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hanoella · 4 years ago

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Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 3)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam’s who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he’s not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Part 3 Word Count: 3k

A/N: Can you tell I don't really have a posting schedule? lol. I also introduced links to the specific pieces I had in mind. I'm using soundcloud because I don't think everyone has access to spotify. Trying to be reader friendly! This can be read with or without the audio, as I do my best to still convey the thought in the fic. Though if you can, I highly recommend :)

Thanks again for all your support! Every heart and comment motivates me and is just so wonderful

Read Part 1; Masterlist

---

A few days had passed since the night that Bucky had overheard your troubles. It had been quiet since, and you hadn’t left the house. The curtains were opened during the day and closed at night, the only telltale signs that you existed.

Doesn’t she have to work? Bucky thought to himself. He speculated all the different possibilities as he used the riding mower around the property. Maybe you were an heiress? You seemed pretty down to earth though. Or maybe you sold a patented idea for a ton of money. All this land had to have been expensive. And to not request actual money from him?

He eyed up the width of the gate for your fence. The riding mower couldn’t fit so he would have to use a push mower for your fenced off yard. He hadn’t seen one in the garage. Maybe the old shed at the back of your yard had one? Bucky parked the mower in the garage, taking a moment to make a mental list of everything. Depending on if he found anything in the shed, he might need to buy a few basic tools and a chainsaw for that fallen tree.

He walked out of the garage and over to the shed. The leaves were changing color and it brought a whole new atmosphere to the secluded forest area. Opening the gate of the weathered white fence, he looked around to see if you were out. No signs of life. Entering the yard and closing the gate behind him, he started walking to the back. Halfway through, he stopped at the fire pit. The grey stone blocks were starting to crumble, with a few of the bricks having fallen off. It would probably be really nice if he got a little bit of cement mix and filled in the gaps. Bucky made another mental note.

The shed had no padlock so he was able to open it with no problem. Amongst the cobwebs and bags of soil, was an older green push mower that looked like it might work. He gave the gas a pull and got no response back. Looking underneath, Bucky saw what might be the problem. He’d have to take a closer look later. Putting the lawn mower back onto its wheels, he pushed it across the yard, pausing when he saw movement though the glass doors of the back patio.

Craning his neck to avoid the glare, he saw you sitting at your fancy full keyboard. The way the piano was against the opposite wall, your back was to him. You had big over-ear headphones plugged into it, so he couldn’t hear the sound but he saw the flurry of keys being pressed down. Whatever you were playing, you played passionately. Hands and arms gracefully moved despite the speed at which they were moving. Enhanced hearing coming into play, he heard the muffled clicks of the fluttering keys. Suddenly, you pressed down forcefully, holding whatever chord you had struck as your shoulders gently relaxed. A deep breath. Arm creating a graceful arc as if you had studied ballet, you pressed gently on another chord. And another. Bucky counted three more times you did this before you let your hands gently fall from the keys to your lap. Several moments passed before slid the headphones off of your ears to sit wrapped around your neck. Another deep breath. This time as the breath escaped you, you stayed slouched, head tilting up to stare at nothing on the wall.

A buzz broke Bucky from his trance.

“Call me, new mission” The text from Sam on his home screen said.

He pocketed his phone, glancing through the glass one more time. There you still sat.

Unmoving.

---

The roar of the plane’s engine was just loud enough to drown out Bucky’s thoughts without being annoying. If it weren’t for the adrenaline of the recovery mission under the cover of nightfall, he probably would’ve been lulled to sleep. Beside him sat Sam, looking on his phone for the exact coordinates of the politician they had been sent to rescue.

“Here it is. I’m assuming there’s some sort of underground base since there are no heat signatures anywhere within the radius where he was taken. It should take us about ten more minutes before we’re directly over it.”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgement.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Earth to Bucky.”

“What does your friend do?” Bucky asked suddenly, sitting up straighter and turning towards him.

“… What?”

“What does she do? I’ve never seen her leave the house. Is she okay?”

“If you’re asking why she doesn’t leave the house, it’s because her contract doesn’t start for a while. She’s technically still supposed to be in physical therapy but she hasn’t found a place yet. You know, your whole routine gets messed up when you move.”

“For her shoulder?”

Now it was Sam’s turn to look at Bucky, trying to decipher the motive behind these questions. Bucky shifted his weight in the chair, antsy under the scrutiny.

“Never mind, I-”

“Yes, for her shoulder.” Sam said, cutting him off. He stopped himself from asking why Bucky wanted to know. There was an awkward pause before Bucky explained himself.

“I just wanted to know. I’m not used to seeing people so…”

“Similar to yourself?”

“I was gonna say isolated but fair point.” Bucky admitted. Sam leaned back in his chair, looking straight forward.

“She’s been through a lot… I know you heard some of it.”

Bucky blinked in surprise.

“I realized the window was open when I could hear you drive off.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, it’s good that you know.” Sam said as he held up his hand to cut Bucky off.

“She’s just trying to get a fresh start. She’s in a raw emotional space and in the meantime is a little skittish. Just like someone else I know.” Sam jabbed his elbow into Bucky’s side as he enunciated the last sentence.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m trying!” He shouted as he held one hand up defensively and using the other to block the second jab Sam was trying to get in. Sam chuckled and then stood up, grabbing a parachute pack and tossing it at Bucky, who caught it without even looking.

“Figured you might wanna try an actual chute this time.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and mouthed Sam’s words mockingly with a grimace as he put the backpack on. Clipping it into place, he joined Sam at the side door of the plane.

“She used to play in an orchestra you know.” Sam said wistfully. “The piano. That’s actually how we met. She had volunteered to play a small concert before the dinner. It really helped raise a lot of money for the VA.”

Bucky stayed silent, prompting him to continue.

“Then that bastard she was engaged to beat her and then shoved her down a set of concrete steps when she tried to leave him. It was like a month after we all came back. She was in the hospital for a while. Broken ribs, broken shoulder, and a nasty concussion to boot. Neighbor saw the whole thing and called the cops but the courts were so backed up and the case fell through the cracks. Wouldn’t leave her alone after he got out. So, I pulled some strings and helped her move down here on the fly.”

“… That’s terrible.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say or how to react. They stood in silence, taking a moment to pay a respect of sorts to the trials you have been through. Then Sam broke the silence.

“She just needs time to heal in more ways than one. But she’s strong. Resilient.”

Putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, he squeezed it lightly with reassurance.

“Reminds me of someone else I know.” Sam said, finishing the conversation and pulling his goggles over his eyes, giving Bucky the opportunity to take the compliment without feeling too on the spot.

Pulling the door open, Sam shouted over the wind.

“Ready?”

Bucky nodded. Sam jumped from the plane and deployed the wings, the shield shining in the moonlight. Bucky jumped right behind him, using the glint of the silver star to guide his descent as he followed the man that gave the shield its meaning.

---

You laid with your head down on the kitchen table, letting the last golden rays of sun warm the side of your face. You were exhausted from going to physical therapy, especially since today had been the first appointment. All the measurements, all the exercises, all the stretching.

All the questions.

“So, how did you break your shoulder?” the young blonde physical therapist asked.

“Ah, I… fell down some stairs.” You said, looking down at your hands in your lap.

She didn’t look up from the papers, instead just raising an eyebrow.

“You also cracked some ribs and had a concussion?”

“… They were concrete.”

She looked up from the papers at you, analyzing. Her gaze softened and she asked no further questions on how these serious injuries had been obtained.

“Let’s look at your range of motion.”

You had practically stumbled into the house, kicking off your sneakers and plopping down at the kitchen table. Minutes passed by as you regained your breath, heartbeat steadying. The house was slightly cold since you had turned the heat down this morning. As your sweat cooled, you wrapped your arms around your legs in an attempt to keep you warm without getting up.

The sun feels so warm… You thought to yourself drowsily, feeling slightly less lonely. The sun was a cheap substitute for the warmth of a partner…

---

You jolted upright, the kitchen dark and cold. Neck and shoulder stiff from the awkward position you had dozed off in. Feeling the dryness of your mouth, you got up, stretching your neck gently while you walked to the fridge to get water. Chugging about half the bottle, you squinted at the clock. You had been asleep for about forty-five minutes. Groaning, you put the bottle down on the counter and walked into the living room to close the curtains. Grabbing one in each hand, you went to pull them together when you hesitated, noticing that Bucky’s apartment was dark for the third day in a row. The sleek motorbike that was usually parked under the slight overhang of the garage was missing as well.

He was probably on a mission, right? Not that it was any of your business. You shut the curtains and turned off the lights before lightly padded down the hall, stopping to adjust the thermostat. The heat kicked on, sending a puff of cold air your way. You shivered as you walked with a quickened pace to your room, shutting the door and heading into the master bathroom, turning the hot water on with just a tad of cold.

Waiting for the shower to warm up, you leaned over the sink and looked into the mirror. Dark circles under your eyes. Small scar on the bridge of your nose. Running your hand through the roots of your hair, you felt for the scar where the stitches had been. When was the last time you had a haircut? Or put on some makeup?

Some higher being must’ve felt pity for you since the steam from the shower fogged the glass, preventing you from tearing yourself apart any further. Stepping underneath the warm stream, you let the warmth seep into your muscles, then bones, filling every fracture and break with a temporary sense of wholeness until the emptiness of your heart and home caused it slowly to drip out until it, along with you, was gone.

---

The next morning, you weren’t motivated to do anything. You lounged around the house, sipping on coffee and browsing on your phone for furniture, clothes, even sneaking a peak at some pianos. Wanting to invest in one you’d use for the next several decades, you had put off buying one until the money from your contract with the orchestra started in a month. You were still well off, nowhere near struggling and probably wouldn’t ever be unless you decided to buy a mansion (which was a no). You just wanted to be careful.

In the afternoon, you popped a pain killer and muscle relaxer in preparation for the few hours you wanted to practice. Thirty minutes went by and the ever-present ache in your shoulder calmed enough to let you practice with relative peace. Sitting on the bench in front of the keyboard, you pondered what you might play to warm up.

Hmm, maybe a Chopin prelude? Short, emotional, familiar.

Your left hand held the soft deep chords as your right hand softly flitted around the higher notes. Breathing in and out with the music, you tried to ignore the ache that start to surround your shoulder.

Playing the last few notes, you paused before reaching over to the bottle of painkillers.

---

Shortly after finishing up, you dragged a small table outside next to the wooden bench swing that was hanging on the porch. Bundled up in a soft sweatshirt, long-sleeve shirt, wool lined leggings, fuzzy socks and slippers, you brought out your hot tea, several blankets, a pillow, and a book you had been meaning to read for months. You were determined to do something besides practice, watch TV, and scroll on your phone.

You settled onto the bench, wrapping the blanket around you, nice and toasty from the layers trapping in the heat of a thorough practice session. The extra medication had really helped keep the pain at bay. Tentatively sipping the steaming cup, you closed your eyes to further appreciate the sweet tones of peach and honey. Setting the cup in your lap with one hand, you used your other hand to flip open to the first page.

---

Bucky hadn’t expected the mission to get so complicated. Finding the base was one thing, navigating in and out of the expansive maze was another. It took a few days to successfully get the target out and back to the embassy. He hadn’t properly slept during that time due to taking shifts with Sam. Not that it was any different from how he slept at home.

The sun was letting its last few rays bless the earth when he turned onto the driveway. Taking it easy on the gravel, he eased his posture and slowed the bike. He put pressure on the brakes as he made it past the final wall of trees that hid the water that was reflecting the last bit of color left in the sky. Rolling casually into a stop, he parked and let out a deep breath, shoulders sinking.

A stray bird calling out turned his attention in the direction of your house. The porch light was on. That’s new, he thought. Squinting his eyes, he saw a bundle on the porch swing. Was that you? Quietly walking over while taking his leather gloves off, he confirmed his suspicions. There you were, lying on your side propped up by a large fuzzy pillow. Eyes closed and breathing rhythmically. Scanning the scene, he noticed the mug on the side table, empty except for the used teabag. Your book was closed, the page you were on marked by one of your fingers. You must’ve fallen asleep while reading.

“Hey…” Bucky said gently. No response besides a small nose scrunch.

He repeated himself a little louder, squatting to be at eye level while gently setting his hand on your arm and shaking you lightly. You groaned this time, eyes fluttering open, taking a moment to focus. You squinted and pushed yourself up into a sitting position, losing your place in the book and attempting to blink the heavy drowsiness from your eyes.

“Bucky?” You questioned hoarsely as you met his eyes. He was still crouching so you were looking slightly down at him. Brow furrowed, you searched the blue of his eyes before looking around to see how dark it had gotten. As you turned your head back to him, he stood back up, scratching the back of his neck just to occupy his hands.

“It’s starting to get cold. I didn’t want you to spend the rest of the night out here.” He explained, choosing to look out at the water, now dark. When he turned his head back, you had also turned your head to look at the water, exposing the side of your neck, the tendons and clavicle accentuated by the strain. Bucky swallowed and your eyes met his, oblivious.

“Ah, thank you. I must’ve fallen asleep reading. I just started going back to physical therapy so I’ve just been so wiped… Anyway,” you said, dismissing yourself mid-thought. He didn’t want to hear about all that. “…did you just come back from a mission?” You eyed the diagonal cuts of leather on his jacket, noting the missing sleeve that exposed the glint of the metal.

“Yeah. I was gone for a few days.”

“Okay. I’m glad you’re home safe.” You mindlessly said, picking up the book and other various items strewn about.

Home safe. What an unfamiliar phrase.

As the words echoed in his mind, you had opened the door and stepped in, turning your head slightly to look back at him.

“Thanks again… Good night.”

“Good night.” Bucky replied, watching as you shut the door softly behind you.

Slowly walking down the porch steps, he crossed the driveway to the garage. Turning his head just in time to see the last light turn off in your house, he stood with his hand on the knob, meditating on the effect that one short sentence had on him.

Glad you’re home safe. Was this what it was like when you had someone waiting on you at home? The tired eyes and gentle smile. Would that be what it was like when he came home in the middle of a night from a mission when he had someone to share a bed with? Gently shaking them to let them know he was home? Or would he try to sneak into bed without waking them? He tried to imagine what that sort of intimacy would be like as he entered his apartment and then his room. Unzipping his jacket and tossing it over a chair, he stripped down to his boxer briefs and climbed into bed, wondering what it would be like if it was already warm.

#bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky imagine #SoundCloud

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the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 5 years ago

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This thing's existence is to be blamed on @anonymouscake you gave me too much inspiration to write this

After the exams were taken and returned to williams to grade them, all the eyes were in him

"That would be our class for today, we have a few minutes but start packing" William started stacking the exams. After not seeing any of the students start moving or packing he couldn't help but wonder if they truly remembered their bet "you can start packing, we will see again after holidays"

"Teacher! You promised" one of the students chimed in

" Yeah! You owe us a story. To think our teacher wouldn't honor his word" other student agreed

" You truly remembered, didn't you? I still have to grade this. So unless you want to be late to your next class I will see you after Christmas" nobody moved " well?"

" Your class is our last" those words made him stop

" No, you have modern literature with mister johnson" williams returned to stacking the exams " did you finish, mister Adams?"

" Professor johnson had an emergency last moment and couldn't find a replacement in time"

" You are awfully insistent" he sighed softly " if you wait for 5 minutes I can grade your exams"

Everyone stayed in place and William started grading, after a few minutes of silence William stood up

" The results of your exams are…" Williams didn't calculate that his bribery would make such a big effect "outstanding. If I knew a story was all I needed to make you study I would have started a long time ago "

Cheers resonated in the classroom. All their efforts didn't go to the trash.

" Average 96.5" he didn't truly want to tell so much about his love life, but a man doesn't back away from a fair bet" well, what story do you want to hear now?"

The room got filled by silence and now the true question arises, what story? Maybe their wedding, or their first kiss. But at the end they decided on their engagement.

" Our engagement? It officially started around 7 years after our meeting, I was 21"

" So you married at 21? Your marriage must be pretty old by now" said a voice in the back

" Mister stone, if I might know, how old do you think I am?" No one dared to breathe, less say anything " I am waiting mister stone"

" Your latmiearly thirwenties?"

" I am not going to bite" followed by a laugh " 24 years old. That is my age. Now where were we?"

" Who are you writing that letter to?" The now young girl of 19 wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling against it

" Your father"

" Why? Do you want to have a business meeting with him"

" You could say so"

" If so I could have said him directly, my dad quite likes you. It will be faster"

" Still, it would sit bitter in my mouth to not do this as it is customary to"

" Is it really a serious meeting isn't it?"

" Nothing bad happened, don't worry about it" William patted her head, laughing softly.

" Stop treating me like a child! We only are 2 years apart!" The girl protested. Now sitting on a chair behind his desk

" Yet still you behave as a kid" William teased without stopping writing

"Hey!"

Before they could keep quarreling louis entered the room

" Here is the tea"

" Thank you louis!"

" Thanks brother. If I could ask you to do a little favor could you send this to the mail?"

"Yes, of course"

" I really appreciate it. Now, should we have tea?"

"Eeeh! Professor moriarty sent his engagement letter without telling his wife?!" A student cut William

" maybe they talked about this beforehand? And this was some kind of surprise? Maybe her father is strict about who will marry his daughter?" Another student theorized

" I think it is a good theory" another agreed

" If you wanted to hypothesize about my life you might as well not have asked"

" Sorry professor"

" For context, YN, My wife, was going to get married to another noble-" William tried to explain but was cut again

" So you were jealous! I didn't peg you as that kind of man"

" I-" William Inhaled before deciding to not say the total truth, in fact the noble had a record of all his wives dying weeks after marriage. But ignorance was bliss " yes, I was jealous" he indeed had a little attraction towards you, but brushed it off more often than not.

Mister YS gave him a meeting. The door seemed to be heavier than usual,as if it was tempting him to go away, but he already set his mind on it.

He steps into the room, the lights on even if the aura of the room was far to gloomy for it to match

" William, son, do you know what you sending this letter mean?" your father sat straight in his chair, as if he was really to catch his prey

" I am pretty sure I know what it means" leaving his case by his sit he sat down " I want to get engaged with YN"

Taking a huff of his cigarette your father continued " you are a bright young man I'm sure you catched on to general merryland wish to marry my daughter. What is your counter for that"

" The general merryland has had 10 wives in a period of 1 and a half years. All of their deaths of mysterious circumstances. I fear her marriage with the general may cause her assesination"

" Kid, as much as I might love my daughter the general won't take a 'I think you might kill my daughter' for an answer". He is an influential man, he can't risk to anger him"

" But he might take an "apologies, my daughter is already engaged, we were yet to announce it"

" The general is a man who is well known and has reasonable wealths and reputation, if you blamed him for murder it would make us lose face, and is well settled too. You on the other hand, just settled and started working as a professor of university, what can guarantee my daughter to live well with you? Give me ten reasons to let you get engaged"

" I knew you were going to say something like that, I bought my finances book with me,you may judge if it's enough or not" even if he was playing innocent he knew the wealth he managed to hoard was a bit too nice for his age " plus, wasn't the general going through a bankrupt? His family business hasn't been talked about a lot lately" planting the seeds of doubt is an important part of his plan, if not the most.

" One reason down. nine left."

"So you tried to get him to let you get engaged for three hours, I can see how he let you, if my future in-law tried that I would give in too" a few students agreed

" It was tedious and long, I will have to admit. But it was worth it" admitted William.

" Then, how did you break the news?"

" I originally wanted to do it with the two of us alone. But it wasn't possible…"

After getting her father's blessing, now the only thing left to do was to wait for YN to go come to the state and break the news privately.

" Brother? What are you doing?"

"Oh? Nothing louis, I'm just waiting for YN to arrive to have tea"

"Then I shall put the kettle on" Louis was about to leave but noticed the bouquet on the table" brother you bought her flowers?"

" Yes. You will understand soon enough"

" I am off to the kitchen"

The fragrance of the flowers William brought was quite strong, intoxicating if you must. If you asked albert he would say they smell disgustingly sweet

" William, I haven't seen you at lunch, where were you?"

" I was at a meeting, albert. It was of dire need to have it as soon as possible"

" Who did you have a meeting with?"

" YN father"

" Mister YS? Why was it? If I might know"

" You will know soon enough"

" Then, I'm off to check some papers, I will skip tea."

A few minutes went on for you to arrive, in that moment William had everything ready for it to go smoothly. Everyone was busy, albert with his paperwork and louis had already brought the water but still had some chores to do so he would let you two alone for a while

" Liam!" The girl came almost running to him and hugged his torso "You haven't invited me in a few weeks, were you mad at me"

" Not at all" he brushed some bangs that came out of their place " I had to sort a few things out"

" That makes me happy"

"Should we go and have tea"

" If you want to"

After some idle chatter and small chat he thought it was the right moment

" YN" he calls you while sitting up to kneel in front of you " I already got your father's blessing but the word that matters the most is yours, so what do you say, will you let me be your husband in a future" taking out the engagement ring

The sound of copper hitting the floor snapped you out of your bubble

"I-"

" Louis, I see you finished all the housework"

" I just wanted a minute for ourselves" the girl lamented before noticing albert holding a few papels behind louis " if three wasn't plenty. well, they were both going to know soon so I guess it doesn't matter that much" she stood up after taking the ring and putting it on the correspondent finger" I was going to give you this in your birthday, but I guess I could give this now" she said before handing a cigarette case with a few designs engraved. " Father told me to return early so I must get going. Let's talk again soon"

" So Teacher does mess up sometimes"

" I don't truly think it was his fault, how was he supposed to know they were there" argued a back row student

" You got what you wished for, now go to your houses it is late and your families must be waiting for you"

The whole classroom started to run towards the exit. While a chorus of " Merry Christmas teacher!" And " see you soon" flooded the room. even if he liked to teach sometimes it was exhausting.

#yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #ynm #williams james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty #moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot #professor moriarty

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starswornoaths · 4 years ago

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Our Noble Legacy - Commission!

A commission for the delightful @faerflowerkid, featuring her oc: Faer wir Galvus, Warrior of Light, great-granddaughter to Solus zos Galvus.

Emet-Selch knew he would have to confront the Warrior of Light directly, at some point. It was as inevitable as the tide. That she was his family would not, could not, matter.

5.0 spoilers, canon divergent!

Word count: 10,752

~*~

Seeing the shattered little fragments of souls congregating, collaborating in tandem to achieve the impossible was…almost inspiring. Granted, very little in these fragmented worlds made Emet-Selch feel anything but tired indifference, so mayhap he was just surprised that he felt aught positive at all, watching the Warrior of Light rally them to a hopeless cause. Watching her inspire people who had, only hours before, been content to sit in their own misery, idle under the ever burning light, and wait to die, well…it was hard not to be roused in some way.

Even knowing it was impractical, Emet-Selch still often found himself studying the Warrior of Light that he was now in an uneasy alliance with, searching for some sign that he could cling to that could possibly cast doubt on her lineage.

His lineage, for that matter, and really, that was the crux of the issue.

It was harder not to see a bit of himself in Faer than it had ever been, in that moment. There had been, of course, the obvious signs of their relation, from the shock of silver-grey bangs against deep chestnut (in another shorter hairstyle she had begun growing out again, he noticed,) to the golden, hawkish eyes that mirrored his own, but if there had been any doubt before that she was of his blood, her cleverness, and her knack for rousing people in common cause made it undeniable to him. From the instant he realized that she was his great granddaughter, one he had held as a babe, in the twilight years of Solus’ life, he couldn’t help but notice, more and more, that Faer seemed a shining example of what his lineage would have been, perhaps, had fate been different.

Whatever pride he may have felt was inevitably tarnished by her status as his enemy—his greatest yet, certainly, of all the fool heroes that had dashed themselves against his might. The greatest of his enemies in both the threat she posed to their designs on the world, and in that even at this juncture, even knowing that she could yet prove him wrong and show him the error of his ways…this would be the hardest one for him to kill.

Should it come to that, Dark Lord guide me, he thought grimly.

Mayhap Zodiark had always known better than to trust that Emet-Selch wouldn’t care, and had intended to see if he would be willing to slay his kin in the name of their most noble designs. A waste, if that were the case; whatever blood he may have passed down in this life, in this body, that was not the family that he fought so hard for. The Galvus family was not the one that he mourned—mostly.

He tried not to think of his son. Always, did he try not to think of his son. And always, did he fail.

Zodiark was ever present, a persistent, low murmur in the back of his mind. As familiar to him as his own heartbeat, after so many eons, but ever since he’d laid eyes on the Warrior of Light herself and realized that it was his great-granddaughter, it had felt as though he could hear the Dark Lord laughing at his expense. What an apt reward, for toiling in the shadow of his God: a test of faith, at a critical crossroads.

Such maudlin thoughts, while commonplace under the ever burning sun, felt ill-fitting such an occasion as this, watching people mill about with good cheer and throw their entire, frail beings into the work before them. When he refocused and realized that Faer couldn’t be found among the workers anymore, he scanned the immediate vicinity. For a blessing, he wasn’t searching far: taking yet another page from his book, she stood out of the way of those using their tools, those inherited, hawkish eyes surveying the work before her.

He was walking toward her before he had even consciously chosen to do so. Even through the constant reminders that she was his enemy, that he should keep barriers between them, it seemed the pride he felt for her accomplishment, even knowing that their deal could— and in all likelihood, would— end in failure. Perhaps it was those very reminders that made his words drip with sarcasm, once he had moved close enough to his great granddaughter to speak.

“Would you look at that? The citizens of Eulmore engaging in what can only be described as “manual labor.” Who would have thought it possible?” He mused aloud.

Though they were still some distance away from one another in the entryway to the ladder, his voice carried enough that Faer still turned her head to face him. Even knowing that he had gotten her attention, Emet-Selch made no effort to quicken his pace to her; he was old, and weary, and she had good ears.

“Do you know the most reliable way to deal with those who stubbornly refuse to see reason?” He asked without losing his stride, eyes never moving from hers.

Faer was ever an intuitive soul: sensing the weight of the conversation, if not necessarily the mood of it quite yet, she turned her body fully to face him.

It was only a few more steps until they were within reaching distance of one another, but they seemed to take an age longer than all the rest. It was less that he particularly cared whether or not they were overheard, but it would make his already strained relationship with the other Scions all the more so, if they heard his answer, and the indifference in his tone as he spoke,

“You conquer them— crush them under heel.”

He might have put more effort into sounding less cavalier about that if he had anticipated the faint wince she couldn’t quite hold back. Of course she would somehow feel responsible for all the steps of the great plan that he had overseen. Of course she would.

Hero types, really.

“Such was the trusted method of the Allag, and one still favored by Garlemald,” he continued in that same tone, and pretended that he hadn’t noticed her reaction in the first place.

With a wave of his hand, he shifted into a lesson— a windup to an admittedly fumbled compliment he was still half forming. Zodiark was getting in the way of all the words, and it was hard to form them. Exposition was always an easy fallback in theatre, and it saved him now as he explained, “But conquest is the easy part. The true challenge begins once the dust has settled— quenching the glowing embers of animosity and maintaining a semblance of peace. This requires the conqueror to treat the conquered with dignity, and the conquered to let bygones be bygones. A difficult feat to achieve.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say you were trying to train me to be your successor,” Faer bristled. “You sound like my old tutors back home.”

It was Emet-Selch’s turn to wince, even through his smile. It was always hard not to think of the life that could have been— in particular, how things could have been, had he been allowed to love his first son, and all the family that might have come after. All the things that might have been accomplished.

“In another life, I might well have.” He admitted.

That thought seemed to settle differently on the both of them. Where Emet-Selch, already susceptible to dreaming of what was lost and what could have been, could readily see a brighter, happier world for him where he had been allowed to learn to love the Galvus family, Faer looked as though the thought of her participating further in the machinations of the empire would cost her sleep.

Not that he could blame her, really. Hero type, and all.

“But you have achieved just that...to my considerable surprise.” He added when she continued to say nothing.

At the way she narrowed her eyes at him, he couldn’t help but roll his. “It’s a compliment.” He sighed sardonically. “Take it.”

Faer blinked owlishly up at him.

“Oh, I— thank you.” She murmured, and even if her tone was sheepish, he could tell it was sincere. “I guess I just wasn’t necessarily expecting it to be a compliment that wasn’t backhanded.”

Another wince, this time from both of them— he supposed she had a point. She hadn’t even necessarily done anything to him, to earn that. Apart from the death of his kin, though he couldn’t put the fault of their centuries old struggle solely on her; he’d been through this dance a thousand times before. Doubtless, he would continue to do so long after her, too.

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, and watched some few dozen paces off, as Urianger and Y’Shtola maneuvered around toward the idle Talos, cheered on and guided by Dulia and Chai Nuzz respectively. With outstretched hands, they filled the machinery with the thrumming, brilliant blue of their aether, powering the cores within. The sight inspired in Emet-Selch thoughts of the Bureau of Concepts, back when time hardly mattered, where death and tragedy were naught but bad dreams and the punishments of villains in all the stories.

“Ahh, the vibrant energy that fills the air when like-minded souls gather. To think back on that time before time fair brings a tear to my eye.”

She seemed mildly surprised he was capable of it at all. Something in him bristled at that.

“What? You thought ancient beings like us incapable of crying?”

Even he could concede that he sounded defensive. He could stand to leave himself less open, blast it all.

“N-no, it’s just—” She cut herself off, chewing on her bottom lip. “I never could picture you being happy, but I also just...couldn’t fathom you crying, when I was a child.”

She seemed to catch herself in the moment, and gave him an apologetic smile as she said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t keep comparing you to my great-grandfather. You were playing a role back then.”

“It was—” He tamped down on the words, frowning as they tangled on his tongue. Swallowing, he tried again, “While I might have been...doing my part, in our noble work, it would be almost impossible, to not live an entire lifetime and not feel something other than boredom, from time to time.”

Not entirely an admission of affection that most certainly did not exist, though an acknowledgement of his humanity. It seemed a diplomatic enough response.

“I...hadn’t thought of it that way before.” Faer admitted slowly.

Emet-Selch harrumphed. “Well, rest assured that if your heart can be broken, then so can mine!”

“...You’re right.” Faer said, surprising him. “For all our disagreements, I shouldn’t deny the humanity that Ascians possess. Certainly not my own great grandfather’s.”

As painfully formal as it sounded, her apology was a balm on a sore nerve. Enough to let his thoughts wander, as were their wont. Before he could think better of it, he started to give voice to them, and let the dead be among him for a little while through his words.

“Back when the world was whole, we had family, friends, loves…” He began hesitantly.

When she didn’t interrupt him, he turned his gaze toward the ever burning heavens, contemplative, as he continued, “Men knew peace and contentment, and with our adamant souls, we could live for an age. There was no conflict born of want or disparity. Our differences paled into insignificance next to all we had in common.”

The ladder itself was still in his periphery, even when looking at the sky. So, it was only natural that, when he finally looked at the structure proper, that he compared it to the towering landmarks he was so accustomed to back when all he had known was happiness.

“And then, there was Amaurot...never was a city more magnificent. From the humblest streets to the highest spires, she fairly gleamed…”

When at last he brought himself— and his focus— back to the earth, he spared his great-granddaughter a plain look from the corner of his eye. “Not that you would remember any of this,” he said, infinitely and eternally bitter.

“Remember…?” Faer asked, understandably, with a ponderous frown and a tilt of her head.

He had already said too much. Frankly, he was shocked Zodiark permitted him to say as much as he had. Shaking his head, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Never mind.”

Faer pressed her lips together thinly, hands faintly fidgeting in front of her. After a few long moments of silence, Emet-Selch cleared his throat.

“You are staring.” He noted when he could see her start to lose herself to thoughts. “Dare I ask why?”

Her eyes refocused with a blink. “Sorry, you were talking about families, and I was just...thinking back on home. I know you held me as a babe, but the only clear picture I had in my mind of you was when you were older than you look now. I wouldn’t have even recognized you when you showed up if it weren’t for all the murals and the history books, I don’t think.”

He hadn’t even thought of that, when he had first taken up residence in the first clone that Varis had made— or when he had kept the form when he had taken a body for his own in this world, for that matter.

“Would it have been a comfort to you, had I been the elderly and frail grandfather you knew?” He asked, only able to muster half of his usual snark. Something about the thought upset him in a way he couldn’t describe.

“I don’t honestly believe so. The shock was what kept me from killing you outright, when you showed up.” Faer admitted with a shrug. “I had yet to have a pleasant run-in with an Ascian, I’ll remind you.” When he didn’t have a response to her comment, she shifted on her feet, awkward that her comment had not landed with him. She crinkled her nose, and admitted hesitantly,“I didn’t think the paintings were right, if I’m being honest.”

Paintings. And she had mentioned murals before—

“Ah, the royal gallery.” Emet-Selch nodded at the recollection, ample excuse to avert his eyes from her. “I’d nearly forgotten; I had to pose for so many portraits, even before I was crowned Emperor, I learned how to nap with my eyes open to make it even a little bearable.”

She let out a little snort on the inhale of her chuckle, and promptly smothered it behind her hand. It seemed Garlean etiquette had not been entirely beaten out of her. He remembered the tutors that had been in the employ of the royal family: to be frank, the thing that impressed him the most was how little her knuckles had scarred from their yalmsticks. They were likely responsible for her resilience in the face of constant sneering; her good cheer would have run out malms ago otherwise, the same as her newly reunited companions.

In spite of their uncertain alliance, he joined her in laughter when she looked up at him again, face faintly flushed from holding in her giggling. In truth, his comment wasn’t necessarily funny, but it was just human enough to startle the both of them into unexpected chuckling.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized again— and really, she did it far too often, in his opinion. “I interrupted you. What were you saying?”

The lingering smirk on his lips from laughing faded. It was a bit of a shame, to have their mood shift so suddenly as he knew it would.

Nevertheless. She did ask.

“The point is: the world of old was a far better place than what we have now. I believe you would like it, having witnessed the things you have.”

Would that he could give it all to her. Her true inheritance: a world without conflict, a world where no one suffered and all were equal in the eyes of one another. A world where jobs like hers were absolutely redundant but for the sake of exploration and learning.

A world fitting for his great-granddaughter.

Capitalizing on her surprise at his comment, he pressed, “Remember, you are of the Source. Unlike the halfmen here, you stand only to gain. Should you survive the remaining calamities, you will become our equal. A complete existence in a complete world.”

Pressed too far, it seemed: a look of pain flashed over Faer’s face. Of guilt. Was that what she wanted, too, he wondered. A chance to put her weapon down and simply be. Surely that was not too awful a thought for her to have? Too soon, he reasoned. She isn’t ready to stop playing the hero.

So he could be supportive, in his own, twisted way. Could nudge her, as a villain, could inspire her to the greatness he knew, in his heart of hearts, that she could achieve.

With another shrug, he chided, “But such talk is a pleasure for later. Back to work, hero.”

He turned to leave when a thought occurred to him. Pausing mid step, he angled his head back toward her and said over his shoulder, “Ah, there was one thing I had meant to ask: how well do you know the Exarch? Has he ever deigned to show you what hides beneath that cowl?”

In part to play his role as the villain, in part to service his role in the grand plan, he played both to perfection, just to see what would happen. Even still, Faer shaking her head “no” came as a surprise; he didn’t get the sense that she was lying.

“What, never? Not even to you? How very interesting…I shall enjoy working out what it means. Until next time.”

Faer called after him when he began to leave in earnest. Much as he might have found another reason to linger, he would rather be with his thoughts. With a dismissive wave, he pressed on, and hoped the distance he put between them was well beyond any chance of her words reaching him.

Despite everything, they still had.

It had been a point of pride, how much Emet-Selch had kept his distance from watching Faer in action, for more than had been a necessity. For a blessing, such occurrences had been infrequent; before now, it had largely fallen to the more...hands on of his peers. He was among the last, now— most ironically of all, the most hands on of the surviving Unsundered.

But those words he had been running from had caught up to him, sunk their teeth into him, and bled him of his will to stay away. He was too old to run from such things, these days. He had been for a very long time, he supposed. To save himself from being drained of all he had scraped together the last eon, rather than try to thrash and tighten the vice of those fangs, he relaxed, and let go.

And so, Emet-Selch did what he did best: he clung to the shadows, and watched. He bore witness to his great-granddaughter’s struggles, in the moment, far more closely— in attentiveness and distance both— than he ever had before. If living in the dark was a comfort, then he could still peer into the light, that he might try to see.

What he saw should have terrified him— and, in a distant sort of way, he supposed that it did. It should have angered him, nauseated him, to see the ferocity with which Faer took down her foes. Meek and mild though she may be in those interpersonal moments, this was him truly beholding the Warrior of Light, in her element, and all her glory, both.

It was a peculiar thing: to look at her directly was almost too much, as if she took after her namesake too well. Mayhap, that was the Light that she had absorbed, burning beneath her skin, and naught more. He hadn’t looked closely enough before now to know for certain.

He might have been too old to run from the things that he couldn’t face, but as he worked to keep up with the pace that Faer had set for her crew, every one of those years fell away. In the moment, as he darted from shadow to shadow, and peered through every portal he popped out of when his current, dark roost could no longer track her movements, he felt young again, in a way he had forgotten.

There was so much of himself that Emet-Selch saw in her, even before witnessing what she was capable of on the battlefield. He had been far from a spry youth, then he began to build the Garlean Empire, but he recalled the years before he took the crown, how he had unleashed Hell itself unto his enemies, to ensure that he achieved the accolades that would make him a fitting Emperor, and couldn’t help but see much of the same tenacity, ferocity, and unrelenting strength that he had once employed, now passed down to his great-granddaughter.

Faer was hardly the first hero that he had ever witnessed in combat. In truth, she wasn’t even the first hero that he had been moved by.

But she was the first hero that he had such a direct connection to. A connection that forced him to look, with both eyes open, upon the path that she walked— and, by proxy, that he walked.

Maybe it was the Light, radiating off of her, but Zodiark’s veil felt unusually thin, as they climbed, higher and higher, from towering Talos to the perilous peak of Mt. Gulg. Thin enough that he could see, for the first time, that Faer was his equal in fervor, in dedication to her goal. Equal also, in the belief that hers was the just cause.

Perhaps that was why, when Vauthry descended upon Faer with twofold forms and fury alike, Emet-Selch celebrated her victory over the last of the Lightwardens.

He’d often been told that the air itself felt heavier, on the precipice of great change. Even before the Sundering, such a philosophical discussion had been brought to the Forum of Debate. It had been something he had understood only in the most joyous of occasions— death was such a rarity, outside of accidents, he had practically only known the air to grow saturated with satisfaction, or heady with happiness.

The air here, at the summit of Mt. Gulg, already scorching, stale, and still for the eternal Light, shifted around him as he emerged from the shadows, one last time. It was noticeably harder to breathe, for the lingering particulates of Vauthry’s remains hung in that unnatural stasis, glimmering in the gilded light.

Haunting, had he cared enough to look anywhere, save for his great-granddaughter.

The lingering, shimmering ashes of the Lightwarden had a faintly dusty, saccharine scent. Cloying, much like the makeup powders that Emet-Selch so enjoyed to dabble with. However, it was several heartbeats before he realized that, as he held his breath, watching Faer absorb the Light.

The eternal, beaming rays above split, and tore open as a gaping wound, through which the night itself bled. It was a gasp of air amongst the drowning stillness, a breach in the surface, but it was fleeting— it sewed itself back up, just as the Warrior of Darkness collapsed to her knees.

There were voices, not far from him, but they sounded as distant as rolling thunder. There was a blue ring of light— contrasting to the all encompassing luminescence above. It was enough to distract him, though only enough for Zodiark to remind him of his task.

Emet-Selch breathed in that heavier air of change, as he craned his neck to look up again. The momentary glimpse of the night sky was long gone, and any trace it had ever been there taken with it. She failed, she failed, just as we knew she would, Zodiark urged him.

The gun he’d kept on his person as Solus zos Galvus was in his hand before he realized he had summoned it. There was someone opposite his descendant, speaking with her kindly— ah, the Exarch—

The secretive man’s hood fell away with another pulse of that blue, blinding light. Emet-Selch didn’t know the man— he didn’t need to. He didn’t care.

He recognized those red eyes anywhere.

So, it was just as he suspected, then. Somehow, that didn’t surprise him; he had never been able to truly stamp out the Allagan Empire in its entirety without over meddling. It should almost be expected, that its echoes would dog him all the way here.

The bullet Zodiark had loaded in the chamber for Faer was instead lodged into the scarlet sorcerer. It struck him in the abdomen— nothing fatal, he did need the man alive for his Allagan eye, after all.

Well. That, and his great-granddaughter had failed to keep her end of the bargain. It was only meet that he take his consolation prize, and be on his way.

At least, that was what he told himself, staring down at the barely conscious form of the man that had tried to spare Faer her fate. A strange sort of anger welled up in his chest at that; here this, this Exarch was, posturing as the secretive, scheming villain, all to spare Faer her precious little feelings, so no one would miss him as he went to make a star of himself.

Emet-Selch couldn’t bite back a cruel quirk of his lips. The Exarch wanted to play a villain? He could watch the Architect put on a real show.

“Only those who possess the Royal Eye of the Allagan imperial line are capable of controlling the Crystal Tower.” He raised his voice loud enough to be heard. “Such individuals do not exist in the First.”

He lowered his gun as he spoke, unperturbed by the veneer of civility being shorn so thoroughly in Faer’s presence; she was barely keeping herself kneeling, her entire body quivering with the effort of holding in every onze of light that she had absorbed.

“Therefore, in all likelihood, the Exarch arrived here with the tower. This much I had surmised, yet I could not discern his grand scheme. To think, he went through all this trouble for the sake of a single hero. It’s almost admirable in its absurdity.”

He stepped up to the crumpled sorcerer, peering down at him. There was a strange sense of pitiable understanding that welled up in him, thinking on his own words; in a sense, they were not so different. After all, he, too, had gone to great lengths to make an exception to the rule, all for the sake of a single hero.

“Alas, it is not your grand scheme that will succeed, but ours.”

One of the little mortals was squabbling at him again. Really, he had thought they had learned by now.

When that same mortal— Thancred, he distantly recalled the name— reached for his gunblade, Emet-Selch warned, “Stay put. Your friend is still alive, but whether he remains so depends on you.”

Though the brute bared his teeth, he did not make another advance. Once it was clear that he would not be attacked, Emet-Selch turned his attention to his great-granddaughter.

It didn’t matter what he felt, watching her writhe in agony so. They had an agreement, and now...now, he had his part to play. And she, hers.

His final test of faith.

“What a disappointment you turned out to be.” Said the Architect— softly, as if to himself. As if his remorse was genuine.

Perhaps it was. It couldn’t matter regardless.

That anger that the Exarch had sparked swelled in his chest, the longer he looked down upon Faer. To think that for a fleeting instant, she had dared to chase away the shadows from his eyes. To think, he had dared to see.

“I placed my faith in you. Let myself believe that you could contain the Light.” He spat accusingly.

His temples throbbed in time with his heart for how hot the anger in his breast ran. The longer he stared down at her, pale and trembling and bleached out for the Light inside her, the brighter his fury blazed. To think, he had dared, once again, like the fool that he was, to hope. And once more, he was reminded of why such notions are folly.

“But look at you now,” He sneered, “halfway to becoming a monster. You are unworthy of my patronage.”

For some reason, Faer’s refusal to look away only served to anger him further. What did she hope to gain from such useless posturing? She had lost.

And yet, he supposed, she couldn’t have possibly gotten half as far as she had, if she had ever lied down and accepted her fate. Even through the anger, he couldn’t help but respect her effort; few understood how hard it was to simply try.

“What...what happens now, then, great-grandfather?” Faer managed to snarl between gasping heaves.

Before Emet-Selch could respond, she buckled under a fit of productive coughing. So productive, in fact, that the very light that she had absorbed was now being spat onto the gilded ground. She slipped, as she tried to stagger to her feet, and folded back onto her knees, panting from the exertion.

His frown deepened; something about her pitiful struggles agitated him, enough that he felt like his skin itched from the inside. To hide the depth of his rage— and genuine disappointment, he realized with belated shock— he took a moment to let out a noise of disgust.

Emet-Selch was still in character, after all.

He reminded her, tutting, “I am an Ascian. My heart’s sole desire is to usher in the Great Rejoining.”

Spitting once more, she looked back up at him, eyes blazing with fury, tears, and the light that glimmered off of them.

It was too much, in particular, knowing precisely how he was about to hurt her next; he looked away, toward her Scion accomplices, and struck: “A hundred years ago, I entrusted my comrade, Loghriff, with the task of increasing Light’s sway over this world. This, we sought to do by manipulating heroes.”

A wet, gasping sob tore itself from Faer’s throat. Emet-Selch hid his wince from her. He had struck true.

Continuing his onslaught, he kept his eyes locked on those lesser servants of Hydaelyn, as he spoke, “When that failed to achieve the desired result, I created Vauthry. But thanks to your meddling, that, too, has ended in failure.”

“What was your true purpose in approaching us?” One of the matching pair demanded.

“By your Twelve, boy, have I not told you before, that everything I said was the truth?” He countered. “You were specimens by which I might gauge man’s potential as it stands.”

As if he had ever lied. As if he had ever pretended. As if he had ever had a choice.

Strangely incensed, Emet-Selch pressed, “I genuinely had an interest in you. Genuinely considered taking you on as allies! Provided that she—”

He spared a sneering glance out of the corner of his eye, over his shoulder, at his kneeling great-granddaughter. What he could see of her, through the light that was seeping through the metaphorical cracks, at least.

“—Could contain the light.”

He managed to pretend at disappointed boredom. The mask was always easier. Always, always easier.

Leaning into his assigned role in Zodiark’s most noble design, he turned to face his failing, fading family.

“If not, then she— and by extension, you— would be of no use to me. ‘Twas as simple as that.”

He couldn’t even muster the strength to straighten his posture; he could distantly hear his old vizier, in simpler times, huffing about how unlike an Emperor it was to slouch. When the yappy one with the gunblade snorted indignantly, he faced the noise, half expecting someone to attempt something stupid.

For a blessing and a curse, the Scions seemed to yet possess their senses, and did not attack him.

Thancred, instead, drolled, “So we’ve been found wanting. How disheartening. But even had we fulfilled your conditions, there was no guarantee that we would cooperate. What then?”

As if it had not been obvious. They took advantage of his good grace, and thought him docile for the trouble? He would remind them of their folly.

“Then I simply kill you all.” Emet-Selch replied plainly, and shrugged. “At the very least, it would restore the world to the way it was before you went about trouncing Lightwardens willy-nilly.”

He shot a glare at the troublesome, unconscious Exarch. The creaky little mischief maker. All the magic of the Allagan Empire, stolen out from rightful fingers, and yet, here he was! Laid low by a bullet. As any murdered king, as any defeated tyrant: they bled, all the same.

“Suffice to say it would be most inconvenient to have all that Light taken away— and I would be lying if I were to claim his actions didn’t have me worried.”

Another bout of Faer’s gasping coughs brough another wet splatter of ectoplasmic light scattering across the broquet. Her back arched with the might of her heaving, as her body tried to force air into her lungs, any way that it could.

It did not bother him. He did not look away again. This was his test, after all. He could not falter here.

The Architect stalked over to where his great-granddaughter of Light knelt there, in all her broken glory. There was a ringing in his ears— it made the dull, purposeful thunk of his boots sound especially loud to him. Nevertheless, he did not stop, not until he was close enough to observe her, and knelt to her level.

It should have been easy, to look at her. It shouldn’t have hurt, to see how she had been twisted, her features bleached out in harsh light, how she seemed almost swallowed by the luminescence that clung to her skin, that radiated from her. It should have even given him some sort of grim glee, seeing his greatest enemy laid low.

It didn’t. He couldn’t look away.

Solus watched his little great-granddaughter, the same one he’d bounced on his knee and read to, his family, his lineage, all that he had left that he could even begin to consider family, and he was killing her.

But Emet-Selch...he had a role to play.

“Hm,” he hummed, seeming unaffected. “You still retain your form, and your senses...but you have all but become a sin eater.”

Faer’s head hung, at the words, “sin eater.” For a moment, she looked defeated. She did not lift it again, until he next spoke.

He should have triumphed, in the moment. Should have taken that defeat and solidified it, right then and there, and made good on his word to kill them all and just be done with it.

Instead, Solus could only softly explain, in a voice he’d heard one of his hospice chirurgeons use with him, toward the end of his life, “Whether you will it or no, your mere existence will serve to engulf the world in Light.” He only half remembered to put a villain’s cruel twist to that kindness, “Those in your company will likewise turn into sin eaters, and, in time, you will succumb to your base instincts, and hunt innocents to feast on their sweet, sweet aether.”

Faer’s head swayed, as she struggled to keep it upright, to watch him as he emphasized, venting some of his anger with bitter delight, “Those few with the will left to fight may rise up against you. But before your absolute might, they will quickly know despair. “There is no hope! We are finished! Mankind is finished!” Ahhh, the irony. What Vauthry achieved through bliss, you will achieve through despair.”

He had taken all he could of watching Faer struggle; watching any longer than this would only bring harm to him, and would gain him nothing in exchange. Ignoring the popping of his knees, he stood.

“But I have overstayed my welcome. I shall look forward to seeing you bring the world to its knees, hero.”

Emet-Selch granted himself reprieve when he turned fully away from the Warrior of Light, and focused on the Exarch, as he snapped his fingers. In an instant, the Allagan pretender was whisked away, in that void between realms carved out for the Unsundered.

Ignoring the whinging of the Warrior of Light’s accomplices crying out after the Exarch, demanding justice, and all of the usual trappings of a squawking hero that he paid no heed, he reasoned, “I have naught to show for all the time and effort I invested in you. He is a small token for my troubles. I did not expect that I could learn aught from man, but I may yet learn something from all the knowledge he had hoarded for his precious hero.”

Emet-Selch had always been above them— figuratively, and literally. He opted for an exit befitting that stature— only the best would to, before their intercession, after all— and with nary a half onze of effort, he lifted himself high above their heads, well beyond their reach—

Or at least, he had intended to; the Warrior of Light lunged at him suddenly, and before he could properly react, clutched at the front of his coat to keep herself upright on quivering legs. With an effort that looked herculean in effort, she pulled herself up by his lapels, trying to draw on her full height. Her eyes blazed with an intensity that threatened to blind him, and she bared her teeth at him in a heaving snarl.

A hero, to the last. A familiar habit, of a familiar, familial hero.

“I pity you, I do.” Emet-Selch drawled, sparing an emphasizing glance at her Scions. “Your friends are now your foes. If you do not kill them, they will kill you.”

He caught her hands, intending to rip them off of him, but he froze at the way her knuckles tightened around the fabric, enough that he couldn’t tell where the creaking of her gloves ended, and that of her knuckles began.

Emet-Selch tried to be angry at that. Tried to be indignant, that she would dare try while she was at death and sanity’s door. He should have thrown her off of him, should have given in to that quiet, almost inaudible whispering in his head, scrabbling about like fingers dancing along his spine, playing him like a puppet, and just finished it already—

Instead, Solus could only ask, in a private, terrified whisper, “Why are you still fighting?”

“Because I have to.” Faer whispered back, just as brave, and no less scared. “I have to.”

His great-granddaughter. Would that he could give her the world. Perhaps, a shadowbox of it that he had made would do.

“Then...seek me out at my abode, in the dark depths of the Tempest.” He commanded. “You’re my great-granddaughter. Act like it. Prove me wrong.”

“I’ll be there.” Faer warned, in a low voice. As if she were in a place to warn him of anything but when she was about to be sick. “And when I get there...I’ll make you see.”

Lacking the strength to respond, to retaliate, to do aught more than tremble with her, Solus let Zodiark take him away. He melted through her fingertips, and even long after he had rematerialized in the shade of his home, he could not reconfigure himself in such a way that made him feel whole.

So Emet-Selch waited. He waited long enough that he had begun to wonder if the Warrior of Light would miss her cue. Long enough that, eventually, he began to question whether or not he had nodded off, at some point, and a whole new buggering age had rolled in, while he wasn’t looking. Again.

But then, there she was, his family, walking the paths of Amaurot. From a distance, he might have pretended that all was as it once was—

Except that, while Faer had, in fact, arrived at his humble abode— she had not done so alone.

There was something about her arriving, accompanied by people that claimed to be her family, rather than him, that rankled Solus. Sure, he had been the one to put them all on this path to begin with, but that didn’t mean he stopped being her real family—

Even as she wasn’t his real family, Emet-Selch reminded himself. He wasn’t even sure why it fanned the flames in his chest.

“This really is unacceptable. I gave you very specific instructions.” He reminded her snidely, to hide how affected he was at the sight of her so withered.

Ignoring the squawking of one of the younger scions, Emet-Selch took a moment to force his expression to match his tone; it wouldn’t do for him to try and convince his captive audience of his indifference with a pitying grimace, after all.

“My invitation was for an abomination, ripe with the power to bring about the world’s annihilation. Not this half-broken...thing.”

A glance at Faer’s face, even paled as it was from the Light, he could tell she wasn’t buying that he didn’t care. In truth, nor was he, at this point. But the show must go on, after all.

“What ever am I going to do with you?” He couldn’t help but ask, with almost fond exasperation and a maimed, maiming smile. Helpless to stop himself, he further barbed, “And I see you insist on keeping the same, familiar company. Are you so lost without them?”

“It is not she who is lost without the familiar.” Quipped the sorceress.

A wince cracked Emet-Selch’s mask in twain— he was well and truly surrounded by the evidence against him, should he try to rebuke that. Not the least of which was, of course, his own flesh and blood, standing beside that same witch.

“I may have gotten a little carried away, in my attention to detail. Added a few unnecessary flourishes…” His petty attempt at a defense died half formed on his tongue. Zodiark did not prevent him from feeling the loneliness, the loss, from the absence of his fellow Ancients. Nor, did He prevent the truth of his plan from being brought to the light bearers. “Weeell, there’s no point in trying to deny it. Yes.

“Once the rejoining of worlds is complete, Zodiark will regain His full strength, and shatter His prison. Then, we shall offer up the Source’s remaining inhabitants in sacrifice, that we might resurrect our brethren who died to bring Zodiark into existence.”

“We don’t have to fight.” Faer replied, dancing around the subject. “You could join us. You could help so many people—“

“Those pale imitations are not people.” Emet-Selch rankled, bristling.

“They don’t stop being people just because you don’t like them!” She shouted, standing straighter, as if her indignation gave her a new well of strength to tap into. “If you won’t stop this, then we have come here to stop you!”

She wanted to continue to champion these lesser beings, in favor of embracing Zodiark’s unavoidable truth, did she? So be it.

“Did you now? One last do-or-die attempt to foil my plans, then? How very, very...heroic of you.”

This was the best he could have possibly hoped for, from humanity. His very own creation, sired and carefully monitored to see how she developed, and this was the best that they could do. He wanted to spit curses at her until her mind had succumbed to the madness. He wanted to scream until his voice fled him. He felt nauseated. This was his family, he was fighting—

This is but another hero. You have been here before, Lord Zodiark reminded him, ever a gentle, guiding hand.

Those distant fingers pulled at the back of his mind, as if to straighten out his thoughts. Rather than think of the great-granddaughter standing before him, he thought back on those who had stood there before. The more he thought on it, the more their armor blurred, in his mind, until he couldn’t discern one from the other; they were all but obstacles in his way. What did it matter, who they were? They were nothing to him. Thank the Dark Lord, for showing him the error of his straying thoughts.

“In every single age, there is always someone who wants to stand up to the evil Ascians,” he echoed Zodiark’s sentiments spitefully. “Always the same arrogance, the same insistence that the world belongs to them. As if theirs were the only rightful claim, theirs the only existence worthy of preservation!”

“Do you not hear yourself?” Faer demanded. “I could criticize your number for those very same thoughts!”

The implication that they were of equal value shifted Emet-Selch’s anger into something frigid as space, and just as dangerous, where these mortals were concerned.

“Even now, after everything, you refuse to see reason.” He said with an unaffected shrug, the calmness in his voice startling even him. “You think it unfair that you are subject to suffering? That your lives will be sacrificed for the ancients?”

That white hot anger, a molten volcano that had rumbled low in the pit of Emet-Selch’s gut for centuries, erupted forth, frothing and flaming and furious.

“Look at me!” He demanded, smacking the flat of his palm against his scorching chest as though it were a hammer on a red-hot iron. He spat out the sparks, “I have lived a thousand, thousand of your lives! I have broken bread with you, fought with you, grown ill, grown old! Sired children and yes, welcomed death’s sweet embrace. For eons, have I measured your worth, and found you wanting! Too weak and feeble-minded to serve as stewards of any star!”

He flung his hand away from himself; his chest had grown too hot, even through his robes, to comfortably touch. Magicks ancient and roiling rose to the surface, needled against his skin, itching to bleed the life out of his enemies. Distantly, he was aware that his chest was heaving with the weight of his breathing.

It startled all in the room, the depth of even a taste of that long-aged anger. Himself, most of all. With more effort than it should have taken, he took a shuddering breath to attempt to calm himself.

Inevitably, it did not work. Their debate would only circle, and circle, and circle, and while he might have enjoyed partaking of that, back when the world was whole, he had no patience for it, while he tried to piece it back together again.

Hero types were always so eager to try and prove themselves, after all— would a test of her strength not be a more satisfactory exam, versus a pointless argument?

With that justification, he visited upon the Warrior of Light the darkest hour of his life. He rained the fall of Amaurot down upon her, bearing the full brunt of those horrific memories, all for the sole purpose of hurting her, of destroying her. She was his opposition: he had to stop her, at all costs.

She was too bright to look at directly; he did not watch her progress, apart from knowing when to elaborate on what forms his trauma took. To make her see, this time. If he had bathed in her light ascending that miserable mountain, then he would drown her in his darkness, descending into his deepest horrors.

Infuriatingly, she persisted, survived, and stood before him again.

Lashing out in a fit of pique, he sneered as he tore down, one by one, the Scions that attempted to close the distance, to cover the Warrior of Light’s last, pitiful hobble toward him, as the Light threatened to consume her.

Eventually, he flung her backward, too, and waited for it all to end. Waited for the Light to take her away, so he never had to think about her and everything that could have been, ever again.

When it finally did, he watched, waiting, praying, for relief. Instead, all he got for his trouble was a momentary glimpse, of the soul that his great-granddaughter used to be. Azem.

In the blink of an eye, that flickering recollection vanished. And all that stood was Faer. Fully restored, ready to fight. In another, the Exarch, clinging to staff and life with equal desperation.

“This ends this day, great-grandfather.” She called, voice calm despite the tears that poured from her eyes. “One way or another, it ends.”

One last do-or-die for the both of them, then. For them all, if he were feeling poetic. He was not; he fought like the lives of everyone he loved depended on it. Because they did.

“Very well.” He said, and began to let the arcane glamours that kept his form human fall away. “Let us proceed to your final judgement. The victor shall write the tale and the vanquished become its villain!”

She did not move. So, he began to stalk toward her. Goading her.

“But come!” He called as he drew near. “Let us cast aside titles and pretense, Faer, and reveal our true faces to one another!”

The symbol of his seat blazed brightly in front of his eyes. Once more, he was a sorcerer of eld, in appearance and power alike. Still constricted by his mortal trappings, he still towered over those who opposed him all the same. His voice reverberated through his ribs as he bellowed,

“I am Hades! He who shall awaken our brethren from their dark slumber!”

He did not claim himself a hero, not just yet. It remained to be seen, which of them were the villain, after all. And so, Hades did not hold back.

Nor did his opponent. Just as he expected.

Somehow, somehow, she still attempted to reason with him, as they traded slashes and spells, staff and shield.

“We can still stop this!” Faer sobbed from behind her shield.

He dipped into the wellspring of eternal darkness that Zodiark bled into their veins, his hands reaching, reaching out with claws dipped in darkness. They scrambled against her shield. He felt it tremble beneath his onslaught, felt her quaking with the effort to keep him at bay.

Hades persisted; he was inevitable.

“Have you not heard a word of what I’ve said? You are not worthy to be successors of this star! You are worthy only of death, at my hands!”

Even casting aside the mortal flesh that constricted his power seemed to be insufficient to snuff out Faer’s light— she burned all the brighter, the darker the force he brought to bear upon her.

Immortal as he was, time had little concept to him already, but the battle between he and Faer, Hades against the Warrior of Light, seemed to stretch out for an eternity before them. He waited, waited for the moment that she would slip, the moment that her strength would falter, the moment she would buckle beneath his onslaught. Just one moment, that was all it would take for either of them to catch the upper hand.

In the fixation on his primary opponent, and the desperation that drove his every attack to snuff out her light, he had left himself open to be struck by one of those damnable Scions— who had prepared ahead of time with that thrice damned auracite—

Hades had heard, in a thousand different voices, in as many tongues, say that the air at a crossroads was always heavier. It was a strange truth, one he had always forgotten to put much stock in, until he found himself standing where those paths intersected.

Now, he found the comparison more apt to crosshairs, watching the Warrior of Light bear down upon him as he struggled, prone, against the shards of auracite that had pierced him.

It should have made him feel fear. Perhaps anger, outrage, hatred, for the fabricated family that destroyed him, and any chance that he might have had had restoring his true family to their former glory.

All he could feel was relief—this fight was no longer his. He had done his part. For good or ill, he had played his role. The failure was, while certainly on his shoulders, no longer his concern.

The Light pierced Hades, and, just as he knew that it would, everything stopped.

Lahabrea had been the scientist of the lot of them, but he had been no slouch in his studies, back at Academia Anyder; he knew what should happen to him, suffused with Light as he now was. He knew what his fate was, the moment his arcane shields failed him.

And so he waited. He waited to lose feeling in his limbs—from the furthest nerve points, inward, he recalled. Waited to feel enfeebled and cold. Waited to feel too tired to keep his eyes open, and to drift off, for the last time, into that quiet dark.

Hades had died before, after all.

Those restful stretches had always played with time strangely, as he awaited his awakening, so he had anticipated the concept to cease to have all meaning, when he was sleeping forever. Even still, when the light faded, and he still felt himself very much breathing, very much alive, a ponderous frown creased his brow.

Well. That was new.

With caution, he opened his eyes— the light in front of him was still brighter than he had been expecting, and he had to blink several times before his sight adjusted.

It shouldn’t have been as hard as it was, to process the dawn cresting over the horizon, shining upon the desiccated, dilapidated remains of his Amaurot—

No, that wasn’t quite right, was it? Amaurot had fallen eons ago—ah, and there was his brain, at last waking up with the rest of him.

His thoughts were alarmingly quiet, for how his mind raced with them. Belatedly, with an awe that dawned on him as the sun rose before him, he realized that he felt strangely empty—but where that would have given him a sense of anxiety, once, he could only breathe a sigh of relief at hearing no one else in his head but himself. The strings that had pulled his thoughts in different directions had been cut: Zodiark’s hold over him, was at last, somehow, no more. A distant pondering on whether he had lived longer tempered or not flitted through his mind, but it dragged his heart up, into his throat, on its way out.

Everyone he had loved, and lost, and mourned, now so many eons passed that not even their stardust remained. Those he had convinced himself, through sheer stubbornness and the magnitude of his lies to himself, that he could save. In the heart of his grief, when he couldn’t see another way to go on, he’d clung to the delusion of “what if,” and tried to manufacture a tomorrow for the dead, stealing it from the living, time and again, and justifying it all the while because they weren’t his people.

In the strange stasis of realizing that he was neither dead, nor tempered, there was a numbness to all that he had done. There was, at least, until his sight focused on more than the sprawling, dilapidated remains of his memories.

For there, standing before him, restored to her true glory, gleaming sword of pure Light in her trembling hand, and looking at him as though she were terrified for him with wide eyes that swam with tears, was the Warrior of Light. Faer: his great-granddaughter. His family.

The family that he had betrayed, a thousand, thousand different ways, until it had shattered in his grip, and the fragmented pieces that remained had to make do with what was left in the wreckage of his rampage. Hades felt as though he couldn’t breathe, as the weight of all he had done, over the eons, bore down upon his unclouded mind.

“Faer…?” He whispered.

The blade in her hand rattled, quietly, from the strength of her trembling grip. For all the ferocity that they had both brought into the fight mere moments ago, it felt like neither of them could find the strength to move. The strength, or perhaps, not knowing how to move in this eerie stillness.

“...Great-grandpa?” She called back, sounding just as shocked as he felt.

“I...my eyes, at last, unclouded...to think that I…” He rasped, his throat feeling as a desert, even when he tried to force it to work, and swallowed thickly.

The vision of her swam before him. Tears, he realized distantly, as they began to flood his eyes, stinging with a distantly familiar saltiness, made new again for its centuries long absence. Zodiark had dulled the senses that were compromising; the anger, the bitterness, He allowed to flourish. The love, too, if only to serve as kindling for the former. But all the inconvenient facets of grief, the paralyzing sense of emptiness, the yawning chasms in long tracts of land in his soul, filled only with a sea of sorrow, Zodiark had walled off from the Unsundered.

If he experienced sadness, it had been a gray, tiring thing; he would sleep, and dream, and awake freshly embittered and ready to enact the will of his Dark Lord. Without that dam to keep the flow of that complicated mass of emotions from flooding him, they spilled out of him, and he could only helplessly shudder to try and keep himself still. He was only as successful as he would be trying to stand in defiance of a flooding river in a hurricane.

Horrified at all that he had done, and the breakdown that was in progress before Faer and her Scions, he sank down to his knees. He could feel the rattle of his voice against his chest; he was speaking, he was saying something— likely pitiful, mourning mewls. He could scarcely believe himself; the depths he had sunk to, the shame that his Ancient loved ones would feel, knowing what he had done to try and bring them back—

Hades wanted to laugh. Resurrection, in direct defiance of everything that the Lifestream stood for? What hubris they had harbored, to think that they could construct a simple solution to the consequences of their own irresponsibility.

They had been poor shepherds of their star. He had been a poor shepherd, and a poorer hero. But he could begin to make right, if he were given the chance.

He felt as though he could scarcely articulate himself, through the aeons of grief catching up to him, at long last. The hands that he wept into were wrenched away from him— Faer had knelt before him, to level with him, without him even knowing she had moved at all.

Squeezing his hands, she gave him a watery smile. “You’re not making any sense. But that’s alright. Breathe. You’re alive. You’re free.”

“How—?” Hades managed to gasp, through the tears that choked him.

“I...I don’t know. I wanted to save you, so, so desperately. I think...I think I just...forced it to happen, is all.” She shrugged, around the shuddering of her shoulders. “I couldn’t bear killing you. I couldn’t. I’ve already been forced to kill my own brother, once. I’ll likely have to kill my father. Please...please don’t make me kill you, too—”

Gathering her to him, he promised, over and over again, through his tears, that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t— given the royal mess he had made his family, under Zodiark’s guidance, she was likely the only family he would be left with. He had already lost so much—

For a few long moments, they knelt together, and just let themselves mourn everything that had brought them to that moment. Every tragedy that had forced them to their knees, together, clinging desperately in the dawn of a new day.

As Hades finally felt like he could breathe again, for the first time since time forgot him altogether, he let that awakening wash over him again: he could take what he had left, and help his family rebuild. He need not truly lose everything. That revelation was enough for those tears that had flooded his eyes to be stemmed; they yet fell, and he yet grieved, but he could at last taste tangible, true hope, beyond that harrowing sorrow. There was a light that, at long last, did not burn him.

“He gets one chance.” One of her friends— Thancred, Hades remembered that he had been corrected on that— said, from a respectable distance. “Surrender, or we’ll spare her our duty.”

“I surrender.” Hades replied, looking up at them. “We lost our home, and everyone we loved, and our grief made monsters of us. I am among the last of them. Let me teach you the ways of our successes, and our stumbles alike. Learn from me, and let me help.”

Hand on his gunblade, Thancred wavered. “I’m not sure that’s enough—”

“Make that enough, or you might as well have struck me down, too, Thancred.” Faer warned, standing and facing him. “Don’t make me lose more family. Please, I’m so tired.”

If Hades’ plea wasn’t enough to satisfy him, Faer’s was; they were the truest sense of family, she and her Scions. Observing them with eyes unclouded, that much was obvious.

Some distance from both the Scions, as well as himself, the Exarch watched, fidgeting. Doubtless, he had his own reckoning with Faer awaiting, for all his secrecy and subterfuge throughout their adventures through Norvrandt. As their eyes met, they shared a sort of understanding that could only come with living a lifetime beyond what most mortals could conceive of, even through the trauma, and all that Hades had put him through, the Exarch could find it in him to empathize with his warden.

To think, he had thought these specimens of mankind insufficient, when they so desperately reminded him of the very people he had loved and lost.

“Lest you have lingering concerns: I can neither see Zodiark’s hand around Hades’ heart, nor sense His touch upon him. Hades is tempered no longer.”

It had been more than enough, for Y’Shtola to make that declaration, for the Scions to accept that he was not the same man that was capable of the things that he had accomplished under Zodiark, but hearing it had been something Hades had not realized he had needed, until it had settled gently over his raw, healing heart.

“Given that, I see no reason I should not immediately start with those lessons— and I know precisely where to begin.” Hades said, finding the strength and steadiness to stand once more.

With a snap of his fingers and a faint, effortless pull from the newly purified fire in his soul, the ruined remains of his home were once more restored to a reflection of their former glory.

“Come: it is high past time I show you the full depth of your inheritance, Faer.” Hades offered, sweeping his hand out, toward the door. “Let me show you my yesterday, that we might better our tomorrow.”

For a few agonizing moments, stillness reigned once more. He feared that he would appear false, now, at the height of their victory, that they would not believe him. For the second time in his life, he feared not being permitted to live.

And then, Faer was beside him, her smile beaming brighter than the morning light that haloed her. When he looked behind them, the Scions, and the Exarch, had all begun to follow behind, though their distance was understandable.

“Shall we, then?” His great-granddaughter asked, hesitantly.

They were far from recovered, from the blood price they had both taken from one another. They would not be for quite some time, he imagined. There would doubtless be confrontations over ugly truths, and rebreaking of emotional wounds that had healed improperly the first time.

But Hades would walk that path, with eyes open and unclouded. Every step of that journey would be worthwhile, to begin to truly rebuild from what was left, for the first time since the Sundering.

“We shall, my dear.” He agreed, and fell into step beside her, into their tomorrow. “We shall.”

#ffxiv #5.0 spoilers #5.3 spoilers #Emet-Selch #faerflowerkid #commissioned writing #tagging just in case for that one reference #thank you again for your patience and patronage!!!#this was such a fun idea to work with that I kind of ran with it akjdgfhsdjglgkdfs

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johnny-and-dora · 5 years ago

Text

could never want for more (when you’re near)

65. “help me find my shirt.” “you know, as much as i want to...i don’t want to.” requested by anon or, shameless early relationship fluff counts as a healthy coping mechanism, right?

read on ao3 -

Amy blinks herself awake in the early morning light, coming to her senses slowly, head clouded by a slight hangover that seems to pair nicely with the foggy autumnal morning outside. She’s confused and honestly, a little disappointed to find she’s alone in her bed – she has to admit she treasures her boyfriend’s sleepy smile in the mornings, the way he’ll pull her closer to him before he’s even fully awake, mumble a muffled good morning that tickles, a low and warm hum in her ear. The days that start off that way always seem to go better.

The confusion only increases tenfold when her alarm clock reads 7:17am despite it being a rare, precious shared day off with said boyfriend, who is notably a) not a morning person and b) mysteriously absent, his phone missing from the extra charging cable she bought him.

She’s dragging him to one of her favourite art galleries today, knowing the exhibition they have on the art of movie posters will catch his attention. Then it’s lunch in a cute French-themed café she found and a walk in the park near her apartment. She’s been looking forward to spending this time with Jake all week. He even put a reminder on his phone so he wouldn’t forget, just one of many recent tiny gestures that speak a million words about how much effort he’s been putting into their relationship.

Amy’s about to launch a full investigation as to why he’s out of bed criminally early when he emerges from the hallway clad only in his boxers, phone in hand.

“Holt called.” He says while wriggling into his jeans, grimacing apologetically in a way she knows means all her plans are instantly out the window. “Apparently a witness came in with new info on the Abernathy murders.”

Amy nods, understanding at once – he’s been working this case for weeks, desperate for any kind of new lead. There’s been a lot of coffee drinking and teeth grinding and her offering sympathetic smiles over her monitor whenever he lifts his head from a long period slumped against his desk.

There’s also been a lot of letting him choose where they order from or what film to watch and her letting him be the big spoon. She even brought some Orangina for when he’s over, which she knows he appreciated even if it apparently wasn’t exactly right (She personally can’t tell the difference, but she’s not about to start that debate again).

And as much as she mourns her original plans to spend the day together, Amy understands how important this is, likely more than most other girlfriends would. Hell, if their roles were reversed, she’d probably be halfway out the door already.

That doesn’t necessarily mean she can’t mess with him a little, though. Or make the most of the time they have while he’s still here. In the name of maximum productivity, of course.

Amy Santiago is nothing but efficient.

She props herself up on her elbow to get a better look at him, purposefully letting the comforter drop to her lap so she instantly has the upper hand in any negotiations they might be making. He’s fully engrossed in the search for the rest of his clothes, strewn across her bedroom a little too enthusiastically last night in a post-Shaw’s haze. It could take him a while to notice her, but it’s worth the wait.

“Will you help me find my shirt?”

“You know, as much as I want to…” She says, slipping into that low sultry voice she knows he’s utterly powerless against, “I really don’t want to.”

Jake finally glances up at her and freezes midway through putting on his sock, eyes suddenly wide.

“Oh, that is so not fair.”

“What?” She says innocently. “You’re my extremely cute, very handsome charming boyfriend. I’m just trying to get a good look before you disappear and leave me alone all day.”

She’s expecting the usual bravado or blatant over-confidence that Jake usually exudes, some kind of snappy retort or playful engagement in their usual verbal sparring. What takes her aback is the way he goes quiet, wonder and maybe even shyness flooding his expression.

Jake is a lot of things. He has a wide and vivid emotional spectrum that she’s gotten to know pretty well over the past few years. He is rarely ever shy.

“You…you think I’m handsome?” He says – and there’s the dopiest, cutest disbelieving look on his face that melts away all her playfulness entirely.

“Of course I do.” She says, softer now. “I mean, I like you for lots of other reasons, but- “

He perches tentatively on the end of her bed, shirt clearly forgotten. “You like me for lots of reasons?”

“Oh my god, yes, you dork.” She laughs lightly, sitting up and tucking her hair behind both ears. “I thought…that was obvious?” Amy gestures back and forth between them, loosely symbolising the whole relationship thing that they’ve been doing for almost three months now, and is relieved to finally see him smile, brilliant and bright.

“I…yes. Yeah, of course. I like you too, for a million billion different reasons, obviously- “ He runs his hand through his already messy hair, face a little flushed. It’s a sight to behold, a flustered, half-naked Jake Peralta. She’s studied many revered and respected pieces of art in her time, but he might be her favourite.

“It’s just, uh. Sometimes it’s still kinda surreal to me. That you actually like me back. That we’re, um…that I’m…”

“My boyfriend?” She prompts, and the reverent look on his face could power the entire city in a blackout. He shifts closer, enough for the scent of his cologne to pleasantly flood her senses.

“Yes. That I’m Amy Santiago’s boyfriend. Man, I should get that on a t-shirt.”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh Ames, you know Charles is probably hand-stitching them as we speak.” Amy wrinkles her nose in disgust, pushing him away as he laughs, bright and loud and sweet. The world is fuller, better somehow when he laughs, even if it’s about Charles’s weird obsession with their romantic relationship. Suddenly things not going to plan is an opportunity to take stock of her stationary needs and to organise a date night rather than the onset of a full-on anxiety attack.

“Ugh, I’m sorry.” He sighs, intertwining their hands – Amy furrows her brow, confused.

“For what? Charles? He’s pretty intense, but his enthusiasm can be actually kinda-“

“No, no. I meant for ruining all the plans you had for us today.”

“Oh. You’re sweet, but it’s okay. It’s the job, you and I know that better than anyone.” She says softly, unable to resist the impulse to card her fingers through his soft curls. He takes her hand back, pressing a kiss to each of her knuckles.

“Still. It sucks. Now I have to leave my gorgeous, incredible girlfriend to go work a stupid case I don’t even care about.”

“Jake, this is all you’ve cared about for weeks.”

“That is so not true.” He says, pouting. “You’re what I care about.”

And well, there it is. If she wasn’t going to tempt him to stay a little longer before, now she barely has a choice. They easily slip from a sweet kiss into something hungrier, more passionate – painfully aware of her morning breath and general dedication to punctuality, Amy tries one last fruitless attempt to get Jake to work on time.

“You’re going to be late…” It comes out breathy and trembling and it’s poorly timed, really, because he’s just started trailing kisses down her neck and collarbone in that way she’ll never get enough of.

“Don’t care.” He mumbles into her shoulder, warm and low in exactly the way she’s been craving. “Amy Santiago thinks I’m handsome.”

It’s quite a bit later when Amy finally manages to muster up the willpower to gently pry him off her, pupils blown and breathing heavy. She revels in the moment before laughing as he grumbles about having to put his jeans on again. Then she dedicates herself to studying his sleepy, blissed-out lopsided grin as he finally manages to find his shirt, partially hidden underneath her bed.

“You know I’m going to ride that high for weeks, right?” He grins at her as he buttons up his slightly rumpled flannel, smoothing it down as best he can.

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves him off. “Don’t tell anyone the reason why you’re so late. I have a reputation to maintain.”

She scrolls through Instagram as he laces up his sneakers, smiling at the message from Kylie asking about the guy in her most recent post. It’s a slightly blurry selfie of the two of them, a couple drinks in at the squad’s latest Shaw’s get-together, her head resting on his shoulder. It may not be the best photo ever taken, but the way Jake looks at her so tenderly, so happily, makes her incredibly fond of it, nonetheless.

And it’s not like he fills a missing part of her or anything equally as mushy. She’s always been whole, an entire living breathing person that doesn’t need a relationship to sustain her. But there’s something, there’s always been something about Jake that makes her feel lighter whenever he’s around. Less trapped in her own head, less worried about what other people think.

His sweet and open good-naturedness and his talent for making her laugh take care of that. And he always takes care of her. Just as she’ll always take care of him. That’s been an unspoken truth for much longer than either of them would easily admit.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? And we’re doing a proper date night tonight. Fancy restaurant and a movie that isn’t Die Hard and everything.”

“Wow.”

“I know. I am the king of romance.” He leans in closer, eyes wide, whispering fake-conspiratorially. “We might even get to second base.”

Amy snorts. “If you’re lucky.”

“Lucky enough to be with you.”

He kisses her once more, quick and sweet, before hurrying out the door; Amy dreamily ghosts her fingers over her lips, grinning. She’s never had something like this with anyone before, and though it scares her a little, she secretly revels in the quiet thrill of already caring so deeply about him.

With promises of many more mornings like these glimmering on the horizon, it’s all too easy for her to climb back under the covers and enjoy the sweetest of dreams.

#b99 #b99 fic #peraltiago #jake x amy #brooklyn 99 #this is literally just them being crazy into each other bc. idk. it's what i personally need n to cope lol #i hope you enjoy!#my writing #shut up sian

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ryanmeft · 5 years ago

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Ryan’s Favorite Films of 2019

A stuttering detective,

A top hat-wearing vamp

A forced-perspective war,

A bit of Blaxploitation camp

Prisoners on a space ship

Having sex with bears

A writer goes remembering

Whenever his pain flares

A prancing, dancing Hitler

A gambler high on strife

Here will go cavorting with

A mom who becomes a wife

A family plot with many threads

Three men against their own

A stuntman and his actor

A mobster now quite alone

Doubles under the earth

Two men in a tall house

Are here to watch a woman who

Is battling with her spouse

A family’s plans for their strong son

Go awry one night

A man rejects his country

Which is spoiling for a fight

A house built by his grandpa

(Maybe; we’re not sure)

Looks out upon three prisoners

Whose passions are a lure

All these are on my list this year

It’s longer than before

Because picking only ten this time

Was too great of a chore

What are limits anyway?

They’re just things we invented

I don’t really find them useful

So, this year, I’ve dissented

You may have noticed this time out

That numbers, I did grant

Promise they’ll stay in this order, though?

Now that, I just can’t

I’m always changing my mind

Because, after all, you see

Good film is about the heart

And mine’s rather finicky

There are a lot more I could name

(And I’ll change my mind at any time)

For now, though, consider these

The ones I found sublime

20. Motherless Brooklyn

I’ve got a (hard-boiled) soft spot for 90’s neo-noirs like L.A. Confidential, Red Rock West and Seven, and Edward Norton’s ‘50’s take on Jonathan Lethem’s 90’s -set novel can stand firmly in that company.

19. Doctor Sleep

There’s something about Stephen King’s best writing that transcends mere popularity; his work may not be fine literature, but it is immune to the fads of the moment. So, too, are the best movies based on that work. This one, an engaging adventure-horror, deserved better than it got from audiences.

18. Jojo Rabbit

There was a time when the anything-goes satire of Mel Brooks could produce a major box office hit. Disney’s prudish refusal to market the film coupled with the dominance of franchises means that’s no longer the case. If you bothered to give Jojo a shot, though, you got the strange-but-rewarding experience of guffawing one moment and being horrified the next.

17. By The Grace of God

I’d venture this is the least-seen film on my list; even among us brie-eating, wine-sniffing art house snobs, I rarely hear it mentioned. Focusing on the perspectives of three men dealing with a particularly heinous and unrepentant abusive priest and the hierarchy that protects him, it’s every bit as disquieting and infuriating as 2015’s Oscar-winning Spotlight.

16. Waves

You think Trey Edward Shultz’s Waves will be one thing---a domestic drama about an affluent African-American family (and that in and of itself is a rarity). Then it becomes something else entirely. It addresses something movies often avoid: that as life goes on, the person telling the story will always change.

15. Transit

You’re better off not questioning exactly where and when the film is set (it is based on a book about Nazi Germany but has been changed to be a more generalized Fascist state). The central theme here is identity, as three people change theirs back and forth based on need and desire.

14. American Woman

Movies about regular, working class, small-town American usually focus on men. This one is about a much-too-young mother and grandmother, played brilliantly by Sierra Miller, dealing with unexpected loss and the attendant responsibilities she isn’t ready for.

13. Marriage Story

There is an argument between a married couple in here that is as true a human moment as ever was on screen---free of trumped-up screenplay drama and accurate to how angry people really argue. The entire movie strives to be about the kind of realistic divorce you don’t see on-screen. It is oddly refreshing.

12. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Quentin Tarantino’s love letter to 70’s Tinseltown is essentially a question: What if the murder that changed the industry forever had gone down differently? Along the way, it also manages to be a clever and insightful study of fame and fulfillment, or lack thereof.

11. High Life

Claire Denis is damned determined not to be boring. Your reaction to her latest film will probably depend on how receptive you are to that as the driving force of a film. Myself, I’m very receptive. I want to see the personal struggles of convicts unwittingly shipped into space, told without Action-Adventure tropes, in a movie that sometimes misfires but is never dull.

10. Dolemite Is My Name

And fuckin’ up motherfuckers is my game! Look, if you don’t like naughty words, you probably shouldn’t be reading my columns---and you definitely shouldn’t be watching this movie. Eddie Murphy plays Rudy Ray Moore, the ambitious, irrepressible and endlessly optimistic creator of Blaxpoitation character Dolemite. Have you seen the 1975 film? It’s either terrible and wonderful, or wonderful and terrible, and the jury’s still out. Either way, Moore in the film is a self-made comic who establishes himself by talking in a unique rhyming style that speaks to black Americans at a time when black pop culture (and not just the white rendition of it) was finally beginning to pierce the American consciousness. What The Disaster Artist did for The Room, this movie does for Dolemite---with the difference being I felt like I learned something I didn’t know here.

9. 1917

Breathless, nerve-wracking and somehow intensely personal even though it almost never takes time to slow down, it is fair to call Sam Mendes’s film a thrill ride---but it’s one that enlightens us on a fading historical time, rather than simply being empty calories. Filmed in such a way as to make it seem like one continuous, two-hour take, for which some critics dismissed it as a gimmick, the technique is used to lock us in with the soldiers whose mission it is to save an entire division from disaster. We are given no information or perspective that the two central soldiers---merely two, in a countless multitude---do not have, and so we are with them at every moment, deprived of the relief of omniscience. I freely admit I tend to give anything about World War I the benefit of the doubt, but there’s no doubt that the movie earns my trust.

8. Ash Is Purest White

Known by the much less cool-sounding name Sons and Daughters of Jianghu in China, here is a story that starts off ostensibly about crime---a young woman and her boyfriend are powerful in the small-potatoes mob scene of a dying industrial town---but after the surprising first act becomes a meditation on life, perseverance and exactly how much power is worth, anyway, when it is so fleeting and so easily lost. What do you do when everything that defined you is gone? You go on living. This is my first exposure to writer-director Jia Zhangke, an oversight I must strive hard to correct in future.

7. Knives Out

The whodunit is a lost art, a standard genre belonging to a time when mass audiences could appreciate a picture even if someone didn’t run, yell or explode while running and yelling every ten minutes. Rian Johnson and an all-star cast rescued it from the brink of cinematic extinction and gave it just enough of a modern injection to keep it relevant. Every second of the film is engaging; Johnson even manages to have a character whose central trait is throwing up when asked to lie, and he makes it seem sympathetic rather than juvenile. The fantastic cast of characters is backed up with all the qualities of “true” cinema: perfect camerawork, an effective score, mesmerizing production design. As someone who didn’t much care for Johnson’s Star Wars outing, I’m honestly put out this didn’t do better at the box office than it did.

6. A Hidden Life

After a few questionable efforts and completely losing the thread with the execrable vanity project Song to Song, Terence Malick returns to his bread and butter: meditative dramas on the nature of faith, family, and being on the outside looking in, which encompass a healthy dose of nature, philosophy and people talking without moving their lips. That last is a little dig, but it’s true: Malick does Malick, and if you don’t like his thing, this true story about a German dissenter in World War II will not change your mind. For me, what Malick has done is that rarest of things: he had made a movie about faith, and about a character who is faithful, without proselytizing. That the closeness and repressiveness of the Nazi regime is characterized against Malick’s typical soaring backdrops is a masterstroke, and the best-ever use of his visual style.

5. The Lighthouse

Robert Eggers is a different kind of horror filmmaker. After redefining what was possible with traditional horror monsters in The Witch, he returned with something that couldn’t be more different: an exploration of madness more in the vein of European film than American. Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe are two men stranded in a lighthouse together slowly losing their minds, or what is left of them. The haunting score and stark, black-and-white photography evoke a nightmare caught on tape, something we’re not supposed to be seeing. It’s not satisfying in a traditional way, but for those craving something more cerebral from horror, Eggers has it covered.

4. Us

I have become slightly notorious in my own little circle for not thinking Get Out was the greatest film ever made, and now I’ve become rather known for thinking Us just might be. Ok, so that’s definite hyperbole: “greatest” is a tall claim for almost any horror movie. Yet here Jordan Peele shows that he can command an audience’s attention even when not benefiting from a popular cultural zeitgeist in terms of subject matter. It’s a movie with no easy or clear message, one that specializes in simply unsettling us with the idea that the world is fundamentally Not Right. I firmly believe that if Peele becomes a force in the genre, 50 years from now when he and all of us are gone, his first film will be remembered as a competent start, while this will be remembered as the beginning of his greatness.

3. The Last Black Man in San Francisco

Ostensibly about urban gentrification, this story of a young black man trying to save his ancestral home from the grasping reach of white encroachment is a flower with many petals to reveal. Don’t let my political-sounding description turn you off: the movie is not a polemic in the slightest, but rather a wry, sensitive look at people, their personalities and how those personalities are intertwined with the places they call home. Though the movie is the directorial debut of Joe Talbot, it is based loosely on the memories and feelings of his friend Jimmie Falls, who also plays one of the two central characters. If you’ve ever watched a place you love fall to the ravages of time and change, this movie may strike quite a chord with you.

2. Uncut Gems

When asked why this movie is great, I usually say that it was unbelievably stressful and caused me great anxiety. This description is not usually successful in selling it. The Safdie Brothers have essentially filmed chaos: a man self-destructing in slow-motion, if you can call it slow. Howard Ratner has probably been gradually exploding all his life; he strikes you as someone who came out of the womb throwing punches. He’s an addictive gambler who loves the risk much more than the reward, and can’t gain anything good in life without risking it on a proverbial roll of the dice. His behavior is destructive. His attitude is toxic. Why do we root for him? Perhaps because, as played by Adam Sandler, he never has any doubt as to who he is---something few of us can say. He’s an asshole, but he’s a genuine asshole, and somehow that’s appealing even when you’re in his line of fire.

1. Pain and Glory

When I realized I would, for the first time, have the chance to see a Pedro Almodovar film on the screen, I was overjoyed. His movies aren’t always great, but that was of little concern: he’s one of the handful of directors on the planet who can fairly call back to the avant-garde traditions of Bergman or Truffaut, making the movies he wants to make about the things he want to make them about, and I’d never seen one of his films when it was new and fresh, only months or years later on DVD.

It seems I picked right, as his latest has been almost universally hailed as one of the best of his long career. An aging, aching filmmaker spends his days in his apartment, ignoring the fans of his original hit film and most of his own acquaintances, alive or dead---he tries hard to put his memories away. Throughout the course of the movie, he re-engages with most of them in one way or another, coming to terms with who he is and where he’s been, though not in a Hallmark-movie-of-the-week way. Antonio Banderas plays him in the role that was always denied him by his stud status in Hollywood. It isn’t simply him, though: every person we meet is engaging and, we sense, has their own story outside of how they intersect with his. Most engaging is that of his deceased mother, who in her youth was played vivaciously by a sun-toughened Penelope Cruz. Perhaps Almodovar will tell us some of their stories some day. Perhaps not. I would read an entire book of short fiction all about them. This is the year’s best film.

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punkpoemprose · 6 years ago

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December 12th- And We’ll All Hang On

Universe: 1910′s/ WWI AU (A Norwegian Port Town)

Length: 3996 Words

Rating: T (Teen & Up) This gets pretty heavy/ angsty, but it’s better by the end.

A/N: This one is full of cool and interesting facts about WW1! Did you know that Norway was a “neutral ally” of Britain and that their merchant ships supplied large quantities of raw materials for the war effort? Did you know that there’s actually an entire archive of Norwegian merchant steamers that were damaged or sunk by German U-boats? These are new facts to me, and man I had way too much fun looking into Norway’s history on this one. Excuse me some ending historical inaccuracy. I really like sea chanties (I blame Assassin’s Creed Black Flag). The one referenced here is Roll the Old Chariot Along (as performed by David Coffin) a favorite of mine. I highly recommend giving it a listen.

There was a war on in Europe, but you wouldn’t really know it. Men both young and old were for the most part safe and happy in their homes. Potatoes and grain weren’t to be used to make alcohol anymore as they were very happily selling them to England, but had it not been in the papers she wouldn’t know as she and her sister didn’t care to drink much anyhow.

She had heard that the increase in trade meant that some poorer people were having difficulty in obtaining bread and a few other food items, but she hadn’t heard any complaints from the folk in their town. The Arendelle family came from a long line of nobility but had been merchants since the early 1810’s when nobility largely lost their status with the inception of the Norwegian Constitution. It was a bit silly, but Anna still knew the long line of Lords and Ladies from which she had descended and was pleased enough to create little stories in her head of the grandeur court life must have held for them.

She was happy to not have to worry about such things as proper curtsying though. No one in their little village expected it of her and life was quiet and rather pleasant.

Now that her sister was head of their family’s small company, she was ensuring that what they sold to the English to keep their people fed, was at a fair price, and yet was not taking food from the mouths of the people who lived in their village. She was a good woman, fair if not a bit shy. The people in Oslo, as she’d read in the paper, were not so lucky. The wealthy there were busy placing profits over people and there was to be a large demonstration over it in a week’s time. It was upsetting to think on, but she did her best to keep her mind on the people around her instead. She did well by them and they did well by her and it was all that mattered.

Anna waved fondly to an older gentleman who sometimes fixed her shoes when she inevitably broke a heel doing something she shouldn’t. Her sister often chided her for it, but she simply couldn’t help herself but to skip along the docks or try a bit of gardening. If it were only proper for her to wear men’s boots she wouldn’t find so much trouble, but she thought, if nothing else, it pleased the old cobbler to have the money and to hear the story of how she’d managed to mangle her shoe again.

He waved back with a sad smile on his face. Anna wondered at it for a moment but decided that running along to do her errands was paramount if she’d like to have the afternoon for socialization, and decided she’d simply return later to check on him.

The market was uncharacteristically quiet and sullen. No one said anything about the somber mood to her as she bought her bread and eggs for twice the price they were charging, just to be sure she was being as fair as she could be, and then brought them back home to her sister as quickly as she could to ensure that the time she had left in her afternoon would be enough to get up to enough trouble that she might break a heel again. How she loved the excuse to go see the old man and hear his gentle chiding and laughter, his stories about cobblers’ elves and how much trouble her father had been as a boy. Truly she wanted enough time to get up to trouble with someone else as well, but she blushed to think of it, and supposed that really what they got up to wasn’t so much trouble as it was good fun.

“Elsa,” she called to her sister, setting her basket atop their kitchen table. Gerda, the cook and maid that their parents had hired long ago, would be due back any hour. They needed her much less since their parents passing as much of their home had been closed off since, but they kept her on for the love of her and for how nicely she treated them.

She heard no response and huffed, walking to the stairs and hitching up her skirts to climb them, knowing full well she’d find her sister in her study, stooped over some ledgers or orders. Elsa was a rather clever businesswoman, but for her health and mental state Anna often wished that she would sell off the business to someone else, or at least hire on some more men and women to help.

She knocked on the closed door and found no answer. So she knocked again.

“Elsa,” she said, “Open the door!”

There was nothing, no sound, no footsteps, not anything at all.

She banged again on the door, this time a bit harder, wondering if perhaps Elsa had fallen asleep on the little couch they had in her study for just the occasion that she’d been working too late and needed a rest, or for the occasion that Anna wanted to take up a bit of reading or sewing in her sister’s presence.

“Elsa open the door!”

There was a sound then, soft, almost a whimper. Elsa was in the room, that made Anna quite sure of it. Sometimes she had a bad case of the nerves and would lock herself in. Anna tried the knob and found that it was, in fact, securely locked.

A bit nervous herself she knocked one final time and said, “Elsa you have to open the door or I’ll take it down. You know I’ll manage it. I’m very stubborn.”

It was said to be comical, yet it was true. While she hadn’t taken a door down herself yet, she was quite determined and thought that if perhaps any woman her size could do such a thing, it would be her.

There was another sob and then the sound of feet dragging more that walking across the floor.

When the door opened to reveal Elsa looking entirely a mess with blonde hair sticking in all directions and her eyes rimmed red, Anna panicked. Her heart raced in her chest and her sister handed her a slip of paper, a telegram from the merchant navy.

Ship downed. German U-boat. All souls thought lost.

Anna’s hands shook as she read it. It wasn’t possible. The ship was due in any hour. There was no reason that they would just be given word that it had been sunk. Norway was a neutral ally of England. They only supplied food so the people wouldn’t starve. Why would a small ship carrying grain from Norway be sunk?

Her heart raced and she crushed the paper in her hand, rushing from the room and down the stairs. She nearly tripped on her skirts as she made her way out the door and rushed down from the hill where her home was set and towards the docks where she had been expecting to see a ship.

She heard a baby crying as she ran, she thought she heard a woman crying too. There were so many eyes on her as she ran, she could feel them. Sad eyes, hurt eyes, eyes of people that knew why she was running to the docks but could not try to stop her.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see when she arrived but the water rolling up against the shore as it always did. There were no ships in port. There was no sign on the horizon that there would be. There was only a telegram in her hand.

She uncrumpled it with shaking fingers and read it again.

Ship downed. German U-boat. All souls thought lost.

All souls.

“Kristoff?”

She whispered his name into the empty air around her as even the waters seemed to still.

All souls.

And hers as well.

***

Gerda’s husband Kai and one of the boys from the village came to fetch her at dark.

Her tears had long since dried, and truthfully had run out, her eyes feeling like sand as she stared out at the water. The ship had never arrived. There was no promise that it would, and in her hands, she still clutched every reason why it would not.

“Come on up Miss Arendelle,” the old man said, draping one of his wife’s scarves around her shoulders and placing a gentle hand on her back, “You’ll catch cold out here, he wouldn’t want that.” He had been her father’s valet for a great many years and was family as much as Gerda, and yet she couldn’t look at him, eyeing only the waves.

What he said was true. She remembered Kristoff in the winter, always pulling one of his hats over her hair, mussing it all up and then putting her hood over it. He was always worried about her being too cold. She remembered cold nights, when she’d sneak out to see him and he’d wrap her up by the fire in his small home and chide her for walking through the snow for him. Their love affair, less affair than it was just very outright courting, was the least well-kept secret in town.

They’d steal kisses in the shadows, but everyone knew. They were all but engaged, they had been all but engaged for the longest time, but he’d insisted on waiting until he had the means to give her the life he thought she deserved.

He’d been a little ragamuffin when they were kids. He worked for her parents unloading bits and bobs at the docks, running messages, whatever they found for him. He was the town orphan, cared for by an elderly couple who’d passed a bit before her parent’s had. That they’d become fast friends and grown into lovers would shock anyone who hadn’t seen them together.

“Come on now, up you go,” the old man tried again, but to no avail.

Anna felt the young man’s hands on her and recoiled. He was only 18, but she didn’t want him to touch her. She didn’t want anyone to touch her but Kristoff.

“Anna if you don’t want to be carried, you’re going to have to walk,” the old man said, his voice cracking as he spoke, emotion and many years of watching loss were breaking him down.

She nodded but waited just a moment more before standing. She thought about casting herself into the waves. She was an excellent swimmer, but they were choppy now, and she thought that maybe they’d be kind enough to take her.

But no. Elsa needed her still, and Kristoff… Her heart ached and her tears returned as the slightest trickle. Kristoff wouldn’t want her to die.

She turned to the young man, “There’s a pup at his house. Would you bring it up the hill for me? I… almost forgot about him… I was in shock…”

He nodded sadly, “Yes Ms. Anna, of course I will. You just walk home.”

She had to lean on Kai to take her first few steps, her legs felt like jelly under her, weak from many hours of sitting still in the cold. She didn’t stop looking back down towards the water until the front door of her home was sealed behind her.

***

That she was out in a mourning gown surprised no one. It had been a full week, but it was the same deep dark black that she’d worn when her parents passed. They hadn’t been engaged, there was no real reason for her to be in any official mourning garb, but she was toying with the idea of giving all her brightly colored gowns away. She knew that this time, her mourning period would never end.

“Miss Arendelle,” the old cobbler called to her as she made her way down to the docks, “Miss Arendelle please do come up for lunch with me in an hour, I’ll make you tea.”

Anna thought to refuse, but instead did her best to smile to him, her face falling into an unsatisfying neutral expression as she replied, “Perhaps.”

Everyone was trying their best. She was invited around to dinner or to pray, but she never went. She couldn’t bear to. Others were in mourning as well. Her Kristoff wasn’t the only man lost from their tiny village, and there were two fathers and a son who were also gone. Surrounding small towns weren’t any better off, in fact they were arguably worse. Elsa had barely eaten in days. She, of course, blamed herself.

They’d been told it was going to be a safe voyage. The British were supposed to have been meeting them along the route to ensure that they arrived to England and back home safely, but things had gone horribly wrong somewhere along the route.

The little pup, Sven, walked calmly at her heels. He’d been her only solace, her only and most valued friend since their shared family had gone away. She fed him bits of meat and vegetables in the evening, and though Kristoff would say she spoiled him, the little creature slept with her at night.

He’d wanted to train the creature to be a companion for Anna when he was out to sea, and with little training at all, he’d succeeded in that.

When Anna sat at the docks, the little thing curled up at her side. His fur was soft, and his nose was cold and wet as it pressed into her palm. With a little yawn he gave her a sniff, then a lick, and then fell into the routine of his nap, sleeping at her side while she watched the waves roll in.

There was almost no one on the dock. She remembered when it was busy. She remembered when everything was busy, but now everything was still for her.

She closed her eyes and let the sound of the waves sing her into a state of calm. They’d taken her parents. They’d taken Kristoff, and yet she loved them. The waves simply were, they weren’t malicious despite their power, and she liked to think, in her darkest moments, that at least when they took someone they did it quickly.

Her heart ached at the thought, but it was better to think that it was quick, than to imagine the alternative.

She planned to go and straighten his little house after some time passed. She’d straightened it everyday since he’d been gone except the one where she’d expected him to return and he hadn’t. She was running out of things to straighten other than the last things he’d touched, and she didn’t think she could bear to move them.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there when Sven’s little head popped up and bumped her palm again. She opened her eyes and saw his tail was wagging. That he was happy brought her some small joy. She scratched his head but was confused when he started to bark.

He was usually a very quiet dog. To see him jump up and bark was enough to make her look around. There was no one even close to them on the dock for him to be barking at, but his little ears were perked up, and he was barking on anyway.

She thought after a moment, to glance out at the waves, and saw, much to her surprise, a ship on the horizon. A steam ship.

She wished that she’d brought her father’s old spyglass with her to the docks, but she supposed there was no real reason to have brought it along. There wasn’t much hope that the ship was of any consequence, beyond the fact that they’d not sent any other ships out since they’d been given word, and the fact that no ships came to port there but theirs. There was of course fishing boats, but no one fished on a steamer.

She didn’t allow herself to hope.

As it neared, the winds shifted, and she realized what Sven was hearing. Her heart skipped a beat, and then two. She stood too abruptly, leaving her lightheaded and the pup scrambling off her skirts and onto his own legs.

Her voice was hoarse from disuse, and her throat choked with tears, but she shouted into the wind as it carried the tune to her. A chanty.

“And we’d be alright if the wind was in our sails! And we’ll all hang on behind!”

Her voice was weak an cracking and not nearly as proud as she’d like it to sound as she turned to scream behind her, “They’re home! They’re home!”

She still wasn’t certain that they were all there, but it was more hope than she’d had in a full week.

There were only supposed to be fifteen men aboard, that’s as many as had left port on the small steamer, but to Anna’s ears they sounded hundred’s strong.

It was only a day’s journey to England, perhaps two in bad weather, and yet as the ship came to port it looked as if it were right as rain. She couldn’t imagine what had happened that they’d been gone a full week.

Folks came down from the village to the docks, hearing her shouting and dropping whatever it was they were doing to come and see what she was screaming about. She scooped Sven into her arms as people rushed down, closer to the sounds of the singing and the sight of the ship fast approaching.

“And we’ll roll the old chariot along! And we’ll roll the old chariot along! And we’ll all hang on behind!”

She leant her voice again to the old song, noticing that others did the same. Every child in their village had spent half their lives listening to the chanteys, learning them from their fathers and grandfathers and the sailors hired on from elsewhere in the world.

“And we’ll roll the old chariot along! And we’ll roll the old chariot along! And we’ll all hang on behind!”

She fell to her knees when the ship came closer and she saw a place in the hull where the metal had been replaced. They’d been hit, but they’d clearly not sunk.

All souls lost.

It couldn’t be true, they were there, their ship had been damaged, but not sunk.

Through teary eyes she saw them dock and a cheer arose from those aboard and those around her, but Anna couldn’t find it in her to move. Her lets had given out on her, and though Sven wriggled in her arms and licked her face cheerfully, she couldn’t find it in herself to stop crying.

When she saw him break through the crowd, looking like he himself was as terrified as she was, she scrambled towards him on her knees.

He was a bit worse for wear. His face was a bit dirty, his hair mussed, and he was wearing the same clothes he’d departed in, but Anna didn’t care. She let Sven onto the deck as gently as she could manage and let him haul her off the docks and into his arms.

“Has something happened?” he asked in a rush, holding her tight to him and then looking her over quickly, “Is Elsa alright?”

She could hardly bid her voice to return to her. She wasn’t sure how to shake her head, because he was alive, and he was real, and he was there.

She cried harder, “We’re fine! We’re all fine!”

She choked the words out through sobs as he held her tight.

“Then why are you in your mourning dress? Black isn’t your color Anna.”

His voice was soft, almost teasing, but too thick with emotion to really be joking.

“We thought—” she had to swallow to bring her voice back, the lump in her throat overwhelming her ability to speak, “We thought you’d all died! I…”

She reached her hand into her shirt front, where she’d been keeping the paper since they’d brought her back to her home. It had been morbid to keep it on her person, but she’d needed it there to tell her it wasn’t all a nightmare. Now though, it was all a nightmare, and she was awake now, and she knew because she could feel his arms holding her aloft and smell sweat and coal and sea on him.

He took it from her and read back to her what she’d read a hundred times over.

“Ship downed. German U-boat. All souls thought lost.”

He sounded confused as he read it aloud.

“That’s not what I sent… Anna I had them carry a message home and send you word, but this isn’t what I said. You were supposed to be told, directly, ‘Ship hit. In port for repair. German hospitality needs work. Home soon.’”

She shook her head, “Oh God someone must have confused the messages… someone thinks that someone’s coming home who isn’t…”

He nodded sadly, “We’ll have to see that straightened out, but Anna… I’m so sorry you thought…”

He shook his head, and she saw tears form in his eyes. He gripped her tighter to his chest and she was almost calmed enough to breathe properly when he kissed her hard and fast in front of everyone. She kissed him back, tangling her fingers into his mussed hair and drinking him in for all it was worth.

He was alive and he was real and solid, and he was kissing her.

“I’m going to wash up and you’re going to put on something colorful and we’re going to go help your sister straighten all this mess out, and then I don’t care what anyone thinks, I’m staying with you all night long.”

She flushed and barely stood on her own legs when he lowered her back to the ground. Thankfully his arms were around her waist in a moment. If it weren’t for the fact that everyone in town already treated them as if they were married, someone might think it unseemly, even given the circumstances.

Sven seemed only all too pleased and ran around their legs yapping out happy puppy barks as they made their way back up the hill.

“I won’t expect you for lunch then!” The old cobbler yelled after her as they walked back to her home, “And thank God you’ve all come home safe!”

She turned back slightly to give the man a meaningful smile, and Kristoff shouted back in thanks, but didn’t take his eyes off Anna all the way back home.

She thought that maybe she would burn her mourning gown before she left home with him. His hands were sure on her, he was there with her, and she felt more alive than she had in a very long time.

“Why were you singing that chanty?” she whispered when they made it to the front door.

“What makes you think I was calling it?” he asked, his tone regaining some teasing as he looked at her.

“Because you always call them,” she replied.

“I only call them because you like them so much,” he said, “that’s why we always sing when we come to port. For you. That’s why I called it. I knew you’d be on the docks and it’s your favorite.”

She suspected as much but hearing him say it made her heart leap. She stood up on the tips of her toes, simply asking to slip, come down on her heel too hard and break it, and kissed his lips.

Sven barked, making her pull away after a moment and open the door.

“He’s gotten impatient since I’ve been gone.”

Anna laughed at that, “Well now that he’s allowed in my bed he likes being indoors a lot more.”

Kristoff shook his head and laughed in return. “Gone a week and she replaces me with a dog.”

#Kristanna Advent 2019 #kristanna #WW1 AU #1910's AU #angst with a happy ending

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elijahglbot-blog · 5 years ago

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Host Bar Alba

Let's face it - one of the greatest (if not primary!) perks of running away to University is the social aspect of the college experience. It's a pivotal opportunity for post-secondary students in their undergraduate program as it's a prime time for climbing the social ladder not only for the popularity benefits, but for nabbing study-buddies, joining social circles and forming long-lasting friendships, and most importantly - networking.

Now, networking may not matter to you until post-graduate job-hunting time, but is great to keep in mind when considering who you're shaking hands with in social situations!

Despite the above said benefits, there's an incessant, nagging question on most university/college students' minds - 호빠 how the hell am I supposed to afford socializing while going to school?? The following list isn't necessarily going to make you a millionaire, but could certainly make the school/work/social life balancing act a bit cheaper - as long as you're cool with saving cash legally - all while growing your social circle.

1. Choose to eat in rather than eating out regularly.

Now, I know from experience what it's like to miss Mama's (or Dad's, Grandma's - whoever took care of you) home cookin' - and how much easier it is just to grab Subway or hit up Red Lobster every other night to fill that nasty void and fear of your own culinary skills. The reality is that if this becomes your habit, you'll be on the receiving end of a sweet slap from Mama rather than a hot plate of her sweet lasagna for your spending habits.

Make an effort to regularly grocery shop - whether it's by bus or catching a ride with a friend if you have to (I've seen people walking and cycling with their groceries)! Do your grocery shopping on a full stomach - you're more likely to over-spend or buy too much food (that will eventually go to waste) when you shop hungry. Having a few reasonable choices stocked in your kitchen at home will definitely make the choice to dine in a bit easier, rather than choosing between a bottle of ranch and going to Montana's due to some laziness in the grocery shopping department.

Make a promise with yourself (and fellow broke friends, if you have any) to save eating out for a once every week/two weeks/monthly - whatever works best for you - so that it's more of a treat or saved only for special occasions. Who do you tip? No one! You get a meal that probably cost you less than twenty bucks (unless you're bringing booze) and all of the social perks of dining out! This will definitely slow the flow of your hard-earned cash into restaurateurs' pockets and instead saves you a bit of money stress down the road.

If you're naturally a social eater, why not have friends over for meals? Host potlucks (or lean on a friend to host their own) or dinners as a great way to get to know your friends and to your friends' friends. Side benefits of this include the funny themes that you can run with (think "Bad Sweater", culture nights), creating your own dining atmosphere, getting to know your friends' food tastes, and the great fact that you can put your public dining manners to the side in favour of some inappropriate, obnoxious funnies.

2. Ditch the over-priced nightclubs in favour of some fab campus events.

Looking back on my early undergrad years, it pains me to think of all of my money spent bar hopping - cabbing it everywhere, hour-long line-ups, the ridiculous cover charges, costly beverages - all for some narsty, sweaty clubs playing music that you probably already have on your iPod (somewhere in Jersey there are some guidos and guidettes wanting to punch me for saying that...)! What I'm trying to say is that you can still have the bar-esque experience (drinks, dancing, and a solid ratio of guidos to guidettes) all while having par-tay experiences on slightly more collegial/interactive/personal levels. Most of these events are free for students or have cover charges and drink prices that are significantly less than city venues.

Campus bars and social centres continuously seem to host impressive entertainment events serving a wide variety of social and cultural groups. There are live shows to feed most music tastes - punk, indie, hip-hop, country, metal, you name it! If you prefer less of a party scene, do check out the campus-hosted pow-wows, drag shows, sitting in on guest speaker sessions, plays being put on by senior year drama students, career fairs, sporting events (football, hockey, whatever your sport is - always free for students at most schools), or jazz nights (most commonly put on by the university's music students' jazz band). Great way to meet fellow students and to mingle with faculty (depending on the event) - don't forget to network!

3. Seek out cheap movie nights!

Rather than paying $12.00 per person, plus your $3.00 bottle of water, plus $5.00-$10.00 in snacks...curb your spending a bit on movie nights by searching out a night at your local theatre that offers discount prices on certain nights of the week. Many cities do have theatres that are entirely discount-priced (I'm talkin' $2.00 to see whatever movie you want), but often includes waiting some time for your flick to trickle down the charts in popularity - but so worth it as long as you aren't a movie snob. Some university campuses host theatre nights as fundraisers for certain student organizations, so keep your eyes peeled for these as well as they are often at a cheap rate to attract as many supporters as possible.

4. FREE GYM PASSES!

No lie. Most - if not all - students receive free memberships to their university's central fitness complex (well, it's rolled in with your tuition) as well as free access to fitness classes (spin, bootcamps, yoga, etc.). Consult your campus fitness complex's website or front desk for a schedule of class times and hours of operation. It's a great way to get buff and socialize with friends - and if you're on the market, can be a great place to check out the opposite sex!

5. 2 words - House. Parties.

Pretty much the greatest idea of all time. As per the potluck-ing for group dining, why not follow up with a house party? If you prefer beverages of the alcoholic genre (and you're of the legal drinking age), split a case or a bottle of your favorite brand with a buddy to share. House parties are great venues for meeting new people, partying comfortably without shelling out too much cash, and there's room for extra fun such as drinking games, karaoke, and funny party themes - all under one roof! You're more likely to engage in conversations and to meet more people here than you would a bar. House parties can usually be quite a bit safer too with fewer creepy randoms and as long as everyone invited is in the same social circle, less likelihood of conflicts between people

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freshlyjuicedbeetles · 7 years ago

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Severus Snape x Reader - Meeting with Umbridge

Modern Setting/ Order of the Phoenix

Established relationship

Female reader

Feel free to make requests and please leave feedback!

The Pink Tyrant had taken over Hogwarts.

Severus came home nearly every day for a year with new drama that Dolores Umbridge, some Ministry bureaucrat turned teacher had stirred up. She had a problem with sticking her nose where it was not wanted or needed. He admitted he was thankful that he no longer lived on campus anymore, thus granting him a reprieve from her antics. First, she completely overhauled the Defense Against the Dark Arts program for the worse, then the Ministry gave her more power to oversee the day to day operations and standards at Hogwarts, reporting back to the Minister. She unfairly limited the student’s activities outside of school, to the point their freedom and rights were being affected. She tried to fire professors she found unfit mainly Dumbledore, but others were in her sights. She even made a scene over firing the Divinations professor in front of the students. A line had been crossed, you don’t allow students to see that. Even Severus said it was hard to watch.

Umbridge’s personality was lacking too. She was fake; her fake cheerfulness, her fake attention-getting cough. Everyone wanted her gone. Towards the end of the year, she started meeting with the immediate family of anyone who worked at Hogwarts. She soon called for me.

“She wants to meet you,” Severus said, placing his dark leather satchel on a kitchen chair as he returned home. I gave it to him when we got married. He uses it to shuffle student work and his grade book to and from Hogwarts.

“Who? The cat lady?” I asked.

Severus’ eyebrow quirked, “That’s one descriptor. I had a few others in mind. She wants to have tea.”

“Tea?” I repeated, “What? So, she can poison me?”

“I wouldn’t drink it,” Severus said plainly.

From his satchel, Severus pulled a bright pink envelope. He held it as though it would burn him as he handed it to me. It was a formal invitation on personalized pink stationary, the paper was even perfumed with a sickly-sweet smell that made me cough.

“Well, I guess it’s my turn.”

I was nervous to meet this woman. I didn’t know what she’d say to me and I didn’t expect this meeting to be pleasant given everything I had heard. I put extra effort into my appearance, not just to look nice and professional, but I didn’t want to give her anything to use against me if she went low. I made sure my clothes were crisp, my hair was in place and checked my teeth several times before I apparated to Hogwarts.

The school was quiet for once. It was during class hours, but even then, Hogwarts still had an element of life before. Then, I saw the Educational Decrees haphazardly hung on the stone wall of the Entrance Hall. The amount coupled with no doubt Filch’s less than superb handiwork left me speechless. Did I really have to meet with this person?

The few students I saw in the hallways looked beaten into submission. They hung their heads, just trying to make it through the day. Their uniforms were immaculate, well past even military standards. Dumbledore never truly enforced the dress code.

I made my way to her office from memory. I took a breath before I knocked on the door. It opened on its own after a moment.

I was assaulted with a pink saturated room, the sound of meowing kittens and the overbearing smell of floral in the air. Everything was so over the top, I had to wonder if she genuinely enjoyed these things or if she was trying to make herself seem comforting and feminine while completely overdoing it. It was so overdone, it was creepy. The dozens of little kitten eyes staring at you didn’t help the aura, either.

“Ah, Mrs. Snape.” Umbridge stood as I entered.

‘Merlin, she really does look like a toad.’ I thought.

“Hello,” I replied, cordially. I tried to remain neutral about this woman until I met her. I knew that everything I had heard about Dolores Umbridge was shaded by anecdote from Severus, who can let his own biases get in the way. I was willing to hear what she had to say. There were some alarming changes she made, but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Being a teacher was hard even when you had the proper education and experience, unlike in her case.

“Sit, sit, sit,” She fussed like a kindly grandmother, ready to plump up her grandchildren with sweets, ushering me into a pink upholstered chair in front of her desk.

“How do you take your tea, dear?”

“One sugar, please,” I requested.

The tea poured itself into two pale pink teacups and with a minor flick of her wand, the sugar was added. Even the sugar cubes were died pink.

“Why I must say, you’re actually quite pretty.” She said as she sat down with her tea. “I’m not quite sure who or what to expect,” She giggled at herself. The sound was like glass breaking. I repressed a grimace.

I wasn’t sure who she was backhandedly complimenting (insulting?), me or Severus.

“I’m a bit confused as to why I’m here. I’m not a teacher…” I said. “You’ve been calling on other spouses and family?”

“I just want to get to know my subordinates, that’s all.” She replied with a smile. From her desk, she produced a pink clipboard and parchment and daintily, dabbed her pink quill in ink.

“Am I a subordinate or is Severus?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She said nothing and scribbled in her notes. I felt like I, and thus, Severus was about to be analyzed.

“How long have you two been married?” Umbridge asked.

“Ten years in April,” I answered.

“And how did you meet?”

“As students here at Hogwarts. We dated briefly in our seventh year but broke up just before graduation.”

“And why is that?”

Umbridge was already poking too far but backing down would show weakness. I settled for a half-truth.

“We were kids, we drifted apart.” I shrugged. In truth, I couldn’t follow him down the dark path he was about to travel.

“This all about sizing up Severus and the rest of the staff isn’t? Like how orphanages do home visits to see what kind of environment they’re potentially sending a kid to. You don’t want your staff around any unsavory kind, do you? Well, here are some things about Severus Snape. He likes cold and dark places, he’s read every book imaginable and can’t rid of any. He has an irrational fear of elephants and he just can’t function if he doesn’t have his favorite quill and ink; Martin’s Quill in style 388, standard nib and Waterman’s ink in 00, Blackest Black, 25, red for grading.” I ranted. I knew how private Severus was and I didn’t like people trying to take that from him.

I expected reproach for my tone. Umbridge only gave a small, saccharine giggle, “Well, we all have our eccentricities!”

She took a sip of tea. “What is your blood status?”

I was taken aback, about how bluntly she asked that. Kids were more open about their blood status, but not mine and Severus’ generation. “Half-blood. About 53% magic quantum if you want to be specific.”

“And your House?”

“Slytherin.”

“Do you interact with muggles?”

“I know a couple.”

“Oh, you know a couple? How many?”

“Two, I guess.”

“How well?”

“Well enough that I spend a fair amount of time with them.”

“And how did you meet?”

“We grew up together in the same neighborhood and went to the same muggle school before I came to Hogwarts.”

“And do you engage in Muggle activity?”

I scoffed, “What’s muggle activity? Basic home utilities? The internet? Cell phones? Yes, I do. You do realize that we’re no different from Muggles, that we’re all humans, right?” I asked seriously.

Umbridge grimaced as she recorded her notes. She was trying to see how Muggle I was and how my Muggle dealings could affect Severus and in turn, the school which ultimately affected her.

“Look, before you cast your ire at me, remember that Severus was raised by a Muggle, too. I’ve read the rankings of Hogwarts. You have one master level teacher in this school and that’s him. Do you have any idea how hard those are to come by? How long he had to study? There’s only one other school that has a master level teacher and it’s in India somewhere. Parents want their children to be taught by master level teachers and Dumbledore. Now that he’s gone and if you cast Severus off because of your bias against my answers, Hogwarts will crumble. I love this school, but it can’t get by on reputation alone.

“Not only that but can you keep up with the traditions? Do you know where the school gets it’s Christmas and Halloween decorations? Did you know that each staff member has their own ornament on the Christmas tree? How are you going to manage Hell Week; the last week of school when the seventh years go nuts? What about Dumbledore’s tradition of letting everyone off on the first warm day of Spring?”

Umbridge sat quietly, listening to me with a smirk on her face. “Adorable,” She replied, as she slashed a check mark on her paper. “Unfortunately, Albus Dumbledore is mentally unstable.”

“Oh, he is not,” I groaned, “I’ll admit, he’s not perfect and I have my problems with him, too, but he’s wise, intelligent and he’s good with the kids. I don’t see anything wrong with him as Headmaster. And hey, I wasn’t the one who gave him the ghost peppers and illegal fireworks.” I replied, a bit defensively about the last part.

Umbridge jotted down a note on her parchment. “I see this is a controversial topic, let’s move on.”

“His parents, what are they like?”

“Severus’? Ask him.” I wasn’t going to tell her Severus’ and Eileen’s story of abuse at the hands of Tobias; how Tobias died of an aneurysm in his sleep when Severus was seventeen and Eileen hung herself in a dank mental ward a year later.

Umbridge was getting annoyed but tried to hide it.

“Do you and Snape plan on having children?”

“Who says we don’t have any already?” I countered.

I saw her grip on her quill tighten, but she relaxed, calming herself. “Since I see no other Snape on my rolls. I would assume any children you may have are young. Would they attend Hogwarts?”

“Honestly, no.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t like your teaching methods,” I replied simply. “Even Muggles know that practicum experience is a better method than pure theory. I also don’t like how you made this grand institution into your personal prison. You have the Malfoy boy running around, essentially unlimited, turning in kids because they looked at him wrong. He’s one the last students around here that should be given any power. I wouldn’t trust him with a paperclip. You would know that if you paid attention.”

I leaned forward. Umbridge started to fume, her pink painted lips disappearing until a tight line. She didn’t like being questioned.

“Let me ask you about your qualifications to teach. Do you have any? I didn’t think sitting on Wizengamot was enough, personally, but hey, I could be wrong. Severus fell ass first into this job, but you can read his file and see that he all the certifications he is regulated by law to have for teaching. I’m sure the Prime Minister would be interested to hear that students aren’t getting the proper education due to an underqualified teacher. We may be separate from the Muggle British government, but we’re still ruled by the Queen. Same laws and such right? I bet even Fudge may be impeached for misusing his power.”

Umbridge shot up, frowning, her face beet red.

“You are a very rude woman, Mrs. Snape.”

I took this as my chance to leave and stood up, but not without the final word. “Yeah, well, I married Severus, didn’t I? What? Did you think I’d be a princess?”

I turned around just as I passed the threshold, “Oh, in case no one told you. This school has a way of spitting out those it doesn’t like. Ever wonder why the Defense post is always open?”

Umbridge sputtered, trying to ask what I meant, but I had already apparated home.

#severus snape #severus snape fanfiction #Pro Snape #snape x reader #snapefics

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theinquisitivej · 7 years ago

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Animated Movie Double Review – ‘Ralph Breaks the Internet’ and ‘Into the Spider-Verse’

Last weekend I saw two animated films. One of them was visually striking, with every frame being memorable and reinforcing the film’s distinct aesthetic. On top of that, it told a well-paced story that is sure to resonate with audiences from a number of different backgrounds for countless reasons. The other was a disappointing hodgepodge of average filmmaking with above-average animation backing it up which only made the misguided character-writing, lack of solid comedy that elicited no more than an occasional “…mmheh.”, and unclear focus feel that much more of a shame. I’m ever the force of positivity who likes to end on a happy note, so let’s get the lesser of the two out of the way first.

‘Ralph Breaks the Internet’

A sequel to the 2012 videogame inspired Disney film, Ralph Breaks the Internet picks up some time later when the inhabitants of the arcade are introduced to the internet. After a fault occurs with Vanellope’s arcade machine, Ralph and Vanellope decide to venture into the internet to find a replacement part before the machine is taken away. Internet references and hilarity ensues.

The animation is of course as smooth and technically impressive as it always is. There’s a lot of variety to the character designs and styles of movement that are on display throughout the movie. Whether it’s the blocky, 8-bit stilted movement of some of the classic game characters who return from the last film, the glimpses we get of people in the real world moving in an impressively naturalistic fashion, or the crisp yet eclectic movements of the Google stand-in character Knowsmore as he rushes to finish people’s sentences, there’s a lot to sink your teeth into if you enjoy studying animation.

I also enjoyed Vanellope as a main character you follow throughout this film. In Wreck-It Ralph, Vanellope is someone you slowly warm to as she goes from being this deliberate nuisance to Ralph and his goal of bringing a medal back to his own game to someone who means the world to him by the film’s final shot. In the sequel, Vanellope is unsatisfied with her day-to-day life and wants a little change, which resembles Ralph’s motivation at the start of the first film, and I was engaged with her journey throughout the film as she continues to be a very appealing and entertaining character to spend time with. Also, seeing her play off of Gal Gadot’s character who is this tough and capable but also down-to-earth source of wisdom and perspective is pleasant to experience, especially as this reinforces the general reputation that Gadot has right now as this inspiring female role-model that you just love to be around.

But other than that, I didn’t care for this movie. Few of the jokes land and the ones that do only elicited brief, unenthusiastic chuckles. Part of this can be attributed to the internet-focused humour going for surface-level observations that either ring hollow or feel dated right out of the gate. To be fair, I don’t think there’s anything fundamentally wrong with centring a movie on websites; I can’t say that videogame iconography inherently has more value than internet iconography, so it’s not as simple as saying “this sequel went wrong the moment it decided to be about the internet”. Maybe it would be too subjective of me to say I felt more of the warmth that comes from the creators’ passion for videogames that was shown in Wreck-It Ralph than I do here with Ralph Breaks the Internet and its connection to the world it tries to replicate. Instead, I’ll say that it rarely feels like the film has more to say about what it’s showing us than “this is a thing that exists”, and when we’re dealing with something as universally known and omnipresent as the internet, you’ve got to have more up your sleeve than that. We all use the internet, we all know how these sites work and what place they have in their lives, so give us more than just the novelty of seeing it depicted within a fictional animated world.

Apart from the soft-hitting comedy, the most egregious part of watching this film was Ralph’s character. Ralph is an unlikable ass in this film. In the first movie, Ralph is self-absorbed to a point in that he runs away from his game to get a medal so he can feel appreciated at the cost of the rest of the inhabitants of Fix-It Felix Jr. In this sequel, that negative aspect is dialled to 11. He rarely makes any effort to see things from his friend’s point of view and he childishly acts out for attention so that he can feel validated. The arc he went through in the first film where he gains some self-acceptance and realises it’s not always about him never comes across through any of the character’s actions this second time around. As a result, he feels very much like he’s regressed which makes him flat-out unlikable for 90-95% of the movie. Of course, this is all part of the film’s thematic point. You’re meant to know that Ralph is acting wrongly and that some of the things he’s doing are bad, because it becomes a major focus of the film’s finale and works into the emotional ending that the film is building up towards. The problem is that it overeggs the pudding, and, much like that clip we all saw in the trailers where Ralph overstuffs the bunny from the mobile-game with pancakes to the point of making it explode, the film does too much of this and blows up any attachment I had to this character. Ralph’s first story made it easy to understand where Ralph was coming from and why he felt the way he did, even if he acted selfishly at times. There were even moments where he did bad things because he truly thought it was for the best for someone other than himself. You get his decisions and know that he didn’t mean for the negative repercussions to happen, even if you can see where he went wrong along the way and what he must do to make it right. Here, it’s just not put together with as much of a steady hand to keep things level, so I’m not with him for the majority of the runtime.

In all fairness, I did appreciate the film’s closing moments. The last 10 minutes gives us a strong ending that tugs on the heartstrings and shows us a healthy outlook that both children and adults can learn from as they go through similar hardships in life. It also doesn’t pull its punches and back down from showing us that, yes, things do change. That can be hard, but it’s also okay. I like that the film gives us that emotional close, but I just wish it had earned it throughout the rest of the movie.

Final Ranking: Stone.

The plot structure is messy and flat-out abandons certain threads, the humour is weak, and one of the main characters acts obnoxiously for the majority of the runtime. It’s a disappointing sequel to a lovely film that comes across as being mostly hollow.

I did like seeing the princesses though, that was fun.

‘Into the Spider-Verse’

Just as the story of this film gives us multiple versions of Spider-Man who are all animated with a unique style and are wonderful to look at, Into the Spider-Verse is a Venn diagram of multiple film categories that it sits high at the top of.

It’s one of the best animated films of the year, constantly demonstrating masterful understanding of posing, dynamic movements, and how to draw out these perfect little moments of humanity from every one of the characters inhabiting this movie. If this isn’t the most visually impressive and striking film of the year, then it is unquestionably the second best looking film of 2018. The combinations of colours are diverse and consistently reinforce exactly what that moment in the story requires, whether it’s a palpable sense of energy, an immediate impression of the atmosphere of the location we’re taking in, or the keen emotion being experienced in the moment. The angles we see things from and the clever techniques the film uses to make certain parts of the shot look blurred to emphasise the things that are in focus work together to create this visual style that calls to mind the panels from a comic-book. Into the Spider-Verse even qualifies as a contender for the best Spider-Man film, full-stop. It certainly taps into the ethos of the character, his world, and the numerous alternative versions that have become big heroes in their own right with a confident familiarity, as well as a deep affection and respect for what Spider-Man is and what the idea of the hero means to us. And yes, in case it wasn’t obvious by this point, this also happens to be in the running for the best film of the year as well.

The film is set in New York on an earth similar to our own, but with slight variations on the things we see in our world like the NYPD being referred to as PDNY. This leads to cute little visual references and puns like a poster for ‘From Dusk Till Shaun’ and an advert for the band ‘Red Man Group’. In this New York, we follow Miles Morales, a teenager from Brooklyn who has just transferred from a school he was comfortable in to a prestigious school where his dad has high hopes for him. Around here the audience starts to get that the thing troubling Miles more than anything else right now is the immense pressure he’s feeling on multiple sides, whether its from the demanding workload heaped onto him by his new school or from his father’s insistence that he can do great things if he only pushes himself hard enough. One of the books he’s set at his new school is even ‘Great Expectations’ to hammer this point home. After a series of fated coincidences, Miles is bitten by a radioactive spider, develops powers, and is given a task of utmost importance by his universe’s Peter Parker before he is left alone to figure out how he can possibly face the biggest responsibility heaped onto his young shoulders yet.

But he’s not alone for long, as recent events have led Spider-People from multiple universes to all converge on Miles’ Earth, including an even more down-on-his-luck version of Peter Parker who’s older, more jaded, and far less suited to mentoring Miles than the one he is familiar with. Over time, more Spider-People join the team, with the most notable being Spider-Gwen, a version of Gwen Stacy from a world where she got bitten instead of her best friend Peter, who she would later lose due to a tragic set of superhero circumstances. With their help as well as a few other very fun versions of Spider-Man, Miles must face an assortment of sinister forces and do his best to live up to all the people who are counting on him.

As joyful, funny, and entertaining as the film is, and how can it not be with a premise like that that’s backed up with some masterclass animation, Into the Spider-Verse makes the stakes and the tension feel weighty by emphasising the real sense of danger to the heroes’ encounters with the villains. I won’t spoil who the main antagonist is in case you’re familiar with your Spider-Man characters and genuinely curious to see who it is. Suffice to say, they scared the hell out of me. My first impression of their design was that it looked a little goofy, but soon enough, through a combination of deeply ominous music and cinematography, the huge, black frame of the character came across like a spectre of death. Whenever they showed up, I was scared for the characters’ lives. In addition to the main antagonist, there is another villain who I had not heard of called Prowler, and the film does a great job of making this character seem like a stalking beast that Miles is woefully unprepared to face. But as effective as these villains are at making you tense up in your seat, and again, I still won’t give anything away, the film manages to give them enough to humanise them in one or two key moments that make this story feel like it’s not about virtuous heroes and black-hearted monsters, but about people. Some people give in and do terrible things for what they feel are justifiable reasons, and some people face the pressures of life and keep trying to do the right thing, even and especially when it’s hard.

But as hard-hitting as the heavy moments can get, the writing also ensures that the humour is there when it needs to be to balance things out. There are moments when the film goes to some heart-breaking territory, depending on what your level of attachment is to certain characters. It lets the scene play out, it uses the performances of the voice actors and the animators to their full effect to create the biggest impact it can, and, only after it has fully delivered on the emotional beat, it will deliver a perfectly timed joke that helps diffuse some of the tension without compromising the poignancy of what’s just happened. In fact, while these jokes may seem like a fun whiplash from sincere drama to goofy yet very naturalistic comedy, they often double as a way to reinforce the themes of the movie. There’s a point where a random civilian of New York intrudes on a very personal and significant moment for Miles to say something that comedically deflates the seriousness of the scene, and yet what the civilian says is actually a direct statement of the film’s central message. It’s an example of how much the film believes in what it’s saying that it can joke about its own themes and still have the ability tell an affecting story that comes across as charmingly sincere.

And the message that it believes so genuinely in, what every frame of this gorgeously vibrant movie works together to say, is that anyone can wear the mask and be Spider-Man. It means so much for a film to show that the relatable kid who grows into a superhero that we can aspire to be like isn’t always Peter Parker. Miles is a biracial teenager with an African-American father and a Puerto Rican mother, and just as Aunt May and Uncle Ben form the moral backbone of Peter’s life, we see how Miles has taken aboard different characteristics from each of his family members. He has the compassion of his mother, the strength and resolve of his father, and the style and charm of his uncle. It’s touching to see this family and realise just how important they are to Miles and how much they’ve positively shaped his identity, even as they make mistakes in their efforts to give him the best life they can. When Miles reaches the culmination of his journey and he sets out to be what his family believes he can be, it’s a soaring, inspiring moment. It’s the kind of story that superheroes lend themselves so well to, because the point isn’t to marvel at how super a select few can be; it’s to see them and know that we all have the power to be super, to do good, and to go out there and prove to ourselves that the faith of the people who love us isn’t misplaced. The different artstyles used to animate each of the Spider-People literally illustrate the point that, whoever you are and whatever you look like, you can be Spider-Man. And yeah, any film that sells you on that message is going to be close to the heart for a lot of different people.

Into the Spider-Verse is more than a neat twist on the well-catered superhero movie genre. It’s beautifully striking, features impressive writing that deftly balances sincerity and a sense of playful humour, and weaves all its elements together to create one of the most unique examples of animations, superhero films, and hell, films in general that I’ve seen in a long while.

Final Ranking: Gold.

See it on the big screen, then see it again on Blu-ray.

#The Inquisitive J #film #film review #movie review #film critic #critic #film criticism #animation #ralph breaks the internet #into the spider verse #spiderman into the spiderverse #into the spider verse review

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thefabledlegendsloz · 6 years ago

Text

A Strange Historian

Pretty clean right now but will become mature over time.

4,376 words

There aren’t any warnings that I can think of for this chapter.

Link rounds the corner from the stream behind one of his neighbors houses, carrying a pot of water hoisted over his shoulder, making his way towards his neighbor’s wheat field. He makes his way over the hill thinking of his cozy life in Hateno village and how someday it’s going to be torn from him as he will need to save Hyrule from evil forces. He looks at the back of his left hand where the triforce of courage sits, unchanged since the day it appeared when he was about seventeen. He finds, despite his worries, he has an insatiable desire to roam and explore. So much so, he often thinks of leaving the village to satisfy this wanderlust. The only reason he hasn’t yet is he hasn’t a reason to. Even if it’s as ridiculous as being asked to make deliveries to other towns for trading. Grimacing, he reaches the field and lowers the pot as his neighbor addresses him.

“I really can’t thank ya’ enough for helping me with the farm work, Link. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for ya’ in return?” He says with a slightly concerned look. “No really, it’s fine!” He says, “It gives me something to do when I’m not studying or doing my patrols.” His neighbor turns to face him completely, “how are your studies going anyhow? Have ya’ found anything new?” Link sighs and shakes his head, “No. I don’t get it. There Has to be more, cause it feels like I’m missing so much information... Like I’ve barely scratched the surface.” Sympathy in his eyes, his neighbor nods, “I’m sure you’ll find more soon, Link. Don’t give up. In the meantime, would ya’ like a snack? My daughter just finished baking some muffins about an hour ago.” Link smiles softly but shakes his head, “No thank you. As much as I would love to, I’ve gotta go make my noon patrol around the town.” “Well stay safe, Link. I hear the other scouts have been spotting monsters more frequently as of late, and as courageous as you are, I’d hate to see something bad happen to ya’.” Link meets his gaze, “Thanks, sir. But rest assured I’ve been practicing my archery too so I don’t have to engage in close combat.” Link then walks to his house to put his gear on, running his thumb over the back of his hand absent-mindedly.

Link walks up to the house he’s called home since the mark appeared on his hand a few years ago. In his studies, he discovered that in his last life, he bought this house mere hours before it was to be demolished, only to buy out all of the renovation services in a matter of days. Throughout his childhood, the elders would tell him and the other children that perhaps one day, the legendary hero will be reborn again and that the community would keep the place clean for him should he return to the little village. If someone had told him then that he’d live there eventually, he probably would have laughed at them, saying, ‘I can’t possibly be the legendary hero.~’

Slipping on his cap and belt, he started looking for his bow and quiver, knocking over a stack of books he had lying on his desk. He started cleaning the mess when he found an older looking page he had bookmarked. Lifting the book a bit, he ran his hand over the page to smooth it down a bit as he read, ‘In the age of the wild, a century after the great calamity ravaged Hyrule and the surrounding lands, the hero spent a majority of his time in Zora’s Domain with king Sidon, who at the time was still a prince. He’d live out his days there until he died at the supposed age of a hundred-and-ninety-three years, taking into account his hundred year slumber. Whilst devastated by the loss of the king, when asked, Sidon replied with this; ‘As grim as it sounds, I knew it would come to this one day, being a different species. However, I don’t regret a minute of it.’

He closed the book and finished picking up the rest, equipping his bow and quiver and making to leave the house for the afternoon. As he made his way to the outskirts of the town, he thought about another thing he had read during his studies, ‘In the age of twilight, when the usurper king, Zant threatened to shroud the land in permanent twilight and take over Hyrule, the legendary hero had to work with another twili to save his friends and break both of their curses. They subsequently saved the kingdom of Hyrule in the process, having discovered that the dark king Ganondorf had housed his power in Zant while he set about creating a physical form.’

Link almost didn’t realize it when he reached his destination, thoughts preoccupied with the things he had read. He shook it off as he began scouting for monsters. His sword and shield ready incase there was an ambush, which there usually wasn’t, but there was an incident about a month and a half ago with one of the other scouts. Link found that hunting monsters during his shifts would curb his need to explore temporarily each day, however, not completely. While it gave him something a bit exciting to do, it was never very far, only within the Hateno region. As he scanned the surrounding brush while he walked through the lightly wooded area, he stumbled across one of the other scouts. Being careful as to not spook her, so as to not be struck by her blade, he asked, “Phoebe. You find anything?” Despite his effort not to startle her, she tensed up. Link was thankful she didn’t swing at him. She relaxed before her brows knit, “Damnit, Link! You scared the crap out of me! And no I haven’t seen anything yet. I’m starting to think that the monster population is going back down...” chuckling lightly he replied, “We can’t be sure of that. Anything could happen, like a giaNT SPIDER! GIANT SPIDER ON YOUR NECK!!!” He shouted as he lightly ran his fingertips on the back of her neck to mimic the creature, leaping back just in time to avoid her sword as she shrieked loudly, wildly swinging her sword around aimlessly. “LINK THAT ISN’T FUNNY!!! Goddess above, stop doing that!”

Link couldn’t hold back the guffaw that tore from his lungs as he doubled over. “I’m just teasing you, Phoebe, sweet Hylia!” He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye while phoebe stood there, red faced and pouting. “You’re so mean sometimes, ya’ know?” She said as Link collected himself. “You know very well spiders skeeve me out...” “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He said, mischief in his eyes. “No you aren’t! I know that look.” She whined as she crossed her arms. However, even she was fighting a smile now. “Can’t help it Phoe. You’re like a little sister to me. I Gotta poke fun. Keep you on ya’ toes!~” He beamed. She looked at link, “You learn anything since last month.” She asked, referring to his studies. “No, not yet anyways. I’ve been going in circles and it’s starting to drive me crazy. I feel like I’ve barely learned anything. Like I’m missing so much context.” Link frowned, thinking about the small pile of books on his desk. “Five books can’t Possibly be it, Phoe. There has to be more out there...” He said, almost not addressing her anymore as his thoughts returned to exploring.

“Well, in any case, I hope you discover what you’re looking for. I should get going to my section anyways... Ooh! My friend, Shelby made muffins today! You should grab one and hang out with us after patrol.~” she grinned at Link. “Sounds good, Phoe! Heh, maybe I can finally convince her to try my recipe for once. She’s so dead set on family tradition. I’ll see you then!” He said as they split in opposite directions. “See you then!” She shouted over her shoulder.

After about three hours of searching and finding nothing, he was about to call it an afternoon and head back towards town when he heard something a ways off into the woods. Straining his hearing, he held still and listened for the sound again. He heard a faint shout of frustration from a little ways west and what sounded like a couple bokoblins. Reaching for his bow, he quickly but quietly made his way towards the commotion further down the path.

Ducking behind a tree, he saw two red bokoblins and one blue surrounding a tall man wearing a purple and blue cape and mask that looked like the wings of some kind of giant bird. He noted how it also had a long, dog-like tail, and thought how it didn’t look like any bird he’s ever seen. Other than that, the cloaked figure was wearing a thick, dark brown coat, dark grey leggings, and white boots and gloves with gold accents. However, other than the cape, the most striking thing he wore was a long blue scarf that ended in long tassels, had the triforce sewn onto one end and small triangles lining all- no, most of the scarf.

The man’s book bag was lying on the floor, contents spilled out in the dirt. Oddly though, Link noted, the man didn’t seem to be afraid, despite his apparent lack of any weapon to protect himself with. Reaching for an arrow and knocking it into his bow, he pulled back and aimed for the head of the blue bokoblin to stun it. As the arrow let loose and whistled through the air and hit the bokoblin in the eye, the hooded man pulled a concealed, silver and gold throwing knife from his white boot and threw it at the same bokoblin, looking to take a similar approach of ‘take the strongest down first’.

As the bokoblin lay dead on the path, disintegrating into a plume of maroon smoke, the two red bokoblins chanced a look in Link’s direction as the cloaked man swiftly pulled two more daggers from his boot and struck them both down. After they disappeared leaving only a fang and a couple horns, the man looked up at Link. Putting his bow away, Link stepped out from behind the tree to check up on him, as is protocol when a scout helps a traveler.

Approaching the hooded figure, he asked, “Are you alright?” The man began to collect his things while saying, “I had it under control, boy. I don’t need anyone looking out for me.” “Fair enough.” Said link as he started picking up books too. As he handed them back to the figure, he noticed the cover of one read; ‘age of the great sea: vol 2’ and had the triforce of courage sit just above the title. “Here’s your books, sir... I can’t help but notice though that this one is one of the tomes dedicated to the legendary hero. I want to ask, where did you find this? I’ve been studying just this for years now and I’ve hit a dead end. In fact, I was about to give up hope in ever finding another one.” He said, grabbing a small elixir that rolled to the side. “Ive been hunting the tomes myself for a very long time, studying as you have. Might I add, however, you look strikingly like the hero himself, only, with a goatee... I wouldn’t be surprised if someone said the same beforehand and put the idea in your head that you are the hero reborn. Heh, what would be the odds though? Am I right?” He scoffed, putting the rest of his stuff in his bag and standing up, pulling link up with him.

Link quirked a brow at his words and pulled his archery glove off, holding his hand up for the man to see. “Funny you should say that, sir.” he said confidently, smug grin on his face. The hooded man stood still as a board and went quiet. For a moment, Link wasn’t sure when he’d finally respond. The man cautiously reached his own hand out to take his and examine the mark with a ghosting touch. His hands were almost shaking as he stuttered, “I-it’s you. I-...” He paused, links hand in his own. Expression unreadable as his face was covered with the hood that pulled over the top half of his face, large goggles built in, and the large, blue scarf covering the lower half.

Link’s brows knit a bit as he carefully pulled his hand away. The man softly apologized before Link asked, “So what brings you to these parts, sir? If you don’t mind my asking, of cour-“ “Will you accompany me in my travels for the missing tomes??” The man interrupted with a slightly wavering voice. Link paused before speaking, “What?...” he then thought, ‘well I did need a reason to leave...’ The figure stammered, “ For-forgive me, Link. It’s just, you said you’ve been studying these things too and fell in a dead end, and I have an extensive library of tomes and artifacts that could prove useful to your goal. I was asking if you’d like to join me in searching for more artifacts and books, foolishly thinking you’d say yes to a complete stra-“ “Yes.” It was Link’s turn to interrupt. He nodded and repeated himself, “Yes, I’ll join you. Just let me grab some things and talk to a couple people first.”

The man paused in disbelief. “You...you’re agreeing?” He quietly asked. Link thought about it for a second, he would be leaving his only friends, though he has told them about his desire to leave, and they reassured him that it would be fine so long as they wrote to each other regularly. Link nodded, “Yeah, something was bound to change in my life soon anyways, being the hero reborn after all. I’ve yet to go on some life changing journey, and who’s to say this isn’t how it starts? Besides, I could always defend myself with my sword and bow.” He said, shooting a look at the man at his last statement as if to say, ‘Don’t try any funny business’. “...Got it...” the man said with more confidence in his voice.

Link started making his way back into town with the figure walking about two feet behind him. Once they made it to his house, he told him to sit tight while he ran a couple errands first, and to help himself to the bowl of fruit that sits on the table. Link jogged to the building near the edge of town that the community built for the scouts as a sort of barracks. He checked in with everybody and told them the situation. Most of the others were happy to see that Link was finally able to go on an adventure and bid him farewell, knowing this trip could do him some well. Some others though were concerned he agreed so fast and made sure he had plenty of arrows. “Thank you, guys.” he said, “have any of you seen Phoebe.” A few nodded and told Link she was at the little overhang the town used as a public kitchen. “Thanks again! Goodbye!” He said as he quickly left the room, waving goodbye with a grin.

When he got there, Phoebe and Shelby were already sitting at a table and talking. Shelby spotted Link first and waved jubilantly at him. “Hi Link! We almost thought you weren’t gunna show up! I kept the muffins warm for you!” Phoebe turned to him, “Yeah Link, where have ya’ been?” He sat at the table with them, grabbed a muffin and told them about who he found. As he was explaining, Shelby was excited for him, but Phoebe was concerned. “You said yes awfully quick, Link. Now I know you’ve had a hankerin’ to explore and stuff, but are you sure about all this?” Link nodded confidently, “Yeah, he can help me tremendously with my studies and I’ll finally be out and about, exploring the land of Hyrule. Besides, if he tries anything, he’ll only meet the sharp end of my sword.” He reassured her, though her expression didn’t completely lift. “I just want you to be safe, Link. Everyone knows you’re the hero reincarnate, but you’re still my best friend. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He nodded, “Thank you for the concern, Phoe, really. I know you’re worried for me, but... I don’t know, something about him is oddly familiar... maybe it has to do with my past lives or something. All I know is that, for whatever reason, I feel...comfortable around him? If that makes any sense. It probably doesn’t...” Her expression finally shifts. “Well if that’s the case, I suppose you’re fine. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that your intuition is really strong. If your gut says he’s okay, then he probably is... But I still want you to be careful, alright?” She lifts her gaze to meet his. “Of course, Phoe. I’ll be careful.” He said. “Can I have a few muffins for the road? I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but I’ll try to make it as soon as possible.” “Yeah! Take as many as you want.” Shelby held out the basket for him. He grabbed a few and set them in his bag as he stood from his seat, hugging both of them tightly. “I should get going then. I don’t want to keep him waiting for too long. I love you guys, take care of the village while I’m gone! I’ll be sure to write!” He shouted behind him as he ran off towards his house. “Bye Link!” They shouted in unison.

He opened the door to his house and set his bag on the table to pack his things before speaking, “Hey, I’m back. I’m gunna go-...” he stopped when he looked up to see that the man wasn’t still at the table. He quickly looked around and found him sitting on the edge of his bed across from the desk holding one of his books. “Oh, there you are.” Link mumbled as he climbed the stairs to the platform that served as his bedroom. “Im gunna pack my things now, so could I see my book, please?” He asked. “Oh, of course, Link. I was just skimming through it a bit while waiting for you to return.” He stated, handing him the book before standing up. “I’ll meet you out front.” He said as he walked down the stairs. “Okay. Be there in a minute.” Link said over his shoulder as he grabbed his books and papers, some blank parchment and some pencils, and a photo of him and his friends he keeps on his nightstand. Running down the stairs, he grabs some food, water, and a bag holding all his rupees before leaving his house and locking the door behind him.

“You ready?” The man asked, removing some sort of necklace from his pocket. “Yeah. What’s that?” He asked, pointing to the metal disk in his hand. It appeared to be some sort of pendant, but then the hooded man pressed a button and it swung open like a pocket watch to reveal a small screen on the top panel, and a few diamond shaped buttons on the bottom panel. “This old thing? Well, have you read about shieka technology from about a couple centuries ago?” He asked, turning to face him fully. “Uh, yeah... Yeah I have. Is it shieka technology? It looks so different from the illustrations in the book... they usually have weird patterns and glowing lines.” He replied. “Hmm, no. I made this myself using their technology, tweaking it to my specific needs.” He stated easily as though unraveling the intricate inner workings of shieka technology is something you just do over the weekend. “You make it sound easy.” Link retorted. “Ah, well, you could say I’ve had some first hand experience regarding the subject.” The man said casually.

“Just how old are you, sir??” Link asked, abruptly. “I am many millennia old, I’ve seen many of the old legends unfold.” Link was put off to say the least. ‘Many millennia??’ “You’re not human, are you?” He asked, confusion evident in his expression. “Goddesses No! I’m nowhere near human!” He said, head moving back, almost looking offended at the question. “Hmm, well, in turn, I suppose it’s only fair to tell you how old I a-“ “You’re about twenty-two years old, you’ll be twenty-three in August.” The man listed off like it was common knowledge. “H-how?-“ “you’re the reincarnation of the legendary hero, dear boy. Your last incarnation died in August around twenty-two years ago.” The cloaked figure told him. It checked out in Link’s mind, so he dropped it. “Okay, so, what does this thing do?” He asked, returning to the pendant the man held.

“This is similar to the shieka slate in that it contains a map as well as the ability to teleport me and whatever I have my hands on. I have many different locations all over Hyrule and even beyond that I have saved in this to teleport to at a moments notice. It also has the ability to store items of any weight in the form of information that you can pull out at any time. Pretty neat huh?” The man then proceeded to show Link an example of each feature before awaiting his reply. “Woah... this is incredible, sir!” At that, Link had another thought. “You know my name cause I’m the hero reborn, but I don’t know your name.” Link said, tilting his head slightly with a curious look. “Ah, fair point, dear boy. You may call me Jacque, master Link.” The man answered. “Master? Fancy. I’ve only heard of my past incarnations being called that periodically. No one has called me that. At least, not in this lifetime so far.”

Jacque stilled, the hand holding the pendant lowering slightly. “Heh. I suppose it is a bit different to what you’re used to, huh? Never the less, we should be off. Look,” he points to a screen folds out from underneath the pendant, “we’re going to make a stop at my place real quick to drop a few things off and get you settled before we begin diving into all this... Only if you’re comfortable with that, of course...” Looking at the screen at where Jacque pointed, he recognized the area from a map he read once that traveling merchants carry with them. It was in the far western part of the lost woods next to the korok forest. “Yeah, that’s fine. Your house is in an odd place. I’ve heard legends of the lost woods and how anybody who goes in without knowing the proper way to go will only be spat back out where they started.”

“I built my house there for that specific reason, dear boy. It’s a good home defense system, seeing as the only ones who know how to traverse the forest anymore are the koroks themselves.” Link nodded, mumbling in agreement. Jacque then asked, “You ready? Teleportation takes some getting used to, so don’t be surprised if you feel a little dizzy the first few times while you get used to it.” He warned, holding the pendant in front of the young man. “Yeah, let’s go!” And Jacque tapped on the icon where his house is, put his free hand on Link’s shoulder, and pressed a diamond shaped button on the bottom panel. In an instant, they were inside a huge mansion, decorated lavishly with enormous crystal chandeliers, long, plush futons, many sculptures depicting scenes from many of the legends he had heard throughout his childhood. There were two wide, curved staircases that led to an open corridor on the second floor with a balcony overlooking the main entrance. There were large windows with elaborate drapes made of expensive looking fabric, and marble tile flooring that held beautiful patterns of curly-cues and fleur-dis-lees dancing across their surfaces.

Link had to regain his balance before speaking. “Now This is incredible...” Link said, gawking at the intricate decor, almost at a loss for words. “It’s usually either green or blue in your past lives, but I’ll ask you anyways, dear boy. What’s your favorite color?” Jacque asked, bending slightly to meet his height. The young man thought for a second before answering, “Soft lavender.” He replied, fidgeting slightly with the hem of his green tunic. “Why do you ask?” Jacque chuckled lightly before stating, “You’ll see soon, but before I go tend to that, here’s a map of the place until you get used to it here. Make yourself at home, master Link.~” He hands the small map to link before he goes upstairs. “Just, don’t come in here for a few minutes. It’s a surprise.~” he added before dipping into one of the rooms. “Okay, Jacque. I’ll just be checking things out.”

As Link followed the map and began looking around the place, he couldn’t help but think about the situation. ‘You’re at a strangers mansion on a supposed rest stop, you’re gunna go on a quest with him in search of more information for both of your studies, you know next to nothing about him, yet he seems to know almost everything about you, and yet despite all this, you trust Jacque?’ He stopped walking once he reached the kitchen. ‘Yet I can’t help but feel there’s something familiar about his voice... I hope my guts are right. He seems genuinely interesting...’ And with that thought playing in his mind, he sat at the large dining-room table and pulled out one of the muffins he brought. As he started eating, he wondered, ‘ I knew him in a past life? He did say he was many millennia old after all... Maybe we were friends?’

#loz #link loz #loz fanfic

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