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equallyshaw · 6 months

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star crossed lovers, pt 2 | connor bedard

↳ oc hughes sister x connor bedard x brendan brisson + blurb + tiny insta post

↳ au masterlist!

takes place in 2026 with a connor sighting!

warnings: swearing

word count: 4.7K

Two households, both alike in dignity...

oh that love story that was too good to be true, so beautiful and soft and wholesome; was never meant to last. romeo and juliet had truly run their course it seemed. though originally, weren't they destined to be together forever, and never see the fate that the original story predicted?

maybe her brothers were right, kailey thought as soon as it happened. he dug the sword deep into her heart, twisted, and then pulled away. it was if they'd never been together. as if they hadn't spent the last three years together.

but was it the end for miss hughes? was it the end of her journey in finding love with a powerful and notable name within the world of hockey?

◦

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume.

kailey pushed jack a bit as soon as entered the kitchen in the townhouse her two brothers shared in jersey. she quickly made her way over to the coffee machine and put a nespresso pod in, smiling once the humming of the machine began. she pulled out her phone and opened connor's message that popped up, and she wished she hadn't. she stared at the screen, allowing it to fade to black. "kails!" jack said hurrying over and putting a towel down, as the expresso spilled over the too small cup. she didn't move. he looked down at her, not understanding why she wasn't moving. he sighed, wiping the counter in front of her, before he heard her whisper. "he broke up with me." jack thought his mind was playing tricks on him, "funny kails." he said turning around to finish making his breakfast. "he br-broke up with me." she said again, louder and more clear. he looked back at her before taking two steps to catch her as she fell backwards, out of shock. he quickly brought her to the ground, holding her closely as she sobbed.

24 hours ago, the two were planning on what they wanted to do for their almost 1 year anniversary.

how could things change in 24 hours?

luke rushed in as soon as he heard sobs, and the look that jack gave him was more than he needed, he knew exactly what happened. the three brothers couldn't have seen this coming from a mile away, they didn't see this happening. ever. they thought that connor was the one, that one that made it past their hard exteriors. the one that had made his way into all of the hughes hearts.

oh how the universe and shakespeare could be so cruel.

◦

thankfully, kailey was finished with school and had graduated a few weeks before the breakup. so she thought long and hard on where she wanted to be, and who she wanted to be. dawning a new hair color and a will to pull herself out of heartbreak, she settled on sunny california. she moved to redondo beach in los angeles county, moving in with her cousin maya - a longtime family friend of the hughes that dated back to her mom's hockey days at college. the three brothers were crushed to see her leaving so early in the summer, and forgoing the lake house in michigan but she knew she needed to go. or else she'd never leave.

it was around 3 months later, late july when kailey reunited with a very old family friend. brendan brisson, out of the blue showed up at her and maya's apartment for a sunday brunch they were throwing. he came with his brother, and at first they did not recognize her because of her new hair color. since she'd been in california, she hadn't had the inkling or draw to post anything on social media. hence, people were relatively concerned as to what she was up to. sure, her family knew through text messages and private snapchats, but other than that- she'd ghosted the world. she also got off Instagram and twitter, not relishing in the fact that connor was off seeing other people. mere carbon copies of the girl, pre brunette. she hated seeing people tag her in things, hated seeing it come up naturally because of how much she used to look up his name; for shits and giggles she used to say.

that sunday morning though, after grabbing a cup of coffee from redondo beach pier, and a walk up and down it- she retweeted something. which let me tell you, alerted the hockey world and hockey twitter. i mean, the sheer power they held when they were together was out of this world. two great hockey names - connected in a magical way, how could they not? people adored seeing them together and that retweet cemented the breakup, which people had been suspecting for some time. she redownloaded Instagram, archiving her pictures with connor, not able to part with them just yet. she then opened up her groupchat with the boys, ripping the canadian boy to shreds. she'd simply put him into an early grave, by her word choice. she woke up with a vengeance this morning, her brothers thought as 6 messages - paragraphs - came in. her brothers agreed with every last word she sent, they were absolutely dumbfounded and out of this world angry when connor broke up with her via text. and without cause. their original thoughts about guys came back in an instant. they would do everything in their power to steer away boys, if luck would have it. nobody would ever be good enough. though she was a california gal now, they couldn't protect her. though - as much as quinn hated to ask for a favor - the boys had asked trevor and alex keep tabs on her on that side of the coast. the two without hesitation agreed, with trevor making a joke at quinns expense.

they were hoping they could sleep a little easier at night.

but as soon as brendan saw her, he quickly pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. "oh my god - blondie! wait no." and kailey giggled, "you're good! i haven't really updated social media so you wouldn't have known." she smiled widely, before hugging jordan. "how do you know maya?" she asked, "new hampshire, remember?" jordan said and kailey grinned. "should have known. those were...uh the good days." she hummed, drinking her iced expresso. "let me show you to the kitchen." she said motioning for them to follow. they walked into the kitchen, the two looking at the buffet of food. "any coffee? i can make it right now." she smiled, and the two smiled. "im good, im gonna go find maya real quickly." he said walking away so now it was just jordan and the girl.

"how's school?" he asked, pulling her out of her trance. "great! i just graduated" she smiled, and he mirrored it. "congratulations, kails! what did you major in again?" he asked and she smiled, "child psychology." she hummed. his smile never faltered, "that would be you. i remember as kids how much you cared for kids on the lake, and they just flocked to you." he said and it was as if they were both brought back to that time when the days never seemed to end, and sunburns were a regular occurrence. "yeah..im very fortunate things worked out the way they did. gave me this wonderful opportunity to start fresh out here." she said sipping some more of her drink. "oh..yeah. totally understandable." he said picking up her drift, "you knew?" she asked and he nodded. "yeah...jack said something in the group chat when it happened. im sorry about everything, that was real shitty of him. you didnt deserve that." he said sweetly. she shrugged chugging down the rest of the coffee, "good thing I've got nobody watching my every move, anymore." she smirked, leaning closely towards brendan before sliding over the his cup of coffee.

◦

“Then I defy you, stars!”

jordan ended up leaving at some point in the afternoon, while brendan and kailey spent the day together catching up. the two had always been easy to get on with and used to be thick as thieves during the lake days. she'd never told any of her brothers - because god forbid if she did so - but she had had a crush on him for a few summers. it absolutely crushed her, when he got his first girlfriend in 8th grade and then they never came back to the lake house, so her crush disappeared. she'd never known this nor her brothers, but brendan too had had a crush on the girl.

the two sat on the white plush couch in the living room, as the sun was setting. maya had left some time ago to hang out with a friend and do some errands while kailey opted to stay in for the day. kailey and brendan were in the process of laughing, as kailey got a text message. she pulled up her phone from where it was laying on her thigh, and her demeanor visibly changed. it was a text from connor, asking why she retweeted the tweet this morning. brendan saw her eyebrows crease in confusion, before she shook her head and locked her phone. "let me guess..connor?" he questioned and she nodded. "the fucking nerve.." she sighed, pinching her nose. she stood up grabbing the two empty glasses from the coffee table, and made her way over to the kitchen. brendan followed, "the nerve he has! we've been broken up for three months already and he's upset i tweeted something about being respected by a significant other? whats so wrong about that? he's just upset because im calling him out for it, publicly at that." she said setting the cups in the sink. "don't i deserve respect?" she asked turning around to face the boy. he nodded, walking over to her and leaned against the counter. "you deserve that and so much more. he's got a stick up his ass, that's for sure." he began, "don't ever lower your standards because of him. he's an idiot. he's the one who did that, the one who double crossed you for no reason." he finished as kailey met his eye. "wish i heard that sooner." she hummed, crossing her arms over her chest. she looked down at the ground, "well...im saying it now. and i mean it." he said softly taking a step closer and lifted up her chin just a bit with his hand. she looked into his brown eyes. one's she adored as a kid, and now looking into his- something sparked within. a spark she hadn't felt for some time, long before connor. he took this as an invitation to close the gap between them.

oh, how the universe laughs. or hockey gods.

◦

it was now two weeks later, and brendan had kailey in his arms this early morning. the two had stayed up talking about anything and everything that came to their minds. they talked about their childhood, laughing over the fact that they both had crushes on one another but never suspected it. they smiled as the other one brought up conversations and significant memories, both happy that the other hadn't forgotten. this morning, she was savoring the warmth and comfort his body oozed, because he'd be starting back up early morning training again. he'd taken two weeks off due to a stress sprain, and now that it was fixed he would be resuming his schedule. "wanna see my parents today?" he softly asked, as he felt her beginning to hum from tiredness. she nodded her head, against his chest and he smiled. "they've been asking about you since i told them i was going to brunch." he hummed, and she slowly pulled her head up from his chest to look at him, "still the favorite hughes, eh?" she grinned before he leaned down to kiss her. his hand found the base of her neck, and the other found the base of her back. she wrapped her hands around his neck, getting as close as possible. they broke the kiss, resting their foreheads against one another.

kailey had a wave of deja vu, pass over her. making her nauseous.

she pulled away from brendan, pulling her phone to her chest, and saw a missed facetime from each of her brothers, and she sighed pressing quinns contact. she sat up, and inched away from brendan so he wouldn't be in the shot. "hey q, whats up?" she questioned, pulling him from whatever jack was saying. "hey uh, i take it you didn't see yet.." he said and that's when he heard jack yelling on the other end. "what do you mean q? why is jack yelling?" she said rubbing her eye, and quinn sighed sending her a screenshot of the instagram post. she clicked on his text and swallowed, anger seething from her. how could she betray her? her friend lisa from college in chicago was in connor's instagram post, somewhere in toronto. she quickly opened up instagram to lisa's page and she was even more angrier. she had been soft launching for almost 3 months already...that traitor. lisa was the one all along, the one that had been seen in pictures but kailey had never paid too much attention to the fact it was the same girl! she hung up on quinn, quickly locked her phone and turning on dnd. "whats wrong?" brendan asked, setting his phone down and pulling her into his chest as he sat up. "he-he's been seeing my friend from school." she said but she didn't cry. she was just angry, and disappointed. how naive she'd been. "im sorry kails." brendan said softly. he felt terrible for kailey, somebody he cared deeply about. and he knew she cared about him just as deeply. but maybe not in the way that he believed.

"lets just uh, lets get going. we should head over so were not late." she said pulling away and getting up to shower. she quickly took a body shower, hopping out to brush her teeth and moisturize before heading into her closet to find an outfit. brendan came up and wrapped his arms around her, as she inspected her outfit. they looked at one another in the mirror, as she finished inspecting, and she smiled once they found each other's gaze. "you ok?" he whispered, and she nodded giving him a small smile. "yes. thankyou for uh, being here with me these past two weeks. it means more than you'll ever know." she hummed, turning around in his arms. he grinned, leaning down and kissing her. deeply. she melted into his arms just a bit before pulling away. "lets get going b." she said pulling him out of her small walk in closet.

"kailey!" kim cheered, as the two walked through the doors of the brisson's manhattan beach mansion. "kim!" she smiled, disconnecting the twos hand as kim pulled her into a hug. kim swayed her just a bit, "oh my goodness! we've missed you so much sweetie, congratulations on graduating! i saw the pictures, they were just perfect." she said pulling back a bit and kailey smiled. "thankyou! had the best photographer." she hummed and kim smiled. "your mom has always been a fucking gem when it comes to pictures. they were just to die for and chicago being the backdrop? timeless." she fawned and kailey giggled. "thankyou!" she smiled, seeing mr brisson walk from the kitchen. "kiwi!" he yelled with a huge grin on his face, and kim let go of the girl. "pat! so good to see you." she smiled as he pulled her in for a hug. "you too! congrats on graduating, heard you finished with honors." he said pulling away, and kailey nodded. "yep! perfect 4.0. to which jack sent 4 dollars exactly, as his gift." she joked, causing the family to laugh. pat shook his head as he could just picture jack doing it, and so could kim. "your hair! oh my god! i love it, it looks so good." kim smiled, looking over the girl. kailey smiled, "thankyou! thought a little change could be good." she hummed and the brissons nodded. "well, breakfast just finished lets go eat!" pat offered and the three nodded. "good, im starvin!" kailey said rubbing her hands together, "good, we made your favorite!" kim said wrapping an arm around the girls shoulders, making her feel right at home. again.

Kailey and brendan ended up staying the full day at the brissons, catching up and reminiscing over the lake days. it was around 7 when jordan and brisson begged kailey to go get froyo and walk the pier at santa monica. "go! have fun, we'll get together soon." kim smiled, and kailey nodded hugging the two goodbye and then they were off. kailey got in the passenger side, and jordan got in the back. kailey quickly leaned into brendans shoulder, and there hands found each others as well. she looked back at jordan, and he quickly snapped a picture. she rolled her eyes with a small grin on her face. the three sat through traffic, singing loudly to whatever music she put on shuffle. a little bit of everything, which the boys loved. they finally made their way to santa monica and parked right in front of the frozen yogurt place. after that, they walked down to the pier and she stopped at one of the shops that was selling books and other knickknacks, getting a book to read at some point. they walked down the pier for the next hour, with brendan taking a sunset pic of the girl with her book who had the biggest smile of her face, at whatever dumb joke jordan had just said. on their way back to her apartment in redondo beach, she posted that sunset picture on her instagram story.

it broke hockey twitter.

"im gonna walk her in and then ill be out." brendan said to jordan who nodded, and the two got out. he walked her up to the townhouse, two blocks over from the pier. "thanks for today brendan, i had a lot of fun." she smiled, turning towards him at the door. "me too, thanks for being a trooper. i thought my parents would never stop talking." he joked, and she grinned. "no i loved it, it felt like home. like old times. it was comforting. with my parents being far, it's nice knowing that they are out here." she hummed and he nodded. "im glad." he smiled. she could tell he wanted to say more to her, but was fighting himself on how to begin. "just say whatever it is you want to say." she said grinning, pulling her free hand in his. he blushed, looking at the ground. "these past two weeks have been...everything i'd wanted since we were little younglings. and i don't want to go back to vegas in a few weeks, not knowing what we are or if we might have missed an opportunity....to see where things might go." he said looking up at her with hopeful eyes. she bit her lip, thinking hard. she liked brendan, and always had secretly; but was she ready to date again? she didn't want to become the laughingstock of the NHL family sphere. going from one player to the next, but shouldn't she at least attempt to move on? even if it was with another player?

brendan saw the hesitation in her features, and accepted defeat. he was about to say something but kailey spoke up. "i want nothing more than to say yes but what will my brothers say? what will the hockey world say? going from one guy to the next? i don't want to become the laughingstock, besides- my brothers don't deserve that. they don't deserve to take any heat from or about me. besides..i don't want to ruin our years-long friendship b." she said hoping he understood, and he did. "give me a few days, let me go take some time in chicago and ill let you know. ok?" she said with a pleading look. he nodded softly, "thankyou." she said pulling him in for a hug. her arms found his neck, his arms found her back; drawing her in as close as possible. incase, he'd never have her in his arms again.

◦

she arrived in chicago two days later, her best friend becca from college and lukas reichels' fiance, as well as alex vlasics wife tessa were waiting for her at the pickup area. she strolled her suitcase and carry on towards the arrivals area, and smiled widely when she saw the two holding a small bouquet of peonies and a dunkin coffee. they jumped up and down, as they saw her. she began to jog over towards them before they wrapped their arms around one another. "oh my god!!" kailey shrieked when they held out her iced americano and flowers towards her, while tessa took her bag and suitcase. "guyssss im gonna cry." she said with tears in her eyes. "we couldn't come empty handed." tessa cooed, as she wrapped an arm around the girl, with kailey taking the gifts from becca. the three girls walked out to the car that was waiting at the curb, that sat alex and lukas. "oh my god!" she said smiling widely when she saw the two leaning against the audi. "kails!" lukas said smiling and quickly hugging her, and then alex joined creating a group hug. tessa snapped a quick picture as kailey just laughed. "thankyou guys for coming to get me, i appreciate it very much." she smiled widely, as lukas opened the door for her and tessa. "you are very welcome hughesy." alex grinned as he opened the other door for becca. "where to first?" she quipped.

the three girls headed towards becca's and lukas' guest bedroom in their chicago townhouse, ready to bombard the girls with questions over her california life. kailey had been awfully quiet the past month and they were curious what had been going on. "girl! what have you been up to?? we wanna know everything!" tessa squeled as she shut the door behind them. kailey blushed while throwing a small smile towards her best friends. "did you meet a guy??" becca smirked, and kailey shrugged. "did he take the one sunset pic?" tessa joined in, sitting across from kailey on the bed. kailey grinned, "I've known him for sometime now....I've known him since we were kids." she began and the girls looked at one another. "who is it?" becca asked. "brendan brisson." she stated, and the two girls thought about who that could be. "wait! was he at usntp?" tessa questioned, and kailey nodded. "oh my god i remember him! isnt his dad like THE agent in hockey? doesn't he work with your dad?" tessa rambled and kailey giggled. "yes...we arent like officially together but somethings there. i just don't know if i want to pursue it. like, i don't want people to create narratives that were never true to begin with." she said putting her face in her hands, feeling defeated. "to hell with what everybody says. if you're happy and you see something with him, go for it." becca said and kailey shrugged. "but my brothers....what are they gonna think? they're gonna kill me." she said tessa forehead creased, "do they not know that you two have been spending time together?" tessa questioned and kailey shook her head. tessa and becca looked at one another, sharing silent words.

she spent the next week in chicago, reminiscing and growing fond of the memories she'd made the past four years. they caught up, spent quality time together and thankful that nothing from her past had shown up or crossed paths with the three girls. kailey did not need that, at all. she face timed nightly with brendan, him curious at to what shenanigans that three were getting up to. she'd been to 2 concerts, numerous museum trips, countless trips up and down the lakefront, and shopping galore. kailey woke up around 8 am, getting herself put together before heading down stairs. she jogged down the steps, and headed to the kitchen. it was too late, before she realized who was in the kitchen. lukas and connor were laughing at something, that happened at a gym session that morning.

connor caught the footsteps on the stairs first, and then the brunette hair second. he did a double-take, before realizing it was kailey. kailey was on the phone with brendan, before she spotted connor and froze. "ill uh, ill call you back." she said hanging up before brendan could respond. "morning kails." lukas said sipping some coffee, curious to see what was going to happen. "morning lukas." she hummed, heading to the fridge to grab a bottle of water, and her breakfast from the day before. she quietly worked as the two hockey players looked at each other, "ill be right back. im gonna take penny outside." lukas said calling for the small dog, and now it was just the two.

"how have you been?" connor asked as she put the food in the microwave. kailey took a few seconds to respond before turning around. oh, how good he looked. curse the hockey gods. his hair was still wet from the shower, his blue eyes meeting hers and what felt like a sense of deja vu washed over the girl. "I've been good. you?" she questioned, heading over to the expresso machine and began to mess around with the machine. she banged the expresso on the counter, before sliding it into the spot to pour over. "yeah real good. just got back to the city a week ago." he responded, and she nodded. "that's real nice." she hummed, as the microwave beeped. "hows california?" he asked and she sighed, pulling the container out. "its been nice. beautiful as always." she hummed, pulling a few pieces of hair behind her ear. she looked back up at him, "been doing everything i haven't been able to do for a few years." she said, a dig at the boy. he nodded feeling dread wash over him, as her phone began to ring again. she looked over at where it was on the counter, and she let it go to voice mail. she'd text brendan at some point. "hows lisa?" she quipped, biting into her burrito. connor swallowed tensely, "shes good. just started at lurie children's hospital." he said and hailey nodded. "that's nice." she hummed, walking over to the finished expresso and brought it back over to her food.

connor and kailey's tension could be cut through with a knife. even then, it might not even work. "when did you change your hair?" he asked, a few minutes later. "right after you texted me, I thought id try on a different personality." she said sarcastically, "apparently the last one wasn't good enough." she hummed, picking up her container, coffee and phone. connor sighed, "kails-" she cut him off, by turning back to him with a glare. "don't you ever call me that again, so help me god connor." she spat. he was defeated, he knew that much. she turned back and headed back upstairs.

oh how she loathed that boy, who threw away almost 2 years of pure bliss. pure romance. something out of this world. kailey did find out what changed, in those 24 hours and swore she'd place a dagger in their hearts at some point. his last words mere hours before, echoed his love, pure and committed adoration for the blonde. but like life, it can change in a mere moment.

“Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change.”

◦

kailey sat down on the airplane, about to depart chicago and bring her to sunny los angeles. oh how she'd missed her home, and somebody that was waiting ever so patiently for her to return. she smiled, posting her photo dump from the summer. her first post since march. she deleted her instagram after responding to a few comments, allowing for the chaos to consume the hockey fandom. she turned her phone on airplane, drowning herself with music for the next 4 hours, not daring to look at the messages waiting for her when she landed.

“Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.”

◦

oh, what the universe and all of its stars had instore for the young hughes and the bright superstar.

@kaileyclara: little bit of this, little bit of that.

tags: tessavlasic, beccamuprhy, jordanbrisson and laurenorlando

@trevorzegras: wait a min @jackhughes: wait a damn minute @kaileyclara: can yall leave @trevorzegras: no im too busy inspecting every single detail of this post

@_quinnhughes: hughes sighting! @kaileyclara: hehe

@lhughes_6: who gave u flowers @kaileyclara: idk @jackhughes: to the gc! @_quinnhughes: already there @kaileyclara: i hate yall

@tessavlasic: I loved having you here bestie, i need to come out soon! @kaileyclara: i second this!

@beccamurphy: loml returned ! @kaileyclara: i thought that was lukas? @beccamurphy: he's my second love @lukasreichel: alright.

@brendanbrisson: im here for the hair @jordanbrisson: so am i @jackhughes: im not @kaileyclara: fuck off

@mayaaa: maybe u r a slut @kaileyclara: and that would be a fucking lie ! @mayaaa: 😚😚

@adamfantilli: orlando sighting? @kaileyclara: yes! toronto days hit hard @laurenorlando: still salty you guys moved @kaileyclara: me too @johnnyorlando: absolutely rude

hope you all enjoyed it, please like and reblog if you did-- id appreciate it very very much🥺 oh, and ofc i will have one more part to finish up this little series (:

mutuals from previous part : @privatemythss @boldysswld @trevorzegrizz @jayda12 @simp4hughes @skatesnstuff @slafgoalskybaby @cuttergauthier

#connor bedard #connor bedrd imagine #connor bedard blurb #nhl #hockey #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #hockey blurb #hockey imagine #chicago blackhawks #brendan brisson #umich hockey #umich wolverines #jack hughes #quinn hughes #luke hughes

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batsvnte · 1 year

Text

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 • 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

Pairing(s): Blade

Sypnosis: The experiences that the two of you went through never slips his mind. Not during months of hiding away after the day of your death

Warning(s): mentions of scars/blood/death, slight yandere Blade, angst (?), ooc maybe, not proofread

Song used: Paris, Texas by Lana Del Rey feat. SYML

Word Count: 1.8K

Notes: black fem!reader (she/her pronouns) with probably the most ooc Blade ever- this is more of a Drabble that i put together because my minds been everywhere. Idk much about him except with some key factors about his personality so this is gonna be messy hHhH-

When everyone’s stars bright

They say there are five stages a grief.

Nobody knew it was gonna happen. It took them by surprise. One of the sides had low thoughts about the event that took place, figuring that it was one less hunter to deal with, but held some sympathy to the ones that knew her. Another side grieving silently among themselves. Knowing that it was gonna happen one of the days of being afflicted with them. Someone who was a less known but considered an wanted criminal with nothing else to show of themselves. The one side though was in a mixture of emotions. All of them were foreign to him.

Blade didn’t know what to do. The events repeating in his head over and over again in his hand like a never ending cycle. It didn’t take him long to realize what has happened to you. He figured it out to quickly. Frozen in his spot as the news of your death finally became official. Staring with his cold eyes at nothing in particular. The hunters he was close to could tell what he was feeling at that moment. Despite his emotionless nature he strangely couldn’t control what his mind was taking him through.

Brighter than you are

Denial.

The missions were progressively getting quicker. He would’ve set a record for the hunters for how fast he would complete the mission. No words being said, only Kafka’s voice being heard through the ear piece he wore. Every now and then Silver Wolf would say a remark, but neither heard any snarky remark come from Blade. Only a hum of agreement or disagreement. Or nothing at all. They would be use to the silence he gave before but now he won’t utter a single word to them.

No matter Kafka’s words about you, he can’t bring himself to leave sleek black helmet that you left behind. Finding it on the ground in the midst of the chaos was the only thing left of you that he can keep ahold of. Blade carried it back to the hideout as if it was the last thing he could ever hold onto. Aware that at some day it could be stolen away from him for whatever reason there may be. Might that day ever come to, Blade would track down the person who had stolen it. If he were to find a single scratch on it he would make sure the person would be dealt with thoroughly.

It’s gotten to where it was locked away into his room. Leaving it on a place where he can have a full view of the helmet. He could never bring himself to rid of it. He could never bring himself to let anyone else in your room that was quickly abandoned. Any new recruit would be met with the sharp end of his sword threatening to slice through their neck. Being given no explanation as to why they can’t enter the room.

They either walk away unscathed with no answers, or find themselves bleeding on the floor drawing their last breaths.

It’s time to go

Anger.

It was confusing to tell who it was directed to. On occasions during the mission he would relentlessly fight the ones who stand in his way. Leaving nothing but the dark crimson of their blood to be left of them. Taking his rage out on the world around him for taking away the one person, who dare say this, stole his heart. He might even snap at his own teammates for bringing your name out of their mouths.

What reason do they have to be speaking about you. Don’t they know that he’s grieving too?

But he was also angry at himself. Angry that he couldn’t have the time to get to know you better. Angry that he didn’t hold onto you to get you back. Why else would he be destroying the empty room in a fit of rage once he’s reminded of what happened that day. Blade couldn’t forgive himself for letting you slip away from his grasp. Your warmth he so desperately held onto to escaping his hands.

No matter how many people have fallen to his sword he could never satisfy the rage that clawed at his mind ruthlessly.

And you’re the only one left

Bargaining.

Moments when he’s alone Blade would be in your room. Viewing the items in your room that he never got to ask questions about. The tech that you kept hidden from everyone else that at first made them suspicious, but have grown fond of the type of ideas you have to improve their weapons.

Blade wouldn’t be so accepting finding that his sword is enough but lingers to hear what you have to say for Kafka’s guns. Making sure that they weren’t jammed for the mission and fixing them up if she ever got into a mishap.

He wouldn’t deny it to himself that he hopes that you miraculously come back to the hideout. Walking around with the light steps you take that you instinctively gotten use to having in order to surprise him once he turns the corner. Though you earned no reaction to what your scheme was directed to him, there would be a conversation following up to it. Blade is always reminded of the things he has said to you. The things he wished he had asked sooner.

What makes you so confident to go on this mission with me?

Why are you so fond of me?

Why did I have to let go of you?

Why couldn’t I save you sooner.

Dancing while they’re on the floor

Depression.

Blade hides his face from the world during the midst of the nights. Running to different planets and using disguises to go about his day never ceases to slow him down. It never felt the same ever since that day. The hopes that somehow you survived. Lingering around for the chance to run back to the hideout and return back into his arms is what he longs for. Blade’s aware that it wouldn’t happen.

He can’t look back on the memories he has with you. The black helmet that sits in his room is a reminder about one thing about you. He’s never gotten a single glimpse of your face. None of the hunters have except Elio. Another part of why they were suspicious of you from the beginning. One might think it would add onto the fact that you didn’t want to be recognized out in public and chased on the spot. Blade took the chance to ask this one question about you though.

“Why do you wear a mask everywhere you go?”

There was a short pause on the conversation at hand. Blade’s eyes were locked onto you regardless, waiting for an answer to his question.

“..I have a scar going across the right side of my face,” you blurted out suddenly. “I just found it better to just have a mask on. Besides, I don’t want to be hunted down the moment I walk out of a store.”’

‘I dont see the point of that when you’re hiding a face that’s beautiful’

How he wished he would say that to you. Finding it impossible to view every moment he had with you with no clear vision of your face. A blank canvas that he wished to have engraved in his mind to see your smile. The moment he learned about the scar on your face, he wondered how you got the scar.

Who was stupid enough to hurt you and forced yourself to hide your face from the world?

How could they bare enough courage to hurt someone like you?

Though wasn’t fully sure if the scar you mentioned came from an accident that was caused, or by someone with the intent of hurting you. He couldn’t tell. Blade never saw what you looked like, not even on that day that you died.

Time to go

Acceptance.

Was this something he could live with? Every day is an never ending cycle for him. He is always reminded of what happened, which ends with him holding the helmet in his hands or being in your room in the middle of the night staring at all the items that filled the room. He could tell right away that the others have moved on. Was he the only one still holding onto what remains of you. Being the fact that he always found some sort of way to remember you.

Blade knew he needed to move on. Accept that you were gone and that you may never return. But something kept holding him back.

Maybe it was the lingering stares he would get once he’s out in public in his disguise. Figuring that it might be a guard from the planet he is hiding out in for a mission that might have suspicion of him. He could never find the eyes that looked at his direction. Blade often find himself taking quick glances towards a particular individual who’s back was always turned. Head casted downwards as she held something in her hands. His mind going concluding that she might’ve recognized who he was or had an feeling about his identity. He could only sneer lowly at those thoughts as he turns away from her, walking the opposite way to avoid any other direct confrontation.

Or maybe it was the little words spoken to him in the forms of apologies. Accidentally bumping into the same person not even an few hours later in the midst of a busy crowd. He swore he could barely hear what she had to say but pieced together what came out of her mouth.

“Sorry.”

It was just a small apology. That was all that it was. Why couldn’t Blade help but stare at her as she disappears from his sight and into the crowd. Why couldn’t he move from his spot to get to where he needs to be. Why did he want to go after that person who ran into him. All of these questions filled his mind to the very brim. He couldn’t explain why he has the urge to go find whoever it was that bumped into him. Blade’s mind was occupied with the thoughts of the one who he subtly met.

He was gonna make sure that whoever it was, he wasn’t going to let them go.

Never have I ever written an entire thing like this and finished it in one day dayum—

Wanted to contribute the to HSR content so I got some Blade going through the four five stages a grief so I hoped you enjoyed reading this

#ghouul #ghouul writings #blade hsr x reader #blade x you #honkai star rail #hsr blade #blade x reader #blade hsr #hsr x reader #hsr drabbles #hsr oneshot

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ataraxiaspainting · 3 months

Note

May I please request Yandere Machi, Pakunoda, and Shizuku? (separate)

Here's the scenario: They haven't seen their s/o in a decade, ever since they got put in prison. The rest of Troupe managed to break them out, and they go on the search for their s/o.

However, they encounter their son/daughter—who was eight the last time they saw them—now an adult and full-pledged hunter. Their child tells them that they'll defeat them and put them back into prison in the name of justice, which is sad because before they were captured and put into prison, they used to be very close.

Yan Machi + Yan Shizuku + Yan Pakunoda / Having a Hunter Child.

Warnings: The reader uses she/her pronouns respectfully, implied dub-con, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, and threats/mentions of violence.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

Machi

Eyes the color of a cloudless sky meet those dissimilar to them yet all too familiar at the same time for as many reasons as there are stars during the time of midnight. The young man’s eyes share the same hue as yours, yet have the same type of glare Machi used to always use on you to keep you in line, to prevent you from doing anything stupid.

“Komacine. I shall strike you down if it is the last thing I ever do.”

Machi is not scared, just disappointed, in both her son and you.

“Oh?” But she is also happy because, for the first time in nearly ten years, she can see the image of her son and you, both within her grasp where you both belong. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

Her words made the young man’s sword be held up even higher, but she was still not afraid.

“I shall, Spider, that is a promise.” But deep within those eyes, there is regret and sorrow, Machi thinks.

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

Her son merely snarls like a wild animal, still having his weapon raised high. “You aren’t my mother. You’re just yet another piece of evidence of all the wrongs there are to be righted in this world.”

From the corner of her eye, Machi sees you wearing a pink apron through the window, seeming to be humming to something while peeling some potatoes, carrots, and onions. She would have made her way into your home by now, if your son hadn’t at that exact moment opened the front door, which had immediately set off his Nen detection.

“Am I not? You look just like the little boy I used to take to the playground all the time, all those years ago. The games we used to play, your favorite one being… hmm…” She put her thumb and pointer finger under her chin, pinching it lightly.

“That was then and this is now, Komacine. I will kill you for what you did, all the people you hurt and murdered in cold blood.”

Choosing not to pay any clear attention to the threat, Machi simply thinks back to all the past moments, so bittersweet like her favorite tea blend.

“Ah… it was hide and seek, wasn’t it?” From the sound of silence, she knows she is right. “Shall we play that one now? …Would you like that?”

No answer is to be heard.

Shizuku

Shizuku turns her head to the side, confused.

“Why are you attacking me?” Did she do something wrong? “Why do you think? I know you have a bad memory, but try to use that brain of yours, Spider. For your good.” This man looks familiar, but from where?

Then she realizes, as the moonlight shines on the tops of both of their heads, showing the eerily similar hues of ink black. She smiles, and the moonlight also shows how wide it is, much to the horror of the young man.

“Ah! You’re my son, all grown up! Gosh… the years have flown by, haven’t they?”

She chuckles as she reminisces about old times, full of sentimentality.

“We should have a game night, just like those times! Oh, to see your mother again as she plays with us… it would feel like a dream, wouldn’t it?” To see how you have matured too, just like your son, both from the inside and outside, is a sight that would make Shizuku’s heart burst with love. Even though you are all ten years older, she is sure that you are still as beautiful as ever.

It feels and sounds like a threat, but is it? Shizuku does not lie, and her threats are always nonexistent, anyway.

He prepares to run just in case it is and is real, though.

Pakunoda

In an instant, she gets closer than he can blink and puts a finger to his lips.

“Shush. Calm down, please. I love you both, and I always will.”

Little by little, the sword lowers, as small as the change is.

But she notices. She has always been observant, which only proves to be more amplified during her ten-year-long search for you.

“You’re a Spider, you hurt us, you hurt more than us. Why would I-” Another interruption.

“I missed you plenty, you know. You and your mother were the lights of my world all those years ago. You both still are. Did you miss me too? Either of you?” It is not an odd question, but without physical touch, it may as well be. Her Nen can only work when she has her hand or arm on someone, after all. However, even without using it, she can still detect when someone is lying. The slight quiver of the corner of the lips.

He can’t move. He can feel his soul sinking, far beneath the ground.

“No.” There is only one word, but the lie is still apparent.

“Shall we go in? We have a lot to discuss, your mother and I. We can also chat about old times if you want to.” She smiles as she walks up the steps, slowly with her hands raised. Her son lets her.

#yandere #yandere x reader #aya abstractions #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere machi #yandere machi x reader #yandere shizuku #yandere shizuku x reader #yandere pakunoda #yandere pakunoda x reader #200 followers event #yandere hunter x hunter x reader

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trevelyawn · 4 months

Text

WIP: cullen visits the prisoner.

Cullen moves through the hastily assembled camp. Soldiers stand with straight backs and tense muscles, fists clenched over their chests, waiting for their superior to pass before they continue about their business. The Commander reaches the prison as Solas, the mysterious elven apostate that had approached their encampment and offered help, strolls from the building. Hands behind his back, he acknowledges Cullen's presence with a nod and steps aside to allow him to pass. “Any change?” Cullen asks. He is uncomfortable around the apostate but given what he has heard from Leliana, knowledge of the Fade and its machinations is an expertise they cannot afford to dismiss right now. Best not to make him feel too uncomfortable. Solas shakes his head. “She is stable, as is the Mark. I cannot say when or if she will wake.” Head held high, he moves to pass Cullen. He stops. “She is a Mage.” When Cullen doesn't respond, Solas continues, “I know of your past with the Order.” It sounds like an accusation; judgement. That life was gone. Cullen was unlearning prejudices and hatred, and he vowed that things would be different.

Squaring his shoulders, he makes no reply. Old hinges creak when he pushes the door open and enters. He follows lit torches to the isolated chamber. A lone guard sits bored in a chair, the two front legs hovering precariously as he leans back against a stone pillar. At the sight of the Commander, he startles, chair clattering as he jumps to his feet to stand at attention. Cullen acknowledges him with a nod and moves towards the only occupied cell in the dank room. It takes a moment for Cullen's eyes to adjust to the dark as he looks into the cell. He can make out the shape of a woman laying on a bedroll. Her chest rises and falls with even breaths and Cullen listens to her soft exhales. It's surprising how calm she is in slumber, as though she hadn't just fallen from a Fade rift at the site of an explosion that had killed hundreds and left a gaping hole in the sky. He lifts his gaze to her face. Her features are soft, lit by the orange glow of torchlight, and cuts and grazes mark pale skin. Her hair looks almost black; short, loose waves resting on a straw pillow. Realisation washes over him in a wave and his stomach lurches, heart skips a beat. He knows her. Shaking hands reach out to grip the cold bars separating them. “The Seeker and Spymaster. Retrieve them,” he manages to say. When the guard hesitates and doesn't move, Cullen fixes him with a furious glare. With waning patience, he barks an order. “Now!” Red in the face, the guard sputters a panicked yessir! before tripping over clumsy feet in his haste to depart. Hurried footsteps quieten and Cullen waits for the creak and loud thud of the door to let him know that he's alone. He thinks back to when he had last seen her. Kirkwall crumbling, the Circle ablaze, and mages, apostate and Circle alike, forced to flee at the risk of their lives. She didn't want to leave, didn't want to run and have to start anew, but Cullen had forced her to go. Meredith may have been lyrium-mad and consumed by her fear of mages but she had amassed a desperate following teeming with those that believed that the threat of blood magic was too great and that all mages needed to be put to the sword. He had come to terms with never seeing her again.

#my writing #my wips #cullen rutherford #cullen #dragon age inquisition #cullen x trevelyan #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x mage trevelyan #trevelyan

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shearlin · 2 months

Text

Word count: 2678

Chapter 7: Time

First || << Previous || Next >>

Happy International Women's Day that was yesterday! As a gift, have a cameo!

Fun fact! I noticed that on average I'm adding 1k words to my "final" drafts when I search for typos and errors before posting. Good thing I put an uploading schedule for myself in place or I would ended up in the editing limbo.

(I also discovered I cannot write accents for the life of me. There was an attempt, but I had to scrap it because I just couldn't do it justice. The accents live in my head and in my heart.)

Enjoy! :D

Another day, another fight, another close call. This time it was… well, Time.

They were on their way to Lon Lon Ranch, landing in old man’s Hyrule only a day's walk away from it. Their spirits were high, the sunbeams bright and the monsters stupid enough to think they didn’t notice them hiding in sparse shrubbery on the side of the road.

The fight didn’t look like anything special. They were so used to working together by that point, it felt more like a choreographed dance routine than a real battle. Legend twirled the ice rod in his hand, wielding his sword in the other, freezing and shattering any monster coming too close, while being covered by Sky with the Master Sword and a whip. Hyrule was dancing around the Darknut with ease giving Wind and Four an easy shot at his back, the two of them making quick work of its armour. Wild was giving them all multiple heart attacks by letting a giant moblin stab the air inches from his face, only to kill it in a rapid fire of blows in a blink of an eye. He would later claim he was ‘training his magic abilities’ and acting all innocent, the madman. Twilight was going after archers, covering the distance between him and them in a blink of an eye as a wolf, coming out of the shift with his sword already swinging. Warriors was taking care of the supposed leader of the pack, separating it from the rest and not letting it bark out any orders or call retreat.

And Time was dealing with a pair of black lizalfos from Sky’s era.

Legend didn’t see how it happened, not that it mattered, only heard the old man coming down with a yell of pain as the spiked metal ball connected with his left knee and rendering him vulnerable and unable to fight.

Twilight and Wars were to his side in an instant, covering him while Time tried to do his best to not move so as to not upset the crushed joint any further. Sky went absolutely ballistic on the monsters he and Legend were dealing with, allowing the veteran to provide additional aid to the old man's defence with his ice rod, allowing Wars to start on the first aid.

They might have been overeager in making sure Time was okay, but to be fair, they were just a few hours away from Malon. They were not going to bring to her doorstep her husband all broken and beaten up.

They defeated the monsters quickly after that, powered by their righteous fury. A fairy that was travelling with them for the past few hours, straight up phased through the glass of her bottle as soon as the last monster fell, so she could heal his leg, despite old man's insistence he would be fine with a red potion, since they were going to the ranch to rest anyway. She had none of that, healing him in a tirade of bells and chimes and then zipped ahead to have her fill of sugar water as a reward.

Legend might not be able to speak with the pink fairies, but by the way Time chuckled as she offered her farewells, he was convinced that that particular one had enough excitement for her life .

Once the injury was mended and Time led them back on the road, the good mood from earlier returned to their group and they started joking around again. Just their local old man being too slow with his reflexes and not being able to keep up with them younglings.

But Legend couldn’t help but feel the uneasiness prickle under his skin once more, as he fell to the back of the group, brushing off Sky’s questioning look and Hyrule’s attempts at conversation. They got the hint easily enough and he was left alone with his thoughts.

The ‘old man’ jokes were all in good fun. The old man himself was often pointing out with humour, how he can’t possibly rival their vigour during training sessions or with the long days of trekking across the lands of Hyrule, no matter his ability to move with deceptive ease and speed when he really wanted to.

And it wasn’t like those jokes were unfounded. He was the oldest. If anyone, Legend would know how years of heroing can weigh on one’s body. Time might have only two (three?) official quests under his belt, but he did spend his teenage and young adult years hunting monsters, clearing and cleansing dangerous cursed places and doing all sorts of work for the crown as the Hero of Time. He might have found peace and tranquillity in the life on the ranch with Malon once he officially “retired” that title, but it didn’t erase years of injuries, scarred tissues or impaired-or-possibly-lack-of vision in his right eye. The entire chain could attest that it would be weird if that life didn’t leave any strain on his body.

Occasional injuries caused by slower reflexes or lingering stiffness was to be expected.

Logically, Legend knew that. But it was happening too often.

Well, not really, it was happening too often for his taste.

Read the rest on Ao3!

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu fanfiction #linked universe fanfic #linked universe legend #lu legend #linked universe time #lu time #my writing #a piece of heart

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koifishart · 2 months

Text

I want to be Your Koi Fish

Warning: +18 content, criminal underworld, intercourse, strong language - and so on

Fanfiction based on: "Baki" by Itagaki Keisuke

>30<

Whenever Kaoru was going to be late, he would let her know. Either he or Kizaki. This time neither one nor the other spoke. Hanabi walked around the whole apartment. Seemingly zero marks, but she found traces of blood on the living room carpet. Small but significant. After all... where from? Cut his finger with a knife and said he would leave something as a souvenir? Probably thought she didn't know anything. She knew. She read the news on the Internet. Had heard of an unknown man with two swords. In fact, she felt his presence, from time to time a shiver ran down her spine, which she had never known. Hanabi talked to the sisters - they also sensed that something was happening. Guessed that newcomer had come to his premises, and whatever happened...Kaoru couldn't remain silent. The police chief himself pleaded with him for attention and for fighting the problem. She wasn't there, but she was standing outside the door listening. Only such a simple thing as crossing the border tipped the scales? She had plans to call Kizaki, but in time stopped herself. What would it do? After all, he will not turn back! Instead, outraged to the limit, she chose a completely different number.

- Hi, I have something... - she began, but was quickly interrupted.

- We know, we'll be there soon. - She heard a firm tone in the receiver. - Get ready.

She waited for nothing. Pulled on dark, close-fitting pants, a black tight blouse, threw a leather jacket over it and, almost jumping into light-heeled ankle boots, shot out like a slingshot from an apartment building. Hoped it wouldn't be too late. She caught them on the way. Ayame in one of her immortal plain colored corsets and jeans, Shizuka in a colorful jumpsuit and Yui in a white T-shirt, khaki pants and dark army boots. Last one took with her two swords strapped to her belt. She knew them. They were hung by their grandfather for a long time, passed down from generation to generation. HIS swords.

They arrived at the last minute. They broke through the crowd screeching something about manga and characters from history. She had to arrive on time. The samurai apparently had a great time feeling everyone's eyes focused on himself. Hanabi felt her heart stop beating for a few seconds. First, he had cut Hanayama's back open, and she could see perfectly well that it wasn't the first time. Then, as the husband was about to attack, he slashed the face - across, through the nose and vertically, tearing the hazel iris in two. Final blow down the spine. Hanayama did not fall. He stood like his fucking Otokodachi, to finally sit down with the utmost calm in his own blood. Baki was waiting nearby with a bottle of Wild Turkey. Before him knelt down the police general, the same one who had accepted the whiskey in his office. He fell face down in front of the mafioso, thanking him for the effort.

- Kaoru... - she sighed, coming up.

- What are you doing here? - he was surprised to see her next to him.

- The usual, Kaoru-san. She does everything her own way. - Shizuka replied, standing behind his back and placing her fingers with long nails on the man's temples. - The ambulance might not be on time and you will lose your eye. I'll improve your energy flow a little...

- What...

- What an incredible coincidence! - samurai said excitedly. - I am glad to see you, Kitsune. I suspect you know perfectly well how well I feel the bond between us.

- The more I regret that we meet in such and not other circumstances...great-grandfather. - Hanabi replied arrogantly.

She was a little sorry not to see Kaoru's face. Instead, she heard a muffled cry of surprise from Kizaki. In fact, not only his, because after a while a wave of whispers from the crowd started. At times like this, felt like she was watching a movie on TV thinking "well, no, like some fucking sitcom, just not funny at all."

- You are a vessel for Sakurai's soul, aren't you, child? - he asked, tucking his sword into the duvet cover. - I recognized immediately...you have a demon in your eyes. My beautiful demon.

He was going to touch her face, but she definitely pulled away. He will not charm her with sweet words. She had to buy enough time. Fortunately, relief has come.

- These aren't your time, you shouldn't be here. - Ayame said.

- Exorcist, healer, spirit guide... Kuko*, Tenko**, Byakko***... Beautiful and gifted I have children, right? Right?! - he turned as if to Hanayama and the police general. - One is missing. Where is... the devourer? Where's Kokko****?

An elderly woman, dressed rather strangely for her age, with furiously red nails, fell between them. Hanabi frowned. A special energy was emanating from her.

- Medium? - she was surprised.

- It looks. - Yui replied, standing next to the sisters, then bowed politely towards the samurai. - Hello, great-grandfather.

Hanabi felt not particularly well. She felt sick, dizzy at the same time, had spots in front of eyes, but surprisingly didn't lose balance. Tried to focus on the situation, but her head ran away somewhere far, beyond the limits of consciousness. Blood was bubbling through her veins, hitting every nook and cranny, making her feel terribly hot. She often got pissed off that she would "come out of herself and stand next to", and right now she wondered in horror whether it would actually come to that.

- Since my blood survived, I hope the dojo is as well. - Miyamoto asked with a charming smile.

- It's under my protection. - confirmed the master, placing her hand on the hilt of one of the swords.

- Lovely! You make me proud, really! - samurai applauded. - I'd love to stay with you longer!

Wasn't sure she heard it right, but he didn't seem to want to leave. So it remained to force him... but how? Another massive wave of nausea attacked, this time she staggered on her feet. Fortunately, Kaoru was right behind. She felt strong hands on shoulders, creating an incredibly warm feeling of security, but that didn't stop her body from reacting oddly. She leaned back on still-weakened husband, feeling that something was coming from her. She closed eyes and when opened them a woman was standing in front of her. Raven's hair, reaching the ground, was tied up with a jade ball, fuzzy white tails twisting beside it. Nine tails. On top of her head, she noticed cute, pointed ears. When the figure turned to face her, long earrings rang, and Hanabi saw... herself, only like ten years older. Dressed in a beautiful, slightly loose kimono with sleeves tied with blue strings and with tasteful, black okobo on the feet. Smiled radiantly at Hanabi, reaching with a delicate hand with long fingers to her face. She was too shocked to remove herself and for some reason didn't want to.

- Sakurai! My lovely wife! - Miyamoto crowed in delight. - My Kitsune...

- SILENCE! - she snapped at him ferociously, not taking the crowd of onlookers at all. - I'm extremely disappointed in you, Musashi. With pain and disgust, I think of you as my husband. If I could, I'd get a posthumous divorce!

- But the flowers of my heart...

- Do you know how much shame I have eaten because of you?! The goddess Amaterasu herself graced me with her presence to REQUEST your return! - the inexorable fox screamed. - You'll be on your knees begging forgiveness forever, I swear to you. You must appear in the Golden Palace IMMEDIATELY!

- Sakurai... dearest...

- Pray that Amaterasu-sama doesn't sell you to a brothel. Or I. - she hissed, then turned much more gently to the tall blonde. - Kuko, darling, please do an exorcism. Let that old fool go back where he belongs.

- Of course, great-grandmother. - Ayame agreed.

- I would love to stay with you a bit longer, my children, but there's no chance. And as for you... - she muttered, walking gracefully to Hanabi. - Enjoy your life, Byakko.

Mrs. Hanayama was still in severe shock, not knowing what was going on, and the tall woman wrapped her arms around to blend in with her body. She took a deep breath. She felt good again. Meanwhile, the eldest sister muttered a prayer under her breath and snapped fingers. The samurai spirit flew away and body was burned to ashes. The witch froze in shock. It probably came as a shock to her as well. Surprisingly quickly her resonance returned.

- Impressive...

- You think we'll leave you without consequences? - Ayame asked rhetorically. - What you did was shameful. Hundreds of people died!

- What can you guys do? Well, I listen?! - the woman chuckled. - But you can't, blonde, chase the soul from the still alive body! Nor is it possible to take away an ability!

- I am heartily fed up with you. - Hanabi whispered hard as she approached her. - You've done enough. We collect toys...

- Oh, no, no, no, honey. - The red-haired girl interjected, standing by her. - This isn't a good idea.

- Shizuka is right, you will lose the body. - The blonde supported her. - It's too much of a risk.

- Hanabi, what are you planning? - Kaoru asked anxiously.

- She is going to throw herself off balance to take away the witch's ability to use her powers. - Yui explained dryly. - And that almost certainly amounts to losing your flesh.

- No... NO! - her husband tried to stop her, but she broke away. - You can't!

- The problem won't end without it. I can't believe she won't do it again... - she replied quietly.

She approached a woman who still doubted the success of her plan. She was quite the opposite. She knew how to do it, though she wasn't sure where from. As if it has been in her for a long time, a bit like riding a bicycle, when we learn as children, then we don't have time, and as adults...we get on and go. She placed a hand on the woman's forehead, staring the light green irises straight into her unwavering eyes. Hanabi was losing touch with the world, hearing nothing but the flow, swift as water in a waterfall. She felt an enormous mass of energy running through every cell, every vein, every ankle. The witch consciously and very skillfully opened her chakras, trying to saturate her. But she wasn't going to be stifled. Thanks to the flowing chi, she found her way to the weave of interest. She closed it and blocked it. There was no way anyone else would open it. She painfully felt her return to the ground. Her whole body felt as if it were a pile of stones.

- Sabuko-onee-sama*****! - she heard a screech that made her ears ache. - Onee-sama!

She turned on her heel, tired and in pain. The owner of the Arena ran towards them, in traditional clothes as usual. The witch was in a mute shock. Only Tokugawa's arms woke her from lethargy.

- She locked it... b...blocked it... - she whispered in horror. - I... I don't hear anything. No souls...

So his sister. Yeah. It couldn't be that accidental or supernatural. Real life is neither a cartoon, nor a movie, nor a comic book. She felt dizzy again, something warm under her nose. Her knees felt as if she had come home after a very tiring day and wanted to lie down so badly. The last thing she heard before she fell into her husband's arms was Kizaki's terrified scream.

- Hanabi-sama!

>>><<<

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The mere fact of Miyamoto's return to life was madness enough, shortly afterwards a white fox emerged from his wife's body, and the icing on the cake was Hanabi's ability to block energy in the chakras. Everything seemed to be back to normal, he was even feeling pretty good. Whatever Shizuka has done, she has done it brilliantly. He wanted to hug his beloved, whisper that everything would be fine, they could go home, and in the same second she fell into his arms as if had lost contact with her body. Thick, dark blood was leaking from her tiny, upturned nose. It wasn't looking good. He looked at the sisters-in-law. They shook their heads. There was nothing they could do. Only Yui walked over to them, knelt down, chattering with two katanas, and grasped her sister's bright hand. Even that didn't help. Yang couldn't hold her Yin. He looked into the green eyes he loved so much.

- Kaoru... - she muttered softly.

- You can't leave me. - he whispered, leaning forward.

- Sorry to put you on a fait accompli. Don't worry too much. - she sighed heavily, reaching for sliced face. - I'll find a way to get back to you, I swear. After all, I promised to be your dragon, right? Whatever...whatever is left of me, give it to nature. Please.

- No, Hanabi...I will not give you to anyone.

- How stubborn you are! - she laughed with tears in her eyes, and after a while rest her head gently on his torso, as if was falling asleep; he heard her soft, fading voice - "I need a gangster to love me better than all the others do... To always forgive me, ride or die with me. That's just what gangsters do"******.

- ...Hana...

The slender body collapsed in his arms, and after a while, with a gust of wind, it dissolved into the sea of white and pink petals of Japanese cherries. His heart skipped a painful tear. The love of his life was gone, and there was nothing he could do. She died in his arms and she breathed her last. It felt as if the meaning of existence had gone with her. Hanayama had no idea what to do with himself. He felt a presence behind his back.

- Boss... I'm so sorry... - Kizaki whispered.

- Weird. - Yui muttered, wiping her face. - I thought I would...feel like she's gone. And I still feel like she's standing next to.

He barely heard what she said, stunned by his own thoughts. After a while, however, realized that he smelled a familiar scent. Subtle, barely perceptible... It might as well be a pile of Sakura petals that she had left behind, at least some of which he was going to take. However, he didn't think any type of cherry smelled like yuzu. She loved yuzu. A good pile of pink and white scraps has gathered near him. For a moment it seemed to him that the pile was gently moving. Finally something sneezed, making them fly. Tiny, white, fluffy, with a long tail. The shapely-eared fox brushed the fragrant petals off the tiny head, completely ignoring human existence. He gulped down at his nearest sister-in-law and the other two who were coming up with curiosity.

- Hanabi...is that you? - he asked incredulously.

The animal, hearing the name, turned to him and looked sadly with wise, light green eyes that looked like two large, shiny stones. She curled up inside herself, wrapping one ponytail around her paws.

- And where are the other tails? - Ayame whispered in surprise.

- Oh, you're so cute! - Shizuka squealed, holding out her hands. - Come on, I'll ruff your ear!

The fox looked at him again with pained eyes, lowering tail sadly, then turned and started to run away. He couldn't let her do that. Not after what he experienced. What they both experienced. Besides, she promised to find a way, and he made it a point of honor to defend what she had left behind. He grabbed gently under her belly so as not to accidentally damage skinny limbs. She tried to get away, but to no avail.

- Silly of you, the house is in a completely different direction. - he replied with a half-mouth smile.

In response, foxy stood on hind legs, cuddling tail. She looked suggestive as if to say, "Look what's left of me! It's just pathetic! Do you want THAT wife?" Silly one. He ran a finger lightly through shiny fur.

- Have you forgotten what I promised you? "In health and in sickness"...

Big bright eyes drowned in tears as she climbed over his shoulder to gently touch her paws over his cut cheek and lick her coarse tongue as if she wanted to shower him with kisses. They've survived a lot, and they'll be fine with it.

It seemed to him that this time he was in the hospital longer than before. Or maybe he just took a long time? They didn't let her stay, "such rules", had to wait. They broke a hundred needles on him, they spilled hectoliters of blood, even the eye was doing quite well. Utsumi demanded that they do everything to make him survive. He mentally thanked him a hundred times for it. Needed to be back as soon as possible, but chained to the bed had its advantages: he could think for a moment about what was happening, and what can in future. Don't think he wanted to know what his father-in-law thought about the fact that his youngest daughter, the apple of daddy's eye, got stuck in the body of a tiny fox. Still not solved the mystery of the bomber, the funds thief, Hanabi was at a standstill with the Wu Song building. One of the few pluses: the dojo problem postponed until she returns. He realized that she had wanted to help him so many times, however, and he hadn't given her an option. He pushed her away, didn't initiate in many matters "for her sake". Another thing was that in the end she pressed herself in front of each time. He felt guilty, some part of his existence insisted that he made her feel brought to extremes.

After two weeks, they finally allowed him to leave. He buttoned up his purple shirt, skillfully tied tie, threw a white jacket over shoulders, pushed glasses up on nose. In front of the hospital door, a black, glistening Mercedes was waiting for him as standard, and a Kizaki bowing at the waist. He opened the door. There was something waiting in the dark car seat. A pair of bright eyes. She raised pointed ears, waved tail cheerfully at the sight of him, and as soon as he sat down next to her, she jumped on his lap, making herself comfortable. He barely noticed the shiny purple ribbon tied around the skinny neck. The car started moving, and he gently ran his hand through the white fur, feeling a long tail fall down his legs, moving steadily left and right. Finally they went home.

~ THE END ~

…or not!

____________________

* Kuko Kitsune - air fox, of the genus Zenko (good foxes), living 3000 years old, considered a fox deity

**Tenko Kitsune - heavenly fox of the genus Zenko, living over 1000 years

***Byakko Kitsune - white fox, of the Zenko genus, strongly connected with the spiritual world, friendly to people, bringing luck

**** Kokko Kitsune - black fox, of the genus Zenko, comes from Chinese culture and is the embodiment of the North Star

*****Onee-sama - honorary designation of an older sister or a person towards whom we have similar feelings

******Kehlani "Gangsta"

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nightswatchdisbandmentera · 10 months

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Can’t stop thinking about the possibility of Jon potentially gaining the ability to raise people from the dead in the future. It’s kind of out there but I don’t think it’s totally baseless, especially if he ends up being brought back to life by Mel (basically R’hllor magic). So the thing with the Last Kiss is that is involves breathing the fire of life into a deceased person, thereby reviving them. Thoros attributes this to his being able to resurrect Beric? And Beric then uses this to resurrect Catelyn Stark. But it’s like there’s a difference since Beric passed his entire life flame to Catelyn whereas Thoros only breathed life into Beric; also the idea of breathing life into someone gives some serious Judeo-Christian “and God breathed life into man” type stuff.

So anyway, if Mel uses red god magic to bring Jon back then it seems Jon might be similar to Beric in that he can also breathe life flame into someone else. There’s already enough parallels between them and it’s also possible that Jon might replicate Beric and create his own flaming sword, but his will be more like the Lightbringer that was wielded by Azor Ahai. But, I wonder if Jon’s ability to do this will have a much greater effect since he, unlike Beric, is an inherently magical being. And I also have to wonder if ice magic could play a role since Jon has both ice and fire; we have wights and possibly Coldhands as people brought back through ice magic.

There’s also another bit that just screams Christ-like ability to resurrect

She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …”

- Tyrion VI, ADWD

So this is obviously about Dany being AA, but the part about death bending it’s knee and Azor Ahai resurrecting people who fight his cause screams Jesus and some of the stuff said about the resurrection of saints to fight in Jesus’ cause. I’m personally a ‘Jon is also AA’ believer but the thing is that this also gives me Odin and the Einherjar vibes - fallen warriors who reside in Odin’s hall Valhalla and are poised to be reborn to fight in the god’s name during Ragnarok. There are a lot of similarities between Judeo-Christian apocalyptic imagery and pagan apocalyptic imagery, so Odin’s Einherjar mirroring Jesus’ saints isn’t surprising. And then we have Jon who has parallels both Jesus and Odin.

There’s also another bit that makes me think that there’s something about Jon bringing people to life - or rather reanimating dead people - as seen with his Winterfell crypt dreams.

Last night he had dreamt the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he’d heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart hammering. Even when Ghost leapt up on the bed to nuzzle at his face, he could not shake his deep sense of terror.

- Jon VII, AGOT

The Kings of Winter are recurring persons in several other dreams (e.g., Ned’s and Theon’s), but it’s only in Jon’s dreams where they actually come to life and leave their tombs. Jon even converses with them (and we don’t hear of that in either Ned’s or Theon’s inner narratives. It’s hard to tell if Jon is the one bringing them back from the dead, or if it’s something about him that causes them to rise. The interesting thing is that the Kings of Winter should have iron swords in their laps (possibly to keep their spirits at bay) but that doesn’t seem to work with Jon since they are reanimated anyway.

So considering all the evidence, I think it’s pretty likely that Jon could probably bring people to life, though it’s hard to tell how and with what magic (since he has a lot going on). Beric, who purposefully serves as foreshadowing for what mint happen to Jon is a good starting point. Anyway, both Jon and Beric for sure are like Christ-like figures. And Jesus has several instances of bringing people back from the dead which foreshadowed his own death and resurrection, most notably with his cousin Lazarus. Which leads me to the question, who’s going to be Jon’s Lazarus?

#jon snow #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #christian parallels #norse mythology #my stuff #forgot to add but we might be getting a mary magdalene parallel with satin #so I think a lazarus parallel isn’t too far fetched #it’s possible that Jon might resurrect or reanimate one person publicly #instead of a multitude of people #the resurrection of lazarus was a public spectacle and it was meant to serve as more evidence of the messiah’s divine power #so perhaps Lightbringer and Jon resurrecting someone might cause a certain red priest to finally open her eyes and go #wait a damn minute! maybe the real azor ahai was this weird bastard #anyway Jon resurrecting people might also be bad publicity because people might be like you weirdo no one else does that except the others #and I’d expect that Jon might totally do it on accident and not purposefully try fo being back the dead #since that’s like weird and stuff

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islenthatur · 1 year

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"GERALT!" Jaskiers voice ripped across the battlefield, high-pitched and terrified.

Geralt pushed forward, sword cutting down any soldier between him and his Bard. The Squirrels that fought with them moved out of his way after a glance, clearing a path with the Song of the Seven on their lips. He had just got Jaskier back, and he finally felt the sweet feel of life on those lips... Geralt will not let anything take it from him now.

"GERALT!!" His name was like a whip, called from many directions as the song picked up with fervour the closer he got to Jaskier. His medallion rippled violently on his armour, the sheer taste of chaos in the air near suffocating.

A glimpse of red between fighting Nilfgaards had his heart squeezing, close, so very close.

"NO!" The word was violently ripped from his throat, bringing agony and blood as he saw the sword pierce through Jaskier just as a portal ripped open and swallowed him whole. The last thing he saw of Jask, his Lark, was terrified eyes and his name spilling from those lips with blood.

Rage ingulfed him, fury he hadn't felt the likes of in a very long time. His swords swung, cutting a path towards where his Lark once stood and he let go. He let go of the humanity that Jaskier had brought back, fought tooth and nail to keep front and centre. Let Nilfgaard see the Butcher.

Time lost all meaning.

"Geralt!" His name was called, high and panicked, not the voice he wanted but one he knew.

"Yen." The word, guttural and sharp. The battle still raged around him, but none dared grow close to the Butcher and the Witch.

Purple eyes glanced around, over him, behind him. "Did you find him?"

A snarl ripped from his throat, pushing Geralt back into the depths of his mind. "Someone ran him through with a sword, a mortal wound, and a portal ripped him from me!"

Yen let out a sharp inhale, her eyes scanning the field for the bard she has come to call friend. There was nothing, no sign on him, only the thick, cloying air of chaos. A powerful amount of chaos. She turned back to Geralt to see his face twisted in a snarl, hands snapping the neck of a brave soldier, teeth gleaming like rubies.

She had never felt afraid of Geralt, not till now.

In one blink and the next, the ground vibrated heavily, the air buzzing and all around began to slow as something ripped across the field with a resounding crack. Silence on a battlefield was unusual, something to cause hundreds to still was...

"The fuck?" Lamberts voice was heard from the left, drawing her eyes to the figure he was staring at.

It was the bard, Jaskier the likes they've never seen. Tall and broad, clad in black leather, two swords on his back and a hammer in his hand. But his face, his face was marred with a vicious smile, black eyes of the void... witcher eyes...

#witcher jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier/geralt #jaskier dandelion #the witcher fandom #geraskier #fanfiction #non human jaskier #blood origins

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smilesrobotlover · 1 year

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Ok fic time! This is a draft and I might change things around (some paragraphs do not vibe with me) but some people wanted to read it so we’ll see what happens!

So warnings in order of the fic: blood, there’s no major character death but it comes reeeeally close so look out for that, accidental self harm, bad times. It’s pretty heavy so keep that in mind

This is written in the perspective of Legend with Warriors and a bit of Sky :) me and @skyward-floored we’re talking about Legend and she was this awesome headcanon that legend faints at the sight of blood, and tbh I haven’t stopped thinking about that convo we had so this fic was greatly inspired by all of it !

Heart of a Bunny

Legend charged at the moblin standing in front of him, stabbing it straight to the chest. He, Warriors, and Sky were investigating a kidnapping of someone’s dog, who was taken by monsters. When they followed the trail to rescue the dog, they were ambushed by moblins, and they were strong. Strengthened by hatred, malice, and black blooded nonsense. Though it was hard, they needed to eradicate the monsters, and fast. The group of moblins were brutal, and they could turn to attacking towns if they weren’t all dead (and obviously they needed to save the dog). Legend looked over to his friends, and while they fought with the strength of a thousand men, Legend knew that they were just as tired as he was. Warriors’s swings were getting sluggish and more slow and Sky was panting something awful. But they seemed to be holding out on their own well enough, so Legend focused on himself.

Black blood was everywhere, on his clothes, on his face, in his hair, the smell filling his nostrils, but he ignored it and pushed forward. In situations like this, he can’t care. He doesn’t have time. He lobbed off a moblin’s head when he heard a yell come from Warriors. He turned and gasped at what Warriors was yelling at. Two moblins were holding Sky down, one had a knife pressed to his throat.

“No! Let him go!” Legend yelled and ran forward, but Warriors stopped him.

“Don’t come any closer!” The moblin yelled back, pressing the knife harder against Sky, who let out a pained cry. Legend glared ahead, his heart pounding against his chest. These moblins were ruthless, he didn’t know what to do to get Sky out of that situation without him getting hurt.

“Let him go,” Warriors said before Legend could think of anything, putting his sword away.

“I said don’t come any closer!” The moblin screamed.

Warriors stopped moving and so did Legend. What could they do? He felt completely helpless. He was unable to fight Sky out of this, unable to talk Sky out of it, and Warriors was trying to help him, but any time he moved the moblins would freak out. They were too afraid to die, and that made them unpredictable.

“Please, let him go, we’ll do whatever you say,” Warriors lifted his hands to show that he was no threat, but he must’ve done it too quickly, and the moblins reacted.

Time seemed to slow down as the knife cut across Sky’s neck, blood immediately spilling out. Legend screamed out and Warriors was on the moblins in seconds, cutting them down. Legend ran to Sky who fell to the ground, grabbing his neck and sputtering as his blood poured out all over the ground. Legend tried to put pressure on his bleeding neck, but he didn’t know if he was choking Sky or if he was helping the bleeding. He needs a fairy or a potion, was the first thought he had, and with one hand, he grabbed his pack and started rummaging through it, desperate to find a red potion or a fairy or something. He dug through it frantically, his eyes growing blurry with tears, his throat dry from breathing so hard. But he felt nothing but empty bottles. He looked to Warriors in desperation.

“I don’t have a fairy!” He yelled, his voice cracking. Warriors turned to him and the situation dawned on him with Sky bleeding out. His face went from angry and determined to complete blankness as he killed the last moblin and dug through his own pack. He knelt at Sky’s side and silently searched, and searched, and searched.

Legend’s hand remained at Sky’s neck, trying so desperately to hold back the tears that threatened to pour out of his eyes. Warriors looked up from his pack, his expression more blank than ever, and Legend’s heart sank. They always have fairies on them, they always have red potions, how could they not have one when they needed one so desperately.

Sky made a gurgling noise and the two looked at him. It was almost silent as Sky bled out, Legend desperately trying to stop the bleeding. But Sky’s face paled, and he stopped breathing, his hands falling from his neck. Legend’s heart dropped to his stomach, and he got closer to his face, there was no air coming from his mouth, and he felt no pulse. No… no no please Hylia no…

“He-he’s—” Legend started, but was interrupted by a light. A fairy popped up out of nowhere and spun around Sky, followed by a gasp. Sky started coughing and sputtering, and Warriors immediately helped him up, making sure he was alright. Sky rubbed his bloody neck and took in a deep breath. There was no evidence of a slit throat save for the blood everywhere. He was alive.

A fairy… Sky had a fairy, and it saved his life. Legend felt dizzy from the relief and rested a hand on Sky’s shirt.

“I’m ok…” Sky gasped, “I’m ok… I’m ok…”

Warriors silently rubbed his back, a relieved smile on his previous blank expression. Legend rubbed his arm and tried to manage a smile, but he couldn’t. His heart was pounding, he felt heavy, and the memory of Sky bleeding out, them helpless to save him, kept flashing in his mind.

Bleeding out…

Legend glanced at the hand that was rubbing Sky’s arm, and noticed the blood he was smearing. He frowned and looked at his other hand that was clenched on his knees. That was covered in blood too, spreading it all over his bare legs.

Suddenly it hit him. The metallic smell of blood, Sky’s blood, filled his nostrils. The black blood all over his clothes, mixed in with the red blood from Sky. his pack was covered in it, his clothes, goddesses, it was everywhere. It was all over Sky, it was getting on Warriors…

Legend suddenly felt incredibly nauseous and dizzy. He pulled away from Sky and shut his eyes tight. Not now… not now in front of them, not now.

“Legend are you alright?” Warriors asked, his arms still around Sky.

He didn’t say anything. The blood was all over him and he needed it off. His hands started shaking as he stared at Sky’s blood. It was always someone else’s blood.

“Legend I’m ok,” Sky said softly, his voice sounding hoarse and shaky, but Legend barely heard him.

An unpleasant memory flooded his mind. His hands covered in someone else’s blood, the dying breaths of someone he loved, the disgusting smell, the stickiness on his fingers, his uncle’s dying words.

Legend let out a whimper and shot right up, trying to walk away despite his shaking legs.

“I’m gonna be right back,” he whispered, only for his vision to get covered in black spots, and he felt himself falling, miles and miles until he hit the ground.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The water was cold against Legend’s hands as he scrubbed them with a rag, making sure every bit of it was clean. He took time scraping under his fingernails, scrubbing between his fingers, clearing out his cuticles, and rubbing his hands against the rag.

Around him was his scattered belongings. The things in his pack were thrown carelessly out, washed clean, his empty pack laid by his belt, also washed clean, his clothes were sopping wet, but at least they were clean. Now Legend just needed to be clean.

He scrubbed some more, staring at his hands after a moment, then going back to scrubbing. He couldn’t see anymore blood, but he still felt it. The memory of them covered in blood, the stickiness, the smell, it hasn’t gone away. So he kept scrubbing, and scrubbing, and scrubbing.

His hands hurt from the coarse rag, but it needed to be there to get the blood off. It had to. Until Legend noticed how dirty the rag was, and he noticed a hint of red in the fabric. He threw the rag at the forest and went back to scrubbing his hands without it. He now needed the rag’s filth off.

He pulled them out of the water and noticed his knuckles were spotty with blood. He was causing his hands to bleed, but he put them back in the water and went back to scrubbing. And scrubbing, and scrubbing, and scrubbing.

He pulled his hands out again and they were still bleeding. He put them back in the water and scrubbed some more. He pulled them back out and they continued to bleed. He put them back, a sob escaping him. He knew he was being ridiculous. He would stop bleeding if he stopped scrubbing, but it needed to be gone, he needed it to be gone.

He went back to scraping under his fingernails, letting out a hiss of pain when he cut too deep, causing under his fingernail to bleed.

More blood.

He didn’t notice the tears falling down his face as he went back to scrubbing. It had to be gone, it had to be gone.

“Legend.”

The veteran flinched and whipped his head to where the voice was. Warriors was standing there, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes had a hint of worry. Legend sucked in a shaky breath and rubbed his eyes with his shoulder.

“What do you want?” He asked in a low, shaky voice.

“You’ve been out here for a while, are you ok?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Now leave me alone,” he said, ignoring how cruel he’s being. He stared hard at his hands in the water, hoping that Warriors would leave, but he wouldn’t. He felt his gaze like the sun in the desert, and the pressure was starting to annoy him. He glanced at him, and Warriors hadn’t moved.

“What?”

“Look, we almost lost Sky. I can’t imagine that you’re feeling ‘fine’.”

Legend glared at him. He knew that he didn’t look fine. His hands were bleeding, his stuff was scattered all over the place, hot tears were streaming down his face, but he looked away and ignored him. It was humiliating enough for them to see him pass out over blood, they didn’t need to see him having a breakdown.

He heard footsteps come closer and he spun around and backed away.

“I’m fine captain! Leave me alone!”

“You’re not fine!”

“Yes I am!”

“Why won’t you just accept my help?”

“BECAUSE I’M FINE!” Legend screamed, he stood up and marched over to his stuff. He shivered harshly as a breeze blew by and Legend realized that he was freezing, with his hands numb from pain and from the cold water. He needed to warm them up, but they were still bleeding, he couldn’t put them anywhere without spreading more of the blood…

“Legend, it’s ok–”

“Where is Sky?” He cut him off, hoping to change the subject off of him. After all Sky was the one who almost died, he should be the one coddled, not Legend.

Warriors sucked in a frustrated breath. “He’s back at camp, the others found us, he’s fine. And so is the dog.”

Legend would’ve let out a laugh if he didn’t feel so awful. He felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder and he flinched away.

“Legend please, let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You’re bleeding and you’re cold.”

Legend ignored him again and walked closer to his stuff, pretending to be doing something.

“Legend, what’s wrong?”

The veteran started shaking again, the tears were completely uncontrollable, his breathing was fast, and he gripped his arms so tight, it might’ve drawn blood. Just what he needed, he thought bitterly

“Hey,” Warriors tried again, “You’re hurting yourself buddy… come on, let me help you.”

“No,” Legend whispered. “No, I don’t want you to see me like this…”

His voice didn’t have snark hidden within it this time, and there was silence except for Legend’s heavy breathing.

“Why do you not want me to see you like this?”

“Because!” His voice started to raise again, the moment of vulnerability gone. He turned and faced Warriors, “Look at me! I’m a mess! I’m the worst hero to ever live!”

“No you’re no–”

“YES I AM! Don’t lie to me to make me feel better because I am! I can’t handle anything! If something goes wrong I completely LOSE IT! I HATE MYSELF FOR IT!” He was screaming now, his hands gripping his hair. “I can’t handle anything difficult! I pass out at the sight of blood, what kind of a hero passes out because of blood? I just– I’m terrible! I’m terrible at protecting people and I’m not strong and I—” His breath hitched and he looked at Warriors who was sitting there, staring at him. His face was expressionless, and rage started to build up within Legend. “You don’t realize how good you have it captain,” he spat, venom dripping in every word.

Warriors eyebrows raised at that. “How do I have it good?”

“Nothing bothers you! Nothing ever bothers you! When Sky was dying, I was a mess! But you, you were collected! You were calm! You don’t let things like that bother you! And I wish I was like you for that! I wish I didn’t care like you!”

Grief suddenly gripped at his heart. He wished he didn’t care. He wished he didn’t care so damn much. He’s lost so many people in his life, he’s experienced so many hard things and it never made him stronger. It never made him tough, it was a flaw within him that he let so many things get to him but he just can’t help it. He let out a sob, vulnerability washing over him. He was wishing so desperately that he could hear his uncle’s voice again, wishing that he could hear Marin sing again, wishing that he didn’t feel this pain, wishing that Warriors wasn’t here to see how truly pathetic he is. He fell to the ground sobbing, wishing so desperately that he’d stop but he couldn’t. His hands were clenched against his chest, his heart in pain, his head pounding, his hands rubbed raw, tears pouring out of his eyes. He felt like he was falling to pieces.

“I wish I was like you,” he repeated, voice trembling.

He hiccuped and opened his eyes, surprised when Warriors silently sat in front of him. He slowly reached for Legend’s hands, and when Legend didn’t fight back, he observed them. Then without saying anything, he grabbed a bandage and started wrapping them up, slowly and gently. Legend’s crying slowed down as he watched Warriors. His face was almost expressionless, but a hint of pain laid within it as he tended to Legend’s self-inflicted injuries. He wrapped up his knuckles and quickly moved onto his bleeding finger, and though he hated being taken care of, Legend didn’t have the strength to stop him. He moved onto his bleeding arms and started to wrap those up as well.

“It’s funny,” he muttered, breaking the silence, “how you wish to be like me… When I wish to be like you.”

Legend’s breathing slowed and he stared back confused.

“I wish I cared like you Legend. I’ve seen so much death, so many friends die in front of me, and when we bury them… they deserve tears to be shed for them… but I can’t muster up anything. I feel like I fail them for that.”

Legend continued to stare at him, he’s never seen Warriors like this, so serious and open. The captain finished wrapping up one arm and went to the other one.

“I don’t feel anything when death is about to claim people I care about. It’s happened so much, and I wish that I didn’t feel so damn empty when it happens.”

His voice was soft, filled with regret and sorrow, and when he finished Legend’s other arm, he looked directly into his bloodshot eyes, a stern look on his face. Legend looked down where his hands laid, bandaged and held in Warrior’s hands. His breathing started to slow down as he contemplated Warrior’s words.

“Never stop feeling Legend, never stop crying for others. For people like me can’t do it ourselves.”

Legend looked up at Warriors, this time a pained look on the captain’s face. Warriors always annoyed him, he was so perfect all the time, so aloof, so bossy. He had everything Legend wanted… but he realizes now how much he had that Warrior’s didn’t have. He never realized that Warriors felt this way, and suddenly clarity entered within him. Remembering Warriors’s blank stare as Sky bled out in front of them, a somber but stone face as Twilight was slowly dying from the shadow’s curse, an empty look when he takes care of someone’s wounds. It was all because he’s been so hardened from the death he’s seen, to the point where he can’t bring himself to feel anymore when he should. That never happened to Legend. It’s only made him more emotional and soft.

“All bark and no bite?” Twilight’s words echoed in his mind, when he was turned into his stupid bunny form. It was humiliating, but it was a true reflection of his heart. He always saw it as his major flaw, and no matter how hard he tried, he always had the heart of a bunny. But now…

Legend pursed his lips and slowly rested his head against Warrior’s chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, and he felt Warriors wrap his arms around him. They sat there for a long time, Warriors holding Legend as he cried into his scarf. It felt nice… freely crying in front of someone. Because for the first time, he felt no shame in doing it.

#smiles writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu warriors #lu sky #tw blood #blood #tw self harm #self harm #again it doesn’t really happen but just in case #gosh I had to fight for my life with this one #stop booting me out of things and not saving my progress tumblr >:(#again might change thjngs around but idk #I’m starting to dislike this fic now so just take it 😅#near death #tw near death #found better tags for that!

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thebibliomancer · 11 months

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #296: HEARTS of OAK... and HEADS to MATCH!

October, 1988

The Beginning of the END!

Yes, good, let this end.

This run is a bummer.

But hey, the Hearts of Oak... and Heads to Match title is a Pogo reference. That’s fun!

What’s with all the quote titles lately?

Anyway, back to Dr Druid putting Black Knight out of his misery. And mine.

It is a sad state when the Avengers have been reduced down to four and half is trying to kill the other half because Druid is an asshole.

Last times in Avengers: Hoo boy, where to start.

Dr Druid has been having ominous sex dreams about a lady who is secretly Nebula Kang and will later be revealed to be even more secretly Ravonna but its not written like she is now but honestly she’s not written like she’s Nebula either.

Under the influence of sex dreams, Dr Druid undermined Avengers chairwoman Captain Marvel Monica Rambeau, made her stupid herself almost to death, and then used psychic voter fraud to get himself made the new chairman.

Nebula Kang Ravonna needs the Avengers to find some super-duper-secret-weapon that the Council of Kangs is looking for. Playing on Dr Druid’s arrogance and power fantasies, she has him pretty thoroughly under her thumb and he can keep Black Knight and She-Hulk under his own thumb. But Thor resists the psychic whammy so Nebula Kang tries to get Thor killed by robot T. Rex from the future that’s more than meets the eye.

She-Hulk and Black Knight shake the psychic control when Druid tells them to ignore Thor’s calls for assistance. Black Knight manages to escape and help Thor beat the robot T. Rex notTransformer but She-Hulk is left in Dr Druid and Nebula Kang’s clutches.

Also, Black Knight fell out of an airplane and into a lake and is under the effects of a turbo curse so he had to go to the hospital.

And Thor isn’t the type to patiently sit in the waiting room reading old New Yorkers.

After Thor finishes walking his way through hospital staff trying to get him to chill, he finds Black Knight’s hospital bed empty.

A doctor shows up, lightly chides Thor for not chilling, and tells Thor that since Black Knight’s life wasn’t in danger but he was too dangerous to keep in a hospital bed, they let him go.

He’s out back, in the parking lot. Being accosted by reporters who have somehow already heard about the thing where Black Knight’s body is as sharp as a sword.

Apparently, between issues, Black Knight sliced right through a hospital bed and several floors to land in the basement.

That sure would have been fun to ACTUALLY SEE.

Bah.

Thor has not much patience for the first amendment.

Thor: “Better a company of Frost Giants than a gagle of reporters!”

He swings Mjolnir around to kick up a strong wind and obscure himself and Dane, Black Knight, from view.

Thor asks Dane how he’s doing. And Dane recap/confirms that his curse is still cursing him.

He’s fused into his armor and his hand slices through stuff like a sword. He can control it if he’s awake though. In case you wanted to be a clever dick, flipping through the pages and going hey why isn’t he cutting through stuff there, why isn’t Dr Druid filleted like a fish?

Oh. Speaking of which.

Black Knight tells Thor that Dr Druid is a dick, he’s using mind control on the Avengers, he tried to stop Dane from coming to Thor’s aid, and that he has She-Hulk bound to a chair.

Thor and Black Knight hammer-throw-fly off to Hydrobase and the reporter who is a winking reference to Superman shows up again, although his hair is the wrong color.

Hi, Clark, random journalist.

In Simonson’s Thor run, which is actually good, Thor in his new secret identity of guy in glasses and ponytail bumped into a journalist named Clark. They both almost sorta seemed to recognize each other.

So a journalist named Clark saying that he imagines Thor puts his hair in a ponytail when he’s off-duty is an extension of that joke.

And now I’ve explained it and its surely just as funny as if you’d gotten the reference without help.

Back at Hydrobase, Dr Druid, Nebula Kang, She-Hulk, and Jarvis hi Jarvis! see the CNN report showing Thor and Black Knight leaving the hospital.

Nebula Kang is basically in-charge now, as she starts making plans on how to deal with Thor not being as dead as she'd prefer.

She asks She-Hulk if she can handle Thor.

She-Hulk: "No problem. Those blond brains are strictly Stone Age vintage. It would never occur to him to watch out for a woman!"

??? What

And Dr Druid will handle Black Knight. Er, I mean, he'll handle correcting Black Knight's misunderstanding of the situation! Haha we're all friends here!

Meanwhile, god dammit we're still doing the Council- my mistake, the Cross-Time Kang Korps plot.

Beard Kang is announcing to the Kollected Kangs that this entire organization is a waste of time and that instead of doing anything productive, they've all been canoodling with Nebula Kang. Yes, that's right. All of them.

The best and maybe only good thing that comes out of this entire subplot is that when Beard Kang brings this up, all of the Kangs try to look nonchalant and then blame every other Kang for being a horny idiot while claiming to be above reproach themselves.

Beard Kang: "I can't stand it. The cream of the time travelers. Without an ounce of brain among them."

Beard Kang takes Fred Kang and another Kang who the fuck can tell what his cute nickname is and heads off to handle the Nebula Kang problem himself. Because, again, this entire large Kang Kollective are a bunch of horny idiots who think with their dicks.

Are you enjoying getting to do a Kang story, Simonson? Is this everything you imagined it would be?

I'm sour because nothing done so far has justified bring Kang back so soon after the last big Kang story that also used a big Kang organization.

Back at the A-Plot, Thor and Black Knight arrive at Hydrobase.

The Heavy Metal story made it look like it had way more buildings and none of those quite look like Avengers Mansion, which was airlifted to the island.

Black Knight warns that Dr Druid will be expecting them but Thor says its no big because they've got a Thor. It's him. He's the Thor.

Plus, the Avengers STILL haven't fully rebuilt from the attack of Heavy Metal so most of the defense systems aren't online for Druid to use against them.

Then they see She-Hulk standing over a knocked out Dr Druid.

This would work a lot better on the audience if we hadn't seen She-Hulk planning how to beat up Thor with Nebula Kang.

She-Hulk claims she busted free of that bondage chair and whalloped Druid but good.

She-Hulk: "He wasn't much of a gentleman while you boys were gone. So I didn't feel like being much of a lady."

BUT TWAS RUSE!

Dr Druid jumps up and FZAPTs the back of Black Knight's neck, claiming it will make him much more reasonable.

While Thor is shocked by the sudden attack on his pal, his friend, his rotten soldier, She-Hulk puts a device on Thor's neck as well.

Black Knight tries to fight back against Dr Druid but the doctor just turns up the power on the device and Black Knight falls with a FZZAPT!

Thor tries to fight She-Hulk but the device make him uncoordinated and she's able to knock him around.

She-Hulk: "I've been waiting a long time to knock the arrogance out of you, Thor!"

??? Have you?

She-Hulk holds Thor down long enough for Dr Druid to put additional devices on the thunder god. A total of three "mindbenders."

Dr Druid: "When they awaken, they will be real Avengers at last! Completely obedient!"

Eat a stump, Druid.

She-Hulk is skeptical that the mindbenders will work on someone as stubborn as Thor but blue Nebula Kang assures She-Hulk that the mindbenders work great. Why, they're working so well on She-Hulk (that explains that), the Avenger wouldn't hesitate to jump off a cliff if Nebula asked.

Meanwhile? Beard Kang and co are watching what just happened on a monitor. He's very concerned that Nebula Kang has already taken over the Avengers.

Because, dammit, the Cross-Time Kang Korps was supposed to be doing that!

The Korp really does suck ass at its one mission.

Fred Kang asks for more information since he did bring Nebula's treachery to Beard Kang's notice. He could be more helpful if he knew more.

Beard Kang agrees that Fred has earned the right to know.

Beard Kang: "We have discovered something so big, so dangerous, that even we Kangs could not rival it for power. A Celestial. A renegade Celestial who fell from grace but not from power... and who has, through means we cannot begin to guess at, constructed a weapon mighty enough to threaten the entire space-time structure of the Omniverse! It must be a wonderful thing... and WE want it!

I hate omniverse as a term. Prefer multi-verse. I think omniverse might be the multi-verse of multi-verses but that’s really way too big to be stakes.

Anyway.

This supposed paragon of weapons is located 20 years in the future of where the Avengers comics are in this issue. And in that period of 20 years in the future, there is a massive time bubble "some fifteen years long"!

Cool. That's. Entirely unhelpful as a descriptor.

Huh. Just struck me how history and/or comic book plots repeat themselves.

In the current Avengers comics, the big plot is Kang wanting to get some secret prize hidden in a time bubble and needing the Avengers' help to do it.

Someone must specifically be a Simonson's Avengers fan... but why?

Anyway, there's so much text. The exposition dump is unbelievable.

The Cross-Time Kang Korp Council Whatever got images of the time bubble at the cost of three Kangs. Apparently by the three Kangs driving a ship right into the bubble and exploding.

There's weird probability flux around the bubble so that trying to enter it causes the violent destruction of the craft or for it to just cease to exist.

What the Kang Council Korp Afterschool Club knows is that the only people known to succeed in entering the bubble are the Avengers.

Which Avengers? The current Avengers? Who knows. Probability flux. But definitely a team of Avengers yup definitely won't be only very technically true!

The only thing Beard Kang knows for sure about the group of definitely Avengers is that Thor is with them.

And if Nebula Kang kills Thor for being too hard to control... well, the Kangs will never get the super-duper-pooper weapon thats at the heart of the time bubble.

So here's a weird twist. The Kangs have to protect the Avengers!

Huh! Weird!

(If you'd led with that and had A Kang hanging around the team, I might be more enthused about this plotline, gonna be honest. Kang has to protect the Avengers is a great premise.)

Back at Hydrobase, Nebula Kang is telling the Avengers the score.

Nebula Kang: "You, my salves, you are the key! The Kangs were prepared to wait until the Avengers gathered themselves together to unravel the enigma of the mysterious time-bubble. The Kangs think because they can travel through time, there is no need to move quickly, to strike when the iron is hot! They think they can simply wait until the fire is ready! But I have seized the moment and by the time the Kangs realize what is happening... it will be too late, even for them!"

Mindbent Thor urges that they delay no longer and go get Nebula that weapon!

Of course, he also doesn't really know how they'd even go about that. Mjolnir can't time travel anymore right now.

But Nebula Kang boasts that she's a Mistress of Time because of all the Kangs she slept with and stole technology from.

Nebula Kang: "The corridors of all ages are mine to walk as I will. And it was all so easy. You'd think that none of the Kangs had ever seen a woman before."

This is the plot Simonson decided to bring Nebula back for.

Nebula Kang further exposits (because villains love exposition) that she didn't know about the Council of Cross-Time Kangs (I thought it was the Cross-Time Kang Korp, make up your fucking mind) until she met her first Kang and knew that she could exploit the goober and his technology. And since the Kang was one of the council, she found out about more Kangs that she could seduce.

So she killed her first Kang and took his place.

Real quick though.

I guess this is where Nebula ended up after the Beyonder teleported her.

But she doesn't mention the Beyonder or having been fighting the Avengers previously or that she was teleported to a random space-time and just happened to run into Kang.

If this is picking up Nebula after the previous story, it doesn't feel like it! It doesn't even feel like specifically Nebula, who was mostly a space pirate trading on Thanos' name and his war crime of a spaceship to exploit the Skrull civil war.

Now she's sex infiltrating a secret Kang council that shouldn't exist based on the last Kang story and seeking a weapon that can threaten the OMNIVERSE.

I'm not saying that a character can't shift like that but there's a disconnect. We don't even know for sure that it was being teleported by the Beyonder that threw Nebula in Kang's path.

Which is a shame because getting thrown across space by an unfathomable cosmic entity in a silly outfit after getting embarrassed by the Avengers could be great motivation for Nebula to want to up her game. Get a weapon so powerful that no one could ever mess with her again. And if she can mess with the Avengers on her way, so much the better.

But we get an unexplained Nebula shift into sexmurdering her way to cosmic power and a time prophecy that the Avengers can get into a time bubble for some reason.

I guess it is a good thing that this will be retconned. Because its not a great use of your Nebulas.

Anyway.

On top of all the time technology that she stole with seduction, she seduced information about the Great Weapon and what was needed to get it from the Council and/or Korp.

Maybe there's something to the idea that Nebula Kang is motivated to prevent further Beyonder-esque humiliations because she goes on a rant.

Nebula Kang: "Throughout the ages, power has rested in the hands of the many! The greatest armies, the strongest armadas, the most powerful airships... And though they are terrible to reckon with, such forces are ultimately vulnerable to destruction from within. In time, the struggle of individuals to control such great power ruptures the use of the power! And the entity collapses under its own weight. But what if the power, the living power itself, were in the hands of a single individual and her mindbent slaves? Instead of a chain of command, there is only the word... the word of a living and vengeful god! And the word would be 'death'! In my hands, no being in all the Omniverse would be safe! Neither great fleets of starships nor impregnable fortresses of adamantium would be proof against me!"

How do you know what adamantium is?

Anyway.

I think that's a Cobra man, perhaps a commander obscured by falling debris. After the notTransformers reference the previous issue, I'm not discounting it.

Thor asks for more information about this mysterious weapon but Nebula isn't trusting that information to anyone, not even to mindbent slaves.

She does say that she may have to destroy a universe, to prove that she'd do it.

Does that work as a threat? People can't usually see the destruction of other universes. You can see a nearby city get razed or hear about a calamity befalling another country but its very hard to hear about another universe.

It took a bit of digging for the people in Marvel's march to Secret Wars 2015 to realize that's what they were dealing with.

Nebula Kang: "That weapon is the birthright of the granddaughter of Thanos... and I shall have it!"

Then, Nebula Kang puts Black Knight in charge of refitting a Quinjet with her stolen technology.

Thor is helping carry a variable locus generator over to the Quinjet but Dr Druid yoinks it out of his hands with PSYCHIC POWERS so he can be smug.

Dr Druid: "You see, Avengers, the measure of a man is the development of his psychic facilities... And those of Doctor Druid have been developed to the peak of perfection. Which is why I am the leader of this group. Mind over matter, my dear thunder god. As simple as that."

Which leads Thor to think bitterly about how Dr Druid is showing him up in front of the Nebula, who they all serve.

Even though they're all being controlled by Nebula, Thor is still tired of Dr Druid's shit.

BACK AT THE KANG KLUBHOUSE, the Kangs have decided to send some Kangs to stop Nebula Kang.

They gotta send some Kangs because the Time Bubble is making it hard to spy on the time period she’s messing around in.

The council chooses Beard Kang to represent the Wisdom of the Kangs (lol), Fred Kang to represent the knowledge of the era, and Kang from Earth Mesozoic-24 because he’s one of their finest warriors.

IS HE A DINOSAUR?

Under his mask, I mean. He looks like a generic Kang. Its Beard Kang and two generic Kangs. I know that one of them is Specialist Boy Fred but I can’t pick him out of a crowd.

Beard Kang says they need to avoid alerting the Avengers to Kangs interfering in the time stream because they don’t know how the Avengers will eventually get into the Time Bubble or even which ones will. They don’t want to risk injuring or killing any of the Avengers.

One imagines that interference might also change how time plays out in other ways.

(I wonder if this explains what eventually happens)

Beard Kang also says that since Nebula Kang betrayed the Cross-Time Kang Corps Klubhouse Corporation so she gets the worst of punishments. They’re gonna remove all traces of her from history.

Take that.

Meanwhile, on Earth-616 Time: When this comic was published.

The Avengers and Nebula Kang are all in the Quinjet getting ready to leave.

As security/a dick move, she orders Jarvis to stay where he is until they come back. And to not reveal anything to anyone. “You will die of a heart attack if necessary first.”

Fiend. Evil.

Jarvis is a delightful guy and you are a rude.

The Quinjet skreacckt! BOOM!s away with its super special FTL drive.

And immediately after, the three Kangs show up.

Mesozoic Kang is fascinated that this is a Jarvis because the Jarvis he knows is so different.

Beard Kang calls Mesozoic Kang a lizard SO I GUESS HE IS A DINOSAUR?

Would it have killed to give him a cooler design than generic then?

One of the two generic Kangs demands Jarvis tell them where the Avengers are but Jarvis refuses. The other generic Kang suggests breaking the mindbender that is mind bending Jarvis’ mind but Beard Kang says that if they didn’t properly decrypt it, the removal would kill him and they still wouldn’t know anything.

And Beard Kang’s time probe can’t find the Avengers because they’re hidden by multiple probabilities. Probably because of the infinite improbability drive variable locus generator.

Beard Kang declares well dangit they’ll just have to go after the Avengers no matter the danger!

Not sure how they’re going to do that if they don’t know where the Avengers are but hey. But hey. Kangs work in dumb ways.

Meanwhile in the future, yes meanwhile in the future, the time turbulence buffets the Quinjet.

It even looks like the Quinjet will be shaken apart.

Why, there’s even a red light on the left existential turbine! The Quinjet drops to 94% existence! Good thing they can increase power to the redundancy generator!

I’m sure this all makes sense.

But with Nebula Kang’s insistence that they either make it through or die, they do make it through.

Not through the Time Bubble, no. Not yet. But through the time turbulence around the Time Bubble.

That’s sure. A bubble.

I guess.

In fairness, I don’t know how you’d visualize a bubble, in time, and also in space so it may as well look like stained glass. More interesting to look at.

The new issue ends this specific arc but you know how it is. We’re alternating over to West Coast Avengers.

Follow @essential-avengers because what if this story suddenly gets really, REALLY good? Its hypothetically possible! Like and reblog and comment, maybe. I love the feedback.

#avengers #essential avengers #kang the conqueror #Nebula Kang #Nebula #just way too many kangs #Dr Druid #Thor #She Hulk #Black Knight #Edwin Jarvis #hey! good to see you #Council of Cross Time Kangs #TIME BUBBLE #Clark Kent and Lois Lane are also in this issue

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ae-neon · 1 year

Text

A Grave of Thorns and Roses

Prologue: Jurian

He could not die yet.

The trees ahead were on fire, the blazing light the only reason they could see the enemy in the dark.

The fire was spreading fast, catching on leaves and brambles until an almost unbroken line burned through the forest. But it was a double-edged sword, soon enough the smoke would overwhelm what was left of his legion – take their vision, their breaths, their lives.

His body tensed as a winged figure dropped from the sky, green siphon’s glowing.

The Illyrian attacked; swinging it's blade hard and wide, aiming to decapitate him. Jurian took two steps back, leaned just out of range and shot forward as the momentum left the creature's side open for a split second.

His iron armour moved through the green shield as if it wasn’t there, allowing him to butt his shoulder into the fae’s abdomen in a tackle. He was strong, stronger than any human but Illyrians were bred to fight, he only had seconds before the creature recovered enough to drive it’s sword into him.

It was just enough to use both their body weight to shove the Illyrian back into a tree trunk and pull back as it’s membranous wings spread in reflex. Illyrian leather was almost impossible to penetrate - the Human's iron weapons becoming almost useless where there was no magic. But their wings...

Jurian brought his short sword down on the exposed wing and heard the thing howl in pain, crumpling slightly. Jurian shoved his sword through the small space between it's helmet and leathers, iron driving through its throat.

Blood rushed in his ears and he could no longer hear the shouting of the warriors around him, how many still lived? And the others, the ones he’d entrusted to guard those who fled south, had they made it to the river?

It didn’t matter. All he could do now was hold the line. Keep moving, keep fighting, keep killing; unflinching in the face of the gore. That was his part in all of this; the price he gladly paid in exchange for his people’s freedom.

By morning a stretch of scorched land would cut the continent from coast to coast and his people would be free.

Still, he wondered if he had done enough…

Wondered – past the weariness in his bones, the rage in his soul and the ache in his heart – if Myriam had managed to make it across the sea… if she too would stand and think of him as death inevitably neared, as sure as the rising sun.

His eyes lifted to the darkness above, though he knew he would not be unable to see the stars past the light of the flames or the haze of the smoke...but still, his eyes searched the sky as his heart reached for words his mouth did not know.

Praying, to whatever might hear.

Like an answer, a sudden southern wind – pure and untainted by magic – blew cool against his back, pushing the smoke north into the enemies’ face.

It gave him enough to take a breath, to push the fog from his mind.

He could not die yet.

Not until Amarantha’s blood was upon the soil with the hundreds of thousands of humans who had lived at died at whims of the Fae. Jurian felt it, like a strange current in the air. If he reached out and pulled on that power, it would buy them enough to sever this cursed land and seal away the Fae for a thousand years.

Their blood. And hers. And his. The blood of innocents and the blood of monsters.

He lowered his eyes again to the burning treeline, to where something in him knew he would find her. Black eyes stared back; set in that too familiar pale face, framed by too familiar red hair.

The memory of Clythia made his gut roil but he had nothing to throw up or shit out – had not been able to eat a thing in the three days he had held the forest. He would have scolded anyone else for doing the same, commanded them to maintain their strength but something in him had known…

He found no joy in the food he had thought he would miss; nor could he pull his eyes from the stars he had always hated looking up at. He had not spent his last days dreaming of the past as he imagined many did, but rather thinking of the future he would not live to see.

The look in Amarantha’s eyes told him what he knew – had known since he’d put his sword through her sister…

By morning he would be dead.

#a grave of thorns and roses #acotar : the rewrite #ae writes

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dragoneyes618 · 1 year

Text

the world turns

Also posted on Archive of our Own; I decided to post this on Tumblr as well after all. Inspired by a comment by @atarahderek on this post by @dovelylittlebird

The children, Pedro thought as he ran. The children were the most important thing.

He was outnumbered and unarmed, but he had no illusions about standing against them. All he needed to do was hold out as long as possible, to give Alma time to run. She would have a hard enough time as it was, barely recovered from the birth and carrying three fragile infants.

The children-

There was shouting, lots of it; he blinked torchlight out of his eyes and raised his hands in self-defense, in the universal gesture of "I am unarmed, leave me in peace."

When the spirit of war takes a man it takes him fully. Everyone, everything is either an ally or an enemy, and there is nothing in between. He barely had a chance to speak before they were upon him, hoofbeats thundering, metal blades sinking into his arms, his shoulders, his side, fire blazing through him.

He'd promised himself he wouldn't scream, so as not to scare Alma. Let that not be the last memory she had of him. But he heard his own voice screaming in agony anyway, and he couldn't stop it.

Still, he managed to stand, unyielding. Just a few seconds more - just a moment more - need to delay them, need to give Alma and the babies time - the children, the children -

He heard the sound of his own flesh tearing, saw his own blood dripping off the blades, soaking his clothes, pooling on the ground as he collapsed, pain wracking him as the monstrous men laughed. The children. It is worth it, if only Alma and the babies will live safely.

He heard a scream, a terrible shrill sound of agony and grief that struck at his heart, and he knew it was here, crying out because of him. He'd never wanted her to cry because of him. He'd never wanted to cause her pain, yet she was screaming because of him. Her scream went on and on, and he felt a cry of his own rising within him to match hers.

As his strength ebbed he was dimly aware of some sort of explosion of light, and hoped with all his heart that the men did not have guns and explosives as well as swords. He couldn't turn his head to see what it was. It hurt too much. Black spots danced before his eyes, and he knew his end was near, without even a priest to give him the last rites, without even the comforting presence of his wife.

Alma. My soul. Pedro had thought that when he died, she would be with him, both of them aged, surrounded by his children - their children - and grandchildren, and maybe even great-grandchildren. But he was alone, gasping and choking for breath, bleeding out his life onto the ground, and he didn't even know if Alma had managed to run far enough away in time.

He would never see his wife again, never see his children, never mind grandchildren.

He thought of them, his Alma, and their three tiny perfect babies, Julieta and Pepa and Bruno. He hoped they grew up in safety and peace, in a place that would never know war.

Pedro wished he could see them just one more time. He wished he could hold them just once more. He wished he could have seen them grow up. He wished he could have lived with his family in peace, in a life where they did not have to flee, where they were not torn apart by war. He wished he could have one more chance to be with his family.

They meet as children, as he sings in the plaza with his best friend for pesos at a festival; the orphanage provides food, clothing, shelter, and even schooling, but only the barest of basics, all the sisters of the orphanage are able to afford, and if he wants to buy himself his own guitar he needs to save up money, however scant his earnings may be.

Scarcely a decade old, he already knows he's much better than his best friend is. His best friend may be nearly four years older, and have his own guitar bought for him as a birthday present by the parents he is lucky enough to have, but he only ever plays when performing; he hardly ever practices, and while he's good, he would be better if he spared the time to do so.

He would practice all the time, if he could. He was taught to play the guitar by an old man who lived near the orphanage and helped take care of the children in exchange for food and the occasional few coins that could be spared. The man had said he'd had a talent, a natural gift, and that he should practice every day, or nearly so, if he wanted to be the best that he could be. He wants to be the best that he can be. He likes the simple act of playing, of strumming the strings just for himself, of experimenting with the different sounds.

But the elderly man died, and his guitar was sold with the rest of his things to buy new clothes for the orphanage children, and that leaves him having to save up money to buy his own, tagging along after his best friend as he sings along to the songs his friend strums. So he memorizes all the songs, and he sings, and he and his friend laugh and say that they are the best performing duo Santa Cecilia ever saw.

And then he sees her.

A dark-haired girl, older than him but younger than his friend, hair drawn into two braids that dangle down to her shoulders, dragging two identical little boys behind her as she shoves her way through the small crowd to the front so she can see. She stands for a few minutes, watching and listening, as her brothers whine.

Then, on the spur of the moment, she joins in.

"Llorona de azul celeste..." Her voice is perfect, melodic, melding perfectly with his, exactly on-key, rising and falling with the strains of his friend's guitar.

"Y aunque la vida!" He nearly shouts in his excitement; no one has ever joined in like this before, and this is fun! His friend misses a few notes before recovering himself, scowling, but he takes no notice. He sings together with her, for the rest of La Llorona and for the next two songs, grinning at each other, until her brothers finally succeed in pulling her away. But she shows up to sing with them the next day, and the next day, and the next; she loves to sing, she tells him, and his friend begrudgingly agrees to allow her a few of the coins they earn. It isn't until the day after that that they finally find out each other's names.

They meet at a festival.

It is Día de las Velitas, the Day of the Little Candles, and the village is dotted with candles and lanterns on every available surface. From afar, it looks like the stars in the sky have descended to the earth; from within, it is as if the entire village is glowing. Softly, warmly; almost magical.

He closes up the shop he inherited from his father, dead these past two years, early; it is a candle shop anyway. Everyone always needs candles, but especially today of all days; he scarcely has anything left to sell today. So he closes up his store and goes to the small plaza in the center of the village, ordinarily the marketplace, where the celebration has begun.

There is music, and chatter, and food, and dancing, yet he doesn't join in on any of it, not yet. Reserved with strangers yet outspoken with friends by nature, he holds a candle and leans against a pole on the sidelines, observing the festivities, nodding hello to the people he knows; people from nearby villages have come in for the festival, and there are far more strangers in the village than there usually is.

And then he sees her.

A dark-haired young woman, standing by the opposite pole with a candle in her hands, just like he is, hair drawn into two braids that dangle down past her shoulders, observing the celebration with a small, pleasant smile on her face, together yet apart, just like he is. He knows her by face, but not by name; he doesn't know her, or her family, then. Not that he gets out much, busy writing poetry to match well-known tunes as he is in his spare time.

Their eyes meet. He smiles at her, and waves. She blinks, surprised, and waves back.

They spend half the night talking and laughing and dancing, alight in each other's company, his original reticence long forgotten in her presence.

"I'm Alma," she remembers to say as dawn breaks over the dark horizon, candles long burned to stubs.

"A beautiful name," he kisses her hand, and she does not snatch it away like he fears, "for its beautiful owner."

She blushes, smiles, and laughs. Her laugh is like music, like bells. He will do anything to for that laugh.

They marry some years later, he in his best and only suit, a wedding gift from his best friend; she in her beautiful traje de novia with lace on the edges that almost makes her glow. His friend, the closest thing to family he's had up until now, plays his guitar for them, and sings. Her brothers cheer from the sidelines, in between jokingly threatening him with various painful deaths if he so much as looks at their sister wrong.

They recite their vows, pledging themselves to each other in this world and the next, for now until all time, and kiss.

They marry in the spring, with candles from his very own - their very own - shop, he in the very same outfit his father wore at his own marriage, she resplendent in white. His mother watches with tears in her eyes; her ill health constant almost since his father's death, he feared she would not live to see him marry, and he is glad he was wrong. Her little sisters cheer from the sidelines, half a dozen smaller versions of his beloved with earsplitting grins, waving ribbons and flowers from their seats in the pews; he waves back at them and clasps his bride's hand.

They recite their vows, pledging themselves to each other in this world and the next, for now until all time, and kiss.

He writes a song for his beloved, his wife. It is a funny song, a silly song, a song that will make her laugh. A song of how much he drives her crazy, which she has fondly and exasperatedly remarked upon numerous times. The sky is blue, not red; shoes go on your feet, not your head; but it doesn't matter because I love you!

He composes his own tune for it - he used to think everyone could do that, but from his friend's reactions, he was wrong - and waits for her birthday. On that morning, he waits for her in their little kitchen with their guitar - it's his, he has his very own now, but it was a gift from her, crafted with her own hands, and so it belongs to them both - and when she walks in, instead of the expected Las Mañanitas he starts with his new song. "Que color es el cielo? Ay, mi amor!"

She laughs and laughs until tears stream from her eyes. He laughs with her, spinning her around; their feet begin to dance almost of their own volition. A yellow butterfly flutters past the window.

He writes a song for his beloved, his wife. It is a hopeful song, a song of strength and love; a little melancholy, perhaps, but what with whatever tidbits have managed to make their way to the village, that's to be expected. It is about dos oruguitas who have each other, and love each other, and stand strong against a changing world, but who must let go of each other to make their way in their new world.

He composes his own tune for it - it's a lot harder than he thought, much harder than writing poems, but for her, he'll do anything - and waits for her birthday. On that morning, he waits for her in their little kitchen, and when she walks in, without any preamble, he begins. "Dos oruguitas enamoradas..."

She waits for him to sing it in its entirety, and then says, "Two caterpillars? Is that us?"

"Well, yes," he says. "You know I like to write about animals or nature instead of people-" she is the only one he has ever shown his poems to- "And I thought it would be a good metaphor. And, you know, what with all the unrest lately..."

She nods. Their village has been spared, so far.

"It's beautiful," she says. "Thank you."

"Thank you," he says.

"Teach it to me?" she asks.

So he teaches it to her, singing each line for her one by one. She echoes him, hesitantly and then confidently, until she knows it as well as he does and they sing it together in their kitchen, spinning each other around, feet dancing almost of their own volition.

A yellow butterfly flutters past the window.

He calls her mi alma.

It's his favorite endearment to call her. He himself isn't sure why. She calls him mi amor. That's much more common. Mi vida, too, is a testament to how much love is valued; one's very life. But he doesn't call her mi vida and scarcely ever mo amor. Mi alma is what he always calls her, flowery and poetic and true; she is his soul.

"Mi alma," he whispers, like a precious song; the term calls for him, although he knows not why; it always leaves him with a feeling of love, but also wistfulness, for something he cannot quite remember, a nagging wisp of a ghost of a memory in his mind that leaves him waking from nightmares in his bed.

He calls her mi alma.

It's his favorite endearment to call her. A play on her name, she and others find it cute, funny. But to him, it is never funny, and he says it in all serious. Mi alma, she is his Alma, but she is also his very soul.

She hasn't been feeling well lately, and he worries. Nothing serious - a bit of an upset stomach, loss of appetite, feeling more tired than usual. She's just a bit under the weather, she assures him. She'll be fine in a week. There is no need to fuss over her all the time like she's a dying invalid, honestly.

But a week later she feels the same, so, grumbling at the expense and the waste of time, she goes to see the doctor. She comes back with a wide smile on her face, so he knows that she is not seriously ill, that she will get better soon, the doctor must have told her so.

"What did the doctor say?" he asks.

Never one to mince words, always one to get to the point, she tells him, the smile on her face stretching wider and wider, "I'm going to have a baby."

He drops what he's holding. "You-"

"Sí." She looks as though she is quite enjoying the expression on his face.

"We're-"

"Sí."

The smile on his face matches hers. He laughs in pure delight, letting out a grito of joy. He pulls her into a spontaneous dance, spinning her around and off her feet, and she laughs with him, their voices melding into joyous harmony just as they did so long ago, the day they first met. A child, a new life to bring into the world, theirs to love and cherish. He cannot wait.

She hasn't been feeling well lately, and he worries. Nothing serious - fatigue, a bit of an upset stomach. But he worries, and he fusses over her, and she admits to secretly enjoying the way he runs to get any little thing she needs so she doesn't have to get out of bed - "Or I would if I felt well enough to, at least," and he can't resist a smile.

On his insistence, she goes to visit the healer. She is gone for a while, so he goes to the market, and to visit his mother. On his return, she is waiting for him, a small smile on her face and something white in her hands.

"I have a surprise for you," she says, and he barely has the time to wonder Can it be? before she holds up the object in her hands: a small paper cutout of a child.

A child. "Alma-"

"Wait," she says, and unfolds it to reveal three small silhouettes.

"Three-" he half-gasps, half asks.

"Three," she confirms, a knowing, nervous smile on her face.

He pretends to faint in shock. She laughs and flings herself down next to him; he draws her closer to him and they laugh in joy and share their dreams, their hopes, their wishes for their children, what they might call them, this fulfillment of their dreams. Three children all their own, new lives to bring into the world, theirs to love and cherish. He cannot wait.

His daughter is born at dawn.

He paces around and around the house while his friend tries to get him to take a drink for his nerves and he listens to every cry from the bedroom, palms slippery with sweat. Eventually he has the idea to play his guitar right outside the door and sing her favorite songs - La Llorona and his new one, Un Poco Loco. The midwife doesn't come out to yell at him for being a nuisance like she did the last three times he tried to be helpful, so he supposes that this is actually helping.

The hours tick on; his friend goes home to sleep, his eyes feel gritty from exhaustion, and every so often his fingers miss a note, but he won't fall asleep, not yet. How can he sleep when his wife is giving birth to their child only feet away?

And then suddenly he hears it - a thin, wavering wail. It rises in volume and pitch, and he freezes, guitar slipping from his fingers. My child. That is the first cry of his child.

The midwife is barely able to open the door two inches before he pushes it the rest of the way and runs inside.

She is lying in bed, reclining on a pile of pillows, tired and exhausted but aglow. She smiles weakly at him, and says, "Come see our daughter."

Our daughter. Ours. He is suddenly terrified.

He steps forward, slowly, close enough to see the small bundle she is cradling in her arms; the baby is wrapped in all the warm clean cloths they had. All he can see is fabric.

Then the midwife lifts her out of her mother's arms and into his.

Her mother's. She is a mother. And he iss a father. He iss a father of this small, delicate, fragile human being, who lies absolutely helpless in his arms.

She is tiny. He'd seen babies at the orphanage he'd grown up in, of course, and helped to take care of them, as the older children did for the younger, but none had ever been this small. The children had always been kept away from the newborns, for fear that they may spread disease. He has no experience with babies this young. Neither does his wife; she'd been only four years old when her brothers had been born.

The baby has a perfect little nose and rosebud lips and tiny fingers and toes, with nails that he can barely see. The top of her head is covered in dark, soft, feathery fuzz. And her eyes-

He inhales sharply. Her eyes are open, brown orbs strikingly big for such a tiny face staring at him. He stares back, widening his own eyes. His heart melts. Or rather, it melted seven months ago when his wife told him that they would become parents.

"Hello, mija," he whispers. "I'm your papá."

He's taken to doing most of the errands and household chores over the past couple of months, so he's at the market buying produce when her pains start. The neighboring women and his wife's friends have been in and out of the house for the same amount of time, giving him advice on how to complete said chores, bringing over food - it is a joke between the two of them that he cannot cook to save his life - and awaiting the time to help, if need be. It will no doubt be complicated; while the village has had several sets of twins in its history, there have never yet been triplets.

The neighbor's young son comes running to inform him; he grabs the full market basket and runs, its weight nothing. By the time he gets there, the house is full of the neighbor women, a few of their children, and the village's two official midwives are already with her in the bedroom, along with her next-eldest sister and her best friend. Everyone chatters in eagerness, but also in anxiousness; a few of the women, including a mother of twins, reassure him about his wife and children's health, and he nods absently in thanks.

Shortly afterwards one of the midwives poked her head out the door to tell everyone to go home, if they really wanted to help to come back tomorrow, that none of them were accomplishing anything by standing around worrying - Señora Ortiz has always been brusque. "And you," she snaps at him. "You're going to worry a rut into the floor if you keep pacing like that - go boil water or something!"

So he fills up every single pot they own with water and boils them on the stove, switching the boiled ones out for the not-yet-heated ones, and reboiling the water as it cools, glad to have some task to occupy his hands with.

They never call for the water, but several hours later he hears a newborn's cry, and he freezes, his shaking hand returning the pot to the stove.

An agony of waiting later, his sister-in-law, with a bright smile on her face that dispels all his fears, opens the door and motions for him to enter.

His wife is lying in bed, apparently asleep, but her eyes flicker open at his approach. "I did it," she whispers. "I had our triplets."

"You did," he whispers back. "Mi alma."

"Let her rest," Señora Ortiz scolds. "Come, see your children."

His children.

His wife smiles faintly. "Go see them," she murmurs. "Tell me who they look like."

Months earlier, they had prepared three cradles, and gracias a Dios, there is a living baby to fill each. Each one tiny, so small, so delicate. Each of them is sleeping peacefully - "Enjoy it while it lasts," the other midwife remarks wryly.

"Two girls and a boy," his sister-in-law tells him. "This one's the oldest, this is the second, and the boy's the youngest." She points to them in order.

The first girl has a dark thatch of hair atop her head, just like her parents.

Her parents. They are parents now.

The second girl appears to be almost bald at first, but on closer inspection has a head full of ginger fuzz. Where she got that from, he has no idea.

The boy has dark hair as well. He is the smallest, but despite the tininess of his features and his wrinkled, red skin, he thinks the baby looks like his wife, and tells her so.

"They're beautiful," he says. He sits right down on the floor in front of the cradles, heedless of his audience. "Mijas. Mijo..." There is a lump in his throat, and he can't continue or else he will start crying with pure joy.

There are rumors of war.

But then, there are always rumors of war, or so it seems; La Revolución has ravaged the country since they were both children. All they need to do is stay at home and pray that the fighting will not come to them.

So far, the fighting has not come to them. The odd revolutionaries or soldiers coming for supplies or men, yes, but so far, the village has, in the main, been safe. They will offer aid but will not get involved. All they want to do is live in peace.

It's fortunate; they've both lived here all their lives, and they don't want to leave, to flee to another village like so many of the refugees that have already come to them. And a journey might be risky for little Coco, anyway.

He has nightmares of war, of armed men on horses burning down the village, of a woman screaming, of babies crying, of himself being cut down, choking on his own blood. He does not know where the images come from - so clear and vivid, as though he has truly witnessed them, and are not merely what he dreads - a house collapsing in flames as sparks rain down and bathe the sky in orange, men in armor with torches and knives, firelight glinting off metal. He does not tell his wife about them, tells her he cannot remember the dreams that leave him waking in a cold sweat, panic and fear flooding through him, night after night after night.

When the war, after a long, torturous, blood-soaked decade, finally, finally, ends, the two of them, along with all of México, rejoice.

There are rumors of war.

But then, there have been rumors of war for the past few years, and nothing serious has happened. The odd skirmish here or there, but nothing like the terrible conflagration those who take sides say that the other side will cause. Pockets of unrest, and armed men are always to be avoided, but their village is safe. They will offer aid but will not get involved. All they want to do is live in peace.

He has nightmares of war coming to them regardless, of men coming with swords and guns to kill everyone who opposes them. He does not tell his wife about them. She does not need to be haunted with his fears; no doubt she is worried with her own.

Surely there will be no war. Surely there are only exaggerations. Surely things will die down soon, he comforts his wife.

Then the Liberals in Santander officially announce hostilities against the National Government, and all their hopes die, to be replaced with fear.

He has to leave.

He doesn't want to leave. But money must be made. He has an obligation to support his wife and daughter, and this is the best way to do it. He can't deny that he'll enjoy playing and singing for people, but he doesn't think he'll enjoy it nearly as much as his best friend will. His favorite audience is waiting for him at home, and his friend has no family to come home to.

His wife doesn't want him to leave either. They argue about it. She says that he's able to earn money for them right here in Santa Cecilia. He doesn't need to leave. People will hire him, already do hire him, to play at quinceañeras and weddings or even just for spare pesos in the plaza. With that and the way she has discovered a newfound skill in shoemaking, they have enough.

But he doesn't want them to have enough. He wants them to have more than enough, extra money to fall back on in case of emergency, for his brothers-in-law, for his daughter, so that Coco will never be hungry.

Finally, begrudgingly, she agrees. "But not for too long," she says.

"Not more than six months," he promises.

They have to leave.

They don't want to leave, but the soldiers are coming, the soldiers are near, the soldiers are only a day away, half a day, an hour, and is that fire on the other side of the village? Whose house is in flames, he does not know, but the smoke licks the dark sky and the village is bathed in a ghoulish yellow-orange glow and the soldiers are coming. They have to leave. Now.

His wife snatches up the babies, wrapped snugly in their blankets, while he runs around, trying to take whatever they will need. How do you pack up your life within the hour, with only your two hands to hold whatever it is you choose?

He chooses a satchel of food, and clothes for the triplets, and their papers, and their wedding photograph. Anything else is extra, unnecessary. Funny, how you suddenly realize most things are unimportant when your life is in danger. On their way out the door he snatches the wedding candle they saved on their shelf; it's the middle of the night, and they'll need light to guide them.

He has to return to his family.

It's not like they're in danger or anything. In fact, according to his wife's letters - the ones that arrived at wherever they were staying before they moved on, anyway - they are perfectly all right.

But it feels like they are in danger. It feels like he has to save them. His old nightmares have returned with a vengeance. He dreams of his wife screaming, alone, a long wordless keen of grief. He dreams of infants crying. He dreams of his daughter crying; he can never quite see her, only a shadowy figure in the darkness, but he hears her voice sobbing, "Papá, Papá, where are you?"

He wakes from this latest nightmare in a cold sweat, and decides that enough is enough.

It's been six months. It's actually been a few weeks longer than six months, so he has to return now. He promised.

Writing letter after letter to his familia and singing Coco's song at the same time as her each night wasn't enough. He needed to be there with them.

His friend tries to convince him to stay, just like he convince him to stay longer before. "Just a few more weeks," he urges.

"You said that last time," he argues as he packs his suitcase.

"We're this close to getting the chance of a lifetime! Your music will make us famous!"

"I don't want to be famous," he snaps. "I just want to go home!" He'd wanted to be famous once, true. But not anymore. He'd been away from home long enough. It was time to go back. He'd earned enough money over the past few months to keep his wife and daughter comfortable; indeed, he'd sent most of it to them. He didn't need to be on the road anymore.

His friend argues and pleads with him, but this time, he is firm. Nothing is stopping him from leaving.

Finally, his friend gives in, accepting that some things are more important than music and money and fame. "I'm sending you off with a toast," he offers, and he gladly accepts.

He has to leave his family.

They are in mortal danger, and his leaving will be their salvation. It is the only way.

The soldiers are coming. There are only a few of them, and they are armed, and they have horses; all things the people of their village do not have. Traveling on foot with three babies; the two of them will be cut down within five minutes if they keep going like this, and the babies with them.

The soldiers have to be stopped, or at least delayed. His wife has to be given more time to run. There is only one way any of this can happen. Only one way he can give her more time.

He will die, he knows, but he will die knowing his wife and children will live.

"Te amo," he whispers, and runs.

His legs cannot support him anymore, and he doubles over and falls to his knees, coughing and choking, burning pain shooting up from his stomach into his throat. He cannot speak. He cannot breathe. His friend takes his case to lighten his load, saying something he can barely hear as he collapses, clutching his stomach in agony, clawing at his throat.

He's so close. He can't get sick now. He's so close. Just a block away from the train station. He hears the noise of the whistle, smells the smoke and the coal. He can't get sick now. He has to make it home at least, he can get sick at home. He just has to get home first. His friend can help him get onto the train, he just has to get there.

He tries to rise, and fails. He tries to speak, and all that comes out is a strangled cough. Then another cough, and another, spraying his shirt and the cobblestones with blood.

"Imelda," he tries to say. "Coco." The words don't come out. Their faces dance before him. He has to get home to them. He has to see them again. He can't even get up, he can barely even move. What's wrong with him?

There is a faraway roaring in his ears, and his vision is failing. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to exist.

Out of the corner of his eyes, strikingly bright through his dimming vision, he sees a yellow butterfly floating in the air, unusual for México City this time of year.

His face hits the ground, and everything goes black.

His legs cannot support him anymore, and he doubles over and falls to his knees, coughing and choking on his own blood, agony from a dozen wounds overpowering him. He cannot speak. He cannot breathe. The soldiers laugh and move on, leaving him feebly grasping at his injuries, trying in a futile attempt to slow the bleeding.

Was it enough? Did he delay the soldiers for long enough for his wife to run? How much longer does she have before they cut her down just like they did to him?

He has to get to her. He has to help her.

He tries to rise, and fails. He tries to speak, and all that comes out is a strangled cough. Then another cough, and another, spraying his shirt and the mud with blood, as though the earth isn't already soaked with it.

"Alma," he rasped. Alma. Mi alma. Where are you, don't linger, run, run, run...

He tries to say his children's names, too. Julieta. Named for his mother, dead a month before she could see her grandchildren. Pepa. The one with the strongest lungs of them all, and he swear she's already learned to smile. Bruno. His only son, smaller and weaker than his sisters, yet with a cry that nearly rivals Pepa's.

His voice isn't really working anymore, though, and while his lips form their names his ears hear nothing, nothing but his wife's endless scream.

There is a faraway roaring in his ears, and a flash of golden light. But now his vision is failing. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to exist.

Out of the corner of his eyes, strikingly bright through his dimming vision, he sees a yellow butterfly floating in the air, unusual for the forest in the middle of the night.

He wishes he could see his family, just once more. But they are gone, far away from this killing ground, and he takes comfort in that as everything goes black.

There is darkness, but no pain. Not anymore. He doesn't seem to have a body to feel pain; or if he does, he can't feel it. It doesn't bother him, though. He is searching urgently for someone, but can't remember who. Her name is Alma, he thinks. No, Imelda. Or maybe it's Julieta, or is it Coco?

Coco. He almost gasps with the realization. Coco! He has to find her!

No, he has to find his triplets, his babies....Julieta. Pepa. Bruno. Those are their names. He has to go back to them, has to make sure they're all right.

And then, suddenly, he sees them.

He sees a house on a hill, a magical house that can and will defend its inhabitants if need be. He sees the house in the center of a prosperous little village. And he sees two young women and a young man leave the house.

They're about the same age he is now, he realizes. They're all grown up. Tiny helpless infants no longer. The sight moves him so much that the scene trembles, starts to disintegrate.

No! He cries out wordlessly. No, he wants more! He still wants to see them! He hasn't seen them for their entire lives - just a moment more!

But the scene dissolves, and is replaced with his little Coco, standing on her tiptoes to look out the window, her face falling in disappointment. "Mamá!" She turns to call over her shoulder. "When is Papá coming home?"

"Papa is right here," he tried to say, but he has no mouth, no tongue, no voice, and she cannot hear him, if he's even really there. His triplets have each other at least, he knows, and the house. So he reaches forward to his Coco, standing all alone, and then he feels like he is falling, and then there is nothing.

He found himself awakening on a bed as a skeleton gave him a little speech that sounded like he'd said it a thousand times. "Welcome to the Land of the Dead. My condolences on your death. Please tell me your name, your occupation, your family members, and any other information that you think will be helpful in reuniting you with any deceased family you have. We want to make your adjustment as easy as possible."

"Eh, disculpe," he said slowly as he sat up, feeling dizzy. "You're a skeleton." Should he be screaming?

The skeleton didn't sound surprised at all. "Yes, I am. So are you, mi amigo. We're both dead, you see."

"Dead," he echoed, staring at his fingers, which, indeed, were bone. As was the rest of him. He wiggled them experimentally. Dead.

"But I can't be dead," he said. "I was just going home. My wife, my daughter-"

"I'm very sorry," the skeleton - the other skeleton - told him, sounding sincere. "But you're in the Land of the Dead now, and there's no going back to the Land of the Living, not until Día de los Muertos. Please, tell me your name, so we can help you find your family."

Later, he will grieve for his own life lost, for his wife and daughter, as though they are the ones who have died and not he. Later, he will mourn his own death, mourn the Land of the Living, mourn the yellow sun and blue sky. Later, he will tell the official that the only family he has in any world is still in the Land of the Living. Later, he will ponder the strange dreams he had, before they fade from memory.

But now, he said "Héctor," slowly, consideringly, tasting the name as it left his mouth; it felt both familiar and strange, like a forgotten dream he had only just started to remember. As he spoke, his name, his identity, solidified. For a moment, he heard what sounded like the phantom crying of three newborns; then he shook his head. All that mattered was Imelda and Coco. He was Héctor, and he had to go back home to see his little girl again. "Héctor Rivera."

#encanto #pedro madrigal #hector rivera #coco #pixar coco #coco pixar #alma madrigal #imelda rivera #hector is pedro's reincarnation

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