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delimeful · 4 years ago

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nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides #ts virgil #demon slayer au #nitwiwd #nothing in this world i wouldnt do #my writing #writing #bthb #ts roman #kny fusion #am i forgetting tags?#im really fond of this one #i hope you guys like it :)

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jiangwanyinscatmom · 4 years ago

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Once again, as a reminder, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji are the text's literary mirrors to each other, in all adaptions. I am not a fan of the plot shift for CQL so this will mostly just be talking about the novel for this rant.

Lan Wangji is the positive pillar of maturity growth, while Jiang Cheng is the stagnant regressive one. They are the opposing points of moral conflict for Wei Wuxian to choose from and is the classic set up even with choosing the childhood friend (that nice false romantic lead reading) and the Love Interest that beat for beat follows the main character's subconscious yearnings and ideals of morality.

The most blatant tellings of this are the way Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji choose to deal with Wei Wuxian when he is faced with the backlash of the cultivation sect's anger.

“Wei WuXian, have you still not realized what the situation at hand is like? Do you really need me to say it out loud? If you insist on protecting them, then I won’t be able to protect you.”

Wei WuXian, “There’s no need to protect me. Just let go.”

Jiang Cheng’s face twisted.

Wei WuXian, “Just let go. Tell the world that I defected. From now on, no matter what Wei WuXian does, it’d have nothing to do with the YunmengJiang Sect.”

Jiang Cheng, “… All for the Wen Sect…? Wei WuXian, do you have a savior complex? Is it that you’ll die if you don’t stand up for someone and stir up some trouble?”

Wei WuXian stayed quiet. A while later, he answered, “So that’s why we should cut ties right now, in case anything I do affects the YunmengJiang Sect in the future.”

Or else, he really couldn’t make any guarantees on what he’d do in the future.

“…” Jiang Cheng murmured, “My mom said that you do nothing but bring our sect trouble. It’s true indeed.” He laughed coldly, talking to himself, “‘To attempt the impossible’? Fine. You understand the YunmengJiang Sect’s motto. Better than I do. Better than all of us do.”

He sheathed Sandu. The sword returned to its scabbard with a clang. Jiang Cheng’s tone was indifferent, “Then let’s arrange for a duel.”

Three days later, the leader of the YunmengJiang Sect, Jiang Cheng, arranged for a duel with Wei WuXian.

They fought quite a fight in Yiling. Negotiations failed. Both resorted to violence.

Under Wei WuXian’s command, the fierce corpse Wen Ning struck Jiang Cheng once, breaking one of his arms. Jiang Cheng stabbed Wei WuXian once. Both sides suffered losses. Each spat out a mouthful of blood and left cursing the other. They had finally fallen out with each other.

After the fight, Jiang Cheng told the outside that Wei WuXian defected from the sect and was an enemy to the entire cultivation world. The YunmengJiang Sect had already cast him out. From then on, no ties remained between them—a clear line was drawn. Henceforth, no matter what he did, they’d have nothing to do with the YunmengJiang Sect!

Jiang Cheng chooses to exasperate what Wei Wuxian had told him, he chooses to stage a fight in order to display the fact that he is not in connection with him. It is a staged fight but he does go in for a dramatic blow that wasn't needed as Wei Wuxian says later, covered in a jest to downplay Jiang Cheng's violence. Jiang Cheng only secretly visits Wei Wuxian once and with no other's knowledge as he is still committed to staying in favor with the other sect's for his own safety within the cultivation world.

Contrast that to Lan Wangji's stance at Koi Tower.

Suddenly, somebody came from behind him. It was Lan WangJi, who had followed him without speaking a word. Wei WuXian’s reputation had always been terrible, so it wasn’t his first time in such a situation. In this life, his mindset was different from how he was in his past. He could already face these situations calmly. He should get away first. There might be a chance of a counterattack in the days to come. He wouldn’t push it even if no such chance came. If he stayed, all that would come out of it were more than hundreds of slashes from the swords. Saying that he was actually innocent was even more of a joke. Everyone believed with utmost certainty that he’d return to seek revenge sometime in the future. Having destroyed countless sects, nobody would listen to his explanation, especially when Jin GuangYao would be there fanning the flames. Lan WangJi, though, was different from him. He wouldn’t even have to explain, and people would explain for him, such as how HanGuang-Jun had been deceived by the YiLing Laozu.

Wei WuXian, “HanGuang-Jun, you don’t have to follow me!”

Lan WangJi looked straight in front of him, saying nothing in reply. The two left behind them a crowd of cultivators shouting to kill. Amid the chaos, Wei WuXian spoke again, “You really want to go with me? Think carefully. After you walk out this door, your reputation will be destroyed!”

The two had already dashed down the steps of Koi Tower.

All of a sudden, a coldness passed through his stomach. As he looked down, Jin Ling had already pulled the white blade—now red with blood—out of him.

He didn’t expect that Jin Ling really would come at him.

The only thought that passed in Wei WuXian’s mind was, He could have been like anyone, yet he just so happened to have taken after his uncle Jiang Cheng. They even like to stab the same places.

He couldn’t quite clearly remember what had happened next. He felt that he tried to attack. Everything around them seemed frenzied. Not only had it been noisy, their escape seemed to bump and jolt as well. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but when he hazily opened his eyes again, Lan WangJi flew on Bichen, while he was carried on Lan WangJi’s back. Blood had spilled onto half of his snow colored cheeks.

In truth, the wound at his stomach didn’t hurt too much. But it was still a hole in his body, after all. In the beginning, he had managed for a while, as though nothing happened. It was likely, though, that this body hadn’t received many injuries before. As the wound bled, he couldn’t help but feel light-headed, and this wasn’t something that he could control.

Wei WuXian called out, “… Lan Zhan.”

Lan WangJi’s breathing wasn’t as placid as usual, feeling somewhat rushed. It was probably from carrying Wei WuXian while fending off attacks and being on the run for too long.

The way he replied though, was still the usual single syllable, as steady as ever, “Mnn.”

After the “mnn”, he added, “I am here.”

Hearing those words, made something that Wei WuXian had never felt before sprout within his heart. It was like sorrow. His chest hurt, but also felt a bit warm.

He could still remember how, back in Jiangling, Lan WangJi came all the way to assist him, yet he didn’t appreciate that kindness at all. With all kinds of disputes between, the two of them often parted with disapproval.

But what he hadn’t expected was that while everyone feared him or flattered him, Lan WangJi scolded him right to his face; when everyone spurned him and loathed him, Lan WangJi stood by his side.

It is an exact replica of the situation Jiang Cheng had faced with Wei Wuxian. But Lan Wangi neither condemns or speaks for what Wei Wuxian should do. He only wordlessly protects him and stays by his side in support that he does believe Wei Wuxian. His reputation is not worth the continued condemnations against Wei Wuxian and he very publicly solidifies his standing with Wei Wuxian where Jiang Cheng said he stood against him with that duel. Lan Wangji several times even when they had been young tried to stand with Wei Wuxian knowing his intentions were meant well, and Jiang Cheng further alienated Wei Wuxian placing further blame on Wei Wuxian and calling him self-serving with a savior complex.

Years later, Lan Wangji is able to take actions finally for Wei Wuxian that makes him understand that Lan Wangji is fully willing to stay with him and is a safety net. Jiang Cheng has cemented himself as an enemy without the deception for Wei Wuxian's complacency.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan wangji vs jiang cheng #don't mind me

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woodfrogs · 4 years ago

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In-depth analysis of c!Wilbur from Quackity’s stream under the cut let’s go:

When Wilbur is asked what he wants, he says “protection for my people.” Here, he’s clearly speaking as President. Even Quackity points this out. And obviously, it’s a really Presidential answer. But I don’t think it’s entirely an act.

L’Manberg was founded as a refuge from tyranny. Fundy and Tommy were jailed, their houses were raided, for simply doing a bit of potion-brewing. (Which, in-universe, are drugs, but the people doing the raiding literally had the materials for potion-brewing on them as well. Besides, the morality of L’Manberg’s founding is a whole other debate.)

The point stands, Wilbur’s intentions were good. He “built the walls to keep [Fundy] safe.” He gave his all to the revolution and to his leadership, even though he doesn’t recognize this. He calls himself a bad and distant leader to Tubbo, who agrees, at some point during the elections, I think. (I can’t find the clip rn.) And while he might have been distant, yes, he clearly strove for the best.

The problem arises with his belief of how to provide that protection. He thinks the only person who can truly keep L’Manberg safe is himself, and that’s partly where his need for control arises. He can’t put the country in anyone else’s hands, not without risking them ruining everything. He can’t trust them to properly protect it.

Wilbur’s initial refusal to talk to Quackity “as a person” could stem from a couple of things: 1. His paranoia manifesting in not wanting to consort with the enemy; and 2. He doesn’t feel like a person outside of the role of President. This is where the other half of his control issues come from.

His Presidency was his coping mechanism. Remember, when he wasn’t putting on the front of a stable leader, he cried into his pillow. It’s not a stretch to think that he didn’t feel like a person outside of that.

(And, on a more meta level, he was rarely - if ever - on the SMP, not as President. Pretty much every one of his streams, especially once we get to the election, was plot, and so were a lot of his appearances on other’s streams like the Railway War. It’s really a part of his identity.)

“I’ll try” pretty much confirms this. He doesn’t even know if he can speak without being President anymore.

Quackity says “I like to believe there’s a good side to everyone. And I believe that’s where you and I are very, very different.” He says he doesn’t want people to feel unwelcome in L’Manberg, like he did.

Wilbur “completely disagrees.” He calls Quackity’s beliefs optimism, and says he won’t let his nation’s security be jeopardized for them. That’s the good ol’ paranoia manifesting!

After being beaten down by those not in his nation, plus after Eret’s betrayal, it’s no wonder Wilbur doesn’t feel like he can afford to take risks on who to let in and who to keep out. He’s been burned before, after all.

I feel this also ties into cc!Wilbur’s line from his podcast about “a twisted understanding of what is mine,” and his need for control. His character thinks he has a right to limit who can live in L’Manberg, even though it’s clearly grown larger than himself.

“Everyone has a good side. But that good side is only there to help themselves” feels like a jab at Eret. They helped the revolution, they were actually technically on L’Manberg’s side before even Tubbo! But as soon as they saw something greater for themselves, they left.

If Wilbur’s slightly in his “I’m not a good person” mindset already, (not quite to the extent it is in Pogtopia,) he could be saying that about himself, too. He claims to want L’Manberg to “protect the people,” which is a noble cause and true in its own right, but it’s also because he needs it. He doesn’t know how to live without it, anymore.

(Also, setup for redemption pog?)

And then we get to the power thing.

So, first things first. The first bit of this conversation reminds me of one he had with Tommy, on the stream where they write the Declaration iirc? Basically, Wilbur tells him that he has to commit. They’re not just an attractive movement, they’re a revolution, and he can’t be half-there.

Here, Wilbur’s discussing the exact same thing. He’s telling Quackity if he wants change, he can’t just have a simple movement. He needs something more.

“If you have a revolution, everyone will hate you. You’ll sacrifice everything, and you’ll lose everything you’ve ever had. But you’ll come back and everything’ll be changed.”

This is really interesting from the standpoint of President Wilbur, because it’s so clearly referencing his post-exile character arc? I mean, it’s even overlaid with clips from the Button Room.

The “everyone will hate you” bit really sticks out to me. That’s his paranoia coming out again, his belief that he’s not good enough to be President and that everyone secretly hates him.

They did sacrifice a lot in the revolution as well, and yeah, they bounced back from the losses. I feel like, especially for Wilbur, everything really did change. Suddenly, he’s in charge of a country he didn’t plan for (”then one thing leads to another and I’m leader of a nation”) and he just went through a war. He’s no longer an equal with everyone, anymore, he’s their President. His relationship with his son is falling apart, and he’s straight-up enemies with half the server.

Then he gets to talking about power, and he says this:

“Power isn’t gained from diplomacy [...] It’s gained from swords. It’s gained from blades.”

So, my immediate thought was how much this resembles his mindset in Pogtopia, where he literally asks Techno to repeat his line about “the only universal language is violence” and agrees with it. But this reveals he already had that mindset back during the election, probably even before. The war made him realize that he can’t get anywhere in the world without violence. Which is interesting, because when discussing the election with Tommy, Wilbur says there are two options: holding a democratic election, or instating themselves through force. He didn’t want the latter.

But then I remembered this, from back at the beginning of the war for independence. “The L’Manberg way is: We talk at them. We lull them into a false sense of security, and that’s when we stab them in the back.” He’s always kinda had this mindset of violence solving problems, but only as a last resort. He never physically fought back, not until Dream literally declared war on them. Only then did he consider violence.

When they actually win the war, he realizes that the only way to get and keep power is through fighting. And so he internalizes that until Pogtopia. (An interesting thing, though, is that the war literally wasn’t won through violence. It wasn’t the bow duel that got them independence, it was Tommy trading his discs. Bargaining, not violence.)

“Even if everyone has this good side - if they want to prove it, they have to show their dark side first. You’re going to have to kill. You’re going to have to torture. You’re going to have to maim.”

This is him confessing to not being the paragon of peace and diplomacy he portrays himself as. He admits to having these dark thoughts, this bad side. It’s the start of him seeing himself as a bad person, that really surfaced in his snap.

But the interesting thing is, he never did those things. He didn’t take any canon lives until November 16th, he never tortured, he never maimed. He claims they’re necessary for power, without having done them himself. Does he see himself as powerless?

This makes sense, at this point. He called the elections as a desperate grab for control he felt he was losing over his people. Even that failed, and he found himself in an actual fight for his country. Since the start, things have spiraled far past where he wanted, and now he’s potentially losing his leadership.

He feels he’s losing control of his narrative, and his snap is partially a desperate grab to regain it as he assigns himself a role he knows he can play. Because one thing he’s never really had is true control.

And, finally, he says “as a fellow outsider.” Wilbur literally didn’t consider himself a part of the people! Which ties into his whole “not having a life outside of the Presidency” thing. He’s not one of the people of L’Manberg, he’s their leader. He can’t lean on them for support, at this point he even fears they hate him.

So the biggest takeaway from this conversation is just how much Wilbur’s mental health issues were affecting him even during the Presidency. Specifically, how he lost faith in “words over weapons” earlier on than we thought and just how much he depended on L’Manberg for a sense of control, despite not seeing himself as a part of its people.

#i speak #mcyt #dream smp #wilbur soot #HOO BOY i analysed this deeper than i thought i would #i still have a few more thoughts but i gotta rewatch the debates first #i just saw the founding vods like 3 days ago lmao so its really fresh in my mind all the quotes are pretty much off the top of my head

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astraeagreengrass · 5 years ago

Text

The Queen's Husband [8/?]

When her reign is threatened, the Queen of Ergona must find a husband to secure her throne.

Word Count: 3.020

Warnings: angst, I'm evil, very brief mentions of violent acts

A/N: f you're interested, I posted some visuals for this story here and here. Many, many, many thanks to @xbuchananbarnes for helping me with this chapter. I hope you like it ♡

Series masterlist

“The man that stabbed your uncle, Baron Zemo. He said something before he killed himself: Hail Hydra. I’ve heard these words before, Your Grace. I’ve heard them from the mouth of Joseph Rogers, the Duke of Arvenia and King Steven’s father.”

“What?” you gasped.

“It’s true, Your Grace. I swear on my uncle's grave! I would never lie to you, especially not about something this serious,” Peter quickly assured. The harsh wind and the deep purple shadows under his eyes made him appear much older than his budding years.

“I don’t doubt your honor, Peter,” you said. “But perhaps you were mistaken about the man you saw?”

The boy shook his head.

“As much as he tries, Lord Rogers is not very discreet, Your Grace. It was him, lurking in the shadows of the Keep. I know what I saw.”

Peter’s words were half a confession, half a desperate plea for you to believe them. You never trusted Lord Rogers - he was pompous and greedy - but he was your husband’s father. That made him your family.

Of course you knew there was at least a small amount of conspiracy in your Court - especially when it came to West Ergonans - but to think of an entire treasonous plot lead by your very own in-law? It was preposterous.

“He mentioned your mother, Your Grace,” Peter whispered.

You turned to him so fast the joints in your neck cracked.

“My mother?”

“Yes. He said a man named Sitwell,” Peter visibly flinched, and not from the cold, “stabbed her. In Geotach. And apparently Lord Rogers was the one to convince your father to announce her death as suicide, because no one would believe otherwise.”

An agonized scream rose from your larynx, spilling past your vocal cords. It nearly escaped from your throat, but you bit your tongue, coating your mouth in pungent, metallic blood. It made your stomach queasy.

Your mother’s death was discredited and you were ruled as a grieving girl, spinning tales to fill the void her absence left. It was told that you were sent to live in Foghar because the memories of Albeon were too much for you to bear, but in reality, it was exile: your father never forgave you for running away that night.

“You were supposed to die, Y/N. Not her!”

He passed without ever speaking to you again, leaving you his throne and his ghosts.

Not many knew the truth of your mother’s murder. Even less fully believed in you. This secret was kept under lock and key, in a vault safer than those beneath the dungeons of the Keep, and not one person would risk your trust by sharing it - not even with a good boy like Peter Parker.

Your uncle held his squire in very high regards, but not even that was enough to divulge your privacy.

“Who would Lord Rogers meet?” you mumbled tentatively. In your mind's eye, the words came out of your lips vermillion-colored.

“Thrice he met with Lord Pierce, the Marquess of Gormes. And in one occasion he met with a man I couldn’t recognize. He was white and dark-haired and visited the Keep in November.”

Your stomach churned with sickness and you desperately wanted to puke from sheer despair. You slapped a hand across your mouth, holding back a gag.

Lord Pierce was repugnant with his sleazy ways and sexist remarks, but unfortunately that was the normality rather than the exception. Gormes was very close to Arvenia as well, so it made sense that him and Lord Rogers were always together. But still...

Your heart screamed inside your ribcage for you to trust Peter. To storm the Keep to the ground as you scavenged for answers, overturning every stone and every rock. You wanted to take the clay from the bricks and shape them with your bare hands to the form of Rogers and Pierce, just so that you could tear them apart the way they did to you. Yet, your reason - the guiding voice of your reign, trained from an early age to be rational - warned you that there was no actual evidence.

It sounded you so much like your father, haunting your mind like the waves that nearly drowned you.

You wanted it to drown. And your enemies alongside it.

“Peter, I have a mission for you,” you declared. “Ride to the sacred city of Kamar-Taj. Find the Ancient One, tell her everything you just told me. Ride at full speed and stop for nothing. Wear the crown’s colors and hoist the dragon banner - it will ensure you safety on the road. Once you get there, the masters will provide you with food and shelter. If anyone asks, say you're on a special assignment given by Lord Stark before his accident.”

The boy's soft brown irises widened.

"Your Grace, I’m just a squire," he stuttered. "Only knights are allowed to hoist the dragon banner.”

You lowered the hood of your cape. The gale was still blowing fiercely and some pieces of hail slashed your cheekbone, yet you supposed it was more respectful this way.

"Give me your sword, Peter," you asked in the gentlest voice you could muster.

It was no more than a dress sword, more for decoration than anything. Peter was loyal, committed and diligent, but young. Too young. You sent a prayer to the Gods that he didn't pay for the sin you were about to commit.

With a flick of your hand, you mentioned for him to kneel. Natasha and Wanda stopped pretending they weren't paying attention to the conversation and turned, mouths agape with stupefaction.

You touched the sword to Peter's left shoulder, then his right, then his left again, and announced:

"Arise, Sir Peter Parker, Knight of the crown of Ergona," Mother, Maiden and Crone, please protect this boy. "Be safe."

You stood by the window until Peter’s horse disappeared in the foggy wastelands of the surrounding fields. The blood dried in your mouth and in your face, though your gums still tasted sour. There was no sundown, but rather just the sooty grey sky turning inky, as if the death of this day shouldn’t be granted even the simplest of ceremonials.

When night came, you returned to your chambers. People greeted you on your path, bowed their heads in respect, yet the hallways never looked more like a prison than they did then. At some point, Natasha held on to your elbow. Or perhaps it was Wanda. Maybe it was another one of your demons.

“Should we call for the King?” you heard one of them say.

“After what we’ve heard today, do you think the King can be trusted?” the other replied.

Above the fireplace, the Dragon on the tapestry mocked you.

Steve entered without knocking. His hair was longer, almost reaching his chin. He said he had no time for a haircut, but you knew he kept it that way because you liked it. Or so you thought.

He could be a liar.

He could be a traitor.

“Ladies” he greeted, his small smile thinning when he noticed your distress. “My Queen.”

Steve kneeled before you, just like that first afternoon in the rose courtyard. The sight of him made you miss summer and the simplicity of falling in love.

I love you, Steve, you wanted to confess. I love you but that’s not enough anymore.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he whispered and you knew you’d suffer in ways that not even Hydra could conceive if Steve’s love turned out to be a lie.

“We need to talk.”

A bang on his chamber door startled Sam Wilson awake.

In a flash, he grabbed the knife he kept under his pillow and rose, tiptoeing from the bed to the entrance.

“Who is it?” he asked in the most severe voice he could muster.

“It’s Wanda.”

He quickly twisted the lock, sighing when he came face to face with your handmaiden. The candle she was holding made her auburn hair look as if it was painted by the flames of a forest fire. She was hauntingly beautiful.

“You scared me.”

“My apologies, Sir Wilson,” she said. “But the Queen is summoning you.”

Sam nodded.

"I will make myself presentable. Should I meet her at her chambers?"

"No, sir. The Queen requested that you dress appropriately for the weather, and meet her at the stables. She has also commanded you to bring whatever weapons you can carry."

"What?" he exclaimed. "Did something happen?"

"These were my only instructions, sir. Please don't be long."

Wanda turned and rushed down the dark hallway before Sam could ask her anything else. The clock on his mantel told him it was a little past two in the morning. He'd gone to bed a mere four hours earlier, having spent all day reunited with the King and the Council going over the assassination attempt on Lord Stark. You hadn't joined them, but that was expected considering your bond with your uncle - Sam supposed you wouldn't leave Tony's side bedside until he was fully healed.

It wasn't the first time you called for Sam in the middle of the night. He was the Captain of your Queen's Guard and the Queen hardly worked regular hours. But the request for warm clothes and weapons was unexpected, if not suspicious. Still, Sam was fast to dress himself, tucking two daggers inside his boots for good measure before following the path Wanda took.

The Dragon Keep at night was an eerie, unwelcoming place. He didn't believe the legends surrounding your ancestors, but whenever he roamed the fortress at night Sam thought it might have actually been built out of dragon fire, if only for how hostile the hallways were - as hostile as a dragon's mouth, it seemed.

"It's meant to be a stronghold, not a home," you once said, and he wondered if you thought of that yourself or if you were paraphrasing your father.

Sam didn't encounter anyone on his way to the stables but a few wandering rats, yet when he got there he was surprised to see Clint Barton fixing the harnesses of four Thoroughbreds, attached to a black, inconspicuous carriage. In the corner, you, Natasha and Wanda whispered with your heads together. They looked up when he arrived.

"Finally," you said. "I thought I was going to have to come get you myself."

You were trying to be funny, but Sam could only stare at your tired face and sad-looking eyes. You looked stunning as always, in leather breeches and a cloak as dark as the night that waited beyond the gates, but forlorn, distant. As if your lips had never tasted joy and your spirit never roamed freely under sunlight.

"What is this, Y/N?" he asked. "Where is the King?"

Behind you, Natasha and Wanda glanced at each other.

"The King won't be joining us, Sam," you explained. "I need to go on a journey, and I need my best friend to come with me. My crown won't protect us where we're going, in fact, I don't know if it will be worthy of anything at all after tonight. So if you chose to stay I will understand."

Sam shook his head.

"This doesn't make any sense."

"I know," you whispered. "But I can't tell you anything else right now."

Sam Wilson was your first friend. He'd throw pebbles at the window to get your attention while you were studying at Arauta, the Duke of Foghar's ancestral home.

"How come you never play, just study?"

You told him then that you were the princess, and you had to be prepared for the day your father, the King, commanded you to return to the Capital. He giggled then, such a cheerful, melodic blast of glee that you were the trees still remembered it, and cherished the sound of his happiness.

"Yeah, right," he'd snickered. "If you're the princess, then where's your crown?"

When the crown came, Sam stood by you, as a comrade and Knight. And you couldn't help but feel like you were once again asking too much of him.

"Of course I'll go with you, Y/N,” he exhaled, past and present blending together in the space of his breath. "Someone has to look after your royal ass."

He hardly ever saw you cry, but you did when you hugged Natasha goodbye, whispering her a quiet be safe before the entering the coach. The Master of Whispers soon disappeared as the horses started their gallop.

The carriage was way past the city gates when your tears stopped.

The following morning, Bucky Barnes found the King slumped on an armchair by the fireplace of the royal chambers.

The knight was heading to the Armory when Steve’s valet intercepted him, babbling nonsense about the King being in shock and the Queen being nowhere to be found. At first, Bucky was doubtful. All was as it was in the Dragon Keep and perhaps the only thing out of the ordinary was the heavy snow that fell overnight, covering the lands and roads in a thick icy blanket. The staff was still spooked by the attempt on Lord Stark’s life, but the assurance that he would survive soothed their nerves a bit. Yet, the valet had such a haunted look in his eyes that Bucky caved, turning around and following the man to your quarters.

His first knock was light, and so was the second and third. When the fourth knock returned without even a muffled response, he turned the knob slowly, finding the door unlocked.

“Your Majesties?” Bucky announced his presence before entering. He couldn’t see the bed from the entrance, but, even so, he didn’t want to accidentally catch you in a compromised position.

Instead, he saw Steve, wearing the same clothes as the night before, turning your engagement ring on his hand. There was no sign of you.

Bucky mentioned for the valet to leave, before shutting the door. Whatever had happened, it was a conversation he didn’t need to hear.

“Steve?” he said, softer this time, approaching the King as one would an animal.

There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, and his face was puffy from crying. His hair was disheveled, rumpled like the linen shirt stretched across the wide expanse of his shoulders and back. The sparkling blue Sapphire of the ring was the only somehow still managed the catch the light in the dull room.

“Steve?” Bucky repeated, finally standing face to face with this best friend. “What happened?”

“She’s gone,” Steve croaked.

“What?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “Who’s gone? The Queen?”

Steve nodded, still not looking up from the ring.

“She said she wanted some time away from the Capital. That what happened to Stark put ‘things in perspective’ for her and that she needed to think about us.”

“But… Where did she go?” the knight stuttered.

“Foghar,” Steve replied. “Sam and Barton escorted her. Her handmaiden went as well.”

Bucky was speechless. He’d bet his sword - hell, his sword and his armor - that you were as in love with Steve as he was with you. You weren’t friends, but after months living in Albeon and watching you interact with various lords and politicians, Bucky could understand why you were so guarded. A Queen’s life was full of hardships and loneliness. Yet, from his conversations with Steve - and how overjoyed he was with your seemingly growing affections - it seemed like your relationship was progressing well. Bucky never expected you to just leave.

“Did she say when she’s returning?” he asked, even though the answer was clear as day on Steve’s desolate face.

The King shook his head.

“I think I was wrong about Y/N, Bucky,” he sniffed. “And I think she was wrong about me, as well.”

“No pal, you can’t mean that,” Bucky exclaimed, leaning forward and gripping Steve’s shoulder. “Perhaps the attempt on Stark’s life scared her. He is very dear to her and maybe she thought it could’ve been you. I don’t know! But you can’t possibly think she doesn’t love you.”

“How can I not think that? She never said it. I gave her everything and at the first hardship she just… Runs.” Steve barked, his voice failing at the end.

He was broken. A thousand battles couldn’t ruin him, but you could.

Another knock came, and Lady Natasha entered.

“Your Grace,” she announced. “Lord Stark is awake. He calls for you.”

Steve gave her an affirmative nod and cleared his throat.

“I’ll see to him right away,” he turned to Bucky. “What are you doing today?”

“I was on my way to see Hill at the Armory. Maybe she can help identify the silver dagger Zemo used to stab Stark.”

For a few seconds, Steve was quiet. Natasha was still waiting by the door, implacable and impassive.

“I need you to do something for me,” the King said. “I need to you ride to Arvenia and escort my father to Court. Leave as soon as possible. I’ll send him a raven explaining that he should expect you.”

It was Bucky’s turn to frown.

“Your father?” he asked, puzzled. “Why?”

“Stark still has months of bed rest,” Steve explained as he laced his boots. “My father was once the Master of Coin. I could use his help.”

It made no sense. Steve’s relationship with his father was strained, to say the least. As far as Bucky knew - and he knew quite a bit when it came to the King - Joseph Rogers was far from being father of the year.

He wouldn't say so as Lady Natasha was still present, but he couldn't help the nagging sensation that this was Steve's way of getting back at you for leaving. And it was a shitty way.

Still, he bowed.

"Anything else, my King?"

Steve looked up, and his handsome face was still flushed and puffy from crying. He was so far from the man that Bucky always knew that it brought a cold dread to his heart.

"No," he replied. "Safe travels, my friend."

Bucky nodded and left the room, without hugging Steve goodbye.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #king!steve rogers #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve #king!steve x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel au #king!au

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multsicorn · 5 years ago

Note

Is Wei Wuxian your fave? Please do the meme with answers about Wei Wuxian. Thank you

[HELLO you sent me this like? weeks ago? I am answering it now!]

haha YES he IS! (Which is very convenient, that, when one’s favorite character is also the protagonist - it means that my priorities and the show’s tend to be pretty well in alignment.)

(and why are you asking me when you’re not even in this fandom! but I <3 you. thanks for the excuse to post. I hope I manage to entertain you a bit.)

[this is really RIDICULOUSLY long, btw.]

How I feel about this character

I love him so much OMG… I was just thinking, yesterday or maybe this morning, that it’s early to tell, y’know, but he might join my ~FAVORITES OF ALL TIME.~

He is just! Set up so well, (~it’s cheating,~ no, that was gonna be a post), he loses so fucking much (parents, foster family/home, newly created found family/home, beloved sister, #it’s complicated wrt beloved brother, um, magical ability (#it’s complicated), hm, DIES), and he also - gets? does? etc. so fucking much. He’s good at way too many things tbh, at fighting and playing the flute (it’s also a form of fighting, it’s a magical flute), at charming people and inventing ~NEW MAGICS~ and… pissing people off? that’s a skill lol? He takes up farming/gardening, cause he rescued a bunch of prisoners of war who need something to eat, (and he misses food from home); he takes up raising a very small boy (he says! miss me with saying he’s not!) as his own, because someone needed to, because he was one of those same prisoners of war.

He NEVER FUCKING STOPS, no matter what anyone thinks, no matter the cost. He’ll take a curse mark on himself or go into a dangerous trance or (any number of other things that happen in the plot) for someone he doesn’t know, or doesn’t like… just because he thinks he can, is a lot of it, and isn’t that fascinating. And because he can, he couldn’t not.

What I meant, though, re: ~the man is non-stop!~, is: he does it with a smile, a laugh, a joke. A bowl of wine and a delighted stroll through the woods, looking around at the leaves, or a stop at a stall selling snacks or cute ornaments. He’s always working, always thinking, always playing - and! these are the same thing! for him! Even though his play definitely can get more physical than anything else, there’s always still this alertness looking around for an unexpected trick. And the work he chooses to do, not the fighting, but invention and the studying to back it up, traveling and helping people with their monster/ghost/spirit problems… that’s play, for him, it’s fun. There’s always something new and interesting to see or find or learn or make.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

LAN WANGJI aka his canonical soulmate/boyfriend/husband/cultivation partner, the one who knows him!, my heart. Howwww… can I explain their connection? They love each other, of course, and probably more importantly, they get each other… they trust each other, they work so well together, they make each other so happy. That’s one of the things that I love, that although they’re both people who are highly liked and/or admired generally in their society on a superficial level, that they’re both fucking weird people? Wei Wuxian is charming and Lan Wangji is impeccably virtuous (and they’re both very talented), but when you get to know them, Wei Wuxian never fucking shuts the fuck up and Lan Wangji will barely say one single word… they’re both a lot to handle, in a number of different ways! But they. Just like each other, a lot.

And the trust between these two. Slays me. Wei Wuxian lets Lan Wangji hold a sword to his throat, cause he knows Lan Wangji will know if he’s ~gone too far.~ Lan Wangji defies his clan, his family, the whole cultivation world, for Wei Wuxian, because he knows, that Wei Wuxian is and was right. They pursue justice, goodness, together… they find it in each other.

People try to set up an opposition between ‘marry your best friend’ and ‘star crossed lovers’ high-drama types of scenarios? But these epic losers (she says with love) are both… there’s no reason why not, after all. And I love ‘em SO MUCH.

JIANG CHENG, who is is his foster brother. Usually I’m not one for incest? It only tends to be something I ship when a sibling bond between characters is broken, or twisted, … or fails to really exist in the case of Luke/Leia type scenarios. (I have never watched a Star War, but I did read Splinter of the Mind’s Eye, okay.) The relationship between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng (and their sister, Jiang Yanli), very very much does exist, but… Jiang Cheng stabbed his sword into the rock of the cliff that Wei Wuxian was hanging off of, and yelled at him to go to hell. And Wei Wuxian finished yeeting himself off the cliff, and D I E D.

(it’s totally a romantic setup! what!?)

Anyway, they both really really love each other, they need to reconcile ASAP PLZ, and pairs of characters who both really really love each other but also have deeply conflicted and fucked up and sometimes even murdery intentions towards each other are extremely my jam. I want to smush them together! Mostly involving conversations, and extremely fraught invitations to visit, and small significant gestures. But also sometimes involving sex, because… why not.

SOMETIMES JIANG YANLI, though only in concert with Jiang Cheng as an OT3, because if Jiang Yanli’s still alive… you can’t have two of the three siblings together ~like that~ without a third. (So I guess this is the first exception that I’ve found so far to my usual pattern! Of only shipping incest when it’s already all fucked up. Jiang Cheng’s got enough fucked-up-ness for the all of them?). Anyway, I would like to thank the scene where Jiang Yanli shows Wei Wuxian her wedding dress for including the line from Jiang Cheng ‘you don’t think she’d marry you!?’ (to which I always say, it’s okay, Jiang Cheng, no one is leaving you out! <3), and also Madam Jin’s take on the ~scandalousness~ of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli walking alone together (to which Jiang Yanli says: that’s my baby brother, and also, how very dare you).

Together the two of them (Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian) are sweet and mutually supportive, and simply the delight of fucking even further with societal expectation and rumor is not going to get me shipping that. But as a threesome! Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian struggle with issues of insecurity, of jealousy, vis-a-vis family, and poor Yanli - she’s always trying to be enough for both of them, for everyone, and it must be very hard, … she reconciles the two of them, it’s a pattern, and they’re more united in thinking she deserves the world than they are in anything else. It can be fun to play with.

WEN NING!! Wei Wuxian walked away from his family and set his face against the cultivation world for Wen Ning, and Wen Qing, and their followers. He says he would’ve done it for anyone, but in fact he does it - the prison break, the dive all the way down into dark magic - for Wen Ning. He brings Wen Ning back to life. Which is a huge gift, but not necessarily one that Wen Ning would’ve accepted? But. He doesn’t get to be asked, he was dead.

And Wen Ning, in turn, is just ridiculously incredibly loyal to Wei Wuxian. It’s part of how Wei Wuxian brought him back to life, but - he’s the knife in Wei Wuxian’s hand. (That’s almost literally what his sister, Wen Qing, says). That sort of intimacy, being a human weapon, turning over your own volition, (not voluntarily! but Wen Ning’s okay with the fact that it’s a thing that happens!), to someone else, is… man, it’s a lot.

And there’s also the things Wen Ning does control: after Wei Wuxian comes back from the dead, (so they’re undead buddies! ;) in different ways), he follows Wei Wuxian everywhere he goes. Which causes some problems! One cannot have a zombie everywhere, with one, at all times. Even if he does save your life when you don’t expect needing it. … so, anyway, they both do these huge amounts of things for each other. They won’t give up on each other. They keep trying to take care of each other - Wei Wuxian gives Wen Ning his sword to wield. They never ever meant to depend on each other like this, but that’s what happened when they wouldn’t let go - and now they don’t need to, by the end of the story. But that story is A LOT, and I want them closer, and also to fuck with the controlling-the-undead angle ;).

XUE YANG! This is a never-ending list, lol. Anyway, if Jiang Cheng was the answer of ‘ship my two favorite characters,’ this is very much the answer of ‘ship the two characters that are hottest to me.’ ;). Anyway, I should point out that I don’t ship-ship them. Xue Yang’s a mass-murdering sociopath. And even if you can catch him in the plot before he goes all mass-murdery… Wei Wuxian would never love Xue Yang. (Never-minding the distinction between ‘love’ and ‘in love with,’ he definitely loves all the above.) But would Wei Wuxian fuck Xue Yang? Maybe! If you can set it up right.

(my current attempt stalled out with Xue Yang threatening to murder a small child in Wei Wuxian’s care, so… there’s no fucking in that case.)

Anyway. They’re very similar in some ways. They’re fearless, they really really hate boredom, they love to fuck around… just for fun. They’re both curious! When Xue Yang meets Wei Wuxian, for the first time, he asks him about the charm Wei Wuxian had invented that he’s fighting him with. While they’re fighting. (Which really strikes me as a very Wei Wuxian move.) Pity about the being evil thing, lol. But Xue Yang is a demonic cultivator who’s following on the magical paths that Wei Wuxian laid out… so a sorta teacher/disciple thing could be interesting. Again! If you could get around the killing people thing for just a second, before of course bringing it back in to smash everything down.

and that is, finally, all the major answers re: actively shipping, (really my main ships in this show are Wei Wuxian/almost everyone he significantly interacts with, and then I guess some other people who aren’t Wei Wuxian can also have some ships too?), but a few more quick answers I’d Definitely Read:

NIE HUAISANG in a friends-who-have-sex way back during their time in summer school together. You can’t tell me Lan Wangji thought that he wasn’t walking in on a Wei Wuxian/Jiang Cheng/Nie Huaisang orgy, that one time! You can’t tell me that Nie Huaisang lent Wei Wuxian gay porn book(s?) and never at least tittered about the idea! Their friendship at that point isn’t all that deep but… I think they both might very well find it a fun way to ~let off steam,~ or whatever, and I’d be into it.

WEN QING, even though I really like the fact that her friendship with Wei Wuxian is a hundred percent platonic (yes, it is, I’ll fight you). I love how they run the Burial Mounds together, I love the mutual sympathy and the mix of teasing and deadly seriousness in their dynamic, what I really want is SO MUCH MORE of just their friendship - and working-together partnership! - but, you see, I have a weakness, for friends who are not romantic! Just friends! But they fuck once or twice or in a while for fun, in between doing things that are more important.

(Also I particularly like when they’re exes who are better off as friends, in a modern AU? Idk somehow it just feels like a perfect fit for these two.)

… and I realize belatedly that the question asked ‘romantically’ and not ‘non-romantic fuck-buddies’ and therefore half of my answers don’t even apply, but whatever, I do what I want, and honestly for non-OTP-level ships I’m just as likely to ship them as fuckbuddies as I am romantically. So there, meme, I cannot be constrained.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

I COMPLETELY REFUSE TO CHOOSE: like, okay, fixing his relationship with his brother is the number-one most important thing to me about how canon ended. So I guess?? I’d have to say that?? YUNMENG SHUANGJIE (the Pride Twins of Yunmeng) 4EVER, sure, definitely. They both sacrificed everything for each other! More importantly, to me, I think both… of them, just really miss each other a lot. Jiang Cheng’s fucking furious at Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian’s pretty much given up on making any sort of attempt to change that, but I love them both and want them both to have everything that they still can that they want in life, and that means each other.

But I also love Wei Wuxian’s friendship with Wen Ning! And his friendship with Wen Qing! So much!!! They are ALSO family, okay, they made a new home together (and then it died) ;___;.

And then!!! The way he relates to the kids! Is just so wonderful. I love how he tries to be the ‘cool uncle’ to Jin Ling, how he balances the side of ‘I was an obnoxious brat too at your age… and in fact I kinda still am!’ with being a very responsible and caretaking adult. I love the way that he gets down in the mud and plays with Sizhui as A-Yuan, being silly, and is also so thrilled and proud of Sizhui as an adult. So uh yeah these are all of my favorite things <3.

My unpopular opinion about this character

Hmmm I’m not so sure what’s unpopular. (Besides a lot of my non-canon-OTP ship choices, but those aren’t really ‘opinions about the character.’ I don’t think he’s likely in near-canon-verses to be with anyone besides his husband, I just like stories where it can happen!).

I think I’ll say: I think he’s generally a pretty happy person. He hides suffering with smiles, certainly! That’s what he does! But even though he has lost a lot - and even though I think he feels guilt over some things, like his sister’s death, and his nephew’s being an orphan - he doesn’t tend to dwell, on either the sorrow or the guilt in his life. He is genuinely pretty okay... and finds ways to be okay, even happy, even in the worst parts of his life, day-to-day! Even in the Burial Mounds, for example, when he’s missing his family and his almost-not-quite-yet boyfriend, ... sometimes he drowns in the missing, yeah, but far more often he’s happy with the things and the people that he’s growing there.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon

HE AND LAN WANGJI SHOULD HAVE KISSED??? That’s the most obvious and unarguable thing. They’re together, they’re so fucking together… on the steps of Carp Tower, in ep 42? Or maybe in the snowy night in the Jingshi, in ep 43, before the scene faded away (to black). (And presumably multiple times in the eps after that, but, eh, whatever). The only reason why this didn’t happen is censorship - though I do admit, I love all the post-canon get-together fics.

Also: HE SHOULD”VE STAYED AT CLOUD RECESSES??? With Lan Wangji??? Or Lan Wangji should’ve gone with him, to ~wander the world together,~ though personally I prefer the ‘Lan Wangji is Chief Cultivator’ ending. Anyway the fact that they separated is bullshit, (although, yes, I know all about that reunion implied in the last scene, but it’s not really satisfactory imo)… but, again, censorship. And, again, I love! All the post-canon fics where Wei Wuxian wanders around for some time before he finally ~comes back home~ to Lan Wangji.

Also also: if we’re talking about artistic decisions that weren’t cause of censorship: he and Jiang Cheng should’ve thawed just a little. Been just a little bit more hopeful. Towards each other, at the end of the show. Jiang Cheng wanting to say something, but not..? It was very ow, to me, it’s not a bad ow, but it needs to be remedied. Let Jiang Cheng find a way to be able to tell his brother he misses and still loves him, please.

#likearumchocolatesouffle #wei wuxian #the untamed

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years ago

Text

All Was Golden in the Sky (19/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—

Rating: Mature AN: Ariel and Dark One!Killian wandering around the Enchanted Forest fucking shit up may be the greatest thing I have ever half-plotted out in my car.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

“That one.” “That one?” “What was confusing about that?” Emma cannot roll her whole body, but she tries, letting her head loll between her shoulders as she makes the world’s most dramatic noise. That, however, only leads to Killian’s eyes widening, mouth going tight and a sharp inhale that is even more ridiculous than her.

She kind of resents that he’s winning that particular competition.

It’s not a competition.

It’s grand larceny.

Of the nautical variety.

“That is huge,” Emma hisses, crouched behind what, at first glance, appeared to be empty crates. They are not empty. They are filled with something that smells absolutely horrendous.

That also seems to be the entire schtick of this place, though, and now they’re going to steal a ship and get to Neverland, somehow, and there wasn’t much of a plan, just a selection and Killian is determined.

And stubborn.

Impossibly stubborn.

“It’s a ship, love,” he reasons. His shoulder keeps bumping against hers, trying to pull his sword out of its scabbard without also elbowing her in the side. It’s not really working. “They are, by their very nature, rather large.” Emma sticks out her tongue. She’s a picture of maturity and magic and she knows their options are rather limited in this God awful town. If she never sees another fish again, it will be too soon.

“Won’t there be a crew, though?” Kristoff asks. His voice is starting to sound a little stronger, less slurring of words and a slightly more focused gaze. It’s a small victory, but he’s got a good point and Emma’s going to horde as much positivity as she possibly can.

“What happened to your sword?” she asks.

“You want to fight the crew?”

“I mean,” Emma shrugs, eyes flitting towards Killian. His lips twist. “Let’s try to avoid any serious bodily harm.” “Really aiming high, huh?” Ariel mutters. She huffs, and her hair must have a mind of its own because it always seem to be flying towards her eyes. It takes her a moment to brush it away, but that also gives Kristoff a moment to come to terms with fighting his way out of Roior and that ship is only a little intimidating. “Do you have a plan here, Hook,” Ariel continues, “or did you just want to storm in? You can’t--you know.” Killian glares at her. “Thank you, Fisk.” “I’m just saying.” “Oh, I know you are and I am well aware of what I’m lacking, but--” “--I mean,” Emma cuts in, twisting her wrist and letting her fingers flutter slightly, “we’re not exactly missing the magical part.” “Are we attacking or not?” Kristoff demands. He’s almost standing, which kind of throws off the whole sneaking thing and none of them had really decided to do that, but it seemed like instinct or something.

Emma assumes pirates do a lot of sneaking.

Killian groans again. “Attacking is such a vulgar way of phrasing it. We’re…” “Borrowing?” Ariel suggests with a smile.

“I mean--no.” Emma snickers, mostly because it’s ridiculous and there are tiny spots of color on his cheeks, like he’s embarrassed. She can’t be anything except endeared by that. So she twists, ignoring the ache in her calves and how much it hurts to rest most of her weight on her toes, a quick kiss pressed to those spots and Killian’s breath catches when he feels the surge of her magic.

“I don’t think we’re going to be giving the ship back,” he admits softly, and Emma can’t stop laughing. That’s probably against the pirate code.

“I’m sure they’ll understand. Once they wake up.” “Are we knocking people out?” Kristoff sputters. “Can’t we just---” He waves his hands through the air, a note of frustration that’s starting to drift ever closer to desperation. Emma’s started breathing through her mouth.

“Is that a human thing?” Ariel asks, brows flying into her hair like Kristoff has started speaking in tongues. “Should we understand what that means?” “Fisk, you have lived here for literal years.” “Yeah, yeah, but, you know, sometimes, you lot do exceptionally strange things and--” “--You stabbed him with a fork twenty minutes ago!” “That was a trident,” she hisses, voice going dangerously low and Emma hopes she doesn’t use the stupid thing again. At least not on them.

Killian pinches the bridge of his nose, a mumbled Gods help us that only makes Ariel’s eyes go slimmer and whatever sword Kristoff has found is not the same one as before. “Where’d you get the squid ink?” “Went back to Ursula's father. He was...well, let’s say rather disappointed with the way things had turned out and then she was gone and the Dark One was gone. And--” Ariel clicks her tongue, more explanations that would probably sound better on a stolen pirate ship. “I didn’t know what was going to happen,” she whispers. “If you came back or would come back or could and then there was Rumplestiltskin and I just...I figured it didn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“And you never could say no to a good trinket.” “Well now you’re just getting insulting” Emma makes another noise – and eventually, she’s sure, she’ll be able to control the sounds her body makes, but she’s impossibly curious and far too impatient and Kristoff looks close to self combustion.

“What exactly is it you were suggesting before?” she asks, doing her best to keep any type of less-than-positive out of her voice.

Killian kisses her hair.

“You showed up here,” Kristoff says slowly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “With magic. Right?” “Obviously.” “Why can’t we just magic our way to Neverland?” Emma blinks. “Oh, well--” “--Neverland isn’t like that,” Killian cuts in, and there’s no mistaking the tone of his voice. It’s soft, but a bit menacing and unquestionable, an authority there that brokers no discussion. Particularly when he keeps talking. “The magic that exists there it..it wouldn’t accept us, not if Emma were there. I’m positive.” “Jeez.” “There’s a reason I never went back, it’s not a particularly good place. That magic is dark. Exceptionally so.”

“Like you?” Kristoff asks, and Ariel absolutely curses. This one also involves a fish and its progeny.

Killian grits his teeth, and they’re going to be found out if they keep lurking in this corner. Kristoff doesn’t look all that concerned though, a challenge in his expression and the tilt of the stolen sword in his hand.

Emma twists her wrist.

And the sword turns. Towards Kristoff.

He gasps, choking on oxygen and lingering rum and Emma’s answering smile is equal parts unnatural and a little mean. She’s going to have to get Ariel to teach her some curses.

They’re incredibly creative.

“Ok, you’re going to shut up for two seconds, you understand?” He doesn’t answer. Emma didn’t expect him to. “If Killian says we’ve got to steal a goddamn fleet of ships, that’s what we’re going to do. Because we are getting out of this shit hole to an even worse shit hole so that we can save the entire realm. And you can either decide that you’re going to help, without the pointed allusions to magic or previous interactions, or not. Because you were looking for me, right?” Silence.

“You can answer that one,” Emma sneers, waving her hand again and Kristoff’s whole body falls forward with his gasp.

“Yes,” he breathes, and she doesn’t think she imagines the tears in his eyes. It almost makes her feel bad. Almost. “I--I just want to find Anna.” “You don’t know where she is?” “No. I--she wouldn’t have stayed with Hans and every rumor I’ve heard about Arendelle is that he’s still in power there. But now Elsa is back and maybe Blackbeard knows where she went and--” “--Ok, ok,” Emma interrupts quickly. Her mind is racing, a few jumps and there’s probably a water obstacle, just to really drive the point home that this is some kind of insurmountable challenge. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We are going to steal this ship. We are going to try, very hard, not to kill anyone. I do, actually, have magic, so that shouldn’t be too difficult. We round up the crew, get rid of the crew and then set sail for Neverland.” “Then,” she adds, a sharp head shake when Kristoff opens his mouth to interject, “No, no, still my floor. Then. We are going to find Blackbeard, we’re going to fuck him up a little bit--” That gets a laugh out of Ariel and another kiss out of Killian. “--Oh, shut up, shut up, shut up, I am not the speech-giver.” “You’re doing fantastic, love,” Killian promises. “Keep going.” She’s going to do damage to her tongue if she keep sticking it out like that. “We’re going to fuck up Blackbeard, get the hell out of Neverland, find Anna, help Elsa and--” Emma takes a deep breath. “--We’re going to make sure that the people in this stupid realm know that we’re not a threat. Arthur will stop being an asshole. There’ll be treaties and plans and everyone will be safe. Like they’re supposed to.” “Except maybe this crew we’re going to presumably knock unconscious,” Ariel says, and Emma’s laugh is really more a guffaw.

It’s not all that inspiring.

She falls forward, letting her forehead crash into Killian’s shoulder, but that makes it easier for him to wrap his arm around her middle and she’s starting to get very dependent on the feel of his hook pressed against her back.

Like an anchor or something.

Emma should learn more nautical terms.

“I want to help,” she adds, glancing back up at a paler-than-normal Kristoff. “And that’s why you were looking for me, right? Because you thought I could?” He nods slowly, more anxious energy in the movement. “I hoped, at least. I...I just want to find Anna. Go home. Maybe actually get married.”

“That’s nice.” “Could be.” “Will be,” Emma amends, and it’s a promise she isn’t sure she should make, but the words are out of her mouth before she can consider the implications of them. She wonders where the box is. Maybe under her floor. “So,” she turns back towards Killian, not surprised to find him smirking at her, “what do we do first?” The smirk turns into a smile, a flash of excitement in his eyes that’s almost a memory. It’s like jumping back in time, landing with both feet in those same metaphorical puddles Emma was thinking of before, but she’s pleasantly surprised that the water is warm and not quite as deep as she originally expected.

“We have to be quiet,” Killian starts.

“Oh my God, you’re just being obvious now.” “From what I can tell there really aren’t too many on that ship who aren’t wobbling--” “--What kind of eyesight do you have?” “Swan,” he chastises, but Emma’s still standing in that puddle and she’s mostly doing it for the way his eyes widen in exasperation. “Look,” Killian continues, jerking his chin towards the shadow leaning against the rail of the ship. “That one can barely keep his feet under him. This isn’t going to be bad, love.” “Far too confident for you own good,” Ariel grumbles, Kristoff tapping impatiently on the hilt of his sword.

“Look at him. He’s hanging over the rail.” “And that’s the lookout?” Emma asks. Killian shrugs. “Ok, babe, that’s honestly not really a ton of help, actually.” “I’d imagine he is. There’s two more on the other side of the deck, probably half a dozen below and--” He looks at Kristoff, standing up and wincing slightly when one of his knees pops. “Do you know where that ship is from?” “Does it matter?” “I’d rather not start any wars if we don’t have to.” “I thought we weren’t going to kill anyone.” “He’s being very royal,” Ariel mutters. She stands as well, hair everywhere and smile obvious and, maybe, once they get rid of the crew she and Emma can have a rather in depth conversation about...everything.

“Thank you Fisk,” Killian growls. “Once again, you’re adding a lot to this conversation.” “How did you plan to get on the ship, exactly? There’s no gang plank. Did you expect to simply scale the sides?” “Well…” “No.” “Fisk.” “No!”

“C’mon,” he goads, a smile that's only a little patronizing. “This’ll be fun. You get in the water. You just...pull yourself up. You stab some people.” “What kind of upper-body strength do you think I have?” Ariel shouts. It’s far from their first mistake, but it’s definitely their loudest, and the man hanging over the side of the railing does not seem to have lost his ability to hear things.

Whatever Killian says is not in English.

“I refuse to take responsibility for that,” Ariel hisses. “And you’re being unreasonable, Hook. I can’t take on an entire ship on my own. That’s insane.” Killian’s eyes are barely open anymore. “Do you have a better plan?” “You have gotten so bad at this!” It’s another far-too-loud cry, voice rising and cracking slightly, and it’s made all the more ridiculous because Ariel actually stomps her foot as well. Which is not really a sentence Emma thought she’d come up with when she realized they’d be working with a mermaid.

The railing guy is standing up now, head darting around, looking for the source of the sound and Emma can hear more voices coming from the ship, an entire crew being roused to the possibility of an attack that’s gone entirely pear shaped before they’ve even moved out of the corner.

“How did you ever get anything done?” Kristoff asks, sounding genuinely interested even as he directs his sword towards the empty space in front of him.

Killian makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Probably some kind of dark magic miracle, honestly.” “Ok,” Ariel groans, and she’s got tridents in both her hands now. “I am standing right here.”

“And we’re all going to have to fight before we even get on the ship.” “Well, that’s your fault then, you should have picked a ship with a less alert crew. Plus, Emma is right. It’s enormous. You’re trying to show off.” “I’m going to steal your cuff.” “Dark One,” she hisses, getting a smile that’s more a sneer and a questionable amount of sarcasm and the thud of the gangplank landing on the dock is loud enough that Kristoff jumps in surprise.

Ariel giggles.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Kristoff whines. “This is--I am also having a hard time standing upright and now I’ve got goddamn Captain Hook fighting with someone who keeps making allusions to humans like she isn’t actually one--” “--Did we not mention that Fisk is a mermaid?” Killian asks lightly. He’s got his sword out now, shifting his weight between his feet and doing his best to work his left arm behind him. So he can move Emma.

Her sigh hurts. “You know you have no tact at all?” “Honestly,” Ariel agrees, crouching slightly like she’s going to pounce at the first crewman who comes near them. Kristoff does not appear to be breathing.

“Occupational hazard,” Killian says. He sounds slightly distracted, head twisting back and forth and it only takes Emma a moment to realize what he’s doing.

Counting.

“Oh for Gods’ sake,” she grumbles, leaning forward to grab his hook. “You know there’s barely anyone on that ship now.” She gets to five before his head snaps around towards her, something like pride and several other wholly inappropriate for a soon-to-be-fight emotions flickering across his face and Emma’s only slightly disappointed he doesn’t kiss her.

“We should just let you come up with everything now. Plans. Sweeping speeches. All of that.” “Ha ha ha.” “I’m serious, love. Unparalleled royal control.” “All I’m saying is that the ship is probably fairly easy to seize at this point. We’ve just got to get through the battle we’ve created for ourselves.” “Easy.”

“Your compliments are sorely lacking, Lieutenant.”

His eyebrows jump, another flash and the tip of his tongue peeking between his teeth. Someone from the crew shouts something that sounds a hell of a lot like intruders and--”That doesn’t even make any sense,” Emma mutters, and it should be impossible to see how blue Killian’s are. “Like in context. Right?” “I’ve already surrendered complete control of the situation to you, Swan. If you don’t think it makes sense, then--” “--Ariel, give me another insult to throw at the Lieutenant.” Ariel laughs, taking a step forward and using Killian’s shoulder as leverage. She clicks her tongue as she takes in the latest crowd to advance on them, a trend Emma hopes will stop as soon as they save everything.

And everyone.

Again.

“There,” one of the men shouts, a wobbly arm and shaky steps, even as he picks up into a run. “They’re hiding there!” Kristoff sighs again, put-upon and exhausted and Emma understands the feeling perfectly. She does the ground thing again.

“Don’t tell Regina that I cast the same spell twice,” she says, “I’ll never hear the end of it.” Killian chuckles, pulling his arm back to his side so he can immediately swing it through the air, the loud crunch of his hook colliding with the nearest man’s nose oddly satisfying. Ariel shivers. “Oh God, I hate when he does that.”

“Did that happen a lot?” Emma asks. She turns when she notices a blade flickering at the edge of her vision, only a little annoyed and not entirely unsurprised that more people have joined the fray. Drunk men in shoddy seaside ports, it has been her experience, love few things more than a fight they are not explicitly a part of.

“No,” Killian says at the same time Ariel mutters “absolutely.”

“What kind of relationship did you two have?” Kristoff asks sharply, smacking another rum-soaked man with the side of his sword. “Gods, that hurt. Jones, how do you not hurt your arm when you do that?”

“I’m very impressive in battle,” Killian drawls, drawing a scoff out of Emma. “Is that disbelief I hear, your highness?”

Emma rolls her eyes, pressing her shoulders further into his back and she can’t see his face, but she knows he’s grinning like an idiot.

She’d also like to get home and get married. At some point. Maybe she’ll bring that up. At some point.

“How many people would you say you’ve incapacitated so far, Lieutenant?”

“This is not a competition, Swan.” “I think that’s because you’re losing.” She waves her hand, proving a point in an argument that isn’t that, is absolutely misplaced flirting and the three men jogging towards her with cries on their lips and rusted swords in their hands immediately start moving the opposite direction.

Directly off the dock.

“Oh that was good,” Ariel muses, elbowing someone and she really is very talented with her feet. Her stomps seem particularly effective. “Wait, wait, I’m confused,” Kristoff mutters. He ducks under a wayward blow, grabbing a handful of dirt when he lands on his back and it’s an on-target throw that lands in the man’s eyes. “I thought Jones was a captain.” “Obviously,” Killian grumbles.

“And doing a very good job of ignoring my question,” Emma adds, smile wide enough that she’s briefly worried about it stretching out her muscles. Her whole body is humming, a buzz under her skin that’s pleasant and almost kind of warm, proof positive, she’s sure, that they’re doing the right thing.

They haven’t actually killed anyone.

So. Points, or whatever.

“You’re playing with a stacked deck, Swan,” Killian argues. “Although the water thing was very impressive.” “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She twists back around him, grinning and it’s somewhere between idiotic and romantic, which is a very fine line to walk in the middle of a quasi-battle, but that’s probably just the life they live at this point and--”Captain.” He groans. Right there. Right out loud.

And the rush of magic that sears through Emma’s veins is intoxicating, powerful and world-altering and she’s got a few suspicions she hasn’t voiced yet, because she might be as stubborn as he is.

“Oh, that’s not fair at all,” Killian says, head falling forward until the ends of his hair move as well. Ariel appears to be gagging.

Emma hums. “I know, right? I think I’m at like...eight. Possibly nine.”

“Right, right, well, that is incredibly impressive, Swan,” Killian says, one side of his mouth tugging up and she’s not a superhero, does not have spidey sense, because it’s another incorrect idiom, but Emma does have magic and really rather good hearing. So she’s not entirely surprised by the boots she can hear moving behind her, but she is a little stunned by the arm around her waist and the hook digging into her hip and, well, she supposes there had to be a few instances of blood.

The man behind them gasps in tandem with Emma – as soon as she crashes into Killian’s chest and Killian’s sword pierces his right arm. “Gabh transna ort fhéin,” he mumbles, twisting into the blade and--

“That’s only going to make it worse, mate,” Killian says. He doesn’t stop moving, gritting his teeth in pain. “Honestly. This is sword fighting one-oh-one.” “What in all hell are you talking about?” Kristoff demands.

“Wrong realm for that joke,” Emma murmurs, magic still making her skin feel as if it’s vibrating. She takes a quick breath, letting it out even faster, shaking her arms and bobbing lightly on the balls of her feet.

Killian’s eyebrows jump. "Are you alright, love?” “Are you?” “Fine.” “Yuh huh.” “Fine,” he repeats, glancing around and they’ve done a fairly good job of stymying the immediate threat. Anyone still standing looks a little less inclined to challenge them. And, for a moment, she’s certain he’s telling the truth, but then his shoulders shift and his sword is still embedded in this man’s arm and Emma can’t think about anything except the way the muscles in his throat move when he swallows.

“You want to go best two out of three or something?” she asks.

“I’m not sure that makes sense.” “Should the sword thing be less attractive?” “Hmmm?” “The sword thing,” Emma says, nodding slightly and the man is getting paler. “It was all very smooth. The whole saving the princess schtick.” “I really doubt you needed to be saved.”

Emma hums, magic fluttering at an actual compliment, and she cannot possibly be expected to do anything except blush demurely when Killian’s expression turns like that – wanting and a little needy and she thinks she remembers a silencing spell she learned several lifetimes ago.

A stolen ship on the way to an infernal hell island seems like the perfect place to test that. “Can we get this blasted blade out of my goddamn arm?” the man shouts, trying to move again, but that only ends with more grousing and gnashing of teeth.

“That was your own fault,” Killian says, pulling his arm back and dragging the blood-stained blade against the side of his pants. “Gods, I hate doing that.” “Bad form?” Emma ventures, fully expecting the look she gets. She matches it, blinking quickly and letting the magic fly out of her. It feels that way, at least, soaring through the air and wrapping around the man’s bloody shoulder, twisting skin back together in a way that’s far nicer than it sounds.

He gapes at her.

“Witch!” “Aw, c’mon,” Emma groans, both Killian and Kristoff lifting their swords again. “Man, we were the good guys here. Also, for the record, you came at me!” “That’s how it works here. We draw swords, we fight, we--” “--Oh my God, humans,” Ariel grumbles. She’s back on her windowsill, feet kicking out like she’s only slightly bored by the entire scene.

The man ignores her. “You’re not going to be able to get out of here, witch. Not without a fight for your lives.”

“That is unnecessarily dramatic,” Emma says. “Also--” she reaches behind her, smile tugging at her mouth when the cool feel of metal brushes across her fingers, Killian mumbling instructions to both Ariel and Kristoff. “--like, we’re obviously already winning and, you know, there’s just no reason to be rude. So.” She shrugs. “See ya or whatever.”

She blinks, a rush of air and burst of light behind her eyes, and none of them fall over when their feet land on planks of wood.

And she was right, there aren’t many people left on the ship – although the few on the far side of the dock do jump and that’s kind of enjoyable, particularly when they all charge forward. Emma barely lifts her arm.

They freeze.

“Did you say see ya to that guy from DunBroch?” Ariel asks conversationally.

“Yeah,” Emma nods. “I think I did.” “That’s what I thought. Ok, ok, I just wanted to make sure. Good.” One of the crew – Emma isn’t actually sure if they’re pirates, and it feels wrong to generalize like that – is trying to move around her magic, curses that are the most creative they’ve heard so far and-- “What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?” “Are you from Camelot?” Killian asks, and Emma has to chew on the side of her tongue to stop herself from smiling.

“What was the first clue?” “I mean--nothing, Camelot is landlocked. So we’ve been told several times recently.” The understanding that moves across the man’s face is a bit like watching the sunset, mostly because it leaves his eyes slightly hooded and his shoulders curling in on himself and Emma has lost all her patience entirely.

She barely hears the explanation – something about DunBroch and an alliance and some kingdom with a monarch this man keeps referring to as Briar Rose and--”So, I will ask you one more time, what do you think you’re doing?” “You know it’s disappointing that we weren’t clearer about this,” Emma says, taking a step forward and ignoring Killian’s quiet sound of protest, not able to wrap his fingers around the back of her shirt with his sword still in his hand. “And,” she adds, leaning into the man’s space with magic simmering around her, “We’re commandeering you’re ship.”

There are, naturally, objections, but Emma’s too busy being a goddamn witch to be worried about them, bodies soaring through the air and landing in the water.

Again.

She’s starting to really like that one.

Any oxygen she’d been holding in her lungs flies out of her as soon as he crashes into her back, face buried in her hair and chin jutting into the side of her neck and it’s impossibly comfortable, even with the far-too-tight arm around her waist.

Neither one of them is breathing evenly, but that’s probably to be expected, magic and adrenaline and Emma knows Killian can feel both, as easily as if they were his.

“Gods, but you’re a good pirate,” he whispers, soft enough that even Emma can barely hear. That may have something to do with the thrumming of her heart.

“Present tense?” “Currently.”

Emma twists in his hold, enough of her pressed against enough of him that it’s difficult to breathe for a wholly different reason. “The sword thing was stupid attractive.” “I will keep that in mind.” She giggles. It’s not her initial plan, but that is also seemingly par for the course, head tilted up and Killian has to sheath his sword so he can brush his thumb against her lower lip.

And he’s definitely going to kiss her – propriety, seemingly, be damned – but there are still two other people on deck and they’ve got to get out of that town and--

“What are your thoughts on--wait for it, this is a really good one,” Ariel says, slinging most of her body over Killian’s back. “Seaweed brain.” “Ehhhh.” “That’s a good one!” “Seaweed does not have a brain, Fisk,” Killian mutters, trying without much success to get her off him. “You’re going to have to go back to the drawing board.” “Stop making references no one understands.” “These are bad insults.”

Ariel huffs, dropping back onto her feet. “Yeah, so say you. Also, uh...how say you in regards to getting to Neverland? You think you can sail this tub on your own?” “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” “You did pick the biggest ship in the harbor, babe,” Emma says. “Lots of---deck space and do you think there’s food on here?” “There better be,” Kristoff mumbles, already sitting down with his head in his hands. “Is the whole thing spinning, though?” Killian sighs. “Land locked.” “That’s really not an insult either,” Emma points out.

“And I didn’t pick this ship because it was the biggest deck. I picked it because it’s got the biggest sails.” “Explain that.” “Neverland’s not exactly an easy place to get to.” “So we’ve heard. Why did we need big sails?” He clicks his teeth, a bit of unexpected trepidation that makes Emma’s heart drop. “Gods, is it bad? What is it? Neverland’s not another realm.” “No, no, we’ll definitely be able to sail there,” Killian promises. “But--” “--Jeez.” “But,” he continues, “That magic I was talking about? The kind that wouldn’t be inclined to letting you blink us there? It’s...ok, your magic, love, it’s light, right?” Emma makes a noise, neither an agreement nor otherwise, and Killian widens his eyes. “It is,” he nods. “This is the opposite. This--I don’t know if Darkness originated from Neverland, but the magic there is twisted. Time doesn’t match up there the way it does here. The nights last forever and you could probably spend a hundred years there without aging.” “These are all very interesting facts, babe, but--” “--We have to fly there,” Killian says quickly, wincing when Emma’s face does something a face should not do. It hurts her jaw. “What? Why?” “The magic is embedded in the land there. And, like I said, it’s not good. It’s...heavier. Dark magic weighs on you, love. Drags you down. Literally, in this case. Neverland, doesn’t really match up with the rest of the realm.” Emma shakes her head, trying to piece this together in a way that doesn’t sound entirely impossible. “But you were there. How did you get there before? As far as I know George didn’t have any flying ships.” “No, no, he didn’t. But he did have a Pegasus sail. The Gods know how he got it, but it made The Jolly, ah--the Jewel fly. You come to Neverland from above.” “That is insane,” Emma says evenly, Killian’s quiet hum of agreement a bit of a solace. “Did you take this sail off the Jolly before you traded it?” He shakes his head.

“Fucking--” Emma grunts, and her forehead is damp when she drags her hand across her face. “What aren’t you telling me?” “Probably asking, if you want to get technical,” Ariel mutters. She’s perched on the rail, toying with a few droplets of water on the wood.

Emma’s head snaps back around, eyes going wide when she sees the expression on Killian’s face – not quite nervous, but a little close to imploring and maybe he’s got more muscles in his throat than the average person.

She’s going to drag her teeth over every single one later.

“You think I can make it fly, don’t you?” she asks, not quite an accusation because she knows the answer and the realization leaves her feeling a little bit like she’s floating already.

Killian nods. “Aye, I do.” “I have no idea how to do that.” “You’ve never had to use spells before, love,” he says, crowding into her space with his thumb back on her cheek. “It just...happens. I wouldn’t ask if--” “--You didn’t really ask,” Emma grins. “And you wouldn’t have to. Alright, just--” She licks her lips, watching every shift in his face, the bit of light she’s certain are in his eyes and the burst of power in the pit of her stomach only appears when he moves his thumb. Right over the pinch between her eyebrows. “Don’t let go.” “Never.” Nothing happens at first. And that’s only kind of disappointing, but Emma’s whole body feels like it is legitimately on fire and they are standing on a ship made entirely of wood, so that’s probably not great, really.

It takes two seconds for that to change.

Maybe less.

She screws her eyes shut, lips pressed together and teeth clenched. Her fingers curl around the front of Killian’s jacket, wrapping around leather and the chain around his neck, focusing every bit of energy on something she can’t actually see. Emma does her best to keep breathing, knees locking into place because any Savior worth their salt should be able to stay upright while casting levitation spells.

She can hear quiet mumblings around her, but that might be her magic, a vocal hum to it that makes Emma wonder if it’s not alive as well, its own sentient being with a brand of determination that she’s only sort of controlling. She takes another deep breath, far too much salt in the air, but she never really forgot that smell and--

“Ha,” Emma exclaims, eyes flying open and there is light everywhere. It circles around her ankles, creeps up her side and bathes the entire deck in a glow that’s not far from blinding. It trails across ropes and moves up the mast, makes Ariel gasp in delight because--” “Holy seashells, that’s warm!” “Holy seashells,” Emma mutters, head falling onto Killian’s chest and he doesn’t flinch. He kisses her hair, her temple, any bit of her he can reach and the first lurch of the ship out of the water is only a little disarming.

There’s blood in her mouth now, teeth finding her tongue again, but Emma doesn’t close her eyes, just focuses on that one particularly large sail and the gust of wind she knows she’s got control over as well.

And it takes a few more minutes, shouts and screams and several instances of witch being called from the docks. Until. The water underneath them is barely more than a dot of ink and the sky around them is littered with stars, a coolness to the air that makes it easier to breathe and even easier to see.

There’s probably a metaphor there.

“I love you,” Killian says, pressing the words into the crown of Emma’s head and her knees are never going to recover. She feels like she can alter the trajectory of the Earth.

For now, she’ll take the pirate ship.

It might not be a pirate ship.

“Holy shit,” she breathes. It works another laugh out of Killian, arms around her middle when he tugs her up towards his mouth. The kiss isn’t quite bruising, but it’s getting there, a tease and a possibility and Emma swears her skin is going to melt off her bones.

She’s halfway to yanking off his jacket right there. And, like, his pants.

That would probably annoy Kristoff.

“Bloody, goddamn brilliant,” Killian continues, peppering her face with his mouth and that’s even worse because all Emma can do is chase after him.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.” He laughs against her cheek, more warmth that sears itself on her soul. Gods, but she is melodramatic now. “That’s my princess.” “Are you going to steer the ship or what? There should be a course to plot, right?” “You’re starting to sound like the captain, love.” “I’m not going to quote something because it doesn't make sense in this realm, but just know that I want to.”

That kiss is less...scorching, more akin to embers and memories that couldn’t be tempered by any curse and--”Noted,” Killian mumbles, and Emma can hear him smile. “If I tell you that I’m consistently and constantly stunned by you is that going to be annoying?” “Yes.” “I won’t say it then.” “Good.” “We’re going to crash into a cloud,” Ariel calls, standing at the helm and Kristoff is having a difficult time getting back to his feet.

Killian rolls his eyes. “That is not how this works at all. Also, look at you, Fisk, you’re like a flying fish. You’re a cliché in action.” “Seaweed. Brain.” He barks out another laugh – and Emma’s mind latches onto the sound because it’s so good. That’s not enough. It’s more than that, but she’s suddenly kind of exhausted and Kristoff is muttering about exploring the rest of the ship and they are flying. She enchanted a ship to fly.

“I love you too,” Emma says, knuckles cracking when she finally unclenches them.

Killian beams. There’s a moon joke in there. Several stars, at least. “Aye, I know,” he says, tapping his thumb on the edge of her mouth when it drops open. “And that’s been everything, love. Sit down though, you’re making me nervous.” “Aye, aye,” Emma salutes, only after she catches his lips once more and the step she crashes onto is almost comfortable.

She loses track of time. It is, she reasons, because she can’t tell the differences between the stars and everything is so clear and vast and that’s only a little overwhelming, but she’s still on this saving everyone kick, those unspoken assumptions bouncing around the corners of her brain while she unabashedly stares at her pirate boyfriend.

He’s taken the jacket off.

And rolled up his sleeves.

Emma hisses in a breath, not wholly steady, but maybe a little confident, the bits of magic lingering in her fingertips warding off any chill from the seemingly ever-present wind in the sky.

“You doing ok?”

She jerks her head up at the question, Ariel smiling softly at her with arms crossed lightly over her chest. The ends of her hair are, somehow, twisted in between around her elbows. “Am I giving off a not-ok, vibe?” “Oh, not you too.” “I’m not sure what mean.” “Yeah, sure you don’t,” Ariel grumbles, nudging her shoulder against Emma’s until there’s room for her on the step too. ”It’s incredible how similar you are.” “Is this another mermaid insult?” “That, in and of itself, is kind of insulting, honestly, but--no, it’s not. It’s an observation. Years in the making. He’s not good at giving up information either. Thinks it gives the enemy something on him.” Emma isn’t going to have a tongue left by the end of the night. “How--” she starts, Ariel’s smile growing because this conversation was probably inevitable. “How did you meet Killian? If it’s not--” “Oh, no, no, it’s not an overstep for me,” Ariel says. “Him, on the other hand.” Her eyes flicker back up towards the helm, Killian’s hand barely holding one of the prongs of the wheel, an ease that Emma was certain had disappeared several curses ago. “I don’t think he’s very proud of it.” Emma sighs, a hint of guilt creeping up her spine. “That was my fault. I--” “--Gave him the magic? Yeah, I figured that out. Eventually.” “Wait, what?” Ariel’s smile turns a little regretful. She leans back, flipping her wrist and there’s something in her palm. The paper’s worn, torn edges and a yellow-tinge to it that makes it obvious how old it is. “I told you,” Ariel whispers, Emma’s fingers shaking as she unfolds the page, “your eyes are exactly right.”

It’s her. The drawing isn’t much anymore – barely more than a shadow, but Emma can tell there was time taken in getting the details right, hints of her that make it feel as if the picture is breathing as heavily as she suddenly is, a magic to it that makes her chest ache and her heart thud erratically.

“I’d always been fascinated with this world,” Ariel says softly, and Emma doesn’t pull her eyes away from the paper. “Grew up listening to tales of humans and love and--I...well, I started dreaming. But there are rules. Traditions that haven’t been broken for a thousand years and interacting with humans was one of them.” Emma’s lips quirk. “I take it you sort of blew that out of the water.” “That was funny. Yeah, I did. There was a storm. Bad. One of the worst I can remember and I’d been sneaking to the surface for years already, trying to find out more about this world and these people and I saw it all happen. The ship sinking and the people dying and I couldn’t just let it happen.” “Sounds heroic.” “Or foolish, depending on who you ask.” “The man. The one you told Killian about. Was he on this ship?” Ariel’s face lights up, a quiet laugh and quick squeeze of Emma’s shoulder. “He was. And, well, a million different things happened. I got caught up with Ursula, got on land, got legs, got separated from Eric--that’s his name by the way.” “Good name.” “I think so,” she laughs. “Anyway, he was leaving. Going exploring. And, wouldn’t you know? Another storm. Hook thinks it was Atlantica, but that’s--” Ariel shakes her head, a disbelief that Emma knows she doesn’t entirely agree with. “It doesn’t matter. Eric was gone and I had to find him. I heard a rumor that he’d been picked up by a pirate ship. The only pirate I knew was--”

“Killian?” Ariel hums. “I’d heard about what had happened in Misthaven. Everyone had. And I knew that Captain Hook was ruthless. What he’d done even before the royal family was gone, but I was desperate and...I was wrong.” “What?” “Wrong,” Ariel repeats. “It wasn’t Hook. It was Blackbeard.” “I don’t--” Emma starts, but that only leads to a dismissive hand in her face and magic churning in her gut that’s probably distracting even on the other side of the ship.

“I found a sword. Did several things I’d like to never think about again in order to get it, but I was told that the man who wielded that sword had Eric and so I found Hook. Took forever, Gods. I didn’t know he had magic, and it honestly wouldn’t have made much of a difference, but I--” She grits her teeth. “Well, I attacked him.” Emma does not expect that. She expects several thousand things. Not that. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Don’t bother asking him, he won’t admit it, but that’s totally what happened. I’m very cagey. Good at jumping and sneaking. I’m usually quiet. Even got the sword pointed at him. Until, you know, he went all dark magic, intimidating on me and announced that I was this realm’s biggest fool. It was very rude.” “I’m going to admit that you’ve lost me, but I’m kind of tired from the making the ship fly.” Ariel hums, a scrunch of her nose that’s probably an agreement. “The sword was Blackbeard's. Hook still had his. Obviously. Never let it out of his sight.”

“Until you.” “Yeah, me,” Ariel sighs. “I told him about Eric and Blackbeard and he wouldn't help.” “I can only say what so many times before it gets embarrassing.”

“It’s a very convoluted story, it’s understandable. He wouldn't help. Told me that love was nothing but years of eventual torment and--I know, I know,” she adds, when Emma’s face falls. “He was very dramatic about it, but that’s my point. I asked him what had happened. What could twist him like that to make him believe something he very clearly didn’t want to.” Emma swallows. She hopes her tongue stays where it’s supposed to. It doesn’t really feel like it, though, which is understandable, what with the bile in the back of her throat and the magic rushing through her and Ariel’s still got that hint of pity in her expression.

“I was never really scared of him,” she continues softly, “not really. But--then, I...I asked him if he still loved her. The woman that broke his heart.” “And?” “Oh, Emma you know the answer to that.” “And?” “He told me your name.”

She lets out a breath, a rush of air and emotion and far too much magic, actual pinpricks of light hanging in the molecules around her. Ariel’s hand is warm when it curls around her shoulder. “And I knew, oh Gods, it was obvious,” she adds. “It was like he was being ripped apart at the seams sometimes. He’d hate you. He’d rage and everything would get clouded, that voice creeping in and reminding him you were gone and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.” “But,” Emma whispers, not sure she wants the rest. Her lungs hurt. She hurts. She really cannot get over his forearms.

“You always brought him back. Every single time.”

Emma can’t actually sigh. She tries, but there’s not enough air in her lungs or, possibly the world, and the tears that cloud her vision make it difficult to keep ogling Killian.

And Ariel isn’t done.

“He’d talk about you sometimes, memories and moments and it never lasted long, but it would change everything. His whole--self would shift, straighter shoulders like he was standing at attention and trying to prove how good he was.” “And when he wasn’t?” Ariel lets out a shaky exhale. “He wasn’t. I think part of him did despise you, Emma. I think part of me hated you, for what you’d created and left behind. He never deserved that.” “I know. I--” She presses her lips together. “Did you find Blackbeard? If you two were together for awhile that must have--” “--Oh yeah, we did. He gave in eventually, told me I was like a barnacle because I wouldn’t leave him alone, but I couldn’t. I’d watched humans forever, Emma, wondered what it would be like here only to find a world that had been ripped of its magic and its light and I knew part of him missed that too. That he missed you.” She whistles, a quick something that’s probably supposed to be a wink. “You should have seen him when he realized what Rumplestiltskin was planning. He would have ripped apart the world for you.” Emma licks her lips, breathing even heavier. “That’s not really an answer to the question.” “Blackbeard wanted the ship. He didn’t have Eric anymore, but he knew where he was and Hook wouldn’t do it.” Emma’s shoulders drop, stunned into silence by the force of her thoughts and the roar of her emotions. “Right?” Ariel says, one side of her mouth pulling up. “Oh, I hated him for that. For months. Wouldn’t say a word, which he claimed was a gift, but--” Her laugh has no place in this conversation. At all. “--that changed. I wasn’t even surprised when he gave up the Jolly. Made perfect sense.” “But you found Eric, right?” Ariel hums. “I did. And that was Hook too. He, uh--coercion of the mind is apparently very difficult, even for those with all the dark magic in the realm, but...he got it out of Blackbeard. Hangman’s Island. What an awful name, right?” “It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, no.” “Ah, well, I got there eventually. Found the prince and--”

“--And answered a call from a magically enchanted seashell?” “He’s always been bad at using that,” Ariel grumbles, leaning back on her elbows and staring up towards the sky. “Can never remember that he doesn’t have to shout.” “You know it’s not very polite to talk about those when they aren’t around to defend themselves, Fisk,” Killian says, appearing in front of them like he’s teleported there. Ariel barely reacts when he steps on her left foot.

“I’m stating facts, Hook. And what did you say to me about eavesdropping?” “Mmhm, are you going to stay up here or--” “--Please.” He grins. “Right, right, fresh air and an aversion to cramped spaced.” “The ocean is very large.” “Naturally,” he murmurs, holding his hand out for Emma. She takes it immediately. “C’mon, love, there’s got to be at least a vaguely comfortable floor somewhere on this heap.”

They make their way below deck slowly, a ladder and dew-covered rungs, and Killian’s hand never leaves hers, hook hovering just above her back, like he can’t bring himself to pull further away. Emma keeps licking her lips.

And he notices, of course, because that’s always been the way and it probably always will be and--” “I think you’re doing it on purpose now,” Emma mumbles, spinning on her heels with her hands flying up towards his shirt and he left his jacket on the deck. There’s something very symmetrical about that.

Killian arches an eyebrow. “Doing what?” “Toying with me. Did you read that women are super into guys with their shirts pushed up their arms in New York? Something about Fashion Week?” “I promise I was no more aware of Fashion Week while I was in New York than I was that I could have magic’ed myself out of New York.” “Oh, that wasn’t funny.” “Swan, that was hysterical.”

She sneers, not nearly enough venom to it. She’s going to blame the eyebrow. And, seriously, his forearms. It isn’t easy to pull her arm down, what with the hands that have made their way back to her hips, and they’re already in a cabin, an impressive bit of direction that’s probably the product of years spent on a ship and a life at sea and--

“You’re doing it again,” Killian mumbles, dropping his head so he can mouth at her neck.

“Doing what?” “The magic. It’s--” His breath catches loudly when Emma refocuses, pushing the feeling out of fingers that ghost over his jaw and she probably hurts him when she yanks on his hair, but there’s more groaning and not much complaining and it feels like something tips.

Or flies off a stolen ship, directly into the harbor.

Emma gasps when her back slams into the wall, hips against hips and it’s all she can do to keep her balance. So, naturally, she tries to do it on one foot, wrapping her other leg around the back of Killian’s calf if only because she’s fairly certain it’ll get that-- “Fucking hell, Emma.” “It’s your fault,” she accuses, and that gets another noise, a soft grunt of disagreement with a nip of his teeth. The room is spinning. She might spinning. Gods, she hopes she’s not the one actually spinning.

“And how--” He moves again, more friction that’s not nearly enough because Emma can’t stop squirming, an energy in every one of her limbs. “--Do you figure that?” She doesn’t answer. She can’t possibly be expected to answer. Not when he’s dragging his mouth over her skin, brands that make her forget where they are and what they’re doing and there’s a goddamn mermaid sleeping above them. Emma gasps against the feel of him, but it’s not sharp, it’s a soft sound, like giving in and falling backwards and the hook that presses against her spine is almost alarmingly cold.

“Asshole,” she hisses, drawing a dark chuckle out of Killian. She closes her eyes, arching her back away from the metal and further into him and that’s really the point.

As close to him as she can get.

“That’s not an explanation, Swan.”

They’ve done this more times than she can count – which is not nearly as romantic as she wants it to be, but Emma can’t even fathom a number that would come close to the amount of times she’s kissed him – and yet.

And yet.

“Swan,” Killian says, dragging the name out until her shoulder pops out of her shirt. “That’s ridiculous.” “You’re running the gamut of insults, love.” He tilts his head up when she clicks her tongue, gaze bright even from underneath his eyelashes. “Although I can’t be entirely opposed to the sounds you make.” “So I’ve heard.” “Ah, are we rehasing, you think?” Emma shakes her head, a soft knock against the wall she’s still pressed into. “I just--” She’s a mess. She can’t move her hands fast enough. And his sword belt sounds impossibly loud when it falls to the floor. “Gods, I---” “What? You’ve got to tell me what you need, love.” She can’t breathe. And not because of his fingers or the goddamn curve of his lips or anything except the want in his voice, how much he means it, the honesty slamming into Emma and wrapping around every inch of her, settling into the middle of everything and making her magic spike. Again. Indefinitely.

Every single time.

“You,” she breathes, letting her nails skid across the back of his neck until he lets out his own shuddering breath and they must move. She’s not leaning against the wall, at any rate, a mess of limbs and lips that latch back onto her neck, leaving soft scratches on her skin from the stubble on his jaw.

And it’s all a bit of a whirlwind – discarded clothes and blankets on the floor, not entirely comfortable, but wholly perfect, the flicker of light around them soothing and only a little crazy.

That’s the line they’re walking now, apparently.

“I could feel it,” Killian says eventually, fingers tracing between Emma’s shoulders. “Your magic. Like it was on overload.” “Distracting?” “Eh, more like true north.” “Gods, the puns are not even funny anymore.” “Got you to laugh though,” he points out, and Emma doesn’t try to stop herself from burrowing closer to his side. “So.” “So.” “What are you thinking, Swan?” “How do you know I’m thinking?” “Because that’s what you do, love. And you’re really rather horrible at lying to me.” Emma groans, but he’s absolutely right. “Ariel said everything in this realm flipped after us. The curse and Misthaven and even you. It was---we fucked everything up and I thought it was over when the Darkness was gone, but now I’m starting to think maybe--”

“A prophecy doesn’t just end?” “Yeah, something like that. Mostly that being the Savior is kind of a full-time job.” Killian hums, cheek brushing over the top of Emma’s head when he nods, “It’s possible, I suppose. Although it doesn’t seem very fair to you. Or your magic.” “Yeah, well, that’s kind of how it works, right?” “I don’t know about that,” he mutters. “I don’t think it should. Not after everything.” “But?” “But. I know you, Swan. And I know you’re not going to stop until you have saved everyone. It’s--you wouldn't be you otherwise. So, we go to Neverland and we find some lost Arendelle princess and get all these kingdoms to believe again and the story can keep going forever, an indefinite string of absolute nonsense--” “--That’s pointed.” Killian grumbles at the interruption, sliding down to kiss between her brows. Right where the skin is pinched. “It could keep going forever, love. And I’m still going to be right here. If you’ll have me.” “What a ridiculous caveat.” “Aye, I think we’ve established my breadth of ridiculous.” She laughs again. He’s always been good at that too. “I love you.” “I love you too, Swan. Go to sleep. We’ve got some time.” Emma hums, pulling herself closer to his side and she swears she can still smell the salt in the air even after her eyes flutter shut.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan ff #all was golden in the sky #that stupid witch fic #i have to run a photo shoot with 200 people showing up at once today #finish three stories #and try not to cry again in the bathroom #so think happy thoughts #WE TIED THESE VERY MELODRAMATIC TAGS BACK AROUND TO THE PLOT #heyoooooo #(the pixie dust doesn't show up until next chapter tho)

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wheremytwinwatches · 5 years ago

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[Where My Twin Watches]: PMMM Rebellion - Part 5

Alright, after that epic fight it’s time to move on. We left off at Homura being rescued by un-brainwashed Sayaka (thanks Kyoko!), but Mami was getting re-educated by that cutesy little monster Charlotte. Time for both sides to regroup and prepare for the finale fight!

So yeah, Homura snaps to as Sayaka draws her sword to cut the ribbons away or stab the lock on them, yikes. That works too I guess but for a second it looked like you were gonna shank Homura.

Both girls nail the landing, Sayaka looking away as Homura reasonably asks what the heck is going on. Sayaka of all people chides Homura for fighting Mami when, and wow this is a role reversal. In the show it was cool and collected MST Homura who kept telling Sayaka to chill, now Sayaka’s the one bailing Homura out and calling her either “really full of yourself or really dumb.” Hah!

Alright, Sayaka’s up to speed, she knows Homura was trying to kill the Witch. She remembers everything! And.. wait, what?

[Sayaka]: “Because that’s why I’m here. At any rate, didn’t you think any of this was odd to start with?”

What, are you saying that you figured this stuff out before Homura did? But… yeah you’re right that doesn’t make sense. Why would a Witch make a city-sized Labyrinth, and then just keep them there without harming them or drawing in more victims. I mean, it supports the Cannibal!Witch theory where Charlotte’s using them as meal tickets, but it still feels off. Why was it that Charlotte was the one to pull this off, the “Sweets Witch”?

[Sayaka]: “This Labyrinth isn’t a trap to lure in victims. What the witch controlling this Labyrinth wants is to maintain the status quo in here. In other words, who benefits from the way things are right now?”

Well, Charlotte’s getting fed, so her.

[Sayaka]: “If you work backwards from that, it-”

Wait Homura what are you GAH sudden spin from Sayaka she She just stabbed Homura’s shield Sayaka stopped Homura from stopping time Why No I’d not thought about it There’s another “who benefits from the way things are right now”

[Sayaka]: “Gonna run back into your own little time again? That’s a bad habit of yours.”

nononono How why

It’s not Charlotte. It’s Octavia.

No, not that Octavia. The Witch Octavia.

[Homura]: “So you’re saying the person who wished for this situation is one of us?”

This is bad this is really bad Homura’s facing the jailer she can’t timestop anymore why how i don’t understand how did

[Sayaka]: “Is it really so surprising? Wasn’t Mami just saying earlier that this is the happiest she’s ever been in her life?

Implying that the Witch is Mami, but no. Out of the five of you, you were the one who turned in-

Oh. OH. OH

Madoka, what the FUCK are you thinking?!

Welp. Time to bring back that theory from last episode that I tabled.

The more I think about it, the more obvious it is. Madoka became Madokami (and good grief you guys, did it really take me this long to realize that nickname? I mean, Madoka and Kami? My own friggin username is mashing Ra and Anubis together, that should have been obvious! Ugh, I am clueless), and she made a new world. One free of Witches.

But it wasn’t perfect, they still fought flaws in the form of the Wraiths. And on a more personal note, there was one person who was the least happy: the one who remembered her. Homura lived her life in remembrance of Madoka, carried a bow, did everything in honor of her.

And at some point, it seems Madokami decided that that wasn’t good. So she made a New New World, as perfect as she could manage. Instead of being alone, Mami has a companion in “Bebe”. Instead of pining after Kyosuke, Sayaka gets a second chance at life with her BEST FRIEND Kyoko, who likewise has a better life with Sayaka. And for Homura? Madokami creates a new Madoka, gives Homura a fresh start.

And all it took was to make a Labyrinth for them, and suppress their memories.

Guys? Is this Rebellion actually against Madokami?

Like, Madokami, I get where you’re coming from, I really do. But this isn’t the way.

Just… guys. It’s all coming together. -Madokami creates a city-sized Labyrinth, to give her friends a better world. -Madokami silences the Incubator, keeping the group of five at a set size. -She gives them “Nightmares” to fight, relatively easy foes that they take down together, gives them purpose. -Sayaka, who we know semi-Ascended into Madokami’s afterlife, is her on-site watcher, to make sure everyone stays happy. -This supports “Bebe” too, as a Saved Magical Girl in the show she works for Madokami, keeps up the illusion.

“In other words, who benefits from the way things are right now?”

Everyone in the Madokrew benefits. But in particular, Madokami is happy that her friends are happy.

ResplendentScorpion said:I think the actual problem is that nobody but Madoka sunk anything in "empathy". The rest of them are horrible at comprehending each other as well, it's not just Homura not being able to explain herself. In contrast, Madoka has no problem understanding, feeling for, and emotionally supporting everyone.

Tinkerbell said:I think all the other members of the Magical Girl Team have perfectly normal empathy levels, actually. Madoka's empathy levels, on the other hand, is anything but normal.

Yes! This! Exactly!

Jeebus, Madokami’s actually the instigator of the movie! She’s the one behind everything! Best of intentions, but still.

Just… wow, that’s a thing.

Anyways, time to get proven wrong! Back to the movie.

Sayaka’s asking what Homura will do with the creator of the Labyrinth, once she finds her.

[Homura]: “Well, that… should be obvious.”

But can she? Because we’ve established that the Labyrinth-maker is one of the Madokrew, evidence pointing towards Madoka. Can she really “vanquish” them?

Now Sayaka’s asking if all this is really so bad. They don’t have to fight Witches anymore, they can all live and work together. Is whoever Wished for that so sinful that they need to be punished?

Homura is shocked, shocked I say, that Sayaka is siding with a Witch. (Well, I wouldn’t call her a “Witch” per say…) Sayaka just says that they are the “final form” of magical girls, after all. You can’t help but sympathize.

[Homura]: “I just remembered the most crucial point in all this.”

Mami remembered fighting Wraiths, not Witches. And Kyoko didn’t understand the concept of Labyrinths, not because she forgot about Witches, but because neither she nor Mami “ever knew about them.”

Ok, establishes this post-Madokami for sure. When Madokami remade the universe, it was without Witches. Every MG’s soul is saved before it becomes a Witch. At the sacrifice of the Wisher herself.

[Sayaka]: “I see. So you do remember her.”

Yup. Yup yup yup. There it is. Sayaka remembers Madoka, because she works for Madokami as a Saved Magical Girl.

Homura states that there are three people here who should not exist: -The Witch who created the Labyrinth -Charlotte, who remains in the form of a Witch -And Sayaka, who remembers the existence of Witches

Now… is Homura talking to one of those people, or two?

[Sayaka]: “You make me sad. I’m the same Sayaka Miki you’ve always known… Transfer Student.”

… did you just do a MST backwards head-tilt at Homura? You’re enjoying this, aren’t you-

HOLY CARP HER SHADOW IS OF HER WITCH FORM GAHGAHGAH

Ok, guess we’re doing this now!

Sayaka stabs at Homura’s shield again, but this time Homura pulls Sayaka’s sword away. Not sure how useful that’ll be as she can just summon another, but whatever. Quick stomach-kick to get some distance, shield’s working again so Homura does a timestop.

Ok, let’s recap: You’re in a music-themed alley area, with someone who just attacked you after you worked out that she’s involved with the Labyrinth. You’ve managed to timestop, but seeing as you pulled out a pistol I’m worried that you used up all your serious firepower in that earlier fight. How are you going to get out of this?

Yeah, looks like she used her power just in time, she’s facing an oversized white cape with an image of Octavia in it. Pulling it away, time resumes… to an empty alleyway. Did she withdraw?

[Sayaka]: “You haven’t answered my question yet. Would you really be okay destroying this Mitakihara City? You should think hard on that before you decide. So that you won’t have any regrets.”

So we’ve established that the city is fake, “an idealized world someone dreamed up.” And seeing as she knows that now, we’re in full Labyrinth mode again, creepy children and artistic swans all over the place. Homura’s now on a boat-

Sorry, had to be done. Homura’s on a boat now for some reason, she-

...ok, goodbye Fourth Wall. She’s sailing under an arch that says “Do you enjoy the movie?”

Why yes Urobuchi, I am enjoying this very much. The animation is great, that Homura/Mami fight was glorious, and I’m loving the plot twists that are driving me insane. Thanks for making this!

Now she’s sailing through a tunnel, as paper cuttouts parrot lines by the other MGs.

[Kyoko]: “I came over to help Mami out.” [Mami]: “This is the kind of daily life I used to dream about in the old days.” [Sayaka]: “Tell me, is this really so bad?”

Homura’s thinking about how someone dragged everyone into this “unattainable dream world”. Forsaking the battle against the wraiths? Ah, yeah that’s a good point. If they’re in this Labyrinth living it up, then they aren’t outside fighting the flaws of the world. Maybe Madokami put a few of the Saved MGs on the task while they’re on “vacation”? Homura doesn’t approve, saying MGs must continue to always fight. Thought as she reaches up to a stylized drawing of Madokami.

Hey, Homura? I know it might seem outlandish, given how long you strived to save Madoka, but… maybe you could take a break? You got your miracle, even if it wasn’t by your hand. You don’t have to keep paying for it.

Yikes, “ridiculous farce”. You really don’t appreciate how Madokami tried to make you happy, huh? To be fair, if you don’t think about this as a gift from Madokami, it could be seen this way. Hopefully Homura learns the truth soon.

Creepy Kids throwing tomatoes/pomegranates? Ok then.

Back in the city, hey it’s Madoka! Er, semi-Madoka? Labyrinth Madoka? Eh I’mma just call you Madoka. She’s happy to see Homura, who quickly tries brushing away the last of her headshot damage. Then Madoka jumps down to her, and by the Laws of Anime they end up tumbling into the boat. Daw.

GAH another flash of the Incubator’s eyes, what the heck.

But hey, Madoka! How are… uh oh.

[Madoka]: “Mami is really worried about you. What happened?”

Cripes right Madoka’s part of the Labyrinth, she’s supposed to keep Homura happy. Now she’s saying that Homura shouldn’t go off by herself. Yep, Homura’s back under surveillance. You have to admit, it’s a pretty good one: have the person Homura cares about the most, or at least a copy of her, focus on keeping her happy. And peaceful.

Urgh, enough with the Madoka Guilt Trips! Have mercy!

Homura hey that’s your Meek Homura voice again, not sure if good or bad. Meek Homura is claiming a dream, that Madoka had gone someplace she would never see her again.

More emotional pain! Homura’s saying that as the only one who remembered, she began to doubt her own memories given no-one else remembered. Did she just make it up?

Yep, I’m picturing Madokami checking in on the Earth, thinking “Lah de dah, glad to see that the New World is working well, everyone’s peaceful and- wait, is Homura crying?! THIS. WILL. NOT. DO.”

Madoka gives Homura a hug, agreeing that that’s a terrible dream but assuring her she’d never go away where she would never see them again. Why?

[Madoka]: “You know how wimpy I am. And because I could never bear to do something that would make someone as strong as you cry like this.”

Yep, this… as sweet as this scene is, it’s clear what’s going on: Homura is being brainwashed again. First the voice, now Madoka is starting to braid her hair.

I… honestly don’t know if I should tell Homura to fight this.

Sudden flashback to the Hallway Scene? Homura’s crying, and why is there a dark pulse going through the flowers?

Homura is saying that she understands, that she made a stupid mistake?

[Homura]: “I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. That no matter what I would’ve had to do, I should have stopped you back then.”

Homura… no. You can’t blame yourself for Madoka’s actions, her choices. This Madoka… she’s not the one you know. She’s part of the Labyrinth.

Um guys the field of flowers is dying I don’t think that’s a good sign

Or just fading? Now they’re dandelions. Did we just see a season change?

Homura’s asserting that Madoka is far kinder and stronger than she knows.

Now her hair is unbraiding. She’s fighting it! She’s saying that Madoka doesn’t remember anything, that she thought she was an illusion or a copy made by someone. But… this is the real Madoka. Hold up is she fighting the brainwashing or not?

Homura thanks Madoka for making her happy. Then says that she’s going, there’s something left she needs to do.

Ok, what is with this movie? I keep coming up with theories, each more outlandish than the last, until now I’m at the point I am actually accusing MADOKAMI of being the Mastermind?! I don’t even…

I can’t put any trust in my speculations, now after how insanely wrong I kept being in the show itself. But I’m looking at all these pieces, and it’s all just fitting together. Am I missing something? Was there a scene I skipped, a line I was too distracted to read? Because as far as I can tell Sayaka showing up with Witch powers means that the person she works for put her there. And that is Madokami.

And I can’t even decide if it’s all that villainous or not! I mean yes Madokami put the three MGs in a Labyrinth and wiped their memories. But like Sayaka said, aren’t they happy? Isn’t this a world where they can live their lives, be safe and enjoy it?

Is anyone really being hurt by all of this? Homura’s biggest complaint was that they weren’t fighting the Wraiths, but surely Madokami put some of her girls on it? And if so, then what’s the harm? I mean besides the wiping of memories thing. But was Homura happier not remembering Madokami, not being driven by the sacrifice of her friend? Wasn’t she at peace?

You guys there’s still an hour left in this friggin movie good grief what more is there?!

#wmtw #where my twin watches #ranubis #pmmm #pmmm rebellion #puella magi madoka magica #pmmm rebellion 5

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the-everlasting-dream · 6 years ago

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The Revelation, Chapter 14 - TRR AU

Summary: Drake and Elizabeth meet face to face finally.

A/N: Surprise another chapter, I’ll have you know I’ve scrapped the rest of the plot to this series so from now on this is pure spitballing so for those of you still with me, lets do this.

Word Count: 3000+

Warnings: Language, slight violence, mentions of blood and injury

MASTERLIST

‘I’m gonna call to check on Bartie then I’ll be back,’ Savannah informed her brother sitting on the hospital bed.

Barely hearing his sister stepping out to take a call, Drake sighed once again, eyes flicking to the ceiling, studying the white plaster mounted above his head. He’d passed out after the duel, after the significant blood loss he’d sustained from Neville’s cut to his side. The deep cut had gotten infected despite the medical attention he’d received. Under Savannah’s careful supervision, he’d taken the prescribed antibiotics and the infection was subsiding. You should be able to resume normal activity with supplementary physiotherapy sessions for that shoulder, they’d informed him after the latest check up.

By all rights, he should be fine. He should be okay, more than okay in fact. First man to win a duel in a hundred years they told him. You should be celebrating they said. You should be proud of yourself.

But why did he feel so numb?

Never in his life had Drake felt so… listless. As if he’d lost the will to move, to breathe, to do anything.. At first the pain, though it hurt like hell was a welcome distraction from her. Elizabeth… Her name still pierced him every time it crossed his mind more often than it should have. He was missing her so much… No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of those thoughts, couldn’t stop them from creeping into his mind again. He’d tried to force her out of his head, but it seemed impossible. His victory over Neville had only confirmed that. At Hana’s insistence, he’d done it, he’d kept fighting, fighting for her and when he had won, when they were showering him in praises and honours, he’d realised that the only prize he’d wanted was to see her again. During the fight, a tiny part of him had naively been hoping that she’d miraculously be there and naturally when Elizabeth wasn't, his spirit plummeted.

‘You will face many defeats in life, but never let yourself be defeated.’

Jackson Walker’s rendition of Maya Angelou’s words echoed back to Drake now as he continued to stare out the hospital room window, looking out at what he could see of the Cordonian citadel stretched out beneath him. He’d held those words close to his heart all through his life, recalling how his dad had told him that after a particularly gruelling day at school. His father had made him promise him that no matter what life threw at him, even though he’d get knocked down, he’d always get back up. When Jackson had passed away, Drake silently resolved to honour his father’s memory in that. And so far, he’d kept his promise fiercely until now…

His chest ached now where the bullet had torn through it, a visceral reminder of what he’d had and lost. A deepset tiredness filtered through him. He was tired, so tired of feeling this way, of fighting constantly only to be constantly let down. I’m sorry Dad. Drake thought to himself, feeling a profound sense of shame and regret. This time, this time its too much… He couldn’t go on like this, to hope and to pray for a sign that was never going to arrive. This was the moment that Drake Walker gave up.

Almost as if fate had answered his call, Drake heard the door swing open. Assuming it was his sister, he ignored her, barely turning his head in favour of continuing to stare out the window at leaves blowing by in the wind.

‘If you’ve come to lecture me again Sav you can save it,’ he snapped backhandedly.

‘Its… its not Savannah.’

At the sound of her voice, Drake whipped his head around so fast, the nerve in his neck tinged painfully but he was too distracted by the sight of the one person he’d given up on seeing for the rest of his life.

‘Elizabeth!? W-w-what? How?’

What… what were the chances of her showing up so… just when he was ready to give up…

‘Hey Drake,’ her voice was small and smile even smaller as she stood in the doorway, hesitating.

‘You’re back.’ It come out somewhere between a question or a statement but Drake was too busy trying to still the butterflies in his stomach as he scrambled into a sitting position.

‘Uh.. yeah, I’m back.’ She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, hands wrung in a tense knot.

A million questions buzzed in his mind yet his tongue failed to articulate even one as he sputtered visibly at the sight of her, same dark hair twisted into a loose braid, grey cardigan, jeans and a t-shirt hanging on her slim frame he knew so well and at the same time not at all. Amidst his negotiation to settle into a comfortable, his arm missed the edge of the bed and threatened to send him crashing down to the floor. At the last second he managed to catch himself on the bed frame but not without a pain lancing through him so sharp, his vision tinged red.

Before he could register it, Elizabeth was by his side, helping to prop him back up on the bed. As she moved to position his pillow, Drake couldn’t take his eyes off her hand where it rested on his arm, her skin warm against his for the first time in months seemed to seep through him to his chest where a little spark of hope was rekindled.

‘What happened?’ Elizabeth scanned the sight of him, a tiny crease between her eyebrows telling him she was thinking hard with that medical science degree of hers, assessing him closely.

‘I..uh….’

How was he supposed to tell her he got stabbed? Drake glanced at her determined face and nodded slightly, knowing he shouldn’t lie to her.

‘After I passed out… after the duel… Neville’s stab… it wasn’t very deep but coz of the crowds at the ball, the ambulance took a lot longer to get… to get to me. They told me I bled a lot, almost bled out, used some big fancy word like ex-extrasink-‘

‘Exsanguination,’ she put in, her expression still calculating.

‘Yeah that,’ Drake gulped, dropping his gaze to the blanket cover his lap, resisting the urge to scratch at the sound under the bandages, a constant urge he fought to curb. ‘Anyway I guess I should count myself lucky that that bastard can swing a sword but he didn’t have any force behind the blow. Since it was on the side and not in the middle, its not too bad I think…’

‘You’re extremely lucky it didn’t hit any major organs.’

He nodded once. 'Got infected for a bit but they gave me something for that and it seems to be working, I guess...'

‘Its still an abdomen wound,’ she rationalised, eyes sweeping across him again. ‘They’re always tough to recover from because they’re in the middle of the body and you can’t just pop it in a sling like a broken leg. You must have had trouble breathing and eating and peeing and p-’

‘Yeah that’s been rough,’ Drake cut her off, feeling the top of his ears burn red hot in embarrassment. He shifted again, wincing as he tried to try alleviate the discomfort where the bandage was digging into his ribs.

Elizabeth noticed immediately, concern flooding back into her expression. ‘You’re not comfortable. Do you need me to call the nu-‘

‘Its fine,’ he cut her off, loathe to cause a whole scene. ‘Just this stupid bandage is twisted.’

She swallowed once. For the first time in months, those brown eyes lifted up to meet his own and he couldn’t help a sharp inhale of breath. ‘I can take a look if you want?’

Drake eyed her for a moment, conflicted but eventually he gave in. ‘Sure that would be great actually.’

It was a bit of a challenge to wrestle the hospital gown up while preserving his modesty but they made it work and as soon as Elizabeth’s cool hands touched his side, he hissed a little, not expecting the contact.

’Sorry,’ she gave him an apologetic look before leaning down to peer at his wound.

As she fiddled with the bandage, he marvelled at the level of care and concern she was showing him. He had no idea what state her memory was in but he couldn’t deny his own feelings, having her here next to him was so inexplicably right he couldn’t explain it. The spark of hope flared up in his chest.. Maybe they- Suddenly the tiny irritating pain in his side ceased.

‘Better?’

He wiggled experimentally and found that the pain had subsided and he could breathe properly again. ‘Much. Thank you.’

‘It was nothing.’

She helped him adjust his clothes again, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment as Drake took in the sigh of her again, unable to believe she was even here. With her sitting so near, hand inches away from his, close enough to reach out and-

Elizabeth glanced down abruptly clearing her throat as she realised how close they were and wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself, almost as a shield between them. Her gaze slid hesitantly up to his before dropping to the floor. A hundred things were on the tip of his tongue, burning questions he had wanted to ask for the last few months but he couldn’t bring himself to vocalise any of them. Just as he was mustering up the courage to say something, Elizabeth spoke, her voice quiet and unsteady.

‘You could have died Drake.’

‘Elizabeth…’ Her name felt both foreign and familiar on his tongue after months of disuse. he wanted to say mo-

‘Why did you do it? Why did you do it Drake?’ She questioned. ‘Why did you accept Neville's challenge?'

A long, deep sigh escaped him as he struggled to find some explanation. 'I had to Richmond... I had to for you. For Savannah, for my dad, for every commoner they’ve ever looked down on. Saying yes was the only chance I had to prove him wrong about all of this. To fight him on his own terms... It was a stupid idea,’ he continued, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. ‘For a moment there, I almost didn’t make it.’

‘Drake..’

Her voice was wobbly as her mouth shaped his name and he knew tears were not far away. This time he did reach for her hand, grasping it between his fingers until she was looking him deep in the eyes.

‘It was you Richmond… Elizabeth.. I thought of you. I did it for you. Even if you don’t remember… even if you don’t love me… Elizabeth I-‘

She tugged her hand away from his suddenly, he gasped at the break in contact before his eyes strayed to her face where he could see her withdrawing further into herself… and away from him. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything that would bring her back to him when the door suddenly slammed open, the sound shattering whatever headway they’d made.

‘Dra-Oh!’ Savannah’s grey eyes blew wide open at the sight of her. ‘Elizabeth…’ It was obvious how her tone immediately soured. 'I didn’t know you were back.’

‘Uh.. yeah. Hi Savannah,’ Elizabeth mumbled, standing up to quickly she almost tripped. 'Yeah well… I was just leaving actually.’

Drake watched his younger sister’s face morph into a disgusted look. ‘So soon? You look like you just got here… What made you come back?’ She snapped, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared the other woman down.

‘Yeah,’ he put in, finally questioned, curiosity deep in his voice. They’d had no contact since she left. How had she known where he was?

‘The duel…’ Elizabeth replied, swallowing thickly acutely aware of both their invasive gazes before continuing. 'I heard you got hurt and I… needed to make sure you were okay. Liam said-‘

‘Liam?’

‘Yeah he came to my brother’s apartment-‘

‘He came New York?’ Drake’s brain raced to put the pieces together. The night of the duel brought back so many unpleasant memories but through it all he remembered that Liam hadn’t been there. During at the Costume ball… Maxwell had said it was official business… Maxwell would never lie to him, would he?

‘He did.’

Drake dropped his gaze to the floor, his mouth tasting sour and his voice laced with months worth of resentment when he spoke. ‘I guess you’re with him now aren’t you?’

Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue but something ugly reared inside him, determined to make her hurt just like he’d hurt when he’d seen her kissing Liam but Savannah beat him to it.

‘You’ve got no fucking right to be in there you know?’ she snapped at Elizabeth, stalking up to the taller woman, anger radiating off her entire frame. 'After all the shit you put him through.'

'Savannah I can handle this,’ Drake interrupted but she ignored him, her voice raising in pitch and volume.

'Why can’t you just stay away!?'

Elizabeth seemed to shrink further into herself, backing away from her. 'I couldn’t okay?! I can't stay away when-'

’Then why you come back huh? To rub it in? Was leaving not painful enough for him? Or did you just have to see it through, to have the final laugh now that you-'

‘That not it at all,’ She cried out, immediately wincing as she raising a hand to her head, grimacing in pain as she turned to face Drake, eyes imploring him to listen. ‘Drake it was because of you! Back in New York, I could never get you out of my head. I tried to forget you, to move on but I couldn’t. The memories, our memories of you, of us wouldn’t stop no matter how hard I tried to block them out. And when I heard you got hurt-‘ Tears began to roll down her face as Elizabeth clutched her head in pain.

‘Save the tears for someone who actually cares princess,’ His sister was yelling now at full volume.

'Savannah could you… please-‘

‘Sav cool it.' Drake attempted to step in again, his voice a warning now as he struggled to get off the bed, pain arcing through his side.

‘Cool it? You’re asking me to cool it and this bitch just gets off scot free?’ She whirled back to Elizabeth, grey eyes flashing with rage. 'Puh-lease! After all the shit you put my brother through, you don’t get to ask You don’t get to traipse back here and suddenly decide that you want him in your life again!'

Elizabeth’s face twisted in anger. ‘Oh but you do?’

Neither of them saw the movement but there was no mistaking the sound of Savannah’s hand making contact with his ex-fiancee's right cheek, the stinging echoing throughout the small hospital room.

‘Savannah what the fuck!?’ Drake screeched, eyes wide as he regarded his sister, horrified at how smug she looked. His eyes flew back to Elizabeth, who was clutching her cheek in pain, the skin underneath already red and swelling up. He made to say something but Elizabeth held a hand out to stop him.

‘No its fine,' she gulped. ‘I-I..’ She didn’t wait to finish her sentence before dashing out the door, her sobs echoing behind her.

Drake stared after her retreating figure, frozen in shock what had just happened. Suddenly his mind kicked him into action.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Savannah demanded, glaring at him as he struggled to get to his feet.

‘What the fuck does it look like?’ He growled. ‘I’m going after her. I'm not about to let her go again.’

His sister’s face twisted into an ugly look. ’She doesn’t deserve it. No one came after me when I left..’

‘How is this suddenly about you?’ Drake snapped, ignoring the pain in his side as he struggled to move into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. 'You know what I don’t have the fucking time to deal with this right now.’

‘You’ll never catch up to her,’ Savannah replied bitterly, watching him rip off the hospital gown and slip on a pair of pants over his boxers.

‘Watch me.’ With that he struggled to his feet, sliding on his shoes, gritting his teeth at the strain on his wound.

‘She’s not worth it Drake.’

He paused in the doorway to glance back at where she was glaring at him from inside the room, grey eyes still brewing with anger. He matched her gaze, looking her fiercely in the eye.

‘She’s worth everything.’

Drake barely heard the door slam and Maxwell’s gasp of surprise before blindly turning down a hallway, hoping to find Elizabeth. He called out her name, over and over as he staggered forward unsteadily, hospital parsons and staff of all kinds staring at him in annoyance but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let her go again… not this time.

Attempting to navigate the busy corridors for a glimpse of her grey cardigan, his shoulder glanced off a protrusion on the wall, jerking him back painfully. He reflexively brought an arm to the bandage on his side and found it wet with blood but he forced himself to go on, calling out her name with renewed vigour until red began to fringe on the edges of his vision.

‘NO, no, no, no,’ Drake muttered to no one in particular. ‘I need to find her, I have to tell her…’ His head swam and he could barely see until finally he sank to one knee, depleted of the strength to even hold himself up, vaguely aware of the hospital staff surrounding him, waving them off as he willed himself to get up but couldn’t as the darkness enveloped him once again.

I need to tell her Iove her..

Idk who’s stil keeping up with this Tags: @chantelle-x0x , @choicessa @quartzandarrow , @drakewalkerwhipped , @ooo-barff-ooo @meeraaverywalker , @littleblossom-18, @boneandfur , @lizeboredom , @topsyturvy-dream , @american-duchess , @withice , @majesticmintyj @ninamckenzie22 , @drakelover78 , @h3llostrang3r , @cocomaxley , @zarina-x-zig , @nicestrokepam , @enmchoices , @kellyale1804 , @mrswalkerreynolds , @kamybelen-blog , @hhiggs , @jenjosh5 , @bruhvs , @natalievgoodehenry , @choiceswreckedme , @laniquelove , @theroyalweisme , @jamielea81 , @penguininapinktuxedo , @tmarie82 , @crookedslimecreatorpasta , @asprankle , @drakewanker , @client-327 @graceisgone56 , @mfackenthal , @smritysriv , @drakewalkerfantasy, @bobasheebaby , @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread , @srawesleyghuewrites , @ekhw1989 @mymandrake , @writtenbycandy , @andy-loves-corgis , @alwaysthebestchoice , @snyggflicka @mrsdrakewalkerblog , @moodygrip , @barbaravalentino , @agent-zephyrkah , @radpicklebakeryhero , @innerpostmentality , @fairydustandsarcasm , @speedyoperarascalparty , @debramcg1106 , @gardeningourmet , @blackcatkita , @meladoridarcy @lovelylittlewren @walkerduchess , @caz1003 , @annekebbphotography , @guilia3272 , @eileendannie

#did someone say update #no elle no one did #literally no one cares #lol here ya go anyways #its been 84 years #yes its another cliff hanger #you know i love those #drake walker #drake x mc #Drake x Elizabeth #elizabeth richmond #The Royal Romance #the revelation fic #the revelation au #choices #playchoices #choices fandom #choices fanfiction #long post

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adhoption · 6 years ago

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GAME OF MORONES S8 E2

season 8 spoilers and bad jokes below

James Lannister is a moron!

do you kids like trolley problems? well here’s a fun puzzle for you: the mad king is going to burn thousands of people alive, including your father. you can a) let him or b) stop him by killing him instead. what do you do?

fine, that one was easy, so here’s an ADVANCED problem:

having done the right thing and killed the king, everyone is having a go at you for murdering the king. do you a) stay silent and let resentment grow and only bad things happen, or b) explain you’re actually a hero and let only friendship and good things happen.

it’s a tough one! on the one hand, the unchecked resentment in the past has spiralled into literal wars. on the other, the one person you have revealed the truth to has literally fallen in love with you because you’re a hero.

so when approaching a dragon queen who wants to execute you for killing her father the king, it’s probably best to just not mention it

brienne: yeah I second that, let’s not mention the massive plot twist we found out about a few seasons ago, dany’s still on season 1 of westeros

three-eyed bran: well I watched it happen and could vouch for him but I’ll probably just share an in-joke about the time I watched him fuck his sister

Danny Targaryen is a moron!

context is important!

1. she is in a room where everybody’s father is dead after fighting everybody else’s father.

2. literally last episode she told sam that she killed his father and brother by burning them alive (because they were bad guys) and expected his forgiveness.

3. in this episode she mentions that the last guy she fell in love with and trusted was the guy who killed her own brother (because he was a bad guy).

4. tyrion literally killed jaime’s father (because he was a bad guy) and jaime is still here.

tyrion also killed davos’s sons by burning them alive, and brienne killed the love of his life, and she thought she killed the hound, but they’ll all chat together. it’s almost like they’re all murderers and they’ve been on the opposite side of wars for years and that stuff happens.

but the reason dany can’t forgive jaime is that HE KILLED HER FATHER, (who was FAMOUSLY a good guy and not a bad mad guy at all).

also the consistency of which people are blamed for their families is nice. the lannisters are responsibile for what their sister/father/nephew does (although admittedly in the lannisters you are more likely to BE your own nephew). dany is not responsible for her father/brothers, but gets some comments about it. gendry’s dad literally threw her family out of the country and tried to have her killed and killed jon’s dad because he wanted to fuck his mum. he’s the eldest son and sort of heir to robert the usurper. nobody even notices him. well, arya notices his arms.

tyrion has made MISTAKES and must be PUNISHED. dany has never made a mistake and definitely wasn’t forced to leave the last place she ruled because she mistakenly slaughtered half the city and caused a terrorist group to rise up against her. also worth noting that she then married the son of one of the guys she killed, expecting him to instantly forgive her after she threw him in prison... and KILLED HIS FATHER.

after jorah says tyrion is a good boy she abruptly flips from 100% ‘tyrion is a moron and I need to fire him’ to 100% ‘tyrion is the greatest genius of our age and his unique precious brain must be protected at all costs’ and should never be risked in battle

jon, the heir to the throne who actually is precious and unique, a beloved ruler and leader of people, a successful military strategist, can be risked in battle. bran, who literally knows everything and actually is precious and unique, can be risked in battle. sam, who is every bit as much a book wizard and brought them minor pieces of knowledge like dragonglass and R+L, can be risked in battle. but tyrion once said something witty, therefore he goes straight into the nerd safe.

to be fair to tyrion, he has done clever, impressive things as a hand before. probably the most impressively clever strategy thing he did was when he defended king’s landing against assault from a larger army when taking command of the defence and leading from the front line. it therefore makes sense to preserve that mind by locking him safely away when the castle is under threat of assault from a larger army.

Samwise and Three-eyes are morons!

when in a room with soldiers who are literally facing death and have killed people and almost died in many fights before, and in two cases literally died, and a couple more bascially did, and who have lost many loved ones to death, it’s important to lecture them on what death is really about. is it about literally dying, being stabbed through the heart? no, you idiots, it’s about being forgotton.

the night king wants to win this war and crush the world of the living. that’s why rather than targetting their strongest fighters and dragonriders, he will target bran, the boy in the wheelchair who says cryptic nonsense once per episode. why? because he has the best memory, and to crush the world of the living you need to crush all memory of it. which is somehow a priority over... actually crushing it, whilst it still exists, right now, whilst everyone remembers it and can see it. wiping all memories should be on the list, but only as a completist clearing up the loose ends.

‘where should we attack first, the guard towers?’ ‘no, we need to get to the library first to rip up all their books’ ‘why?’ ‘because life is memory, and the books will remember them’ 'but... the living people are still alive. you don’t just need to remember them, they’re right here. when you’re ripping up books the living, breathing guards can just come and stab you?’

if it was like... bran can see them coming, he has powers, he can travel in time, they’ll want to eliminate him AS A THREAT, or they want to USE HIS POWERS FOR EVIL, that’s fine, that’s better. but not like this.

the episode had a lot of lazy writing where they’d thought of a Cool Quote ‘dying is forgetting’ and tried to find a place to shoehorn it in but didn’t really do it properly so in context it made no sense.

same thing with ‘do you want to go anywhere else in your life, what’s on the bucket list?’ ‘I’d like to go back to naath’ (if you didn’t put on a northern accent and say ‘but you’re in the naath’ you’re watching it wrong’) with the sudden jump to ‘we’re a peaceful people, we can’t defend ourselves’ ‘we’re not a peaceful people’. cool line, but no mention of any threat or anything so it made no sense.

if it was ‘I was taken by slavers, it wouldn’t be safe to stay there, we’re a peaceful people, we can’t defend ourselves’ fine. or anything along those lines. but not like this.

other points

I always thought winter was the fourth season but it turns out it’s the eighth

arya is 18 and maisie williams is 22 but game of thrones fans were shocked to see her having sex, because none of them had sex that young.

“well we’ve shown orgies, we’ve shown rape, we’ve shown incest, we’ve shown paedophilia, this episode we’ve had a guy talk about sleeping with a giant and sucking her breast milk for months, but viewers only laugh, they’re immune, how can we shock them like we used to?” “show a 22 year old actress without a shirt on” “wow that’s messed up”

did she tell gendry to stick her with the pointy end

if the writers don’t play duel of the fates when she is wielding her double-ended lightsaber thingy they are missing a trick

beric dondarrion has the most ridiculous protagonist energies, handsome young lord the ladies fancy, known as the lightning lord, does great at a tourney and is sent to slay an evil giant, dies, gets brought back to life by god and becomes robin hood, leading a brotherhood out of nowhere to challenge the great powers of the realm, dies several more times and gets brought back to life because as well as being robin hood he is also jesus, of all the major character dying he alone has a Holy Purpose, so he journeys up to go beyond the wall to face death with his magic flaming sword just because of destiny, always talks like he’s the smooth action hero, he naturally fits the answer to every prophecy the others are bending the rules to get stannis or dany to fit, and when he talks to people they’re just like shut up beric

hang on let me catch up here: bran is technically the lord stark, but if he says he is a bird instead sansa is the heir to the north, plus she married ramsay so inherits it from him anyway, and she is also apparently lady of the vale, and tyrion is technically heir to the westerlands as jaime is a kingsguard, so that there’s a pretty sweet power couple if they decide they’re still married after all

also in theory gendry would be the heir to house baratheon and the stormlands, and if the lannister made the tarlys the lords of the reach sam is the heir to that, and jon is the targaryen heir to the crownlands, so we have the wardens of the north south east and west and the stormlands in one castle as well as the king of both the seven kingdoms and the north again, but almost none of this is mentioned or explored and they all keep following dany who is the rightful heir of nothing?????

#game of thrones #got

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cinema-tv-etc · 6 years ago

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‘Game Of Thrones’ Built Up Its Female Characters Just To Watch Them Fall

The women we championed for nearly a decade suffered confusing character shifts in the final season.

By Leigh Blickley 05/14/2019

Bells continuously chime as Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke), sitting atop her fire-breathing dragon Drogon, stares out at King’s Landing. She’s enraged, having recently watched Queen Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey) order the execution of her best friend, Missandei (Nathalie Emmanuel), shortly after her dragon-child Rhaegal was speared to death.

Before facing those losses, Dany fought the army of the dead, held her adviser Jorah Mormont (Iain Glen) as he took his last breath and discovered that her new love, Jon Snow (Kit Harington), was actually her nephew, the true heir to the Iron Throne. At this particular moment, she’s unhinged. And bells are ringing. And ringing, and ringing.

With the Red Keep in sight, Dany snarls as she decides to forgo everything she’s become in favor of an old Targaryen tactic: “Burn them all.” She goes full villain in the penultimate episode of “Game of Thrones,” scorching enemies and innocents alike as she surrenders to madness.

Yet many viewers saw little forewarning that a character twist of this magnitude was coming, and her erratic change of heart was a punch to the gut. Instead of the satisfying conclusion of a long descent to depravity, Dany suddenly shifts modes, from a woman who graciously earned loyalty over seven seasons to a power-hungry monster who murders thousands of men, women and children.

Sure, she wasn’t always perfect, but the Daenerys Targaryen we knew was the fearless Mother of Dragons. She was Khaleesi, who united the Dothraki after the death of Khal Drogo (Jason Momoa), later rallying them to fight for her claim to the Seven Kingdoms. She was Mhysa, who freed the Unsullied and was lifted up by the slaves of Mereen. Dany rose from the ashes to break chains and then risked everything to protect Jon and the North from the Night King’s army.

To see a woman so fully represented over 70 hours of television, especially in a fantasy epic, was groundbreaking. But, with a final season of just six episodes, showrunners David Benioff and Dan Weiss decided that a couple of scenes were enough to turn the unburnt beauty bad ― and essentially muddied her yearslong journey.

The “Game of Thrones” audience had devoted so much time to Dany, and other characters, only to now watch Benioff and Weiss hurry along the ending (and move on to their “Star Wars” trilogy). Why couldn’t they, after spending nearly two years crafting the final season, show us Dany’s slow decline into madness? Why do we have to watch “Inside the Episode” to figure it all out?

Surely George R.R. Martin, who wrote the unfinished “Song of Ice and Fire” book series on which the HBO show is based, told Benioff and Weiss where he wanted the storyline to go: “Mad Queen” Dany destroys King’s Landing, demonstrating that humanity, not necessarily the dead, is the true enemy. The thing is, the showrunners decided to shorten the final two seasons of “Game of Thrones,” to seven and six episodes respectively, and rush through key plot points to reach Martin’s goal. And it’s turned into a bit of a nonsensical mess.

Sure, make Dany evil ― women can be monsters, too. We’ve certainly seen glimpses of her “madness” in the past, whether it be callously watching as her brother Viserys (Harry Lloyd) is killed by Khal Drogo in Season 1 or perhaps prematurely burning alive the father and brother of Samwell Tarly (John Bradley) in Season 7.

But whereas, lately, the show tells us what to think, the books present Dany’s inner monologue. Readers can see how she fights to shake her violent family history as not only her actions but her wide-ranging relationships with siblings, friends and lovers are described.

From “A Storm of Swords”:

“I was alone for a long time, Jorah. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”

“Some kings make themselves. Robert did.”

“He was no true king,” Dany said scornfully. “He did no justice. Justice ... that’s what kings are for.”

Ser Jorah had no answer. He only smiled, and touched her hair, so lightly. It was enough.

Although “Game of Thrones” used to give us more context around characters and their decision-making, once it passed the books’ timeline in Season 6, the series faltered a bit in terms of depth. It didn’t show us the intricacies of Dany’s small council, her romance with Jon or her friendship with Missandei, who is only a young girl in Martin’s novels. Perhaps if we saw the show’s version of Dany and Missandei have a meaningful conversation about fear or loneliness ― versus men and sex ― we would have understood Dany’s underlying fragility and why Missandei’s murder triggered a rage within her. Instead, we saw the one woman of color become a plot device to turn Dany, as well as her own lover Grey Worm (Jacob Anderson), to the dark side.

That’s all to say that the recent rushed storylines have prevented us from getting that nuance we previously used to connect the dots.

The same flaw also hurts other women on “Game of Thrones,” including Cersei, Brienne of Tarth (Gwendoline Christie) and Arya Stark (Maisie Williams).

Brienne is one of the strongest warriors in Westeros. She killed Stannis Baratheon (Stephen Dillane) and took down the 6-foot-6 Hound (Rory McCann) ― with a few solid punches, might we add. Yet she turned into a puddle of mush when Jaime Lannister (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) left her for Cersei ― something she would’ve never done three seasons ago. In one sense, it’s wonderful to see a vulnerable woman on screen. But Brienne ― who is rarely shown out of armor ― sobbing in a nightgown came out of left field. (Love makes us do crazy things?)

And Cersei was so shocked and afraid to meet her rubbly end during Episode 5, Season 8, that it’s easy to forget she once told Ned Stark (Sean Bean): “In the game of thrones, you win or you die.” The ruthless Cersei we’ve studied over eight seasons, the most cunning of the cunning, would’ve known to flee the city when she saw dragon fire (especially if she wanted to protect her unborn child). Or she would’ve at least had another plan in case those scorpion artillery weapons didn’t work out.

We’re not watching the most adventurous show in the world for uninventive writing. Yet here we are.

During the most recent episode, The Hound easily convinces Arya to go home and forget about killing Cersei. She hugs him goodbye, gives up on Cersei and tries to make it safely out of King’s Landing.

Eh, what? We’ve watched Arya train for years to become an assassin. She just destroyed the Night King with a stab of a dagger! She doesn’t fear death! She just traveled weeks to get to the capital for one sole purpose: to murder the woman who betrayed her family.

Too-fast, terribly thought-out writing has reduced “Game of Thrones” to a soap opera. We miss the scenes where Dany argues the advice of Ser Barristan Selmy (Ian McElhinney). Or when Arya secretly soaks up intel from Tywin Lannister (Charles Dance). Or how about when Sansa Stark feeds her abusive husband Ramsay (Iwan Rheon) to his own hounds?

Now we see a half-baked “Mad Queen” and a woman like Sansa crediting sexual violence, not her own strength, for making her a power player in Westeros.

THE HOUND: None of it would’ve happened if you left King’s Landing with me. No Littlefinger. No Ramsay. None of it.

SANSA: Without Littlefinger and Ramsay, and the rest, I would’ve stayed a little bird all my life.

It’s that bad.

Riddle me this: Why does a show featuring four leading ladies have barely any female writers? (Bonus: Michelle MacLaren was the only female director brought on to helm episodes, the last of which aired in 2014.) Although Gursimran Sandhu is credited as a staff writer for Season 8 on IMDb, only two other women, Jane Espenson and Vanessa Taylor, wrote for the series, with both of their runs ending by 2013. That, my little birds, is the root of a very big, now unfixable problem.

Espenson helped craft scenes like the aforementioned death of Viserys, and Taylor had a say in that memorable lunch between Sansa, Margaery (Natalie Dormer) and Olenna (Diana Rigg) as well as Arya and The Hound’s Brotherhood Without Banners meetup. Those back-and-forths soar in comparison to Season 8’s Sansa-Dany stares or Cersei’s unexplained cowardice.

Clearly, Sandhu couldn’t have singlehandedly saved the final season, but other women’s voices in the writers’ room might have provided more perspective into these characters’ closing motivations.

Still, Martin created these women, and Benioff and Weiss have shown they can write strong dialogue for them on this show. It just feels like the latter two’s desire to be in a galaxy far, far away perhaps trumped their desire to give these ladies what they deserve: earned arcs.

RELATED COVERAGE

‘Game Of Thrones’ Fans Had A Lot Of Feelings About Daenerys’ Fiery Choice

The ‘Game Of Thrones’ Season 8 Premiere Was Good. But Why Wasn’t It Great?

Why That Daenerys Twist On ‘Game Of Thrones’ Burns So Badly

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/game-of-thrones-women-daenerys-cersei-arya-sansa_n_5cd98811e4b0796a95dfd968

#Game Of Thrones #final season

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nicolabarth · 7 years ago

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Fire and Lightning - Chapter 11

Pairing: Michean (main pairing), Samifer (pretty important for the plot, too)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Sovereign!Dean, Mage!Michael, Mage!Raphael, Necromancer!Lucifer, Knight!Sam, nonbinary!Raphael (they/their pronouns), Blood Magic, Graphic depiction of Violence, Curses, past Michifer, lots of brotherly feels

Summary: Dean is still not used to Sam’s new lover, the necromancer and blood mage Lucifer, when even more mages show up on the Winchester lands. Michael and Raphael claim they’re after Lucifer because of crimes he commited and they have to bring him back to their homeland so he can be brought to justice. But is Lucifer actually guilty? And then there’s the fact that having Lucifer taken from him will break Sam’s heart. Dean can’t allow that, even though the more he talks to Michael the more he starts to like the stubborn bastard. And Michael knows it’s his duty to capture and return his brother Lucifer home, but the more he talks to Dean the more he starts to doubt that everything he thought he knows is true.

Notes: This is a sequel to Blood and Bones, even though it can probably be read on its own. Thanks to @askatosch @coplins and @brieflymaximumprincess for beta reading and keeping me motivated while writing.

Read it on AO3

Darkness surged towards Dean like a living being. He lifted his sword, even though he wasn’t sure what good that’d do. But Raphael had said iron would hurt the thing, that was what he clung to.

Without talking about it, they’d taken up position so that they covered all four directions. Michael at his back, Lucifer to his left, Raphael to his right. At his back Dean could feel heat that was far more than just body warmth, Michael probably summoning his fire. Dean wasn’t sure what Lucifer was doing except that he held a knife in his hand. And to his right, lightning crackled.

The darkness parted before Raphael like a river flowing around a rock. The next thing Dean knew was that a pitch black tendril surged towards him. He swung his sword, didn’t feel any kind of resistance, but watched the black thing crumble like it was made of sand and smoke.

He barely had time for triumph, though. Shadowy claws grabbed at him, shadowy teeth tried to sink into his flesh. Soon enough, the darkness almost completely blocked the light from the fireplace. It seemed to block out sounds, too. A moment ago he’d still heard the others fight, now there was barely anything except for his own breathing.

Then the attacks stopped.

Confused, Dean looked around, but there was nothing. Nothing but darkness and eerie silence.

“Michael?” he called. “Lucifer?”

No answer.

“Raphael?”

The darkness seemed to swallow his voice.

What did Lucifer say? The thing will drive you insane? Maybe that was what this was. But how was he supposed to fight it?

“Michael?”

“Dean!” For a moment Dean thought what he heard was Michael’s voice, but then a different familiar figure stepped out of the darkness.

“Father?”

John Winchester looked him over, disappointment in his eyes. “Now look at you, Dean. Working with mages.”

The words hurt, like it always did when he didn’t meet his father’s expectations.

“Didn’t I teach you anything?” John went on. “You don’t trust magic users. Your mother did, and see what it got her.”

Dean had never heard the whole story about that, all he’d gathered was that her dying in childbirth hadn’t been a completely natural thing. Maybe he should’ve asked about it, like Sam had, but in the end it hadn’t done Sam any good. Except for making their father angry. The thought of Sam, though, fueled defiance in Dean. “I’m trying to protect Sam and Adam, as you told me to.”

“Protect?” John Winchester took an angry step forward. “You call letting Sam fall in bed with a necromancer protecting him?”

“Said necromancer helped us more than once! And you allowed him to live on our land in the first place.” Dean already knew he was going to lose this argument, he always did.

“You know why I did that, son?” Another step forward. “Because we needed someone to keep other mages out, and I figured the people of the village would have enough common sense to stay away from a necromancer. With other mages they might have tried to befriend them.” Another step. “But of course Sam had to do it anyway. I told you, he’d be trouble.”

“Sammy’s fine!” Dean protested.

“He isn’t and you know it. He’s getting out of hand, dabbling in dark magic. If he continues that path, soon you’ll have to take him out.” John was only one step away from him now, and Dean knew that commanding tone of voice. The one that allowed no argument. The one that had always made him go “Yes sir!” in the past.

But his father was asking him to kill Sam, and Dean had to think of Michael who had just refused to kill his own little brother, who’d just chosen his brother over his father’s orders. If Lucifer was worthy of that, why should Sam dabbling in magic of whatever kind mean anything worse? Even though Dean didn’t like the idea one bit.

“No,” he said.

“What did you just say?” John Winchester seemed to grow in size, tower over him like he’d done when Dean had been younger.

Dean swallowed. “No.”

John Winchester’s face twisted into anger and then into something inhuman. He reached out for Dean – and lightning zapped from Dean’s fingertips towards him. Dean felt the shock in his arm like he had when Raphael had touched him. The next moment the energy hit his father and John Winchester exploded into smoke and dust.

Dean shook his head, suddenly realizing that this of course couldn’t have been his real father. John Winchester was dead and buried, but for a moment it had seemed plausible that he was here. If it hadn’t been for the bit of lightning that Raphael had given him ... Dean didn’t even want to think about it. He would have to think of a very expensive gift for the mage as soon as all of this was over.

So this was how the darkness tried to drive you insane, hm? Dean looked around again. Still nothing but blackness around him. Whatever this was, it wasn’t over yet. He wondered, though, if he was alone in this strange place or if Michael was here somewhere, too?

As if in answer he saw a flame flicker far ahead in the darkness. Dean started to run.

“Dean!” he heard a voice call after him. This time it was Adam’s. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a son! You know I was his favorite child anyways! You never did well enough in his eyes!”

Dean almost slowed down, but the flame in front of him flickered one last time and died, and he tried to keep his eyes fixed on the spot where he’d seen it last, speeding up again.

Fire meant Michael. And he had to get to him.

“And there I thought you at least would never betray me. You know how much it hurt when Lucifer fell prey to the darkness. You know how much it hurt, when Gabriel turned his back on us and ran. I thought I could at least rely on you, Michael. But there you are, stabbing me in the back just like your brothers. You were supposed to be the good son. You were supposed to follow orders.”

Michael curled in on himself, his father towering over him. He called his fire up around him, wore it like a protective shell, but it didn’t do much to take the sting out of what the man he had looked up to all his life said.

“I’m disappointed, Michael.” The words hit like a whip. “You of all of my children should’ve known better. I expected more from you!”

“But you lied to us …” Back in the hunting lodge with Lucifer and Raphael and Dean he had believed it. It had hurt, but there hadn’t been much time to feel it, and it had all made sense. Now? He wasn’t too sure anymore. Still he looked up into his father’s eyes. “Why did you lie to us?”

“I’d never lie to you, you know it. Lucifer is the one who has poisoned your soul. But there’s still a way back, my son. You just have to trust me. Do as I say.”

It was tempting, so tempting, to hide behind orders again. “You mean I have to kill Lucifer,” he said. He wasn’t sure of much, but he was sure he didn’t want to do that.

“He’s not your brother any more. He’s a monster.”

“No.” Michael shook his head. He was swimming in a sea of doubts, but he’d looked into Lucifer’s eyes and he’d seen his little brother there.

“Listen to your father! I made you what you are! I know what’s best for you!”

“No …” The word was barely a whisper anymore.

His father sneered. “Look at you. Trying to be like Lucifer and failing so miserably at it.” Then his voice dropped into something soothing once more. “You’re not made for rebellion. Come back to me. Trust me. It’ll all be alright again.”

“Michael! No!”

Dean’s voice broke the spell. Only now did Michael realize that his father had reached out towards him. Only seconds before fingertips touched Michael’s forehead, Dean’s sword came down, lightning crackling along the blade. Michael’s father burst into smoke and dust, and he gasped, jumping to his feet. Of course it had been nothing but an illusion. How could he have thought otherwise?

Dean hurriedly put his sword back in its sheath and grabbed Michael’s shoulders. “Are you alright? I almost fell for it, too. They’re not real, though. It wasn’t real.”

So much concern in those green eyes. Michael couldn’t help but smile, and all of a sudden all his doubts seemed easier to carry. “I know.”

“They seem to get weaker the more sure you are of what you want. I encountered a few more on the way here, but I was way too worried about you to even look at them much. I think I ran right through one.” Dean gave laugh as if he couldn’t believe he’d done that. He was still a bit out of breath, his cheeks flushed, and for the moment Michael was convinced he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You were worried, hm?” he asked, feeling a surge of warmth in his chest.

For a moment Dean looked down, and he let go of Michael’s shoulders, taking a step back. But then he looked Michael in the eyes again, a cocky smirk growing on his lips. “Oh, come on, you don’t think this is a one sided thing, don’t you? Did you miss the part where we kissed?”

Point taken. And despite all of it, it made happiness bubble up inside Michael. For a moment he just looked into green eyes, all the darkness around them forgotten.

Then Dean half turned, looked at the place father had stood. “Was that your father?”

Michael nodded.

Dean grinned. “Way to introduce myself to your parents.”

This man was unbelievable. It must be his first time at a place like this, wherever exactly they were, and still he’d overcome the dangers the Oath had thrown at him with just a little bit of help from Raphael – at least the lightning looked like Raphael – and now he was cracking jokes. Michael couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you,” he said finally.

“You’re welcome.” Dean held his gaze for a while longer, pose relaxed, thumbs hooked behind his belt, something in his eyes that was an invitation and a challenge at the same time. So Michael decided to rise to it. He stepped closer, cupped Dean’s face with both hands and kissed him.

Dean made a surprised, but equally delighted sound, before he kissed back. His hands landed on Michael’s hips, pulling him closer.

It took quite a while until they had to come up for air again, both of them breathing hard.

“Do we even have time for this?” Dean asked, not moving away, though.

“I think this place feeds off our fears and doubts. Starving it sounds like a good idea to me.”

“Oh, in that case …” Michael could feel Dean grinning, right before he claimed Michael’s mouth again.

At least, Michael thought, there was no doubt why he’d fallen for this man. If he was honest, it had been inevitable.

And he could feel the darkness lose its hold over them.

Dean blinked, when he suddenly found himself standing in front of the fireplace of the hunting lodge again, sword still raised against an attack. Lucifer’s hand was directly in front of his face, tinted red with blood. The necromancer’s finger’s were curled around a tendril of darkness that was slowly withering and turning to dust.

Dean cursed. “Please tell me that didn’t touch me.”

“It did,” Lucifer said, looking inappropriately amused. “But only for half the time it takes one to blink.”

Was that how long they’d been at the strange place? Dean looked around. It wasn’t as dark as he remembered, though maybe that was something he had only imagined. A grid made of lightning and streaks of something that looked suspiciously like blood held the darkness at bay around them.

“Is Michael alright?” Dean half turned to see Raphael checking on their brother.

“I’m fine,” the fire mage said. Then he looked between Raphael and Lucifer. “You’re trying to cage it?”

“Cage it and squish what’s left of it,” Lucifer said.

Michael looked his brother up and down for a moment. Now Dean too realized that the necromancer seemed unusually pale. “How much of your own blood have you used for this spell already, Lucifer?”

“Too much,” Raphael answered in his stead. “I’m using a bit of my magic for keeping him upright or he probably would’ve fainted by now.”

Lucifer huffed. “Not my fault my magic needs people dead.”

Dean could hear Michael drawing breath for a retort, but this really wasn’t the time. “Would you stop bickering?” he interrupted them. “Lucifer, take my blood.” It’s not like he’d be any use in what they were planning otherwise. “And then get to caging that thing, all of you!”

He could hear Lucifer chuckle, but at the same time felt way too cold fingers pulling up his left sleeve. “I get the feeling I know who’s going to be in charge in your new relationship, Michael.”

“We’ll see about that,” Michael retorted. “And if you take too much of his blood, I’ll burn your toes off, Lucifer.”

The butterflies in Dean’s stomach were cut short by Lucifer’s knife digging into his skin. Then the world blurred for a moment, when the necromancer called the blood from his veins maybe a bit too fast. Dean swayed, his sword clattering to the ground. He felt Lucifer hold him upright, heard Michael call a few commands.

When Dean could see clearly again, the darkness had taken the form of a ball on the floor of the hunting lodge. Fire, lightning and a dark red mist encircled it, even though it swirled and fought. While Dean watched, the ball became smaller and smaller until it was the size of his head, then the size of his fist. Finally it was nothing but a small point of flames and light and blood, and then it fizzled and died.

All of a sudden it was Lucifer who had to hold on to Dean to keep his balance. Dean swayed again, but managed not to fall, grabbing the necromancer’s left arm to support him. He felt a bit dizzy, but mostly good. Then Raphael was there, taking over Lucifer’s weight. “You have to sit down, brother.”

“I’m used to blood loss,” Lucifer protested, but he still allowed himself to be led away.

Slowly, Dean turned towards Michael, looking into eyes that were more brown than green in the light of the fire. “So, we won?” he asked.

Michael smiled, looking a bit exhausted himself. “Our father won’t be happy, when he learns about all of this, but for now we won.”

Oh yes. Their father. The thought that the man was still out there somewhere made Dean more than a little bit uneasy. “You’re three mages. You think you can deal with him, if he decides to show up?”

“I think we can. Don’t worry about it now, though. Our home is far from here. It’ll take a while.” Then Michael’s gaze dropped to Dean’s arm. “You’re still bleeding a bit. Let me do something about that.” He turned away and went to where they’d set down their bags, rummaging around in them.

Dean looked down at the long gash on his forearm. “Piece of work, Lucifer.”

“I was in a hurry,” the necromancer grumbled from the direction of one of the chairs. “Don’t worry, Raphael can keep it from scaring. So it won’t ruin your perfect skin, if you’re concerned about that.”

Idiot. “Tell me why I risked my life for you again?”

“You did it for Sammy. And because you want to get into my brother’s pants, probably.”

Michael came back with clean cloth and a few herbs in his hand, shaking his head in amusement. “Your arm, Dean.”

His voice allowed no argument, and Dean extended his bleeding arm, allowing the mage to bandage the wound, watching him while he set to work. “Well,” he said. “Can’t blame me for wanting that.”

For a moment Michael looked up from his work with a subtle smile, a promise in his eyes. “I definitely won’t.”

This sounded like the next night was going to be interesting. Dean smiled. Considering that he had set out to try something desperate today, he really couldn’t complain about the results.

Lucifer groaned. “You two will be insufferable all the way back, will you?”

That made Michael laugh. “Aren’t you happy to have your siblings back?”

“Overjoyed,” Lucifer said in a dry voice.

Raphaels just sighed.

Tagging: @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell@humongouscandycoffee@schizonephilim @coffee-queen448@little-boyking @solo-skywlker@samwise-the-true-hero@talkmagically @whinywingedwinchester

#michean #dean winchester #michael #supernatural #spn #thearchangelnetwork #i'm sorry for the late update #i forgot which day it was

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rawcatlawnchair · 8 years ago

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CHAPTER 4 - Octavia

Octavia had found no sleep. It was difficult to drift away when one had a death sentence awaiting them in mere hours.

All because of that blasted druid.

She wanted to punch the walls, to break free, to let her anger and frustrations out. But her hands were bound by stone, enchanted by the enforcers of the city to block her essence.

Essence was the purest form of magic. Other schools of magic would convert their essence into a fireball, or a vine, or a gust of air. Essence magic, on the other hand, never converted it. They toyed with raw essence, using it to rapidly heal wounds or turn their skin as hard as stone. Some even fired blasts of it with punches and kicks, unleashing devastating power.

She sat on the stone cold floor in absolute darkness and began to wait. The absence of light had been intentional, driving captives insane as they lost track of time. Days or even weeks could pass, but the prisoners would never know. Dawn could have come for all she knew, but she wouldn't dwell on that.

But what could she dwell on? She was trapped underground and powerless. No amount of anger or rage could shatter the stone that bound her. Nor did she have cellmates to speak to. The Null Cells were empty, and she was the only soul in here. Still more souls than Celice has.

Down the hallway came a dim torch, accompanied by several sets of footsteps. “Are you sure you wish to see the prisoner? Celice has already passed his judgement.” One of the guards was speaking, possibly to another Master. Another pawn in that twisted monk’s plan, more like. “I am sure. Lead me in.” A woman’s voice rang out, clear and clean. Octavia felt a tiny bit more at ease, even if she was still suspect of the surprise visitor.

The guards moved in, accompanied by a woman in a grey robe. “We’ll leave it to you, Archgeomancer.” They handed her the torch and walked away to the exit.

Octavia stood to greet Kris. Even if she was a prisoner, she still had a shred of respect left for others. “Good morning, Master. Or is it evening? I cannot tell.” Kris chuckled and replied, “It is still night, Octavia. Dawn shall not come for a few more hours.” Even in the dim lighting, Octavia found the smile reassuring and pleasant. She was showing an awful lot of kindness to a thief.

But she could not let her guard down. “I regret to inform you that I cannot disclose the location of the compass. If Celice shall hang me in Karash’s Square, I shall take my secrets to the grave.”

Another smile came out. Octavia could get used to these. “I came not to ask you for your secrets, but rather to ask you a question.”

“A question, you say?”

“Indeed. What was your plan, if you managed to escape the city?”

Truth be told, she did not have a plan. She had made it up as she went along, and unsurprisingly, had gotten caught. But she had some pride left in her, so she concocted a feasible idea. “Travel to the Aurum Basin. Hire some mercenaries, search for the keys. Goblins, preferably, because they don't ask too many questions as long as they get paid. Go into the godplains and ask for a miracle. Or twenty.”

“What if I could make it happen for you?”

“No offence, but the day Celice changes his mind is the day dragons walk Sagure again. You may be a master like the Archmonk is, but your words can never sway his. His seniority will always override yours.”

A third smile from Kris. Octavia couldn't help but to give a small laugh back. “I know that, Octavia. But sometimes miracles do happen.” She began to walk away slowly, talking as she left. “We should never give up hope as long as we draw breath.”

“Then I shall not stay hopeful for long.”

“Who knows? Oh, and one more thing.”

Kris’ footsteps reached the door, knocking to summon the guards to escort her back out. Before she departed, she gave one last piece of advice, calling down the hallway.

“Watch out below, would you?”

The cryptic message was the last thing Octavia heard, as the light faded from her cell for good. For a few moments, she pondered the meaning of the words. A riddle? A puzzle? One last mocking message? She sighed, resigned to her fate.

With only hours to go before she would be executed, she decided to make the most of her time, getting onto her knees and beginning to pray. She went through the motions, closing her eyes and speaking softly. The master had spoken of miracles. Never hurt to ask for one more.

“Dear Lua, high above, I have asked for strength before, but I have failed to put it to good use. Now I ask once more, but do not give me strength. Give it to someone worthy, someone strong and free, someone who can stop the madness in this city.”

She waited for a moment as her words settled into silence. Once her prayers had been answered in a time of crisis. Perhaps two miracles was too much to ask for. She let out a laugh, but unlike the one she had given Kris, this one was short, bitter and broken, the voice of a person not quite ready to die.

And then the floor exploded.

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Octavia landed awkwardly amid a pile of rubble wedged in knee-high water. The explosion had caught her off guard, and it had taken an impressive athletic feat to land on her two feet. Before her very eyes, however, stood three figures in black robes. One was significantly shorter than the other, another had softly glowing green eyes as well as a staff strapped to her back, and the third carried a torch to light up the room. From the water lapping at her thighs, she assumed she was in the sewers.

And before her were probably the acolytes that had captured her earlier that day. Just what she needed. The short one raised his hands and cleared the rubble from around her, sending it back into the ceiling to seal up the hole they had created. Crude, but effective.

“If you will kill me, make it swift. There is no need for prolonged suffering.”

The three black figures looked at each other in confusion before the one with the torch responded.

“We’re here to rescue you.”

“Of course, and my name’s Scurvy.”

“Actually, your name’s Octavia.” The short one was not very perceptive of sarcasm, it appeared.

The green-eyed one groaned, frustrated by the plan going awry. “Look, let's make a deal. We both want to find the keys and talk to the gods. If we free you, you get us the compass and we make a break for it.”

“How can I be sure you won't just stab me in the back once you get the compass out of hiding?”

High above, the prison had gone into lockdown. The bells had begun to ring, a frantic, panicked ding that echoed through the sewers. By now, they had realized that she had escaped through the floor, and would have sent a team or two into the sewers to hunt them down.

“We’re friends of Master Kris.”

“That could be a lie.”

“The compass could be a lie too. You believe that the compass can save this continent? Then believe that we can save you.”

Octavia hated trusting in the unknown, but the tall one seemed earnest. She stuck her hands out, still cuffed, and said, “Free me and I'll show you the way.”

The one with a torch passed it to the short one, and retrieved a sword from their scabbard. In one clean strike, the stone cuffs that bound her were cleaved in half, falling to the ground. In an instant, Octavia felt the familiar rush of power back into her limbs. She had sorely missed this.

She knew she could make a break for it, but this trio had foiled her escape attempt once before. Better to play along. The short one handed her her sachel back, along with her belongings. She gratefully strapped it to her back.

“Get us to the white quadrant. I hid the compass there.”

The shortest one nodded and retrieved a map. After several moments of plotting a route, they put the map back into a small satchel and began to direct the rest, as the party broke into a brisk sprint.

As they ran, Octavia had a burning question.

“If we are to travel together, then i must know your names.”

The green-eyed one, falling into step with her, rattled off their names. Trixi was the short one, Ruzuli the one with the sword, and she personally went by Jirei. Each came from a different school of magic. And together we can activate the compass, she thought.

Up ahead, Trixi shouted as they approached a manhole in the ceiling. Ruzuli was already climbing towards it using the crevices that formed a ladder in the wall, while the two at the rear ran to catch up.

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The city should have been quiet at this hour, but now city guards had swarmed out, prowling for the escapee and her compatriots. Octavia had now taken the lead, with the rest trailing behind. They stuck to the shadows, hiding in alleyways and in small nooks, avoiding the squads of men with torches, searching for the wanted thief.

As Octavia directed them towards a staircase at the side of a building, Ruzuli spoke up for the first time since the sewers.

“Why wasn’t the compass on you? You nearly made it out of the city, after all, and to not bring the compass along must have been folly.”

Octavia said nothing, instead continuing the climb up. When they reached the top floor, Octavia casually hopped onto the railing and jumped up, holding onto the ledge above them. She began to sway left and right, building up momentum, then finally swung up, catching her leg onto the rooftop. She began to channel her essence into her legs, filling them with arcane strength as she pulled her entire body upwards.

“You can’t expect us to do that, can you?” Trixi said. He was not even tall enough to reach eye level with the railing, let alone perform similar acrobatic feats.

“No, you should stay down there, I hid the compass around here. Your dragonling friend is far less stealthy than she thinks she is.” Octavia said, strolling on the rooftop, trying to sense the compass. “When I heard someone trailing me, I slipped it away before I could get captured. Better to have to come back to retrieve it, than for it to fall back into the master’s hands.”

She closed her eyes and tried to focus. Underneath one of these shingles hid a crevice, and within that crevice hid her artifact. She closer her eyes, and in the chilly night, the cold helped sharpen her focus. She walked slowly, aimlessly and wandering, before reaching down and sliding a shingle aside. She reached in, and pulled out her compass.

The compass was as brilliant as she had remembered it, and it gave her relief to see it, even if it had only been several hours since her capture. If she focused hard, she could see the colours of essence flashing within it, blue in one instant, and green in another. She quickly strutted back to the staircase and dropped back down to rejoin the party.

“Anything happen while I was up there?”

“Sadly, yes.” Ruzuli grunted through a frown. “In the five minutes we spent getting our artifact, two full platoons of guards piled into the guardhouse by the wall. At least one of them headed up the walls to mount the battlements, a good fifteen men, so your trick from earlier won’t work again, even if you manage to haul all four of us up that wall.”

“We’ve got two options.” Trixi was using a small spyglass he had hidden in his robe to look at the defences of the gate. “Over the wall, or through the gate.” He compressed the spyglass back into its compact form and slid it back into his robe. “And since not all of us have the athletic skill of an acrobat, the gate seems more likely.”

“The giant immovable unbreakable gate that’s held off countless invading forces?”

“Well, true. Only once in history has an entire army broken the gates of the Chalice, and that was with ten thousand dragonlings laying siege to it,” Trixi conceded, “But this time, we’re on the inside, and breaking out might be easier than breaking in.”

He pointed at the guardroom that contained the mechanisms to open the large double doors. “To open the gates we need to make our way up onto the third floor. There's a gear we can turn and it'll open up the gates. Shouldn't be too difficult, since most the guards aren't mages.”

Octavia tilted her head at him. ”Since when did random gnome acolytes get the knowledge of the inner workings of the city guard?”

“Since we started breaking you out under Master Kris’ orders.”

That one came as a surprise to Octavia. She had assumed all the masters were in on the conspiracy, but to hear that a master had directly ordered her be freed was relieving. Perhaps I shall tell my party about the truth of our quest soon.

“We should move quickly before morning light approaches,” Jirei pointed out. She was right. Without their notice, the slightest splash of colour had reached the skyline, heralding the approach of the sun. Under cover of darkness, their assault had the best chances of working.

“Ruzuli in front, Octavia behind her, and two of us at the back. Priority is the third floor, and avoid lethal blows if possible.” Jirei gave out commands and the rest nodded in agreement. The druid might have a worldly set of values, but she still had a good head for combat. They pulled their hoods back on and began racing down the staircase.

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The guardroom, like most of the white district, was function over form. Built into the city walls, a lone guard stood outside it, right next to the front door. Beside the guardroom stood the large imposing city gates, made of essence-infused stone and steel and virtually impenetrable. A lone torch above the walkway lit the street, sending shadows scattered across the road.

From behind a street corner peeked Octavia, looking for a good angle of attack. Her white robes stood out in contrast against the black of the others, and thus she did not have the luxury of stealth. Behind her, her companions watched the flank for patrolling guards looking for them.

She watched the guard fidget with his polearm. She signalled to Jirei and motioned with her arms, covering her own mouth. Jirei seemed to get the idea and nodded. Octavia began to count down from three, and at zero, they both burst from cover.

In an instant, vines erupted from the ground, wrapping around the guard’s mouth. His shouts went unnoticed as Octavia began to slowly drain essence from his head, dropping him into a quick slumber. She had performed the same trick on the vault guards to slip past security, and was familiar with this technique.

Ruzuli and Trixi ran from cover to join them, ready to burst into the door. They looked to each other hesitatingly, waiting for the command to go. Trixi prepared a large chunk of bricks to blast down the door to clear a path for the dragonling to wreak havoc.

Octavia knew that the rest would surely be nervous. While they had already broken the law by breaking her out, this would be the first time they would be directly fighting the guards of the city. No matter their background, it would take an impressive amount of determination to take this risk.

She gave a moment for the party to prepare. Both Jirei and Ruzuli had already prepared their weapons, ready to fight at a moment's notice. She retrieved her hand wraps and began to prepare her essence, returning to her white glow.

This was the turning point, and none of them could turn back now.

She nodded at Trixi and Ruzuli immediately broke into a run towards the door. A second before she reached it, a large bundle of bricks shot into the door, smashing it to splinters and clearing a path for the dragonling. With a warcry, she leapt into the fray, weapon crackling and eager for battle.

-------------------------------------------------------

As Ruzuli charged, she drew the attention of every guard on the floor. The first floor was an office, with a path to the guards barracks by the side. At the opposite end of the room sat the staircase to reach the second floor, the main target for Octavia.

As the fastest member of the group, she was to reach the main objective as quickly as possible. Following Ruzuli, she sprinted into the room, running past the two guards trying to hold off the rampaging dragonling. Behind her, she heard Trixi collapsing the tunnel to the barracks, ensuring no reinforcements could turn the tide of the battle. Already, they were severely outnumbered, and any more opposing forces would irreversibly turn the tides of battle.

In the corner of her eye, she saw a guard charging down the staircase with a pike and prepared to take him out. But before she could make a move, a vine slapped his weapon out of his hands, and another knocked him off his feet. She whirled to see Jirei, but she was already back into the battle, helping Ruzuli in the battle. The dragonling looked like a natural in the melee, striking at the guards rapidly and moving like a force of nature. They had already dispatched six guards, with the remaining five attempting to rush her. Impressively, none of the defeated had sustained any severe injuries, having been defeated with shocks and stones.

Octavia continued up the staircase as they cleaned up the fight on the ground floor. As she reached the top, two more guards stood in her path. But even without backup, neither was a match for her. The first guard launched an attack, swinging wildly with his blade, but his strike went wide, leaving his guard open. Instead of a frontal assault, she opted to instead shift her essence into her feet, springing up onto the wall and running along it, vaulting over the two guards. Before they had time to turn and face her, she landed and threw a quick kick at the rear guard’s abdomen, sending him crashing into the front guard and both tumbled down the stairs in a mess of limbs.

The second floor was a storeroom, with spare arms and food stores. At the other end of the room had a ladder that rose to the third floor. She swiftly strode forward and began to climb.

On the third floor sat a war room. Here, the First Guardian would plan missions and operations inside and outside the city. A scale model of the city was built on a table, to aid tactical planning. At the very end sat a large circular gear, as well as a lever marked in red. A lone guard stood between her and the gear, visibly shaking as he held his spear.

“Easy,” she said, walking towards him, palms open. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He did not stop his trembling, but neither did he flee from the imposing glowing figure before him.

“Look, this isn't the time for heroics. I don't want a massacre, I just want to escape. Stand aside and no one will fault you.” She walked closer and he retreated, but still he stood in her way.

Octavia sighed. She did not have the time for these theatrics. “You leave me no choice, I suppose.” She pushed her essence into her fists, ready to strike, but the guard went sprinting towards the gear. Initially, it looked like he was escaping, but to Octavia’s surprise, he threw the lever.

The walls shook with a metallic groan. A thumping sound rang within the room, constant and raucous. Octavia could barely think, but she knew she had to reverse that lever. She leapt forth and swung it the other direction with full force, but it merely snapped in her hands. The noises stopped, ending on an echoey thud.

“What have you done?” Octavia roared, grabbing the guard by his chestplate.

“That was the emergency lock. We've barricaded the gates with large metal bars, and we can only remove them manually. You're trapped, criminal.” The guard, despite getting lifted by a girl smaller than he was, managed to smile.

Octavia let out a rare burst of anger, flinging him against the stone wall. She heard the crack of both brick and bone, but she couldn't care less. Her escape route was sealed.

Behind her, her allies climbed up the ladder.

“They’ve broken down the barricades and we're outnumbered!” Trixi exclaimed, before breaking the ladder with a well placed stone shot.

“Please tell me that loud sound was the gates opening.” Jirei was looking out the window, watching as patrols from the neighbouring districts began to flood into the street outside the guard room.

Octavia took a moment to think.

“Change of plans. They've sealed the gates, so we'll just have to go over the wall. Trixi, is there a passage to the battlements?”

“There’s a staircase over there, but-”

“Then go!” Octavia commanded, nearing her wits end. “They’ll surround us in seconds, we have to climb!”

Ruzuli went in first, followed by Trixi. Jirei waited for Octavia to pass her before following.

“How will we survive the fall? Ten storeys is nothing to laugh at!”

“Make a vine or something. If they stopped my escape, they should be strong enough for us to climb down it. We'll survive or die trying.”

Jirei snorted at that statement. It was good to know that even in this perilous scenario, she had retained her sense of humour.

Ahead of them, the sounds of battle rang down the stairwell, with screams and yelps, steel meeting steel as Ruzuli pushed ahead fiercely. Trixi waited for them to catch up, then gestured and turned the stairs to rubble behind them, making it harder for the pursuing guards to catch up.

It was a bitter advance up the stairs, with every step being heavily contested. A seemingly endless swarm of guards had already harried them, and they did not seem to stop coming, mindlessly relentless in stopping their escape. Octavia glanced out a window while catching her breath, and saw the world beyond the walls for the first time in many years.

Most of the land near the walls had been deforested to create clearings, but beyond those plains sat a lush forest, with trees rising like endless seas of green. Mundane to many, but freedom to her. Freedom from the cold stone tower she had once called home, freedom from the plans of her puppeteer master, freedom to claim a future for herself.

With renewed resolve, she climbed the next flight of stairs.

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As they reached the top of the walls, they all took a moment to gawk at the view. From this height, the entire city had become but specks to them. Only the towers stood above them, their colour barely visible as the sun barely peeked above the horizon.

But they had no time to rest. Already reinforcements were coming from all directions, not only up the staircase but also from both sides of the wall.

Jirei quickly knelt and retrieved her staff from her back. She planted it firmly into the ground and began to focus. As always, vines began to grow from dust and latched to the wall, climbing up slowly but surely.

Too slowly, thought Octavia. They needed a distraction to buy some time.

“Ruzuli, how adept are you at fire magic?”

“Passable.”

“I need something smoky and distracting. Can you do it?”

Ruzuli reached down and picked up a fallen guard’s blade. “There’s a trick Roko showed me once. Perhaps I could replicate it.”

She reached out her hand, hovering inches above the metal. Octavia expected flames to shoot out, but instead the metal simply began to glow red hot, spewing smoke everywhere. It was still in the morning, allowing the smoke to drift ever so slightly and obscure them from sight. As the blade went from red to white, the smoke only grew in size. From behind their smokescreen, she could see the guards slowing down their advance. From up here, any stray hit could lead to a gruesome fate. Caution from both sides would have to be observed if they were to stay alive.

“Psst!” Jirei shot a whisper at them. The vine had reached the top, and their escape route had been formed. Trixi was the first to go, peering over the edge at the slim vine that had bound itself to the wall.

“I’m suddenly terrified of heights.”

“Shut up before I shove you over the edge, we’re busy trying not to die here.” Ruzuli grumbled, still sending smoke out of the blade.

A soft muttering was heard as Trixi hobbled over the battlements, grasping onto the vine and making his way down. Worse news, however, had come for the party. The wind had begun to pick up, and the smoke was dissipating. At the sight of the party making an imminent escape, the guards picked up the pace. Now they were barely a minute away, racing to take advantage of their superior numbers.

“So much for that plan,” Ruzuli said as she too climbed onto the vine and began to shimmy downwards. “See you at the bottom.”

Now only Jirei and Octavia remained, with Trixi barely at the halfway mark. More time would have to be bought, and Octavia hoped the price would not be blood, either their foes or their own.

“Go.” Octavia gave a short and simple command.

“I’m not changing your mind, am I?”

“You catch on quick, druid.”

The elf whispered a short prayer, and then hopped onto her vine. Now it was just Octavia against the world. The way her escape had originally begun, and the way it would end. She saw the guards rushing in from both sides. The men ran in rows of two, the first wielding pikes to gain the range advantage. Behind them, several rows of bowmen were standing ready.

She scowled at the bows. A pike she could block with essence, but an arrow carried far more destructive power. A stray hit could easily spell her doom. She gathered all the essence she had in her body, and prepared for the assault.

That was when she saw where the bowmen were aiming. Downwards.

The first volley flew out, narrowly missing both the vines and the escapees. She yelled at them to drop, but they were still far too high up. Jirei hadn’t even made it more than a quarter down, and Trixi had a good three storeys to go. As the pikes rushed her and the bowmen reloaded, she did the first thing her brain told her to do.

So she leapt off the building without a care.

She knew she only had split seconds before the next wave of arrows came, and turned around in mid air. For a moment, time seemed to slow down. She saw the trajectory of the arrows as the bowmen let loose. Most would miss completely, but a lone arrow struck true, slicing the vine clean into two, sending her party plunging to their doom.

Self-preservation went out the window as she awkwardly turned around to face her falling teammates, then let her essence flow into them, reinforcing their skin and bodies to survive the great fall. She saw them with their faint white glows, a last-ditch barrier against the cruel force of gravity. She prayed it was enough.

Octavia closed her eyes and began to generate her own barrier.

She heard a thump.

Then a second.

Then a third.

That was the last thing she remembered.

Next Chapter｜Start from the beginning

#authors on tumblr #original story #my story #original content #the compass of faith #chapter 4

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tigertanyx · 6 years ago

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My name is TanyX Winchester, and I love Supernatural. Not so much the latter seasons, but like, in the days when Destiel were free to declare their love for each other in the pit of purgatory. I don’t understand why their wedding wasn’t televised, but their happily married selves have settled into a “no-homo” camouflage situation, and while I understand the need to hide from homophobes, you guys can be yourselves at home. And yet, you don’t seem to know that.

ANYWAY there’s a really old SPN book tag, made before Jack’s time. Let’s do this!

The Colt: If you could own a fictional item, what would you choose?

I don’t particularly want any of the Deathly Hallows, so i’m going with a series I had a difficult relationship with and broke it off: the sword pen from Percy Jackson. You could kill someone and no one could find the murder weapon, and carry it with you always, like pepper spray. V convenient, as long as you didn’t mistake it for an actual pen and stab your desk.

The Impala: If you could own a fictional vehicle, what would you choose?

The TARDIS! I know, I should choose the actual Impala. But the TARDIS is more practical. She doesn’t need anything; as long as you love her and land on a ley line once in a while, she’ll love you back. She’s an entire house, pool, wardrobe, time and space machine all in one!

Crowley: a villain you love to hate

I love so many villains it’s hard to find anyone except Umbridge that I hate. I hate pink, I hate it when teachers abuse their power to torture students, and i hate the third grade teacher that she reminds me of. I hate this question because answering Crowley with her taints his evil name. I love Crowley; genuinely love him, and I don’t want his image associated with the likes of her.

Sam & Dean: Two characters from different books that’d make a perfect team to fight evil

I don’t usually think about crossovers! Sherlock and Data! Data loves the old Sherlock stories and usually spends his free time playing Sherlock on the holodeck- but what would it be like if Data and Sherlock worked together, instead of Data playing as Sherlock? It would let both of their humanities show as they try to work out a crime of passion, rather than relying on themselves to make logical deductions.

Destiel: Two characters from different books that’d make a perfect couple

Again with the crossovers! How about Dimtri from Vampire Academy and Edward from Twilight?

Bobby: Your favorite fictional mentor-figure

Lupin! He was the best Dark Arts teacher and really allowed his students to grow and enjoy themselves.

The Angel Tablet: One Of The Best Books You’ve Ever Read

If We Were Villains!

The Demon Tablet: One of the worst Books you’ve ever read

Hmm… I really believe in DNFing books if you don’t enjoy it, but the book I was forced to read? ROMEO AND JULIET. This could be the way it’s taught, that this is a serious piece of literature, and not the satire that it actually is. Still not going to reread it.

Shapeshifter: A book with a better cover in a foreign country

I don’t actually pay that much attention? But after some research, I think the Dutch and Italian versions of Leah On The Offbeat are prettier. I also don’y like how the American versions of the other two in the semi-series have the same blue and red palette but Leah has a slightly different shade. I want consistency!

Hunters: A character you’d love to hunt

Laura Hollis must die. I love Carmilla, respect that she’s killed people and hopefully will kill people, and would be willing to give her my blood whenever she wants. Laura Hollis is nothing but a bigoted human that only cares about her fantasy of Carmilla, and not Carmilla herself.

Chuck: A book you guessed the plot twist or ending to

I remember Uglies being really predictable when I read it in middle school. I still loved the series, but the MC could be really dumb.

Cass’ Trenchcoat: A book that looks much better without it’s dust jacket

😦

I’m sure there’s special editions and things, but why.

Carry On My Wayward Son: Put your playlist on, what book does that song remind you of?

Lucky Strikes by Troye Sivan. Aristotle and Dante Discover The Secrets Of The Universe (which is getting a sequel!!!) They’re both set in the summer and are full of gay longing while your love interest is right there.

Charlie: Your ultimate fanfolk moment thus far

Uh…..

I sit at computer and blog about books. Not fanfolk moment, fanfolk life.

I do think I have a tendency to talk about the most obscure fandom to the wrong people. When I first moved into college, I asked my dormmates if they wanted to see a viewing of Serenity and no one knew what Firefly was. I defended Loki against my pro-Captain America friends. A guy climbed up the walls to show off his parkour or whatever and I called him Spiderman. There were a few days when I was obsessed with cass’ trenchcoat and asked everyone why he never takes it off.

I swear I’m asexual.

Support this blog on ko-fi!

I tag you! What do you associate with Supernatural?

Supernatural Book Tag! My name is TanyX Winchester, and I love Supernatural. Not so much the latter seasons, but like, in the days when Destiel were free to declare their love for each other in the pit of purgatory.

#Supernatural

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thorne93 · 8 years ago

Text

Past VS Present (Part 14)

Prompt: Imagine being best friends with Loki, but this wasn’t always the case, since you’d grown up with Anakin Skywalker. And when Anakin needs your help one day,it starts a wave of events.

Word Count: 2627

Warnings: language, drama, fighting, wounding, violence, etc

Notes: This takes place like right before Thor 1 and after-ish Revenge of the Sith (without Anakin turning) Thanks a million to my beta @like-a-bag-of-potatoes I couldn’t have finished this without you. and @queendivaofthedark you were amazing, thank you so much!

Crossover of Thor (Loki) and Star Wars

Tags (let me know if you want added or removed): @phantomgirl2298 @munlis @cocosierra94 @ultrarebelheart @marvel-imagines-yes-please @blueinkblot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You knew you had to make things right with Anakin. This just wouldn’t stand. You couldn't believe you’d been so blind. Two men who were willing to do anything to keep you for themselves including sell their soul and destroy your friendships.

Perhaps you’d been right. Anakin and Loki were just alike. Two broken men, trying to assert their place in the world. Two men who had long shadows cast over them that they constantly fought to get out of. Two men who possessed some of the greatest powers in all the realms and yet they acted like this, squabbling, accusing, trickery, lying...all for what? So they could have you?

This isn’t what you wanted. This was far from what you wanted as you could get.

You ran to his quarters and pounded on the door with your fist.

“Anakin, open up, it’s me,” you shouted through the door, desperate.

But he didn’t open up. You couldn’t tell if he was behind the door or not, but you stayed planted at the door for hours. He never left, or came in. You weren’t sure if he was avoiding his room or avoiding you, but you stayed planted against his door, though you had sunk against it long ago.

Sif finally found you and took you back to your room. You’d explained the whole ordeal through tears to her and she sat and comforted you all night, hugging you, rocking you, brushing your hair. She did everything she could to get you to calm down, but nothing helped until the inevitable need for sleep took over.

She had said everything would look better tomorrow. That this would blow over, but you knew better. You were beyond the point of no return.

---------------------------------

The following day, you stayed in your bedroom chambers, sleeping much and often, refusing to eat. You just wanted to fade away. You’d lost everything in the short span of a few hours. Unbeknownst to you, Loki felt the same, and he was plotting something wicked.

He made his way to Obi-Wan’s quarters and knocked lightly.

“Master Kenobi,” he greeted.

“Your highness,” Obi-Wan greeted with a bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Could we talk?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

Once Loki was sat in his chambers, Obi-Wan offered him refreshments but Loki waved them off.

“I’ll just get right to it. I thought you should know,” Loki started carefully, “your padawan has broken a rule that I am to understand is not to be broken by your kind?”

“It would depend on the rule, but we tolerate very little,” Obi-Wan conceded with a slight nod. “What has Anakin done now?”

“I heard that he’d been courting Miss Y/N. Now, it’s none of my business but my father hired him to look after the palace, not to court our warriors.”

He sat back, shocked. “That’s not possible. Y/N and Anakin know better,” he said in disbelief.

“I’m afraid it’s true. I’ve caught them on more than one occasion and so has my brother. I fear that his distraction puts our whole kingdom in jeopardy and we just can not tolerate that.”

“I would suspect not. I can’t believe them.” He shook his head, shocked. “What would you have me do?”

“Well, I won’t tell you how to run your organization. What would you normally do in this situation?”

“I suppose,” he began, a heavy sigh coming out, “that in this case he’ll be sent back to the Jedi Temple for evaluation. He may be suspended or expelled from the program.”

“And his replacement? Will he get one?”

“Oh yes, I’ll make sure we send our best and brightest, Prince Loki,” Obi-Wan promised. “I just can’t believe he’s done this.”

“Me either. He really seemed like an upstanding, responsible young Jedi. It pains me to see that he wasn’t up to the task,” Loki said with a voice that sounded sincere as he frowned.

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention,” he said as the Prince and him stood.

“You’re welcome.”

With that, Loki left, satisfied at what he had done. Now the little Skywalker could no longer pose a problem.

----------

Only half an hour later, Anakin was storming through the halls, searching for the Prince as his dark robes flowed behind him. Finally, he found who he was looking for.

“You son of a bitch,” he snarled as he stomped toward the prince, not backing down, not slowing down, not giving a damn what happened to him.

“Oh, my, Mr. Skywalker, whatever is the matter?” Loki questioned as the blonde approached him.

“You told my Master about Y/N and me? You turned me in?”

Loki smirked slightly. “Well, you aren’t exactly living up to your duties.”

“You bastard. You must just be so damned miserable to ruin other people’s lives,” he noted. “What’s wrong with you? This could end my career as a Jedi.”

“I’m fully aware of that, Skywalker. But I’m not the one who brought this on. You are.”

Anakin smirked. “I must really threaten you, huh? You’ve gone to great lengths to destroy my relationship with Y/N, now you’re interfering with my professional life. Seems to me that you’d only do that if I posed a great threat.”

“You’re no threat,” Loki commented defiantly. “I’m a prince. You’re nothing. You’re not even a master in your program yet.”

“You have to resorts to tricks and lies to win her over, how pathetic,” he noted with a laugh as he turned to walk away.

“Seems to me, Mr. Skywalker, that you’re the one who’s pathetic. You can’t get a seat on your council, you aren’t a master, you can’t even hold onto Y/N. I’ll win, not you, you’re a loser. Last I heard, you two had quite the falling out. And now you’re about to be shipped far away from here and not allowed to return, and Y/N will still be with me, she’ll still be by my side as I pick up the pieces of her broken heart. I’ll tell her you left because you didn’t love her.” His voice dropped as he leaned forward and said, “And she’ll be mine.”

He spun and threw his fist at the Prince’s face, effectively knocking him off his footing.

“Come on!” Anakin shouted. “Come on, you son of a bitch. I’m sick of you twisting her mind.”

“Now, that’s more like it,” Loki approved as he stood up, wiping the blood from his mouth. He swung a punch and Anakin dodged it by flipping backwards. He drew his saber and Loki pulled his daggers. “Let’s see what that light sword can do, chosen one,” he taunted as he flipped his daggers.

They began to fight, only way they knew how - magic and the Force. Loki used his cloning to his advantage so that when Anakin used the Force, it was typically on the wrong being. They were equally matched in wits, anger, emotion, and skill. Anakin was able to burn a small piece of Loki’s arm before he cried out and threw a dagger that sliced Anakin’s rib.

You had rounded the corner to go speak with the army, to see if they’d found anything out about the Phantom Army but you heard quite a commotion toward the front of the palace.

“What in the--” You rounded the corner and saw the two men struggling against each other. Anakin would force choke Loki before he would spin a dagger his way. Loki would try to trick Anakin but then he’d react. “What are you doing?!” you screamed as you ran forward to them. “Stop! Stop!”

The two men continued to brawl until you got closer, you threw your hand out and pushed them apart, using the Force.

“What the hell is the matter with you two?” you demanded as you stared at them, both of them breathless as they glared balefully at each other.

Before either one could answer though, the sirens sounded. It was here. The Phantom Army.

“Let’s argue about this later,” you suggested as the other two agreed and you all began to run.

And like that, a flurry of things happened. All three of you ran to your posts, the huge army of King Odin’s stepping out of the palace as Thor and the rest of them took place at the front. They were larger, apparition, phantom types that were swarming from the sky and coming up from the ground. Before long, everyone had their hands full. This army was hard to handle. They could be solid one minute, punching or hitting or wielding a weapon, then they would go into a mist or apparition and you couldn’t hit them. That’s where the Force came in handy, it moved through all living things. You, Anakin, and Obi-Wan used it to your advantage for a while, but eventually, even that got tiring and it wasn’t always fool proof.

After an hour of fighting, carnage of soldier’s hearts ripped out, soldier’s being cut, these strange phantom soldiers getting stabbed if one was lucky, Loki was trying to get rid of one of the phantoms that was attacking a member of Odin’s army. He flipped his dagger and threw it toward the apparition, who disappeared, allowing the daggers do go through air, and land in your stomach. You gasped and immediately stopped fighting, the pain coursing through you.

“Y/N!” Loki yelled as he started to run toward you. Anakin had heard the cry and turned his attention to the scene.

“Y/N?” he breathed as he saw you crumple to your knees. He ran over and saw what had happened - that Loki’s daggers were in your stomach. His visions were becoming reality, making him so terrified he was trembling. “No, no, no,” he begged as he dropped to his knees and began to cradle your head. “You’re going to be okay,” he assured through tears, trying to smile as he smoothed your hair.

“I didn’t mean--” Loki said with horror. “I didn’t mean for them to hit her.”

“Well they did!” Anakin screamed as he got up and turned to face Loki. His hand shot out and he began to force choke Loki as you cried out. “You did this!”

“Anakin, no!” you pleaded, blood spilling from your mouth as you clutched your stomach, trying to ignore the pain.

“Ah, my boy,” a voice suddenly said and Anakin stopped choking Loki, making him fall to the ground.

“Senator Palpatine?” Anakin questioned as the old man approached.

“Yes, I am here now. I came to help with the army, but it seems Y/N has been injured,” he informed, looking at you sadly.

“Yes, can you help her?” Anakin begged as he looked between you and Palpatine.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

Anakin’s face fell as a frenzy of emotion captured his handsome features.

“But,” he began, “you can.”

“Me? What do I need to do?”

“All you have to do to complete your transition to save Y/N...is kill him,” Palpatine said as he curled his fingers on Anakin’s shoulders, pointing one of them out to Loki who was still holding his throat and staring up at Anakin.

“If I kill him,” Anakin questioned, “I’ll possess the power to save Y/N?”

“Yes, my boy, but we must do it fast before we lose Y/N!”

“Anakin, no! Don’t!” you shouted before coughing up more blood. You would kill that son of a bitch Palpatine for this.

“Listen to Y/N, Anakin,” Loki said uneasily as he stood carefully.

“Quiet,” he ordered the prince as he thought. He wanted to kill him. He had caused him nothing but grief. Nothing but heartbreak. He was a poison. But...if there was even a small chance you loved him, he couldn’t kill him right in front of you. What kind of person would he be? If saving you meant killing someone you loved, he couldn’t do it.

“How did you know the phantom army got here?” Loki suddenly questioned the senator.

“What?” Palpatine asked.

Anakin suddenly realized what Loki was asking.

“The phantom army,” Anakin stated, adding to Loki’s argument as he turned to face Palpatine more. “He’s right. There is no way you had time to get here. No one had time to tell you they were here.” Anakin became incredulous.

Palpatine seemed to falter for a second. “Well, Obi-Wan alerted me, of course. I came right away.”

Anakin shook his head as Loki started to walk up beside his previous adversary.

“No, Obi-Wan was with us right after the siren sounded…”

“I see what he’s doing to you now,” Loki noted. “The phantom army, it’s yours isn’t it? You knew somehow that Y/N would get hurt and he’d do anything to stop it.”

Anakin’s blood began to boil at the betrayal.

“Is this true, Palpatine?” Anakin demanded.

“No, are you going to believe this man? The man who tried to win over your sweetheart?”

“How did you know about that?” Anakin demanded. “You knew when the army got here because you ordered it, didn’t you? You knew my visions would push me to the dark side. All you had to do was wait. You used me!” Anakin shouted as his saber came out. “You tricked me and put Y/N’s life on the line so I would kill a prince?”

“You know you want to, Anakin. Just give in to it. Kill the younger Odinson and Y/N will be saved and be all yours,” Palpatine promised.

“No, Anakin, he’s just using you. Please don’t,” you begged, your breathing ragged as you coughed out blood. You’d rather die with the loves of your life alive and not evil, then to live, knowing Loki had to be killed by Anakin.

Anakin looked from your pained eyes to Palpatine’s face. “No, I won’t do it. I won’t kill him for you.”

“You’re a fool!” Palpatine shouted before he launched Anakin back and began blasting him with lightning from his fingers.

“No!” you screamed, trying to get up to kill this son of a bitch. You were tired of him hurting Anakin.

Loki did what he did best though and used his magic to get a handle on the situation. He used his cloning abilities and jumped in front of the lightning strike while the real him, went back to you and helped you to your feet. Palpatine was happy to kill anyone in his way so he continued to cast the dark power onto Loki’s fake form. You yanked the daggers from your stomach and glared at Palpatine, ignoring the horrendous tearing sensation that came with the removal of the daggers.

Holding the daggers up using the Force, you launched them at the back of Palpatine, where they lodged in his back and he cried out before spinning to face you. He tried to use the force to throw you back but you pushed back quicker, your power waning as you got closer to him.

“You stupid, stupid girl,” he chastised as you slowly moved closer, fighting the hold he was pushing on you. “You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you?”

Your force hold on him was growing weak quickly, but like a miracle, Anakin stood from behind Palpatine, and together you were able to hold him still, keeping him paralyzed as you ran up and stabbed him with your saber in the chest.

“Not when you set out to destroy my family,” you vowed to him as the light left his eyes. And with his swift death, the apparitions faded away, much like your consciousness. Black clouded your vision and the last thing you heard were Loki and Anakin shouting your name.

#past vs present #loki #loki odinson #loki odinson fic #loki odinson x reader #loki x reader #loki fic #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #star wars fic #thor #thor fic

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