#my writing: Conquest

[whump-me]

Conquest Masterpost

Watch your kingdom die. Betray what’s left to save your life.

Danelor was a peaceful country, a land of poets and musicians. Insignificant. Defenseless.

The merciless invaders swept in from the north and claimed it for their empire. They burned the farms and tortured the survivors for their entertainment. Their cruel soldiers slaughtered every last soul in the royal palace… except Miranelis, a cowardly clerk hiding in a pantry, too afraid to fight.

To Kezul, the disgraced son of the northern emperor, Danelor is a test. If he can keep control of the devastated land, he will not be stripped of his birthright. But he was only taught to conquer, not to rule.

Miranelis, now his captive, may not have the stomach for battle, but they understand the intricacies of rule. But they have no reason to help the conquerors who destroyed everything they loved.

So Kezul will have to give them one.

---

Conquest is no-magic fantasy whump with a royal whumper, a fearful but quietly defiant nonbinary whumpee, degradation, cultural differences, fantasy politics, and an intense and complicated relationship between whumper and whumpee (no romance).

It will also involve major character death, so steer clear if that’s not for you.

This story will be novel-length, with a planned 32 chapters. Updates twice a week. Ask to be added to or removed from tag list.

Chapters

Chapter 1: The Coward Chapter 2: The Exile Chapter 3: The Courtyard Chapter 4: A Valuable Resource Chapter 5: Bloodstains Chapter 6: Entertainment Chapter 7: A Taste of Courage Chapter 8: Blood Games Chapter 9: Test of Character Chapter 10: A Creature of Contradictions Chapter 11: An Unsolvable Puzzle Chapter 12: Another Way Chapter 13: Serving the Enemy Chapter 14: Negotiations Chapter 15: A New Form of Madness Chapter 16: The Unmaker Chapter 17: Trust and Loyalty Chapter 18: Conquer This One Chapter 19: For Your Own Good Chapter 20: Playing the Unmaker's Game Chapter 21: A Sick Craving Chapter 22: All That Remains Chapter 23: Choosing Defeat Chapter 24: What Cowardice Looks Like Chapter 25: A Walk in the Moonlight Chapter 26: The Pit Chapter 27: Everything You Ever Wanted Chapter 28: Perfectly Defeated Chapter 29: Place of Honor Chapter 30: Defeated Chapter 31: Victory Chapter 32: The Only Job Left

Here from a reblog? Here's the most recent version.

[jnw1813]

Courtship

The many ways Conquest courts you, feat. Viltrumite headcanons. No warnings except mentions of violence and a dead moose.

Upon coming to the startling realisation that he saw you as mate material and wanted you that way, Conquest had been mentally reviewing all previous interactions, seeing them in a new light.

And now that he officially lived with you, he needed to take things up a notch and properly court you. How else was he supposed to get you to agree to be his mate?

… which was easier said than done. See, Viltrumite courtship rituals– back when Viltrumites still courted each other to have partners and not just to mate– are… specific and hard to do when one half of the courting pair… can't do them.

Viltrumite courtship rituals have changed throughout the ages before falling out of favour, as even the simple act of having a committed partner to rely on and be loyal to was deemed a weakness– something about how it would cause attachment, which, obviously. But before they did, however, there were a good few steps to proper courtship.

The first step was, of course, making one's intentions known. This was done bluntly and honestly.

—

"What's the term humans use when they're seeing each other romantically, again?" Conquest asks abruptly.

"Dating." You answer simply, still doing your own thing.

He hums, nods, then says, "I want to date you."

You choke on your spit.

—

Hold their opponent down for a full twenty-five minutes,

The second step was– not all that surprising, really– battle. If a Viltrumite was going to take someone as a partner, they needed to make sure who they'd potentially be mating with wasn't a complete and utter weakling. And so a duel would occur from sunrise to sunset, the two Viltrumites giving it their all. If the approaching person (the one who proposed the courtship in the first place) managed to:

Knock them unconscious,

Break all their limbs,

or

then they'll have proved their strength to the other and everyone else.

—

Which, obviously, Conquest couldn't do with you.

He looked at you as he mulled it over, eyeing your arms, your legs, eye sweeping over other parts calculatingly.

If Conquest even flicked you on the forehead, you'd die.

Yeah, battling is off the table.

It's not like he needed to prove his strength to you anyway.

—

The third step was more common and expected: acts of service, proof they could provide to their mate, and future young. Back before Viltrumites just took what they wanted from each other and only mated for offspring, this was a necessary step as, even then, it was every Viltrumite for themselves (except when it came to outside 'threats'– then the whole empire would unite). So, this show of effort and care meant a lot. Especially since, again, back then, Viltrumite couples did stay together for the agreed upon duration– which could just be until their offspring grew to adulthood or even go on indefinitely. It depended on the couple, truly.

—

And this was the step you had fulfilled immaculately since the very beginning. Caring, polite, providing for him, talking to him and hearing, listening to what he was truly saying; the food you fed him as rich as ambrosia, the moments of play and fun as fulfilling as staining his fists with the blood of a strong enemy, the simple moments of domestic bliss simply spent in one another's vicinity easing something cold in his chest.

Yes, you've fulfilled your end of this courtship ritual and have proven yourself more than worthy of him.

Now it's time Conquest proves himself worthy of you.

The thing about Conquest is that he's a quick learner. Sure, he's better at adapting to a fight and learning a new opponent's physiology and abilities than anything else, but in the end, it's all the same.

He sees. He learns. He adapts. Not always in that order, but you get the point.

So when you complain about your tap leaking? He looks up tutorials online– the human's Internet being one of the more impressive parts of their technology if he's being honest. So much stuff, and it's not even all useful!– and, once you've left the house, he gets to work.

Gentle, he reminds himself, gentle. He uses a scanner he'd retrieved from his ship (hiding on the dark side of the moon for the time being) to find exactly where the issue was and then assess it himself. A simple fix, from what he's researched.

It's fixed in less than ten minutes. He almost finds himself disappointed, for some reason having expected it to be more difficult, to require more strength, to not need such a delicate touch from him.

Hmm.

He goes in search of more things to do.

The house has a fireplace; he spends a good twenty minutes outside chopping wood for it. He finds he likes the feel of an axe in his hands, even if he can do it with his bare hands. It's oddly fun and satisfying.

You have a few bird feeders hanging around, so he tops them up. Then he checks your garden, plucking a grasshopper off of your young lemon tree. He flicks it into space. Then, almost humiliatingly, he finds himself tidying up. Even as he makes sure your home is clean and warm for your return, he wants more. This isn't enough! These are common tasks! Not fit for courtship!

But what else is there? As much as he's learned about you and humans in general so far, there is still so much he doesn't know. And how can he appropriately prove himself if he doesn't know what you lack for?

But Viltrumites are blunt. Viltrumites are straightforward. Viltrumites aren't cowards.

Conquest ain't a damn coward.

So he asks.

"C'mon, darlin'." He exhales in frustration. "There must be something you want! You've been doing all sorts of things for me. Let me do something for you now!"

You'd already rejected his offer a few times, claiming you had all you needed and that you couldn't ask him for anything.

Pah, humans and their customs! What, did you feel guilty at the thought of asking for something? At the possibility of being a burden? You were going to be his mate, ask him for stardust for all he cares! He'll get it for you, just– please, ask him to do something, anything!

Conquest hates feeling useless. And that's how he feels right now. Because despite how you thank him, despite how praises fall from your lips and make his heart ache, it's not enough. He doesn't just want to make you happy with these acts. He wants to awe you. He wants to surprise you. He wants to shock you.

He feels frustrated that he just can't. He wants to hit something, but shockingly, doesn't want you to see it, see him, as a brute. So he swallows his frustration and thinks.

What can he do for you that you can't refuse, that'll mean the world to you, that'll prove he's the perfect mate for you?

The answer comes when you make a random comment under your breath about how much everything costs. It makes something ding! in his brain and Conquest is quick to go, leaving you with a quick promise he'd be back soon and a brief kiss on your head.

Oh-ho, this was going to be perfect! He was damn near giggling with how excited he was! Flying into deep space, he shot off, eager to fix this little issue human society had forced upon all its people.

Within the human's own solar system were quite a few planets with some interesting things to be found. Such as gemstones. More specifically, diamonds.

Rare and expensive on earth, but on Neptune and Uranus?

Conquest grinned, beginning to collect some at random. Oh, you'd be so happy!

—

A few hours later, you stared at the large clump with wide eyes, stunned.

"I…"

Conquest preened.

"This enough to have you living comfortably?" He asks, like he didn't just deliver five diamonds the size of bowling balls to your house.

"... yeah." You said, feeling faint. "Yeah, this– yeah." You say, voice sounding high and pinched. God, this– you needed to be careful, lest you crash the economy!

While you were worrying, Conquest just looked proud, all puffed up and feeling satisfied he'd dealt with such a big issue for you.

—

While you figured out how to sell the diamond (only one) without crashing the economy, Conquest sought out other ways to impress his mate-to-be. 

He got his answer while checking the food supply.

Sifting through your freezer, he finds it lacking in meat. There's a bunch of pre-made meals, packets of vegetables, and way too much ice cream, but not a lot of meat.

Conquest seeks to fix that.

Which leads to you coming outside after hearing a loud thud, and nearly shrieking in surprise because there's a fucking dead moose on your doorstep.

Your eyes are wide as you look from the carcass to your… something.

"Conquest! What the actual fuck." 

He stood with his hands on his hips, looking proud. "What? Don't you like meat?" He asks, gesturing to the body and– and…

You sigh. "Yes, but… God, is this even legal? I'm not sure hunting moose is fine…" Not that there were any moose near where you lived. Just how far had he gone to hunt for you? If it wasn't so shocking, you'd be flattered.

…

No, you were definitely flattered. How could you not be, when Conquest had spent the last week doing so much for you?

Conquest watched you patiently as you clearly mulled something over. His expression softened a bit as you walked past his newest gift, coming to a stop before him.

He arched his brow, heart oddly speeding up. "Darlin'?" He asks, uncharacteristically soft. But he was getting used to it, getting used to the way he was beginning to soften his hard edges for you, make himself something more than just a weapon of conquest.

He was moulding himself into the perfect mate for you, somebody that actually deserved you, even if it was difficult for him to do so.

You break the silence, shifting your weight from foot to foot, looking up at him with those mesmerising eyes of yours.

"You said you wanted to date me. Is everything you've been doing a form of… courtship?" You ask, needing to be sure; needing it to be stated plainly.

He inclines his head. "They have been, yes."

You take a breath, feeling… unbalanced, flustered in a way you haven't been before. You've never…

"Well then." With a smile, you reach for his hand, bringing it up to your lips. Pressing a kiss to his knuckles, you give him a soft look, hoping you convey your growing affection for this alien man clearly. "I accept."

Conquest's expression becomes one of sheer joy and pride, grin wide and happy. You shouldn't be surprised when he picks you up and hugs you, but you are, yelping as he (gently) squeezes you.

Laughing, you hug him back, not expecting a display of affection like that from him, but… maybe you've had more of an effect on him than you initially thought.

"Though… please don't bring me any more dead things." You tell him with a slight grimace. "The grocery store is literally five minutes away."

Conquest practically purred when he hummed in response. "No promises."

You sigh. "I'm dating a damn cat." You mutter, idly wondering how you're going to deal with his 'gift' to you.

Hopefully Conquest knew how to field dress animals. You certainly did not.

[halcyon-writings]

nav.

— conquest voice: twin,,, where have you been

You are found amongst shattered meteors and empty space. Your eyes are closed and yet, Conquest knows that you are alive.

It wasn’t the first time he had ever encountered someone like you, but it was definitely a rarity considering your planet had all but been turned to dust when the Viltrum Empire had begun to expand.

You open one eye, completely unperturbed by the abyss of the stars that you find yourself in. If anything, you look more like you’re inconvenienced by being in the empty expanse of space.

As he approaches, Conquest knows that he should kill you. One less threat against Viltrum. One less danger.

But from the looks of you, he knows you’re strong. And against his better judgment, he allows you to live.

You listen as he speaks, of the things he’s done, of those he’s killed. He expects your derision, if not complete disgust. It was what even his own people have expected of him by now. A creature of habit.

To kill and conquer. To destroy and ruin.

But you simply sit and listen. For the first time in millennia, Conquest is uncertain. For how could you, someone completely unknown to him, see him as though you understood?

You’re on an empty planet, broken skin repairing before his eyes after another spar.

“You care about what they think,” Comes your voice, raspy from a lack of use. “I was like you once.”

His brow furrows. Curiosity in his eyes.

“They are afraid of you. Because they realize that one day, they too will be like you if they continue as they do,” You speak with an air of someone who has already lived through such a thing.

“And you?” His good eye scans your form as you sit as though you will begin to meditate.

For a moment you look contemplative before your eyes crinkle in the corners, “I have lived too long to let such fears takeover anymore.”

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Dear Damian Wayne, Dec. 19, 2011

There really isn’t a good way to say any of this, especially via a letter. If I’m being completely honest, which I am, I would much rather be saying this to you in person. For both our safety, though, this was the best way I found to contact you.

First off, congratulations on being brought into the Wayne household! I never would’ve considered imagining that Bruce Wayne would be our father, but, here we are. Unless you’re there undercover? I doubt that, though.

Now, I should probably cut to the chase, no matter how much I want to stall. You might not remember me, but I’m your brother. Don’t freak out! Please, just finish reading this, at least. If you don’t believe me or you don’t want to ever talk to or see me again, then that’s fine. I completely understand.

You probably hate me, and I don’t blame you, but I couldn’t stay there. When we got separated on that mission, I ended up nearly killed. Some civilians found me and took me to a hospital to get my injuries treated. I realized, after I woke up, that this was the life I wanted. Leaving you hurt me so much more than I could ever describe in any language, but going back to Grandfather and Mother was a death sentence. I hated doing that to you, but I couldn’t do that to myself.

God, I suck at this.

I love you, Dami, I really do. I’ve wanted, for years, to come back to you, but I didn’t because I’m a coward. A selfish coward who can’t even face his own brother properly.

Forgiveness is a luxury I have no right to ask you of, but I’m going to anyway. So, can you? Can you ever forgive me for leaving you alone? Can you ever forgive me for leaving you  to think I died? Can you ever forgive me for making you go back to that place alone? Can you forgive me for being so selfish?

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you then, and I don’t mean to hurt you now. I’m beyond ecstatic that you made it out. I’m so happy that you’re with father now. I hope you never have to go back to Nanda Parbat ever again.

شكراً لكونك أخي

          Danyal ‘Danny’ Fenton

              (xxx) xxx-xxxx

***

There was a time that Danny only ever referred to as Before. Before he’d come to America; Before he’d been taken in by the Fenton Family; Before he’d lost himself to the life he’d never envisioned. He could remember it well.

*

He’d grown up in Nanda Parbat , high in the Himalayan Mountains. Beautiful buildings made of golden sandstone bricks, roofs made of the redist clay shingles, untouched snow for as far as the eye could see, and mountain peaks stretching high above the little valley.

There were greenhouses, too, filled with plants of all kinds from everywhere! Food, poisons, antidotes, it was all grown in Nanda Parbat. Clean water was pulled from the wells and the snow as though nature herself was giving her best to this one place. Truly a heaven on earth. The Garden of Eden, some people called it.

The residents were known to very few, only ever coming down when they found themselves with visitors. The towns at the base of the mountain ranges had plenty of legends about the People of the Mountains, but even fewer still knew their real secrets.

The League of Assassins, founded by Ra’s al Ghul himself, had made Nanda Parbat their home base, though neither Ra’s nor his daughter, Talia, made a habit of staying for too long or visiting often. No, Nanda Parbat had been claimed to raise the heirs and guard the Lazarus Pits.

Danny had been born in those very halls, buried deep within the protective embrace of the mountains, mere minutes after his brother. He knew nothing but Nanda Parbat, half convinced that his instructors were lying about the outside world. After all, could it really exist if he’d never seen it?

Grandfather and Mother came by thrice a year. Once to check on or use the Lazarus Pits, once to check on the Demon Heirs, and once to instruct lessons of their own. It was how it had always been done, so Danyal and Damian knew nothing else.

Grandfather would tell tales of conquest, instructing them on how to mold their very surroundings to their wills. Mother shared her missions, warning against how others would try and use them to get to her and Grandfather, seeing them as the weakest link. Damian and Danyal taught each other, on the nights when they could escape prying eyes, the importance of secrets. No one to trust but yourself, both Grandfather and Mother had pushed, anyone will betray you when given the right incentive.

The day came when Mother and Grandfather came to check on the Pits. The week-long stay had been the same every year, but their instructors had announced a change. Danyal would be going with Mother while Damian would be going with Grandfather. They would return to continue their studies in Nanda Parbat by the next full moon.

Danny had been excited. He was going to the outside world! He’d never been there before! He’d only ever seen pictures of it! Such fun! The only disappointment he held was that he was not going to share the moments with Damian. Yes, they would be leaving together, but they wouldn’t be together. Mother and Grandfather stayed at separate bases, after all.

The night before they were set to depart their Himalayan Paradise, Danyal had snuck to the roof with his brother.

“I’m scared, ahki,” he whispered, the wind hiding his voice from all but his brother.

“Don’t be, ahki,” Damian had assured, “You will be with Mother. She will keep you safe.”

“But the instructors say that we will be on our own!” Danyal said, “Besides, I do not know Mother.”

Damian did not pause. “Of course you know Mother. She gave us life. She teaches us.”

“Yes, but I don’t know her. I know you, and I know the birds, but I do not know Mother nor Grandfather.”

“Perhaps,” Damian had suggested, “we do not need to know them as we know each other? Perhaps, we only need to know that Grandfather is Ra’s al Ghul and the Mother is Talia al Ghul.”

“Then that means you’re Damian al Ghul!” Danny smiled, emotion his instructors had tirelessly trained out of him bleeding into the privacy shared between him and his brother.

Damian nodded, “And you are Danyal al Ghul.” A beat. “We will be fine tomorrow and the day after and the days to follow. When we return to Nanda Parbat, we will sit in this very spot and share our adventures.”

“Tales of conquest?” Danyal asked.

“Warnings of fools.” Damian responded.

*

A tale as old as the dirt beneath his feet. Before had been five years ago. So long in the past, but only a few pages back. Sometimes, it was as though he’d never left Before behind him. His training, for all that it was minimal in his limited time within the snow valley, was carved into his very soul. Not even the wear of time could pull him away from a weapon or the scan for immediate exit points or the caution when dealing with new people and places.

Jazz had explained to him that his responses to certain situations should not be that cautious or violent. She’d tried again and again to tell him that he was safe; that he wasn’t where he had been Before.

He knew that, obviously. Nanda Parbat was free of the disgusting urbanization of the modern world. This place was free of the untouched beauty of the hidden gems. He could see the beauty in the contradictions and in what he had been taught to scorn, he was not an idiot, but he could not appreciate it the way people born there could.

*

The Doctors Fenton, only Masters in their fields at the time, had picked him up at the base of the Italian Appalachian Mountains. They’d treated his wounds, introduced him to their daughter Jazz, and given him the opportunity to escape where he had been.

The Fentons had taken his hesitation as confusion for the situation; amnesia. They told him, as gently as they could, that all signs pointed to an abusive home. They wanted to help him get out as soon as they could.

But, that wasn’t right. Danny, in all his six years, knew exactly what an abusive relationship was. It was one of the things his Mother had taught him about when he’d first left Nanda Parbat with her when he was four! He didn’t come from an abusive home or an abusive relationship! Damian would never put him through that, and the ninja all knew better than to do anything untoward to him and Damian.

“And what about your parents?” Jazz, being only eight years old, had not held her tongue as Danny had been taught to. “Or any other adults?”

Now that, that was definitely a thought. But, no. No one within the confines of Nanda Parbat or within the League of Shadows as a whole had ever hurt him outside of training. The injuries they had treated were from a mission, not from his Grandfather or Mother or brother hurting him!

*

His attempts at clearing the misunderstanding had been brushed off as his imagination trying to protect him. Repressing and changing trauma, Jazz had translated.

He had thought, at the time, that everyone was wrong. He had come from a perfectly normal place! Though, the week he spent in the hospital had him second guessing. He was the only one looking for every possible exit in case of any possible situation at any given time. He was the only one prepared to slit the throats of everyone in the room if they got in the way of his escape. He was the only one to actively check for weapons to use or be used against him.

During his stay in the hospital, because they wouldn’t let him leave before he was cleared by the doctors who worked there, the Fentons had exposed him to many things that made him question his upbringing. But, now that he knew the truth, he’d never be able to go back.

The Fentons had promised him, the night before he was cleared to go, that they would help him stay away from the people who had hurt him, so long as he allowed them to. And how could he not accept? Too many questions had invaded his mind. The only way to answer them was to do as his Mother had taught him: learn from experience. So, he relented, leaning into the ‘trauma induced amnesia’ everyone had assumed he had, and went along with the Fenton Family.

But what about Damian? Surely, he was safe. Surely, he’d gotten back to Nanda Parbat and reported to Grandfather and Mother that Danyla had been killed! He could not go back, not yet. And maybe, a tiny, selfish part  of him that he hid in the darkest corners of his brain, was glad he wouldn’t be going back for any reason. To make himself feel better, he’d told himself that he’d go back for Damian once he was sure he wouldn’t be caught and killed for treason.

The plans laid within the floorboards under his bed with the katana and daggers the Fentons had let him keep.

Exactly four months after turning ten, Danny had turned on the TV. It was just to provide white noise while his adoptive parents were out, so he didn’t really care about the channel. Jazz hadn’t cared, either. If she had, she hadn’t said anything.

The channel had been one for national news. The covered story was in Gotham, New Jersey. Not unusual, but concerning until none of the names of the city’s rogues had been named. Bruce Wayne was holding a gala to officially introduce his youngest son to the world. That is what dragged Danny to sit and watch attentively.

Danny knew the name Bruce Wayne very well. His Mother had told him, no less than six times, that he was to go to Bruce Wayne if he ever found himself in a situation where the League of Shadows couldn’t help him. Bruce Wayne was his go-to if he ever needed because he is his father.

When Danny first met the Fentons, something had kept him from escaping. He could have, but he didn't. Something had compelled him to stay. That same something had told him to avoid Bruce Wayne when he was ten. That same something was now telling him to go to his father.

Danny didn’t listen to that something. Instead, he watched his brother stand beside their father and his other children. He followed his brother’s public persona studiously. When he pieced together Damian being Robin, meaning that Bruce Wayne was likely Batman, he followed his vigilante life, too. All the while, he was too much of a coward to actually reach out to them.

After all, what would they get out of having a relationship with him? He was a traitor to the Shadows, dead by all accounts that mattered. They already had an established family, so why would they want Danny? So, he stayed away.

It wasn’t until the week before his and Damian’s eleventh birthday that he finally managed to write a letter to his older brother. He timed it so that the letter would arrive the day of their birthday. A part of him hoped that Damian would get, read, and respond to the letter. A bigger part of him hoped that it would be lost amongst the birthday cards that were surely being sent to Damian now that he was living with their father.

Damian’s father. Danny already had a father. Well, a dad. He also had a mom and a sister. He even had an aunt! Not to mention the friend he made. He’s never had a friend before! So, yeah. Danny had a mom, a dad, a sister, and a friend. He wanted Damian, but he wasn’t going to get his hopes up. If Damian didn’t want him, then that meant that he wouldn’t have a brother or Grandfather or Mother or a father. Or three more brothers, apparently. He couldn’t really find it in himself to be upset about any potential loss that wasn’t Damian.

*

“Please respond, please respond, please respond!” Danny chanted under his breath as he opened the mailbox. There were four letters inside, three for his parents and one for his sister. “La naiba!” he swore.

“What’s wrong?” Jazz asked as she came up behind him. She’d learned early on that it was near impossible to sneak up on him.

Danny shoved the three envelopes into her hands. “There’s nothing there for me.”

“Why would there be anything in there for you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Did you order something without telling mom or dad?”

He scoffed. “No. I sent a letter and I’m waiting for a response.”

Her head tilted to the left slightly. “When’d you send it?”

“Three days ago.”

“There’s no way you’re ever gonna get a response in three days.” She scolded lightly, leading the way into the house, “Just be patient.”

He followed her. “Easy for you to say!”

“Who’d you send it to anyway?”

“None of your business.”

Jazz turned on him, her expression as unimpressed as a twelve year old could be. Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, she raised her right eyebrow and tilted her head to the left again and slightly forward. When that didn’t get her what she wanted, she crossed her arms, her feet planted firmly in place. She’d picked up several things since Danny was brought into the family. This was one of them.

Danny hated it when Jazz did this. She reminded him so much of Damian that he had nearly cried the first few times she’d taken this exact stance to get what she wanted. Was it an older sibling thing? Regardless, it wasn’t very long before he cracked. “Okay, fine! But we talk in my room, okay?”

She smiled, losing the pose and opening the front door. “I can work with that. Do you want a snack?”

“Sure,” he huffed. He’d meet her in his room. If she wanted answers, she was going to have to bribe him. It was a subtle tactic, one that didn’t work because it wasn’t really bribery if he was already going to do what she wanted, but he needed to make himself feel better about it somehow.

It took exactly five minutes and thirteen seconds for Jazz to enter Danny’s room with some chips, crackers, and bottled waters from the pantry. Not that he was counting. They set up camp in the middle of the floor, the snacks on the floor between them and their homework set out to work on. Whether either of them would use the paper distraction was yet to be determined, but it had become common practice to have a distraction when a conversation seemed like it would take more than a few minutes. And this was definitely one of those conversations.

As soon as they were both settled, Danny took a deep and obvious breath. “I didn’t ever have amnesia.”

Jazz blinked. “What?”

What a way to start, Danny. Another breath. “When you guys first found me, the doctors said I had amnesia; that my brain locked away the memories of Before because I couldn’t handle the stress of it. I went along with it because that seemed like the best course of action at the time. But, I didn’t lose my memories. I still had them. I still have them.” He didn’t look up from the floor.

Jazz leaned forward and took a chip out from the bowl and popped it in her mouth, the crunch of her chewing doing nothing to cut the tension in the room. She swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? We could’ve had the people who hurt you arrested!”

Danny shook his head. “No. I…I thought, when I was growing up with Grandfather and Mother, that everyone was raised like that. It was all I knew. But then you guys found me and took me to the hospital and suddenly, things weren’t adding up. I decided to go with you guys because I knew I couldn’t return to Grandfather and Mother with my thoughts all messed up like that.”

To her credit, Jazz was taking this all in stride. She took another chip. “Why didn’t you leave when you got your thoughts all sorted out?”

“Honestly?” he huffed, “I realized that I didn’t want to live that life anymore.”

“Then why keep the weapons?”

“Would you believe me if I said ‘sentimental value’?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

They let silence reign over them again for a bit, focusing on their homework and eating the food set out between them. Finally, after they were both finished, Jazz put her things back in her backpack and leaned against the wall behind her, taking the bowl of chips and a water bottle with her. “What was it like, your home Before?”

Danny smiled and slipped his own things away, leaning against his bed with the bowl of crackers and his own bottle of water. This was a topic he could talk about for hours. “I was born in Pakistan, in the Himalayan Mountains, specifically. Very secluded. My brother and I were the only two kids there.”

“Brother?”

“Yeah, his name’s Damian. He’s older than me by a few minutes.”

“Why wasn’t he with you when we found you?”

“Because we got separated.”

“Do we need to go find him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s with our father now.”

“Is he the one you sent the letter to?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” A beat. “Tell me more about where you were born?”

“Sure,” he smiled, “It’s a valley of snow, nestled between peaks in the Pakistanian end of the Himalayan Mountain Range. The buildings were all connected by roofed gravel walkways, yellow sandstone bricks and red clay shingles and dark wood pillars and floors and doors. The green houses were always my favorite. Any plant you could possibly think of was probably grown there! Damian always preferred the stables and pasture, though. He got along better with animals than actual people, I was the exception. When the weather was good, we’d take our lessons outside. If the weather was bad, then we’d study in the arena or the library.

“Sometimes, whenever Grandfather or Mother came to visit, they’d tell us stories about their adventures. My favorite stories, though, were of how Mother met my father and their adventures together. Grandfather doesn’t like those stories, though. He doesn’t like my father much.

“Me and Damian were the only kids there, so we had to play with each other. There weren’t any games we could play because adults are boring, so we made stuff up as we went along. Sometimes, we’d sneak into the stables and pet the horses! Other times, we’d sneak out of our rooms and climb to the roof to watch the stars.

“The stars were so pretty there! They’re the same stars that we see here, but they were so much brighter in Pakistan; more visible, y’know? The sky was so clear and it was so quiet- One of the people staying there gave me a book about the stars before he left.”

“Is that what started your fascination with space?” Jazz asked.

Danny nodded, “Yeah, it was. Damian would listen to me retell the same stories for hours whenever we climbed to the roof, but he never asked me to stop. I don’t think he ever looked at them and saw what I saw, though.”

“What did you see when you looked at the stars?”

“I saw something just barely out of my reach that I know I could grab if I was just a little bit taller, a little bit stronger, a little bit better.”

“Is that what you see now?”

“No.”

“Oh, then what do you see now?”

“I see the past, and I see a hope for the future.” He paused. “It was a competition between me and Dami, trying to be better than each other because whoever was the best was Grandfather’s and Mother’s favorite.”

She frowned. “You guys were kids! You shouldn’t’ve had to compete for attention like that!”

“I know that now,” he shot back, “But we didn’t then. We were raised to compete with everyone to hold Grandfather’s and Mother’s attention and favor. If we lost it, if we did anything that Grandfather deemed unworthy of the family name, then we were punished.”

“That’s horrible.”

“I know, but it’s what we knew.” A beat. “It was a big family, so not everyone stayed at the one compound.” The League was very far from being a family, but it’s the best way to describe it without exposing it to anyone. “Me and Damian were born and raised in the main compound in Pakistan. Grandfather, the head of the family, stayed and led from a compound in China. Mother stayed at a compound in Bangladesh. When we were four, I went and spent a month with Mother and Damian went and spent a month with Grandfather before we were sent back to Pakistan. When we turned five, I went with Grandfather and Damian went with Mother. When we turned six, we were both sent to spend time with family here in the states. I got separated from Damian and-”

“-me and mom and dad found you.” Jazz finished for him.

“Yep.”

“But, how did you get so hurt?”

Before he could answer, the front door burst open, their parents announcing their arrival carrying through the house. “A story for another time, I guess,” he shrugged.

Jazz wasn’t happy to have been interrupted, but she didn’t push. Instead, she took the empty bowls and went downstairs to greet their parents.

Danny leaned his head back against his bed, lost in the memories of his time with his brother. He wishes that Damian would send a reply already. He had remembered to put a return address, right? Maybe he should’ve just used the house’s address instead of setting up that PO box in the next town over! It’s not like anyone ever claimed to be reliable delivery persons!

Waiting was always the worst part of anything. Waiting for Grandfather to speak when he’d called an audience; waiting for Mother to tell them the end of her story; waiting for the guards to show any weak point to sneak past; waiting for a mission to start. It was always agonizing.

*

The morning was cold. Colder than it had been, but not as cold as it could be. Unfortunately, the cold meant snow. Snow meant that it was way too bright outside. And, despite it not being the morning of a school day, Jazz had elected to wake Danny up at the horrible time of six-thirty in the morning. Later than the normal five-forty-five, but still way too early to reasonably be awake. Honestly, Danny had thought he was done with getting up with the sun, but Jazz had proved him wrong time and time again for nearly five years now.

She pulled the curtains open, letting in the light from the sun that reflected off the white embodiment of cold. When that only caused him to burrow deeper into his three blankets and two pillows and his dog plush, Jazz decided to pull all three layers off of him.

“Hey!” he yelped, falling off the bed with a thud. “What the heck!”

Jaz dropped the blankets with a smile. “Rise and shine sleeping beauty! Mom and dad are in the lab again-”

“Another ‘breakthrough’?”

“-so I’m making breakfast! What do you want?”

Danny groaned and pulled himself off the floor, resetting the blankets on his bed in a mock of making it look neat. “Something warm.”

“How does hot chocolate and pancakes sound?”

“Can I have coffee instead?”

“No.”

“Dang.”

Jazz shook her head and left the room. “Don’t go back to sleep, okay? I wanna go to the library today.” She didn’t close the door behind her.

“Isn’t it closed today?” he called into the hall.

“Tomorrow!”

“Ah.” He closed the door himself, letting out a small puff of air. Turning to the room at large with his hands on his hips, Danny sighed. It was gonna be a long day. The first thing he did was straighten out his bed so it looked properly not slept in. Just as Mother had taught him. Then, he changed from his pajamas and into some jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Leaving his room, he made his way to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, only really bothering to push a hand through his hair. Not at all like Mother had taught him, but he really didn’t care right now.

Danny made his way down the stairs sluggishly. He’d never been a morning person, much preferring to stay awake until the early hours of the morning watching stars, but he’d had to hide that little quirk when he was with Grandfather and Mother. He’d realized, about half a year after the Fentons picked him up, that he didn’t need to hide his preference for night over day. Infact, his mom encouraged it! She let him sit up on the roof and stargaze until one or two in the morning before forcing him to bed. And then Jazz got into the habit of waking him at six in the morning for school. He’s definitely run on less sleep than four-ish hours, but he’d rather get as much as he can, which is what breaks are for! Unfortunately, Jazz has it in her head that he has to get up at the same time every day without fail, lest he irreparably mess up his sleeping schedule.

With a groan, he plopped down on his chair - in a bout of pettiness a year and a half after arriving, he carved his name into the wood of the backrest - at the table and laid his head down. His sister worked efficiently on the pancakes as the water for their hot chocolate boiled in the electric kettle.

The two sat and worked in a quiet peace. Jazz’s bustling around the kitchen faded into the background as white noise with the constant hum of electricity throughout the house and the occasional controlled explosion from the basement lab. It was well fortified, so the house wasn’t in danger.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes of laying on the table with his eyes closed, Jazz put a plate by Danny’s head, a mug of hot chocolate with a candy cane beside it. Then, she sat opposite him with her own food.

“Thanks,” he mumbled groggily, pulling the food and drink towards him.

“You’re welcome.” Jazz said around a bite.

Danny would be the first to admit that Jazz wasn’t the best cook, but he was also the first to praise her cooking. Jack Fenton couldn’t make anything, that wasn’t fudge, for the life of him. Any food he tries to make, somehow turns to fudge. Kind of like King Midas’ Golden Touch. Maddie Fenton was a pretty good cook, when she remembered to actually feed herself and her family. She could make cookies worthy of the gods, though. Whenever the Fenton parents weren’t in their basement lab for one reason or another, they ordered takeout to eat with their kids. Those times were, unfortunately, few and far between.

Finishing his meal, Danny was wide awake, the food doing wonders for waking him. And, while the caffeine in chocolate was nothing compared to the coffee his dad would sometimes let him drink, there was just enough to wake him up just a bit more. Don’t tell Jazz, though, or she might take away chocolate, too.

“Do you,” he hesitated, the words caught in his throat for a moment, “Do you think mom and dad will be up to celebrating this year?”

When he was seven, he learned that the Fentons didn’t celebrate any holiday, no matter what it was. They had up until Jazz was five, but then work became more important. Jack and Maddie had claimed breakthroughs in their research, pushing everything and everyone aside if it or they didn’t directly help their life’s work.

That same year, he’d been trying to acclimate himself better. One of the biggest things in American culture is holidays, so he decided to ask to celebrate Christmas. It was mainstream and was derived from one of the only holidays he was allowed to celebrate back in Nanda Parbat.

Jack and Maddie had agreed, of course, and he and Jazz had pulled out all the old decorations to dress the house. When December twenty-fourth came around, though, their parents had gotten into a huge fight about whether to tell Danny and Jazz that Santa wasn’t real. Jack had said it was a right of passage for little kids to figure it out all on their lonesome, while Maddie had argued that she wasn’t going to let her children believe in fairy tales that parents tell to get their kids to sleep faster. They were loud enough that Jazz and Danny had both heard every word.

The two tried, every holiday, to get their parents to spend time with them, at least, but it failed every time. Something or other aways came up.

“I don’t know, Danny,” she sighed, putting her fork on her now empty plate, “You can try, but I doubt it.” She’d given up last year, right around the time that she’d picked up on reading parenting books.

Danny didn’t say anything. He simply stood and gathered the dishes, taking them to the sink to be washed before putting them away. The dishwasher had been ripped apart and repurposed for parts in the lab.

“I know that you want to celebrate like the other kids in town,” Jazz said from the table, “but mom and dad are way too focused right now. Mom mentioned something about working on the portal some more.”

Danny put the cup down carefully, a loud click sounding through the kitchen. With a controlled breath, he closed his eyes and turned off the tap. “There were exactly two holidays that me and my brother were allowed to celebrate when we were children. Christmas is taken from one of those holidays. Forgive me for just wanting to share a piece of that with them.”

He could feel Jazz’s sad gaze on his back. “What holidays?”

“Forget it,” he shook his head, “Let’s just go to the library.”

She let it drop. “It doesn’t open for a few more hours.”

He started up the stairs. “Then come get me when it’s time to go.” Danny ignored Jazz’s responding sigh as he walked up to his room. Closing the door behind him, he grabbed some paper and a pencil.

In Nanda Parbat, one of the instructors was set to teach Danny and his brother the Fine Arts. From writing to painting to instruments to acting. All so that they could adapt to any mold for any mission. Because they were the heirs, the Demon Twins of the monster that was the organization, they were expected to be perfect. Anything less was punished.

Damian had always excelled at the Arts, especially drawing and its counterparts. He could work with any median, but charcoal had always been his favorite. Danny, too, had excelled with the Arts, but anything that happened on a stage had been his specialty.

Whenever he missed his brother, or any aspect of Before, too much, Danny would sit down and draw. He’d thought about asking his parents for an instrument of some kind, the cello always having been his favorite, but he decided against it. So, he drew. He didn’t have a dedicated sketch book, and no one but himself would ever see anything he made, but it was a nice outlet.

He wondered if Damian did something similar, now that he was with father. Did he play instruments or read plays when he thought of Danny? Did he allow his new siblings to see what he made or listen to his voice?

Three hours passed by in a blink, only one page being covered. It was a nice memory he’d drawn of the blacksmith’s hut away from the main base. In the picture, he and Damian were learning to forge their own daggers. Damian’s had turned out unbalanced and two inches too short. Danny’s had been only half an inch too long with a slightly too short grip.

Jazz knocked on the door as she cracked it open. “Hey,” she greeted quietly.

Danny covered tha paper. “Hey.”

“Are you ready to head out? We can stop by Tasty Burger for lunch?”

“Sure,” he nodded, moving to stand in a way that prevented the paper from showing to Jazz. He hid it in his nightstand to be moved to the box with the others later. “Let’s go.”

Nodding, she led the way.

It was a quick walk, only twenty minutes from their house to the library, but it was cold and bright. The snow only made the area brighter, but it was comfortable to him; familiar. What was really irritating was the cars and the people and the buildings. Danny had been raised very far from all of these things, only ever going near them when on a mission, and it was only a few hours at a time in those instances. No matter how long he lived in a city or town, whatever it was called, though, he would never get used to the noise.

The sidewalks were crowded with holiday shoppers not insane enough to go out on the twenty-fourth, but crazy enough to go out on the twenty-third. The streets were slick and traffic was slow, especially for a morning. Christmas decorations lined every window and tree and building face, holiday music carried on the wind four or five different songs mixing into one over and under the voices of the people on the sidewalks.

“C’mon,” Jazz tugged him into the public library by his hand. She had four books tucked under her arm, two on psychology, one on parenting, and one on dragons.

Danny followed after her, not quite dragging his feet, but making it apparent that he would rather not be there.

“Good morning, you two!” the librarian smiled when they made their way to her desk. She was a cheerful woman, always wearing a smile, though she had never once worn a nametag or introduced herself.

“Good morning!” Jazz matched the woman’s energy with a smile, dropping Danny’s hand and putting the four books up on the counter.

The woman took the books to scan them back into the system. “Are you looking to check out more books today?”

“Yep! Just so I have something to do over Winter Break.”

“You’re a kid, there’s lots for you to do!”

“I know, but I like reading.”

“I get it. Let me know if you need any help, okay?”

“Okay, we will!” Jazz took Danny’s hand again and pulled him off into the forest of shelves, straight to the parenting section.

Danny hid his scowl as he watched Jazz search through the parenting books. “You’re twelve, Jazz-”

“Almost thirteen.”

“-you’re not supposed to be looking at these kinds of books until eighteen at the earliest.”

She didn’t stop her search. “You’re eleven, Danny, you should be acting like a kid.”

“But I wasn’t raised as a kid.”

“Exactly why you should take the opportunity now!”

He groaned. It was an ongoing argument between the two. “I don’t need you to look after me, Jazz. We’re both kids, so we should be reading books that kids do! Leave the parenting up to our parents.”

“Our parents who don’t even celebrate holidays?”

“Jazz-”

“Look, Danny, I know you’re worried about me growing up too fast or whatever, but I like these books.” She pulled one off the shelf before turning to look at him. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll only get one parenting book.”

It didn’t. He’d rather her get none. “Okay.”

“I’m gonna get some psychology books, though, and you can’t stop me.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he said. She ignored him.

“The human mind is really interesting. Did you know that the size of a human brain has decreased since the time when we were hunters and gatherers?”

“Has it?” He loved when she got like this, talking about things that interest her.

She nodded rapidly. “Mhmm! By a whole ten percent!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! And most artists like working at night because humans are more creative during the night rather than during the day.”

“What?” He raised his eyebrow in good humor to tell her that he was joking, “There’s no way that’s true.”

“It is!” she insisted, leading the way over to the tables in the middle of the large room with two psychology books and a parenting book under her arm. “And, look!” she grabbed a paper and pencil and wrote down ‘Yuo cna’t sotp me form radenig prnatneig bokos.’ in big letters. “Because we read words instead of individual letters, as long as the first and last letters are in the proper spots, and all the letters are there, it doesn’t matter what the rest of the word looks like, especially if you’ve been reading for a while or if you’re reading fast. You’re still able to read the word as though it were completely correct.”

“That’s actually really cool.”

“Right?” Her grin was so worth it. Her grin would always be worth it. “C’mon, let’s go get yo some books now.”

Danny grabbed Jazz’s hand and led the way this time. He took them over to the books about space and started to look through them. He’d always loved space as a whole, but stars had always held a special place for him.

He picked a book about astrology. “I heard some of the girls at school talking about magic and stuff and how people’s personalities are affected by what star sign they were born under.”

Jazz scrunched her nose a bit. “I’ve heard some people at school talk about that stuff, too. Do you think it’s true?”

“I think it’d be worth a look.” He took another book off the shelf, this one talking about both ancient and modern witchcraft. “The psychological implications are interesting, too.” That would get her to show a bit more interest.

“Really?”

“Really.”

She paused. “Mind if I take a look when you’re done?”

“I’d be happy to have a whole conversation about it when we’ve both finished reading our books.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

The last stop before checking out their chosen books was in the fairy tail section of the library. Their dad loved fairy tales, but their mom refused to let them have any of the books in the house. She claimed that there was no such thing as magic and that any ‘magic’ was done by ghosts. Danny had to hide his amusement whenever that particular argument was bright up because he knew for a fact that the supernatural and magic go hand in hand more often than not. He wasn’t about to tell her that, though.

The book they chose was one they both wanted to read, not wanting to risk mom finding one fairy tale in the house, let alone two. It was a compilation of the Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales. Dark stories, they both knew, but that just made them all the more enticing.

Checking out went much the same as checking in, with the added bonus of the librarian giving them a cloth tote bag to carry their six books in. She also gave them the name of a small magic shop on the other side of town that had some tarot cards in stock if Danny was interested.

As promised, Jazz had taken some money from their mom’s purse to stop by the Tasty Burger for lunch. They both ordered the chicken nuggets and a milkshake, Jazz getting chocolate and Danny getting strawberry. Then, when they were done eating, they walked hand in hand back to their home.

Danny stopped at the mailbox, not moving to follow Jazz or to open the thing. Did he dare check? He didn’t want to get his hopes up. What if Damian hadn’t gotten the letter like he both feared and hoped? What if he had? Would there be a response? Would Damian ever want a relationship with him?

“Hey,” Jazz tugged his hand, “What’s wrong?”

He bit his lip, a show of nervousness that would’ve been punished in Nanda Parbat. He inhaled. “What if there’s no response? What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? It’s been almost five years.”

It took a moment before Jazz clocked what he was talking about. She let go of his hand to hold his shoulders. “How about this; You go inside and wait and I’ll get the mail, okay?”

Danny nodded and slowly trudged into the house. Why had he even sent that stupid letter? He flopped onto the couch. Damian probably hates him for not returning to his side.

He didn’t have time to mope any longer because Jaz threw the front door open with a shout. “Danny!” She was suddenly right beside him, shoving a letter into his hands. “There’s a letter for you!”

After a moment to process, Danny’s shaky hands ripped the envelope open and pulled out the paper inside. The single sheet was folded into three perfect rectangles, the black ink of a pen unsmudged and perfectly spaced. Just as Mother had taught.

***

Danyal ‘Danny’ Fenton,                         Dec. 21, 2011

You have a very extravagant story. Whatever made you believe that exchanging letters was the most secure way of contact? An idiotic move that my brother would, unfortunately, absolutely make. Either you are him, or you are a clone. Either way, I’m not likely to believe you, so do not mistake this as such. Your admitted honesty is welcomed, though not believed.

My welcome into the Wayne Family was quite a public affair and aired all over the country, so I guess I should thank you for the congratulations, as is socially acceptable in this situation as well as others like it. Bruce Wayne being my father is not a surprise, given his public image and his tendency to take any stray whelp he sees into his home. Though I will have you know that I am the only blood child in the household.

Announcing your stalling while writing a letter is completely unnecessary, especially as that was your first correspondence. Had you simply left that out, I would never have been the wiser. Another mistake you’ve made in accordance with my brother.

Having read over your letter several times, I have come to several conclusions. With the resources I have at my disposal, I have determined that there is a good chance you are who you say you are. Understanding who I am, and who my brother is, the rest of this response is written under the foolish  ̶h̶o̶p̶e̶ assumption that you are who you claim to be.

I could never hate you, Danyal, nor could I ever ignore this chance I have been presented with. Getting out was the best thing you could’ve done for yourself. Coming back from that mission, having failed and lost you, broke something in Mother. She was both harsher and more clingy, hovering whenever she could and pushing more than ever. Grandfather was even less pleased that you hadn’t returned, though he only ever acknowledged you as a failure and a mistake. He made it known that he would’ve killed you, had you ever miraculously returned to Nanda Parbat.

I am glad that you got help. I am glad that you are living safely and that you have found a place to be at peace.

You are a coward, but you are more deserving of praise and forgiveness than you seem to believe. I thought you had died on that mission, Danyal. For that, I can’t ever forgive you, but I could never hate you. I can forgive you for making me return on my own. I can forgive you for being selfish and leaving me alone, but I will never forgive you for making me mourn you. You hurt me in ways that I never thought I could ever be hurt, in ways that I may never be hurt again.

Grandfather and Mother never allowed a grave to be made. They didn’t let me keep anything of yours either. They erased you. It was like you had never been there. I was never allowed to properly mourn you. That alone almost ended me.

Father knows nothing of you. Mother did not tell him, nor will I. I did not wish to make him or our siblings mourn a child they would never meet. If you so choose to tell him, then you may. I, however, will not be playing the messenger.

أرجو أن تسامحني على اعتقادي بأنك ميت. أرجوك سامحني لأنني لم أحزن عليك كما ينبغي. أرجوك سامحني لأنني لم أبحث عنك، فالعودة لم تكن خياراً متاحاً. كان يجب أن أجعله خياراً                     Damian Wayne

Translation 1 - Arabic :: Thank you for being my brother.

Translation 2 - Romanian :: Damn it!

Translation 3 - Arabic :: Please forgive me for thinking you were dead. Please forgive me for not mourning you properly. Please forgive me for not looking for you, coming back was not an option. I should have made it an option

Storyboard Part 2 Artwork

[leblogreblog]

All of vitrumite names we know are alien-ized earth names, like Lucan being really close to Lucas (meaning Bringer of Light), or more likely from Lucian, alternative form of Lucius, which means basically the same, or Nolan (which means Champion).

I think, in my opinion, Conquest's actual OG name should either have been variation of Boris (meaning “warrior,” “wolf,” “snow leopard,” “god-like,” and “success,” amongst others) OR Stephen (meaning crown; this particular type of crown, stephane, was said to be worn by Biblical Horsman of Appocalipse of White Horse, in most iterations called Conquest, but also Pestilence)

Edit: so I've made a guide how to make your own vlitrumite name

[oystermark]

give me nsfw requests for conquest... gn or male !!!! be as freaky as u can be!!!! (till april 5th)

[sieglinde-freud]

god i fucking love fire emblem fates

[conquestable]

two in a row, goddamn im on a roll

part one: his name is Conquest (in which mark is assaulted by conquest)

part two: tremors (in which mark tries to ask eve for help but refuses to be honest with her)

[whump-me]

Conquest, Chapter 4: A Valuable Resource

Chapter 4 of Conquest, a novel-length fantasy whump story about a timid royal clerk captured by the disgraced prince who needs their help to rule their newly conquered country. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.

Contains: fantasy setting, nonbinary whumpee, male whumper, fearful whumpee, royal whumper, whumper POV, knife to throat, cultural differences, philosophy of gender

---

Kezul

The prisoner was no longer drenched in blood and shit and vomit, but that didn’t make him that much more pleasant to look at. He was built like a sapling, and draped in layers and layers of clothing drenched in dyes so bright it made Kezul’s eyes hurt to look at him. His hair was pulled back in a single long braid. The style didn’t do him any favors—it exposed every soft curve of his weak face in unforgiving detail.

The creature kept his eyes firmly fixed on his own shoes—soft and thin things that wouldn’t have lasted five minutes on a battlefield. Kezul heard his breath catch with every inhale as he quivered like a blade of grass in a thunderstorm.

And here Kezul had thought Gyoras’s fawning had been intolerable.

But at least this one meant it. He wasn’t showing obsequious deference while snickering about Kezul’s soiled reputation behind his hands when Kezul was out of earshot. One glance at the prisoner was enough to tell Kezul that every quiver of fear, every catch of his breath, was born of genuine terror.

It was refreshing. At least one person in this palace had a healthy respect for him.

Kezul hadn’t expected respect to make him feel so disgusted.

But then, the creatures of Danelor were disgusting, all of them. Weak things, soft, like worms after a rain. And his father had sent him here because he thought Kezul belonged with them.

Maybe Gyoras had been right, and this prisoner’s best use was as an outlet for his anger. Staring at him now, he found it hard to believe this creature could be useful for much else, except maybe as a gaudy decoration. “Tell me,” he demanded, “why shouldn’t I kill you now and put you out of your misery?”

The prisoner flinched at the sound of his voice. His eyes—wet and glittering, a clear amber color that reminded Kezul of the steps outside the palace—darted up to meet his. The incongruity of it sent a jolt through Kezul. The prisoner looked too afraid to speak, and yet he could do what Gyoras had found so difficult, and look Kezul in the eyes. No doubt it came down to what he had been taught—the people of Danelor probably didn’t know how to show their rulers proper respect. Still, Kezul couldn’t help but see it as an almost shocking act of boldness.

“You saved me for a reason,” the prisoner said. “I don’t think you would have your warriors go to the trouble of bathing me just so you can kill me personally.”

Kezul wouldn’t have been more astounded if one of the palace rats had scurried up to him, knelt at his feet, and offered to serve.

The prisoner’s accent was atrocious, of course. The words sounded smooth and liquid in his mouth, like his soft lips couldn’t keep hold of the sounds properly. On top of that, half his verb endings belonged to some archaic scholarly dialect Kezul hadn’t seen since the lessons he had slept through as a child. But the fact that he was speaking the language at all stunned Kezul into silence.

“I did not intervene to save your life,” Kezul answered once he had recovered his composure. “Your life is worthless. What I did was preserve a potential resource. If it turns out the information in your head isn’t useful to me, you’ll go right back to my Wolves. Or else I’ll kill you myself.”

The prisoner cringed at the sound of his voice, and didn’t stop cringing until Kezul fell silent. In the name of the exalted Unmaker, how had these creatures ever survived long enough to put up any sort of resistance at all? If they were all like this one, they should have keeled over dead at the first sound of a war horn.

“How do you know my language?” Kezul demanded.

“It was part of my studies,” the prisoner answered in the same atrocious accent. “I can read, write, and speak fifteen different languages. I can understand another five passably well.”

“Hopefully you speak the others better than you speak mine,” Kezul said. “Training for what?” He leaned forward on his throne, fixing his eyes on the quivering prisoner.

“Diplomacy, mostly. As a royal clerk, I sat in on diplomatic meetings, and recorded what was said to the best of my ability. I had to understand foreigners’ speech well enough to avoid any dangerous mistranslations in my notes, and then translate the notes later into the languages of everyone who had attended. I also drafted trade and defense agreements, and the meaning of those—as you can imagine—had to be precisely identical between one translation or the next. No clerk wants to be responsible for starting a war with a careless stroke of a pen.”

He said all this without a trace of arrogance, as if he expected Kezul to take it in stride that a trembling beanstalk of a clerk might have the power to launch an army with the mistranslation of a word. Was this the world his father had meant to thrust him into? A world where the stroke of an overtired clerk’s pen could mean the difference between war and peace, between victory and defeat?

And he had thought the test had seemed impossible before.

Forget getting on his horse and riding as hard as he could out of here. He was half-tempted to set the whole damned country ablaze and be done with it. It would be easy to rule over a sea of charred grass.

He pictured his father’s triumphant grin in his mind. He clenched the throne’s carved wooden armrests until the contours of the smooth wood bit deep enough to bruise.

He would not run. He would not fail.

“You say you drafted these agreements,” he said slowly. “Do you mean someone dictated the words to you, and you determined the proper translations?”

The prisoner shook his head—a small, jerking motion. “We clerks would work out the details ourselves. It’s part of why our training takes so long—we need to understand enough of politics to handle that work on our own. The queen and her advisors have more important things to do than fuss over every word.”

Kezul’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Then the royal clerks had the power to set policy.” No wonder Danelor had fallen so quickly, if this one and those like him had been the ones in charge all along.

The prisoner shook his head again. “The queen or one of her advisors would tell us what the document needed to contain—although we would already know that, if we had paid attention in the meetings. Then we would go over it with one of the queen’s advisors once the job was done—or, if it was important enough, with the queen herself. But—if you will forgive me my arrogance—the queen and her advisors couldn’t manage those details as well as a trained clerk could. Knowing the precise tricks of phrasing to make sure the documents say exactly what they’re meant to say is part of what we’re trained for.”

This prisoner had a strange idea of arrogance. Not that Kezul was sure he believed what the prisoner said—surely the difference between one pen stroke and another couldn’t be more powerful than the word of their queen. Either their queen had been exceedingly weak, or Danelor was a land of superstitious fools who believed in the powers of magical incantations—so long as the words were written in a clerk’s hand and sealed with the royal seal.

But the creature in front of him, much as he hated to admit it, didn’t look like a fool. Kezul didn’t know what to make of him, truth be told. Based on Kezul’s first look at him, he hadn’t expected the prisoner to be able to stammer out a single terrified word. And yet he had spouted that lengthy explanation, and in a language not his own, all while quivering like a leaf in a storm. He had even pulled out the most obscure archaic phrases to drop casually into his speech. To the best of my ability? If you will forgive? And the stuffy and old-fashioned word documents, when the shorter and simpler term was used by everyone but the most pompous old academics. Kezul might have thought the creature was trying to show off, if he hadn’t looked so much like he wanted to melt into the floor.

Kezul didn’t know what to think of him. Only a few moments in his presence, and he already seemed to Kezul to be a child’s trick puzzle—a muddle of pieces that would never fit together properly. But if what he said could be believed—and at this point, Kezul had no other option but to believe him—he was an even better find than Kezul had hoped. This prisoner could well be the proverbial jewel plucked from the pigsty—a bit of good fortune dropped into his lap from the heavens themselves.

“Give me your name,” Kezul ordered.

The prisoner answered with a string of slurred syllables that made Kezul feel like he had spun in a circle while shaking his head rapidly back and forth.

“Say that again,” Kezul said irritably. “Slower, this time.”

“Miranelis.” This time, Kezul could make out all the sounds, but he still scowled. He couldn’t imagine saying all that whenever he needed to catch his prisoner’s attention.

“You’ll need to shorten it,” he said. “I’ll call you Mir.”

The prisoner, unexpectedly, flinched at that. “My people don’t shorten our names.”

A child’s trick puzzle, indeed. He had run rather than fought to defend his home and his queen. He was hadn’t offered the Wolves in the courtyard so much as a token fight. But this was the thing he found the courage to object to?

“You do now,” he said. “Your name is too long to use. You don’t want that to be the reason I can’t find a use for you, do you?”

The prisoner still looked unhappy about the situation, but he didn’t offer any more objections.

“And are you a man or a woman?” he asked. He had assumed man at first, but the longer he looked the prisoner over, the less sure of that he was. Mir’s slim build offered no clues, nor did the soft roundness of his face.

“Neither,” Mir answered.

And here Kezul had thought his eyebrows couldn’t go any higher. “You can’t mean to tell me you have nothing between your legs.”

“You didn’t ask me what I had between my legs. You asked if I was—” And here he dropped into his own language for the space of a few liquid words. “Or did I misunderstand?”

“I don’t speak your language,” Kezul snapped. “Say it in mine, or not at all.”

“You asked if I was a man or a woman,” Mir answered. “The mother or father of a child, actual or potential. Is that correct?”

He had dropped into those maddening archaic turns of phrase again. Kezul wished his father had sent along a scholar just to make sense of this creature’s speech. “I don’t see how that changes my point.”

“I renounced the possibility of either when I entered the service of the queen,” said Mir patiently. “I renounced all familial roles—past, present, and future. Son or daughter, brother or sister, aunt or uncle… you get the idea. Everyone sworn to higher service takes the oath—clerks, priests, soldiers, the queen’s personal servants…”

Kezul frowned. “You mean to tell me all the soldiers in Danelor are eunuchs?”

“Eunuchs? Doesn’t that mean you cut…” Mir turned faintly green. “No! It’s about our place in our family and our country, about being recognized as one sworn to service rather than to our blood relatives or the scholarly pursuits. It’s not about… that.” The prisoner looked down at his crotch nervously.

Perhaps this was another thing Kezul would have understood if he’d had the training Szorrol had denied him. He doubted it, though. “Neither, then,” he said, with more than a little irritation. He squinted at Mir and wondered if he could get used to the idea of seeing clerk in place of man or woman.

He cleared his throat and moved on. “How long have you been in your position?”

“Ten years in training,” Mir answered. “Another five in service.”

“They must have started you young, then.” Either that, or Kezul had unwittingly stumbled upon the location of the fabled Caves of Immortality.

“At seven years old,” Mir confirmed.

“And are you good at what you do?”

“Not as good as the one who taught me.”

They flushed a little as they said it. Their lips tightened at the corners in a look of quivering stubbornness. Was this another facet of the creature’s strange humility—that they could admit to having power greater than their own queen, but not to being good at it?

If so, Kezul didn’t have time for their scruples. He leaned forward. “How would you rate your competence at your vocation,” he said, “if your life depended on your answer?” In a quick motion, he grabbed Mir by the back of the neck. With his other hand, he drew his dagger from his chest sheath and rested the blade against the prisoner’s trembling throat.

Mir quivered hard enough that Kezul was afraid they would shake themselves right onto the edge of the blade and slit their own throat. And yet they still didn’t collapse in a mindless puddle of tears on the floor. Ridiculous—they should either embrace their own cowardice, as they so clearly wanted to, or show a little spirit and fight back.

Of course, if they chose this moment to fight back, they would get their throat slit. And then Kezul would be without his only information source.

Kezul was about to repeat his question when Mir swallowed hard and answered. The motion of the throat was enough to vibrate their skin against the freshly sharpened blade. A single drop of blood welled up.

“My teacher said I was the best they had ever trained,” said Mir, as if every word was painful. Or maybe that was just from the blade at their throat.

“Good.” Kezul released them, and was mildly surprised when they kept their footing. He slid his knife back into its sheath. “We’ll see if your teacher’s assessment of you is accurate. You said you were sworn to higher service. You will continue that service. As of now, you serve me.”

Mir blinked at him like a startled cow. “What?”

“I was taught how to conquer,” Kezul said. “I was not taught how to rule. You will show me how.”

Another slow, bewildered blink. “But I don’t… I was only a clerk.”

“And your clerks had more power than your queen, or so you said,” Kezul said impatiently. “Or was that a lie?” His hand drifted closer to his knife. “Do you know what the penalty is for lying to one’s superiors in Kyollen Naskor?”

A full-body quiver ran through Mir. “That’s not what I meant!” They took a breath. Swallowed. “That’s not what I meant,” they said in a slower and more even voice, even though every word was thick with suppressed strain. “We clerks have a very specific area of expertise. That’s all. We know more than the queen does in certain matters, but the queen doesn’t know how to till the fields either, and you would hardly say a farmer has more power than her because of it.”

“Certain matters,” Kezul echoed. “Would it kill you to talk like a living, breathing person instead of some long-forgotten ancient scroll?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Kezul waved a hand. “Your specific area of expertise happens to be exactly what I need. I need to know this country’s politics. Its trade… situation.” His fingers waggled helplessly in the air. “Its relationships with its neighbors. Its… oh, I don’t know—that’s what I need you to tell me.”

“You want me to tell you how to rule my country,” said Mir.

“At last, you’re getting it. Good—if you didn’t have a brain in your head, this endeavor would be doomed before it started. I’ll have you brought to me every day. You’ll teach me what I need to know about your country, and in return, you will be kept alive and well-fed.” He thought back to what Gyoras had said about the farms, and amended, “You’ll eat as well as the rest of my army, at any rate.”

“You want me to be a part of your army.” A crease appeared between Mir’s eyebrows, quickly smoothed away.

“You know that’s not what I meant. Your command of my language can’t be that bad, if you’re throwing around phrases like if you will forgive. Are you trying to mock me by intentionally misunderstanding my words?”

“You want me to serve you,” said Mir. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? Maybe I won’t be holding a weapon, but it amounts to the same thing. I’ll be helping you win this war.”

“The war is already won. And I wouldn’t need your help for that, anyway. I know how to win a war.”

Mir shook their head. “No,” they whispered, almost too low to hear. Another terrified quiver rolled through them.

“What do you mean, no?”

Mir swallowed again. “You destroyed my country. You killed my queen, and the prince—a child—and everyone else I’ve cared about for the past fifteen years. Havedrial…” Mir let out a shuddering breath. “I won’t help you finish the job.”

It took Kezul a moment to remember how to speak. “You’re refusing me?” This pathetic creature? Gyoras, a trained Wolf, had barely been able to bring himself to stand in Kezul’s presence, and then only because he had been ordered to. And yet this tiny, trembling prisoner was saying no?

“And what if I send you back out to the courtyard with my Wolves?” Kezul asked in a low voice. This time, he almost managed to imitate his father’s rumble.

Mir quivered so hard Kezul thought they would lose their balance. But they kept their feet as they said, in a small but steady voice, “Then send me back.”

Kezul stared into the creature’s wide and glistening eyes, and found he couldn’t look away. This was the strangest breed of coward he had ever encountered. They would have made a fascinating curiosity, if Kezul’s birthright hadn’t been on the line.

Kezul drew his knife again. This time, he brought it forward slowly and deliberately, holding Mir’s gaze the whole time. He kept his spare hand ready to grab hold of Mir’s arm if Mir tried to run. But Mir stayed put. Whether they were making a brave stand, or were simply too panicked to remember how to use their feet, Kezul couldn’t tell.

“And if I slit your throat here and now?” he demanded.

This time, Mir’s voice was even quieter. The words were still surprisingly easy to make out, considering their accent. “Then do it.”

Kezul rested the edge of the knife against Mir’s throat. Mir didn’t fight. They didn’t run. One or the other would have made sense, but neither? What was this creature?

One sharp jerk of the knife, and he wouldn’t need to worry about it anymore. He already suspected this prisoner would be more trouble than they were worth. In the time it would take to persuade them to take back their refusal—or even begin to figure out how to persuade an alien creature such as this—he could find another resource to give him what he needed.

There had to be some other resource.

But if he was wrong, what then?

And besides, if Kezul killed Mir now, the only satisfaction he would get from it would be an end to this headache-inducing conversation and an extra bloodstain on the floor. That wasn’t enough. Kezul had saved them from the fate they deserved, and all they were asking in return was a simple exchange of information. Kezul could have understood that kind of refusal coming from a warrior. But a coward who had hid in a closet rather than die in defense of their queen? The only reason for them to choose death now was pure spite.

Such spite deserved to be returned in kind.

He tucked his knife away. “Then I suppose I’ll be forced to find another use for you. I imagine you won’t find it as pleasant as my first offer. Remember, you had your chance.”

Kezul didn’t know what precisely he was threatening yet, but from the way Mir’s eyes went even wider, he suspected Mir had a few ideas already. Good. Let their imagination to torment them until Kezul came up with something suitable. He was sure he could find something. And after a taste of what it meant to be his prisoner, maybe Mir would change their mind about what their spite was worth.

---

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[jnw1813]

Everything is a weakness, huh? That's a damn shame.

Conquest shares a bed with his partner for the first time.

The bed was big by human standards. Still, Conquest dwarfed it.

 

Giving it a weary look, he hesitates to lay down, but you had invited him to sleep with you, so he had to. Yet he can't help but feel… a bit self-conscious about it. A unique feeling for him, that's for certain. But he just worried he'd lay down and break your bed.

That would be… awkward. Yes. Awkward.

He hears you finishing up in the bathroom, and grumbles to himself about weaknesses and getting it over with, and slowly lays down on the firm yet comfortable mattress, the fluffy sheets smelling fresh, of some flowery detergent that was beyond foreign to him.

On Viltrum, they would've just smelled sterile.

He shifts a bit, overly aware of his size and, for the first time ever, is apprehensive about it. What was he even doing here? He was Conquest, a Viltrumite warrior, over five thousand years old–

“I'm done, hun!” Your voice slices through his thoughts as the bathroom door clicks and you exit, padding into your room in your ‘pyjamas’, comfortable sleepwear specifically for that. Sleep. Another foreign thing for him.

–and suddenly, as you step into view, Conquest remembers why he's here. Why he's laying in a bed laid thick with soft blankets and pillows and goddamn plushies, in a home belonging to a human, a being so far below him it's laughable–

“Comfy?” You ask, walking over to the other side– your side, his mind supplies. If this becomes a regular thing, this will be his side and that will be yours– and getting in carefully; you look him over appreciatively, taking in all his scars and thick muscles with only affection and desire.

You've got that shy smile on your face. The same one you always have when you're unsure if you're overstepping or making sense to him; wondering if you just asked a redundant, stupid question.

The time spent with you has been short, insignificant compared to the rest of his lifespan, yet he's already figured most of your tells out.

Clearing his throat, he shifts his weight a bit (and tries not to worry about the creaking springs too much), nodding as he looks at you.

“Yeah, darlin’, I'm good. Comfy.” The word is unfamiliar on his tongue. Comfort isn't always a priority to Viltrumites, perhaps only after a great battle is it considered deserved; any other time and it's considered an excess and a sign of weakness. “You?” He asks, trying to relax, wondering why this is so difficult for him. He's the second strongest Viltrumite alive, so why is he laying down with his, heh, partner so hard?

You give the much older man a nod, smiling more warmly now; you don't waste any time in snuggling up to him, resting your head on his bare shoulder. He was only wearing underwear, which was rather… eye-catching, considering his… ‘size’.

The view was appreciated.

“You're tense.” You comment, tracing a finger tip, feather light, along an old scar. You wonder what could've possibly caused it considering his regeneration abilities.

His skin flinches under your touch, an instinctive reaction. He's frozen for a moment, not breathing. All his focus goes to that single digit dancing along his skin, light as a feather. He swallows thickly, eyes falling shut as he clears his throat, hoping he doesn't seem nearly as starved as he feels.

“I'm not.” He says, but it's a lie. It is so obviously a lie he doesn't know why he even bothers. His muscles are bunched up tighter than a metal coil, skin tensed, awaiting something familiar in the face of such foreign softness.

You don't call him out on his lie, at least not verbally. You give him a look, leaning in to kiss right above his heart. He makes a choked sound.

Dammit.

“I love you,” you whisper, words tickling his skin with your hot breath.

Like fuckin’ abracadabra has been said, he relaxes, body going boneless like goddamn magic. A sigh escapes him, the tension leaving an unpleasant yet familiar ache in his flesh as he finally sinks into the pillows under his head and the mattress under his old bones.

He feels you smile, satisfied, against his chest.

What weakness… he thinks, blinking down at you. Just three little words and I am coming undone. What has happened to me?

He can't stare into your eyes too long, otherwise he gets lost in them, and then he's truly vulnerable.

You. You happened to him. And… weakness or not, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Wrapping his good arm around you, he gives your hip a squeeze as he squishes you against his side, face mushed against his pectoral. With his metal one, he turns the lights off, plunging the room into nearly pure darkness, only the faint glow of the moon shining in letting him see your beautiful features.

“I love you too, darlin’.”

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian Wayne, Dec. 24, 2011

Your forgiveness is more than I ever could’ve asked for. I still don’t think I deserve it, but I will take what you have given me, ahki.

You writing back was unexpected, but I’m so glad you did! Though, I guess this isn’t very secure, huh. Oh, well! As long as nothing incriminating is written down, we should be fine.

How’s father? And your siblings? I understand there are three kids father’s adopted. Also, what about your extracurriculars? Anything exciting going on that you can tell me about? It’s boring, crime wise, where I’m at. No murder mysteries or sex scandals or huge break-ins. Not that I want any of those to happen, but it’d be really fun to get to follow a case that isn’t twelve years old or four states over.

How are you adjusting at all, actually? It was a big culture shock for me for a while, especially because no one here speaks Arabic. Can you believe that? Some of the others still think I made up an entire language just to mess with them! I haven’t been able to speak with someone in our mother tongue in a while, but I’ve been trying not to forget any of it! Even if there’s an accent coming through.

Tell me about your life. Not what the media says. I want to know the real you. Do you have friends? Any pets? What about hobbies? Do you still have that dagger I made you that one time?

Anyway, I gotta go now. I hope to hear from you soon!

I don’t know what holiday(s) father and your siblings celebrate, so I’ll wish you a happy all of them!

سأسامحك دائماً يا أخي لقد وُضعت في أسوأ الاحتمالات وبذلت قصارى جهدك بما كان لديك من معرفة. كنت ستعرض نفسك للخطر فقط إذا عدت.

Danny Fenton

***

Danny had wasted no time in writing a response. Was he going to come off as eager? Probably, but he didn’t really care. His brother had responded to him! Granted, he thinks this is a trick, but there’s some part of Damian that believes Danny’s alive! He forgives him for not going home! It’s more than Danny could’ve ever allowed himself to hope for.

But, gods was he awkward! He hadn’t let Jazz read the letter at all. She didn’t know what he said the first time, she didn’t know what the response said, and she wasn’t ever going to read any of them if he had any say in the matter. Yes, they’re siblings and he loves her just as much as he loves Damian, but this was something she didn’t have any business poking her nose into. He liked to think that Damian would likewise keep this from his own siblings, though he’d totally understand if Dami shared purely because of the suspicious circumstances.

Anyway, Danny had read and re-read Damian’s letter for hours, trying to come up with the best response, only stopping when Jazz called him down for dinner. Sleep hadn’t come easily, either, because of the adrenaline from actually getting a response. He’d hoped he’d get one, but he was also sure that he wouldn’t get one.

But why did he have to be so awkward writing back? Damian’s his brother, not a total stranger! Damian probably wouldn’t care. Danny’s always been like that, awkward at all the wrong times. He’s just gotten used to not hiding it since he left, though it had taken a while.

He has to wonder, though, if Damian is with father, does this mean he’s left the Shadows? How had he done it? Obviously, he hadn’t faked his death. Father is a very public figure, so anything short of Damian leaving a massacre behind him as he left the Shadows would be unlikely. Unless he is still with the Shadows? In which case, Danny’s just doomed himself. Sure, the PO box was set up in the town over, and maybe he struck up a deal to have the letters sent from there to his house, but that wasn’t going to stop ninja assassins. Nothing short of death would stop ninja assassins!

No! Bad Danny! No use having second thoughts now; It’s too late. He just has to hope for the best. Gods, was he hoping, wishing on stars and everything! He wanted this to work out. He wanted to have a relationship with his older brother-

Damn, he’s still the younger sibling. He hadn’t thought much of it before, but both Jazz and Damian are older than him! If he counts father’s children, which he does only to prove his point this one time, then he’s the youngest of six kids! That’s not fair. Who decided that was a fair trade? Could be worse, he supposed. He could be stuck as a middle sibling. Shutter the thought.

“Danny?” Jazz opened the door with a knock, “You ready to send that letter?”

He groaned into his pillow. “I already did.”

“Really?” she wondered, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah,” he rolled over to face her, “Finished it this morning and shipped it off.”

Jazz hummed. “I still don’t get why you won’t let me read them. I could totally help you with spelling and stuff!”

Danny sat up and stared at her with a dead look. “Jazz, I was taught by people who were the best of the best in their fields. There isn’t a single thing you could do to help me write or read those letters.”

“Why not?”

“Because they aren’t in English.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! I saw the one you got! It was in English!” She paused. “Except for that last bit. That just looked like a bunch of squiggles.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That wasn’t a bunch of squiggles, Jazz. It was Arabic, my mother tongue.”

“First,” she adjusted to sit criss-cross on the foot of his bed, “Never say ‘mother tongue’ again; it sounds weird. Second, the simple solution is to teach me Arabic.”

Danny had to pause for a second to let the words register in his head. “You-you want to learn Arabic?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, it can’t be that hard, right?”

“Yes it can,” he sighed, “You’d have to learn a whole new alphabet of letters and sounds. It’s not a Latin based language like English or Spanish.”

“I can do it!”

“I don’t doubt that, but I think an easier language would be better.”

She huffed. “You just don’t wanna share.”

True, but, “I could teach you Romanian? It’s a Latin derived language, like English, so it’s got the same alphabet.”

“Fine,” she agreed after a moment, “Where do we start?”

“Kids!” their dad called from the kitchen, “We have something for you!”

Danny and Jazz shared a grimace. “Down stairs, apparently,” he said. Quickly, they left the room and made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen. Their parents probably didn’t have any actual gifts for them, so they weren’t going to get their hopes up.

They were right, of course. Jack and Maddie Fenton were creatures of habit and obsession; workaholics, in simpler terms.

The two kids joined their parents at the table. “Mom,” Jazz greeted, “Dad.”

“Jazzypants!” Jack smiled, his voice booming, “Dann-o!”

“What’s up?” Danny asked. He wanted to go back to his room and stew over what he’d just sent to his brother. Seriously? ‘I’ll wish you a happy all of them?’ That’s so stupid! Beyond stupid, actually! He wanted to curl up and die. Can people die of embarrassment?

Maddie smiled kindly at her children, somehow matching her husband’s energy but not his volume. “We had another breakthrough in our research.”

“Oh?” Danny had been intrigued by the [now] Drs. Fenton’s research. It was all theoretical, of course, but they claimed to have proof of base for their research. He’d never seen it before, and they’d never offered to show him or Jazz, but they mentioned it in all of their papers. He’d never deemed it worth anything, so it had been pushed behind relevant information like literally anything else.

He still didn’t know how they’d gotten those papers published. They were the laughing stocks of the scientific and occult communities! An accomplishment in and of itself, really.

“Yes,” his mother nodded, “But that’s not what we called you two down to discuss.”

“It’s not? Jazz tilted her head to the side.

“Nope!” Jack’s smile somehow got bigger. “We’ve decided that the both of you are old enough-”

“-and responsible enough.” Maddie added.

“-do go down and see the lab!”

Jazz and Danny had two very different reactions to this statement. Danny was a bit excited to get to see whatever held his parents’ attention at all hours of the day. Jazz, on the other hand, was furious.

“What!” she demanded.

Jack and Maddie didn’t seem to even register her anger. “You two have both proven yourselves responsible in your school and house work, so we figured it was time to let you two in on the family business.”

“But, I don’t want to do lab work!” Jazz objected, now standing with her hands on the table and her chair pushed back aggressively.

“Nonsense,” Maddie waved her off easily, “You’ll love it. Besides, you’ve always wanted to help us in the lab, ever since you were a child.”

Jazz just screamed in outrage. “I’ve never said that!”

She was ignored. “Of course, we’ll have to go over the proper safety measures so that neither of you gets hurt.” Jack stated.

Throwing her hands up, Jazz stormed away from the table and stomped up to her room, the door slamming behind her. Danny has no doubts that she’s locked herself in.

“She must be tired,” Jack smiled fondly, “We’ve got some work to finish up down stairs, Dann-o, but we’ll be back up for dinner, alright?”

Danny nodded and the two left. Quietly, he whispered, “Liar.” to the empty main floor.

***

Danyal Fenton Dec. 27, 2011

Your definition of ‘incriminating’ must be wrong. You reaching out in the first place would’ve put us both in danger had your letter been intercepted. The same remains true for every letter we exchange, though I will not be the one to put a stop to the communication. It is nice to have physical evidence of your conversations, no matter how much time passes between each response.

I am still skeptical that you are my brother, but, as I said in my last letter, I will continue on with a shade pulled over my eyes, ahki.

I have done some research while living with father. My own experiences prove at least some of what they say is true. I never truly believed you had died. I always had a feeling that you were alive somewhere, safe, out of reach of Grandfather and Mother.

Father is well. In public, he is outgoing, drunk, clumsy, able to start a conversation from nothing and let it trail off into a slightly more useful nothing. In truth, he is standoffish, strong, able to talk circles around anyone. He is always ready for a fight and always prepared for the worst. He does not like surprises.

We have four siblings, and one honorary sibling. Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, Cassandra Cain, and Stephanie Brown. Grayson is more outgoing than the others, though he has been with Father the longest, so he is just as skilled as him. Todd was dead and refuses to communicate with Father. Drake is smart, but that is all he has going for him. Cain was raised in the League like us, though not at any of the bases we ever visited. Brown was dating Drake, but has since become more of a sister to the Manor.

Alfred Pennyworth is the family butler. He raised Father and continues to stand by his side. He is a formidable foe, though I have yet to see him in actual combat. He, aside from Father and myself, is the most competent resident of Wayne Manor.

Again, you need to reassess your definition of ‘incriminating’. There is nothing I can share, without consequence, that hasn’t already been made public by the GCPD. I will say, however, that my position as the superior child remains unchallenged. Not that any of those bastards Father has taken in would ever pose any kind of challenge to me or you.

I must ask, you know where I am, so is it not fair that you tell me where you are? The return address you have used leads to a PO box in Elmerton, Illinois, but I doubt that’s where you really are. Your description of ‘boring’ in regards to the crime rate is fully expected of anywhere when compared to Gotham, though that goes nearly doubly so for the midwest.

It was a shock to me as well, though I have been handling it. None of the others have noticed any unease, so I will take it. It will not do to show weakness in the face of enemies. I can agree, however, that the lack of use of Arabic is disappointing. I do not fear that I will ever forget the language or our home, but I do regret to say that I have encountered similar problems you have.

Father insists that I go to school with others my age to ‘socialize’, though I do not see the point. It’s all thinly veiled insults from the adults we are placed in the charge of. I am much smarter than my peers, so I have not been able to have a single intelligent conversation with any of them. The exception, however, being Jon Kent. He is adequate company. Our Father and his father are friends.

I have a cat named Alfred, after the butler. I would like to get a dog, but Father has denied my request. I have, however, managed to hide Goliath in the cave. Father knows he is there, but the others remain oblivious.

As for hobbies, art is the only one worth mentioning. I have several sets of paints and colors and pencils, though I remain partial to charcoal. Paper is the easiest to use, but I prefer canvas.

Of course I still have that dagger, Danyal. I have many weapons, but that is the only one that has never left my person.

Father is Jewish, though he was raised Catholic, and is an atheist; Grayson is Christian; Todd was raised Catholic, but is atheist; Drake was born to a Christian mother, but he follows after his father as an atheist; Neither Cain nor Brown were born into religious families, so they don’t follow any religion, as far as I’m aware.

Pennyworth has decorated the Manor for all of the holidays, though the only tradition I’ve actually seen practiced is the gift exchange from Christmas.

Honestly, you must work on your formatting. You give almost no information in exchange for your questions getting answers. It makes your letters very short. So, I will turn all of your questions back on you. I expect them to be answered sufficiently.

أفضل ما لدي لم يكن جيداً بما فيه الكفاية كنت أعلم أنك لا تزال على قيد الحياة، ومع ذلك لم أفعل شيئًا سوى نشر كذبة وفاتك.

Damian Wayne

***

The letter was a surprise, especially considering it’s a page and a half, though he should’ve expected it. He found it hilarious that the first thing Dami had done this time was to insult him. At least he’d waited a few lines in the last letter! It hurt a bit that Damian still thought this was a trick, but Danny couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. He’d’ve acted the same way if their roles were reversed.

He liked hearing about Damian’s family. They’re so different compared to what the media says. Then again, he expected that. Most people are hardly ever exactly how they’re portrayed to bigger audiences. The Drs. Fenton being an exception.

And, yeah, he knew Dami was going to search the address, but did he really have to come out and say it like that? At least he knew the Shadows (League?) hadn’t gotten in the middle, otherwise he’d’ve been cut down by now. Small blessings.

Ah, Goliath the dragon bat. Danny remembers when they got Goliath. Hiding him was hard, but they managed. Though, he’s fairly certain that Mother knew they had him hidden in the caves of Nanda Parbat. That does beg the question, though, of how the hell Damian managed to get a - by now - fully grown dragon bat across continents and into a cave in New Jersey without being spotted? Did he even really want to know? Probably not.

Danny could remember the expression on Damian’s face when he realized that Goliath was getting bigger. They’d found him on their first mission for Grandfather after leaving the group that had been sent with them. They’d kept him moving between their rooms when they got back, never keeping him in one for more than a night before moving him to the other. Then suddenly, the creature they’d found that was no bigger than their forearms was as long as their arms from shoulder to fingertip! They had only been able to keep Goliath between their rooms for another month before having to hide him in the caves under Nanda Parbat.

And the food! Goliath, even as a baby dragon bat, could eat triple his body weight. It was a wonder no one found him! How does Damian keep him fed? And how have his siblings not noticed the dragon under their house? Thoughts for another time.

Danny closed his book as he finished it. It was the astrology one, clearly written for people new to the topic, but he wasn’t complaining. It was easy to understand and he found himself actually enjoying it more than he originally anticipated. He could see why the girls in his class liked it, too. He could see himself falling deeper into this rabbit hole, but he wasn’t upset about that.

He moved on to read the second book he’d gotten, the one about witchcraft. Briefly, he chuckled at the image that he was slowly coming to see as his future. “A witch,” he hummed with a smile, “Mother would be so disappointed.”

The book opened up with a brief history about the topic before going into a deep dive about different practices and how things had changed and improved throughout history. It also gave names to famous witches and witch hunters, one that he recognized.

Jack Fenton, about three years after Danny had been taken in by the family, had given Danny a full rundown of his and Maddie’s family histories. Fentonightingale had been the family name until Jack’s great-grandfather had changed it to Fenton when he married. John Fentonightingale was a well known witch hunter in Salem, Massachustes in 1600. He was best known for eating a slow acting poison in the form of - now extinct - flowers as evidence against an unnamed witch on trial. He died shortly thereafter, leaving his grieving wife and children.

The humor was not lost to Danny. “Looks like dad’ll be disappointed, too.”

“Knock, knock?” Jazz asked from the hallway, knocking her knuckle on his bedroom door.

“Yeah?” he called back, closing his book and putting it down.

Jazz opened the door. “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been hiding out here all day. No plans with Sam or Tucker?”

Danny shook his head. “Nah. Tuck’s spending the break with his family and Sam’s been forced to go to a rich person party somewhere in Washington.”

“DC?”

“State.”

“She’s not too far.”

“Too far for an emergency extraction.”

“You sound like she’s gonna get killed or something.”

Danny snorted. “Don’t jinx it, Jazzercise.”

“I’m not gonna jinx it, Danimal.” She leaned against the door frame. “Besides, even if she did die, she’d come back as a ghost just to haunt you.”

He groaned and flopped over onto his side. “Don’t even joke about that!”

“Why, ‘cause I’m right?” He groaned again. She laughed. “Alright, Dannibal Lector, since you’re obviously bored out of your mind, you wanna come watch a movie with me?”

“And risk mom and dad dragging us down into the lab?” He sat up, “No thanks.”

“Come on,” she goaded, “It’ll be fun! I’ll even let you pick the movie!”

“Hmmmm. A documentary on ghost hunting or a mockumentary on ghost hunting? Such a hard decision.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Come on, D! You can’t stay locked in here forever.”

“Actually, J, I think I can. I’ve got food, water, and entertainment. I’ll be fine.”

“What about when you have to pee or shower?”

“I’ll put a bucket in the corner and dump it out the window.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“And rainwater is clean enough.”

“It’s literally not, though.”

“Well, I won’t know unless I try.”

“You’re not gonna live in here by yourself!”

“Why? You wanna join me? Sorry, but there’s only enough pillows for a one person fort.”

She snorted and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s hard to believe? Unless you’ve got pillows hidden up your-” He cut himself off with an exaggerated and mocking gasp. “Jazz! Do you have pillows hidden up your ass?”

“Danny!” she scolded, but her tone was fond, “Watch your language, brat!”

“What?” he giggled, “It’s a genuine question.”

Jazz rolled her eyes, “No, I do not have pillows shoved up my ass.”

“Language!” he mocked.

“Are you gonna come watch a movie with me or not?”

“Sure, sure,” he stood, “But if we get dragged down to the lab, I’m blaming you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

*

Danny was right. He was right and he was never listening to Jazz ever again. He could live in his room until he turned eighteen! That was totally something he could do. It wasn’t like he’d been raised to survive off of less in less space.

Instead of watching a movie they’d seen a million times before, the siblings had decided to watch YouTube on the TV. Halfway into Episode 4 of Buzzfeed Unsolved, their parents came up and dragged them down to the lab to show them their breakthrough from the previous night.

Looking at it, it was much less a breakthrough and more of ‘getting closer to the final picture’. The Ghost Portal had been a project that Jack and Maddie had been working on since college. A friend of theirs had gotten sent to the hospital for this project and had yet to be released. What had given them the idea that this was safe to build in their basement, let alone show their children? Regardless, it was too late now, so Danny and Jazz were forced to roll with it.

“We’re almost done with it!” Jack looked like a proud parent when he was looking at the thing.

The Ghost Portal, as it was now, was built directly into the furthermost wall of the basement. It wasn’t load bearing, thank the gods. The portal was ten feet deep, seven and a half feet tall, octagonal in shape. The paneling that covered the walls and ceiling was black with electric blue circuitry cutting through them. The blank spots where the paneling was not put up were gray, matching the cement floor of the lab. There were some work lights inside, white LED strips that lined the bottom seams where the floor met the walls. The floor itself was made of black tile and nearly completely covered in loose cables and unfinished paneling. There was a red button in place of one of the missing side panels that screamed ‘accident waiting to happen’.

“What is it?” Jazz asked, not daring to go closer than the stair doorway. Danny didn’t blame her.

“It’s the Ghost Portal, Jazzy!” Maddie’s grin was huge, taking up nearly her whole face. “We’ve nearly got it finished.”

“Yep!” Jack nodded excitedly, “All we’ve got left to do is finish the inside paneling, build the outer frame, and turn her on!”

“What about powering it?” Danny wondered just as Jazz said, “‘Her’?”

Jack still hadn’t taken his eyes off of the thing. “She’s already connected to the power grid; That’s why the circuitry in the paneling is glowing, see?”

Danny picked his way through the papers cluttering the table next to him, finding the portal’s blueprints on the very bottom. The handwriting in the margins was messy, obviously from two people and taking up almost every inch of the paper. The schematics of the portal itself was done in white and much neater than the black ink from his parents’ handwriting. A third person, probably their college friend, had been the one to draw the thing with the first basic formuli. Overall, it was messy and a hazard to look at.

“Are, uh, you guys sure that this won’t blow up our house?” Danny asked, unable to keep from scrunching his nose up at the sight of the blueprints.

“Positive.” Maddie sounded so serious, like it was the absolute truth.

“You wanna check out the inside?” Jack asked, practically bouncing like an excited puppy.

Jazz was quick to shake her head, going so far as to take a step back into the landing at the bottom of the stairs. Before Danny could follow her lead, though, Jack grabbed Danny and pulled him forwards.

“Go on,” the giant man urged.

Gulping, Danny complied. He was so going to lock himself in his room now. He didn’t plan on leaving until Sam and Tucker were both back in town! “Alright.” He hoped his hesitation was obvious enough for his parents to get the cue that he did not want to be doing this. Unfortunately, neither picked up on it. Jazz did, but she wasn’t about to risk moving closer in case Jack or Maddie got the idea of shoving her towards the thing, too.

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

Stepping into the tunnel that was the portal was like walking into a different world. Somehow, even though he was only half a foot in and there was light on all sides, it was dark in there. The blue from the paneling was nearly nonexistent, and the white LEDs lining the floor were so dim that they were useless. Was this a purposeful thing? How was this possible?

The cables and cords that had been visible from the outside were almost invisible in the somehow lower lighting of the portal tunnel, same with the unfinished wall panels on the floor. And, as a result of the hazardous mess on the floor and the near pitch dark, Danny tripped halfway through. His training didn’t let him fall, but his inability to keep up the rigorous schedule he’d been raised on made him reach out to steady himself on the wall.

Millimeters before his fingers so much as grazed the button he’d not been able to see after crossing the threshold, Danny heard the barely there whisper of “Time Out.” followed almost immediately by “Time in.” at the same volume.

Catching himself on the cold, softly glowing paneling of the wall, Danny was quick to straighten out and turn around. That thing gave him the creeps and he would much rather go back to reading his book, thank you.

“So, Dann-o?” Jack clapped his shoulder when he got back to them, “What’d ya think?”

Unable to disappoint the people he’d come to see as his parents, Danny plastered a smile on his face and said, “It’s pretty cool. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s finished!”

Maddie cheered. “Right? As soon as it’s done, those assholes at Harvard will have to take us seriously!”

Danny seriously doubted they would. In fact, he doubted the portal would even work at all. It’s a hypothetical experiment that had the potential and huge likelihood of going catastrophically wrong. How much power would it take to even turn the thing on? Several city blocks at least, right? If that blows up, it'll take out not only their house, but probably half the city and everyone within the blast radius.

Danny should report this to somebody.

“That’s not even the best part!” Jack exclaimed, hurting over to what looked like an electrical box that had been set into the unfinished walls of the basement lab. Opening the small metal door revealed a hand scanner that Jack quickly placed his hand on. After five seconds, a small compartment just above the scanner opened up. Inside was a small glass phial of thick, glowing green liquid. Liquid that Danny recognised.

Shit.

“This is what’s gonna power the portal after the initial launch,” Jack explained, his voice reverent as he cradled the phial in his large hands, “Ectoplasm.”

Ecto-what? Danny knew that glowing liquid. He’d only seen it once, but he knew what it was. He could say, with full confidence and  a puffed chest, that what his dad was currently holding was a phial of Lazarus Water. The color and consistency were the same as the Pits. The stuff even glowed like the Pit Water! It was terrifying that Danny had encountered any of the stuff this far from the Shadows, and he found himself taking several steps back toward Jazz.

“That’s, um, that’s-”

“Awesome, dad!” Jazz said for him, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him back. He was so glad she had because he was sure he was seconds away from freezing in place. “Danny’s getting tired, though, and I’m a bit hungry, so we’re gonna head back upstairs now. Is that alright?”

“Sounds great, sweetie,” Maddie waved the two off in a clear dismissal, “We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Danny rushed up the stairs, waiting for Jazz in the kitchen. When she joined him she muttered, “Liar.” under her breath before closing the door. “So,” she said to Danny.

“So.” he repeated.

“What made you so freak out down there?” she asked, “Not that I blame you. That portal thing freaked me out, too.”

Danny shrugged. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It’s not healthy to bottle things up, Danny.”

“I know, I just don’t want to talk about it right now,” Or ever. “Bad memories.”

Jazz’s expression softened. “Alright,” she nodded, “Do you want some chips?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m gonna go to my room.”

“You can’t hide in there forever!”

He was halfway up the stairs. “I can try!”

Translation 1 - Arabic :: I will always forgive you, brother. You were put in the worst possible situation and you did the best you could with the knowledge you had. You would have only jeopardized yourself if you went back.

Translation 2 - Arabic :: My best wasn't good enough. I knew you were still alive, yet I did nothing but spread the lie of your death.

Part 1 Part 3

[angeliteeyes]

My thoughts on the Hyperdimension Neptunia Re;Birth 2 Conquest ending incoming.... hoo boy. I've never written about anything as dark and disturbing as this, which I never expected to say about a Neptunia game of all things. But here we are.

Wow. When I say this singlehandedly made Re;Birth 2 my favorite of the games I've played, I really mean that. Don't get me wrong, I still adore Re;Birth 1 with all my heart... but this single hour of gameplay got me in a chokehold.

For starters. The base concept of having you as a player see the normal/true ending, seeing how easy winning peacefully is. How the ONLY thing they really had to do to save the world was just be determined to save each other. It's cheesy as hell, but hey, it works right?

And then you go "Hm. What's this 'conquest ending'?"

Hey, why does the music sound off? Why are they talking so ominously? Sure, I've heard it's a bad ending, but c'mon. This is Hyperdimension Neptunia we're talking about. It never gets that dark... right?

A sword that gains power by... killing CPUs and Candidates? No way, Nepgear wouldn't do that. I mean, there's literally children here. She wouldn't kill them for power. No way.

But you're thinking about it, aren't you?

Don't worry. She is, too.

...Yet she doesn't have to do this, ANY of this. You know that fully well. They don't, though. So she tries to throw out any alternative idea she can think of. Anything so that maybe, maybe everyone can survive. They essentially tell her to eat shit and leave though, only leading her down the spiral more and more.

She's got the sword with her for safety. Just so that nobody uses it to kill her. Don't you believe her?

Noire sure doesn't, at least. They fight each other in battle, but of course, Nepgear wins. Can't have your run being cut short, right? Nepgear starts pleading, saying she doesn't want to use the sword. They can solve it peacefully, right? Please, Noire. Please, player. Give her a way out.

But you're not on the Holy Sword ending. No. That's the only thing that could save Nepgear here, and it's just... loving the others more, having stronger bonds. She isn't saved, though. Why?

She doesn't love them enough. She doesn't love Noire enough to stop the sword from piercing through her chest. She doesn't love Uni enough to save her from the fate of watching her older sister die brutally in front of her. Once she kills one, she'll have to kill the others too, naturally. Blanc. Ram. Rom. Vert. Even Neptune. If she loved them enough, she'd stop right here. Save them from a timeline where they're destined to die by their companion's hands. But she doesn't love them enough. So she doesn't stop.

Noire and Uni lie dead on the floor.

Let's take a trip to Lowee now, shall we? Visit the kiddos?

This is the part that really made me feel sick to my stomach. At least Noire had the maturity to know what kind of decision she was making, and Uni... well, she's immature, but at least she's the same age roughly as Nepgear. Rom and Ram, though. These are just blatantly children. They doodle with crayons on important paperwork. They crave attention and affection from their elders. They get confused about even the basics like jealousy, and need adults to spell things out for them. And now, they're being told by those very adults that they have to stand still and let Nepgear murder them.

The Nepgear we've been traveling with before is long gone. After all, she would never harm these two innocent children, let alone kill them. And yet...

Blanc, Rom, and Ram lie dead on the floor.

Lowee's section is absolutely haunting. This is where it reallly sets in just how morally wrong this whole thing is, and how damn cruel it is to just expect someone to let Nepgear murder them. And my girl Vert sees this too. Why should Nepgear—the crybaby who's forcing everyone around her to stay mentally strong by being so weakwilled—get to live? For heaven's sake, those poor children had to force themselves to calm down just to tell Nepgear it's okay to kill them. How fucking cruel is that? To force them to put on a brave face, when Nepgear can't even do that herself? And she's not even the one about to die!

So Vert goes "No. I want to live. I actually give enough of a damn to fight for my life. I refuse to coddle this whiny crybaby and coax her into murdering me just cause she'll feel bad. If she won't kill me, she doesn't deserve to live." And you know what? She's right! The Neptwins win fair and square, but Nepgear's such a spineless person she doesn't even finish the deed. Really proves Vert's point.

But Underling does have a spine, so she goes to finish Vert off. And suddenly, Nepgear's attitude flips. She kills Underling, a character whose death DOES NOTHING. It doesn't make the sword stronger, it doesn't save Vert, nothing. She's defeated Underling several times while sparing her life—even when Underling has tried to kill them—but not today. Here it's made clear that Nepgear's spineless act is just that. She has no problem killing, she just doesn't want to feel like a bad person for it. But, well, who'd mourn Underling anyway?

"I should have done that ages ago."

Yet even now, it falls on the others to end Vert's life, to keep Nepgear's perfect hands pristine and sinfree.

Underling and Vert lie dead on the floor.

Only the Neptwins and the non-CPUs remain. Of course, we all know that's going to change real soon.

Nepgear can't even fake surprise anymore at this point. Her emotional well is really, truly dried up now. Sure, she puts in the effort to do a token argument, but she accepted killing her sister long ago. The sword goes up one last time.

[Neptune] has left.

The battle against the Deity of Sin comes to an end, as she pulls out that goddamn sword. And they laugh. Nepgear doesn't understand why. Even as the sword ends their life, why are they so... happy?

Well, of course they are. Their goal was to end the world and kill everyone.

They don't need to end the world and kill the CPUs if you did it for them :)

"Without strife, without conflict, without competition... Nothing will advance. Nothing will evolve. The people will become complacent and live their lives in peace... The world will stagnate and rot...

And what of 100 years from now? What of 1000 years from now? Hahaha... I am limited neither by time nor a physical form. I can wait until this world rots away..."

Nepgear tries to pretend like their words don't mean anything. They all do. But... we know the truth. Gamindustri is doomed to walk down the path of a slow, drawn-out death. Whether it takes 100 years or 1000 years, Nepgear has destroyed everything. All in the name of saving it.

Why wouldn't you have just loved everyone a little bit more, Nepgear?

[astronomicalunit32]

fuck it. pride niles during christmas. i do what i want.

[2346khith]

Okay so I was sitting in my room scrolling through tumblr, when I got this thought. So basically in the original timeline both sub zero’s were actually born in America but got taken away by their father. Heck in some sources it even said that they had a sister both from the mythologies game and conquest but that never utilized. So, hear me out, what if, while Kuai liang is on the run from the Lin kuei (you know because of the cyber initiative) he decides to go to America to hide out and maybe search for the other earth realm fighters like Johnny or Sonya. But on the way he gets ambush by the black dragon and is left dead in an ally way until, a random woman comes and takes him into her home to heal him up. When he wakes up the woman introduces herself as Lisa and offers him to stay with her until he’s back on his feet. Kuai agrees but as the days go by he starts to notice little things. Like how she gives off a fridges temperature or how she looks very similar to him. He even notices it in her daughter (yes she has a daughter) who happens to have palish skin and light blue natural hair. And let’s just say he saw an old picture of her and her mom…and her two missing brothers… and a man you looks exactly like his father. He puts two and two together and realizes that this is his long loss sister. After a tearful reunion, he realized both her and her daughter also have ice powers (if you couldn’t tell the daughter is frost) but they keep them hidden to hide from the black dragon. It turns out they basically taken over the entire city they live in and constantly threaten the people living there. So what does a assassin, who on the run, with endless free time and just find out his sister and niece are constantly terrorizing but a bunch of gang members, supposed to do. Become a vigilante obviously. Yeah the vigilante part is actually inspired by the mortal kombat vs dc sub zero ending where he basically becomes Batman. It be like that except he doesn’t hold back. Heck you could have him team up with some black dragon defectors like Kabal and Erron or let him meet up with Kenshi who also trying to take it down( this wouldn’t be a one for one of the original timeline more like a mishmash of all the timelines). You can even let him train Lisa and frost and they can fight along side him. You can even bring Hanzo and Bi Han into the mix him Habdo oath to protect Kuai liang as a way to redeem himself for killing his brother and bi Han as a vengeful wraith who seek to finish Hanzo off but also protect Kuai from both the black dragon and scorpion not knowing he protecting him. Bi Han could also regain his humanity with reuniting with his sister who unlike Kuai he remembers(Kuai would be the youngest in this au. And what will I call this au… Urban Sub Zero. Or something else I can workshop. Or maybe I’ll completely forget about this, who knows.

[sieglinde-freud]

genuinely believe laslow and nyx’s support conversation, regardless if you get their S or stop at A, is among both of their most important conversations they have because it allows them a rare moment of vulnerability. while they have a lot of good conversations, a lot of them have both laslow and nyx taking the part of either comic relief or as the listener/observer which is very fitting for both of them! but then they never get to delve into their perspectives and thoughts on some of their more vulnerable traits the way that they do with eachother.

with laslow he never really talks about awakening he references it but its never the topic. his words and actions are obviously influenced by it but you very rarely get to him be this introspective. hes very observant with his support partners but this and his odin support are the only time where hes forced to confont himself. sometimes he'll be sad and melancholy but he never discusses WHY. if youre lucky, he might mention he had a mom at some point and thats about it!! knowing inigo, we as players know why hes like that. he was pigeonholed into the role of keeping morale up, he lost one of the gemstones needed to perform the awakening in the bad timeline, ditched that world (which. his feelings on really only get discussed with nyx!!! which is insane?!?!), then had to start killing real people in order to survive until he met up with the shepherds again! but he never talks about it! i can count one hand the amount of times in both awakening and fates he does and i still have fingers left!!

and then with nyx its similar because while she does discuss her past its mostly just for explanation and not to delve deeper into it. which, makes sense as shes probably not too into trauma dumping on a bunch of strangers but then shes never forced to see that part of herself in someone else and do some reflecting on her own. heroes obviously came out way after fates but they kinda confirm that nyx's curse in part due to herself: its a self punishment that shes not conscious of but its driven by her not being able to forgive herself WHICH IS SO COOL but. you know. fates dropping the ball with writing. used to it. but while yes, that curse did come as kind of like some magical divine karma, she has already attoned for it: she’s grown up, matured, and taken the time to change that selfish part of herself that only valued power and nothing else. the only thing holding her back from moving on is herself.

so, laslow and nyx to having that moment in their supports where they both admit their guilt and let themselves be judged by eachother kinda breaks them out of this cycle of self hate theyre on and it gets them both on the path to forgiving themselves which they never really accomplish anywhere else. some supports teeter on it, but they brush it off pretty quickly. in a weird way they kind of mirror eachother, but they’re not used to looking at a reflection thats not so distorted by their own beliefs. they admit to eachother that no matter what happened in the past, they’ll never see eachother as anything less than a trusted ally and friend, and if they can do it for eachother, maybe one day they can do it for themselves.

and if they hit the s support, you can already see the change. laslow spouts the absolute banger of a line:

Laslow: Well, much as I might want to, I can't bear your burden. Nor could I expect you to bear mine. But with burdens so heavy...don't you think we could lean on each other a bit?

and its just such a fitting conclusion to the story of two people learning how to love themselves and walking that path of forgiveness together. anyways so im really normal about them

[conquestable]

today i cant stop thinking about mark begging conquest to stop and listen to reason, and conquest laughing in his face and saying "you thought i would give you the chance to surrender?"