#We see his perspective with canon divergences and we’re supposed to understand why hes so irrational about this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosethornewrites · 4 years

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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 10

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars

Summary: A necessary discussion is had between Lan XiChen and the refugees, and between the brothers.

Notes: Chuntao, the name I gave a random auntie, means spring peach. I headcanon that popo and jifu are basically the Dafan Wen elders at this point, thus why they stay for the entire discussion. Can you imagine being lxc and being shown undeniable proof that you’ve been lied to by your sworn brother—oh wait, that’s canon. But this discussion had to be had without wwx present for a variety of reasons, especially from lwj’s perspective. Basically, wwx has enough burdening him, and lwj feels it’s his turn to shoulder some of it (and high time the rest of the cultivation world shouldered some of it as well). Also, there’s just a lot of philosophical aspects here, including Laozi, Confucius, Mozi, Sun Tzu, Mencius, etc. A lot of ancient Chinese philosophy is rather anti-war (coming from multiple periods involving warring states) or even advocates overthrowing rulers who are cruel to the people. The included Sun Tzu quote referenced by lxc was basically to convince captured soldiers to fight for your side (especially charioteers) through kind treatment, so while it doesn’t technically apply to civilians one could imagine you’d want civilians to be willing to provide for troops. I’m really just starting to delve into it all.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

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Lan WangJi can’t help but notice that XiChen’s attention is on Wei Ying, as popo and Wen Qing keep putting food in his bowl and bullying him to eat more. Where normally Wei Ying would be endearingly dramatic about it, for the amusement of all, today he eats quietly, accepting their cajoling without complaint.

A-Yuan is the one to ease Wei Ying from the odd quiet, holding up his chopsticks with a bit of food.

“Xian-gege eat!” he demands. “Xian-gege too skinny.”

The delivery is a mix of popo and Wen Qing while also being completely a-Yuan, and Wei Ying laughs with the rest of the Wens before eating the morsel of food and reaching forward to pinch the boy’s cheek.

“All right, a-Yuan, I’m eating. I promise. You eat yours, and I’ll eat mine.”

The interaction leaves XiChen smiling in amusement, but there are other emotions under the surface, questions Lan WangJi knows he wants to ask but is holding back. He knows eventually he’ll have to answer some of them, but for now he joins the others in adding food to Wei Ying’s bowl.

His zhiji gives him a look of mock betrayal, then holds out his chopsticks with a bite of food and an expectant look that Lan WangJi indulges, taking the bite of food. But then he feeds Wei Ying with his own chopsticks, something that makes some Wens chuckle and Wei Ying blush. He doesn’t look at XiChen to see his reaction.

Lunch is over too soon, and Wen Qing plops a-Yuan into Wei Ying’s lap.

“Nap time for little boys,” she jokes.

“Xianxian isn’t little,” Wei Ying chirps. “Xianxian is three.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes at the game.

“Brat,” she says, but fails to hide a smile. “Go on, then.”

Lan WangJi touches his shoulder before he can move to get up.

“Would you like me to play for you until you sleep?”

He is gifted with an adoring smile.

“We’ll be fine. Spend time with your brother.”

Wei Ying nods to Zewu-Jun.

“I hope you don’t need to leave too quickly.”

XiChen smiles, clearly picking up on his meaning.

“No, I’ll still be here later. I hope to spend some time getting to know the people here.”

Wei Ying nods, though his expression briefly dips into a sort of knowing pity at what he likely knows they will learn, then takes a breath that’s half yawn. He stands, hefting a-Yuan.

“Aiya… I guess a-Yuan and I get to try out the new bed first. Time for little radishes to sleep.”

He heads off through the interior passage to the cave, and a-Yuan’s response echoes.

“Xian-gege is a radish too? Can a-Yuan call you Luobo-gege?”

The echoing of Wei Ying’s laughter is almost musical.

Unfortunately, with Wei Ying gone, XiChen’s questioning gaze turns to Lan WangJi. He meets his brother’s gaze stoically, intending to answer questions, but he will not offer information.

“Everyone seemed insistent on urging WuXian to eat,” XiChen finally says.

It isn’t a question, but Wen Qing answers anyway.

“It took a while to get food growing. We didn’t have a lot. That idiot kept slipping his rations to a-Yuan. We’re breaking him of that, now that there’s enough food.”

It surprises Lan WangJi when his brother looks alarmed at that.

“But he can no longer practice inedia,” he breathes. “How badly has his health been impacted?”

Wen Qing glances at Lan WangJi, her gaze pointed, and he knows she is asking how much XiChen knows.

“Wei Ying told xiongzhang he no longer has a golden core,” he tells her. “That he did not have one when Wen Chao threw him here, and throughout the war.”

A bit of tension leaves her frame, and she turns to XiChen. The explanation is clear enough for her to understand Wei Ying didn’t reveal his sacrifice and her hand in it.

“This is not the first time in his life he has faced extreme malnourishment, and each subsequent time impacts his health more drastically. He is more susceptible to illness, doubly so without a golden core.”

“This isn’t the first time?” XiChen echoes. “WuXian has starved before?”

This time it’s a question, so Lan WangJi answers.

“After his parents died, before Jiang FengMian found him, Wei Ying spent several years homeless as a child, here in Yiling in fact. And then Burial Mounds, the three months he was missing. He told you of the resentful energy—not much grows here naturally.”

XiChen closes his eyes, and Lan WangJi is reminded how much his brother’s face expresses the emotion he feels. He can see XiChen understands exactly how poorly Wei Ying is doing, if only one aspect of it. He knows his brother will learn worse, as he did.

“He has no core to cleanse the resentful energy that infiltrates his body, which is as much a pressing matter as the starvation,” Wen Qing continues. “Only a few days ago he leeched resentful energy from a plot of land so it could be farmed safely. If not for Lan WangJi’s help, he’d still be working on it, and barely functional when he wasn’t.”

“Truly,” jifu adds, having wandered over, “when he told us we were in Burial Mounds, we thought we had been led to our deaths anyway.”

“But that boy told us we could survive,” popo says. “He’s made sure of it, but it costs him. And we can’t even stop him because otherwise things would be worse. Aiya, he’s barely grown, but he’s suffered so much.”

The aunties and uncles have pulled chairs close, and he can see XiChen studying them, finding only faces ruddy from farming, many middle aged or older. Many are nodding their agreement with popo.

“And he brought a-Ning back to us,” one of the aunties—Chuntao, if Lan WangJi’s memory serves—adds. “He tries so hard.”

“We can never repay him,” Meilin-yi says softly. “But we can try to help him, to make him healthier. Do more of the work so he can rest.”

“He is truly blessed to have your care,” XiChen says.

His comment is met with discomfort in the faces around them.

“It’s kind of you to say so, Zewu-Jin,” jifu offers. “But if not for having saved us, he could go home and live in peace. We are blessed by his righteousness, but he is condemned to this.”

Lan WangJi has not been amongst the Wen remnants away from Wei Ying much, so this is the first he’s heard of it. But this, at least, he can ease in them, if only through acknowledging the cultivation world politics in play.

“No,” he says. “Sect Leader Jin wants the amulet. Wei Ying would have been cast out, or worse, regardless.”

XiChen winces but doesn’t correct him. Wen Qing’s face goes carefully blank.

“Only those who do not seek power are fit to be entrusted with it,” she says, a variation on the teachings of Zhuangzi. “Wen RuoHan sought the yin iron and look what came of that.”

“The yin iron piece hidden at Dafan Mountain was in our goddess statue,” popo tells XiChen. “She came to life and started stealing souls when he removed it. A-Qing and a-Ning lost their parents that day.”

“A-Ning lost part of his soul that day,” Wen Qing whispers.

Wen Ning puts his hand on his sister’s shoulder in comfort, and she reaches up to place hers over it.

XiChen already looks overwhelmed, but there is so much more to tell him, including what Lan WangJi failed to report regarding the Dafan Wens during the journey he and Wei Ying undertook.

“I did not have the opportunity to report before the attack on Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying and I had to reseal the statue—Wen RuoHan sought to use it as a weapon, along with the people he had turned into puppets. These people.”

The memory of a chain around Wei Ying’s throat, of him going limp… Though it had turned out to be a ruse, the bruising around his neck had been dark enough to make clear how close he had been to death.

Truly, that Wei Ying had killed one of Wen RuoHan’s owls had likely made him a target well before Indoctrination.

“My family was held hostage to force my cooperation,” Wen Qing tells him.

XiChen sighs softly, looking around at the group as though just realizing how few of them there are, how many must have perished under Wen RuoHan or in misguided vengeance after the war.

“I wish I could change what has already happened, but we can only move forward. If you are amenable, I would like to learn more about your treatment in the labor camps.”

This has been something Lan WangJi has dreaded to learn more of, as he knows from what little he saw at Qiongqi Path that their treatment was inhuman—beyond inhumane.

Stories are told haltingly. Of screams in the night. Of beatings and torture and rotten food. Of the young women disappearing one by one—dead, raped or sold to brothels, no one knew. Of the children succumbing to illness one by one. Of others disappearing. Of brazen murder, bodies dumped into a ravine, the one where Wei Ying and Wen Qing had found Wen Ning. Of degradation and hopelessness, of waiting for death.

Of groups being taken by a smiling man “for interrogation,” and never returning.

“Some were Qishan Wen,” a-Ning breaks in. “Others were Dafan.”

Some of the Wens have scars to show XiChen, evidence of their time abused in the labor camp. Lash mark scars on backs and legs and arms. An uncle’s broken arm that had partially healed wrong and required Wen Qing to rebreak to set and heal properly. A brand mark burned in the shape of a peony on the shoulder of one of the aunties.

The brand is especially shocking, harkening to the treatment by Wen Chao’s mistress, the scar in the shape of a sun on Wei Ying’s chest. That the Jins have resorted to the same type of cruelty, even ignoring the apparent genocide of the Wens, shows Lan WangJi they are too far down the same path as Wen RuoHan, and he hopes his brother is coming to the same conclusion.

Aunties and uncles wander in and out during stories, some getting back to work after telling their piece, some helping Wen Ning clean up after lunch. Some leave for a bit, overcome by emotion, and return to tell more. Others go back to the fields, or to work with the dyes. These are tales they have experienced; they don’t need to hear them retold.

The horror of their accumulated stories, and the fact that all clans are complicit in failing to oversee or regulate, just trusting the Jin at their word… It’s overwhelming.

Eventually, only popo, jifu, Wen Qing, and Wen Ning remain in the communal hall, the others having returned to their chores, or to handle the emotions brought up by reliving their trauma privately.

“WuXian saw this?” XiChen finally asks softly, his jaw taut.

“He saw enough,” jifu says. “Not all of it, but he saw the bodies. We weren’t allowed to bury them. He probably guessed much of the rest.”

XiChen only nods, looking devastated. Whether at the betrayal of being lied to by the Jins—or one in particular—or devastation at the souls not put to rest, Lan WangJi didn’t know. Or perhaps it was having to see the effects on the living souls forced to take refuge on a mountain that was a mass grave.

It could also be his culpability as a sect leader, of one of the remaining four great sects in not establishing a way to monitor the work camps, something that should have been done regardless of the need to rebuild.

Likely, all of it weighed on his brother.

“We were told the civilians would be watched over at Qiongqi Path. That only those who took part in the war would be executed,” XiChen says softly.

He sounds lost, and Lan WangJi wonders who told him this—he thinks it is likely it was Jin GuangYao. XiChen wouldn’t look as though he felt betrayed had he only been lied to by Jin GuangShan.

“They lied,” Lan WangJi tells him bluntly. “Wei Ying and I saw Jin ZiXun using fleeing civilians in chains as target practice. Women, children, old men… When we confronted him, he claimed the Lan and Nie sect leaders had agreed anyone concerned with yin iron should not be alive.”

He watches XiChen close his eyes again, watches shame cross his face—the same shame he has felt, a necessary shame.

“‘Captured soldiers should be treated kindly and kept,’” he murmurs, quoting Sun Tzu. “That civilians would be treated with such cruelty…”

His voice is hoarse, as he seems to recognize the immorality of what was allowed to occur, that perhaps the warning against becoming one’s enemy has been disregarded too easily, and something akin to the depravity of Wen RuoHan has taken hold, unchecked until Wei Ying’s actions.

And Wei Ying has been painted as the villain, the subject of a vicious rumor campaign including accusations of grave robbing, kidnapping, and cannibalism, the source of all ills, when he is simply farming and trying to survive.

The anger Lan WangJi felt in the tea house threatens to rise to the surface again, the slander against his zhiji, his husband, someone who upholds the values of justice and righteousness at the cost of his freedom and reputation, absolutely unacceptable.

“Their camps were just a way to kill us more slowly, outside the view of the other sects,” Wen Qing comments. “A-Ning was pierced though with a defaced Qishan Wen flag and tossed down a ravine to rest among the bodies of others killed. He was still alive when we got there, but his spiritual cognition was gone. The guards killed were those who participated in his murder.”

“I d-don’t remember killing anyone,” Wen Ning admits. “Nothing between p-passing out from pain and waking up here. It’s just a b-blank space in my memory.”

“There were at least fifty bodies down there,” Wen Qing whispers. “Wei WuXian waded into the water with me, and we checked each one until I found him.”

XiChen winces, his fist clenched under the table. He knows, likely, that their testimonies will mean little in terms of seeking justice. The winners of the war would decide the narrative of the labor camps, and the Jins had plenty of time since Wei Ying’s actions to erase evidence of their crimes.

That night in the rain, Wei Ying’s expression had been of a man disillusioned, a man who could take no more of the established order if it meant tolerating injustice. And if he had spent that time wading in fetid water tainted by corpses, seeking the body of the man he owed his life to, his friend, knowing that man was almost certainly dead… Lan WangJi could understand what would lead him to turn his back on the cultivation world that had allowed such an atrocity.

What use had Wei Ying for orthodoxy after that?

“They decided all Wens were responsible for the war,” jifu said, his voice tired. “Children like a-Yuan, grandparents like popo… Everyone. If not for young master Wei, we would be gone as well, and no one would think to care. He came to rescue a-Ning, and what he saw led him to decide he would leave none of us in that place.”

“Wen Ning rescued Jiang Cheng after the fall of Lotus Pier, and likely prevented Wei Ying’s death during indoctrination,” Lan WangJi explains.

“During indoctrination?” XiChen asks.

“Wen Chao p-put him in the dungeon with a d-direwolf,” Wen Ning supplies haltingly.

Lan WangJi goes cold—not a mere dog, but a direwolf? That Wei Ying survived long enough for aid to come is a miracle. He wonders how badly his husband was injured, but knows the herbs and energy boosting medicine at least left no scarring; he has mapped each of Wei Ying’s scars each night, and none seem to correspond with the rips that had been in his robes that day.

But back then, Wei Ying had a strong golden core.

“They did not expect him to survive the night,” Lan WangJi manages, though his calm is forced. “He believes he was intended to be an example, a warning to the rest of us.”

“Wen Chao did intend that,” Wen Qing acknowledges, lips pursed. “He was furious he survived. I knew a-Ning had intervened, but not that Wei WuXian had been locked in with that beast until later.”

XiChen is quiet for a bit, pale and clearly digesting the information. Lan WangJi is certain he knows this only scratches the surface of Wei Ying’s trauma, especially as xiongzhang is unaware Wei Ying is terrified of dogs, that he is revisiting his earlier feelings of having failed him—he has felt all of this himself. He still feels it.

“Then it seems WuXian owes a life debt to Wen QiongLin,” XiChen finally comments. “Which would usually expire upon death, but he remains spiritually conscious.”

Wen Qing draws in a sharp breath at the ramifications; though XiChen doesn’t have all the information—particularly regarding the surgery she had performed to transplant Wei Ying’s golden core to Jiang Cheng, which she seems to believe cancels out any such debt—Lan WangJi agrees with his brother’s assessment.

“Further, as WuXian was at the very least betrothed to WangJi at the time, the life debt is also his.”

While Lan WangJi fully expected this statement, it’s clear the Wens did not. Wen Qing looks overwhelmed, and Wen Ning seems confused. Jifu and popo look as though they might cry. They know what is meant here, know that this is a statement of responsibility. XiChen is condoning his support and protection of the Dafan Wens.

“GusuLan as a whole must recognize the life debt,” XiChen continues. “And as sect leader, I consider it valid. You saved my brother’s husband, and his family.”

The wording almost implies the Lan clan as a whole owes a life debt, which goes beyond what he expected—it offers an extra measure of protection. But Lan WangJi sees some of the logic his brother is going for and decides to add to it.

“Given that Wen Ning rescued Jiang Cheng from Wen Chao at Lotus Pier, and he and Wen Qing sheltered the Jiang siblings and Wei Ying at the Yiling Indoctrination Bureau, it is likely the Jiangs also owe a life debt.”

XiChen smiles at him, his eyes shrewd, calculating in a way Lan WangJi rarely sees from him. He wonders if the betrayal his brother feels over the lies he has been fed by a trusted friend has sharpened him in this way, leading him to think deviously where he usually would not.

“Of course, since Lady Jiang is to be wed to Jin ZiXuan, that would extend the life debt to him. And if Nie HuaiSang aided in protecting the Dafan Wens during the incident you mentioned, Wen Qing and Wen Ning similarly owe him a life debt.”

Wen Qing has been staring open-mouthed, but she seems to catch on quickly. Popo and jifu clearly understand and are overwhelmed. Wen Ning looks confused but seems content to listen and let his sister explain later.

“You’re proposing there exists a life debt among eight people?” she asks.

“I’m only summarizing what has occurred,” XiChen answers congenially. “I could hardly propose such a thing in the current political climate. It would undermine the Chief Cultivator. As a sect leader, that would be irresponsible of me.”

The smile on Wen Qing’s face is almost wicked.

“It seems like a matter between the eight of us,” she says. “What an auspicious number. Perhaps you would be willing to send a letter to Lady Jiang for me, Zewu-Jun? In the current political climate, anything from Yiling to Lady Jiang would garner red flags…”

“Of course. I need to send a missive to Sect Leader Jiang anyway on behalf of WangJi and WuXian, and I’m sure he would be willing to deliver a letter to his sister.”

Wen Qing rises and bows to him, then to Lan WangJi.

“Thank you. I will excuse myself to compose the letter. I’m sure Hanguang-Jun would be happy to give you a tour of our humble home.”

Popo and jifu excuse themselves to work on their projects—popo to aid in the dyeing, and jifu to work on his next carpentry project—so overcome with gratitude they almost kowtow to XiChen before they leave. XiChen, unsurprisingly, urges them not to bow; Lan WangJi knows this is partly out of guilt. Wen Qing tells Wen Ning to help with the dyeing project and move the dye vats outside before leaving as well, presumably to compose the letter.

Lan WangJi leads his brother from the hall, and around the various vegetable patches, explaining abundance of radishes nearly ready for harvest, showing him the new field with its newly sown crop of tomatoes, squash, beans, carrots, beets, peppers—for Wei Ying, he explains—and a small herb patch.

“WangJi, though the answer is obvious to me, questions will be asked about the validity of the marriage,” xiongzhang says during a lull.

He knows he is specifically thinking of shufu, but also likely of other elders who will oppose his marriage. Short of Wei Ying’s death, there is nothing they can do—and he will ensure the former does not occur.

“It has been consummated,” he replies, and is kind enough not to add ‘repeatedly’ or ‘enthusiastically’ to the assertion, however true they are. “It cannot be annulled.”

XiChen smiles and nods, and Lan WangJi leads the way back toward the settlement so he can see the structures the Wens have built and live in.

“Honestly, the closeness I witnessed between you two made that clear,” XiChen admits. “You are rarely so free with touch, WangJi, and the intimacy you share is undeniable.”

He can feel his ears heat at his brother’s unabashed comments; this is not a discussion he expected to have, but it is undeniable that touch has become an added and welcome part of his relationship with Wei Ying. He would touch him always if it were practical.

“We are happy, xiongzhang,” he says softly. “Despite the difficulties faced here, we are happy together. I know the elders and shufu will likely not be pleased with our union. If it becomes necessary for me to break with GusuLan—”

“Never,” XiChen interrupts, his tone forceful. “No, WangJi, didi… I will not allow them to cast you out. You have a responsibility to your spouse, one recognized by Lan Yi herself. You will always be welcome in the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan WangJi nods, grateful for his brother’s support. He knows he and Wei Ying, and likely the Wens as well, will have a supportive voice at Cloud Recesses.

“I will, of course, visit as much as I am able,” XiChen continues. “And if shufu insists on coming, it will be with my escort, so you may rest easy on that matter. You will probably want some of your personal items from the jingshi, as well.”

Rarely does Lan WangJi feel choked up, but XiChen’s dedication to his happiness is something that has often overwhelmed him.

“Xiongzhang, I—”

He stops when the sound of loud crying fills the air, coming from the Demon-Slaughtering Cave. Lan WangJi immediately recognizes a-Yuan’s wailing—a-Yuan, who should be napping with Wei Ying. He breaks into a run.

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dorms-fic-archive · 5 years

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What are we going through, you and me?

Summary: Faced with an opportunity to address that which he’d thought was long-forgotten, Armin was still able to acknowledge the existence of his own human frailties. (Takes place sometime after the recapture of Shiganshina. Canon-divergent.) [Ao3 | FFNet.]

a/n: And now for something completely different!

Despite the pairing(s) listed, I wouldn't really call this fic purely romantic, at least not in the traditional sense, which is why it's not labeled "romance"; in terms of the themes addressed herein, I'm leaving it up to you to decipher what you will. It's certainly not the happiest story, but it's not complete doom-and-gloom, either. Mild pretentions aside, I haven't written Armin in ages, so this was a nice change!

Title comes from the song "Hairpin Turns", by The National.

It had been three months to the day the Titans surrounding Paradis were all exterminated, yet there was nothing much to be done at present. Rebuilding the damages and consoling the families of those recently deceased took up time, consumed resources, and once the illusion of immediacy fell away it left Armin bitter, yearning for an attack, something, anything to indicate their victory was not so hollowly earned; but that change had already come, and he did not wish to consider that he might for a minute sound like Eren.

To-day: a sunny after-noon alone in the library at Trost’s Legion HQ, waiting for Eren to come back from another series of tests with Commander Hanji; his powers were only beginning to grow, and making guillotines out of crystal was just one proven expenditure. Mikasa was busy enough, training with Captain Levi to assume a similar position; Armin was happy for her, even if it didn’t alleviate his loneliness. Annie made decent company when she decided to tag along.

“Why does he do it?” Armin thought aloud, already knowing the answer. Eren will never be content until he’s sure that his actions are well-earned. It might kill him someday.

“He wants to think he’s in control of himself,” Annie said, matter-of-factly. “What about you?”

Armin hesitated. “What about me?”

“Are you in control?”

“That’s a broad statement. I don’t have the context to answer you appropriately.”

Annie seemed to ruminate on that for a while. “What context?”

He figured she could see it in his eyes, or sense it in his hunched posture; the duality he tried to suffocate, this conflict between the friend he feared to lose and the tenuous alliance he’d formed with her — for now.

(Annie’s betrayal was old news to most who were there when she’d first crystallised herself — and there was really no one left to care about her besides Eren or Hanji. She’s like a bug behind glass, he’d thought, in the days before she’d woken up. A petty nuisance. I don’t know why we’re bothering to keep her.

Though Eren had likely surpassed her in sheer ability, by now; perhaps she was still superior in terms of technique? Supposing Eren’s Titan would be able to consume her — well, it’s called the Female Titan — or was the title more significant?)

“He’s told me before, what he thinks will happen after the Marley arrive. I don’t think he’s too keen on budging,” Armin grumbled.

“Have you asked him lately?”

Armin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why do you care?”

She shrugged. “I don’t, really.”

Armin considered that. Regardless of his inheritance, he was sure that he had never felt anything towards her before, besides apathy. He told himself in his head until it stuck — but it was something beyond his control, at least theoretically, and he could not afford that kind of vulnerability. It made him leery to talk to her, but it also forced him to try; he would not be cowed by mere hypotheticals. Besides, it was nice to talk to somebody who didn’t expect much in return.

“You’re his friend, Arlert. It’s not my job to be a messenger.”

He had tried talking with Eren. Several times, in fact. It usually went something like this:

“This revenge you want so desperately; it’s not end-all, so what will be left afterwards?”

“We’ll have ended the war,” Eren said simply. He sounded tired, more often these days, in a sense that Hanji’s ruthless testing or the strange new anxiety brought on in a world without Titans could not be faulted for; it penetrated his eyes, went beyond the physical strain. Armin did find it wearisome to keep running around the same concepts like this, day-in, day-out, like military ritual. That was one of the bigger reasons they weren’t talking so much; let Eren come to him for a change, for old time’s sake.

And Armin couldn’t remember the last time they had talked about unimportant matters, but he himself had no patience for triviality anymore. The sight of the ocean had thrilled him, yes — enough to smuggle back a shell with him in his quarters, while Eren had carried nothing at all but his newfound revenge — but that had been some time ago. Armin did not want to see the new cadets that would never quite understand what it was exactly they were being trained for, would never experience the fresh horror of something like Trost, watching your best friend slip away into the belly of a Titan and know you could do nothing but scream.

(There was hardly a need anymore, Armin mused, to strongly emphasise teaching them how to use manoeuvre gear. Give them guns, and instruct them more thoroughly in how to lead each other to victory in human combat — it was only a matter of time, given what he and Eren had seen in flashes, this terrifying, beautiful World Beyond the Walls.)

Eren was the only one who would humour him and listen when they talked about strategy — Annie was becoming familiar, but Armin did not like to dwell on this notion for long, as it incited the same pit of mistrust in his gut; she was never your friend, she may have spared you once, better not to test it, despite what Bertholdt’s memories say.

This ritual began every time he put his thoughts to paper: your name is Armin Arlert, you are sixteen years old, no, seventeen, and you are in the Scouting Legion.

He supposed his friendship with Eren was not something that would last indefinitely, no more than Eren’s relationship with Annie, but nothing was truly indefinite from the human perspective. Mortality was their only constant.

Armin was a patient boy, now nearly a man, though he did not feel like he had grown up very much between the years. Several years of exhaustive military training had hardened his body, but that could be said for any one of them. Now, the miraculous, unexpected nature of his rebirth turned him strange and flawless. Cuts were quick to heal and he did not tire as easily as he had before. Energy was abundant, always itching beneath his skin and muscles.

The Colossus Titan, when he transformed, was nothing like what he had imagined it would be, all those times pulling Eren from the nape of his Titan, feeling the heat of his skin. It was a laborious thing, heavy on his back and in his chest, burning so intensely he knew it would have grievously wounded him as a mortal boy.

It stuck with him upon reawakening in the Garrison’s infirmary, Mikasa at his side.

“Eren’s worried,” she’d confided, “about you.”

Of course, he had thought. Eren is still my friend. We may have our differences, but even so, he’s my friend. He’d die for me still, and I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him.

All he had said was: “Tell him I’d love to talk.”

“I’m worried about you,” Armin told Eren now, careful to keep his tone clinical. “You shouldn’t push yourself too hard; you’ll be ill-fit for combat.”

“You sound like Mikasa.” Eren wiped his nose, sitting up on the cot. “Both of you worry too much. It’s going to shorten your lifespan.” He flashed him a grin through the crimson blotting his lip; Armin did not reciprocate.

“You don’t talk to anyone about normal things, anymore. All you seem to care about, from my perspective, is this war that we haven’t even started yet. We don’t know exactly what is out there waiting for us.”

“It’s out there, we can’t ignore it forever. And why d'you care?” His tone was oddly brittle, churlish. Armin didn’t understand.

“You’re — we’re friends, Eren.”

“So what? I can look after myself.”

If the right person talked to him, gave him a clear sense of direction, he would probably do almost anything if it meant getting a leg up over the enemy. Armin felt tired again.

“I never asked you to worry about me,” Eren said bluntly. “Not all the time. We can —” he glanced back at him, suddenly anxious “— shit, I mean. I want to look after you, as well.”

“You’re not — this isn’t like what you have with Annie,” Armin said, defensive, “and you know it, don’t you?”

Eren let his hand drop, curling to an empty fist. “Armin,” he croaked. “That’s not what I meant.”

But the emotion was there, bleeding into his voice, the clenching of his jaw. Armin felt light-headed. “What are you saying, then?”

Eren’s face contorted, like he was at odds with himself. “I…” he licked his lips, would not meet Armin’s eyes, “I thought you’d moved on, so.”

Armin resisted the urge to take him by the shoulders and demand clarification. “You replaced me in your mind with someone else? Is that it?” He could not help the incredulity.

Eren’s scowl deepened. “What? Goddammit, no. You’re different from her, but that’s not…” he grit his teeth, “I-I care about you. Both of you, not like Mikasa, and — I don’t want to see you hurt, but… Christ, I don’t know what that means.” He looked miserable within conviction. Armin wasn’t sure what to make of this.

“Does Annie know?”

Eren flushed. “Shit, I dunno.”

Mikasa wasn’t around often enough to give counsel; Armin had never really how much they struggled without her until now. But they were only getting older, and there was the ambiguity of the future ahead of them. They would need to work this out on their own.

“Are you going to tell her, then?”

Eren blenched, but did not answer.

It was a week or so before Eren got back with him; during this time, Armin found it difficult to hold conversation with Annie, who had gone quieter than usual. He threw himself into his duties as a solider and tried very, very hard not to dwell upon ambiguities.

Puberty had afflicted him later than most of his peers in Military Academy, which had kept his mind sharp, of course, but also disillusioned him greatly to the prospect of sex and desire — even now, it was something he treated as inefficient, messy and not something he could afford if he wanted to get ahead in life. Ignoring it was less of an option as he grew older. Masturbation was only a short-term solution; and it was difficult not to acknowledge who it was he circled back to in the end; he had tried blocking this out, thinking about other boys who would never look his way — not a difficult feat. This was hardly the time to address it. But when was that prudent moment, exactly? Was he going to be hoping until the day he died for something that simply didn’t exist outside the boundaries of his ill-fitting, selfish desire to be wanted, like anyone else?

But Eren had said that he wanted him. He wanted him. He would not, could not, dispel this truth from his mind, invoking a dangerous, possibly hedonistic sense of optimism that kept him humming, impatient for what was next.

“Armin.”

“So what did she say?” Armin asked him at last. “Annie, I mean.” Eren didn’t answer immediately. “You did ask her?”

“I think she knew.” He sounded mystified. “She didn’t really say anything. Is that, uh.” He looked hopefully to Armin, who wasn’t sure he liked where this was going — he told himself this firmly.

“What are you getting at?”

“Is it bad?” Eren mumbled, “that I, you know.” They bumped shoulders; in the context of their conversation, it was a strangely intimate gesture.

Armin chewed his lip. “I don’t know, Eren.”

Eren laughed, low and nervous. “Well, I meant what I told you. And…” he chanced a glance at him, “I want to show you, what I mean.”

Armin’s head was spinning. Eren’s hand was rough and sure in his.

“I-I really don’t think that’s —” Armin trailed off, half-hearted.

Eren squeezed. “I want you to know. Not just by me saying it.”

“What about Annie?” Armin blurted.

“Didn’t you talk to her?”

Armin could feel his face go hot. “What are you — oh God, Eren, she’s not my friend.”

Their laughter was shared, anxious. “O.K., O.K., I’ll get her. We can talk —” his thumb kissed the ridges of his knuckles “— about this, someplace quieter. Meet me up at the square to-morrow morning, I’ve got nothing to do before then.”

The place to meet, as it turned out, was a non-descript inn somewhere in Trost’s outskirts. The man at the bar seemed confused when he asked for the names of his fellow soldiers.

“We’re travelling through the city together on down-time,” said Armin confidently; it was a white lie, after all. “We were planning on staying for a while —”

“Three of you?” the man cut in. Armin did his best not to look confused.

“That’s correct, sir.”

“If they’re not out on the town, I expect they’re up there. Already paid in advance. The room’s the second one on your left, as soon as you come up the stairs.”

Armin could barely contain himself. “Th-thank you, sir.” Climbing the stairs with a mounting sense of anticipation, his hand gripping the rail tightly. He barely took in his surroundings, looked instead for the room on the left; the door was closed, which was a little worrying. He heard movement behind the door and lifted his hand to knock.

Someone cursed; footsteps approaching, and before Armin could hope that he’d picked the right room, the door opened and Eren was there. He looked dishevelled, missing his jacket and boots — Armin’s eyes settled on the ridge of his clavicle.

“Armin,” he said lowly. “Glad you could make it.”

“What’s with — oh.”

Eren looked at Annie, who looked back at him half-naked from the bed, and Armin felt a little like dashing out quickly, inconspicuously, while there was still time to forget this had ever happened, but his feet wouldn’t move.

It was Eren who met his eyes again, muttered: “Close the door behind you.”

“Arlert?” Annie, sitting up, eying him intently. Her nudity seemed less indecent in close-quarters — or maybe he was just starting to accept this as a venerable outcome.

He was afraid, in the back of his mind, of what he would see when he looked at her — the memory of the surrogate intercepted by its inheritance — but they had known each other before, as cadets, then enemies, now soldiers, and had talked with their own names, and he was sure enough that he possessed memories before the retaking of Shiganshina, a personality that was all his own. But the same could be said of Eren.

“I-I’m not sure what you expect me to say,” Armin muttered, staring intently at the wall above her left shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d get started without me.”

“Is that what you think it is about?”

Armin flustered. “God, no. I don’t — want that to be the reason I’m agreeing to —” he could not look at Eren for very long without his mouth going dry.

Annie frowned. “No one said you had to agree to anything.”

It was Eren who reached out and touched his shoulder; his hands were very warm, and Armin wasn’t sure anymore, what or who he needed. “Armin,” he said, very quietly. “What d'you want?”

“I —” his voice broke; he sucked in a furious breath “— I want to be sure this is my choice, right now, not — anyone else’s.” He did not add that there were several other, less emotionally compromising ways to accomplish this feat. “I don’t want to get in the way of this,” speaking quickly, evasive, “I can leave now, if you —” Eren’s grip on him turned brusque; Armin flinched before he could stop himself.

“This isn’t just about us,” said Annie. “It's… ” she faltered; offering reassurance was clearly not what she was used to, “…you and I, Arlert, we’re not together. So we have nothing to lose.”

“Because you have each other,” said Armin, forcing himself to be patient, because neither of them would acknowledge what seemed to him so laughably, irrefutably obvious.

Her eyes hardened. “Well, you aren’t like Bertholdt, are you?”

Armin shot her a furious look; how dare she bring that up now.

“Enough,” said Eren curtly. Annie relented. “Right, Armin. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, but. I don’t mind if you stay a little longer.” He had softened at the edges, his gruffness giving way to a kind of reckless certainty that Armin knew all-too well.

“What do you mean, stay?”

“You could watch,” Eren muttered, going pink. “Think about it, then decide for yourself.” He looked once more to Annie; she was sitting up straight, almost impatient. Armin didn’t quite understand when Eren flashed him a cautious grin before walking over to rejoin her.

“Hold on, what about her?” Armin retorted.

Annie blinked. “What about me, Arlert.”

“I —” suppressing the need to roll his eyes, because he didn’t always want to be the sense of reason “— shouldn’t we talk about this, first?”

Annie blinked. “He’s willing, I’m willing, and you’re still here.”

Armin opened his mouth to dispute the point, but what was there to dispute? She didn’t want him the way she did Eren, and he wouldn’t have asked her to feel that way, but — maybe it wasn’t so concrete, anyway.

“You want me to watch,” he repeated. “Both of you.”

He could see the blush splotching her cheeks as Eren rucked down her trousers. No one said anything to the contrary. Armin was still able to acknowledge the existence of his own human frailties; bit his tongue, weighing the desire that he had thought he’d long-since forgotten, but had known to be there all along.

“O.K.,” he said lowly. “You, uh, don’t have to wait for me.”

Annie’s eyes glinted. She took Eren’s face in her hands, muttered something he couldn’t make out at this distance. Eren swallowed dryly.

They were kissing again. A tentativeness persisted in Eren’s hands as he pulled her into his lap, cupping her thighs and stomach and breasts, kissing her slow. Armin wondered if that was ritual, or if he should be thinking about their private lives in detail; in the present, Annie grunted and held Eren to her breast. Armin wanted to avert his eyes completely, but that would defeat the point, so in compromise he tried looking at her face.

They locked eyes and Armin couldn’t have said a word, even if he’d wanted. She seemed to jolt in turn, wide-eyed and flushed, but then she groaned, rolling her hips against Eren’s thigh, mussing his hair.

“Armin,” she tried, the syllables heavy on her tongue, “Armin, c'mere.”

Eren’s shoulders shifted beneath. “Oi, are you still over there…?” he teased.

They weren’t putting him on the spot, but it elicited the same swoop in his gut. They had talked about this before, then. He did not love her, not in this way; but of course, one didn’t need to be in love to fuck another person? Shouldn’t think like that. Shouldn’t think at all, actually.

“Shit —” groaning, she tucked her head away. Eren kissed her in concern.

“Wanna stop?”

“No.” Her voice was small.

“Hey, look. We, uh, don’t have to.”

“Do you want —” she bit her lip, undulating “— this? Us?”

Armin wondered who she was asking, really. Eren shivered. “Fuck, I…” he seemed to forget how to speak a moment, “yeah.”

Annie raised her head. Her eyes were shiny when she called: “Arlert?”

On the bed, in a daze, he didn’t remember getting there. And they didn’t kiss, didn’t touch, just held him. Mainly Eren. He could smell him, this close. Now, kissing him — would she feel left out? — Eren, palming him roughly through his chinos. “You want this, too?”

Armin nodded. “What do you…” going quiet as it struck him that perhaps Eren, like him, hadn’t thought about this in a while.

“Strip,” he told him. “I want to see you.”

Armin unbuttoned himself with trembling fingers. Eren drank him in silently, the same unabashed desire in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful, both of you,” Eren muttered, flushed up to his ears — Annie bit her lip — and Armin felt ten times warmer than he had before. Eren seemed at a loss for what to do with himself after this revelation.

“Armin,” he croaked, nuzzling him, reaching for her. “Annie.” She stretched herself out languidly on the bed, eliciting a low sigh. Armin still felt overwhelmed. “You wanna go first, or…?” he grunted, nudging him with his shoulder, and Armin realised he meant him.

Armin scowled. “You were busy.”

“Now I’m not.” Licked his lips, hesitant, then said bravely: “Want me to suck you?”

Armin stared blankly at him. Even Annie made a little huffing noise in the back of her throat.

“I meant it,” Eren grumbled, going pink again. “I want to.”

Annie made no effort to conceal her amusement; Armin scoffed in retort. Eren took him by the shoulder.

“You trust me, yeah?” he muttered, and the sudden switch to undertones told him that he had not had much practise.

In an effort to save face, Armin said: “I’ll do it first.”

Eren stopped dead. “Shit, Armin.”

“Let me try,” he insisted. He did not add that he was worried he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

Eren shivered with delight, kissing him. “O.K., O.K.” Then put him on his knees — must’ve known, then, what he really wanted — and he ached for what was going to happen. It was Eren who sighed, offering himself promptly.

So Armin kissed it. Eren gasped a little, which was encouragement enough to continue; kissing, tonguing the head, until he was pushed back and Eren was muttering his name, yes, his name, stricken, and it was the same heady rush of infatuation as in dreams, only dizzyingly strong. So Armin took it in his mouth and the hand in his hair drew a fist, tugging him forward. Annie’s weight shifted, came around his back, her mouth soft and sure over his nape and — he moaned drunkenly when he felt her hands curl around him, and Eren cursed, tugged a bit harder.

Armin felt him hit the back of his throat and gagged; Eren cupped his face, mumbling feverish apologies. He wanted Eren at his back, touching him, kissing him; he wanted him inside, he wanted to be fucked, giddy and terrified at the thought, but not in front of anyone else, not Annie.

In the end, Eren didn’t let him finish and he was left gasping, indignant. “Don’t wanna come like that,” he mumbled. “You O.K.?”

“Fine,” Armin grunted, sitting up and blotting at his mouth. Annie kissed his cheek tentatively. “Oi,” he muttered, reaching back for her, “you don’t have to —” melting when she pumped him again, and he moaned “— God, will you just — ah!”

“Shh,” she breathed, catching his thighs and digging in lightly with her nails. “Not yet.”

Armin groaned, his hips churning on air. Eren just laughed hoarsely, leaning in close enough to kiss but speaking soft instead: “How do you want us?”

So Armin rolled over onto his back and Annie was straddling him, cautious; he understood, vaguely, what he was supposed to do and took her by the hips, sank. He felt Eren come up behind him again, nipping his jaw, sitting him up, pulling him back by the waist and grinding recklessly against his ass and — it was too real, all of a sudden.

“Wait —” he gasped, arms back to brace himself insufficiently. “Eren, I can’t.” Too many variables outside of his control; diseases, the lack of any proper lubrication — he felt again like an obstruction, the weight of reality becoming an insufferable inconvenience.

Eren didn’t let go, kissed his neck: “We don’t have to.” The same anxiety echoed in his voice; Armin was light-headed.

It was Annie who gripped his chin, said: “Arlert.” She drew herself up on her knees and sank down slow. It felt good enough that he could relax, somewhat.

Eren, to his credit, wrapped his arms around them both and started to move in tandem. Clumsy, because none of them had ever done this before, but Annie was solid in his lap, kissing him pointedly, and Eren behind him, holding his hips, nose in his hair — he was getting taller every month, it seemed — this was such a simplistic, base way to express affection; Armin tried to think, but it was easier to hold her waist, kiss down her throat to the little jumping pulse in her neck — read once about this, because he was curious about the stimuli that was all — and her breath stuttered, walls squeezing him aptly.

He knew he wanted to move faster but couldn’t, pinned between their bodies, too warm to think with any kind of clarity.

“Wait,” he gasped. “Wait, you two.”

“Hunh?”

“What?”

Their responses were almost synchronous; Armin had to chuckle. “I-I can’t really do much, from this position.”

“Oh.” Eren was sheepish. Annie held his gaze.

“Move back a little,” Armin said to her.

She raised her eyebrows, but obliged; she was pretty enough, he supposed, leaning back on her hands against his knees and exposing herself inadvertently — he didn’t look down, figuring that would be too much. She didn’t look away as she sank onto him again, but her eyes fluttered when he twitched, unable to help his body’s reaction.

She tried a couple more times, panting slyly, grunting in satisfaction once she found whatever she was looking for: “There, Arlert.”

Eren perked up. Armin was trying not to make any noise. Her brow creased.

“Oi,” she said, tapping his chin again. Armin squeezed her hips out of reflex.

Eren reached around and cupped her breast; she hummed, arching forward and Armin wondered if this was too far, too private, but she rocked faster atop him, grabbing his idle hand to place it on her other breast, huffing: “you can touch me, Arlert,” and who was he to refuse?

Eren throbbed insistently against the small of his back; Armin was nearly there himself.

“Annie,” he hissed, “stop, I’m going to —”

She shuddered, raising her hips. “Pull out.”

He did so, and Eren, wrapping a hand around his dick, nuzzling his jaw, groaned, “‘rmin, let me help you —”

And Armin grunted, shunting his body back like they were wrestling. Eren’s mouth curled, capturing him in a feverish half-kiss, their skin wickedly hot like the aftermath of a Shift; he kept fumbling over Armin’s name between rough strokes, kissing harder, thumbing him; Armin, curling into his chest, felt his eyes roll back, knew he was going to scream, so close it almost hurt to be touched; knew that Eren wasn’t going to stop pushing this time until he snapped.

He tried to gasp, or call out but his voice was halting. Ended up coming in Eren’s fist and across his own stomach. When he recovered, Annie was still there, flushed and considering him through her bangs. She also had her hand between her knees, grunted something like: “Jaeger.”

“Armin?” Eren’s voice was thick at his ear, a little strained. He was still hard.

Armin moaned stupidly.

“Shh. That was good, you’re good — you rest for now,” Eren pecked him on the cheek, brief and brusque before he disentangled himself, crept over to Annie and teased, “oi, oi, we’re not done,” hefting her by the waist, he threw her left leg haphazardly over his shoulder and sank into her cunt without preamble.

Armin heard him grunt as she hissed, cursing — turning his head to catch the sight of them, tangled up in each other — Annie coiled her arms around Eren, snarling: “hurry up and fuck me, Jaeger” and they went at it for about half a minute, hard enough to make the headboard rattle, before she lost herself with a hoarse shout; Eren muffled a growl into her neck, pinning her to the mattress — he couldn’t keep the momentum going after he spent.

Annie caught his eye and blushed, like she hadn’t expected him to watch. “Sh-shit, Arlert.”

The uneasy feeling returned, more like envy or guilt — he really shouldn’t be here at all.

“Mm. Armin?” Eren, unravelling himself from her with a fleeting buss to her forehead. “How was that?”

Armin didn’t know if talking was even necessary.

“Arlert?” Now Annie was up, crawling over and gripping him by the shoulders. “Speak.”

He sighed through his nose. “You really need to work on your approach; you’re much too brusque for this.”

Annie stared blankly at him. Eren came over and kissed her jaw, making her suck in a breath. “Ease up with him, yeah?” he chided, thumbing circles into her hips.

“Shut up, Jaeger; he’s fine,” she huffed, pressing into the contact nonetheless.

“I’m right here, you know,” Armin groaned, and for the first time he felt left out in a way that didn’t leave him guilt-ridden.

Eren smirked. “C'mere, then.”

So Armin sat up and turned into his embrace; Eren kept him close, Annie did not reach for him so easily.

I don’t know if this was a mistake. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Mikasa, or if I’ll tell her anything. Maybe she’ll know. Maybe she already knew. I’m not going to think about this now.

“Armin,” said Annie quietly.

Armin hesitated. “Yes?”

“Do you think,” she began, “that you would come to regret this, to-morrow?”

Eren shivered. “No.”

“Not you,” she said, impatient, “I mean Arlert.”

What he said was: “I don’t want to lose either of you.”

Eren pulled them closer, while Annie offered him a tired smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

a/n: I still can't quite believe I wrote this, but I guess I've said that before and it's never stopped me! That said, it's likely going to be a one-time deal. Your feedback is highly appreciated, even if it's not always inherently positive or negative; I like making people think or feel something, even with fanfiction.

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leonawriter · 6 years

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Proposition: I do not think that the alternate ending was ever, from its conception, supposed to be taken as an alternate ending to the entire game.

Reasoning: Ignis’ side-story is the only time in which we get to see the very timeline itself diverge in such a way. At various other points you can choose to follow different characters, or different dialogue options, which may impact the story. But those are all minor changes; if you choose non-diplomatic options when talking with the First Secretary you still manage to ‘somehow’ secure terms with her, for instance.

My thoughts are thus - Noctis, Prompto, and Gladio are all far more the sort to keep carrying on with their one path, and if they are faced with other options, are likely to choose the one that means following their heart or the ‘right course of action’, not considering what would happen if they chose the other option.

Ignis, however, is the strategist type. He plans, so that the others don’t have to.

Therefore it makes sense that the one time we see an alternate option play out in its entirety is when the strategist is given an option to do one thing or another, which could lead to vastly different outcomes.

In this case, it’s entirely likely that the alternate ending is what runs through Ignis’ mind in the time it takes to see him hesitate; this would explain why the telling of events is skewed in Ignis’ favour, with the Ring (when he does put it on) giving him its full power at one point, as well as the unsympathetic light that Ardyn himself is shown in.

If the reason why we see Ardyn as more sympathetic in the true version of events is that we’re seeing things through Noct’s eyes - which we are, given the dialogue options all control how Noct himself says things, and the actions we control are his - then in Episode Ignis the entire world is coloured by how Ignis sees things.

Ardyn is a danger to Noct, therefore he is more of a villain here, because Ignis has none of Noct’s own understanding toward the man.

I don’t think that all of it is Altissia-Ignis projecting his ideas of what a future along this path could hold, as it is very much an alternate timeline. However-

I recognised the method of storytelling from VII’s constant retelling of the Nibelheim Incident, in which we see the perspectives of each person who was there, leading to vastly differing accounts of what happened. One person says that one thing happened, another says that something else did, and for some there were only X number of people, while others saw someone else, and others still saw fewer people or a greater number.

Every person’s account is biased, based on the fact that each person telling the story is coming at things from a different perspective. In this case, Ignis.

This is again seen in the way that the story ends; Ignis’ idea of a good ending is the kind where his King stays alive, where all threats are neutralised. He sees Ravus as a generally good person who's lost his way, so Ravus is still around as well. He sees himself as able to figure out some alternate plan of action to eliminate Ardyn’s threat without Noct dying.

But... this doesn't account for Noct’s own happiness. It accounts for him staying alive, sure, but is he happy? What about Ravus’ happiness? Noct’s fiancee and Ravus’ sister is dead. Ravus even outright says at one point during the canon part of Ep. Ignis that a life without Lunafreya didn’t bear thinking of.

Ignis is a good person who wants what’s best for everyone, but at the same time, he has his own priorities, which tend to lie skewed in favour of Noct being alive to be crowned king, but perhaps due to his upbringing - where Noct was his duty more than any friendships or ability to have an actual childhood - he finds it difficult to factor in peoples’ emotional needs, including his own.

So, in conclusion? Episode Ignis is the only side-story so far with an alternate ending because that’s Ignis’ planning mind at work, sizing up potential pros and cons of ‘what could work and what could go wrong’ with the two options he sees himself as having. While it can be and in some ways is an actual alternate timeline, it fits much better as a (partial at least) fabrication of Ignis’ own mind. It is biased because it is from Ignis’ perspective, and imperfect because it is touched with Ignis’ own priorities.

In the end, Ignis looked at the possibility of what could happen, or at least the limited understanding he could have given that he didn't know all of the facts, and chose the outcome that he believed was the safer and more reliable for Noctis, as well as the rest of the world, which also explains why some of his actions and words in the alternate ending read as vaguely out of character to me; it’s because these are things that he chose not to do.

#Leona watches FFXV #episode ignis

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Star Trek: Discovery Season 3 Episode 9 Easter Eggs & References

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This Star Trek: Discovery article contains spoilers for Season 3, Episode 9.

Although a casual fan doesn’t need to know the ins-and-outs of Star Trek canon to get into Star Trek: Discovery, it certainly helps! Although all of Discovery Season 3 has been set in a “new” part of the Trek timeline, the 32nd Century to be exact, the series hasn’t entirely been freed of canon restraints. From Trill, to Starfleet history, and beyond, Discovery Season 3 has been a rollercoaster of connections to the entire sprawling canon of Trek. And, as “Terra Firma Part 1” proves, that canon isn’t just limited to one universe. Here are all the Easter eggs and references we caught in Discovery Season 3, Episode 9, “Terra Firma, Part 1.”

The Kelvin Universe

Right at the top of the episode, the mysterious Kovich (David Cronenberg) explains to Culber that traveling both across time and jumping from different universes can “make you pretty sick,” and in the case of a “time soldier” named Yor, can be fatal. This 2379 Starfleet officer is a Betelgeusian, but also “from a parallel universe caused by the temporal incursion of a Romulan mining ship.” This is the first time in “Prime” Trek canon that we’ve been told outright that they’re even aware of the Kelvin Universe. Further, Yor is the first glimpse of the future of what Starfleet looks after the reboot films in that timeline. Basically, Yor’s uniform might look like an early TNG-era jumpsuit, but because he’s got a 2370s combadge, it’s a bit of a mishmash.

TLDR: In the future of the Kelvin Universe, they dress like it’s the beginning of TNG. But, who knows? Maybe in Yor’s universe, gold in 2379 still means “command.”

Oh! And Yor’s death also neatly explains why Old Spock died off screen in Star Trek Beyond. Kovich says: “Before Georgiou, Yor was the only individual known to have traveled across time and dimensions.” This implies his files don’t know about Old Spock, who did the same. The question is: How does Starfleet in the Prime Universe know about the Kelvin Universe (and how it was created) and not know about Old Spock going there? Hmmm?

The Temporal Wars and the Temporal Accords

Kovich mentions both the Temporal Wars and the Temporal Accords, and mentions that the “Interdimensional displacement restriction” prevents people from going to other parallel universes on purpose. According to Daniels in Star Trek: Enterprise, the Temporal Accords existed sometime in the 31st century, roughly a hundred years before the events of Discovery Season 3, and likely before the burn. Although Discovery has mentioned “the Temporal Wars” before, it stands to reason that one aspect of these wars was the “Temporal Cold War” seen throughout all four seasons of Enterprise.

“Maybe they’ll call you Killy after all”

Georgiou jokes that if Tilly manages to kill the crew by accident that “maybe they’ll call you Killy after all.” This references Season 1 of Discovery in which we learned that Mirror Tilly’s nickname was “Captain Killy.” Notably, we never saw Captain Killy in “Despite Yourself,” or any of the other Season 1 episodes in which she was referenced. Obviously, that changes in this episode.

The Gamma Quadrant

The Discovery’s computer suggests taking Georgiou to the planet Dannus V, which Michael Burnham says is “just shy of the Gamma Quadrant near the galactic rim.” So, to put this in perspective, the Gamma Quadrant is the area of space that the Bajoran Wormhole led to in Deep Space Nine. Saying this planet is just shy of the Gamma Quadrant, could indicate it’s right on the border between the Alpha and Gamma Quadrants, which would be “north” of Federation space, roughly. The galactic rim might refer to the barrier at the edge of the galaxy. This barrier was breached by the USS Enterprise in “Where No Man Has Gone Before” and again in “By Any Other Name.” Relevantly, passing through that barrier caused Gary Mitchell and Dr. Dehner to acquire PSI powers and slowly go nuts.

Speaking of Gary Mitchell…

Admiral Vance suggests that leaving Georgiou on an “Uninhabited planet is better than a brig in the starship.” This kind of references the idea that Kirk was going to maroon Gary Mitchell on Delta Vega, rather than just kill him outright. Meanwhile, while the name of the planet here — Dannus V — is new to Trek canon, the word could reference writer Richard Danus, who wrote for both TNG and DS9.

The needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the one

Saru quotes Spock from The Wrath of Khan in his decision not to help Georgiou with her condition. He’s overruled eventually, which kind of echoes Saru’s conversation with the Vulcan president T’Rina in “Unification III,” in which she told him that maxim’s like that one were part of some bagge the Vulcans were trying to get over.

“You hesitated last time”

Vance tells Burnham that he needs to know she won’t hesitate if Georgiou gets dangerous. Burnham says, “you’re referring to Commander Airiam.” This references the events of “Project Daedalus,” in which Airiam nearly killed everyone after getting possessed by the AI called Control.

New phasers

We’ve been seeing “new” Starfleet phasers in the opening credits for a while, but this looks like the first time someone picks one up. It also appears that the phaser morphs into something on Georgiou’s wrist. So, maybe these phasers are made of programmable matter?

“Where I’m from we were Prime and you were the Mirror”

The idea that there is an “objective” Prime Universe, is of course fanspeak that has bled into the actual canon of Star Trek. Nobody in the Mirror Universe considers themselves to be from an alternate dimension, and ditto with the Kelvin Universe. This is the first time this kind of thing has been openly addressed on-screen in Trek canon.

“Door Doesn’t Register at All”

Burnham says that the mysterious door doesn’t “register” on her Tricorder. This is a little like the Guardian of Forever in the TOS episode “City on the Edge of Forever.” In that episode, Spock says, “For this to do what it does it does is impossible by any science I understand.”

Prefix code

When Adira and Stamets locate the Kelpien ship that is still sending a signal in the Verubin Nebula, they mention that they have the prefix code, which should be able to open up a backdoor to the systems. This references The Wrath of Khan when Kirk uses the prefix code of the Reliant to order the ship to lower its shields.

“Die standing”

Before Georgiou walks through the magic door, she says she’d rather “die standing.” This might reference a recent tie-in novel Discovery novel called Die Standing by John Jackson Miller. In that book, there’s a character from Georgiou’s past named San, and it seems like this is the person she’s mourning in the Mirror Universe flashbacks from this season.

Lorca’s Coup

Georgiou has seemingly traveled into the Mirror Universe, and back into the year 2255. All of these events served as the backstory for Star Trek: Discovery Season 1, and effectively happened “before” the show began. For a full breakdown of all the ways Georgiou’s new trip to the Mirror Universe changes what we know of this timeline, check out this handy article.

Epsilon Indi IV

“Killy” references the Imperial shipyards on Epsilon Indi IV. This star system first appeared in the TOS episode “And the Children Shall Lead.”

Mirror Landry returns

Ellen Landry, played by Battlestar Galactica veteran Rekha Sharma, returns in this episode. We haven’t seen Landry since season 1 of Discovery in which she seemingly died twice, once as Prime Landry, and again, when DISCO blew-up the Charon. Notably, Landry was part of Lorca’s coup, but it looks like nobody knows that right now.

Georgiou’s fancy title

We hear Emperor Georgiou’s fancy title twice in this episode: Her Most Imperial Majesty, Mother of the Fatherland, Overlord of Vulcan, Dominus of Qo’noS, Regina Andor, Philippa Georgiou Augustus Iaponius Centarius. We first heard this title in the Discovery episode “Vaulting Ambition.”

Evil DOT bots

The last time we visited the Mirror Universe, we hadn’t been introduced to the DOT bots from Season 2 of Discovery, yet. Here, it appears that the Terran Starfleet has red-eyed versions of these cute little things, because, of course they do.

Vahar’ai retcon

In Season 1 of Discovery, we didn’t know about the process of Vahar’ai, in which Kelpiens are supposed to turn into baddasses. In the Mirror Universe, it seems that the Terrans have taken the place of the Ba’ul, introduced in the episode, “A Sound of Thunder.” Did Georgiou know about Vahar’ai only because of her trip to the Prime Universe? Or do high-level Terrans know about it?

Owo, the security chief of the Charon

We see Owo battling to keep her job as the security chief of the Charon. In the first Mirror Timeline, she had this job.

Georgiou’s backstory seems to foreshadow Deep Space Nine’s Mirror Universe

During the christening ceremony, we see a dramatic recreation of Georgiou’s ascension to become Emperor of the Terran Empire. One aspect of this has to do with her totally dominating the Klingons. In the future of the Mirror Universe, we learn that the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance eventually destroyed the Terran Empire. Clearly, the Klingons were harboring a hundred-year-long grudge.

Daughter of Rome

Did the Roman Empire just not fall in the Mirror Universe? When Stamets calls Georgiou a “daughter of Rome” it really makes you think that’s the case. But, if we’re meant to think that the Roman Empire didn’t fall in the ancient history of the Terran Universe, then it feels super-unlikely that all the same people would have even been born, in order to like, establish duplicates of Tilly, Stamets, Kirk, Spock, etc. I mean, I guess it’s possible, but wow, the divergence goes back that far?

Georgiou is kinda like Kirk in “Mirror, Mirror”

In terms of story beats, Georgiou is in a similar place Kirk was in “Mirror, Mirror.” Kirk spared Mirror Chekov’s life, Georgiou spares Mirror Burnham’s life. Kirk started being nice to his concubine, Georgiou is being nice to her slave, the Mirror Saru. In both cases, the characters know that everyone will freak out if they keep acting nice and forgiving to people around them, so an air of arrogance and bluster is required. The difference is Kirk only had to fake it until he made it out of the Mirror Universe. What’s Georgiou gonna do? Fake it until she reforms the Terran Empire?

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Star Trek: Discovery Season 3 has four new episodes left this season. Those all stream on Thursdays on CBS All Access.

The post Star Trek: Discovery Season 3 Episode 9 Easter Eggs & References appeared first on Den of Geek.

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