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the-darklings · 2 years

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──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗.]

summary: "I heard you."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 9.2k+

warnings: angsty, they're truly pining in this one ngl, Dream is still Dream (trying, but lowkey failing) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: whose ready for that reunion, huh? Ngl, I struggled with writing this chapter if only because I'm so used to writing original content. It was weird trying to adapt the show timeline without bogging down the pace or doing a beat-for-beat recount (which would have been tedious), so I hope you liked the uneasy medium I chose instead.

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART TEN: YEAR 1021 II

His realm. Ruins.

Everywhere Morpheus turns his attention, decay and ash greet him on his traipse to the castle. Time is cruel. What he has built over the years—with devotion, care, and contentment—has broken down to nothing in a hundred years he was gone.

These walls, physical and otherwise, keeping so many unassailable, have stood for thousands of years. Since the dawn of all creation, the Dreaming had been a haven.

Now, it is barely standing.

Crumbled stone and dust. Grey, drab surroundings devoid of colour, gutted of resplendence that once coursed so freely here. His Dreaming, his home, his beautiful treasure. The weight inside his chest is unbearable. Scratchy and thorned, each image bites into his mind, snagging and burrowing there. He will carry this weight until his end. This is a failure; fundamental, wretched, inescapable.

His subjects have fled. Abandoned the Dreaming—and him—in droves. Not even his siblings have sought him out.

You love them, but you don’t see them.

“You may be correct about your siblings not arriving to your aid, Lord. But someone else did. Someone searched for you. Rather ardently, I might add.”

Morpheus raises his head, pain knotting his throat, his hands clasped while he perches on a fragmented staircase.

“Who?”

Lucienne’s expression pinches, eyeing him over her glasses as if it should be obvious. But if not his family, then—

“My Lord, surely you can think of someone who cares for you enough to do so?” Hearing no response, his librarian persists, “Someone who has stood by your side no matter what. I confess it was most perplexing to hear your tale, for I had assumed your return was thanks to—”

“Lucienne. This lead is different. I can feel—”

That voice.

A figure clad in black rounds the corner, and instinct, pulsing and devastating, jerks his body upwards. Morpheus stands, but his knees hold a mortal’s frailty. Had he not surmised you lost to him? Gone forever?

Wanderer.

Hello, stardust.

So long—it had been so long. Not two centuries have passed since he’d last seen you—a mere drop to an Endless such as him, yet it feels like lifetimes have flown by. All those years, wasted. Some foolishly given away, others stolen. Just once, the passage of time is devastating. Because this time, Morpheus bears the full brunt of his loss.

I call upon Dream of the Endless. Answer my call, Dream Lord, for you are sworn.

There had been a call, a plea, a dream echoing inside his barren, shadowed prison. And he failed—he failed to answer. What is he if not Lord of unanswered dreams and hopes? What is his purpose if the one whose call he’s waited for centuries does not receive an answer?

You teeter to a sudden stop, gawking; it’s as if your body has transformed into an obelisk. Midnight flows and encloses your figure and—

It is but a coat now, his power long since faded, but it is his. Sown into being from nothing, shaped by his will, by his hand alone, tailored to fit a different form now. Repurposed for holding, touching, lingering on your skin—

A star erupts inside his chest, boiling through him, and the sheer, scalding power steals his breath.

Thousand words tangle on his tongue; a thousand stories, reasons, curses and pleas. Yet, only one word leaves Morpheus, his hand seeking, even if his tongue would not verbalise the want, the need:

“Wanderer.”

Hot, treacherous power sparks through the air, igniting from within you where that pesky curse dwells, and then you’re gone with a thunderous crack. Fragments once more. Continuously slipping through his grasp.

His breath escapes short and tight. His hand lowers back to his side. His skin itches and an invisible tremor shakes his fingers—one Lucienne would miss, but Morpheus senses with shameful intimacy.

Undone by sight alone. Broken apart into no more than sand and sea foam.

Raw instinct exhorts him to go after you, but he cannot. Unlike other mortals, you do not dream. There are no photographs for him to use for locating you, and his pebble—

Is it still in your possession? Or have you cast it aside? Forgotten your bond? He could place no blame if you had. But the need to know is blistering. He permits no shadow of irresolution to show. This is to be an exercise in patience, duty over impulse.

“Lucienne, why was Wanderer here?” he questions softly instead.

His librarian gapes for a second before composing herself, her mouth pressing into a tight line.

“Shortly after you vanished, Wanderer returned.” Lucienne’s account washes over him while his stare remains glued to the vacant spot where the residue of dark power lingers. “For decades, she searched for you. For decades she helped to hold the realm together in your absence. Scoured the waking world and all the realms in between and at a great personal cost.”

Oh.

Morpheus’ head sinks to the side, half-turning.

Lucienne strides several steps closer, resolute and wonderfully brave despite her subdued nature. “I implore you to reconsider further punishment, Lord.”

A soft sound bubbles in his throat. “Punishment?” The word is dark silk blanketing damage. His damage. “Do you believe I seek to punish? No, Lucienne.”

With a breath, his shoulders straighten, and his fingers uncurl. The steadiness with which Morpheus has stood for centuries makes a much-welcomed return. “I must recover my tools. Then, I shall seek out Wanderer once more. There is much that remains unsaid between us.”

Everything. Too much.

But first, he must convalesce. Retrieve what was once stolen from him. Just moments prior, Morpheus had been too weak to sense your entry into the Dreaming. He could once do it without conscious thought.

Lucienne bows her head. “Yes, Lord.”

Restless, he calls, “Lucienne?” A beat. Perhaps it would be kinder not to ask. “Wanderer looked…”

The librarian might not be in direct sight, but Morpheus senses how deeply his uncharacteristic falter startles her.

Lucienne’s hands clasp behind her back. “Sick, yes.” There is grim verity about her tone, her bearing. “I’m afraid such is the price for devotion, sir. Wanderer was not afraid to pay it on your behalf. Not even after the banishment.”

The shores of the Dreaming have transformed in his absence. It would seem nothing in his kingdom remains untouched. Lifeless, desolate, no longer comforting. Once encompassing dark has become devouring, lonely darkness.

“I do not require a minder,” he reminds stiffly. “I’m Dream of the Endless.”

Lucienne is ever loyal and present at his back, and Morpheus hears her concern. He understands the reluctance to permit solo travel after what transpired, but he is the Endless. What happened with Burgess will never be allowed to happen again.

“Yes, and Dream of the Endless always has a raven,” Lucienne insists.

Morpheus halts, hesitance locking him in place before he finds his voice, “Jessamy was the last.”

It is then, on distant shores, that a realisation strikes Morpheus. Or, rather, an absence. Something he should be able to view even from his location, unfailingly visible from the docks.

“The Wanderer Island.” The name drags from his throat with hoarse reluctance because, deep down, the answer is already evident. “What happened?”

Where once he could see the island piercing the horizon, there’s now nothing but hollow blackness. A place where so many had journeyed in their dreams—with increasing frequency over the centuries—is gone.

Lucienne’s words come out tired and heavy, and in them, Morpheus hears further proof of how terribly he’s failed them. “Much like the rest of the realm, in your absence, the island broke apart and sunk, sir. It was the last to go.”

“Did Wanderer witness it?”

His inquiry is barely audible. So much so that Morpheus figures Lucienne did not hear him at all, but when her answer does reach him, it’s worse than he expected: “Yes. Mervyn and I discovered her here one evening, crying. The island was gone. I know not why, but Wanderer would come to the pier every evening and watch the sunset alone.”

Because we used to sit side by side, she and I, and speak no words, for we had no need for them. Only her breath and mine. Because the island sunk while Wanderer waited for me to return to her.

And it is my fault.

“I need your help.”

Hob’s reaction is instantaneous, “Anything.”

He adjusts the strap of his leather satchel as he heads towards you, carefully noting your shaken, fidgety demeanour. The university hallways are quiet this evening, and Hob gently grasps your elbow in his, leading you with him.

“Can I stay with you?” you blurt out, hot and cold all over. Sweat soaks your clothes, but you manage to form words, wobbly as they are. “Just for a day or—”

“However long you need,” Hob interjects placidly. He guides you outside, adding a thoughtful, “Or however long the curse allows you, but yes, you can always stay. Are you alright?”

The chilly wind bites your cheeks, storm clouds brewing in the distance. No stars or moon tonight, only charged heaviness. Your mouth is so dry your tongue is little more than paper.

“He’s back.” Your words come out as a croak. Words jumble inside your head, but Hob patiently nudges you towards a lamplit street. “Dream. I… I don’t know how, but… he might come after me. I broke his law and…”

Hob tenses.

“You’re joking, right? Because ha ha ha.” His timbre bleeds with urgency and solemn disbelief all at once. When you don’t laugh, only stare at him, unblinking and trembling, Hob exhales. “Oh God, you’re serious. Well, he certainly has swell timing, doesn’t he?”

Your chuckle sounds strangled in your ears. “Consider me a Faerie right now. I can’t lie.”

“And fae are real.” A muffled huff leaves Hob. The immortal shrugs, accepting this new knowledge as quickly as he did your curse. “Because, of course, they are. Next, you’ll tell me leprechauns are real, too.”

You could hug him for what he’s doing. Gratitude twines through your heart as you lean into him, solid and warm, settling your quaking knees. “Well—”

“No,” Hob cuts off, dismayed. “Don’t. I don’t want to know.”

He asks you on the way back to his flat anyway.

By late evening the weather takes a turn for the worst. Rain falls in deafening, heavy sheets, drenching every available surface. Gutters overflow as you cut through bleak London streets. Despite horrid weather, people bustle around, and it’s an effort to avoid them. You lower the umbrella Hob had allowed you to borrow, stepping under a carved stone arch. The apartment complex is mainly blackened windows and no visible movement at an hour this late, but it doesn't deter you.

You’re certain Johanna is not going to mind a late-night visit. You tried calling multiple times. But at her failure to answer, you had set out to her office despite Hob’s instance that you should wait till morning. Your friend had been inaudible mutters and a deep-set frown since you trudged back to his flat above the pub. Something about annoying Endless, and no one is hurting you in my flat. He can bugger off.

Your finger digs into the door buzzer until there’s a crack on the other side, “What?”

“It’s me, Constantine.”

A pause. “Now’s not a great time. Come back tomorrow.”

Is she with someone? You buzz her again, leaning closer to the speaker.

“Let me in.” Something flutters in your peripheral, and instinctively, you turn towards it, “We need to… never mind.”

A shape steps from the shadows, mouth parted, devouring you where you stand. Dream of the Endless dons a shorter version of your coat, his raven hair as dishevelled and wild as you remember it, his skin pale and translucent, his features ethereal and powerful despite their gentleness. Nearly two centuries have done nothing to dampen his distinctive handsomeness.

“Wanderer.”

The curse consolidates inside your chest, and you jerk—

Dream’s hand snaps around your wrist, shackling you to him. At once, the curse buckles, frizzling under the presence and will of an Endless. Dream’s body brushes against yours, and you suck in a pained breath, your wide-eyed stare snapping to him. Dream pours over your features with such burning intent even his searing touch on your chilled skin is slow to register.

“How—”

His response is instant, knowing. “You always move your body left when you are about to jump.” He tilts closer, his voice so achingly familiar, the deep rumble holds you close, embraces you. Each hushed word kisses you all over. “A thousand years, do you truly believe I do not know you?”

Indignation wells in your chest. “That goes both ways, Lord Morpheus. How did you find me?”

You tug your hand back, but it takes two attempts before he relinquishes his hold. Needle stab your heart. There’s horror at what he might do for your waywardness, but cutting through the terror is…

You’ve missed him. So dearly, so fiercely—that having him this close, unchanged in his imposing presence and dour countenance, melts something inside you. You’ve spent decades searching for his face in everybody. Seeking him in crowds and alleys, in each corner of this world. You bled and suffered to get him back. It’s surreal to have him this close again.

A dream; a cruel, horrible, seductive dream.

“It would seem Fates keep drawing us together, you and I.” There is no wrath on Dream’s face, not unlike the last time you spoke, not unlike you expected. He’s drinking you in, and against your better judgement, you do the same. “I needed not to search for you. We found each other.”

What are the chances? In this fathomless cosmos, between hundreds of dimensions, to find each other here. In a rainy, sleepy city. Destiny is no doubt sitting somewhere in his realm, mutely delighting at seeing this written in his book. All things pass as they are meant to pass.

“I prefer my mind intact, so I’ll make this short,” you speak before he can say anything else, rushing over your thudding heart. “It was a mistake coming to the Dreaming in your absence. I recognise it as much. You banished me; I shouldn’t have used your absence for my gain. I won’t bother you again. You have my word.”

“I heard you.”

Your heart stutters, all thoughts and rehearsed sentences evaporating.

A breath slips past your lips with a quiet, “What?”

Your back brushes against the concrete wall, yet he seems closer and closer with each blink.

“I heard you call for me. Yet I could not answer your plea. I was imprisoned. You sounded in pain and then nothing.” Each word comes out fainter and fainter. Each sentence chosen with the same circumspect care you’ve come to associate with him. “For decades, I knew no peace, wondering what might have befallen you to call for me finally. Only to learn, upon my return, that you alone searched for me. Aided my realm when no one else would. Yet, your conclusion upon our reunion is to fear punishment? Do you honestly believe me so cruel?”

Does he need to ask?

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Dream shrinks backwards, his expression stuttering at your pained, breathy reply. “Was it not you who banished me? All because I disagreed with you? You threw away eight hundred and fifty years of us without hearing my side. Where was your trust in me?”

Dream moves back a step, turning away from you. For a moment, there’s nothing but his proud profile, inky shadows, and roaring downpour. Pain bleeds fresh, and your features crumple. You tuck your face in the collar of your black coat—his black coat, you correct yourself immediately. Even this isn’t yours. Neither is he.

“I was… wrong to do what I did.”

Your head jerks towards him. Dream Lord hesitates, visibly holding himself back, searching for words you know all too well after a thousand years, are all but unknown to him.

“I accept that now,” he continues tightly, uncomfortable and stiff. “I should have paid closer attention. Centuries ago, I assumed Desire chose Prodigal and you for their little game to spite me, but I never considered Desire picked my younger brother for a reason. Perhaps I was too blind to see how true your feelings for him were. To defend his whereabouts so fiercely, you must care for him a great deal.”

I could make you desire anything… even a kiss.

A dumbfounded grimace contorts your mouth. Your clenched fists tremble at your sides from the urge to hit him.

“Oh, Maker. I don’t believe it.” You stagger several strides to the right, breathing hard. “You think I didn't tell you because I’m in love with Destruction?”

“It would be logical—”

You pivot on your heels, nostrils flaring.

“Yes, I love Destruction. I love him a great deal.” Something flashes through Dream’s eyes at your controlled exclamation; crushed glass and ice, distant and… hurt. “But not romantically. Don’t you get it? No, you don't, do you? You look, but you still don’t see.”

Your feet carry you towards him. Dream straightens at your proximity. Bracing for more lashing words, perhaps, but you’re simply too jaded. From this existence, from him. “Over a thousand years cursed. Humiliated, maimed, haunted, stuck in Hell, Delirium’s realm, Despair’s realm. Before you, there was no hope for me. I told you what I… but what you did… what you did hurt the most.”

Briefly, you see something close to despair paint his striking features; too fleeting, then hidden.

“What you took from me…” Your words splinter, cracking around each syllable, an agony laid bare at the altar of your relationship. Your hand settles gently on his chest. Captured. For a hundred years. What did he go through? Right now, he’s real. Tangible beneath your hand. There’s an inordinate urge to grab his coat in your hands, pull him close, and breathe him in. Your hand drops away. “I just wanted to be with you. I would have stayed by your side forever if only you asked.”

Dream’s features are unreadable; all emotion wiped clean. His glassy gaze scorches into you, but you encounter no answers or comfort there. You rotate your head away from him, licking your wobbling lips once.

He edges closer, cautious. “Let me make this right.”

Ignoring the deep, low request, you bite out, “Why are you here?”

“Because my tools were stolen from me when I was captured. My helm, my ruby, and my sand. Without them, I cannot rebuild the Dreaming.”

You watch the rain while he watches you.

Shoving your hands in your pockets, you hunch your shoulders. “Fine. I’ll help you find them if I can.”

“I did not ask for aid.”

Is he trying to insult you by implying he would need to beg for help? Does he assume the Dreaming means so little to you?

“You never needed to,” you say, shifting back to face him, your jaw set. “I’m not doing this for you, Lord Morpheus, but for them. All those dreams and nightmares without a home because they feared you abandoned them.”

Dream’s gaze drops to the ground. Is it guilt? Shame? You’re not sure. It’s an unfamiliar shade on him.

Not waiting for a response, you head for the door, buzzing the button twice more.

“But not you.”

You stop dead at his assertion. Your back remains to him. Yet Dream Lord’s words hold their power; a chain around your foot, an anchor in the bed of your heart.

“You stayed,” Dream continues. “You searched even after I banished you. Why?”

Why indeed. Is he hopeful or too blind to see? You no longer care to find out which.

“If you need to ask, you don’t deserve the answer.”

You pull on the door, and this time it opens.

Johanna’s glower is fierce enough to make you bite back a grin. You’ve glimpsed plenty of such expressions mirrored on Edward’s face in the past. The similarities are difficult to overlook. Though they’re undoubtedly distinct, they are eerily alike in certain aspects.

“I can’t believe you were right,” she mutters peevishly.

She’s said it twice in the past ten minutes.

“Just keep searching,” you say instead.

You've got 99 problems, and all of them dreams—

This time, you’re the one left scowling, pointedly ignoring the silent Endless lingering in the corner of the room and the droning radio. Johanna turned it on accidentally while searching for a light switch, and it hasn’t stopped playing songs that prickle your neck since.

“I’ll check the other room,” Johanna declares, straightening. Her dark stare slides to you briefly. Whether it’s because she senses the suffocating tension between you and the other occupant in the room or simply because she’s more caring than she lets on, she asks, “Are you gonna be alright?”

We all are living in a dream, but life ain’t what it seems—

Grinding your teeth until your temples throb, you offer her a jerky nod. Johanna chews on her inner cheek for a moment, casting a warning glare Dream’s way before she heads for the adjoined room.

How Dream’s sand pouch came into her possession, you don’t know or care to know. All you care about is locating it.

Johanna’s departure leaves behind a silence that borders on unbearable. Rifling through papers, you consider your options. Bite the bullet and talk, or wait and see how long until Dream notices the radio acting up.

Forcing an exhale between clenched teeth, you venture, “Over a hundred years in captivity is a lot. How are you?”

“Fine.”

Lovely. You’re not sure what you envisioned. A heartfelt conversation where you share your woes? Right.

“I’m sorry about Jessamy.” This attempt is more subdued, more sorrowful. “I was trying to locate her when I heard the news.”

Johanna’s office remains quiet and dimly lit. If you couldn’t sense him in the room, you would assume you were once more alone. You haven’t realised you ceased your search until you’re left staring at your hands flat on the table.

“You don’t have to lie,” you whisper, pushing yourself away and turning to face him. “No one can be captured for so long without being affected, not even you. That’s a lot of time to think.”

Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over—

Grimacing, you march towards the other table across the cramped room.

“I did,” comes Dream Lord’s low declaration. “Think.”

Documents and notes smear together. “Yeah? And what did great Lord Morpheus think about during his captivity?”

“You.” A beat. “Every day.”

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream—

An invisible hand wraps around your throat, strangling you. Oxygen escapes your lungs but it’s no better than knives dragging down your windpipe. Your knuckles bulge beneath your skin, your grip on the table’s edge unsteady.

“The radio is broken,” you choke out, veering towards it.

You press the off button, glaring when stations instead flip repeatedly.

Sweet dreams are made of this—

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream—

I spend these waking hours looking for the Sandman—we're waiting for the Sandman, but he never hears the call—

Anger blinds you. You reach for the capable, yanking on it. Once, twice.

We'll begin… with a spin, travelling in the world of my creation. What we'll see will defy explanation—

You tear the cable out, panting, hiding your shaking hands. The cord falls to the ground, and you gasp loudly in the now too silent office.

“Wanderer.”

You hold back a cringe at the deliberate way Dream Lord articulates your title.

“Don’t bother,” you snip back.

This time, Dream moves physically in your direction. Not through the fabric of the Worlds but physically announcing his arrival. “Those songs.”

You could lie. It’s the first and most overpowering instinct. Spin him a tale, convince him it’s chance, coincidence.

Shutting your eyes, you heave the heaviest sigh you’ve mustered up in decades.

“When you disappeared, I tried everything. I know you’re not a God.” Dream pauses before you, his black coat skimming against yours, listening intently. “Your existence doesn't depend on worship or prayer. But you’re the King of Dreams. I thought—I figured if I inspired stories and songs about you, the word would spread. Maybe you’d be able to sense that you’re not forgotten. Maybe all that inspiration would reach you somehow. Help you. I couldn’t do it myself because the curse would destroy them, but I could inspire others to do it for me.”

Dream speaks no words or shows any outwards reactions—he simply reaches forward until the back of his fingers brush over your cheek. One knuckle, two, the featherlight touch skims over your skin, burning and mangling your insides. Those cold, ancient eyes shine with some potent emotion you’ve only caught traces of in the past. Never there long enough for you to examine closer. This time, he doesn’t hide. This time it’s his fingers on your cheek.

The door rips open behind you, and Dream’s touch vanishes.

“I know where the pouch is. You two ready to go?” Johanna asks.

Neither of you replies.

Leaning into the cold, coarse stone wall, you survey the raging storm. Better than acknowledging the man standing opposite to you. Johanna had served as an excellent buffer between you on your journey here, snarky and unafraid to throw barbed words or sass back at the Endless.

She’s bold in a way most Constantines you’ve met tend to be. Commendable trait, but a dangerous one. You’ve learned it’s about choosing when and how to present yourself. There are beings out there who make torture into a game. Delight in it, too. It’s always wiser to err on the side of caution until limits arise.

Yet you would welcome Johanna’s presence now. While she went upstairs to visit her ex-girlfriend to make amends and hopefully retrieve Dream’s pouch, you can’t imagine a worse situation she could have left you in.

“I must recover my tools first but return to the Dreaming, Wanderer. You belong there.”

You contemplate not answering. But what would it achieve? You’re not children. How far would this silent act take you?

Instead, you choose to remind him of your stark reality: “You banished me, Lord.”

“I void the banishment.”

You blink at his rapid edict. As if those words had been sitting behind his teeth this entire time.

You cast a dubious glance Dream’s way, your arms crossing over your chest. “Just like that?”

He exhales but one word over the rushing rain, “Yes.”

That somehow makes it worse. No relief or happiness accompanies this pardon. How many times had you desperately wished for him to lift his merciless decree? Only a tiny, pained whisper remains deep in the recess of your mind, calling out a weak why did you do it in the first place?

“Whims of the Endless,” you conclude. “Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.”

It’s not fair to say such a thing. The Endless have been the closest you’ve come to an actual family in the last millennium. Even when you’re intimately aware it’s not sentiment returned. There is a divide between you and the Endless that can never be traversed. They exist outside the bounds of mortal comprehension, and you’re still a cursed mortal.

Perhaps Dream reads this defeat in you, pulls it from the weary slant of your mouth or the despondent creases around your eyes. In the way shadows prop you up rather than you standing inside them.

It’s been a long night, a long century. It will take time to learn how to relax around him again and stop yourself from instinctively flinching whenever he reaches for you.

“I do not wish to be parted from you. Not due to my past actions.”

Utter, uncrackable steel rings through every carefully punctuated vowel. Dream peers at you, unblinking, his hands in his pockets. “Things are different now. I am different. If you allow me, I would like to prove it to you.”

Goosebumps skitter across your flesh. You’re uncertain how to react, what to say, if anything. He is different just in this single night, but…

It doesn’t erase his past actions.

Rustling wings interrupt your charged eye contact. A raven slants its head in your direction, hopping on its feet.

“Sorry to interrupt, Boss. Uh, Lady Dream.”

That jolt you. “I’m not—”

“Wanderer is—”

You both look at each other, both falling silent. Uneasy seconds slither past, and you peer down at the raven, who slides his attention from Dream to you and then back again.

“I’m not Lady of anything. I’m the Wanderer.”

The raven ruffles his feathers, bobbing his head.

“Oh.” Caw. “Well, this is awkward. I’m Matthew.”

Lowering yourself to ground level, you smile at him, inclining your head. “I greet you, Matthew. It’s an honour to meet Dream of the Endless’ raven.”

Caw. Matthew hops towards Dream. “I like her. Can we keep her?”

Dream appears as if he’s fighting back a sigh. “What is it, Matthew?”

“Listen, boss. As once human-now-turned-raven, I just figured I’d warn you. Whatever your friend is doing up there. It’s sure as hell not worrying about your pouch. You’re better off going up there and getting back your stuff personally.”

“He might have a point,” you agree. “You said the helm is in Hell. It’s probably better if I go my way for now. I’ll try to search for leads on the ruby in the meanwhile. Save time.”

“Will you return? Back to the Dreaming?” Dream prompts. Mutely, you rise back to your feet, your smile long since dwindled. “If not for me, then for them.”

Clever, brilliant man. Quite ingenious addition. You’ve refused him plenty in the past, but never them.

“Fine.”

Adjusting the collar, you step towards the awaiting night. Inside, you ball the curse, ripping it by force to obey your will. Pain rakes through your limbs, inflaming your nerves. The more you demand, the steeper the physical toll is each time. At least your pain tolerance after a thousand years of suffering is top-notch.

You’re one foot between dimensions when Dream’s voice snags you. “Wanderer?” Your head slants marginally towards him. “Whatever it is you are doing to control your curse. Cease it. It is hurting you.”

Since when do you care?

You let yourself ripple away without a response.

The Dreaming is rebuilding. But it’s a slow, meticulous process. Dream had returned triumphant from his mission to retrieve his tools, as you had anticipated he would. He’s Dream of the Endless. Even without his instruments, his power is far beyond your ken. Or those foolish enough to assume they can procure it for themselves.

You’ve hardly left the Dreaming since, occupied with nonstop repairs and helping returning dreams and nightmares to readjust. Great numbers began returning unannounced once the news spread about Dream’s return. The caste was the first to be repaired and one with the most noticeable reconstructions. The remainder will require a great deal more work. But Morpheus has been relentless about mending the damage his absence had evoked.

Including you two.

He’s been giving you much-needed space. Indeed more breathing room than you had anticipated, but you’ve made it clear you’re only here to help the Dreaming. With no long-term plans to stay or return the next time you depart.

I do not wish to be parted from you.

No matter how sweetly those words make you ache, you can’t be lulled into forgetting the undeniable reality. And the truth is that while you can forgive Dream, there is no denying it will take time to forget how he once stripped you of choice due to his bruised pride.

“So, you’re a bird who was once mortal.”

“So, you’re a mortal cursed to wander for eternity between realms.��

Your mouth curves into a reluctant grin. “Fair point. How did you become a raven?”

You’ve grown rather fond of Dream’s new raven in the short weeks you’ve known one another. After Jessamy, you hadn’t expected Dream to permit another raven close so soon.

Matthew rustles his feathers, expertly clinching his talons into your shoulder. Your coat is dense enough to void pain, leaving nothing more than passable pressure behind. While Dream has made no comments about your new apparel, you’ve felt his prickling stares on you multiple times in the passing weeks. You’ve debated removing it now that he’s back, but… you couldn’t quite bear to be parted from it.

“Eh, not sure, to be fair. Just kinda did. Flying is handy. The rest is… weird. But I wasn’t a very good person in my previous life, so this isn’t so bad. Protecting dreamers out there. Caw.”

Your eyebrows come together. “How can you be so certain you weren’t a good person?”

The castle corridors smear past you while your feet carry you towards the throne room.

Matthew mulls it over. “Oh, y’know, call it a hunch. How about you? Why were you cursed?”

His curiosity is innocent, but you, too, think over your answer for several paces. You’ve been a complete unknown even to yourself. There are no glimpses into your past, no before. As if it had been so thoroughly wiped, not even a shadow remains. Whatever or whoever you were before assuming your title is lost. You’ve constructed yourself from nothing. Cracked, riddled with human impulses and weakness, driven by emotion, but not all bad.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” It’s the truth. Except for that stray moment in Johanna’s office, there’s been no inkling for centuries. “But I don’t think I was a very good person, either.”

Matthew readjusts himself on your shoulder, and you hold your hand over him so he can brace himself. “Well, you’ve changed,” he says conversationally. “We all do. Second chance and all that.”

A certain Dream Lord springs to mind at the raven’s words. Are we cemented into who we’re destined to be, or is there room for permanent and meaningful change? Dream is trying. Those years locked away have altered something. You want to believe him again, but it’s not so straightforward.

Eventually, you settle on a halfhearted, “You’re right.”

You’re nearly at the throne room when Dream’s throaty words slice through you, stopping you dead in your tracks.

“—The Corinthian.”

Your heart catapults to your throat. Dream’s head slants in your direction. Lucienne follows suit. They both eye you closely, but you don’t let anything show coming to a gradual stop between them.

“Are you aware he is out there?” Dream wonders. Ice lingers in his mild tone. “Feeding on the dreamers he was meant to serve.”

You’ve never stopped being aware of the Corinthian.

“Yes. I tried to seek him out in the waking world,” you say, swallowing thickly. Searching for more words, you further admit, “To bring him back. But I didn’t have much luck tracking him down.”

Over a century. All those people. You don’t dare to admit the true extent of Corinthian’s cruelty. Dream would spare no mercy to his nightmare if he knew. And all these years—all those lonely, painful years—you’ve been stuck one step behind, unable to save those Corinthian has unjustly slaughtered. He wasn’t trying to hide. He was sending a message. One you couldn’t bare to examine closer.

You’ve failed to stop him. Somehow Corinthian keeps finding ways to stay ahead, and blood coats your hands as much as his.

Your nightmare. The initial realisation had torn you asunder. Corinthian had never been kind or gracious, had never expressed anything more than finely laced contempt for humanity but ripping eyes out? Exhibiting bodies as if he were decorating his surroundings? This wasn’t accidental or self-defence; it was deliberate cruelty. Blood savoured and shed with clear intent.

Once Corinthian had been a part of you as much as Dream, if not more so. The one who has been steadfast by your side. You and I, together. He’s the one you trusted the most and relied on the most. Who knew you, arguably, the best.

You were there to see him come into existence. Smiled at him and guiding his first steps, heard his name being spoken aloud for the first time. He was the first creation Dream ever shared with you. Corinthian would always be the first and most precious. He built a house inside you. A space no one could ever touch or destroy where you house your memories together.

And now he’s painting that house with the blood of innocents.

If you don’t uncover some way to locate the nightmare first, and soon, Dream will find him instead. There will be no mercy then, no second chances. Dream Lord has already taken everything from you once. You’re no longer scared to lose it again. Not if it’s for Corinthian.

“This is my fault. Had I been here, fulfilling my function—”

Dream’s voice rips you from your thoughts, leaving you squinting at his profile.

Lucienne frowns at once. “It was not your fault, my Lord.”

Dream closes the census, his words unusually subdued, “No? Then whose?”

“You didn’t ask to be captured.” Dream stills at your words, nudging his chin slightly in your direction. Guarded hope gazes back at you, so you continue, “Or be held captive for over a century. It wasn’t your fault.”

His shoulders droop slightly, then hoist upwards, less unburdened than moments prior.

Lucienne clears her throat.

“There is yet more news, Lord. There are rumours among the dream folk… of a vortex.”

You’ve heard rumours about vortexes in the past. Unprecedented phenomenon no one had an explanation for—not even Dream himself.

A mortal capable of lucid dreaming so powerful they could cross dreams of others, thin and bring down walls between Worlds and eventually destroy the Dreaming. The final part wasn’t particularly comforting to consider, especially when a vortex—the first of this age—has manifested in a young woman called Rose Walker.

While Dream is happy to allow Rose to be, for now, hoping it would attract his missing Major Arcana—Gault, Fiddler’s Green and the Corinthian—to her, you more than share in Lucienne’s concern about the current state of matters.

“Why would Gault sever Jed Walker from the Dreaming?”

Lucienne meets your question with a blunt answer, “He is no ordinary child, is he? He’s Rose Walker’s brother.”

Dream rests seated on the staircase, listening to your confab. You’ve been trying to discover Jed Walker’s whereabouts. Gault was the last nightmare to haunt Jed, after which he had all but vanished both from the waking world but, more unusually, the Dreaming as well.

Muffled footsteps sound behind you, then, “Excuse me. I’m Rose Walker. What do you know about my brother Jed?”

Your attention snaps towards a young, unfamiliar woman standing in the throne room. She leans on the shorter side with smooth, dark skin and round, pleasant features. Rainbow kisses her hair, colours loud and bold across each individual dreadlock. Delirium would love it is your first thought. Your second is that you love it just as much.

Lucienne, who stands beside you, appears utterly baffled by the newcomer's presence. Understandably so, aside from you, she’s likely never witnessed anyone simply stroll into the heart of Dreaming this way. Even you, more often than not, enter the Dreaming on the bridge or close by and enter the castle via the entrance.

Dream stretches to his feet, focusing on the young mortal woman.

“You are welcome here, Rose Walker,” he greets, his voice reverberating.

Rose, in return, looks just as confused as you all do. “Who are you?”

Lucienne straightens. “You have somehow dreamed your way into an audience with Lord Morpheus. The King of Dreams. And now you must go.”

“Lucienne,” Dream cautions.

A small, disgruntled sound leaves Lucienne. “She shouldn’t be here.”

Dream all but glides down the staircase, his curiosity about Rose’s presence piqued. “But I should like her to stay.”

Noting how mutely freaked out Rose appears, you venture closer, bridging the gap with placating slowness.

“I’m Wanderer,” you introduce yourself with a reassuring smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Rose.”

Rose relaxes slightly, but her confusion persists. “Nice to meet you, too. I think. What is this place?”

“It’s called the Dreaming,” you explain smoothly, taking another step closer. You gesture around yourself. “This is where you come when you fall asleep.”

Immediate hope ignites in her dark eyes. “Is my brother here?”

Your smile dims. “No, but we can help. I can help find Jed. In the waking world.”

Rose examines you for a tense beat, searching for something that goes beyond skin deep. They do it often, humans you offer your help to. In some vain hope they can see into your motives, perhaps. Ages have made the populace more chary and unwilling to trust strangers. After witnessing the horrors humanity is prone to unleashing on one another, you don’t blame her. Or anyone else.

“How does that work?” Rose poses. “I thought I was dreaming?”

A faint smile ghosts over your face. “I can travel between dimensions.”

Rose waits for the laugh, for the expected I’m joking, silly, but it doesn’t come. She ducks her head, processing. “Okay. Yeah. That makes sense, I guess. It totally doesn't, but…”

Dream’s deep voice is a hook from behind you, “Much still needs to be done here, Wanderer.”

You don’t look his way.

“You’re the ruler of the realm, Lord Morpheus. Nothing here can’t be done without me.”

His following silence speaks volumes, him choosing to plan with Rose on how to locate her brother, even more so.

Dreaming walking is a rare and powerful ability. While realms and dimensions are your domain, dreams remain closed off to you. Therefore, the situation evolves swiftly into a waiting game, anticipating how quickly Rose will be able to navigate to her brother’s dreams under Dream’s guidance.

It also becomes a race on your end. Desperation drives you. Your task is singular and relatively simple: locate Corinthian first. There are spells, Johanna had informed you, leaning over a book written entirely in Latin, Hob by your side. Spells, she insists, that can cloak you, guide you, and locate things or people.

If only you offer something in return.

For the first time in a century, you have a sorcerer on your side you can trust. Once Gault is found, Dream’s attention will inevitably shift towards Corinthian and Fiddler’s Green.

So when you catch sight of the rippling, purple-blue form of Gault in the throne room one afternoon, it stops you dead in your tracks. You’ve spent the day working with Abel and Cain, ignoring their ceaseless arguments, only coming back to the castle to check in with Lucienne on your progress.

Dream brushes past the nightmare silently, heading towards his throne.

“Gault,” you choke out, quelling your unease. “It’s good to see you.”

It’s not contempt Gault regards you with, but something closer to disappointment.

“Is it, Wanderer?” she questions in a half-hiss. “You are more blind than I feared. You have returned to a man who cares not for others. Not even you.”

“Silence.”

The castle trembles at the foundation from the utter, horrible power that rings through Dream’s low baritone. Lucienne winces mutely.

But Gault is as audacious as you recall, stubbornly fierce in her drive. “Do you have any idea what his life is like in the waking world?”

Jed Walker. Your stomach sinks.

“Humans cannot live in dreams,” Dream bites out, nothing but a cutting velvet behind you. “As long as he stayed there, the child had no life nor hope for one.”

“The boy is being abused. He’s suffering.”

Pained understanding sinks its roots into you, already morphing your objectives. Once more, you’ve been selfish, focused only on Corinthian, when Jed Walker, a boy you promised to find, is being hurt somewhere.

“You abused that suffering to build a Dreaming you could rule,” Dream accuses quietly, his words brittle.

Is this what the nightmare did? Controlled Jed’s dreams, separated him from the Dreaming to what?

“I had no wish to rule,” Gault rebukes. “I merely wish to be a Dream and not a Nightmare. To inspire, rather than to frighten.”

Gault was helping. In Jed’s dreams, he could taste happiness, brief as it may be. She could make sure no nightmares haunted the boy. Spare him more misery and dread. Lucienne draws a deep, understanding breath, mutely arriving at the same conclusion.

“That choice is not yours to make,” Dream states icily. “We do not choose to be created. Nor do we choose how we are made.”

Your stomach cramps.

The nightmare nods; muted, swirling lights dancing beneath the shapechanger’s skin. “That is true. But we can change.”

“No.” The Endless speaks, and in that lone word, time is near undone. It is you in Gault’s place, hearing Dream banish you again. “We are, each of us, born with responsibilities. Even I am not free to choose to be other than I am. Nor is anyone.”

An invisible knife slips between your ribs, twisting.

“If that were true,” Gault challenges softly, unbowed. “Why did the other dreams and nightmares choose to leave this place when you had gone away?”

Lucienne cuts in before Dream can react, “Not all of us left, and nearly all have returned. Some believed even when no one else would.”

With the wilful reminder, the nightmare’s attention goes to you. Despite being far older, you feel small under Gault’s percipient gaze. She’s strong and proud and will not plead for clemency, but you almost wished she did. If only to ease the wrath brewing at your back.

“You say you love humanity, Wanderer,” Gault begins purposefully. “You are one of them, yet you choose to be here. Serve blindly to one who has treated you like nothing. You will not be any different than his other lovers. Discarded when he is finished with you. You may have returned out of love, but not others. They came back from fear. They saw what he did to you. What would he do to them? But I am no longer afraid.”

The silence is suffocating. Even Lucienne has frozen in shock at Gault’s bold declaration.

Love. Yes, maybe you did return for love. But it goes so much further than just Dream. It always has.

Your nape tingles. Something dark and insidious brushes past your ankles, a feline weaving between your limbs. Your eyes widen at Dream’s shadow slithering across the pale marble and towards the nightmare. The atmosphere crumples, pulsing, cooling. Each crevice of darkness seems to accentuate, growing in magnitude.

“You should be afraid.” Dream’s words are blacker than deepest night, colder than bleakest winter. “A nightmare’s purpose is to reveal the dreamer’s fears so they might face them.”

Your body half turns towards him. “Morpheus.”

“Perhaps a few thousand years in the darkness will reveal your fears,” he continues, stony.

Gault’s legs disintegrate before your eyes, devoured by Dream’s shadow. The Darkness; an endless prison crafted by an Endless being. “Dream.”

He pays you no heed. There’s no mercy, no softness to be found on his face, only something ancient and cold that cannot be reasoned with. You’ve seen this look once, tasted the poisonous cruelty he can inflict so effortlessly.

“Better that than to make others afraid,” Gault affirms shakily. Her torso goes next, ripping, flaking— “Even a nightmare can dream, my Lord.”

Your vocal cords hurt. “Dream, stop.”

And then Gault is gone. The shadow vanishes immediately, and the throne room instantly lightens. Lucienne hangs her head, hiding her unhappy expression. You gape, fixating on the spot Gault once stood.

“I have disappointed you.”

Those words are directed at you, but you say nothing.

This. This is what will happen to Corinthian if Dream uncovers him first. If you can’t convince Corinthian to come back, cease doing what he’s doing.

“Wait.”

It takes several moments for awareness to sink back in, to realise you’re stalking away, your muscles rigid beneath your skin.

Dream’s gait is unwavering behind you.

“For what?” you call back, strangled.

“I did what I must,” he says.

Who is he trying to convince? You or himself?

Your footsteps beat on the marble. Even your pace betrays your emotions, the bubbling agitation streaming through your veins.

Not considering consequences, you halt abruptly, posing a biting, “You mean being obtuse?”

You spin to face him just as your words sink in, watching those distant stars spark to life at once. Dream’s features harden.

“You dare—”

“Yes, I dare.” Each word escapes from behind clenched teeth. You close the distance between you in two strides. “I respect you, Dream. I’ve always respected what you are and what you do. I respect your purpose and your duty. How hard this responsibility is. I’m saying this not because of disrespect but because of that respect. Because you need to hear it.”

Your hand flies back towards the throne room, your index finger stabbing at empty air, “That was cruel. Gault only wanted to be something more, something better—to change.”

“Gault severed a child from the Dreaming,” Dream reminds coolly. “She broke my laws.”

“She did it to give that boy hope. An escape. No matter how brief.” You suck in a shaky breath, your fingernails biting into your palms. Your following words flow quieter, fragile, “Do you know how many times I wished for sleep? For dreams? To escape my misery, if only for a moment? You don’t understand that hurt. You never understood what it’s like. Not because you can’t but because you don’t dare to try.”

For the first time since his return, Dream’s features soften, his self-righteousness draining. His arms jerk at his sides, and then he settles again. You’re not sure why you foolishly hoped he would reach for you, pull you to him, and promise you would never again experience such pain.

“You said you changed, but what I just witnessed was the exact same man who banished me without hesitation.” As you verbalise your thoughts, another certitude becomes abundantly clear. “The same man who would do it again,” you add tightly, upset.

Dream catches your elbow, each finger folding delicately around your arm, drawing you nearer. “No. Never.”

“Oh, Dream. My Dream.” Your palm settles gently on his cheek, skin warming when connected with his. Something visibly crumples in him at the touch, the fondness in your hushed call, his eyelids fluttering. “I wish I believed that.”

You let him go, pulling away from his hold. He doesn’t impede you. You wish he did. You wish he held on so tightly you could forget everything else.

“Where are you going?”

His controlled question nips at your heels as you walk away.

“To the waking world,” you reply, pivoting on your heels. “I’m going to do the thing this damn curse has ever been good for: help people. And it begins with finding and saving Jed Walker.”

“Wanderer, stop—”

Your smile is grim. “I am not your subject. I wander where I please, Dream Lord.”

And then you’re gone.

The Library of Dreams is silent apart from rustling parchment. He can will things into being, but Morpheus discovers there’s little desire in him for an easy solution. Instead, he searches manually, walking through each bookshelf separately. It gives him time to mull matters over and search for reasons why things keep cracking. Just when things were starting to return to normal, this.

It was going so well. Now you’re gone once more. The weight sitting on his chest is intolerable. He has to move, occupy himself with something lest he goes mad.

You may have returned out of love, but not others.

Could it be? You came back, you searched, even after all he’s done. Hope—foolish and undoubtedly mislaid—kindles in his heart.

I just wanted to be with you. I would have stayed by your side forever if only you asked.

He could hope for nothing more, but it is not so simple. Or is it? Could it be? If you both fought for this, would any outside circumstances even matter? Morpheus could search for a way to undo the curse. There must be a way to do it without resulting in your death. Without shattering your destiny. Could he not write you a new future? One by his side?

Phantom heat lingers on his cheek.

“Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne’s nonplussed acknowledgement ushers him back to the present. She stands at the sight of him. “I was not expecting you here.”

“Continue with your duties, Lucienne. I do not require you at this time.”

The cool command, their own… disagreement, suffuses the air between them.

“As you wish.”

Did he lash out? After you disappeared, he can scarcely recall what words left his mouth. All he knows is how, at that moment, everything felt terribly out of touch. Unreachable to him. Never had he felt a century pass more acutely. Things once familiar and dear to him have altered shape in the time away. And Morpheus no longer knows how to hold them or care for them. He knows not how to exist in a world that seemingly no longer needs him.

What is his purpose if they have found ways to live without him?

His kingdom is bare bones. His subjects are distrusting.

And in the torrent of questions, he spies the subject of his search. Always coming to him in a time of need.

Morpheus heads towards a shelf to his right, picking up the thickest volume on the rack. Not many can challenge this book in size and density. He foresaw no less.

“My Lord, is that—”

“Yes.”

Lucienne loosens a shallow breath. “Are you quite certain?”

He holds the tome closer to him. “More than.”

You don’t understand that hurt. You never understood what it’s like. Not because you can’t but because you don’t dare to try.

You were right to say it. He’s been avoiding your book for a thousand years. At first, Morpheus did not care to dwell deeper. Later because he started fearing what he might learn from those pages.

Lucienne steeples her fingers, eyeing him over her round glasses. “Sir, I must warn you, what you will discover between those pages will not be kind.”

“That’s precisely why I must do it,” he admits softly, avoiding her shrewd appraisal. “So I may, at long last, understand.”

Morpheus doesn’t linger, stepping from one shadow into the next, appearing directly in his throne room. He journeys up the stairs one at a time, the thick tome tucked under his arm. There is a voice deep down that mocks his hesitancy. What has he to fear from bound pages? Yet another story when he is the king of them?

But it is no ordinary tale, belonging to no ordinary individual.

Oh, Dream. My Dream. I wish I believed that.

Even seated on his throne, Morpheus lets the velvety, black leather book rest in his lap for long, hesitant minutes. On the supple cover, engraved in bold, golden letters, sits not a name but instead a title.

The Wanderer

His thumb kisses delicately over the title, then again. Again. Again. Again.

Morpheus draws a muted breath, the sound all but lost in the raging cosmos, and cracks open the only book he’s stayed away from for over a thousand years.

an: Just the home stretch to go, eh?

Thank you, everyone. For being here and reading and just being absolutely wonderful, talented, and unfailingly kind. Look forward to hearing your thoughts : )

#the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #sandman x reader #sandman fic #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #sandman netflix #sandman dream #sandman imagine #dream imagine #fanfiction #fic: today i bury you in me

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silverloreleysfanfics · 1 year

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The Snow Queen on the Isle of the Lost - Prologue

So, this is the beginning/premise of a much longer fic I have in the works (@dragoneyes618 and @chronically-unlucky it’s the one we spoke about yesterday), but it can work as a standalone so I thought it could be good enough to publish it.

Summary: What if Hans won? After all, two right steps in the right direction, a little more attention to details, a lie held in place a tad longer, a little more patience, even, it'd been so easy. It made Elsa spontaneously give up her throne and accept to go the Isle of the Lost, leaving him the only one in line for the throne... Hans won. But how? And with what consequences? Would that mean he truly won? And how Elsa would fare on the Isle, from its creation and during the 20 years of its existence?

Trigger warnings: character death, attemped murder and suicide mentions.

Hans played all his cards, and he did it well.

He waited until Anna exhaled her last breath to announce her death to the other nobles. How he kept her inside the room was not through force, but the power of words, with a quick tongue, laced in sweet poison.

"I'm sorry, I do love you. Maybe not even True Love's Kiss is powerful enough to challenge your sister's magic" he lied through his teeth.

Then Anna realized she didn't love him. She said they had it wrong, that maybe Elsa was right, that they barely knew each other and he listened her rambling about some ice harvester and her trip to the North Mountain and then to Trolls who were love experts or something.

He feigned hurt, enraged by the last joke pulled on him as it was clear Anna had fallen for the peasant boy, even if he didn't care about her, even if she was a means to an end, knowing even someone as naive and desperate as her could toss him aside so easily stung.

Only then he spoke the truth, only after Anna's hands had already turned into ice, her hair all white, even her irises had changed into icy blue embed with snowflakes.

It was too late for her to be saved, but enough for him to take the little revenge.

But he put back the façade once out the room and it was an act good enough he shed actual tears when the ice harvester came back for Anna - too late, too late - and even to say had he known he would have gladly let him save her if it had meant for her to be alive and happy.

After that, he had to make everything run smooth.

He played the heartbroken widowed prince, the just man who took the burden of the crown of a cursed kingdom, like his wife had begged him to when she died "with the wedding vows still on her lips".

He condamned the Queen to death, even if he had no actual right, because he managed to exploit the moment of pain and confusion and fear at its peak.

When he found the runaway Queen, he destroyed her will to fight with the news of her sister's death, her grief took the light out her eyes long before he swung his sword. But the iron broke in a thousand of frozen pieces. Elsa was grieving, knees on the ground in quiet tears, dead inside like the sudden stillness of the air around her, but her magic was still strong, her magic still protected her.

They took her back to the Ice Castle after the damage she made to the palace. The guards - her guards - treated her gently, despite the eternal winter was still ongoing, despite the princess' death, she was still their queen and they recognized she was genuinely heartbroken at the news of her sister's demise.

She never said a word, never looked at anyone, her eyes void of tears after she spilled them all.

When Hans sentenced her to go back to her Ice Palace, she didn't object, unlike the little living snowman.

«Olaf, it's alright» she said, quietly, then «Take care of my people, prince Hans»

Those were the last words Elsa would say for weeks, but for Hans it was the validation he desperately wanted his whole life long.

Two weeks later, the winter persisted yet and Elsa walked past the broken railing of her balcony.

Only the thick layer of soft snow stopped an otherwise deadly fall - why didn't she just die? stop ruining the kingdom he worked so hard to get! - and the news of the attempt were impossible to contain.

After that, the servants who were aware of her secret long before her coronation spilled the rest of the story to defend her, and the people of Arendelle listened to their compatriots. The foreign prince who was supposed to become their ruler wasn't lying, but he didn't understand that Queen Elsa didn't deserve death, only help.

Arendelle's councilmen, those who acted as regents between the death of King Agnarr and the time Elsa turned of age, were thorns in Hans' sides, preventing him from getting full power, refusing to acknowledge the legitimacy of his sentence of High Treason towards the Queen because, well, they could concede he was grieving for Anna when he said so, but he didn't have the right to do it, not even if they chose to believe he and Anna had recited wedding vows alone - which was a thing, given the extreme circumstances and Anna's nature, so they didn't oppose on that - Hans didn't have the power to overthrow the current ruler.

They went to visit their queen, braving the snowstorms and the perils of North Mountain, to speak with her.

When they came back, disappointed and worried - this much was clear - they said Elsa officially allowed for Hans to be regent.

She allowed! The joke was on him, Hans knew, and knew he'd stay so as long as Elsa lived.

Or as long as she finished mourning, which could happen. This was likely the hope of the councilmen and Arendellians alike, that she'd stop grieving and came back to be their queen, stop the curse on her own volition.

And Hans had to take steps to ensure his full rise into power before that could happen, that much was sure.

A month in his ruling and little changed, the killers who were sent up the North Mountain failed one by one, now new statues adorned the surroundings and the inside of the Ice Castle.

The same month, the older princes of the Southern Isles sent their condolences for the death of his wife - took them long enough to recognize where he was and what he was doing, but now they knew - and Hans was finally among the real powerful ones, acknowledged at last.

If only that stupid curse would end!

And if only Arendellians weren't so stubborn, to side with their Witch Queen instead of with their saviour!

Nothing to be done, there. He had to get their trust bit by bit, with example and care. There was nothing else to do, if Elsa refused to die.

Two months.

Arendelle was suffering from the lack of any harvest and the near-impossibility to enter the frozen fjord and Hans had been forced to ask for help to the neighbouring kingdoms - not his brothers, never to his brothers. He had to do it and do it well and do it alone -.

Enter the soon-to-be-crowned King Beast and his wonderful plan: create a union of kingdoms to go under the name of Auradon where only heroes could live, where people with magic were banned for life or had to relinquish their power, where all those who could do harm would be exiled where they'd amount to nothing.

Hans didn't want to give up his domain, but Arendelle was on the edge of ruin, so he traded a bit of his power for the health of the kingdom. He'd still be king - even people of Arendelle will have to call him that, because Queen Elsa will be gone at last and he's the only one next in line -, that was good enough, still higher than most his brothers.

He took time to consider it, but he already knew he couldn't be picky. It was either King Beast or his brothers.

He chose the Beast.

The Isle of the Lost was a good solution also to Hans' other main problem: the distrust of the people of Arendelle towards him. They still stubbornly loved Elsa and doubted such a kind child, who grew into a mild-mannered woman, could be the cruel monster who willingly killed her beloved sister and cursed the land.

"Why curse her own kingdom?" was the question.

"Because she was was discovered as a witch" was his reply, the official reply, a law in his own good.

But people didn't follow it.

"What killer cries for its victim?" they wondered, the sight of the weeping and devastated queen, down on her knees when she was told her sister was dead was sculpted in everyone's minds.

"Either she repented, or she knew it meant her own damnation"

No good. It didn't matter how perfect his explanations were, people still loved Elsa and opposed to the capital punishment, even if the kingdom was still frozen over, even if it could stay like this forever.

After all, they said, summer only lasted a month or so in the fjord, with autumn and spring two months each. They were used to winter, they said. A southern prince couldn't understand, they said.

So Hans, kind, handsome prince who turned their regent - not king, never king if Elsa stayed alive and in Arendelle - had to behave like a hero and pick the next best thing.

In this case, to accept the alliance with King Beast and to exile Elsa to the Isle of the Lost.

When they told her - he didn't show up alone in front of her, he never did after their last conversation, after he tried to cut her head off and failed - she barely replied.

Four months in her curse, she barely did anything at all: barely ate, barely slept, barely moved. The annoying talking snowman was by her side most the time, taking care of her with its stick-made arms and clumsy movements and neverending chatter, but she barely spoke to him too, or so his spies said.

She was a prisoner already, of herself more than of him, Hans knew it all too well. She was keeping all of them in her own prisony of snow and ice, she was the one who held them all captive with her grief.

A look in her sad eyes and he hated her even more, because even at her lowest, even completely defeated, even when she lost it all, she still had the whole land in her hands.

Hans knew she cared - or she convinced herself she did - about Arendelle, and he knew she couldn't be taken anywhere with force, no one was strong enough for her magic, but her heart was as fragile as a crystal and exploiting her deepest weakness was his primary weapon.

He talked about how the people were suffering, how hard an eternal winter was to go by, she didn't seem to listen to most of it, but then he spoke of Anna, how she loved summer and would have wanted the winter to end, how she wanted the best for the kingdom and laced his words with honey and sour spices mashed together for the good part of an hour before she dignified him with a reaction.

She turned to him, for the first time in months really looking at anything, and asked: «If I go, will Arendelle be safe from my curse?»

They hoped so, it was their best shot, he told her, truthful for once.

«Then so be it» she replied, signing her own sentence in cold voice and imperious tone, more severe towards herself than to anyone.

If only she knew, Hans thought viciously, how Anna's death could have been avoided, how much he enjoyed taking away the only hope his "wife" had to survive...

He didn't say a word. Didn't gloat, didn't react with anything but a kind, perfect smile of gratitude and understanding.

He was the hero, and heroes acted with benevolence.

Elsa descended from the North Mountain at the beginning of the fifth month, when Auradon was setting and the Isle was almost ready to receive its inhabitants.

A contingent of armed guards escorted her all the way down - not for his order, but because they all volunteered to -, on a sled that covered in gleaming frost the second she touched it, without chains binding her wrists and feet, and in her beautiful, glittering dress: not a prisoner, but still very much the queen she was born to be.

Hans hated her, more and more every passing day, but that day more than any other because she was all he strived to be and had to cheat and lie to resemble to, but wouldn't show it, not even in the last moments.

Her emotionless face could have been mistaken for a look of noble dignity, but Hans knew it was only apathy.

Her people saluted her like a hero, as if she was leaving on a mission to save them all, when she was only the monster that cursed them.

How couldn't they see it?

It didn't matter. Towards the Isle of the Lost she went, and there she was bound to stay for however long her life was going to be.

Seven months after the start of the wintery curse, the Isle of the Lost was finalized with an impenetrable magical barrier that neutralized the magic inside and would prevent any from going in, the prisoners were left there and the Isle was sealed for good.

Once spring came, at last, Arendelle thawed.

Hans could finally have his coronation, if he so wanted - and oh, how he wanted it! - and the people would have to let him do as he wanted, they had no other ruler, no one else in line for the throne.

But.

There were things they didn't know. That no one knew.

Before the crown was put on Hans' head, the earth shook, the winds blew, fires sprouted from every candle and torch and fireplace and turned blue and purple and snaked around.

Panic ensued, people called for a new curse, but there were no magic users left, were there?

The evacuation had to be quick, lives weren't lost, a bit of luck, the hopes to recover their land after the disaster were still up...

Until water came.

It was a flood unlike any other, as if the sudden earthquake and windstorms and fires had thawed the mountains around and all the melted snow covered Arendelle until there was no Arendelle any longer.

Truth was not known to mortals for a long time.

The Spirits had taken revenge. Arendelle had refused and secluded their gift, their magical child who they elected to become one of them had been sent away and rendered powerless and the Spirits didn't like their blessings to go lost.

But they weren't cruel either. No one died, although people lost their home, they kept their lives.

Moreover, they blessed a princess once more.

Not with magic, but with a new chance at life.

Amidst all chaos brought by the water Nokk, the Gale had taken the frozen statue that was Princess Anna from the castle and away, far up, and before the destruction of her kingdom it brought her to Earth's children, the Trolls, where Bruni thawed her, gently healing her frozen heart little by little.

And little by little she came back to life.

With no sister, or kingdom, or a husband that never was so to wait for her, but alive, in a new family of rock trolls and one ice harvester whose heart had been broken until then and was more than willing to devote his life to her, if she so wished, Anna lived on.

It took a full year for Anna to recover, a precious year in which she grieved and learned what happened to her sister and her people... and gave her the time to plan what to do next.

Hans - the traitor! - had tried to take over her home, he had forced her to stay in that room and no one knew that but Anna, but oh, she may not be princess of anything anymore, but she knew he deserved a good punch in his face, that much was sure.

That's what he got, when Anna stormed in the Southern Isles' palace, demanding to see him without revealing her identity until the very last moment and, well, it was fun because he almost managed to marry another princess and basically Anna crushed the wedding in the most dramatic fashion like in some stories she used to read when she was a kid!

Ahem.

But yeah, everybody thought she was only the dead wife coming back to life for her husband, until she revealed they never married and he left her to die when he could have helped and no, she didn't know how she came back to life from her sister's curse but she was there and demanded, if her sister had to be punished, that he was too because he had been way more villainous than Elsa in Anna's eyes.

Of course, Hans was shipped to the Isle of the Lost with the next barge.

Unfortunately, King Beast refused Anna's requests to allow Elsa back from the Isle of the Lost, they couldn't risk her to freeze Auradon over, you see? Moreover, it was Elsa who asked to be brought to the Isle, under the Barrier that kept her powers at bay, powers that hurt Anna, he dared to remind, and all things considered, everyone was better off without magic - without Elsa. It was only exile, after all.

Anna's princess title was worth next to nothing if she had no kingdom to rule and from which get political leverage, save from the Trolls' territory and whatever remained of the city in the fjord, any plea from her side fell on deaf ears.

Even so, once they found out their princess was alive, people of Arendelle started to come back, looking for her, hoping for her guidance, willing to rebuid what possible and be back as the united population they once were, not refugees in the Southern states of Auradon, but a community of their own once again.

It was going to take time, Anna knew, but she and Kristoff and their people would and could make Arendelle back the strong kingdom it once was and then she would find a way to save her sister from herself.

She promised.

#descendants/frozen fic

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mrlnsfrt · 1 year

Text

It Is Finished 2023

Heaven beheld as Jesus was betrayed into the hands of the murderous mob, and with mockery and violence hurried from one tribunal to another.

Angels heard the sneers of His persecutors because of His lowly birth.

They heard the denial with cursing and swearing by one of His best-loved disciples.

All of heaven saw the frenzied work of Satan, and his power over the hearts of men and women.

Imagine this terrible scene...

The Savior seized at midnight in Gethsemane, dragged to and fro from palace to judgment hall, arraigned twice before the priests, twice before the Sanhedrin, twice before Pilate, and once before Herod, mocked, scourged, condemned, and led out to be crucified, bearing the heavy burden of the cross, amid the wailing of the daughters of Jerusalem and the jeering of the crowd.

Heaven viewed with grief and amazement Christ hanging upon the cross, blood flowing from His wounded temples, and sweat tinged with blood standing upon His brow.

From His hands and feet, the blood fell, drop by drop, upon the rock drilled for the foot of the cross.

The wounds made by the nails gaped as the weight of His body dragged upon His hands.

His labored breath grew quick and shallow, as His soul panted under the burden of the sins of the world.

All heaven was filled with wonder when the prayer of Christ was offered in the midst of His terrible suffering, —“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” Luke 23:34.

Yet there stood men, formed in the image of God, joining to crush out the life of His one and only Son. What a sight for the heavenly universe! (Inspired by The Desire of Ages)

Controversy

How did we get here?

How can anyone make sense of Jesus, a man who lived a perfect life hanging on a cross? Even more puzzling how do we end up with the Son of God dying on earth? To make matters even more complex, Jesus is God, He is our Creator, why is He dying, when it would be more convenient for Him to simply destroy us and make a brand new earth?

The Bible refers to Jesus dying on the cross as “a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (1 Corinthians 1:23).

If you were starting a revolution, a movement to impact the whole world, would you have the hero of your story, the savior, die a humiliating and painful public death?

Seems odd right? Who would come up with this story and think it is a good one? Would it not be much better to have the hero be incredibly strong and have him destroy all his enemies? Would that not be a much better story to tell, would that not be a better hero? One you could be proud of?

Why would you tell the story of the hero dying a terrible death while all his followers ran away? The cross sounds more like a defeat than victory. Yet here we are, still talking about it, some 2000 years later. Why does this story persist?

A story about an all-powerful God who toys with His creation and uses them as mere entertainment or slaves makes sense.

A story about a mighty God who is indifferent to the lives of lower beings living in a speck floating around in a vast universe makes sense.

There are so many stories about various gods, so many religions and beliefs, and so many fables, yet here we are talking about one which is particularly challenging. A story where we have the most powerful God, in fact, the only God, the creator God, dying for His creatures, that He created, that He could easily destroy, that cannot live without Him. Yet God not only sustains us, even as we live in rebellion against Him, but He also died for us.

This kind of love, and this level of self-sacrifice, make my head spin.

This story is so odd, that this God, after doing all this, offers us the gift of salvation, offers us eternal life, as a free gift. He then tells us to tell everyone the good news, that they don’t have to die, that they can have eternal life, that they can have hope, and that everything will be okay. There is no special reward for us doing this, we do not gain bonus eternal life, or a bigger house on the new earth depending on how obedient we were.

Yet, people who truly believe in this wild story, of a God who loved the world so much that He sent His one-of-a-kind Son to die so that everyone who believes in Him would not have to die, but instead have life that would never end, live a transformed life. These people who believe in the God of the Bible live a transformed life. Their life does not make sense. They help people for free! They go out of their way to be kind to people they don’t even know. They volunteer and give and help and do things to help those who could never repay them. You would expect these followers of the God of the Bible to be miserable people, to be poor and exhausted from all that volunteering and helping and donating. Yet, they seem to be healthier, happier, and more content than those who live simply to gratify their own selfish desires.

Many of these people give away 10% of their income, and a good number of them give even more, not to mention countless hours of volunteer work. How can people who give so much live happy and healthy lives? How can they have enough for themselves? Especially in this economy?

In a world that is becoming more and more divided. When people find all kinds of reasons to fight and offend and attack, these believers in Jesus come together and enjoy a sense of community based on helping each other and even those outside of their group.

This is very puzzling indeed.

As you can probably tell by now, this story is no regular story. Though many try to discredit it, poke fun at it, and downplay it, it is the most powerful story in the world, because it introduces the listener to the very heart and character of God.

The enemy

This is explained in more detail in my post One Story to Rule Them All, but Jesus explains the existence of evil by claiming “an enemy has done this” (Matthew 13:28). This enemy is called Lucifer (light bearer), Satan (adversary), Devil (false accuser), among other names.

Lucifer had been originally an angel of light.

“You were the seal of perfection, Full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. You were in Eden, the garden of God; Every precious stone was your covering: The sardius, topaz, and diamond, Beryl, onyx, and jasper, Sapphire, turquoise, and emerald with gold. The workmanship of your timbrels and pipes Was prepared for you on the day you were created. “You were the anointed cherub who covers; I established you; You were on the holy mountain of God; You walked back and forth in the midst of fiery stones. You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created, Till iniquity was found in you. - Ezekiel 28:12-15

Lucifer was cast out of heaven because he desired to be God.

“How you are fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How you are cut down to the ground, You who weakened the nations! For you have said in your heart: ‘I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God; I will also sit on the mount of the congregation On the farthest sides of the north; I will ascend above the heights of the clouds, I will be like the Most High.’ Yet you shall be brought down to Sheol, To the lowest depths of the Pit. - Isaiah 14:12-15 NKJV

Lucifer started a rebellion in heaven. He wanted to be God. Lucifer believed that he could do a better job than what God was doing.

And war broke out in heaven: Michael and his angels fought with the dragon; and the dragon and his angels fought, but they did not prevail, nor was a place found for them in heaven any longer. So the great dragon was cast out, that serpent of old, called the Devil and Satan, who deceives the whole world; he was cast to the earth, and his angels were cast out with him. - Revelation 12:7-9 NKJV (bold mine)

Not only did Satan start a rebellion, Revelation 12:4a tells us that "His tail drew a third of the stars of heaven and threw them to the earth." I understand that to mean that one-third of the angels of heaven followed Satan in his rebellion against God. (In prophecy sometimes stars represent angels Revelation 1:20)

Satan had been so crafty with his lies that I believe it was not until the brutal death of Christ on the cross that the character of Satan was clearly revealed to the angels. Satan's deceptions had been so masterful that even holy beings had not clearly seen the true nature of his rebellion.

These verses help paint a fuller picture of the story of redemption.

You may be wondering, why did God not destroy Satan right away? Why cast him to earth?

God could have destroyed Satan and the rebellious angels as easily as you can cast a pebble to the ground, but He did not do this. God was not going to crush a rebellion by force. Coercion is found only under Satan's government. God's principles are very different. His authority rests upon goodness, mercy, and love; and the presentation of these principles is the means He uses. God's government is moral, and truth and love are to be the prevailing power.

If God simply crushed Satan and his followers He would have proved Satan right. God would forever appear to be a tyrant instead of a loving God. The whole universe would follow God out of fear of being destroyed and the angels would have forever wondered if Lucifer really would have been a better ruler.

Time reveals the truth

Satan came to earth and tempted Adam and Eve, and when they fell, they chose Satan over God. Now the universe would watch and see the outcome of Satan's style of leadership.

Aleister Crowley, an occultist from the early 1900s, claims that "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law."

I really don't want to chase that rabbit into the occult and satanism, etc. but I mention this just to point out how his law is diametrically opposed to God's law which can be summed up in loving God above everything else and your neighbor as yourself. (Matthew 22:34-40)

God's law is focused on others while Satan's is focused on self. God says "If you love me keep my commandments" (John 14:15) Satan says "Do whatever you want."

Another way of describing this is God has a law, and Satan is against the law.

Being an outlaw can seem harmless, even fun. Doing what you want doesn't seem like an evil way to live one's life. So you can see why Satan would have gained a following, and why many others who did not follow him might still have wondered if maybe Satan was not that bad of an angel, maybe he was on to something.

How we view God

Many seem to view God as a harsh, old-fashioned, stern, all-powerful being who can't wait to zap those who disobey His will. Satan has done a good job spreading his views of God. Sadly he seems to have used the church on many occasions to misrepresent God and turn many away from Him. Causing many to believe that they can indeed be much happier living without God, living as if God did not exist, just doing whatever makes them happy.

Enter Jesus

God revealed Who He is in the Old Testament. His grace, His mercy, His patience, it’s all there. But that was not enough. Jesus' life on earth is the greatest revelation of who God is.

Through Jesus, God's mercy was manifested to humanity. Jesus was the Word of God made flesh (John 1:14). Jesus lived a perfect life, a life of perfect obedience to the law of God, and though He was tempted like us, Jesus never sinned (Hebrews 4:15 [more verses about Jesus' sinlessness]). Since Jesus never sinned, that means He never broke God’s law (1 John 3:4). In living a perfect life Jesus was nothing like the religious leaders of His time.

In living a life that followed the will of God in every aspect with perfection Jesus was not an unpleasant person, rather the opposite, children wanted to be with Him and multitudes followed Him. Jesus brought life and healing and clarity regarding the will of God. Jesus revealed not only the true character of God, but also what a perfect life of obedience looked like, not something terrible, but rather the greatest blessing this world had ever witnessed.

Relating to the Law

Nevertheless, mercy does not set aside justice. The law reveals the attributes of God's character, and not a jot or tittle of it could be changed (Matthew 5:18) to meet humanity in its fallen condition.

God did not change His law, but He sacrificed Himself, in Christ, for the redemption of all humankind.

“God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto Himself.” 2 Corinthians 5:19.

I believe everyone understands that the law requires righteousness,—a righteous life, a perfect character; and we humans cannot offer this to God, because we have all sinned (Romans 3:23). We cannot meet the claims of God's holy law.

But Christ, coming to the earth as man, lived a holy life, and developed a perfect character. These He offers as a free gift to all who will receive them. His life stands for the life of men. The Desire of Ages page 762

This is how our past sins are forgiven, thanks to God's patience. More than this, Christ imbues us with the attributes of God. He builds up our human character to become more and more like His divine character, full of spiritual strength and beauty. This is how the very righteousness of the law is fulfilled in the believer in Christ. God can “be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus.” Romans 3:26.

I find it amazing how God's love can be been expressed in His justice just like in His mercy. Justice is the foundation of God's government, it is also the fruit of His love. Satan tried to separate mercy from truth and justice. Satan sought to prove that the righteousness of God's law is an enemy to peace and happiness. But Christ shows us that in God's plan justice and mercy are inseparable, the one cannot exist without the other.

“Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.” Psalm 85:10.

Justice and Mercy

By His life and His death, Jesus proved once and for all that God's justice did not destroy His mercy. Jesus also made it clear that sin could be forgiven, and that the law is righteous, and can be perfectly obeyed. Satan's charges against God's government and character were refuted.

God had given humanity unmistakable evidence of His infinite love.

Satan, however, had one more trick up his sleeve. He would now proclaim that mercy destroyed justice, that the death of Christ did away with the Father's law.

The problem with this line of thought is that if it had been possible for the law to be changed or repealed, then Christ did not have to die. I have a whole post on how Jesus prayed to the Father asking if there was any other way, but there wasn't, so Jesus agreed to drink the cup (die on the cross for our sins). (Matthew 26:36-46)

The problem with doing away with the law is that doing so would immortalize transgression, and place the world forever under Satan's control. If the law was faulty in any way and needed to be changed somehow, it would prove Satan's claims that God's government was flawed and that he, Satan, could do a better job as God. It was exactly because the law was changeless, and because humanity could be saved only through obedience to its precepts, that Jesus was lifted up on the cross. Yet the very means by which Christ established the law Satan represented as destroying it. This is where we have the last conflict of the great controversy between Christ and Satan.

The death of Jesus on the cross demonstrates that God's law is perfect and immutable.

The cross also made manifest the true nature of sin, revealing the true character of Satan.

At the cross the destruction of sin and Satan was forever made certain, the redemption of man was assured, and the universe was made eternally secure.

Christ fully comprehended the results of the sacrifice made upon Calvary. To all these, He looked forward when upon the cross He cried out, “It is finished.” (John 19:30)

Finally, at the end of time, the final destruction of sin will vindicate God's love and establish His honor before a universe of beings who delight to do His will, and in whose heart is His law.

Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea. Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”

Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me,“Write, for these words are true and faithful.” - Revelation 21:1-5 NKJV

#cross #Jesus #Theology #Salvation

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todoscript · 3 years

Text

making out until your phone interrupts you two

characters: bakugou katsuki, midoriya izuku, todoroki shouto

genre: fluff, suggestive

word count: 2.8k+, 850-1000 words per character

warnings: characters are aged up, suggestive and mature content, implied sexual content, minors please beware

author’s note: how did these get as long as they did

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

As your soft hands brush along the nape of his neck and pinch at strands of ash blond hair, you feel his larger, calloused hands run along your thighs. Your lips come back for each other, hot and needy. Bakugou bites down harshly on your bottom lip, eliciting a squeal that grants him an opening to pry his tongue into your mouth to melt with yours. You follow in the frantic rhythm he sets, barely keeping pace as your grip on the slim fabric of his black tank top wrinkles in your curled fingers. Smirking, his hand runs up the skin beneath your shirt. He finds your squirming all the more amusing the more he rubs and gropes.

“Aw c’mon, babe. No fun if you’re already turning into pudding this fuckin’ early. Show some resistance, why don’t ya?” He eggs you on, but doesn’t cease in his ministrations, and in fact, only makes it harder for you to show any kind of fight. You detach your lips from his, pouting profusely with a scrunched nose. He looks back at you, expression sly and slick, well aware of what he’s doing. Well, you’re going to be sure he doesn’t get the last laugh.

Shifting all your weight onto his upper body, you move him over to lay down on the couch. He peers at your form towering above him, curious as to how you go about turning the tables against him tonight. His palms are flat on your thighs, remaining there as you settle your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself. You move your head down so your lips can touch and Bakugou cranes his neck slightly to meet you in the middle. However, a clamor sounding from a phone on the coffee table sends a rift in the atmosphere you’ve established and the incessant chime captures both of your attention. Your eyes go wide before blinking in realization that it’s your phone that’s going off right now.

Much to Bakugou’s dismay, you begin moving off of him. You get up to reach for your ringing phone, but his hand grabbing your wrist is faster.

“Don’t you dare answer it,” Bakugou orders, failing to suppress the blunt annoyance in his tone.

“What if it’s an important call from work?”

Hearing your response, he begrudgingly lets go of your wrist, sitting back on the couch, and grumbling beneath his breath.

“Fuck, it better not take long then.”

You playfully roll your eyes at him. You take a glance at the screen before pressing the green icon and nestle your phone next to your ear.

As you converse with the person on the other line, the blond is glaring knives at the device, no doubt mentally sending curses to whichever asshole decided to interrupt the mood just when things were starting to get good. Now he’s contemplating as to why he was generous enough to let you answer the damn phone in the first place. Shoulda just chucked that thing into the next room, left to be forgotten as the two of you would’ve been occupied with much more important matters.

In retaliation with his thoughts, he abruptly pulls your body into his lap, legs on either side of his thighs, straddling him. Being so occupied with your phone call, you don’t have much opportunity to comment on his behavior. In fact, Bakugou actually doesn’t allow you any opportunity.

Without warning, he plants his mouth on your neck, proceeding to nibble and suckle with just the right amount of pressure that makes you jolt in his lap. A small squeak leaves you, the noise eluded by the other person on the line thanks to you shifting your phone away from your mouth in time. You glare at the blond, silently asking with pointed brows what the hell he thought he was doing. But Bakugou only finds amusement in your struggles.

“Go on, keep talking, princess,” he mumbles loud enough for only you to hear and you feel his lips curl against your skin. You notice his hands busying themselves, tugging at the hem of your shirt, but despite that, you can’t do anything but continue with your conversation, unless you want your caller to start suspecting you’re undergoing other… activities as you were speaking to them.

You are so gonna get it later, mister. You mentally note your promises of retribution before returning to the chat while trying to ignore Bakugou’s mischief to the best of your ability.

After powering through the next couple of minutes of exchanges—your replies hastening and voice hitching whenever Bakugou’s ministrations became impatiently persistent—you finally say your hurried goodbyes, hitting the end call button.

That acts as Bakugou’s cue to pounce on you. He swipes your phone right from your fingertips and tosses it half-hazardously on the couch, out of your reach.

“Katsuki, you—!”

The moment you open your mouth to say something in retort, your words are cut off. Bakugou’s lips slot with yours to resume your intimate lip-lock, even more intense than earlier by how he barely allows you to draw a single breath.

“Oh no you don’t. No fucker is going to interrupt us this time, I’m going to make sure of that,” is the last he says before hoisting you up from your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist, and leading you both to your bedroom.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Entering your living room, Midoriya finds you lounging on the couch with the TV on, curled up with a blanket and watching the latest episode of a show you’ve been following. He stretches out his muscles as he approaches you, body aching at every extension of his limbs. With his groans sounding rather exasperated, you face in his direction.

“Tired?” you question as Midoriya takes a seat beside you.

“Yeah, just a bit. The villains keep getting tougher these days,” he answers, cracking his knuckles, craning his neck to relieve a particular spot that’s been bothering him. You open up the blanket to let him take refuge in your warm haven and he scoots closer to you.

As expected of being the Number One Hero, his duties to the populace only grow more challenging with each passing moment. But he knows better than to complain about the job he was so heavily entrusted to by All Might. Besides, nothing beats saving the day and putting a smile on every citizen’s face. Well, nothing… except maybe spending time with you at the end of the day.

“I’m proud of you though, Izuku. You’ve been working so hard lately,” you say sweetly as your hand goes to massage Midoriya’s neck, rubbing at just the right areas that make him relax beneath your touch. “So proud of you.”

“Y-Yeah?” Midoriya doesn’t mean to stutter, but he fights back a groan when your fingers slowly travel up to his scalp.

“Yeah…” Your voice is tenderly hushed between you two, leaning in closer, to the point where your faces are seconds from touching. With your fingers still twined in his curly green hair, you angle him ever so slightly to meet the smoldering look in your eyes. It doesn’t take much for him to mirror the expression, eyes growing equally lidded and just as desirable. Then, before you had even realized it, you both closed the distance.

Tongue and teeth immediately clash. Midoriya is quick to overpower you as you let out a giggle, being forced to lay back on the couch. With your show inevitably about to be forgotten, the green-haired male smoothly reaches for the remote on your side before pointing the off button at the TV and tossing it to the ground.

He cradles your head from behind to bring your lips impossibly closer. Your hands remain laced through unruly emerald strands, occasionally tugging at his scalp, evoking a hum that vibrates between your lips coming together again and again.

When you finally separate after a rather lengthy session of lip-locking, your breaths are ragged—faces hot. He stares down at you, transfixed by your swollen, plush lips that he wishes to dive down again for more kisses.

“God, what did I ever do to deserve you?” he asks—a rhetorical question, but you smile at it nonetheless.

“I should be asking you that, Number One Hero.” You cup his face in your hands, thumb delicately brushing against those endearing freckles of his as you’re about to pull him down again.

But, just as your eyes close, waiting for your mouths to meet, the world splits open at a blaring echo crashing upon you. You abruptly halt your movements, watching as Midoriya does the same, eyes blown wide. You both turn your heads in the direction of the sound coming from the phone next to the kitchen.

“The phone…” Midoriya murmurs, wondering who would be calling at this hour. But upon glancing over at the wall clock, you remember something. It was actually around that time you were expecting a phone call from a friend of yours anyway. It had entirely slipped your mind after being so caught up in your make-out session with him.

“Sorry, Izuku. It’s probably for me,” you inform, an apologetic smile on your face as he slowly gets off you, allowing you to cease the ringing in the distance.

Sitting up on the couch, he watches you traverse to the kitchen, his elbows resting on his thighs. He drops his head into his hands, noticing his leg hopping up and down restlessly. It’s hard to come down from his high after getting worked up like that, and with that phone call appearing out of nowhere, he’s not sure what to do with himself other than not to get too excited.

Despite that, Midoriya musters the most patience as he possibly can. I mean, the amount of times you’ve been interrupted by Midoriya’s own urgent calls coming from his agency warrants him to exercise some self-restraint, knowing how riled up you could get at times, yet still kindly letting him go about his work like the saint you are.

But after a long day of patrolling the city and defeating foes, all Midoriya desires at the moment is to drown in all the love you have to offer him and leave everything behind to think of only you and him together. He overhears your conversation due to the silence spread across your living space, making out bits and pieces but never taking the time to distinguish the topic of your discussion.

No good, he thinks. Midoriya resigns to the fact he simply can’t keep as still as he would like, already getting up from the couch to seek you out. When he finds you, you’re laughing into the phone, likely finding whatever your friend said humorous, but when he wraps his arms around you, you jerk in surprise, that same laughter replaced by a quiet squeal. You feel Midoriya’s head tuck itself in the space linking your neck and shoulder, planting a single delicate kiss on the exposed skin. He glances at you, emerald eyes gleaming in a silent plea.

You smile in reply, understanding what he wants as you hold up a finger to tell him to give you a moment. “Um, sorry, I’ll have to call you back later. There’s something I have to do right now,” you say into the phone and after exchanging farewells, dismiss the call.

Turning in his arms, you come face-to-face with the relieved look in his eye. “Baby couldn’t wait?”

He releases a sigh, smiling warily. “You know I can never wait when it comes to you.”

TODOROKI SHOUTO

Fresh and clean out of the shower, you toss your towel around your slightly damp hair as you walk into the bedroom. Todoroki is already there waiting for you, sitting on the edge of your shared futon while checking something on his phone. Upon hearing your footsteps, he glances up, and smiles as soon as your eyes find each other. He clicks his phone off and sets it to the side before beckoning you over with spread arms.

You kneel in front of him and lean into his comforting embrace. His body is just the right temperature against you that soothes the heat abiding your skin from your steamy shower. Feeling you melt into his chest, he tilts his head, pressing his nose into your hair, and notes the fragrant scent of your shampoo that harmoniously washes over his senses.

“You smell… nice,” he comments, nuzzling his nose to your neck.

Honey… and vanilla…

You giggle at the tickling sensation. “I would hope so, considering I just took a shower.” Todoroki hums at your humor, lifting his head to find your eyes. He takes a moment to pay every detail its utmost attention, from your misty hair to the warmth flushed on your cheeks as his knuckles graze over your skin. You look away from his punctilious gaze, his gray and turquoise eyes making you feel small.

That won’t do, he thinks.

Before you can even process his actions, he leans forward to capture your lips. Taken by surprise, a faint sound floats above your mouth that is quickly swallowed by him.

Again… and again… and again.

As you let yourself surrender to the fervent kisses, Todoroki maneuvers you two onto your futon, where he hovers over you, lips never once parting throughout your movements. You hum in delight when his tongue immerses itself in your mouth. The gratuitous feeling doesn’t stick for long though.

A ringing sound resonates above the futon, and your attention is immediately diverted. Your motions falter beneath him, causing you to fall off beat now that your mind has one more thing to worry about. On the other hand, Todoroki is least bit concerned over the noise, unrelentingly nibbling at your lips to try and elicit more sweetness from them. Unfortunately, his fun is cut short as you lay your hand on his chest, lightly pushing him away so he removes his mouth from you.

“Shouto... My phone.”

Todoroki glances at the phone in question before returning to your form, disheveled under him. He gives you a look of indifference. “It can wait,” he states simply, about to dive down to resume what he started, but you don’t concede so easily.

“It could be important,” you reason.

Releasing a sigh, Todoroki allows you some space to turn over on your stomach and reach out for your phone, the chiming desisting as you answer it and greet whoever decided to call you at this time of night.

The conversation you’re having flies over Todoroki’s head. The only thing on his mind right now is you finishing the call and continuing where you two left off, praying it won’t take long.

However, eventually his impatience gets the best of him. His eyes wander the room simply to return to you—laying with your upper body propped on your pillow as you hover the phone next to your ear. He peeks at the small droplet of water trailing your hair just before it falls atop the skin of your neck. He seems almost mesmerized by it as it begins its trek down your collarbones, reveling in the enticing sight despite how ordinary it must be to the common eyes. For him, it just makes things all the more difficult to sit still.

Needy and with little to do, he shifts toward you.

“Right, and I– Ah!” your sentence slips on you mid-speech as you feel something cold touch the nape of your neck.

“Y/n? Everything alright?” your caller asks, static voice laced with concern that you almost overlook when the chilling sensation on your neck returns. You turn your head and discover Todoroki bending forward to place his lips repeatedly on your neck. You can’t tell if his lips are particularly colder than usual or if you’re still a little heated from your shower. Either way, the heightened sensitivity raises goosebumps on your skin.

“I-I’m fine! I just bumped into something, is all!” you reply, though your voice pitches, feeling Todoroki’s equally cool hands graze your back under your shirt.

“Oh, please be careful! The fatigue must be catching up with you after such a long day, and I did call you at a pretty late time, huh? Tell you what, we can talk about this again tomorrow morning so you can get your rest for the night, okay?”

You are beyond grateful for the convenience bestowed to you. Though, you honestly think resting is surely the last thing on a certain someone’s mind right now.

“Right! Thank you..! Have a good night!” With that, you promptly end the call. Repositioning onto your back, you cross eyes with Todoroki, making a point at hardening your expression and seeming offended. Though the man knows it’s more so a facade than anything and that you’re not actually angry at him.

“Oh, you..!” You emphasize your words with a bump of your fist against his shoulder, albeit with minimal strength.

He chuckles at your pouty lips, leaning down for a peck before moving some hair out of your face. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” he admits, the curve of his lips bordering on a smirk and a genuine smile that you find hard to be mad at.

“Shall we resume where we left off then?”

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #midoriya x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha headcanons #bnha imagine #bnha scenarios #mha x reader #bakugou imagine #midoriya imagine #todoroki imagine

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elsewhereuniversity · 2 years

Note

Greetings, Archivist!

Could I have the compass always pointing to the sea, silver and mother of pearl? I know a selkie who could use it. They are supposed to have the sense for the sea but this one was born without it.

For myself I would request the mirror showing unwanted truths. Need to do some soul-searching. And perhaps break some curses and a couple of enchantments while I'm at it.

In return I offer you .. hm. Let's see.

For compass - small grain of black sand; touch it to skin and it shall tattoo itself in your heart (the organ, not in spirit). You will be able to come back no matter how far you stray. There won't be any side effects. It does not conflict with anything. Does not show on medical scans either. When you die the sand goes back. Until then its power remains. Whoever makes use of it had better not complain about shadows having strange shapes and sentience. It's a small price to pay.

For mirror - my own creation, Ghost Bell. It can be worn like a charm or made part of an earring or necklace. It's metal, sort of. You may notice it has no tongue. This does not rob it of voice. When in presence of others it will ring softly in the back of your mind. Pleasant or discordant depends on the intent of those around you. It gets louder and more persistent and escalates depending on the degree of harboured sentiment. E.g. If someone hunting to kill you is within six miles of you, the Bell will wake you even from an unbreakable sleeping curse or a coma and it will even keep you awake. Caveat is: as soon as the danger is out of range you go back to your previous state (asleep, in coma etc).

Hope you have not given those away yet. But even if you did you may keep the gifts, they are freely given.

The mirror I can give to you; the compass has passed from my care (although given the phrasing of the one who asked for it, it’s entirely possible your friend asked on their own behalf).

A charm for you: a small hand mirror, old enough to be backed with silver, in a frame of art deco stylings. The handle is made from a black talo,. as long as your hand and wickedly curved. The mirror itself shows unwanted truths, among which I hope you find what you are looking for.

#charms

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owo--bot · 3 years

Text

Loyal as a Dog // Sanzu Haruchiyo x Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 24

wc: 2.1k

Tags: slowburn (the literal slowest), friends to lovers, coming of age, hurt & comfort, fluff, light and dark themes, plot heavy (REALLY plot heavy)

TW // cursing

Chapter Twenty-Four: Gods Grow Lonely

Gods grow lonely too.

Looking down upon a lesser world

It doesn’t take a higher being to recognize

Scum from scum.

Pitiful beings,

Their existence only poses the question;

WHY?

When born as dirt one should live as filth, so

WHY?

Show thy misery,

Expose thy hate,

Remember thy name.

If insects don’t dance, what purpose do they serve?

Happiness is not yours to seek, so

WHY?

It should be mine, so

WHY?

Why do they possess that which a God cannot grasp?

...oh.

I’ve studied worms and the ways they should crawl;

For a God it should be simple,

All I need is dirt.

My pitiful creation, your world is me for I am all.

Do not ask me

WHY?

You are to ask me

HOW?

I’ve spent my life spectating so now I will teach.

Watch me dance and remember;

It's you that's pitiful,

Not me.

Today is a new day.

Therefore,

Yesterday never happened.

Tongues stained blue, cloudless skies sung a certain song. A melody on loop, birds chirp of their travels above incoherent chatter. Background music of the word is tuned out as pain screams louder. A pain that's been denied recognition, for today is devoted only to good.

Good meaning ice cream.

Heat of Summer bullies spring while a convenience store curb houses the pair. Seeking refuge in the shade they replace memories that hurt with chilled flavors of berry.

Mask pulled down, Sanzu's attention is equally divided between a new phone and ice cream while yours is balanced between ice cream and mourning.

"We're bad parents," you wept internally, looking at the replacement phone free of damages or dents. "My heart says it likes the old one better."

"I don't see the issue, they're basically the same."

Attachment to inanimate objects is an emotion your roommate uses sparingly. Brushing away your previous complaint, one hand tapped along a fresh set of keys while the other lazily maintained a half finished popsicle.

"The ice cream's making ya cold Mr. Sanzu. What about all the memories that were jam packed in the old one?" emotionally driven, you expressed the extent of your disapproval, "to let go of them so easily is just-"

Turning the screen towards you, Sanzu's cold temperature thawed out, displaying a picture of an automotive victim taken the night prior. Basically the same down to its pixelated memory.

"The SD card wasn't busted so," he paused, cutting that thought short. "Like I said they're basically the same."

Possessed by the secret art of SD cards, the new phone houses an old soul. There’s peace in knowing it gets a second shot at life, hopefully this time it won’t die via poor pocket protocol.

Relieved from mourning duty another problem takes its place.

Pain that persists is starved of attention.

With a throbbing debut, your wrist seizes the main stage. A lyrical hellfire leaves nothing but ashes, conveying a message to all competitors; the stage is gone, try talking over me and you’ll be next. Violent yet effective, any other problems dropped from the lineup leaving you to scramble for a fix.

Pain, pain, go away, you're way too busy eating ice cream today.

Substitute jingles want to distract you but wish you’d called for help sooner for the stage is gone and anarchy cannot be undeclared.

Fluent in evading and avoiding there comes a time when bearing it is all that remains. Fixing it had been first on the list but when aspirin fails what more is there to do? Easy;

Evade,

Avoid,

Ignore,

Repeat.

Though if you skip ahead you’ll see we’re in the bear it arc.

Reflexes told your wrist it could handle the weight of a minor fall. Looking at its current condition, not to mention how it felt, it’s fair to conclude your wrist loathes that prior assumption. Afterall, two wrists are better than one so now it’s time to bear the solo and swollen consequences.

A presence finished messing around with the phone and started messing around with you. Leaning his arm against yours it seemed like he was trying to push you as you tilted along in the new game of; how much could he move you without actually moving you?

Is he launching a curb-wide takeover?

Hold your ground—

—or at a bare minimum don't tip over.

Former popsicle reduced to nothing but a wooden stick, Sanzu shed mercy and pulled it away from his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Nothing gets past his all-seeing gaze.

Especially not prolonged silence.

“I did something weird to my wrist,” you answered.

"Did you sprain it?" Sanzu asked, gazing down at the sprain in question.

"Dunno, I'm a bad judge."

You grinned, but as he lifted your wrist an immediate response ushered you to pull away.

Confiscating your wrist you cringed, "geez do ya hate me?"

"It's that bad?" He asked, cocking his head slightly.

You nodded deeply several times before responding, “the worst.”

Sanzu initiated round two. Lifting your arm he shifted it this way and that but movement faltered as his eyes narrowed. Standing up from the curb he motioned:

"We're going to the hospital."

"Why? Ya can't fix it?"

"No."

"But ya always can."

"I can't fix that."

"You…can't? But we can't—right?"

"There's nothing else we can do."

"Shit I really…" gritting your teeth, you hated the severity of this fuck up. "I'm sorry."

“It's fine. It was bound to happen eventually," he answered dismissively.

Although you claimed to be sick proof, the same doesn’t apply in terms of injury proof. Cuts, scrapes, and bruises are a typical outcome of any given encounter but such is manageable with the aid of a do-it-yourself doctor. He's always been able to treat injuries, meaning this is;

Bad.

Hospitals exist to strip penniless pockets in exchange for a band-aid or two. Treatment is guise for what's really going on, it's a large scale con. A sucker like yourself has no medical knowledge therefore you're in for a scam amongst scams, not even the cockroaches are safe from their clinical clutches.

Simultaneously walking and rehearsing, Sanzu offered a strict set of lines to follow when asked x, y and z.

Bottom line:

Lie about everything except your wrist.

A preemptive strike to scam the scammers.

Though your feet feel cold within its presence.

Towering above, it could smell your fear.

A place where life and death raged war.

Did ghosts roam the halls?

Who handled the corpses?

Would you see a dead body?

Anxiety seeped from every pore.

And the unknown looked forward to your arrival.

Some old kook patrolled the sidewalk, his rambling nature preyed on all who passed. Was this a test of initiation?

If so, you walked right by.

Better luck next time psycho man.

Abusing your roommate's hand you entered through automated doors, meeting the stench of death- or maybe that’s disinfectant.

They’re covering up death with disinfectant.

Despite an overwhelming number of heads occupying the lobby, each of them must've harbored a similar fear because the silence is nauseating;

Fill it with something,

Elevator music,

The news,

Anything, just hurry up and eat the silence.

Death's lackey greets you from behind the front desk, disguised as a woman who offers a smile. Allowing Sanzu to do any and all talking, you offered moral support by binding your souls as one.

To smother is to cope—

—at least it is from your perspective.

For the time being it seems you have a pass.

Sanzu ignores the clingy creature while feeding death's receptionist lie after lie. He offers a name you've never heard and an address you've never been and sure enough-

“Perfect, I have all your information right here,” clicking around on a computer, death’s receptionist is cheerfully duped. “So you think it's broken?” she asked.

A nod from your roommate leaves you at a loss.

Broken.

To break something takes a great deal of pressure, for example when a scum-jerk, prostitute-loving, politician wakes up mid mugged and decides to reimburse your nose with force. Therefore a minor fall poses no threat to these peak bones.

“Can you put pressure on it?” Death’s receptionist asked.

Too mortified for words, a nudge from your roommate tells you to answer.

“No.”

Nervous eyes look at Sanzu to see if that was the right answer, but no such approval or disapproval is given as the sound of typing responds instead.

“You can take a seat for now. Someone will be with you shortly.”

Turning away from the counter a void of noise settles in once more, blank faces of captives beckon you to join their seated ranks.

"I don't wanna be here," you mumbled.

"And? Does it look like anyone wants to be here?" Sanzu replied.

Blue eyes flickered with vague irritation, meaning any second he'd reclaim his space and set you free,

If only to be devoured.

Or not.

Eviction notice postponed, calloused fingers simply pull you and your vice grip along.

Sitting down amongst a lobby of fellow captives you felt your lifeline shorten. A mental vault of D-rated horror movies contorted to spew toxins. Days in which scary movies held no weight are dead;

They're heavy enough to crush you.

“What if they harvest my organs?” you blurted out.

Attracting empty stares from your fellow captives, you felt stiff beneath fluorescent lights.

“Hm? I thought you knew.”

Blue eyes looked distinctly amused beneath heavy lids, twisting together a backwards solution.

“...knew what?"

“They already met their organ quota this month.”

“So I’m safe?”

“Mhm.”

“What about ghosts?”

"Priests come by regularly."

"What if there's a zombie outbreak?"

"They already have a cure."

"What if the doctors are cannibals?"

A timely game of question asked question answered later, relief is yours. Out of all the hospitals, this one in particular was horror proof.

Safe from within the hospital of no horrors, you’d been summoned and forced to play question asked question answered medical edition.

Hospital memory bank updated.

Their time operates differently, how they slowed it down will stay a mystery.

Half the terms they used were made up on the spot, the end.

Nothing is sacred, they saw your bones and have photo evidence.

Don't get lost or you won't be found (not tested).

They only deliver the crappiest, shitiest, screw off-iest, no seriously screw off—form of news

As always Sanzu was right.

It's broken.

Therefore your bones aren't peak, but are embarrassingly easy to break chumps. Though Mr. Doctor said otherwise, your two-bone track record states you should search for a donor with better suited bones.

Shamefully supported within the confines of a splint, your wrist would hide its face for another six weeks. Mr. Doctor also said it's lucky you didn't need a cast but it seems Mr. Doctor doesn't have the faintest clue about what luck entails. Here's a hint:

It's receiving medical treatment under someone else's name, having the bill sent to said person's home and then strolling out of death's doors with your soul still intact.

"My bones are sorta the worst so how about ya trade me yours? Then I won't be completely useless," you gleamed.

Starry eyed and scary, a harsh contradiction of words and tone work as a last ditch coping mechanism from hell. Far more inconvenient than breaking a nose, a wrist plays a vital role in daily life. It's so horrendously bad it's comical because if it weren't you'd be sobbing.

"I'll pass. A careless owner would end up breaking them," Sanzu taunted.

"Ya'know If I did that I'd have to live out the rest of my life in shame and solitude. Meaning they'd be way safe—no, the safest."

A route consisting of following your roommate showed a questionable future. Primarily because you hadn't even made it to the street before new problems were made readily available.

Skeletal fingers gripped your shoulder revealing who else but some old kook in robes, looking to be ten seconds from death—

"All can be forgiven so tell me-"

...

—Five seconds from death.

Shoved to the ground, a pile of bones is momentarily out of commission while condescending eyes spare no pity, urging you to keep walking. It only takes a glance to lose interest, for the elderly are a breed of unworthy donors.

Avoided upon entering, encountered upon exiting and laid out upon leaving, people like him all look the same. Black intentions dressed in robes, religious creeps who prey on the weak.

Mumbling against the pavement he's delusional and determined, helping you to remember outside isn't horror proof while leaving the hospital behind.

"Everyone is dirty, we only wish to help."

#s:loyal as a dog #sanzu #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers sanzu #akashi haruchiyo #sanzu x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader

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mybg3notebook · 3 years

Text

Lore: Details about the “Orb”

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

Let's start with the context, because everything related to Gale is packed heavily with Forgotten Realms lore, and since the game is not fully released, whatever extra information that the game could provide to help us understand this is not there yet. Also, it's always important to keep in mind this post about "Context, persuasion, and manipulation" to be sure we are talking in the same terms.

The lore

I'm going to enumerate some objects or elements related to Forgotten Realms lore that I personally see worth checking out in addition to other “orbs” that I've seen the fandom put attention on. All this information can be expanded using the references and sometimes wiki, even though I personally distrust forgotten realm wiki, unless I can check that info from the original sources.

Shadow Weave

The Shadow Weave is the space between the strands of the Weave. If the Weave is a spider's web, the gaps in between are the Shadow Weave. Shadow Weave reaches everywhere the Weave does, and more. It is not subject to Mystra’s laws or state of well being. If Mystra were to die and the Weave collapses, the Shadow Weave would persist. [Magic of Faerûn 3e. Personal Comment: Yes. It explicitly says in the book that it’s independent of Mystra’s well being. Clearly this has been modified in 4e since the Shadow Weave needs the structure of the Weave to be somehow stable. It collapsed when the Weave did so, so we can see this begins a series of inconsistencies]

Shadow Weave is a dark and distorted copy of the Weave created by Shar, more suited for spells that drag life or confuse the mind (necromancy, control, illusion schools), and gives more difficulty to cast spells that manipulate energy or matter (evocation or transmutation schools). It can't sustain spells that produce light. Both Weave and Shadow Weave are means to use Raw Magic (see at the end of the post). The more familiar a mortal becomes with the secrets of the Shadow Weave, the more detached they become from the Weave. Shadow Weave is NOT a part of Mystra, so Mystra can't block people from accessing magic via Shadow Weave.

It’s a common mistake to make the analogy that the Shadow Weave is to Shar the same way the Weave is to Mystra. No. Shadow Weave is NOT Shar, while the Weave is Mystra. Shar never developed that level of commitment, making herself one with the Shadow Weave. This is one of the reasons why she could not sustain the Weave during the Spellplague when she tried to corrupt it completely into Shadow Weave.

All this information belongs to Magic of Faerûn 3e and the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting 3e and novels of 4e. There is nothing about Shadow Weave in 5e. If it weren't for Ed Greenwood's twitter, we should have guessed it disappeared from the lore. So far we know it's slowly recovering in the same way the Weave is. And the Shadow Weave doesn't feed on Weave. For some mysterious reason, fandom started to think so due to BG3.

Death moon orb

This artefact belongs to the 3rd edition, created by a Netheril wizard. From him, it passed to the hands of Szass Tam, who saw it destroyed when the Spellplague corrupted the magic in it. I won't give more details about this object because it looks so unrelated to what Gale has in his chest. Not only is its shape inconsistent with what we see in-game, its powers and properties are unrelated to what is explained in EA. The object is cursed, compelling its owner to cause greater acts of evil; it has a size that changes and looks like a violet-black sphere. In my opinion, the only detail in common with Gale's “orb” is the name "orb". Which is a fallacy, since Gale says explicitly that he uses the word "orb" for the lack of a better one, because clearly what Gale has in his chest is not an orb, but a mass of Black Weave.

Netherese orbs

These objects are found in Neverwinter MMO in the quest Whisper in Darkness:

The Netherese are foul plague upon this world, corrupting everything they touch. They have cursed the Gray Wolf Tribe, turning them into bloodthirsty monsters. We must find what the Netherese intend to do with their werewolf slaves. The Shadovar Emissaries use the Netherese Orbs powered by Soul Shards to communicate orders from the Prince of Shadow.

This is all the information we have of this object. That's all. It comes from a Neverwinter MMO game which belongs to 4th edition. Once more, the concept that Gale's “orb” is not an orb but a black mass of untamed magic makes me believe that these objects don't apply either. The nature of their magic is compatible though: Netherese orbs are made from shadow magic by Shadovar, descendant of Netheril stuck in the Plane of Shadow (called Shadowfell later on, read more in the post of "The Netherese in 1492DR"). This plane is the source of Shadow Magic, they don't use Raw Magic. Ethel explicitly said in BG3 that Shadow Magic is Netherese Magic, so maybe we can consider this object filled with Netherese magic? In any case, these Netherese orbs are used for communication... which has nothing to do with Gale's “orb”'s properties. There is also no reference of consuming Weave to remain stable.

Devastation orb

The mention of a "devastation orb" happens only in Yartar in Princes of the Apocalypse (related to the god Tharizdun, the mad god):

In page 5 we have some context: Four elemental cults grow in power in the Sumber Hills, claiming abandoned keeps that connect to an underground fortress once part of an ancient dwarven kingdom. The leaders use elemental magic to create devastation orbs capable of ravaging the countryside. They’ve been testing these magic weapons, bolstering the cults’ ranks, and infiltrating various communities, all directed by visions the prophets receive from the Elder Elemental Eye (Tharizdun). These orbs are plainly described as: essentially bombs of elemental energy to unleash natural disasters.

In page 222 we have a more detailed explanation of what these elements are:

Devastation Orb: (Wondrous item, very rare) A devastation orb is an elemental bomb that can be created at the site of an elemental node by performing a ritual with an elemental weapon. The type of orb created depends on the node used. For example, an air node creates a devastation orb of air. A devastation orb measures 12 inches in diameter, weighs 10 pounds, and has a solid outer shell. The orb detonates 1d100 hours after its creation, releasing the elemental energy it contains. The orb gives no outward sign of how much time remains before it will detonate. Regardless of the type of orb, its effect is contained within a sphere with a 1 mile radius. The orb is the sphere’s point of origin. The orb is destroyed after one use.

Again, I don't see a real connection with Gale's “orb”. These devastation orbs are not netherese-based, they have elemental energy, and despite the explosion, they don't have any mechanics that resemble the consumption of Weave to remain stable. However, I do find a link between these devastation orbs, their process of construction, and the book that Gale found out. The remotest concept I can scratch here is that, whoever crafted the book with that piece of blackest Weave, could have used the knowledge of the construction of these devastation orbs. Instead of filling them with elemental magic, they filled it with a blackest weave of netherese magic. A procedure that could have been applied to the netherese tadpoles as well.

That's all the information I could gather that remotely is called “orb” or has some vague chance to be that blackest weave.

The Game BG3

In the game, all the info that Gale provides in EA about the “orb” is given before his revelation. The what it is, the how it works and the how it feels. In the revelation scene we only learn the details that are personal and intimate for Gale: the why he ended up with the orb, and potential solutions he can guess so far. To show proofs:

During the meeting:

Tav [Wisdom/tadpole] Try peering into his mind. If he won't open up, you'll sneak in. [Success] Narrator: For a split second you see a swirl of untamed magic – then his defences drop like a portcullis.

During the Protocol:

Tav: I simply want to know what it is you're keeping from me Gale: I'm dangerous. Not because I want to be, but because of... an error I made in the past. [before Gale speaks of his loss] It makes me dangerous – even in death. [after Gale speaks of his loss/tadpole intrusion] I told you how I sought to win the favour of Mystra. I did this by trying to control a form of magic only one wizard ever could. I failed to control it. Instead it infested me. It makes me dangerous... even in death. […] Tav: The darkness inside you, what is it? Gale: It's magic from another time and another place. It is something that is beyond me, yet inside me. That makes me dangerous... even in death.

During the stew scene or the ask for artefacts in neutral or lower approval

Tav: [Wisdom/tadpole] you sense secrecy and danger. Use your tadpole to probe Gale's thoughts. [Success] Narrator: you become one with Gale's mind and you can feel something sinister oppressing you. It's... inside of you, a mighty darkness radiating from your chest. You could try to push further, but your hold over Gale feels brittle. It won't be easy delving deeper without him noticing. Delve deeper: [Success] Narrator: “ you see through gale's eye, staring down the corridor of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. It's teeth, it's claws, it's unstoppable as it digs through you and becomes part of you. And gods, is it ever-hungry.

Gale: The only way to “appease” said condition is for me to take powerful magical artefact and absorb the Weave inside. [...]Tav: What happens if you don't consume any artefact? Gale: Catastrophe. [...] Think of it as... tribute. The kind a king might pay to a more powerful neighbour to avoid invasion. As long as I pay there will be peace. But should I ever stop, along comes a war. I can assure the battlefield would extend well beyond the borders of my body alone. [...] I will consume the magic inside. What was a powerful artefact will be rendered no more than a trinket. But it will save my life- even if only temporarily.

Tav: That condition of yours is a very expensive one. Gale: I obtained it in Waterdeep. Nothing there comes cheap.

Artefacts scenes:

Gale: I can feel the storm abating. [...] I will feel it stir again – like a distant thunder sending tremors through the soul. I will need to consume another artefact before the lightning strikes. There's no choice but to find more. [...] It's good to perceive this constant fear repressed into a quiet scare. Let's hope it will last a good long while.

During Revelation scene:

Gale: The gist of it is that he sought to usurp the goddess of magic so that he could become a god himself. He almost managed but not quite, and his entire empire – Netheril – came crashing down around him as he turned to stone. The magic unleashed that day was phenomenal, rolling like the prime chaos that outdates creation. A fragment of it was caught and sealed away in a book. No ordinary book, mind you; a tome of gateways that contained within it a bubble of Astral Plane. It was a fragment of primal Weave locked out of time – locked away from Mystra herself. ‘What if’, the silly wizard thought. ‘What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the Goddess?”

Narrator: You feel the tadpole quiver as you realise Gale is letting you in. Into the dark. You see through Gale’s eyes, staring down the corridors of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. It’s teeth, it’s claws, it’s unstoppable as it digs through you and becomes part of you. And gods, is it ever hungry… [...] This Netherese taint.. this orb, for lack of a better word, is balled up inside my chest. And it needs to be fed. As long as it absorbs Weave it remains stable – to an extent. The moment it becomes unstable, however.. [...] It will erupt. I don’t know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies of Netherese magic, I’d say even a fragment as small as the one I carry…. It’d level a city the size of Waterdeep

Tav : I should godsdamned kill you GALE: Perhaps that is what I deserve, but you deserve no such thing. To kill me is to unleash the orb.

So far, if we don't use the tadpole, we learn from Gale that he is unwillingly dangerous, there is an ancient magic stuck in his chest—acquired in Waterdeep—that he never could control and it inspires a dreadful state of mind (constant fear). It requires Weave to stay stable, and if it is not fed, a catastrophe will happen that will extend past his body.

With the Tadpole we learn, in addition, part of the details we can learn during the revelation scene: it's a swirl of untamed/chaotic magic which is an ever-hungry "blackest weave".

During the Revelation Scene all the information acquired by the tadpole intrusion is given, in addition to describing this mass of magic as an "orb" despite its inaccuracy. We also learn that killing Gale will only unleash the orb instead of putting an end to the problem.

Gale said everything that is important related to the orb before the party scene, excluding only the personal information since he is a private person. This was exactly the boundary he set when he promised during the stew scene that he was going to explain the what, not the why. With the use of the tadpole we only learn details, simple extra descriptions; all information that Gale will willingly share during the revelation scene anyway.

We can learn a bit more of the “orb”'s function if we explore the goblin party. There, Gale explains part of the mechanism of the “orb” in a "poetic" way, that may or may not be taken exactly as such:

Gale: Two shadows are darkening my soul.The shadow within and the shadow without: you. You led me down this path. [...] I don't know myself anymore. All this... It's not who I am. Around you, I'm not who I want to be. I should leave.

Tav: [Insight] Stay. We make each other stronger. We make each other survive. /OR/ [Deception] You don't stand a chance alone. You're free to go. I dare you.

[Success][DC15] Gale: [...]. Few things are more powerful than the will to live. But carnage such as this.... the shadow within is spreading like poison, corrupting kindness and compassion. [...]. Tonight I need to wash my hands of blood and my mind of shattering memories.

This shows that when playing an Evil Tav who sides with the Goblins, we have an extra description for this “orb”. Again, I ponder every bit of information with its context: Gale is a poet, and he tends to speak with metaphors specially when it comes to emotional painful states of mind or when it comes to the “orb” (which puts him in a very emotional state that even the tadpole doesn't), so these lines can perfectly be understood as a poetic way to describe his deep regret for participating in massacring the Tieflings. However, there is this detail that I can't overlook: the shadow within, understood as the blackest Weave, is spreading across his body, corrupting his good essence. As we saw in the post of "Extensive list of Gale's approvals", compassion and kindness are key elements in Gale's personality. This scene shows a potential that is not explored in EA: the “orb” seems to set a path in which it will corrupt Gale.

Now this could be considered as a potential beginning of a shift of alignment, but it goes against what Sven said several times in interviews and presentations: he stated that they were not considering to change alignments in the companions (if you can imagine all the extra branches that it opens up, it makes sense not to allow it given the already colossal proportions of the game), so it's hard to suspect how Gale would evolve from here, or if this situation will give him reasons to attempt to kill this Evil Tav eventually (which is my personal guess). Sven suggested many times that companions could potentially kill Tav or other companions during their sleep. We saw this happening in EA with Astarion. Using datamining content, we saw the same with Lae'Zel and Shadowheart. I don't see why not to give in-character reasons to make this mechanism work with Gale as well.

As an extra (datamining) detail, we have Ethel's vicious mockery line emphasising the concept of "the shadow within":

Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages wizard, you're all rot and ruin.

Putting aside the unnerving detail that Gale's concept art has bandages on one of his hands while the game is oblivious to this, the idea of Gale's “orb” as a source of rot and ruin, in combination with that necrotic aura when he dies, gives us a sure idea that there is a “disease” spreading in Gale's body as a consequence of this blackest weave stuck in his chest.

All the in-game information was presented, so now let's drag conclusions: Comparing all the information extracted from the scenes, we can now consider how much potential has the lore object named before:

Shadow Weave: Could Gale's “orb” be a fragment of Shadow Weave?

Strengths of the argument: Gale's “orb” is described as "blackest weave". It could barely be a hint, even though the Shadow weave has no canon colour nor physical description in the corebooks. So this is a very weak strength.

Weaknesses of the argument: Shadow Weave doesn't feed on Weave (this is a fallacy so far I've checked. It would make no sense to feed on the same object that it needs to exist.) Shadow Weave doesn't explode nor is chaotic.

Death moon orb:

Strengths: It's called an "orb". And it was made by a netherese arcanist, so it must contain “netherese magic”.

Weaknesses: This object was destroyed during the Spellplague. It's a physical orb which changes size, but it's not an "amorphous mass" of magic. It doesn't consume Weave.

Netherese Orb:

Strengths: It's called an "orb". It's made of shadow magic (which is not netherse magic in corebooks but in game Ethel used both denominations as synonymous). We know Shadovar are masters of Shadow Magic. Read more in the post "The Netherese in 1492DR".

Weaknesses: This object doesn't appear in the corebooks. It's used for communication. It doesn't seem to have any explosive properties nor consumes Weave.

Devastation orb:

Strengths: It's called an "orb". They explode with the intensity to destroy a city.

Weaknesses: It's made of elemental magic (not netherese magic). It's a solid object, a bomb (not an amorphous mass). It doesn't consume weave.

Personal speculation

I don't think any of these canon objects are or inspired Gale's “orb”. If we take the descriptions in-game as they are, and considering the importance that Karsus and his folly have been given in the whole game (to the point that Larian added ingame books explaining part of it) I support two hypothesis that, by now, they must be obvious for lorists since I want to work with what the game (and datamining) gives me:

1- The concept that this is a piece of corrupted Weave that Karsus' Avatar allowed to have access to when he disrupted the Weave. Gale calls it “primal weave” as well, which is a concept that doesn't exist so far in the corebooks, and one could relate, very barely, with raw magic. Maybe.

2- Heavy magic (key concept during 2e)

To understand this we need MORE lore (I know, this has no end; this is why I think a lot of misunderstandings with Gale’s character come from the big holes of lore that EA leaves, which is obvious, it's EA) So, allow me to clear out the concepts:

Karsus' Avatar is the name of the spell that caused Karsus' folly and made him a god for just an ephemeral moment. The notes regarding the spell’s essence were nowhere to be found. It’s believed that Mystra, the reincarnated form of Mystryl, snatched the spell information from the ruins of Karsus’s enclave and sent it “on an eternal journey to the ends of the universe” (who knows what this means). Besides, as if this were not enough precaution, Mystra changed the rules of magic on the material plane making it impossible to cast spells over 10th level. Karsus' Avatar was a 12th level spell.

Raw Magic is “the stuff of creation, the mute and mindless will of existence, permeating every bit of matter and present in every manifestation of energy throughout the multiverse. Mortals can't directly shape this raw magic. Instead, they make use of a fabric of magic, a kind of interface between the will of a spellcaster and the stuff of raw magic. The spellcasters of the Forgotten Realms call it the Weave and recognize its essence as the goddess Mystra.” [Player's Handbook 5e]

The creation of the Weave allowed all mortals to have access to magic through study. The Weave works like a barrier and an interpreter to use the real source of magic: Raw Magic. For more information on this, check the wiki (otherwise each of these posts will be mini books of lore). Few mortals can tap magic from the raw magic. Spells like silver fire are part of the raw magic. Some wild mages can tap into it as well, but at the cost of making their spells very random. Only Weave-disruptive events can allow an uncontrolled influx of raw magic into the world (which can be considered what happened during Karsus' folly)

Mythalars are immense artefacts that work like intermediates of the Raw Magic. They don't use the Weave, they have direct access to Raw Magic and were used to power up magical artefacts around them (thanks to these objects the Netheril cities floated in the air). Touching a mythalar causes instant death since Raw magic is harmful for most mortals.

So the first hypothesis (corrupted Weave) means that when Karsus cast this spell and became the Weave itself for a brief moment, he may have access to Raw magic directly. His spell Karsus' avatar started using common Weave, but in the second he connected deeply with the Weave and with Mystryl's powers, he had access to Raw magic as a god. His spell may have changed the source of its power from the Weave to Raw Magic, adding the latter's randomness and chaos to the spell itself and therefore, corrupting the Weave. The transition, so violent like the whole event, may have corrupted part of the Weave that was being used while casting the spell. According to Gale's description, the “orb” stuck in his chest is a piece of Weave with the active effect of Karsus' Avatar (the spell), but the Narrator gives us the extra information that it's corrupted. Apparently Gale never realised this object was corrupted, or may have known it and he tried to cleanse it so he could return it to Mystra. Either way, the source of the corruption may have been the sudden transition to Raw Magic during the casting. My main problem with this hypothesis is how a spell can be stuck in a piece of Weave, since Gale's “orb” maintains Karsus's avatar's effect.

On one hand, Karsus' Avatar main effect is “to absorb god-like powers”. In that moment of history, this spell was aimed at Mystryl, and therefore to the Weave. The disruption of the event “stuck” the effect of “absorbing weave” in a piece of Weave, while the chaotic nature of this “orb” could be attributed to the direct presence of Raw Magic, also stuck in it. Now, another weakness of this hypothesis is that nothing of this causes a "corruption disease" as Gale implies it (we only know that the failure of the spell turned Karsus into stone). So we don't have a good argument for this effect beyond the one “I believe that since the moment was disruptive, it must have corrupted something, and that corruption is quite unhealthy in a mortal body”. Which it's not of my liking, but this is what we get up to this point in EA.

The second hypothesis I talked about is another lore concept intimately related to Karsus in 2e: Heavy Magic (which I personally prefer over the first hypothesis).

Heavy magic is physical, tangible magic, usually presented as a viscous mass of chaotic nature. It can crawl, entering into cracks of a wall or a body, for example. Karsus created a distilled version of this magic called super heavy magic, and experimented with people. The subject eating a bit of this magic will have heavy magic spread on all the inner walls of their body and will kill them (it's not a disease, but it spreads inside and kills). The usual effect of the stable super heavy magic was to magnify the powers of a spell or enchantment (it allowed spells to be stuck in it), however it could be used for everything.

Karsus used this element to enhance enchantments on walls, for example projecting illusions endlessly. This means that this product has the ability of keeping a spell functioning in it (as we see that this black weave keeps the function of the Karsus' avatar). [Dangerous Games, 2e]

Naturally, heavy magic absorbs life energies (maybe another characteristic fitting the concept of disease and necrotic effects). There is an event (2e) related to this aspect in which the renegade arcanist Wulgreth became a lich after heavy magic overflew him [Power and Pantheons, 2e]

As it is easy to see, this concept shares a lot of similarities with the object stuck in Gale's chest. But there is still more:

In the novel Dangerous Games (2e), strongly focused on how Karsus experimented with Heavy Magic, it is explicitly said that Karsus infused himself with super heavy magic before casting Karsus' avatar (probably to magnify the spell power but we also know that heavy magic can get spells stuck in it). He grew taller, and glowed in a white-silver radiance. Babbling arcane chants, the super heavy magic raged within him until he came into a state of being between a man and deity. Then it followed his folly. Karsus “died”, turning his body into red-hued stone, bound in eternal torment to relieve repeatedly the moment he became aware of his folly.

So there exists a chance that a pieces of super heavy magic (in which Karsus was infused when all this happened) may have kept Karsus' Avatar effect stuck in them. One of these pieces could have been recovered later around the red stone where Karsus is now. This could potentially be the object or, at least, in what it had inspired Gale's “orb”. It's also worth noticing that one of the main characters in this novel Dangerous Games was looking for ways to safely contain heavy magic and avoid its damaging effect, so there is extra lore information about vessels that could justify the sealed book that Gale found in Waterdeep.

As an extra detail on this matter, we know that the runes of teleportation may have been made with heavy magic: "Gale: See that rune? Netherese, I think. Weave's so thick on it, it's almost viscous."

Since Gale is calling "Weave" to the element attached to the teleport runes, it makes me wonder if this was a slight variation that Larian made of the canon concept of Heavy Magic to not add new concepts to the already complex world of Forgotten Realms. Maybe, in the end, both hypotheses are the same: the second one is strictly more canon-related than the first one, which is more or less the same but simplified in terms and concepts.

As a last conclusion from my personal point of view, I see no much sense in calling this thing “orb”. In game it's clearly described as an amorphous black mass, not an orb. And it made me remember Gale's original description, when the EA was not released yet: it's the only way where I can see its nonsensical origin, which was done in a completely different context.

Gale has one ambition: to become the greatest wizard Faerûn has ever known. Yet his thirst for magic led to disaster. A Netherese Destruction Orb beats in his chest, counting down to an explosion that can level a city. Gale is confident he'll overcome it, but time is not on his side.

After the game was released in EA, Gale's description changed radically, and therefore his current description has a different approach entirely, removing the concept of "orb" for what we know in the game: “ancient chaotic magic”.

Wizard prodigy: Gale is a wizard prodigy whose love for a goddess made him attempt a dread feat no mortal should. Blighted by the forbidden magic of ancient Netheril, Gale strives to undo the corruption that is overtaking him and win back his goddess’ favour before he becomes a destroyer of worlds.

This is one of the many details that make me believe that Gale's original concept/character was changed significantly before the EA release. But this is a mere personal speculation. For more details on netherese magic, read the post of "The Netherese in 1492DR".

Source:

2nd edition: Powers and Pantheons, Netheril: Empire of Magic, Dangerous Games by Emery Clayton. 3rd Edition: Faith and Pantheon, Magic of Faerûn 4th edition Player's Handbook 5th edition: Player's Handbook, Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide

This post was written in May 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

#bg3 meta #bg3 lore #bg3 early access #gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale

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mobagehelllocal · 4 years

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“do you even lift bro?” ver ii - dire, divus, ashton

The previous ask you did for me was so hilarious! If you're up for it then can i request the same for Divus, Ashton and Crowley this time? The reader doesn't necessarily have to be their student she can be their co-worker. Thanks anyway:) -- from @blackstrawberrynightmare

A/N: Ah! Hello again! We should all thank @blackstrawberrynightmare who actually prompted the creation of this “do you even lift bro?” series! I’m genuinely surprised how popular my version of the “bridal carry” is! I just... tried to be funny. I don’t think I am funny though?? xD

For this one, I originally wanted to push for a very neutral reader so you couldn’t tell if it was a student or a teacher... but then I found it really funny how a teacher would react to being thrown into Twisted Wonderland... Also slight nsfw because Divus. (I was thirsty, I have no excuse.) ALSO! This one doesn’t have images because the teachers don’t appear in the manga... smh...

other versions: ver i (dorm leaders), ver ii (this), ver iii (leech twins, jamil, epel, rook, lilia)

When you first came to Twisted Wonderland--you were, at first, some glorified errand girl.

Which, to be fair, as someone who didn’t possess magic, totally made sense.

Then Grim got into an argument with Ace. They burnt a statue, Dire punished them (including you, at which point you felt like you had gone back to high school). Then Deuce happened, the chandelier got ruined, you were about to all get expelled (but you weren’t enrolled anyways? You would’ve refused that?). So you all high tail it to that magical cave, found a magic crystal and--

“Absolutely not.” you put your foot down. “I am an adult woman, and I refuse to go back to high school... or whatever this is. I don’t mind being an errand girl, but I refuse to be a student again.”

“But--” Grim protested, but your sharp glare made him flinch--and so did the ADeuce combo. They had seen you get furious before, and it was a lecture they wouldn’t want to repeat.

At that, Dire Crowley sighed in response.

“Well, what do you propose you do?”

You paused, you hadn’t expected the guy to listen to you. After all, he hadn’t let you get a word in since you got here anyways.

“Maybe... a teacher’s assistant job?”

“Or a secretary.” you offered.

He didn’t look convinced, so you decided to pull out your secret weapon.

"Imagine this Dire,” you had said, purposely using his name to get a point across--that you aren’t a child. “I can handle paperwork as long as magic isn’t involved.”

“Then you’re hired.” he immediately decided, to the gasps of the students in the office with you. You only smirked triumphantly.

So it seemed that hate for paperwork persisted across universes.

“Then what about me?” Dire peered at Grim through his mask.

“Well then, I suppose you can still sit in lectures provided, that you do your work well.”

So here you were, months later, as you followed him around like the dutiful secretary you were.

Dire was... a little air headed at times, but he mostly meant well. ‘Mostly’ because he often got you to take care of everything he couldn’t (didn’t want to) do. He did his best to be interactive and friendly with his students--which you could say was far better than most academic institutions back in your world. He was a person who was willing to listen, as long as you managed to keep him calm and tell him to pay attention.

But other than that--

‘He’s really like a bird’ you thought, as he fluttered about and inspected the mirrors.

“We’re done here.” He finally said, then turned to you.

His yellow eyes always felt as if they were staring deep into your soul, and you barely controlled a shudder at the way they glowed--before you looked down at the schedule in your hands.

“We’re going to double check the maintenance on going at the stadium,” you reported, he sighed a little.

“Oh how generous I am, to look into all these details so carefully...” he mourned, “yet there is no rest for someone as generous as I--”

“Sir, it’s your job.”

He proceeded to ignore you while he whined to himself. You could feel your sweat drop in response.

“You do have a break after this.”

He instantly cheered up on that.

“No, it’s not long enough to suntan in the Southern Islands.” you said, used to his moods. “but if we don’t carry on right now, you will never get a break.”

“Oh very well,” he sniffed, “I shall attend to this matter... because I am ever so generous.”

You rolled your eyes.

Once you had gotten to the stadium, Dire easily handled and fielded all the questions that were directed to him by the maintenance staff. As he finished speaking to the staff, he turned to you with a pointed look, and wide gold eyes.

“Oh, alright--” you had barely gotten the word out when you heard a snap from somewhere above, and a yell. You only got a brief glimpse, before you grabbed Dire (at which he let out a very undignified yelp) and darted out of the way as fast as you could. A long, metal beam fell in the spot you were originally in, and set up dust in the air. This makes both you and Dire cough, but you’re glad that you had managed to dodge it in time.

“Dire, are you okay?”

“I am fine,” he wheezed, a hand over his chest before he turned to you. You pulled your head back just in time to make sure his mask doesn’t poke your eyes out. “I--what--how are you carrying me?” he said, his voice shrill.

“It’s always been something I can do.” you shrugged, he was actually a pretty light guy--mask, coat and top hat included.

“I could’ve used magic.”

“Adrenaline rush?” you offered. “I just knew I had to move us as fast as possible.”

Dire stared at you with those unflinching yellow eyes, and you began to twitch nervously. You hated how it almost always feels like he never blinks... or something.

“Does this mean you could carry me to places this whole time--”

“--! You’re seriously going with that?” you complained, as you fell onto your knees, the adrenaline rush having left you. He squeaked in surprise at the sudden drop, but he does look at you with concern.

“Are you alright?” there was a worried tone in his voice and you nodded.

“Give me a moment.” He nodded slowly, and he reached a hand to rub at your back, which helped steady your breathing. You tried not to look at him, as you knew you’d be faced with that unnerving stare of his.

It always felt like it was trying to figure you out--understand you--as if you’re some great mystery, when you feel like an open book.

“Why don’t you take a time off today?” Dire suddenly said.

“What?” You looked up to shoot him a look. “You’ll use it to slack!”

“Absolutely not.” he sounded offended. “I take my job very seriously.”

“Then I’ll take my job seriously.”

“You do not seem fine.” Dire insisted, yellow eyes fixed upon your own. “Since you graciously saved me, I shall graciously allow you to have some time off, dear secretary--because I am super duper gracious after all.”

You rolled your eyes, but you laced your fingers together to stop your shaking.

Dire was...

kind. Actually pretty empathetic and sensitive--but he just sometimes chose not to intervene. If he pushed you for a break then he must be pretty serious.

“Alright.”At your response, his eyes became two curved lines.

‘Sometimes I really don’t understand you.’ you think, baffled.

“Excellent! I want my amazing secretary all healthy and well by tomorrow, alright?”

“Sure.” you eyed him.

‘One day, I’ll truly understand you.’ you vowed to yourself, quiet but determined.

When Dire had left you in the care of Divus, you couldn’t help but want to both thank and curse the man.

You were thankful you had gotten Divus because he was a pretty respectful person--the use of a teacher’s baton with a collar hanging off it notwithstanding--and he was certainly more aware of what you needed as a woman. It was easier to communicate to him your basic needs, and he barely blinked as he helped you shopped.

In fact, the man had been more than willing to help you chose out clothes that he insisted would suit you better.

However...

However, you also wanted to curse Dire because he had left you in the hands of the most attractive faculty member. It didn’t help that it felt like he was out to seduce you--no, calling you ‘good girl’ or ‘pet’ instantly made the blood rush to your cheeks.

You were pretty certain it was one-sided, after all, he used that type of endearment with everyone. It was probably like how some older people would refer to younger people as ‘sweetie’ or ‘dear.’

“So, I need you to watch over that side, am I clear, pet?”

“No problem Divus.” you nodded your head, and just as you moved to the other side of the room, he took the time to give your hair a gentle pat, that smoothly transitioned to tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“What a good girl.” he said, with that same smirk that would make your panties drop if you were a lesser person. ‘I swear to god he knows that he’s doing to me,’ you thought to yourself, as you tried to distract yourself with thoughts of the alchemic table of elements.

Your job as Divus’s teaching aide was to look over people’s work. Unlike other courses in Night Raven College, Divus’s class was one where your worth as a magician wasn’t actually... relevant. Alchemy was based on the magician’s ability to stay attentive and patient. Divus started you off with learning the important ingredients, how to use them, and during class he would also tell you what you needed to see from someone’s potion to know that they were doing it right.

It wasn’t so difficult.

As you walked around the cauldrons of the students, and peered into the huge pots, you nodded in approval when you saw that they were mostly the right shade for this stage of the potion. You offered some quick suggestions or two to some of the pairs, when you heard a loud sound.

You turned quickly to see that someone’s potion was acting up, and it caused the cauldron to shake.

“Move, puppies!” Divus ordered them to move away from the cauldron as it swung toward him. You see him trip backward in his haste, and as adrenaline pounded in your ears, you immediately rushed over.

As he slipped, Divus hissed, and raised his teacher’s pointer--that is until he felt someone jerk him out of the way. The sudden pull, with his already unsteady stance, made him fall straight into your arms.

After rescuing Divus, you quickly scampered away from the acidic content that spilled onto the ground.

“What now Divus?” you looked down, only to realize that he was frozen, as he stared at you with a stunned expression on his handsome face. (Actually, the whole class was staring at you in surprise, but you’re a little too taken with Divus’s startled expression to really notice.)

“Uh... Is something wrong?”

“I... I didn’t realize you were so strong... pet.” He said, his eyes wide. As much as you wanted to savor the expression--he was nearly unflappable--you had greater concerns.

“I can explain later?” you offered, then your eyes darted back to the concoction on the ground. “but the acid...”

“Ah, right.” he snapped back into attention, and moved to leave your arms. While you do let him go, never let it be said that you weren’t mournful. He was an attractive coworker, and the way you had held him in your arms made you realize that one--his fur coat wasn’t very thick, and that two--you got a good grip on his well toned body.

You looked up to notice him scold the students as he waved his teacher’s baton around. You raised a hand to massage your temples when a thick, sophisticated (dare you say ‘sexy’) scent wafted up to your face from your hands. It was Divus’s perfume. You let out a shaky inhale in surprise, only to be overwhelmed by the scent. You felt blood rush to your cheeks, and you go a little dizzy at that.

‘My god this man isn’t good for my heart.’ You thought, as you reached up a hand to rub at the scent.

“Are you alright, pet?” Your head snapped up in surprise, only to realize that Divus’s face was very close to your own. You let out a squeak, and you slipped backward only for him to catch you by wrapping his arm around your waist. This of course meant--

Your faces are even closer than before.

“It seems like I saved you this time.” He let out a soft chuckle, and his face was so close to your own, that whatever red in your cheeks you’ve lost--probably came back tenfold.

It also doesn’t help that this close, you could smell his perfume.

“Yeah--um, thanks.” You took a proper step back except this time he followed.

“Now now, pet.” He tilted his head. “You were going to tell me about earlier.”

“The strength thing?” You asked. “I’ve always been strong... It was my talent so... I learnt how to use it.” your eyes flickered around, only to notice he’d likely dismissed the students already. That’s when you feel something press against your chin, which made you meet the taller man’s gaze. Unable to look at the item pressed against your jaw, you had to rely on your sense of touch—with the cool metal making you realize that it was his baton pressed against your chin. You feel the heat rise up to your ears in response to the realization.

He looked back at you with heavily lidded eyes. From this close you couldn’t help notice the glitter over his eyelids mixed in with his eyeshadow, and that hint of something in his eyes that made you shiver.

“Aren’t you a fascinating one, pet?” he hummed. “You never cease to capture my attention.” (He thought back on the way you looked when you had easily carried him in your arms--his heart had skipped a beat. He had always thought you were cute--but at that moment? Something about the fierceness and strength in your expression was beautiful and undeniably--)

He cocked his head as he sees that spark in your eyes again.

‘--alluring.’ He decided.

“Is that a good thing?” you asked as you bit your lip and his smirk only widened.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he asked, before he leant in to press his lips roughly against your lips, that made your heart flip--and when he slid his clothed leg in between your thighs--

‘This man is really not good for my heart.’

It took a little bit more convincing, but Crowley finally agreed to let you be a teacher’s assistant--to Ashton.

Ashton was--alright. He was energetic, and generally very cheerful. He was pretty easy to get along with. Though you had some issues with his bias to the more physically capable students--you saw it as your job to help out the less physically capable students when you could. When all else failed, you saw to it that the students would get tips from each other. It was the most you could--especially since physical education was different in this world.

You cupped your face in your hands as you watched the students quietly play Magical Shift. Beside you, Ashton yelled in good cheer--he wasn’t particularly biased to one side--he gave good advice to all players of the field. You could only watch attentively because you thought you barely knew enough about Magical Shift to be a proper commentator.

That is until you notice that the disk was suddenly launched your way.

You acted on pure adrenaline as you pulled Ashton out of the way and hoped away from the spot as the disk embedded itself deeply into the bleacher seats that you were originally on.

You let out a sigh of relief at the successful dodge--that thing was heavy, no surprise there--you had to lug it around without magic. But you just knew getting hit by that thing--at the speed it was going, would definitely bruise someone.

“Ashton are you okay?” You looked down briefly, only to see Ashton’s expression.

Ashton stared at you in awe. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape. He had his hands pulled to his chest and laced together.

He looked...very much like a damsel in distress, and you could already feel the laughter bubbling in your chest.

Ashton really did give some of the greatest expressions to everything--you can feel your heart soften.

He was someone you grew incredibly fond of--because of how genuine he was about everything, especially with the things he liked.

“[Name].”

“Yeah?” you arched your brow.

“You’re carrying me.” You looked down at him--and well, his position in your arms.

“...Yeah?” you tilted your head. “I mean, you’re in my arms right now, right?”

“How are you doing this?” he said, his awe so apparent you can’t help but regard him with amusement.

“I’ve always been strong.” you paused, “and well... it was that one thing I had so... I honed it.”

“That...” he said so quietly you grew concerned--he wasn’t the quiet type. Far from it. “IS! SO! AWESOME!” you flinched when he suddenly bellowed.

“Quick! Tell me what’s your max weight!” he asked, and confused, you tell him. His eyes only sparkled further in response--and you kid not, when Ashton’s eyes glittered--they glittered and shone like bright stars.

“You must join me for training!” he said eagerly, “I’m so excited! I don’t have much people to train with, but it will be fun to do it with you! That I’m sure of.”

“Wait... you’re not... weirded out by it?” Most of the time, when guys twice your size find out you could carry them with no sweat, they often just... bailed. You had long gotten used to it, and refused to care because you wouldn’t let them have what you were proud of. While Ashton didn’t strike you as that type of person, doesn’t mean you didn’t brace for the possibility that he might respond that way.

“What?” his brows furrowed. “No! I think it’s amazing!”

Your heart fluttered at that, and you watched him in surprise as he rose from your arms.

“We should train together, okay?” Then he turned away to begin instructing the players again.

You looked down to your hands and they feel warm. You felt your cheeks warm and a thought pervades--

‘Do I--?’

#aiwrites #aiscenarios #ai lift series #twisted wonderland #female reader #twst #twst scenarios #twst dire #twst divus #twst ashton #how to tag twst teachers?#i sniffed belial's perfume to write crewel's scene and my mind expanded #in conclusion i shouldnt have sniffed belial's perfume

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gofancyninjaworld · 3 years

Text

Review of OPM Manga Revised Chapter 113

I’m going to have to find a more compact way of describing things. Anyway, the rewriting project continues for Murata and ONE -- we’re probably a month away from the time when volume 24′s pages need to be in to the printer, so he’s getting started. 46 excellent pages replacing parts of what had been chapters 106 and 114. It will almost certainly be chapter 113 in the print manga because it follows on from volume 23′s chapter 112, which featured Darkshine popping Bug God like a balloon.

Quite appropriate then, that we quickly see another of those short-lived but terrifyingly useful monsters lamenting Bug God’s demise even as he runs from the disciples. Master Joe is the Monster Association’s vault-keeper and he wastes no time unlocking the most fearful of the cadres, the uncontrollable Evil Natural Water.

The monster, once unleashed, wastes no time showing why it’s the scariest cadre of all. A subtle but effective change from the previous version is that those googly eyes don’t just roll mindlessly, but focus on its prey. We even see its viewpoint as it glares at Captain Tongara, who was trying to take its eyes out and shoots *back*:

What follows next is a gut-wrenching scene as Bushidrill flies to Tongara’s side and is targeted in turn by Evil Natural Monster, only for Tongara to push Bushidrill out of the way and take the bullets intended for the hero. Iaian and Okamaitachi grab the stricken mercenary and pull him out of the way, but he’s beyond saving.

Nothing for it but to press on and take care of the remaining mercenaries as best possible:

Story segues to a much lighter-hearted note with Saitama encountering Overgrown Rover as he goes around punching monsters to pulp. He’s still taken with the idea of a loyal, helpful dog, so he offers the dog a bone... only to be rudely rebuffed. *Then*he remonstrates with the canine, giving it a smack. Again, another subtle but effective change from what came before was the deliberate choice to frame the encounter in a similar fashion to that between Rover and Garou.

I can’t believe how mad Murata is, drawing this scene again with Rover now smacked into the ground rather than through walls.

And as the shockwaves die down, Tatsumaki finally finds and confronts Gyoro-Gyoro, setting the stage for the next grand fight.

Meta: The true worth of a hero

I think the struggle at heart of this arc is finally explicitly laid out. At its very centre is Captain Tongara, cursing his idiocy as he bleeds out, his reward for having acted as a hero. Bushidrill may be kicking himself for thinking that he had the measure of the man wrong, but he was right about his character.

Tongara is a great example of what I mean by characters being black and white, rather than grey. He's not a savoury character and will never be one, but he's capable of acting heroically. As a mercenary, not only has he seen the evils of the world, he has perpetuated a lot of it. For money.

The previous arc, the Superfight arc, dealt with what a hero was. This arc is looking critically at what the value of a hero is. Who gets to call themselves a hero? What can they actually achieve in a world where evil is a part of every single heart? Who gets to call themselves mankind’s protector? Heck, does it even make sense to do that?

Captain Tongara is pretty clear that he finds it a hopeless enterprise and the very notion of heroism irrational. Even as he cannot help himself in choosing to save Bushidrill over any possibility that he might survive. In this respect, he’s the opposite of Garou, who thinks that people can be saved from their own worst impulses if only he’s scary enough.

Realism vs

Idealism

All that, and yet, heroes persist. It’s irrational. Heroes can't save the world. That it can barely make a difference. And yet......yet there are heroes. Those foolish, wonderful, admirable people who believe in the value of taking a stand rather than succumbing to cynicism and helplessness.

Is there really any point to it? That’s what this showdown (and all the other heroes working elsewhere to save whoever they can) is going to be about!

I’ve got another question. Since the world we’ve seen so far seems peaceful, where have the mercenaris been fighting? Is it off the main continent? The abandoned part of the world supposedly free of people?

Also Noted:

We didn’t need to know how Evil Natural Water came about, but it was very neat. As an accidental creation of Gyoro-Gyoro’s, it’s testament to the sheer amount of work she put in trying to create or modify monsters. Please don’t give us a history of Black Sperm. Please.

Other than my bemusement that Genos appears to be able to control the spikiness of his arms (and even the connectors), I’m noting that the broken plate represents the second thing that he’s broken in his hands because he was holding them while agitated.The first thing was the game controller when Fubuki challenged Saitama to a gaming match. It’s hilarious, but low key worrying, that.

#OPM #manga #review #Iaian #Bushidrill #Okamaitachi #Captain Tongara #Evil Natural Water #Saitama #Tatsumaki #Gyoro-Gyoro #the clash of philosophies now comes to view #between cynicism and trying to do something #between hero and non-hero #we get to find out

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savior-of-humanity · 3 years

Text

OKAY here are my Thoughts(tm) about The Ancient Gods part II

ALSO: MASSIVE FUCKING SPOILER WARNING FOR THE ANCIENT GODS PART 1 + 2. BE WARNED THIS IS LONG AS FUCK. TL;DR AT BOTTOM.

In terms of the gameplay: I really liked how it played! The combat encounters weren’t downright vicious like in the first DLC, but they still go out of their way to mix things up (i.e a hallway filled with explosive barrels + blood punch pick-ups + Pinkies, or the double-Marauder encounter that you could ACCIDENTALLY FUCKING BUFF JESUS CHRIST) so it was still fun all around.

The new enemies added - the Cyber-Baron/Armored Baron, Riot Zombie/Chaingunner, Screecher Zombie, Stone Imp, and Cursed Prowler - are...okay. I like the idea of new enemy variants based off pre-existing ones but they felt either really fucking frustrating to fight (particularly the Cursed Prowler and Chaingunner) or were very “simple”, I guess. The Stone Imps, in particular, are a variant of Imp that are very resistant to damage unless you use the full-auto mod for the shotgun, in which they drop even more shotgun ammo if they’re killed by that. Other than that they do a Sonic-style spin-dash and slam into you, which can actually knock you off a ledge. Screecher Zombies are basically just mobile hazards that if you accidentally hit, will act like temporary Buff Totems. Cursed Prowler is fucking awful: basically, if it hits you with a projectile, you’ll be cursed with a debuff that keeps you from double-jumping and dashing that also drains your health over time, and you HAVE to kill it with a blood punch in order to remove the curse. Chaingunners are basically just the Shield Zombie Soldiers, but they shoot faster and have an indestructable shield. And finally, the Cyber-Baron: It’s basically a Baron of Hell, but with indestructable armor that can only be destroyed by shooting it’s mace when it flashes green, or by shooting it with plasma. After the armor is gone you have to kill it as fast as you can before the armor is regenerated, repeat until it dies.

Summoner Ghosts and Blood Maykrs also make a return, which is cool.

The Hammer is cool to say the least. I was hoping to see some glory kills with it but considering that it’s primary use is to either clear out groups of small enemies or to stun larger ones like Barons, it makes sense that they’d omit glory kills from it. On top of that, Marauders now have a mechanic (for the entire game, not just the DLC) where when you shoot them as they flash green, they’ll become stunned (though the sound effects are rather corny and cartoonish, even for the game). Using the Hammer on a stunned Marauder will GREATLY extend that stun, which allows you to just fucking shit on them.

I also really liked the grapple-Hookshot points that you had to use to progress in a level. I’m still not really used to how you’re supposed to move in the opposite direction of the point to swing yourself, but the idea is intuitive, fun, and makes me wish it was in the base game and the previous DLC.

My biggest grievances with this DLC, however, is how it handled some of it’s characters, the story, and the new lore that was implemented in the codexes.

So first off: I want to say that while I still appreciate the DLC, that’s honestly only with the gameplay. The story, much less the lore, is fucking stupid to say the least.

To TL;DR the story: It is, quite honestly, bare-bones as fuck. We continue from where we directly left off from the Ancient Gods Part 1: Davoth/The Dark Lord is being summoned into existence and into his physical form, which for some reason looks exactly like Doomguy except with sick tats, glowing red eyes, and a weird implant in his chest. Doomguy, naturally, tries to spawncamp him and shoots him with his super-shotgun, but nothing happens as “no blood can be spilled in this holy place”. Davoth leaves, telling Doomguy that he’ll be waiting for him in the city of Immora, the capitol city at the very center of Hell.

Doomguy goes to Argent D’Nur. He murder-death-kills shit, as per usual. He goes into this big castle where a hologram of Valen is waiting for him. He tells him that he atones for his sins and gives him the Hammer since Doomguy lifted the curse from his son’s soul. He goes to the Torch of Kings and lights it, marking his journey to the giant crystalline spear that impales Argent D’Nur known as the World Spear. Cue cutscene of a bunch of different Argenta people/Night Sentinel seeing the light of the Torch of Kings from all over Argent D’Nur. Internguy tells him that it’s a day’s walk still from the World Spear, and conveniently a very fucking awesome looking Argenta dragon shows up and gives him a ride to the World Spear.

Doomguy gets to a lake that separates him from the World Spear. The Father says “He is worthy” and then a bridge rises out of the water. Doomguy crosses past some big ass Sentinel ghosts/guardians and into the World Spear. Turns out the inside of the World Spear is like some giant, fucked up ship made out of crystal, with weird figures lining the wall and all that: Internguy even says “This isn’t a crystal at all, this is a ship!” This does not get expanded upon whatsoever in neither dialogue or codexes. Doomguy grabs Convenient Power Crystal and leaves.

Doomguy arrives on Earth through a portal, which is looking substantially better than since its invasion. Internguy tells him that a Convenient Ancient Portal close by is the only way to Immora. Doomguy kills shit, arrives at portal, activates it with Convenient Power Crystal, and leaves.

Doomguy arrives in front of a giant wall surrounding Immora. Davoth walks out, wearing a big ass power suit that looks like something straight out of Warhammer 40k. He’s surrounded by guards in cool red armor with cool spears that look very humanoid. He says some shit and a bunch of Hell-ships and demons and titans start showing up. But then surprise! A bunch of portals open up on Doomguy’s side like it’s fucking Infinity War/Endgame all over again and a fuckload of Sentinels start coming out, with mechs and dragons and spaceships. Valen is there. Doomguy and Valen stare at each other for like 5 seconds before Valen says “Let Hell tremble before our might!” or some shit like that. Doomguy fights, gets past the wall, fights some more inside the city. Again, the usual.

I also want to briefly point out that Immora is basically just a Maykr city but red, and that it’s apparently “Hell’s own technology.” Also, the red dudes in armor are actual enemies but the guns they have (the hell-razor from 2016) do piss-poor damage and they die if you so much as breathe on them.

Doomguy finally catches up to Davoth. Davoth monologues about how he’s going to get his revenge and that it’s inevitable, bla bla bla. Fight begins. It’s basically Marauder 2.0 but if he hits you and/or you shoot him at the wrong time he heals a fuckload of health. And also 5 different health bars. After you knock down 2 or 3 of his bars he stops the fight to monologue for some fucking reason? And then shits out a plot twist that surprise, he’s actually the real God, and that the Father betrayed/usurped his power, and that he will “unmake everything by his hand.” Fight resumes. Doomguy eventually beats him. Davoth asks him if he has anything to say before he strikes down his creator. Doomguy takes off his helmet, stabs Davoth in the heart, and says no in his stupid sexy voice. Davoth dies, his life-sphere emerges and then explodes. Doomguy suddenly becomes weak and falls over. The Father says “He created everything in his image, even you.” Doomguy passes out and wakes up to see 3 Seraphim seal him in a sarcophagus like the one from 2016. Fade to black, with the quote “May the blood on your sword never dry, and may we never need you again.” End game, roll credits.

If you hadn’t read any of the codexes while playing the DLC, the story probably makes little to no sense to you whatsoever. But honestly the codexes don’t expand upon things much and, if anything, just fucking make some aspects of the story even more stupid.

The World Spear is implied in the codex that it contains live Wraiths (“A live Wraith has not been seen in centuries, but rumors persist that some yet remain inside the World Spear itself.”), and while the figures in the World Spear could be Wraiths, absolutely nothing is said about them out of three Codexes related to the level, which honestly just makes me wonder the point of adding this stuff if you don’t even give a single sentence of why the interior of the World Spear is Like That.

The codex entries related to Earth are basically uninteresting as they’re pretty much just “humanity is rebuilding and views doomguy as a hero”. There is one about the Convenient Ancient Portal (Gate of Divum) but all it really says is that it was built and used by the Father to access Immora. Nothing about why it’s on Earth, or anything interesting like that.

However, the real bullshit comes in when we start to look at the codex entries related to Immora and Davoth.

So, Immora is the central - and oldest - city in Hell. It’s described as such: “Once a paradise at the dawn of creation, Immora now survives as a stronghold where the Dark Lord resides. Sustained now by the essence of Hell's victims, the people of Immora experience life eternal. Regular infusions of Hell energy have prevented them from transforming into the demons found outside the boundaries of the city. Ancient technology defends Immora from invaders, the high walls impenetrable to those who would bring harm to the last people of the first world.“

Yeah. So not only did Hell have high-tech technology all this time, but also the red guys in armor? Those are Immorans. Which is weird to me, because if Hell had this super advanced technology that’s also ancient, and thus around for a long time, why the hell are we only seeing it now?

Also, surprise! Turns out the Book of Seraphs is a complete fucking lie according to the very first codex entry related to Davoth! (”Our research shows that Maykr history and lore holds truths that are not consistent with passages found in the Hell Priest texts, revealing the true origins of Hell and all surrounding dimensions. This revelation would explain why Hell is the single dimension that connects to all others, and why it is the oldest in existence - the first world.”)

The real truth is that Davoth is the real Creator/God, and that Jekkad was the very first realm, not Urdak. He still sought immortality for his people, so he created the Maykrs to figure it out for him. They did, but decided it would be too dangerous to give Davoth that information, so they basically said “fuck you” and sealed Jekkad/Davoth while re-writing their own records to hide the truth. Obviously, this pissed off Davoth. So much so that he basically became super angry and emo and became the Dark Lord from all the vengeance and hatred (which also turned Jekkad into Hell.)

Another surprise! Turns out that Davoth had a hand in the creation of the fucking Doom Slayer! Because he wanted to get revenge against the Maykrs, he started to manipulate a bunch of people while he was trapped as a life sphere I guess. He started with the Khan Maykr, convincing her that there was a “chosen one” who would threaten her rule and thus making her paranoid as fuck. He then guided her into creating the Divinity Machine using a fragment of himself that had been sealed in Urdak. Then he manipulated Samur, by convincing him that “the Khan Maykr will lead us all to ruin.” He was then controlled and compelled to release a stranger from his prison (Doomguy) and empower him using the Divinity Machine.

As you can probably guess, he got his revenge since Doomguy would go on to utterly fuck Urdak/the Khan Maykr (as well as Samur), and ever since he knew that his “Beast” would come for him.

Listen. I don’t really mind the idea of Doomguy being used or even manipulated by different godly powers. Or even Davoth being the real God or whatever. But this new lore and story just feels... really sloppy and poorly executed, especially since it directly conflicts with the fucking base game. If he manipulated the Khan Maykr and wanted revenge against her, then why did he scream “NOOOOOO!” when Doomguy killed her?

And, if anything: Why the fuck does Davoth even look like Doomguy in the first place? Is it some form of mockery? Or did id just decide to fucking retcon the Doom Slayer being the same person as the Doomguy from Doom 1/2 with the Father’s line of “He created everything in his image -- even you.”

And, on top of that, the DLC just left more open questions than answers: what the fuck happened to Samur, since he isn’t even so much as mentioned beyond the codexes? Who is the Wretch, the being who had supposedly forged Doomguy’s armor back in 2016? What is the fate of Earth/Hell/Urdak/Argent D’Nur after the Slayer’s victory? What the fuck happened to the Demonic Crucible, the one from 2016? What about the ARC Carrier and the Fortress of Doom?

Finally, Valen, Internguy and the Father should’ve been far more involved in the story beyond just being either convenient voices telling you convenient stuff or (in the case of Valen) being a convenient guy to give you convenient weapon that also conveniently shows up with a giant army that doesn’t actually do anything but look cool in the skybox.

TL;DR The new lore and story of the DLC is basically garbage, and since I highly doubt id will change it I’m going to completely disregard it, write my own, and also take up Davoth as a muse because it seriously pissed me off that much.

#doom spoilers #doom eternal spoilers #the ancient gods spoilers #the ancient gods part 2 #tag part 2 #ooc #wow. um. this got long #doomguy #doom guy #doomslayer #doom slayer #the dark lord #davoth #doom eternal

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awanderingdeal · 3 years

Text

Summer Camp AU - Chapter 1 - Regulus

The first official chapter of Summer Camp AU. I’m afraid this isn’t such a cheery one but is necessary for plot building. Content warnings for panic attacks, anxiety and mentions/implications of abuse.

Thank you to my betas for their incredible work!

As always, this universe belongs to @lumosinlove and I thank her profusely for the creation of these wonderful wonderful characters and for allowing us to play with them. You’re the best!

For previous and future chapters see masterlist

Rating: T

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Regulus ran a hand through their black hair. Despite being out of their parents’ house for a little over a year now, they still didn’t feel comfortable in anything but the short cropped style. It was the same one that they’d had since the day they’d started kindergarten, and mixing it up had felt like one change too many in a year of unknowns.

Looking around, they felt like everybody else there already knew at least one person and that they were the only one who had come alone. They considered trying to introduce themself to one of the groups close by, but decided that going to check out who their roommate was would be a better idea.

Regulus struggled to make friends. The posh, stand-offish approach that had been drilled into them by their parents was difficult to shake off and people didn’t seem to take kindly to it. A roommate would be forced to spend enough time with them that they would slowly start to see that he wasn’t such an ass underneath it all.

With a gameplan in hand, Regulus felt a bit better as they traipsed across the camp, following the map they had been given to the building labelled staff HQ.

That was until their eyes locked onto the piece of paper pinned to the bulletin with their room assignment on; cabin 6 - Regulus Black and Sirius Black. Their brain spun through a cacophony of thoughts so quickly that they couldn't quite grasp on to them. Maybe it was just a coincidence, they tried to reason. The reassurance lasted microseconds. How many people were named Sirius Black after all.

Regulus felt a dull feeling buried in their chest. An itch almost. They knew the feeling intimately. They tried to steady their breathing. 5 seconds in 5 seconds out. The itch wasn't going. In fact, it was getting worse. They pressed the heel of their hand against their sternum rubbing it harshly but the sensation persisted.

"Excuse me, could I see the list please?" a voice cut through the fuzziness of Regulus' brain.

"Oh. Yes. Sorry," Regulus rushed out, turning on their heel and walking quickly to the exit, feeling a sudden need to be out of the building. Once outside, their eyes darted around looking for somewhere that felt safe. Their fingers clenching and unclenching by their side. Their knuckles felt tight and irritated, as if there was a pressure building inside them. Focus, Regulus. Find somewhere safe.

They didn't quite remember moving but they somehow found themself sitting behind a tree. It was thick, and the angle of the stage they had just been listening to Dumo speak from did a good job of blocking them from the view of the other staff. They just needed a minute to compose themself. However, as they let out another slow breath, letting it whistle through their teeth, they looked up and their eyes met another pair.

"Hello, I'm Celeste," the motherly looking woman introduced herself.

"I know." Regulus blurted out. Dumo had already told them that.

Celeste ignored the interruption. "I saw you sitting over here by yourself and wanted to check that you were okay. I know it can all be a lot if it's your first time with us."

"I am okay," Regulus nodded slowly. "I'm okay," they repeated, unsure which of them they were trying to convince.

Celeste watched them carefully for a moment before replying, "If you are sure. I will be nearby if you change your mind," She took a final glance at them before starting to walk away.

Celeste had barely walked a few meters before Regulus called out, "Wait. Please."

She stopped immediately, turning to face them again. "I'm still here," she said softly.

"I know that Dumo said that we couldn't switch rooms but do you think that he would make an exception?" Regulus asked, their voice filled with hope.

Celeste cocked her head slightly, "What's your name?"

Regulus was a bit blindsided by the question. It wasn't an answer to their own after all. They pulled themself to their feet, dusting off the dirt from their clothes. Mother wouldn’t approve. "It's Regulus," they finally answered, gesturing to their name badge.

"Regulus." Celeste repeated the name.

It was a bit annoying. Couldn’t she just answer the question?

"Have you had a disagreement with your roommates, Regulus?" Celeste asked.

"He's my brother," Regulus said, the reply seemingly leaving their mouth of their own accord. "We are not...we have not spoken in quite some time."

Celeste looked at them for a long time. They could tell that she wanted to ask more questions but instead she beckoned to Regulus, "come with me. We will speak to Pascal and see what we can do."

Regulus followed Celeste over to the stage where Dumo was standing with another man. They seemed affectionate. Dumo had introduced Celeste as his wife though, right? Regulus dismissed the thought, it was really none of their business and they had more important things to think about at this moment in time. Their eyes scanned over the small group of people left whilst Celeste spoke to Dumo. Relief washed over them when they noticed that none of them were Sirius. Regulus wasn’t ready to see him yet.

“Regulus?” Dumo said, making Regulus jump as they were jolted out of their thoughts.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” Dumo apologised, giving Celeste a small smile that apparently served as a gentle dismissal, because she tapped Regulus reassuringly on the shoulder and left.

“Now, I hear that you wish to change your room?” Dumo said, waiting for Regulus’ short nod before continuing, “Remind me where you are helping us out, please?”

Regulus cracked their knuckles. “I’m teaching archery,” they replied, almost wincing at the timidity of their voice. Mother wouldn’t approve. They had always been so sure of themself, their parents constantly reinforcing the fact that they were special. However the last few years had left them feeling ground down and wary. It had been hard to bounce back.

Dumo nodded. “Ahh, good, not a cabin counsellor. I’m sure that we can find you a space somewhere. The thing is Regulus…”

Regulus worried their lip between their teeth. There was always a problem where they were concerned. Nothing could ever be easy could it?

“The thing is, this is supposed to be a safe space for our kids. I can’t have hostility at the camp. Can you assure me that there isn’t going to be any problems between you and Sirius?”

Regulus took a deep breath, rubbing the heel of their palm into their temple. Their head hurt. They just wanted to lie down. “I promise there will not be any trouble on my part,” Regulus replied. It was the truth. They would be happy if they didn’t see Sirius at all.

“Of course, I do not know the source of your troubles but would you be willing to sit and talk with Sirius? At least to come to some sort of agreement during your time with us. Perhaps with Celeste to mediate?” Dumo asked.

“Do I have to?” Regulus squeaked, much to their embarrassment.

“No,” Dumo shook his head. “You will not be forced to do anything that you do not want to here at Gryffindor. It’s a safe place for you too,” he continued, reaching out to pat Regulus’ arm.

Regulus flinched before the hand had even made contact and Dumo pulled his hand away quickly.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked before I touched you,” Dumo apologised.

“It’s stupid. I know you weren’t going to hurt me.” Regulus sighed. They wondered if they would ever be normal and if their upbringing was ever going to not affect them? “Can we just find me a room please?”

Dumo looked at them for a long time. The gaze was reminiscent of the one that Celeste had fixed them with earlier. Dumo seemed to want to say something and Regulus doubted that the “Yes, let’s go and look at the room plans,” that was verbalised was it.

Regulus followed Dumo back to the building that he had been in earlier. It was quiet now. They watched Dumo scan the sheet quickly before tapping a finger against it, “Oui, there is a space here.”

Regulus smiled at the small french word. It made them feel more at home. They hadn’t been in Quebec since they’d run away and they missed it a lot. Their eyes fell to where Dumo’s finger met the sheet; Cabin 10 - Leo Knut.

“Come, I will take you there. You’ve lost a lot of settling in time already. There is no need for you to be lost too.” Dumo said.

“I will be fine,” Regulus argued. “I don’t have much to unpack.”

“Indeed. But you look like you could do with a rest. And the longer, the better.”

Regulus cursed their pale skin, knowing that the heating of their cheeks was most definitely showing up as a bright pink blush, “Yes. I am quite tired.”

Dumo led the way to the cabin and Regulus had to admit that they probably would have gotten lost at least a few times if they had tried to make it there by themself. The door to the cabin was open when they arrived, and Regulus could see a tall blond carefully folding t-shirts into one of the drawers under the bed.

Dumo knocked on the open door, making the occupant jump a little. “Hello, Leo isn’t it? Regulus here will be taking the second bed in this cabin. I know you were supposed to have it to yourself so I hope it’s not too much of a disappointment.”

Regulus wrapped their arms around themself and dropped their eyes to the floor, making themself small in a way that reminded them of being shoved in a corner at their grandparents house, and being told to, “sit there quietly and don’t be a nuisance.”

“Oh, hey!” Leo beamed. “No, that is perfect. I was a bit disappointed to be alone, if I’m telling the truth. It’s just not the camp way is it?”

Regulus noticed that there was a twang to the words. Something southern.

“Excellent, I’ll leave you two to settle in then,” Dumo said, giving a nod before leaving.

A breath that Regulus didn’t even know that they had been holding escaped when they dropped their backpack onto the free bed and sat down. It was a few moments before they felt Leo’s stare.

“Sorry,” Regulus apologised. “I’m Regulus. But you already knew that because Dumo just told you. I’m such an idiot. Shit, sorry. I’m just really tired.” The words just wouldn’t seem to stop coming. How had they spent so many hours having elocution lessons drilled into them just to become such a bumbling mess?

“Hey, no, don’t worry.” Leo’s voice broke through Regulus’ monologue. “I’m Leo. Pronouns are he/him and I’m gay as fuck.” He sat down on the bed as he gestured to the name tag and a couple of pins attached to his t-shirt. A rainbow. Make it GAY. A small Stitch waving a trans flag with the words ‘Ohana, means nobody gets left behind’ on it. “I can be quiet if you want to take a nap?” Leo added.

“That’d be nice.” Regulus nodded. “You don’t really need to be quiet though. I sleep like the dead.”

Leo merely gave a smile and stretched a long arm to grab a book from his suitcase.

Regulus had only just rolled up into a ball and clenched their eyes closed hoping at least a little sleep would come their way when they abruptly turned back over to face Leo. “Hey. Could I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Leo said, seemingly unfazed by the sudden question. He just glanced at the corner of his book, set it down and turned his attention to Regulus.

Regulus wasn’t sure why they were about to spout their personal history to somebody who was practically a stranger but there was something about Leo that was reassuring. “Do you have siblings?”

Leo shook his head, hand going to his wrist to play with the frayed end of the rainbow bracelet wrapped around it, “No, just me, my Mama and my Dad. Why do you ask?”

Regulus let out a breath of air through their nose, wondering how they could explain the situation. “I have a brother, but he left home when I was 11. I haven’t seen him since.” Regulus started. Leo just looked at them patiently despite the long pause, apparently recognising that they weren’t finished. “But he’s here. I was supposed to room with him. I just...I can’t. And Dumo wants me to meet with him and I said no but I don’t know if I should have and what if, maybe I should just go home?” Regulus rambled, no longer trying to bend their thoughts into coherency.

“Reg,” Leo said, kneeling by his bed now. Regulus couldn’t help but notice how tall he was from this close. “Hey, calm down. Just breathe.”

Regulus watched Leo’s mouth taking in long breaths and tried to copy them.

“That’s it.” Leo reassured. “I’m not sure if I got all that properly but you and your brother, did you get along before he left?”

Regulus squeezed their eyes shut before replying, “We did when we were little. We were each other’s best friend and then he...it was my fault, I thought he was wrong. I didn’t realise they…”

“Reg,” Leo interrupted them again. “ You don’t have to make any decisions now. Whether you meet your brother or not. Whether you go home or not. They can all wait until you’ve had some sleep. No offense but you look exhausted,” he gave a small chuckle. “And maybe put the pack off the bed, take your shoes off, get under the sheets? I’ll be right over there. Nobody is going to sneak up on you.”

Regulus cocked their head at Leo, wondering how the boy who could barely have been 18 was so wise.

“Hey, I could read to you if you wanted?”

Regulus grumbled, “I’m not a kid.”

“Good, because this story isn’t really appropriate for kids. It’s about a group of college students who murder their friend.” Leo snorted.

“Such great naptime reading,” Regulus laughed.

“Shut up. Do you want it or not?” Leo teased playfully, rolling onto his feet and making his way back to his own bed.

“Yeah, sure. Just give me a second,” Regulus replied, placing their backpack on the floor and beginning to take off their shoes. They tried to relax. Leo was right. Even if they decided to go home they could let themself sleep for a bit before they started the long journey back to California. They’d make decisions later.

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rodeoxqueen · 3 years

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AWAS

CHAPTER ZERO: GENESIS

Summary: Your origin was mysterious and heart-breaking as you started your existence a witness to great evils outside of your control.

Tags/Warnings: Explicit Content, Mentions of Death, Infanticide, and Murder, Part Of Reader’s Backstory, Prologue, Unreliable Narrator

They were to be born in the hot desert, a child of unholy creation. The woman who was to birth them was aware of their descent and how they would be damned upon their entrance to the world. She knew, and yet she persisted in growing the life within her.

This poor woman, existing at the beginning of written history, had seen and heard of the other women who had made the same fault as she. They birthed giants and died horribly. She understood that this was what she had to face upon the ninth month.

She knew, she had witnessed, and she was scared.

God had remembered what some of his messengers had done. How they came down from above to partake in humanity’s greed of gold, women, and power. How they had stemmed their blood into humanities, creating creatures of unforeseen magnitude.

God knew, God had witnessed, and God was angry.

The guilty winged beings, his own flesh and blood, had fallen on their knees and begged for forgiveness from their creator. With not even a single movement, they turned to ash upon God’s golden stare. The others, still obedient to their father, watched with bated breath as he turned to look down at humanity.

The half-blood children had grown into giants that brought upon great power. They had his strength and his intelligence, but also greedy eyes and blood-thirsty hands. God did not want this for humanity and for his own kin. The angels were to protect humans, their powerful nature not to dabble in the mortals’ penchant for evils. The giant children, although born innocent, had remained as evidence to his messengers’ betrayals.

The half-bloods were next. They had struck a good fight as God came down from the mountains. A voice like thunder rang through the air. Many humans wondered if this death rattle meant it was the end. They knew what was to happen, after all it was taboo to create such powerful children. The men had turned on their own women and tore their newborns from their families’ grasp, fearing if any were to grow into giants and bring upon their destruction.

The aforementioned woman in that village, felt her round stomach and knew the impending doom had arrived. She wanted to run away, wishing to have her child live despite their cursed blood. Her village had heard of the wrath of the higher being and the buzz of a possible mass-infanticide haunted her. She knew her child was in danger and prayed the local threats of killing all the new children would go away by the time she had delivered.

Instead, her supposed nine months had turned to eight. Her muted cries were not of pain, but fear for her child and her life. She knew she would pass, and was surprised when she did not. Her child, swaddled in her hands, lay unaware of their damnation. She knew it was time to go. To chase a chance of escape.

Fate did everything to turn the crimson tides against her.

It was that very night when her village had torn itself apart. On a stolen horse, she had set off to raise her half-child somewhere over the horizon. In the fiery chaos and violence, no one had noticed she had left. No one but one man, who then followed her.

Their mother did her best to carry on, even with her own weakening body. She had found that she was frailer after birthing her child, a frailty that felt like her breath was leaving her faster than she could inhale. She did her best to pay it no mind.

God watched the humans tear themselves apart. Women screamed for mercy as the men did unspeakable things. The giants had protected themselves well from the puny humans and dyed their own palms in ochre red. Children cried tears that remain unwitnessed.

God decided that no one was to survive this event, knowing that no one would walk out of this undamaged. He came down from the sky and brought down death once more. Hands lit with golden energy, the angels watched from above as a flash of light brought upon the final darkness for many.

Humans were small beings that could not resist the powers of God and he smote them with little difficulty. The village had fallen silent, the bodies laying on the beaten ground as if they were at rest. The giants had turned to dust, just like their creators. The wind blew upon the dirt and the failed spawn of the holy winged-beings were carried off with it.

God appeared above the now-uninhabited homes in his true form, an indescribable demonic mass. His arms covered the expanse of the village and with a swipe of his hands, the ground sunk and the buildings were quickly flattened. He knew that the humans would eventually repopulate the now-level rubble and learn from what atrocities happened here.

The sun had risen when the nightmare was over. God looked over to the horizon and saw an orb-like beam of light that stood apart from the emerging sun. He left the village to discover what had strayed away from the night’s event.

What lay displayed on the earth was death and life. God’s eyes glanced at the body of the man who fell down a great distance of rocks, likely shoved to his end. He was forgotten just like the rest of his people.

The deceased form of a woman shone in the sun, hair fanned out like a halo as her face was serene. The knife on the ground remained steel-colored and unbloodied, the woman falling gently to a slower and less brutal death from birthing the half-child. In her curled-up arms held the said offspring.

The child glowed beyond the light of the sun and held a sheen of white energy. Born human and angel, they were a runt of their kind and spared their mother an immediate death.

God changed his form, now taking on the appearance of a dark-skinned male with hair like black wool. He padded the earthen ground and made his way to the bawling babe.

God’s hands, once clenched with violence, softened to hold the baby in their raggedy swaddle. The baby’s soft and wrinkled face relaxed and their tiny eyes opened, exposing colored irises that contrasted from their full-grown brothers’ beady black ones. His finger lightly stroked the babe’s face, watching as the orphaned creature’s fragile and ever-so-small hand wrapped around his first knuckle.

The light surrounding the baby amplified and their eyes flashed golden like his own. God stopped. If he needed to breathe he would have held his following breath. The baby closed their eyes and laid at rest again, small chest moving up and down.

God held the child closer and made his choice.

“I will spare one.” He softly whispered

God made his way back up the mountains to his remaining angels. When he had returned to their home in his human form, their true winged-forms circled around him in curiosity.

“Father, father, what have you brought with you?” They cried out in airy words.

God gently held out his new foundling. They obediently turned into their own human-like forms, coming closer to see the runt.

“Your new sibling. They are not quite like you all, but I shall raise them as my own. To become a messenger to humanity.”

The angels buzzed with uncertainty of God’s change of heart but unanimously agreed to his plan.

The child slept unknowing of their destiny, the truce from angelic downfall and human uprising.

And with death, came Genesis.

#awas #prologue #no dante and vergil yet #series #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: violence #dante x reader #vergil x reader #rodeo revises and reposts

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queenofnohr · 4 years

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Shi Huangdi Interlude - The Arbiter’s Melancholy

This........ may have been the hardest Interlude I’ve translated to date just because of all the techno-fantasy magic terms + Lostbelt lore + Emperor’s speech patterns, haha.

There aren’t too many variable dialogue options, but it may be easier to read on Dreamwidth.

This was a commission for none other than @tainbocuailnge c:

The shape destruction takes is not uniform. That was the hypothesis We arrived at. Just as there is no fixed standard to how a dream ends…… When the Tree of Emptiness is pruned, what form will the vanishing of that degenerated fiction — that Lostbelt — take? The particulars of each world will surely differ. Will its end come suddenly, like a candle being blown out……? Or will heaven rend and the earth be torn asunder as the agonizing cries of hell ring out…...?

In Our Eternal Qin Dynasty, what first forcibly opened Our eyes was the lack of observant people. Forests, wilderness, unexplored mountains and rivers — one by one, they became naught but pockets of nothingness. An implacable darkness covered them, and they were lost to the world.

Yet the people did not notice. They were people satisfied with living peaceful lives within their homes, with no interest in the outside world. Another uneventful day passes, and they go to sleep again.

Eventually, in the middle of the night while everyone slept, a certain village was swallowed whole by that nothingness. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary, and while they slept, they returned to nothingness. In that way, one-by-one, the radius of the peoples’ existence disappeared.

Those who were able to awake to another peaceful morning had forgotten that there was a neighboring village in the first place. They had no questions at all about it. That was the destiny of the people. That was the way they were raised. We are the only ones who ascertain all with Our own eyes. Only We, who stand upon this earth as an ordinary person, know the end of this pruned dream. The one watching the crumbling world is the sole person who watches over everything.

How fortunate— Indeed, rather than postponement, the best thing one can hope for is the end. We estimate the time We have left. It will be around three months until Our Qin Dynasty disappears completely—

Zhenren Shi Huangdi: How does progress look, Our Hun*? Steel Shi Huangdi: Unsatisfactory, Our Po. Zhenren Shi Huangdi: Hmm, We wonder if it’s possible to mobilize all computing resources to Epang Palace…... Steel Shi Huangdi: It is unsatisfactory, but it is not stagnant. Although it moves at a snail’s pace, steady progress is being made. Zhenren Shi Huangdi: Hurry. We don’t have much time left. Steel Shi Huangdi: It is unnecessary to tell Us. After all, the authority of analysis is the responsibility of Our Hun. Zhenren Shi Huangdi: Yes, and Our Po is at a loss for what to do. We are vexedー Steel Shi Huangdi: No, Our Po. There are some things that can only be done by one who has attained human form. Soothe Our people as much as possible. Be with them until the last moment, as one who stands on their same earth. Zhenren Shi Huangdi: That’s right. That, too, is the duty of the emperor. It cannot be neglected. However, sooner or later everything will return to nothingness…… Steel Shi Huangdi: Indeed. Our Po has received the next most important role. With a body that is a perfect imitation of those ethereal beings, We should be able to once again step into that enchanted land. That Mystery, at the end of it there must be a path to pan-human history. Zhenren Shi Huangdi: It won’t be a long journey. The preparations should be enough, but…… Steel Shi Huangdi: Then, We do what We can, and the rest is in fate’s hands. Because We are the sole being under heaven, in all creation……

[in Chaldea]

Shi Huangdi: There’s a Singularity! Reyshift is a go-go! Fou: Foufou!? Mash: Um, Shi Huangdi......? You just said there was a Singularity, but...... is that true? Da Vinci: Oh, Guda? Sorry to interrupt your break. A very excited Servant might pay you a visit soon……

> They’re raving all about it as we speak

Da Vinci: Oh, I see. Nonetheless…… Please come to the control room for a detailed briefing on the situation.

> Roger that > I’ll be there shortly

[in the control room]

Shi Huangdi: It’s Xianyang, right? 210 years before the founding of Christianity, right? That should be around the time We reached a dead end in Our quest for immortality, no? Indeed, We shall declare it. It was Our complete failure. Da Vinci: That’s some declaration…… Shi Huangdi: Well, let’s see, the Us of that time was so impatient, such a quest made Us completely lose Our mind. The reason for extending Our life, what the meaning of having a country and emperor were — We lost sight of it completely. Sion: ……*sigh*. It’s true that it’s hard to think of that behavior coming from Your Majesty, who is wise— and furthermore, an ultra-high powered supercomputer. You know that you’re the one causing the Singularity, but you’re talking as if it’s someone else. Shi Huangdi: But you know, We will be 2276 this year. Yet when We died, We hadn’t even reached 50. For comparison, for you all it would be like watching a toddler. They have to grab onto something else to stand on their own two feet, and fall all over themselves. In that case, isn’t criticism much too petty? Da Vinci: I suppose so, but. Setting that very emperor-like fallacious argument for a second— what’s with you? You’re way more pushy than usual. Was Your Majesty always this type of character? Fou: Fou. Fofou. (Translation: More-or-less) Shi Huangdi: Well, it’s a dark past We don’t really want to recall. Let Us hide Our embarrassment, at least a little. Da Vinci: ……Ooookay. I don’t really think this counts as “hiding your embarrassment,” but whatever…… In any case, the one who will accompany you on your Reyshift to the Singularity will also be our strategy officer taking responsibility for operations therein…… Right now, I’m currently covering Goredolf’s position so, Guda, your judgment on this matter is of utmost importance. Do you really intend to bring Emperor “How Interesting!” along with you on this expedition?

> Well, with our destination being what it is…... > Aren’t they qualified?

Shi Huangdi: Indeed! An appropriate judgment. Just what We expected from the protector of humanity! Sion: ………… If that’s what Guda concludes, I have no objections. However, I’ll also be accompanying you this time as Novum Chaldea’s Weapons Development Advisor. Mash: Huh? You’re going to Reyshift, Sion? Sion: Don’t worry about my aptitude. There haven’t been and won’t be any problems, because I deal with them all flawlessly. Shi Huangdi: Oh ho? You are aware that as We are Guda’s Servant, We shall only concern Ourselves with Guda’s safety, yes? Sion: That doesn’t matter. I have no desire to stand on the frontlines, and I’m more than equipped to see to my personal self-defense. You’ll come to see that both martial arts and marksmanship are my forte. After all, I am a genius of the Atlas Institute. Shi Huangdi: Hm. So long as you prove not to be a burden, We have no objections. I’m sure Guda is of the same mind?

> It’ll be encouraging to have you along. > Welcome aboard!

Da Vinci: Well, it’s fine if Sion comes along with you, but, well…… Sion, didn’t you say you didn’t want to do Spiriton Hacking? Sion: That was then, and it’s only sometimes in some cases! This is a rare opportunity, so it’d be a waste not to experiment! Da Vinci: ……*sigh*. It’s fine. Well then, head into the Coffins, everyone. The Singularity coordinates have been inputted, and I’ve made the necessary adjustments to accurately monitor your proof of existence. Sion: Please be scrupulous in your surveillance, Da Vinci. Don’t overlook even the slightest anomaly. Da Vinci: Yes, leave it to me. I’ll use the utmost care.

[we Reyshift]

Mash: Reyshift successful. However, this is…… Shi Huangdi: Oh my, how cruel this is. Our beautiful Xianyang, reduced to this sad sight, feels like some terrible joke. And what is this miasma? Mash: It's a magical energy thick with curses that permeates the air. If it’s this bad with the protection of a Mystic Code, an ordinary person in this environment would…… Shi Huangdi: Indeed. It is unlikely that any of the residents have survived. Even if they were alive, they would surely no longer be Our subjects, but something else entirely. Sion: Even if this is a Singularity, what the hell could’ve happened to result in such a dramatic change? Just what was the Shi Huangdi of this point in time planning? Shi Huangdi: Well, corrupted as We were, We expect that We underrated the degree of destruction We would invite. Speaking of Ourselves at that time, Our disposition was that if something were to be done, it should be done to its completion. Nevertheless, it seems We persisted in such folly…… Of all things, We devoured Xianyang completely. Sion: Devoured it……!? You mean you used that complete monopolization of resources arbitrarily!? I know your quest for immortality escalated, but did you really start a biohazard level calamity? Shi Huangdi: Um, well, it’s embarrassing to say, but We cannot assert that it would be completely outside the realm of possibility for Us. One would simply have to scrape together banned techniques from every corner of China, as well as every conceivable foreign system…… Thinking back on it now, that’s probably why Xu Fu ran off.

> Xu Fu?

Mash: Xu Fu was a court sorcerer who served at the time of the Qin Dynasty. It’s said that Shi Huangdi ordered him to search for immortality, and he traveled to the east with many researchers, but…… Sion: He never reached that enchanted land, nor did he return to Qin. According to one theory, he reached Japan and became a king there.

> So mercury was only the beginning……

Shi Huangdi: It got to the point that We tried invoking the homeopathic magic of Western Europe. No, it was because of its eternal, everlasting beauty— but thinking about it now, using it as medicine was truly the height of recklessness…… But We would like to tell Ourselves to drink a barrel of mercury if relying on curses is the alternative. This is truly pathetic!

[Mash looks surprised then puts her headset on]

Mash: ! Master, I’ve received a warning from Sheba! Hostiles incoming! Shi Huangdi: Mm, indeed, now is not the time to be in low spirits over a weak-mindedness that both is and is not Our own. On Our honor as a Servant, We shall serve as your guard. And here, to this fallen city, We shall demonstrate the law as the true emperor!

[fight]

(Node 2)

Shi Huangdi: …… Sion: ……That was difficult, wasn’t it. Even as you are now, at the apex of mankind, does your heart still ache? Shi Huangdi: Our spilt blood is not enough for the end of Our people. Moreover, the root of all this evil is the person We used to be. Mash: ……This is a Singularity. It was a different Shi Huangdi that made the wrong decision…… Shi Huangdi: No, because that person is still Us. We know where the end of that person’s delusional convictions lie. After all, it was none other than Us that had a glimpse into that regime. Guda, this is where the root of Our anxiety toward the human species stems from. No matter how noble the ideals you laud are, fate is much too cruel. The fear of ruination and making mistakes can all too easily mislead even those who seek to venture down the correct path. It is impossible for ten out of ten people to reach enlightenment even after a lifetime of devoting themselves to their studies. Yet if even one person falls to heresy, the remaining nine will be consumed.

> Do you think it’s impossible for mankind to improve?

Shi Huangdi: A person cannot resist fear and despair. So long as they are unable to surpass death and become Zhenren, they will be inadequate. And so, the duty of traversing the wasteland of humanity should be borne by one person alone…… In the end, even We, who were enthused by the prospect, met the bitterness of a pruned Lostbelt. Now, the right to challenge that cruel future lies in the hands of those that would inhabit that future. But do not forget. Even if you acknowledge the potential of mankind, an evil exists in this world. The same evil that you see here, that led Us to expose the depths of Our depravity— and it will appear time and time again.

> I know, but > We have no choice but to improve

Shi Huangdi: Heh. No matter how We might mean to intimidate you, a glance at your admirable and precious gaze and the words die on Our tongue. Well, shall We leave this trivial matter be? Then let us go to exterminate the source of these delusional convictions.

[inside Epang Palace]

Vengeful Spirit: You…… Shi Huangdi: Ah, We are truly painful to look at. Indeed, We had steeled Ourselves, but…… Looking at Ourselves again is so repulsive it nauseates Us. Vengeful Spirit: Oho…… That form…… We never thought We would reach it. Shi Huangdi: We were truly foolish in Our youth. It isn’t as though We do not understand the extent of that anguish, but such a downfall is unpardonable. Spreading enough curses about to hail a miasma— shouldn’t that have been beyond consideration? The capital was the price paid in exchange for prolonging Our life! Vengeful Spirit: *sigh*…… If the law of death is imposed upon the whole world, then it can also be considered a cure. Under the care of this first emperor, Shi Huangdi, China has finally realized eternal rest. Sion: (“This” first emperor...?) Hold on a second. Stop talking. I have my own personal opinions on using inhumane acts to achieve immortality, but doing it for political measures is outrageous. Even without being soft, there’s no reason to go to these excessive lengths. Just look here. After all, this is a successful emperor that freed themselves completely and achieved what you could not by taking a different path. Shi Huangdi: Ah, no, this isn’t the type of opponent you should instigate…… Vengeful Spirit: And so they are a saint? That’s the height of absurdity! That one is the fool who would reap the future of the world in exchange for their own future! Sion: ー! Shi Huangdi: ……Oho? This is the first time one has seen into Our origin. Well, We suppose that even corrupted, you were still Us. Then, your verdict is that the apex of unsightliness, this city of death, is preferable to the history We had woven? Vengeful Spirit: Aye. We, the Qin Dynasty, will continue beyond death. We shall reign until its destruction! This will become true eternity! Shi Huangdi: We have decided! Both pity and consideration are wasted on you. You are no longer a heavenly being nor emperor. All that remains is simply carrion. That throne is not a place for the dead to dream. We shall return you to your rightful place thusly. After all, isn’t that what this mausoleum was built for?

[fight]

Vengeful Spirit: Guh…… Why do you stop Us? Why do you prune Us? This time, for sure, the Eternal Qin…… Our peaceful reign…… Even though We could finally see the signs…... Shi Huangdi: Coming from Us, whose life can no longer cross into the realm of death, any advice is useless. Even so, let’s see. Do not be angry. Do not lament. For even if you alone will not bear its burden, humanity itself may somehow manage yet, surprising though it may be. Vengeful Spirit: What foolishness…… There is only Us…… Only the emperor, the Alpha and Omega…… is able to carry the fate of this world…...

[it disappears]

Shi Huangdi: Ah, how tiresome. That was like coming across someone doing a dramatic reading of Our entire dark history. Well, We did what We had to do. Let us return quickly. We cannot stand the air in this corrupted palace for another minuteー no, not even another second. Sion: You did what had to be done…… I wonder. Is that all you have to say about this? Shi Huangdi: More or less? Were you expecting something else? Sion: ……No. You were able to resolve this Singularity pretty reasonably. Good work as a Servant. You too, Guda, good job. Then, let’s head back.

[we Reyshift back]

Da Vinci: Yes, yes, bang up job this time, too. Well done! Now then, go take a shower and rest up. You can report back later. Mash: Huh? This isn’t standard protocol…… Da Vinci: Well, some stuff came up. I gotta adjust the machinery and such, ya’know. Oh, Shi Huangdi, could you stay a little longer? There’s something I’d like your help with. Shi Huangdi: Hm?

> Well then, I’ll take you up on your offer > Please excuse me

[we go; scene is still the control room]

Holmes: With this I trust all the details of the case have been disclosed? Then, all that remains is to solve the mystery. Shi Huangdi: Oh my, out with Guda and in with the detective makes for a truly detestable atmosphere. Ah, that reminds me, We do believe We had promised to have some dim sum with Shuwen. What an unfortunate time to forget. Then, if you’ll excuse me…… Holmes: Stop with the transparent lies. Why don’t we start talking. Da Vinci: We’ve already observed numerous Singularities, both large and small. Combining that with the data received from my previous incarnation, I have enough samples to be able to classify everything depending on trends observed. Therefore, I can draw this conclusion. This Singularity was not a natural occurrence. The pattern corresponds to the construction being from that of intentional outside interference. Shi Huangdi: And you suspect We are responsible? No, you overestimate Us completely. Certainly, Our form is that which is expected of Us as a Servant in this world, though as a supreme ultimate being it is the implementation of a modern human frame. Looking at it from another perspective, We are nothing more than an individual with nothing to Us, supreme only in name. We could not possibly reach the authority We once had in Our sacred mechanical body that once controlled all the world. Da Vinci: Thank you for being so eloquent, and for making your excuse as long-winded as physically possible. It’s true that as a Servant, Guda has the means to control you with a Command Spell. However…… it’s a different story if you were to regain the power you once had in your Lostbelt. Shi Huangdi: Well, We intended for you to forget your vigilance in your awe. Is it even possible that the feat of creating Singularities would be available as We are now? Actually, in the first place, it was an artificial Singularity. Is that possible? Da Vinci: In theory. However, it would require a Reyshift or some other equivalent means. Shi Huangdi: In other words, the machinery here has been used fraudulently by someone? Sion: Even if you want to ridicule it as a security system riddled with holes, I’ll reject that notion. As a hacker myself, I won’t say anything about a “perfect security system,” but if we’re talking about Novum Chaldea’s equipment, I can affirm that it’s impossible to operate the system without leaving a trace. Holmes: Rather, we should consider the possibility of someone other than ourselves implementing a Reyshift system. Shi Huangdi: If we’re talking about “possibilities,” then they’re endless. Especially considering that it might be a common technology in the future? Holmes: Finding the suspect ー in this case, the one who implemented the system ー is possible, even without jumping to such extreme leaps in logic. One would simply have to acquire the Animusphere’s theories, the Laplace software, and have a means of computing comparable to Trismegistus…… if we consider who can satisfy all those requirements, the conclusion is nearly at hand. Da Vinci: Well, this was borne from my own carelessness, but Shadow Border, at the time of entering the Chinese Lostbelt, contained backup data from Antarctic Chaldea that had been evacuated just in case. I never imagined that the entire vehicle might be captured and analyzed. Sion: Furthermore, your other form on-site was that of a supercomputer that ruled over and controlled the planet. It really is a shame I wasn’t able to see it directly. And there was no chance to know the details of what happened afterward. Holmes: Indeed. After we left, the Chinese Lostbelt as an externally observable object disappeared promptly. However, it is impossible to know how much time passed within the Lostbelt itself. If there wasn’t a sudden collapse, but instead a grace period in which the data obtained from Shadow Border could be fully analyzed…… Sion: And, the most damning evidence was a statement made by the other emperor who was out of control in that Singularity. You were able to detect the pruning event with a single shot. At the time, it was a skillful deception, but logically it was impossible. The only possibility is…… Holmes: The Shi Huangdi of that Singularity had already been in contact with you once, in regards to the pruning event. The culprit who made the Singularity is not the Shi Huangdi who serves as a Servant of Chaldea, but the Shi Huangdi who was a Lostbelt King…… Am I wrong? Shi Huangdi: Hmmm…… However, after the pruning event is confirmed, what use would it be to Reyshift? A Reyshift cannot grant the falsification of history. At best, it would produce a Singularityー nothing more than a stagnation in space-time. Da Vinci: You’re right. It’s impossible to change the outcome once the pruning event occurs. But if you went back to the past, regardless of a pruning event, there was certainly a time when you rode the waves of history, adding onto itー “compiling” it. Holmes: That answer seems to be why you stuck to Xianyang as the Singularity. The Lostbelt Shi Huangdi established multiple Singularities in stages, trying to see which of them would be detected by Chaldea, right? And that particularity would need an accompliceー a role played by “Servant Shi Huangdi” …… Shi Huangdi: …… Da Vinci: Establishing a Singularity from a Lostbelt, if we assume that there was a Singularity Response that could be observed from pan-human history, it would be from their shared past, and then that point becomes the crossroads between pruning and compiling history. And from there, establishing a Singularity in the past can become a means of interfering with pan-human history. Just like the trap devised by the King of Mages, Goetia. Sion: I thought they might have intended to do something during the last Reyshift, so I accompanied them, but there was nothing at all out of place. Since that was the case, it was reasonable to believe that there was another prime culprit. Of the traps set, which had been set to target this side of human history……? My aim was to verify that. Or, rather, was your purpose for answering Chaldea’s summons for that purpose? Shi Huangdi: Ah, good grief. Humanity so used to conflict really is lacking in charm. Da Vinci: There’s no way we could have this conversation in front of Guda. We’re doing it this way because we must confirm your true intentions. Shi Huangdi: Well. In the event that you would accuse Us, We would think that Guda, equipped as they are with Command Spells, would be essential to have present. It’s quite a sweet sentiment especially compared to the sharpness of your deductions. We have misgivings about the future of pan-human history. In any case, We have warned Guda time and time again. That should the mankind of pan-human history prove themselves to be unpardonably hideous beings, We will revive the Qin once more. Da Vinci: Then…… Shi Huangdi: Oops, wait three seconds before you get truly angry. We do not mean to say We will implement that plan immediately. We have no intention of hindering Guda’s efforts. We came to your pan-human history to see with Our own eyes your struggle, and should you fall into trouble, We shall spare no effort to lend Our assistance. After all, We have already abdicated Our throne in favor of a virtuous successor. Holmes: ……Then why the shady behavior? Shi Huangdi: It is Our belief that hope for the future will be pioneered by Guda, and you allー the “people.” However, faith and trust are two different things. After all, We are a politician. We do not engage in gambling. Should Guda shrink from their duty as a human inhabiting this world at the unprecedented crisis known as the bleaching of humanity …… At that time, We will become responsible for humanity again. “A humanity according to esteemed people.” Da Vinci: ………… Sion: ーRejected. That’s a contract built on the premise of defeat. Is there any other name for that than betrayal? Shi Huangdi: There certainly exist Heroic Spirits that dedicate themselves to Guda under pretense of friendship and conviction. However. Would it be okay if a world that could not be saved by “goodness” met its complete ruinationー We are different than those that cannot overlook disarray. Our bond with Guda is righteous. But to defeat the “Alien God” is an even greater justice. Should there come a time wherein these two ideals need be weighed against each other…… We shall choose the heavier one, without hesitation. Such is the duty of an arbiter. Sion: …… In short, you assert that this is a means to resist the bleaching of humanity? Shi Huangdi: It’s insurance, so to speak. We are a heavenly being that rules over the world of man. An invasion of earth by something inhuman is something We cannot forgive. In the event of Guda’s complete victory over the “Alien God,” We shall forget Our precautions as a needless anxiety. With the dismissal of all Singularities, We shall celebrate this victory of the people. Of course, that was the plan all along. Sion: Good grief. All this talk is hard to believe after seeing another Shi Huangdi who fell into the depths of their delusions at the end of their ambition just a little while ago. (Agh, I really can’t recognize this person as Their Majesty The Emperor) Shi Huangdi: That is why We keep repeating it. Here We are, living, 2200 years after Our death. Our viewpoint has since changed, and Our worldly desires have perished. You shouldn’t look down on the mental state sainthood achieves. ……In addition. Considering whether or not this insurance can go as smoothly as We had originally thought, We now possess a smidgeon of anxiety. In the first place, the arrangements for Reyshifting are in no way…… There is another matter that is displeasing. There is a faint smell of heresy. Da Vinci: Heresy? Like what? Shi Huangdi: From the beginning, you all easily saw through Us…… There is no reason why the other Crypters could not do the same thing. Holmes: I’ll tell you in advance that your caution is worthy of recognition. Since it doesn’t seem that you’ll resort to acting rashly. Shi Huangdi: If Guda and everyone else follows Our plan, everything will advance with a rock-solid formation~. Da Vinci: Ahaha. It’s impossible, so just give up. No matter what the reason is, strategies hinging on sacrifices won’t be approved. That goes doubly in Novum Chaldea. Otherwise such a victory would have no meaning. Holmes: ーHm. Although I do agree with some of Your Majesty’s thoughts…… As a matter of practicality, first and foremost must come the felling of the remaining Trees of Emptiness. So long as we have the invader, the “Alien God,” as a common enemy, I do hope our alliance will be maintained. Da Vinci: Yes, it’s safe to say that they bear no malicious intent toward Guda. However, Shi Huangdiー do not forget that we are keeping careful watch over your movements. If you do anything to make that child sad, I won’t forgive you, okay? Shi Huangdi: Then We shall say this. Heroic Spirits. That person is likely the next generation of mankind. We will surely be victorious, no matter what the cost. We shall not need to be roused again.

[in My Room]

Fou: Fou? Fooou! Mash: A- Are you okay, senpai? Did you get sick?

> No, I’m fine > For some strange reason, I got chills……

Mash: ……Okay. You don’t seem to be running a fever. Perhaps someone was talking about you, senpai.

> I hope they’re not saying anything weird…… > Hmm, it’s like I’m carrying a weight on my shoulders……

T/N:

* EDIT: Shoutout to an anon for being the real MVP and alerting me that, aside from being a compound in Japanese, the kanji Shi Huangdi uses here are in reference to soul-types in Chinese philosophy. The concepts refer to two different souls that exist within the self, representing yin and yang, but I... don’t really want to turn this into a lesson, nor am I an expert (obviously. since I didn’t catch it while translating) so I’d recommend looking into it if curious/wanting to know more about our emperor!

#my translations #fgo #fgo translations #fgo interlude #long post

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tarysande · 4 years

Text

Lucifer Fic: Sheet Happens (1/1)

For @thedeckerstarnetwork’s Halloween Challenge. @calia05 asked for “ghost” and “trick,” and said she loved Ella and Azrael. This is the result! <3

Also on AO3

Sheet Happens

Miss Lopez delivered the invitation in typical Miss Lopez fashion: as exuberantly as the world's friendliest golden retriever high on Adderall. Clearly handmade, she’d cut the card into the shape of a cartoonish ghost, white bedsheet and all, and covered it with an absurd amount of silvery glitter. Meaning, of course, that it covered him with an absurd amount of silvery glitter in short order. The sparkles stood out against the black of his suit like snowflakes. Or dandruff. Not that the Devil was in any way personally acquainted with the latter.

“Thank you,” he said gravely, holding the glitter bomb at as close to arm’s length as he could politely get away with.

Miss Lopez wore her every emotion not just on her sleeve, but from the top of her head to the tips of her platformed running shoes. Today’s t-shirt featured a sad ghost with a spilled cup of coffee and the phrase ‘Sheet Happens.’ “So, you’ll come?”

“Ah.” Even as the syllable emerged, Miss Lopez’s face began to fall. “It’s a … popular evening at Lux. I do rather feel I owe my patrons an appearance.”

“Oh,” she said, smacking her forehead with the heel of her hand and leaving ghostly glitter behind. “Duh. I should’ve thought of that.”

The glitter was sentient. He could practically feel it creeping up his fingers. He would have to burn the suit; once infected, recovery was impossible. He could only imagine how infested her home must be. The mind behind the creation of the stuff was truly devious; in the darkest of hellscapes, he’d never come across anything quite so … persistent.

“Would you … prefer to offer the invitation to someone else?” he asked, gesturing slightly with the ghost held between the tips of finger and thumb.

This was, evidently, the wrong thing to have said. She wilted, and when she shook her head, even her ponytail seemed sad. “I made it for you,” she tossed over her shoulder, already fleeing back to her lab as fast as her impractically high shoes would allow.

“You’re going, Lou.”

Lucifer blinked. Though the music and revelry, sin and sensation raged around him at top volume, the words reached his ears as clearly as if they were spoken into utter silence. Beside him, Azrael slouched, wearing the form so clearly influenced by Miss Lopez.

Or perhaps it was the other way around? The Azrael of old hadn’t slouched. She hadn’t worn bizarre spectacles or sported bowl-cut hair and t-shirts with sayings on them. When she glared up at him, hands planted on hips, her cloak parted wide enough for him to make out today’s offering. In the same cute-cartoon style as Ms. Lopez’s, it depicted a Grim Reaper, coffee in hand and wearing the exhausted expression Lucifer had so often seen on human faces after too little sleep or too much alcohol, next to the words ‘I FEEL LIKE DEATH.’

Lucifer sipped his whiskey to give his hands and his mouth something to do besides reply.

“Not just for Ells. Literally every one of your friends is there.”

He sighed, stepping aside as a tipsy angel with crooked wings tried to press up against his side. The cloying scent of her cheap Victoria’s Secret perfume wasn’t as easy to avoid. Neither was her pout.

“But you’re the Devil,” she whined in a voice he wished he heard much less clearly. “And I’m an angel. It’s sexy.”

“More like incestuous,” Azrael murmured, catching Lucifer so off-guard he choked on his drink. The smug grin she shot him was entirely the Rae-Rae of old. She nudged him with her cloaked elbow. “Still got it.”

He inclined his head at the disappointed angel, sidestepped a werewolf and vampire with tongues so deeply down each other’s throats that witnesses would convert to #TeamWhoNeedsBellaWhenYouHaveEdwardAndJacob at the sight of it, and swiped a bottle of whiskey he refused to see poured for anyone with such undiscerning tastes as the Borat who’d just ordered it. Evidently the bouncers had forgotten the longstanding no-neon-green-mankinis rule.

Azrael followed on his heels, and though he bloody well knew no one else could see her, somehow the seething crowds parted more easily for her than they had even for him.

“Why are you here instead of there?”

“I—you see how busy—”

“Uh, I see how you haven’t talked to anyone for longer than two minutes, your piano’s nowhere to be seen, and you’re basically oozing sulking-Devil-do-not-approach vibes.”

“You try my patience, Azrael.”

She shrugged. A trio of sexy nurses—or perhaps maids; it was hard to tell given the lack of fabric—contorted themselves into shapes he should have found pleasing to avoid being too near to her. One attempted to fall toward him, but he slid to the side so she ended up grappling with one of the evening’s nineteen (at last count) Captains America.

“Yeah? Well, you’re bugging me too,” she said, evidently oblivious to the effect her presence was having. “You didn’t even read the card, did you?”

“The … excuse me?”

Azrael’s prodigious eye roll involved every muscle in her face. “From Ella?”

A twinge of something like regret turned the whiskey on his tongue to ashes. He’d dropped disco-ghost into an evidence bag before it could do any more damage and left it at the precinct without sparing it a second thought.

Azrael thrust that same evidence bag into his chest hard enough to send him staggering back half a step. Another angel got partway through a curse Lucifer had a hard time imagining any of his siblings speaking before she realized the Devil to whom that curse was directed. He sensed a new rule for the bouncers brewing.

Of course, the most persistent of the angels presently irritating him didn’t obligingly flit off into the crowd at his glower. He’d no idea how someone so vertically challenged could make him feel small, and yet. The evidence bag and its spectral occupant had fluttered to the ground between them, where it lay like a murder victim bathed in blood glittering red from the overhead lighting. Sheet happens.

He bent from the waist, snatching up the invitation and stalking toward the elevator. The sea of demons and various sexy professionals and animals and … bloody hell, Sexy Donald Trump was infinitely worse than the worst mankinied Borat. Some things couldn’t be unseen.

And then he was in the elevator, and it didn’t matter that Azrael wasn’t with him because she’d be waiting for him with her ridiculous fringe and, beneath it, eyes that always reflected the brother he could have been, perhaps, if he didn’t fail so spectacularly so often.

He scanned the room when the elevator door opened but saw nothing out of place, and when he called out, no one answered. Azrael could creep and hide and lurk as effectively as the angelic purpose over which she held dominion, but rarely from him.

He opened the evidence bag and dumped its contents on the bar, releasing the spirit and its miasma of sparkles. The bloody thing looked so bloody cheerful—and not at all like any of the spirits he’d had occasion to meet over the millennia.

Then again, give the thing a spectral ponytail and a cute t-shirt and maybe—

He silenced the thought by reaching for a bottle. He didn’t, at least for the first burning pull, even bother with a glass.

He poured the second drink. By the third, he was ready to open the damned—ha bloody ha—thing. In the ebullient handwriting so familiar from paperwork and post-it notes, Miss Lopez had written, “My brothers made Halloween more about tricks than treats, usually at my expense. It would be ‘boo’tiful if you could come to my party. COSTUMES MANDATORY.” Instead of her name, she’d drawn a pair of ghosts. One was grinning. It had a ponytail. The other was taller; it held a microphone. It also had devil horns and a tail.

It was grinning, too.

Lucifer closed the invitation and pushed it away with trembling fingertips.

“Why aren’t you there, Lou?”

He gripped the edge of the bar until the moment before the marble would have crumbled. “Surely you know better than anyone, sister.”

The sound she made, caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry, was enough to turn his head. “I’m not—Lucifer, you know I’m not—”

“But you will,” he said. “Because they’re human. Because you’re you. And because you will do as you must. So forgive me for choosing to spend this night of specters and shadows amidst those whose deaths, when they come, will not weigh near so heavily.”

Moments stretched into minutes. Azrael’s jaw worked, and her expression said the words she chewed were bitter ones. Finally, narrowing her eyes, she said, “That’s bullshit.”

Unexpected.

A flush rose in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled not with admiration or sisterly love, but with anger. “You’re sad their time is finite, so you’re wasting what time you do have sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. Listen to yourself, Lou. No, seriously. Like, stop for one minute and actually hear the crap coming out of your mouth.” She glanced down at her hands like she was trying to figure out just how much damage they were capable of inflicting. “You’re so … dumb. Like. Just … dumb.”

And though he wanted to protest, wanted to explain in painful, specific detail just why death and eternity and banishment from Heaven made his situation so much bloody worse … he didn’t.

Because Miss Lopez had drawn them as grinning ghosts. To her, this night was treats and costumes and friends and, as in so many traditions throughout all of bloody human history, defying the coming dark by facing it head-on. Perhaps the current tradition didn’t involve bonfires or sacrifices, but he’d be bloody damned—more damned—if gorging on candy and gathering in friendship and depicting the things humans knew went bump in the night without truly knowing how to name them as cartoons and bad puns wasn’t the very same flavor of ritual.

He released his grip on the bar. His hands glittered.

“Costumes are mandatory,” Rae-Rae reminded him.

When he glanced over his shoulder again, she was gone.

He stood outside, listening to the laughter within, for fifteen minutes. He raised his hand to knock eighteen times. He turned to leave at least seven.

“I’m gonna do it if you don’t, Lou.”

Bloody sisters.

He knocked. Moments stretched into eternities.

The door, decorated with glimmering ghosts and glittering pumpkins, opened, revealing Miss Lopez in all her pool-noodle-turned-double-helix-DNA glory.

For a moment, Miss Lopez’s wide eyes were so like Rae-Rae’s—the same belief in him; the same, dare he say it, love—that Lucifer couldn��t find breath for whatever foolish, nonchalant nonsense he’d usually have opened with. And when those eyes filled with glistening tears to accompany a grin no drawing could possibly capture, he was the first to look away.

“You came! In costume!” Leaning forward, she squinted at him, then reached out and plucked at his costume. “Oh my God, Lucifer, tell me you didn’t cut eyeholes in a freaking silk sheet that probably cost like, a month of paychecks.”

“I do not lie, Miss Lopez, so I can say no such thing.” Though she couldn’t see it, he grinned at the way horror and delight mingled on her features. He brushed close, close enough to give the phantom equivalent of the hugs she handed out so enthusiastically, and pretended not to feel a little teary-eyed himself at how tightly she returned the gesture. “Who am I to defy your command?”

She laughed and punched him on the arm. “Have you met you?”

“Ahh,” he replied gently. “But have you met you?”

This time, the laughter he heard belonged not to Miss Lopez but to his sister. And though she, too, was bound to her commands, as he stepped into the warmth and light and laughter of Miss Lopez’s home, Azrael’s dominion was the very last thing on his mind.

#thedeckerstarnetwork #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #deckerstar #lucifer on netflix #calia05 #thank you for your prompts #it's still halloween ... in Hawaii?#i'm not in hawaii #but at least it's halloween somewhere #my fic #lucifer fic #HAPPY HALLOWEEN

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