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bakuliwrites · 2 years

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Gentle, Chapter 1- Jeritza x OC

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI) for Eventual Smut

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses/Hopes

Relationship: Jeritza x OC

Summary:

She is soft. And in her softness, she dissolves whatever sharpness, whatever edge I have. In perfumed sheets and gilded sunlight, I am, for a moment, vulnerable. My gentility clambers out from where it's been buried deep for so many years. The Death Knight dies in her embrace, and from him blooms a new creature.

Jeritza finds himself drawn to one of Garreg Mach's newest professors.

Read here in this post or over on my AO3.

A/N: Hello, all! I've been experimenting with first person POV lately. I don't typically write them (I have a Castlevania fic in first person POV but that's about it), but I've been wanting to mix up my writing a bit lately. I thought it would be fun to write a fanfic from Jeritza's POV in the form of journal entries. Enjoy :)

6th of Great Tree Moon

It’s been a long while since last I wrote in any journal. I was probably a young boy when I recorded anything in a diary, one that is sure to be lost to time now. I’m not sure what has compelled me to begin one again. Maybe it’s an inane attempt to hold on to what little humanity I have left.

Much has plagued me and made it difficult for me to find the time to write. I’ve been far too preoccupied with the demon that has woven itself so intricately into my soul. It stalks me at every waking moment, hides in my psyche, lurks in my dreams. I barely sleep anymore. His grip on me is iron tight. For years, I have been unable to rid myself of him. It seems for ages he has been a part of me. Emile fights for dominance, but this demon beats him down time and again. I have claimed the name Jeritza. I have become a creature unseen by the likes of any history book. A dual being, of two minds. But slowly, these two minds are merging and I suspect that, eventually, they shall be one and the same. Until then, I have this diary to record Jeritza’s thoughts. This journal shall be my canvas, while the battlefield is reserved for the Death Knight. Ink is my medium, and blood is his.

10th of Great Tree Moon

I’ve begun my professorship at Garreg Mach Monastery on the recommendation of Lord Arundel. My leader, whose name I will not divulge in the case of prying eyes, has felt it best I secure a position here. Their machinations require me to be close to the subjects involved in our plans. I remain ever loyal.

On a side note, there is little of interest here. The students are quiet around me, and I around them. As the monastery’s fencing instructor, I have little to say to them other than corrections of their technique. Some are quite talented, others are better suited for the magical arts. The other professors are cordial, though Manuela grates on my nerves. Her flirtatious manner is most irksome to me and I am not receptive to her advances. Hanneman is constantly bothering everyone about crests. I don’t dare let him anywhere near me. I enjoy sparring with Catherine and Shamir. I cannot stand Alois’ jokes. Seteth is stern and leaves me well alone. Rhea is overbearing, but lets me do as I please. I’ve not much else to say at the moment.

11th of Great Tree Moon

Mercedes… She doesn’t recognize me. I wear a mask to conceal my face. She eyes me with intrigue, as if she knows me but can’t quite place from where. Things are better that way. I long to speak to her, but I know better than that.

16th of Great Tree Moon

I don’t speak to many people here. I often feel out of place. At odds with the serenity of this religious institution. It feels as if I marr its sacredness with my very presence. In me, I contain a darkness, unmatched. A demonic entity that claws its way out of my body at every chance it gets. I eat alone. I do not attend student/faculty mixers. I don’t have the capacity or patience to make friends. The myriad cats around here seem to understand me, however. I respect their solitary nature. Their independence and self-sufficiency are things I greatly admire. They are quiet and gentle. I enjoy their company in my off time.

20th of Great Tree Moon

The Death Knight grows hungry. His bloodlust is strong. It has been so long since last he was able to partake in such violent delights. I feel him itching at my skin, desperate to be released. But I must remain composed. I cannot risk losing my valuable position. The one I serve would be most disappointed were I to cause any complications in their plan. I know the demon will not be sated in the upcoming mock battle for the students. The one I serve promises that soon the Death Knight can have his fill. I must be patient. Emile, Jeritza, whoever I am grows weary holding him back.

***

We have just received word that a couple of mercenaries and a magician will be passing through the monastery in the next few days. They are, apparently, an impressive group. Rhea plans to recruit them. We are missing two professors and in dire need of replacements. I do not intend to get to know them beyond their skill in battle. I hope at least one of them can give me a good fight.

21st of Great Tree Moon

Our newest additions to the staff are intriguing, indeed. Jeralt was a member of the Knights of Seiros long ago. His physical age is suspicious to me. More on that later. I have watched Byleth in the practice arena and she is a force to be reckoned with. The Death Knight will enjoy fighting her, and Jeritza will no doubt delight in sparring her for practice. Rhea has decided that Byleth will lead one of the houses, allowing her to decide which one she will be the head of. Byleth has chosen the Black Eagles. An excellent decision. Perhaps she will decide to join our cause.

The third addition to our staff confuses me. It seems she will become the head of the Ashen Wolves, the four students that have made their home in Abyss, underneath the monastery. Ashani seems- delicate . She is a skilled magician, though I have yet to see her in action. Her demeanor is vastly different from her other companions. Both Byleth and Ashani are rather quiet. But there is a gentler air about the latter. She doesn’t seem nearly as battle-hardened as Byleth or Jeralt. Her motions are elegant, practiced. She is prim and proper, nothing I would have expected from a woman having traveled with a band of mercenaries for the last several months. She seems to be of little threat. I am unconcerned about her presence.

23rd of Great Tree Moon

I have closely been observing our new staff members. I look forward to seeing their battle prowess in next week’s mock fight. Jeralt will not be participating, but Byleth and Ashani will be. Ashani’s class will be split up amongst the other houses, as there are not enough members to make up their own team. I await this mock battle with great anticipation.

28th of Great Tree Moon

Byleth and I have been sparring the last several days. She puts up an excellent fight. If I were to die by her sword, it would be a glorious death, indeed. Or vice-versa. The Death Knight aches to meet her on the battlegrounds. Ashani watched from the sidelines, her gaze curious. She prances about in the monastery’s summer uniform. She smiles softly at me when we pass in the halls. The woman is unreadable to me. I cannot fathom her in any capacity. Byleth’s silent stoicism speaks to me in a language I understand. But Ashani’s gentility feels so utterly foreign.

Today, I watched her at the training grounds. She was instructing a group of students from each house about how to effectively use offensive magic. This was the first time I bore witness to her skill. Her motions are swift and sure. What she lacks in strength, she makes up for in wit and cleverness. Perhaps I judged her too quickly. Her shyness and tranquility led me to believe she would be of little threat. But there is something knowing in Ashani’s eyes. She caught me staring, an impish smile tugging at the corners of her lips before she turned back to her instructions. I plan to stay clear of her. Something about her makes me fear that she might see underneath the mask I have worked so hard to compose.

30th of Great Tree Moon

The mock battle was a success. Both Ashani and Byleth have proven to be excellent tacticians. Black Eagles won, which was no surprise. Manuela and Hanneman’s plans proved to be no match for the combined efforts of Ashani and Byleth. Afterwards, the students celebrated, but I did not participate. I chose to spend my time practicing in the training grounds. And it was then that the most curious thing happened.

I enjoy going when no one else is around. I find serenity in the pale light of the moon, after everyone has gone to bed. I can practice my fencing without any disturbances.

Apparently, Ashani enjoys practicing during late hours, as well. I was startled to see her already there when I arrived. She greeted me softly before turning back to her practice. I watched as lightning bolts and bursts of fire lit the grounds around us.

I told her she did well in today’s mock battle. I’m not sure what compelled me to do so. She thanked me graciously and we spent several minutes practicing separately, in silence.

“Can I practice with you?” her voice rang out in the night. The request surprised me. She often shies away from opportunities to battle her colleagues. She seems to prefer to spend her time reading, I’ve noticed. Linhardt has taken a liking to her. The two of them will sit in the grass and leaf through novels and textbooks, occasionally having heated debates about Crests and other such topics ( Goodness, I didn’t realize how much I observe this woman ). That’s not to say she shirks her duties as a professor. She’s merely not inclined to spend her free time dueling. Hence, her request came out of the blue for me. But who am I to deny a plea for battle?

Our duel was exhilarating. Long has it been since I battled someone that could potentially best me. Between Byleth and Ashani, I have two opponents that give me a true challenge. Ashani is fast, light on her feet as she flits around the arena. We are evenly matched in agility. While I am all offensive, she leans on the more defensive side. But her head-on attacks are vicious. She can’t afford to be anything but. Ashani is a viper and I am humbled. My judgement of her has proven to be most incorrect.

When we came to a draw at the end of our fight, we were both out of breath. She beamed softly at me.

“Thank you, Jeritza,” she spoke, giving a little bow, “I hope we get to fight again soon.”

Now, in the comfort of my quarters, I can write that I do, indeed, hope we get to fight again. I know in my dreams I will have visions of battling her.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #jeritza von hrym #jeritza x oc #fe3h #fe3h jeritza #fire emblem three hopes #fire emblem fanfiction #dani writes

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cto10121 · 3 years

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Can I ask your opinion of Romeo x Mercutio, if you don't mind me asking about multiple ships? 😄

Sure!

Well, it’s a tiny bit better than Bencutio and Tycutio, since Romeo and Mercutio have (all of 1) positive interaction the whole play, the game of wits, and it is genuinely funny and warm. Mercutio is explicitly pleased to have his bro back from what he assumes is his Rosaline doldrums and later on is confident that Romeo is “man enough” to fight Tybalt (“Marry, go before to field and he’ll be your follower”). Some interpretations have Mercutio be irritated with Romeo to the point of harshness, but I think it’s clear Mercutio does like and miss Romeo as a friend and feels the lack of him in their trio; he, and not Benvolio, is the one to ask where he is. His satire and mockery is because of his mooning over Rosaline and his loverboy antics, which Mercutio clearly feels has emasculated him (“Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! Strung through the ear with a love song…”), and not of Romeo himself. Romeo is also the closest to match his wit and the only one that even comes closest to controlling him—he is the only one to interrupt him during his Queen Mab’s speech and the only one who roasts Mercutio to his face and to the Nurse. Benvolio is good company, but he doesn’t even tell Mercutio to shut up even when he is accusing him of being a great quarreler (!!) to his face. I get the feeling Mercutio views Romeo is the most fun of the two. In short, they are good friends and their being foils for each other actually keeps them in good balance, which I guess is enough to satisfy most fangirls.

But not me! To me, it’s a cursed ship. I’m talking Rime of the Ancient Mariner-cursed. They are most definitely not in love, are probably not capable of loving each other, and even if they were in an even more cursed AU, they would utterly fail as a couple.

Neither Mercutio nor Romeo show any undue affection or romantic interest in each other or in any man, for that matter. Romeo actually proves himself very independent from both Mercutio and Benvolio—he ignores Mercutio’s mockery of his loverboy antics pre-balcony, and dismisses him entirely with “He jests at scars that never felt a wound.” When he meets up with them later, he shows zero guilt for having ditched and ignored them, saying merely, “Pardon, good Mercutio. My business was great, snd in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.” You get the sense that while Romeo sees Mercutio as a friend, he could get by without him; he is not that attached. Mercutio shows little emotional attachment too; lowkey missing his bro aside, his attitude towards Romeo for most of the play is “Tf are you????” and “Lol still mooning over that bitch Rosaline, just get laid already!!!” Not the signs of great romance.

Also let’s face it: Mercutio is not for romance. He mocks lovey-dovey behavior, thinks it is emasculating, (at least for Romeo) and makes everything about sex. He is much more invested in the macho masculinity of the feud than Romeo. It’d be all fuck and bye with him. Romeo is the exact opposite; even his shallow, mostly sexual interest in Rosaline he clings to like ivy in a tree. As a friend, Romeo is fun and witty; as a lover, he is passionate, romantic, and intense. If things get really bad, he’d be an utter mess. Mercutio would resent Romeo’s intensity (chill tf out!) and Romeo would detest Mercutio’s callousness (ugh this asshole). Romeo would eventually start setting off on his own, probably meeting other people, avoiding and ignoring him; if Mercutio insists, Romeo would rag on him, and this time it wouldn’t be a good-natured roast. Both he and Romeo would have zero patience with each other on this point and their relationship would dissolve into a toxic mess. In short, they would be miserable together and their perfectly good bro friendship would be ruined. It’s not worth it.

…And now that I’ve trashed the ship, I will say it’s not the worst I’ve seen in this fandom, ha. Honestly, I’m surprised this ship isn’t more popular than it is; it’s almost official in fan culture to ship character foils, you see it all the time in other fandoms. My guess is the insane Romeo bashing prevents it; I think there is little appetite to link up a cool and popular fan character with another perceived to be a woobie (kill this with fire) and that at best. There is also the influence of Italian RetJ, which is the only one I can think of that went heavily Romercutio, (unrequited, though, on Mercutio’s part) but Italian Mercutio is clearly a woobified version of Shakespeare Mercutio, which would pine after an even more woobie Italian Romeo. And it’s still ridiculous and even comic there. (I legit laughed at Mercutio’s death kiss, not going to lie).

In sum: Romeo and Mercutio make for good foils as friends, but as lovers their differences would render them incompatible with each other. Above all, there is no canon evidence whatsoever for it, their friendship is not strong enough to even interpret them as possible lovers, and even in an AU it’d be a disaster.

#romeo and juliet #ask #angelofmusic1296 #sorry if i sank your ship #rj meta #r&j meta #cristina metas #this is based on the original shakespeare ofc #but i still don’t ship it in retj or any of the other adaptations #theirs is definitely a friendship that would be ruined by romance #romercutio

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phoenixtakaramono · 3 years

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Does Bing gē Have Descendants in ‘The Untold Tale?’

This topic has come up a few times since The Untold Tale takes place in the PIDW universe (post-Bingge vs Bingmei extra), I figured I might as well compile and archive my official answer here for me to refer my AO3 readers to in the future for convenience’s sake. I hope everyone doesn’t mind. :) I’m always happy to answer questions!

TL;DR

Q: Will we see Bing gē having fathered children with his harem of 600 or so wives in TUT?

A: For TUT, the answer is a definite “no.” There were a lot of factors which’d contributed to my decision. I’ll try to explain my reasoning down below.

Context

In PIDW, it is canon that Luo Binghe has a bountiful number of descendants with his harem of 600-or-so wives. It is a detail that has been mentioned even in ch1 of SVSSS and in ep1 of the donghua.

(SVSSS Excerpt - ch1)

(SVSSS donghua - ep1)

I like to plan things ahead of time. So from very early on, I knew this would be something I would have to decide on whether or not to address when I’d finally decided to expand TUT from just a prologue into a full-blown story. And after contemplating it, I decided against adding children into the story. It is because 1) it would make the situation more complicated, and 2) it would take TUT in a different direction that wouldn’t be fun for me to write.

I’m a very decisive writer, meaning when I make my mind up about something, chances are I won’t change my mind. This is because I would have already planned it into my plot outline, which means changing a decision would require me to change other details in the other chapters I have planned for that story. (I’m typically not a spontaneous writer; I try not to write spontaneously because when you’re a writer who rotates through multiple WIPs with different characters across different genres or writing styles, you inevitably have writer’s block because you probably won’t remember all the ideas or the direction you had whenever you return back to a different WIP. To reduce this shortcoming, it helps me personally to have a plot outline. This way I can return to any WIP, read my notes and then transcribe them into legible paragraphs, find a way to transition between the story beats I have to hit for that chapter, and then eventually post the final draft to AO3 when I feel it’s ready.)

Having made a decision, I knew I had to set it up in TUT and give a “reasonable explanation in-story.” Hence, in ch2, we see:

(Excerpt I - ch2)

Basically the set-up is TUT takes place post-Bingge vs Bingmei, but between “the third or fourth book” of the hypothetical PIDW webnovel series aka before Airplane wrote the fanservicey chapters where the luckier of LBH’s wives give birth to children during the harem drama plots and the children are probably rarely, if ever, mentioned again in the story as a lot of stallion novels tend to do.

(Excerpt II - ch2)

(Excerpt III - ch2)

Contrarian Tendencies

You know the saying: Monkey see, monkey do? In my case, it’s monkey see, monkey do not do.

A little fun fact about me as a writer: if I have already seen a fanfic where someone has already written a concept or idea into their story, chances are I will just avoid it entirely in my own stories. I don’t know why this aversion exists, but I’m assuming it’s because of my counterculture hipster inclinations and an intrinsic fear of plagiarism which has been beaten into all of our skulls since adolescence. There’s nothing wrong with being inspired by other people’s works. Technically everything’s been done before in writing so, as a writer, a good rule of thumb is to always try to give it your own unique spin on things. So for me, my brain somehow interpreted this a step further. This is a reason why I try to avoid reading stories from whichever fandom my WIP is from during the writing process of updating a fic, because this is how I get influenced. Once I see an idea or interpretation from another fanfiction, it influences me to not want to write it into my own. This is a very strong unconscious impulse for me. I guess this is just the neurons in my brain’s thinking that this way, it won’t be something my readers will have read before and the story idea will come across as different or fresh, and mine. In a way this is also how I show respect for fanfiction writers in the same fandom—by being inspired to not be inspired, ha. I like to think every story in the world serves a niche audience, so seeing a diverse range of originality and interpretations in a fandom is a good thing. This is also how I feel when I am able to identify certain popular tropes or depictions or patterns in a fandom; 99% of the time, it makes me feel a compulsion to “go against the grain” or write the opposite. For example, you have no idea how long it took me to come around the idea of incorporating the fanon “A-Yuan” into TUT. However cute it is, the moment it dominated the fandom (well, “dominated” is an exaggeration; it’s more like I’ve seen enough, especially in the Original LBH/ SY | SQQ tag), my gut reaction was to nope out of using it. But after seeing a lot of comments in my inbox with readers affectionately calling SY “A-Yuan,” I’d contemplated it for a long time and it wasn’t until ch4 that I decisively decided that yes, I can have Bing gē calling SY “A-Yuan” in TUT—but it has to be at the right moment for maximum dramatic and emotional impact. (See this thread that started it all. And this is the small sneak peek I wrote where LBH will call SY that for the first time.) <- This is the rare 1% where I actually conformed to what’s popular.

In this case, when I finally decided to expand the prologue into a full-blown story, coincidentally I had just recently read a good Binggeyuan (Bingyuan) fanfic which featured a kidnapped Shen Yuan interacting with Bing gē’s harem and LBH’s children/descendants. I’d liked their portrayal and even thought the children were cute. <- However, with me having reading this, the problem came up: I felt the familiar stubbornness in me rearing its head. So knowing myself, if I had included children, it is very likely the direction that I would have gone down for TUT would have been the opposite. To further complicate matters, you have to keep in mind the kind of writer I am. I tend to like grounding stories with a semblance of realism, no matter if the genre is pseudohistorical fantasy, romance, sci-fi, etc. And this writer has seen and read quite a few harem and palace intrigue Chinese dramas/ premises.

For further context, in those types of “historical” C-dramas^, in that sort of environment which fosters scheming, competition, jealousy, etc, it is almost expected to see heirs aka children aka descendants harmed along with the women. Innocent parties are often victims in these sorts of cutthroat premises, to underscore the underlying message the show or novel wishes to present. (See Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace. See Yanxi Palace. See The Legend of Haolan. See Nirvana in Fire. See The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage. Etc.) And me being me, this would be the direction I would take. Remember, while TUT is meant to emulate a legitimate danmei C-novel reading experience in a fantasy world, I do drop pseudohistorical and cultural Easter eggs into the story. So trust me when I say you would not like the direction TUT would have gone down in, had I made LBH have children with his harem. I mean, theoretically yes, we could’ve seen endearing children characters from me, but you would have also seen me addressing a lot of the baggage that comes with (see Comment III Excerpt down below).

The situation with dissolving Bing gē’s harem is already complicated enough. As his romance with Shen Yuan develops, I didn’t want to have an additional headache thinking about how to address the issue of LBH having children already. Divorces in a pseudohistorical context is already a heavy topic—even more so when it’s divorces with children in the mix. Naturally I will still have SY and LBH eventually discuss the matter of legitimate heirs since LBH will essentially become the Sacred Ruler of all Three Realms and it’s a traditional precedent for an emperor to bed his empress, noble consort, and imperial concubines until he has his heirs (plural, because the rate of mortality was high in ancient China). In TUT’s case, at that point in the story SY will remind LBH that he’s essentially an immortal sovereign so there isn’t any need for an heir unless he wishes to retire. Furthermore, he will inform LBH that he could set a new precedent since he’s already different from the other emperors from history (with him being of half-Heavenly Demon and half-human cultivator lineage); as long as LBH is fully aware of all perspectives of the situation, he doesn’t necessarily need to conform to all traditions if this is something he really feels strongly about. But this future conversation(s) is likely the extent of it.

But wait, you say, what about a certain someone who’s going to be transmigrated as an imperial crown prince? Isn’t he going to be in that sort of vicious upbringing? <- Yes. But that’s an entirely seperate matter. In a way, since I’ve decided Bing gē will not have had any children or descendants in TUT, with Airplane, this now presents an opportunity for me to show the consequences of being one of the many children of an emperor with a harem of women vying for one man’s attention—and the power struggle that’d ensue in this kind of environment. It’s an interesting What-If parallel, if you think about it.

AO3 Comments

Although these are just small excerpts from replies I’ve written before, it’s nice and orderly to just compile them here for everyone since these will be buried underneath all the comments as TUT updates:

(Comment I- ch3)

(Comment II- ch4)

(Comment III- ch4)

Because of seeing comments that have asked me for my thoughts on whether or not I will include LBH’s children, I’ve had so much fun seeing theories thrown around: from LBH’s blood parasites being able to control conception, to someone’s headcanon about LBH being a hybrid and all that entails scientifically (think: mules). I will say in TUT, it’s more the former since in PIDW he’s supposed to have descendants; we’re pretending Bing gē doesn’t have any yet (and now definitely won’t, especially after having heard SY’s “prophecy”) because he subconsciously does not want children due to certain fears, trauma, etc. And his Heavenly Demon’s “blood parasites” (blood manipulation) is a convenient story device to explain why no wife has gotten pregnant yet.

I hope this explanation makes sense! Mainly I just wanted to have this archived on tumblr so that I have this post to refer to moving forward.

On a side note: especially since ch4 had been posted, quite a few people have actually mentioned they’ve read my replies to other comments and/or I have seen different people having hopped onto other readers’ comment threads (for example, imagine my pleasant surprise when I saw a reader you lovely person, you helpfully jumping in to respond to another reader’s questions about TUT, and their answers were actually aligned with what I would’ve answered!), so it’s always such a thrill whenever I see this level of engagement happening. I can’t explain why, but seeing this happening is just so cute to me. It really makes this writer feel so warm and fuzzy inside!

#svsss #bingyuan #bingqiu #the scum villain's self saving system #luo binghe #the untold tale #phoenixtakaramono #ask #technically not an ask #but i like to categorize it there #I mainly wrote this lengthy explanation on tumblr #bc I wanted to link this as ref #anytime someone asks me in the future regarding LBH’s kids #lol it’s actually not cinnabar pills hidden in a bracelet #it’s some sort of seeds which supposedly stopped concubines from being pregnant #I discovered this when I rewatched Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace #Do you all notice you have a unique writing syntax/ style #that’s how I can identify that you’re all diff ppl in the comments #one time an anon guest wrote something for G&G #and in the comment thread as another guest anon they supposedly agreed with the prev anon #in that case it was obvious it was the same person pretending to be another guest anon #and I can tell because their writing syntax/ voice is identical #which is why I’m so pleasantly surprised to see this phenomenon in the SVSSS fandom #you all have diff writing syntaxes #seeing you all interact with each other’s comments or my comments to other comments #is just such a delight ahhhhhh #I love the SVSSS community #you guys are so warm and welcoming

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Video

youtube

‘today’s silm vocaloid song: clear sky engine (クリヤスカイ機関) by nyanyannya and hara ft. rin kagamine and zunko tohoku

this one’s about elrond, maglor, and the sudden non-ending of the world. you know that thing where you build an elaborate fandom video in your head for a completely unrelated song, but you don’t have the most basic art skills you’d need to make it a reality? yeah, i square that circle by writing them out. here, have an extremely long songfic/filk/commentary/thing

It was just another day, beneath a black sky

The bustle of camp churned on around me

I wasn’t paying attention to what my hands were doing

Dreaming of a shining star-lit sky

we open on elrond, living in a world about to die. the fëanorians were forced to abandon amon ereb years ago, and now the last of the host ekes out a precarious nomadic existence, raiding deserted villages for food and losing more people they can’t replace with each battle. they’re still doing better than everyone else on the mainland, though. their blades, at least, remain sharp

(the smoke from the fires of angband has risen to cover the whole continent in dark clouds. some of the sun’s warmth still gets through, and on good nights the star of high hope is still faintly visible, but the light-filled skies of old are little more than memory. all the survivors know that the end is near. it’s only a matter of time)

He’d broken a promise he’d made to us

So I was a little more annoyed at him than usual

He chatted with me while I worked to make up for it

And I made all my usual complaints

elrond and elros are at this point... i’d say very early teens? not that they had much of a childhood; the fëanorians are so short-staffed the twins have been doing odd jobs around camp pretty much since it became clear they weren’t going to run away. today elrond is taking stock of the medical supplies, less because he has any interest in the healing arts than because it’s a job that needs doing and everyone else is busy

maglor is hovering within talking distance, doing elrond-doesn’t-care-what. the twins’ relationship with maglor is extremely complicated to say the least, their mercurial hellbeast protector who scares the shit out of everyone else they’ve ever met and who has stood between them and the darkness for as long as they can remember. recently, he promised to stay with the twins while they did something difficult, but he failed to do so for a whole host of reasons, including getting into a two-hour shrieking match with maedhros at the last possible moment. elros shrugged it off, like elros shrugs everything off, but elrond is a simmering cauldron of adolescent rage at the best of times

which is why maglor’s checking on him, giving him an outlet for his anger before it can turn into despair. because what would be the point, in the end? they’re all going to die anyway. one of the reasons maglor’s resisted sending the kids to balar so hard is that no matter where they are, eventually morgoth will sweep down and destroy them all. there’s nowhere safe left, nothing they can do to protect them. none of this is even new, it’s a shadow that’s hung over them all since the twins grew old enough to understand this

so maglor and elrond chat, or rather elrond grumbles incessantly and maglor snarks as upliftingly as he can remember to. it’s a day like any other, nothing about it to distinguish it from the hundreds that came before or however many will come after. that is, until one of the lesser minions comes over, yelling, ‘boss! boss! you have to see this!’

elrond turns around. for the first time ever, he sees true hope on her face

“Have you finally grown tired of us?” I hissed

But in that moment excitement ran round the campsite

And someone cried out with joy

“The hour we thought would never be, the return of the light, has finally come to pass!”

far, far away, the hosts of the valar are landing on the shores of beleriand. disembarking from their luminous ships, clad in radiant armour and carrying blessed weapons, their brilliance pierces the dark fog that has settled over beleriand for so long. shining like the stars come to earth, the hallowed army of valinor begins its long march towards the gates of angband. far above, ships riding jets of light slice open the smog

this news - this unexpected, unbelievable, impossible miracle bestowed unto doomed beleriand, this chance that their enemy might actually fall - is the greatest thing anyone in camp’s heard all century. maybe in more prosperous times the host would have groused about the valar finally seeing fit to get off their asses, but in this world turned to ash any chance at victory is to be celebrated. the minions throw a massive impromptu party, of the kind they haven’t since before sirion. elros is right there with them, singing off-key and laughing as loud as anyone else. even maedhros cracks a tiny relieved smile

maglor watches the festivities from the outside, more genuinely optimistic than he thought he was still capable of. elrond joins him, brow furrowed as he tries to comprehend it all. they talk

“It feels like a dream I’ll never wake up from”

“What are you blabbering about now?”

elrond is voiced by zunko, maglor by rin. the song’s more of a dialogue than a duet, so i’ll be bolding maglor’s lines

The sheet of paper I held in my hands read

“The hosts of the West have come! Our world is saved!”

the letter’s from gil-galad, or at least his administrative apparatus. it’s not even that hostile; apparently the armies of the gods showing up out of nowhere to save them all from certain doom has him in a magnanimous mood. there’s some drivel about surrendering and eärendil and all wrongs being forgiven, but neither maglor nor elrond is paying attention to it

“Hey, do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Love and justice and valour and hope”

“I remember the sea of blood you drowned everything in for them”

elrond didn’t really have any formal schooling - nobody had the time - but he has managed to pick up a lot of stuff from the stories the people around them tell. that the fëanorians came to middle-earth for high noble ideals, and that it was trying to fulfil those ideals that led them into darkness, is something maglor told him once, when he was in a darkly honest mood

“Haha, that’s just details, everybody makes that kind of mistake when they’re young”

“Why are you like this?”

a mood maglor’s obviously not in at the moment, if he’s laughing off the kinslayings like this; elrond knows this isn’t how he actually feels about them. normally elrond would just roll his eyes and move on with his life, but things are different today

The camp was full of laughter, as if everyone had lost their minds

elrond’s not used to happiness. not full, unironic happiness, untainted by the shadow of their inevitable death, not from the fëanorians. the sheer jubliation suffusing camp is fundamentally alien to him, a child of a world about to end. he doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that maybe they won’t all get eaten by dragons. he doesn’t know what to do with the hope in everyone’s eyes

so instead, when maglor wanders away from the party, elrond catches him with a song

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! For certain”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the fears I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine songs I can give to you”

maglor’s been teaching elrond how to do this, how to snatch someone into a world of music and throw your voice at them until one of you can’t take it any more. maglor wins this one, as usual; even if his song is incapable of anything but violence he’s got centuries of experience on elrond, enough to turn the sharp edges of his voice into blades in elrond’s hands. and that is what he’s doing, clumsy and harsh as he is; he’s trying to give elrond a reason to hope

elrond is the one who breaks the spell, dropping the melody, letting the music dissolve into the air. maglor flashes him a grin and walks off, humming merrily. elrond just stands there, still unable to understand

I’ve heard it before, it’s all anyone can talk about, even if I try to avoid it it stabs into my ears

cut past a decade or so, to well into the war of wrath. elrond and elros are in their mid-teens now. they’re still with the fëanorians, but these days the fëanorian warband is effectively an auxiliary unit to the amanyar army, skirting around the edges of that much larger force. for the first time in a long while, elrond and elros have regular-ish contact with people outside the fëanorian sphere of influence, mostly peripheral edain and the sindar who run messages between the camps. it’s different, talking to new people

(the sky is still covered with smog, but it’s gloomy grey, not oppressive black. the sun is faintly visible through it, most of the time. the rain is much less poisonous than it used to be, and on good nights you can almost see the moon. the closer they get to angband, the darker the clouds grow)

“It is as the gods have decreed, soon the darkness will be swept away and the Enemy will be cast down

And after the war in the purified world, we will all live happily together

Building new homes in a land unmarred by evil”

the people outside the host are much more optimistic about the future, for one. the fëanorian minions are happy morgoth is getting trounced but they don’t really talk about what comes after that, like they can’t imagine a world without war. the sindar, and especially the edain, on the other hand, have all these plans about the cities they’ll build, the arts they’ll perfect, the children they’ll raise in a world without danger. elros is super into this; he barely spends time with the fëanorians any more, he’s so busy going between different edain camps, making friends, planning for the future. elrond, though...

Even my twin knows what future to reach out for...

elrond doesn’t know what to do with any of this. the very concept that someday the war will end and the sky will clear and he’ll have a bright future is still something he doesn’t fully understand. even more, he’s defined himself for so long as not-a-fëanorian, now he’s regularly interacting with people who doubtlessly aren’t he’s having trouble figuring out what else he is. he’s stuck between people who are lowkey hoping they’ll die gloriously in battle and people who have been dreaming about what they’d do in a world without darkness all their lives, and he doesn’t know what he even wants, not really, not yet

so he keeps on living, just like he always has. he’s been promoted to sick tent dogsbody and is learning how to heal with song from the last minion who can kind of still do it. he acts as a proxy between the fëanorians and the more timid outsiders they keep running into. when he goes (or elros drags him) exploring in other camps, he keeps track of every new detail he comes across, in case it’s somehow useful later

and he keeps talking to maglor, with anger and spite and sarcasm and whatever other emotion he’s covering his uncertainties with today. maglor always listens, usually offers to help, and sometimes elrond even lets him. the fëanorian camp settles into a rhythm of buildup-fight-recovery-buildup-fight-recovery, so regular it lulls elrond into complacency. he takes the future he still doesn’t quite believe in one day at a time, until suddenly the ground crumbles beneath his feet

You say it’s to ‘fulfill our ideals’ but what you mean by that is ‘to sate our bloodlust’, I know

With their blades and teeth sharpened for battle, the kinslayers broke away from the light and disappeared into the shadows

there’s a whole mountain of reasons why, as they draw near to angband, the dregs of the fëanorian host abruptly peel off from the valinorean army and vanish into the night. they know they're more effective as a stealthy shock ambush unit, they’re somewhat concerned the amanyar will turn on them the second morgoth is no longer a problem, they're making one last desperate rush for the silmarils, all that and more. it’s not the first time they’ve suddenly packed up and left before their enemies can react, probably not even the first time they’ve done it to the hosts of valinor. there’s just one little difference

Leaving us behind? Leaving you behind

they’re not taking the twins. said twins only find out about this, like, the day before they decamp. maedhros’ justification is something about them not being able to support noncombatants on the march, but the twins believe that about as much as they believe that the fëanorians are doing this for any kind of hope. elros, of course, was half-planning on leaving anyway, going off to chase his own ambitions with his new edain posse. he copes with it pretty well, relatively

but elrond’s mind goes blank. once he thought the day they let them go would be the best day of his life, but now it’s come it feels so wrong, and this horrible coldness is seeping into him. in a flash of what feels like foresight, he suddenly knows the people who raised him will never come back. how dare - why - he can’t -

with a sharp desperate burst of sound that’s a surprise to even himself, elrond lashes out a song to catch maglor

“For ten more minutes, one more week, half a year, please, let me stay with you!”

“In a year’s time, ten years’ time, a hundred years’ time, we’ll see the starlit sky together”

“What if one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight times I begged you not to go?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine of your other wishes I’ll hear”

and elrond just stops. he lets the song trail off, staring at maglor. he’s in an incredibly weird mood, with something that could almost be compassion in his eyes

there’s only one way he can find out what’s happening, elrond realises

“In that case - !”

maglor was never really demonstratively affectionate with the twins. it would never have come off as real on his part, and they wouldn’t have believed it in any case. still, he supported them. he let them trail behind them, all but cling to the backs of his legs, in those first horrible weeks when they were terrified of absolutely everything. he taught them to ride and he taught them to read, how to reinforce a blade with nothing but song and close a wound with needle and thread. on the darkest nights, when all the world was filled by the howling beasts of morgoth and the wailing of the unhallowed dead, he held them tight and flared his own fires high, a warm smoky bonfire between them and the void. he answered their questions, and told them stories

and sometimes, he tried to be kind

“Sing me a lullaby like the flat of a blade”

“Which one would you like?”

“I want to see a flower that will still bloom”

“I know just the one”

“I don’t care what kind of monster you are! Just please stay with me, for even one more tomorrow...”

“...I’m sorry”

“What do you mean?”

“You were given your name because your parents wanted you to see the stars someday”

it was easy for maglor to justify keeping the twins when they didn’t have a future. the shadow of death blotted out the sky, so why not hold them close for whatever little time they had left? no matter where they were, the void would soon claim them all

except it didn’t. in the end they were not forsaken. the sacred light came out of the west to burn away the darkness and finish the war he once thought they could never win. the hosts of the valar have gotten farther in decades than the noldor did in centuries, and soon enough they’ll cast the enemy down and release the world from his terrible maw. and then the future the free peoples dreamed of will stretch out before them, full of possibilities beyond measure

and that’s why maglor has to let them go. the magnificent people that elrond and elros are already becoming will only wither among hopeless kinslayers who have nothing left but the sword. to flourish into their full glorious selves, they need to be with people who dream, who can travel towards the future alongside the twins with light hearts and songs on their lips. maglor refuses to let his own darkness drown the last people in the world he does not hate. elrond deserves so, so much better than maglor is capable of giving him. he deserves to see the stars

hearing all that, there’s only one thing elrond can say

“You can’t even keep one miserable promise! Don’t pretend like you’re my father, kinslayer!”

and that’s the last elrond sees of maglor. the fëanorians vanish in the middle of the night, leaving elrond and elros (and about half a dozen minions who are taking their last possible chance to get out) behind. elros takes up with his edain buddies and starts making contacts and forging alliances. elrond winds up in gil-galad’s orbit, surrounded by people who are very understanding about how awful his childhood was, which just pisses him off more. he doesn’t throw tantrums or refuse to work, those aren’t luxuries he was raised with, but he spends a fair bit of time spurning every bit of sympathy and aid he’s offered and trying not to cry himself to sleep

with time, though, he finds a place. it starts with círdan, the first person who believes elrond about what his time with the fëanorians was like. then he befriends erestor, and then gil-galad starts actually respecting the way elrond feels, and then he gets officially taken on as an apprentice healer. he starts learning about his own ancestors and their peoples, and reaching out for stories he never knew could be his. as the final battle of the iron hells begins, elrond is doing... better

and soon, the hope that no one in beleriand once dreamed would be fulfilled becomes a reality

And then, as if it had never held power, the darkness was cast down...

they win the war. the armies of angband are crushed. the peaks of thangorodrim are torn down. the prisoners of the deepest pits of the iron hells are freed. the forces of evil are scattered to the four winds. morgoth, the fallen vala himself, is defeated and captured and bound with great chains, unable to ever hurt anyone again. the precious remnants of the light of the trees, the remaining two silmarils, are recovered. the dark clouds evaporate, and for the first time elrond can remember, the sky is perfectly clear. the war of the jewels is finally over

elrond has grown so much since the day he first heard that the hosts of the west had come. he still can’t quite believe it

They held a great celebration beneath a star-speckled sky I’d never seen before

“The world is saved and we are freed! Evil has been vanquished forevermore”

The triumphant voices of the generals poured out over the victory feast while the stars shone true above the happy ending

the soldiers of valinor and the people of beleriand (what’s left of them) throw a truly massive party. it’s still tinged with their grief over everything they’ve lost, but the atmosphere is primarily one of ecstatic relief. they’re alive, and they’ve come out the other side. dwarvish tailors dance with high maiar, humans who don’t remember the moon get drunk with elves who remember cuiviénen. even after the official festivities die down and people start hashing out what they want to do next, the general mood remains buoyant and cheerful. at long last, they live in a world without danger

none of it feels real to elrond. gil-galad’s talking about building a kingdom on the other side of the blue mountains, elros and his grand edain alliance are trying to bully the maiar into letting them set up on tol eressëa, and elrond feels so disconnected from it all, like he’s watching someone else’s life. he’s happy the enemy has been overcome, of course he is, but he’s not feeling the overwhelming joy everyone else is. he can’t let his guard down yet, something is still wrong -

Except he hasn’t come back, they haven’t come back, where did they go, what have they done?

The word raced around as fast as the wind, giving me an answer I never wanted to hear -

where is maglor? the fëanorians broke off to fight the war their own way, but the war is over now, where are they? they were so happy to hear that the amanyar had arrived, he can’t imagine them not thrilled to see the enemy they hated more than anything else fall. in the warm afterglow of victory, it feels like even their sins might be forgiven, and they could finally go home. they have nothing else left; why wouldn’t they take that outstretched hand?

but nobody’s so much as glimpsed their flag since some time before the final battle. elrond quietly assumes, perhaps even hopes, that they all died fighting, and yet he can’t shake the cold dread crawling up his spine

elrond has mixed feelings about the silmarils, and doesn’t particularly care to be near them. by the time the news of their theft reaches him, maedhros and maglor have already fled into the night

Still driven on by their oath, they turned their blades on their kin one last time

“And stole away the hallowed light”

Yes, that light which sank all of our lands beneath a deep dark layer of corpses and ash

all elrond sees is the aftermath, the blood sinking into the ground. it’s far from the first time he’s seen people killed, but somehow now it’s all hitting him, all at once. he sees the bodies and it knocks the breath out of him. all he can see is the dead, from finwë on down, the rotting carcasses of every last person who was slaughtered for these gems, a whole continent bleached with death. they call the silmarils the most beautiful things in the world, jewels shining with the very light of creation, but elrond can’t see it for the blood they’re dripping with

that’s the immediate thing that has his hands shaking and his breath running cold. by morning it’s had a chance to sink in a little, and -

He lied he lied he lied he lied

maglor regretted the kinslayings! elrond knows he did! it was never even something he actually said, it was obvious from the way he talked about them. every single one was a complete disaster, nothing the fëanorians ever got out of them was worth what they lost in the process, and afterwards things always got worse in ways they never expected. and maglor hated the person the kinslayings had turned him into, elrond spent enough time around him to pick up on that much! surely he’d do anything to not have to commit another one?

apparently not! apparently all that regret, all that loss, the arguments and the nightmares and the coldly determined efforts to stop them following his path, it all meant nothing! he still gave in to despair or maedhros or whatever, killed yet more people, stole from the army whose return he said was like a dream come to life, spat in the face of his last chance to go home, and vanished! gil-galad’s people were right! he really is nothing more than a monster!

the shock of it all makes something snap in elrond, whatever fragile optimism he absorbed from the people around him draining away until he feels completely hollow. hundreds of years of suffering and death, and for what?

Smeared with the blood of untold hundreds, untold thousands, untold millions of people

Did they buy us peace for even half a year, even a week, even ten minutes?

Noooooooo!

Even the very land we lived on crumbled and drowned

What was the point?! What was the point?! What was the point?!

I feel like I’m going insaaaaaaane

morgoth may have fallen, but beleriand is dead! nothing remains, not the lush green lands of the stories, or even the dessicated forests of his childhood, just desolate earth and the devouring sea. almost everywhere he’s ever known, almost everyone who lived and fought and dreamed there, are lost forever. nothing was saved, everything was destroyed, what good is a clear blue sky when there’s nothing beneath it?! how can they call this a happy ending?!

elrond can’t see any light here, all the great battles and heroic deeds seem absolutely pointless in the face of everyone and everything immolated in the endless grasping for these gems. the hosts of valinor leave the continent they shattered, the remnants of gil-galad’s people escape the raging forces of nature, and the survivors bicker and fight over resources just like the fëanorian minions elrond grew up around. the world is never going to get better, he realises. the dream of a paradise will never come true

and then one night, running a message down the craggy still-turbulent coastline, he hears a snatch of a distant, familiar voice

I can hear a voice whittled away to a weapon singing what could almost be a lullaby -

elrond leaps off the ridge and onto the rocky beach, scrambling over the uneven ground. he’s heard the rumours about where maedhros and/or maglor went - all of them, there’s dozens of them, he didn’t pay any particular heed to the ones where maglor wandered the coast, but if they were right, if he’s here -

his own voice has grown strong over the years, solid and forceful and mature. elrond screams his song into the emptiness, hoping against hope it will be heard

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! Isn’t that so?!”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the griefs I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine days for you to live!”

“That must be it...”

the impression of a hand touching his cheek, the ghost of a smile. for a moment someone else’s voice slips into the ebb and flow of his song, a shadow reaches out to wipe the tears off his face. live, it whispers. you who i held dearest last, live

elrond’s breath catches in his throat, and the song, and the shadow, vanish. it’s just him on a forsaken beach, the only sounds the waves crashing and the gulls calling. the sky is completely overcast, the clouds dull and grey. he watches them drift along for a while, as his pulse slows down and his airways clear up. live, the word echoes in his mind

he waits until his breathing is back to normal and the churning emotions inside him have settled into a form he can handle. then he wipes his face and clambers back onto the ridge

(life. it’s not much, but it’s enough. it has to be. his home is destroyed, but he is alive; his family is broken, but he is alive. he is alive, and they want him to live, as much as he can while he still has a chance. the world he lives in will never be perfect, but he knows how to work with that)

(and besides - elros, círdan, gil-galad, erestor, the other healers, the small knot of elves of all stripes who seem determined to follow his banner. he hasn’t lost everything, not yet, and he won’t let the world take away what he has left. he’ll never abandon those he loves)

the clouds are lightening. soon the stars will be out. elrond takes a deep breath, and starts running towards his future and the person he’s going to be -

thousands of years later, a memory resurfaces

“Two million, two hundred and forty-one thousand, five hundred and thirty-nine days... Ah, yes. I know I forgot to say it earlier, but you did a very good job”

a smattering of notes are lifted by the ocean breeze. they travel inland, across the worn-down mountains, around the weathered hills, above the tangled forests, up the untamed rivers, and finally into the hidden valley

in the gardens of imladris, lord elrond hears a voice he hasn’t for millennia. a watering can slips out of his hands, and suddenly he can’t breathe

It was just another day, beneath a dark sky

The ocean and the wind roared on all around me

I wasn’t paying attention to how my tears were falling

Trying to remember a clear star-lit sky

that youthful dream of a world free from evil never came true. the shadow came back, and it kept coming back, taking his people, his friends, his family, his wife. everything they built after the defeat of morgoth has been reduced to dust by the weight of time, and every year more of it slips through his fingers. elrond doesn’t know how much more of it he can endure. he doesn’t know how much more he can lose

he chases that scrap of music all the way to the seashore

I ran down the path between the rocks and the spray following that voice I never knew why I loved

But in the end I could only stand weeping

elrond searches up and down the coast, scouring the shoreline for clues, asking the locals, listening. sometimes he hears whispers of song, long wailing lamentations that make his heart ache all the more now that he understands how that despair feels. occasionally it’s loud or consistent enough he can track it, trying to pinpoint the singer’s location in the intense storms of bitterness and grief

but he never finds anything

“You fool, he’s already gone. Like he was never there at all...”

all that’s left is a voice on the wind

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violetsbaudelaire-archive · 3 years

Note

Hi could I get 44 with Willex please

44: We can either just cuddle, or you can sleep on the couch?

The original plan had been to go camping in the mountains that weekend but that was before the news reports of wildfires started coming in. Plan B was to call everything off. Plan C, provided by Reggie, was to have a faux camping experience in the Molina’s garage. When they gathered their sleeping bags, turned out all the lights except a lantern at the center of the room, and opened the barn doors to let the cool night air in, it wasn’t such a bad idea, even if they had to try to roast marshmallows over the grill outside and they couldn’t swim in any lakes.

The evening started off casual banter then dissolved into a variety of party games. Everyone lied fairly badly during two truths and a lie but eventually Luke came out supreme (which Julie said he shouldn’t brag about.) Then a game of never have I ever proved Julie the most “innocent” of the group and also the least likely to do anything stupid. She felt like the most sane one has she heard stories about the time Reggie fixed his amp in the rain and Willie’s several near death experiences. As it got later in the evening, the group started singing campfire, on in this case, camp-lantern songs. It began with “The Campfire Song Song” and ended with an interesting performance of “Home Is Where My Horse Is” by Reggie.

Then came the scary stories.

Reggie tried his hand at spinning a harrowing tale but didn’t unsettle anyone, even Alex. Julie wasn’t one for ghost stories, so she passed on the opportunity. Willie preferred to listen to stories than tell them. That left Luke, who grabbed a flashlight and held it towards his face.

He told the story of a legend he claimed was local lore but none of the group had heard before.

At night, in the places where the world is quietest, on empty streets between the shining of streetlamps, something beyond this world exists. A palid, scaly creature that cannot see the light. A creature confined to the dark. Once, its eyes lurked in reflection of shop windows, puddles on the ground, and a person’s very own shadow but the creature’s eternal confinement left its eyes to shivel away and become dust. The dust blew in the wind to the tops of streetlights. For years, the creature extinguished streetlights to find its eyes with no luck.

Then, one night, a little boy forgot to come home when the streetlights came on. He wandered onto an empty street where the creature was lurking. It mimicked the sounds of wind and passerby to hide its movements. The boy continued walking, even as the streetlights behind him went out. The creature blended into the boys shadow and the last thing he ever saw was the grinning, eye-less face of the dark.

The creature replaced the boys’ eyes for his own but they too shriveled away to dust. To this day, the creature lurks empty streets for eyes to end his eternal darkness.

The flashlight and the lantern went out, leaving the group in the dark.

“Very funny, Luke,” said Julie. “Turn the light back on.”

“It wasn’t me.”

Julie rolled her eyes in dark and reached for the lantern, which clicked on. Luke’s grinning face came into view followed by Reggie hiding behind a pillow, Alex a little too close to Willie, and Flynn entirely unfazed.

“I think it’s time for bed,” said Julie. Everyone agreed, except Willie, who realized in that moment he forgot to bring a sleeping bag.

Alex unzipped his sleeping bag “We can, uh, either just cuddle, or you can sleep on the couch?”

“Better keep it PG in there,” Luke teased. Everyone groaned.

“Shut up,” Alex said, making an annoyed face.

Alex slid into his sleeping bag with Willie, a bit nervously, joining in behind him. At first, both of their hearts were pounding as they scooted in close together. Soon, they relaxed into each other’s touch. Willie moved to hold Alex and they talked about everything and nothing until they drifted off to sleep.

send me a number + fandom/ship and i’ll write a drabble (eventually) (no more please)

#mine #jatp fanfic #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms #willie jatp #alex mercer #willex #anon #mikayla speaks #i wrote this specifically so i could test out an old monster from something else i wrote lol #enjoy

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mooglesorts · 3 years

Text

man. it's weird, because there's a lot of things about me that are Very Badger Primary, to the point where i would probably pick it with a strong bird model over anything else at this point... except that i hate dehumanization. i saw primaries described recently as 'things you wouldn't be you anymore if you went against,' and more than just about anything else that's it. even when i think people are monsters, i can't see them as not human; i'd be hard put to define exactly what i consider a 'monster,' but it's more about like. good faith than personhood, i suppose?

it's not necessarily a permanent status to be one--people can change--but my deeply held instinct is that once you have done something monstrous you will always be a person who has been a monster by your own choices, and that it's your duty to learn how to accept that while still living your life, and act accordingly from thereon out. you have to reconcile that you are a person with the fact that some doors are closed to you now, and it's up to you to decide what you do from there.

just. like. even when i hate someone and as far as i'm concerned they can go fuck themself, even in the multiple Heavily Badger social environments i've been in over the course of my life--church, progressive circles, the way the structure of the internet kind of just affects you in general--even on occasions where i've gotten swept away and given in to the pressure to dehumanize (or perform it) for a minute, there's always, always been a voice in the back of my head saying this is a person. this is a person. this is a person. this isn't right.

unintentional dehumanization sets off my '...should we really be doing this? we are getting into not good territory here, it's time to pull up and start questioning' alarms. explicit, intentional, purposeful dehumanization sets off the whole ass tornado sirens. if people on my side are doing it it's enough to throw me into a system-destabilizing crisis, because NO NO NO I WANT TO GET OFF THIS RIDE, I WANT NO PART OF THESE PEOPLE'S MORAL SYSTEM, I FEEL UNCLEAN. it's a good way to make sure i will never, ever, ever trust someone again.

things that are Really Really Badger, off the top of my head (after the cut because Long and trauma talk):

[[MORE]]

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-i've always loved playing adoptable games, pet simulators, etc? any game with randomly generated characters that are Yours Now and a Community, in a deeply badgery way. including games where they can die (the satisfying part is making sure they don't). except that, no matter how much fun the gameplay is, if it gets to the point where they start feeling disposable, and the only way to really keep playing is to stop humanizing them, i lose interest. it's super fucking depressing. it feels like part of me dying inside a little. i don't like it at all.

-i've always been drawn to fandoms and roleplaying communities. i was fiercely loyal to, and proud of, my first rp community on dragoncave as a 13-year-old. when my abusive mom found out about it and completely isolated me for half a year, the promise of being able to make it back to them--just sneakier this time--kept me going; when i finally got back and the group had drifted apart in my absence, it.... was absolutely devastating. i never really recovered from it. even then, i spent years trying to get the group back together every now and then, until i finally gave up.

-i am always keenly, painfully aware of the life cycle of a community. every time i hear the sentiment 'you guys are all great and i love this group' my stomach drops, because i know it's only a matter of time before things go sour or the group dissolves. rp groups, skype chats/discord servers, fandoms, you name it, i am always bracing myself or staying away entirely to avoid the inevitable and it hurts. and it hurts to see people taking part in a community i don't dare be part of, which makes lurking in fandoms... really rough. frankly, it takes me a lot of courage every time i express my appreciation for the shc community because i've been burned so many times.

-on that note: i went through some really traumatic stuff at the end of 2020 that completely turned my life upside down, and i was doing bad until i stumbled across the shc community. the moment i started engaging, it was a huge boost to my mental health, and my ability to cope with circumstances under which i was about to break down spectacularly. and it has been ever since! contributing to The Group Project and seeing other folks being friendly with each other gives me the happy feelings.

-i used to go out of my way to build and run spaces, mainly fandom and rp spaces, and took a lot of pride in engineering them so that they Functioned Well. unfortunately it wore me the hell down over the years for Burnt Badger Reasons, and now i'm too jaded, bitter, and exhausted to give a shit about being a mod/community leader anymore because of it lmao

-among those burnt badger things i relate HARD to the Red Ledger narrative. hoo boy.

-i wish i could find it again, but there was an mlp comic i saw once which went into luna's observations of what each element of harmony Means. with the element of friendship, she says that twilight has a massive amount of love to give; right now it's all focused on celestia, but when she learns to expand it outward she'll have grown into her full potential as a person, and she'll change the world. that struck a chord with how i used to feel, hard, and it's really stuck with me ever since. (hello, unhealthy snake model)

-emphasis on 'used to feel,' lmao

-got super invested in a really toxic '''mental health''' community at a low point in my life; exploded HARD trying to help everyone i could; got into vicious, protracted fights with the shitty mods for years about the harmful way they ran their community until i finally managed to go 'fuck this it's not getting better' and leave.

-had to numb myself emotionally to the people around me for a long time once i really started learning about mental health and trauma stuff, because now i was seeing signs of their pain and baggage everywhere i looked, and i couldn't handle not being able to help.

-the imagery with which i think about my bird primary is overwhelmingly negative. whether it's my actual primary or a model, i uh. i feel like a healthy relationship to one's primary doesn't involve associating it with gore.

-i saw a conversation recently about how birds think of morality in terms of 'if you can, you should,' and how that's scary for badgers because their definition of 'can' involves destroying yourself for the sake of that 'should,' and... yeah, that's a mood. that's a BIG mood. thinking about bird primary stuff is hard--and i had to pick up my lion model to deal with it--because it's so easy for me to spiral into a self-shredding spiral of other people are counting on you to do the right thing, how dare you pull back for your own health and sanity. how dare you turn your back for even a minute. how dare you rest. the work is never done.

which is... a very exploded badger approach to exploded bird morality. whoops.

-fix-it and time travel fiction in which Everything Went Right This Time and It's Going to Be Okay are one of my very favorite self-indulgent fantasies. i will enjoy putting characters through the wringer in all kinds of creatively horrific ways which may or may not end on a downer note, certainly, i love that shit, but i will also 90% of the time have a backup version of the arc or dynamic that's softer and lighter and Actually Healthy This Time. it's the dichotomy there that really gets me tbh, a story where Everything Ends Happily by default will mmmaybe pull me in? but stories where there's the constant shadow of this could end horribly, it's supposed to end horribly, and we got a happy fucking ending anyway are just... that shit will make me cry, man.

it's also why i kind of really hate stable time loop stories where it initially looks like this is going to be The Good Timeline this time around, but OOPSIE everything went to shit anyway! we're right back where we started, just like it was meant to be all along! it's a tired cliche by this point and an unsatisfying one for me, and it makes me roll my eyes every time.

-this is relevant to the bird vs. badger because like... my gut instinct is to prioritize people over systems. when shit hits the fan, when someone's fallen into the machinery and is about to get hurt, i don't feel right about it if i just let it happen. i'll break the machinery if i have to to keep it away from them; i won't feel great about that, and it might cause problems, but fuck it, we'll figure it out later. throwing people into the gears of a system when i'm convinced it's the only option makes me feel Awful.

-related to the above, another trope that really speaks to me in fiction is when a character defies the rules of reality through sheer force of will. no, this is not happening, i don't give a shit what the limits are supposed to be. i refuse to let this be the way things are. (there's that lion model.)

-i've just kind of... always wanted to be an Everyone Badger. it makes me sad how much of that i've lost over the years as i've gotten more cynical, but it's what i wish i could be.

---

doubtless i'll think of more the moment i hit send, and there are just as many things about me that are Super Bird Primary, but like... mamma mia that's some spicy badger. the main thing stopping me is the Can't and Refuse to Dehumanize bit. i also... hm. i think i can function okay without a community? they just help a lot, and it sucks when i'm confronted with one i don't have a (stable) place in. any thoughts? is it possible for a bird system's foundation to run so deep that eventually it overrides the bird?

#shc #sortinghatchats #sorting hat chats #badger primary #bird primary #burned badger primary #exploded badger primary #exploded bird primary #burned houses #exploded houses #abuse cw #gore implied cw #moogle hat talks

15 notes · View notes

kuriquinn · 4 years

Text

A Tender Harvest [one-shot]

Disclaimer

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994254

Pairing: SasuSaku

Summary: Sakura and Sasuke help a village with their apple harvest, and Sasuke thinks about his relationship with Sakura. The thing about traveling together is it makes it that much easier to fall in love.

Author’s Note: So, I wrote this for the fanzine Seasons like a year or two ago and then completely forgot that it existed? And then I was trying to organize the mess that is my writing files and stumbled upon it again and figured, hey, why not post it? Especially since we’re coming up on Fall again lol. (Also, I don’t want people thinking I’m dead or something. I am working on some stuff for SasuSaku, but the creative juices haven’t been flowing as easily as they used to for this fandom…or, well, any fandom if I’m being honest. Kind of stuck in one of those “I should be writing original stuff” funks that hinders all of my fanfic efforts of late. But I am trying!)

Anyway, so here’s something (sort of) new for your enjoyment!

________________________________________________________________

Sasuke curses at the sudden lancing pain in his hand and yanks his arm out of the foliage to glare at his palm. In the centre, a wasp sticks to his skin by the stinger, its tiny wings and appendages flailing to remove itself. Sasuke gives a harsh flick of his wrist, dislodging the insect and sending it flying off somewhere near the ground.

He doesn’t kill it; if there is a nest nearby that would attract others, and there are enough of the little pests buzzing around the trees as it is.

It is early October, the hot autumn sun unimpaired except for some light haze and few bulbous white clouds in the distance. Crickets chirp, and the scent of wet earth inundates the air, mingling with sweat and the distant smell of a brush fire.

The little village where Sasuke and Sakura have been staying the last few days has an economy based largely around produce. Their apple trees, vineyards and rice fields require rigorous tending, as the yield is what keeps them from starving during winter months. They plant a lot, which means they harvest a lot, and any extra hands are welcome. Originally, Sakura and Sasuke travelled here because there was a need for a healer, but they chose to stay and help.

That’s a common enough pattern these days. Sakura keeps an ear out for places that need extra medical attention, and Sasuke fills his days with odd work. The routine is also an excellent cover for gathering information. People rarely ask them questions, too thankful for Sakura’s medical skills, and even without them, Sasuke’s arm usually discourages comment. There were enough men and women badly wounded in the war that no one needs to ask.

It also lends credence to his and Sakura’s wandering, since many people’s homes were destroyed by the war; first by the Zetsu army, and then marauders in the aftermath.

And we’ve encountered quite a few of those, too. Some friendly, some…not.

While Sakura makes house calls, he helps in whatever field where they need him. There were initially some who looked uncertain of his ability be useful, but he soon showed that his missing arm was barely a handicap.

Today he works in the apple orchard. It’s fairly large, maybe twenty acres, and there are a hundred or so people working alongside him. Clumps of men and women are scattered throughout, picking and packing apples in large baskets. A similar number of people sit just beyond the orchard, slumped or lying on the ground, or gathered around the few wagons with water. A few children squeeze into the tiny bit of shade provided by the wagons, but in this heat there’s barely any point to it.

The only ones happy in this weather are the wasps, Sasuke decides, frowning at his palm to see if the stinger is still attached. It’s not, but the skin is already beginning to puff up from the venom.

He shrugs it off—it’s not his first injury of the day, and he’s endured much worse in his life—and goes back to twisting the gleaming red fruits off their branches. It’s uncomfortable, but he finds he’s more irritated by the sweat drenching his clothing than the minor wound.

The orchard workers have had to work in shifts because of the rising temperature, and because Sakura insists that everyone who works needs to stay properly hydrated.

Sakura…

Sasuke became aware of her proximity about a half an hour ago, obviously finished with her work in the village and now arrived to help. Since then he has been vaguely conscious of her bringing people water or traipsing into the orchard to retrieve anyone who she thinks looks tired. No one bothers to protest the way she’s taken charge, either, and though it could be her status as a respected healer, he somehow doubts that’s the reason.

He remembers what she was like back in Konoha, carrying out important errands for Kakashi and running the hospital.

As always, on the tail of that thought he experiences a half-second of guilt for having taken one of their village’s most important resources on a mission of indeterminate length. The second half-second he buries that feeling, reminding himself it was her choice.

And he has no intention of admitting it out loud, but he can’t imagine how the past few months would have been without her by his side.

Well. He can imagine; he just doesn’t care to.

A bell rings in the distance, and someone shouts, “Break time! Change shifts!”

There are groans all around—relief from the orchard workers, and resignation from the vicinity of the wagons.

Sasuke ignores the call, intending to finish filling his basket before heading in, but even as he reaches for the next branch, there is a cough from down below.

When he glances down, he is unsurprised to find Sakura there, hands on her hips. “That means you too, Sasuke.”

“I’m almost finished.”

“No, you are finished. The foreman told me you started with the morning crew and didn’t switch out with the rest,” she informs him. “Just because you’re about the greatest shinobi alive, doesn’t mean you can’t get heatstroke. And just because I will take care of you if you get a fever and start throwing up everywhere, doesn’t mean I’ll like it.”

Sasuke’s mouth tugs upward a little.

It’s been an interesting dimension to their travels, Sakura speaking to him so frankly. There were a few days when they first set out together that she was still stuttering and wordlessly following his lead in everything; a few bandit encounters and a shouting match later, she found her backbone again.

Now, the only time he sees her flustered or nervous is because he’s caught her gazing at him, or when she realises she’s said something with unintended innuendo.

“Annoying woman,” he murmurs into the tree, but the words have long since graduated from contempt to affection.

With an affected air of reluctance, he picks up the basket he was filling and raises an eyebrow at her. She grins, and says, “Come on.”

Sasuke trudges after her toward the nearest wagon, sets down his basket, and heads for the water barrels. Children pour it into cups for the workers, some darting among the amassing crowd to pass them out. This is how Sasuke ends up with one of them, and he is quick to put it to his lips.

He takes several slow mouthfuls, to minimize the risk of brain freeze, and takes pleasure in the way the liquid dissolves the dry, gummy feeling in his mouth and throat. The second cup he is offered, he pours over his head, enjoying the sensation of the cold rivulets cutting through his sweat-streaked hair and down his neck.

Sakura lingers nearby, the look on her face conveying an ‘I told you so’, which he patently ignores before joining the line for lunch. The women of the village pass out rice balls and beef skewers; he accepts gratefully, and then he searches out the nearest bit of shade he can.

There’s an old momiji tree several yards away from the larger group of workers, its leaves already turning red and gold, but still providing enough cover from the sun. He heads for that and is unsurprised when Sakura joins him.

As they pass, he notices people shooting them knowing glances or smiling in something like approval. Several young girls whisper conspiratorially. When he was younger, he would have purposely ignored such scrutiny, at times not even realising what the whispers meant. Though he still pretends obliviousness now, he now fully understands the reason for the unspoken interest.

The implication that he and Sakura are more than just travelling companions doesn’t bother him the way it might have before. In fact, he finds odd comfort in the thought. These days, they are on the cusp of something more, something inevitable. They’ll get there eventually, but he finds himself in no great hurry to do so.

Not because he doesn’t care for her—there’s no question that he does.

But too much of his life was spent hurtling from one state to the next, never content with his current existence and always wishing for more. With this—with Sakura—he wants to take his time and experience every moment.

He’s pretty sure Sakura is of the same mind.

As they sit, she sets down the plate she was balancing between her forearms, and two cups. He takes the latter, still more thirsty than hungry, and drinks deep.

Noticing his blink as a bitter taste hits his tongue, Sakura says, “There’s cold tea mixed in. That quenches thirst better than just water alone, and the electrolytes will keep you going.”

“Hm.”

They eat in companionable silence, yet another new quality to their relationship. Part of it is that now Sakura has an appetite that rivals his own and doesn’t like to waste time talking when she could be eating. The rest stems from the indescribably pull that has always existed between them, an ease one only experiences with the most trusted of kindred spirits. Words would mar that somehow, and neither seems willing to do that right away.

It is only when her meal is finished that Sakura reaches into her pack and produces—of course—two bright red apples.

“I may have snuck a few,” she admits with a smile.

Sasuke snorts. “You’re in an apple orchard. I think you could be forgiven.”

She laughs at that and bites into one of the fruits, making a tiny noise of pleasure at the flavour that has Sasuke swallowing uncomfortably. A rivulet of juice drips down her chin, and he finds himself tracking its progression.

Sakura notes his attention before he can look away, and her cheeks darken.

“Sorry!” she says, a little flustered, and puts aside the apple. “You probably want some too, right?”

There is something I want.

The thoughts present themselves unbidden as Sakura digs around in her kit for a knife, and starts to peel the second apple over her empty plate. His cheeks a little warmer than earlier, he looks away and pretends disinterest.

“Don’t trouble yourself. I haven’t even finished my lunch.”

“Then it will be ready when you are,” she quips without stopping.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her carefully dispose of the peel and then cut the apple into eight equal slices. Anyone else would think she was babying him, but he knows this is just her way. She genuinely enjoys doing this. He is, of course, perfectly able to cut up his own fruit, or eat an apple as is. But he doesn’t like apple peels, and never has.

He wonders when exactly Sakura noticed that about him.

She holds out the plate of apple slices to him, beaming, and he remembers a similar scene, many years ago. Of her worried and smiling face, her nervous chatter and her hand holding out a plate of apples. And then the clatter as the plate and fruit itself were knocked to the floor.

This time he accepts, forgetting that he hasn’t finished his lunch, and bites into the first slice. The white flesh is sweeter than the apples he usually eats—he prefers them tart and sour—but it’s perfectly in season and tastes good.

Sakura’s lips part in surprise, and the motion causes him to nearly miss as he pops the rest of the fruit into his mouth. Thankfully, she doesn’t appear to see; instead, her eyes flick toward his hand, mouth firming.

Damn. I meant to keep that hidden.

Sakura barely waits for his hand to be empty before taking him by the wrist. “You’re hurt!”

The skin of his forearm and hand is crisscrossed with welts and scratches, as well as several wasp stings from when he was reaching into the trees. He’d forgotten about them, but with her attention, the dull hurts flare to life.

“It’s nothing,” he tells her, trying to take his hand back, but she doesn’t relinquish it.

“You always say it’s nothing. I’ve stopped believing you.”

“I guarantee everyone else working in the orchard has the same thing.”

“And I’ll get to them. But you’re here right now, and knowing you, you’re going to throw yourself back into work right away, so it won’t be until this evening when I get my hands on you again…” He raises an eyebrow at her. Her eyes widen. “That…didn’t come out right…”

He can’t help the slow smirk that pulls at his mouth, and she scowls at him.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, twin spots of rouge flaming even darker across her cheeks but holds his hand closer to her. Green chakra flickers between her fingers, seeping into his muscles and tendons, easing the sharp aching of scraped skin and pulling muscles.

While she heals, her expression relaxes, embarrassment giving way to concentration. He’s noticed that about her: when she uses her medical ninjutsu, everything else appears to fall beyond her awareness.

Still, there’s a tiny smile upon her lips and the fading colour across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones that has nothing to do with the autumn swelter.

When she releases him, she is unabashed and cheerful again. “Better?”

He flexes his fingers, studying the newly healed skin, and nods.

“Thank you.”

Sasuke straightens and reaches for another apple slice, frowning at a mild pinching sensation behind his neck. He hasn’t even rolled his shoulder once to disperse the tension, before Sakura is leaning toward him again, eye filled with concern.

“You’ve strained your neck,” she says, and it sounds accusing, as if she thinks he deliberately kept it from her.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have! I know what that looks like.”

“I haven’t done anything strenuous enough,” he replies, a little indignant because he knows his body’s limits.

“Spending the day with your arm raised overhead and twisting fruit off branches requires different movements than kenjutsu or taijutsu,” she lectures. “If you don’t take care of it now, you’ll regret it tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Stop being so stubborn! Lie down and I’ll fix it for you.”

“No.”

“Sasuke…!”

She is growing annoyed, not understanding the reason for his refusal. He is easier with her lately when it comes to touching or being touched. It’s happened often enough—huddled together in the shelter of a tree when it rains, elbows bumping when they crowd into communal meal halls, or checking each other’s wounds.

If they were alone, he would let her ease the knots from his neck and shoulders, but right now they are in front of an entire village of people. Some of whom are viewing the interchange with blatant interest and amusement, others barely concealing the smiles on their faces.

The back of Sasuke’s neck feels warm. He dislikes such attention.

A look creeps across Sakura’s face, the one that Sasuke knows he will have no recourse against, and he has to act before it fully manifests..

“If you don’t lie down right now…” she begins, her voice rising with each syllable.

“Sakura,” he says, his tone soft but firm in its finality.

Her expression freezes at that, and she blinks, coming back to herself. Then, glancing around, she spots what he has been aware of for a while—the audience of workers pretending not to be observing them.

Her look of surprise is almost comical, and her cheeks flood red once more.

“I didn’t mean— I wasn’t going to— not in front of—” she stammers, all apologies and embarrassment and avoiding eye contact. She jumps to her feet, nearly slopping tea over them both. “I have to get back. They, um, probably need help cleaning up, and I have to go out and check on the other workers, and you…well, you’re right…we can, um, your arm…I’ll just…”

He’s enjoying her fluster more than he should and opens his mouth to speak—to say something smooth in delivery or laden with implication—so that it continues.

But she’s biting her lip as if to physically stop herself from stammering, and her eyes are shining just so, even as they dart about trying to avoid his gaze, and as has become a frequent occurrence, Sasuke discovers every word in his vocabulary suddenly vanishing from his brain.

It takes him several seconds longer than he expects to remember at least one.

“Later?” he suggests.

Sakura stops her fidgeting and meets his gaze. This time he doesn’t bother hiding his small smile from her.

That unnameable something passes between them, bolstered by the rustling leaves and dense heat around them.

Then she smiles back, a gentle and pleased upward curve of her lips, and nods. “Right. Um…later.”

She hurries away after that, tripping a few times before her posture straightens and he watches her transform from his Sakura to the no-nonsense, hyper-confident medic and director.

Sasuke finishes his meal and eases to his feet, ready to head back into the orchard. On his way, he passes one of the workers who is staring Sakura with an air of awe.

“Your girl is something,” he says, impressed.

Sasuke considers Sakura once more, as she directs a group of villagers to go around picking up discarded plates and cups.

In his mind’s eye, he sees a skinny girl with long pink locks, hands on her hips and lecturing him or Naruto or Kakashi for some misbehaviour or other. In a blink it’s replaced with the brave kunoichi, bruised and battered, caring for him when he was ill, or holding him back from throwing himself into danger.

A girl who wouldn’t give up on a boy filled with darkness, even when he shoved away what she offered, be it a plate of apples or her heart.

It’s not the first time he wonders what he did to deserve her.

But he doesn’t reveal any of this to the worker. Instead, he shrugs and says with complete certainty, “She is.”

終わり

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I am trying to figure out how to fit this one into the Legacy of Fire series, but it mostly depends on me writing a completely different fic to allow that to happen, so this can exist in the same series as Miso Soup Everyday and You Are Cordially Invited. So for now it’s not part of the series...

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn’t something you’re comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels 🤯mind blown 🤬god damn cliffhanger 😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

栗

#kuriquinn #sasusaku #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno #blank period #legacy of fire #romance #pre-relationship #fluff #feels #seasons zine piece #naruto fanfiction

98 notes · View notes

concussed-to-pieces · 3 years

Text

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Seventeen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Tagging @anonymouscosmos, @culturalrebel, @mercy-and-malice, @deepkittycollecto and @nelba! Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

Part Sixteen: Nice Try

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains intense recounts of previous abuse, intense depictions of self-loathing, self-deprecation and brief mentions of depression. Stay safe!]

Cade caught Danse before he could depart after the rest of their unofficial 'war council' had been dismissed, the medical officer inquiring, "How are you coping, Paladin? I hope that your adjustment to your newfound knowledge is going well." The arch of his eyebrow indicated plainly that Cade was looking for a clear answer, possibly to dissuade his own concerns.

"I am still uncertain, Knight-Captain Cade." Danse stated bluntly. "I know that Quinlan's reports are accurate. I know that I must be a synth. But it is...it's difficult to wrap my head around it."

"My door is always open, Danse. As it's been since the day you were assigned to the Prydwen." Cade reminded him. "I can't say I've ever had the pleasure of doing a mental evaluation on a synth, but…" he trailed off thoughtfully. "Hmm, that's not quite right. You and I have had sessions before. Maybe synths aren't so different in their cognition. Perhaps this is a nature versus nurture scenario."

"Perhaps." Danse allowed, but he knew that he sounded less than optimistic.

"Maybe in a day or two, once everything has calmed down and you've had time to think?" Cade suggested. "Collect your thoughts, then come see me and we can discuss your current state and the repercussions of Maxson's treatment."

The paladin nodded, relieved that Cade didn't wish to immediately evaluate him. It had been an incredibly stressful and arduous several weeks. More than anything, the paladin was longing to finally get some sleep.

After he spoke to Haylen and Rhys, of course. They deserved his gratitude, if only for their combined efforts in delivering the tip-off that had literally saved his life. To say nothing of their care for Elizabeth in his absence, even though they were unable to free her. They had kept her alive, and that was more than the paladin had dared to hope for.

Danse watched Cade depart, his mind miles away now. Backhand would be incredibly busy in the lead up to the assault. He felt almost irritated by that; it was unfair to ask so much of her so soon after what had transpired. But the luxury of time was no longer on their side. Danse understood, in a practical sense, that they needed to strike as fast as possible. It was entirely within reason that the Institute already knew of their plans and were preparing their own countermeasures.

It still didn't erase the hollow sensation in his gut, the fear that Backhand was all too willing to stretch herself paper-thin for her various factions. He promised himself then and there that he would do his best to absorb some of the burden.

As much as she would allow.

The memory of her ripping her knuckles apart on the manual release of his armor, talking to Matthew's parents, taking her helmet off and smiling at him. Thank you, Danse or I thought you were dead or please don't do that to me again --

Danse chewed anxiously on his lower lip. As much as she would allow. As much as he could feasibly handle. It should have felt odd that he was trading one leader for another, but Danse could only rationalize that it must be another portion of his programming.

"Paladin Danse, sir?"

Rhys . Danse started, turning around. He hadn't even heard the knight approach down the catwalk. Hell, he hadn't even realized he was spacing out in the hallway. "Yes, Knight?" He replied, nodding out of habit to acknowledge Haylen beside Rhys.

"Elder Brandis said you wanted to see us, sir." The knight stated, sounding a bit hesitant. "He said we needed to discuss...certain things."

Of course he did . Danse sighed heavily, bracing himself for some level of a disappointment-fueled tirade.

"Danse, I'm so sorry." Haylen blurted out, her voice shaking. Danse was startled, tilting his head while she carried on, "I wish there had been some other way for me to tell you. You must have been terrified ."

"I was certainly confused, if nothing else." The paladin admitted with a wry smile. "I am immensely grateful to both of you, regardless of my own trials. You followed your training and stuck to your guns, and I couldn't be more proud." He deflated slightly. "Even if the pride of a synth means precious little."

"The synth shit doesn't matter to either of us, sir." Rhys muttered. "We don't care. We're just glad you're back and that Maxson didn't manage to kill you. That's the important part, right?"

"In a way." Danse agreed, grimacing. "Our battle is far from over, however."

"Hey, we're doing something. That's more than a lot of people can say." Haylen reasoned, ever the optimist. "I've got faith in whatever plan you guys come up with."

"Thank you for believing in me." The paladin murmured, giving the only surviving members of Squad Gladius a stiff salute.

"We know you, sir. You protected us, trained us. Built us up from basically nothing." Rhys sounded angry, his typically-sullen expression gone even more sour. "You think we could ever turn our backs on you? You're not that stupid."

Haylen began to protest, "Rhys-"

"Haylen, you and I both know he'll just self-deprecate until he dissolves. I'm not letting that happen." Rhys grumbled at the scribe, who fell silent at his reasoning. Her eyes were narrowed to slits and the sight was immensely entertaining to Danse, who couldn't keep a nervous chuckle from bubbling up in his throat.

"I'm certain the two of you are aware of the devastating depression you dragged me out of all those years ago in the Capital Wasteland." Danse clapped Rhys on the shoulder and caught Haylen up in a rare one-armed hug. "How many times will you two save me? Should I start taking you for granted?"

"Paladin Danse, sir, w-we…" Haylen trailed off, her lower lip quivering. She buried her face in Danse's ribs and Rhys grunted.

"Haylen, c'mon . Pull it together." He huffed, his own eyes looking suspiciously wet. "Listen, sir, I think I've made our position pretty clear. We follow your orders. Learning about that shit with Maxson-"

"I'm so angry! " Haylen interrupted him, glaring upwards. "God Danse, I'm furious . What he did to you is unforgivable, inexcusable." She announced hotly. "Everyone assumed something was going on, but we also assumed it was consensual ."

" 'Everyone' ?" Danse echoed, a weird surge of retroactive embarrassment seizing his body. "I suppose I should be thankful you all were so willing to offer me the illusion of privacy." He mumbled.

"He's never coming anywhere near you again, sir." Rhys stated, his jaw set in an angry scowl. "I don't care if he's the last of the Maxson line. I'll break his fucking skull."

His words stirred Danse's guilt to life, the ugly feeling rearing its head once more. "It is a difficult situation to be in. I do not envy our elders, past or present." Danse tried to pose the sentence with a modicum of compassion, though he was unsure of the attempt's success. The paladin knew that despite Maxson's position of power, Danse bore a majority of the blame for not standing up to the elder until it was too late to prevent his spiral.

"Difficult, my ass ." Rhys growled under his breath.

…

"So we've got Preston, someone by the name of John D., the…" Ingram narrowed her eyes at the readout. " Atom Cats ?"

"Yep. Real into their power armor. And Zeke owes me a favor." Backhand explained, continuing to scroll through her Pip Boy notes. "If I can get them to walk across the pond and cover the Castle, that will free up more Minutemen to join us."

"Should I ask how you managed to ingratiate yourself with so many of these people?"

"I'm a sucker for a lost cause." Vega answered, her tone dry.

Ingram snorted, shaking her head. "Lucky for us, I imagine. Also lucky for us that you're the forgiving sort."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Proctor." Backhand retorted. "I'm just not yet in a position to combat your aerial superiority."

"Whew, gonna' file that one away for later consideration."

A soft knock on the comm doorway interrupted the two women, and Vega turned to see Danse peering cautiously into the room. "Paladin! You're just in time, we were about to start rallying the troops. Want to lend a hand?"

"What needs to be done, General Vega?" The paladin asked, his posture gone stiff and proper.

Backhand could feel her smile dim slightly, but she reined herself in. They had all been through so much, she reasoned, and old habits were usually a comfort. "Well, I've got a few calls to make on my own, but if you can get in touch with Lieutenant Garvey that would be a huge help."

"Understood."

Proctor Ingram (who had been watching their exchange with poorly-veiled interest) stepped out of the way so that Danse could settle down at the desk alongside one of their many radio switchboards. "Vega, I think the two of you can handle this." The older woman remarked, giving Elizabeth a sly wink behind Danse's back. "I'll start whipping the base camp into shape. Make myself useful, y'know. Ad Victoriam."

Vega went bright red as Ingram saluted, the proctor sporting an absolutely infuriating smirk. "B-But Proctor--"

"No buts! You guys handle the easy stuff. I'll manage the elbow grease." Ingram then mouthed talk to him! , before strolling out of the comm area. Backhand swore under her breath, thumping her fist into the desk in mute frustration.

"I can leave, General Vega." Danse offered, making her start and whirl to face him.

"No no! No, uh, you're fine. You're not the problem here." Vega assured him, waving her hands nervously. "I'm just...I'm a little uptight, that's all."

"Will your forces refuse to join us?" The paladin asked, his rigid posture easing slightly as he tipped his head back to look up at her. He continued in an undertone, "Would it be simpler to do it with your troops alone? Do you truly need the Brotherhood?"

"We do need the Brotherhood, yes. But I don't think we'll need them for the fighting. We'll need them for the mass casualty options and the refugee care after the fact." Backhand began to pace, mostly so she didn't have to maintain eye contact. The paladin looked fatigued yet determined, and it pained her to know that rest was still so far away for them. Rest and the possibility of actually speaking with him about the thing that had been on her mind in one form or another since…

Well, it had been a long time.

"We'll need help rebuilding more than anything. Not a lot of settlements will be keen to take on synths, so I'll need to figure out some kind of alternative. I really need to talk with Nick and Dea--er, John D ., and get their input on this whole engagement." Backhand rubbed her temples. "And here I thought getting in would be the hard part!" She tried to joke.

After a moment of silence, Vega heard Danse clear his throat. "General... Elizabeth , I know you already have many responsibilities, all of them miles more important than my own struggles."

Backhand looked over at him expectantly, a little confused.

"I have to give Cade a full report." The tall man said abruptly. "I...he wants to know everything that's transpired." He stared down at the floor, the heel of his boot scuffing the grating beneath them as he rushed to add, "I know it's selfish of me to ask you to--I mean, you've been through so much, b-but I was...rather, I am uncertain of this endeavor, and my ability to maintain my composure during it. You tend to have a mollifying effect on me for some reason."

"You want me to be present when you give your medical officer the full rundown?" Vega raised an eyebrow, further confused. Danse was a soldier , surely he had endured a full physical before?

"I am overly anxious. It means reliving some portions of my past that I find...traumatic."

"Oh." Oh . Backhand felt stupid as the truth dawned on her. Everything that's transpired . Of course Danse would want someone he trusted with him, this wasn't a physical exam at all. "What about Haylen or Rhys? Are they more appraised of the situation?"

Danse was shaking his head before she had even finished. "I did my best to keep everything that happened quiet, though it appears that I was unsuccessful. I was told that was my only option, and I did not wish to disobey Maxson's orders."

"That fuckin' asshole." Vega growled. "Alright, if you're sure it's me you want with you, I'm here."

"You don't have t--er, that is, I regret taking up more of your valuable time, General Vega. I promise after this meeting with Cade, I will be fully at your disposal." He assured her, seemingly pained by his current state.

"Danse, I don't care about that. I don't want you better just so you can get used up again, I want you better for you . I'm sorry that all of this robs you of the proper time to regroup, y'know?" Backhand apologized, her words deliberately quiet as she boldly laced her fingers through his own. "Once we're done here, though, you need to take some time off. General's orders."

"I would have to speak with Elder Brandis on the matter. As his most senior paladin, I am unsure if he would be able to permit me that luxury." Danse replied unhappily, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before he released it. "' A run ashore ', always just out of reach."

"I'm getting you time off, even if I have to kidnap you myself."

The paladin's chuckle in reply to her threat was subdued, but it still sent a frisson of happiness through her body. Backhand choked down the guilt of having those feelings in the first place for just a second, choosing to bask in the warm sensation.

"When you're ready, General, I'll need the proper frequencies to speak with the Castle." Danse's request brought her crashing back down to earth, and Vega rushed to oblige him.

There's always something else to do .

…

Two days later, on the cusp of their attack on the Institute, the both of them were seated in Knight-Captain Cade's main office aboard the Prydwen. The older officer sat across from them in the cramped space, a clipboard propped up on his knee.

"The only questions I'll ask will be strictly for clarity's sake." The knight-captain informed Danse quietly. "If you don't want to answer, that is entirely acceptable and within your right, but the more information we have, the better."

Danse nodded, the motion stilted. "I understand, Knight-Captain. I'll do my best to cooperate."

Vega squeezed his hand. God knew she didn't like this one damn bit, but she was going to stick it out for him. After all, he had gone to bat for her against the elder . Loyalty like that was in short supply. "I'm right here with you, Danse." She said softly. He had gone pasty white beneath his usual windblown complexion, and he gripped her hand wordlessly.

"If you could start at the beginning, Paladin. Or as close to it as possible." Cade prompted him.

"Yes, I...of course." Danse rasped. "The first time we engaged was shortly before the Brotherhood lost Knight Cutler."

Cade looked at him over his half-moon glasses, seeming perturbed. "That was...so this was a prolonged assault."

"Not an assault. I did as I was ordered." The dull tone of Danse's voice, the way his eyes had gone almost grey ...Vega wanted to know how the hell Maxson had ever justified this. "I could not bring myself to question Arthur. He came to me, at first simply asking for help even though it was an order. He said he couldn't sleep. I...I never told Cutler. I didn't think it was relevant. I thought I was helping the new elder." Danse looked up at Cade. "I know what it's like to not be able to sleep for all the thoughts in your head."

"Was there a specific point in time where his behavior shifted? Perhaps when it became more clear to you that there was something wrong?" Backhand was grateful for the delicate way Cade phrased the question.

"I…" Danse's brow furrowed. "...had just come back with...after what transpired with Cutler. Four days on base. I was furious with Maxson for stationing Cutler out there, furious with myself for not saving Cutler. I was grieving and hurt both physically and emotionally, as you recall." Cade inclined his head. "I assume you also recall the bite on my arm that appeared shortly thereafter. That was a...result of my inability to perform."

"Ah." Cade murmured, jotting something down.

Bite? Vega could feel Danse trembling. "I-I was...unable to function or perform for him in a satisfactory manner and that was his method of voicing his frustration with me." Danse swallowed hard. "I was mourning , Cade." He sounded like he was begging the other man to understand, begging him not to judge.

Perform for him. Backhand sucked in a deep breath through her nose, willing herself to stay silent.

"After that, I would just comply. It was never as bad as that time. I would perform for him to the best of my abilities." Danse paused, "but I never sought him out, and nothing occurred without me being ordered to do so." He then proceeded to rattle off a distressingly-long list of dates, every time that Maxson had coerced him. "I was not interested in...well, anyone , after Cutler." He muttered after a brief pause, "the term broken seems fitting."

"You weren't allowed proper space to heal yourself after what happened with Cutler. You were injured and then forced to deal with someone who kept prying open your wounds because they enjoyed lording their power over you." Cade theorized, his voice a little sharper. " Broken is not fitting in the slightest, Danse."

The paladin shrugged. "Whatever the terminology might be, then."

" Traumatized , Danse. Emotional wounds take time to heal, just like physical ones. Losing Cutler in the way that we did-"

"I deserved it!" Danse cut off the medical officer, leaning forward and clenching his free hand on his knee. "I failed Cutler, Cade! I should have gone after him sooner! The treatment from Maxson is what I deserved ." His eyes were wild, frantic. "He's an abuser, but I am a man deserving of every last instance of that abuse for my inaction when it came to Cutler!" The paladin reasoned intensely.

Cade sighed, rifling through his clipboard. "Danse, you did not deserve or garner punishment for the consequences of Maxson's orders." He informed the other man quietly. "You were simply a man who lost someone that he cared deeply about."

"And to find out that I'm not even that much!" Danse spat. "I'm still trying to cope with the reality that I am a living lie . My identity as Paladin Danse is nothing but a memory now. Everything I held dear, everything I ever believed in is completely gone. Can you imagine how that feels?" Danse was nearly shouting at this point, moving to stand. "I started out as nothing , and I've ended up as nothing . And I don't know what the hell to do about it!"

Backhand brought her hand up over his elbow, hauling him back down into his seat. " Listen to Cade, Danse." She growled. The paladin fought her grip briefly, but ultimately slumped in the chair. Good thing too, Vega wasn't exactly up to full strength just yet. The large man was shaking again, his breathing coming in harsh bursts. "It's okay, it's okay." Vega found herself repeating the phrase, rubbing circles on his back between his shoulder blades. Many members of military factions found repetition comforting and Danse appeared to be no exception, the large man heaving a massive sigh under the weight of her hand.

"Danse, I'll fully admit to being out of my element here. I never expected to have to treat a synth." Knight-Captain Cade said plainly. "However, I've known you for many years. We have an established rapport. Your body is indistinguishable from an ordinary human body, as proved by my records. Your mental processes and pain responses are normal for a human. I suppose what I'm trying to say is learning that you are a synth may not change all that much, despite what you may be feeling."

Danse choked out a forlorn noise that might have been a sob, burying his face in his hands. "I'm so confused." He confessed plaintively. "You're saying I did not deserve punishment for my failings, but...how else am I supposed to atone for Cutler?" He looked up, tears welling up in his eyes. "How am I supposed to reconcile with these human emotions, Cade? I barely kept myself under control when I believed I was human!"

"Your feelings have always run deep, Danse. Your empathy for your fellow man has landed you in hot water more than once." Cade gestured at Vega. "According to our infiltrator, even the most brutal of synths feel regret and remorse just like we do, though they have not been taught how to cope with it."

"I still feel like a human. Nothing feels different, yet now I constantly second-guess everything I do. I've had a plan from the beginning to shape my future, but I have to wonder about whether that's a lie as well." Danse remarked bitterly. "I had...I had hoped…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."

Backhand could feel her heart breaking the longer he spoke. His true identity was an immense blow to him, and on top of it he was still struggling under the burden of the guilt he carried due to Cutler's demise. He blamed himself for Arthur's demands.

"Listen to Cade, Danse." She urged. Her hand was essentially on autopilot as she traced small patterns on the center of his back, moving up and down his spine without rhyme or reason. "You're not to blame for what Maxson did. It's not yours to bear. Trust me, coming from someone who's more than willing to take on other folk's problems, that weight is not yours."

"But-"

"You trust me, right?" Vega interrupted him softly, cupping his face so that he had to look at her.

"With my life, General Vega."

The rapid sincerity of his reply startled her and Backhand needed to take a moment, steeling herself yet again. "I know you trust Cade too, and I know this won't be a quick or easy process. But you accepting that whatever happened was not your fault would be a huge first step."

"I...If I do…" Danse paused, hesitating. "Vega, if I forget about him..."

"Hey, nobody said anything about forgetting. You told me about Cutler, about how important he was to you. There's no way someone like you could forget about him. But you need to forgive yourself, you have to understand that losing him was not your fault." Once more she found herself in over her head, but she did her best to tell him all the things she wished someone had told her when Sergeant Cathan had died.

"He was...he was everything to me." Danse's voice cracked. "And I had to--I had to, he was...I had to."

"What happened to Cutler and his team was an immense tragedy, and a needless one at that." Cade spoke up from his seat, his brow furrowed. "Maxson outed himself quite thoroughly during the trial, I would say. It will be difficult for him to explain his actions away when so many witnesses heard exactly what he said."

Elizabeth felt Danse go still, the paladin hanging on to Cade's every word. "Am I even permitted to be happy that he may face consequences?" He asked uncertainly, wringing his hands. "Is that a breach of protocol, Knight-Captain?"

The medical officer shifted his weight, leaning forward to prop himself up with his elbows on his knees. "I can't promise you swift justice, you know how the Brotherhood operates. But Arthur invoked the right of a litany trial, then proceeded to break his own terms. To say nothing of the fact that he nearly killed someone uninvolved in the trial." Cade shook his head. "His abuse flourished in secrecy. Now that everything is out in the open, I do not believe even his status as the last Maxson will sway the other elders when they pass judgement."

"Thank you, Knight-Captain." Danse closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "I...thank you, Vega." He continued, a little quieter. He caught her hand in his own, giving it a cautious squeeze. Almost as if he was imitating her gesture from earlier in the week. "I have so much to think about."

"Agreed. Shall I put in a request to Brandis for a leave of absence?"

Danse visibly recoiled at Cade's suggestion, his eyes going wide in dismay. "No! No, I am needed, Knight-Captain. After our assault has been carried out, and the Institute has been wiped from the map, I…" he hesitated, like the words were caught in his throat. "I will gladly take a leave. Until then, however, there is still work to do."

"There is always work to do, Paladin." Cade chided. "Remember what I told you? You will burn yourself out and the Brotherhood can ill afford to lose you."

"I'll see to it that he takes time off after our successful operation." Backhand stated firmly. Cade raised an eyebrow at that and Danse flushed across the bridge of his nose, stuttering a little. "Your health is important to me, Danse. You can be as stubborn as you want, but I'm not letting you weasel out of this."

"I suppose that will have to do." Cade sighed. "Do you have any questions for me, Paladin?"

Danse shot a sidelong glance at Vega that she was relatively certain she wasn't supposed to see, the large man worrying his lower lip. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part, though, as Danse shook his head after a moment. "No, I...I just have some reflection to do." He got to his feet abruptly, saluting both Cade and Elizabeth. "Ad Victoriam, Knight-Captain. Ad Victoriam, General Vega."

Cade returned the salute absently, already absorbed in writing something else down. Vega was a little slower, her query of, "do you need me, Danse?" coming out softer than she had intended.

She wanted to believe that the paladin hesitated before he replied, "No, General Vega. I can manage."

Part Eighteen

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dolores-lovesfruits · 4 years

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There is something that has been itching me ever since I entered the fb fandom. It’s been a long time debate ever since the manga and the 2001 anime up till now and Idk, I feel like this topic is overlooked by many, which is kyo vs. yuki/ more like pitting them against each other on who’s better.

Beware: This is a super long post.

Look, I may be a Momiji stan at heart but I can’t deny that these dudes are awesome. Do note that I am not speaking against those who have their own biases, I’m referring to the people who keep comparing these two in a really negative way to the extent of antagonizing the other party or worse; comparing who’s got more trauma. I saw the latter part on that one facebook post and I was all “wtf?!”

Now we all know Yuki was criticized for his so-called “surface” character especially back in the 2001 anime where they really botched their chances of developing Yuki’s storyline with his brother, backstory, and president arc; and since the first half of the manga centered on the true form arc, a lot of Kyo stans emerged and at times, shoved yuki in the mud as if he’s not that important to the whole series (which infuriated me and I’m pointing my finger at the 2001 anime for this). The reboot is finally shining Yuki and the fandom, new viewers/old fans begin to love this Yuki more than the old version because this is the Yuki that was portrayed in the manga that we all love. It also helps that there are a lot who posted their metas about him and people have matured enough to understand his situation.

Now moving on to Kyo. Since the second half of season 2 will finally focus on the storyline that Yuki didn’t get during the 2001 anime, this is the part where I’m very intrigued of. Gathering some opinions from manga readers, this is the arc wherein there might be an emergence of Kyo hate opinions. I predicted this for a number of reasons and connected it to what season 2 will show, like Yuki’s backstory wherein we found out that Yuki actually wanted to befriend Kyo; using yuki as a scapegoat; the cinderella arc where Kyo lashes out on Yuki again. Not to mention, Kyo doesn’t really appear that much or get that much spotlight during the second half (except Kagura’s confession and Kyoko’s backstory albeit it’s more focused on kyoko’s) because his spotlight and development will come at season 3.

This is something that really pissed me off. The Yuki hate was based on his treatment towards Kyo and acting like he’s better than him (ex: is when a lot complained during the ore-sama dialogue that he’s acting all superior to Kyo or some shit). If anything, Yuki has the right to call out on Kyo which I’ll explain below. The Kyo hate on the other hand was based on his treatment to Yuki back when they’re younger till now (it rages me when there are fans who blamed Kyo for ALL of Yuki’s trauma. He’s partly at fault, for sure but the fact that they are really blaming ALL this on Kyo was absurd. blame akito or the curse dammit).

Kyo’s actions are unjustifiable, sure, especially when he’s channeling his hatred to someone he doesn’t fully know but it’s one of his main conflicts in this series. Even as a kid, he still technically started that feud between their relationship even when Yuki just wanted to be friends w/ him but because of the rat/cat hierarchy implanted on him since he was born, it was natural for him to lash out on Yuki, which, resulted on damaging Yuki’s trauma more. It didn’t help that Yuki was used as his scapegoat because not only projecting your hatred also cause to damage to the other person which come of as insensitive, but it also developed Kyo’s unhealthy way of coping esp since he explicitly said that he used Yuki because he wouldn’t be able to take it any longer (it really was the only thing keeping him together which was a super fucked up situation). It’s a lose-lose battle on him

I’m not going to pretend that Yuki is an angel as well. He, too have struggled immensely and his envious thoughts and jealously towards Kyo sprouted his hatred towards him which in any case, is not Kyo’s fault. His internal struggles of not being able to be himself was not entirely Kyo’s responsibility, which developed an unhealthy coping mechanism wherein he puts up this princely facade and also lashes on/ beats Kyo due to his jealousy. I also think a lot are forgetting that while Kyo used him as a scapegoat, deep inside, Yuki looked down on Kyo as well. Based on what Shigure told Tohru that the cat is needed for them to make themselves feel a little better. Which was amplified during Momiji’s grown up chapter (the scene where they are making curry) the zodiacs finally acknowledged the effect of being in the cat’s unfortunate position.

I cannot fully blame Yuki for looking down on Kyo and used his jealousy to beat him up because he reminds him of anything he’s not. At the same time, I cannot fully blame Kyo for lashing out on him when they were kids and used the rat to have a purpose of his hatred. Their feelings manifested from the curse, it just so happened that these two were driven with different coping mechanisms.

In addition, I really don’t understand the point of antagonizing/villanizing person a to person b’s backstory and vice versa when it’s clearly not the case. A lot are forgetting that it’s the bond/curse and akito that made them this way. You can’t fully blame the other party because both of them are victims of terrifying positions (Yuki’s closest to god so he really suffered from akito’s abuse while Kyo’s position as the cat made him mocked and looked down by the sohmas and eventually imprisoned for life for something he was born with). It’s also interesting despite their different childhood experiences, both experienced some kind of isolation (yuki was isolated from the other zodiacs and kept in the dark room while kyo was an outcast and not included in any event because the mere presence as a cat is something they need for the banquet to keep going).

This is the reason why my blood was boiling when they get compared at who’s got the worst trauma or some shit from the two. It’s downgrading the other’s problems and experiences and fucking petty. BOTH, I repeat, both have been traumatized and suffered a lot and it defeats the purpose on portraying different traumas and their journey of fighting their demons. In other words, the two do not deserve to be compared. It’s not a battle between traumas.

If they want to blame something, blame the fucking curse (and Akito). It clearly destroyed the cursed Sohma’s mental health. No need to pit these two into an experience that haunted them both.

I’m saying this because while I was glad and relieved that the yuki hate is slowly dissolving, I noticed that this season might involve some Kyo hate and I just have to fucking slap my desk and be like “Not this again!”

Again, everyone has an opinion on certain characters but there are some that are just “too much”. That feeling overshadows the character’s good points/flaws. Kyo and Yuki are not painted to be the bad guys. They are characters with flaws and conflict going on. Without these flaws, the story wouldn’t drive further. I actually prefer the fandom right now than before because the majority of the main Kyo and main Yuki stans both love and respect the other. I hope it will continue to be like that and just stop with the Kyo and Yuki hate.

#fruits basket #fruits basker spoilers #fruits basket 2020 #furuba #furuba spoilers #kyo sohma #yuki sohma #sohma kyo #sohma yuki #fb meta #lola's thoughts

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player-1 · 4 years

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Anyone who’s been in the TMA fandom (or those who understand the bare minimum of the story) know damn well that whatever was going on with Michael D. Stortion and Gabriel/Worker-of-Clay was not just a simple Avatar/Entity partnership. No, in the twisted timeline of the Spiral itself, the Armageddon arms-race pales in comparison to the romantic tragedy subplot those two had long before Jon and Martin were in the picture.

(This is also going to be a long one, and with some MAG 101 spoilers, so buckle on in...)

Here’s what I mean:

Gabriel (or in this case, Gabe) works with Neil Lagorio (Web aligned special-effects dude) in the mid 1900′s on their first movie The Labyrinth of the Minotaur. Unfortunately for him, Gabe quits in 1972 just as the movie was released.

Not much is known of this time after 1972 up until the dreaded sculpting class in 2004. Speculation-wise, Gabriel might have been corrupted by the Flesh during his movie-making times or earlier before he came into contact with the Spiral.

Reasons: -The Spiral connects with the unraveling of reality, question one’s sanity and eventually “spiraling” into insanity. -The Flesh, in its literal sense, connects to the fear of people or animals being killed for meat; even the appearance of flesh/bone being twisted, bent, or butchered. But it can also connect on a emotional level, such as being viewed weaker than others, mostly relating to a person’s body image. That’s also the reason why the nature of his death is completely unlike the Spiral simply letting him fade out of reality. -Gabriel displays more Flesh-like qualities in his appearance and work up until the end of MAG 126. He doesn’t want people to judge him by appearance alone (even if his entire body is made up of clay) but he makes up for it with his unassuming personality and amazing talent. In a literal sense, he wants to mold himself into the kind of person that gets praised for his clay-making abilities, not just from his creations alone.

[Enter Ｔｈｅ　Ｄｉｓｔｏｒｔｉｏｎ: Stage Left] Of course, while there’s no evidence on how, when or why the Distortion would target him specifically, but there is one thing. Compared to all the other Spiral avatars and fear-aligned creatures, they all used to be humans in the past. The Spiral by nature is to cast aside their humanity and submit to the nature of insanity. But since most of the Spiral avatars either faded out of existence or just refused to do anything ritual-wise, how was it supposed to create a new world if all they ever do is destroy? It adopts an artist, of course. There’s nothing more chaotic than the struggles of a budding sculptor such as himself. But while that may be a convincing argument for the Spiral to get Gabriel to join the Dark Side, there could be more to convince him that it’s worth following the unknowable being of delusions. Long story short, there was no reason for Gabriel to judge himself so poorly if he knew how to reshape the world to how he sees fit. it would convince him that, like the archangel he’s named after, he could show the world the coming future; twisting the laws of reality so that there’s no room to judge how something should be right or wrong, imaginary or real. As if they were said from the Lord himself, Gabriel heard the Distortion’s tell him about a new world and finally found inspiration in them.

Then comes the sculpting class. It’s worth noting that, even with the angel symbolism for Michael and Gabriel, it could be implied that Gabriel is also a goody-two-shoes Christian boy who regularly attends church, as evidence of Michael having knowledge about Mass in MAG 20, assisting the Flesh in driving Father Edwin to cannibalism (so the Flesh and Spiral have an interesting partnership, huh?). Besides that, this is where Gabriel takes the spotlight. From Deborah’s point of view, he was a strange little man from the beginning; eyes always jutted out of his face, appearing right in someone’s personal space and disappearing just as fast, and of course, his works of clay. (Also a random headcanon just because: Gabriel may be afraid of water, either because his entire body being made of clay, and since you need water to help shape the material, he does not want to get it melded into his own flesh. Could also be the reason why he has short and greasy hair, cause he would practically melt into a puddle if he was unfortunate enough to get wet.) And apart from Deborah and her friends’ growing discomfort over Gabriel in general, he’s just vibing in the back of the class, trying to make a shape for the unknowable form of the Distortion. And the second Deborah inadvertently gives him a break from his artist’s block, he quite literally takes control of the class; switching over the biweekly schedule it was before into every week, and even manipulating the space of the classroom to further support his artistic needs.

“Ray told us the lesson was ‘faces.’ I put my hand up to say that sculpting faces was probably a bit advanced for where we were in the course, but he shook his head, and said that we were… a lot more talented than we thought. He said the key was that faces were twisted. All faces were twisted on the inside, and all you had to do was reach into the deepest part of yourself and put that twisted on the outside of the clay, and as soon as you can scream you’ll have your own face staring back at you.” (MAG 126)

This is also the key to the Spiral itself. With Gabriel’s assistance, he will be able to let the spiral to insanity move in reverse, create the physical manifestation of that fear instead of letting it collapse and destroy itself. And in that lesson as well, Gabriel finally creates a fitting image of the Distortion...A door, the physical entrance to insanity itself.

Then comes the final stretch in Sannikov Land, the nonexistent island that was said to exist between the years 2009 and 2011. And as Michael D. Stortion explains in MAG 101, was the perfect place for their ritual, The Great Twisting. After everything Gabriel had done to appease his good “friend”, The Distortion seemed extremely invested in the Worker of Clay at that point. Nevermind the fact that its telling Jon how its identity was stolen away from Michael Shelley by merging with the Distortion, but there’s more to this origin story.

“Michael was protective of the frail old woman he believed her to be. So… so delicate, so forgetful, yet gently wise. He cared for her. He trusted her. And she fed him to me. She made him to destroy our transcendence. And she did not hesitate.” “And it was me they sought to stop. Me and the others of It-Is-Not-What-It-Is. Our Great Twisting. The-Worker-of-Clay had laboured for decades on that contorted, impossible edifice of doors… and stairs… and falsehoods… and smiles. A thousand staring morsels stood, and not one of them believed themselves sane to look upon it. And in the centre, the door that would open to all the places that were never there, was me.“ “Perhaps I should have realised what was happening; seen those two lonely figures approaching me, but I cannot tell you the existential joys of truly… becoming. Of an entireness finally crossing the threshold into your self. So ecstatic was my completeness, I did not even hear my own door creak open.“ “Even sharper than the joy of becoming is the agony of being opened and remade. To have your who torn bloody from your what, and another crudely lashed into its place. To become Michael. And to do so at such a crucial point in our Twisting, in our becoming, well of course it destroyed it. The impossible altar collapsed. The-Worker-of-Clay tore out his veins to dissolve himself in crimson mud. The others of us were cast to all the places that aren’t; some have still not found their way out again...My very existence tied to my pointlessness. Wearing my failure as the very fabric of my being. Reduced once again to feeding on the unsuspecting and confused. That is who I am.“ (MAG 101)

Even if all of this was to explain how the Distortion became the being it is in the series, it’s easy to see how overjoyed it was during the ritual. All that the Spiral ever did was bring the sense of unreality and paranoia unto people for ages, only breaking down the mind until they eventually spiral into oblivion. It wanted to be something, it wanted to make something twisted and nonsensical from the world, to shape the world itself to the nature of insanity. And after all that time, no matter how many avatars it had in its control, Gabriel was the only one who began creating the ritual. Even if it was for an ulterior motive, The Distortion was pretty giddy as Gabriel worked for years on end to create the meaning of insanity; to create something that the Distortion saw as the perfect vessel for itself. And even as it was explaining it, with all these feelings of joy and ecstasy and very human thoughts and emotions, this was before it was forced to become Michael. So much for not being bound by human nature, huh? But it’s pretty ironic that, as the embodiment of delusions, insanity and lies, it never considered the idea of having an avatar that could make something out of that chaos. Even if the Distortion was explaining how Michael-not-Michael Shelley came into being, it also can be interpreted as Michael just yearning for his best Avatar so far. So instead of “I’m going to tell you my entire backstory.”, it’s more like “I’m going to tell you how a nosy old woman and her idiotic assistant ruined my chances to be with my Avatar of the Decade who may or may not be my boyfriend.”

In conclusion, Gabriel AKA The Worker of Clay AKA Igor with an art degree became the Hands of the Spiral because the nonbinary embodiment of delusion (who is also a door) gave a miserable struggling artist a shot of self-confidence (and a shot out of the Flesh’s control), eventually becoming its #1 Boyfriend Avatar of all time, and is the only person that would make the “hates gender and existence itself” Distortion yearn for years after his tragic death.

Takes notes people, this is what peak performance looks like.

#not kh #tma #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #tma michael #tma gabriel #tma michael shelley #gay shit #shitpost #rant post #text post

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beholdme · 3 years

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 4

Chapters: 4/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can't help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3]

Gerry leans out his window one early, early morning as summer dies in a crushing heatwave. Even at 4 A.M. the humidity presses against him, and his cigarette does nothing to soothe it.

He smiles as a bird begins its first song somewhere nearby and moves back inside.

He glares at the half-completed commission painting on his main easel, petulantly flipping it off as he walks past to get to the painting he's actually been working on.

The painting shows Frankenstein's monster in a white dress and a flower crown, walking through a library, barefoot and beaming. It's a small one, nothing like the monster in the other corner, but he thinks Martin will like it and plans to give it to him to hang in the bookstore.

Martin had cooed over the sketch, and suggested that they should name the painting so people finally had something to call it other than 'Frankenstein' or 'Monster.'

"Everyone deserves to have their own name, Gerry," Martin had told him firmly, "Even if they have to pick it themselves."

Both intimately familiar with the concept, they had exchanged a significant look over those words.

"Not spiders," Jon stated firmly from nearby.

"Yes, spiders." Martin had whispered into Gerry's ear, and they had dissolved into secretive laughter.

Gerry had painted a small spider and cobweb into the corner of the final piece, hoping Jon would notice and shudder every time he noticed the little guy. If Martin saw it and thought of their sweet camaraderie, then that was all the better.

He signs his artist's mark into one corner and considers it a job well done.

***

Martin's eyes fill with tears when Gerry takes it over to the store to give it to him later that week, when it has dried and he can wrap it in soft tissue paper to deliver it.

The weather is still oppressive outside, and Gerry orders something icy while Martin looks it over.

"You shouldn't have." He tells Gerry weepily, dragging his eyes away from it.

"Why not?" Gerry shoots back, leaning over and tucking a piece of wavy blonde hair behind Martin's ear, tactile as ever. "It makes you happy, and art is meant for enjoying, not sitting in sketchbooks."

Martin comes around the counter and pulls Gerry into his arms. He hugs him back, absorbing the sweetness in the embrace.

"Thank you, Gerry."

"You're very welcome, Martin."

***

Gerry texts them all at 3 in the morning to invite them to the park the next afternoon. Martin replies immediately that he would love to, Jon replies the next morning grousing about being texted in the middle of the night. Gerry and Martin both understand that it's because he had probably only just gone to sleep when it arrived, but they say nothing.

When they arrive, Martin goes immediately over to coo and feed bread to the local ducks, while Jon and Gerry settle nearby.

Martin glances over at one point to find them looking at him with identical looks of adoration on their faces and feels all the blood rush into his face.

Gerry is leaning against a big tree that they chose to set up under, trying to escape the afternoon sunshine. Jon is laying with his head on Gerry’s lap, uncharacteristically relaxed and amicable as he smokes an indulgent cigarette. Nearby, Gerry’s sketchbook is laying open, but his pencil lies abandoned as he plays with Jon’s hair instead.

Martin wasn't sure what he thought was going to happen when Jon told him about Gerry. Honestly, he had supposed that Jon would simply prefer to be with his previous lover and that would be that. And yet somehow Martin found himself courted by both of them, and it fills him with pleased warmth every time he allows himself to think about it. Being wanted and pursued was a feeling that Martin had never let himself bask in, preferring to ignore the idea that he was desired in any way, rather than risk the crushing rejection that he so feared if he wasn’t.

He had let himself go after Jon anyway, so hopelessly enamored with him that Martin had been willing to risk any dismissal, even the razor-sharp one he was convinced would be the only result of his rushed date offer.

Jon’s enthusiastic acceptance was the biggest shock of his life, and each small way he showed Martin that he cared for him was like opening the curtains in a dark room; bright, unexpected and so beautiful it hurt just a bit.

Martin wanted to default to the assumption that Gerry was only playing along to benefit his relationship with Jon, but with Gerry, it's hard to deny that he is actually interested, his attention so focused and his flirtation so palpable.

Now they're on a date in the park, and things are so easy and affectionate between them, and Martin can't help but let himself feel a fond hope in that place that he hasn't ever allowed himself to feel before.

***

It turns out Gerry's idea of a picnic is just junk food and pink lemonade from Martin's bookstore, but he gets no complaints as they lie together in the dying light of afternoon and toss candy and chocolate between them.

Jon migrates from his lap to lie between Martin's legs eventually and Gerry takes the opportunity to sketch them together. The light shifts in Martin's blonde hair, gilding it golden, and Jon's smile shines out of his mossy green eyes as he tips his head back to look up into Martin's face.

Gerry hopes he has the adequate talent to capture the magic that moves between them, that he feels moving between all of them.

When the sketch is finished, Jon demands it, obviously enamored.

"Ask nicely," Gerry replies tartly, holding the sketchbook to his chest protectively.

Jon narrows his eyes at the sass and rolls up to his knees to shuffle towards him. His eyes are narrowed rather intimidatingly, but Gerry knows it's more of a face of consideration than an actual threat.

"Gerry." Jon takes his head into his long-fingered hands and tilts his face upwards. "Please." He presses a kiss to Gerry's mouth and punctuates each successive word with another. "Can. I. Have. That. Sketch."

Trying to appear unmoved by the display, Gerry responds with a dispassionate, "Why should I?"

"Because," he leans down to whisper, "My heart shall break without it."

"Well, I suppose we can't have that," Gerry tells him dryly, handing it over.

"Thank you," Jon says, offering him another kiss as payment. Gerry leans into this one, sliding his hand up into Jon's hair and pulling them closer together.

When they separate and Jon flops down next to Martin again, his attention has been captured by something across the park.

“Martin?” Gerry nudges him with a foot.

Martin’s attention snaps back towards him, a grin spreading across his face. “Can we get ice cream?”

***

They do go get ice cream. They pack up their things, and meander across the park with only a vague sense of urgency as the sun sets around them.

In the ice cream parlour, they stand in a line before the freezer window and consider their options as a bored-looking clerk eyes them.

"Really, Gerry?" Jon asks in disbelief as Gerry orders the black charcoal flavor.

"Obviously. Have you met me?" He gestures at the length of himself. His hair is dyed a violent shade of blood orange, and his piercings glint in the light of the setting sun. He's wearing combat boots and black skinny jeans, and the tattoos on his hands and arms stand out starkly against his pale skin. His black tank top has a Metallica album cover on it, and he's wearing enough black eyeliner to put an over-dramatic teenager to shame. The ice cream will certainly fit with his aesthetic.

"But what if it doesn't taste good?" Martin asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

"And what happened to your obsession with drinking pink things?" Jon adds triumphantly.

Gerry just shoots Jon an offended look. "You don't drink ice cream, Jonathan. Get a grip. Besides, it's lemonade flavored, it'll be just as good as if it were yellow."

Martin giggles, although it's not clear if it's at Jon's flushed embarrassment or Gerry's firm opinion on the matter. “I’ll have the strawberry,” Martin tells the server, who then looks to Jon for his order. Sensing his distraction, Martin adds, “He’ll have mint chocolate chip.”

Jon, chastised, doesn’t even argue.

They sit outside on a bench, the air finally cool enough for them to brave sitting in the open for a few minutes, side by side, Jon in the middle. One hand occupied by his ice cream, he can hardly link hands with both of them, but Gerry takes his left hand, and Martin reaches across his lap to hold both their hands in one of his. It’s a bit tangled, but all of them are happy.

Jon, always a speedy eater, practically inhales his cone and sits looking very satisfied indeed. Martin also appears content and at ease as he eats at a far more reasonable pace, savouring a rare indulgence.

Gerry faces twists at the first taste of his own ice cream, but he says nothing, resolutely working his way through it.

“No good, Ger?” Martin asks, looking over Jon's head at him.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, although his expressiveness calls him a liar.

“That bad, huh?” Jon crows, voice filled with triumph.

“Bite me,” is Gerry’s only response, eyes rolling sullenly.

“Can I try it?” Martin asks earnestly, reaching a hand out. Gerry hands it over, nose wrinkling. Martin secretly thinks the expression makes him look quite adorable, but would never mention that to Gerry. He tastes it and makes a face. “It’s weird. Too sweet, probably to overcompensate for the taste of charcoal. And not lemony enough.”

Gerry grunts in agreement. Jon, overcome with curiosity, slips it away from Martin as he attempts to pass it back to Gerry.

“That's just rude, Jon.” Martin pronounces, scandalised. He pinches Jon just above the knee for good measure, but he simply accepts it as his due and takes a big bite of the pilfered dessert.

Jon sits up straight, eyes lighting up.

“Really?” Gerry grouses, “After the shit you gave me for ordering it?”

“Yes, actually. It’s good!” Jon’s voice is filled with rare animation, and Gerry waves him away as he tries to hand it back.

“Someone should enjoy it. I wouldn’t want to deprive the ice cream of its purpose in life,” Gerry’s expression lightens. “Besides, I’ll probably get more satisfaction from watching you eat it than by eating it myself.”

Jon blushes at the suggestive comment but doesn’t let it deter him, finishing the ice cream almost as fast as he did the first one, sitting between his two favourite people in the world.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #tma #fic #also on Ao3

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ryqoshay · 4 years

Note

So I just finished reading all of How to Handle a Nico and I absolutely fucking loved it, do you have any NicoMaki fanfic recommendations of your own?

I must offer my apologies for the delay in response. I did not forget you, Anon, despite answering two questions that came in after this one. However, I wanted to wait until I knew I had a good amount of time I could dedicate to making a proper list of recommendations worthy of my time in the LL/NicoMaki fandom, which is typically sometime during my weekend.

Also, please bear in mind that this list is not all-inclusive. NicoMaki has one of, if not the most extensive list of fanworks out of the various LL ships. If someone reading this list is a fan of, or the author of a given work not included, please do not take it personally, this is merely a sampling of my favorites. There are genres and tags that I tend to avoid for various reasons, and there are many perfectly good works with the NicoMaki ship tag that I haven’t read simply because they are not the primary focus. And due to current events, as well as those of last year, there is a sizable backlog of NicoMaki focused fics that I hope to get around to reading sometime soon.

And as I expect this to get long, I will put the list itself under a cut.

First and foremost, I must shamelessly shill an author whose first forays into NicoMaki fanfic are based on HtHaN. It’s been almost a year since the first one went up and I remain in awe that I was able to pay forward the inspiration given to me by other authors. For this list I will only be including said works based on HtHaN, though VNVdarkangel has written some other NicoMakis I haven’t read yet. - Always there - Nico wakes up in the middle of the night. Some post-canon fluffy angst. - On tracks to the heart - Takes place during the scene transition in Homecoming. - Meet ‘n’ greet - Nico has a meet ‘n’ greet event and Maki shows up - Part-time idol composer - Nico hires Riko to compose some idol music for Egao. Minor YohaRiko to keep up the casual connections between HtHaN and HL. - Next steps... - A long, multi-chapter work that takes place after the numbered chapters of HtHaN. This work tells the story of NicoMaki as they take advantage of the research mentioned way back in Telling Mama. Yay science babies! - Out of focus - Maki can’t focus on anything but Nico - The door to dreams - Riko finds the piano from How to Celebrate a Maki and Maki finds Riko. More minor YohaRiko from HL. - Idol trainer - A non-NicoMaki, RinPana honorable mention tied to HtHaN

Next, I must link a few things from jstonedd, whose works I can point to as being among those that helped cement NicoMaki as a my favorite ship. - Buy Your Love - By the gods, I’ve honestly lost track of how many times I’ve reread this fic. It is also responsible for my headcanon that Tsubasa teaches Honoka how to skate, which I thusly include in Nico on Ice. - Soldier Wars - If memory serves, this work earns its M rating less for lewd stuff and more for action movie depictions of violence, like an R rated Charlie’s Angels or something. - After School Troublemakers - Earns its tag of Fluff and Crack. - Babies Maybe - More Fluff and Crack I only skimmed the first few chapters of Otonokizaka Private Academy and it didn’t seem very NicoMaki focused or really much my cup of tea. But I’ve heard others like it, and it was finally completed a few years back, so there’s that.

One author with whom I’ve interacted moreso than any other - maybe not VNVdarkangel as of late, but... - is the creator of one of my favorite Fantasy AUs, which is often a genre I don’t read much as it so often leans on Harry Potter, of which I’m quite unfamiliar. Of course I say I often avoid Fantasy AUs despite now writing two... Anyway, we have a few differing headcanons and I must say it’s fun to have a civil discussion about them - as opposed to others that become heated and dissolve into ad hominum attacks like the one marked by Comment Deleted tombstones in the comments of HtHaN. Anyway, that train of thought derailed, so here are some of lonelypond’s works. Worth mentioning that most works take place in the U.S. instead of Japan, something that confused me for a few chapters when I first started reading, but have come to enjoy it, especially when places are mentioned that I know. - Casual Lunacy - The aforementioned Fantasy AU as well as my introduction to this wonderful writer. Pulls in a quirky character from Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun, an adorable anime I’ve been meaning to finish. Maki is a werewolf. And I really need to reread this one at some point. - PhotoJazz - Maki is a photographer and Nico is an actress. - AU Yeah August - A collection of short 1 Shots. I haven’t read all of them, e.g. the Harry Potter one, but those I have were adorable, e.g. Summer Camp, Fake Dating and FWB. - Christmas Confections - A collection of amazing Christmas themed works that rank among my favorite gifts each year since I first started reading them. I’d link them each individually, but they’re all amazing so just read them all; you won’t be disappointed. Maki and Christmas just go together and lonelypond writes them well. - Can’t Get Started - To quote the summary “Nishikino Maki is trying to make it in the piranha fishbowl of movies, music and Hollywood. Yazawa Nico already has. And they keep crashing into each other.” Literally. It’s quite amusing. I’ve heard good things from other readers about the 1Kiss series but have only skimmed a few; they are high on my To Read list. The Idol House series came out during my troubled 2019, so it also remains on my To Read list. The Moonlight series seems to focus on NozoEli, which is fine, but for better or worse lowers it position on my To Read list. It’s lonelypond, so I do intend to read it eventually, but there are more NicoMaki focused fics that I’d like to get to first.

Next up is Lucia Hunter, a case where I must separate author from work. To this day I remain uncertain as to the details of the issues between this author and the denizens of Sukutomo, but the animosity exists nonetheless. Still, the listed works below were part of my gateway drugs into the wonderful world of NicoMaki fanfics. - The Diamond Princess’s Melancholy - How NicoMaki came together. - Love marginal - My favorite portrayal of KotoHonoUmi. NicoMaki is a side pairing here, and remain so through the rest of the works, but they’re still worth reading, imho. - Shiranai Love*Oshiete Love - RinPana focus but NicoMaki still plays their role. - Garden of Glass - de de deee de de deee Obviously NozoEli focused.

My first encounter with Rinforzando was a T rated cute and fluffy fic but they’ve done some pretty good NSFW works as well. - Ten Years - Always enjoy a good adult NicoMaki fic. - Limbo - NSFW FWB NicoMaki - Caprice - NSFW 2nd Person post-canon NicoMaki. I’m not typically a fan of 2nd Person perspective, but this one was worth it. - Cheers for Loving You - NicoMaki Secret Santa.

Hidekins is another author that has written a lot of NicoMaki I’ve enjoyed, but on a quick scan through the AO3 entries, few are jogging my memory with title and description alone. Perhaps I’ve read more here on tumblr? Perhaps I’ll come back and add more if I remember them better later. - NicoMakisses - A set of five cute short NicoMaki stories about kisses.

Saberin writes a lot of 3rd year stuff, and that’s fine, but the NicoMaki collection is worth checking out. - Prickly Love - As of writing this list, there are 10 chapters of cuteness

whoneedsapublisher writes a lot and I enjoy the style. Thus, when I see NicoMaki pop up on the account, I try to read. - Couples Therapy - One of my favorite Maki headcanons is included here. Not explicit but earns its M rating and thus is NSFW. - Subtle - Not particularly crazy about the Nico-taller-than-Maki, but that’s a minor complaint compared to the rest of this wonderful work. - At Least Six Confessions - Presequel to the above work. Poor Nico had her work cut out for her with a romantically dense Maki. - Keep Your Promises - Ten years later... - Happy New Year - Sometimes stalemates must be broken by someone. - Hidden Depth - Nico’s voice changes. And Maki likes it - Pretending to Pretend - Not explicit, but earns its M rating so NSFW. One of my favorite examples of the Fake Dating trope. - Merry Christmas Maki - I can’t think of a better present. - No Lies Allowed - Truth of Dare, NicoMaki style. - All Dressed Up - Based on a wonderful pic by noelclover - Santa’s Stand-in - Guess who still believes... - Switcheroo - Always love the idea of the girls trying to behave like the others. Makes me want to rewatch that episode. - Tick, Tock - Some introspective Maki - Insensitive - NicoMaki dating issues - Tomatoes - Maki’s favorite food I’ve heard good things about Dazzling Warrior Nightshade, so it’s on my To Read List, but I must admit I can be picky about my Magical Girls stuff. Madoka set an... interesting bar for the genre for me and in most cases I’d prefer to watch it as an anime or read it as a manga/doujin. Still, the idea of Nico being a magic girl amuses me greatly, thus why the fic remains on my radar.

And here are some other random works I’ve enjoyed over the years. - Smile, Nico Nico! - In which Nico drags Maki to the dentist - Billiards - NSFW 2nd Person. Yes, I know I just said I’m not typically a fan, but this one was also good. - Piano For Beginners - NSFW AU where Maki is assigned to teach Nico how to play the piano so as to be convincing for a film. - critical rules for not-dating - NSFW FWB AU that I need to finish reading someday but was happy enough with what I’ve read that I’d still recommend it. - 24 visits - Visits as in Nico the idol visiting Maki the doctor in the hospital. - 24 dates - A NSFW followup to 24 visits

So yeah, that’s a fairly decent list to get one started in their AO3 NicoMaki delving. As mentioned above, this is not all-inclusive and there are a ton of NicoMaki works out there. I haven’t visited FFN in years, so there may still be some authors that post there exclusively and have written some amazing stuff, but I cannot recommend what I haven’t read, or at least skimmed. I also have some tumblr works bookmarked... somewhere, so if I find them I might compare them to this list and maybe add those missed.

Here’s hoping something here piques your interest and makes you fall a little more for the wonderful NicoMaki.

#Ryqo's Q&A #NicoMaki #fanfic stuff

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

Note

I was asking what you think Henry's fate is. Is it a time loop? Is it just a reel playing? Is all of it just a dream on his or Joey Drew's death bed? But you pose an interesting question too, do all the games connect in some way even if BATDR is not gonna be a direct continuation?

I’ve pondered on the nature of the world of Bendy and the Ink Machine for a while now and, after a little bit of digging around, reading theories that people have had, watching theory videos and a few playthroughs, I’ve come to a few conclusions over Henry’s fate and the meaning behind the ambiguous ending we got.

This idea is, as such, a mixture of Game Theory’s Revised BATIM Ending Theory plus expectations for BATDR, SuperHorrorBro’s ideas for who BATDR’s Big Bad might actually be, as well as several other ideas that have consistently popped up through out the Fandom’s existence.

Buckle up, this might get long as heck.

---

To start this off, I’m gonna need to clarify that the Cycle (which is the dimension the first game takes place in, although the origins of this particular world are still debatable as real or fiction within the canon itself) functions in a way that seems to rely heavily on ideas and impossible physics. Not only that, but those who exist within this plane will follow a mixture of Real World and Cartoon World laws, so while death exists in the Cycle it isn’t permanent and things that could usually obliterate you in one go (like massive falls, a hit with an axe, or getting bashed by an out of control fairground attraction) aren’t an instant threat to your overall health. It also appears that people within the Cycle aren’t immediatly aware that they’re following cartoon logic, as Henry (who is supposedly human) doesn’t seem to react all that much to some of the most life threatening moments he faces in the Studio. This in itself already shows something is off about the whole situation Bendy’s original creator has gotten himself mixed up with.

Another thing I need to point out is that the Toonification process doesn’t seem to be reliant of the Cycle itself, and instead happened in the Real World as the events in “Dreams Come True”, and Thomas Connor’s and Joey Drew’s Audio Log on the Ink Demon imply. This, to me, seems to point towards the Cycle having been made some point during Joey’s Toonification experiments as maybe somewhere to hide his twisted creations, so it might be the Ink Machine has the capacity to not only bring things to “life” but to also create other dimensions from templates. Where these dimensions are kept is up to debate, but I assume Joey keeps the Cycle withing the Ink Machine itself. Either way, what I mean to say with these two little notes is that, while Henry appears to be in a fake version of the Studio that doesn’t mean the story of the game is just that, a story. I think everything IS real. But more on that in a bit...

Lets get started with the actual questions you asked:

--Is it a time loop?--

Yes, positively. The Tool clarifies this as soon as we get it. In fact, the iteration of the loop we’re doing as Henry is the 415th, and the following we do with the Tool unlocked is the 416th, meaning Henry (and by extention the other Studio Prisoners) have been at this for quite some time even if we weren’t aware at first. To the point where Henry began trying to establish contact with himself.

--Is it just a reel playing?--

Also yes. The Cycle as I’ve pointed out before, operates on Cartoon Logic. As such it can be compared to an endlessly looping reel of unfinished film. This is made more apparent by the reel Henry uses to “beat” the Ink Demon. “The End” is something of a curiosity as it is a contradiction in of itself. Not so much a final dot to close off an act as an infinity mark. It’s existence within the Cyle is also curious, as it seems unlikely Joey would have physically made a reel to stop the Ink Demon, so it brings the question of whether or not Mr. Drew can alter the Cycle externally (something that’s already hinted at due to the storyboards you can find on his desk at Joey’s apartment).

This to me indicates the Cycle can be altered (which Henry does whenever he tries to communicate, and by Allison Angel discovering the messages), but that bigger changes need to be done from the Real World.

--Is all of it just a dream on Henry’s or Joey Drew's death bed?--

No, I don’t think it’s a dream or just a story Joey is telling a child. I think the happenings of the game are actually happening, but that perhaps “The End” is a series of blank reels Joey feeds into the Ink Machine and that get filled out by Henry’s actions, and that Joey then watches them and recounts the tales to who I can only assume might likely be Henry’s and Linda’s daughter (as Joey pointed out Henry settled down while he did not, and it’s never mentioned if he has siblings).

With these questions out of the way, here’s what I believe happened to Henry and the implications of the game’s ending where Joey’s “niece” requests another story... The fact of the matter is that Henry is dead.

Why do I believe this? It’s like Matpat pointed out in his Revised Theory video (I know, y’all gonna get on my case because “Game Theory is cringy ew”, but seriously have a look yourself instead of going off in my askbox). It all has to do with small details that seem insignificant or just asthetic choices, but that can actually have a lot more hold on the plot.

Two of these details are:

The 5 coffins at the Studio and letters in Joey’s appartment.

The newspaper clipping Joey keeps in the Ink Machine room at the appartment, which was specifically picked and curated to appear in the game despite the player never going into the room to see it up close.

There’s a number of characters you learn about in the game and (by extention) the novel, and quite a few are dead (Such as Buddy’s friends Jacob and Dot who were murdered by an insane Sammy), but surprisingly only 5 have physical coffins at the Studio ingame.

And what do I mean by physical coffins? Well, there’s a 6th unofficial one, that’s what... And where can we find it?

Henry’s cell in chapter 5. He drew it himself even.

This doesn’t confirm anything of course, it could just be that Henry is into dramatics, but then we get to the newspaper clipping that Joey picked out specifically and kept in a room only he likely enters:

“Local Artist Pushed Himself Too Hard, Found Dead at Desk”

And what did Joey say about Henry pushing him to do the right thing? That he should have pushed a little harder... Like somehow Henry is at fault for Joey’s bad choices. Like Henry deserves what comes next... It almost feels like someone dishing out a speech before an execution, justifying why they’re getting killed. It’s a scene that made me inexplicably nervous until I looked into things.

Why bring up the coffins and letters to prove this, you may ask? Well, another thing Matpat points out is that the people who have coffins are people who were put through the Ink Machine, dying in the process and returning as Ink Monstrosities/Imperfect Toons, while people who got a letter from Joey and that replied to him were never lured back to him.

Wally Franks, for example, is living in Florida so he couldn’t make it to New York to fall into Mr. Drew’s trap. Allison and Thomas Connors are also out of the way so they merely exchange formaleties through correspondance (which implies Joey “made up” with them at some point to try to lure them back and has kept the charade up for a while).

So anyway, people who have coffins in the Studio are not only confirmed dead but also became monsters.

Norman became the Projectionist

Grant likely became either the Piper, Fisher, or Striker

Bertrum became the monstrous Carnival Ride

Lacie likely became either the Piper, Fisher or Striker

Susie became the Imperfect Alice Angel

You’re likely asking about Allison Angel and Tom Boris now, to which I raise you another Matpat pointer from the video above: Allison Angel states that she and Tom would dissolve if they were in contact with pools of ink.

Why is this relevant? Well, it means their bodies are made entirely of ink unlike, for example, Norman who is the sculking Projectionist. Why Norman? Well, he wades through a pool of Ink in level 14 and doesn’t dissolve. Heck, he chases Henry through the pool of ink without any trouble whatsoever in catching up. Why is he different from Allison and Tom? Because he has a soul stabilizing his grotesquely altered body.

Creatures that were once human and were transformed don’t just dissolve into ink. Their bodies remain intact after death until they eventually return to the inky abyss (potentially from being ripped apart) or until they’re revived by a Bendy Statue (Like Sammy, as implied by a clever easter egg near the fountain with the respawning Swollen Searcher).

In fact, now that I think about it, out of all the hostile creatures you encounter, Sammy, Susie, Norman, Bertrum and the Butcher Gang are some of the more stable bodied creatures within the Cycle, requiring a lot more hits to die than Searchers and Lost Ones, although Susie does die from a single stab (though the blow itself WAS pretty devastating in itself).

After pondering on this little idea I realized that the presence of Allison Angel and Tom Boris were entirely fabricated at that point. One of many alterations created by Joey to guide Henry through the last leg of his journey towards “The End”, very likely modelled after the real Allison and Thomas who he viewed as hostile, thus portrayed them as initially aggressive towards Henry. I mean, after so many unsuccefful attempts to make creatures entirely of ink (like the Ink Demon), it’s not too farfetched to say Joey eventually got the hang of it. The Mini Ink machines do it flawlessly and even help Henry, so who’s to say Joey didn’t perfect it within the Cycle to create beings not quite as strong as the Ink Demon, but strong enough to kill corrupt humans?

Again why is any of this relevant to how I think Henry’s dead? Simple. People who replied to Joey lived. Henry didn’t reply, instead he was lured in.

I believe that the Ink Machine’s disastrous results in the Real World made Joey realize that making a person into a Toon through passing them through the machine with a template wasn’t gonna cut it to fix the grand mess he’d made out of the Ink Demon. But, I also think he realized passing them through the Ink Machine while living was also the issue. The ink corrupted their souls, left them vulnerable to becoming Imperfect beings like Susie. Having them ingest the ink prior to going through was also not gonna cut it, as it’s connection to the Ink Demon gradually destroyed Sammy’s already frail sanity and changed him into an abomination (that had a pretty strong will for possibly three deaths before he finally lost himself completely and became a soulless Searcher). This left one final method to experiment with on the one person he thought responsible to clean his fuck-ups: Joey had to kill Henry prior to putting him through the machine.

In “Dreams Come True”, Buddy reveals that upon becoming Boris, his body was discarded. A byproduct of his soul enfusing with the ink and rejecting his human flesh. It might be possible that Joey was quick enough in killing Henry in an inconspicuous manner and then putting his body through the machine that Henry’s soul was pulled into the Cycle flawlessly while his body was spat back out for Joey to later deal with (Putting him behind his work desk as if he’d simply died of exhaustion, neatly hiding his crime behind the “suffering of a tortured artist”). This would explain why Henry lacks a shadow or reflection. He’s a ghost. A ghost that’s slowly realizing how hopeless his situation is. What a great pal Joey Drew turned out to be...

Moving on to the ending of the game itself, there’s some very dark implications that come with Henry being dead. For one, Joey Drew doesn’t have a family, yet he’s recounting Henry’s plight to a little girl who affectionately calls him “Uncle Joey”. We know Henry pursued a family over a busy career, so it’s heavily implied that during the 414 attempts of trying to find a way out of the Studio, Henry’s wife has been grieving him, going so far as to leave their daughter with Joey as she tries to provide for the both of them.

Joey being the pathological liar that he is, would likely graciously look afer his old friend’s daughter and maybe offer “emotional support” to a distraught Linda, cementing his innocense, all the while bragging to the child about what really happened to her father without her knowing. That is a pretty twisted theory and I honestly like the idea due to how horrific it is.

But where does BATDR come into play here?

Well, it’s been confirmed to not be a prequel nor a sequel. Matpat suggested it might either be an Alternate Universe or a Side Story. I believe the latter is more likely, thanks to SuperHorrorBro theorizing that the people behind Gent might be the Big Bad/cause of that particular game’s misfortunes. A Side Story about the Ink Machine being recreated and templates re-used to create a familiar yet brand new nightmare.

I believe BATIM and BATDR are a vicious cycle of madness happening at the same time. The same task repeated by people who expect different results. Only with Joey Drew it was an animation studio, with GENT it might be on a larger scale...But who knows?

There will be returning characters, so maybe BATDR will shed new light upon the Ink Machine and the Cycle’s true nature.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Bendy and the Dark Revival #BATDR #Theory #Speculation #Friend Anon

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