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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

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Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

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The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

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“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cannibalism #blood blood blood oops #I wrote this instead of sleeping because my hands cannot be stopped #typeity type type type #sorry if the formatting is off #i'm trying the new editor or whatever #if it's fucked I'll fix it whenever I wake up

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zaph1337 · 3 years

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Monster Hunter Rating Bonus 1: Wyverian

So, a month ago, an anon asked me to review the Wyverians, which could basically be described as the elves of the Monster Hunter world. They aren’t actually monsters, but since someone asked for this, I thought it would be a nice little treat before I moved on to the next game. Since they aren’t monsters, I won’t actually rate them, but I’ll still use the categories (with the exception of equipment, ‘cause obviously they have none) for the sake of format. Let’s get started!

(The Kokoto Village Chief, who first appears in MH1)

(Hinoa, one of the twin Village Maidens from Monster Hunter Rise)

Appearance: When I said that Wyverians were the elves of Monster Hunter, I meant it; those pointy ears are one of the things that “suggest a wyvern ancestry.” Now, my first thought was that this implied some sort of proto-Wyverians somehow breeding with wyverns--an idea that I found highly disturbing--but after getting an anon ask about how they just evolved from wyverns, I think the whole bestiality thing was never meant to be someone’s interpretation, and it just occurred to me because the internet has forever destroyed my innocence.

Wyverians are also distinct from humans in that they have four-fingered hands, but there’s another, more striking trait that I’m guessing you noticed immediately upon looking at the above renders: the majority of Wyverians have digitigrade legs, meaning that like cats and dogs, they walk on their toes, and their feet are more like those of a dragon than those of a human--in fact, while most Wyverians have humanoid hands, others have scaly, clawed hands. I’m not going to say that the whole thing with their legs is disturbing, ‘cause trust me, the designers could have done worse things than that, but it feels like the only reason this is the case is that the creators of MH wanted to have a humanoid race like elves, and they wanted to give them many traits that elves in fantasy settings have, but they didn’t want them to be elves.

Stepping away from that, the final thing I want to mention is that Wyverians vary much more in size than humans do. They can be short, like the Kokoto Chief (at least it seems like he’s short, I can’t actually tell), or, um...well, here’s a famous Wyverian known simply as “His Immenseness”:

Yeah, I can see where he got the name. The wiki says that estimates place him at 600 cm--or 19.7 ft--tall at the very least, and after way too much math involving a comparison to the person before him (and assuming said person to be 171 cm/5 ft 7.5 in, which is the global average of young adult men), I estimate him to be about 685.8 cm--or 22.5 ft--tall when he’s standing up; I assumed he was shorter because I forgot that he was sitting down when I first started comparing him and the smaller person. tl:dr, Wyverians can either be short or, very rarely, as tall as a two-story house.

Behavior/Lore: Wyverians tick off many of the same boxes that fantasy elves do; they live for hundreds of years, they’re connected to and have a great respect for nature, they prefer to avoid conflict, and they’re considered more rational than humans are. The last part may be due to their lengthy educations--which can be so long and cover so much that a human couldn’t learn everything Wyverians do in a reasonable amount of time--but it still feels like the MH team could have called Wyverians “elves” and nothing would really be lost. Though apparently Wyverians have a different sense of humor from humans, but I really don’t think that’s enough.

Here’s something you might not know, though: the first Hunters were Wyverians, but when the humans made a Hunter’s Guild, Wyverian Hunters became a rarity. But this was apparently by choice, ‘cause Wyverians seem more than happy to support human Hunters by doing tasks for the Guild. While I would normally be unhappy with this for the same reasons I don’t like how Lynians seem too comfortable in subordinate positions, this actually makes sense for Wyverians since they don’t like fighting, and it’s not like Wyverians are in a bad spot in human societies. In fact, the Village Chief in the first MH game is a Wyverian who was a legendary Hunter in his youth, so they’re clearly respected. Though this just makes the fact that Lynians seem to be in a lower class of human society seem even worse because it implies that Wyverians have it better because they look like humans.

Abilities: Obviously, Wyverians are capable of the same things humans are, but there are two things I want to mention: first is the fact that the “First Wyverians” have a language that relies on vibrations, not words, to communicate (I put their name in quotes because the wiki seems to imply that they’re still alive, implying that they aren’t really the first known members of the Wyverian species, but instead a specific Wyverian culture/sect/etc.). This is important to note because some Wyverians will “Resonate” with vibrations such as these and translate them into their spoken language, but the prime example of this is a spoiler for MHRise so I’m not saying anything more.

The second thing I want to bring attention two is that His Immenseness is known for wrestling Lao-Shan Lungs in his spare time. You know, the 200+ ft Elder Dragon that can reduce a mountain to rubble with its strength alone? Unless His Immenseness’ technique is really good at not giving the Lao-Shan Lungs any leverage whatsoever, he should be a pancake, so either someone’s lying or he’s improbably strong. If normal-sized Wyverians had the same strength-to-size ratio that he does, then they should be able to break a Gravios’ jaw by backhanding it, but the wiki doesn’t mention any superhuman abilities that Wyverians possess, so my guess is that if he’s as strong as they say, then this kind of strength is unique to giant Wyverians.

Final Thoughts: Look, I know I sounded kinda harsh about the whole “they’re just elves with different names” thing, but I don’t hate Wyverians; I just wish there was more done to give them their own identity. It’s clear that the MH team used a lot of the same tropes used for elves when they first designed Wyverians, but it seems like they used too many of them and didn’t come up with enough original aspects to make them stand out. But you have to remember, the only MH game I’ve watched someone play is Rise, and the main Wyverians you see in that game, the Village Maidens, are human sized, and as such seem a lot like elves to me. If the game had prominent Wyverians like the Kokoto Chief and His Immenseness, then maybe my perception would be changed.

#monster hunter #monster hunter rating #monster hunter rise #zaph1337

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firstfullmoon · 4 years

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sorry if this has been asked before, but what are your favorite quotes about (romantic) love?

• “I love you. I want us both to eat well.”

— Christopher Citro, from “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled with Shriek”

• “You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only the sun has come this close, only the sun.”

— Shauna Barbosa, from “GPS”

• “August. We were arguing. You want love to be like this every day don’t you? 92 degrees even in the shade.”

“I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic. I used to believe that love was the highest value. I still believe that love is the highest value. I don’t expect to be happy. I don’t imagine that I will find love, whatever that means, or that if I do find it, it will make me happy. I don’t think of love as the answer or the solution. I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun, as necessary, as impersonal, as gigantic, as impossible, as scorching as it is warming, as drought-making as it is life-giving. And when it burns out, the planet dies.”

“If love is going to be done differently I will have to do it. I don’t mean as a messiah-thing, I mean as a me-thing. I want to look into your eyes and not get blown up. I want you to see me as I am and not destroy me. I don’t want to retreat into plant life, or have the same bad dream every night. I don’t want to watch a city burn because I was there.”

— Jeanette Winterson

• “I’ll take care of you. / It’s rotten work. / Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

— from Anne Carson’s translation of Orestes

• “I think of you all the time and therefore have little to say that would not embarrass you, for instance my first feeling about the rain was that it was like you.”

— John Cage, from a letter to Merce Cunningham

• “I want you to know, if you ever read this, there was a time when I would rather have had you by my side than any one of these words; I would rather have had you by my side than all the blue in the world.”

— Maggie Nelson, Bluets

• “I want to be a village full of sweethearts, / as you are, every second of the day, / cooking me soups & drawing me pictures / & holding me, my inexplicable & elephant sadness, / with your infinite arms. / But isn’t it true, you are not / always why I am happy. & I promise / it is true, you are almost never why, / why I am sad.”

— Chen Chen, from “Elegy for My Sadness”

• “Look here Vita—throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads — They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come.”

“I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about – with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it. I invent it for you. Because I never seem to run out of tenderness for you and because I need to feel you near.”

“I could only think of you as being very distant and beautiful and calm. A lighthouse in clean waters.”

“What can one say — except that I love you and I’ve got to live through this strange quiet evening thinking of you sitting alone. Dearest — let me have a line… You have given me such happiness…”

— Virginia Woolf, from letters to Vita Sackville-West

• “I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone. I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it.”

“Please, in all this muddle of life, continue to be a bright and constant star. Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude.”

— Vita Sackville-West, from letters to Virginia Woolf

• “Love is awful. It’s awful. It’s painful. It’s frightening. It makes you doubt yourself, judge yourself, distance yourself from the other people in your life. It makes you selfish. It makes you creepy, makes you obsessed with your hair, makes you cruel, makes you say and do things you never thought you would do. It’s all any of us want, and it’s hell when we get there. So no wonder it’s something we don’t want to do on our own. I was taught if we’re born with love then life is about choosing the right place to put it. People talk about that a lot, feeling right, when it feels right it’s easy. But I’m not sure that’s true. It takes strength to know what’s right. And love isn’t something that weak people do. Being a romantic takes a hell of a lot of hope. I think what they mean is, when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope.“

— Phoebe Waller-Bridge, in Fleabag

• “i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)”

— e.e. cummings, from “[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]”

• “There was once a very great American surgeon named Halsted. He was married to a nurse. He loved her-immeasurably. One day Halsted noticed that his wife’s hands were chapped and red when she came back from surgery. And so he invented rubber gloves. For her. It is one of the great love stories in medicine. The difference between inspired medicine and uninspired medicine is love. When I met Ana I knew: I loved her to the point of invention.”

— Sarah Ruhl, The Clean House

• “oh god it’s wonderful / to get out of bed / and drink too much coffee / and smoke too many cigarettes / and love you so much”

— Frank O’Hara, from “Steps”

• “This morning there’s snow everywhere. We remark on it. You tell me you didn’t sleep well. I say I didn’t either. You had a terrible night. “Me too.” We’re extraordinarily calm and tender with each other as if sensing the other’s rickety state of mind. As if we knew what the other was feeling. We don’t, of course. We never do. No matter. It’s the tenderness I care about. That’s the gift this morning that moves and holds me. Same as every morning.”

— Raymond Carver, from “The Gift”

• “Well Marianne, it’s come to this time when we are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine.”

— Leonard Cohen, in a letter to Marianna Ihlen

• “I think about love on a scale from 1 to 10. Most of us find a 6 or a 7, and that’s why we have divorce. It’s the truth. We settle for that 6 or 7. But I like to think Kevin is Chiron’s 10. He’s found that and he realizes that there’s no reason to settle for a 6 or a 7 because, “I know this person is my 10. Whether or not this person believes I’m his 10, I’m going to devote my life to this person entirely.” That’s why the line where he says, “You’re the only man that’s ever touched me,” for me, was the most amazing, most beautiful thing I’ve seen in cinema, period. Because that’s what we strive for as people, to find that one person because they’re there. If Kevin doesn’t feel that they should be together, Chiron is just going to die a miserable person because that’s his person and he won’t settle for anything else.“

— Trevante Rhodes about Moonlight

• “I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world”

— Frank O’Hara, from “Having a Coke with You” but the whole poem is !

• “The door slammed and someone came home and low voices could be heard, the single lilt of a question as it rose, “How was it?” or “Are you hungry?” Something plain and necessary, yet extra, with care, a voice like those tiny roofs over the phone booths along the train tracks, the ones made from the same shingles used for houses, except only four rows wide—just enough to keep the phone dry. And maybe that’s all I wanted—to be asked a question and have it cover me, like a roof the width of myself.”

— Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

• “I keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come. I thought of you, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes.”

— Emily Dickinson, in a letter to Minnie Holland

• “I don’t want you to be nervous. Maybe thinking of a walrus would help. Have you seen the video of the penguin accidentally stepping on a sleeping walrus? It thought it was a rock. The walrus wakes up like what the fuck and the penguin scurries off like oh shit. Sometimes it’s funny watching a surprise happen, and not just funny but kind of amazing — like, you never really know what’s what when it comes to this planet.

Then again, when it’s you getting surprised, that’s different. Especially for tender ones like us. What are we supposed to do? It’s bad for our hearts, you know. I hope you won’t need pills like I do. I think I get so scared because I’m greedy — I want to hold onto everything, the world wants to take it away. What the fuck. The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.”

— Mikko Harvey, “For M”

• “Willem sleeps on the left side of the bed, and he on the right, and the first night they slept in the same bed, he turned to his right on his side, the way he always did, and Willem pressed up against him, tucking his right arm under his neck and then across his shoulders, and his left arm around his stomach, moving his legs between his legs. He was surprised by this, but once he overcame his initial discomfort, he found he liked it, that it was like being swaddled. One night in June, however, Willem didn’t do it, and he worried he had done something wrong. The next morning–early mornings were the other time they talked about the things that seemed too tender, too difficult, to be said in the daylight–he asked Willem if he was upset with him, and Willem, looking surprised, said no, of course not. “I just wondered,” he began, stammering, “because last night you didn’t–” But he couldn’t finish the sentence; he was too embarrassed. But then he could see Willem’s expression clear, and he rolled into him and wrapped his arms around him. “This?” he asked, and he nodded. “It was just because it was so hot last night, Willem said, and he waited for Willem to laugh at him, but he didn’t. “That’s the only reason, Judy.” Since then, Willem has held him in the same way every night, even through July, when not even the air-conditioning could erase the heaviness from the air, and when they both woke damp with sweat. This, he realizes, is what he wanted from a relationship all along. This is what he meant when he hoped he might someday be touched.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

• “No, I didn’t imagine my being alone with you the way you do. If I want the impossible, I want it in its entirety. Entirely alone, dearest, I wanted us to be entirely alone on this earth, entirely alone under the sky, and to lead my life, my life that is yours, without distraction and with complete concentration, in you.”

— Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer

• “If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth, to this present time, I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours, I would.”

— David Wojnarowicz, The Half-Life

• “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell, I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

• “If Moses had seen the way my friend’s face blushes when he’s drunk, and his beautiful curls and wonderful hands, he would not have written in his Torah: do not lie with a man”

— Rabbi Yehuda Al-Harizi/Judah Ben Solomon Harizi

• “I’ll rob the bank that gave you the impression that money is more fruitful than words, and I’ll cut holes in the ozone if it means you have one less day of rain. I’ll walk you to the hospital, I’ll wait in a white room that reeks of hand sanitizer and latex for the results from the MRI scan that tries to locate the malady that keeps your mind guessing, and I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks and assure you that you’ll find your place, it’s just the world has a funny way of hiding spots fertile enough for bodies like yours to grow roots. I hope our ghosts aren’t eating you alive. If i’m to speak for myself, I’ll tell you that the universe is twice as big as we think it is and you’re the only one that made that idea less devastating.”

— Lucas Regazzi, from “Small”

• “I thought she was sleeping until I heard her call out from across the room, “Will you bring me a glass of water?” I did. Then in her always-sleepy tone and drawl she said, “Do you remember when you were a little girl and you would ask your mama to bring you a glass of water?” Yeah. “You know how half the time you weren’t even thirsty. You just wanted that hand that was attached to that glass that was attached to that person you just wanted to stay there until you fell asleep.” She took the glass of water that I brought her and just sat it down full on the table next to her. Wow, I thought. What am I gonna do with love like this.”

— Dito Montiel, One Night

#this is the best ask i've ever received actually thank you so much #w #compilation #the earth was made for lovers #shauna barbosa #jeanette winterson #madeline miller #franz kafka #hanya yanagihara #emily dickinson #ocean vuong #maggie nelson #chen chen #virginia woolf #vita sackville west #david wojnarowicz #frank o’hara

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wetalkinboutbooks · 3 years

Text

New Year, New Review 🤩

A Sky Beyond the Storm by Sabaa Tahir

Summary: The long-imprisoned jinn are on the attack, wreaking bloody havoc in villages and cities alike. But for the Nightbringer, vengeance on his human foes is just the beginning.

At his side, Commandant Keris Veturia declares herself Empress, and calls for the heads of any and all who defy her rule. At the top of the list? The Blood Shrike and her remaining family.

Laia of Serra, now allied with the Blood Shrike, struggles to recover from the loss of the two people most important to her. Determined to stop the approaching apocalypse, she throws herself into the destruction of the Nightbringer. In the process, she awakens an ancient power that could lead her to victory--or to an unimaginable doom.

And deep in the Waiting Place, the Soul Catcher seeks only to forget the life--and love--he left behind. Yet doing so means ignoring the trail of murder left by the Nightbringer and his jinn. To uphold his oath and protect the human world from the supernatural, the Soul Catcher must look beyond the borders of his own land. He must take on a mission that could save--or destroy--all that he knows. (Taken from Goodreads)

Our Ratings:

→ Geena: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

→ Kae: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Overall: The final instalment of the Ember Quartet had us crying in the metaphorical club. It’s exciting, terrifying, and probably the horniest book in the series and we loved it!

~Spoiler-full discussion below~

The Good:

→ Elias and Laia

Geena: In the final instalment of the Ember quartet, Sabaa deprives us of an Elias POV and slaps us with the Soulcatcher instead… He’s very much an ‘emotions are bad’ type of dude, the opposite of Elias who always had so many… but both of them are so angsty? The Soulcatcher really likes to beat up trees when his memories from when he was Elias resurface which was so emo to me. Despite being possessed by Mauth he is also such a coward, especially around Laia, because Elias’ feelings for Laia scare him and every single time he is like *running emoji*. We were surprised that Sabaa let him remain the soulcatcher for so long, every chapter I was like ‘Okay, maybe this is where Elias breaks through…’ but no.. Elias remained buried UNTIL their night in the cabin… the Soulcatcher was like ‘k I’m out’ but ONLY for ONE NIGHT and that still makes me scream.. The Soulcatcher was like ‘you kids are too horny for me, I’m gonna take a nap for a bit and let Elias take over bc Jesus.’

Despite it all, the Soulcatcher’s chapters were enjoyable albeit painful because this man was so duty bound, like even Elias wasn’t that dedicated when he was a Mask. But near the end, when we finally get the chapter that starts with Elias…. Ngl I cried a little, and immediately wanted to reread the whole series (I feel like Sabaa did this on purpose to torture us). I want to fight Sabaa though, like she did an amazing job showing how Elias’ conscious and the Soulcatcher’s conscious were constantly fighting one another, and how Elias’ memories of the people he loved ultimately fuelled the Soulcatcher’s actions… even though the Soulcatcher was like ‘I’m doing this for the ghosts’ like okay… no ghost told you to keep protecting and kissing Laia but you still did it…

Kae: Okay, so Geena summed up my boy Ilyaas pretty damn well. Also, we LOVE HIS ETHNIC NAME IN THIS HOUSE. But um, YES. Elias was a sad boy ™ the whole time while fighting his emotions and ultimately losing. It was so PAINFUL as a reader, seeing all of his chapters except the ONE say ‘Soulcatcher’. But when it finally said ELIAS again, I too, started to cry. Because he was BACK.

You can all thank the power of Laia’s determination to seduce Elias back to himself, because our girl was NOT giving up. She said ‘you gonna get this coochie, dammit’ and in the cabin, Elias was like ‘well i’ll be damned. I sure as hell am. I am BACK BAYBEEEEE’

Geena: Sabaa Tahir said horny rights like ksjdnfdsjknfsdk

Kae: AUFVAHLHVKJ. BUT YES. In the end, love won. And so did sex because everyone was doin it or TRYING to do it. I guess when the world is ending, you only get one last time to uhh…. Have a good time. So they made sure they did lmao

Now, let’s get into Laia.

Laia. My sweet little cupcake. My mug of tea with too much honey. This girl has been through literal hell and back, and yet, she kept going. She NEVER gave up. Laia woke up in book 4 like ‘Today i will commit crimes. Helene and I crave violence’ and they both just started kicking ASS and I LOVED THAT. I was really happy to see the progression of Laia and Helen’s friendship and how they genuinely grew to like one another and see each other as besties. They both deserved a girl friend and I’m glad they found a friendship within each other.

Laia is the bravest character in this damn book. She went from poor scholar, to slave, to hero and she was brave because she had to be. Laia is strong and took on their entire world. She had help, but she did a lot of it alone and that takes some real guts. She is the most genuine, sweetest, bravest girl and I love her. <3

Laia also single handedly brought the Ilyaas back from his Soulcatcher shit. During this whole book she was just like ‘You know what? I think I’mma go mess with Elias’ emo ass today to see if I can get him to kiss me or something’ THEN SHE PROCEEDED TO SHOW UP AT THIS MANS HOUSE (realm or whatever) BUTTASS NEKKID. And he saw her and immediately flew the hell out of there it was TOO MUCH and he LIKED IT but couldn’t admit it.

Geena: You know what I love about that whole scene was like earlier she was like ‘He’s a lost cause idc’ and then Darin was like ‘Elias wouldn’t give up on you if that happened’ and Laia was like ‘you’re right, he would show up stark naked and try to seduce me back to my body’ and she did just that...

Kae: SHE DID. SHE SHOWED UP AND SHOWED OUT! Like, her entire mission was to bring Elias back while also planning on taking down the Nightbringer. But she was straight up like ‘okay but not before i get my man back through SEDUCTION’. Ugh, the mango scene? Superb.

Geena: Laia is hands down one of my favourite book characters to exist. Her journey from the first book being a scared girl with a missing brother, to being the face of a revolution… like the GROWTH. Like Kae mentioned, she and Helene end up as BESTIIEESSSS, and I was surprised at how natural they seemed. Because we went from them hating each other to close friends, but despite not seeing their development, it came off so natural? So, I loved that!

Kae covered Laia’s character pretty thoroughly, she was both a horndog and a bad bitch. Like this girl has pretended to be a Slave for the Commandment to travelling a desert by herself and facing off a squad of Jinn… In retrospect, Laia is a unique case, she’s allowed to be kind and caring and doesn’t have to be a fighter type to be strong. She’s not the chosen one, which this book made clear, it could’ve been anyone to fight the Nightbringer… but only Laia was strong enough to love him AND defy him. And I just love her a lot… she was very much an anime protagonist with the power of love, family, and friendship… anyways I love her and that’s all I have to say

→ Helene

Geena: The way I ended up liking and rooting for Helene this book? Came out of left field. To be honest, in previous books I didn’t feel much for her other than ‘stop chasing after Elias and Laia pls.’ But this book I wanted her to win, especially with the fight against the germanic-esque invaders. She goes through substantial development, no longer seeing Scholars as slaves and taking their opinions seriously.. Like Laia, Musa, and Darin were all a part of her crew. A stark difference from Book 1 Helene, who thought Scholars only had one role in the world and that was slaves.

Helene… like Laia… really has the Ember equivalent of hot girl summer with Harper… all the time she spends denying it she is like *jumps on him the chance she gets*. The bath scene… Helene’s power was turning her tortuer into her MAN… But also Sabaa said that ‘yes she has changed, but she has to repent for her sins’ and that’s why Helene is basically left alone at the end (save for Laia, Elias, and Musa).

Kae: So not gonna lie, I never actually disliked Helene. I saw her as the flawed character she was in the beginning. During her cat and mouse chase with Elias and Laia in the beginning, she would piss me OFF because like, that’s your BEST FRIEEEEEND. JUST STAAAAHP. But also, it was him or her and her family's death, so I get it. But I always saw potential in her to be better. And thank GOODNESS she went through all that character development. Because she was a damn menace in the beginning.

Also like Geena mentioned; Helly and Harper finally hooking up? I swear the heavens opened up in that moment because EVERYONE could feel their tension. LIKE JUST DO IT ALREADY. You can’t fight love, baybeeee

Watching Helly grow as a person was really rewarding as a reader. Like Geena said, she went from hating scholars to being like ‘hmm, maybe my opinions are shitty?’ and straight up changed. I also feel for her because she lost her ENTIRE family and like, honestly? I would’ve given up. BUT SHE DIDN’T. She’s a literal fighter, bred for this shit. So she FOUGHT. And I was really scared she was gonna get murked because y’all know Keris’ tiny evil ass doesn’t have a chill button. And when they were fighting? I was like LAWD PLS DON’T TAKE HELLY. But instead he took Harper *upside down smiley face* SO THAT WAS FUCKED UP AND I WASN’T READY FOR IT. But a piece of me knew it was coming.

The Bad:

→ Darin and Harper

Geena: As Kae mentioned… Harper kicked the can in this book :’( His eventual fall came from loving and caring for Helene too much, which left him open and gave Keris the chance to stab him. Harper was basically Helene’s heart outside her body, and when he went down so did Helene. I had had a feeling when Book 3 ended that Harper wouldn’t make it, but I WASN’T HAPPY ABOUT BEING RIGHT FOR ONCE… Harper had finally met his brother (Elias) and hadn’t even had a chance to meet the real Elias and talk to him about their father or other sibling stuff. LIKE OF ALL CHARACTER DEATHS… AND THERE WAS A LOT… The other one that came out of left field was fucking Darin of Serra… DARIN… THE ONE DUDE WE SPENT TWO WHOLE BOOKS SAVING… DEAD WITH A SNAP OF HIS NECK!! I WAS SO MAD

LIKE SABAA HAD US THINKING HE WAS GONNA BE SAFE, SHE GAVE HIM A LIL GIRLFRIEND AND EVERYTHING BUT THEN SHE GOES.. AND KILLS HIM?? JUST LIKE THAT?? Then we had to read the scenes where Elias helps both Darin and Harper pass over into the afterlife and I was just *cries angrily*

Kae: Well, THAT was sad. Have you ever just like, felt your heart break into a million tiny irreparable pieces? That’s how I felt when Darin and Harper died. Because like, they were both trying to save the women they loved. Darin to Laia, (foolishly so against the Nightbringer) but I would do it for my little sister too. And Harper with Helene against evilass Keris. Dude, that shit just sucked. It hurt to read. It hurt to imagine the girls feeling the pain of their deaths. They were both such good men. And DARIIIN.

Darin didn’t have to go out like that, man. It was such a harsh death. No last words. It was just over and his body was just gone. I wish Laia would’ve been able to talk with him at The Waiting Place at least one last time. But it is what it is. I hated to see both of them go. Especially since Darin pretty much sparked this whole series.

Sure, Laia, Helene, and Elias were the main characters. But Darin was the spark that started the fire. And he didn’t even get to see it’s flames extinguished.

Geena: He was the ember in the ashes… literally like Sabaa uses that for Elias and Laia but it applies to Darin the most

Kae: LITCHRALLY gonna get teary eyed over here. Our boys deserved better :(

Conclusion

Geena: This was not at all a disappointing end to the series we’ve followed closely for so long. The different plot points and character arcs were tied up nicely, and Sabaa Tahir showed us once again why she’s one of the best fantasy writers on this side of the Milky Way. We didn’t even bother including a ‘The Ugly’ section because we loved it too much ksfmsd. The only qualm I’d have with the end was the empire remaining, Helene recognized the Scholars as equals but centuries of pain isn’t easily forgotten you know? SO THAT’S WHY I THINK WE DESERVE A SEQUEL SERIES… BUT I DIGRESS… OVERALL, I loved this book and the ending for all the characters ESPECIALLY FOR OUR GIRL LAIA <3

Kae: YES. I AGREE 100% WITH GEENA. It was such a beautiful end to the series. Sabaa is GENIUS and her storytelling is phenomenal. I loved every little surprise she’s hidden in all of the books. ESPECIALLY WITH COOK BEING ALIVE? I DIDN’T SEE THAT SHIT COMING AT ALL. LIKE HOLY SHIT? So Laia had some remaining family afterall, and I think that’s very sweet. I’m really sad to see the series be over with and Geena and I are both *~HOPIIIING~* for an epilogue or some little crumbs or SOMETHING with the gang and how their lives ended up into middle adulthood or something.

Geena: I would literally take a single paragraph… Ms. Tahir…. Blease…

Kae: But yes, in conclusion, Laia has a heart of gold and we LOVE HER. She’s brave and strong and smart, and was the only one out of THOUSANDS to stick for herself and defy the Nightbringer, and save the whole world. Helene has come a long way and she developed beautifully as a character. And Elias. Ohhh, Ilyaas. His continued self sacrifice and bravery and love still helped him live in the end and I think that’s beautiful.

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underthedekutree · 4 years

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Young Link might have PTSD - Part 2: Termina is NOT a Parallel World, Technically

This is a continuation of my last post so if you’re seeing this and haven’t read it, go here.

This is the part where I somewhat smoothly segue into Majora’s Mask. Link, lonely and filled with unprocessed trauma, leaves Hyrule in search of Navi. According to most sources (which take from Hyrule Historia probably? don’t quote me on it), Link falls down a hole into Termina, a parallel world to Hyrule, that contains many familiar looking denizens of Hyrule, but playing different roles. And well, if you probably guessed by the title, I have a rather different interpretation.

Okay, so in a nutshell my theory is that Termina is in fact all a dream, kind of like Koholint Island. Except the one dreaming up this world isn’t some deity like the Giants or Skull Kid or the Moon. It’s Link.

(big explainey hoo hah below)

Evidence 1: Link begins the game sleeping. Yes, I know literally every Zelda game begins this way and it’s a whole tradition thing. I am beginning with the weakest points first and working my way up to the strong ones. We’ll get there.

Evidence 2: The reuse of character and environment models from Ocarina of Time. The literal IRL reason for this is of course the game famously being given only one year of production time, which meant that the most practical method was to reuse as much material from MM’s predecessor as possible (eg. Romani Ranch sign is the Kakariko Village sign, and still says Kakariko Village on it). It seems like a rather offhand afterthought for Nintendo to chalk it all up to “oh its just a parallel world like Link to the Past or something. But think of it like this; when we dream, we often see familiar people from throughout our lives put in strange and unexpected situations, like that irritable old farmhand you hated so much is now a depressed circus master for some reason. Dreams don’t make sense. Things you know will mix with other strange inexplicable things, fleeting thoughts in your mind, all roughly tied together by whatever emotions you had been feeling when you went to bed. Malon is split into two people, Romani and Cremia, her older and younger self. This might reflect how Link feels about Malon, that she changed so much in those 7 years that she’s like a different person entirely, that it’s hard for him to process that they are the same, because the change was so shockingly sudden for him.

Evidence 3: Gorons in the snow, Gerudo by the sea. Yes, I know that sounds a lot like good evidence for a parallel world (that’s why the idea is widely accepted in the first place, it has merit), but it also works in as dream world evidence too. As a child, my family was obsessed with skiing. We would go to the same mountain every winter, and we would stay at the same lodge. It almost became like a second home for me. So much so, that one night I dreamed that my house had been replaced by the lodge, so it wasn’t on a snow-capped mountain, but in a bushy Australian suburb. Okay that kinda got off subject but I’m bad at conclusions so in summary Dreams Just Be Like That (tm). You get what I’m saying right? No? Sorry, let’s just move on.

Evidence 4: The Milk Bar. AKA my favourite location in the game! It’s often overlooked as the “haha funny they couldn’t put alcohol in kids game so its kiddy milk hee hee”, but it is actually a strong thematic pillar of Majora’s Mask. As I mentioned in Part 1, if you put a 9 year old in a 16 year old’s body and call him an adult before ripping that all away is probably going to leave the kid with an identity crisis. What is a mature place open at late hours when children are sleeping? A bar. What is a drink associated with the young, being produced for the purpose of helping children grow? Milk. No please don’t go I swear there’s more to this, stay with me. In order to gain access to the bar, Link must prove he is mature enough by wearing a mask, a disguise, like Adult Link is to Young Link. Being adult isn’t earned through years of natural living experience and mental development, it’s a thing you are given by adults to just BE when they deem you worthy, at least from how Link sees it. So that is the amalgamation of dream thoughts that is the Milk Bar. Is it mature? Is it childish? What is the line between the two? Is there one? It’s the culmination of his anxieties and confusions that he doesn’t know how to express. Another, smaller expression of this anxiety is the Clock Town Guards. When Link is a Deku, the guards say they don’t allow children outside the gates. When Link turns back however, the guard goes to stop him because he looks too young, but sees that he has a sword, and lets him pass. Why the sword? Well, in one way this is a callback to Kokiri Forest, where Mido doesn’t let Link see the Deku Tree until he has a sword. But also, what is the item that lets Link travel through time and become an adult in OOT? The Master Sword. Link seems to believe that adulthood is measured by the things you have, physical markers of maturity, which is how lots of children see adulthood. You’re an adult if you can drink, if you’re tall, if you’re married, if you have a house, a car etc. But in reality this isn’t how it works. Heck, I’m technically an adult but I sure as hell don’t feel like one, because I know I still have things to learn about responsibility, patience and all the other things, that can only come with time, which is the moral conclusion of OOT, but clearly Link missed the memo. Don’t get me wrong, there are some indicators to show he’s grown a bit. He can ride Epona, use the bow, do flips like some kind of acrobat etc. But those strange and confused feelings linger, and manifest in the young boy’s dreams.

Evidence 5: The four transformation masks. The four masks represent different aspects of Link’s self, and the way he grew and changed in OOT. Deku Scrub the Innocent, Goron the Confident, Zora the Mature and Fierce Deity the Hero. Link began only knowing the Kokiri Forest, and nothing of the world outside. As he set out on his journey, he grew more confident in his skills and defeated greater foes. When evil took over, he learned from his fatal mistake and worked to right it. And when it was finally time to face the greatest threat, he was ready, with all the heart pieces, bottles full of fairies, Biggoron Sword in hand. At that moment he struck the final blow he probably felt like the strong and unstoppable hero everyone in Hyrule told him he needed to be. And that feeling of pure uncompromising strength, with the whole world behind him, manifested in the Fierce Deity. Fierce Deity is much taller than Adult Link, and packs so much of a punch that he can beat Majora without batting an eye, like some overpowered Super Saiyan. It reminds me a lot of Undertale, with young Asriel becoming what he imagines to be an all-powerful godlike being, like something you’d see as a children’s drawing. Fierce Deity gives off those vibes, like “he has a HUGE SWORD that SHOOTS BEAMS OF LIGHT and he’s 8 FOOT TALL and CAN KILL ENEMIES IN A SINGLE BLOW!!” Before the final battle on the moon, when Majora gives you the mask, he childishly asks if you want to play a game of good guys and bad guys. And the good guy always wins, no matter what. Fierce Deity makes the final boss a cakewalk, but its supposed to.

Evidence 6: Anju and Kafei. Short one, because it falls a lot into everything else I’ve said regarding childhood vs adulthood. Kafei is effectively a switcheroo of what happened to Link in OOT. An adult shrunk back to childhood, uncomfortable in his new body and looking for a way to fix everything. He’s a reflection of how Link now kinda feels like an adult in a child’s body, because he had started to be used to being called an adult.

Evidence 7: The Moon. I haven’t super touched on the main meat of the game yet, so here it is. The moon and the 3 day mechanic is an allegory for constant mounting pressure, that builds and builds, never ceasing, because the world is in danger, and there’s only one person who has been chosen to save it. I’ve always been interested in the Chosen One narrative, and how different media explore the idea of the world’s very existence being pushed onto one person. How at the end of it all, they can never be the same again after all they’ve gone through. When you’re somehow expected to hold up the Moon itself single-handed, and your life and everything you care about suffers because you’re putting everyone else before yourself. That feeling of complete loneliness under a crushing weight, and although other characters may come to help you, in the end its still all down to you, and you never had a choice in any of it, as all the decisions were made by someone else. You must do what they tell you. Believe in yourself, believe...

Evidence 8: Skull Kid. The story goes that long ago in Termina, the Skull Kid and the Giants played together, until one day, the Giants left, leaving the Skull Kid alone and heartbroken, with nobody to turn to. As life moves on, things may change, and people always come and go from your life. Your friend might move overseas, or stop texting you, or you might fall out of friendship after an awkward event from which you could never recover (no, these have totally not all happened to me, shut up i’m fine), or your fairy companion might just disappear without so much as a goodbye after their task is complete. And it feels like you didn’t matter at all. That they never really cared about you, and you’re as easy to drop and move on from as a child’s toy. You might get angry, and want to shut them out, and give them a taste of their own medicine. Majora’s Mask teaches you that this isn’t the case. Life is ever changing, but you will always have the memories of times with your friends, and a chance to make more with new friends, like a sassy talkative fairy sprite and her shy brother or a child made of wood who wants to destroy the world. Friends come from unlikely places, so accept that change will happen and hope that wherever the people you knew are, they’re okay. You’re thinking about them, so they might be thinking about you too. And who knows? Life is unpredictable. They might just come back one day, and it’ll be like they were never gone.

Evidence 9 (the final one, I promise): The Song of Healing. At the end of all things, after losing ones you love, connections to family and friends, memories of things long past... you need time to heal. Link’s journey through Termina is a constant gauntlet of running into his own past traumas, forced to relive them again, and again, and again. But sometimes you should take a deep breath, gather your thoughts, and take time to heal. Although it can be important to confront your fears and learn to surpass them, it is exhausting, and you can end up more emotionally broken than when you started. The three masks all had regrets of powerlessness; unable to protect your community, your loved ones, or even yourself. Troubles you’ve gone through that keep plaguing your mind, and you’re wondering if you’ve done enough, seeking answers where none can be found. And the best thing you can do... is accept and move on. Be kind to yourself, and give yourself time to heal. Link’s way of processing his grief and trauma is to create an entire hellscape world in his own head, but not everyone processes it the same way. Sometimes you feel like you need to busy yourself, or listen to soothing music, or talk to people you trust, or spend copious amounts of money, or make some angst art, or cuddle your plush toys until their stuffing squeezes out. Sometimes life hits you in the face and you want to blame yourself for standing in the firing line, but it’s not your fault. It’s okay to feel however you feel, whether you’re drenched in a pool of tears or you just feel numb, it’s okay and natural. You’re okay. You’re here.

Okay so it got kinda personal at the end there but I hope it was informative, and made you think a little bit differently about Majora’s Mask and Ocarina of Time. You probably want to go back and play them now. Me too.

So was this all just an excuse for me to gush about how cool Majora’s Mask is? Hell fucking yes it was. Congratulations for making it through my monstrous ramblings, you get the secret prize of looking at my weird art on my DA. Here you go. Have a nice day, Zelda Nerds.

#long post #legend of zelda #majoras mask #young link #fierce deity #zelda theory #wow i cant believe i never realised i wrote fuckig outset island instead of koholint im dumby af

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adventuresoftheordinarysort · 4 years

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A List of My Fics (By Fandom and Ship)

Hi all! Thought I’d make a list of the fics I’ve written over the years. I’ve done Kingsman, Witcher, and Merlin.

Merlin

Merlin/Arthur

Protect You Anyway

Merlin accidentally reveals his magic to Arthur. It goes about as well as he can expect. Only Arthur is still furious about the lies between them, and refuses to let Merlin back into his role as manservant. So Merlin requests to be made a knight. If Arthur can't trust him to be a friend, at least Merlin can continue to save his life. Their friendship hangs in the balance, and it is unclear whether they are going to come through on the other side stronger than ever, or broken beyond repair.

Across a Dream

Arthur repeals the ban on magic almost as soon as he becomes king, but things don't really change for Merlin. He knows that if Arthur ever found out about the lies, he'd never be forgiven. So he keeps his magic hidden just like he did before. Then to mark the one year anniversary of the repeal, Arthur hosts a ball. Merlin decides to disguise himself, and go to the ball as Emrys to keep an eye out for his friend. The idea is only partly motivated by jealousy.

Merlin/Morgana

Look Out for Her

Merlin makes a different choice. He teaches Morgana himself. It takes them to a little cottage, and for nearly two years the two of them keep Arthur safe. Together.

Witcher

Geralt/Jaskier

All Unwoven

Jaskier cares for Geralt after they are attacked by bandits. Geralt knows he isn't getting the full story of how exactly they escaped, but Jaskier isn't ready to talk about it yet. But when a bard at a tavern sings a song recounting the events, Geralt gets the full story.

Curse is as Good as A Kiss

Jaskier insults a creature he really shouldn't, but thankfully she is amused by it. In return she grants him a rather interesting gift.

What Happens at the Coast

Before the final trial to become Witchers, the entire class of Witchers is allowed to spend two moths away from Kaer Morhen. It gives them a chance to explore the world around them, and gives them one last chance to back out of training. It is Geralt's turn to explore, and he rides to the coast, and he meets someone.

It’s Been Thirty Years

Geralt and Jaskier have been traveling together for almost thirty years. Jaskier has been flirting with him since day one. Geralt is oblivious to it all. It's really rather annoying.

Navy Blue Isn’t a Color

Yennefer and Jaskier get invitations to attend the masquerade wedding of a royal. Unfortunately, Jaskier slept with the bride several years before, and he is worried about her intentions for hiring him as an entertainer. He brings Geralt for protection, but Geralt doesn't quite grasp the concept on anonymity. A joke goes too far, and Geralt's feelings are hurt. Thankfully Jaskier knows how to make it up to him.

Black Sun Princess

Geralt tells the tale of Renfri to Jaskier, and Jaskier does what he does best. He writes a bop.

That’s Not How Kissing It Better Works

A faerie queen has sex with a human. Almost fifty years later Geralt, and Jaskier have sex. This leads to Jaskier learning something rather interesting about his heritage.

Gen

Friends... Sort Of

Geralt leaves Yennefer and Jaskier alone while he goes on a hunt. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, and chances are they'll kill each other. In the end, it is much worse. They become drinking buddies.

Kingsman

Merlin/Eggsy

Unexpected Inheritance

Merlin inherits a large estate in the Scottish Highlands, completely out of the blue. In order to renovate the property he must leave behind London. Doing so, also means he has to leave behind his daughter Abby's nanny. Eggsy gets kicked out when Dean blames him for a deal gone south, and now he needs a new job so he doesn't spend the rest of his life on Jamal's couch.

Harry/Eggsy

By the Sword and Ring

The last thing Eggsy expects upon being chased out of his village, is to wake up in a nomadic village. Soon he finds himself in a world of magic as he trains to be Lord Hart's battle mage. With war brewing on the border, he is drawn inexorably closer to evil itself.

Eggsy/Jamal

We’re Getting Married

Eggsy gets it into his head to make a quick buck by sending out wedding invitations to local millionaires, and billionaires, and selling off the expensive wedding gifts he's given. Jamal agrees to be listed as the husband-to-be on the invitation. All is going according to plan until Harry Hart RSVPs yes. Then Eggsy, and Jamal are left scrambling to pull a wedding out of their asses.

Might Need Glasses

Eggsy gets a job at Kingsman tailors, but can't get passed the point in his training where he needs to thread a needle. Harry suggests he might need glasses. Jamal has a particularly strong reaction.

One Day

Growing up Jamal and Eggsy always said they would move out of the estate and live together. Maybe in a house made of cheese. Eggsy intends to make it happen.

Harry/Merlin

Why a Toad?

Harry and Merlin’s twenty-seventh anniversary is fast approaching. Merlin knows exactly what to get his husband as a gift this year. It just takes a little adventuring to find it.

A Thief at Hand

The enterprising Dean Baker has started butting into Kingsman territory. While it would be fairly easy for the Kingsman to wipe out his network it would be messy and expensive. So they host a peace summit in the hopes of distributing territory enough to keep Baker out of their hair. In the process, a young thief is traded over to Kingsman.

Harry/Merlin/Eggsy

There Go the Lights

Eggsy is home late because of a rain storm sweeping through London. When he gets home, the power goes out. Thankfully he has Harry, and Merlin to keep him warm.

Devil Makes Three (High Seas Pt. 1)

Merlin was betrayed thirty years ago. Now he has finally caught up with the man who betrayed him, and the crew they worked with. When he gets taken prisoner, his world view is challenged by a young man he meets, and things get complicated.

Getting Back what was Lost (High Seas pt.2)

Merlin has been with the Kingsman Pirates for some time now. His relationship with Harry, and Eggsy is strong. Eggsy wants to give Merlin back a piece of what he lost during his time in the Navy. (You do not need to read part one to understand this part.)

Days of Future Flowers (co-author @anarchycox)

Set sometime in the future, Eggsy's implants and mechanical body parts need upgrades and care that he just can't afford. He does a few shady things and catches the eye of the cops. He runs and eventually hides in a flower shop of all places.

It will be the best mistake of his life.

Roxy/Gazelle

Climbing the Social Ladder (Social Season Pt.1)

Lady Roxy is destined to marry Princess Gazelle’s cousin, a dreadfully boring man. Despite this her visit to the kingdom has been quite pleasant. Except for that dreaded heat.

For the Love of a Country

Roxy is ready to take her rightful place on the throne, now that her grandmother is stepping down. The catch? She must marry first, and there's another woman coming for the throne. Can she navigate the political coup, and emerge with her heart intact? (A Princess Diaries 2 AU).

Roxy/Gazelle/Tilde

A Celebration of Marriage (Social Season Pt. 2)

Princess Tilde was once dear friends with Princess Gazelle when they were children. Although they eventually drifted apart, Tilde can't turn down an invitation to the upcoming wedding of her dear friend Lady Roxy and her old friend Princess Gazelle. However, Gazelle's 'traditional celebration' the night before the wedding is more than Tilde bargained for.

Tequila/Eggsy

A Time-Like Curve

When Eggsy is little he sees a painting in a gallery that looks oddly like someone he knows. When he grows up he learns about Kingsman. An agency of time travelers intent on keeping history from being destroyed.

Eggsy’s First Rodeo

Roxy drunkenly participates in the office's holiday party raffle. Her prize? An all expenses paid trip to a Kentucky Rodeo. She drags Eggsy with her, and as he finds out; Tequila does more than get you drunk.

Merlin/Roxy

The Fire of Winter Nights (ao-author @anarchycox)

English lady Roxy finds herself kidnapped and sold but the people who buy her are very different than the ones who took her. With the new people she finds friendship, hope, and maybe romance with the Chieftain Merlin.

Merlin is very enamoured of Roxy, but he has promised to return her to England come the spring. But each day he knows that it will be harder to let go.

Harry and Eggsy are so desperately in love with each other, and neither says anything sure the feelings aren't mutual.

It is going to be a long winter.

Roxy/Tilde/Eggsy

Tiny Dancer

Eggsy has been out of the whole dancing scene for a while and has very little intention of ever getting back out there. No matter how his friends and mother push him. When Roxy needs a partner for a performance at a charity event, Eggsy finds his good nature leading him back to the stage.

Gen

Bound by Your Word

Roxy runs afoul of a demon-worshipping cult. When she’s caught trying to dismantle the organization, they attempt a summoning ritual. Nothing goes as planned.

#bbc merlin #the witcher #kingsman

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atopearth · 4 years

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Tales of Crestoria Part 2 - Side Stories

Side Story Cress

I actually quite like this story! I found it saddening to hear that Cress' master Mibaru became a monster because Cody took advantage of him when he was severely injured after fighting the monster in the forest, and sold him to a place that does human experiments where they transferred his soul to the monster Mibaru tried to kill but lost to. It's pretty crazy and sad. The only thing I'm glad about is that Cress now knows Cody was a bad guy... Emil and Marta are pretty cute. It's interesting how Emil houses a monster spirit though, it's a nice guy too lol. Omg, I can't believe the villagers killed Mibaru... I mean, I can believe it because the monsters in this story are definitely the humans more than anything, and really, the general populace are as worse as everyone else tbh lol, but omggg, I wanted to strangle them when they tried to divert responsibility for killing Mibaru (when they realised it was him after he was dying and changed back to human form) by blaming Cress for not telling them the monster was Mibaru. Like, excuse you? They all told you guys to stop and what did you do? You just kept killing him, even though he didn't fight back, and even though he was protecting the village from monsters the whole freaking time! Honestly, I'm so glad Kanata and everyone ditched this village, because I honestly do not care about them. They're all so utterly selfish. I'm happy Cress made them realise the gravity of their actions, but I'm still mad. They don't feel guilty for killing Mibaru, they just don't want to be seen as "bad guys", ugh. I feel so sorry for Mibaru. He gave his life and everything to protect this village and they're all a bunch of ungrateful people. Like, I know Mibaru is glad that the villagers are united enough to even fight off a monster they're scared of, but seriously, I'd be more happy if they could use their brains too. Anyway, I'm glad Cress is leaving the shit village and going with Emil and them to prevent other people like Mibaru coming into being. I think I'd love to see more of this adventure too!

Side Story Velvet

I wonder how Velvet feels... She lives only to exact revenge on the people who killed her brother, and now she's met a boy that looks just like her brother and dreams of adventures just like him.. Wow, the tale of the sisters Presea and Alicia sound pretty terrible and dramatic with initially Alicia doing everything she could to save Presea from her illnesses (causing Presea's growth to stunt from one of the "cures"). Then, it ended up with Alicia getting in trouble when she worked for a nobleman and caught the attention of the son who was a bit crazy and locked her up because he wanted her, and then she killed (probably) him and even got the Stain of Guilt, but enforcers never came because Presea cut off Alicia's arm to remove it. Like whoa, dang, you can do that? Ohh, so incarnations are physical manifestations of sin (special monsters?) and they absorb the sinner into themselves? Oh no.. The reason why Alicia even became an incarnation/monster was because Presea cut off the Stain of Guilt...otherwise, she would have stayed human since it's supposed to prevent them from turning into incarnations... I feel so terrible for her...she practically killed her sister who basically gave her life to help find cures for her..

I find it pretty saddening how in the end, it really was impossible for Alicia to ever come back. I feel so bad for Presea. But at least she got a letter of her last words telling her the things she wants Presea to fulfill for her. Surprisingly, Laphicite(?) didn't end up following Velvet on her journey to rid of these incarnations, but I guess someday he might since he wants to get stronger. These side stories have been pretty nice~ It was interesting to know that Velvet’s journey seems to be on destroying these incarnations and the things or people that caused her brother’s death, so in a way, it sounds like a selfish revenge story. but at the same time it isn’t.

Side Story Farah

I thought this story was going to be more light-hearted and fun since Farah is acting like a superhero and Captain Chat is a nice pirate that really knows how to lead and motivate people even though she's so small haha. I found it really funny how she got the villagers who became bandits to respect her and want to follow her lol. But otherwise, she's really smart! She knew that the villagers wouldn't be good news if they came into contact with them (since they're seen as bandits), so she told her lackets to always record with their vision orbs if they were to come in contact, which really helped! Because these crazy hasty villagers really wanted to condemn them more because they were bandits than because they supposedly did something wrong. It's nice to know how beneficial these vision orbs are to clearing your name, as it is to frame you lol.

I didn't expect Farah's story to be so terrible though. When she was young, she never understood the ramifications of putting a recording on vision central, so when she saw this kid who was always a bully to other kids continue his antics because he thought children couldn't be condemned, she decided to teach him a lesson by recording how arrogant he was about it all and putting it for everyone to see, causing him to be condemned and thus disappearing. She's felt guilty about it all this time because her reliance on the vision orb caused her to not understand the gravity of using it, so it's really cool to see her perspective of all this, and why she wants to make the villagers and everyone realise that the responsibility doesn't lie with the enforcers who take them away, but the people themselves who condemn them, they are the ones who are essentially "killing" them. I think Farah's journey (whilst "forcing" Reid to come along with her lol) would be a good one. She wants to go around to places helping people understand the true meaning of condemning people, so that they won't have regrets like her. I think he a really meaningful journey! I think I might like this story the most just because of Farah haha.

Side Story Leon

Ooh Leon's story is actually cuter than I thought! It's interesting that Stahn's soul is captured inside his sword so Leon's trying to find a way to get him out and back into his own body. It's kinda funny to see Leon "talk to himself" since no one else can hear Stahn except him and the other people who are kinda similar to them? But I see, Leon was helping out the king and stuff because he knew something that could help them, but since that's kinda backfired now after saving all the kids they were experimenting on...not that the king would probably help them anyway so whatever to that idea lol. Anyway, Leon really is strong huh? To the point that Stahn was always trying to catch up to him ever since they were kids. It's kinda cute.

I think the coolest thing was Leon recognising that the fake Stahn wasn't actually "his inner self" coming out and wanting to defeat Leon no matter what etc, but instead it was just a fake copy of Stahn that this evil mirror or whatever thought of Stahn as, when Stahn was much more than that. It was really cool to see how honest Leon was about respecting Stahn for being able to do things he couldn't do, such as join as a captain for this neighbourhood watch for this village he randomly came across and ended up protecting. He "died" chasing after this thief, but it's pretty amazing how pure Stahn's heart is and how kind he is. I also love how much Leon respects him, they have such a cute relationship! I think their journey will be pretty fun hahaha.

Overall, I have to say, in a sense, the side stories might be even more interesting than the main story! Hahaha, I guess I love the different objectives they all have for setting out on their respective journeys, whilst bonding with the people that are important to them, it’s basically their own main story and I really enjoy that. For now, I think I might like Leon’s story the most because I think he and Stahn seem to be such good buddies and I would love to see more of that, otherwise I really like Cress too! Hopefully we’ll get continuations for these soon~

#tales of crestoria

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lotusmushroomxx · 3 years

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Backstory of my main fursona Tomomi:

**Disclaimer, not all the folklore and yokai information in this story is 100% accurate as a lot of sources say different things and I want to be able to put my own twist on things**

**TW**: The story has mentions of (animal) abuse, genocide, murder, a miscarriage, and other things relating to such topics. A lot of these sensitive topics aren’t bluntly said, but more so hinted at.

Beginning of backstory:

“Mei.” The small girl said to her mom. “I wanna call her Mei.” The girl reached her arms up to her mom, motioning that she wanted to hold the kitten. The mom gently passed her the kitten, and the girl quickly snatched her up.

If you thought this would be the start of a good, happy story, you would be wrong.

This all starts a long time ago, over 200 years ago, in a village in japan. You see, there were 3 kids and a mom and dad in this house. The three kids were way too rough on the kitten, treating her like a dog, dragging her around with a rope, and petting her way too roughly. The poor mom was weak and sickly, unable to control the three young children.

As for the dad, he was the control of the house. Once the dad got home, the kids would basically hide in their rooms and wait for the next day. Luckily, he worked most of the day and came home around sunset. But “Mei” learned the hard way multiple times that he was no animal person and hated being disturned. She would avoid him altogether but occasionally she would walk by the father and he would take his grumpiness out on her and kick her away from him.

The mother had mentioned a couple of times that what he was doing to the cat was wrong, but it only took her a few times to learn to keep her mouth quiet and shut up.

Being that “Mei” was merely a cat, she wasn’t able the process all of what was going on in the household. She only knew that humans were cruel creatures and that she shouldn’t trust them at all.

Soon everything changed.

The house was empty of people one day. All except for the cat. The family had moved on and the cat was left behind to become a stray. Like most strays, her life became very difficult. The weather was cold at night, she was always hungry, and her trust issues with humans made it extremely difficult to navigate the village for food. Children had thrown rocks at her and the few times she had begged for food had ended badly. There were a few humans who had thrown her food, but as she got weaker, the risk became higher. She couldn’t risk getting injured as much. She had to save her strength for the inevitable cat fights she had to endure.

As the years passed by, her hatred only grew more. She started to hate not just humans, but all creatures around her.

And as her hatred grew, so did her physical form. Thus, she grew two tails and learned how to walk on 2 feet. As time went by, she became more and more human-like. She left the village after being chased out, the villagers knowing the two tails were not a good sign. She lived in the mountains, thinking of revenge almost every moment she was awake. She grew to be 5’11 and around 200 lbs. She started practicing speaking and hunting. Overall her life had kinda become better now that she had the same advantages as a human now.

But that was not the case for “Mei.”

The empty feeling in her heart craved blood, and she was going to get back on the humans for all of the times she had to suffer.

She would commonly take her anger out on people walking through the mountains. It was a handy strategy as she was able to get materials and such from the dead corpses.

Though she soon learned she had the ability to see the dead. It made life difficult since she didn’t like having random ghosts and spirits yelling at her for murdering them.

But through this, she learned she had another ability. The ability to control corpses like a puppeteer. This was super handy, and she would commonly hide while controlling a corpse to buy stuff in markets and villages.

She can only control the corpse as long as she can see it, so she can not puppet a corpse around a corner or too far in the distance.

One thing she did not know till later on though was that she was actually pregnant. It seemed that before she transformed fully, she had become pregnant (as a lot of female stray cats usually do sadly) and now that she was fully transformed, she was started to get a bump as the days went on.

But her body was no longer the correct one for her baby and sadly the baby didn’t make it. She was shattered when the stillborn came out, the little deformed kitten would have been her child to take care of. The one thing she could have learned to love.

And of course, who did she blame? The humans.

And that is when her rampages started. Instead of humans here or there, she was starting to terrorize whole villages. Going on sprees of death, unleashing her anger out on innocent, confused people. And while she was not doing this all the time, she was still doing more damage to humans in the long run. This is when her horns and her tusks started to grow in to resemble the yokai called the oni.

She had made a horrible legacy of herself through this and became hunted for.

Many years passed and while her body was fully transformed, her brain continued to expand. She started to be able to think more complexly and psychologically. She started feeling and seeing things differently as time passed. And as the years flew by, she started to feel more empty, little by little. Revenge was just becoming a never-ending job and it wasn’t like it was making her any better mentally.

One day, she decided to change her life around. That day she had watched as a village burnt to the ground. She picked up a poor kitten who just barely made it out of the fire.

Her eyes swelled up with tears and everything started to click. She started to realize that she had become even worst than the people she sought to destroy. That the world around her wasn’t black and white and that most of the people she harmed were innocent. And with the kitten in her hands, she ran as far as she could, disappearing from society for years to come. This was the only way she could say sorry for her actions

Time seemed to pass by quickly in the forests and mountains. She spent her time building her own cottage, raising the kitten and learning how to garden, paint, read, and many other skills. Enough years had passed for the kitten to no longer be a kitten and become very very old. And when the cat had passed, “Mei” became lonely.

Being bold, she left her cottage and sought out society. And to her surprise, she found other beings like her. Other animals with human counterparts (aka, furriesss). She was able to fit in without a worry in these animal villages and came to learn that furries were not new creatures, but had just recently let into normal society (yes, in this universe, there is some furry discrimination but it goes down as the years pass and the times become more modern.

While she still chose to live in solitude, she would occasionally come to different towns and travel a bit. Sadly she had come to realize that some people would actually use her story from when she was seeking revenge as a way to call furry creatures dangerous. But through her healing process, she had become a lot calmer and learned how to deal with these problems healthily.

But she would still knock a bitch out.

She had chosen the name Tomomi for herself as a way to rejoice new beginnings. It was a slow process with manyyyy ups and downs, but she was learning to heal and cope with her problems.

She started to become super motherly, missing her baby that she could have raised. But she coped with this by being a mother and comfort to the other beings around her. Her hotheadedness stayed though and she was not afraid to put anyone in their place, the only difference is that now she was unpredictable as she would keep the same motherly smile on her face while laying bitches out.

She found joy in helping others, feeling as though this was her way of paying back the world for all the damage she had caused. She especially put in the effort to help other victims of abuse and this cruel world as she had gone through the same thing. She wasn’t perfect though. She didn’t always have the right words to say and sometimes she would get herself hurt through her selflessness but she didn’t let that ruin her process even though many times she wanted to relapse to her old ways. She kept strong.

As time kept passing, she noticed that she wasn’t aging at all and that mortal wounds and sickness didn’t kill her. Because she was a yokai, she couldn’t die the same way as other mortal beings. It was sad as she saw many people grow old without her while she didn’t age a bit. (Though while she has yet to learn the way she can die, she definitely can. I couldn’t find an exact source on how nekomata die, but I decided that she can die if both of her tails are cut off, then she is mortally wounded, much like the kitsune.)

The year is now 2021, and while so much time has passed and society and technology has changed a lot, she continues her journey of healing and protecting others. Though she does struggle with keeping up with the times and may need someone to help her with technology as she spends most of her time in her little cottage now raising chickens and a cow. But don’t worry, she’s still “hip” and “cool” in her own ways :))

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castielscarma · 4 years

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Hope

@helianthus21 @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen My 8th contribution to the #SpnStayAtHome challenge! Wordcount 5k (so fairly long I guess) This is a crossover with the Wheel of Time fandom! Only a fool lies willingly with Death. The Wisdom in Dean's village Lawren had been of the mind that Dean Winchester often courted death whether it be in the way of stealing Hendara's pies when they rested on the window sill or by doing something foolish like taking off in the middle of the night as a child to hunt wolves and trollocs. In Dean's defense he'd been a small child then. Engaging in this amount of foolishness now, he must truly be mad already. The wind is not strong but it finds its way past Dean's woolen coat anyway. He shifts slightly which he regrets immediately. Master Kel's wagon has eased his travels and given him a much-needed break, but the road had been less than smooth and the closer they come to his final destination, the more Dean feels the journey in his bones. Not even the golden city of Caemlyn has lingered for long in his thoughts. The two leagues it takes to travel from one of the largest cities he'd ever seen to the Black Tower gives him ample opportunities to yell at Master Kel to turn the horses around. To shout at him that he regrets this Light-blasted journey and that he'll turn back to his old man John's house and the hunting that there awaits. Yet Dean stays silent and watches the thick trees as they pass. Goosebumps rise on his flesh suddenly. The wooden landscape gives way to a clearing and Dean sees the reason for what has caused his alertness. Not only is someone holding saidin but they're holding a significant amount of it. He spots a rectangular portal and surmises that that's the reason for the surge of power he's felt, although it's too far away for him to see any weaves.

Master Kel slows the wagon to a halt and looks back at him. “No further than here, and only because my niece was saved by one of you.” He looks at Dean with a blend of worry, anger and unease.

Dean wants to correct him. He's far from an Asha'man. But with training the Black Tower provides, he hopes he'll learn enough to survive without burning the world down. There's one man tasked to do that and Dean wouldn't want to be near the Dragon Reborn if his life depended on it. No, but a false Dragon, that's fine. Dean shuts the voice down. There are no choices for the mad ones. And seeing as Dean channels, his fate is sealed; madness awaits him. Now it's just a matter of prolonging the inevitable. He won't be hunted by the Red like a dog, not if he can do something about it.

“Thank you, Master Kel.” Dean jumps down and digs around in his satchel. His skill with gambling, while not making him rich, has been enough to provide him with enough coin to sleep in the occasional inn and get a hot meal in his belly.

Master Kel spits on the ground. “Light willing, my debt is now paid.” He urges on his animals and with a slow and steady trot, they leave him.

Dean exhales and starts walking towards the Black Tower.

Chickens scamper around his feet but what really stops Dean in his tracks are the children. Boys and girls running around, kicking up dust as they chase a ball. He even sees women! What kind of Lightblasted woman travels willingly to a place – where men not only can channel but are encouraged to do so – and takes her children with her?

He knows he's been spotted, even from before when he was sitting on that wagon. He sees an Asha'man approach him wearing a dark wool coat. He's sturdy, with gray eyes and a dark beard that reaches him all the way to his belly.

“You come to join the Black Tower, boy?”

Dean swallows. He knows he can channel but it's a far different reality to be confronted with other people, other men that can channel. He wants to object to the man's use of 'boy' but bites his tongue. “If you'll have me. I'm Dean Winchester of – “

“I don't care if you came out of my mother's womb. If you can channel, and we'll test that shortly, the Dragon Reborn will have you. He needs as many weapons as he can. Follow me.”

“I can – “

The Asha'man cuts him short. “We've had all sorts of wayward folks come here thinking that they can channel. The Lord Dragon doesn't have time to waste on foolhardy peasant boys who think every headache is a sign of them touching the One Power. So, just come along, Dean.”

The Black Tower does not compare at all to the majesty of the White Tower, or at least of what he's heard people say about it. But Dean also knows the rumors and whispers that come from this place despite its lack of grandeur. He will not make the mistake to think these men are just farmers.

It's easy to make that mistake though. The Black Tower is no more a tower than Lawren's small house with room to house only two or three peddlers or farmers passing through is named an inn. Lawren had been a quiet village until the Dragon Reborn had broken all rules and laws. Even to their remote village the winds of change came. The Dragon Reborn touched all hearts and burned all souls to ashes.

“That's the tower over there. We also have the sleeping quarters for the families and the Soldiers and Dedicated are separated.” He stops himself. “You'll get the tour soon enough. The M'Hael is waiting.”

Dean sees a large stone house that rises three stories up to touch the blue sky. The stones are not of the finest quality but the cut and size do tell him that it's nothing a farmer could be seen building. There are several other, smaller houses spread out over the area, and he sees what appears to be animal pens. The noise of goats, cows, and chickens all blend together and with the shrill sound of children playing Dean almost believes that this is just an ordinary small village with plain farm folk.

The illusion quickly shatters as Dean walks past a small stone wall, no higher than to his thigh. Blasting sounds assault him, even before his whole body is being crushed with a sense of awe and heaviness. He knows saidin is being held by many; if he's wrong he'll eat his shoes.

Stones are being destroyed; exploding in a spray of smaller pebbles that rain down with heavy spatters on the ground or being cut in half with slicing precision. He suspects that there's some kind of weave that shields the others from the sound of the Asha'man practicing.

The Asha'man that greeted him keeps a steady pace, not even bothering to look back to see if Dean follows.

A child keeps looking at the men, all clad in black as they train with the One Power. As Dean walks by the child, he almost stops. If Dean's senses are to be trusted, the young boy is also holding the Power, and he's quickly learned to always trust his senses.

A new voice speaks up over the explosion. “I'll handle the newcomer, Tarind.”

The man gives a curt nod. “Of course.”

Dean feels goosebumps form on his arms and his heart speeds up. It's been years but he knows this voice. It's a voice he's been having dreams of since the day they parted – bitter as that moment was.

Dean shakes his head in disbelief, refusing to acknowledge the small flutter of hope that rises in his gut.

An arm grabs him, and Dean is yanked to what seems to be the only tree in the Black Tower compound. “Blood and bloody ashes, Dean. What are you doing here?”

Blue eyes stare back at him, the color of the clear springs back in Lawren. He's just as Dean remembers him. He is somewhat older, but the years have been kind to him. His hair is the same dark unruly mess, the wind still eager to ruffle it.

He wears the black coat that all men in this place wear but Dean notices that he has two pins attached to the collars; a silver sword on the left side and what looks like a gold and red dragon pin is attached to the right side. He looks bigger somehow and Dean can't tell if it's because he holds the Power or because life has managed to make his spirit larger.

“Cas...” It comes out a feeble whisper.

Castiel stops for a second, and his face softens. “The very one.” Instantly, his face is sharp angles and determination. “You do not start acting like a wool-headed sheepherder now, you hear me, Dean? Light knows the Lord Dragon does, but he's the Dragon Reborn and you have no such excuse. Do you understand?”

Dean would lie if he said he understood, so he just nods silently. A question forms on his lips. “Uh, Cas, do you mind – “

“Stay silent, bow your head down, do as you're told, and don't be stupid. Burn me for a fool! Of all the wooden-headed buffoons – “

Castiel pulls Dean away from the tree and all but drags him over to a smaller house near the larger farmhouse. “Stay here. Don't move. You'll be summoned shortly.”

Dean stands there and looks at Castiel as he walks away. A thousand questions spring up in his mind and he has the urge to run up to Castiel and ask him where in theShayol bloody Ghulhe's been all these years.

He realizes he's not alone. A dozen or so men wait there with him; some look aloof, others seem eager with an odd shine of intensity to their eyes. Further back Dean sees women looking at the group of men, their arms crossed. He sees one woman with an ample body and hair black as tar staring at them as if she's ready to knife them while another reedy woman with her hair in a bun almost sways in place, her eyes everywhere except on the group of men standing together.

Castiel comes back out from the Tower with another man walking next to him.

He must be another Asha'man but his gait is different. He walks with an aura of confidence that speaks almost of royalty but he wears the same dark coats as everyone else, except there are blue-and-gold dragons embroidered on the sleeves. His hooked nose, dark skin, and high cheekbones tell Dean he's a Saldean. Dean only knows this because of a book he bought from a peddler who was going through Lawren one summer.

His tilted eyes look over the crowd, narrowing and his lips pull down in what Dean can only describe as a look of contempt.

Castiel moves with ease, almost like he's floating but Dean notices that he doesn't come too close to the man and Dean can hear Castiel recite names to the man.

“Enough with the names, there'll be time for that later, for those of them that are still here tomorrow.” He sounds impatient.

Castiel stops and takes a step forward. He looks every part the Asha'man with his dark coat and darker stare. “Welcome to the Black Tower. You will be tested by the Asha'man in charge of the Black Tower in the Dragon Reborn's absence – Mazrim Taim.”

Dean hears people audibly gasp at the name. Hearing about the False Dragon is one thing, being in the presence of him is another, even if all of them are here voluntarily. He hears a woman groan in the background and soft murmurs come from others.

Mazrim Taim's face turns darker by every word Castiel says and by the end he looks like he's chewing nails. He looks out over the crowd, his gaze passing over Dean without pause, and Dean realizes that he's holding his breath. There something unsettling with the man, a wave of power and darkness that exudes from him and threatens to wash over Dean.

“You, over there. We'll start with you.” Mazrim Taim points straight at Dean.

The crowd stills and the soft murmurings die down.

Dean hesitates but remembers Castiel's earlier warning. He was planning on following orders anyway, but his mind can't grasp the fact that he's standing so close to Mazrim Taim.

He walks up to Mazrim Taim, who grabs his arms and yanks him back and forth until he's satisfied that Deans stands in the right spot.

He turns his attention to the crowd. “The more Power that's used, the easier it is to detect the resonance. Drawing in too much Power might kill you though, so let's start small.” Mazrim turns and looks at Dean.

A tiny flame appears between Dean and Taim.

Dean feels the power emanating from Taim and has an urge to back away. He sees the thin flow of Fire Taim weaves and marvels briefly at the complexity of just a thin thread like that.

“Concentrate on the flame, you are the flame. The entire world is the flame. There is nothing but the flame.”

Dean is not familiar with the way Taim wants him to approach the One Power so he does what he's always done. He reaches for saidin. Women speak of embracing saidar – that's what he heard others whisper when talking about Aes Sedai – but for Dean there is no such thing as embracing. His soul sings with joy as he seizes saidin. It's a torrent of overbearing sweetness and burning filth that threatens to overwhelm him and drag him down into the depths if he relaxes for a mere second.

Taim's seemingly perpetual mask of contempt slips for a second as his eyes widen in surprise. Then he barks out an order. “Let go you bloody fool! Are you trying to kill us all? I said let go!”

Dean wrestles himself free from the seductive lure of drawing in even more saidin with so much haste that he feels the taint of the male half of the Source echo in his stomach. He wants to kneel down on the ground and empty his guts but manages to stay on two feet. He grits his teeth and ignores the thin sheen of sweat that covers him.

Taim glares at him. “That was an impressively foolish way of letting us know you can use the Power. It seems the Dragon Reborn's luck extends to this farm even in his absence. Take a step back. You're accepted.”

With that, Taim dismisses him and focuses on the other men waiting for their turn.

Dean is in turmoil. Relief floods through him at the prospect of finally belonging, even if it will all end in death. Death is not a particular mistress, she comes for everyone. Dean will do whatever he can to stave her off for a while longer.

Dean looks around his sleeping quarters. It's a small cottage with sex beds, a shared closet for clothes, and a small chest rests at the foot board of each bed. It's not large but big enough that they can store various personal belongings each of them has brought with them. The room is empty now save for one occupant.

A boy stands there, thin and reed-like but the black coat fits him nonetheless. His sandy hair is ruffled, a tooth is chipped and the few pale freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose, all of it gives him an air of innocence.“I'm Saman Andriel.” The boy extends his hand – and he is a boy, Dean guesses he hasn't even seen fourteen winters yet. He doubts he even has hair on his chest.

“Dean Winchester.” He shakes his hand. “So how long have you been here?”

Saman puffs up his chest with pride. “Almost since the beginning, when this place was known as the Farm. The Black Tower was just a one-story building, and we only had some chickens then. No one was an Asha'man but now we're many.”

“And your parents, what did they say when you wanted to come to a place like this? Or did you run away?”

Saman becomes guarded. “My parents are dead, so they have no say. Killed by the bad Aiel, not the Lord Dragon's Aiel.” He seems worried that Dean won't understand the difference. “They're protecting him from threats the One Power cannot.”

Dean clears his throat. “Sorry about your folks. Uh, threats like what?”

There's a hard glint in Saman's eyes, too hard for a child to have, but Dean figures he has his reasons. They all have their own stories for why they accepted the Dragon Reborn's amnesty rather than hurl themselves off a cliff.

“A spear in the back, a knife in the heart, a rock against the head. Things like that. We can touch the Source, but we're not immune to death. That's what Master Taim says.”

Dean swallows. Light! Mazrim Taim doesn't even go easy on children. But he has a fair point; the moment a boy touches the source he stops being a child. And Tarmon Gai'don awaits.

Still the notion of all these channeling men being together in one place makes him uneasy. There's a constant itch between his shoulder blades, his body expecting a knife that never comes. Dean rolls his shoulders and tries to ease some of the tension.

There's a knock on the door and Saman goes quiet. He stands there and listens and Dean is sure he hears two more knocks, further apart this time.

“You not gonna' open the door?”

Saman shakes his head and urges him to be quiet. He tilts his head to the side. There are three more knocks, in rapid succession. Saman exhales and runs to the door before stopping himself. He looks back at Dean, a sheepish grin on his face. “I still forget sometimes.”

A subtle change in the air is Dean's only warning that Saman uses the Power before the door swings open by itself.

Castiel enters together with a lanky round-faced man walking next to him.

The man turns and faces Saman. “Go outside and wait. You know what to look out for. Use just enough saidin to warn us. It will seem suspicious otherwise if you're not up to any task at the moment. Light knows we don't need any more reason for them to look at us with distrusting eyes.”

“Yes, Jonneth – Asha'man.” Jonneth smiles briefly, then lets it fall as the door closes.

Dean tries not to stare at Castiel but it's hard. It has been so many years and he has a whole barrel of questions for him. He walks towards Castiel but Jonneth is there in a heartbeat. He steps in front of Castiel, as if to shield him.

Castiel's voice is warm.“I appreciate the concern, Jonneth but if Dean wanted me dead, I'd be cold on the floor already and Taim would gnash his teeth at the missed opportunity to do it himself.” They both chuckle at that.

Bloody ashes, they sound mad already, both of them. Dean wonders briefly if it was a mistake to come here but then he must be just as mad when he thinks that the answer is no.

Castiel embraces him.

Dean exhales and wraps his arms around Castiel. It feels like no time has passed at all, despite all the years they've been away from each other. He wants to hold on to Castiel awhile longer, feel the comfort of having him – having someone that is home – but Castiel lets go of him all too soon.

“It's good to see you, Dean, even in a place like this. I never would've guessed that you could channel.”

“Well, you were not there to see it.” Dean can hear the sudden steel in his voice and softens it. “But that's what a bull-headed fool – “

Castiel interrupts him. “Wooden -headed buffon. As nice as it is to see you, and it's really nice to see you Dean, I need you to let Jonneth here Delve you. It's a rare Talent that he possesses, one that he's been hiding from prying eyes, and we're going to keep it that way. Do you trust me to do that?”

Dean's eyes flit to Jonneth who just looks at him. He has traveled to the Black Tower on his own accord and is now an accepted member but he would lie if the thought of another man touching him with the One Power so soon doesn't fill him with unease.

He licks his lips. “Do I have a choice?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.”

Dean clenches his hands to stop the urge to wipe his clammy hands on the travel-stained tunic. He nods. “I guess the answer is yes then.”

Jonneth takes another step forward. “Sit down please. If you touch me, I can work much faster. And we need to be fast.”

Dean sits down on the edge of a bed and tries to relax. He has to fight his instincts to reach out and seize saidin, just for the comfort of it. He almost laughs out loud. Maybe he's already mad if he thinks the True Power is a source of comfort. It doesn't mitigate his urge to do just that anyway. Dean pulls up his sleeve to expose his wrist. He glances once at Castiel.

Castiel nods. “I trust him, Dean. With my life.”

Jonneth nods grimly at that. “It's an honor serving you, Castiel.”

Jonneth lays a hand on him and Dean is hit with a sense of power. Cold sweat pools at the back of his neck, slowly crawling downwards. He wants to pull away but he's not sure that the sudden motion will not disturb Jonneth and sever the connection. It might kill him. The weave that Jonneth places over him are intricate, with more threads than Dean can count and so fine that it looks like queen's needlework.

Dean feels a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. He's ready for death. Every man that channels is. He just doesn't want to die right at this moment.

They sit like this for what feels like an eternity. Jonneth is not really looking at Dean, his focus is all on the weaves he's creating with the Power as he Delves Dean.

Judging by how Castiel paces back and forth – the soft leather boots barely making a sound – he worries that they'll find something. Maybe Castiel worries that Dean has gone mad already and thinks that Dean will turn out to be like one of those channeling men in the stories they heard as children. The ones about men that spoke in tongues no one understood, the ones were men tore the earth apart and ripped people's limbs off one by one as if they were straw puppets.

Jonneth finally gets up. “I don't detect anything. I could try one more time, see if I can go even deeper or we can get the others so he can swear the – “

Castiel stops the pacing and looks at the ground. He's silent for a heartbeat, then looks at Jonneth, determination burning in his eyes. “It's too risky. At least for now. Taim is here and Kisman and Mishraile are already suspicious as it is. We have to be careful. We're balancing on a knife's edge and even the smallest of gusts can push us all down into the abyss.”

“As you wish, Castiel.”

“Leave us. We'll be out shortly.”

When the door closes, Dean and Castiel are finally alone.

There are plenty of things that Dean wants to ask Castiel and plenty more that he wants to tell him. He's had years to think about different scenarios in his mind of them reuniting again. Castiel leaving him had been the biggest loss in his life apart from his mother Mary, may the Light illuminate her soul.

“I thought you were dead.” Dean wants to spit out the words and he wants them to be angry, a sharp stab in a wound he selfishly hopes that Castiel still possesses but instead his spoken words are soft whispers filled with anguish.

Castiel sucks in a breath and comes to him. He grabs Dean's hand. “I'm truly sorry that I made you think that, Dean. Light burn me, I did what I thought was right in that moment. I had just learned that I could channel, Dean and I was afraid. Not only for myself but for my family, for the entire village... for you. The last thing you needed was a raving madman shredding you to pieces with the One Power.”

“I could have come with you back then. I thought that you didn't – “ Dean swallows hard.

“Dean. Look at me.” Castiel's voice is soft again. It takes Dean back to days when they were younger. When they were just boys swimming in the lakes during the hot summer days, when they helped their fathers with the harvest, when Dean accidentally stabbed Castiel in the barn during that summer storm.

Dean chuckles. “You sound the same you know, even if your voice is more gravelly now. You even said the same words to me in an effort to calm me down.”

A smile pulls at Castiel's lips. “Are you referring to the time you stabbed me like a pig?”

“Hey, the thunder was closer than I expected and I jumped and tripped. Just so happened that your chest was in the way of my blade.”

Castiel nods as he remembers. “Yes, I also remember that John didn't use those words though and neither was he as forgiving when he found out. But I did calm you down. Is it working now?”

Dean lets out a hoarse laugh. “Only because it's you.”

“When did you find out you could... channel?”

Dean turns serious. “A fortnight after you... disappeared.”

A look of compassion flashes over Castiel's face. He's been holding Dean's hand all this time and now he rubs a thumb over Dean's skin. “I'm sorry that you had to go through that alone.”

“Yes, so am I.”

Castiel sighs in the silence that follow their confession. “Dean, you need to leave. This is not – “

Castiel backs away as Dean pulls away from his hand and gets up, anger flashing in his eyes. “Burn you! I finally managed to get here, and trust me, Cas, if I could I'd rather kiss a flaming trolloc, but this is my final hope.” He grits out the last words, mindful that Castiel seems to want to keep this conversation a secret. “Now, what you and me had, that might be ashes in the wind for you but I refuse to let that stand in the way for my salvation, my hope.”

Castiel exhales deeply – a pained look on his face – and Dean glances at the silver-sword and the gold-and-red dragon pin attached to his collar again. “So you think it's fair that you embrace the madness fully and join other men that can channel but me, you want me to leave? And face Light knows what alone?”

“Dean, this is a place of darkness and despair.” Castiel walks up to Dean and grips the front of his tunic. “And I'm not talking about men going irrevocably mad, that will happen to all of us. The Lord Dragon whispers of a plan – “. He stops himself but grits out the next words, his voice tinted with anger and desperation. “Mazrim Taim can't be trusted. The Black Tower is divided, Logain has been missing for weeks and I'm doing my best not to be nailed to that blasted Traitor tree. And I suspect...”

Castiel stops and leans in really close, his breath hot against Dean's ear. “I know that Taim is making Dreadlords, controlling some of the Asha'man either with Compulsion or by other means. This is far from a place of hope, Dean. So yes, I want you to leave.”

Dean grips Castiel's hands, defiant anger turning his voice hoarse. “I'm tired of running, Cas. Out there I have the Reds to worry about, and by the Light, I will not be Gentled. There are wars ravaging the nations, I've heard rumors about something called Seanchan – I don't know what that is but I know it spells trouble – and the Dragon walking the lands is hardly a good omen. So I'll take my chances. The Black Tower is my hope. You are my hope.”

Castiel sighs and nods. “I don't like – “

“You don't have to like it.”

Castiel glares at him. “You've made that abundantly clear. You're still a goat-kissing lummox, Dean Winchester.”

Dean dares a smile. “My goat-kissing mouth has been on your lips, Cas. Not the best insult.” There's a new gleam in Castiel's eyes that takes Dean back to better days when the world was simpler, when the Dragon Reborn hadn't broken all chains and thrown the nations into fire and chaos.

“Be quiet.” Castiel caresses Dean's cheek softly.

The kiss is as fierce as Castiel. Dean's whole body is engulfed in flames and for a moment he forgets how to breathe. There is only Castiel, the taste of him on Dean's lips and his hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in tighter still.

Too soon, Castiel lets go. “I never stopped loving you, Dean. But the Black Tower has no place for love. If Mazrim Taim finds out, not only that I know you but that I love you, he'll kill you. Or worse.”

“I can deal with worse.”

“We'll need all the eyes and ears we can get. It's paramount that we find Logain. He's the Dragon Reborn's most trusted Asha'man. The true leader of the Black Tower. If we don't succeed, I'm afraid the world will see Dreadlords walk the lands again. We can't allow that!”

“Dreadlords are – “

The door opens with a start and Saman is there. He just shakes his head before leaving the cottage again.

Castiel sighs and adjusts his black coat. “Our time is up. My rules still apply. Keep your head down, stay silent, and most importantly, do as you're told.” He pauses, as if contemplating if he should speak the next words. In the end, he does. “I just found you again, Dean. I'd hate to lose you. We will save the Black Tower and Logain.” He looks at Dean and there's a softness in his eyes. “Light, we might even save ourselves.”

“I have hope, Cas.”

Castiel smiles sadly as he walks out the door. “Have hope for both of us then, Dean.”

#Destiel #Supernatural #castielscarma #my writing #SpnStayAtHome #Hope #Destiel ficlet #Supernatural crossover #Wheel of Time #Asha'man Dean #Asha'man Cas #if you like it reblog it #Please and thank you

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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SPHERIC DISTORTION : a tale from Flocking Bay (1 part)

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SPHERIC DISTORTION

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

2198 words

written 1991

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Watching through the clinic window, I saw Mr. Hilstrom get out of his battered ‘52 De Soto and walk up to the door of the Blackwall Street Ophthalmology Clinic. He walked with the care of the aged, avoiding any touch of the round black stones that lined the parking lot and front walk of my recently built clinic.

I am Dr. Fredricks, Ophthalmologist, the only eye doctor in Flocking Bay. My practice is growing in a satisfactory way but I am still a newcomer in the nearly closed society of this small Maine town. In spite of my name, my background is almost pure Iroquois. My father changed his name to make his family less conspicuous in white man̓’s society.

“Doc, you gotta help me out,” Mr Hilstrom started, as soon as he got through with the receptionist and we introduced ourselves. “The license bureau says that if I can’t see better, I can’t drive no more. It’s plain ridiculous what they say. I had these glasses more’n twenty years. Had to go all the way to Bangor for ‘em. Now they tells me they ain’t good ‘nough. Humph,” he muttered, “all the way to Bangor, and they ain’t good ‘nough.”

“Well, you know how it is,” I sympathized. “In twenty years, things do change. Mostly, it’s damn government rules.” I added as a face saver, “Maybe they changed how well you have to see for driving, now.”

“I knew I was right to come to ya, young as you are,” he agreed heartily. “You do understand how things is. They can’t stop the last member of the oldest family of Flocking Bay from drivin’. Tain’t right.”

“Quite so,” I agreed politely, “Why don’t you tell me how Flocking Bay was started while I run the tests those same bureaucrats make me run to prescribe new lenses? By the by, you do want to save fifty or sixty dollars, don’t you?”

“Sure, Doc, how?” he asked in a friendly way.

“I’ll just put the new lenses into your old frames. They’re perfectly good frames, even if they are twenty years old, and they fit you exactly. Works of art they are.”

“Yep, right as rain to come here,” he cackled, gleeful at the thought of saving money. With left eye covered, he looked at the chart and said confidently, “An ‘E’ and some blurs. You allus hears about white and Indian didn’t get along.” Covering his right eye, he added, “An ‘A’,

I think, an’ some blurs - didn’t see you switch charts, Doc. Flocking Bay was the result of cooperation, pure and simple.”

“Good grief,” I thought to myself, “His glasses weren’t that strong, and he can’t read the ‘C’ on the top of this chart. The man’s a menace on the road!” Aloud, I said, “Yes, the charts come from a projector over here, and I switch them around so kids can’t memorize a chart and fool me about how good their eyes are. Cooperation? White and Indian? That’s real interesting.”

As we progressed through the various tests of visual acuity, visual field, glaucoma, and astigmatism, the whole ‘interesting’ story came out. Appalling, I would say, since it was the same story that I already knew but told by the side that won. It was told with smug, callous satisfaction. Here, in essence, is what he told me.

“It was near enough to three hundred years ago that a smallish tribe lived in the Flocking Bay area. They was called the Marquoots or Marquosts or some such heathen name. The bigger tribes around ‘em was afeared of their evil magics and shunned ‘em. They didn’t have no chief. They was lead by a Shaman with no name. He only had a a title as nobody remembers no more.

“The tribes all around ‘em made a deal with the white men. If the white men ‘ud use their guns to kill the Shaman at a distance, then their evil magic ‘ud be stopped ‘fore it c’d start. The white men ‘ud get help in destroying the rest of the tribe, and they c’d have the Marquost land to settle. A bullet in the Shaman̓s back, from ambush, did for him in spite of his black magics. That first bullet was fired by a Hilstrom.

“At the heart of the Marquost evil and black magic was a big solid slab of black stone, standing at the south end of their village. At its base was a lot of round black stones. On top of them stones, up ‘gainst the slab, all the growed-up villagers was kilt and their bodies was left there to rot. The kids was took by the other Indians to raise as slaves.

“All the bodies vanished and was never found. Nobody seen it happen. They was just gone.

“Over the centuries, that slab got two things: the name Blackwall, an’ a nasty reputation. It stayed standing in spite of crow-bars, gunpowder, an’ even dynamite. Through the years since, bunch of people has vanished somewheres near it. They named Blackwall Street after it.

“Those good Indians kept their word and white folks settled Flocking Bay.”

When the testing was done, I offered, “Let me take your frames now. I will drive you home in your car. I have a lab here at the clinic and I will make your lenses for you by tomorrow. You will have to return by bus or cab. If you give me a fare receipt or ticket, I’ll take the cost of the ride off of your lenses.”

“That’s mighty decent, Doc. You can’t make much, if you treat all your patients this good,” he accepted with a slightly snaggletoothed smile.

I took his old glasses and closed the clinic for the day, explaining as I did so, “Your story was worth it, by itself. Besides, you deserve special consideration as the last direct descendant of Flocking Bay̓’s founders.”

As we climbed into the old De Soto, he gave me the key and said, “I wish more folks felt the way you do, Doc. Most just think I’m some sort of crackpot with crazy stories. Just live straight down Blackwall, t’other end of town.”

I mostly drove in silence. Not only was the old car noisy, I was doing a lot of thinking.

“Here we are, Doc. On the left.” As I pulled into the drive, I saw that the house was very old. It was in good repair but needed paint. Hand squared beams and planks showed past the paint in many places. The front steps were worn almost through by generations of feet. The shrubs were untrimmed, and the yard was roughly overgrown with weeds.

“Hilstrom House,” he announced with such pride that you could hear the capital letters. “First house built in Flocking Bay. All the Hilstroms have been born here, lived here, and like as not, died here,”

“I’ll get a bus, down the block,” I said. “You know, there ought to be some sort of marker or something, to let people know. This house is part of their history. See you tomorrow,” I called as I headed out the drive, toward the bus stop.

Returning to the clinic, I went into the back, which was divided into living quarters and lab. I fixed a Spartan dinner while I contemplated the food for thought that I had got from Mr. Hilstrom.

I am an Iroquois by birth and blood but not only Iroquois. My many greats grandmother (most Indian tribes are matrilineal and neither the Iroquois or the Marquost were exceptions) had been sold to the Iroquois for a basket of maize and a haunch of venison. Recognized for her wisdom and hard work, the daughter of the Marquost shaman had been adopted by the honorable Iroquois. I was her last descendant.

I had come to Flocking Bay to close the ring of the past. The early diaries in the library had been frustrating. They all gave second hand accounts, told by people who came after the fact, reporting the massacre as a horror already done and none had named the settlers responsible. Now, fate had given me the last descendant of the man who, with a fatal bullet, had destroyed my ancient people. We have not forgotten, nor have they. It was time to make our own special peace.

I set about making his lenses, grinding them with care, perfectly to his prescription, yet just a bit thicker than strictly necessary.

The next day, Mr. Hilstrom arrived and picked up his glasses. He was surprised. “Everything’s crystal clear!” he exclaimed happily, “But everything’s bowed an’ bent, too!”

“Yes,” I told him, “that effect is called spheric distortion. It is a bit unsettling at first. You should hardly notice it, after a few days. If you are still having trouble on Saturday, come to see me by bus. I live in the back, so I’ll be here. Be sure not to drive until we have the problem fixed, OK?”

“OK, Doc,” he said and left.

I knew that he would be back. The extra thick lenses would cause so much spheric distortion that he would have to return.

On Saturday, Mr. Hilstrom came again. “Doc, I tell you, it’s ‘nough to make a man paranoid,” he stated as he lay on the couch in my living quarters. “Everthin’ as used to be straight, you know, phone poles, tree trunks, even walls, now they bow away from me in the middle. The closer I get, the worse they bend. It’s walls that are worst.

“Every wall, if I gets close to it, bows away in the middle but the top arches over me! The corners! They looms even further around! It’s like the wall was gonna fold in on me!”

I smiled reassuringly, “It may surprise you but I know exactly what you mean. My own first glasses were wicked that way. Turns out I can fix most of it very easily.”

As he handed over his glasses he said, “Don’t think much of your sense of humor, Doc. Paintin’ this wall black, I mean. The old Blackwall used to be hereabouts.” He leaned back on the couch and patted the wall behind him. As he did, a look of alarm crossed his face.

“A frame adjustment is all that you need,” I told him and then with straightforward honesty, “As for the Blackwall, that is it. I have been living next to it for six months, now. No harm has come to me.

“When I came here, the land it was on was the cheapest in Flocking Bay, because nobody wanted it. Using it as a main part of the building saved me near $8000.00 on construction costs.”

“Don’t know if that was wise, Doc,” he fretted. “Using it may have saved you good money but folks tell bad stories about the Blackwall.”

“You want something really funny?” I laughed, “I am an Iroquois but my lots of times great grandmother was sold to them as a slave. She was the daughter of the last Marquost Shaman. If any Marquosts were left, I would be their Shaman.

“Now, here we are, each the last descendant of ancient enemies. I am fixing your eyes so that you can go on driving and you have given me valuable family history that I could never have gotten in any other way. As for the famous Blackwall, the State Department of Geology says ‘basaltic intrusion in a sedimentary formation.’ That’s all.

“There is an old Marquost saying that has come down in my family: ‘The best peace is with an ex-enemy.’

“You just relax while I go into the lab and adjust these frames,” I said as he settled back on the couch, calm again.

At the door, I looked back and said, “You won’t have to be afraid of every wall in Flocking Bay any more. You’ll see …”

Once in the lab, I put down his glasses and picked up an ancient stone knife. I lightly cut the ball of my thumb. I pressed the bleeding thumb to the Blackwall. I felt a slight shudder in the stone. When I took my thumb away, it was healed with no trace of the cut. There was no blood on the Blackwall.

“Yes,” I said to myself as I came back into my living quarters, “You don’t have to fear every wall. Only this one.” I rolled the round black stone that was all that was left of Mr. Hilstrom off my couch and out to a place along my front walk with all the other stones. “Yes, the best peace is with an ex-enemy - especially if he’s a dead one.”

THE END

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This completes Spheric Distortion. If you enjoyed what you just read, please go to the Master Story Index for links to all of the stories that I have posted on Tumblr.

#SPHERIC DISTORTION #Part 1 of 1 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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anghraine · 4 years

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pro patria, chapters 1-7

I don’t actually expect people to read this, but I want it over here for completeness’s sake, so—the Guild Wars 2 fic!

This one is ... different, apart from being for a canon that I think maybe three of my friends are interested in, because instead of writing a one-shot in my format of seven sections of seven sentences each, I've written an entire 70k+ fic that way. Each chapter is precisely 49 sentences long, which makes for a lot of very short chapters, so I'm bunching them up into groups of (of course!) seven.

It’s business as usual, however, in having copious footnotes (these ones assume everyone’s unfamiliar with the canon story).

title: pro patria (1-7/?) stuff that happens: a young Ascalonian woman grows from a sheltered aristocrat, to a hero rushing into danger to help a nearby village, to the investigator of a series of mysterious abductions and thefts tied to the Ministry itself. verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: PC (mesmer / human / noble origin / missing sister [Ascalonian]), Lord Faren, Minister Ailoda, Deborah, Countess Anise, Logan Thackeray; PC & Ailoda, PC & Deborah, PC & Anise, PC & Faren

ONE 1 I always thought of myself as Ascalonian first, and Krytan second. Both of my parents were Ascalonian—my mother came from a family of Rurikton refugees fallen on good times, my father from Ebonhawke, and I was born there, myself. Mother had resigned from the Ministry over some quarrel with Minister Caudecus, and hammered in her protest by uprooting the entire family for an extended holiday with my aunt Elwin in Ebonhawke. This was long before the Rurikton gate got fixed on Ebonhawke, so in the off phases, people generally took “going to visit family in Ebonhawke” as a euphemism for something. But Mother being Mother, she headed through Lion’s Arch to the Black Citadel of all places, carved her way through only the gods knew what to the gates of Ebonhawke, turned herself over to the Vanguard, and waited for Aunt Elwin to show up and get them released. She was seven months pregnant with me by the time she arrived, Father and five-year-old Deborah in tow. And two months later, she delivered me there, Father and Aunt Elwin at her side, and Charr siege engines in her ears. 2 Father always wanted to go back to Kryta, for Deborah’s sake and mine. And during the times that the Rurikton gate got switched to Ebonhawke, when our kin in Divinity’s Reach rushed supplies through, requests for Mother’s return to the Ministry came with them. She only said, “We need soldiers, not supplies—yes, I know centaurs are attacking them, but —” “We need to go home,” said Father. A Charr attack shook her resolve more than he did: one that briefly broke through the walls while Deborah was out walking with Aunt Elwin. But it was Aunt Elwin who convinced Mother that she could do more to help our people in the Ministry than as one more staff against the Charr legions. She accepted the latest offer from the Ministry, this time to serve as representative of the Salma District itself, and we headed—home, to a place I’d never seen. 3 My father was a Fairchild, a descendant—if collateral—of Duke Barradin himself, while my mother was only a Langmar, and a Langmar of mixed heritage, no less. But Langmar meant nearly as much as Fairchild in Rurikton, where the family had owned a mansion for generations. When we first arrived, I’d never seen anything like it, for Aunt Elwin’s house in struggling Ebonhawke couldn’t begin to compare to the splendid gardens and shining marble of a mansion in Divinity’s Reach. Even Deborah, her eleven-year-old dignity often stronger than any other feeling, couldn’t help staring around with wide eyes. Mother, meanwhile, gained a still greater mansion in the Salma District upon receiving her appointment as representative, but she wanted us safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry. Deborah and I grew up quietly in Langmar Manor, educated with other Ascalonian nobles by Ascalonian tutors, familiar with every corner of Rurikton and very little beyond it. Deborah chafed at the confinement, but I was a little girl, content enough to spend my days playing and studying with Yolanda, Corone, and Faren, new and lifelong friends. 4 Deborah joined the Seraph the day she turned twenty. “I don’t understand,” I said blankly. “We call ourselves Ascalonians,” she told me, “and that means more than tracing our family trees. You don’t remember Ebonhawke, but those are real Ascalonians, fighting for what they love—like our ancestors fought for what they loved—but we’re happy to boast of their names without doing anything. Captain Thackeray could just sit back and enjoy everything he gets for being Gwen Thackeray’s heir, but he isn’t, and I won’t either. Ascalon is lost, even if Rurikton and the Settlement and Ebonhawke will never admit it, but as long as Kryta stands, we have something to fight for.” Deborah as a Seraph, solving crimes, keeping order, and skirmishing with the occasional bandit raid, wasn’t half so chilling a prospect as Deborah fighting legions of Charr, so I didn’t say what I thought—as long as Ebonhawke stands, we have Ascalon to fight for. 5 Deborah’s departure left the whole family scattered: my mother in Salma, my father dead, my aunt and cousins in Ebonhawke, my sister stationed all the way down in Claypool, and some remote relations and me in Rurikton. Mother, still grieving Father and anxious over Debs, decided that at fifteen, I was old enough to come live with her in her Ministry mansion. I’d felt lonely and restless in Langmar Manor, but I still received the news with very little short of horror. “You’re going the next district over, not across the world,” said Yolanda. “I’ll take a house in Manor Hill too,” Faren said recklessly, “and we’ll have amazing parties.” Faren being Faren, he actually did, aided by his father’s relief at him showing interest in something beyond Rurikton high society—even if that thing was only Salma high society. My mother kissed me when we arrived, and with a smile, told Faren, “It’s a pleasure to know you’ll be keeping my girl company, and of course, just to see you—you’re looking so well!” He preened. 6 We spent those early weeks exploring Salma, curious and cheerful despite ourselves, suppressing giggles as we followed a dour guide about the district. “Orr was destroyed,” the guide was saying, “Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire; only Kryta is left, and that by a narrow margin.” “Ascalon was ravaged by the Searing,” I said sharply, all laughter gone. Nobody would call Faren a great wit, but when it came to conversation and society, his instincts were impeccable. “You must have gotten the order confused, good sir—the Searing came first, the Foefire when everything was already wrecked—but a simple mistake, I’m sure—you were saying something about Kryta?” Biting back the first words that came to my lips, I forced myself to smile and say, “Sorry, we’re Ascalonian.” “I guessed,” said the guide. 7 I suppose I was a callow, coddled creature in those days, spoiled if not malicious—and though three years of even more luxury in Salma didn’t change that, a single letter did. To Minister Ailoda Langmar, I regret to inform you of the loss of Falcon Company in a centaur raid. Your daughter, Sergeant Deborah Fairchild, died honourably in battle. With my deepest condolences to you and your family, Captain J. Tervelan of the Seraph (Queensdale) As Mother staggered backwards, I caught her, and somehow afterwards, that was always the clearest memory: her weight in my arms, the letter falling out of her hand, fluttering downwards until it reached the floor, nothing visible but the seal of the Seraph. Until then, I’d been little more than an irritable butterfly, but with Mother shattered, I found myself willingly shouldering the work of mourning: the formal letters and heartbroken notes, the refusal of Deborah’s pension, the visits from friends and allies and enemies—I was warm and grateful to the Mashewes and Baroness Jasmina; coldly civil to that ass Zamon, whose commiseration fell little short of gloating; brave and dignified to Corone and his friend Edmonds; grieved but composed with Faren and Yolanda. Like a creature of a thousand faces, I sometimes thought in exhausted moments: not at all a proper Ascalonian hero, more Anise than Deborah—but it was the only way I knew to be strong.

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1) Ascalonian first: the PC from the first game was a resident of the human kingdom of Ascalon when the Charr, a species of giant cat people who lived in Ascalon a thousand years earlier, orchestrated a massive magical attack that killed thousands of Ascalonian civilians and devastated the landscape. Surviving Ascalonians were afterwards mostly killed or enslaved, except a few groups that escaped. The king then went mad and turned himself and the last survivors into vengeful ghosts.

2) and Krytan second: in GW1, the PC helps Prince Rurik of Ascalon lead a group of Ascalonian refugees into the neighbouring kingdom of Kryta. Some Ascalonians establish a settlement there while others live in the cities; generations later, this has resulted in a minority population of Krytan Ascalonians within broader Krytan culture, which the GW2 PC can belong to (though it has no impact on gameplay, which is what inspired the fic). In-game, Ascalonians are fiercely proud of their heritage.

3) Rurikton refugees: Rurikton, named after the Rurik in #2 (who was killed in the journey to Kryta), is the Ascalonian district of the Krytan capital, Divinity’s Reach.

4) Ebonhawke: a stronghold in the furthest reaches Ascalon built by elite Ascalonian soldiers and the civilians they fought to protect. It fell just outside of the king’s curse and has managed to survive the onslaughts of the Charr for 250 years.

5) I was born there [Ebonhawke]: there is no evidence for the PC being born outside Divinity's Reach, so this is probably one of the creakiest elements as far as canon goes. DR is canonically the PC’s home, and they strongly suggest they’ve never seen anything else. I made her very young when she arrived to finagle it, but it’s mostly there because I’m interested in the dynamic between Ebonhawke Ascalonians and Kryta Ascalonians, so I wanted to give her a foot in both worlds.

6) Minister Caudecus: a deeply corrupt Krytan minister who shows up in various storylines.

7) my aunt Elwin: Elwin Fairchild is a noblewoman of Ebonhawke in the game, a proud Ascalonian ambivalent over Krytan involvement in Ebonhawke’s affairs.

8) Rurikton gate: Asura gates are magic/technological portals created by a species of small, floppy-eared, ethically questionable scientists and researchers. They have a gate in Rurikton that will instantly transport you to the one in Ebonhawke, but it seems that it’s only recently been permanently fixed on Ebonhawke.

9) Lion’s Arch: the former capital of Kryta; after a cataclysm caused by giant eldritch dragons, the original Lion’s Arch was sunk and the city rebuilt into an independent city-state, while Divinity’s Reach became the new capital.

10) The Black Citadel: the capital of Charr-controlled Ascalon, built on top of the former human capital (and human remains, according to one Charr).

11) turned herself over to the Vanguard: the Ebon Vanguard defends and seems to largely control Ebonhawke.

12) five-year-old Deborah: we don’t know the exact age gap between Deborah and the PC, but Deborah seems to be older.

13) the Salma District: the PC will always live in Salma, regardless of origin, even though the city has sharp class and ethnic divisions and you can belong to one of the minority populations.

14) Duke Barradin himself: Duke Barradin was the heir to the previous royal family in GW1, but loyal to the elected king, Adelbern. His daughter was engaged to Adelbern’s son Rurik, but both were killed, so he has no direct descendants. However, the PC’s friend Faren is explicitly descended from royalty, the noble PC is implied to be so, and the Duke of Ebonhawke is descended from Ascalonian kings in particular, so it seems likely that their progenitor was some relation of Barradin’s.

15) only a Langmar: Captain Langmar led the elite Ascalonian soldiers that ultimately founded Ebonhawke, though she died in the process. There’s no sign that she had anything like an aristocratic background, but we’re told that class hierarchy in Rurikton is rooted in descent from Searing-era heroes, as Langmar was.

16) mixed heritage: GW2 Ascalonians, especially in Kryta, are a lot less homogeneous than in GW1. We see NPCs of all sorts of RL ethnicities identifying as Ascalonian or strongly implied to be Ascalonian. OTOH, Ebonhawke Ascalonians are implied to regard Krytan Ascalonians as "less" Ascalonian than they are, and there's a remark about Logan Thackeray’s beige heartthrob status being partly because he’s pure Ascalonian. The NPC I appropriated as their mother is a minister with default Krytan design, but who is talking with a Krytan who tells her to get over the Searing.

17) safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry: per #13, Salma is canonically the PC’s home and I’m stretching canon. The game is pretty emphatic that Ascalonians live in Rurikton or the Ascalon Settlement, and since there are nobles and mansions in Rurikton, it can’t even be a matter of “but the noble ones are up on Manor Hill.” The real explanation is that the choice of ethnicity is purely cosmetic and not considered any further, but that’s boring, and we’re never told that the PC has always lived in Salma.

18) Yolanda, Corone, and Faren: Faren is a shallow flibbertigibbet, but he seems to genuinely care for the PC; Yolanda and Corone are two of the friendliest guests at the party he throws for you.

19) the Seraph: the Seraph are a cross between soldiers and police in Kryta, principally involved in fighting off centaur and bandit attacks.

20) Captain Thackeray: Logan Thackeray, the Seraph commander of Divinity’s Reach and ultimate mentor/friend to the PC. He’s the descendant of Gwen Thackeray from GW1/GW: Eye of the North, who was the BEST CHARACTER IN GUILD WARS enslaved by the Charr as a child, but escaped to fight them for the rest of her life between succeeding Captain Langmar, finding love, and establishing Ebonhawke. She’s an iconic hero to Ascalonians.

21) Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire: you don’t get a chance to correct the Salma Guide, but otherwise these are his exact words. The Foefire was the mad king Adelbern’s final curse that turned him and the last survivors into ghosts; the game tends to emphasize this rather than the Searing + brutal invasion that led to it. (It’s particularly glaring in this case, as you personally see Ascalon ravaged by the Searing in GW1 and spend a good deal of time fighting there, years before the Foefire.)

22) Minister Ailoda Langmar: the Krytan-Ascalonian minister I mentioned above is simply "Minister Ailoda," with no other name given. There's no sign of any connection to the PC, but eh, game mechanics.

23) the Mashewes...Jasmina...that ass Zamon...Corone and his friend Edmonds: Lady Mashewe is a pleasant acquaintance who says her mother prayed for the PC; Jasmina's a noblewoman avoiding Faren; Zamon and the PC insult each other; Edmonds talks to the PC with Corone.

24) Anise: Anise is the charming, enigmatic, and powerful mesmer leader of the queen’s personal guard, the Shining Blade.

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TWO

1 My sister’s gravestone read: Deborah Fairchild Daughter of Kryta and Ascalon Died serving her country with honour, faith, and courage. No body rested beneath the stone; neither the Seraph nor Mother’s Ministry guards ever managed to recover the missing corpses. I never saw a ghost, never heard the merest whisper of her spirit. The grave was the nearest approximation we had, but I often felt drawn to it, dry-eyed and somber. A day rarely passed when I spoke her name, and a day rarely passed when I did not think of her, memories jumbled up with horror at what that missing body must mean. When Debs joined the Seraph, she spoke of Logan Thackeray, of Ebonhawke, of the ancestral heroes whose names brought us respect and luxury—not of Mother, Aunt Elwin, certainly not me. Yet I could not help feeling that somehow, had I done something different, been someone different, she would never have left us. 2 For a year, I played my part in what increasingly seemed a theatre of grief: three months’ withdrawal into mourning, gradual emergence into a solemn, reserved public life over the next six months, and another quarter-year to return to my old habits of gaiety and grudges—yet little altered for me, at court or during my weekly vigils at the grave. Not, at least, until one of the latter was interrupted by a familiar voice, saying: “Indulgence doesn’t suit you, darling.” “Anise?” I exclaimed, too surprised for offence; Countess Anise was a longtime friend of our family—only the Six knew how long—but I rarely saw her away from court, much less in the guarded seclusion of the Langmar cemetery. “All those faces of yours,” said Anise, her drawl indistinguishable from every other time I’d heard her, “and you’re squandering them on self-pity and an empty coffin.” “She wanted to be a real Ascalonian,” I blurted out—I, who hadn’t confided in my mother or my aunt or my friends, and somehow I couldn’t help but babble on, “a hero fighting for her home and her cause, and now—now she’s just like them, a martyr and a defiled corpse somewhere—” “You’re getting hysterical,” Anise said, not unkindly, and added, “Is martyrdom what it means to be Ascalonian, now?” I’d always liked Anise, a clever lady mesmer like my namesake, but alive and undefeated; I respected her uncharted skills and enjoyed her inscrutable charm, but until that moment, I never realized: she was Ascalonian, too. 3 Teach me, I found myself begging Anise, though I myself didn’t quite know what I meant—maneuvering in the court, or chaos magic, or defending another person, or outwitting potential threats, or generating clones, or simply surviving in prosperity—perhaps I did not mean anything in particular. I couldn’t be Deborah, and in my heart I didn’t want to be Deborah, a soldier locked into hierarchies and orders and thrown into small doomed skirmishes. In any case, I hadn’t Deborah’s resilience, or Captain Thackeray’s unwavering loyalty, or his foremother Gwen’s relentless courage—but if I did not envision myself as equal to Anise, hers were footsteps I could see myself following, regardless of the particulars. Even as I pleaded with her, I expected little from a woman at once detached and preoccupied—and thought little of what had driven her to intercede in the first place. But Anise, taking the request on its face, smiled. “Chaos for a devotee of Kormir? Delightful—I’ll expect you at moonrise.” 4 My life reformed itself over that next year. Mother, relieved to see me interested in something of substance, readily relinquished me to Anise’s patronage; Anise herself proved an exacting but gracious mentor, dispensing advice, demands, criticism, and praise in equal measure; and my friends found me more and more myself. Small concerns crept back into my mind: the superiority of silk over velvet, Barradin wine over Eldvin ale, Gwen Thackeray over Queen Salma. Greater ones, of course, drew my attention as well: the downfall of the Meades, one of the oldest Ascalonian houses in Kryta, and consequent disappearance of our childhood friend Kasmeer Meade; the desperation of the war in my birthplace and heightened Krytan aid; the murder of an Ascalonian minister. I miss Debs every day, I wrote to my aunt, but I know I have to make something of my own life, in my own way. I’ve been thinking of returning to Ebonhawke to help, since Anise says I am ‘highly proficient’ as an aetherist. I haven’t left Divinity’s Reach in years, though, so before I try myself against the Charr, I’m planning on making my way around Queensdale—at least Shaemoor. 5 To the world, my story began the day I stepped through Dwayna’s Gate into Shaemoor. The world is wrong, of course; my life didn’t begin with centaurs clubbing a frightened man the instant that I set foot in Shaemoor, with stalls and cottages roaring into flame, with a boy as blond as Debs huddled in a corner, with the blood and brains and screams of that day. It didn’t begin with the barely-heard orders from Corporal Beirne—with the indistinct impulse that had me running forward rather than back, urging strangers towards the inn, catching the boy up in my arms, consoling a woman over the slaughter of her dog as I dragged her with my free hand—with the furious spells tumbling from my mouth, focused through the weak wooden sceptre in my hand. I was someone before I became the hero of Shaemoor. I was myself, with my own history, my own concerns, my own people … the man, that man slaughtered before my eyes, was Ascalonian, and the boy too. If they had not been, perhaps the instinct of the moment would not have flung me into the horror as if I’d been tempered by the Searing, instead of sheltered in Divinity’s Reach. Or perhaps it ran deeper than that, and I would have turned onto that path had the man been Zamon, or an Asura, or even a Charr—but still, it was the turn, not the beginning. 6 Something did begin at Shaemoor, however: my association with Logan Thackeray. I’d met him before, socially, but only just—and in perfect honesty, knew him more as the butt of Anise’s wit than anything else. But I respected him from what I’d heard of his service to Divinity’s Reach, and for his determination to follow his ancestress’s footsteps and not just her name. In the midst of all that panic and death, it seemed only natural to rush to his aid when I heard that he was being overwhelmed. I had no sword, like Logan, or Deborah; I struck from among magical decoys, twisting chaos about our enemies from each direction—but it was something, and an hour from leaving the city for the first time, I was at Logan’s side, blasting aether at a massive earth elemental and the many smaller ones. He didn’t know me from Kormir, or at least from Kasmeer, but I knew we were a Langmar and a Thackeray again, thrown into another desperate fight, and there were worse ways to die. But we didn’t die; we lived and we triumphed, and by the time that I awoke in the care of a priestess of Dwayna, every Seraph from Logan on down knew who I was. 7 All my life, I had been Minister Ailoda’s other girl or the lady Elwin’s niece or Sergeant Fairchild’s sister or a Langmar, you know, on the mother’s side—or, now and then, merely my lady. I rarely heard my own name outside my little circle of Ascalonian nobles. I also rarely heard it in the immediate wake of Shaemoor. But now I wasn’t a satellite about greater relations, extensions of my mother or aunt or sister or heroic ancestors. I was the hero, myself, even as I wandered about Shaemoor in a daze. I didn’t do much: fought off little wyrms and harpies, found missing herds, gathered apples. Yet there was no my lady there, much less So-and-so’s relation: only the hero of Shaemoor.

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1) clever lady mesmer like my namesake: the PC's name isn't explicitly stated in this section, but those familiar with the original Guild Wars: Prophecies can probably figure it out from this reference.

2) Chaos for a devotee of Kormir?: all human characters choose a patron god/goddess, and the choice of god and the choice of profession are completely independent. But Kormir, goddess of order and truth, is a rather odd choice for a chaos magic-using mesmer.

3) the murder of an Ascalonian minister: Minister Brios, the representative for the Ascalonian Settlement, is poisoned in Divinity's Reach before a meeting with Anise. There are very few Ascalonian ministers, so the murder of one of them seems likely to be particularly troubling to Ascalonians.

4) before I try myself against the Charr: you can get to Ebonhawke straight from the starting zone of Divinity’s Reach, but Ebonhawke is in a level 30+ zone.

5) a boy as blond as Debs: Deborah will be blonde if you choose to be Ascalonian.

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THREE 1 These days, I knew better than to let myself get consumed by grief. Still, as I flung spells at spiders, giant worms, bandits, centaurs, anything, I couldn’t help but wish that Deborah could see me now. At the garrison, I snatched up a rusty sword and poured magic through it with every swing at a centaur; what would she think? Me, fighting with a sword? Maybe not the way she or the other Seraph did, but still! She wouldn’t believe it. She’d be proud, I thought—wouldn’t she? 2 I’d barely passed beyond Shaemoor when I heard from Faren: positively hasty, for him. His pet raven delivered a gushing note that, in the space of a few sentences, managed to tease me about my injuries, urge me to talk him up to my healer, and summon me to a party—at my own house. I could only laugh; ridiculous as he often was, I loved him dearly, and always had. Even as children, we’d been friends and companions, but after Kasmeer vanished and Deborah died, we found ourselves inseparable. We were among the last of that quiet, secure little Ascalonian world in which we’d grown up at Rurikton—certainly the closest. Deborah’s death had changed me, driven me beyond the walls of Rurikton and Manor Hill, beyond letters and parties and court gossip. But I remained Faren’s friend, as I would always be. 3 Many people, I think, assumed Faren and I were lovers; in fact, to our own bemusement, nothing could be further from the truth. When we were seventeen, he said, “I don’t understand it. You’re pretty—I’m gorgeous—but I really think I’d throw up.” I might have been offended had I not felt exactly the same. “Inbreeding, I expect,” I told him. Faren brightened. “Grandmama was a Fairchild.” 4 Faren waited ahead of the party—a sacrifice, in the world of Faren—to greet me with his most grandiose bow. “The hero of Shaemoor returns!” I shook my head, but I grinned despite myself. It turned out that my servants had gleefully conspired with him, and when I entered the courtyard, I found it full of strangers and friends alike, along with food, gossip, and a wizard. I’d enjoyed exploring Queensdale, pushing myself to further and further limits; it was good to know that I could enjoy simpler pleasures, too, although it didn’t extend to the dog fights and bear baiting that a cousin of Faren’s called for. “Not in my home,” I snapped, “and if you want to stay, don’t mention that again.” When I heard someone say my name, I seized the chance to turn away—only to find myself facing my mother’s most hated rival. 5 “Minister Zamon.” “You’ve done well for yourself,” Zamon said acidly. “All it takes for a noble to be a hero is a bit of swordplay, a few bottles of cheap brandy, and an inflated sense of self-importance.” He had said much the same of Deborah’s swift rise among the Seraph; she’d never responded, holding herself above partisan squabbles. “Then you’re almost a hero already, my lord,” I replied, smiling. “All you lack is the brandy and swordplay.” I was not Deborah. 6 Even my old friends seemed to see the hero of Shaemoor more than anything else. Corone, brought up with Faren and Kasmeer and me, and now a respected warrior, regarded me as if he’d never seen me before, and said he’d be honoured to fight beside me. Yolanda hailed me as a heroine—before chiding me for associating so much with Faren, “that rascal!” In his imagination, maybe. Fending off her interrogation about Logan Thackeray, I’d never been happier to see Faren bounce towards me. And the moment that I muttered something about being tired, he assured me that he was done with the party as well, and headed off to make our excuses to the servants. I was ignoring Yolanda’s meaningful stare when I heard him scream. 7 Corone got his wish sooner than either of us could have imagined. We easily trounced the bandits who swept into the party, but it didn’t matter: Faren was already gone. With Corone and Edmonds protecting the guests, I ran out of Manor Hill and into the district plaza, desperately trying to catch any sign of Faren, or even the bandits; they’d have to have some way to recognize each other, wouldn’t they? But there was nothing, just ordinary people carrying on with ordinary business, merchants calling out sales, the old tour guide talking to a woman with a red handkerchief about her neck … with that over her mouth, she’d look just like the bandits who had abducted Faren— “Madam?” said someone near us, and then “ma'am!” as I blasted the bandit with a bolt of aether. I fought at least half a dozen across the district, tracking them one by one to a house at the opposite end of Salma. At the sight of me, bandits poured out of the house, but I didn’t care: they’d learn what it meant to cross a daughter of Ascalon.

FOUR

1 After Shaemoor, the bandits were nothing. They kept jumping out of their safehouse one by one—idiocy—and flailed at my clones, even their supposed leader. “Soon, you’ll beg me for death!” he shouted. I laughed, and blew up the clones. He went down like a basket of eggs. But I never laughed for long. I’d yet to see Faren, and images of bandits beating him, tormenting him, cutting his throat, flickered before me, each as vivid as every spell I cast. 2 Inside the bandits’ safehouse, I raced upstairs, barely wasting attention on the few guards left inside. Fear and victory kept my blood rushing fast: I didn’t even think about Anise’s lessons, but my feet landed exactly as she’d taught me, my body slipped away from each attack, and every spell hit its mark. Beyond them, I could just see Faren. He seemed alive, thank the gods, but stretched out in magical chains that turned my anger and fear to raw fury. I fought through a haze of rage, but one that illuminated rather than blinded—everything seemed crisp and bright and clear, more than ever before. When the last of them collapsed, I scrambled the rest of the way up the stairs, and tried to clear my head. “Um,” said Faren, “a little help here?” 3 When I broke the chains, relief flooding through me, he gave a hoarse laugh. “Am I pleased to see you!” he exclaimed, then grinned and added, “though if you wanted me to leave the party, a simple ‘Begone, freeloader!’ would have sufficed.” Captivity or no, Faren clearly remained Faren. “I’ll make a note of that,” I said dryly, and asked after any information he might have picked up on what the devil was going on. But he knew only that they operated out of a house in Shaemoor, where they’d meant to lock him up, and that in recent months, they’d turned more brazen, bloodthirsty, and focused on rebellion against the crown. “I can't save you and leave the others to rot,” I decided, and managed to smile at him. “Bad form, you know.” 4 Faren, looking determined (for him), said, “Count me in—I may not be a centaur-killing berserker like you, but I can take care of myself.” I’d believe that when I saw it. On the way to the bandits' den, I said, “Glad to have you with me, but do me a favour? Stay close”—I poked him with my sceptre—“and that way, we can protect each other.” Faren shrugged that off, which didn’t comfort me, but he actually managed himself well enough; he didn’t even get blood on his clothes as we fought our way into the concealed and guarded caves, nor when we rescued all the prisoners caged inside, so it counted as a success as far as he was concerned. “If you know any fair maidens, be sure to tell them who rescued you,” he said, and added with a grin, “the dashing Lord Faren … and his friend!” 5 The mission did count as a success for me, too; one of the captives had filched papers about a plot in Divinity’s Reach. We escorted him and the others out, taking down the remaining bandits with impatience (me) and glee (Faren). “We showed them what Ascalonians are made of!” he said triumphantly, and I straightened right up. “That’s right.” When Logan Thackeray arrived to help, Faren swaggered up and said, “My friend and I defeated these delinquents with panache and aplomb; you're just in time to celebrate our victory.” “I’m … amazed,” said Captain Thackeray. I knew the feeling. 6 “Then again,” he said, favouring me with a respectful nod, “I should have known that the hero of Shaemoor wouldn’t let your kidnapping go unanswered.” I remembered Shaemoor, fighting alongside Captain Thackeray with my stick of a sceptre just like Gwen and Langmar once had, all those years ago, and tried not to think too much of it; we’d barely met, outside of a few social occasions he clearly didn’t remember. But I also thought of Faren struggling in his chains, and danger spreading to the home that was supposed to keep us safe, and that we were all Ascalonians together. “No one hurts my friends without answering to me,” I said firmly. I handed over the papers we’d acquired, but to my surprise, it was Faren(!) who proved most useful; he noticed the quality of the paper, and even knew of the papermaker I could track down to identify it. I promised, “I'll get the information you need, without anyone realizing the Seraph are aware of the traitor in the city.” “Be careful,” said Captain Thackeray. 7 Although he warned me, I didn’t realize so many skale existed in the world as I wiped out on that trip—luckily, I found a new sceptre on the way, so I managed to keep them at a distance, and my clothes remained as pristine as Faren’s. When I arrived, I found the paper maker he’d mentioned; Fursarai was a small, prissy man, an impression not helped by his quite beautiful waistcoat, but it didn’t stop him from shouting at a departing Norn about getting his supplies back to the city. “You there—you look like you can handle yourself in a fight!” he announced, gaze fixed on something in my direction; I glanced over my shoulder, but none of the Seraph seemed to be behind me, nor anyone else. He gabbled something about the garrison and cowardly guards at the empty air—unless—unless "you there" was supposed to mean me? What a boor: but unfortunately, a boor who could direct me to Faren’s attackers. Friendship had its sacrifices. I looked at my silk sleeves, and sighed. FIVE 1 “What do you cost?” Cin Fursarai demanded, and now I preferred to believe he wanted a replacement for that Norn. It was flattering, I suppose, that he looked at me—a young noblewoman in silk, wool, and fine leather, carrying only a sceptre and a small sword—and thought I looked like someone who could fight. “I’m not a mercenary,” I said, and added: “I'm here to ask for help identifying the craftsmanship of a piece of handmade paper.” Fursarai sniffed. “If you found quality paper in Divinity’s Reach, I can assure you, I made it.” By sheer force of will, I didn’t roll my eyes—I had a conspiracy to unearth, never mind how irritating this little prig was—and instead requested his help, only for him to sniff again and go on about how he had no loyalty to the crown, because he happened to live in Lion’s Arch. He had red hair and dressed in high Rurikton fashion; he had to be Ascalonian, descendant of refugees saved by Kryta’s rulers, yet—yet— 2 It didn’t matter. It didn’t, not right now—and anyway, our fashions had spread far and wide, Lion’s Arch had long ago drowned its history, and true Ascalonian identity meant more than ancestry, whatever they might say in Rurikton. Deborah had taught me that much; if he didn’t care about it, then I wouldn’t, either. Easier said than done, though. “I need this information as soon as possible,” I told him. “But why should I trust you?” he retorted. “Who are you, anyway?” 3 I lifted my chin, and for all I might tell myself, I felt as if the pride of generations clustered about me, even with my foremothers’ spirits hopefully at peace in the Hall of Echoes. I had not forgotten what I came from. All those Langmars, the children and children’s children of Gwen Thackeray’s great captain. The Krytans they’d married now and then, abandoning an easy heritage to transplant themselves into Rurikton, absorbed into Ascalonian life and identity. The Fairchilds in Ebonhawke, kin of the last kings, of the duke who still haunted Ascalon and his martyred daughter. They’d fought a long defeat, on and on, yet managed to keep a last corner of human Ascalon alive; my aunt still worked to keep Ebonhawke standing while this man sneered over paper. “I am Lady Althea Fairchild of Divinity’s Reach and Ebonhawke,” I said. 4 Fursarai eyed me suspiciously. “Well, which one?” Despite myself, my defiance flickered. I would always be Ascalonian above all else, yet I would always serve the queen, too, and set myself against the enemies of Kryta. I belonged to Ebonhawke, my father’s land, my birthplace and my pride; I belonged to Divinity’s Reach, the only home I knew, where my mother’s people had lived and fought for generations. Anise always called me a creature of two faces, and I supposed I was. “I don’t know,” I admitted. 5 He grunted. “Explains why you don’t stink like the rest, anyway.” “Thank you,” I replied dryly. After a minute of meditation (not helped by Fursarai’s string of complaints), we headed out. I was just about ready to kill him myself by the time we got to the Shaemoor garrison; he’d have easily died without me fighting skale and centaurs and one exceptionally large spider by sceptre and sword, but he made not the slightest attempt to defend himself, just cowering against his bull and yelping the entire way there. That was before I had to take down three centaur catapults and Lyssa knew how many centaurs, with maybe two Seraph backing me up. Naturally, his gratitude upon entering the garrison amounted to checking his supplies three times, turning to me, and pronouncing: “I feel like I was run over by a herd of marauding dolyaks!” 6 Irritation aside, he did supply the information I needed, admitting that he sold his paper to Minister Zamon. Zamon, the man who’d all but gloated at my mother when Deborah died, purely—I thought then—because of malice at the suffering of a rival. And then, not long ago: the man who’d sneered at my defense of Shaemoor. “He has excellent taste,” Fursarai said, his glance clearly implying that I didn’t. As if he’d know. I silently decided that I’d never buy anything from him, even if I had to go to Lion’s Arch myself to find another papermaker. I smiled and said, “Don’t leave Divinity’s Reach.” 7 I found Captain Thackeray in the Seraph Headquarters, deep in a discussion with Anise, of all people, but his head snapped up when he caught sight of me. “Do you have any news?” “Fursarai admitted he made the paper for Minister Zamon,” I said, suppressing any signs of satisfaction. Well, mostly; Anise cast an amused look in my direction. “Setting up citizens to be robbed and brutalized?” exclaimed Captain Thackeray. “That's out-and-out treason.” Why, so it was.

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1) The Fairchilds in Ebonhawke, kin of ... the duke who still haunted Ascalon and his martyred daughter: i.e., Duke Barradin, while his daughter, Lady Althea—this Althea’s namesake—was burned alive by the Charr.

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SIX 1 “But where are my manners?” said Captain Thackeray, whom I’d never seen with so much as a wrinkle in his surcoat or a hair out of place. “Allow me to introduce you to Countess Anise, Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade.” Bemused, I nodded at my mentor of years, while Anise bowed with a faint, ironic smile. Disregarding the matter of manners, she said smoothly, “Minister Wi’s hosting a party tonight; it’ll be a good opportunity to eavesdrop on ministers, their allies, and enemies.” Captain Thackeray couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree, but clearly wanted to; he proposed a (perfectly legal) raid on Zamon’s house instead, and worse still, left the choice to me, insisting that he couldn’t give me orders—even though he clearly had no idea who I was. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he’d realized I had a name. 2 Naturally, I consulted with Anise—Thackeray or no Thackeray, she was my guide and teacher. “Personally,” she said in her light voice, “I prefer convivial, face-to-face situations. Then again, cloak-and-dagger skulduggery is always fun.” I laughed. “The way you describe it, it all sounds so charming; I’ll have to think it over.” I didn’t, actually. Minister Wi lived in Rurikton, and Faren was my best friend; if I knew anything, it was Rurikton parties. 3 “Minister Wi’s party,” I announced. “I’ll see what I can learn.” “Are you sure?” said Captain Thackeray, though with a distinct note of resignation. “You can’t break into Zamon’s place if you attend Minister Wi’s party.” “I’m sure,” I told him. “Minister Wi’s party it is.” He sighed. 4 “Your fellow nobles seem to have a knack for making my life interesting,” Captain Thackeray told me, clearly putting the best face on it. “Let’s see if we can’t return the favour.” “We nobles, Captain Thackeray?” I said, amused; everyone knew about his relationship to Gwen—and his relationship to Queen Jennah, too. “A step down from royalty making your life interesting, I’m sure.” To my surprise, he flinched. Some lover’s spat, perhaps; I decided it was none of my business, and turned to Anise, who promised to meet me at the party—because it wouldn’t do to make us share the spotlight during our entrance. Of course. 5 I listened to a few complaints and registered some unsolved crimes after Anise left, then headed out. At least, I meant to, but on my way to the door out of Seraph Headquarters, I caught sight of an open book—a register. “That lists the names of all Seraph soldiers for the last two decades,” an officer told me proudly. I glanced over my shoulder, undoubtedly looking as suspect as a priest of Grenth on Wintersday, but nobody seemed to be paying attention; the officer had drifted over to settle a dispute over a farm, Captain Thackeray was talking to a lieutenant, and everybody else looked up to their ears in work. I opened the book, scolding myself for being foolish, giving into a pointless sentimentality that would achieve nothing, recover no corpse for a grave—but still, I turned the pages, searching for the name I would know. I felt like a spy, flipping through pages, for all that the registry was open to the public and I had every right to look—and then, there it was, near the head of its page. Sgt Deborah Fairchild; missing in action, assumed dead. 6 “Are you looking for someone?” said Captain Thackeray. I nearly jumped straight into the air; as it was, I flinched as violently as he had. “No, sir,” I said, and realized—Debs would have said no, sir in the exact same tone, would have stood in this very room as I did now, would know it all better than I did. What would she have thought, if she’d known that one day I would be investigating crimes for the Seraph, reporting to Captain Thackeray himself? She’d never pressed me to be anything I wasn’t, never seemed to love me less for being the thoughtless, frivolous creature I was then, but I couldn’t help but imagine she’d have been proud. Imagine how this whole thing might have gone if she’d been alive—maybe we’d be investigating Zamon together, or— “Good luck, Captain Thackeray,” I said, and walked out. 7 By happy coincidence, I already had an invitation, of sorts. My mother’s said Minister Ailoda Langmar and one other. “You want to go?” said Mother, looking startled. “I would have thought you’d be busy slaying monsters or saving people or whatever else you do these days.” I frowned, unsure how to take this; it might have been pride, if not for her studiously neutral tone—did she think all this unimportant, or regrettable, or beneath us? Or was it fear, with Deborah dead on Seraph business? For a wild moment, I longed to tell her, cling to her and admit that I was frightened and angry as well as resolved, to confide in someone who would always see Althea first and the hero of Shaemoor second. “I need to keep an eye on Faren,” I said.

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1) his relationship to Queen Jennah: Jennah is the Queen of Kryta, and a beautiful young woman; it’s widely rumoured that she and Logan are having an affair. The last time royalty made his life especially interesting was when he deserted his dragon-hunting guild, Destiny's Edge, out of love for Jennah.

--------------------------------------------------------------------- SEVEN 1 I headed back to Rurikton for the party, though a good while before it was set to begin. I hadn’t been home for a while—months, though it felt like longer—and I wanted to get my bearings. I strolled past the familiar stone gryphons, a light calm settling over me. It deepened as I made my way down the streets, passing refugees and servants who gave slight bows: respectful, no more. Clusters of nobles nodded familiarly at me. I stopped by local traders, most of whom I knew by name. One bookseller had a pair of rare books on Ascalonian history, one of which I’d wanted for ages; I purchased them on the spot, and after these weeks of fighting and investigating and rescuing, it was a pleasure to let it all slide for a moment, and decide that today was already a success. 2 I personally carried my books to Langmar Manor, since I’d forgotten to bring any servants, and didn’t feel very much inclined to send for one now. Oddly enough, I had gotten used to managing on my own. The walk from the district square was a short and easy one in any case; I strolled down the streets, encountering nothing worse than a few seditious posters I tore down, and a man complaining about Captain Thackeray to an unsympathetic friend. “You know, just because your wife’s taken a shine to Logan Thackeray doesn’t make him a bad guy—he’s cursed.” At the first man’s scoff, the friend added, “Cursed with good looks and true Ascalonian blood! It’s not his fault that every woman fawns over him.” Not every woman, I thought. 3 The people of Rurikton had always mingled at the Maiden’s Whisper as well as Rurikton at large, so I attracted no particular curiosity when I strolled into the tavern. Several other lords and ladies stood near the entrance, smiling and lifting their glasses towards me as I passed, while everyone else simply continued their own conversations—despite the Norn inexplicably towering at the side of the room. “I like that Minister Caudecus,” one girl announced. “To Queen Jennah!” someone just out of sight said, echoed by a dozen toasts to the queen, Divinity’s Reach, Captain Thackeray, and assorted ministers. Across the hall, a man bellowed drunkenly, “Show me a woman who can wrestle a bear, and I’ll show you a keeper!” “If the Charr think they can come here,” said a woman, her voice clear and pleasant, “me and my meat cleaver will tell them otherwise.” I smiled; despite everything, it really was good to be home. 4 I spent the last few hours before the party skulking around Rurikton, but found nothing beyond a particularly incompetent group of adventurers and ordinary conversation on the street. Returning to the inn, I searched for a relatively secluded place, found it in a library, and closed my eyes, peering through those of a near-invisible clone as she drifted through Minister Wi’s manor. She wasn’t caught, but turned up nothing except preparations for the party. I was sure there had to be something we’d missed, but apparently not. Well, Zamon might be acting in secrecy. Might. I resigned myself to the inevitable: I would only discover what I needed to know at the party, and I would have no preparation beyond what I already knew. 5 When I arrived at the manor in person, the place was positively oozing Ministry guards, for no particular reason. Anise slanted them a glance that betrayed nothing, then eyed my finery with nearly smug approval. “This will be delightful,” she said, apparently no more inclined than usual to bother with such minutia as greetings and farewells. “Having the hero of Shaemoor on my arm will make tongues wag.” Even though it was just Anise, I flushed. So much for separate entrances—but it was like Anise to enjoy disrupting plans, even her own. “Thank you for letting me join you this evening, Countess,” I said, because it was like me, too. 6 “Mingle,” she said. “Speak to everyone—you never know who’ll say something they regret later.” It was an encouraging thought. “Second,” said Anise, “don’t limit your conversation to nobility; servants and guards see everything.” “Understood,” I replied, adding, “I suppose it goes without saying that I should be discreet?” “You catch on fast,” she told me, and touched her finger to the end of my nose, eliciting a startled laugh. “Go and charm the masses.” 7 “You know where to find me if you need me, pet,” Anise concluded, while I still tried to wrap my mind and dignity around the fact that she’d bopped my nose. But at the moment, I found her at my side, setting my hand on her arm and marching forward in her tall boots. She actually smiled when I matched my steps to hers, even if I could hardly match the total assurance of her stride and her drawl—but she smiled more at the sudden hush that fell over the grand room when we entered. “The Countess Anise,” the servant at the door announced, and after a suitably dramatic pause, continued, “and the hero of Shaemoor!” Virtually everyone in this room had known me from childhood, but they all bowed anyway, as if my mother herself stood in my place, rather than the other way around; she’d abruptly developed a cold when she heard Zamon would be there. Zamon himself was nowhere to be seen. Interesting.

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1) Cursed with good looks and true Ascalonian blood: this (and much of the dialogue here) is part of the ambient dialogue near the inn.

#anghraine's gaming #anghraine's fic #ascalonian grudgefic #ascalonian grudgeblog #althea fairchild #ailoda langmar #countess anise #marius corone #deborah fairchild #edmund fairchild #elwin fairchild #lord faren #julius zamon #logan thackeray #captain tervelan #guild wars 2 #pro patria #footnotes ahoy!

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justimajin · 5 years

Text

His First Love ⟨Part 5⟩

➸ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

➸ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Future Smut

↳ Vampire AU, Reincarnation AU

➸ Words: 3.7k

➸ Warnings: none

➸ Summary: Each night, its the same dream; drenching tears, specks of blood and a heart torn in half. Each night, you wake up trembling and filled with the fear of how crystal-clear the nightmares were, more and more endless questions ready to spur from you. The biggest question however, was always left unanswered - who was the man that never ceased the opportunity to appear in them?

➸ Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

➸ Note: This chapter follows past Y/N’s perspective

Fluttering your eyes open, the sun peeks through the delicate curtains of your room and the morning feels like any regular morning would.

Except, you had gotten some to none sleep during the night.

If you were unsettled before, then you were downright puzzled now. The curiosity just grew with the time that had passed, wondering to yourself if you were the only one seeing things differently.

You recall talking to Suran before – making her promise you not to tell anyone about your experience, to which she had responded with saying that she wouldn’t tell anyone about the ‘horrifying incident’ and her answer just works to stir more uncomfortable feelings from within you.

As you button up your dress, you faintly remember the sound that had lured you in the first place. You had wondered who it could have been, who could have produced such a sound with expertise when you’ve never seen anyone in your vicinity even be fond of music at all. It was strongly discouraged for men to even practice music, heavy labour work being emphasized upon instead. But when you saw him play, actually play it with the passion he did, he looked like such an ethereal being when his fingers danced along to the tune of the instrument.

You wave off the thoughts, deeming that it would do you no good from constantly thinking about it and finish putting on your dress. You turn and look towards your desk, raising an eyebrow and slightly tilting your head when you don’t find the familiar leather-bound book. To your own surprise, the notebook isn’t even in its usual spot and you begin to look around frantically, searching endlessly among the large number of papers fluttering around. You begin to think back when you last saw it, racking through your mind and re-doing your own steps, before your eyes immediately widen.

He had been holding your bag, which contained your notebook.

You instantly look into the bag you had taken with you to only find it empty, having returned all the swords back to your father.

Which means…

You inwardly groan when you realize where exactly the notebook was, or who exactly had it. Letting out a defeated sigh, you open the front door and walk outside, the thought of a lost notebook still flowing in your mind when you’re abruptly met with your father’s smile. You quickly put yourself together, gulping when you see the same bag full of dirtied swords again.

“Y/N can you go clean those for me?” You don’t respond but instead stare, being so utterly conflicted about accepting. Eventually you slowly reach out, picking up the bag with its contents in hesitance. You smile back at your father and walk away, the smile fading all too quickly.

Should you even go back?

The question comes from nowhere, the small quiet voice wondering to itself in your head and you bite your lip at the suggestion.

A blur of dust is thrown upon you, causing a cascade of small coughs to escape from your lips.

“Gotchu!” A familiar voice tinged with playfulness comes through, but it’s wiped away when your brother realizes you tried to do nothing to defend yourself this time.

“Oh my god, I didn’t think I would seriously hit you.” He looks at you with immediate concern, his eyes showing the instant regret when he attempts to brush it off with a rag.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and your eyes finally flicker again.

“Hmm, thanks.” You state when he finishes de-dusting you and you pat his head, tousling some of the hair in the process.

“Hey!” He exclaims, but you long leave the premises by the time he notices his hair strangely sticking up.

You take the same route as usual, running into the same villagers you had seen prior to the day when you had gone to the stream. Their occasional gossiping voices flow into your ears and you catch on quickly to the topic of conversation, since it was indeed familiar to you.

“Did you hear? Suran came back home!”

You perhaps came at the wrong time.

There eyes collectively land on you and you fidget from the sudden spotlight, but soon everyone is cheering for you and pulling you into warm hugs.

“Poor Suran finally returned! If it wasn’t for you Y/N, who could have thought she would have even returned back to us?!” Miss Kim wails.

Interestingly, the statement leaves you in distaste, getting plastered on with a mask that was exaggerated and dipped in glory.

“Y/N fought the monster with all her might, she saved Suran!” Mr. Jung roars.

“He didn’t hurt us...” It’s a small whisper, inaudible enough to be easily left unheard in the crowd of jolly villagers surrounding you, however its frequency is immediately picked up on and the muffled taboo words completely change the atmosphere. The villages share an agreed disgusted look, painted on their faces so effortlessly and you regret saying something, anything at all during that single moment.

“She defends the monster!!”

“The monster has bewitched her!”

“She probably lead Suran there in the first place!”

The harsh words swim around and quickly escalate in intensity; the spark of the adoring villagers long diminishing. You were being considered a hero, a saviour to one extent but at the mention of the monster, you’re seen as utterly dreadful to them.

“Stop. All of you.” The voice is commanding and authoritative, instantly silencing the rest of the crowd with ease. You look up to see a man standing in front of you, strands of grey peeking through his dark hair and wrinkles adorning his pale skin. You recognize him as the local baker, having the neighboring shop right next to your father’s crafting shop. He looks at you and he looks tired, but there’s something in his gaze that tells you not to look away.

“My son,” He starts off, “Never returned.” He pauses, closing his fist.

“His body was found, days after the monster had killed him.” Your eyes widen and you take in a sharp inhale.

He was killed by him?

But why? He had let you and Suran go when you clearly has weapons with you, he had done absolutely nothing to Suran, her cries of hysteria only proving to be her own fear.

The man gently holds your hand in his before continuing. “So please, do be careful.” He looks into your eyes with desperation, the desperation of a man who had lost his beloved son.

The thought of going back diminishes.

You fall back into the same routine as previously when you left the villagers to travel down the stream once again. You find yourself in the same spot, cleaning the familiar tools and lost in your thoughts from the conversation with the old man.

Why?

You hate that question so much at this point; it was completely refusing to leave your mind.

You throw down the sword you were cleaning in frustration, the whole situation bothering you to such an extent. It’s right then, that the sweetening sound makes a re-appearance near you.

Your head immediately turns in the direction of it, the pathway you had taken before still existing but looking hazardous this time because of the water’s strong current. You decide it was probably for the best that it was destroyed, agreeing with the old man’s words.

However the tune only grows in amplitude, caressing your ears and soothing them with its beautiful melody. Biting your lip in debate, you notice a clutter of vines being swept by the current – ironically attached to the other side.

It sounds like a terrible idea, a recipe for a perfect disaster waiting to happen.

But you were only going back for your notebook, and only for that, while brushing off the lingering questions surrounding the mysterious man or rather monster as everyone refers to him as. You don’t hesitate even once when you grab tightly onto them and lean forward, the vine tangling into your limbs and the sudden burst of air breezing over your face. You let go and land straight onto the ground, groaning when you make a hard impact with it. Raking your hands through the various leaves that were caught up in your locks, you look forward towards the small house and cautiously walk through.

Maybe it was because you weren’t so caught up in utter fear of the forest, or the expectation of a gruesome monster ready to eat you within one swallow, but you find yourself actually looking at the forest properly for the very first time. Somehow the atmosphere would always change when you entered, the temperature dropping to a freezing cold one that made you shiver and numb your senses, making you want to bundle up into a warm blanket immediately. Or it was the faint cooling breeze that would wash over your senses at every second, the aroma in the air drawing you towards it. The forest itself was covered in pure white, the small colour as the house in the corner and it made the forest look lively in a way, almost as if it were alive.

Entering the house again, your eyes sweep back and forth looking around for the book you had lost, but to your own dismay you find absolutely nothing of the sort. The tune echoes in the background and you wonder about the chances that the book wasn’t even in the house, but instead, with him.

You quietly thread through, following where your memory takes you and you’re at the same room once again. You quickly submerge into the shadows, fully aware this time of how precise his perception could be and thankfully, you have no hilts of the swords betraying you again with there clinking since you had long discarded them at the stream. You however realize though, that you’re given a perfect view of him.

He continues to play with no mind in the world, his finger tips caressing the pads of the keys brilliantly when he draws out the sound and makes it dance to his own liking. The sound is so raw, so deep and passionate, lulling you in deeper into it without you knowing it and you continue to just stand there, being lost in time and the memory of anything else ceases to exist in that single moment.

You’re floating among heavenly clouds, and nothing could take away from that feeling.

A sudden scratch against the wooden floor is heard and you snap out of your trance instantly, but your eyes slowly trail after him once he leaves the room and you watch his figure disappear with the growing distance.

You peek out, cautiously taking a step forward before you completely emerge out from the shadows and enter the room. Your eyes search around but again to no avail do they find your book, but instead you’re met with the marble instrument again and you find yourself simply observing it.

A small creak is heard from behind you and you immediately flinch, cursing at yourself for getting so easily distracted. You turn around to see him standing in front of you once again but instead of the angered expression he held before, he looks purely shocked to see you this time.

But that shocks quickly diminishes and erupts into anger once again.

“What are you doing here?” He demands.

When he gets no response from you, he continues, “You came back to kill me, didn’t you?”

He slowly narrows down on you again, venom leaking in his voice.

“Came to finish the job, hm? Because I gave you the chance to run away with that friend of yours?”

He takes another step forward, before your voice peeks in.

“How did you learn to play like that?” Silence lingers in the air, and you can’t deny the curiosity any longer when the question comes out without warning.

“What?”

“The instrument, it sounded very nice when you were playing.” You simply state, and the intimidating presence he radiates slightly fades away, the childlike questioning replacing it instead.

“You liked it?” His voice is filled in surprise, before he snaps back. “Why are you saying all th-?” His head turns around when you approach the piano, attempting to get a closer look at it. He keeps wondering why you’re acting like this, what motive you have for doing any of this.

Were you trying to trap him? Manipulate him? Waiting for the perfect opportunity to stab him in the back?

But you mind him no attention when you begin to examine the fine marble of the white instrument, the crystal-clear shine casted on it letting you see your own reflection and you don’t think you’ve seen something so well crafted – the observation coming from someone who grew up watching her father craft the most beautiful weaponry she had ever seen. You try to brush off the predatory stare being directed at you as you browse over the instrument, before plunging a finger on a key and hearing the sound it produces.

It’s interesting, it’s different compared to the instruments you’ve seen before, recalling how you had encountered Mr. Jung’s son playing a wooden whistle of some sort when you had passed by one day. You sit down on the glass white bench that accompanies the instrument, pressing more keys to see if it was possible for you to construct and produce a soothing tune like the one you had heard previously.

“What are you doing?” Utter confusion is laced in his voice, the tense posture in his shoulders disappearing and his voice has considerably toned down, all because he was so completely confused as to the purpose you had in coming here, and why you had decided to take more interest in his piano.

“What is it?” You simply ask, but he stares at you mortified.

“You don’t know what this is?”

Stupid. He knew human beings were stupid. There was no other way to describe it.

But the expression on your face says otherwise, almost like you were genuinely curious as to what it was. He cautiously sits down next to you, as far away as possible, eyeing you carefully for any sudden movements, any hesitation, any small flicker of a movement that would tell him to get rid of you in an instant with a snap of his fingers.

He’s instead met with you pouting paired alongside disappointed eyes when you press two keys at the same time and they produce this horrendous, awful high-pitched sound that makes him want to cover his ears.

“No, no,” He shakes his head, “That’s not how you play it, you can’t keep pressing random notes.” He gestures to instead press two different keys at the same time and they produce a better sound, one that doesn’t make his ears bleed.

He then tells you to press more of them in a different manner, leading up to him teaching five consecutive sounds which sound similar to the tune he was playing beforehand. You attempt to do exactly as he tells you, but it leads to multiple frowns on his behalf until you eventually get it and he lets out a relieved sigh. But as time passes by, he abruptly decides to get up.

“You need to leave.” He states and the realization instantly hits you that you shouldn’t be here. You internally groan at your own desire to learn more about playing the piano, dismissing the thought when you separate from it and hastily turn to leave.

Before you exit, the glimpse of what you were originally searching for appears into your mind and you turn around to face him.

“Do you happen to have my notebook?” You question and he looks at you for a moment with narrowed eyes, before he shakes his head in response. You let out a defeated sigh, considering that you might have dropped it when you initially came to the forest.

You slowly head back in the direction of the village, following the same route you had used to originally get there, but you hear him clear his throat.

“Wait.” He says, and you immediately freeze, looking behind you.

He simply stands before you, but he doesn’t look at you. Instead he shifts a bit from side to side, as if he were contemplating something deep inside his mind. He finally makes eye contact before his words leave you in complete surprise.

“If you ever want to learn more…” He pauses, uncertainty crossing his face before he continues, “You can come back.”

He walks back inside, not looking in your direction at all and you’re left speechless with the offer at hand.

After that day, you would try to sneak out at times to go to Yoongi – which you had later learned was his name – in order to practice more with the piano, an instrument that you had never seen anyone in your village play so beautifully. You could tell he was extremely reluctant with the idea at first, especially when you had left the first day and he wonders if he had made the right decision. You could have easily told the villagers more about him and the next morning he would wake up with a large body of humans after him for ‘enchanting’ another one of their kind like they would always say. But to his surprise, he hears absolutely nothing from them, and perhaps that actually scares him even more.

He turned out to be right about you, being utterly harmless that it makes him laugh to think he initially thought you were there to kill him with a bag of swords. Instead he had learned that you were perhaps a lot more naïve than his own expectations – from the way your eyes would sparkle and how you were always giggling – it had been long, too long since he had seen such an innocent, pure human being, and it was strange for him when it caused a sense of protectiveness emerge from him once again.

You on the other hand, were glad you had followed your instincts. Whenever you would hear more words about Yoongi, or rather ‘the monster’ or the ‘the creature’ as everyone referred to him as, spread, you had come to realize how different Yoongi actually was from their assumed expectations. You already knew something was off about Yoongi, that he wasn’t entirely human from his abnormal traits, but it would make you laugh when he was more human at times than some of your very own villagers.

Oddly enough though, you were still unable to find your precious notebook after Yoongi told you that he didn’t have it and the thought left you in dismay that your attempt was unsuccessful in retrieving it. But it seemed that instead of losing something, you had ended up gaining something instead.

Treading through the forest, you enter the patch next to the stream and look up when you see Yoongi leaning against the tall trees, out of sight from anyone’s eyes. Initially, you would walk on your own to reach his side of the forest but recently Yoongi had been insisting that you meet up with him first before entering.

“Hi.” You whisper, leaning down to dodge a long green vine.

“Hi.” He says, but you can tell something is off from the way his eyes dart back and forth behind you.

“Is something wrong?” You question as the two of you walk further into the forest.

“I’ve seen…” He pauses for a moment, looking around again, “Soldiers here.”

“Soldiers?” The word itself leaves you in disbelief, knowing all about the ruling kingdom that was above your own little village – a vast land that you were never granted access to with your current status, and how everyone living there would abide to the word of the King.

“What are soldiers doing here?”

“I’m not sure.” Yoongi opens the door, “But I haven’t seen this many around here before.”

“Before? They came here before?” You enter the house.

“A long time ago, when I was discovered first living here. They sent soldiers after me to investigate.” Your eyes widen at his words, you had always known the kingdom to be respectful of the villagers needs and always looking for their civilians. The idea of them going after Yoongi leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, knowing full well that they shouldn’t be trespassing for the right reasons.

Yoongi spends some time teaching you the song you had been practicing and he hums in content when he sees the improvement in your piece.

“Impressive. You’ve gotten a lot better compared to when you first came here.” You give him a cheeky smile and he slowly sits down next to you. You realize you had been far too invested in learning and finishing the piece that you hadn’t even noticed Yoongi’s condition.

He looked considerably pale, black filled veins running down his neck. Sweat is plastered to his forehead as if he had been running miles and he grips the bottom of the bench tightly.

“Yoongi, are you alright?” You move closer towards him to get a better look, but he immediately flinches.

“I-I’m fine, I’m just tired. Do you mind if we end our session early today?” You nod, and he gives you a tight smile, forcing it upon himself.

You walk home that day and Yoongi’s condition makes you wonder if it has something to do with him being injured in any way. He had yet to tell you what he exactly was – saying that it would be too much for to bear and he didn’t want you changing your view about him, but it still lingered in the back of your mind.

What exactly was Yoongi?

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eidolonpath · 5 years

Photo

and change can’t always be for the best, especially when the brother becomes a beast and you have to mourn the missed.

Surprisingly, Eidolon does know how to let loose and have fun. You’ve never seen so many thrown thistles and fruit cubes in your life (the latter would never be restored, the children had been warned, and they whined for days after their conquests and battles), and that sword fight? You don’t care if they weren’t real blades, they sure felt like it. A fire could have been started from that wood hitting wood, for gods’ sake. You’re surprised that one of the weapons didn’t splinter to pieces at all. It had been an eventful few days, this one being no exception of that. As you lie down and stare up, you wonder just how much you’re going to manage to do tomorrow. Maybe you’ll try the baker’s “Snowdrop Loaves”, even though the thought of flowers in bread seemed confusing. First times all around, hm? Your eyes close slowly, slowly, and you drift…

… … ...

It’s well into the day by the time you wake up, sun shining through the window and trying to wake you from your overdone slumber. A mumble. You might as well get ready and get to work— it’s late, but it doesn’t mean that you can’t get a few hours in. Time to freshen up and head out to the great outdoors of the Great White…

When you exit your bunkhouse, there is no warmth in the wind, no melodic children’s laughter nor clash of wood on wood. You don’t smell the scent of freshly baked bread or see anyone walking out to the docks— in fact, it seems like no one really wants to move at all. Small crowds dot the area, faces forlorn and worried as the speak in hushed whispers amongst each other, uneasy and clearly afraid. This wasn’t part of the festival, was it? No, surely not. It couldn’t be.

Those blood stains on the fountain were definitely not part of the celebration.

“What are we going to do?” You hear someone say. “W-we can’t fix this. Penuel was the one that did the fixing! What if he—”

“Don’t even start with that.” Another voice, cutting in with an aggressive but clearly desperate kind of tone. “He can’t. He’ll pull through. Everyone always does. Why in the world would he even think of leaving Premo behind?” A huff. “I don’t think Premo is skilled enough to treat him, I—”

“What, are you?” Another joins the fray, hand taking hold of the previous speaker’s collar. “Just stop it. The only reason why I haven’t punched you is because the Warmhouse has enough to deal with right now.” The individual is let go. “Gods. Whistles? Here? Now? It’s barely the beginning of spring.”

Before you can eavesdrop any more, someone rushes past you, not even bothering to give an excuse me or apology before they’re gone, running past the village limits, some others also following in tow. You note how something by their belts had reflected the light of the sun so acutely. Swords.

Talk about a celebration, huh? You had spoken too soon apparently: even without getting the whole story it’s clear that everything’s a mess. Everyone’s so uneasy. With the thick in the air, you start to wonder if your own tools of combat are up to the standard of whatever’s out there. A blink— agh.

There’s this awful ringing in your ears, something dissonant but symphonic all the same, wordless, ominous, alluring. The sound, it’s so clear. Something like…

… whistling.

… … ...

It’s clear that the festival is over, even though its end was undoubtedly premature and unplanned. While the decorations remain up, the zeal and cheer has died down into tense whispers and distressed looks.

Everyone is on edge, and really, you’re no different, especially since no one has bothered to give you any sort of explanation yet for what the hell was going on. Where was the danger? What could be done about it? Was this the end as everyone knew it? Surely you couldn’t be the only person with this on your mind, but everyone’s too disoriented to come together and agree. It’s miserable. The hours pass agonizingly slow, like a spoon trying to slog its way through a pot of molasses, until someone walks past you.

“The mayor is having a meeting in the village square.” The stranger’s expression is grave, tone serious. “You’d best be on your way now.”

You can’t argue with that. A moment of mental prep and you’re off, footsteps carrying an uncertainty that fits well with the stone that sits so precariously in your gut. Everyone in the village is here— but this time, it isn’t for anything pleasant. At the center of the hubbub is the ever covered up mayor, with a tall ginger-haired woman standing beside him, an odd look in her eye.

“I… apologize, for the complications that have arisen during this celebration.” Adonis starts softly, arms crossed and brows furrowed. “It appears that an old friend has decided to visit us early.”

“It’s characteristic of them to crash in uninvited, those whistles.” The woman beside him speaks up, taking a step forward as she gently strokes the pelt wrapped around her neck. “Thankfully, their point of emergence seems to be relatively small. I’ll travel out with a group in order to cut off that point of invasion.” She smirks. “However, that means it will be up to all of you to fight off the ones that already roam the fields. Shouldn’t be a problem if you know what you’re doing. Can I trust you?”

Dead silence. She rolls her eye and spins the machete in her grip, before pointing the blade into the crowd, right at the man that you recognize as Lepton. “He’ll help you out. I’ve given him access to my arsenal, so, if you need anything for combat, it will be available to you. Information on the monsters can be given by Cato if you ask nicely.”

“…Thank you, Frederika.” Adonis chimes in again, trying to step into the picture once more. “Anyone that does not want to fight can focus on building defences around the village and also act as medical aid if you have any experience.

“Most importantly though, please stay safe.” He says, quieter, more solemnly. “Recklessness is more liable to make you incapacitated as compared to useful.”

As the crowd begins to thin out, you catch sight of green beginning to poke out of the snow in the lands beyond the village. This was the Great White’s way of giving a warm welcome, hm?

Happy spring, you guess.

❅ introduction:

Celebrations for Vivienne’s festival have been cut short in response to an emerging threat— the appearance of whistles. Released from the ice by a particularly strong melt that the Chymos did not predict, these creatures wander the Great White, seemingly aimless and capable of stealing your breath away. They are merciless, cold, and deadly if you manage to go unprepared out into those snowy fields. The whole village is on the defensive now, but it’s ultimately your choice on whether or not you stay around to bolster the residential limits or travel outwards to fight back the encroaching threat.

❅ what are whistles?

Plaintive creatures of the snow, these humanoid monsters are named after its mournful calls that resemble that of a whistle. It’s traded flesh for ice and dark crystal instead, stumbling around in tattered rags in search of an unsuspecting victim so that it can steal their soul. Will you be next?

Want to know more? Have a look in the bestiary to satiate your curiosity.

❅ activities:

Resource Collection: With whistles about in the Great White and encroaching on the village, some even destroying the stores of resources within Eidolon’s borders, the plentiful resources that were promised with the coming of spring are suddenly… lacking. With the guidance of Frederika, a path through the landscape has been carved towards the forest, to allow the collection of firewood, food, and materials for weaponry. The village has not had reason to use them for a long time, after all.

Defence Building: As whistles attempt to break through the village borders, the residents are desperate to protect their daily lives and begin their retaliation. Without a safe base of operation, though, this is near impossible. Large blocks of ice are being placed at the village entrance and outskirts to prevent any whistles from entering — if you have the strength, your service will be greatly appreciated.

Tool Repair: The structure of a whistle can be somewhat… perplexing. Because of the large crystals that sprout from their bodies, it takes little combat to damage a weapon. Moreover, with the vast amount of construction and collection that needs to be done, many tools are quickly chipped, cracked and unusable. If you’re particularly handy, take your own tools in hand and use them to defend the village — and those who protect it.

Bodyguarding: Not everyone is able to defend themselves while carrying out their duties in and around the village, with the threat of the whistles looming over them. This is where bodyguards come in. Accompany someone gathering herbs for the physician’s assistant, or someone seeking to restore a broken house on the border of the village. Chances are there is always someone in need of protection, especially in times like these.

Whistle Hunting: Frederika and the other hunters are hard at work, pursuing whistles to protect the village from the threat of these unsettling monsters. Whether you wish to use your own weapons or those from Frederika's armory, those able and willing to hunt whistles—alone or in a small group—should do so. Perhaps when this is all over, you will get your due reward.

Medical Assistance: The settlement's doctor, Penuel, is gravely injured. Thus the medical duties fall on his assistant, Premo. Unfortunately, there is only so much one person can do when it comes to helping out an entire village — especially one where so many are in danger. Collecting herbs and other ingredients would be a huge help, as would be making salves and bandages to stabilize the wounded. If you happen to be half a doctor yourself, well… another pair of hands would be appreciated.

❅ new locations:

Mourner’s Grotto: Worryingly close to the village, this hole in the ground seems almost grave-like with its near perfect rectangular shape and “human” size. While frozen over for a majority of the year, its recent opening has caused a fair amount of distress at the monstrous whistles that have crawled up from the depths below. With the amount of creatures that can emerge from it, there are rumors that its caves are never ending. Detours are extremely recommended in order to avoid any threats that you are unprepared to face.

Lelantos’ Grip: You’ve probably heard passing mentions of a certain hunter’s guild and its extensive armory; after all, hunting keeps the village safe from posing threats and the people fed when the winter is too harsh. Run by Frederika, you can find Lelantos’ Grip not far from Pheri’s Cornerstore. With a large interior made of wood and plain stone, hunting trophies are wherever you turn -- the place isn’t supposed to be pretty, as its main goal is to guard the ever-growing collection of weapons, and offer sparring lessons here and there. If you’re in need of weapons, survival tips and hunting lessons, or even someone to spar with and keep the rust at bay, then this is the place for you. If fighting or crafting weapons isn’t for you, worry not: if you know how to strike up a good deal you might get some lessons on poison-making from Frederika herself.

These locations can be found on the locations document.

❅ event schedule:

The second part of the event will last for two weeks, from apr.19.19 18:00 EST to may.03.19 23:59 EST. Starters for both parts of the event may be written up until the event ends at midnight on May 3rd. Any threads may be freely continued afterwards, but no new starters may be written.

EDIT: And due to popular demand, the event has been extended another week. The event will now end on may.10.19 23:59 EST. Starters for both parts of the event can be written up until then, so make sure to start your threads if you want to participate!

All information can be found in our masterpost of all parts of the event. As always, participation is completely optional. May the path you tread be free of bloodshed; may your wishes have been worth it.

#eido events #eido event: vivienne's festival

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elenathehun · 7 years

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The Hyuuga Clan: what not to do

So I promised a separate post on the Hyuuga Clan plotline after I wrapped up the Chuunin Exam arc, and as promised, here it is. It’s been a long time coming, so let’s get started, shall we?

To recap the Hyuuga Clan plotline, the whole thing starts when Neji and Hinata, previously introduced separately earlier in the Chuunin exam arc, face each other in the preliminaries. It’s an unpleasant, vitriolic match: Neji brutalizes his cousin in the course of their fight, and comes damn close to killing her. The only reason Hinata doesn’t die right then and there is due to the intervention of the Leaf jounin-instructors. Fandom often attributes this to Naruto’s support, but I would argue that’s unfair to Hinata; in one of the few self-motivated acts she does, she tells Neji he’s wrong about her, about the world, and most importantly, himself—which enrages him to the point of going for a killing blow.

Anyway, Neji is thoroughly unlikeable, and Naruto swears he’ll cut the other kid down to size during his match with other boy. Blah blah blah, take a month-long break, time to fight. As becomes usual for Naruto’s villain face-offs, they fight and Neji monologues: he explains why he’s so angry at Hinata (and the Main House) even though they’re family. Essentially, the Branch house of the Hyuuga all have a seal on their forehead that destroys their eyes upon death, ensuring their valuable bloodline limit can't be stolen. That actually sounds really cool except for one thing: it's also used as a method of brutal control by the Main House, who have the ability and knowledge to manipulate the seal's destructive capacity to inflict agonizing pain on those who bear it. Moreover, Hinata and Neji aren't just people from the same clan—they're actually first cousins—and considering their respective fathers are identical twins, you could make a very strong case for them being closer to half-siblings than anything else.

Neji is angry for two reasons, one abstract and one personal. The abstract reason is this: Neji is a gifted prodigy in his clan's techniques, but because he's part of the Branch House, he's unable to get the training and, yes, recognition he deserves as a Gentle Fist prodigy. Hinata is only average in the abilities the Hyuuga value—namely having advanced control over her bloodline and the combat skills to go with it—and if Neji's father had been born first instead of her own, their lives would be unimaginably different. The personal reason is that ten years ago, Neji's father was sacrificed to appease some politically powerful bloodline thieves, who attempted to kidnap Hinata, presumably because she was young, had a good pedigree, and also had a womb. Long story short, Naruto beats Neji up and tells him to "cheer up emo kid!". The story doesn't end until Neji reaches some kind of catharsis with his uncle, Hinata's father, and decides he too will live free like a bird, blah blah blah. Yay! Story concluded, right?

Fandom didn't think so, and rightly so! Konoha is revealed to have a large, politically powerful clan that is essentially enslaving a least half (and perhaps more) of their own population, and using it for unspeakable reasons. Leaving aside Neji's sort of weaksauce resolution, Hinata, meek and unmartial, has a younger sister who is strong in all the ways she isn't; Just like with her father and his brother, will she have to brand her younger sister to maintain the right of absolute primogeniture?

And make no mistake, that is the real issue at the heart of the Hyuuga clan. Everything else is just window dressing. Even ignoring the stupidity of the Hyuuga sacrifice—Really, Sarutobi? Really?! —the Hyuuga story always had more holes in it than good swiss cheese. As I mentioned in my re-read summary post for volumes 11-13, the combination of "sealing most of the family" and also "preventing the sealed kin from learning the full extent of the Gentle Fist" only makes sense if the Hyuuga were alone in the wilderness, but in a village setting where the vast majority of sealed Hyuuga are supporting village operations, it sounds like a bad deal for the Leaf, since they're only getting half-trained soldiers in return for allowing the Hyuuga to live within their walls. The entire purpose of Neji's story is just a clumsy way to highlight the injustice of absolute primogeniture as a method of both advancement, inheritance, and simple justice in traditional society.

I don't think it's an exaggeration that the "Clan Hyuuga eats its children" genre of stories was one of the more popular family-centered tropes in fanfiction in the pre-Shippuden era. The sand sibs and Uchiha brothers might have had more written about them, but not by much. How Hinata, Neji, and Naruto would grapple with the Hyuuga Clan's outdated social norms was the focus of a lot of stories and there was a lot of expectation about how Kishimoto was going to resolve this issue in part 2. Now that Naruto has come to an end, we can all throw up a little in our mouths, because it's clear Kishimoto thought he already had.

Any of Hinata's character growth in part two comes from her relationship to Naruto; Neji dies sacrificing himself for her and Naruto, which seems damn empty given that we never see the cousins reconcile or really interact all that much. Hanabi is a non-entity. The Hyuuga Clan, as of Chapter 700, is still presumably sealing and oppressing the majority of its members. The only way to understand this extremely unsatisfactory turn of events is to see it as an intersection of two unpleasant trends in Naruto: women are always secondary to men in terms of character development and plot importance, and villainous motivations are tailor-made to whatever the hell sort of lesson Naruto is supposed to impart to them as the hero of this story.

Women, in Naruto, are almost always secondary to the men they are related and associated with. Mito only shows up in context of her husband, never mind that she was apparently a master in her own right; like Sakura's relationship to Naruto and Sasuke, even the relationship between a man and his wife is secondary to the strong bond between her husband and Madara, his "best friend". Kushina, again, was another cool character who could have been very interesting...except that she was immediately subordinated to her husband's plot, and then later her son's. Kurenai's griefs and plots are centered around Asuma and Shikamaru; Sakura had the glimmerings of her own story, but it was always shoved aside for the Naruto and Sasuke thing. Rin is probably the worst example; she literally only exists to traumatize Obito and Kakashi with her death. Hinata is just another character in that tradition.

For the sake of argument, separate Hyuuga Hinata, clan heir from Hinata, Naruto's love interest. Just pretend there are two girls with that given name in Naruto—actually, let's make it even easier. Hinata the girl is Naruto's love interest; Hinata the clan heir is a boy. Hinata the boy isn't a bad person, but he's shy, meek, unassuming, and not very good at combat. He is a constant disappointment to his father, who wanted a child much like Hinata's cousin, who is everything Hinata isn't: strong, capable, and ruthless. In a different world, his cousin Neji would be clan heir—except their family practices absolute primogeniture as a method of inheritance. Neji's father is younger than Hinata's father and was thus forced into the lesser branch family and blocked from ever inheriting. Hinata has a younger brother, as well, who is also better than Hinata in all the ways that matter to their family, and one day, Hinata will have to brand his younger brother and cast him aside, all to uphold their tradition. Hinata is despised by his cousin (and maybe his brother) because they both know they are better than him, but because of their family's stupid rules, they are forever subordinate to the lesser. But Hinata has his own skills: in a family with eyes that see nearly everything, save for one specific blind spot, Hinata has the gift of seeing just what they lack. Can Hinata find a way to prove that might does not make one right? Can he show that it's not strength of arms that makes a good leader? Can he find a way to unite his broken family, and right the injustice they have perpetuated among themselves?

That's an interesting story, isn't it? But Kishimoto wasn't really interested in writing a story about why absolute primogeniture is stupid; he wasn't interested in writing a story about what makes a good leader and how to grow up to be a just one, either. Hyuuga Hinata, clan heir, was extraneous; that whole facet of her character could have been a separate one-shot character who just showed up in Neji's villain arc like so many others, given her importance as clan heir after this point.

Now that Naruto's over, it's obvious the whole horrible Hyuuga clan background was just another tragic villainous past for Naruto to defeat in a stupid fight. It's infuriating because it's literally is a schoolyard fight—it's not exactly a demon trapped in a little boy, or the survivors of a brutal foreign war finding the only way to protect themselves is destroying everyone who opposes them. Kishimoto didn't have to write a caged bird seal plotline; he didn't have to make the Hyuuga so brutal to their own kin. Neji didn't even need to try and murder his cousin, just beating the shit out of her would have been enough. The whole thing could have been written as a simple family drama about the unfairness of absolute primogeniture, no seal needed, just the weight of "we've always done it this way". Kishimoto wrote it for the explicit purpose of first making Neji horrible and cruel, then revealing, like all the rest of Naruto's villains, why he is deserving of pity for his "terrible" deeds.

Ultimately, Kishimoto wrote the Hyuuga the way he did because he's almost incapable of writing a character who does bad things without having a sad past; and he's incapable of that because he's a lazy writer who doesn't want to go through the work of actually writing interesting characters. The entire Hyuuga family plotline is the sort of manipulative asspull I hate in both professional and amateur writers, the sort of crutch a weakling uses to pass over another character’s flaws. Hinata, in this story, only exists to show how fucked up Neji is because of her father's actions. She certainly never gets any resolution to her father treating her poorly, or the fact that her cousin tried very hard to kill her in public view. The central tension in the Hyuuga clan is between Neji and Hiashi, which is why the arc closes with Hiashi apologizing to Neji, and then Neji deciding to make his own way in life despite the seal, like his father did.

And Hinata, who is despised for weakness by her father; who is nearly killed for having the temerity to point out Neji's own blind spot; who is physically weak, but has the glimmers of a character stronger than both her cousin and father combined, if only Kishimoto had been interested?

Like Mito, and Kushina, and Rin, and Kurenai, and Sakura, and Anko, and yes, Karin, and every other goddamn woman in this manga - like them, she's only a prop in someone else's story. And in turn, that other person's story is just a prop for Naruto to defeat on his way to becoming a hero.

#critical reading #reading is emotional #fuck you kishimoto

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