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dholwrites · 3 years

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Little Heart

Notes: Moments between the Crystal Exarch and his son while the Warrior is away. Playing dress-up, eating meals, and telling bed time stories. For @blood--hunter and written for pre 5.3 patch! Relationship: G’raha Tia / Unnamed Warrior of Light Rating: G - General. (Very high fluff content)

Inspiration link Ao3 Link

“Do you have everything you need? Food, clothes, weapon?” G’raha shifts back and forth on his feet, eyes following the Warrior of Light. His Warrior of Light. The thought of it still sends butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. All his fussing is easily hushed with a simple ‘yes,’ your face twisted to barely suppress your smile at his fretting. You reach out to pet the child nestled to his chest, tiny kitten ears poking out of the hood of his onesie and wiggling constantly as his hands grasp at the decorations on his father’s robes.

You have left them both alone before; usually leaving to help the newly inspired Warriors of Light, or to the Source to check on the Scions. However, those trips were usually a day at most. This is the first time you have had to leave for a week, and it’s a test of how well everyone can handle the situation. Problems of the Source wait for no one, not even the Warrior of Light.

“Wey,” G’raha whispers, breaking into a smile when he gets his son’s attention. Wey’s innocent red eyes look back and forth between his parents, trying to figure out what is happening. “Do you want to say ‘See you soon’?” With an eager nod from him, G’raha easily sets the child on his feet and watches as he waddles up to you.

“Byebye, I love you.” His little voice barely reaches your ears as he squeezes you as hard as he can, trying to prevent you from leaving. G’wey then mashes the bottom half of his face against your cheek for a ‘kiss’ and waits for you to do the same. The pout on his face lightens when you press your lips to his chubby cheeks, giggling when your hair tickles his face.

G’raha smiles at the scene, wishing that he could take a picture and cherish the moment for the rest of his life. He steps up to press his own kiss onto your waiting lips, chest to chest, his hand reaching out to grip your shirt and his tail unconsciously wrapping itself around your leg. And just like that, you step through the portal and vanish.

Day 1

It’s the first breakfast without you there, and G’wey is already searching for you. The kitten has made a point to ignore the breakfast sitting in front of him; instead, he kicks his legs impatiently and attempts to look into the entryway to see if he could catch a peek of you coming down the hall.

“Where did they go?” G’wey looks up at his father from a high chair, clearly confused about why you haven’t left your room yet. He manages to wiggle himself from the confines of his chair; just as he stands on his seat, his balance starts to slip and he nearly topples over before G’raha catches him with a wave of magic. Unfazed, the child continues to grasp at the air for answers. “Dada? Where are they? They were here yesterday.”

G’raha couldn’t help but wonder if this is how he looked when he was still a baby, a red-haired kit with mismatched eyes asking every question under the sun. “They left yesterday, remember? So we’ll have to wait.” G’raha crouches down to give his beloved son a kiss on the top of his head. Gears turn in his mind on how to explain this issue - and a quick glance at the calendar reminds him of how long it will be before you come back - before his attention is brought back to the squirming child. “Do you remember your numbers, Wey?”

“Yes, Dada!” The kit raises his hands and wiggles all his fingers before counting them. “One, two, tree, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!”

G’raha couldn’t help but feel proud when G’wey didn’t miss a single number. He reaches out and cups his hands to curl around the fingers. “They will be back in five breakfast, you will have to be a little patient, okay?”

“But that’s a really long time.”

“I know, but it’s going to be worth it. They might bring back a present.” The child instantly perks up at the mention of a new toy, eagerly nodding his head as G’raha picks up the bowl of cut chicken and spoons a small portion. He holds it up to G’wey’s mouth, urging him to take the bite. “Since they are away right now, we can also plan what we can do when they come back.”

“Then…” He hurries to eat the food, red eyes shining like jewels, it takes him a moment to find the right words to say what is on his mind. “Can I have a second breakfast? Then we will have… five more breakfasts before they come home... right?”

G’raha nearly keeled over at the suggestion, he let go of G’wey to cover the wide smile spread across his face. A burst of laughter tickles his throat while his heart flutters like a bird in his chest. Is it possible to love his son any more than he does now?

Day 3

“How about this one?” G’raha holds up another onesie. It was a present, from Dulia Chai and Chai Nuzz after they found out that the famed Exarch and Warrior of Light had a child. The onesie is fashioned into his own robed attire with the softest material available, with the metal details replaced with durable wooden ones for him to play with. G’wey lets out a happy squeal at the sight of it, running over and nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry.

He had already spent a better part of the day changing his son from one onesie into another. Several of them were fashioned after outfits of their Warrior; a pure white attire with a matching cane, loose red far eastern robes with a wooden sword to match, and even a set of black robes with a pile of cards for him to play with. Each outfit is lovingly recreated with small alterations to make it safe.

He helps G’wey into this new outfit, even pulling the hood up to hide his bright red hair for good measure. The light laughter that erupts is infectious, G’raha unable to stop himself from letting out a chuckle as he pats his head.

“I look like you now!” The mi’kitten declares after he picks up a toy version of his staff. The toy is barely a forearm’s length, and G’wey waves it around like a wand while G’raha cleans up the mess they’ve made. The sight is almost too adorable to bear.

The hood has started to slip off, with one side barely hanging on by an ear while the other wiggles free from the hem. The long sleeves that replaced his armbands were long enough to cover everything but his fingers, and he had already rolled them up to properly grip the staff. The cut of the skirt is high enough to prevent him from tripping on it and they even cut a hole for the tail to poke out, the tuft wiggling without restraint.

Could his son be any cuter?

Day 5

“Crystal Exarch, sir!”

A Crystarium guard hurried over to him with a report from Lyna. There were reports of trade routes coming under attack, but nothing that he had never handled before. With the Lightwardens gone, the remaining sineaters have begun to attack recklessly, endangering travelers. Even the local wildlife has found it easier to pick off unsuspecting merchants when they’re too worried about other threats.

With his father distracted, G’wey moves to stand in front of his growing crowd of friends. He pulls the hood over his head and puffs out his chest, even tapping the end of the toy onto the ground twice as if to command them. Unknownst to him, the passing adults had taken notice of the tiny Exarch and even started to greet him as such. By the time G’raha finally turned his attention back to G’wey, he was immersed in a game of pretend.

“Begone, foul sin eater! I am the Crystal Exarch and the Crystarium is under my protection!” G’wey declares, brandishing his staff while a few of ‘civilians’ hide behind him. An elezen child prowls towards him on his tiptoes, hands reaching out to grab his costume.

“I am the greatest Sineater! And there is nothing you can do to stop me from eating everyone!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll summon heroes to come and save us!” G’wey steps up before G’raha had the chance to move from the sidelines. He swings his staff, careful not to hit anyone before slamming the end onto the ground. “Champions heed my call!”

With those words, G’raha’s face grows a shade closer to his hair. A mix of embarrassment and pride was enough for him to miss the other children running in to join the scene. The grin that broke out on his face could be seen a mile away. There’s no way, how could he have known those words? Unless… someone had told him the story of what happened down in the ruined city beneath the sea. But there is only a small handful that would know, and he’s yet to ask any of the Scions to babysit. That would leave...

His Warrior?

Day 6

“Wey, you need to eat your veggies.” He had already tried to combine different types of vegetables into soups and cream, attempted to dress them up to make them more appealing, and even hid them into meatballs. Most of his attempts have been successful, but he really wished to nurture a love for at least some vegetables. He’d find another way to convince G’wey to eat more later. Right now, his main concern is to get him to eat at least half of the popoto salad that he had prepared. “Just try to finish as much as you like, okay?”

G’wey looked reluctantly at the salad sitting in front of him before crossing his arms and turning the other way. “I don’t want to! I hate vegetables. I’m a big kid now, so I don’t need to eat them.”

G’raha lets out a defeated sigh, scratching his head over what to do in this situation. He picked up a small spoonful of the salad and held it up to G’wey’s mouth, only for the mi’kitten to turn his entire body to move away from the food. Just as he was about to give up, an idea occurred to him.

“Wey~” He coos softly as he casts a spell on himself. Within a blink of an eye, he’s gone. The Exarch had to stop the laughter creeping up his throat as he watched G’wey frantically look around the room to spot him in this sudden game of hide and seek.

G’raha nudged the spoon into his mouth, the magic dispelling only when G’wey started to eat. He watches as his red eyes light up the more he chews his food, his tail wagging with uncontainable excitement. A sign of relief escapes G’raha’s lips as he uses his free hand to brush aside some of his hair.

“It’s good for you to eat them even if you’re a big boy now.” G’raha sets the spoon back into his small hands before helping him eat another mouthful. This time the child is more than eager to inhale the salad, his tiny ears wiggling in delight at every bite. He reaches out to pat the child on the back, rubbing small soothing circles to prevent him from choking on himself. “Even Lyna still eats her vegetables. She eats both her meat and carrots everyday to be the captain of the guard.”

“T-then I’ll eat them!” G’wey declared, looking as intimidating as one could be with half of his face covered in eggs and mashed popotoes. “I’ll eat them so that I can be strong enough to protect everyone!”

Day 7

“Dada?” G’wey quietly asks as he is tucked into bed with a plushie next to him. The child kicks at the blanket to get his attention, staring up at him with bright and hopeful eyes. “Can you tell me a bedtime story?”

“Why, I never thought you would ask, Wey.” G’raha seats himself on the edge of the bed, leaning against the headrest. Tomes from the bookshelf gently glide across the room to hover before G’wey, who still marvels at the magic as if he’s seeing it for the first time. “What story do you want to hear about tonight?”

“Anything! All the stories you tell are good.” G’raha smiles as he decides to untuck some of the blanket to make himself comfortable beside his son. All but one book return to their rightful place, the last book’s magic pouring out into the room as the pages flip open. Parts of the room transform into a scenic mountain range with a snowy landscape, and the center sits the step towards the bridge that leads to the kingdom. The dark spiralling towers stand cold and alone as snow descends from the skies.

It’s a familiar sight to him now. Especially as he’s mastered the art of storytelling over the years; starting with Lyna, then the other children of the Crystarium, and finally presenting the polished experience to G’wey. He always enjoyed telling stories of everything that his warrier have done as the Warrior of Light. “Once upon a time, in a world different from ours, there was a kingdom that was friends with dragons. They lived in harmony, but one day, the knights of the kingdom decided to betray them and steal the dragons’ power.”

The scene shifts as he continues the tale, moving from the kingdom to a group of knights celebrating their victory over a still dragon. With G’wey tucked into his arms, G’raha continues his story and paints a tale of the Dragonsong War; of the struggle that the hero has gone through, the triumphs that they have achieved, and the people that once stood beside them.

As the story draws to a close, the Warrior of Light has defeated Nidhogg and saved their friend. The yawn that G’wey let out nearly stopped him in his tracks. The mi’kitten snuggles to his chest with tiny red eyes that he can barely keep open. With a wave of his hand, the magic is dispelled and the book is set on the nightstand beside the bed. The warm glow illuminating the room from the night lamp hanging from the wall, G’raha could hear and feel the loud purr rumbling from the kitten.

“Da? Will I ever be able to do magic like you?”

“Of course you can, G’wey.” G’raha answers right away, though G’wey didn’t stay awake long enough to hear the answer to his question. He pulls the sheets up to the child’s chin as he continues, “You can learn magic or how to use a sword. Whatever you do, as long as you’re safe, I will be there to support you.”

G’raha starts to hum under his breath an old lullaby that once cradled him into sweet dreams. Though a lot of the words have become muddled from his memory, he can feel it ease all the stress of the day off his shoulders. Beside one of his most precious treasures, G’raha slips into a peaceful rest, knowing that in the morning his family will be whole again.

#G'raha Tia #Crystal Exarch #ffxiv headcanon #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv #fanfic #writing commission #commission #ffxiv g'raha tia

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boomkloppthesoundofmyheart · 3 years

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Carravile Fic

Title: Hey Stupid

Inspired by this post.

Note: Set in present time, but they’re in their 20s.

"Neville, you really need to broaden your music taste," Jamie says as another Oasis song comes on Gary's music shuffle.

For this international break, Jamie has the pleasure of rooming with the Manc. He'd rather have roomed with Stevie, but the gaffer decided to mix things up and assigned them with people outside their own clubs. Hence, how he ended up rooming with one Gary Neville.

Which he doesn't really mind if he's honest. Especially after a change of heart on his part. He began to feel something else for the Manc after their last match with England.

Gary had come to his defense after Austria's striker took him down with a late tackle. He came rushing over and pushed the striker away when he tried pulling Jamie up on his feet. Few choice words were said before Gary checked up on his fallen teammate.

Ever since then, Jamie saw Gary in a new light. That, and he does enjoy talking to the guy. When they're playing club football, they'd keep in touch, usually texting the other about a bad result or an on-field gaffe (Jamie usually being at the end of those ones).

Sometimes, they would even socialize in person. They would either hang out in Manchester or somewhere in between, but never in Liverpool. Gary is always adamant that he'll never step into Liverpool unless if it was for a match. That just shows how bad Jamie has it for Gary if he's willing to spend his free time in enemy territory.

When they're not arguing about whose team is better, they do have great discussions about anything and everything football. To Jamie, the Manc doesn't seem half bad.

Well, except his music taste.

Gary had won the coin toss on whose music playlist gets to be played through the portable speaker. So for the past half an hour, they had been listening to what seems like the whole Oasis discography.

"Oh, and like your music taste is any better."

"Well, it's different from yours. I have an eclectic taste in music," Jamie says haughtily.

"Wow, 'eclectic.' Didn't know that was in your vocabulary. I hope you didn't strain your brain there," Gary smirks.

"It's actually me word of the day on this app I have." Jamie waves his phone. This earns a laugh from Gary, much to Jamie's delight. It's worth getting teased if it meant seeing Gary's smile especially since he knows he's the one that put it there.

"I knew you wouldn't have known that word yourself," Gary says in between chuckles.

"Anyway, can I play my music? Just to change it up some, man. I'm tired of Oasis."

"Haha, nice try, Carragher, but no. I won the toss so we're listening to this."

Jamie groaned and placed his pillow over his head. He really needs to open Gary up to different music.

After the international break, Jamie texted Gary music recommendations.

Carragher: hey listen to this, neville

(Congratulations by Post Malone)

https://youtu.be/SC4xMk98Pdc

Gary: Aww, you congratulating United for our win today.

Carragher: oh fuck off. im just showing that there's other artists out there other than oasis so we don't have to keep listening to them next time we room together

Gary: Ha! Like I'd want to room with you again!

Carragher: shut up, you love rooming with me

Gary: 🖕

Carragher: hey, thought you'd need this after that screamer of an own goal you had today

(YNWA by Brittanny Howard)

https://youtu.be/V4vdYzUMWbo

As soon as Jamie sent the link, he got a text back from Gary.

Gary: Not in the mood for your bullshit right now, Carragher.

Carragher: go on. listen to it. i promise you'll feel better. im not taking the mick

A few minutes pass and he receives another text from Gary.

Gary: Thanks Carragher. That did make me feel better. It's a great version of that song.

Carragher: 😱 what?! YNWA cheered up gary neville?! what would united fans say

Gary: THIS BETTER NOT LEAVE THIS CHAT, CARRAGHER!

Carragher: 😘

As he sent more song recommendations, Jamie thought he could use it to shoot his shot and try to let Gary know how he feels.

Carragher: here's another one. LISTEN to it, gary

(Seaside by SEB)

https://youtu.be/G9Wg4mtcXmc

Jamie watched his screen, anxiously waiting for a reply. Would Gary get it or-

His phone lit up. A reply from Gary.

Gary: nice 👍

Yep, he didn't get it. Maybe I need to be more clear?

Carragher: how about this one

(I Love You, I Love You. It’s Disgusting by Broadside)

https://youtu.be/iHW95x9HnY0

Gary: I like the ukelele use. Makes me want to learn it as well.

Jamie grabbed one of his throw pillows and screamed into it in frustration. Once he calmed down a bit, he sends another song.

(I Like Me Better by Lauv)

https://youtu.be/a7fzkqLozwA

Gary: It's alright. You've sent better songs.

Okay, heartfelt may be the key.

Jamie then shares another song with Gary.

(Turning Page by Sleeping At Last)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Cry85KUzzU

Gary: Didn't take you for a sappy guy.

Jamie runs a hand over his face. He scrolls through his playlist and stops when he finds the song he was looking for.

If he still does not get it, then officially I'm the smart between us, Jamie thought as sent the link to the song. He doesn't even have to listen to it. Just read the damn title.

(Hey Stupid, I Love You by JP Saxe)

https://youtu.be/_fgXpX1vEQA

Gary: 👍

Jamie couldn't take it anymore. He grabs his phone and Facetimes Gary.

A bewildered Gary answers after a few seconds.

"You're a bit thick sometimes, aren't you?" Jamie says, foregoing any greeting.

"Well, hello to you too, Carragher," Gary answers sarcastically. "To what do I owe the displeasure of talking to you?"

"The songs. Are you really not getting what I'm trying to tell you?"

"You're trying to tell me that...you need me to help you refine your music taste?" Gary guesses.

"For fuck's sake." Jamie could not roll his eyes any harder. "No...I'm trying to tell you that I like you. Hell, I may even love you...you fucking twat."

Gary's image freezes or that's what Jamie thinks anyway until he finally blinks.

"So?"

"So what?"

"I just confessed I love you. What do you have to say?"

Gary shifts in his seat. "Um..."

That was the last Jamie hears before Gary hung up. Jamie tries calling him back, but the other man refused to answer. His texts yielded the same result.

"Idiot! I'm such an idiot!" Jamie jumped to his feet and paced around his living room. When he tired himself out, Jamie collapsed back onto his sofa with his phone within reach, just in case that stupid Manc does call back.

He must have fallen asleep while he waited for a reply because the next thing he remembers is the doorbell ringing. Jamie thought of letting whoever was at the door wait until they just leave. However, this idea was quickly abandoned when the guest decided to press the doorbell in quick succession.

"I'm coming. Stop it will ya!" Jamie yelled as he begrudgingly got off the sofa.

Without checking who it was, Jamie yanked open his door. It was his turn to be frozen in surprise.

Standing in front of him was Gary Neville himself.

"Jamie, this is it." Gary gestures to himself. "This is my answer to you."

"What?" Jamie frowns.

"Me...being here in Liverpool. You know I would never come here if I don't have to...That's my answer to you."

It clicks in Jamie's head. "Are you telling me you love me too?" Jamie asks, frown now replaced by a smile.

"Me driving here wasn't enough. You really want me to say it, don't you?" Gary groans.

Jamie nods enthusiastically.

"You're a bloody idiot," Gary rolls his eyes, but he was betrayed by the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile. "I love you."

Jamie closes the distance between them and engulfs Gary into his arms. "I love you, too," Jamie whispers before capturing Gary's lips for a kiss.

#carraville #carraville fics #jamie carragher #gary neville #my posts #my fics #carraville au

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inkweaver22-blr · 3 years

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HOLY. MOLY.

This has to be the Lóng-est chapter I’ve written so far! It took me almost two whole days to complete!

Please enjoy the fruits of my labor as we all see what Tang gets up to next!

AO3 Link

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Seven: Scaled Siblings

Tang wakes up in Mei's mansion.

----------

Tang woke from the usual dream signaling the start of a new cycle when his alarm went off. With a sigh he sat up and reflexively clapped his hands. He blinked a bit in surprise when the lights turned on in response. He quickly put on his glasses and looked around.

The room he was in was not one he recognized. It was much larger than he was accustomed too, being the same size as either of the apartments he usually lived in. The opulent decorations also screamed wealth and old money to Tang, something he certainly never had.

As he climbed out of the king sized bed, Tang began to suspect where he was. The amount of green accents and jade adornments everywhere made it fairly obvious.

He was in the Lóng family’s mansion.

Shivering a bit as he rubbed his bare arms, (apparently this version of himself slept shirtless), he quickly made his way over the huge mirror that was standing upright in between a fancy dresser and antique armoire. He needed to know what was going on.

Tang’s mouth hung open when he saw his reflection.

He was young.

He was buff.

Tang gaped at his own body for a few moments. Sure, the scholar had never technically been out of shape in most timelines, but dang he had never been this fit before either.

Blushing in embarrassment once he realized he had just been staring at himself for over a minute, Tang did his best to refocus.

(But damn did he look good.)

He was much younger than usual as well. If the scholar had to guess, he’d say he was only a few years older than MK and Mei now.

He really needed to find out what was happening.

Tang took a breath and began his remembering ritual.

“I am Lóng Tang. I am the current heir to the branch of the Lóng family descended from Huánglóng, the Yellow Dragon.”

What the hell?!

Tang rubbed his temples as he felt a headache coming on. He thought being Tripitaka had been confusing enough, but this was on an entirely different level of unexpected. He needed to keep going or he’d get stuck on this single fact for much too long.

“Every family descended from a dragon traditionally takes on the name Lóng. Even though we aren’t tied by blood, all the Lóng branches consider each other family and treat each other as distant relatives.”

Fascinating, but that didn’t really help ease his confusion much. Next detail.

“I’ve been living with my aunt, uncle, and cousin, who are descended from Ao Run, the Dragon King of the West Sea, for the last four years.”

Well that explained why he was in Mei’s mansion.

“I’ve done so at the request of my aunt and uncle, who are hoping that by setting a good example, Mei will learn from me, grow out of her childish pursuits, and become a proper heir.”

What. The. Hell.

Tang searched his memories thoroughly. There was no way Mei’s parents would have said such a horrible thing to him directly.

He came up with no concrete evidence of his aunt and uncle having ever implied that they found Mei lacking in any way. It seemed this version of himself had simply made that assumption himself.

Tang rolled his eyes. He certainly knew how dangerous making assumptions could be. He needed more information to get a better conclusion.

“Luckily for Mei, I find her to be fun and do my best to act as a buffer between her and her parents. She introduced me to her friend MK back in my first year living here, and he quickly befriended me once I began sharing stories about the Monkey King with him. We all like to hang out at MK’s adoptive father’s noodle shop whenever we all have some free time.”

Tang smiled in relief. At least some things never changed.

“Right now, I should be making my way to the mansion’s training room for my daily workout before heading to my job at the city library.”

Tang blinked as he finally checked the time. 5:17 AM. Eurgh. He should not be feeling this energetic this early.

With a resigned sigh, Tang pulled out a set of exercise clothes from the ridiculously nice dresser and got dressed.

He had always heard exercising was a good way to help clear your head when you had a lot to think about. At least, that’s what a lot of martial arts fiction implied. He hoped that it worked the same in practice.

----------

Tang had never felt so in control of his own body before. The way it seemed to flow from one movement to the next as he began some warm up sets was extremely satisfying.

Just as satisfying was the fact that he was trained in martial arts in this timeline. He never had a real desire to fight, but just knowing how to defend himself was a bit reassuring with what he knew would be coming in the future.

He let his mind wander a bit as he let his muscle memory lead him through his pre-workout routine.

This cycle had broken Tang’s previously held conventions on what he had come to expect within these timelines. He had originally categorized them into five types.

The ones where there were no changes to the original timeline.

The ones where there were only small, relatively insignificant changes.

The ones where new events outside of the ones in the original timeline occurred.

The ones where he was the immortal Tripitaka instead of just his reincarnation.

Finally, there were the ones that combined any number of changes from the previous three types.

Tang moved on to a second, more difficult set as he pondered on this shift in perspective. It was obvious this was a new, sixth type of cycle he simply hadn’t encountered before. This one had completely rewritten his and Mei’s background, making huge alterations to their past that would surely affect the coming future events.

Tang felt a shiver of fear creep down his spine but kept his form steady.

Now that his personal history was almost completely unrecognizable, what did that mean for the “No Interference” rule? It didn’t seem to apply whenever Tang himself didn’t know what the outcome of events could be. So with him having an altered life, did that mean the outcomes of the events he knew of would have been altered as well? Could he get more involved than before now as he never knew what those outcomes would have been? Perhaps he couldn’t directly affect the outcomes, but surely he wouldn’t be punished for offering a bit of backup and support now that he could provide it.

Right?

He smoothly moved onto his final warm up set as another complication occurred to him.

This wouldn’t be the only cycle that would drastically change his and his family’s past. Like the other variants, now that he had experienced one, more would begin to show up with increasing frequency as time went on.

What worried Tang was that they would also share the unpredictability of the others. The vast amount of probable changes were too numerous to even begin guessing what might happen until a cycle began and he could remind himself of his history within it.

He supposed that there was nothing he could do about that until those cycles actually happened, so there was no real point in fretting over it now. He let his worries go as he finished his warm up and took a deep breath.

Tang felt good.

Better than good, actually, he felt energized. Charged up, so to speak. It was exhilarating.

With a grin, Tang focused on the part of himself that was dragon in origin. The energy that swirled within him was powerful; a strange mix of wild strength and immovable sturdiness.

He let warm power fill him as he held out his hand. In a flash of golden-yellow light, the young scholar summoned his family’s own sacred weapon to him. Tang examined it in awe.

Dàdì Zhī Yá.

Fang of the Earth.

It was a masterful work of art.

The magical guandao had been a gift to his ancestors from Huánglóng himself and, just like Mei’s Dragon Blade, seemed to be made entirely out of jade.

It wasn’t the same green jade however. It was made up of three other types of the precious mineral.

The intricately designed blade was a bright yellow jade, matching the color of the scales of its creator. The shaft of the weapon was a rich brown jade, symbolizing the element of Earth Huánglóng was associated with. Finally, the connector for the shaft and blade and the counter-weighted capstone at the butt of the shaft were a deep black jade. It was said to represent the color of ink as Huánglóng had supposedly gifted the knowledge of writing to mankind.

The only part of the weapon that wasn’t made of jade was the royal purple silk tassel that hung from the connecting piece near the blade. It complimented the earthy colors of the rest of the guandao rather nicely.

Tang took the weapon in both hands and got into the proper stance to begin his drills.

He had earned the right to wield the Fang of the Earth roughly six years ago according to his memories and had practiced diligently with it ever since.

Being chosen to be worthy of possessing it had forged a sort of connection between him and the guandao. Normally, the weight alone should have made it impossible for him to lift it, but the connection allowed him to hold it with little difficulty. He had still struggled a bit with how heavy it was despite that, but the years of training had helped him gain the strength and muscle to wield it with incredible precision and control.

Simply being able to pick it up wasn’t the only benefit to being connected to his family’s sacred weapon. It seemed to bond with the dragon energy within him, allowing the scholar to summon it to his side at will. The only drawback was that his hands had to be completely free to do so.

He wondered if the Dragon Blade worked similarly for Mei back in his original timeline.

Tang swung the guandao around skillfully, thinking about his cousin in this cycle.

Lóng Xiǎojiāo. Mei.

The young woman was an endless fountain of optimism and positivity. She had a passion for life and its experiences. Riding her motorcycle was just one of the ways she connected to her innermost self and channeled her enthusiasm for existence.

She was fiercely loyal to her friends and family. She may not be formally trained in a fighting style, but if you hurt her precious people you’d face her wrath.

Mei was generally cheerful and outgoing in most aspects of her life. The single exception had been her relation with her family and their legacy.

Tang frowned as he continued his drills.

In the original timeline, Mei had constantly been under the pressure to behave properly. At least she had until the Dragon Blade had been stolen and she unlocked its power. By embracing being a part of her family despite their differences and by being herself, she had become a worthy successor to her clan’s lineage.

But that was still four months away according to the current date. This was certainly the earliest he’d even woken up before the original events.

His presence here wasn’t helping matters. While he and Mei had become good friends, he couldn’t help but feel that she thought she was constantly being compared to him by her parents.

Again, he had no strong proof about whether that was the case in this cycle. It was just a suspicion he had.

Tang hummed to himself, trying to think of some way to fix this problem while slashing downwards with the Fang of the Earth.

He couldn’t do anything overt that could change things so that she accepted her place in her family too early. He was sure that violated the “No Interference” rule despite the changed history.

Perhaps he could try subtly raising Mei’s self confidence? But how could he go about doing that?

Tang twirled the guandao around him before ending his first set.

As he looked down at his own family’s legacy and heritage, he couldn’t help but think that learning to use the weapon had made him more sure of himself over the years.

Tang blinked.

Huh.

Perhaps he could use that.

He started into his next set of drills, already brainstorming about what he would need to make his plan work.

----------

Tang was certain his earlier suspicions about Mei’s parents were, thankfully, completely wrong. The dinners they shared as a family proved to him that they loved their daughter completely. They just didn’t see eye-to-eye on some things.

He was also able to get their permission and help with the idea he had. That showed how much they actually cared considering the things he had asked for weren’t something people only obsessed with their image and wealth would agree to.

It took nearly three weeks to prepare but he was finally ready.

“Uncle, do you remember that issue we discussed a few weeks ago,” he asked at dinner that evening.

“Oh, is it ready?”

“Yes Uncle.”

“Wonderful! Mei darling,” his uncle addressed the young woman, who eyed him warily.

“Yeah dad?”

“Tang here has come up with a bit of a surprise for you. Would you be willing to join him in the training room after dinner so that he may share it with you?”

“Uhh… I guess so,” Mei agreed hesitantly, glancing over at her older cousin.

“Don’t worry. It’s a good surprise,” Tang reassured.

“It’s also one we support and gave our full permission for,” Mei’s mother added. “Listen to what your cousin has to say and try not to dismiss it right away, dear.”

Tang winced a little as Mei glared down at her plate.

He clamped down at the growl that wanted to roll from his throat at the slightly tactless comment. Dragon instincts had been interesting to deal with these past few weeks. Especially the protective ones.

Dinner finished soon after and Tang led Mei to the training room.

“So what’s this big surprise you’ve got for me,” Mei asked, slouching as she looked around the room.

“Don’t sound too excited now,” Tang drawled as he pulled out a wrapped package.

“I don’t know. Something that has my parents' full support sounds soooo cool,” Mei snarked, earning a snort from the scholar.

“Trust me on this. You’ll like it,” Tang said, slowly unwrapping the item. “How would you like to learn how to wield a sword?”

“Wait, what?” Mei straightened her posture in surprise. She gasped when Tang finally unveiled what he was holding.

A replica of the Dragon Blade.

“Wha- But- How?!” Mei gaped at the sword. It wasn’t an exact copy, but it had the same dimensions as the original.

“Your parents allowed me to commission a copy of the Dragon Blade so that I can begin teaching you how to use it.”

That had been a bit of a hard sell. He had to agree to only go through a smith of their choice and all schematics of the blade had to be destroyed afterwards. But they had gone through with it, at least once he explained it was for Mei’s benefit.

Mei’s expression flickered between several emotions before settling on anger.

Uh oh.

“Oh I get it! This is because I’m ‘undisciplined’ isn’t it,” she bit out, a growl rising in her voice. “I need to be reined in! Taught how to be a dignified heir to the clan like you, right?!”

“No! That’s not-” Tang took a breath. He wouldn’t get through to her if he started yelling too. “That’s not what’s going on here, Mei.”

“Oh? Well it sure looks like it is to me!”

“Will you please let me explain?”

“Ugh!” Mei threw her arms in the air before crossing them and looking away in a huff. “Fine! But once you’re done I’m out of here.”

“That’s okay. No one said you had to go through with this if you didn’t want to,” he reassured. That seemed to make some of the tension ease out of her.

“First, this was my idea, not your parents’. The only thing I needed permission from them was to make this replica.

“As for why... I just wanted to spend more time with you is all.”

“Huh?” Mei looked up at the nervous scholar. “But we hang out all the time!”

“Yes, but that’s usually with MK as well. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Tang hastily added at her sudden glare. “I love the kid, really I do!

“But we don’t really do anything that’s just for the two of us. Since I enjoy training with a weapon, I thought it could be something we could share?”

Mei had her brows furrowed in uncertainty.

“But… Why go through the trouble of making a copy of the Dragon Blade then? Couldn’t you just teach me how to wield a guandao as well? That is the weapon you actually know how to use.”

“I suppose that’s a fair point,” Tang conceded. “But what about when you claim the real Dragon Blade for yourself? Shouldn’t you know how to properly use it when that happens?”

“When I-” Mei’s breath caught. “You think I-! I’m not-! My parents would never-!”

“Mei, Mei!” Tang placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. “Take a breath. In and out.”

The young woman took a few deep breaths, calming herself. Then she stared into Tang’s eyes, looking for any deception.

“Do you really think mom and dad would ever let me use the blade?”

“I’m not sure what they might do.” That was a slight lie, but he couldn’t force her into a realization about her family too early. He was pushing it as it was just by telling her he thought she’d get the blade.

“But I do know you. You’re optimistic. You’re funny. You’re loyal. You’re incredibly brave. I’m sure that just by being yourself everything will turn out.” That was not a lie. His cousin was all those things and he admired her for it.

Mei, who had tears in her eyes, launched herself at him and pulled him into a hug. Her grip was powered by her dragon strength, but luckily for Tang this time, he had his own so he wasn’t crushed in the embrace.

“Thank you Tang.”

“No problem, Mei.” He held her for a moment before pulling away and asked, “So does this mean you want to learn swordplay?”

“Heck yeah it does!” Mei pumped her fists into the air. “This is going to be awesome!”

“Good.” Tang gave a mischievous smirk. “Then I expect you to be here bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Mei froze in her celebrations.

“Uh… How early, exactly” she asked nervously.

Tang’s grin was filled with too many fangs as his eyes sparkled with humor.

“5:30 sharp.”

“NOOOOOOOO!” Mei’s dramatic cry of horror and slump to the floor made Tang burst out in laughter.

Who knew teasing a younger relative could be so much fun?

----------

Tang grit his teeth as he slashed through another bull clone with Fang of the Earth.

It was finally the day of Demon Bull King’s invasion and the group had just returned from the volcanic ring where MK had seemed to perish. They were fighting their way through the army of bull clones in an attempt to get to the center of the city where Demon Bull King was.

What they were planning to do once they reached him, Tang still had no clue no matter how many timelines he lived through.

Tang dodged a strike from his left and countered with a quick sweep of his guandao.

There were definitely way more clones than there were originally. He supposed that this was whatever higher power that controlled the cycle's way of balancing out his ability to actually help out.

He dispatched the group of enemies surrounding him and looked around.

There was Pigsy who was beating away clones with a loose pipe. Sandy stood next to the chef, deflecting any attacks that came their way with two trash can lids. Where was-

Tang’s pulse quickened when he heard Mei scream.

He searched frantically, dodging or redirecting the strikes coming his way when-

There!

Mei was backed up against a building, surrounded by clones. She was holding a gash on her arm and the broken remains of her training sword lay at her feet.

She looked scared.

Tang could feel it as his eyes narrowed into slits and a menacing growl tore from his throat. With a roar of fury, he leapt into the air towards Mei.

He let his power loose, manifesting an avatar of his dragon form behind him as he filled the Fang of Earth with golden-yellow energy.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY SISTER!”

He landed in front of Mei and shouted in rage as he stabbed the ground with the guandao. A shock wave of power spread through the earth around them, causing it to spike up to stab any clone it passed.

The energy dissipated once all the bull clones in the area had been destroyed. Satisfied they were safe for the moment, Tang swiftly turned around and began checking over Mei.

“Are you alright Mei?! What am I saying, of course you aren't! You’re bleeding! Let me see that.” The dragon scholar fussed over the young woman, inspecting the wound before tearing off the hem of his robe to serve as a bandage.

“Did… Did you just call me your sister?” Mei’s eyes were wide as she stared at him.

Tang froze for a moment. Had he?

Oh. He supposed he had.

Well that explained where the fondness and protective feelings he had developed for her over the course of their daily training came from.

Tang finished tying off the bandage before looking at Mei.

“Is… Is that okay,” he asked nervously. “Because if you aren’t okay with it I won’t call you that again- oof!”

He was cut off by Mei launching herself at him and hugging him tightly.

“Of course it's okay you goof!” He could hear her sniffles as she fought back tears.

“Oh! Well… That’s, uh, good,” Tang relaxed into the hug as his nervousness melted away.

Mei snickered and pulled away, giving him a blinding smile.

“Come on, big bro. We’ve got a city to save!”

Tang felt his own face light up as he picked up Fang of the Earth and followed his sister to regroup with Pigsy and Sandy.

He knew they were no match for Demon Bull King and would have to wait for MK’s arrival to defeat him, but right now Tang felt like he could take on anything.

----------

Tang grew accustomed to being able to help in fights. They had all been scaled up in scope so that while his support was useful, it was never the tipping point that could change the outcome into something different.

The cycle moved on swiftly.

He celebrated with Mei and her parents when she obtained ownership of the real Dragon Blade.

He fought in their resistance when the Demon Bull King invaded a second time.

He did his best to be there for MK when the signs of his stress began to show.

All too soon, the day of training in the desert came.

Lady Bone Demon’s attack was just as brutal as ever.

However, when he and the rest of the group jumped to attack her once MK got caught, Tang instinctively dodged out of the way of her retaliation.

Before he could think of the potential consequences of attempting to change the outcome, he began to slash downwards with the Fang of the Earth.

Only to be stopped dead in the air when the Mayor grabbed the blade with no effort.

Tang felt dread crawl up his spine as the demon smiled nonchalantly at him. Flashbacks to that early cycle triggered in his mind, causing him to freeze up.

The Mayor casually ripped the guandao from Tang’s loose grasp, tossing it over his shoulder like a discarded piece of trash. Then he punched the dragon scholar with enough force to launch him back onto the ship.

Tang could only assume the events continued as normal from there.

He was too busy having a panic attack to notice.

Years of training and experience and still he was powerless against that man! He vaguely acknowledged he had started to cry at some point.

“Tang! Big brother! It’s okay. He’s gone. We got away.” Mei was holding him as he sobbed.

“M-mei?”

“I’m here, big brother. We’re safe.”

Tang began to breathe deeply in order to calm himself. He wanted to be composed when Wukong showed up with MK so as not to worry them too much.

He hugged Mei fiercely before pulling away.

“T-thanks, little sister,” he said with a shaky smile. She just smiled back and helped him to his feet.

As he leaned against the younger woman, Tang couldn’t help but feel extremely lucky to have gotten to know her like this.

She was fierce, loyal, brave, and kind.

She was the best sister someone could have ever asked for.

----------

Welcome to the Golden Dragon Tang AU!

This is my own personal creation, and most of the prominent details (minus Tang knowing the future from timeline jumping) are laid out in this chapter. If I got any of the details about the Yellow Dragon wrong I apologize! I'm not a mythology expert.

A guandao is basically the Chinese equivalent of a glaive; a short sword mounted on a 1-2 meter pole. I may get around to drawing Fang of the Earth at some point. Also please forgive me if the Chinese for the name is wrong for I am but a humble google translate user.

In case you haven’t noticed, a few of the chapters have been dedicated strictly to character studies of the other members of the Monkie Kid crew through Tang’s perspective. Mei’s just happened to occur at the same time as my really long debut of the cool AU I had made up! Also does anyone have some good fanon names for Mei’s parents? I was dying never referring to them by name.

And yes, Tang does still have some issues with the Mayor. I’m sure that won’t be too relevant in the future.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought and see you next time!

#Ink Writes #Monkie Kid #Scattered Cicadas #Golden Dragon Tang AU #Tang #Tang Monkie Kid #Mei #Lóng Xiǎojiāo #Mei's Parents #MK #Pigsy #Sandy #Demon Bull King #The Mayor #Sun Wukong

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dimigex · 3 years

Text

Healing Hands, Chapter Seven

New chapter is up and I’m so excited to say it’s a start of the new arc!

You can find it on Fanfiction and Archive (linked for your convenience). But, here’s a snippet. The full chapter was over 8k words, so please find it on one of the other sites if you want to read the rest!

After nearly a month of careful inquiries, disappointing viewings, and unreasonable prices, Sakura found an apartment. The process had been about what she'd expected, though the selection left a lot to be desired. Sakura had wanted somewhere closer to the hospital than her parents house, but in a different building from Kazuko's. She'd formed an uneasy truce with the man over the past few weeks by ignoring what happened between them. There had been no more dinners or mixed-up, alcohol-fueled kisses in the dark, only professionalism.

Sakura found it easy to shift from budding friendship to simple coworkers, and Kazuko didn't question it. She was thankful for that much at least, because, regardless of their extracurricular problems, Sakura and Kazuko worked well together at the hospital. She didn't depend on him as much as she might have before things changed, but at least it wasn't awkward any longer.

The majority of Sakura's free time had been spent looking for an apartment, then getting her life in Konoha settled. She had taken Naruto out for ramen one night and was surprised to find that the boy had matured in the time they'd spent apart. He'd been busy with missions in an attempt to bolster his number of completed missions. Naruto needed to catch up if he wanted to be considered for Hokage in a few years when Kakashi retired. It was nice to know that his dream hadn't faded, especially when so many other things had changed.

Naruto and Sakura's conversation had turned to Sasuke at one point during dinner, but Naruto read the situation and dropped it after a couple of awkward questions. The night had gone better than Sakura thought it would, and they'd agreed to meet up every few weeks to stay in touch. Naruto spent a lot of time in and out of the village with missions these days, but he promised to make an effort to see Sakura, especially if it involved ramen. Some things would never change.

Smiling to herself, Sakura fussed over the pillows on the couch. They weren't the color that she would have chosen, but they complemented the rest of the room. Mebuki had picked them out on their latest shopping trip. Her mother's touch was obvious in each of the rooms, but Sakura hadn't resisted, even when she disagreed. Mebuki needed to feel like she still had a place in Sakura's life and the colors didn't bother her that much. Besides, she could "lose" the pillows later if she wanted to.

A knock on the door drew Sakura away from her contemplations. Taking a deep breath, she finished adjusting the cushions and went to answer. Sakura was both looking forward to having Ino over, and nervous about it at the same time. The girls had talked only a couple of times over the past few weeks, mostly commiserating about how hard being an adult was. Then, they'd laughed about being considered adults. Rebuilding her friendship with Ino felt natural, normal even.

When Sakura opened the door, Ino stepped into the tiny space and looked around with a telling curl on her lips. When her gaze came back to Sakura's face, however, the blond's smile was falsely bright. "It's cute."

Sakura groaned at the fake optimism and closed the door. "Is it bad?"

Ino didn't answer for a long moment, looking around the room with a calculating expression. Then, she nodded as if she'd reached some decision. "Are you allowed to paint?"

"I think so," Sakura answered, raising her shoulders in a shrug. "I'll have to check the lease."

True to her promise, Mebuki had helped Sakura decorate when she moved in two days ago. Candles, photographs, and trinkets filled the space in a way that Sakura never would have considered on her own. It almost felt like a home, or would soon enough. Only a few hours before Ino arrived, Mebuki had appeared with half a dozen bags in hand. The new throw pillows on the couch and the towels in the bathroom were a reminder of her mother's attention to detail.

It wasn't until Sakura moved her things into the larger space that she realized how few personal items she'd accumulated over the years. Thankfully, the apartment had basic furniture; Sakura didn't own any. A picture of her much younger self and the rest of Team Seven grinned at Sakura from a table beside the door. Half a dozen other snapshots surrounded it. Medical textbooks that Tsunade had gifted to her were tucked into a basket beside the couch. A bowl of bright fruit sat on the table.

"We can fix it," Ino declared, placing her bags beside the couch. After a moment, the blond turned to face Sakura, a devious grin sliding onto her lips. "So, who is he?"

Frowning, Sakura tried to follow the mental leap from talking about the apartment to whatever this was. "Who is who?"

Ino reached into one of the bags and pulled out a bottle of wine and matching glasses. As she walked toward the kitchen, she called over her shoulder. "It's not Sasuke again, is it? He wasn't good for you the first time, and he won't be any better the second."

Once Sakura finally caught up to Ino's reasoning, she rolled her eyes and followed her friend to the kitchen. "What makes you think there is even a him to begin with?"

Affecting a gasp, Ino covered her mouth and waggled her eyebrows in Sakura's direction. "Well then, who is she?"

Ino's question ended in a strangled gasp when Sakura smacked her with one of the questionably colored tea towels that Mebuki had selected. The girls dissolved in a fit of laughter that left them with red faces and aching sides. Still chuckling, Ino poured two glasses of wine, then followed Sakura back to the living room. As they settled on opposite sides of the creaky couch, Ino tipped her head to the side to study Sakura. "Seriously though, why the sudden urge to move out if it wasn't to get a little action? You said it's been months since you got some. How do you stand it?"

Sakura tried not to let herself flush at the memory of the almost dalliance with Kazuko as she shrugged. "There are more important things than sex. Besides, work keeps me busy."

"Riveting." Ino mimed a yawn, then her lips contorted into a wicked smile. "Speaking of work, I've heard that there's a good-looking, young doctor at the hospital these days. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

Sakura grinned, forcing the thoughts of Kazuko as far from her mind as possible. "I am pretty cute."

"Ha ha, very funny." Ino rolled her eyes then tossed a pillow at Sakura. "You know, I also heard that this handsome young medic had dinner with a certain pink haired kunoichi who you might also know."

Fighting down the blush that threatened to stain her cheeks, Sakura kept her expression neutral. She had already started to regret going to eat with Kazuko for fear of the rumors it could spawn. If she had to deal with it from Ino as well, Sakura wasn't sure that she'd make it. "Don't you have better things to do than gossip?"

The blond laughed. "I am Head of Intelligence in Konoha. It's pretty much my job to know everything."

"You don't have to be so good at it," Sakura grumbled, realizing that she'd been beaten before her mouth opened. Ino probably knew more about Kazuko than Sakura did. Though, maybe not, since he wasn't a shinobi. Accepting that Ino wouldn't leave it alone, Sakura settled on a version of the truth to feed the woman's curiosity. "We'd had a shitty day and were just decompressing."

"Together." Ino drew out the word with a suggestive flair, eyebrows waggling.

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Sakura nodded. "Yes, together, and that's all there is to it. He's a civilian."

Ino hummed under her breath, considering the words from multiple angles before speaking. "Does that mean you have to go on a certain number of dates before you can fuck him? I can never remember."

Laughter burst out of Sakura before she could stop it. "I don't think so, but it wasn't an issue. What about you? Who are you sleeping with these days?"

For the first time in a long time, the color on Ino's cheeks had nothing to do with makeup. Sakura's mouth fell open at the unexpected reaction. "Oh my god, who is it?"

"Nobody," Ino answered, draining the remainder of her wine in one long pull. "I think it's time for a refill. It's hardly a housewarming party without a little alcohol."

Narrowing her eyes at her best friend, Sakura held out her glass. Perhaps the drink would loosen Ino's tongue about whomever it was that made her blush like a little girl again. And if not, Sakura had sources too. Ino wasn't the only person who could dig up a little gossip.

----------BREAK-----------

Moving into her own apartment had given Sakura a modicum of freedom that she hadn't known she'd been missing. At least, in some respects. On the first night that Sakura worked, Mebuki had brought dinner by, and there had been enough leftovers to last several days. When those were finished, Sakura realized that she'd have to add a grocery trip and meal preparation to her routine, not to mention laundry. She hadn't recognized how much her mother still helped her until she had to do everything herself.

Even so, Sakura was thankful to have a place to call her own. She could have the occasional glass of wine without her mother's disapproving looks, sleep late on her days off, and have people over whenever she wanted. Not that Sakura had many opportunities for the latter. Apparently everyone else was busy doing adult things too.

Sakura hadn't found the time to take Naruto out for ramen a second time. Their schedules made it difficult, but she hadn't put as much effort into it as she should have. Sakura simply didn't have time to do everything that she wanted to do with all of her responsibilities. Not to mention, constantly being on alert for Anbu who might need her. Over the past week, she'd only treated one shinobi, a genin who'd gotten over enthusiastic with his shuriken training.

The situation with Kazuko had settled down, though Sakura hadn't talked to him about anything. They had gone their separate ways like adults, working together when necessary and separately when possible. She thought that time would eventually smooth it over. Now, if she could learn to control the blush that crept in whenever an unwanted memory sprung up in her mind.. Maybe Ino was right. Sakura just needed to get laid.

Not much chance of that, Sakura mused as she settled in bed after a long day. Her shift at the hospital hadn't been so bad, it was the running around after work that did her in. But, at least she had enough fresh vegetables to make food for the next several days. Contemplating which dishes she wanted to try her hand at first, Sakura drifted to sleep..

The onions were too large to be considered diced, and Sakura couldn't get her eyes to stop watering long enough to correct her mistake. She grumbled under her breath and continued to chop the pesky vegetables. A pan bubbled and hissed; steam rose in tantalizing waves that wafted the scent of meat and garlic across the room. Sakura nodded to herself, shoved the onions into a smaller bowl, and moved back to the stove.

Focused on the food, Sakura didn't hear the soft footfalls behind her until arms snaked around her middle. She squeaked and suppressed the urge to lash out with chakra. Soft kisses burned a trail along the shell of her ear as she swatted the hands. She tried to complain that she was too busy for the man's attention, but they both knew it was a lie.

When Sakura turned, the man's face was indistinct, a face that she could have seen hundreds of times during her day. She didn't have long to study his features before warm kisses made her forget everything else. Nimble fingers worked at the apron that Sakura had secured around her midsection; his hands drifted lower as the string came loose.

Beep, beep, beep. Sakura squeezed her eyes shut as the hands pulled her closer in a dizzying rush. The kisses along her neck were gaining heat, burning through her attention span. "Don't you need to get that," an unfamiliar voice husked by her ear. Beep, beep, beep. Sakura reached for the oven behind her, frowning at the numbers slowly ticking down. Beep, beep, beep.

The buzzing of Sakura's pager drew her from the warm confines of sleep. She blinked, trying to capture the remnants of her dream, but the urgency of the noise drove them from her mind. Sakura peered at the tiny digits indicating the time, then groaned. Why couldn't Anbu have emergencies during normal business hours?

Throwing off the blankets, Sakura climbed out of bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She stripped off the oversized t-shirt and reached for standard issue jonin blues. Sakura couldn't be bothered with the complicated snaps and buttons of her normal attire while half asleep. Tying off the pants, she grabbed a bag that held everything she'd need for an emergency consultation from beside the night stand and headed toward the door.

The streets of Konoha were eerily quiet in the deepest hours of the night, deserted except for the occasional flicker of unseen protectors at the corner of Sakura's vision. The fluorescent lights of the hospital glowed in the darkness, drawing Sakura like a moth. When she stepped through the doors, the same blanket of silence that cloaked the village enveloped the reception area.

Sakura turned away from the serenity, preparing for chaos. She'd barely reached the shinobi wing before Chiasa hurried toward her. Blood splattered the woman's scrubs as she indicated one of the rooms. "This way, Haruno-sensei."

Chiasa had already attached monitors to the patient while awaiting Sakura's arrival. The machines beeped an urgent rhythm that forced the last vestiges of sleep from Sakura's mind. Her eyes darted to the heart rate, lips pulling into a frown. The number was higher than Sakura wanted to see for someone as physically fit as an Anbu.

A flash of silver caught Sakura's eye; armor littered the floor. A chest plate tilted haphazardly against the leg of a chair. Metal arm guards and black compression gloves piled in a corner. Streaks of mud brown and dappled crimson looked like a macabre art display against the crispness of the bed's sheets.

Shaking her head to clear the image, Sakura moved closer to the bed. She noticed the man lying on it for the first time. Familiar brown hair stuck up in a dozen directions, pushed there by the faceplate and mask that lay beside his hand. Despite the chaos of the scene around them, Yamato's face looked markedly untouched by whatever injuries had brought him to the hospital.

The man's black compression shirt had been cut away, baring Yamato's chest to the light. Minor cuts and gashes decorated his arms and shoulders, each one in various states of healing. On his left side, a bloody bandage clung to the skin, mud and dirt covering it. The edges were too saturated to bond well; it had reopened at some point, allowing debris into the wound.

Sakura dropped her bag into a chair and dug out the tools she needed. One hand came up with a stethoscope that she draped around her neck, and the other held a pen light. Sakura thumbed open Yamato's eyes to check his pupil's reaction and was surprised to feel the burn of fever beneath her fingers. "Yamato? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

When the man didn't answer, Sakura tucked the light into her pocket and turned to Chiasa. "What do we know? Do we have any information? Where is his team?"

Chiasa glanced down at the notes, though Sakura knew the woman hadn't forgotten any of the information from the intake. The nurse nodded to herself. "A member of his team brought him in while he was unconscious. The girl didn't stay around to check on his status."

Sakura frowned at that addition, wondering if friendships in the black ops meant so little and who the girl was. She didn't have time to answer that question now. Chiasa offered a shrug as if she could read Sakura's thoughts, then continued. "I was told that I don't have clearance for the details of the mission, so your guess is as good as mine on what happened."

A flash of fury burst in Sakura's chest at the words, but she forced it away. With a sharp dip of her head, she moved closer to Yamato and sighed. "I wish I had the time to be gentle."

Bracing her hands against Yamato's shoulders, Sakura pushed her chakra through his semi-conscious defenses. The man arched, a soft growl ripping free from his throat as she probed the injuries. As she'd expected, a dozen or more smaller wounds vied for her attention. They were minor compared to the one on Yamato's side. Another significant cut crossed his thigh, undoubtedly wrapped and hidden by the fabric of his pants, but that would need attention as well.

Ignoring the inconsequential details, Sakura focused on the most threatening injuries. Both the chest and leg were infected. She eased chakra into the wounds, lessening the body's strain to heal itself. A sluggish pulse of blood caught her attention; a tiny laceration on Yamato's liver. Sakura's forehead knit together in concentration as she pushed healing energy around the wound, forcing the body to speed its repair. She spent as much chakra as she dared, but the infection presented another problem.

Sakura lifted her hands away from Yamato's warm skin and wiped them down the front of her pants. It was only then that she realized that she hadn't bothered to don her lab coat, another detail that hardly mattered. She turned back to Chiasa. "Let's start with a broad spectrum antibiotic. Has he been coherent since they brought him in?"

Chiasa shook her head as she turned to the medicine cabinet to find the items needed to start an IV line. Sakura tapped her fingers against her thigh as she chewed her lower lip, mumbling to herself. "Where is your team? Why didn't they stay? And, what the hell happened?"

Grumbling under her breath, Sakura swiped her hair away from her neck in a messy ponytail as she considered the options. Trying to purge infection was trickier than poison; it was a body's response to stimuli instead of foreign invaders that she could isolate. It would be better to clean the wounds with traditional medicine and drain the infections, especially since Sakura wasn't sure what she was dealing with yet.

Sakura released her chakra when Chiasa appeared at her side, holding out the medicine. She nodded and made the notation in Yamato's chart. The page was empty except for Chiasa's intake notes. Sakura resisted the urge to throw the file against the wall as she checked the numbers. Yamato's blood pressure and heart rate were higher than she wanted them to be, especially after healing. Had she missed something?

Kneeling, Sakura picked up the discarded chest plate that she'd noticed earlier. A puncture in the side correlated with the injury to Yamato's chest. Whatever hit him had to have been moving at incredible speed to crumple the armor that way. Sakura placed the item on the chair, then collected the arm guards to join it. She reached for his mask, brushing her fingers over the green and red stripes on the cat's cheeks that had kept his features free of wounds. Sakura wondered if the animal had been assigned, or if Yamato had picked it himself.

After placing the mask with the rest of the armor, Sakura crossed the room to pull a blanket from the cabinet. Since the rest of Yamato's team hadn't stuck around long enough to see how he was doing, she had no idea what to do with it. The man had essentially been abandoned, and it infuriated Sakura. Was that the way that all Anbu treated each other? She couldn't imagine bringing Naruto or Sasuke to the hospital in this condition and leaving them there.

Sakura sighed, watching the efficient way that Chiasa worked. The nurse had already gotten an IV line started in Yamato's wrist and was buzzing around the machines connected to his body. Sakura glanced at his heart rate and blood pressure again, frowning. "I want vitals checked by hand every twenty minutes for the next three hours," she decided aloud.

"If there are no changes after that," Sakura glanced at her watch, startled to find the time so late already. "After that, I'll be back on shift and can reevaluate him myself."

Chiasa nodded, familiar with the expectations. "Do you want any blood work?"

"Yeah, let's get a cbc and blood culture to see what we're up against." Sakura paused, then nodded to herself. There was nothing else that she could accomplish tonight. "I'm going to try and catch a couple of hours of sleep in my office. Wake me if there are any changes."

Gathering her bag from beside the bed, Sakura slung it over her shoulder and walked from the room. The silence of the hallways made her uneasy. She was used to the hustle and bustle that predominated day shift, but more emergencies came through the doors at night. Sprains and stuffy noses were replaced with broken bones and heart attacks. Sakura didn't envy the men and women who worked while everyone else slept. She'd done more than her fair share of night shifts when training with Tsunade, mostly because the woman liked sleep more than she liked her student. Or, so Sakura thought.

A ratty couch tucked into one corner of Sakura's office, a new addition for these late night Anbu surprises. It was hardly long enough to stretch out on, even for someone of Sakura's height, but it worked in a pinch. The room was blissfully dark at least. Sakura tossed her bag onto the floor, then tried to get comfortable on the lumpy cushions. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Despite the exhaustion nagging the back of her mind, Sakura's body refused to rest. Sighing, she moved back to the desk and flipped on the light.

A dozen charts waited for Sakura's attention, but she couldn't focus enough to deal with the tiny details that they required. Her mind refused to settle enough for sleep, but wouldn't let her work. Sakura had assumed that the worst missions, the ones that left shinobi broken and battered like Yamato, had become an exception now that the world was at peace. She berated herself for that naivety. The current political situation was tenuous at best, forced by fear or respect for Naruto and Sasuke. Anbu continued to put their lives on the line daily and would do so until something major changed

Sakura's frown deepened as she considered Yamato, still trying to reconcile the fact that he was Anbu. She had wondered why she saw so little of him after the war, but hadn't thought to comment on it. Sai had never mentioned the man in relation to Anbu either, but that wasn't surprising considering the security around them. Sai wasn't one to gossip, anyway. Sakura tapped her fingers against her forearm, then checked her watch, less than an hour had passed.

Giving up on the idea of sleep, Sakura pushed to her feet and left her office behind. The halls were still deserted and silent as she walked back to Yamato's room. Chiasa had gone, dimming the lights before she left to help her patient rest. Beside his bed, the alarm on the monitor flashed, but it had been silenced for being constantly out of normal parameters. Yamato's heart rate and blood pressure remained elevated.

The healing, push of fluids, antibiotics, and rest should have lowered the number by now. Sakura stepped closer and captured Yamato's wrist in her hands. Her fingers pressed against his pulse point, surprised to feel the rapid beat through the skin. She had wondered if the machine was getting a false reading somehow, but her physical count came up with the same number or close enough that it made no difference. Sakura laid his hand back on the bed and frowned. "Why aren't you stabilizing?"

As Sakura expected, Yamato didn't answer. Chiasa had cleared away the tatters of his uniform, then cleaned and wrapped the wounds. Yamato's armor remained beneath the blanket where Sakura had left it. The man looked different without the jonin uniform and usual head protector. She brushed her fingers over his forehead, feeling the warmth of fever. Yamato's temperature was up, but not high enough to force his body to shut down. "Did I miss something," Sakura wondered aloud, mentally cycling through the dozens of medical textbooks that she'd read over the years.

Lowering her hands to hover above Yamato's chest, Sakura eased her chakra into his body. The echo of the man's life force ruled out chakra exhaustion. Sakura had tended to Kakashi after battle enough times to know what that felt like. Yamato's chakra brimmed with energy and life.

Sakura quested deeper, reexamining the injuries and looking for something that she could have missed. It was exactly as she'd seen earlier, minus her healing. Huffing, she broke the connection between herself and Yamato. When Sakura opened her eyes, she was startled to find Chiasa at the end of the bed with a stethoscope in hand. The woman was coming back to get the next set of vitals. Sakura dipped her chin in greeting. "Have we gotten any results yet?"

"Not yet," Chiasa answered, pulling the file from the box at the end of the bed. "We should have part of it back in the next couple of hours, but the culture will take longer."

"Yeah," Sakura agreed, humming thoughtfully. Her eyes swept over Yamato again, then returned to his heart rate. "Draw a tox screen as well, and put a rush on the results."

If Chiasa was surprised by the unusual request, her face didn't reveal it. She nodded and made a notation in the chart. "Anything else, Haruno-sensei?"

Sakura shook her head, wondering if any of the tests would help her fit the pieces together into an image that made some kind of sense. She rested a hand on Yamato's bare shoulder. "We'll get to the bottom of this soon, I promise."

Don’t miss the rest of the chapter, linked above!

#dimi write #healing hands #YamaSaku #Tenzo/Sakura #Sakura Haruno #Tenzo #Yamato #SLOW Burn

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neuxue · 4 years

Text

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 8

Mat goes bar-hopping and contemplates obligations

Chapter 8: The Seven-Striped Lass

Oh it’s Mat. Well, enough people have told me Mat is better in this book than last, so if nothing else, confirmation bias alone should see me through.

(Though my indifference towards Mat extends further back than just last book, so… who knows).

He’s in a tavern, which should surprise absolutely no one, and thinking about how Aes Sedai are the bane of his existence, which… also should surprise absolutely no one.

Hey, now he and Thom can fidget with their Aes Sedai letters together. Safer than juggling knives in a world that doesn’t seem to have invented stress balls yet.

‘Master Crimson’? What is this, Cluedo?

And of course he’s not looking at women any more, definitely not noticing any of their, ahem, assets or anything, at least not for himself, you know, just keeping an eye out for his friends of course.

He’s also asking tavernkeepers for advice, because sometimes you just need a sounding board to convince yourself of what you already know. In this case, what to do about Verin’s letter and the conditions set on it. Which, to be fair, is a rather infuriating dilemma. When Verin plays games, she doesn’t fuck around.

“I could open it,” she continued to Mat, “and could tell you what’s inside.”

Bloody ashes! If she did that, he would have to do what it said. Whatever it bloody said. All he had to do was wait a few weeks, and he would be free. He could wait that long. Really, he could.

“It wouldn’t do,” Mat said

Aw, but wouldn’t it? I mean, Verin of all people would appreciate that kind of loophole.

“The woman who gave it to me was Aes Sedai, Melli. You don’t want to anger an Aes Sedai, do you?”

“Aes Sedai?” Melli suddenly looked eager. “I’ve always fancied going to Tar Valon, to see if they’ll let me join them.” She looked at the letter, as if more curious about its contents.

Light! The woman was daft.

Nah, she’s one of the rare sensible ones! Seriously, if I lived in a world with magic, in which there was a chance I could learn to do it, I would give approximately zero fucks about the reputation of the organisation that would enable me to learn it. (Yes, I know, it makes sense in this world that people are wary of Aes Sedai, but to me it’s one of those things like… oh, I don’t know, characters who decide they’re not actually interested in immortality because it would mean outliving their loved ones. Like okay, yeah, there’s a price, but magic. Immortality. I will never understand some fictional characters. Or maybe this just says something about me and which side I’d be on in these fictional worlds… but then, are we really surprised?)

“Can I trust you to keep your word?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “What was this whole bloody conversation about, Melli?”

‘Can I trust you to keep your word’ is kind of a… tautological question, though. And one that always amuses me, along with variations like ‘how can I trust you’ ‘I give you my word’. Because ultimately you’re still just left with the decision of whether or not you trust that person’s word. And no real way of knowing whether or not you should. Once again, I am perhaps exposing myself as not ideal hero material here.

I will say I’m impressed by Mat’s ability to not open the letter. Though I hope at some point we get to see what it says; Verin’s so good at this kind of thing it would be a shame not to see what game she set up here.

The bouncer doesn’t like Mat, which is kind of not surprising given that a bouncer’s job is to stop shit and the purpose of Mat’s entire existence is to start shit.

The paving stones were damp from a recent shower, though those clouds had passed by and—remarkably—left the sky open to the air.

I see what you did there.

Also I’m now trying to place this against everyone else’s timeline and it’s hurting my brain a little. The weather would suggest this is post-Dragonmount but I feel like Mat still had a bit of catch-up to do… ah well, I’m sure we’ll find out. For whatever reason timelines are something of an exception to my usual ability to retain details, probably because, weirdly enough, I often just… don’t care that much? In the sense that usually, when you actually need to know (or when it would be interesting or add something to the story to know), you’ll know.

Mat was not about any specific task tonight

Oh, wandering about at random are we? Which, if you’re Mat, means that regardless of how you started the night, you’ll almost certainly be about a certain task before you finish it. The Pattern has plans, after all.

Getting a feel for Caemlyn. A lot had changed since he had been here last.

Wow, okay, yeah, as the reader we’ve been in Caemlyn plenty over the past several books, but Mat was last here in book three. Damn.

A lot has changed since then. In Caemlyn, yes, but also Mat has changed quite a lot since then. It’s interesting, even in real life, going back to a place you either visited or knew well in the past. The sense of familiarity but at a slight distance, along with the memory of when you were there last, which can then serve to highlight how you’ve changed. And then all the things that aren’t familiar, though you can’t always be certain if that’s just because you’re seeing them differently…

Light, he had heard of paving stones attacking people.

What is this, the French Revolution?

Mat’s found a better tavern, by which I mean a worse tavern, but it’s all a matter of perspective and perspective is a funny thing at the tail end of a pub crawl, so let’s just not think too hard about it.

I’m suddenly very interested in the story of this woman with breeches and short hair dicing in a dodgy tavern with three dudes and not responding to any of Mat’s smiles, ahem. Yes I’m being pandered to, no I don’t care.

But Mat did not smile at girls that way anymore. Besides, she had not responded to any of his smiles anyway.

Alright, that’s much closer to Jordan’s Mat. The absolute lack of self-awareness in being able to think those sentences side-by-side, because hey, Mat, if you don’t smile at girls that way anymore, how do you know she’s not responding to them? (Plus the fact that Mat’s ‘best smile’ has, I’m pretty sure, not actually worked once this series when he’s actually thought about it).

From these first few pages in general, Mat does sound somewhat more how I would expect him to—the way his thoughts and actions contradict themselves, his tendency towards an absolute lack of self-awareness, the running joke of his ‘best smile’… though it also feels like it’s being laid on a little thick? Almost as if Sanderson has picked out a handful of things that work, or that have appeared elsewhere, and is studiously applying them and avoiding adding in too much else or deviating too much from those narrow bounds.

But that’s almost certainly me nitpicking and also looking specifically for this; it’s not really a complaint and at first glance this does seem better than the writing of Mat last book, so… fair enough. Point is, this is definitely not as jarring to read as that first chapter last book was. Still different, sure, but more within the parameters of the rest of the differences.

Mat’s more interested in the local gossip, which—ah.

“They found him dead this morning. Throat ripped clean out. Body was drained of blood, like a wineskin full of holes.”

The gholam’s back in town, then.

Well, in town, anyway; I suppose it hasn’t actually been to Caemlyn before, that we’ve seen. Hey, Elayne? Maybe listen to Birgitte and your bodyguards for a bit and actually take a break from your errands and adventures into the city alone for a bit.

Dice are landing on their corners and also starting up in Mat’s head, so looks like your night of aimless fun and tourism is coming to an end, Mat. Don’t forget to sign the guestbook on your way out.

It seemed impossible that [the gholam] could have gotten here this quickly. Of course, Mat had seen it squeeze through a hole not two handspans wide. The thing did not seem to have a right sense of what was possible and what was not possible.

Oh, well, in that case you two have something in common! Good, you won’t run out of things to say on your next date encounter.

Though on a less flippant note, I’m pretty sure I’ve talked about this before, but I like how Mat gets paired against or linked with opponents or entities who fall into the larger umbrella archetype of ‘trickster figure’ but in different or darker ways: the gholam, the Eelfinn and Aelfinn, arguably Fain/Mordeth… and then there’s Perrin, who is set against Trollocs (the darker side of a mix between animal and human) and Whitecloaks (who exist to force questions of morality). As if they’re both sometimes set against those who reflect a darker or warped version of some aspect of who they are.

It’s not a perfect like-to-like matching; they have other opponents who don’t fit that kind of classification quite as well (though I would still argue that just about any enemy they—and quite a few other characters—face highlight some aspect of themselves via contrast or by presenting a warped kind of mirror), but it’s just a little… random thing I quite like. Particularly Mat set against other types of trickster, because it fits with the very definition or idea of what a trickster figure is in the first place. This idea of looking into a kaleidoscope of mirrors and seeing theme and variation until they flicker at the edges.

He had sent word to [Elayne], but had not gotten a reply. How was that for gratitude? By his count, he had saved her life twice.

Sigh. I sort of thought they had reached an understanding as far as the accounting between them last time they spoke, but I guess we’re still doing this. Which, okay, before everyone comes for me on this, yes he has saved her life multiple times, and no she has not always responded immediately with gratitude, but specifically in the last instance she very much did, and it was a rather lovely moment where they both saw more in each other than they had before. Where they each realised that their previous (first) impressions were not necessarily the full truth, and that there was someone to like beneath that. A friend, even.

And I liked that; I absolutely have a soft spot for the friendship between Mat and Elayne, in part because they’re actually quite similar in a lot of ways. And so for both of them to start to see beneath the surface, to see more than just what they expect to see, was a nice moment of character growth for both of them.

Anyway, leaving the gratitude thing aside, it’s a shame Elayne hasn’t replied, if only because I wouldn’t mind seeing those two interact again. I just like their weird relationship. I like weird friendships between characters in general, really; it’s a good way to get to see a character from an ever-so-slightly different angle, or throw them into a slightly different kind of light. (In all honesty there’s a small part of me that would have been very open to an Elayne/Mat relationship rather than Elayne/Rand and Mat/Tuon, but mostly I just like them as friends who sort of… force each other to take a second look at things, and in doing so to realise some things about themselves).

For once, there had been a battle and he had missed it. Remembering that lightened his mood somewhat. An entire war had been fought over the Lion Throne, and not one arrow, blade, or spear had entered the conflict seeking Matrim Cauthon’s heart.

Yeah, well, don’t jinx it.

Also Mat you were sort of in the middle of some of your own battles and while you’re pretty good, you’re not quite good enough to be in two places at once. Still, can’t fault him for looking on the bright side, I suppose. Especially because there’s a rather large battle headed his way any day now.

Three inns in one night. Making a proper pub crawl of it, I see.

Though Thom’s more in the mood to play sad flute music, presumably over Moiraine. I mean fair; I, too, would probably play several laments for her sake. Bring her back already.

Caemlyn was seen as one of the few places where one could be safe from both the Seanchan and the Dragon.

Oh no doubt it’ll stay that way. What could possibly go wrong in this beautiful Camelot that’s been held up since Book 1 as an example of beauty and (relative) stability?

I’m pretty sure one of the first things I said upon seeing Caemlyn back in EotW was ‘that’s a nice city you have there. It’d be a shame if something happened to it’ and, twelve books later, I stand by that.

Mat tries to get Thom’s attention by snagging his coins, and Thom just tosses a knife through his sleeve without interrupting his playing. Respect.

***

Oh hey a mid-chapter break without a POV change. That’s unusual.

It’s something of a location change, though, because Mat’s back at the Band’s camp now, considering the pros and cons of horse meat. Well, mostly cons in his opinion but I would like to state for the record that horse is actually quite tasty. No of course I don’t know this from experience what are you talking about.

The gholam of course has an even less discriminating palate—or I suppose technically more discriminating, just less socially acceptable.

But Mat and Thom have moved on to planning for their fieldtrip to the Tower of Ghenjei, because, you know, these characters have it easy: just one thing at a time, all easily dealt with, no piling on of way too many problems and decisions and things or people out to kill them…

“Maybe Verin will come back and release me from this bloody oath.”

Unfortunately she had to take some rather drastic measures to release herself from a different bloody oath, so uh… sorry, Mat, you’re out of luck on that one.

“Best that one stays away,” Thom said. “I don’t trust her. There’s something off about that one.”

I mean, you’re not wrong. But you’re also not exactly right. Man, I’m going to miss Verin. She’s one I very much look forward to seeing on a reread: there was always something about her and it was great fun to speculate and try to work out exactly what her deal was, but it’s different when you know. And we got so very little time with her once that was revealed—it was a hell of a way to go out, of course, but I’m definitely excited to see how she reads when you know from the beginning.

“Either way,” Thom said, “we should probably start sending guards with you when you visit the city.”

“Guards won’t help against the gholam.”

“No, but what of the thugs who jumped you on your way back to camp three nights back?”

You know what this reminds me of? Birgitte scolding Elayne when Elayne tries to go out on her own. It’s far from the only thing Elayne and Mat have in common, but it does amuse me.

Talking to that clerk meant Elayne knew Mat was here. She had to. But she had sent no greetings, no acknowledgement that she owed Mat her skin.

Maybe because she acknowledged it last time the two of you spoke? Or have you forgotten? I think that’s what irks me here: they’ve already had that conversation. It made sense (more or less) for Mat to be annoyed about Tear, before Elayne and Nynaeve gave him their thanks and apologies, but after that fight with the gholam in the Rahad, Elayne and Mat seemed to clear the air between them, so it’s just… kind of weird and a bit annoying to have this dragged out again. It seems like it would make more sense at this stage for him to just be annoyed at her for ignoring him, rather than for not thanking him for… something she’s already thanked him for.

He does shift after that to wondering how to get her to set all her foundries to making Aludra’s dragons, which is a much more pertinent question. I now kind of want Elayne and Aludra to meet. I feel like that could be entertaining.

Teslyn Baradon was not a pretty woman, though she might have made a passable paperbark tree

This should sound insulting but for whatever reason I find it hilarious. Why is this so funny.

Maybe this is why we were getting Mat’s grumbling about Elayne not thanking him (again) for saving her life: because thanks are the first thing Teslyn, an Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah, offers Mat unprompted. That would more or less fit with how these things are usually set up in Mat’s narrative, I suppose.

Though Sanderson doesn’t quite seem to have the hang of the Illian dialect; it’s close but some of the phrasing is just a bit off. But that’s me nitpicking again.

“It do be important to maintain some illusions with yourself, would you not say?”

Wiser words than you may even realise, Teslyn, given who you’re talking to. Though I think she does realise this; she’s quite perceptive, and she’s spent a fair bit of time with Mat now, and I think she very likely does see his tendency towards… perhaps not quite denial anymore, at least not as strong as it once was, but a degree of self-deception (and total lack of self-awareness, of course).

She nodded to him. A respectful nod. Almost a bow. Mat released her hand, feeling as unsettled as if someone had kicked his legs out from underneath him.

Yeah, this is what you’d expect from Mat. This is what he does: grumbles to himself about lack of gratitude, or Aes Sedai causing problems and having no respect… but then as soon as that gratitude or respect is shown, he doesn’t quite know how to deal with it. Because he’s not actually arrogant enough to accept it with haughty disdain, but nor is he self-effacing enough to truly not care about getting praise and credit. So you end up in this awkward in-between state that is, I think, actually quite common amongst people in general. It’s definitely something I see play out in the workplace, at least.

And so he offers her the horses that, last book, he refused Joline. Because she’s shown him respect and so he will return the favour. Because they’re treating each other as people, and Mat may push for what he feels is his due, but he won’t just take it without giving something in return. He’s better than he likes to think he is, as Thom once pointed out.

“I did not come to you tonight to manipulate you into giving me horses,” Teslyn said. “I do be sincere.”

“So I figured,” Mat said, turning and lifting up the flap to his tent. “That’s why I made the offer.”

And that’s it, really. It’s amazing what open and honest communication can get you, sometimes. It’s almost like that’s a running thing in this series.

There, he froze. That scent…

Blood.

Mmmm, dinner.

Next (ToM ch 9) Previous (ToM ch 7)

#open! the! letter!#wheel of time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #Towers of Midnight

29 notes · View notes

vermiculus-incipiens · 3 years

Photo

OOC INFORMATION:

What’s your name? ashlie

Preferred pronouns: she/her

Timezone: est

IC INFORMATION:

Character Name: Sirius Orion Black III

What’s a hobby or pastime that your character enjoys? Throughout Sirius’s teen years the thought of participating in school activities fell to the wayside. No matter how much his best friend may love the sport, the idea of Sirius in a little Quidditch uniform or chumming around with Old Sluggy went entirely against the bad boy image he had worked so hard to curate for himself over his time in the castle. Besides, rebellion was a full time job in itself and when paired with his duties as a Marauder first and foremost… Well it was fair to say Sirius had thought up a whole slew of reasons he never participated in organized activities outside of his simple refusal to do anything that may link him to Slytherin house and by extension other members of the House of Black. He had however, transfigured himself a sketch pad during a detention with McGonagall his third year and art had become an outlet he never thought he would obtain. It was like a diary– his deepest thoughts and fears laid out in that book, including the things he was too afraid to even tell James. Sure, sometimes his forms would be lined with mindless doodles. Or notes past along during Order meetings held unfriendly caricatures of Alastor Moody and were hidden between his three people, followed by giggles as if they were nothing more than school-boys again. But lately that same sketchpad from his younger years became dark and full of images of the fears that plagued Sirius’s nightmares. He considers mischief making his main hobby, a final attempt to cling to what was and what could have been in a world not plagued by war. Practical jokes had never been his style, despite Sirius’s well known reputation as a prankster in his youth; his sense of humor had always been too dark for the simplicity of turning off his friends alarm or swapping Slytherins robes to rep the wonderful red and gold before a quidditch match. His idea of a prank had always toed the line of bullying and had been encouraged or at the very least pushed aside until he had managed to take things too far. He needs to be held back even still; as times continue to grow darker the fact that no one ever held Sirius accountable for his so called pranks and need to explore is only a hindrance to himself and everyone he loves.

Do you have any preferred ships or anti-ships? sirius/chemistry.

What do you think your character’s Boggart would be? If their greatest fear isn’t something that could easily take a solid form, what is it? Why? There is a difference between what Sirius expects to see when confronted with a Boggart and the form the creature actually takes and it is something that had changed more than once since the spider he came across at the age of seven in one of the rooms of Grimmauld Place. As a young adult, Sirius is not afraid of anything in this world more than what he would be if it were not for Gryffindor house. For the first time in his life he understood the difference between a house and a home. He made friends, felt cared for, and was free to be himself entirely without fear of extreme retributions. He always expects to see a version of himself just like the rest of the Most Noble and Ancient but deep down Sirius knows he had lost his family before he had been blown off the tree. He had found his true family in three boys who shared his dormitory. Still, after leaving home he was stuck up every night, waiting for that fear and pain of what was he going to do next? But Sirius already knew what he was doing from here and his family served no purpose in his life anymore. No part of him could ever be what they wanted to be, and his fears changed from what if he was one of them to what if he was still himself but never escaped his mother’s clutches. He would still see himself in the Boggart, but younger, that same fear in his eyes that haunted him every year at the end of term when he knew he had to return home to 12 Grimmauld Place.

What’s your character’s biggest pet peeve? Sirius claims his largest pet peeve is conformity, only because he cannot think of a more respectable way to say he can’t stand a kiss ass. After years of desperately trying to appease a mother who would never find him good enough, watching other people do the same grates on his nerves in a way he hasn’t fully figured out just yet. If he could break free of his mother’s hold why couldn’t Regulus? Why couldn’t Peter simply express an opinion of his own? Sure Sirius could be ruthless in how he turns down the other Marauders lesser ideas, but he couldn’t be anything like his parents were, he was their friend.

What would you consider to be an eccentricity of your character? Sirius struggles to recall a time his blood status was not the focal point of his identity and the harder he pushed away, the stronger it clung to him. From the day he was born he was never Sirius– but the Black family heir. The one who would inherit the family fortune, carry on the name of the most noble and ancient. As he grew older he became the rebel, the disgrace to the 28 who was only headed for trouble and needed to be set straight. His own housemates saw him as nothing more than a overly-privileged pureblooded brat who wanted to play like he was one of them for a while. He had truly thought he escaped the stereotypes of a member of the Sacred 28 when he’d been disowned, forced to be a burden on his best friend and start an entirely new life, but even still he heard it. That Black kid got what was coming to him, nothing but a spoiled brat who didn’t know how good he had it until it was gone. His sense of entitlement is obvious to those who were raised differently than him, although maybe more difficult to spot by his fellow purebloods. Sirius has always been impulsive, when the stress and anxiety gets too much to bear he lashes out, acts up and can forget it isn’t always his own safety he is putting at risk. After that day at the willow- he’s refused to call it a prank since it happened- he has tried to put more thoughts into his actions but quite often even still, his racing thoughts take over. His entitlement doesn’t make him a bad person, it just takes a lot more effort to get Sirius to allow a person to see past the barriers he has put around himself. He wants the people around him to see a blank expression, an uncaring bad-boy, or the one with charming grin who was always quick to make you laugh because if he doesn’t care he can’t be hurt again. It takes a lot to get past those coping mechanisms.

What is/was your character’s favorite subject in school? Why? Defense Against the Dark Arts initially grabbed Sirius’s interest for the same reason he did anything else, he knew it would frustrate his mother. As time passed Sirius realized he enjoyed the dark arts part of the class a little more than he felt comfortable admitting to anyone, even if he only enjoyed it through a lens of how to combat darker magic.

What time of day is your character’s favorite? What time of year? Sirius has always been an early riser, even as he grew older and clung to the idea of adolescent rebellion, waking before the sunrise was a habit he never seemed to shake. It still felt like his only moments of peace at times. It had always given him that same feeling he would get as the seasons changed from summer to fall; a cool breeze and leaves crunching below his feet bringing him back to fresh starts and finally reconnecting with his friends and found family. September first has yet to lose place as Sirius’s favorite day of the year, he’s determined to find a way to ensure the Marauders keep that day sacred, no matter what may come of them in the years to come. Just reliving the memories and knowing a new generation is making their own has always been able to pull him out of his own depressions, even if only for a few short hours.

What’s your character’s Patronus? If they can’t conjure one, what would it be if they could? Why? It’s become increasingly more difficult to pull the New Foundland ( only slightly altered from his own animagus form ) to front nowadays. Some days he can’t seem to manage it at all, a failure so strikingly different from the feeling of accomplishment when he had mastered the charm so young. He had expected the mixed breed he had grown so used to transfiguring into to blast from his wand so the purebred canine had felt like a slap in the face, especially since Sirius succeeded for the first time so soon after leaving home, but so much of himself was there, even if it hurt to admit it. Despite the popularity he held throughout his teen years and the confidence he displayed to anyone outside his closest circle, Sirius knew he was known to many as James Potter’s best friend. Man’s best friend- it was a title he oddly felt proud of, even if he would love to be seen more for his accomplishments than his dependency of his three best friends. For as cuddly and loving as Sirius is once he trusts you, he is also prone to lash out when threatened as well. Many have claimed his bark is worse than his bite and Sirius’s words can absolutely be cruel, but at the end of the day he will follow his instincts and attack if you threaten him or the people he loves.

What is your character’s biggest vice (bad habit or immoral craving)? Before things got where they are now, everyone had already begun to simply assume Sirius, the life of every party, would show up already with a buzz. Sometimes one of his friends will be laughing alongside him, matching glazed looks in their eyes; although as time passed the occurrences where Sirius was alone in his drunken state came more and more often. Orion had given him his first drink at fourteen as a reward for behaving through an important dinner and since then Sirius has held quite the taste for top shelf Scotches. He doesn’t often drink beer and he never drinks anything cheap, one of the few traits left over from a life he once lived.

Is your character an introvert or extrovert? How well do they handle social situations? Many tend to mistake introversion with shyness, and that is something Sirius has always been far from. He is one to thrive in a social setting, charming and witty, he has always held the ability to make others swoon in his presence. Sirius lights up a room simply by walking into it and the only downside is how hyper aware he is of the impact he has on those around him. At the end of the day however, he needs time to recharge. A night in with the Marauders will always hold priority over a boys night out at the club and large social settings get tiring after a few hours of making nice with people he can barely pretend to remember the names of. Being on all the time gets tiring, and at the end of the day like any introvert he needs time alone to reflect or more recently, wallow in self-pity.

What is your character’s diet like? What’s his or her favorite food? Food security has never been an issue in Sirius’s mind, even after leaving his childhood home, he never went hungry or even without a well balanced and well cooked meal. Now that he is no longer living under adult supervision however, home cooked meals have been replaced by a takeaway more nights than not, although certain meals have special meaning to him still. Chinese takeaway containers a reminder of the first few nights in his first apartment, or the roast he would eat every Christmas he had spent at Hogwarts his first few years in the castle.

How do you think your character’s psychological issues have manifested and changed your character up to this point? Sirius’s first night at Hogwarts was confusing for him. These children were nothing like the dirty muggles from his bedtime stories, or the ignorant fools from the cautionary tales of his childhood. His mind was racing, trying to take in all this conflicting information while simultaneously seeking out ‘proper’ friends like he was told. It had been too much as he continued to wipe the sweat off his hands inside his pocket, breaths shallow as he tried to keep himself from being sick. He just wanted to sincerely have the courage he was pretending to possess and maybe he could calm down enough to figure out where to go from here. He was nothing more than some scared, pathetic little child who desperately needed to be brave enough to get through the day and put these puzzle pieces together. For a while having been sorted into Gryffindor was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. After his sorting he had immediately hidden under the covers of his bed, writing an apology letter to his parents. He completely blocked out his other roommates, was snippy and rude, even to the boy who had been so nice to him on the train, the one who would later become his brother in everything but blood. Everything Sirius had ever known was questioned when he was sorted into Gryffindor and while he had slowly been losing the affection of his family a bit more his entire life, truly separating himself like this was the scariest thing he had ever encountered. Something that kept him up at night for years was how terrified he was of losing the only family he ever knew. He needed to gain courage because of the house, he had never felt brave and had to work harder than anyone to fit in in the tower ‘where dwell the brave at heart’. He continued to try to blend in with the Blacks, even as he started growing his friendship with James, Remus, and Peter. He had been the heir to one of the oldest and most prominent families in Britain and no matter how much more appealing letting himself be a child with his friends seemed, he was not mature enough to know pulling away from his family’s teachings was an option. He had begun by toying with rebellion and facing the consequences whenever he had no choice but to come home, finding comfort and endearment in three boys he spent his free time attached to at the hip. Still, the transfer year after year from Gryffindor Tower to Grimmauld Place left Sirius uncertain, not only with the behaviors he was taught were proper, but over his family and their own individual morality when compared to how he was treated by others outside the elitist and abusive behaviors of the members of the Sacred 28. Walburga was unafraid of using an unforgivable on her eldest and indifference on his behalf eventually became determination to turn him into another clone of every Black before him. He had learned young the true meaning of the privileges of being born pure. It had never made them better than others, simply made it easier to get by doing whatever they wanted without facing the consequences those who didn’t have generations of connections would have to deal with. In turn that meant Sirius began to brush off his fears early, plaster a smile on his face and hope the people around him also cared little enough to pretend to believe it. The mischief maker never seen without a smile on his face doesn’t need the same resources as those openly weeping. Eventually Sirius learned to use that adreleline from causing caos to get him through the day to day. He became dependent on the pranks and adventures he had during his school days to keep his mind off of the realities of a family who hated him and whispers of a war where he knew he would end up fighting his own blood. After spending seven years as a close-knit gang of teenage boys, coming up with nicknames and wreaking havoc on Hogwarts’ ground and staff- Sirius had not been ready to give it up. The rush of the Marauders made him feel something for the first time and the Order seemed to be a bigger and better version of this, but this time with a purpose. Coming in Sirius got a kick out of the meetings, knowing how his mother would disapprove and putting his money where his mouth is to prove to every person who ever told him he would never be anything more than another privileged pureblood. When the realities of war started to hit it made Sirius wonder if he had ever truly been as progressive as he liked to think he was. He slowly began to realise the danger that the people he cares about are in, and just how wrong what is happening is and he’s starting to really fight for a cause rather than trying to cause as much trouble as he can while he’s young and alive. But it’s still all centered around himself and his own world. Sirius wants to fight for his friends’ safety. Get this war over with so he does not have to deal with any more loss. He cannot handle more loss, it would ruin him. Losing Regulus had pushed him over the edge in a way Sirius had refused to accept was a possibility when he signed on to join the Order. He knew he would be fighting the people he grew up alongside. Every duel he made sure to take in every feature he could piece behind the death eater masks, knowing if he had to come face to face with his brother he wouldn’t have the strength to follow through with it. But Reg dying so quickly, so young for a cause Sirius had warned him against so many times had destroyed him. The guilt eats him alive, if only he had sucked it up and stayed home. What if he hadn’t given him the choice and forced him to run away with him when Sirius escaped to the Potters. Things had started to become real, he would continue to lose the people he always thought as untouchable.

Give us a headcanon for your character. Anything is acceptable. Sirius hadn’t run off to the Potters on his own free will. Fights with his mother and father had only grown more intense that summer after a year of goofing around at school and thinking he could get away with behaving like a clown all year and not face the repercussions when he finally returned home. He had not been told the exacts words saying to leave 12 Grimmauld Place, but yelling he was no longer welcome in their family and the rush to blast Sirius’s name off the family tree had pretty heavily implied as such. James and his parents were the only people he ever told he was kicked out, that first night when he finally arrived on their front door. After that night it was only that he simply left home when anyone asked, even Remus and Peter while having more of the story than anyone else, do not have the entirety that Sirius explained that first night. The words run away didn’t leave his lips until after his graduation from Hogwarts when he needed to prove to the Order that his last name did not make him untrustworthy.

#Sirius Black #Closed Character #Accepted #VIAccepted

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glassprism · 4 years

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I’m so dumb, but what’s replica vs non-replica? Like, what do they mean and what’s the difference?

Not dumb at all!

A replica production follows what the original did, down to sets, costumes, wigs, and choreography blocking (the movements of the actors on stage). The original production is the West End / London production, and most productions worldwide follow it. So even if you go to New York to see the Broadway production, it’s going to be an almost exact copy (or replica) of the West End production. If you had seen the Brazil production, or the Denmark production, or any of the German productions, etc., those are all replicas. They will differ in minor details here and there (costume design, small tweaks to blocking), but overall they are a replica of what you’d see in London. The vast majority of Phantom productions worldwide have been replica productions.

A non-replica, as you might guess, is the opposite: they do not follow the original design and are free to come up with their own sets, blocking, costumes, and so forth. If you ever watch videos of them, you can see they are vastly different from what you’d see in the London production. The countries that have had non-replica productions so far are: Hungary, Poland (it based itself more on the 2004 movie), the Czech Republic, Estonia, Finland, Sweden (they had their own replica production, but they also had the Gothenburg production, which was based on the Finnish design, and the Kristianstad production which was its own thing entirely), Romania, Serbia, Norway (based on the Romanian production but with its own improvements), Bulgaria, and Greece (which was based on the Norway production).

Finally, there have been a few productions that occupy something of a middle zone between replica and non-replica. The first is the Las Vegas production. For the most part, this is a replica production, as it follows the original quite closely. The main changes are to the score and libretto, as it is a shortened, 90-minute version with no intermission, meaning that several scenes were cut or pared down. They also added a few cool features, such as Raoul getting trapped in a cage instead of the Punjab lasso, the chandelier coming together during the ‘Overture’, a stuntman dressed as the Phantom hanging off the chandelier, and so forth. I don’t think of this as a non-replica though, more as what Operafantomet says, “a replica ON STEROIDS”.

The 25th anniversary production also featured a few modifications, due to it taking place in a different venue. Many of the larger props were not used (so no elephant in Hannibal, no Mirror Bride in the lair scenes, no bed in Il Muto, and so on), the chandelier did not fall, and there were some minor tweaks to blocking and lines. But overall I think of this as a replica as well, or perhaps “a replica with tweaks”.

The most recent World Tour also featured a couple of changes, mainly to make it a little easier to tour. The biggest off the top of my head would be that there is no floating angel for the Phantom, as he appears atop a stationary statue that’s on the stage floor (though note that the Japanese production did this to begin with, but with a Pegasus statue IIRC), and that the chandelier has been modified to be more compressed (a “2d-elier”, as fans will fondly call it, due to how flattened it looks). But like the above examples, I don’t call this a non-replica because it’s otherwise very similar, but rather a “modified replica”.

There is also the restaged UK and US tours, which featured totally new sets and blocking, but tried to keep the same costumes (or claimed they did) while also altering them, sometimes a fair amount, sometimes almost not at all. In that respect it’s a bit of a weird hybrid, but I feel it’s different enough in most aspects that I would call it a non-replica.

Finally, we have the recent UK tour. This seems like more of mix-and-match (this review says it’s “75% replica, 25% non-replica”), featuring a few changed lines, a statue on the ground, some different choreography and blocking, and slight modifications to costumes and such. I have not seen enough to judge, but based off what I read, I’m tempted to call it a “hybrid replica” or something like that - more changed than the World Tour production, but not enough to be considered a non-replica.

(I should make a chart.)

Hope that helps! If you want more visual comparisons, you can search @operafantomet‘s non-replica tag, which has tons of great photos of costumes and sets. If you want to see some of it in action, I can link you to a couple of videos or gifsets; I thought about doing it here but the post was long enough. But the overall thing to get out of this: a replica copies the original, a non-replica does not.

#Anonymous #GP gets asks

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ckret2 · 4 years

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“You’re so vain” “Give em hell kid” And “I hope you die” I’d love to hear those explanations

Righto! Okay so recap for the people who might have missed it, this is about the radiosnake playlist I mentioned/linked a bit over a week ago, Serpentine & Demonswing. When I posted it I also added an “and if you wanna know why any songs are on the playlist you’re free to ask.” The playlist is a work in progress so some of my answers are gonna be “so here’s the explanation for why it was included but tbh I’m not 100% on keeping it.”

Important things to mention before getting into it: the playlist is build specifically off my headcanons from “Cold Day In Hell,” and so all of the songs act on the assumption that CDIH is “canon.” (tl;dr: they’re exes, because Alastor got scared of emotional intimacy, told Sir Pent he never actually liked him, and ran off after blowing up all his airships.) The first chunk of songs is from Sir Pent’s perspective, the second chunk is from Alastor’s, the third is from them both or about them both, and the last few songs are “I like the vibe but honestly am not sure this fits the playlist.”

Also, y’all are welcome to keep asking me about songs, because this is a lot of fun.

I’m absolutely sure that tumblr is going to delete this read more out of the post but I’m going to put one anyway, maybe it’ll let this one work just to be contrary. If it doesn’t, I apologize for the dash stretcher, that’s just how tumblr do.

So! Explanations:

You’re So Vain (Lyrics)

This one is on the Sir Pentious side, so, although it’s not directly/accurately about Alastor, it is about how Sir Pent sees him in light of their catastrophic breakup.

Verse 1 is less on the nose in its description of Alastor, but you get the impression of someone who is obsessed with how he comes across to other people, and who is far more interested in himself and the image he’s giving off than he is in any of the people he’s trying to impress. A great deal of Alastor’s personality is—or at the very least, comes off as—completely performative. As though to this day he’s still nothing but a radio host performing for a listening audience, even when he’s only talking to one person. The fact that he’s always wearing a fake smile and pointedly providing his own sound effects adds to that impression of a performer who never breaks character.

And the fact that the character in the song is still wholly self-absorbed even when he’s dancing with a partner gives a nice little glimpse into how Sir Pent’s retroactively reinterpreted his last evening with Alastor.

Verse 2 is the stanza that comes closest to completely accurately reflecting what went down between them. First, the alliance between them, the implicit promises that they the were going to conquer Hell and then Heaven as partners in crime—“Well, you said that we made such a pretty pair / And that you would never leave”—and then, the breakup—“But you gave away the things you loved / And one of them was me.” It’s the one line that acknowledges that the character in the song did, indeed, actually love the singer, and wasn’t just performing a role/playing at being in love.

It’s also a line that would ring false to Sir Pentious, because in the aftermath of CDIH, he genuinely doesn’t believe that Alastor ever loved him. He completely buys Alastor’s claim that he was just screwing around with Sir Pent’s emotions for his own entertainment. Words to the effect of “one of [the things you loved] was me” would never come out of Sir Pent’s mouth.

However. Of all the lines in all of the songs in Sir Pent’s portion of the playlist, that one line is the most accurate thing that could be said about Alastor, the blade that would stab into the core of who he is and the role that he played in this story. Because of his vanity—his selfishness, his pride, his obsession with his own independence, his fear of love, his fear of vulnerability, his fear of sharing his life with someone else, etc.—he didn’t just lose what he loved, he did very deliberately and intentionally give it away.

(I’ve always found that line to be the most interesting in the song, for the hint that this vain person did indeed truly feel for someone else, so I’m glad that line fits so well here.)

Verse 3 is just more “what Alastor is like as observed by Sir Pent,” except even more accurately than the first stanza. Constantly running around, constantly moving on from one brief source of entertainment to another (just stuff “threw his support behind the Happy Hotel” somewhere between “gambled on a horse race” and “watched an eclipse”), constantly socializing with dangerous people and people whom he’s going to hurt without caring in the slightest.

Okay so that’s the lyrics.

Making sure the aesthetics/styles/genres of the songs match the character they’re for is one of my high priorities on this fanmix—not to the extent that having the wrong style is an instant dealbreaker, but I’m going to be hesitant to include a song that doesn’t at all match the sound I’m going for. For Sir Pentious, I’m kind of running with two styles.

The first style is “sounds Victorian-ish enough to get a shrug and a nod from anybody who doesn’t actually know/care about Victorian-era music,” so that’s gonna be just about anything orchestral/symphonic that doesn’t clearly fall into a different genre, symphonic metal that sounds symphonic enough to satisfy me, instrumental covers of other songs (string quartets, piano, full orchestra...), things with harpsichords (LISTEN i know that harpsichords are more baroque but they’ve got the right Vibe, you know, they’ve got the Feeling), and things with organ—but like, it’s gotta sound like pipe organ (pipe organ—sounds like a church) and not like Hammond organ (Hammond organ—sounds like a baseball game). Also steampunk, except a lot of “steampunk” genre music sounds swingy/jazzy, so those songs get ruled out because that’s Alastor’s aesthetic. And also, like, actual classical music, but I’m not into a lot of actual classical music, so I don’t think any’s actually made it in yet, lmao.

The second style is based on what the creator herself said about Sir Pent’s music preferences: “Sir Pentious would listen to Blink-182. Pentious would literally listen to stuff like Linkin Park, Green Day, the emo stuff.” So I took "the emo stuff” as “oh okay cool so the stuff I listened to at 15 got it” and ran wild with that. I’ve been most heavily drawing from My Chemical Romance, Panic! At The Disco, and Mindless Self Indulgence to represent that half of Sir Pent’s preferences. (MSI because I feel like that fits an in-your-face and morally jaded villain, P!ATD because their newer stuff fits his flamboyance and exuberance and egotism, and MCR because... because I know them best.) I haven’t yet made much time to carefully comb the discographies of the other bands listed or look into other more traditional emo-associated acts.

Carly Simon’s original “You’re So Vain” matches neither of these styles.

I combed through about 60 different versions of “You’re So Vain” on Spotify looking for ones that meet one of these aesthetics. Like 90% of them were, I’m pretty sure, just various singers adding their vocals directly over a karaoke version of Carly Simon’s original.

In the end, the only one that came close was Marilyn Manson’s cover. He’s a bit outside of the bounds I try to stick in for Sir Pent, but like, okay, he’s industrial metal, but in a particularly goth way, that’s close enough to emo. To my mind, “Sir Pent listens to emo” is like... Sir Pentious’s musical preferences are going to be, 1) counterculture, the kind of stuff that causes conservative Christian moms to go into moral panics, but also 2) mainstream counterculture, the kind of bands that produce huge hits & get featured in major blockbuster movies, but also also 3) slightly dated mainstream counterculture, i.e., at the end of the 2010s he’s listening to the bands that may still be popular but that peaked in the mid 2000s, in keeping with the way he’s trying to keep hip and modern but always seems a little bit behind.

So, in the 2010s, he’s listening to 2000s emo acts. In the 2000s, he was listening to the 1990s’ biggest metal acts (like Marilyn Manson) and possibly grunge acts (things like Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins). In the 1990s, he was listening to the 1980s’ biggest post-punk and new wave acts (like The Cure, Joy Division/New Order, Depeche Mode). Always evolving his stylistic preferences, always trying to keep up, but always a little behind. So that’s how I justify putting Marilyn Manson in lmao.

Although that was the only version of “You’re So Vain” I thought fit well enough, I also found a version by Trash Pour 4, a version by Les Reed Orchestra, and a version by Giant Sand that were all very good. Trash Pour 4 is driving me crazy because I can’t quite figure out what genre they are, I just can’t place them—but they’ve got several other good covers that I’d like to take advantage of at some point.

I also found a song called “You’re So Vain (Christian Dior)” by The Energy Commission that’s not a cover of Carly Simon’s song, just a new song with the same name. I’m lowkey considering including on Alastor’s side of the playlist. It’d serve as a very sharp critique of how image obsessed Sir Pent is, there’s some snappy turns of phrase that seem like they’d appeal to Alastor’s sense of humor (my two favorites are “He went off the deep end ‘cause he’s so shallow” and “He’s got a timepiece on his wrist and it says ‘watch me’”), the fact that it’s a critique specifically of high class materialism fits with the fact that I headcanon Sir Pent as coming from British nobility while Alastor’s ancestry is both racially and socially mixed (including at least one close relative who was a slave, I’m thinking a grandparent but haven’t settled on my headcanons yet), and I love when there are parallels like that in playlists about the relationship between lovers/partners/rivals/siblings/any-combo-of-two-people.

The reason I haven’t added it yet is because, by the end of the song, it’s not just a critique of being a rich shallow image-obsessed douche, but specifically of how that culture ties in to exploitative capitalism that’s wrecking human lives and the world—which, in the context of the characters we’re talking about here, would translate into a criticism of Sir Pentious’s very-imperialist-sounding take-over-the-world villain ambitions. Which isn’t something I think Alastor cares about. He probably should, but like, he just doesn’t. He’s a villain himself. I’m sure he’s got his own morals and standards and hard limits but “take over the world” isn’t on his list of dealbreakers. What’s taking over the world include? Mass murder and subjugation? Yeah, he’s cool with that. So that’s why I’m still on the fence about adding it.

Give ‘Em Hell, Kid (Lyrics)

So remember how I said that My Chemical Romance is one of the bands I’ve drawn from most heavily so far in looking for emo Sir Pent songs? Yeah for about a day there were six different MCR songs sitting in Serpentine & Demonswing as I slowly whittled them down to the ones that I thought fit best. “Give ‘Em Hell, Kid” is one of the last three, and actually one that I’m constantly on the verge of cutting.

Lyrically, it’s an Alastor song. There’s mentions of the singer having come from New Orleans (listen... i am a sucker for songs that mention New Orleans, it automatically earns five points on the imaginary “is this an Alastor song?” rubric in my head). The singer is singing about a love interest who’s gone, and he’s making no moves to pursue/reclaim the love interest, wishing them well (“So go on, live your life”), but he’s a wreck and a lesser person without them (“If you were here, I'd never have a fear,” “Well I'm a total wreck and almost every day”), and it’s just getting worse with time, not better (“But I miss you more than I did yesterday”).

The line “Some might say we are made from the sharpest things you say” although directed toward “you,” i.e. the love interest, i.e. Sir Pentious, in my head actually reflects more on the things Alastor said to Sir Pentious: the cruel things he said to Pent—that he’s weak, ineffective, behind the times, a has-been, never going to conquer hell—ended up a self-fulfilling prophecy, because that’s exactly what Alastor’s rampage made happen. Today, as he is now, Sir Pentious is made from the sharpest things Alastor said.

“Your dreams and your hopeless hair” makes me think of Sir Pent’s wild efforts to conquer hell (and, of course, his ridiculous cobra hood), and “We never wanted it to be this way for all our lives” is a perfect expression of Alastor’s regrets/remorse over what his actions have done to both of their lives, but especially to Sir Pent’s life.

And all the references to violence—murder scenes, firing squads, sharpest things—fit with the fact that both of them chose to live lives soaked in blood.

So it’s a perfect Alastor song. The only problem is, it’s an MCR song, which is sooo far outside of my acceptable genres for him. (I’m not gonna get into Alastor’s genres now bc there are better songs to do that on, just know emo ain’t it.) And not only is it outside of his acceptable genres, it’s in the OTHER character’s acceptable genres, which is very messy. I can vibe with “lovers’ songs borrowing from each other’s aesthetic” a LITTLE bit when it’s used to represent, like, emotional synchronicity or the like (ex: both “Roustabout” and Vernian Process’s “Maple Leaf Rag” are on my “Alastor+Sir Pent style fusion songs” list). But MCR is a big departure from Alastor’s acceptable styles.

Plus, the playlist already has two MCR songs, and do I really need three songs from the same band? Unless there’s a really good reason, I try to avoid having repeats from the same band on one playlist—I feel like a good well-rounded fanmix oughta have a diversity of sources. (With “a really good reason” being something like “I’ve got the playlist divided into five sections detailing five phases of the character’s life and each section is introduced with a different track from the same band” or “I’ve got an instrumental version of the song to kick off the playlist to serve as ‘foreshadowing’ for when the version with lyrics shows up at the most dramatic moment” or something like that.)

If I was going to, like, make it a thing, I could. Justify it like “there’s one MCR song that represents them when they’re together, one MCR song from Sir Pent’s perspective, and one MCR song from Alastor’s perspective, like a little triangle,” but like... if I was going to do that I feel like I’d want to do it with a style that’s either representative of both of them or else independent of both of them, and MCR is so heavily a Sir Pent sound. Basically, having three songs from one band would be okay if it was a band that vibes with the overall tone I’m shooting for in the playlist—but it’s not. So I’m very torn on “Give ‘Em Hell, Kid.”

“El Tango De Roxanne” + “Overture” + “I Hope You Die”

Okay before I can talk about “I Hope You Die” by itself, I kind of have to explain its exact position in the playlist and its relationship with the other two songs I just listed.

While MOST of the playlist is chunked up into the four sections I mentioned earlier (Sir Pent, Alastor, both, undecided), within those sections the songs aren’t really in any particular order. The one exception is the very first three songs on the playlist/the very first three songs in Sir Pent’s section.

These three songs, presented in that order, all as Sir Pent songs, serve as Sir “in war, the side remembered is the side with the most style” Pentious the Super Villain making his big entrance like:

youtube

“El Tango De Roxanne” starts slow/quiet, and then (with a couple of brief dips) it gradually builds in volume and pain and intensity, getting faster and more emphatic, switching from mournful longing to nearly-angry anguish, until it ends with a pained scream, steampunkish percussion, howling background singers, and a wailing violin.

And then it pauses, for just a moment.

And then “Overture” hammers you with the most dramatic opening chord you will ever hear on an organ in your life, perfectly matching the energy at the end of “El Tango De Roxanne” and maintaining that level of energy throughout the song.

And then it stops so quickly it’s like someone gasped, holding its breath for a split second—and then some dude yells “You must die! I alone am best!” and the guitars kick in for “I Hope You Die,” leading into a depiction of the most intense, vitriolic, disgusting sort of loathing imaginable.

The build-up from “El Tango De Roxanne” and “Overture” really revs up “I Hope You Die,” the intensity of the organ in “Overture” highlights the intensity of the guitar in “I Hope You Die,” and all together it hypes up what could have been just a dark humor song about hating someone into something that sounds like a very genuine demonstration of hatred.

And taken all together, it makes for a fantastic intro for Sir Pent.

It also serves as a perfect intro to the current state of affairs between him and Alastor—sort of expressing his personal emotional journey on the morning Alastor betrayed him, as his reaction transforms over the course of three songs from grief/despair to fathomless fury.

There’s more I could say individually about “El Tango De Roxanne” and “Overture,” but I won’t, because it’s “I Hope You Die” time.

“I Hope You Die” (Lyrics - warning for a whole stanza dedicated to hoping someone gets raped in prison)

A small handful of the songs in my Hazbin playlists were discovered in and added from existing Hazbin character playlists I found on Spotify before I started making my own. “I Hope You Die” was one of them, found here. Which is why it was added even though it doesn’t fit my strict genre standards, it won me over before I narrowed down the styles I’m working with lmao.

(I feel like “El Tango De Roxanne” was one of those too, but I can’t now find a Spotify playlist containing it that added it before I did. Where did I grab it from? It’s not something I would’ve looked up on my own, something must have inspired me. IDK what though. None of the other songs mentioned in this post were found on other playlists.)

So this song is, obviously, just about how much some dude hates somebody else and wants extremely horrible things to happen to them. It’s sorta... *eyes lyrics uneasily* ... sorta tasteless; but, tasteless in a way that I feel like reflects back on the character singing the song. The feeling I come away from after finishing the song isn’t “the band wants you to think the person they’re singing about deserves this to happen to them,” because it doesn’t even give a reason why the singer hopes this person suffers; but rather, “the band wants you to think that this is the kind of hatred that the character/persona the singer is portraying is capable of, this is the kind of vile stuff that character wants to see done to their enemies, this is representative of the depths of that character’s rage.” Which is why I’m like “yeah... okay, sure, that fits” even though I’m real iffy about the last couple stanzas.

Because for a character who’s in Hell surrounded by people who have stomped on the last dredges of their civility and decency, and a character who’s patterned after a super villain (and, because the series creator dropped the idea that there are heroes/villains in the living world, the only super villain in this setting), and a character who gleefully boasts about being evil, and a character who we know demonstrates very rapid/extreme emotions and expressions of hate/outrage... Yes, I can absolutely see this song as the exact sort of hatred Sir Pentious would level at somebody who’s slighted him. And Alastor blew way the hell past “slighting” him. Alastor, without exaggeration, has ruined his life (afterlife?) and over fifty years later Sir Pent is still unsuccessfully struggling to get back up to the level he was at before he even met Alastor. Right now, Sir Pentious really and truly and deeply despises Alastor.

A song like this—sheer, frothing, unrestrained, vengeful contempt—tells you a whole lot about what kind of emotions Sir Pentious is capable; and it tells you a whole lot about the kind of effect Alastor’s actions have had on him, to inspire this level of reaction from someone who was very close to him for fifteen years and increasingly in love with him for probably a good amount of that time.

Plus, the “You must die! I alone am best!” is such a very, very Sir Pentious sentiment.

So that’s those songs! Again, y’all are free to ask me for my thoughts on more. Yes, most of them will probably be like this, lol.

#(i'm p sure the fact that i included links means this will stay out of the main tags)#(but i'm gonna include some dummy tags so the main fandom tags aren't in the first 5 just in case)#anonymous #ask #music #radiosnake #hazbin hotel

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sauntered-vaguely-downward · 5 years

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Prickley. Neville Longbottom x Reader

Felt liked I’d mix it up a little from my usual fred/george/draco/ron shit I do and add some fluffy fluff fluff fluff with Neville because he deserves love too.

Neville wasn’t like his classmates when it came to feelings of romance. While Harry or Ron would strike up a conversation, or Fred or George would make some grand gesture in front of everyone, Neville liked to keep his feelings to himself, showing his affection in ways that wouldn’t backfire or make him feel awkward.

Neville had first noticed Y/N after a quidditch match. She’d been right by the side of her house’s winning team, laughing and cheering as they made their way to the great hall. Neville had been behind her and he was instantly mesmerized by the joy that radiated off of her. Her smile was captivating, shining brighter than anyone else's. Her laugh to him was like a siren song, he couldn’t help but follow it as she moved in the group.

Since that first moment, Neville had been captivated, but as mentioned, he didn’t express his emotion in the same ways that his peers did, instead, he decided to do something that, if it went wrong, could not be linked back to him.

Y/N had been receiving little gifts for a few weeks now. The first had been a box of her favourite chocolates from Honeydukes. A random first-year student had given it to her, just pointing at the messy note attached to the top reading I think you like these. Have a nice day.

The second had been a rather cute teddy. It was a small and fluffy version of her favourite animal. No note had been attached to it but she felt like it was probably from the same person who left her the first. A few more gifts had found their way to her. One was left on her regular seat in the library, another one had been delivered by some random student, and one had made its way into her dorm room, sitting happily on her bed for when she arrived. Even though there had been a couple more notes she hadn’t yet worked out who it was sending her these adorable little gifts. She had to admit, she was always pleasantly surprised by how much this person knew about what she liked.

It had been a couple of days since the last gift had turned up. Y/N hadn’t forgotten about them but they had been pushed to the back of her mind due to an upcoming test in potions class. She decided to go and revise somewhere a bit quieter, seeing as her common room was full to the brim, the best place was the library.

Walking through the aisles, she made her way to her special place. It was a table that had been long forgotten by the majority of the school because of how far they had to walk to reach it. It was hidden right at the back, surrounded by old texts books that were rarely used by staff or students. It was the best place to revise in the school, it was quiet and always free… or so she thought.

As she rounded the corner she was shocked to see someone leaning over her favoured spot. All she could make out was the fact that it was a guy, but with his back to her, she wasn’t able to make out who it was.

She was about to leave when he turned, their eyes meeting as his face flushed bright red. He shuffled awkwardly to stand in front of the table as if he were hiding something.

“Er… sorry. I was em just leaving… sorry again,” he muttered, and yet made no attempt to move from his position. Y/N smiled sweetly at him. Neville may not have been the hottest of boys in the school but he was certainly among the sweetest. She’d seen him around a few times, mostly when she went to visit Hagrid's animals or to take care of the plants in herbology. Every time she had seen him in these situations he had always seemed so genuine, so kind towards all the forms of living things he cared for.

“It’s okay, it’s not my table, you’re more than welcome to use it,” she smiled again causing a warmth to spread through Neville's body. She was radiant, her beauty was beyond compare. Maybe not in everyone's eyes, but certainly in his. She was as kind as he, caring for all creatures great and small.

Her eyes tried to find what was hiding behind his back, noticing as his hands tried to carefully reach behind him.

“What you got there?”

“Er its nothing, just homework stuff really, nothing… nothing important,” Y/N could feel as this sweet boy filled with nerves. Bless him.

“Its oka-” she was going to make her way to another table, to leave him and the hidden object alone so he was more comfortable when, as his hands reached for the object, he let out a little yelp. “Are you alright?” She instantly made her way forward as he removed his hands from behind him, placing the injured finger in his mouth. Her eyes danced over where his hands had been, noticing a small rounded cactus in a little yellow pot. Attached was a little note, messy handwriting attached that she knew all too well.

“Oh don’t look at that. It’s for a friend… er, Ginny… it's for Ginny,” he stuttered and slipped over his words as they fell from his lips, the blush seeping onto his face, watching her as he faces displayed a whirlwind of different emotions.

“You were the one leaving me the little gifts?” She said, her eyes fixated on the note she had now picked up.

“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, his eyes finding the floor. He knew it would backfire.

An awkward silence fell around them. Neville's eyes remained trained on the floor as though it were the most interesting film he had ever seen, while Y/N’s had shifted, now facing Neville. She couldn’t help but smile feeling how nervous he was. Stepping so her shoes were in his line of view she gently grabbed out for his hand, turning his attention onto her. Just this small amount of contact made Neville's heart feel as though it were about to implode.

“Neville, that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” she beamed, causing the butterflies in his chest to simply flutter away. “You got me so many of the things I love, like this cactus. Most people don’t know how much I love cacti, so thank you. How about this weekend, you and me, we go to the three broomsticks, as my thank you, and you can also tell me how you knew so much.” The smile never left her face as she talked. Leaning in she placed a gentle kiss to his warmed cheek, causing another red flush to ignite his skin.

“That sounds really good,” he smiled when she pulled back.

“It's a date then,” and with that she left, cactus and note in hand, a smile on her face. Behind her was a lovestruck Neville, staring on as she skipped away, his heart leaping with every breath he took. He was going on a date.

#neville #neville longbottom #neville x reader #neville longbottom x reader #harry #harry potter #harry x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter reader insert #harry potter fic #harry potter reader #reader #reader insert #Harry Potter fan fic #harry potter fanfic

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famedexclusivearchive · 4 years

Photo

Filming for the third and final filming block (episodes nine through fourteen) of Shared Home has begun! Below, you’ll find the tasks for this four week period. These four episodes will revolve around the main cast celebrating the holidays, opening up more to one another, and saying farewell.

This post is quite long, but it is divided into information for the main cast and information for muses not in the main cast, so that you can find the information most pertinent to your muse(s).

Reminder: Shared Home has begun airing on SBS. Cast members are allowed to share photos and posts on social media about the show, but since the show will be airing several weeks behind filming, they are not allowed to post any content that will spoil details of the events of the show.

Note: Since there are quite a few people on hiatus for the holidays, I’ve extended the deadline an extra week again for this block and spread the events of the block out over four weeks instead of three, so everyone will have four weeks to earn points.

As always for events, please don’t feel pressured to complete more than you’re able to. Main cast members are encouraged to try to do at least a thread or two per filming block, but you won’t be penalized if you’re not able to!

HOUSE INFORMATION | ROOMMATE INFORMATION

FOR MAIN CAST:

Shoot Week One & Two (Dec. 15 - 28):

On December 16 (at a time not conflicting with ISAC filming for applicable muses) , the cast members of each house will film the music video for a cast Christmas song with them singing the song in their respective cast house with their own house mates (like the linked music video, but interacting with the cameraperson around their assigned house) and in front of red and green colored backdrops. This means there will be two versions of both the song and music video: one for each house. Both videos will be released on December 23 as a promotion for Shared Home. Assume the song was recorded earlier around individual muse’s availability. There is no official canon line distribution for this song, but assume each muse recorded for the parts matching their position or soloist type and each muse gets at least one line in the final song with main positions and soloists generally getting more than sub-positions.

From December 22 through the end of filming, each house will be decked out in winter decorations. This will include a (fake) Christmas tree through December 31, at which point the tree will be removed from the house, though the general winter decorations with remain. The base of the decorations, including the Christmas tree, have been put up by production, but cast members are free to add additional decorations to their house.

During the shoot week of December 22 to December 28, cast members will have chance to have their family meet their housemates. All cast members with a parent or parents or other close relative (grandparent(s), aunt/uncle, siblings, etc.) living in Korea will have an optional invitation extended to have said relative visit the house with transportation paid for by production if necessary. The cast member will be aware if their family is coming at least a week beforehand, but the time will be kept secret to keep an element of surprise. For cast members with relatives living in Asia, but outside of Korea, the production budget will pay for up to two round trip economy class plane tickets to surprise a cast member. Cast members without any close relatives or without any close relatives within Asia will not be offered this chance, but are expected to be cordial to their house mates’ relatives if applicable. The invitation is free to be declined by the relative(s), though production will encourage their participation for the feel good content for the show.

Shoot Week Three (Dec. 29 - Jan. 4):

House One Only: On December 29th, all main cast members of House One who do not have other schedules will be filmed attending Lipstick’s Prima Donna encore concert at Olympic Gymnastics Stadium to support cast mate Minnie. Tickets in the VIP section and backstage passes have been arranged for all House One cast members free of charge through an agreement between BC Entertainment and SBS.

House Two Only: On December 29th, all main cast members of House Two who do not have other schedules will be filmed attending BEE’s Winter Party concert to support cast mate Jiah. Tickets in the VIP section and backstage passes have been arranged for all House Two cast members free of charge through an agreement between BC Entertainment and SBS.

On January 2, the two houses will throw a two part New Year’s party. This time, instead of decorating for their own party, each house will be tasked with going out and buying decorations for the other house. They will then be given two hours total on January 2 to decorate the other house while the other house’s residents are decorating theirs. Humorous results by way of tacky or comedic decorations are anticipated, but cast members may choose to play nice, too.

The party will begin at 9PM at House One before the whole cast and cameo guests move to House Two at 10:30PM to discover the decorations there as well and continue the party. Cameo guests still around will be asked to leave around midnight. This party will be less formal than the housewarming party during the first week of filming, in a way the producers hope will demonstrate the increased comfort between house mates. There will be wine and champagne available during the party in the spirit of the new year for cast members who would like it, but each cast member will be limited to one glass and production will intercede with anyone who tries to go overboard.

Shoot Week Four (Jan. 5 - 11):

The final week of filming is set to be a warm and sentimental one. On January 7, 9, and 10, different arrangements of volunteers (mixing those from both houses as well as cameo guests) will be tasked with delivering coal briquettes around neighborhoods outside of their own in need of them.

Cast members will also be tasked with writing a farewell letter to their house mates at the beginning of this week that they should complete and pin to a cork board in the kitchen for their house mates to read by the end of the week. They will be filmed on their own reading the letter to the camera, which will likely be used as narration, but they are not required to read the letter directly to their house mates themselves unless they wish to.

The last task the cast members will be given will be to show at least one of their housemates (though more is encouraged) a place or activity close to their heart. A dancer might take their housemate(s) to the dance studio to film a segment or someone who has fond memories of visiting Everland as a kid may take their housemate(s) there. The only places explicitly off limits are locations that are not family friendly and, in order to maintain the concept of everyone being house mates, the cast member’s house or dorm are also off limits. Each cast member will film a short solo visit to said location or doing said activity before taking anyone there.

POINTS AVAILABLE FOR MAIN CAST: 17 points

+2 points (up to 10 points total) - INTERACTIONS: A thread taking place during this filming block with a starter and at least three replies (starter ▻ partner reply ▻ op reply ▻ partner reply) by the end of the three week filming period is worth 2 points. This is valid for up to five threads with different muses.

+3 points - SOLO: Writing a self-para of 400+ words taking place at any point during this filming block by the deadline is worth 3 points.

+2 points - SOLO: Writing a farewell letter of 200+ words from the perspective of your muse to their housemates by the deadline is worth 2 points.

+2 points - INTERVIEW: Answering this short interview (during filming week three) in-character is worth 2 points. These will be filmed in an area set off to the side of each house to be filmed with the cast members speaking directly to the camera about their feelings.

None of these will count toward your monthly limits for anything and must be completed and posted in the #fmdsh3 tag by Saturday, January 18 at 11:59PM EST to qualify for points.

FOR NON-MAIN CAST (CAMEO APPEARANCES):

Idols not in the main cast of the show will have a variety of opportunities to appear on-camera for this filming block. The following prompts explain each opportunity.

Opportunity One

Your muse has been requested to make an appearance during the New Year’s party on January 2 during the third shoot week. Details of the party can be found above in the shoot week three section of the main cast’s schedule. The party will go from 9PM to midnight, but guests will not be expected to be there the whole time like the main cast is. Like the main cast, each guest will be limited to one glass of champagne or wine if they choose to drink to avoid anyone getting too messy and production will intercede with anyone who tries to go overboard.

Opportunity Two

Your muse has been requested to make an appearance during the fourth shoot week filming of delivering coal briquettes to give back. Details of this can be found above in the shoot week four section of the main cast’s schedule. Cameos may help out volunteering as many days as they (or their management) would like and as their schedule allows.

Opportunity Three

Your muse has been requested to help film promotional content for the show. This will have been filmed or recorded some time from December 15 - 21. Your muse has been asked to record themselves doing one of the two following options in either audio or video format:

Covering a (family-friendly) snippet of a Christmas or New Year’s song of their choice (this can be a vocal/rap cover or an instrumental cover).

Giving an answer to the question of what “home” means to them.

These recordings will be used to overlay teaser compilations for upcoming episodes of the show to draw in the attention of fans of idols that may not be in the main cast of the show.

POINTS AVAILABLE FOR CAMEOS: 15 points

+2 points (up to 10 points total) - INTERACTIONS: A thread taking place either during the New Year’s Party,or during coal briquette delivery volunteering with a starter and at least three replies (starter ▻ partner reply ▻ op reply ▻ partner reply) by the end of the three week filming period is worth 2 points. This is valid for up to five threads with different muses (muses don’t have to be main cast).

+3 points - SOLO: Completing the above holiday cover or “home” prompt in a self-para of 400+ words by the deadline is worth 3 points. (The “home” prompt does not have to be 400+ words answering what home means to them. It can also include them getting ready to record their answer.)

+2 points - INTERVIEW: Answering this short interview in-character is worth 2 points. This will be filmed in their company building during filming week four.

None of these will count toward your monthly limits for anything and must be completed and posted in the #fmdsh3 tag by Saturday, January 18 at 11:59PM EST to qualify for points.

#fmdsharedhome #fmdsh3 #queued post

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cogentranting · 4 years

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Because I Would Not Stop For Death Pt 2.

Summary: My version of the ending of Supernatural, with a specific emphasis on Dean as the main character.

Also on: AO3 Accompanying Meta: X Part 1

________________________________________________________________

Loss affects everyone differently. In the days and weeks and months following Dean’s death this was especially true.

To Jack it gave a hard edge. There was an anger and fierceness about him so like that of the Winchesters who had known so much loss themselves. It pushed Jack to reckless, relentless fervor. He tried tracking down the demons that had killed Dean, but to no avail. In the meantime, he prepared for the fight that they all knew must come, stretching and expanding the limits of his powers. And as he did so, he practiced his hunting skills as well, tracking down ghosts and demons and gaining for himself a reputation as a hunter of such prowess that he could only have been a Winchester. Which makes sense. After all, it was avenging the death of a parent which first drove Sam and Dean as well.

To Castiel, loss brought weariness. Dean had been his first real link to humanity and with Dean gone he couldn’t help feeling that humanity itself was just less. He kept on, same as before, but shadows dragged down his eyes and hope’s light was a weak flicker. Even Jack’s growing power and passion could not quite reawaken in him any faith in victory. But for Sam and Jack he persevered. He’d rather fade away, slowly dragged through Hell, than let them down. He kept a watchful eye over Jack, paralyzed by the thought of such another loss, and spent his days in dogged pursuit of some secret bit of lore which might provide them with a new weapon.

To Sam, loss gave instability. A part of him had died and with it had gone his balance. He teetered erratically on the verge of a thousand states of being. Each day might bring a new version of himself. Would he be the lost little boy looking for his brother? Or the cold, driven machine seeking revenge? Some days he was rock and leader, others he seemed to be awkwardly shaping himself to fill Dean’s shoes. No matter how hard he strove he could not find his footing. A fatalism sunk deep into Sam’s heart and quietly he despaired of ever feeling truly whole again. But there was a fear too. A fear that if he gave in to that despair then Dean’s death would be in vain and everything he had left would collapse around his head. He would not press this train of thought too far, so mostly he didn’t think beyond the here and now, the tasks he set himself when he had mustered the strength to do so. Introspection made him feel he might shatter. The future was a dark void, the past an open wound. So sometimes he lead the charge, sometimes he trailed behind Cas and Jack, but always he kept his eyes locked on that Sisyphean task before them.

And thus the three trekked forward, gingerly navigating the shadows and haunted spaces that Dean’s absence left in their lives.

If long ago, before he had the privilege of knowing death like an old song, you’d asked Dean what he thought dying and going to the afterlife felt like, he likely would have guessed that it was like losing consciousness and waking up again. Now, some 12 or 13 years after his first death, Dean knew differently. He was all too bleakly aware that death felt irrefutably and indescribably Other. So it was that from the moment Dean opened his eyes, he was under no illusion that he had somehow been saved. He knew with absolute certainty that he was dead.

He found himself sitting in a black office chair, a little too small for comfort, with an empty table in front of him. Beyond that were bookcases, stretching high above his head, and far beyond what he could see in either direction, each one labeled with a letter and bearing endless stacks of nearly identical thin black books. His feet squeaked against the starkly polished black floors as he scrambled to his feet, uncertain whether he should still expect to face enemies. Almost as quickly he relaxed. He’d been here before, two years ago. This was Death’s library. Nearly the same instant as his realization, Billie emerged from one of the many corridors of shelves. Dean thought he detected an even more severe look on her face than usual. However, four years hadn’t been quite enough time for Dean to begin to decipher her enigmatic expressions.

“Hello Dean.”

He gave a curt nod and shifted his feet, waiting for her to speak. She did not. “What am I doing here Billie?”

“You’d rather be in Heaven or Hell?”

“Do I get a choice? You open a new afterlife travel agency- choose your destination? Or have we come back around to that promise you made Sam. That you’re going to throw us into the Empty when we die.”

“Tempting as that may be sometimes, no. I thought I’d been pretty clear that we’re past that. ‘Larger picture’ and all that.”

“Right, right. New job, new outlook. I remember.” Dean was relaxing, gaining confidence. One might even have called him hopeful. Surely just being here was a good sign. And hadn’t Billie, after all, been an ally to them more often than not? “So uh,” he clapped his hands together. “If you’re not gonna turn me over to the angels or the demons, and you’re not gonna drop me in the Empty, can we just skip through this little pep talk or lecture or whatever you have planned and get me back down to Earth?”

“I never said I was sending you back.”

“So what am I doing here?” He barked impatiently. As confidence in his own situation had grown, the thought of Azazel in the Bunker had crept its way into his mind, along with thoughts of the revenge Alistair might want for the man who’d killed him.

“You’re here because you and I need to have a talk.”

“Great let’s get this heart to heart over with. Sooner the better. I need to get back to warn Sam about what’s coming.”

Billie came closer, impatience mixed with an uncharacteristic note of sympathy in her eyes. “You’re misunderstanding me, Dean. I’m not sending you back at all.”

Dean jerked his chin up and squared his shoulders. “I need to go back there. Sam, Cas, and Jack, they need me. They need to know who’s coming for them. And Chuck- Chuck needs to be stopped.”

“And you’re the one who’s going to stop him? Dean Winchester with a can-do attitude and handgun is going to stop God?”

“I’m going to try! And Sam and them, they need all the help they can get. I thought you were on our side in all of this! You’re the one who brought Jack back. You’re the one who backed us. You’re pulling out now!? You do one thing and after that you’re just ready to throw in the towel? To run and let Chuck have his way?”

Billie’s eyes narrowed. “You should watch what you say. You might come to regret it.”

Dean jabbed a finger in Billie’s direction. “You said that Sam and I were important. You said that we had work to do.”

“Argue all you like Dean. But I couldn’t send you back even if I wanted to.”

Dean scoffed. “You’re Death. You’ve done it before, and more. The Old Death even pulled Sam’s soul out of the Cage.”

“Circumstances have changed.

Despite the endless hours spent in anticipation, the end caught them unawares, though not unprepared. It had been a long time since they believed they’d find any weapon to help them fight Chuck, but recently they’d begun to suspect that Jack was as strong as he would get (at least within Sam’s lifetime). So for some time they had been waiting, in anxious tension for the day when Chuck would make his move.

As for Chuck, he loved his parallels. So exactly ten years after Michael and Lucifer took their fighting stance in that very spot, Cas, Sam, and Jack found themselves standing on the dry dead grass of Stull Cemetery.

Storm clouds had rolled in, casting a pall over the stark field, and a few cracks of lightning tore the sky because, of course, Chuck had a flair for the dramatic. And this was Chuck’s doing—all of it. The field in Kansas, the fate of the world, the battle lines drawn. Team Free Will was down a man and felt it as if missing a limb. They’d debated whether or not to bring in backup—Jodie, Donna, Bobby, Eileen, whatever others they could find—but in the end all the arguments of who to involve and what good it would do were pointless; Chuck decided for them that it should be they three standing alone. It could be said that it was a mercy that Chuck brought so few to stand on his own side. Certainly, he could have raised a host of angels, demons, and monsters to back him. Instead he’d brought with him only Alistair, Abaddon, and Azazel, neglecting entirely the angels he seemed to have grown bored of long ago, in favor of an all-star grudge match. Still, Sam hadn’t been fooled into thinking the odds were any more favorable to them. And within the first minute of the fight, his judgment was proved right, as very quickly their best laid plans unraveled.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and Sam watched as if in slow motion. Abaddon and Alistair were toying with Cas, who was bloodied and bruised. They circled like jackals as he desperately gripped his blade. Further away, Chuck had Jack in a similar position. Jack’s eyes glowed and he flung out an arm, but whatever he had attempted was nullified by Chuck, though not without effort. Jack looked tired and scared and every inch of Sam wanted to run and rescue the boy, as impossible as that might be.

Azazel wrapped a hand around Sam’s throat and lifted him from the ground. Sam made a desperate stab with the angel blade, but the demon caught his hand and flicked the weapon away. Sam struggled to draw in a breath. It was rare that Sam felt small, but staring into those yellow eyes he felt like a kid. A kid who’d grown up hunting and thought he knew everything there was to know about monsters. A kid who only really realized how out of his depth he was the first time he stared into those same yellow eyes. And just like when he was scared as a child, in that moment, all Sam wanted was his brother.

It was as if Azazel had read his mind. He grinned. “Oh, we’ve come a long way, Sammy. You and me, we were the start. And now we’re gonna be the end. I killed Grandpa. I killed Mommy. I killed Daddy. I killed Dean.” He paused for a moment to watch the rage and pain in Sam’s eyes. “And now, I’m gonna kill you, and put an end to the Winchester’s once and for all.”

He flung Sam to the ground, where he lay gasping for air. He wanted to stand, to fight back, but his body wasn’t listening to him. Before he could recover, Azazel clenched his fist and Sam felt knives in his gut. He heard the cries of pain and fear from Cas and Jack as they fought their losing battle, and he felt the cold weight of helplessness. The yellow gaze bored into his head. Sam closed his eyes. Desperately, illogically, he thought, “if only Dean had been here, we might have made it.”

An engine roared a heraldic cry. A sound as familiar as a friend’s voice. Across the field the two sides froze. The gleaming black Impala surged over the hill, like it had 10 years before. It looked like new. Not a dent. Not a scratch. No trace of the explosion which had destroyed it. It rolled gracefully toward the stunned combatants. In shock, they waited.

The door opened. The field was hushed, but from the car rolled the exultant chords of a rock song. He stepped out slowly, calmly. A silhouette against the raucous music. He was dressed in a suit, every inch of it jet black, perfectly tailored. On his finger he wore a ring with a white stone, and he casually twisted it, as if from old habit. He stood and surveyed the field as they all watched him.

Sam propped himself up on one elbow and cried, breathless with joy, “Dean, you’re alive!”

Dean turned and caught his brother’s eye. He gave a wry smile. “Not exactly.” He held out his hand, and in it, there materialized a tall, rugged scythe.

“Circumstances have changed.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Why can’t you send me back?”

“Sit down, Dean there’s a lot to go over.” Sulkily, Dean lowered himself back into the same chair he’d woken in moments before. Billie hesitated just a moment. “You’re right Dean. You are important. But not in the way you thought. Your role is no longer as a hunter.”

“As what then?”

“As Death.”

The anger that had been churning in Dean’s mind was snuffed out by the wave of shock and confusion. His mouth opened but he couldn’t make any words come out. Billie watched him gape, the gears of his mind practically visible. When it seemed that his eyes were focusing on her again, she continued.

“There are rules to everything Dean. Consequences and reactions that run deeper than any power you’ve seen. And one of those rules is this: if you kill Death, you become the next Death when you die.”

Dean floundered and found one idea to grasp on to. “But you’re Death. You said, when Death dies, the next reaper to die gets the job.”

Billie shrugged. “That was all you needed to know at the time. Think of me as an interim position. Five years is a long time to wait for a new cosmic power, and it could have been much longer.”

“This is crazy. I’m not Death! I can’t be. I’m not—I’m not-“

“The signs have been there for a long time. Much longer than five years.”

“So what you’re saying it was my- my destiny?” Dean scoffed, repelled by the thought.

“You might call it that. You’ve always had, shall we say, an interesting relationship with death.”

Dean started to protest but Billie cut him off with a wave of her hand. “From the time you were a child, you were surrounded by death. Your mother. The cases your father worked, the monsters you hunted. All the people you’ve lost since then.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. That’s the gig. The life. Ask any Hunter.”

“That’s because it’s only one piece in the puzzle, Dean. You’ve known death like no one else has. You know you should’ve died when you were 26? You were electrocuted, your heart damaged-“

“I remember. But I was healed. So?”

“You were healed, by a reaper. How many people do you think can say the same? That they were given life by an agent of death.”

“That preacher used the reaper to heal a lot of people.”

“Like I said, pieces of the puzzle. How many of those same people were supposed to die again later that year, killed by a powerful demon, but came back?” She went on before Dean could respond. “And then how many of them, would come back and work to save Reapers a few years later?”

Frustration bubbled in Dean’s chest as a hundred half-spun arguments about why none of that meant anything froze on the tip of his tongue.

But Billie pressed on without regard for him. “But that’s all small compared to the fact that you have died more times than anyone else. Everyone in your orbit picks that up a little bit. Sam, Cas, Jack, your mom… But no one matches your record. Gabriel saw to that with his little Mystery Spot game.”

“Yeah but those weren’t real-“

“Between Gabriel and the other angels and all their meddling, you’ve died a lot of times that you can’t remember, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t happen. And it means that you have the very rare distinction of having been sent to Heaven, Hell and Purgatory.”

Billie sat down on the edge of the table in front of Dean. Making him understand the full extent of his role in all this was so very, very important. “But all those are just precursors, Dean. Little warning signs. The old Death knew what they meant. That’s why he found it all so amusing. That’s why he let you summon him so many times. That’s why he trusted you with his ring when you first fought Lucifer.”

“If he knew, why wouldn’t he do something to stop it? Why would he hand me his scythe?”

“That larger picture I’ve talked about. It was always your destiny.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I am so tired of people telling me all these things that I’m supposed to do.”

“There have been a lot of prophecies about you, Dean. Most have come true. But there’s a difference between prophecies that someone tries to make happen by taking away your choices, and a fate that you are destined for, that can be predicted, just because of the very nature of who you are. No one forced you to do these things. The choices you made brought you here.”

“Well what if I don’t want it? What if I choose not to be Death?”

“You already are. The moment you died, you became Death. And there’s no going back, no being human again. If you want, you can choose not to do the job. But you’ve seen what happens when Death doesn’t do what he’s supposed to. That’s why the old Death gave you his ring for the day all those years ago. It was your apprenticeship. To make sure that when the time came, you’d do the job right.”

Billie’s voice had become uncharacteristically gentle, but now she straightened up, severe once more. “But there’s more to it than that. More you have to understand.”

Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well let’s get through it.”

“You set everything in motion 5 years ago when you killed Death. That’s when everything changed and all this went from being destiny to a reality. And you don’t understand the extent of the change that happened when it did. Before you were dealing with ancient and powerful things—Lilith, the archangels, the Mark of Cain—but that action brought the cosmic into play.”

“I killed Death, and that’s when Chuck and Amara showed up.”

“Exactly. And that’s why you and Amara shared a connection.”

“Amara’s connection to me was because I had had the Mark.”

“Lucifer also once had the Mark, and it didn’t stop Amara from torturing him, now did it? No, she didn’t realize it, but she was drawn to you because Darkness and Death are connected. But right now it’s Chuck’s role in this that matters. Amara didn’t realize the significance of what you’d done. But Chuck did. And since then you’ve had a target on your back. I only learned that recently, or I would have warned you.”

“A target? If Chuck wanted me dead he could kill me whenever he wanted.”

“That’s just it. He didn’t want you dead. Because he wanted to prevent you from becoming Death, and there are only a few ways to make that happen. When you trapped Michael, I brought you a book saying that the only way to stop Michael from destroying this world was to go into the Malak box.”

Dean nodded. “But I didn’t and the world is still standing. The book was wrong.”

“Because Chuck put it there, to manipulate you.”

“Because if I had gotten into the box, I would have spent an eternity trapped and possessed by Michael.”

“You would never die, and never become Death. And that wasn’t his only attempt to stop you. The Equalizer gun. A weapon powerful enough to kill a being like Chuck, or Amara, or even Jack, is so strong that if used on a human, it would obliterate their soul. If you had used the gun on Jack, you wouldn’t just have died. You would have been so completely destroyed that you could not become Death. The soul bomb you planned to use against Amara would have done the same thing.”

“But Chuck’s the one who took that out, if he wanted me destroyed why would he do that?”

Billie shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe that one wasn’t planned, and he hadn’t figured out what you were yet. Maybe he was feeling confident and was afraid of turning Amara against him again.”

Dean scowled. “But when I died, just now, it was the soul bomb. If that’s true I shouldn’t be here.”

Billie looked smug. “The soul bomb didn’t kill you. Lucky for us, Alistair was a little overzealous with that knife of yours. It probably wouldn’t have killed you first, except that I exploited a loophole and reaped you, just a little bit early. Tricky timing, pulling that off. You’re welcome.”

“Why does all this matter so much to him? What difference does it make?”

“Because, that first time you talked to him, Death told you something else. Something very important.”

The realization rolled over Dean like a thunderstorm. “He told me one day he’d reap God.”

“Which wasn’t exactly true. Death will do it, but not him. You Dean. You will reap God.”

The music shut off, leaving only the creak of the car door swinging shut. The demons fell back a few steps, unconsciously withdrawing from the aura of death which hung on Dean like the scent of a familiar place—from Dean it wasn’t ominous or evil, just potent, and quiet, and still. Chuck fidgeted, seeming as unsure of himself as his persona when they’d first met, when he’d been just a writer. And Dean… Dean fixed a cufflink, and then met the stares with a self-assured smile and lifted eyebrows.

The world bent around him like the tense crackle of dry air before an impending storm. Even as they recognized him, his friends realized that Dean was changed.

When he was younger Dean had worn authority the way he’d worn his father’s old leather jacket. As he’d grown into it, that same authority had been announced and demanded with every set jaw, every dark eye, every sharp word, as over and over again the world tried to deny him his due. But there could be no denying now. No question of Dean proving and reproving himself endlessly. Now authority sat naturally in the curve of his smile and the fire of his eyes. Now it draped his shoulders like a cloak and adorned his head like a crown. Now he held his head high like a king. Sam almost could have mistaken him for Michael, but the light in his smile, paired with the anger in his eyes—that was unmistakably Dean. For the first time, Sam truly understood the reason why his brother was the true vessel to the Prince of the Host.

Still, Sam knew Dean like his own breath and felt his presence like the beat of his own heart. So he felt deep in his soul the rightness of having his brother back and by his side. And though the man before him was indisputably different than anything he’d ever known his brother to be, in an odd way it was as if Dean was more himself than ever before.

“No. No no no no.” Chuck shook his head, a smile beginning to form. “This can’t be real. This is some sort of trick. You can’t be here. Dean can’t be here. I made sure of it. He’s gone.”

Dean shrugged and gave his scythe a twirl. “Well, I don’t want to point any fingers but…” he pulled a face and jerked his head in the direction of the demon trio. “You know what they say about good help.”

Rage and a trace of fear crossed Abaddon’s face. “That bomb-“

“Didn’t kill me. I died of a knife wound.”

The demons shifted uneasily, fully aware of the repercussions of that statement. Chuck’s eyes turned to steel, but he made no move. He only watched and waited for his enemy to make a move.

Sam scrambled to his feet as Dean strolled closer. Dean came alongside him. His eyes never left Chuck, but his voice dropped low and soft, no longer a king, but a boy checking on his kid brother. “You alright, Sammy?”

Sam nodded, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed by the sight of the brother he thought was gone. Dean nodded, at the same time checking in with both Cas and Jack via quick glances in each of their directions. “You’re gonna need something that can actually kill a Prince of Hell. Give me your blade.”

Sam held up the blade and Dean laid a hand on the silver metal. Instantly the blade turned stark black. “One kill,” Dean warned under his breath, already starting to move away from Sam. He circled around the edge of the field to where Cas was. Abaddon and Alistair had backed a few paces away, unwilling to move against the unexpected new enemy until a signal was given. Dean silently tapped Castiel’s weapon, turning it black as well. Unlike Sam, Cas could feel the grim import of the newly empowered weapon and suppressed a shudder. A weapon blessed by Death himself.

Dean had stopped his circling a few steps away from Cas, between his friend and the demons, directly across from Chuck. Tension crackled in the air, wrapping fingers around throats, and holding limbs locked in place. Like feral dogs they waited, hackles raised, teeth bared, legs stiff, but frozen in the moment before attack, each waiting for their respective alpha to make a move.

Chuck laughed bitterly. As Dean had set the stage, he’d been furiously trying to work out where his precautionary measures had gone astray. His hands went to his pockets and he bobbed his head. “This is Billie, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Just like the kid being back was Billie.”

“Turns out, Billie knows how to play the game pretty well.”

Chuck was growing huffy and agitated. “Let me guess, she told you some story about how this is your destiny. Become Death, reap me, yada yada yada.”

“That’s about the shape of it.”

“But you know that’s not how it works, Dean. I’m the author. Fate, destiny… they’re what I say they are. Every step you’ve taken, your entire life, has been because it’s the story I want for you. You really think Billie knows more than I do?”

“I think a soul bomb is a bit of an extreme way to try to kill one high school dropout armed with just a couple guns and a magic knife. I think that the old Death did a lot of things which didn’t make sense, but are starting to look like he knew a lot more than he let on. I think you looked real surprised, and real unhappy to see me get out of that car. I mean, it looks a whole lot like, you didn’t want me to be Death, but here I am. I’m Death. So yeah, I think maybe, you don’t get all the say in how this plays out.”

“You’ve always been good at talking big, Dean. And you’ve got the look down—the suit, the ring, the scythe. But we both know that deep down, nothing’s changed. You’re still just that same kid, too scared of losing his family to realize that he’s fighting a battle he can never win.”

Dean looked thoughtful, and for a moment his eyes strayed toward Sam. “Yeah. I am the same. Now let’s end this thing.”

They struck as branches of forked lightning. An explosion of violence and long-brewing hatred. Jack threw himself at Chuck before he could make any sort of move toward Dean, and Chuck’s attention and power were forced back onto his grandson. Azazel and Sam were at each other’s throats once more, each feeling a compulsive urge towards the resolution of that decades-long conflict between them. Abaddon’s move toward Cas was shadowed a moment later by Alistair, who no doubt hoped to see the enchanted blade’s single kill spent on the Knight before he made his play. But he had gone no more than a step when Dean appeared between him and the duel.

Dean closed the space between them and took pleasure in the demon’s reluctant retreat. Even something as old and as powerful as Alistair feared Death. Dean leaned in close, decades of anger broiling storm clouds in his eyes. Alistair sneered in the face of his former apprentice, but it was the bared teeth of a trapped animal. Dean’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “You were right. I do owe you. Let me pay you back.”

It was quick. Not the long, artfully orchestrated revenge he’d once dreamed of, but a contemptuous swatting of a fly. His ringed hand grabbed Alistair’s bare wrist, there was short sputter of light, and the demon was dead.

Cas’s attacks were revitalized. He matched Abaddon’s fury blow for blow. In every movement his long history as a soldier and a warrior were evident. More terrifying by far was the zealous conviction which had led him, for good or evil, so often before, all of it now bearing down on Abaddon. A knight of Hell, a soldier of Heaven, and a fearsome battle. But at last Cas’s blade found its mark and Abaddon died, frozen in the twisted fury which had defined her.

Sam’s struggle with Azazel was shorter. Sam was thrown but regained his feet in an instant, charging Azazel. No fatigue touched him. The hunt for that demon had defined his childhood and cast a pall over his adulthood. And now at the end Sam had no space left in him for any more words or mercy in that story. He simply ended it. When the knife drove home, Sam watched the yellow fade from the eyes with mute satisfaction.

But Dean saw little of either fight. The full weight of his attention lay on the fight in front of him.

Winds whipped up, creating a swirling vortex of clouds far above the heads of Chuck and Jack. Cas and Sam staggered in the maelstrom but it did little to touch Dean. He passed through it as through a mist. Bolts of lightning shot down from the sky, striking Jack, but with a ragged war cry and a flick of his hand, they vanished. His eyes glowed a brilliant gold and Chuck staggered as Jack thrust his hand forward. In that same moment, Dean pointed and at his insistence a chain appeared, invisible save for a colorless distortion where the light struck it, binding Chuck’s arm to the ground. Jack launched another attack and with a gesture Dean manifested another chain, binding Chuck’s other arm.

Slowly the chains pulled tighter, forcing Chuck to his knees. Still the torrent raged around them and both Dean and Jack bore the signs of strain. Sweat streaked Jack’s brow, and Dean’s hand trembled slightly as he held it, both of them breathed heavily. There was a blink and everything went quiet for the three of them. The storm formed around them like a wall, grey and swirling, pulsing with bursts of lightning, impossible to see through, yet silent, as if they had been sealed away from the rest of the world. When he spoke, Chuck’s voice was deceptively calm.

“You can’t do this, Dean. You know you can’t.”

“People have been telling me what I can’t do my whole life, and I always seem to be proving them wrong.”

“Even if you win, even if you do kill me, what then?”

“Sam and Cas go back to their lives, Jack takes over running things up above, and we finally start to fix this world you broke.”

“You really think that’s how this is gonna go?”

Before Dean or Jack could reply the wall of storm behind Chuck cleared, like a window or a projection, revealing a view of Sam and Cas, both crying out in agony though the sound did not reach inside the vortex. Blood ran from their mouths and they dropped to the ground, the grass beneath them staining red. Dean pried his eyes away from the grisly scene, unsure whether it was real or not.

“I end you and that ends.”

“It won’t be any better Dean. The world will still be broken. There will still be monsters, and evil and people making all the worst choices. Except, without me wanting a good story, who’s to say that the good guy wins sometimes? And what keeps you from your destiny? Sooner or later, your fate will catch up with you.”

All around Dean the storm lit up with images from his past. Sam’s body dropping into his arms in the ghost town at Cold Oak. Sam shot in the chest by Walt. Sam dragged away by a nest of vamps in the other universe. Sam half dead from enduring the Trials. Sam falling into the Cage. Sam shot. Sam stabbed. Sam clawed, and bitten, and bludgeoned. And flashing by among all of these were dozens of what he could only assume were alternate visions of the future-- each one of Sam dying. Some bloody, some desperate, some drenched in fear. In each one, Dean standing over the twisted, broken body of his brother, his own eyes empty of humanity. Echoing over it all were a dozen different voices from Dean’s past, each repeating some variant of the same prophecy: you’ll have to kill Sam.

Chuck spoke again, softly. “You’ll kill Sam. Jack will kill Cas. And your humanity will die with them and then the two of you will be alone. For eternity. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I can prevent that. I can change your fates. Let you two live the life you want with your family. I’m the only one who can change that.”

A note in his plea startled Dean from his stupor. He looked down at Chuck and thought how small he looked. Dean readjusted his hold on Chuck’s chains and took a half step closer, leaning in almost imperceptibly. He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

“You know, Chuck… I’ve been a hunter long enough to recognize a demon deal when I hear it.”

The feigned sympathy and mercy vanished from Chuck’s eyes, replaced by hate and fear.

Dean straightened up. His hold on Chuck’s chains was stronger now. His voice was bolder. “Maybe I do have a destiny. But if it it’s there, it is what it is because of who I am, and the choices I make. And I believe in who I am.”

With a sweeping motion of the arm, Dean summoned his scythe. For one moment more he hesitated. “Fate’s a funny thing. Maybe it will come true. I’ll be with Sam until the end. Maybe my fate is that one day I’ll reap him. Seems likely. After all, I am Death. Sooner or later, everyone dies at my hands. Even you.”

At Dean’s nod, Jack let loose a primal scream. A wave of golden energy burst from the boy’s outstretched arms. The wave collided with Chuck in the precise instant that Dean’s scythe pierced his chest. Light exploded throughout the ragged little Kansas cemetery, bringing down the wall of storm, spinning a blinding tapestry explosion of stark white and brilliant gold, with a black core. And then there was quiet.

They filled the bunker with people. Eileen and Jody and Donna and the girls and Bobby and Charlie and Garth and a dozen others, young and old. And they celebrated. Food, drinks, music, laughter, and a sense of victory more complete than anything they had known before.

Amid the old friends, Jack mingled as easily as he ever had. There was something sweet and simple and kind about the boy’s companionship that no amount of power could change. He was friend and son and younger brother to all of them despite his recent deification. All their eyes shone with pride as he recounted his ultimate battle. All of them knew, but none of them truly grasped what it meant for Jack. How could they comprehend trading jokes with the new ruler of the universe?

It was not the same case for Dean. They had all heard of his death months earlier, had all mourned, so they were overjoyed at his return. But like Sam, they all instantly sensed that he was changed. Far more changed than Jack was. Their ease grew with each passing moment, realizing that he was still Dean. His jokes were the same, his laugh as ready as ever, his smile just as warm. So before long, their time with him felt almost as natural as it had before. Almost.

There was still a barrier that they couldn’t surmount. A distance. Dean was no longer alive as he had been, and he belonged to another world now. He had become more, and in that there was a loss of that rough equality between them. The power, the understanding, the authority—they call suited Dean. But he had grown beyond an easy fit with his old life. So as the party wore on, Dean slipped into the kitchen on his own.

Sam found him there sometime later, a beer in his hand and an empty pie plate beside him. Dean looked up to greet him and smiled quietly. The muffled sounds of the party provided a soft backdrop. Sam sat down across from Dean. For a while neither spoke.

It was Sam who broke the quiet first. “It’s never gonna be the same is it?”

Dean shook his head. “No. But it’s good. Jack is the new God. He made Cas an archangel. Heaven’s in good hands. Rowena’s got Hell under her thumb. Things are maybe better than they’ve ever been for us. “

“But you’re not really back are you? You’re Death now. And you have to do that job. I feel like I’m losing you all over you again.”

“Come on, man. I’m not gone. Sure I won’t be here as much. You won’t see me every day. But you ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy. I’ll be around. As often as I can.”

“How often will that be?”

“Well, I’m not alone in it. I’ve got Billie helping me. With a partner, I figure it doesn’t have to be a 24/7 gig.”

“You still won’t be here. Not like before.”

“No.”

“It’s just that Jack and Cas are going to be in Heaven. You’ll be off… wherever Death goes.”

“I have a library.”

“Right. And I’m just wondering… what do I do all alone in this big empty bunker?”

“Well first of all, it’s not empty. You’ve got Eileen. And it only stays empty if you want it to. Come on, Sam, you know what you’re supposed to do.”

Sam scowled. “Ar-are you saying I should have kids?”

“No! I mean if you want to, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He leaned in, confidentially, comfortably. “The Men of Letters, both British and American, the hunters from Apocalypse World, you’ve been dancing around this for years.”

“You think I should try it again.”

“An organization of hunters. Based out of here. Led by you.”

“I don’t know. It didn’t exactly turn out well before.”

“Yeah because ancient demons and rogue archangels were out to get us. But now. Now you have the world’s largest collection of lore. You have more experience than anyone. And your family is, hands down the most powerful family in the universe. It’s the perfect time, and you’re the perfect person to do it.”

The absolute faith conveyed in Dean’s voice was hard to stand against. Sam nodded slowly, his thoughts spinning with new possibilities. It was true; the thought had been with him for years. With the small push from Dean he could see it all falling into line. A nationwide network of hunters. Unified, organized, supported. Protecting each other, saving people. A brotherhood. “All the best of both hunters and the Men of Letters.”

“And with all of those salty hunters in there to help you? Trust me, half of the hunters in this country would sign on with you today if you asked. And hey, if anyone gives you any trouble, you just tell them that you raised God, and your big brother is Death.”

Sam laughed. “Sure. I’ll do that.”

“Ah. Speaking of that.” Dean reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Opening his hand he revealed three silver rings. The engraving on each one matched the markings on Dean’s ring, but they were simple bands, each without a stone. Dean plucked one out and set it on the table between him and Sam. “That one’s yours.”

“What is this?”

Dean returned the other two rings to his pocket and sat studying his own ring. “Think of this like a signet ring. Or whatever they were called. You’d have a king and if he gave his ring to someone it meant that that person was under his protection or it showed that the king trusted him with authority or both.”

Under Death’s protection. Sam lifted the ring off the table tentatively. “What does it do?”

“As long as you’re wearing it, you’re very hard to kill. Not immortal. It won’t hold up to something like the Colt or an archangel. But short of that…” Dean shrugged. “Ground rules: only you can take it off once you put it on. You’ll still age. You’ll still die one day. And it was made for you, so you’re the only one it works for. Giving it away won’t do anyone any good. So don’t even think about handing it off to the first person who makes puppy dog eyes at you.”

“How did you-“ Sam stammered. The ring felt cold and heavy in his hand.

“Billie helped me make them. But it uh- involves a lot of pulled strings and loopholes and making exceptions. So in light of the bigger picture of all things, it’s really something I can only pull off for these three rings.”

Sam glanced at the pocket the other two rings had gone into. “And those-“

“Require another trip to deliver them.”

Sam didn’t press. His eyes were locked back onto the ring in his hand. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Sammy, listen to me. The only way I can do this, the only way I can go off and do what I have to do, is if I know that I can still have your back. If I know that you’re safe. The rest of the universe comes second to making sure that my little brother is taken care of.”

Of course he meant it. Dean’s life had been a one long series of acts proving how much he would throw away to keep his brother safe. Sam slid the ring onto his finger, and Dean gave a relieved smile. He leaned back again, his task accomplished. “And I mean it Sam, you need me, you call. I’ll be there.”

They sat there for several hours more. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes trading stories. Sometimes dreaming of the future—Dean’s new role, Sam’s hunters, all the changes Jack and Cas would make to Heaven. The boundary Dean had felt between him and the friends in the other room was not there with Sam. Sam was no stranger to Death. They were just brothers.

So they sat with each other until some sixth sense told them the sun was beginning to rise, and Dean stood up to leave.

Sam trailed his brother outside. Baby sat waiting on the side of the road. Sam’s eyes traveled over the car fondly, before he scoffed slightly and smiled at Dean. “You know, Death’s supposed to have a pale horse.”

Dean grinned as he swung the door open and leaned on the roof. “Nobody’s touching my car.”

They lingered.

Sam shook himself. “Well. We’ve got work to do.”

Dean nodded. “See you soon, Sammy.”

He got into the car and started the engine, reveling in its familiar growl. The rocks crunched beneath the wheels as the car turned onto the open highway.

In a moment, Sam knew he would go back down into the bunker, back to Eileen and his friends, and he would begin the next chapter of his life. But for a while longer he stood and watched the Impala drive away, listening to the fading purr of the engine. And Dean watched Sam in the rearview mirror for as long as he could, even as he cranked the volume up and sang along as loud as he could to the music spilling out of the car and onto the never-ending road.

#supernatural #spn #spn fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #my writing

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Échappé / Chapter 1 (Branjie) - DenDenMonMon

Échappé: Slipping movement in which a dancer starts in a closed position and ends in an opened one.

For: svpermodel

A/N:

Hi. Hello. Welcome!

So I have never written Branjie before, please, be patient since this is my first attempt. This was a crazy idea that a friend started ranting about on Twitter. I couldn’t help myself and just HAD to bring it to life. Even when I did significant research on them, there’s a huge chance you are about to read a version of Branjie that exists only in my head, tweaked a little by said friend.

Also, I’m Trixya trash, through and through, so expect a lot of that in the background.

Enjoy!

AO3 Link

Échappé

Chapter one

“You know, you can just admit that we are lost.” Brooke laughed dryly from the backseat. Her big sunglasses slid down the bridge of her nose slightly. She pushed them back into place with a smile pasted on her lips.

Ben looked at her through the rear view mirror, the single curl bouncing on his forehead to the movement. He had his lips twisted to the side in a cheeky grin, gladly welcoming the friendly banter.

“If you must know, I am very sure of where we are. I just need to find a street that actually goes down.”

Brooke didn’t bother in replying. Her eyes rolled on their own, even when they were hidden behind the black shades. She changed her crossed legs, switching to left over right, and looked out the window.

She liked Los Angeles, she liked it a lot. Sure, she used to live in, probably, the biggest metropolis in the country, but this wasn’t her calm and relaxed Canada. Downton LA was ugly, dirty, dangerous, and she loved every bit of it. That was the whole charm about it. She could stare at those old buildings all day. They seemed to belong in so many different eras and times, yet, they coexisted in harmony, creating this mix-match look that somehow fit perfectly together. The sidewalks were always crowded with people from all over the world, in all these different colors and shapes, and speaking so many languages. They were always walking fast and never waiting for the red hand to change to cross the street.

The car finally went left. There were honking sounds following the movement, and Brooke was sure that her driver had taken an unauthorized turn.

She held onto the handle on the door with a smile, amused by the way her body slid on the seat. The smile stayed there. Even when Ben kept mumbling complaints under his breath, Brooke couldn’t help but smile. She was happy. She had traveled the world and eaten the most amazing food; she had lived in exotic places and fallen in love with wildly interesting people, but she had never felt so content in her life. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought, at the very happy thought.

Brooke Lynn Hytes had just turned thirty, and her life was right where she wanted it to be. It hadn’t been easy, but she wouldn’t change a single thing about it. In a way, she liked how she had to fight for what she wanted, it gave her a certain perspective on life she could only obtain through struggle. She celebrated every victory and embraced every failure. Learned and grew from every experience, appreciated every achievement, and made sure to keep a quick and smart sense of humor; which her mom had taught her. Mom’s are always right after all.

She didn’t like to consider herself a lucky person. Everything Brooke had, she had worked for it. Nothing had been given to her for free, and opportunities had most definitely never simply fallen into her lap. When it came to her family, though, she knew that God, or the universe, or merely luck, had worked in her favor, landing her in the most amazing environment for any kid to grow up in. She, and all of her siblings, were always given the chance to be free, express themselves, go after their goals and trust their instincts. That’s how she managed to follow her passion and turn the life she dreamed about into a reality.

Being a ballerina had always been her aspiration. There was a world of a difference between her current self and that dreamy girl - the girl who would take advantage of any flat surface to try and pull dance moves she had just seen on TV. Brooke remembered being in her shared bedroom, pushing her sister’s stuff to the side so she could have more space to practice. Her legs were weak and untrained.

She couldn’t help but touch her toned thigh through the fabric of her skirt. Her body had truly come a long way.

As much as her parents wanted to help her to pursue that dream, money had been tight, and dance academies have never been cheap.

Brooke had fond memories of small dance groups she went to after class, at a tiny community center across from the school. For only a few bucks a week, she could dance with her friends for an hour per day, guided by an overly-enthusiastic Zumba instructor who really liked children. Those were enough credentials for the director of the place, who allowed her to teach. Brooke had no complaints, though. Those were her favorite dance years, before she was ‘discovered’ - when dancing was all about having fun, when dancing wasn’t a career. She had to admit, it was a job she loved, but a job nonetheless.

On the street, a mother angrily pulled her child by the arm. The girl seemed to walk a little too slow for the mom’s taste. Blonde curls created a jumping curtain around the girl’s face, who deliberately refused to move faster. Brooke saw so much of herself in the small child, the stubborn resemblance making her chuckle in her seat.

“See? Told you I knew where we were,” Ben said triumphantly. His words only meant he had finally found the right route again. He was a very talkative man, and just then did Brooke realize he had been quiet for a long time, probably trying to figure out his away around that part of the city.

The thought brought a new question to her mind. “DeLa, where are we? Is this still downtown?”

Her eyes once again met Ben’s through the mirror, what looked almost like an apologetic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, but according to this thing…” His fingers tapped on the GPS integrated in the dashboard. “We only need to go a few blocks down, enter the ten, and we’ll be on our merry way.” The silly smile was obnoxious, mainly because it was genuine. Brooke couldn’t stand the idea of someone being so happy all the time, but leave it to BenDeLaCreme to be able to pull it off.

Once he’d gotten some sense of direction, Ben went back to his usual self, giving random information he knew about the buildings around them, and how the government’s money only went to certain parts of the city, leaving this side completely forgotten.

After taking a right turn, the street grew smaller, the four lines merging into one and slowing them down.

Brooke didn’t welcome the traffic very well. The day was hot and she could feel her shirt sticking to her back. She ran a hand around her ear, pushing nonexistent loose strands back into place. Her blonde hair was perfectly tied in a bun at the back of her head, just like a prima ballerina should always wear it. Not a strand fell out of place, ever, she was always careful about that. Sitting in a car for so long, with nothing to do but entertain Ben’s pointless conversation, forced her hands to play with imaginary hair.

Suddenly, her eyes were pulled to the scene taking place across the street, her back straightened and her jaw dropped dramatically. She took the round sunglasses away from her face, just to have a clear view of what was happening in the corner of the park.

Her flat hand hit the front seat a few times with more force than she intended. “Ben, pull over.”

“What, now? Where? Why?”

“Oh, God, just do it!”

The cars around them were not moving much, traffic finally doing some good for them. Ben easily moved out of the way and found a spot to parallel park. The tires of the SUV hadn’t fully stopped when Brooke was opening her door and stepping down.

Her high heels hitting the pavement were barely audible above the loud music and inevitable sounds of children playing around her. She had to step on grass but she didn’t even care, she kept going and going, trying to balance the best she could in those shoes, until she reached her destination.

A group of young girls had a speaker perched on a bench. The round tube shined bright colors that immediately got drowned by the sunrays. Brooke didn’t recognize the music, but she liked the Latin flavor it had. Her mind was instantly thinking of intricate ballroom dances that could be performed to that song. Nonetheless, the girls dancing to it had a very different idea. Their hips moved to a synchronized rhythm, even when they were clearly freestyling. Each had their own take on the song, the beats awakening unique moves for each of their limbs but, at the same time, they clearly worked together. They looked like a perfectly structured dance team.

The song ended and the five girls giggled happily. They hugged and shared high-fives, proud of the creation they had just given life to.

She didn’t even think about it, Brooke clapped her hands slowly but loudly. She knew the smile on her face, open-mouthed and all teeth, probably looked stupid, but she wouldn’t do anything to hide it. What she had just witnessed wasn’t like anything she had ever seen in her life before. The way those girls had danced, so effortlessly, yet so accurate in technique, made her feel a certain warmth in her stomach she couldn’t really identify. She had come alive by their little performance, her heart was still beating to the rhythm of the song she didn’t even know.

All eyes went to her. The girls stopped their celebration and looked up at her. Brooke didn’t know, but they were not particularly used to see tall ladies in black pencil skirts, fancy white shirts, and sky-high stilettos. They stared at her with big questioning eyes as they lined up a few steps away from her.

“Hi!” She finally let out. It was supposed to be kind and welcoming, trying to ease the tension, but excitement made her almost yell the word at them. “You guys are so good! Are you part of a dance group?”

They looked among each other, until one of them nodded her head. If someone had instructed these girls not to talk to strangers, they should be really proud right now.

In yet another attempt to try and be friendly, Brooke bent her knees and placed her hands on her thighs, trying, unsuccessfully, to be at their eye level. She ended up sitting on her heels instead.

“You really are amazing! I wish I could dance like you, would you teach me?” Her ears filled with the innocent sound of girly giggles. Her smile only grew wider.

One of the girls, who Brooke had right away recognized as the leader, eyed her from the side. Her stare was analytical, scanning her up and down, and actually pondering if she could be taught. “I don’t think you could do it,” was her professional opinion.

Brooke’s jaw was somewhere near the floor, partly in exaggeration to entertain the children, but mostly shocked at the unfiltered comment of the girl. She couldn’t be more than ten years old and yet she carried herself like a fully grown adult. Her clothes were colorful and her frizzy hair threatened to break out of the braid adorning the side of her head. Her skin was dark and, mixed with the slightly detectable accent, Brooke deduced she at least had some Latin descendance. No wonder she had no issue speaking her mind.

Just when she was about to ask them who was their teacher, the question answered itself. They all heard a voice yelling from behind them. The girls froze for a moment, understanding the admonishing words barked at them in Spanish.

Then came a vision in red, black and denim shorts.

“Who is you and what the fuck you doing talking to my babies?”

Brooke’s eyes widened. She crossed her arms on top of her chest with a stern look on her face. “Excuse me, maybe you shouldn’t curse in front of the children.” Her statement came out more like a question, almost asking if the girl standing in front of her understood the damage.

There was a thin braid at the top of the girl’s head, adorned with rhinestones along the way; the rest of her hair went all the way down to her waist in natural waves. The long red curls bounced as she shook her head. “Huh? You serious, girl? How I talk is none of your business. Thank you very much. Plus, they know better than to repeat those words, right, girls? Or you wanna get’cha little asses whooped?”

They all shook their heads, amused smiles spread across their faces, indicating that the words directed to them meant no harm.

Honestly, there was something intimidating about the young woman standing in front of her. Brooke had to admit as much. It wasn’t her size, she was tiny, but her presence was grand. She wore high heel boots that went all the way up to her thighs, still a long distance from where her tiny shorts ended; and that black crop top hid barely enough of her chest. Her silver hoop earrings, that pretty much rested on her shoulders, caught the sun, blinding Brooke for a moment, and making her realize she had done nothing but stare at her for too long.

“Ya done?” The girl asked, her long lashes blinking rapidly. “You need me to turn around or somethin’?”

That was enough to fully snap Brooke out of her observations. She shook her head to physically exist that weird daze. “I apologize. Hello, I’m Brooke, Brooke Lynn Hytes.” She smiled and extended her hand, trying to be as cordial as possible.

The laugh that followed her words, she hadn’t expected. “What kind of name is that? You from New York?”

“I’m from Toronto,” Brooke offered, completely aware of the other girl’s chain of thoughts, and not falling for it. She was too used to be bullied by the unintended pun placed on her name, she had learned a rather delicate way to deal with it.

“Your parents wanted to live there or some shit? What’s the deal with that, bitch?”

That last word had thrown her off guard. Brooke was used to hearing it among her teammates, it was a term of endearment, usually the start of fun banter. Having it fall from the lips of a stranger made her feel uneasy, even when the few letters carried no harm in her direction. She retracted her hand, letting it land awkwardly on her hip.

“Yeah, okay, listen, child, don’t go all serious on me, okay? It was a stupid joke, alright? No offense to mommy and daddy and their dream vacation spot. I’m Vanessa,” she said as she closed the gap between them, grabbing Brooke’s hand without permission and shaking it at an unusual speed. “Nice to meet you, Brooke.”

Her shoulders squared up. Brooke was a strong, independent, successful woman, she was always cool and collected. There was no plausible explanation as to why this young woman, with caramel skin glistening in the harsh sun, was making her feel so… insecure?

Vanessa let go of Brooke’s hand, theatrically placing it back against her hip. “Alright, Imma ask you one more time. Are you, like, some kind of fancy-ass predator here to steal my girls and sell them to slavery, or…?”

“What?! No!” Brooke replied shocked, her voice tinted with indignation. She brought both her hands up to her hips, stretching her back and neck to at least feel some leverage, even if it was just her height. “Just, I saw the kids dancing and was taken away by their talent.” She craned her neck to look behind Vanessa, where the girls were patiently waiting for the grown-ups to be done speaking. “Are they your students?”

“Yeah.” Vanessa smiled proudly, directing her attention to them for a moment. “And they’re late for their stretching class!” Her high heeled boot was raised, pretending to send a kick their way, even though they were too far behind. “You better drag ya little asses inside before Miss Yvie comes and fucking skin you alive or some weird shit like that. You know she’s into all that freaky stuff.”

The girls ran in playful delight. Brooke followed them with her eyes until they reached a small building in the middle of the park. It looked familiar, she had never been on that part of the city, yet she felt like the construction was something she had visited before.

“Is that… your community center?”

Suddenly, Vanessa’s eyes seemed to light up. “Oh, shit! You are that-that–” her hand flailed in front of her as her brain tried to find the right noun, coming out empty. “The lady that’s supposed to give us the money, right?! The government help we applied for!”

Before Brooke could reply, before she could deny the title just given to her, Vanessa was stomping her way back into the building, throwing words into the air that Brooke didn’t catch. Her strides were short but powerful. The red and black plaid shirt that covered her bottom bounced to the rhythm of her hips in a hypnotizing way.

“Well, c’mon!”

It took Vanessa to yell over her shoulder to take Brooke out of her trance. She walked with fast steps behind her, unsuccessfully trying to catch up. She looked down, unable to stop herself from comparing her light steps against the forceful ones of the powerhouse in front of her. Of course, Brooke had to remind herself that she was a ballerina. She had been taught her entire life to be graceful. Feet should not make a sound when hitting the ground, that was one of the primary rules. So, she decided to stay true to her learnings and slowed down the pace, leaving Vanessa to stand by the front door for a few more seconds, waiting for her to reach it.

The first thing Brooke spotted when she walked in was a big sign next to the front desk. It read ‘We can save the center!’ in big blue letters against white background. It had a thermometer drawn on one side. The marks on it were set in intervals of five thousand, going from zero to fifty, and it had a big dollar sign at the top. Red marker covered the bottom, barely reaching the number ten.

Behind the desk was a blonde girl with big hair, overdrawn lips, extremely pink cheeks, and way too much mascara on her heavy lashes. Her complete attention was set on the phone in her hand as she popped pink bubbles of gum.

“This is Trixie,” Vanessa informed Brooke as they walked by her. “She helps with the makeup. I have no idea what she’s doing here right now. Don’t pay attention to her, she won’t pay attention to you, anyways.”

In response, the girl lifted her middle finger, but didn’t look up from her phone.

Vanessa took her around the place, showing Brooke the small indoor basketball court, and the few craft rooms. She mentioned a pool at the back but that was being cleaned, so it was better not to see it now. They walked through a small gym, where generic work out equipment had been placed. Vanessa explained someone had built them from scratch using metallic waste from the construction site where he used to work.

Music could be heard when they reached the back of the place. Those were the multipurpose rooms. They used them to teach yoga, zumba, karate, and modern dance; which was Vanessa’s class. They stopped by the room with the loud music flowing. There were around twenty girls in there –including the ones she had seen at the park– each supporting themselves on their hands and bare feet, forming an arch with their backs. A thin young woman, with limbs that seemed to go on forever, and skin as smooth and rich as milk chocolate, corrected the girls and helped them place their backs in the right position.

The tour ended back at the front desk. “See? Don’t tell me it ain’t cute. This is such an important place for the community,” Vanessa spoke with such enthusiasm it was contagious. “Grandmas come knit while the kids play basketball or dance their booties off. This is not a nice neighborhood, you see? So we need good things. This is a really good thing and we would like to keep it. If you could, please, not sell it to those big companies that only care about shit like parking space, that would, you know, really help us a lot.”

Brooke blinked a couple of times, she had completely forgotten about the misunderstanding. She had been so wrapped up in the way Vanessa talked about the place, making her fall in love with it right from the start, that she never found a moment to clarify who she was. Learning that they could lose it broke her heart. And then she had to think of an easy way to let them know she was not the salvation they had been expecting… or maybe she was?

Her hand landed on the desk, the other one found its rightful place on her hip. “Umm, I don’t know how to say this, but… I can’t make the government help you.”

Vanessa looked around, her weight shifting from one foot to the other in clear annoyance. “I knew it! This fucking administration doesn’t give a shit about–”

Brooke lifted her hand, making Vanessa’s rant die on her lips. “But only because I don’t work for the government like you thought.”

“Ha!” A scream-like laugh came from behind them. “She’s got you, V!” Trixie said before getting up and walking away, not willing to waste her time on them anymore.

Vanessa’s jaw hung low in surprise. “Then why the fuck you made me give you a goddamn tour of the place?”

“I didn’t–” Brooke was unable to answer, Vanessa’s anger filling up the space around them.

“You showed here with all you-your big money shoes and executive clothes, looking all cah-ching, cah-ching, and you can’t even help us!”

Brooke was reaching the end of her patience. The palm of her hand landed loudly against the desk, regaining Vanessa’s attention. “Listen here. I never said I couldn’t help you, okay? If you could stop for one minute and pay attention. I direct a dance company–”

“Oh, Mary! You are fuckin’ competition, aren’t you? You are here to steal our moves! Nah ah. No, ma’am. Not on my watch, Momma. You better get going.” Vanessa’s index finger pointed towards the door, her arm fully extended, and her face showing nothing but fury.

Instead of exiting, Brooke took a few steps closer, towering her. The heat radiating from Vanessa’s body was tickling her skin. “I could help you,” she said slowly and carefully. “My company can make a generous donation so you can save this place.”

Vanessa didn’t even flinch, her feet hit the ground one at the time, her jaw was clenched, and her stare pierced right into Brooke’s soul. “We are not a charity. We don’t need no free money. Go, now.” The words came out low but full of force.

Brooke was not going to accept being treated like that. She looked up at the thermometer sign, spotting a date for the first time in the top left corner.

“See you in two months. I’ll love to see the demolition of this place.”

And, with that, she walked out the door, not even bothering to look back to see Vanessa’s reaction. The girl had just gotten on her bad side, and there was no turning back.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading and giving this story a chance, please don’t forget to let me know what you think.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #yvie oddly #trixie mattel #lesbian au #dance au #echappe #dendenmonmon #submission #bendelacreme

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the-marvel-imagines-blog · 5 years

Text

Madness | Chpt. 26

Chapter Title: “The Greatest Failure”

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character (Eva)

Word Count: 12,324

Warnings: Fluffy, Big Brother Hjalmar, angst, fluff, just general feelings

Name Pronunciations: Hjalmar: “He-all-mar” | Aaldir: “All-deer” | Ephinea: “Eh-fin-ee-uh”

Summary: Aurora.

A/N: Thank you all so, so, so much for reading <3

Tagged: @teddyboobear @alledeglyfunny @xletmetaste-yoursmilex @itsknife2meetu @mynameisyara @j-j-ehlby-writes @jillilama-blog (anyone who wants to be tagged can message me and ask. It’s not a problem at all)

We were nearing her first nameday, but Aurora had already grown significantly. At only a few months old, she was running around as if she were a child, and after almost an entire year, it seemed as if we were preparing to celebrate her 12th nameday instead of her first. While Asgardians had a much different youth than humans, we tended to age much slower; however, our youth passed us by just as quickly until we reached our later “teen” years. Then, the process would slow to a crawl. Everyone who knew of her existence-my father, Hjalmar, Sif, Ephinea, Heimdall, Thor, and Frigga-had all tried to make reason of her strange aging pattern. The accelerated nature of it worried me because I couldn’t bear to outlive her. I refused to live a single day without her. It was a discussion that plagued many of my conversations with Heimdall, who spoke of the possibility that the occurrence could have been linked to the nature of her birth. She had been kissed by death but was given the essence of life, which could have caused her to age abnormally. Still, I couldn’t think of it for too long without the unknown nature of it bringing about sorrow.

I sat beneath the tree of life and death, watching her run through the tall grass of the meadow surrounding it, her raven hair flowing behind her. It was wild and untamed, just as her father’s had once been. She reminded me of him more and more each passing day. Each time she laughed, I could hear him. She looked at me with the same admiration that he once had. She would sit with me beneath the tree and allow me to braid her wild hair back, and all the while, she would sing to me the same beautiful melodies that only Loki and I had known. There was something within her that just knew him, and I loved her all the more for it. She latched onto every single story I told her, and she was never afraid to ask questions about him, her vocabulary being just as colorful and beautiful as his had been.

After a few weeks of me discovering motherhood, Thor and Ephinea sat down to tell me what had transpired with Loki. They told me everything from the devious plotting and the betrayal to the madness that seemed to swallow him. I didn’t believe a single word of it until Thor allowed me to look into his mind and see his last memories of my trickster. The man I saw was nothing like the man I knew. He was crazed-thirsty for power and control. He was desperate, and it pained me to see the man I cared so deeply for in such a light. That wasn’t the Loki I loved for a millenia. The man in Thor’s memory was a stranger, and Aurora would never know of him. Instead, I told her often about her father, the man I fell in love with, the man who whispered words of love and support directly to my soul, the man I knew Loki was.

She was exactly what I imagined. Her fair skin held only the smallest imperfections-a light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks that matched the pattern of my own. However, while I was often self-conscious because of mine when Loki wasn’t around to silence those insecurities, I saw those same imperfections as some of the most glorious, beautiful pieces of my daughter. They made her all the more beautiful. Her eyes became even more vibrant in the months following her birth. It was like I could see the very essence of life in her eyes. When I looked into them, I saw myself reflected in them, and I felt invincible. I felt like the woman she saw me as. In her eyes, I witnessed a version of myself that I never had before. I was her hero. I was her strong foundation, and she looked at me as if I were the most powerful force in all the universe. She looked at me like I was the most beautiful part of every day, like I was the sun that lit up her world, and I saw her in the same light. We shared the deepest connection possible, and Frigga noted that it was likely due to the gift I had given her.

She was feral, just as I had hoped for. She was a princess by right, but she had a wildness about her. Instead of descending the stairs of our home, she would find herself swinging off the railings and jumping down to the ground floor of the cottage before bursting out the door and running through the woods. She had a wild spirit within her that brought me back to my youth, a wildness that shone in her eyes. She climbed trees and made friends with the animals in the forest. Whenever she called out to Eldfinn, the wolf with eyes that matched the fire in his soul, he came to her. He was a massive beast-much like the ones I often made friends with-and donned a coat that danced with the colors of a fire long dead-blacks and greys-but his eyes were truly captivating with hints of gold, red, and orange mixing together. She called him her “wandering fire” and named him thus.

She wasn’t lacking human contact, but her wild nature came from her constant need to explore. The only restrictions I had for her were that she wasn’t to leave my sight without me, and she wasn’t to leave the forest no matter what. I knew what Odin would do with her if he learned of her existence, so I kept her hidden with me. He would never know of her. He would never know her face or her name because if he did, he would try to take her from me. She would be charged with the crimes of her father, and I would commit the greatest treason. I would spill blood in the throne room, and I didn’t feel guilty saying it. If anyone tried to take her from me, they would be met with fire. She was my secret, a treasure that didn’t belong to anyone, not the world...not even me. She was as free as the wind that blew through her hair. She blossomed like the life around her.

The mornings were met with beautiful songs because of her. Even though I would often find my way outside in the early hours of the morning to sing to the trees, Aurora had woken up every morning before the sun rose over the horizon, and she stood outside, watching the horizon through the trees. The moment before the sun peeked over the horizon, she would begin her sweet call, a melody that awoke the day. It was like she brought about the very dawn itself, singing out the song that the bright star knew, a song she seemed to be born with the knowledge of. In those early hours, when the world was just waking up, life blossomed in her presence. The flowers bloomed, the birds sang their sweetest songs, and the branches of the trees seemed to dance in tandem with her airy melody.

Upon finishing the crown of flowers and leaves I had been constructing for her as I sat beneath the tree her father and I fell in love beneath, I gazed back over at her, watching as the dress Frigga had made for her rippled in the light breeze. She looked like a little princess. She was the girl I used to be. She worried about nothing. She feared nothing except the occasional storm that would leave her crawling into bed with me, nestling her body as close to mine as possible until she fell asleep. She never slept during a thunderstorm unless she was with me, and that had been unchanging all throughout her life. She was the girl I missed, but that girl came to life in her eyes. She looked at me like I was still that girl, like she knew who I was deep down inside, “Aurora!” I called out to her, catching her lighthearted gaze with my own. I gestured her over to me, watching every move she made as she pranced over to sit between my legs, her back facing me. She knew exactly what I was requesting.

Setting the crown of flowers onto the ground beside me, I picked up the brush and raked it through her hair, careful to not hurt her. She was strong but sensitive all at once. She felt the pain, but she rarely voiced her discomfort. I could vividly remember every scrape, scratch, bruise, and cut she received from playing too hard, and she would shrug it off. I knew that they were painful because as I transferred them over to myself, they would sting, and I couldn’t imagine how amplified that was for a child. Gently brushing through her raven black hair, I envisioned my Loki again. This was something we partook in countless times over the millennia we were together. He would sit in front of me, his back facing me, and I would brush his hair and braid it back to give me a better view of that beautiful visage, features Aurora seemed to inherit. She reminded me of the gentleness I saw in Loki, and I found myself shedding tears at the moments of remembrance. She would say something or do something-the light could catch her in just the right way-and it would remind me of her father, a man I still felt inexplicably connected to. It was like the flame in my heart didn’t die out like I thought it would if he made the journey before me, which he did.

Once every tangle was brushed from her hair, I braided two strands from her temples to meet at the back of her head where I tied them together with a blue ribbon that matched Loki’s eyes. Her hair was long, reaching the middle of her back. She liked to keep it long after I told her how fond her father had been of my long hair. He would’ve been so impressed with her, so infatuated with every little thing she did. She would’ve been his light when I was unable to be. Dragging the brush through her hair once more to ensure the tangles were completely gone, mindful of the braids I had already created, her voice emerged from the silence, “do you think that we could perhaps...go into town today?” she asked, her voice just as soft and sweet as she was.

The question pained me each time she asked it, but it wasn’t because it was hard to hear, it was because of how hard my response was to formulate. She wasn’t allowed into the world outside for my fear that people would uncover the secret I had kept hidden away. She was a gift that I desired to share with the world, but it was a gift that could be tainted so quickly if people knew of her origin. It took some time for the Asgardians to see me as more than just another orphan girl. I had to prove myself, and my mistreatment ended in my youth when I began to blossom into a young woman. Loki, however, continued to suffer the mistreatment until people saw how taken we were by each other, which took much longer than I liked. People began to realize how willing I was to argue on his behalf, how offended I became when they spoke ill of him or toward him, how angry I was when they even looked at him the wrong way. They saw how deeply I loved him, and in time, their opinion of him changed. He was no longer cast aside as much, and the people began to love him when they saw how much he loved me.

Even though the people of Asgard came around, I saw how their actions and words had affected him in the centuries that followed. He didn’t feel worthy of anything he deemed to be good, and I was at the center of it. He looked at me as if I was an unattainable gift even when I promised my heart and soul to him. The words of others had torn him apart, and I was left picking up those pieces, trying to rebuild the boy I once knew, a boy who loved freely, a boy who sang to the trees with me, a boy who kissed me and didn’t feel ashamed of the blush that overcame his cheeks and nose, a boy who drowned out the world that said we weren’t meant for each other. He was a boy who knew his worth, but as we grew, he questioned it because of the years of being mistreated. I wouldn’t allow our daughter to experience the same thing. I wouldn’t allow them to prosecute her because of her father’s actions. I wouldn’t force upon her the pain of feeling unwanted, unloved, or unappreciated when her reality was so different in those woods. I stroked her hair back with my hand as she turned to face me, “oh, my sweet little wolf, you know you mustn’t explore the world outside this forest,” I murmured, pulling her closer to me.

“But why mustn’t I?” she asked that similar question. It was the one that always followed my insistence that she couldn’t travel into town with me. She often asked Hjalmar and my father, but they gave her the same answer, knowing that it was for the best that she remain a secret. Her big green eyes cut through me and shattered my heart, “Hjalmar and Grandfather get to explore all the time! You go out into the world all the time! Why is it that I’m kept hidden away in the forest? Why can’t I see the world as you do? Why am I not allowed to do as you do?”

I pressed a kiss to her forehead before nuzzling my face against hers, “you have no idea how badly I wish for you to be able to explore as much as you desire, Aurora. I want you to be as free as anyone else, but the world outside these woods can be cold and harsh. The people of Asgard won’t understand you,” I explained once more, sounding too much like my father.

“But they’ll never understand me if I’m locked away,” she replied, her voice filled with so much sorrow. Those words. I knew those words. I spoke those words as a child. I could vividly remember my burning desire to explore the villages outside the forest. I wanted to know what the world had in store for me, but my father kept me hidden away like I had done to Aurora. I remembered how devastating it was each time he would deny my request to venture too far from the house, how disheartened I would become when he would deny my request to go into town with him and Hjalmar. I had been kept a secret once, too, so the pain that came with it wasn’t lost on me. I knew what she was feeling because I felt it myself at one point. I had hoped for so long that I’d be able to give my child a different life, a life without constraints. She shouldn’t have to understand the injustices of the world, but she was forced to.

I sighed, swallowing back the lump in my throat. I had to remain strong for her sake, “the forest and our home is the safest place for you, little one. I know that it’s unfair. I want you to explore more than my own desire to explore the universe itself, but it’s just not the right time for such things. Perhaps when you’re older, we can discuss it again,” I spoke the harsh words as gently as possible, holding her close to me as I felt the very heart within her breaking at the unfair truth. Odin was the one I was truly afraid of. He was the one who could tear my life apart. It didn’t sit well with me that Loki and I had a beautiful relationship up until the point that he spoke to his father, so whatever that conversation had been about, I blamed Odin for the fate of our relationship. I also blamed myself. Perhaps if I had told Loki that I was pregnant before he left to speak with his father, which was something I was on the brink of telling him before he left, he would be here to witness his daughter’s beauty, grace, and wild nature.

Hjalmar’s unannounced presence beside me startled me, but he didn’t catch me completely off guard as Aurora’s eyes locked on him before he spoke in my defense, “the outside world is a big place with small people who don’t know how to treat those who aren’t...dull like them!” he noted, a grin playing on his lips that seemed to bleed onto Aurora’s. They were close. They were just as inseparable as Hjalmar and I had been as children and harbored a love for one another that was only strengthened by their protective instincts over each other. When Hjalmar readied himself to ride out into battle, she would fight him to stay, shedding tears as she begged him not to leave. I saw myself in her. His words in that moment, however, shocked me, and my jaw hung slack as I processed what he said. My eyes locked with his blue ones, and he shrugged his shoulders, feeling my playful judgement, “what? I speak the truth!” he defended himself, raising his hands to surrender.

I snickered before turning my gaze back to the emerald eyes that matched mine, ones I regarded as far more beautiful than any sight I’d ever had the honor of gazing upon, “Asgard can be a dangerous place for people who go against the grain. You didn’t choose your name or who you were born to, but people can hold prejudices against others for who their parents are,” I murmured, knowing those injustices firsthand. It was a difficult concept to grasp, one I still couldn’t understand. Too many nights, I’d lay awake and wish for the ability to create a world just for her, but wishing never brought me anything in life. I would have to change the world for her, and I was prepared to do so.

Her voice pulled me from my feelings of guilt, “but I want to be like you! I want to be like father!” she insisted, her voice cracking as it often had when she brought him up. We spoke of him, and I knew that she had an innate love for a man she never even met. She loved him so deeply and so freely that his loss hurt her just as much as it hurt me, a woman who was in love with him for a millennia. Hearing her speak of him, hearing how eager she was to be like us, brought tears to my eyes, “I would never do anything to taint our family name, and if the Asgardians hold prejudices against me for who my family is, it will be clear to me that they don’t know you well enough. I just want to be someone who would make you proud, someone my father would be proud of,” she sniffled, a few stray tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, Aurora,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close. Hjalmar lowered himself onto the ground beside me as I held her to my chest. I fought back the tears, finding my strength in my brother just as I had for so long, “I am so proud of the little woman you’ve become. I am so proud of the woman you will become. I’ve loved you since before you were born, since before you were even conceived. Your father and I spoke of our future children all the time, and you’re exactly what we always dreamed of. If he could see you right now-” my voice cracked as the tears stung my eyes. My bottom lip quivered as I thought of the future we had planned, a future I was living without him. I pulled away just enough to tilt her head up to look at me, “if he could see you right now...he would be so proud,” I murmured, pressing my lips to her forehead as her bottom lip continued to tremble. It broke my heart that she was hurting. If I could take that pain away, I would have done so in a heartbeat. I would take on every ounce of heartbreak if it meant she experienced none of it. That was the truth, though. Loki would have been enthralled by her. I thought I knew what love was with just him. He showed me a romantic love that I was still learning to live without, and I never imagined I could love another living thing more than him, but she came along and opened a new window into my soul. She was everything, and he would’ve loved her more than he ever could’ve loved me. She would’ve been our pride and joy, but I was forced to value such a beauty all on my own.

“Your father was one of my closest friends growing up, and I can tell you something right now, princess, he would have been your best friend, too,” Hjalmar grinned, trying to lighten the mood, “he used to create these illusions and place them around the cottage in order to scare me. He even shapeshifted into grandfather at one point to find a way to get your mother out of the house. Your father was a ball of mischief, but he was one of the kindest men I knew, and I know how proud he would be to have a daughter like you. Wherever he is, his heart is full because of your mere existence,” he continued, tears appearing even in those blue eyes that had been so strong through all of this. Hjalmar mourned Loki just as my father did, but there was a special connection the two of them share. I could still vividly remember Hjalmar’s threat to Loki that should my love hurt me, he’d be dead by dawn. If Loki had been anyone else, Hjalmar would’ve kept his promise, and I had no doubt in my mind, but when I came home crying that day, Hjalmar held me all through the night and shed tears with me.

I pressed one more kiss into her hair before placing the crown of flowers and leaves upon her head. It was so similar to the one Loki and I used to make for each other. He would spend hours putting together the perfect crown, telling me that it must be suited for the queen of the forest. He placed so much love and admiration upon me. Every moment we were together, he looked at me as so much more than just an orphaned girl with no name, no home, no claims. He called me a princess, a goddess, a queen, and he treated me like a woman with such power that even I doubted. I didn’t see myself the way he saw me, and he never saw himself through my eyes, either. I always believed it was because love blinded us, but he was aware of my flaws, too, just as I was with his. He was too cold sometimes, and when he was angry, he would become much more calculating. He would bottle up his frustrations until he began bursting at the seams, and there were moments when it lead to arguments between the two of us. He had flaws-just as we all did-but they were met with such beautiful, perfect parts of him. He could be cold and calculating in his frustration and anger, but the rest of the time, he was sweet and warm. He could bottle up his frustrations until they burst out of him, but he knew how to apologize, and he always meant it.

The crown I made for Aurora was fitting for a princess, which she was by right. She had a claim to the throne, but it would’ve been passed along to Thor at some point, and should he have children, they would be his successor. Still, she was a princess. As she stood up and took off toward the woods, calling out for Eldfinn, Hjalmar and I continued to sit by the tree in silent remembrance of the pieces of our hearts that had been lost in Loki’s absence. We both watched as the massive wolf emerged from the tree line, his grey and black coat shimmering in the sunlight. He made his way over to Aurora, and she pressed her forehead against his, running a hand through his fur. He stood just as tall as she was, just a bit smaller than some of our horses, but she was never afraid of him. The were close friends, much like the wolves I surrounded myself with growing up. They never caused me any harm, and Eldfinn wouldn’t hurt Aurora. The animals of the forest understood me, and they understood the boundaries of their wild nature. My family wasn’t their prey, and neither was I. They were peaceful to us, and with time, they became our protectors.

“You two are so similar,” he mused, catching my gaze. He watched her play with Eldfinn, and I watched as his eyes sparkled with memories that seemed so long ago. His words were a compliment for me. She was the most precious thing in my life, and for him to compare her to me brought me so much pride, “every time I look at her, I see you. It’s not just because she has your eyes, either. It’s because she has your heart,” he added, his blue eyes finally meeting mine. It was the similar clash of when the land finally met the sea. There was a gold ring around his pupils that bled out into the blue of his irises that matched the shores of Midgard, so his eyes looked eerily similar to the beaches Loki and I would frequent. Hjalmar had occasionally accompanied the two of us, but it often took much convincing, since he didn’t want to intrude on my time with Loki.

The smile that pulled at his full lips was contagious, and I found myself grinning up at him, “I look at her, and I feel like I’m a boy again, watching you run through this same meadow, playing with the wolves you named against Father’s wishes. It’s as if I’m reliving my most precious memories. She looks at me the way you do, too, like I’m somehow I man worthy of the world even after all the mistakes I’ve made, after all the lives I’ve taken in battle. You two look at me with a love I’ve never deserved but one I could never turn away no matter how guilty I feel accepting it. She reminds me of the girl that never died within you. That girl, the one who’s still curious, the one who still wishes to explore, the one who is capable of bringing about change, she’s still there within you. She never died. She never even retired or cast herself into the deep recesses of your heart. She’s always been at the surface, and I see her from time to time. I see her when you smile, when you laugh, when you admire the branches of the trees because they look like arms reaching out to hold each other, when you tease me for being clumsier than just about any other Asgardian, and when I watch you love. I still know that girl so well,” he smiled, leaning over to bump me with his shoulder.

“And what of the boy within you?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

He snickered, “he’s still alive and well. That’s why you and I are still best friends. You keep him alive,” he confessed, his eyes dancing with words that remained unspoken. Hjalmar and I had always been closer than anyone else. My father and brother were the first men I loved in my life, and they both taught me what love should be like. Love wasn’t painful, and love didn’t break your heart. Love was gentle, peaceful, and kind. They were the ones who taught me that, and then, they hoped that I would carry that knowledge and that ability to love out into the world with me. I did. That was how I met Loki, and that was how our love spanned over a millennia; it was all because of the love my family instilled in me. Hjalmar’s sparkling, world-brightening smile bled over to me once more, “and the only reason why she’s my favorite person is because she’s the product of the two people I’ve loved the most in my life: you and Loki.”

I could sense the bittersweetness in his voice, so I reached out and grasped his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. It seemed as if my hands were lost in his. He had the strong hands of a warrior, and while mine had seen just as much time on the battlefield, my fingers were slender-those of a lover, not a fighter. It seemed as though we both contradicted our own hands. Mine saw far more war, and his saw far more peace. I forced myself into his spot on the battlefield, afraid that he would be taken from me too soon. I would force Odin’s hand on many occasions, telling him that he could have only one of us, that it wasn’t fair for our father to send away both of his children. Many times, the Allfather bent to my will, but many times, he sent both of us, and there had been the rare circumstances that he sent Hjalmar instead of me. Still, I became one of Asgards most proficient warriors to keep the ones that I loved safe, to keep them out of harm's way. Hjalmar’s hands were built for war, but I refused to lose him to it, so instead, my hands lost themselves in his, “I have faith that the man who broke my heart wasn’t the one who filled it with love for a millennia. I think he still harbored so much love for us, and I know it’s no consolation, but...you were one of his favorite people, too,” I promised, recalling the countless times that Loki looked forward to seeing my family, to being around us as we sat in front of the fire, to speaking with Hjalmar about the things they had in common. Loki had just as much love for my father and brother as he did for me, but it was because they treated him as one of our own.

Hjalmar’s eyes filled with tears that he rarely let fall. It was the closest he came to crying most of the time, “I was supposed to go before him. That was my plan. My biggest fear in life has always been losing more people I love. I still have a vague memory of the last time I saw my parents,” his voice trailed off as the memories he only spoke of twice crossed over his eyes. His father had perished in battle, and his mother took her own life in the night after she put Hjalmar to bed. The sight was one he witnessed the next morning. He hadn’t even reached his third name day at the time, so the scene was both confusing and traumatizing. He didn’t have a good relationship with death, though, but his words were shocking to me. He continued, “I never wanted to lose someone I was so close to again. I loved my parents, but as I grew up, there were other people in my life who I loved just as much if not even more. Father was one of those people, and when I first met you, I loved you from the moment you looked at me. Then, there was Loki and Thor. There was Ephinea and Sif. There have been others who have fallen on the battlefield along the way, but I wasn’t as close to them as I am with the small group I’ve kept close in my heart, so my plan was always to go before any of you. I couldn’t face that pain again, but here we are,” he murmured, gesturing to the meadow that knew our presence, the one that felt Loki’s absence.

His words broke my heart, “you are still here for a reason, brother,” I spoke, reaching up to stroke my fingers through his full beard, “you are here because fate wouldn’t allow me to lose everyone all at once. I love you, and if I had to lose you after already losing Loki...if I had to lose you ever, I don’t know what I would do. I’d be lost,” my voice cracked at the mere thought of having to face my life without my best friend.

“You’d be strong,” he insisted, nothing but admiration in his eyes, “but you don’t get to die before me,” he teased, a grin overcoming his lips as he tried to lighten the mood as always.

I smiled up at him, giving his hand a light squeeze, “I suppose we’ll both be forced to live forever, then, because you don’t get to die before me, either. I won’t let you,” I replied, almost as if I was challenging him. Then, there was that alarm that carried from the Bifrost all the way to the middle of the forest where I sat. It was one I only heard a small handful of times. I had charged Heimdall to watch over my Midgardians, and when they were in danger, he would make the alarm. This was it. Before Hjalmar could stop me, I scrambled up to my feet and sprinted in the direction of the cottage, “look after her!” I yelled back to him, my words seeming to echo through the meador. The branches of the trees made way for me as the fearful tears stung my eyes. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, so there was no way Hjalmar would’ve been able to catch up. By the time I had reached the cottage, passing by my father in the stables, my sword and shield were waiting for me by the door. With one quick glance, I knew it was my father’s doing. All I had left was to dress myself in the armor that was crafted specifically for me.

When I entered my room, my armor was already laid out on my bed, almost as if he knew that I would be leaving as soon as he heard the alarm. It took me almost no time at all to reach the cottage, so I knew he must’ve worked quickly. I pulled on the armor, strapping it securely to my body. It was similar to Sif’s, but mine was a bit lighter to allow for quicker movement. I tied my hair back and gave a quick glance at myself in the mirror before exiting my room and holding my hand out for Soulkeeper. Within seconds, the sword moved itself through the air, the hilt of it landing securely in my palm. I strapped the sword to my back along with the intricately designed shield and hurried out of the cottage. In the distance, I saw Aurora running toward the cottage with Hjalmar close behind her and Eldfinn even closer behind him. Hjalmar continued to call out for her, but she ignored every desperate plea for her to stop.

Knowing that they would arrive before I left, I turned my attention to the stables right as my father emerged with a rope in his hands, leading Aria from the stable. I didn’t like riding her with reins, and it was perfectly safe for me. It felt constricting to put such a wild beast in captivity. She stayed with us on her own terms. She was never locked away in the stables, and if she desired to leave, she did. She had often disappeared in the night and had returned in the early hours of the morning. She was still just as wild as the day I found her, but she always found her way back to me. I could bring myself to restrict her all the time. When she saw me, those deep black eyes seemed to glimmer, and she broke away from my father, trotting over to me. She used her nose to nudge me toward her as if she was pulling me in for an embrace. I stroked a hand over her coat before breaking away when I heard Aurora approach, “where are you going?” she asked, her green eyes boring into my own.

“I’m going to Midgard. Heimdall made the alarm that there is a need for me there,” I answered, having no other details to give her. Even if I did, I wasn’t sure if I could.

Hjalmar finally stopped once he reached us, and he heaved, trying to catch his breath, “I tried to stop her, but...she’s fast,” he noted.

“I don’t want you to go,” Aurora interjected, her voice small and filled with fear. When I met her eyes again, I saw the unshed tears in them. She was terrified of me leaving her, and I knew that feeling. Whenever my father rode off into battle, I would beg him to stay. I would beg and plead with him to take me with him, showing him that I could potentially hold my own on the battlefield even when I was still just a child. No matter how much I tried to convince him, though, he always left, telling me that one day, I would understand. This was the day. My heart broke as I thought of having to break the heart of a princess. She continued, “please, don’t leave me!”

“I won’t be gone long,” I promised her, unsure of whether or not I’d be able to keep that promise. There was always a level of risk that was involved in my trips to Midgard. Oftentimes, I was going there in dangerous circumstances, so I was sure this would be no different. Still, I would fight death all the way. I pulled her close to me, holding her as tightly as I could without breaking her, “I’ll be back before you know it, and I miss you already, little wolf,” I smiled, pulling away from her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She couldn’t see me cry before I left. It would only serve to worry her more.

“I love you, mother,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me and holding me as tightly as possible.

I smiled, reminding myself of how lucky I was to have this type of love even if it was just for a while, “I love you, little wolf,” I replied, repeating the same words my father had all my life. I was his little wolf, and she was mine. I gave a short glance at both Hjalmar and my father, the latter giving me the nod of approval that I needed to leave her with them. He had made countless promises to keep her safe and raise her with love should anything happen to me, but I just needed to know that I was making the right decision. The simple gesture was more than enough for me. When I pulled away from her, she scurried over to Hjalmar who scooped her up into his arms.

I pulled myself up onto Aria’s back, straddling her body with my legs and finding that familiar, perfect balance. My eyes locked with Hjalmar’s once more, “remember, Eva, I’m first,” he reminded me with a contagious smile before waving me away, knowing that I was needed elsewhere. I clutched the familiar section of Aria’s mane before riding off through the forest along the path we always took. I was unable to look back at my family for fear that my love for them would stop me from leaving, for fear that her loving eyes would keep me from fulfilling my destiny, which had always been to protect the ones I loved so deeply. Instead, I poured every insecurity, every ounce of fear into Aria, and she pushed herself faster and faster with every passing second. She knew how fearful I was, and she wanted me to have answers to the questions that threatened to burn through me. I was always at a breaking point, and she felt that within me. If I wasn’t fearful of taking her to Earth with me, she would’ve accompanied me. However, I already had more than enough unwanted attention as it was, and she would only pull more of it.

When we arrived just outside the Bifrost, she knelt to grant me an easy departure from her back, the magnificent beast standing taller than even Hjalmar, who was massive. She was huge, but she was graceful. Once I retreated from her back, I gestured for her to run back home where she would either return to the stables or wander through the forest until I was close to returning home. Father claimed that she seemed to know when I would be returning, as he wouldn’t even have to announce that I was coming back. Instead, she would leave the comfort of the stables and return with me. She took off back toward the forest, and I turned on my heel to enter Heimdall’s observatory that had been rebuilt in the time between Loki’s fall and this moment. Entering it, I saw the man I often watched the stars with, but he looked like he had seen a ghost, “what happened?”

He swallowed hard, fear and disbelief clouding his amber eyes, “it’s Loki.”

The ride back to the cottage from the palace felt both excruciatingly long and far too short all at once. Thor insisted on accompanying me back to my home, especially after the trauma we both experienced on Midgard. We thought Loki to be dead, and the man I saw, the man I looked upon...wasn’t the man I fell in love with. He was different. He was overcome with madness. I declined Thor’s invitation to see me back to the cottage, knowing that I needed time to think. The ride back would help me sort through the various emotions I didn’t have time for on Midgard. My emotions had run rampant from the moment Heimdall told me of Loki’s presence on Midgard to being betrayed by him in New York to escorting him back to the palace and didn’t stop even in that very moment. Leaving him at the palace was both the most difficult thing I had to do and the easiest thing I could think of doing. Seeing him hurt me in ways I couldn’t think of.

He wasn’t Loki anymore.

His presence on Asgard threatened everything I had built in his absence. I had a daughter, a life that I was meant to protect from every horror in this world. Her safety was of utmost importance to me, but what if...being with me was the most dangerous place for her to be. Loki’s mood had shifted multiple times from the time we met on Midgard to the moment I left him in the palace. In New York, he nearly killed me, but his words of love and guilt kept me from giving in completely. Then, when we finally brought him back to Asgard, he was screaming at me, telling me that it was my fault that he was in chains. If I hadn’t interferred, he wouldn’t be Asgard’s newest prisoner. Instead, he’d be a King on Midgard. He threatened me that should he ever escape, I would be the first one he would pay a visit to, implying that he would finish what he started on Midgard. He threatened to end my life, and should he truly wish to hurt me the way he did in New York, Aurora would be the first person he went after.

Aria felt my need to grapple with my thoughts, so she slowed to a swaying walk once we entered the forest. I didn’t want the people of Asgard to watch me struggle with my emotions. The people knew me as a strong leader, someone who lead many of Asgard’s battles. I wasn’t supposed to fall apart. This wasn’t the person they knew. Aria, with her keen ability to sense everything about me, all of my doubts and fears and concerns, gave me the time I needed to understand my own mind. Loki was a danger, and I saw that firsthand in New York. If it wasn’t for Tony, the city would’ve been decimated, including all of us, and that was because of what Loki had brought upon. He brought the Chitauri to New York with the hopes of laying waste and taking control of the planet we had both loved so dearly at one point. He proved himself to be dangerous, and that was especially true when it came to me.

He was my weakness, and the other Midgardians could see it. It was no surprise to Steve, since he knew the history I had with Loki, but no one else was aware. They saw the difference between when I was fighting the Chitauri and when I was with Loki. I was a warrior, but I became nothing more than putty in his hands. Should he escape from the dungeons, which was a very real possibility, I would be his first target, of that I was sure. Should he find me, what would stop him from hurting the rest of my family? What would stop him from killing my father and brother? Would I be able to stop him? Would I be able to fight him...kill him? I was uncertain of the answers, which only made me more fearful. What would I do with Aurora? Would I run away with her to Midgard? What if he found me there? What if he hunted me down and hurt her in an attempt to bring about the most pain imaginable for me?

The questions flooded my mind until Aria and I made came into view of the cottage. The moment I saw it, the moment the tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I cried the whole way back from Midgard. As Thor and I trailed behind Loki and the guards that met us at Heimdall’s observatory, I allowed the tears to fall. I wouldn’t let Loki see me cry, though. I refused to let him watch me as I cried because he didn’t deserve to win like that, not after all he had done. He wanted to hurt me. Every word was dripping with hatred, a burning anger that left cuts on my very soul. Asgard wasn’t my home anymore, or at least it didn’t feel like it. Loki’s fall took my happiness, but I found it again in Aurora. I found a purpose in her, but having Loki back in the state he was in made me fear everything that I’d never been fearful of. I was afraid of falling asleep because I didn’t know if he would find a way out of his cell and kill me or hurt my family. I was afraid of raising our daughter because I didn’t know if she would be taken from me at any second.

Loki took away my security.

The sky was nearly black as I rode toward the cottage, Aria continuing to walk as slowly as she could. I could see that my father was busying himself tending to the garden, the torch still lit. It would be lit until I made my presence known at the house. It had been lit since the day Loki fell. He would light the torch and leave it lit throughout the night as a sign that our home-like our hearts-was still awaiting his return. It was our way of paying homage to him. It symbolized that our home would never be complete without him. He was still in our hearts, and I still couldn’t bring myself to cast him out even after everything on Midgard. I smiled lightly at the sentiment. Hjalmar stood beside one of the trees that lined the path, staring up at the branches. When my eyes followed his, I saw her up amongst the branches. She stared down at him, and I found that I was finally within earshot. Hjalmar’s voice was stern as he spoke to her, “it’s getting ready to storm, Aurora!” he called up to her.

Loki and I used to climb the trees in the forest when we were younger, and we’d often do so as children, watching as my father returned from battle. Hjalmar liked to stay grounded, so he would call up to us with worried voices, telling us that Father didn’t want us up in the trees for too long. He would often tell us that we could get hurt should we fall, but we didn’t. The secret to not getting hurt while falling was to not fall in the first place. In that moment, I wished someone had told me that before I fell for the God of Mischief. Aurora’s voice rang out, pulling me from my sorrow and adding that bittersweetness into my heart, “I’m not coming down until she gets back or until you send me with her,” she argued as I finally got close enough to see the frown that looked so unnatural on her lips. Aria stepped on a twig, pulling her attention, and I watched as the frown turned into a wide grin, “mother!” she beamed, hurriedly scrambling out of the tree, jumping down when she was still a bit too high up, causing Hjalmar to lunge for her and catch her in his arms. She pushed herself away from him, running over to me, that smile filling my heart with joy that had been pushed so far away in New York.

I slid off Aria’s back, and ran a hand through her mane before she ran off into the woods to take some time to be alone. Without a single word, I bent down and lifted Aurora into my arms, holding her close to me. Even though she had grown exponentially since her birth, she was still my baby. I held her tightly against my chest, wishing that things were different, wishing that our lives had been different. She deserved the world, and I couldn’t give that to her. I was failing her. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and every catastrophe, every life that was lost, every heartache I experienced on Midgard just fell to the wayside. All that I could feel in that moment was the sheer amount of unconditional love she harbored for me. She didn’t know the woman who failed the children in the orphanage. She didn’t know the woman who had nearly been killed because she couldn’t bring herself to fight the man she loved. She didn’t know the woman with the weaknesses. She knew me as her mother, and I felt that love so profoundly in that moment.

Casting a stray gaze at Hjalmar, I brushed past him and walked toward the house as the thunder began to roll in. It wasn’t Thor’s doing. It seemed as if the world could feel my heartache, the conflict within me. She wanted to grieve with me, and the thunder symbolized her cries. The droplets of rain that began falling, catching themselves in Aurora’s hair, were her tears. She felt this with me. I carried Aurora into the cottage, Hjalmar and our father following close behind. I didn’t speak a single word as we entered the cottage, the only noise from the creaky front door opening in front of me and closing behind Father. I sighed as I sat on the chair in front of the fireplace, listening to the rain begin to fall on the leaves outside. Hjalmar and Father sat in the other chairs opposite me as Aurora situated herself on my lap, keeping her arms wrapped around my body, “why are you sad?” she asked such a simple question, but it seemed so profound in that moment.

I didn’t know how to answer her question. I couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t explain to her that the man I believed to be dead all this time-her father-was alive and just laid waste to a city. I couldn’t explain to her that her father was no longer the man I knew, was no longer the man I fell in love with or the man she envisioned him to be. She had the most beautiful words to speak about him. If I told her of the horrible crimes he committed, he would’ve turned from a dream into a nightmare. It would have been worse than mourning him, which was something we had done together. I had to both mourn the man Loki once was and experience the pain and fear of the man who had the same face and voice, the same pained look in his eyes, but he was cruel, which was something my love was not. I couldn’t tell her of what happened on Midgard, so I settled for a vague answer, “I saw someone I didn’t think I’d see again,” I replied, catching the eyes of my father and Hjalmar, which filled with confusion.

Before I could respond to their looks of confusion with a cryptic answer, Aurora piped up again, “who?” she asked, pulling back just far enough to catch my gaze with her own. She looked so concerned, so protective. It was similar to how I had looked at my father when I was a child. I had always been willing to take on the world if it meant that he was safe. I could still recall the countless times I readied my childhood horse, ready to escape in the night to ride into battle for him. I would pack up my sword and shield that I could barely hold upright at the time, and I would pack a few days rations into the saddle bag. He would almost always catch me right before I rode off, though, and if he didn’t, he caught me on the path leading away from the house. Each time, though, I would see my protective gaze mirrored back at me in his dark brown eyes, and I saw the same look in that moment with Aurora, “Grandfather says that he’ll show me how to wield a sword tomorrow, so I’ll be able to protect you from them,” she promised, looking proud.

I cast a concerned glance over at my father, surprised that he would allow her to wield a sword at such a young age. It took some time before he allowed me to wield a sword, but I also knew how persistent she could be. He shrugged his shoulders, a lighthearted smile forming on his lips that made my heart hurt. I glanced back at her, “why would you want to wield a sword?” I asked, glossing over her question of who the person was. There was no way I could explain it without opening up a can of worms that neither of us were ready for. Father and Hjalmar looked confused, but they left they remained silent, knowing that their questions would be answered in due time.

She paused for a moment, looking for the right words to say, the quiet crackling of the firewood filling the silence in the room that was left with the absence of her voice, “well...you wield one,” she finally answered, her eyes locking with mine. It was at that very moment, that small, inconsequential moment in, that I realized just how much she loved me. We were connected by more than just the star we were forged from. We were connected through the life force that I shared with her. My very soul had bled into hers on the day she made her grand entrance into the world, and we had been inseparable since. However, it was in those little words that I realized how pivotal my role was in her life. She looked at me as if I was the world. I was her hero, the stars in the night sky, the very foundation she stood upon. I was everything to her, and she was everything to me.

When that finally dawned on me, I wished to cry out for mercy, but I couldn’t. All I could do was swallow back the lump in my throat as I gave her a pat on the back, “go get ready for bed, and I’ll meet you in there in a moment. Leave us to speak,” I insisted, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she crawled out of my lap and wished a goodnight to the two men in the room who put on convincing smiles for her sake. She would sleep with me that night. As I gazed out of the windows and listened to the rain pour down against the roof of the cottage, I knew that she would be taking over the bed. She couldn’t sleep alone during a storm. Since she was born, she would crawl into bed with me before the first raindrop even fell, almost as if she could sense the storm in her bones. That night, I would be thankful to have her in my arms. After all that happened on Midgard, I needed the security that holding her would bring me.

Once she disappeared into the other room to change, I stood up from my chair and closed the space between my father and I. Resting myself on his lap, I wrapped my arms around him, needing to be held by someone. I needed my father. I needed my protector. I’d never grow out of that, no matter how many battles I fought, no matter how far I roamed, no matter how many places I saw. He protected me from the horrors of the world and only let me see the good that the world had to offer, which played a part in how deeply I loved everyone and everything. I saw death and destruction, but I forced myself to believe that it was done by people who hadn’t been given the same love and patience that I had been so lucky to receive. They had witnessed too much misery in their lives, and they knew nothing but chaos. I tried to see the good, and that part of me wouldn’t have been as strong had I not known so much acceptance and mercy from the people I surrounded myself with. My father was the greatest example of that mercy. Hjalmar and I were not his blood, but he treated us as nothing less than that. After what I had seen on Midgard, after what I witnessed and what I’d been through, I became a child again. I needed my father.

His arms wrapped around my waist, and I melted into his embrace as my eyes locked onto the fire. I watched as the flames licked the cobblestone, dancing with each other in perfect sync with one another. It was how I envisioned Loki and I for a thousand years. We were two wispy flames connected to the same raging fire, dancing in tandem with one another. We knew we couldn’t burn each other, and I had faith that he wouldn’t burn me. Every now and then, our individual flames would bleed into each other, the joining of two souls that had been connected since the beginning. We were the eternal twins, our love symbolized by the fire. However, when I saw him in New York, I realized how wrong I was. We were suddenly fire and water. We were detrimental to each other, no longer able to dance as we had since the beginning of time. Fate twisted us so that we were given the ability to ruin the other, but he was the one who took that opportunity. I would never.

“It was Loki,” I whispered, my voice cracking the moment I said his name. They were both silent, and I knew that it was because they understood that I wasn’t finished explaining. They wouldn’t pester me with the questions because I didn’t leave any stone unturned with them. Finding the strength I needed to continue, I took a deep breath, “he survived the fall from the bridge, and he was on Earth. I was...he wasn’t Loki, though. This was a man with his face, his voice, his name, but the things he did...the chaos and destruction he brought with him was...on an otherworldly level. I almost didn’t return,” I confessed, feeling the way my father tensed up. Loki was like a son to him, but I didn’t even have to tell him what happened for him to know that it was Loki’s doing. My father would’ve sacrificed his own life to ensure that Loki was safe, but I listened to the way his breath hitched in his throat, almost like breaking glass, “he killed nearly one hundred people, and the army of Chitauri he brought with him...took the lives of hundreds more. I...did everything I could to stop him, but I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t do it,” I trembled, my voice giving way as the tears betrayed me and streamed down my cheeks.

I thought of the children in the orphanage. I thought of the way Loki looked at me like I was nothing. I thought of how it felt when he plunged the dagger into me-one of twin daggers that I gifted to him. I thought of the anger and madness in his eyes when I told him that I still loved him as he pressed the same dagger to my throat before he ruthlessly attacked me. I thought of the conflict when he crawled over to me, holding me in what he thought were my last moments. I thought of how he begged me not to leave him, how he wept when he thought I was about to fade into the darkness. I thought of how he pleaded with me to stay with him as my body healed just enough for me to head into the battle. He was afraid that I would be killed if I left, and I could vividly remember that fear in his eyes. I thought of how quickly he turned against me once more when we finally captured him. Thor had to be the one to put restraints on him, and after Loki mocked Steve and set his sights on me, Thor covered his mouth with the muzzle, knowing that Loki would only have snarky comments to make at me. Thor understood just how deeply the situation in New York was hurting me. Loki didn’t even understand the depth of it because he didn’t know about Aurora.

Hjalmar rose from his chair next to my father and sat in the same spot that he did when we were younger. When I was sat atop our father’s lap, Hjalmar would position himself on the floor at his feet to be closer to me. He would rest his head against Father’s knee, and he would reach up to hold one of my hands. As our palms met in that moment, I felt my burden lighten. I continued to weep, though, as my father held me tightly, keeping me pressed against his chest. His voice cut through the soft sobs that were muffled by his strong torso, “breathe, little one. You were made strong enough to weather any storm. You will make it through this one, too,” he whispered, rubbing my arm.

I took a deep breath, trying to work through the heavy emotions. Seeing him again, especially in the state that he was in, was like cutting my heart apart along the same scars that it received when he left me or when I thought he had fallen to his death. Those were the most sensitive spots, so it hurt even worse, “what of Aurora?” I asked, voicing the only concern on my mind. As soon as I mentioned her, the fire seemed to silence its crackling as the walls absorbed every sound in the room. The silence was deafening. Hjalmar’s hand tensed in mine, and no one even dared to breathe. I spoke as the silence began crushing me more than the various scenarios had, “when we were escorting him to the palace, he promised to escape, and when he did, this would be the first place he would visit. He wants to kill me. He wants to finish what he couldn’t on Midgard. He’s angry with me, and...what if he hurts her? What if he escapes and comes here?”

“We’ll be prepared,” Hjalmar interjected, his voice cutting through my panic. I lifted my head and caught his supportive gaze, “if he comes here and tries to hurt her, I will bury him in the ground. Family or not, he’ll meet my axe if he comes here with ill intent for either of you.”

I shook my head, knowing that his words were born of nothing but the unconditional love he felt for the two of us. He had always been my protector even when I didn’t want him to be, but it had only been amplified when Aurora came around. She was a father figure to her, and he acted like one. He protected her the way he did when we were children, even from things that weren’t even threats. When it began to rain, he would pull off his jacket and hold it over her head until they returned to the cottage. He kept us safe, and with my father and him close, I understood that Loki would only get to Aurora and I should he kill them, and he would have to kill me to get to her. Still, I saw how powerful he had become in New York, and the madness only opened up new abilities for him. He was stronger, faster, and more fearless. Should he arrive at our home, I couldn’t risk the lives of my father and brother, “I don’t want him to be killed. He’s still...I still...” my voice trailed off as I shook my head in disbelief that I could still harbor such deep feelings for the man who hurt so many people, for the man who tore apart the fabric of what we built our love upon.

Sensing exactly what I was feeling, my father spoke, “the most broken hearts are those that have experienced the most love. You hurt so deeply because you have been loved so intensely, little wolf. We will figure out what the next steps must be, and we will do it together. No matter what, though, you and Aurora will be safe,” he murmured, the creak of the door pulling our attention away from each other and causing me to collect myself quickly.

Aurora bounced out of the room in her nightgown, her black hair sweeping over her shoulders. I knew that the storm was distressing for her. She was afraid, but she wouldn’t tell me that she was anxious for me to finish my conversation so that I would retire to the room to keep her company. She wouldn’t voice those fears, but I knew by the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, that she was growing restless. I smiled at her, standing up from the safety of my father’s arms before walking over to her. I cast a glance back at them and nodded, silently wishing them goodnight. Reaching down between us, I held my hand out for Aurora’s, and when she grasped it, we walked into the room together. Like clockwork, she crawled into bed before me and sat upright, waiting for me to sink myself down and become comfortable. Only then did she curl up with me, resting her head right beneath my chin.

I smiled up at the ceiling, feeling her try to pull herself closer to me. If I had known the night before I left would be our final night of security-our final night of happiness-I would’ve made the most of it. I would’ve held her like our worlds weren’t about to fall to pieces. I would’ve tickled and listened to that laugh until she was too fatigued to prance around the woods anymore, begging to return home to sleep. I would’ve cradled her closer to me than I ever had before, but we never know when the last of something was. We could never know which one was our final heartbreak, or which one was our final smile. We never knew which moment would be the last with joy and love. In that moment, I realized that the safest place for her was as far away from me as possible. The mere thought made my heart shatter, but it was true.

I choked back the tears, my grip on her tightening, “the morning you were born followed the hardest night of my life. It was the night this world lost your father,” I murmured, feeling her eyes on my face as I glanced out the window, hearing the thunder and rain, “the sky opened up, and it rained all night. Thunder and lightning rolled in across the horizon, and I knew that it was because the universe felt his absence just as deeply as I did. She cried with me, but I didn’t have time to mourn him as much as I should’ve because you decided that you needed to mend my broken heart. You decided that it was time for me to hold you because when your father...died...I felt my world slipping away, and I was lost. It turns out that I was lost because you were meant to find me. It was as if you knew what your presence would bring to me: a lifetime of joy, love, and beauty that I’d never known before,” I reminisced, my voice becoming thick with tears.

Clearing my throat, I continued, “and when our eyes met for the first time, the storm cleared, and the sun began to rise on the horizon, chasing away the clouds. There was nothing but clear skies and light from that moment on. We have both known the storm, but we’re strong enough to weather whatever comes our way. I remember that day like it was yesterday. The light from the dawn filled the room, and it felt like it was rising just for you. I felt invincible the moment you looked at me, like I could take on the world, and I felt more love than I’d ever felt before. I never knew how deeply I could love until I met you, and within the blink of an eye, my world changed for the better. The girl I used to be, the one who had known nothing but heartache in the months prior to your birth, she disappeared into the background the moment I held you, and I returned to the girl I was when I shared my heart with another,” I mused, as my heart ached with what would come tomorrow. She would no longer be my little girl, and my life would lack the laughter and joy-the love-she brought into it.

My eyes connected with hers, and I saw my reflection in them, but I didn’t feel like the warrior or the goddess or the queen that she saw me as. I felt like a failure. My decision was to fail her, and in doing so, I would keep her safe. I fought back my tears, forcing a smile on my face as she yawned. She didn’t need to worry, and my tumultuous emotions would only lead to her becoming more and more anxious. This would be her final night of peace, and I would bear the burden of knowledge until I was forced to forfeit my love and happiness the following day, “you were and will always be...the greatest gift life could’ve ever given to me. You are my favorite, favorite thing,” I whispered, pressing a featherlight kiss to her nose as her smile brightened the darkness in my heart, “get some sleep now, little wolf. I will still be here when you wake.”

She nodded her head, another little yawn escaping her lips, “I love you, Mother, and I miss you already,” she whispered as her eyes closed, ready to accept the sleep I knew she hadn’t been getting with my absence. She slept far more soundly at my side than she did without me, and she couldn’t sleep at all during the storms without me.

“I love you more,” I responded in typical fashion, listening to the way her breath steadied. She fell asleep within minutes of hearing my final profession of love to her, and I just watched her, drinking in every feature and committing it to memory. All I would have left of her would be memories. When I knew she was finally asleep, the tears began to cascade from my eyes and down my cheeks. I held back the sobs as I thought of how true our typical parting words rang in that moment, “I miss you already.”

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