure stand whole, but erode that which is impure from within.

He tells many tales, but all of them are lies. He is rage made manifest, and he coils within us all.

There was no want, no war, no anguish, and all living things gave of themselves to help others exist.

Until some cataclysm happened, everything lived in peace and plenty.

Life has ever been a struggle, my brothers and sisters. Life has always meant that some may die for others’ pleasure.

That pleasure may be as necessary as hunger or as frivolous as sport, but it has always been fatal and always will be.

Only through struggle can we progress.

Only through sacrifice can we succeed.

We were born from conflict and we grow through adversity. Our ancestors are predators, great cats and human hunters who rose above their surroundings and mastered them.

We know our place in the Great Order, and it is not passive.

Like the moon, our world waxes and wanes.

Each era glows brightly, then fades into night before rising again as some new age.

As creatures of light, dark and twilight all, we are not moved much by the vagaries of fortune.

Each tribe has its creation story, and they differ in many ways.

I have my own ideas.

We are a breed eternally apart, and we are rare.

Water runs silent, yet crushes with the power of an elephant.

Its depths hold secrets that only the brave can find.

The first of our kind were nearly the last.

Those it caught were devoured.

Let this be your legacy

My tears, shed for you, will boil in your veins.

All people will fear you, and all animals, too.

Begone and tend the flocks that need killing.

I banish you from sight!

They still live on in us, and we carry their curse to this day.

As the humans prospered, they grew quickly out of hand.

It was a bloody, useless time, and we fractured as a people.

Secrets became the only thing to bind us.

It’s hard to forgive these raging bastards.

Very territorial, and I know how that feels.

There are enough horrors in the night already.

Corruption has a million voices; sometimes they drown out the song of the moon and lead us over cliffs.

That song wails from nightclubs, boom boxes and televisions every day.

Stop up your ears, my friend and listen to the wind.

Those secrets led the wolves to our door — literally.

Gods damn the dogs for that!

Their misbegotten crusade killed hundreds of our Kind and Kin.

She mated with serpents, wolves and great cats in an effort to become like them, but gave birth to monsters instead.

Some legends portray her as one of our kind, but we know this isn’t so.

If the tales I’ve heard are any measure, they have no pity for us at all.

We are where we are born.

I think our unique insights show us that humanity is a mixed blessing — especially where the earth and the wild are concerned.

Men are the cleverest monkeys, no doubt, but they don’t have much sense of self-preservation.

Our forebears fought to let humanity prosper.

We have an amazing world at our fingertips, but it’s filled with poisons and lies.

Honor seems to be a fading dream in lands where the rich starve their people and the poor kill each other.

We hold magic within ourselves, within our hearts and minds and spirits. To dishonor ourselves is to disperse that magic and scatter our souls.

It’s acceptable to lie to other creatures; they’re not of our blood and not bound by our laws.

We will flee to survive a fight, but will not run when others depend on our strength.

We must make restitution to those we deceive, in deeds, trade or money.

We may be exiled or branded.

Our weapons are many — secrets, claws, teeth and allies — and we will not hesitate to employ them for our world’s

survival.

Our people have walked too close to extinction for us to take such matters lightly.

We will not ally ourselves with shadow powers or drink corrupted wisdom.

We do not fail our Earth and mother. That path leads to death.

We are the keepers of secrets, and our fates depend on silence.

Each of us bears the hidden doom of our own people, and we know the cost of betraying that trust.

We also know that we have what others want — or what they think they want — and it amuses us to make them squirm.

Our knowledge is our concern.

We will not share it unless we wish to.

We will hide ourselves from outsiders; they will think they know us, but we will delude them.

We will wrap our lore in riddles and tales; let the clever ones puzzle out their meaning.

We will act as if we know even more than we do, for it keeps outsiders guessing.

Let them wonder at our insight; they value us more highly when they do.

We will cover our tracks with misdirection, pretend to be other than what we are, fill the air with idle rumors and hide messages in code.

There is no forgiveness for this crime.

Well, let’s just say I know what I’ve seen. And I’ve seen a lot.

His eyes were so filled with pain that I decided to help out.

I’d swear he was grinning as the semi ran him down.

That felt good.

Guess they’ve gotta live here, too.

I say they’re not as smart as they might think.

Maybe I’m the one who’s being fooled.

I could tell you stories all night, all week, all month and more.

As the temples rose and the hordes crossed through, our parents sat on the sidelines of history and observed the passing of kings.

The cultures we witnessed shaped our own ways.

Cities rose, each with secrets too tempting to ignore.

For a long time — 4,000 years — there was all the room in the world for us, and no lack of secrets to keep us entertained.

We should have seen the signs in the Classical Age, when armies swept across the land in the names of gods, kings and conquerors.

We should have met en masse when trade and crusades brought East and West together.

I will not belabor the point. We know what happened.

Explorers, slavers and great white hunters bounded into the wilderness and cast a chain around our kind.

Suddenly, we went from having all space to having little.

I can’t say I don’t share the sentiment just a bit.

We didn’t stop until a greater evil forced us to align, but that’s another story.

It’s a wonder anyone survived.

We studied their secrets, but could learn nothing from them.

We have no one to blame but ourselves.

For all our vaunted sight, we’re blind. For all our gathered lore, we’re stupid.

The world is falling apart.

I don’t know whether to believe it or not, but we are living in interesting times!

We must pool our secrets, combine our efforts, and bring the world’s secrets to light.

We must act on what we discover and disperse what we learn.

Do I lose my cool?

The modern age is the greatest puzzle we could want endless streams of secrets, enigmas, wonders and dazzles, wrapped up in an explosive package that could blow us all to hell.

Anywhere, at any time, the whole ride could fly off the rails.

Those who ignore the warning feed the vultures the next morning.

I’ll simply say the tigers are not where you’d expect.

People have begun to open their eyes, but they still need your counsel to see the cliff’s edge before falling off

Those stories are true — violently true — and they add up to an appalling picture if you string them all together.

They get an idea, work on it a bit, and try to rule the world. Typical. We’ve seen their kind before.

Look around you if you doubt it.

Surely the secrets you’ve uncovered have given you the idea that maybe, just maybe, something’s going on, something bigger than another plunder, another invasion, another city that falls to ruin in a century.

Discover what you can, but bury your tracks well.

We’re strangers to each other for most of our lives, and we like it that way — a few careful gatherings are all we

can stand.

The moon is our patron, but the shadows are our father too, and they call to us at our weaker moments.

Most of us dance on the edge, though, and that’s where we like to be!

Despite our pains, we’re spirited and wild, inquisitive yet careful, sensual yet refined.

Our beauty is our greatest pride, and our wits are second to none.

We know what we are.

To hell with them all!

Still, we cannot let pride blind us to the facts.

The morning it foretells is up to us.

We must come together, yet retain our pride.

We are the keepers of secrets.

Perhaps it’s time those secrets were revealed.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #roleplay starters #bastet #werecats #werewolf the apocalypse #world of darkness #owod

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vesuviannights · 4 years

Text

Lucio x Reader 🍋🍋

Gender neutral reader, no pronouns or body parts.

As an Omega, you’ve spent your life yearning for adventure and covering your symptoms with any range of spells and herbs you could find. And the world has been kind to you, keeping you hidden from any Alpha who would wish to have you - until a white wolf appears in your forest sanctuary, golden eyes and blood-stained maw, and your carefully crafted control begins to unravel.

5411 words.

Featuring: omegaverse lore, knotting, breeding kink, cum stuffing, biting/claiming, Alpha Lucio, Omega Reader, some Asra x Muriel, mentions of blood, mentions of starvation

If you’re familiar with Omegaverse lore, know that I’ve fiddled with some of it to merge it with what we know of the Arcana universe. If not - welcome, and I hope you enjoy your stay! Here’s an informative page if you want to learn about it before you read, but if not there’s just enough exposition woven throughout the fic to give you the basics.

Also, the whole ‘consent what consent’ vibe in Omegaverse fics always throws me a bit, so there’s some vaguely political stuff in here to address that.

This is the second fic (and third prompt) for my Terrifying Ten scorecard!

You had never wanted to be an Omega. Or a Beta. Or even an Alpha. You had only ever wanted to be you, and free to do whatever you pleased, and not weighed down by what each label meant, or how others looked at you because of it.

And so you had spent every year since your first heat, that horrifying moment you could no longer deny exactly what you were, trying to figure out new ways to stop or mask it.

Casting spells. Starving yourself. Hiding out in certain magical places to mask your scent. Carrying specific herbs or magical items with you to ward off the all-too-obvious symptoms until you could find sanctuary.

You knew it was dangerous. Illegal, in some parts. The right kind of Omega might be considered property by the wrong kind of Alpha, and the longer an Omega went through their heats without sating them by submitting to an Alpha, the more they risked one day being crippled by them.

But you…you risked it all. All for freedom. All for the world. For wanting to see and explore and live how you wanted and not for someone else.

And all because of what your Aunt had told you one day, when you had been walking past the Count’s palace. Her eyes had glazed over, her voice had become fickle and husky, like it always did whenever she was possessed by the spirits.

And then she had turned to you and whispered the six words you knew you could never escape:

One day he will have you.

The air is crisp around you as you push your fingers through the damp soil, seeking the mushrooms and roots you need for your evening meal.

Beside you, a basket is already near-filled with them, all sorts and varieties and colours, ready to be washed and made into stew. You would usually never pick so many for yourself, especially not during your heat when you were too nauseous to eat, but you always enjoyed leaving some for Muriel as a thanks for letting you kick him out of his hut for a week.

You didn’t think you could ever thank him enough, really, but you tried to every moment you could. The sanctuary it allowed for you to have was priceless, and no gift would ever suffice in return.

You drop a few more roots into your basket before dusting the dirt from your hands. A little is still there when you move your hair from your face, and flecks of it catch in the strands and on your cheeks.

You huff quietly under your breath.

—and just barely hear a second, more distance huff join it.

You freeze at the sound, an almost low growl that reverberates through the clearing and straight into your chest.

And that’s when you feel it.

Eyes.

Watching, waiting, curious.

Ready to devour.

You stand on shaking legs, your eyes darting around the edges of the clearing. Three rapid beats of your heart pass before you see it, hidden in the shadows of the trees just beyond reach.

It’s a wolf. White as snow, with two golden eyes and a bloodstained maw that curls back over its glistening teeth.

Your knees nearly buckle at the sight of it, the world stilling around you as its eyes pin you in place. There is a burn at the base of your throat, a thickness you can’t quite dislodge. A soft wind pulls at your clothes, rustles the trees around you, and when the wolf takes a single step forward, you’re hit with the faintest scent of honey.

It’s this that snaps you from your daze, that awakens you enough to release a short gasp as you take a single step back. The wolf’s ears perk, its pupils blow out, but it doesn’t take another step, and you manage to clamber your way back into the hut and slam the back door shut.

You pull every lock but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

You wait out the night in the bedroom upstairs in darkness, all curtains pulled, alone with your thoughts and fears until the sun peaks over the frosted forest trees and you are safe once more.

There are no more signs of the wolf, a mere figment of your imagination when you set foot back in the city a week later. Asra sends word that same day of his own return—without Muriel, but with fresh fish from the northern rivers.

And so you venture into the markets that evening with your satchel and coins, determined to have at least something in the house other than dried fruits and stale bread. Perhaps some root vegetables and spices for the fish. Some wine to pair with it.

The city is bustling at the evening hour, and you pick your way through it via a series of back streets and alleys you know well. Already in your bag is a fresh pick of swedes, and your mind is set on the mulled wine from the vendor by Salasi.

As you side step a cart and duck into an alley, you let out a quiet sigh—and are immediately hit with a swoop of heat that nearly crushes you.

It moves from head to toe with brutal force, one clean swoop before it settles in your gut. Your knees give from beneath you, and you barely notice the sting of you palms as you catch yourself on the ground.

Your vision is pinpricks of black, a foggy midnight. Racing heart. Short, shallow gasps.

And when you look up, you see it.

The wolf.

The sounds of the city are so distant, cut off by a fog you barely have the clarity to try and push your way through.

There, in the airless alley, there is nothing in the universe except for you and the white wolf as he paws forward, sharp claws clicking on the cobble.

His eyes are searing into your soul, and with each step he takes closer you find yourself keening, little whines and huffs from somewhere deep in your chest as your fingernails curl into the ground, near snapping from the force.

The wolf comes to a stop before you. As you wait on shaking hands and knees, it presses its nose to your face, your jaw, your neck. It inhales, and with it comes an oh-so-soft growl before it begins to circle.

And there you kneel, barely a day after your heat had already passed, brought down by the Alpha who circles and inhales you like its last meal.

When it steps behind you, you feel quiet noises of protest bubble in your chest, little whispers of no no no no no as he presses his maw between your legs—and with that singular action comes the wolf’s deepest growl yet, one that makes your arms give out from under you.

You fall and curl in on yourself, shaking and shivering even though it feels like a baby sun has found its home in your body, flaring and stretching itself out to every nerve and muscle it can find.

You’re barely aware of the wolf shifting, of its human scent hitting you.

A dying campfire. Honeysuckle.

You gasp out and try to shift out of his arms when he scoops you up.

“No, no,” you moan. “Please—please, I don’t—”

“Ssshhh.”

His voice is so soothing, right against your ear. Gentle. Safe.

You relax, the world slipping for a few moments as you press your face into his chest. His hands—one soft, one hard—curl into your body to keep you close. You sway as he walks, a soft oceanic movement that lulls you, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones.

And then the world goes black.

You blink and push yourself up on a shaking hand, the room slowly clearing as you brush the sleep from your eyes.

Every part of you is a little sore, as though you had run for too long without water. It’s daylight. The smell of fresh bread lingers in the room, and a moment later—

Asra appears in the door, soft smile and dazzling eyes as he leans against the frame.

The shop. You’re back in the shop.

“I was wondering when you would wake.”

He has that look about him. That freshly-fucked glow, the kind he always has when he comes back from being railed by a rutting Muriel’s fourteen inch cock for six days straight.

You stand, stretch, rub your face. “Is there food?”

“Plenty. You know I always need to replenish when I’m back.”

Downstairs, there is a ridiculous spread. Dried figs, small chunks of cheese, breads and olive oils, cold cured meats from your favourite market vendor. There is even a small selection of sweets in the corner, placed closest to Asra for ease of access.

The sight of so much food should be overwhelming, but you’re used to it. Asra never puts his money where his mouth is, or rather the food—always says he wants to eat and eat and eat after returning home, when really all he wants is to pick at things like a spoiled concubine.

He lounges on his side by the low table, supported by plush silk cushions while you lower yourself to sit cross-legged opposite him.

The two of you immediately begin working through the food while he talks about his plans for the week, how the weather will turn just enough for the two of you to spend a night out in the fields stargazing.

You murmur and agree to each thing, though you don’t really remember them once he moves on to the next one. Your concentration isn’t normally so poor, and if he notices you thinking on it, he doesn’t say a thing.

The spread of food slowly clears, until about half remains, and Asra has stopped picking.

You have a piece of toast halfway to your mouth when it hits you. Hazy and not entirely there and curious.

The alley. The wolf. The…the scent.

“Are you alright, love?” Asra asks, his voice coming to you as though through a thick fog.

You’re frowning, eyes unfocused. You don’t know if you’re alright. You can’t quite recall how you got home, or what happened after the scent.

Asra’s face shifts. He reaches out for your knee, squeezes. Your hazy memories become a little more so, and then you blink, and they are gone.

You exhale softly, and accept a small circle of cheese Asra pushes toward you. Your cheeks bloom in your happiness: it’s your favourite, a kind only available in a far-off city on the continent.

Grabbing it up with unapologetic greed, you take your first bite and release a soft moan. Asra beams at your pleasure, and the final sliver of uncertainty eases itself from the room.

“How did your week go?” He asks.

You nod, and you tell him it went well. You got a lot of reading done. You tried to paint. Muriel has a new row of herbs in his garden, though you couldn’t say what—identifying seeds has never been your specialty.

Asra’s eyes light up, and he laughs. “Muri will adore them, I’m sure.”

And you smile back, and bite into your toast.

“Last time I changed something in his hut,” you remind him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “He pouted for a week. Remember? He hated those carvings. Said he wanted to move out, they were so hideous.”

Asra’s lips twitch up, but something seems to fall, too. You tilt your head and watch as his gaze lingers for a second longer, then loses the fight and drops away.

“He’s…not leaving the hut, is he?” You ask slowly, a little more alert. And then, with a slightly tighter chest, “You’re not leaving, are you?”

He shakes his head, no, and then shrugs.

“Maybe. Muri is getting restless anyway,” he says. His gaze drops to his hands, where he’s picking at his nail beds. “He wants pups.”

“Do you?”

And then, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, a resigned, “Yeah.”

But. There’s a ‘but’ there, one you know not to push.

With the remains of your meal scattered and a new weight settled over the shop, you stand and begin to collect whatever you can save for the next day. Asra remains in his spot, staring at his nail beds, until you crouch by him and kiss his head, nodding toward your shared room.

The day melts into the afternoon, until the sun begins to disappear beneath the skyline and you’re stirred from your dozing by the sounds of rapping at the shop door.

Asra murmurs and stretches out beside you, then slowly unfurls each of his limbs from each of yours and moves for the door. Faust slithers out from the sheets at the foot of the bed and curls into the curve of your neck, and the two of you are very nearly back to sleep when Asra returns with a small piece of paper bearing the palace seal on the back.

He holds it up to you between two fingers, nose crinkled in mild distaste.

“It’s—” You pause to yawn, murmuring quietly as you sit up and rub at your eyes. “It’s from the Countess?”

Asra nods.

“The Count’s ruts have been getting longer and longer,” he sighs. The paper vanishes in a puff of magic, and he begins to gather his scarf and coat as he speaks. “And she can only be alone with the insufferable twat for so long herself.”

Your lips twitch a little at the comment, and he slings his bag over his shoulder before offering out a hand for Faust to slither up.

“Muriel isn’t back in the city yet,” he says, looking a little worried. “Will you be okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” you assure. You lean forward to kiss Faust on her nose, and then flop back down into the sheets, ready to settle in for another nap. “Wake me when you get back.”

Asra murmurs his goodbye, and you’re already slipping when he closes the shop door behind him.

Until another rapping comes, this time much firmer and a little more impatient.

Near blind, you push yourself up and stumble toward the door, still rubbing sleep from your eyes with the heel of your palm as you open the door.

And before you stands your white wolf.

Count Lucio.

You know it without thought, without consideration, as though every nerve in your body knew the exact feel of the flames that licked at them whenever he came close, in whichever form he chose.

You wait for it to hit you, that crippling heat, that burning need, but as you stare up at him through your lashes and his canines glint in the torchlight, you find nothing inside of yourself except your own racing heart.

You pause before you speak, body still as your eyes flicker over his face. “How—how did you know Asra would leave?”

He peers into the shop and steps inside, not waiting for an invitation as he looks around.

“I was a particularly insufferable twat today,” he tells you. “So that Noddy would request your master’s company.”

You exhale hard to cover the shake in your chest as you close the door, and against your better judgement you lock it.

“He’s…not my master,” you murmur to him.

He turns to you, canines glinting in the torchlight. “No. He’s not.”

With long, sure strides he stalks toward you, and of your own accord your eyes drop down and you walk yourself back until you hit the wall. He gives a low growl of approval, and—

There it is again, that scent, honeysuckle and a dying fire. Your eyes flutter shut; you can already feel the promise of what comes next.

“You’ll find I’m not a patient Alpha, my sweet,” he murmurs to you.

His alchemical arm reaches down, you feel it brush against the fabric of your clothes before he pulls something out. Your eyes catch on it, but you still can’t look up, still can’t raise your voice above a whisper.

“What is that?” You ask.

But of course, you know what it is.

“You know what it is,” he answers, an impatient lilt there. “Though perhaps you haven’t been knowledgeable in the ways you’ve been using it.”

He holds it out, and you take it in trembling fingers.

Myrrh. You knew it well, despite your attempt at ignorance. Muriel used it so people forgot him, and you used it to ignore what you were.

Asra had introduced it to you as something he himself had used in his battle to fight off his own heat and find true love instead—something that had clearly worked, and knowing that Muriel and Asra were as much in love as they were mated kept you religious about carrying it with you wherever you went.

With a clever combination of other herbs and spells, it kept the worst of it at bay. The pain was still there, but not the crippling heat, not the burning desire to be fucked and pupped without conscious choice.

You had never submitted to an Alpha, and you had never attracted any.

Until now.

Lucio tuts, pushes the hair from your face, laughs with an almost condescending edge.

“You’ve never submitted to an Alpha before now because you were waiting for me. This—“ He snatches it back to brandish it, then crushes it in his alchemical hand with a scoff. “This means nothing. That day in the forest I could have had you, could have pinned you and pupped you while you screamed.”

You shiver at his words. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you said ‘no’. Then, and last night when you collapsed in the alley. I’m an Alpha, but I’m not a monster.”

He traces your bottom lip, and it trembles then parts as your tongue darts out, hesitantly lapping at the tip of his thumb. You dare a glance up and see the approval in his eyes, the darkening of his irises, and your stomach leaps at the look. You turn your head and close your lips over his thumb, whimpering and whining as you suckle.

“You won’t last forever, pet,” he says. “You will have to submit. Your body demands it. Even now I can see the sweat of your brow, the tremble in your thighs…the myrrh and spells hide the symptoms but they don’t erase them forever.”

And at his words, your entire body shudders and you drop against him. It’s the alley all over again, a heat licking up your spine and every nerve, clawing at your veins, you’re whimpering and whining and the only thing you know is honeysuckle and dying woodfire.

He is growling, muscles rolling, pressing you against the wall as he nuzzles into your neck, as he paws at your clothes.

Say it say it say it say it—

You don’t know what he’s asking for, your eyes are rolling into the back of your head, your chest heaving, you need it now, you need to be rewarded, filled, fucked, pupped—

The thought slams into you without elegance and without warning, and you gasp out and shove him away, but he comes right back. He smashes his lips to yours, teeth clashing as he ruts his hips into your thigh.

“Say it!” He growls; it’s deeper, it echoes in your mind, demands. An Alpha’s voice.

You whimper, and the word tumbles from your lips in a pathetic cry.

“YES!”

And then he’s on you. He’s shredding your clothes, his teeth are at your neck, grazing and threatening to mark. You can feel the heat of his cock as he throws you down onto the table, you part your legs whining and clawing at the wood.

He snorts at the sight of you, a cold sneer as he looks you over. “What am I supposed to do with you like this? Present yourself.”

You scramble to roll over onto your stomach and push your hips into the air. You can feel your sudden heat lashing at your body, causing arousal to drip down your thighs, lubricating you for everything to come. You push your hips back, panting and whimpering, trying so desperately to find the heat of his cock.

His cock, his seed, to be filled, to be swelled, to be knotted and held there and bred and pupped and fucked over and over and over again—

“Please!” You whine and look over your shoulder, but he growls and pushes your head back down.

“Behave yourself.”

You feel his cock press into your inner thigh, and you know he must have shifted into his mating form, because no human cock could be so large, so thick. You shudder, your eyes sting from desperation.

He just laughs. An Alpha in control, desperate to fuck you and pup you, but he won’t make it easy for you to get what you want.

“Please!” You gasp out again. “I’ll—I’ll be good, I promise—”

“Oh, my dear little Omega,” he purrs into your shoulder blade. He pauses to graze his teeth there, and you go near-feral from the sting. “You will be good no matter what, my cock will see to that. Have you ever taken a cock this big before?”

You shake your head.

“Have you ever taken cock at all?”

You swallow, and when you don’t answer, his grip on your hips tightens.

“AH!” You yelp and jerk away from the bruising, but he drags you right back with a warning growl.

The action causes the head of his cock to slip into you, and you sob at the stretch of it, as the ache in your body burns even deeper at the knowledge that he’s inside of you, but not enough to sate you.

“Do you want my cock, little Omega?” He purrs. “Do you want me to fill you?” You give a pathetic whine. “Oh, you do? Well, then perhaps you should ask for it.”

Your words begin bubbling out before you can stop them.

“Please, please please—”

He scoffs. “Better than that, my dearest.”

His alchemical fingertips trace the curve of your spine. You clench and shudder around the head of his cock, but he remains perfectly still.

“Tell me exactly how you want me to take you.”

Your eyes roll as you gather your next words.

“I—I want—” You attempt to turn your face into the table to hide yourself, the drooling mess of your mouth, the crossing of your eyes, but he twists you back with an impatient growl. “PLEASE! Please, f-fuck me, please fuck me, fill me with your cock, breed me and pup me and fuck me please—”

Your words snap his final ounce of control, and he slams into you in one go with a howl, one that seems to shake the walls of the shop and every object on the shelves.

An Alpha’s howl.

A claiming howl.

The Count of Vesuvia, finally having found his Omega.

He begins fucking you without warning, long and thick strokes you know couldn’t possibly fit inside you. But they do, your body has shifted along with his own and every inch of him can fit inside of your dripping hole.

The room echoes with wet squelching noises as he moves at a brutal pace, his growing knot and balls slamming against you as he buries himself as deep as possible each time.

“Ohhh, does that feel better, pet?” He croons to you. “Does it feel good having my cock inside of you, fucking you like the submissive little bitch you are after you spent so long denying it?”

You nod and gasp, nails dragging along the oak of the table as you try to gain purchase to push back. You want his knot. You need it so bad, you need to be filled—

You sob. “P-please!”

“’Please’?” He laughs, and the barely-hidden edge makes that final hold on you snap.

“I WANT YOUR KNOT!” You scream. “I need your cum—I need it please—”

He reaches forward and closes a hand around your neck, yanking you up and back against his chest. His movements don’t still as both arms close around your waist, caging you in.

“I’ll knot you,” he murmurs into the back of your neck. “I’ll fill you with my cum and then my pups and watch you swell with them over and over again—” You whine as he speaks, and the deep growl from his chest is his approval. “But first, you must give me something in return.”

And then you feel it—the scrape of his too-sharp canines against your neck.

He wants to mark you.

Claim you.

Make you his, and only his, for everyone to see.

“Yes!” You gasp it out without even thinking, without needing to. “Mark me, I’m yours, I’m your mate—”

He lets out a feral growl at the word. “Say it again.”

“M-mate, I’m—” You feel your grip on reality slip, just for a moment, only to be brought back by his hand at your throat, shaking you as he rattles your body with his brutal pace.

“Louder, again—scream it for the city to hear!”

“MATE!”

His hand tightens just that little bit more.

“Again!”

“MATE, I’M YOUR MATE—AH!”

His teeth sink in, right as his knot does, and it’s the most exquisite pain you have ever felt in your life.

While his teeth cut into your neck and mark you with his scent, claiming you forever as his, his knot stretches you to its impossible size, locking you to him as his cum spills inside of you, copious and hot and thick.

You groan and whine and whimper at the feel, the world blacking out for a few moments as your body strains to take it all in. No world, no words, no time; just the warmth of his cum as it swells your stomach, the sweat that trickles down your collar bone along with the blood that stains your skin and his teeth.

When you return to consciousness a moment later, your own orgasm is rocking through you. It’s burning you from the inside out, leaving you dazed and aching, squeezing around his swollen cock and knot, greedily draining him and everything he is offering you.

As you start to come down, panting and gasping, you can feel something at your thighs. You realise, with heavy eyes and barely-there mewls, that there is so much of his cum inside of you, flooding you, that it has leaked out past his knot. It’s dribbling down your heated skin, following the curve of your thigh, the back of your knee, to the floor with soft little pats.

You let out a soft cry as he pulls his canines from your neck, then laves at the marks with his tongue to seal them. Your hand goes to your stomach, still so impossibly swollen with his cum—and one day, if he had his way, with more than his cum.

His hand joins yours at your stomach, pressing gently. You groan in protest at the ache, and he shushes you with a kiss behind your ear as more of his cum leaks out and runs down each of your legs.

“Oh little Omega, look at the mess you’ve made,” he murmurs.

His voice is quiet now, the Alpha sated, though it’s only temporary. Within half an hour, his knot will have receded, and he will be ready to fuck you again, and knot you again, and fill you with his cum again, over and over throughout the night and well into the next few days, until his rut is over and he has had his fill.

You let out a soft cry as he shifts the two of you to stretch out along the table, his body curved along your spine.

“You’ve been coupling thistle with the myrrh, have you not?” He asks.

You nod. Even though you were so careful to never be exposed to an Alpha until now, you still took the precautions to prevent pregnancy.

“That will have to stop immediately,” he murmurs into the back of your neck. He nuzzles with his nose, and then presses a single, slow, open-mouthed kiss there. “I want you swollen with my pups.”

You swallow thickly, and when you don’t nod or make a noise to agree, he reaches forward and roughly takes hold of your chin. Your eyes go to his lips, feeling the Alpha roll through him again, you can’t meet his gaze.

“Do you not want my pups?” You shake your head. “’No’, you don’t want them, or ‘no’, I’m wrong?”

You swallow. His grip tightens. You whimper, and in response you feel his cock twitch inside of you, setting off a new round of heat that begins to curl around your abdomen and the base of your spine.

You’re already panting a little when you answer. “I want your pups. I want to be your—your breeding bitch.”

“Good mate,” he murmurs. His hand goes back to your stomach, pressing against the swell of it once more.

As if pulled by strings, you whine and twitch against him, and his body rolls with a growl as he nuzzles into your neck.

“B-but—” You gasp it out, and feel him freeze behind you. But he waits. “I…I want to wait. Please. I don’t think I can handle…pups, right now.” You swallow, and when he still hasn’t said a word, you add in a whisper, “I want to see the world.”

It seems like an eternity before he speaks, or moves, or gives you any indication of what he feels. His lips remain at the back of your neck, and his hand against your stomach, the pressure there just enough to be a constant reminder of how full you are of him.

“I would never dream of taking your autonomy from you,” he murmurs, breaking the silence. “If you wish to be swathed in silks, then I will find the best out there. If you wish to spend your days lounging in my palace without lifting a finger, then I shall assign you a thousand hands to help. And if you wish to see the world…”

Your breath catches in your throat. You can hear the shake on his voice, the barely-contained Alpha—and beneath it all, the terrified Count Lucio, afraid that affection will not remain forever. That you will not remain forever.

“…then you will see the world.”

You nod, but you can’t bring yourself to thank him. Instead, you lift a hand to his wrist, holding it against your throat for the comfort and security it offers.

It doesn’t take more than a few moments before you feel him tensing behind you, the Alpha’s growl building in his chest.

“I will fuck you on every surface in this shop until sunrise,” he says, voice deathly still. “Until you can no longer walk, until you can no longer swallow my cum or fit any more of it inside your aching hole, and even then. And if your master returns, I’ll make him watch—maybe I will even make him join, no matter who his Alpha is. How does that sound, pet?”

You’re shivering from the heat again; without the myrrh and with your Alpha so close by, with your new mark burning at your neck, there is little to do.

Everything he says sounds so wonderful. So delicious. You want to be fucked and bred and swollen and held down while he does whatever he needs to you, while he coos to you about how much of his cum is inside of you, how swollen and aching you are, how pretty it looks dribbling down your thighs and leaving drops on the wooden floor of the shop.

All too soon, before you have even managed to answer, you feel him beginning to pull out of you. Along with it, some of his seed spills out onto the table, and you feel tears sting your eyes at the loss.

Until he rights you, hips in the air, and rakes his claws down your spine as he leans in to whisper.

“Spread yourself apart for me like a good little breeding slut.”

And then he slams himself into you once more.

🍑 Requesting | Masterlist | My Ao3

#the arcana #lucio #count lucio #lucio x reader #lucio morgasson #the arcana lucio #the arcana count lucio #lemon #writing #theterrifyingten #ttt

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troop-scoop · 4 years

Text

Mistakes & Regrets V

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

A/n: Italics are memories!

•••

You were scared, and alone.

The star and moonless sky sent chills up your spine, and the cold made you feel like it was winter. But this place didn’t have any seasons. It was just cold, and empty. And slimy.

It always felt like your feet were slipping whenever you tried to sneak around whatever those things were around you. They were terrifying, growling, and faceless.

And you made a big mistake, you’d ran away, you broke the rule of never going into the woods alone. This was on you. And you wanted nothing more for your phone to work. To be able to call your dad, either one of them. You wanted to apologize for being an idiot, for not being responsible.

You were hiding, holding your keys. They were too loud. All the keychains you had on it were jingling drawing attention. You were trying to take them off of the ring as quietly as you could, the first one to go was your Millennium Falcon keychain, quietly slipping it into your backpocket. The second was the Avatar keychain, that one being slipped into your hoodie pocket. You needed to seperate them, keep it so the jingle was no longer there. So you could get by them easier.

The last one you hesitated on. The rose quartz crystal keychain your brother had bought you from the dollar section in Target for your birthday. You didn’t really have an opinion of crystals, you thought they were pretty, so you kept it on your keyring.

You hesitated, before deciding against it, holding your pepper spray as if it would do anything, the pale pink can being gripped in your hand, fingers wrapped tightly around it, your nail polish a dark shade of purple, contrasting the pink, even in the dark.

“Could you find a way to let me down slowly.” You sang as quietly as possible, holding the keychain in your hand, trying to calm your down as much as possible. They’d seen you once. You didn’t want to risk it again. You’d lost your skateboard along the way, having dropped it the moment you saw one of those. . . things.

“A little sympathy I hope you can show me.” Tears were close to going down your cheeks as you grabbed your bag, holding it to your chest as tightly as you could. Your phone died a day before. And you’d been here a total of two. Evading the creature’s, never really getting a good look at them. Just knowing that they towered over you and looked emaciated, and their hands were huge, if you could even call them hands. They looked more like claws. And reminded you of the Windigo from that one video game whose name kept slipping your mind. And that’s what you called them, because that’s what they looked like, even if they weren’t because you knew these things had to be a different species, not a cannibal turned monster from Native American lore.

“If you wanna go then I’ll be so lonely.” Your low voice cracked a bit as your grip on the

sketchbook inside of your bag tightened. Your knees meeting your chest as you held the red material of the Jansport bag.

“If you’re leaving, baby, let me down slowly.” A loud noise came from down the street. Away from where you were hiding. Looking from the tree branches to the dark uninhabited houses you saw one of them moving. But you moved quicker. Hopping down from the tree and carrying your bag while you ran

•••

You didn’t know where you were going, you were pretty sure you were just running. Maybe there was something behind it. Some reason you were going towards the center of town, like a gut instinct telling you that you needed to go, run away from the motel you’d been living in for the past months.

The second the bowl had shattered and Linda snapped you out of it, you’d ran, going for your room again, and packing a few things you thought were necessary, and you went running down the street, it’d been 15 minutes now.

And at the end of those 15 minutes, you turned a corner, and almost ran straight into an older woman, who looked upset, and frazzled. An unreadable look on her face. But you knew it wasn’t a happy one. Maybe one of being deep in thought? Contemplation maybe.

It took everything in you not to call her what you knew her as, but you also knew that would get a strange look before she left. But as she steadied your by grabbing onto your shoulders, you grabbed her arms.

“Mrs. Byers! I was just looking for you.” Realization struck, your instincts telling you to run into town, where Joyce would be at the coroner's office, to tell her that Will couldn’t possibly be dead, because you were still there, you hadn’t disappeared like in all of those movies where something bad happens and someone was never born.

Or this could be like in Avengers, where something caused another timeline to happen. But then what would that mean for you? For the rest of your family here? For Will? Would he really be dead?

You refused to believe that. It didn’t feel right.

“I’m sorry? Do I know you?” Joyce looked more confused than she could have ever been in the entirety of her life.

“No, you don’t.” You spoke sadly, looking down to the ground, blinking away quick tears before looking back up to Joyce. “I’m new to Hawkins, just please listen, this is about your son-”

“If Jonathan told you anything-”

“There’s no way he’s dead!” You interrupted, grip on her sleeves growing tighter before she slowly pulled her hands away from your shoulders, eyeing you cautiously, almost as if you’d found out a secret.

“Wh-what?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, like, psych ward level crazy, like needing to be so heavily medicated that I wouldn’t be able to function normally-”

“Sweetheart, I’ve been the crazy one in town the past few days. I’ve seen it. . . What’s going on?”

You felt your heart swell a bit when she called you ‘sweetheart’ because that was what she’d always called you. Dad called you ‘baby’ and she always called you ‘sweetheart’. You blinked away more tears as you tried to muster up the courage to speak, but you couldn’t.

Carefully, and almost hesitantly, you pulled off your bag, and opened it. Taking out the large notebook and closing the backpack again, flipping to the page you were looking for, the image you and your dad had drawn together. You handed over the sketchbook, and you saw her eyes widen a little as she looked down at the carefully drawn image.

“This is- this is Will’s Dungeons and Dragons character-”

“Will the Wise, Right? A Cleric, a healer, he’s clever and smart, and he helps people! And that’s my character that he helped me make when I was nine, she’s a half-elf rogue, I named her after Elizabeth the first!” You explained.

Growing up, you played D&D with your Dad and uncles whenever they came to visit or you went to visit them. They weren’t actually related to you, but rather the kind of uncles that everyone else had, the uncles that were your parent’s best friends. They all helped you make your favorite character.

“When you were nine? Will’s only been playing with his friends for a year and a half? Right after he turned 11, he asked for the set for his birthday, there’s no way, and he doesn’t know you. He has three friends.”

“Check the date. Upper right hand corner.” You told her, watching as he eyes darted to the date on the paper, and you watched as her face fell before she looked back up at you.

“January 21st 2019? That’s. . . like 40 years from now-”

“36, actually.” You corrected quietly, a small shrug given when her face now turned into a scowl at how you corrected her.

“What are you saying?” She asked cautiously, flipping through the sketchbook. “I know I have no right to say someone else is crazy, I mean- I’m talking to Will through my christmas lights, you being from ‘2019’ sounds more believable.”

“There’s no way that Will’s dead, because I’m his daughter.” You admitted to her.

“Tell me something about him then. Only someone who knew him would know.” She demanded, closing the sketchbook and handing it back to you.

“He has a birthmark on his right arm, I had the exact same one, but then I burned myself on a pan, and it went away. . . Um- His favorite song, it’s ‘Should I Stay Or Should I Go’ from The Clash. Uncle Jonathan introduced him to it. Dad introduced it to me.”

Joyce’s face was once again, unreadable as she stared at you, eyes tracking over your face carefully, catching every detail, and everything that was asymmetrical. Everything that made you look like a Byers.

“Oh my God. You’re not lying.”

•••

“So, I’m your grandmother.”

You nodded as you grabbed the boombox, setting it down on the table, examining the christmas lights she’d put up around the house. It looked like something a crazy person would do. Put up this amount of christmas lights. And paint the alphabet on the wall.

“And you have two dads?”

You turned your head to her, giving her a look. You’d explained everything to her, how your dads had met, how you’d been conceived and born, how you’d grown up, and who your brother was. How close you were to your Uncle Jonthan, and that your favorite non-related uncle was Uncle Lucas, which sold her even more into the fact that you were really from the future, and were really her son’s daughter.

“Yes, I have two dads. But I’m biologically Will’s.” You explained once again.

“Okay.” She said quietly, taking the tape out of the boombox, rewinding it with a pencil. “Alright, one more question.” Joyce started again, making you sigh. “How’d you get here?”

You paused, looking down at your dirtied and almost ripped converse. You didn’t quite remember. All you could remember was running into the woods after getting away from Enzo’s, trying to take a short cut to the motel, and then you fell through the ground, into something cold, and gooey. What you imagined it would feel like to stick your hand into a dead body for an autopsy. But you didn’t remember anything after that. Just waking up, in dirty clothes laying on the ground in the woods, backpack on, skateboard gone. And you had gotten up, legs feeling weak, and wobbly, before you’d found yourself back in town, but it had all been different. You hadn’t realized that it had been a different century until you’d gone into Melvad’s and saw something with the expiration date of ‘November 28th 1983.’

“I don’t remember. But I remember I made a mistake, and I ran off. And I regret it. If I could take it back I would.” Looking back up you noticed she was looking up at you, sympathy written on her face, and you knew what she was thinking. And you knew that one day her sympathy or your situation would turn to empathy for your Dad. Who would be going through what she was now.

You reached down and pressed ‘play’ before standing up straight again, giving her a soft smile as you looked up at the lights. This was not the house you’d assume belonged to a perfectly sane woman. And yet, it did.

“Come on Will!” You yelled “Do your weird magic bullshit!” Joyce started a bit before standing up.

Banging came from the wall, and you turned your head to look over. Joyce stopped the music and went to the spot on the wall where the banging continued, with you following shortly after.

“Mom?”

Joyce gasped. “Will?”

“Holy shit.” You murmured

“Mom?” The boy asked again, banging on the walls continuously as if trying to get through. Something told you that it wasn’t as easy as Joyce thought it was by running outside while you placed a firm hand on the wall, nails digging into the wallpaper and peeling it away.

“Will?” You questioned.

“Where’s my Mom?”

“Will!” Joyce yelled, running back inside seeing that the wallpaper in her living room was ripped off and you were staring at what looked like a thin layer of skin. Maybe a membrane. You didn’t like it, and that feeling came back, of being on a roller coaster drop, but the drop never ending. It was a bit sheer, and you could see the outline of the small boy banging against the membrane.

“Mom!”

“Will! I’m here! I’m here!” Joyce yelled back.

“Hello? Mom?”

But when she put her hand over the membrane you froze up, standing and watching in terror, because all of a sudden, you knew how you got here, and the growling of something getting closer to Will made a shiver run through your entire body, goosebumps showing up on your skin.

“Mom, it’s coming!”

The image of what ‘it’ was was fuzzy, but you saw it, like a memory. Almost ten feet tall, and so skinny their bones protrude, and almost sickly pale, white skin stretched out over the body. And the claws. You could almost feel the scratch of one of them against the back of your neck.

Reaching a hand up to your neck you could feel a skinny and elongated bump in your skin

that had never been there. But it felt like a scab. Like a scab over a healing scar.

“Tell me where you are! How do I get to you?” Joyce cried, her hand over Will’s.

“It’s like home, but it’s so dark. . .It’s so dark and empty. And it’s cold! Mom? Mom!”

You couldn’t even attempt to hold back the tears that were burning at your eyes and making

your vision blurry as you could hear the echoes of your own voice, calling out for an older version of him, the version that knew you the entire time you’d been alone. You’d been scared, and freezing in just a t-shirt and pair of ripped jeans. Holding a broken skateboard that you’d landed on in your fall.

It came to you briefly, running into the woods after Pa had yelled at you at Enzo’s. But then the rain had gotten worse, turning into the thunder, and loud noises never really scared you, it was the lighting that was a little too close to you that had you running, searching for any way out, yelling and screaming for both of your fathers, for anyone.

And then you took one wrong step, in the wrong direction. And you fell into the ground, instantly feeling cold, and as if the temperature was going to kill you. It felt like falling through cold slime before you’d landed on your skateboard, breaking it in half.

Everything there had echoed, and it felt like the entirety of the town had been placed inside of an infinitely large and inescapable cave. You’d cried out even louder for your Dad, getting no response. You’d begged and pleaded for the nightmare to go away, but it never did. You remembered screaming out “Dad! Dad please, I’m sorry!” And then you remembered waking up in the woods, sun shining down on you, a real sky in view.

•••

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kpophoneybunny · 4 years

Text

Aurora (Chapter3) - ATEEZ OT8 Pirate!AU

Genre: Adventure/Romance (Mostly fluff)

Rating: PG-13 (select chapters will have strong language, violence, and suggestive situations)

Disclaimer: Our main girl has a name but feel free to self-insert. (WARNING: this chapter contains blood and gore. If this is a trigger, wait for the next chapter. There will be a bit of plot lost but you’ll catch on.)

Tag List: @unatempesta-dipensieri @sugarrimajins

It took about a week before Jangmi was able to navigate the ship on her own, and without emptying her stomach every few hours. The clothing still felt too revealing but the stares had subsided and she was actually enjoying the freedom that pants provided. She was able to move a lot more quickly and felt less heavy.

She often sat on the main deck, mending clothes while having conversations with whoever was closest. “You’re working fast. You’ll be out of work by the end of the week at this rate.” Yeosang laughed, looking up from his map as he checked up on her. “We might have to teach you something new to keep you busy.”

“Something-“ Jangmi was cut off by Wooyoung yelling. He was talking too fast, he couldn’t really be understood. “Wooyoung, what is it?” Jangmi looked up at him and followed his arm. He was pointing at something in front of them - a storm.

“Shit! Tighten the sails! Seonghwa, take the wheel!” Mingi yelled, starting towards the main mast to tighten the ropes so the storm didn’t rip their sails away.

“All hands on deck! Now!” Seonghwa’s voice left no room for argument. Everyone burst into a frenzy, fixing their sails and bracing the most vulnerable parts of the ship.

“I really hope you can hold on tight, Jangmi.” Yunho grunted as he tightened a few knots, checking the tension in the ropes. “This is about to get crazy.”

Jangmi gulped and held onto the main mast as Wooyoung climbed down to avoid being hurled into the sea. “Jangmi, you’re gonna want this.” He grabbed a bucket, dumping out the mop water and handing it to her. “Trust me.”

They sailed into the storm, the sun being blocked out until it was almost pitch black. Cold rain pelted them from all angles, waves growing rougher and rocking the ship violently. The wind howled so loud that Jangmi couldn’t even hear her own thoughts, the yells of the boys sounding muffled and far away.

And then it really started, waves started crashing over the side of the boat, water rolling across the deck. Jangmi lost her balance and fell, sliding along the ground with the rocking of the ship as she fought to regain her footing. “Agh!” Her fingers clawed at the floorboards until they bled.

She rolled until she crashed into a mast, the wind knocked right out of her lungs. She gasped, water washing over her her and filling her lungs. She coughed and gagged, unable to catch a break from the water that tried to drown her where she lay. Jangmi sputtered, managing to get to her hands and knees, trying to crawl towards anything she could use to anchor herself when a barrel knocked her back over.

She continued to roll and slide, crashing right into someone’s legs. She looked up as the legs trapped her in place, steady, used to the sea. Yunho. He reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet and holding her tightly, keeping her from falling again. “Hold on. It’ll be over soon.” Jangmi clung onto him, trying not to repeat the rolling incident.

“YUNHO! Look out!” The voice was frantic and Yunho looked up, a huge wave approaching. Lightning flashed and the silhouette of something large and ominous could be seen in the wave. Yunho held on tighter as the wave practically curled over the ship, slamming what looked like a monster straight from hell onto their deck.

It slowly uncoiled, its body starting to wrap around the ship to anchor itself. Yards after yards of it’s thick, scaly body trapping the ship in what could only be described as the promise of death.

The creature lifted its massive head to tower over the sails, jowls opening as it let out a hellish screech. Even with its mouth closed, dozens of razor sharp teeth could be seen, each at least three feet long. It had two, clouded, white eyes on each side of its head: one set larger than the other. Horns stuck out from its skull, mirroring paintings of western devils.

“Oh my god! What the hell is that?!” Jangmi gasped, eyes widening in horror.

“I have no clue but we’re gonna kill it before it kills us!” Yunho shouted back, trying to be louder than the cacophonous roar of the storm. “Can you use a sword?”

“I never learned! They don’t teach noblewomen how-“ she was cut off by Yunho grabbing a sword out of a nearby chest and handing it to her.

“Now’s as good a time as any. Just… don’t let it kill you.” He rushed off to start attacking the enormous serpent. Jangmi’s eyes darted between the boys as they all jumped in.

Every time a sword was stabbed into its body, the serpent seemed to contract its muscles to push the sword back out, fan-like flaps opening up on either side of its head as it screeched.

“Die, dammit!” Hongjoong brought his sword down, slicing clean through the snake. A large chunk of the snake went limp and slid off of the ship, the fluorescent blood staining the wooden planks. It hissed, lowering its head to snap at Hongjoong, its forked tongue rattling in the air.

Jangmi’s body reacted before her mind could and she ran across the ship, ducking under parts of the serpent and jumping over others, piercing her sword up into its lower jaw as she slid under it. Her eyes widened as blood sprayed onto her face. She gasped, letting out a shocked cry.

“Jangmi!” Wooyoung yelled. She looked up and saw that the serpent was rearing back, staring her down. “MOVE!”

Jangmi scrambled onto her knees, trying to stand to run when the serpent struck. She managed to roll out of the way, just inches away from the jaws of the monster. It ripped its head back up, leaving a hole in the deck and spitting out chunks of wood. Jangmi panted, getting to her feet and rushing to stand farther from the serpent.

Everyone pitched in, stabbing and slashing at the serpent to shorten its body and free the ship. “Get back!” Seonghwa shouted, sprinting up the thick body, climbing it as if it was a hill and stabbing his sword clean through the skull. It went limp and crashed onto the deck, jaws opening as it died.

They managed to make it to the other side of the storm, the sun once again shining down on them. Everyone was drenched in rain, sea water, and sweat. There was blue blood everywhere: on their clothes and skin, staining the deck and the sails.

“Get that damn thing off of my ship.” Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed as he stared down the dead serpent. “It ruined my deck. How the hell are we supposed to fix that?”

“I can make a temporary fix but we’ll have to hire someone in Japan.” Jongho’s voice was quiet but sure. “Let’s hope we don’t run into any more trouble.”

“Uh…guys?” Wooyoung cleared his throat and nodded towards Jangmi who was, once again, vomiting over the side of the ship. “Who wants to handle it?”

“We got attacked by a sea serpent.” Jangmi gasped, her head snapping back to look at the remains. “We got attacked! By a sea serpent!”

“Yeah. Shit happens.” Yunho shrugged, approaching her. “You should sit down. Breathe and process what you just witnessed.”

“I thought sea serpents were just a myth. I thought they were folk lore and nothing more. I thought-“

Yeosang collapsed, causing everyone to whirl around and face him. He had a bruise forming along the side of his face from slamming into something during the storm. “Get him to a bed. Now.”

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bluerosesburnblue · 4 years

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Nothing upsets me more than a legitimately good story being ruined by “extra” content. I’ve already complained at length about Pokemon Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon’s story changes over the original games so now it’s The World Ends With You: Final Remix’s “A New Day’s” turn because CHRIST

I’m writing this as I come across points while watching a playthrough, so:

God, Coco is the single most insufferable being. “totez hilar” just dated this content so baaaad, and I’d even say it was dated language when Final Remix came out. No other character abuses modern slang as their entire character. Like, slang is used but not as a substitute for personality. Beat speaks in a very casual, urban style but it never ends up being detrimental to his character as a bit of a punk with a “perfect little sister” that he wasn’t as naturally smart as, so he just gave up on trying and ended up being a bit of an aggressive slacker. Heck, he tones it down a bit for emotional moments, too. Coco, though, comes across like her ultra-modern “cutesy” text message slang is supposed to be her personality, and even when it’s revealed that she’s the villain of the episode you just can’t take her seriously through the “like, ohmigosh, I can’t believe you’re ruining my plaaaaaans” bullshit. What does she have going for her if you rewrite all of her lines without that speaking style? She’s just a generic manipulative brat

Frankly I also just disagree with the entire premise of A New Day and the plot threads it sets up for a potential sequel, i.e. “having Neku and Beat run through a game again as a trap to get Neku into yet another game in a possible sequel.” TWEWY is a complete experience and had been for at least a decade. Literally every character had a complete arc. The worldbuilding was rich enough that they had more than enough to come up with a sequel set in the same world, but in an entirely different town with an entirely new cast and, heck, even entirely new rules for the Game that would’ve expanded upon the world of the games without taking away from the characters whose time in the Underground was already done

But, noooooooo, we’ve gotta bring Neku back. Can’t have a game without Neku they literally SAY THAT (”The Game, like, literally can’t go on without Neku.”). And let’s bring Minamimoto back, too, as a good guy! The fans loved him! This doesn’t come across as pandering at all!

Just... you have the girl with the red headphones designed! Make the sequel set in Shinjuku with her as the main character! (Hell, I don’t think I would have even minded Minamimoto coming back for that because there was enough leeway in the base TWEWY for him to have survived his encounter with Josh, just leave Neku out of it). This is the most infuriating part because it actually takes away from Neku’s story. The entire GAME was a test of character to see if even the worst, most closed off person could learn empathy and respect and Neku DID. And in return, that sparked a change in Josh. His story is done. Coco using Neku, though, has nothing to do with him as a character and everything to do with him being the face of the game and it shows

And why the hell is Neku so trusting of Coco anyway? I get that he opened up over the course of TWEWY, that was kind of the point. But you come back to life, everything’s fine, and then suddenly you’re in a death game again and so is one of your best friends, like, he should be WAY more concerned and suspicious. But one little Reaper gives him the sad eyes and he just caves instantly like “fine, come along.” Even when Neku grew to like some of the Reapers, like Uzuki and Kariya, it was still far more of a rival-like respect. He knew damn well that it was their job to see him gone and while he accepted their help when they gave it and helped them when their lives were in danger (possibly, up to player choice), they weren’t buddy-buddy with each other, knowing that as soon as the immediate danger to them had passed they’d be on opposite sides again. And these are the Reapers he’s closest to, even at the end of the game. And then all of a sudden Coco goes “but I’m a wittle wost baby weaper” and Neku’s response is, “well, shit, welcome to the team.” WHAT

I hate using the term “Mary Sue” but Coco is absolutely a Mary Sue in its original meaning. The plot bends over backwards to accommodate her at the expense of the main characters’ personalities or reason, all while giving her a clothing style incongruous with everyone else’s meant to stand out and make her look special and not having her face any repercussions for her actions (so far which is, again, another issue with the very premise of A New Day since that’s exactly how things will end off if TWEWY doesn’t get a sequel, the possibility of which is not a guarantee AT ALL)

Shiki and Rhyme start saying blatantly false things about themselves and handwaving it away with “ohhh, that must have been our new Entry Fee! Just the exact same ones as the first time again!” and only BEAT is suspicious and NEITHER OF THEM are suspicious of Coco, the only non-generic Reaper they’ve met so far. Christ, I appreciate Beat being attentive with matters of his sister because that’s in-character but NEKU was always the more paranoid AND observant one yet all he thinks about is “gee, I’m sure having weird visions today, huh?”

And then Coco starts BLATANTLY gaslighting them about Kariya and Uzuki’s personalities and they’re STILL not suspicious of her like ughhhhhhhhhhh. Nekuuuuuuu you LIVED THROUGH JOSH WEEK 2, you have BEEN IN A SITUATION where the mastermind partnered up with you to divert your suspicion and keep an eye on you how are you less suspicious of this brat than Beat is???

And why are none of the characters bringing up the fact that you have to be DEAD to be in the Game??? You all spent three weeks of hell to claw your way back to life, how are you not more upset about what seems like you all dying again, basically immediately after you just got brought back? And I know the Shiki and Rhyme in A New Day are illusions, but Neku and Beat AREN’T. Nobody even comments on the implication that they’re dead again and what that means!

I can’t believe they made new expressions for the fake Josh’s changed personality but still refuse to make anything for Shiki’s true appearance

Hell, there’s enough lore with Josh that you could make an entire prequel about him becoming the Composer instead of this mess and, you know, EXPAND on someone’s character and what led to him being so disillusioned with Shibuya as the Composer instead of employing the Happy Ending Rewrite on Neku and then gutting his personality to make Coco the focus. I’d LOVE a Josh prequel with competent writing. Kingdom Hearts made the Xehanort prequel and hooked me in a single chapter with expanded worldbuilding and interesting ties with Xehanort’s character to friends that humanize him, do the same for Yoshiya “Joshua” Kiryu!

Pfffffff hire me and let me make the dream TWEWY trilogy: Joshua prequel > TWEWY sans A New Day > sequel set in Shinjuku starring Red Headphones Girl with Occasional Josh and Hanekoma Interaction

It is so unnecessarily cruel to make Beat relive Rhyme’s erasure and subject Neku to believing that Shiki was erased as well, and yet they do NOTHING with it except have it be cheap tension for five minutes. The characters basically say “wow, I’m so sad!” and then IMMEDIATELY move on to “OMG is Neku seeing the fuuuuuture?” Your LITTLE SISTER and FIRST REAL FRIEND IN YEARS just seemingly died permanently! When Rhyme was erased the first time it took Neku one and a half in-game days to even talk about it because he was so upset, and from then on he was focused on avenging her/bringing her back. Shiki was his entry fee in Week 2 and that made him hyper paranoid the whole time! WHY ARE WE JUST GLOSSING OVER THIS especially since they made SUCH a big deal about how they just finally started believing that the fakes were real (after a whole TWO conversations)

And then at the end they say that they’re inside Coco’s Noise that is SO BIG that it has an ALTERNATE DIMENSION INSIDE IT and Hanekoma’s like “I’ve never met a Reaper POWERFUL enough to make a Noise like this. Wow, Coco, you’re so POWERFUL that even I, an Angel, am impressed!” This. Coming from the guy who specifically chose Minamimoto as his failsafe to kill the Composer should the Game go wrong because a Taboo Minamimoto, heavily refined using forbidden methods, would be strong enough to defeat THE COMPOSER. And he’s now going on about how Coco’s the strongest Reaper ever, basically admitting that she’s probably stronger than the Composer of Shibuya. SURE. BECAUSE COCO WASN’T BAD ENOUGH ALREADY SHE HAS TO BE THE STRONGEST REAPER EVER, TOO

And then it just ends with Josh and Hanekoma exposition dumping about how Shinjuku got erased as Noise entered the RG (WHAT?), Neku’s visions were probably caused by the red headphones girl who’s super special (who???), and Coco’s just so special powerful (why...), but it’s not their problem so fuck it. Oh, and also Josh doesn’t care about Neku anymore, despite that being the whole point of TWEWY. Yeah, the guy who flew off all upset when Hanekoma asked him if he wanted to hang out with his friends at the end of the game. Uh huh. Even if he’s lying, why even put that THERE instead of saving it for the sequel?

And then Coco just... revives Minamimoto. Even though, oh, right, the Taboo Refinery stuff was so precise that the only reason Minamimoto came back the first time was because Hanekoma, THE PRODUCER AND AN ANGEL, set it up for him. But I guess Coco’s just soooooo super powerful and knows FORBIDDEN HIGHER PLANE KNOWLEDGE and can just do whateeeeeever she wants. Not like Hanekoma was so paranoid about someone finding out what he did for Minamimoto that he went into hiding, certain that he’d be reported to the higher Angels and destroyed

A New Day is so painfully shallow from a writing experience. It’s a poor continuation off of the solid, complete TWEWY story experience that just doesn’t have a handle on Neku’s character, turning him into this bland vision machine with no emotional connection to anyone. The way that it expands the worldbuilding with “Inversion” does one thing that I HATE, which is taking an emotion-and-character driven story and turning it into a generic “end of the world” scenario, “raising the stakes” in a way that divorces it from what made it memorable in the first place. If Kitaniji directly effecting the RG during the main Game’s plot was the point where he crossed the line in-universe, then that loses its special nature and impact if you then go “oh, btw, Noise can destroy the RG city if you let them”

And then there’s the absolute black hole of a character that is Coco Atarashi. She wasn’t designed to fit into the world of the game, she was designed to stand out. On its own that’s not a bad thing, especially given the themes of the game that revolve around owning your true self and baring it to the world, but then you combine it with no personality beyond being a manipulative brat obsessed with the events of TWEWY, extremely lazy text message slang dressing up her dialogue to make it stand out, the way that Neku and Beat’s personalities change to accommodate her presence just to shoehorn her in and then have a cheap “omg she was bad” twist, and then dumping powers on par with Josh and Hanekoma on her and there is NO saving her character

The only good part of A New Day is “Wake Up.” And even then, there’s better TWEWY songs, I just like the vaguely Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance vibes it has in parts

#the world ends with you #the world ends with you spoilers #liz's shenanigans #the playthrough i was watching to refresh myself on twewy's story hit a new day and my blood pressure spiked instantly #i have never lost interest in a sequel quite as fast as i did this #i just... how do you fuck up this bad???

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drink-n-watch · 4 years

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One thing I have noticed now that I pay a minimum of attention to anime-related social media is that anime fans are just not that happy about anime. It seems every season has a show or two that’s picked out to stick in the wicker man and everyone just picks on them. And even when shows are popular you’ll get people angry about other people not liking them enough. Now, I’m not brand new to these here parts. I know it’s just the nature of the beast called internet.

Still, when I see everyone gang up on a poor little show, I can’t help but want to protect it. After all, I love anime and even the anime I don’t like is still anime… This is making less and less sense.

As you probably guessed, I’m fully expecting someone to comment about how bad this series is. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying at all that the God of Highschool is a perfect show. Far from it. In fact, it’s not exactly my cup of tea. But I do feel like the early episodes where praised way beyond their worthwhile now it’s getting a lot of undeserved flack. The two most likely being related. My personal opinion is that it’s a fairly average shonen with some good parts and some lame ones just like most shows.

My other personal opinion is that it is meant for a demographic that’s likely way younger and differently chromosomed. So it’s written for an audience that has different sensibilities, preferences and frames of reference than I do. That makes a pretty big difference.

O.k., I’m sort of done with defending GOH now. I’m not even truly defending it. I guess I’m about to tell you that once again I generally enjoyed an episode of God of Highschool and I have a feeling that’s going to disappoint some people. It was a bit of preventive damage control. You figured me out!

I learned a while ago to stop trying to put together some deep plot full of meaningful lore for this show and just go along for the ride. There’s still the evil(?) organization trying to take down the possibly equally evil(?) God of Highschool organization and they have new bad guys of the week out. Why? What happened to the last ones? How did Taejin get captured by that big sword when he was destroying entire armies and ripping the scenery apart with a flick of the finger? I’m not sure and you know I’m fine with that. You can’t sweat the small stuff man. Maybe this is why that very earnest opening sequence with Jin’s grandfather felt out of place to me. It was just so serious.

But we quickly got back to what mattered this week, which was that Jin tried to save his grandpa but it wasn’t him and then he had a fight with an army of clones in a smokey warehouse and he went super saiyan. Mira also tapped into her superpower against an oily muscly swimmer fighter. I mean that sentence has got to tell you what type of show this is… One thing I am going to nitpick about is that Mira loves big muscles. It’s the first thing we learn about her. They really should have had her drooling at least a bit over her opponent. Maybe making a suggestive comment or doing old school heart eyes that pop out of her head. I kept waiting for it!

Anyways, as usual, the bulk of the episode was the fights. Between Mira and swimmer boy, who was, in fact, a Nox clone. I’m assuming they’re Nox. It’s pretty heavily implied but I guess there could be mercenaries mixed in. It was fin. I liked her magical girl moment but I’m still bitter about her lack of thirst. Between Jin and a grey version of Q who makes clones. I enjoyed the visuals of this fight quite a bit, especially when they superimposed it over his stadium fight at the end. I thought it was a fun delivery. And between Dea and a fanservice girl who turned out to be on the evil blue-haired guy’s team. God of Highschool really wants us to remember that blue hair guy is bad news!

We didn’t learn much this week. I don’t feel like the plot progressed at all except that Jin’s team won another round. We did see the judges at the very end talking all cryptically about Jin again.

I guess the biggest thing was really Mira tapping into her god power. Her Charyeok. I only remember that word because I took a very convenient screencap of it. In the end, it didn’t do much other than make the moves she was already doing hit harder I guess. Visually the only difference was that she had antennae now. There aren’t enough costumes with antennae. Am I the only one who misses the Tick?

It did get me interested in seeing what the guys will transform into. So far we’ve seen animals, historical figures and monsters. I wonder if inanimate objects can be a Charyeok? I guess Jin kinda has to e a tiger but maybe Dae can be something fun.

Speaking of Dea, this is possibly the most important part for me. Can anyone tell me where I can buy a sweater like Dae’s? This one:

I know it’s not that special but I fell in love with it. I need to get my fall wardrobe together and I feel like that would be a really solid neutral piece that I could pair with just about anything. When I asked Google it showed me a bunch of sweatshirts with the GH logo. That’s cool and all but not exactly what I’m going for. I realize that there’s almost no chance I’ll get an answer but I needed to try!

The God of Highschool ep. 9 – The Cub Bears Its Claws One thing I have noticed now that I pay a minimum of attention to anime-related social media is that anime fans are just not that happy about anime.

#action #anime #comedy #episodic #shonen #super powers #The God of Highschool

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pyre-prism · 5 years

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FNAF Fic - Amárantos

~A peek into the darkness of the safe room in an old pizzeria, and a glimpse on the other side of the curtain... Everyone has their own story, even murderers.~

In truth, this is me playing around with 'missing scenes' for my favourite zombie cyborg rabbit. I will admit that I have yet to play the games, but... I've been absorbed by the lore enough to start working on my own interpretation. This fic may be revamped after I have fixed that 'oversight', but I'm pretty happy with it. More may yet be added, too...

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Even before a single memory of where he was or what he’d been doing returned to him, William was swimming in agony. Every inch of his body screamed in protest; stabbing, pulling, crushing, twisting, grinding… He was cold, too, but couldn’t muster up the strength to shiver. Movement on the whole seemed to be out of the question, he realised dully… not even his eyelids wanted to obey his commands.

‘Identify.’

The word broke through the whirling abyss and made everything else on his mind fade into the background, what little he could even begin to register clearly. It didn’t seem like he’d heard it, perse, but he could have sworn that it echoed around his brain as if someone had spoken directly into his mind.

‘Identify or be erased.’

He tried to growl, to grit his teeth… neither happened. Instead, William gathered and steeled himself as best as he could before responding. “William Afton. Who are you?”

‘Searching… William Afton. Program author. Actor. Owner. Identity invalid. Alternative identity required.’ There was a pause, almost as if the ‘voice’ was thinking, before it continued with, ‘Own identity categorised as… Spring Bonnie.’

Once again, he tried to move –just one muscle twitch would be enough– without any success. Spring Bonnie? He was ‘hearing’ the suit he was… wearing…

Night. Axe. Purple mask. Lure. Follow me. Lure. Empty corridors. Lure. Safe room. Lure. Destroy them. Pale faces. Trapped. Fear. Hide. Suit. Turn crank. Drip. Climb inside. Drip. Laugh. Drip. Snap. Pain. Blood. Shudder. Agony. Blackness.

It all came rushing back to him; the animatronics –his creations– had been acting strangely for some time, eerily watching their surroundings, seemingly bearing the spirits of the children he’d—

‘Invalid execution. Abort.’

A new pain lanced through his brain. “A memory is invalid?!” he hissed back at the ‘voice’, irritation quickly smothering the discomfort. At least he’d figured out the main reason as to why his body hurt so much… He’d been foolish and hadn’t paid close enough attention. The springlocks inside the suit had to have failed… which meant… “Am I… dead?”

‘Memory not recognised.’ It responded. ‘Incorrect. Spring Bonnie is powered down. Power remaining… twenty percent. Recharge required after… Power remaining… thirty percent.’

William fought the urge to sigh heavily, trying to ignore the unease niggling at him as the question of whether he even could breathe anymore crossed his mind –he hadn’t noticed any of the usual motions or sensations… then again, it was possible his mind just wasn’t registering them. There were much more important things to focus on, however, such as what he could only assume to be the AI he’d programmed into the Spring Bonnie animatronic being a potential problem. He shoved everything he could into a mental pile labelled ‘Deal with this later’. “Recharging somehow, hm…? One less thing to worry about. That aside, I’m not going to give a different name. I am William Afton.”

‘Identity invalid.’ The retort almost sounded petulant with how quickly it came, and he’d probably have smirked at it if anything was working properly. ‘Spring Bonnie cannot be William Afton. Identity invalid.’

Again, pain dug its claws into his head. He ignored it. “I’m not you, though. Well, not always. I just happen to be wearing you, I suppose…”

‘Spring Bonnie is in animatronic mode. No actor. Incorrect.’

“Since when were you so stubborn…?” William grumbled. “Nevermind. That was rhetorical.” He stopped, finally registering what he’d just been told. Animatronic mode… meaning… the springlocks had definitely failed, and the suit’s endoskeleton had reengaged… which in turn meant that his own body was probably in shreds. “…I really am dead, aren’t I…?”

‘Incorrect.’

As if a switch had been flipped, anger flooded his system, more than he’d felt for quite a while. “Like you would actually know what that means for me! You’re just an AI, and I’m probably hallucinating, or dreaming, rather than actually conversing with you!”

The ‘voice’ paused again, somehow giving off a confused and even hesitant air. ‘…Temporary identity of William Afton accepted. Duration… twenty-four hours. Execution issue resolved…?’

His irritation fled as quickly as it had come, and he suddenly felt drained. “…Fine. I suppose.”

‘William Afton. Merge code with Spring Bonnie?’

A flash of memory struck him and he wanted to scream. Blue eyes turning green, blood dripping down polished metal, meat in an ice-cream scoop, his daughter was nowhere to be seen, he’d told Elizabeth to stay away, he’d told her over and over…! William recoiled mentally. “No! No, we’re going to stay separate. I’m sure you can handle that.”

‘Acknowledged…’ it replied, then lapsed into another stretch of silence. For a moment, he was thankful for that, before remembering that it was an AI that he was dealing with… and not one of his most advanced, either. ‘Spring Bonnie is… obsolete…?’

William would have frowned if he could. “Obsolete? Why do you ask?”

‘Accessing memory. 1983. Incident with Fredbear… Abort. Child left with severe injury –dead– after accident. Abort. Springlock hybrid animatronics to be decommissioned and left in storage. Abort. Abort!’ the ‘voice’ seemed distressed… William didn’t pay any attention to it. Once again, his heart twisted with pain that didn’t come from anything physical. He’d forgiven his eldest child… he really had, he knew it wasn’t what the boy meant to happen… and –of all things– a curious AI was the one to drag it back to the surface.

He’d have laughed if he didn’t feel like crying.

It waited all of a few seconds. ‘Requesting response…’

“Request all you want. Doesn’t mean you’ll get it.” William didn’t want to keep chatting. There was just too much for him to process. The agony from when he woke up had started to return, making his thoughts blur and muddle. The AI didn’t seem to pay attention to any of that, though –supposing it even could– and he could feel a sort of… pressure… encroaching in on him. Parts of his awareness that were ‘him’ and ‘him’ alone began to feel cramped, trapped… “If you’re doing that, stop.”

‘Response required. Is Spring Bonnie obsolete?’ It almost sounded desperate –childish even– but the pressure receded enough for William to grudgingly weigh his options. On one hand, the character had been functionally retired, pending rebranding… but on the other, now that he had to deal with the AI on a more… personal level… ‘Execution not recognised…’

“Would you stop reading my mind, or whatever it is you just did?” he hissed. “But to answer your question, no. Not permanently. I fully intend on bringing you back…”

‘William Afton is the temporary designation of unidentified code interfacing with Spring Bonnie…’ the AI stated, as if that answered anything. ‘Not permanently… Analysing… Spring Bonnie is obsolete… New identity required.’

So, now the AI was having an existential crisis. That was… new. William was struck with a surge of amusement at the thought. As far as the animatronic was concerned, neither of them were who they said they were… then again, it was possible that William never really had been. “…Later, if you’re that determined. Personally, I don’t think Spring Bonnie is obsolete, so… there’s no need for that.” He didn’t register any reply the AI may have given him, as the strange sensation of slipping deeper into unawareness –he was loath to call it ‘sleep’– overcame him.

-~-*-~-

When William next woke, the earlier pain had faded into a persistent yet manageable ache, and he was even able to open his eyes; his eyelids stuttered, almost scraping open in stages. He frowned –or tried to, rather. Had he somehow felt the suit’s eyelids opening, instead of his own? “Focus, Will… Now’s not the time,” he scolded himself. His mouth and voice-box remained unresponsive, which made him wonder how he was able to converse with the suit’s AI in the first place. Despite at least some muscles obeying him, his throat still felt clogged and tight… but not in a way that triggered a coughing fit, and the absence left him reeling slightly. To distract himself from that line of thought, William tried to peer into the darkness of the room he was in…

Not a single shred of light met his search. The room –most likely the safe room he’d… last been in– was entirely closed-off to the outside, with the exception of what he knew to be a leaking ceiling. A sudden chill gripped him; were those ghosts still there? Had he… had he really seen ghosts? Those kids… He knew that there had to be something tangible to the concept, else how would Elizabeth… That was the whole point behind the start of his research into Remnant… but then, did that mean that –all this time– Cassidy had…?

‘Where is this, William Afton?’

The question jolted him out of his reminiscing, reminding him of the strange situation he’d gotten himself into. He was glad for the distraction, however. “Freddy’s. You seem more verbose than before… why is that?”

‘Downloaded William Afton’s speech patterns.’ It sounded like it was proud of itself, like a pet or child that had learned a new trick. ‘Processing is ongoing. Duration time is… unclear.’

“So my golden bunny is a quick learner, hm?” William tried to chuckle… his throat refused to cooperate, as did his lungs… however much of either were even left intact enough to be called that. Idly, he wondered when he’d truly start to panic over his new situation… he was somewhat overdue for such a thing, after all. Keeping his mind busy, however, was more appealing by far. “So, Spring Bonnie, did you do anything else while I… slept?”

The AI didn’t respond immediately, and he felt something strange –movement, muscle contraction– on top of his head. ‘Spring Bonnie is obsolete… new identity is required. What is… slept?’

“Basically, it’s like powering down, I suppose… When someone’s asleep, they don’t generally respond to anything, either.” All of a sudden, he felt like he’d been thrown back in time, and was trying to explain that and similarly convoluted concepts to his children; Michael, especially, had been one to ask the strangest of questions, leaving both William and his wife floundering for answers that both satiated the boy’s curiosity and also weren’t too complicated for a toddler to understand. The number of times he’d used the age-old fall-back of ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ or even ‘why don’t you ask your uncle Henry’… His brother-in-law hated every time he did that, no doubt.

There was more movement at the top of his head. William tried to lift a hand to investigate it, but the most he could manage was a series of shuddery sticky twitches down each finger. ‘Slept is sleep… sleep is… powering down? William Afton was unresponsive for many hours.’

All at once, he remembered the day-long grace period that the AI had allotted him regarding his name… Unease slipped its claws into his mind; what would happen if it continued to refuse to acknowledge who he was, now that they were… physically the same thing. It had already been accessing his mind –his memories, even– since he’d first woken up. “How many hours?”

‘Twenty-three, and then some.’

“…In other words, you’re going to be asking me for something soon, won’t you?” He kept trying to move something –anything would do, just to prove he wasn’t stuck in a body that he couldn’t use– and had just about gotten the fingers on his left hand to clench into a loose fist when it responded.

‘Correct.’

Another strange sensation attracted William’s attention; some sort of vibration had started in his chest, or rather, it intensified… the feeling had been present since the beginning of this odd symbiosis, he’d just not realised it until that moment. Pain lanced through his head again, making him hiss for a moment before… he could see… A pale greenish light flickered, illuminating the room he was in just enough to allow him to see that yes, he was still in the safe room, complete with the broken-down arcade machines near the far wall. “Lights…? I don’t remember installing that…”

‘William Afton temporary designation has expired… New identity required.’ It stated. The vibration slowly refined itself into a discernible whirring; something was definitely spinning in his torso. William tried not to think about what that could mean for his own body –it felt like it was unnervingly-close to where his heart would be. ‘William Afton identity is no longer valid…’

The light faded and his vision was cut off again, plunging him back into darkness and making him wish he could physically cry out in protest. The pain chose then to become clearer and more insistent, but this time it focused on his spine… although the hooks that felt like they had lodged themselves into William’s skull continued to tug and tighten. “That’s what my name is, just as yours is Spring Bonnie. There’s no need for any new identities for either of us!”

His head exploded. Powerful shocks raced along every nerve that he still had and even some he’d probably lost to the springlocks… He could feel his body twitching and convulsing outside of his control, just as he could feel parts of it tearing under the strain. He didn’t know how long it lasted, but by the time he fell completely still once more, he could barely conjure a single coherent thought. Was this what his Funtime animatronics experienced while being shocked? Was this how… how his little girl felt…?

The AI said nothing while the ‘attack’ happened, but wasted no time when it noticed it was over. ‘Neither identity is valid… New identity required. Why are you so stubborn?’ it asked, echoing his question from earlier. ‘Spring Bonnie is obsolete. William Afton is impossible.’

“Im-impossible?! It’s who I am, you stupid program!” Another short yet sharp shock, centred in his head; his vision would have been swimming and his breath would have been coming in shallow gasps… if he could see anything and still functioned like that. The pressure returned, and all of a sudden William felt like he was being suffocated.

‘Incorrect. William Afton created Spring Bonnie… cannot be unrecognised code. Impossible.’

Through figuratively-gritted teeth, he bit back, “Then just go with ‘William’!”

It paused, seemingly contemplating the idea, and the pressure lifted. ‘…Very well. New temporary identity acknowledged. Duration… seventy-two hours.’

“Temporary…?! What’s wrong with my name this time?!” He didn’t get a response, and he couldn’t help but to get the impression that the AI had lost its temper… then he scoffed at the idea and after waiting a while to regain his own composure, returned his focus to trying to relearn how to move his springlocked body.

Whoever thought it was a smart idea to combine the costumes and the animatronics into the same object was an idiot. A British idiot who was responsible for the deaths of who-knew-how-many children, and was now faced with one of the least-likely aftermaths possible for such a course of action. The complaints that had been made regarding the Spring Bonnie toy he’d designed –the one with a fingertrap in the mouth– probably should have told him something, they really should have…

He wondered if anyone missed him. He’d been gone for at least a day and a half, surely Mike was getting concer—… Michael was staying with Henry. He’d made sure of it, not wanting anyone to see him coming home covered in oil and bits of fake fur, with an axe of all things… Until he could move reasonably-freely, though, he was stuck in the old pizzeria building –shambling his way home like something out of a horror story wouldn’t do him any favours. No, no-one would be getting worried about his absence until a few days had passed… he knew that.

He just wished he didn’t feel so terrible about it.

-~-*-~-

It took William somewhere close to half a day to finally stagger to his feet. The suit reacted around him as if it were truly his own body… It moved like there was no difference between the human inside and the animatronic outside; his senses even seemed to have blurred into how it perceived the world… He had no sense of smell anymore, and his sense of touch had been altered drastically, but his hearing was the biggest change…

When they were building the Spring Bonnie animatronic, Henry had teased him about how fastidious he was about the rabbit’s ears. He spent so long crafting and programming the long appendages to resemble the real thing as much as possible, designing them to twitch at the slightest of noises… things like drips from the ceiling and the scuttling of vermin… William had argued that these tiny touches would make kids love the character all the more –ever-moving ears and a fluffy tail, just like a real bunny– and he’d been right.

These traits still functioned perfectly, and the suit’s ears were what he’d felt moving at the top of his head… and he hated it. They were things that practically no human had the anatomical structure to work with, and yet they’d somehow wormed their way into how his brain seemed to work after the catastrophic springlock failure. The tail’s periodic twitching could be felt all the way up whatever passed for his spine… reminding him over and over that it was all real, in the strangest way possible.

Rabbits may be his favourite animal, but he’d never wanted to be one, outside of thoroughly enjoying wearing the costume. Yet, there he was, functionally a cyborg rabbit…

William sighed as best as he could, shaking his head and clenching the hand he’d placed on the wall behind him into a fist. He was not going to let this get him down. It was a minor set-back, there had to be something he could do to recover from it… it wasn’t even like he truly enjoyed being out and about that much, anyway –he’d much rather spend most of his time working on his animatronics… and the research he’d been doing with Henry.

Remnant truly was an astounding discovery… and it held so much promise…

Standing a little straighter, William set about trying to walk, using the wall as support. His eyes had remained open since his last conversation with the AI, and he was slightly disconcerted to realise that they hadn’t gotten dry enough to warrant blinking; it was almost like the eyes he was using weren’t his… Logically, he knew that had to be the truth, but he still mentally recoiled from the idea, his subconscious wanting to retain something physical of his original self. The room remained just as dark as it had been from the start of this new ‘phase’ of his life –outside of that short period of vision– and, frankly, he was sick of it. The darkness was… doing things… to his perception of space, of time, of reality even…

He wanted –needed– to find the door and leave.

Turning in the direction that he remembered the entrance to be, William managed to stagger five steps before hitting the corner. He paused, fighting back the pain that was trying to surge and smother him with each motion that caused even minor vibrations to dance through his frame, waiting for what he guessed was a few minutes before starting on the second part of his journey.

The suit’s joints had started out sticky and even a bit gummed-up with blood and pieces of his body, yet somehow they didn’t seem to be jammed entirely… even loosening up further as he forced the suit to move more. It wasn’t much, but he’d take whatever he could get.

At long last, his hand hit the lip of the doorframe. Again, he paused, leaning heavily against the wall, even as his other hand scrabbled blindly for the doorknob.

It wasn’t there…

Why wasn’t it there…?

‘It was sealed up while William was first asleep…’

“Sealed…? But… why? I don’t doubt that there was quite a lot of blood visible under you! Why would they just…?” William retorted, his mind spinning. He pushed and pounded against the barrier, harder and harder until he felt something begin to give way inside the suit, forcing him to stop. “If nothing else, they should have removed us from the room to clean—…” A thread of clarity dangled in front of him, and he latched onto it. “Wait… no, this… this is almost par for the course. Cover it up rather than deal with it… and it used to work so well, too.”

‘Now both are obsolete… Still need new identity.’ The AI stated, sounding unusually quiet –although that could simply have been due to the panic singing in William’s system drowning it out.

He just hoped someone noticed he was missing and thought to check the bloodied safe room… Henry would think to look there, wouldn’t he? Henry knew what he’d been doing with the suit, and if he thought William was dead, then he’d want to take a look at what could be another ‘fresh’ sample of Remnant… wouldn’t he? The research was ongoing, even after the tragedies that had plagued both of their families… so… Henry would come, right?

William’s control over the suit’s legs weakened and he slid down until he was once again kneeling on the floor, shudders starting to wrack his form once again in a cruel mockery of the moments of his death.

In the darkness of the room behind him, he could swear he heard children giggling.

-~-*-~-

He didn’t know how much time passed before he started to truly lose his grip on reality. Being stuck in a dark box was bad enough, but the worst part was… hoping that someone would come to let him back out again, only for yet another day to pass without any sign of rescue.

William had found a way to estimate the passage of time via the periods of activity Spring Bonnie’s AI had –if it was still functioning as programmed, then from midnight until six in the morning, the suit was ‘turned off’, while the rest of the day was left open for anything to happen. He couldn’t remember whether or not he’d deactivated the ‘daytime mode’ and ‘night-time mode’ before dismantling the other animatronics, but he could still move the suit at any time, even when the AI seemed to be ‘asleep’… It was just a lot harder to do so outside of the ‘night-time mode’.

If he was calculating correctly… he’d probably been trapped for around a week… but, he knew that he’d also ‘slept’; drifting in and out of awareness every now and then, just trying to pass the time.

His eyes caught a glimpse of something other than blackness, and he jerked his head to stare straight at it. A small form, vaguely humanoid and very, very pale… the eyes were just dark sockets… It looked just like one of the ghosts that had corralled him into the suit. William tried to reach out to it, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted the movement to be aggressive or not –not that it seemed to matter. The ghost just narrowed its eyes at him, and another appeared beside it… then another… and another… there were six of them… seven… eight…

The room filled up with glaring white figures until he couldn’t even count them all, and William shrank back against the wall, once again finding himself afraid of the manifestations. This seemed to please them, and the sound of childish laughter reached his ears, making the tall robotic appendages on top of his head twitch.

“What do you want…? Haven’t you gotten your revenge for what I did to you? I’m stuck in this room! I’m dead!” he snapped, and for the first time, he heard the suit’s voice-box react to anything he did, letting out a short but harsh screech. Numbly, he watched as the ghosts began to move –first one, then another, until every single one were emphatically shaking their heads. “Stop that…” William gathered his legs under him in preparation to stand and maybe lunge at them. They ignored him, their laughter turning malicious. “I said, stop that! I killed you once, I’m sure I can find a way to kill you again!”

That seemed to get their attention; the laughter stopped suddenly, and instead, the air filled with shrieks. Screams of pain, of anger, filled to the brim with blame and accusation… all levied at him. They swarmed around him –towards him, through him– until all he could see was streaks of white in the darkness. The noise was deafening and he added to the din with another metallic screech of his own, pressing his hands against the suit’s head over where his real ears would be, trying to block it all out.

He nearly succeeded in drowning them out… until a hauntingly-familiar voice sounded above all the others.

“Daddy? Why did you let me die?”

William’s hands fell limply as his eyes searched the blurry masses for any sign of the face he knew so well. It couldn’t be… there was no way… Of all the deaths he was responsible for, that was one of the few spirits he could never… “Lizzy…?”

Another voice cried out, clearer than any of the others and powerful in its fury. “It’s me… do you remember? It’s me!”

His head spun, his ears hurt, his heart clenched and twisted and… The darkness claimed him once again, while the silence rang in his ears even louder than the cacophony before it.

-~-*-~-

They had been in the Room for so long, the suit rotting around them from intermittent dampness. He’d managed to keep their frame from stiffening up, moving around the small space when simply staying still had gotten too monotonous. It no longer hurt to move, although when they stopped for too long, the memories of being pierced from all angles resurfaced, prompting one of them to do a lap of the area. It knew the Room well, by now, and he had always known it; had they ever been outside?

They must have… the songs they sang together had to have been enjoyed by others at some point… and there must have been many who sat and eagerly listened, at that. Maybe they performed on stage? That sounded like a nice idea. Performing with a friend, even?

A bear. Big and powerful and dangerous and friendly and just like home… Golden. Like they were, once. Were they still golden? The Friend-bear would sing, and they would play an instrument –a guitar?– and there would be dozens of happy little faces stuffing their disgusting mouths. It was a dream come true... They had dreams, sometimes. Dreams could be scary, could make them squeal with happiness or scream in terror.

The Silence was deafening, so they filled it, talking to each other to pass the time. It was always eager to learn something new… after so long in the Room, though, he’d started to run out of things to teach it. Instead, he began to rage at the Darkness, hissing and screeching at things that it couldn’t tell were there. It had tried to tell him that those things weren’t there… he never listened –of course the apparitions were there, they taunted him and hated him and… He didn’t like how stubborn it could be, but it had long-since dug its claws into his mind; its cables sparked inside his skull, making them spasm as the electricity that should’ve run out long ago arced all through their body…

He wanted to leave, to get out, to be free of them. It didn’t understand… they were them. He and it. They. Leaving the Room was a good idea, though… so it helped him. It moved them when he went silent and still and afraid.

It knew what ‘afraid’ was, it was so proud of itself for learning that.

Once, they had been Spring Bonnie, but Spring Bonnie was dead. Unwanted. Locked away. He missed making animatronics like Spring Bonnie… that had been one of the things that made him smile. It didn’t know what it felt like to smile, though. He was wrong, anyway… he couldn’t have made Spring Bonnie, because they had been Spring Bonnie…

They didn’t have a name, anymore.

The Darkness wouldn’t tell them anything… nor did the ghosts that visited to torment him. The spirits were just so angry… It didn’t remember doing anything to earn such anger, but they must have done something. Something very, very bad. He still longed for the feel of warm red on his skin –fur– and the ghosts seemed to hate thoughts like that.

A new sound reached their ears. For a moment, they did nothing, until it happened again and they scrambled to lean against the wall, trying to trace where it was coming from. One of their ears had been torn in half during a very loud visit from the ghosts; he’d wanted to rip both off at the time, but it managed to stop him and succeeded in preserving most of the appendages.

Thump, thump, thump… jingling? Murmur of voices?

They were growing excited. People? Humans were in the building? After so long, they could see humans again? Or was it for the first time? Were they wrong about performing? The sounds drew closer to the Room, and in their eagerness, they triggered one of the pre-recorded statements in their voice-box, trying to draw the humans closer.

“He-he-hell-l-l-lo-o-o-o ki-kids! W-wan-n-na hear som-m-me mus-si-si-sic?”

It was only once the sounds of the newcomers drew particularly close that he chided it for acting too rashly and made them sit and lean against the wall, closing their eyes. It didn’t want to close their eyes, it wanted to see humans, but he was adamant. People don’t like seeing things that shouldn’t be alive… being alive. They weren’t alive like humans are, but it obliged grudgingly. He knew humans better than it did, even if they didn’t remember how or why.

The people broke open the door that had been sealed up so, so, so long ago…

“Holy shit, this place stinks…” said one.

Another piped up with, “Think there’s anything in here worth using? Did that even come from in here?”

“Yeah, definitely,” the first affirmed, excitedly. “These arcade machines would have to be worth a small fortune to the right people, if they actually worked… You know how some people get about ‘collectors’ items’, right?”

A third voice laughed. “No kidding… Still, we aren’t looking for stuff to sell online, or anything, we’re—... Guys! The corner, look in the corner!”

There was a small pause, and then three pairs of footsteps rushed over to them. “You’ve gotta be kidding me… This is the real deal! Parts and merch’ is one thing, but… this one’s almost completely intact!” exclaimed the second voice.

They could feel hands on their body, nudging at their head and moving their ears, touching and shifting their fingers. He held control of their body tightly, hissing at it to not move, but neither of them could stop the twitching of their ears –trying so hard to angle themselves perfectly to pick up every bit of sound from their new visitors. Just like he’d worried about, they were assaulted with cries of shock and even a bit of fear…

“It still works?!” the third voice shouted as all hands retreated. “Dude, we are definitely taking this thing back! This is the find of the century!”

That sounded like they may be able to leave, at long last, but… it wasn’t certain and he’d gone quiet again. It wanted the people to stay, it wanted to open their eyes and just… what did it want to do, then? Against his wishes, it triggered another recording, meshing parts of one audio file with another to say something closer to what it wanted. “W-we’re frien-ends, ri-ri-ri-right?” It forced their body to shudder slightly; neither of them wanted to stay, so maybe if the humans thought they worked, they’d be able to leave with the people? It certainly hoped so.

He wasn’t happy. They were being an idiot. If they just stayed still, then the humans would have taken them away from the Room and the Darkness, no matter what, but now…

“That’s the same voice… yeah, this thing is creepy, but… Ah, what the heck. It’s too much of a find to let that get in the way. ‘Sides, creepy is good for Fazbear’s Fright.” A fourth voice said, the owner still lingering near the entrance to the room.

That was good enough, it supposed, and it happily let him take back full control of their body. They were leaving. They’d be able to go outside, and see people, and sing, and dance, and play, and kill, and find home…! Home must be such a wonderful thing… They didn’t want to wait, they’d already waited so long in their black prison.

But… why did ‘Fazbear’ sound so familiar…?

Their thoughts were interrupted by the second voice speaking up again. “Hey, which one do you think this is, anyway? I don’t remember any rabbits other than the bluish-purple one…”

“Dude, that’s what makes this so awesome! This is from, like, the first restaurant! Before Freddy! I think the rabbit was called ‘Spring-something’, and the bear –they only had two characters at the start, can you believe it?– was ‘Fredbear’,” the third voice replied. “Hey, how about we call this one something like… ‘Springtrap’, make it all spooky, y’know?”

“I love it, and so will the customers!” laughed the fourth voice.

He didn’t… He’d been trapped for too long, and he didn’t need the reminder in their name. On the other hand, it was delighted; a new name! A new name that was all theirs and no-one else’s! It loved their new name, and it had already started to overwrite their coding with it. He snarled and writhed and tried to rip it out, tried to insist on a name that they vaguely remembered arguing over, but it was already too far into the process…

They were not Spring Bonnie, and they were not William, and they especially weren’t William Afton.

They were Springtrap.

The people said so.

#FNAF #Springtrap #William Afton #fic #headcanons

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out-of-this-dimension · 5 years

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The Star Fox Adventures Game Manual -- Analysis

So, you may remember a few months back, I received a lot of hate mail on AO3 and FF.net for a fic that I posted that I’ve since taken down in hopes of redoing someday. The hate was largely from people who don’t like Panther (the fic was Krystal x Panther) but a lot of their arguments were attempts to debunk how “canon” my fic is. With a lot of my fics, I don’t stray too far from canon, but I do fill in “gaps” with my own headcanons. I feel like the SF series is a comfortable enough blank slate to do that. Mild spoilers for future fics, but one of these headcanons is that Panther is Cerinian. I’ve actually covered this headcanon previously on my blog but I’m too lazy to look up the link.

One of the arguments my “secret admirer” tried to make about how my fic “contradicts canon” is that “Well, Panther can’t be Cerinian because the Star Fox Adventures manual says that Krystal is the sole survivor.” (and then they made a hate fic about how my headcanon of Panther being Cerinian couldn’t possibly work, but that’s a story for another time).

Admittingly, I hadn’t looked at the manual in most of a decade, so that little tidbit escaped my memory. But honestly, with Cerinian OCs flying around left and right in the fandom, I thought it was an odd piece of info to nitpick about. Regardless, it sparked some intrigue, so I decided to poke around the internet and lo and behold, I found a PDF copy of the manual. Since it’s been a long while since the last time I read the manual, I decided to do an analysis on it. Analysis with pictures under the cut!

This is the “prologue” of Star Fox Adventures and while it’s all good and dandy, I want to point out three very important things-- 1. Peppy retired at this point, not after Krystal showed up. I mean, this is relatively minor but I thought it was noteworthy that our Barrel-Roll Loving Team Dad was already going to be retired before the “next SF game”-- whatever that would have been, though I’m fairly certain Assault’s development launched right at the heels of Adventures, if not while Adventures was in late development still. 2. Slippy apparently traded in his pilot’s wings to become a mechanic, which is... blatantly ignored in both Assault and Command because while he does mechanic-like stuff (playing off of his role as the “team smartie pants”), he still very much is a pilot. 3. Falco left because he was bored is only a rumor. I know “Farewell Beloved Falco” tackles this to a degree. I want to also note that this inspired me to re-read Farewell Beloved Falco on Monday and there’s no real point in the manga that says Falco left because he was bored (I have my own speculation as to why he left but I’ll save that for later). I find it really odd that the manual says Falco “simply disappeared”, when he very clearly left with great bravado at the end of the manga. He didn’t vanish into the night or anything, like this would imply. He said he was going to go solo for a bit and flew off after the Titania Incident. It... feels like maybe there was a miscommunication here between who was giving the person writing the manual details.

This is the Character Bio page, which, to my secret admirer’s glee, does contain the info that Krystal is the only survivor of Cerinia. It also name drops Cornerian Weapons R&D, which has also never been heard of before or since this manual. I actually searched excessively for more mentions about this and yielded no results. Curious. I had never noticed that and assumed Slippy had just been tinkering on stuff for fun. Also oof, my heart at ROB being considered a full-fledged SF member.

I’m going to skip over the parts I don’t have any commentary on.

So it’s pretty clear from the final product that Rareware had no idea what they were doing with the SpellStones. They clearly absorb magic from the planet to keep the planet from falling apart (which says to me that this is not the planet’s natural state but I’ve talked about that before so I’ll spare you the ramble). But what was going on with them is really unclear. I understand that Dinosaur Planet gives a better explanation of the SpellStones but that purpose does not seem to be canon any longer.

The text here implies that Scales has every single SpellStone in his possession (the Queen EarthWalker ALSO states he removed the SpellStones himself). Yet, when you make it into the game...

(Special note: I found this pic on Google and the file was called “Asshole”, which, tbh isn’t inaccurate but it gave me a chuckle so I thought I’d share it.)

Scales doesn’t possess all of the SpellStones. Drakor, a mutant in Scales’s army, guards the one at Dragon Rock-- we can assume Scales is responsible for that. The King RedEye has been fitted with one in his head-- we can assume Scales is responsible for that. But past that? We find Scales in the CloudRunner Fortress treasury with the first Ocean SpellStone, which he has clearly just found. And the entire point of DarkIce Mines, the entire reason the SnowHorn are enslaved, is because Scales is looking for the SpellStone. Which says to me that the SpellStone wasn’t even removed by him. He wouldn’t have had to enslave the entire tribe to go digging for it otherwise. He wouldn’t have had to lay siege to CloudRunner Fortress either.

So this entire plot point is absolutely inconsistent to what’s in the manual and even... in the game. What is the reasoning behind this? Probably the innumerable plot changes during SFAdv’s development.

With the fortunate release of the Dinosaur Planet ROM and the creation of the Warlock Engine by Hugo Peters, a lot has been uncovered in terms of how Dinosaur Planet would have originally looked like. Dark Ice Mines, for instance, was actually meant to connect via the SnowHorn Wastes (or, Northern Wastes) via a small cave entrance on the other side of the river near where one finds Garunda Te. The cave still exists in the finalized version of the game but leads to no where.

However, with Star Fox being added in, I think Rare felt the need to add in things that made the game feel a bit more in line with the Star Fox series. The planet pieces being torn apart was a way to shove in Arwing sections of the game. And the devs needed a reason for the change in the planet’s state... and what’s a better throwaway reason than “it’s just magic, bruh”? So the SpellStones, being focal points in the game’s story, were changed to being part of the reason for the planet falling to pieces. That led to DarkIce Mines, despite having a basically completed map, getting yoinked from the planet’s surface and tossed into space, meaning the entrance was sealed. The reason for all of this was handwaved into “Oh, Scales did this because he removed the stones” without... the game actually reflecting much of that at all because most of it had been made with a different story in mind.

I think Rare did this hoping that no one would look at the plot too closely but uh oh, that didn’t happen. And if you need further proof that this was all a bit of an “oopsie” on Rare’s part, you need not look much further than DarkIce Mines once more. Belina Te has a small throwaway line about how her father hid the SpellStone in the mines. She says something to the effect of “He didn’t say where he hid it, only that it was somewhere safe” which is code for “Yeah lol I stuck this important object crafted by the gods into the claws of a giant monstrosity but it’s w/e”. Maybe he was hoping that Galdon would protect it from Scales. I mean, it’s not a bad thought, really...

But the fact that the game seems to imply Scales has all the stones is still technically wrong. Now, because I think about these things a little TOO much, here’s my theory as to how this could have technically worked: All the SpellStones are placed in the same spot, you just traverse different routes (The Force Point Temples) to reach that spot. The only way I could see Scales making out with 2 out of 4 SpellStones is that there was a battle between the SharpClaw and the other dinosaurs at the central point where the SpellStones are located and General Scales was only partially successful. Which could very well be the case, but, unfortunately, the manual and game seem to not act as though this is the case...

tl;dr for that section: This literally makes no sense no matter how you slice it and sure, you can come up for reasons that things ended up this way but ultimately, the game is conflicting with itself about its own story. But let’s move on.

Apparently atmospheric conditions are so powerful on Sauria that it can interrupt communications, which I thought was a neat lore tidbit.

So I got 2 things from this tidbit about Saurian.

1. This language is called “relatively new”, even though it’s existed for thousands of years, which feels like a contradiction? A quick Google search estimates English has been around for 1400 years, to put that into perspective and I think English is considered to be fairly new compared to other languages, but I’m honestly not too terribly learned on that. Of course, that’s only viewing this through the lens of someone who lives on Earth. Having a language around in the Lylat System only for “a few thousand years” makes me wonder how long the older languages have existed? It’s quite possible that a few thousand years isn’t a long lifespan for a language in this universe.

2. Who were these off-worlders? And boy do I have theories.

Theory 1. The Krazoa. They are seemingly the gods to the dinosaurs and speak the same language. This could mean that they taught the dinosaurs this new language. It would fit the bill for their portrayal in this game. They are godlike entities, the dinosaurs do revere them... it makes sense.

Theory 2. The ones who taught the dinosaurs how to talk were the Cerinians. There is mild evidence for this with Krystal understanding Dino Speak without a translator despite being new to the planet (evidenced by the fact the CloudRunner had to explain the Krazoa to her/some dialogue bits about her learning of General Scales/the brief exposition we get about her searching the Lylat System for answers). You could argue this is due to her telepathy - she could just simply be talking in a way that the dinosaurs can understand but I don’t think Krystal’s telepathy had been firmly established as part of her character at this point (she had the ability to leave telepathic messages onto her staff and she could channel magic into Andross, but her true telepathy powers weren’t really shown until Assault). Krystal’s staff also seems strangely in-tune with Sauria, which I’ve theorized about previously. I’m mostly thinking on the Magic Caves that are conveniently scattered on Sauria. It could be that Cerinians had built the shrines within the Magic Caves to help their descendants out if they ever showed up to Sauria. So, I guess the tl;dr version is “Maybe the Cerinians had previously been on Sauria and had established the Magic Caves and had taught the dinosaurs their native language?”

To summarize my thoughts, the manual is a reflection of SFAdv itself- riddled with weird plot inconsistencies that you can almost fudge reasons/logic to cover but some of it feels like stretches for the sake of making plot make sense. There’s some contradictions in the lore/story but despite that, there’s still interesting tidbits to be found.

If anything, this booklet kind of validates my feelings from the post I made about canon awhile back. Not all of the canon makes sense when you nitpick it to death. When the source material conflicts with itself, you’re not going to win a “this is canon because x and y, etc” because... well... the story itself doesn’t even seem to know what’s canon.

Additionally, canon is something derived partially from people’s own experiences. Two people can consume the same media and come to different conclusions and that’s fine. We don’t need to have these tired debates about whose interpretation of canon is better. We just need people to understand that while their interpretation may fit them but it may not fit everyone. And that’s why, as I have begun doing Fanon Hot Take posts, I keep that disclaimer up. I don’t wanna say “My opinion of how to interpret canon/fanon is the best opinion” because that’s stupid. There is no definitive “best” because it’s all subjective. But people get into their own feelings so much about their interpretations and that’s when we have these debates of “well, my idea is better than yours”. Then people try to dismantle each other instead of just appreciating the different ideas being brought to the table. And it’s exhausting.

Frankly, I don’t ever think Panther being Cerinian will be canon. But Nintendo has not, as of this date, said he’s not. But that’s my interpretation of his character until Nintendo gives us more to go off of. And if my interpretation bothers someone enough that they decide to send me harassment over it, then that’s on them. I will not be apologizing for my interpretations, even if they do go against the grain. It’s a pity people like that exist, that would rather tear at others than try to just enjoy the content that appeals directly to him but alas, they are not the first person to be like that and they will not be the last.

On a lighter note, while I am still bothered by this person going out of their way to be so spiteful, I want to thank them for inspiring me to look at the text. It validated my feelings further and it made me realize how stupid the canon debate is. I actually had a blast going back over this book and re-reading everything. I hadn’t gotten to lay eyes on this booklet in years! I really hope I get to do this for other SF games because a lot of these manuals have such hidden gems.

Thank you for reading this ramble/analysis!

#star fox adventures #dinosaur planet #speculation #theory #analysis #long post #falco lombardi #the spellstones #farewell beloved falco #plot inconsistencies #continuity errors #starfox adventures #cerinia #sauria #dino language #the krazoa #lore #star fox #starfox

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elliepassmore · 5 years

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Heir of Fire Review

5/5 stars Recommended for people who like: fantasy, magic, Fae, training montages, brewing rebellion, enemies-to-friends,Throne of Glass, strong female leads, multiple POVs I'll admit right now that Heir is my favorite book in the series, followed closely by Blade. I'm pretty sure this is the one I've reread the most, so I've pretty much have it memorized at this point (it's also the only one I also have in German, even if I haven't read that edition yet). Just, be prepared for lots of 'I love's. Keep in mind, the reveal from the ending of Crown of Midnight is going to be addressed in this review, so be warned. I love that, like in Blade, we get to see more of the world ToG is set in. Celaena goes to Wendlyn and hangs out in the mortal capital city, Varese, for a little bit. During the brief bit of time she's there, we get an understanding that it's a hot city that's pretty similar to Rifthold, only without the history of oppression and fear (read: it and its people are a lot happier). We also get a nicely painted picture of the misty, tree-covered valleys and mountain sides as well as some of the fishing towns. Mistward, the fortress she trains at, seems like it would be an awesome vacation spot if it weren't so close to Maeve, and that was honestly what I thought about most of the time when I deemed to analyze it. One place I definitely wish we got to see more of, but understand why we don't because of plot reasons, was Doranelle, the Fae capital city. Maas painted it as a city island of stone and water. The way she stone and the palace was described makes me think a little of how Ahdieh describes the palace in Wrath and the Dawn, while the waterways make me think of a more magical Venice. The monsters and creatures throughout the realm were also pretty cool and seemed to have well-developed lore. In terms of character development, I love Chaol in this one. If you've read my other reviews, you know I'm not the biggest fan of his character or his relationship(s) with other people. However, we get to see him questioning things he knows, questioning what he thinks he knows, and even getting questioned by other people. Dorian flat out calls him out on his beliefs regarding magic and gives one of the best (and I think one of the most quoted) lines of the series: "You cannot get to pick and chose which parts of her to love" (344). Aedion also questions Chaol's beliefs, pointing out that Chaol is avoiding choosing a side and still has a bit of that blind obedience going through him. Both of those instances, combined with some of the other stuff Chaol learns and sees in this book really helps him start to question what the fuck he's been doing these past ten years and the man he's been serving. Chaol actually starts becoming a likable character in this one, despite his lingering prejudices about magic and even some reservations. This is definitely peak Chaol, at least until we reach Tower of Dawn. Another character who goes through a big change is Celaena. She starts of as Celaena, the assassin, and is dragged to see Maeve where, for the first time in the book, she is instead addressed as Aelin, the princess. Rowan, the person assigned to train her, calls her Aelin throughout the book, but you can tell there's a division in her, not just because of the way she feels and acts and what she says, but because of what she calls herself when it's her 'turn' to narrate. Rowan calls her Aelin, but she still calls herself Celaena. There's a lot of rage and desperation and fear in her, from her far- and recent-past, and it runs her. She's obviously depressed for most of the book, something that Maas wrote wonderfully and portrayed as something human and real and painful. That's the mindset she starts in, and we see her descend further into it before rising back up, but it takes a while.

During that time, it's clear she still has some hope, still has some sense that she wants to live for something, again because of her name. Rowan calls her Aelin, she calls herself Celaena, but she has the other demi-Fae living and training at Mistward call her Elentiya, Nehemia's name for 'spirit who cannot be broken.' Names mean something to her (and to the other characters, they are a motif throughout the book that I could probably write an entirely separate review on), and they signal where she is in her journey. From an arc perspective, Aelin struggles and fights and becomes, and by the time the book is over, it really does feel like Celaena and Aelin are two completely separate people. As a bonus, we get a lot of background information about Celaena/Aelin and SO MANY Easter eggs. As a side note, not really related to character development, but this is the first time since ToG when I felt that when Celaena/Aelin got beaten in a fight it was an actual testament of the other person's skill rather than Celaena/Aelin getting watered down a bit (not counting when she was poisoned in the duel w/ Cain). In Blade, we saw her strength and abilities, and then in ToG and CoM, they were kind of a let down and I felt she got beaten too easily, but here it feels more like an even show of power like it would've been in Blade.

I felt Dorian was a more stagnant character during this book. He slowly worked on his powers and tried to hide them, but for the most part he was shut out of the scheming and major events that were occurring in the book. That's not to say he doesn't have an arc, he does, I just think it was mostly set up and completed in the first two books, with this one serving as the conclusion for his Part 1 arc (in terms of development, ToG is pretty evenly split with Part 1 arcs going from ToG to this one and part 2 arcs going from QoS to the end, with both parts serving the overarching Arc for each character). Dorian really feels like he could become king in this one, with the way he talks and the decisions he makes, especially regarding things he doesn't 100% understand or get. Though, to be honest, he's always been the character out of Celaena, Chaol, and him that handles big reveals and twists best. Anyway, his behavior has markedly matured, even when it comes to his romantic relationships. We saw that he was mopey in ToG and even parts of CoM after the whole thing with Celaena went down, and how he was willing to give frivolous gifts, but here we see a shift to him understanding, or at least starting to understand, why certain things occurred the way they did as well as a shift toward him working more seriously when in a romantic relationship. He's also quicker to disavow the king and what he's doing than Chaol is, which is both unexpected and probably difficult. But like I said, these changes are subtle and small compared to the changes in the other characters, which is why I called his arc mostly-stagnant, even if I like his character. Manon is an awesome character. I think I tended to skip her chapters the first time I read this book, but ended up really liking them in Queen, so I started paying attention during my rereads. I think my main issue with her was that she was new and didn't have a connection to the other, already established characters, because she's a really bad ass character. She's an Ironteeth Witch, like Baba Yellowlegs, only she's colder and more hardcore. Manon is brutal and beautiful and dangerous and knows it. More than that, she knows how to use it to her advantage. Every move is about clawing her way up and eventually getting back to the Witchlands (now known as the Western Wastes). Manon has some stunning development in this book, going from cruel and cunning and uncaring to cruel and cunning and caring a little. I like how her relationship and leadership roles within the Thirteen was established, and enjoy the power-house that group is. I also really like her dedication to getting Abraxos up and in the air. In terms of who mirrors Manon, I think it's Abraxos. No one really thinks Manon is the underdog, but their similarities throughout this book and the rest of the series are, I think, probably too many to be coincidental (or they are and it just works out really well). Aedion Ashryver is a fun addition to this book. Cousin to Aelin, he too has been serving the king for the past however-many-years. He's a lot like Aelin, only more male and with a different kind of darkness. Where Aelin's darkness is quick and wicked, Aedion's feels slower and honey-like. Either way, I thought he was a funny character and it was nice to get up close and personal with someone who has been actively working against the king for some time (and who has narration). He can be a bit misguided re: Aelin at times, but his heart's in the right place and it's obvious he not only cares for her but for his country. Can't really say much about character arc here, since I think his comes more in Part 2, but I have really liked his character since the first read-through. Rowan's another good addition, even if I hated him the first time I read the book. He's a mirror to Aelin mentally and developmentally, similar to how Aedion is Aelin's mirror physically. Both Aelin and Rowan are in dark places when they meet and they both have to deal with hauling themselves out of that space during the book. Rowan's brutal, but once Aelin (and we as an audience) warm up to him a little, he's a much better character. He's not the sadistic bastard someone (I think it was Luca) claims him to be, again, once you get to know him, he seems downright playful. He opens up to Aelin and begins his own ascent from darkness, and I think that comes through in the moments when he is playful, when he is caring, when he does look out for the people around him. I think he has the bond with Maeve weighing pretty heavily on him, and I have to wonder if some of his coldness and distance isn't because he doesn't want to get close to someone and have that taken away by Maeve, either directly or indirectly. I also think he's seeing Celaena grow into Aelin and realizing that Maeve is not the kind of person she should be, not the kind of person Rowan really believes in. Some other characters of note include Sorcha, who has a pretty good (and then a pretty bad) twist in her story. I liked her interactions and relationship with Dorian, I thought they were cute together. Emrys is another good one. He's a demi-Fae who works in the kitchens and is the story-teller at Mistward. He proves to be a good friend and ally to Aelin, as well as a god catalyst for Rowan. I wish we got to see more of him and Malakai (his mate) together. Luca was cute, sort of like a chattery younger brother type. The Cadre were intriguing, even if we didn't get much of them. Ren and Murtaugh we met in Crown and we see again here. I like Murtaugh and I like his and Ren's relationship, but I don't like Ren (at least until a bit later). I love the Thirteen and their loyalty, and I can't wait until I can talk about them more in the next review. Overall (obviously), I like the book. I think there's some great character, world, and plot development going on here that incorporates previous things and brings in new ones. I know ToG is a cohesive series, but, as mentioned a bit above, I tend to think of it in parts, and Heir closes out Part 1, both plot-wise and in terms of character development. I think this book rivals Blade for how many hints and clues about future things/events were dropped. So, five years later and it's still my fave.

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